#slavery fics

[reanniee]

denial

aventurine x reader

notes: nsfw, smut, oral (female receiving), voyeurism, power imbalance, unhealthy relationship, mention of slavery, mention of sa word count: 2.0k

aventurine is a selfish man, afterall.

aventurine refuses to acknowledge his past. afterall, what use is the past? the only thing important to him now is the future. there is no need to look back on such trivial memories, on such useless moments.

aventurine refuses to acknowledge his past. aventurine has no need for such simple memories, for such simple emotions. so, he ignores and rids of anything that may revive his memories of such a trivial and unimportant time.

though, there is something he cannot bring himself to rid of–you.

aventurine refuses to acknowledge his past. as he keeps you at a strict distance. never too close, yet never too far from him. he makes sure that you are still in his sight, still in his grasp, still in his heart, and still in his life.

aventurine refuses to acknowledge his past. so, he constantly reminds himself that you are nothing more than a bodyguard. nothing more than a mere tool, a mere weapon he has saved and decided to hire.

aventurine refuses to acknowledge his past. so, he constantly tells himself that he does not love you. he needs to repeat it to himself to remind himself of the promise he made.

aventurine refuses to acknowledge his past. so, he is perfectly normal as the young daughter of the corporate boss, whom aventurine and his fellow stoneheart jade are currently negotiating with, approaches, and whispers something into her father’s ears.

he is perfectly normal as the woman blushes as she pulls away, and her father clears his throat, proposing an offer to the two stonehearts.

he is perfectly normal as the old man asks how much it is to purchase the lovely bodyguard by his side. the old man states that he will do any price.

he is perfectly normal as jade laughs whilst he is frozen in shock, unable to respond. she questions the old man’s use of the word ‘anything.’

he is perfectly normal as the old man nods. she laughs again before proposing that, perhaps a night would be satisfactory instead, at the cost of an extra 20%, that is.

he is perfectly normal as the old man looks to his daughter, to where she happily nods her head as the old man sighs, then expresses his agreement to the deal. jade then looks to you, asking if you are alright with the deal.

he is perfectly normal as you look towards him for approval, to where he provides no reaction, as he is perfectly normal. you turn back to jade, pausing a moment, then, you nod, stating that it is alright with you.

there is no reason for him to feel upset. no reason. he is perfectly normal.

he watches as the daughter of the old man seemed to light up, sparking with enjoyment and excitement. he watched as she ran up to you and grasped your soft hands, intertwining them with hers as she pulled you away.

he watches as the old man signed the contract that jade had written up for him, waved the two farewells, then exited the room, leaving the two stonehearts together.

he watches as jade laughs at him, placing a hand on his shoulder and asking if he were truly okay with sending you to that woman. he merely responds with what does it matter to him.

he watches as jade places a hand on his back, as if to console him. he does not need to be consoled. he is perfectly normal. she laughs at him, tells him he is in denial, before departing.

he watches as jade stops just before opening the door, telling him to go to the after party in an hour. it is important to keep up appearances in the ipc, she reminds him. and she warns him to control himself.

why would he need to control himself? jade does not need to remind him. he is aventurine, an esteemed member of the ten stonehearts under the ipc. aventurine has no need for such emotions.

aventurine arrives at the party an hour after his meeting. an hour after the deal was made. an hour after he sold you away. an hour after you left his side.

aventurine forces a slight smile onto his face as he converses with the other attendees at the party. it was a sultry and relaxing atmosphere, the lights dim as drinks were handed out.

aventurine finds himself walking around, scanning the entire room, trying to find where you are. he is stopped by many guests, constantly forced to put on a front and converse where the only thing on his mind is to find you.

aventurine tries his best to hold his composure as he finally spots you. you are with that woman. he watches as the woman pushes up against you, her cheeks flushed, seemingly tipsy.

he watches as the blush on her face grows, her expression morphing and her eyes showing a sense of desire. he watches as she smiles towards you, then grabs your hand and leads you to a secluded area with a couch. he finds himself following you two.

he watches as she pushes your shoulders down, forcing you to sit on the couch as she stands above you. he watches as your face has a slight blush. you must be tipsy, he tells himself.

he watches as she climbs into your lap, straddling your lap and leans into your face. he watches as she is now mere inches away from your face, lips close to touching. he watches as she leans forward, initiating a long and sensual kiss.

he watches as she pulls away after some time, gasping for air. a string of saliva continues to connect you two as the woman breathes heavily, attempting to catch her breath.

he watches as your eyes seem to get cloudy. a hint of desire forming within your mind as you stare up into the woman’s eyes as she breathes heavily. you are drunk, he tells himself.

you are drunk, he tells himself as you quickly flip the woman over, swapping your positions. you are drunk, he tells himself as you hungrily reinitiate the kiss, your tongue diving into the mouth of the woman now underneath you.

you are drunk, he tells himself as you raise your hands, interlocking with those of the woman beside her shoulders. you are drunk, he tells himself as when you pull away, you stare deeply and lovingly into the eyes of the woman who was struggling to breathe in front of you.

you are drunk, he tells himself as you slowly move down the woman’s body, placing kisses along a trail as you move downwards. you are drunk, he tells himself as you stop at her chest, fondling and placing soft, tender kisses at her breasts.

you are drunk, he tells himself as you pause and gaze into the eyes of the woman you are making love to. you maintain eye contact with the woman as you continue to trail down her body, stopping right above her cunt. you are drunk, he tells himself as you softly ask, may i, whilst arousal and need could be easily sensed from your eyes.

you are drunk, he tells himself as the woman shyly nods, to where you immediately rip off her skirt and underwear. you are drunk, he tells himself as you grab the woman’s thighs, spreading them apart as you keep a hand on each leg, giving you full access to the woman.

you are drunk, he tells himself as you dive your face into the cunt of the woman before you, skillfully and tenderly lapping at her insides and seeking her immediate pleasure, just like you were taught back then. you are drunk, he tells himself as you keep your eyes focused on hers, gauging her reaction.

you are drunk, he tells himself as her hands grip the hair on your scalp, begging you to stop as her orgasm was already near, her voice nothing but a crying mess. you are drunk, he tells himself as you refuse, continuing to give the woman nothing but complete and utter pleasure.

you are drunk, he tells himself as the woman releases, moaning out loud and gripping your hair. you are drunk, he tells himself as the woman begs for you to stop as it is too much, she’s too sensitive. you are drunk, he tells himself as he watched you continue to pleasure the woman, riding out her orgasm.

you are drunk, he tells himself as you finally pull away, arms still grabbing onto the thighs of the woman and your eyes continuing to keep direct contact with her. 

you are drunk, he tells himself as you stay there for a moment, watching the woman before you, watching the woman who had struggled to catch her breath, watching the woman who had a deep red flush on her face, watching the woman with small drool dripping from the side of her mouth, watching the woman you made like this.

you are drunk, he tells himself as you rise, placing a knee between her cunt and edging your face closer to hers, laughing as she weakly grips onto your shirt. you are drunk, he tells himself as you tease her, speaking nothing but sweet nothings and praises into her ears.

you are drunk, he tells himself as you kiss the woman before you affectionately. deeply. passionately. lovingly. 

aventurine is a selfish man.

aventurine refuses to acknowledge his past, just like he refuses to acknowledge the current situation in front of him.

he refuses to be with you–he refuses to love you–he refuses to bed with you–he refuses to force himself onto you.

he does not want to reawaken the horrible memories you have sealed away. the horrible memories that must still haunt you. the horrible memories that have left a permanent scar on you forever, both mentally and physically.

he keeps a strict distance between you two as to not inflict more pain onto you. he does this to save you–to protect you; just as he promised he would since the day he freed you. since the day he freed himself.

though, perhaps, just maybe. he does this all to save himself–to protect himself.

he does not need you. he does not care for you. he does not love you. 

he constantly repeats to himself.

he does not want to need you. he does not want to care for you. he does not want to love you.

and yet–despite all he tells himself, despite all he repeats to himself–he loves you greatly, more than he could ever say out loud.

but for your sake–for his sake, he must never tell you his true feelings. he swore to protect you, he swore to save you–he swore to protect himself, he swore to save himself.

he is now aventurine. kakavasha is no more. and aventurine has no need for such simple emotions. aventurine has no need for such simple desires. aventurine has no need for such jealous. aventurine has no need for such love.

so he swallows his pride, swallows his emotions, swallows his love for you–forcing himself to stand there and watch you.

for now, allow him to maintain a slightly smile and a calm expression. for now, allow him to keep up appearances as the esteemed aventurine of the ten stonehearts. for now, allow him to believe that he is perfectly normal. for now, allow him to believe that he does not want you. for now, allow him to believe that he does not love you, for one day he knows that he will break.

aventurine is a selfish man, after all. and he will do whatever it takes to get what he wants.

[mxfrodo]

y'all for fucking real. don't fucking write slave fics or x reader fics of aventurine's slavery??? are you guys out of your goddamn minds???

[unforgivenn]

16th HOUR - #6: Under Hammer

Masterlist/ Previous

CW: Violence, Dehumanisation, Slavery, Drugging, Family rejection, Non-con Handling

Samuel’s pulse raced as the curtains parted, revealing a dimly lit room filled with rows of seats. The audience sat in shadows, their faces hidden, yet he could feel their eyes on him—cold, calculating, eager. The auctioneer, a tall man with a slick appearance, stood at the front of the stage, his voice booming as he introduced the event.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight’s auction!! We have a special treat for you—a handsome young man, in excellent condition! Perfect for your collection or personal use.”

Samuel’s heart pounded in his chest. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck His mind screamed in protest, but his body was paralyzed with fear. What the fuck, what the fuck, Somebody please get me out The room felt like a nightmare, the air thick with anticipation and depravity. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck Every step he took felt like a march toward doom, his chains clinking softly against the polished floor. What the fu-

“Present the item,” the auctioneer commanded.

A handler pushed Samuel forward, and he stumbled, the chains around his ankles preventing him from catching his balance. He fell to his knees, the rough wood biting into his skin. The audience murmured among themselves excitedly, some even squealing and giggling. Samuel’s face burned with humiliation, but he forced himself to stand, his legs trembling.

“Please... let me go,” he whispered, barely audible. The handler yanked him upright, ignoring his plea. Not like he expected the man to listen to him anyways.

“Head up,” the auctioneer snapped. “Show them what they’re bidding on.”

Samuel lifted his head, meeting the gaze of the audience. The best he could do right now was listen. He wanted to scream and shout as much as he could though that didn't seem like such a good idea in a place filled with strangers, and guards with guns across their chests. Especially if he wanted to avoid pain. The faces he saw were devoid of empathy, their eyes glinting with greed and curiosity. They saw him as a product, an object to be bought and sold. It made his stomach churn with revulsion.

“Look at his build, his complexion,” the auctioneer continued, walking around Samuel, gesturing at him like he was a piece of meat. “Healthy, strong, and obedient. Perfect for any household. We don't get such men much. I'd consider this a special one then.” The auctioneer winked and laughed, though Samuel felt like puking.

Obedient. The word echoed in Samuel’s mind. He wanted to scream, to fight, to break free, but he knew it was futile. The system was designed to crush any semblance of rebellion, to strip away every ounce of humanity.

The bidding started, voices rising from the darkness. Samuel’s thoughts swirled in a chaotic mix of fear, anger, and despair. How had it come to this? How had he gone from being a person with dreams and aspirations to a mere item on a stage?

“Do I hear one million? One million, thank you. One point five? Two million, excellent!!,” the auctioneer’s voice droned on, each number driving a nail deeper into Samuel’s soul.

He remembered his family, the way they looked at him when the classification results came in. The disbelief, the horror, and ultimately, the cold rejection. They couldn’t accept that their son was now livestock, a being stripped of rights and dignity. They didn't care. The memory was a knife to his heart, the pain as fresh as the day it happened.

“Three million, ladies and gentlemen. Three million for this fine specimen. Do I hear three point five?”

A wave of nausea washed over Samuel. He felt like he was drowning, suffocating under the weight of his helplessness. The air seemed to thicken, pressing in on him from all sides. He wanted to disappear, to escape this twisted reality-

“Three point five! Going once, going twice—”

“Four million.”

The voice was cold, authoritative. It sliced through the murmur of the crowd, drawing all attention. The auctioneer paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he regained his composure.

“Four million. Do I hear four point five?”

Silence. The room was thick with tension, the bidders hesitant. No one else dared to challenge the new bidder. The auctioneer smiled, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

“Four million, going once, going twice—sold!”

The gavel came down with a resounding thud, sealing Samuel’s fate. He felt a sickening lurch in his stomach, the finality of it crashing over him like a wave. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, his chains rattling in the oppressive silence.

“Congratulations to the winning bidder,” the auctioneer announced. “You’ve acquired a truly exceptional specimen.”

The handler hauled Samuel to his feet, dragging him off the stage. The curtains closed behind him, cutting off the view of the audience. Samuel’s mind was a whirlpool of emotions—fear, anger, despair—all mixing into a nauseating cocktail that threatened to overwhelm him.

He was led down a dim corridor, the oppressive atmosphere pressing in on him. His thoughts raced, trying to grasp onto any shred of hope, but there was none. He was a prisoner in this twisted system, a pawn in a game he didn’t understand.

The handler shoved him into a small, windowless room. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing in the confined space. Samuel sank to the floor, his body shaking with silent sobs. He was alone, trapped in a nightmare with no end in sight.

As the hours passed, Samuel’s mind wandered. He thought of his family, his friends, the life he had lost. He thought of the government that had condemned him, the society that had turned its back on him. He felt a burning rage, a deep-seated anger at the injustice of it all.

"Why?"

There was no answer, only the cold, unyielding silence. Samuel curled up on the floor, wrapping his arms around himself in a futile attempt to find comfort. "Why why why why why?!!" His thoughts drifted to the future, to the unknown fate that awaited him. "FUCK WHY?!" He tried to steel himself, to prepare for whatever horrors lay ahead, and to just not cry but it seemed impossible now. He was being sold. Like someone who had no life, no thoughts, no family.

The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside. Samuel looked up, his eyes red and swollen from crying. The man was tall and impeccably dressed. He had expected some fat, old, pervert which this man was definitely not. He could still be a pervert but he wanted to cancel that situation out the most.

“Hello.” he said, his voice smooth and condescending slightly leaning down to see Samuel's face properly.

This fucker. He was talking to him like one would to a cat. Swears were burning up at his throat with tears that unfortunately only heavied when he saw the man. He wanted to punch, kick, swear, kill him but the only thing he managed out was- "G-Get away.."

The man’s gaze remained impassive, his eyes cold and calculating as he took in Samuel’s defiant posture. “Oh, come now,” he said, his tone patronizing yet unbothered by the hostility. “I’m here to finalize the details of your new life. You’ll find it’s quite different from the one you’ve left behind.”

Samuel’s heart raced faster, the blood pounding in his ears. The man’s words seemed to echo in the empty room, mingling with the remnants of Samuel’s fading hope. He could barely focus on the man’s features, his mind a tumult of panic and resignation.

The man continued, unperturbed by Samuel’s pleas. “You should be grateful. Not many get to experience such... exclusive treatment. Rather, you would've already been beaten down for not giving proper respect to your owner.” He gestured dismissively towards the door. “Now, we'll discuss the rules when we reach home.”

Grateful? How could he be grateful for being bought like an object, for having his humanity stripped away? How could anyone be grateful when being treated like this? His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he tried to hold back the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

“Who... who are you?” Samuel managed to choke out, his voice trembling.

The man straightened, a smile playing on his lips. “My name is Marcus Caldwell. And you, Samuel, are now my property.”

Samuel’s stomach turned at the word. He wasn’t a person anymore, just a possession, a thing to be owned. His mind raced, desperately and he almost didn't even notice the needle now in the man's hand.

"No no no no no noo get away!" The man was on him in seconds with the needle stabbed into his arm. Samuel screeched, his back arching at the rough treatment.

"Shhh.. It's for your safety, love. Just until we reach home."

That wasn't his home. His home was- oh.. he didn't have a home.. Tears filled his eyes with black spots forming in front of them.

Just how many times was he going to be drugged in this life?

Next(soon to come)

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@vampiresprite/ @lucas--43

[tumblingdownthefoxden]

HEAR ME OUT

Here me out here please

These 4

On a double date

@annymation @signed-sapphire @wings-of-sapphire @oh-shtars @uva124 @peapeapeapa @thisnameisnotspokenfor @kstarsarts @chillwildwave @rascalentertainments @spectator-zee

What would happen?

[urproblematicfav-arsonk]

normal brained: haha Al is enby because gender is a performance and he's a showy guy!!

galaxy brain: Alastor is agender because he's an anarchist who hates the status quo, and gender is just another form of capitalism and colonialism, two things that directly hurt him and his mother. He's also hyperaware of how necessary his masculinity was as a mixed black person trying to get by with passing as white, and his failure to perform his gender would've resulted in more social punishment then he was already dealing with with being mixed AND asexual. When in reality his sense of gender is more or less just as meaningful or necessary as his hair color, now that he doesn't have all those stessers hurting him. Fuck you, I'm he/him woman-ing that fucking deer

[this-acuteneurosis]

Secret, Secret

Padmé is having a great time talking to her boss and Leia is reminded that not everyone is as traumatized and paranoid as she is. Or in the way she remembers.

[daybringersol]

Guys. Guys we can make Prime make sense. I swear. Guys.

If this can help any Prime Defenders authors out there, here's how I'm working out the problems with Prime being a different planet than Earth while still being so similar (including having french & italian-american people). Feel free to use if it's of any help and/or twist it around for your purposes; if I can save someone a headache, I'll be happy, I sure got a bunch trying to make any sense out of this.

// tw slavery mention, colonisation mention

Earth is a late-stage capitalism hellscape, and tries to colonize Prime to get away from their crumbling planet. Prime stops them, since with their superpowers, they are infinitely more powerful than humans. Earth panics and sends them workers (taken from colonized communities) as peace offerings (2073). Prime is shocked at being sent what are essentially slaves, just frees them and cuts contact with Earth. So now in every major city, there are diasporas of different human communities, who have, over multiple generations, proliferated, kept & adapted their traditions, and started getting powers. Actual artifacts from Earth are extremely rare and often passed down generations.

If we really want to work in the idea that France is its own planet, as mentioned by Bizly in one of the Rolleds (though I'm pretty sure it is a joke), we could say that french people managed to escape Earth and its climate crisis by finding an habitable planet big enough for a (relatively) small country like France, while too small for the rest of Earth.

The reason that primeans are so similar to humans is because the conditions in which the population lived to grow to this degree were similar to Earth, and thus they've evolved similarly. The reason some things have different names on Prime than on Earth, while some words stay the same (for exemple, brands) is because humans brought their knowledge of technology here, tried to remake what they remembered from Earth to make themselves at home, and some of those became popular even with primeans.

Gender as an idea is most prevalent in human communities, as most primeval languages are gender-neutral. Some primeans have decided to play with gender themselves, though they don’t always seem to really understand its rules. Story is written in english, which is one of Mark's native languages (in my fic, his dad is italian-american & his mom is quebecoise) and thus gendered language is used through the eye of Mark (works for my fic, I don't know about yours), who was raised with gender being associated to a person's perceived sex. How Mark interprets people's gender might not have anything to do with their actual genitalia or other hidden sex characteristics.

Lexicon :

Of Prime: Primeval (Adjective.)

Original prime resident (According to humans.): Prim (Noun. Plural: prims. Familiar, somewhat derogatory.)

Original prime resident (According to themselves.): Primean (Noun & adjective. Plural: primeans. Neutral. Means resident of Prime, which would include current human residents, but not used as such. Can also be used as an adjective for things related to Prime.)

Human: Human (Noun & adjective. Plural: humans. Neutral, though sometimes used derogatorily.)

[reanniee]

fortune doesn't favor fools

aventurine x reader

notes: hinted nsfw, angst, gn reader, mention of slavery, mention of abuse, mention of sa word count: 2.7k

the esteemed aventurine of the ten stonehearts revels in the presence of a gamble. he rises at the mention of a bet and is quick to set the stakes. it is where he exceeds, afterall.

it is his fortune that grants you your freedom, afterall. it is his gamble that brought him his own freedom, after all.

aventurine is quick to make bets, whether the odds are against him or not. no matter the odds, no matter his disadvantages, the esteemed aventurine of the ten stonehearts always wins.

it is his mere luck, he will say. all he does is for the thrill of the gamble. aventurine takes any bets, as he knows he will win.

though, there is one thing aventurine refuses to take a chance with–you.

aventurine will only take gambles where he knows he will succeed. aventurine only takes bets where he knows he is at an advantage. aventurine will only take chances he knows he can outsmart.

aventurine cannot bring himself to be with you.

the esteemed aventurine of the ten stonehearts chooses to live his life to the fullest. offering himself as collateral and sacrificing his life all for the sake of winning. it is that very reason that he refuses to involve himself with you–at least anymore that you are already.

he keeps you at a distance.

despite aventurine’s warnings, his pleas to himself to keep you away and out of his life–his ruined life–kakavasha cannot bring himself to do so. thus, he keeps you in his life, in his sight, all as to make sure you are alive.

kakavasha refuses to let anything happen to you again, and aventurine chooses to comply with his dead friend’s wish.

it is that very wish that he cannot involve himself in you–in your life. as anything more than an employer, that is. he cannot bring you into his world, not anymore that you already are. you have suffered enough because of him, and he refuses to cause you anymore grief.

the esteemed aventurine of the ten stonehearts does not want you.

aventurine does not want to hold you. he does not want to kiss you. he does not want to reassure all your worries. he does not want to replace all your horrible experiences of ‘love’ with new ones. he does not want to love you.

not one bit.

the very thought of it does not cross his mind.

afterall, the esteemed aventurine of the ten stonehearts refuses to be touched by anyone, ever again. the mention of the very act disgusts him to his core. he refuses to take part in such acts. they have no use to aventurine, a stoneheart. so, why would he desire for you to do so?

you two share the same scars. you two were cut by the same knife. 

he knows how you feel–as he feels the same. you both underwent the same experiences, the same memories. so you must feel as he does. you must feel the same sense of disgust, embarrassment, and humiliation. the same that he does.

so, he will be strong. he will protect you, alongside himself, alongside kakavasha.

that is why, as the two of you share a drink, he is sure to keep his eyes on you. he is sure to watch you–to protect you.

“ah, this one is a special honey flavor”

the female across from the two IPC members spoke.

aventurine currently sat next to you, resting against the couch. in front of him sat a wealthy young woman who held a large bottle in her hand. a coffee table separated the couches.

he watched as you tilted your head, seemingly staring at the bottle. the woman laughed in response.

“it’s alcohol, sweetie. would you like some?”

he watched as you paused for a moment before slowly shaking your head.

“no thank you, ma’am.”

the woman laughed again.

“what’s the matter, sweetie? it isn’t all that strong”

you shook your head again.

“i’m alright, really.”

“ahhh, so a lightweight you are?”

he watched as you tensed up. he lightly clicked his tongue. 

it was unfortunate that you were forced to be here. he had been discussing with the woman regarding the ipc’s deals before she spotted you, and beckoned for you to join their conversation.

“ah, well.. yeah, i guess”

“you guess?”

he watched as you paused and redirected your gaze.

“i’m not a huge fan of alcohol”

the woman merely raised an eyebrow.

he knew. of course, he knew. he knew why you were so nervous, so alert. he knew why you hated alcohol. afterall, he isn’t a fan of it himself. and the two of you shared the same scars.

“well, this lovely thing’ll change your mind. specially imported from the xianzhou. be a dear and pour her a glass.”

the woman motioned towards one of her bodyguards.

aventurine watched as you gulped and slightly shrinked into yourself. he watched as you looked towards him. he sighed and sent you a nod and a slightly smile. he watched as you hesitantly smiled back.

“and you, aventurine?”

“go on, i’ll try some”

oh, how he dreaded those words. 

he was indifferent towards alcohol. it was an important and necessary tool for garnering relations and deals, so he did not mind. the taste was not all too bad, sometimes. the only thing he dreaded were the occasional memories that came along with the drink, the memories of the past–of a past person, of kakavasha.

as the esteemed aventurine of the ten stonehearts, he enjoyed alcohol and the act of drinking. he could easily push his memories aside, as the aventurine now had a job to do. though, he knows that you are not the same. while he is now aventurine, he knows that you are still and have always been you.

his mood becomes slightly annoyed. forced to play nice, forced to act in order to garner a deal. forced to watch as the memories of the past resurface his own mind as well as yours. he does not like this one bit, though he hopes you are able to endure the situation for just a little. after, he’ll be sure to indirectly apologize by taking you on a trip, perhaps.

he watches how you are silent as he and the woman continue to converse, regularly taking small sips of the honeyed drink. he watched as the woman looks to you, telling you to join them and take a sip of your drink, and to at least finish a glass or two–after all this stuff is quite hard to get and expensive.

as you finished your first glass, it wasn’t long before the conversation switched back to you.

“so, whens the last time you’ve been able to let loose like this and just have some fun?”

the woman asked. there was an obvious flush on your face from the alcohol. you paused for a moment, before averting her gaze and answering.

“it’s… it’s been a lot of years”

he watched as your expression dropped. he knew. god, he had to finish this up already.

“she doesn’t enjoy drinking, that’s all. it’s not quite the hobby for everyone”

the woman glanced at him, laughing slightly before turning her attention back to you.

“and why is that?”

he watched as you paused, before your eyes widened. he could feel as your whole body began to tremor.

“the taste isn’t for everyone”

he quickly interjected.

“ah, is that so?”

“now then, back to the shareholder?”

“ah, yes. my apologies”

the two refocused their discussion. aventurine’s words became slightly hostile towards the woman, urgent to wrap up the deal.

the woman had poured you another drink. quite stubborn this woman was. you understood the importance of a deal, of keeping an appearance in the ipc. he watched as you hesitantly accepted the drink.

the two continued to converse whilst drinking, slowly emptying the lavish bottle. whilst you had been working on your second glass, aventurine kept up with the pace of the woman, nearly both on their seventh.

you had slightly scooted closer to him, now able to feel how your entire body shake as you tensed up. you were silent, and zoned out. he knew.

he sighed deeply as he placed his gloved hand over your shaky ones, sending you a firm, reassuring squeeze as he glanced at you. your eyes were frightened, terrified. he knew. he had to wrap this up quicker.

“so then, we have a deal?”

the woman held up her glass towards aventurine. he smiled, and brought his up in response, clinking the glasses together and finishing the rest of the glass. the woman got up, sent a final smile and goodbye wave towards the two, before exiting the room, leaving you and aventurine.

as the doors closed, you let out a deep breath, slightly panting. your cheeks were flushed an intense red, as your entire body continued to shake. you looked down as sweat ran down your body.

he knew.

he knew. he knew what you were thinking of. he knew what was going through your mind. he knew what memories were resurfacing. 

he quickly used both of his gloved hands to gently cup your face, turning you to face him. he watched as your eyes widened, slightly in shock at his actions. he watched as a tear ran down your face.

“i’m sorry. you shouldn’t have gotten involved.”

he watched as your lip quivered as more tears threatened to spill from your eyes. he moved to wipe the tear from your eye as you grabbed him, pulling him into a hug. 

you were leaned forward on the couch, hands desperately clutching onto the back of his coat as you placed your chin on his shoulder, leading your head onto his.

he was stunned for a moment, hesitant. he could not hold you like this, he really couldn’t. he cannot, for the sake of both of you. though, it is his fault you are in this position, so he will be selfish just this once.

he slowly wraps his hands around you, one wrapped around your back as the other was gently placed on the back of your head. he felt you shake, he felt your tears, he felt your rapid, heavy breaths.

aventurine was good with words, though when it came to you–he was at a loss.

all he could do was sit here. sit here with you in his arms. he could not say anything. he sat, comforting you for an hour. he would do it again, for as long as it takes.

he notices as you slump your head against his shoulder, your eyes closing. he notices your grip slightly weaken. he stands, holding onto you as he makes his way to your room.

the alcohol had gotten to you.

he sighs as walks down the halls, finding your room. you lightly stir as he walks whilst he caresses your hair. you hadn’t taken the alcohol well. you never did.

he finds himself at the entrance of your door, turning the knob and entering the room. soft, minimal, and cozy–as you were. he spots your bed, walking towards it as he places you down on it. your shut eyes slightly furrow in your sleep.

a small frown finds his face as he sighs. he brushes a strand of hair out of your face before turning to leave, stopped by a weak grip.

“aventurine…”

you voice is slightly groggy, eyes fighting to stay open. he sighs.

“go to bed”

he speaks as he places his other hand on yours, removing your grab off of him. he turns again, this time cut off by a grip onto his back, onto his coat.

“don’t... don’t leave me”

he pauses for a moment before turning to face you. sat up in your bed as a sense of desperation washed over you. tears threatened to spill as your eyes were wide open. you were shaking and slightly panting.

aventurine cannot bring himself to be with you.

he cannot be with you, as to save both you and himself. but, at your current state, he will stay. if only to comfort you.

he breathes deeply as he sits on the edge of the bed, facing away. you continue to clench onto his sleeve, as if he’ll leave if you falter for just a moment.

“i won’t. i’m right here”

“...promise?”

he pauses, his eyes slightly widen.

“of course.”

you let out a shaky breath.

it is silent for a moment before you speak.

“aventurine…”

“...yes?”

your breaths continue to become more shaky as you quietly speak.

“please hold me”

his eyes widen at your request. he notices how both your hands seem to grip onto his coat tightly. you are fully sat up, staring at him with half-lidded eyes as he turns.

his breath hitches.

the esteemed aventurine of the ten stonehearts does not want you. you have suffered enough because of him, and he refuses to cause you anymore grief. he refuses to reawaken old memories. he refuses to reopen your scars.

the alcohol had gotten to you.

he sighs. he will only hold you. he will only hold you in his arms. he will only provide you comfort–a sense of someone being there. he does not want you–for now he acts as a mere replacement for comfort. a mere replacement as he waits for you to meet someone you love. someone you cherish. someone you meet naturally.

aventurine is fully sat on the bed, his legs crossed as he opens his arms, a gesture for you. you quickly lean into him, moving to sit in his lap and accept his embrace. 

you are quiet for a moment, still as your arms are wrapped around his shoulders, quiet as your cheek is pressed against his shoulder. he feels your rapid heartbeat as you remain silent. he feels your breaths against his neck.

it is a moment before you clumsily take his coat off of him, struggling.

“hey.”

you continue to take his coat off.

“hey, you’re–you’re drunk.”

as the coat drops off his body, you look up to meet his eyes. his beautiful eyes. they widen as you press your chest to his and lean up, inching closer to his face.

“[name]?”

he can feel your heartbeat so clearly. it’s rhythm so fast, pressed up against his. he can feel your breaths on his bare neck. the feeling sending shivers down his spine.

“please… please aventurine”

he watched as you move your arms up to lightly grab onto his collar. the red flush unable to cover the clear desperation on your face. your voice is low, quiet, and tired.

the alcohol had gotten to you.

“please… just make me forget”

his eyes widened, frozen.

you bring your soft, small hands to gently cup his face. he hesitated, before quietly speaking.

“you don’t want this”

he places his hands on your wrists, moving to push your hands off his face.

the memories wash over you two. they still continue to. you more so than him. he knows this. he knows.

how could he bring himself to reawaken them further? how could he ever harm you more? he cannot. he will not.

his avgin eyes move to meet yours.

“replace my memories, please, aventurine”

his movements pause. he stares directly at you.

he cannot involve himself in your life any further. because of him, you are like this. because of him, you are forced to remember the past. because of him, you are in pain, again.

“help me forget”

aventurine does not need you. aventurine does not want you. aventurine does not love you.

he knows this.

“please, aventurine”

aventurine does not want to need you. aventurine does not want to be with you. aventurine does not want to love you.

and yet, he knows he does.

“i need you”

in a moment his lips are on yours.

your hands move to wrap around his neck as his move their way to your waist.

the kiss is tender, gentle, embracing. unalike anything you two had ever experienced. it’s new. it’s soft. it’s love.

he pulls apart, breathless. his eyes widened as he shakes his head.

“we–we need to stop. we need to stop this”

he knows he needs to. he knows.

“do–do you want to?”

no

how could he ever

[honourablejester]

OHSHC Slave AU Outline

A random outline for an incredibly detailed AU fic for Ouran High School Host Club that I’ve had running in my head for years despite the fact that a) I’m never going to write it, and b) I last watched this anime like a decade ago

WARNINGS for slavery, sexual slavery, magically enforced obedience, and several other nasty things. I have no idea why a pretty functional reverse harem show was the thing that inspired a hardcore slave AU for me, but apparently here we are?

(For the record: yes I shipped HaruKyou and also TamaHaruKyou. This will be obvious. Also, if anyone recognises some concepts from a certain Dishonored fic of mine, this was the origin of them. It’s been in my head for quite a few years)

Again, this is not a fic. This is an incredibly long and detailed outline of a fic that I am almost certainly never going to actually write, but I do want to exorcise it a little bit. Heh.

The basic premise:

For more than two centuries, the heirs of a coalition of Japan’s richest families have been sacrificed to a magic box, the Ouran Device, as payment for an ancient crime against another family. Those heirs are not killed, however. They are transported to the dimension within the box to live as ‘chevaliers’, slave-champions of a series of ‘Princesses’ of the wronged families, who seek to gather all the chevaliers and all the keys to the box through a series of challenges against each other, in a great ‘game’ that will see the victor (and her chevaliers) emerge from the box back into the real world to rule over the coalition of families as Queen.

No one, chevalier, princess or queen, has ever emerged from the Ouran Device since the sacrifices were established. Whatever has happened in there, it would seem that none of the original princesses has yet managed to successfully claim their birthright.

The wronged family has all but died out in the years since that great crime, however, and while the sacrifice is magically mandated, many of the other families have begun to find ways to cheat the system. Primarily, nominating false, sacrificial heirs to take the hit, while grooming their true heirs to rule the family. The Suoh and Ootori families in particular have become notorious for this.

Not everyone in those families is happy with the path they’ve taken, however. When Yuzuru Suoh’s only son is sacrificed to the box by his mother, for the ‘crime’ of being illegitimate, the chairman sets out to change to change that path by whatever means present themselves.

By happy chance, an heir of the wronged family does still exist, though unknowingly. The last illegitimate daughter of the house became a lawyer and married a commoner, and gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Her disowning by her family, and later death, kept that little bit of information from all but the most dedicated of investigators, but Yuzuru has all the money and motive in the world to hire extremely dedicated investigators. He learns of the heir’s existence.

And so, one day, a strange little puzzle box is delivered to the Fujioka household. And a young woman named Haruhi gets abruptly sucked into a life and a challenge like none she’s ever faced. The first new ‘princess’ to be drawn into the Ouran Device in decades, she upsets the game in many, many more ways than one.

Her first chevalier is Kyouya Ootori, by dint of him being recently short of a princess when Haruhi abruptly arrives in the box. Kyouya, traded away from the people he was determined to protect by a sadistic princess, and despite being magically compelled to obey and unable to lie to his mistress, still managed to get her killed by carefully misleading her as to certain risks in the game. He had hoped to use his new-found relative freedom to fight his own mission, and initially does not take being enslaved to a new princess, thrown into the box just for him, at all well.

But Haruhi is nothing like any other princess. She, like Kyouya, wants out. No power, no prize, just freedom, because she’s left a wounded father behind her who has no idea where his daughter has gone or who took her, and Haruhi will not let that stand. She will get back to him.

And Kyouya, recognising a shared goal, and tentatively willing to work with his new princess as long as it also gets him what he wants, agrees to help seek the keys and get out.

On the sole condition that she first seeks out and wins possession of five other chevaliers first. Kaoru and Hikaru Hiitachin. Mitsukuni Haninozuka. Takashi Morinozuka. And, last but so very much not least, Tamaki Suoh. The beautiful, broken-hearted prince who had seduced several princesses in order to prevent them from breaking or selling a defiant Shadow King who could never quite conceal his disdain from them.

Kyouya will help Haruhi escape, all right. He’ll do just about anything under the box’ false sun. As long as she gets his people out as well.

And so begins their game. The Commoner Princess and her Shadow King, facing off against all the brutal, sadistic games of Princesses and their Chevaliers. Struggling to win Kyouya’s chosen family free from their mistresses without losing anything vital in the process. Struggling to gain and keep enough keys to earn their freedom. And struggling, most importantly, to trust each other, in a strange new world where princesses like Haruhi hold all the most brutal cards, and Kyouya has already successfully killed one princess regardless.

Not to mention the machinations of all the other sacrificed heirs inside the box. No one dies in the Ouran Device unless they’re killed. There are two hundred years’ worth of brutalised, sacrificed chevaliers in there. Some of them, by dint of the same sort of vicious cunning Kyouya can lay claim to, possessing freedom and/or keys. Some of them holding means to bar the way.

And then, once they do successfully win their freedom and escape the Ouran Device, Kyouya, his friends, and his Commoner Queen must then struggle to navigate the cut-throat games of the real world, and the families who will do anything to avoid honouring the centuries-old cost demanded of them, to give everything they own and have built to the rulership of some illegitimate commoner brat of a queen (who can somewhat see their point, honestly, but doesn’t appreciate their methods or their treatment of her friends).

I have a LOT of scenes from this AU in my head:

Kyouya and Haruhi’s extremely tense first few days.

Kyouya darkly and challengingly explaining the facts of life to her, as brutally as possible, while also keeping back as many pertinent facts as his paranoid brain thinks he can get away with.

Kyouya failing to quite mention just how sadistic his previous mistress, and most other princesses in the game, can get, until Haruhi has to face it directly herself later on.

Haruhi slowly realising over the course of several encounters that very few people left in this game are really trying to win anymore. All but the most recent sacrifices have simply been stuck too long. Even the princesses are just going through the motions, and using the conventions of the ‘game’ to endlessly one up each other and win petty prizes and the prettiest new chevaliers from each other.

Haruhi and Kyouya winning the twins, and Haruhi realising that the relationship between princesses and their chevaliers very often has a horrific sexual element. Kaoru has followed Tamaki’s path, trying to pacify and appease, while Hikaru has followed Kyouya’s, much less subtly and successfully, and both of them have paid the price for it.

That breathless moment where Kyouya watches Haruhi realise the kind of power she has over them and him, and waits belligerently for her to use it.

The sort of weird half-hope, half-trust he dares have that maybe she won’t, after working beside her for the little time they’ve had.

Kyouya fully intending to goad her and control her into choosing him if she is going to use that power. He’s not going through what happened with Tamaki again. He’s not letting anyone step in front of him again.

Haruhi realising, in one moment, exactly what’s happening in this place, what Kyouya needs to rescue his friends from, and instantly and silently determining that they are getting out. All of them. She’s going to win them for him, and she is going to get them out.

Her realising that doing so means leaving everyone else behind (I feel like she met Nekozawa in particular), but just having to hope that there will be a way once the game is won to come back for them, because she’s fought a challenge now, and knows there’s very likely no way to clear the board and rescue everyone in one shot. There are too many princesses, and their hold is too entrenched. She might lose someone if she tried, and she doesn’t think Kyouya can stand to lose someone.

The twins deeply distrusting, resenting and even hating Haruhi at first, Hikaru angry and defensive, Kaoru watchful and mistrusting, but both of them also being extremely weirded out by how much she apparently lets Kyouya get away with. They served the same princess several times over the two and a half years they’ve all been in the box. They’ve never seen him not be brutalised for kind of things Haruhi casually lets him say and do.

Do they trust her? Or just trust him, that he’s somehow got her safely manipulated the right way?

And then they go after keys, and they win a couple, and they start getting a reputation. Or Haruhi starts getting a reputation, as an upstart newcomer (who let her in?) who’s upsetting the game and doing alarming things like trying to win.

Kyouya realises, and sets out to secure the rest of the group before the paranoia of the other princesses locks them out completely.

He didn’t want to, despite the knowledge of what Honey, Mori and Tamaki were going through, simply because he didn’t think Haruhi was in a good enough position and experienced enough at the game to win. The princesses holding Honey and Tamaki in particular are … not prone to losing challenges. And are prone to inflicting fatal or agonising losses on their challengers.

But needs must when the devil drives. They go after Honey. And they fail. At least partially. Haruhi staves off the loss of one of the others, offers a key to win a loan of Honey instead, but they don’t secure his full freedom. She only wins him for a round of challenges, unless she’s willing to keep paying keys to keep him.

At least Honey is safe enough with them and not serving at his princess’ pleasure, but it’s not enough of a win to take him with them when they leave, not while she still has a claim to him.

And they need keys to escape. To get out of the box. They can’t keep sacrificing keys to keep him.

But they put it aside for a while. Desperately. Kyouya points them at Mori instead, and they do successfully win him. They win another key, trade it for more time. All they need is Tamaki. Fourteen keys. And one more shot at Honey’s challenge.

Tamaki is the hard one. His princess enjoys a certain type of challenge. Especially when she knows Kyouya is one of the chevaliers on offer for him.

She’s the one who owned them together. Kyouya and Tamaki. She was the one who almost killed Kyouya many times over, the one Tamaki put on his best courtesan face to protect him from. She would love to win Kyouya again. She’s heard interesting stories about him. What he’s gotten away with. What he did to the princess she sold him to. She’d love to ‘entertain’ him again.

And her challenges are challenges of obedience. Which princess can best use the magic of the Ouran Device to control her chevaliers. Mostly by magically forcing them to do horrific things to themselves.

Kyouya doesn’t know if Haruhi can do that. Time and challenge after challenge have shown him that … she truly isn’t interested in hurting him, or anyone else, never mind sadistically forcing them to hurt themselves. She’s as far from a typical princess as he could have gotten, and that has been every wonder and hope for him, but now …

For once, he wishes he had a different princess. A proper, more vicious princess. One he could use and sell without a qualm, and trust that she would do the same to him, only hopefully less effectively. Just for this one game. This one sacrifice.

But he volunteers for the challenge anyway. And Haruhi, grim-faced, stands by him for it.

The princess sends Tamaki. Of course she does.

And it’s horrible. It’s all horrible. The challenge is who can force their chevalier with the least resistance. Who owns their slaves most completely. She was betting on Kyouya still being as recalcitrant and defiant as ever. On Haruhi having to fight harder and more brutally just to keep up. Kyouya’s easy and instant obedience, much more instant than Haruhi’s willingness to give orders, deeply frustrates her, and she takes it out on the target she has to hand. Tamaki. It’s horrible. It’s all very, very horrible.

And they’re not winning. Again, like Honey, they’re not winning. The princess is easily willing to kill Tamaki before surrendering him. Willing to make him kill himself first. Haruhi is not willing to kill Kyouya. They can’t keep up.

But the orders being given are traded between princesses. To show off how brutal they’re willing to be. Once you match your opponent’s order, you get to give your own for her to match.

So Haruhi does something different. Something she did not run by Kyouya first. He’s been her Shadow King in every other challenge. She’s gone with and trusted his advice first, because he knows the game and the ground better than her, and he’s almost never led her wrong.

But it isn’t working here. So she does something different.

The challenge is the most instant obedience. The better a chevalier follows the order. And to win, the other princess has to match her order.

So Haruhi orders Kyouya to raise his sword and, when she gives the order, to swing it at her. At her throat. With all his strength. And to stop again the instant she says the word.

Kyouya is not amused. Not in the absolute slightest. But Haruhi is his princess. And he has no choice.

The blade stops a millimeter into her neck. Just breaking the skin. He pulled the blow the first instant he could, barely as the ‘stop’ had started, but it hit her anyway. It made her bleed.

He’s never been able to make a princess bleed himself before. And this was the one princess he didn’t want to.

Not least because, if she dies, she takes all their hopes with them.

Haruhi blinks mildly at the blood, and shrugs at her slow timing on ‘stop’. Kyouya is doing his best not to have a fit of apoplexy on the spot. The other four are clutching each other behind her.

Tamaki, who knows nothing about Haruhi at all, is staring at her in half-horrified confusion.

And his princess, meeting Haruhi’s calm, steady, defiant gaze, knows this is a challenge she cannot answer. Because Tamaki, because any chevalier of hers, will obey with all fury on ‘swing’, and resist with all their might on ‘stop’. She knows they will. There is no one she has ever held who will not gladly take the chance to kill her. All they need is to resist for a bare second on that second command, and the blade will have sliced her throat. Even Haruhi, with all Kyouya’s unlikely obedience on her side, did not escape without a wound.

She forced a challenge of obedience. Haruhi has turned it around into a challenge of trust. And there is no princess left in this game who can win that challenge against her.

She concedes, with an ugly lack of grace. And Tamaki is safely theirs.

Tamaki has … absolutely no idea what to think of this. What to think of her. Haruhi. Especially when Kyouya immediately muscles her up against the wall as soon as they’re alone (guess what scene I’m referencing), something suicidal with any other princess, and Haruhi apologises for forcing him. To hurt her. Instead of anything more sane or reasonable. Tamaki has no idea what to do with that.

To be fair, apparently neither does Kyouya.

Mostly because he’s been functioning under the idea that, as ridiculously decent a person as she is for a princess, she’s still been doing this for their initial reasoning: to get what they each want. In her case, getting out, and saving Kyouya’s friends to buy his cooperation to do it. He has no idea why she might let him potentially kill her, because that’s just … not a sane gamble in a working relationship. What? Either she trusts him, which is ridiculous, or she’s willing to get fatally hurt to help him, which is not better, and he’s honestly having a bit of a meltdown.

To which Haruhi responds that of course he wasn’t going to kill her. He needs her alive. And besides. She knows him by now. If he ever really tried to kill her, it would be because she deserved it.

Like her predecessor. The one he did kill. Because she deserved it.

So … worst of both worlds? She fully trusts in his mercenary priorities. She’s apparently perfectly fine with the idea that he can and will kill her later, on moral grounds, if she does something to deserve it. And in the meantime, she’s perfectly willing to stand under his sword and let him decide if that time is now or not.

Which … yeah, Kyouya’s not able for that. He’s going to go have a meltdown now, and Haruhi can go fix the bleeding cut in her neck, fuck, and then he turns around and there’s Tamaki and nope, not dealing with that either.

General meltdowns is the theme here, essentially.

And then we have Tamaki trying to deal with and understand everything, and Kyouya doing everything in his power not to admit to him that he did all of this to get the people Tamaki befriended back for him, and Tamaki being the paranoid one for a change, because he has the least and honestly most stressful experience of Haruhi, and what is happening here? What’s happening?

But they’re running out of time. Honey’s on the clock, they only have partial claim over him, they need to get him and themselves fully out before time runs out.

And Kyouya, extremely shaken and suddenly very determined not to sacrifice Haruhi or anything that might remotely look like it, for no particular reason at all, shut the fuck up, secretly starts setting them up to get Honey free by sacrificing one of the others. Specifically, himself, because he killed his princess once, and if the others get out, if Haruhi gets them out, then he’s the best placed to simply kill another one again and live out his life down here as an independent chevalier.

He almost gets away with it. Almost gets them to a deal with a very specific princess. Fortunately, though, both Honey and Mori know said princess, and they warn Haruhi, and Haruhi … forces a stop. Forces Kyouya to stop. Again.

She gets him to admit the plan, because chevaliers cannot lie to their princess if said princess specifically demands the truth.

Nobody is happy with him. Nobody’s necessarily surprised, mind you, but they’re not remotely happy with him. Tamaki is trying not to die. Hikaru is trying not to strangle him. Honey and Mori are doing wonderful impressions of disapproving statues planted solidly in his path.

(Kaoru somewhat gets it, actually. He’s not going to tell anyone that, especially not Haruhi or Hikaru, but he does kind of get it. He respects the decision, even if he’s glad it won’t be followed through).

And Haruhi …

All of us or none. That was the deal. Seven in, seven out. Kyouya.

He stares mutinously back at her. Every bit the defiant Shadow King that the other princesses tried to destroy. Exactly that face.

What’s the other plan, Haruhi asks. Gently enough, because she has his number by now. What’s the plan he doesn’t want to use?

… There’s an ex-chevalier. One who’d freed himself, the same way Kyouya had freed himself. By killing his princess. And he has keys. He’s been collecting keys. And favours. He’s been viciously and determinedly preserving his own freedom, and gouging princesses for anything he can get, for … maybe fifty years. Maybe a hundred. Who knows anymore? He can get them the keys to win. He likely has leverage over Honey’s princess. He can give them the tools to get out, almost in a single shot. He’s everything they could possibly want.

If they can persuade him. To let a princess win. To let a princess become a queen.

And the thing is, he’s said he’ll do it. A rumour Kyouya had heard oh, a long time ago. That this ex-chevalier, as lure or dare or something, had said he would give every key and favour he had, would allow a princess to claim her throne finally. If they were willing to do one very specific thing.

He hadn’t told his last princess precisely what that thing was. Kyouya. He’d let her enter the challenge and lay it all on the line before anyone told her. And when she furiously reneged …

Well. Kyouya had been short a princess. Just in time to get a new one.

The only other way out in time to keep Honey, the only way Kyouya can see that doesn’t involve sacrificing Kyouya himself, involves putting Haruhi in front of the weapon Kyouya had used to kill his previous princess. And ask her to pay his price.

A chevalier’s price. He suffered under several princesses. And all they have to do to get out is have a princess agree to suffer under him.

Under him. Very much literally.

A night. A night of torment. And they all go free.

Oh, says Haruhi. Exactly as he’d feared she would. Okay. That’s workable, then.

Kyouya cannot sell another person. Not to that. Not one of his. The whole point was to avoid that. But Haruhi is his princess, and Haruhi can demand, force, the truth from him, and this plan will work. This ex-chevalier does have enough keys. All they have to do is convince him to let them have them.

All Kyouya has to do is let someone else take the hit for him once more. Let someone get raped for him once more.

And they weirdly … they’ve all been through it. It’s what happens to chevaliers. They’ve all been through it. But Haruhi hasn’t. And for all the justice it would be to have a princess suffer as chevaliers have suffered … they can’t. The other five, they get why he wanted to avoid this now. Because this is not a princess. This is Haruhi. The most hope they’ve had since they were sacrificed to this place. And they don’t want her to get hurt. They don’t want her to suffer as they’ve suffered.

But she is their princess. And the decision is finally and irrevocably hers.

They go to challenge the chevalier.

Who greets Kyouya by name. Well, by surname, at least. Family name. Ootori. A wry acknowledgement. Because. When Haruhi entered the box, there were two ex-chevaliers the magic could have chosen to offer her as her starting chevalier. One recent, and one older. And the older chevalier knows full well that it was only his possession of keys that kept him from that fate, and remanded Kyouya to it instead. He has … a little bit of sympathy. But sympathy means nothing in the Ouran Device, and never has. But if Kyouya has managed to fool yet another princess onto his blade, well, he’ll happily oblige the younger knight.

Except things don’t go as he expected. There’s no blustering, no weaselling. This princess challenges him directly, and then agrees to his terms. Directly. While her chevaliers flinch around her. He demands that she submit to him, and she agrees.

And that … See. That’s a problem. That’s a problem, because if she agrees to his terms, and follows through, then he has to uphold his part. He has to surrender his keys. Which might mean this princess … might win. Might become a queen. And no one in the box knows anymore what actually happens if a princess wins, what powers a queen might have, but given everything else they have endured in the box, no one is looking forward to finding out. What more power could the box give someone? He doesn’t know. But what he’s afraid will happen is that it will give her the power of a princess over the families outside the box.

He's set his challenge because he knew for a fact that no princess inside the box would ever agree to it. Not even to win. They don’t want to anymore. The princesses have been here longer than anyone. They don’t know what the world is like anymore, what powers, if any, they would have there. Why would they sacrifice this perpetual, immortal playground, with playthings that they have absolute control over, and that will be refreshed periodically when they break them? Why would they allow themselves to be hurt, conquered, mastered to accomplish it? His entire aim has never been to actually see it through, it’s been to kill them when they forfeit.

But Haruhi bluntly agrees. And this viciously embittered ex-chevalier is suddenly very nervous.

So he tries to alter the challenge. He can’t recant it, not now that the challenge is offered and the opponent has agreed, but he tries to alter it. To clarify what he wants into something she can’t give him. Because no princess … because it’s something that no princess in this box could give him.

He clarifies that he doesn’t just want her body, he wants her virtue. Her virginity.

Because, as any chevalier can bitterly attest, no Ouran princess has any of that left to offer.

Everybody freezes. Because … Well. They know she’s never touched them. They know she’s never touched anyone inside the box. But outside …?

But Haruhi, who’d tensed up at his clarification as much as anyone, relaxes again. Completely. She’d been afraid he’d ask for something they don’t have. But this?

Yes, she says. She can do that. It’s agreed.

And it sweeps over the rest of them, everyone else in this room, that she … that she’s innocent. Not only in the sexual sense, not only in having something genuinely innocent to lose, but also that she … that she committed no crime. That what they’ve seen inside the box hasn’t been a lie. That she isn’t some late-game princess here for her own gains. That she genuinely didn’t know anything about this, that she genuinely hasn’t hurt anyone. She is no princess. Not as a chevalier defines a princess. She’s … innocent. And she’s offered something they didn’t know she had to lose, and something that they can’t repay.

(Tamaki, in the show, all caught up in the romance of a girl’s first kiss. That, but so much worse).

It goes straight through all of them. Tamaki, Hikaru, Kaoru, Mori, Honey. Kyouya. And it also …

Her opponent. He set that challenge because no princess could have met it. No princess could have met it. So if she can meet it …

But it’s too late now. Challenge is joined, and terms are agreed. Haruhi leaves her chevaliers behind and goes with him to fulfil her end of the bargain.

Kyouya is giving real and honest thought to gutting himself. Exactly as he had every time Tamaki lured a princess away from ‘entertaining’ him.

And Haruhi …

It’s awkward. More than horrifying, it’s awkward. Because he hadn’t actually wanted this either. He’d set the challenge as a goad, to win a lethal forfeit, but after nearly a hundred years of brutalisation, it’s not like he ever wanted to lay with another princess either. And certainly not … If she still has her virginity. Then this is not even justice, not even righteous payment for all she had inflicted on her own chevaliers. This is just him … Him being a princess. To someone else.

And Haruhi, despite her fear and her horror, has that sort of ruthless pragmatism about the whole thing that’s actually horrifying to him. Very suddenly he does not want to touch her.

But a deal is a deal. A challenge is a challenge. And the magic of the box enforces challenges.

He doesn’t … It isn’t … It’s not violent. He can’t be violent, or he’ll throw up, claw himself out of his own skin. And Haruhi … sort of realises that he’s struggling, that he’s on the verge of breaking. And this is not … this is nothing she wants. Nothing she wants to do. She’s petrified, and nauseous, and horrified, and hurt. But they’re both stuck now, and it’ll get them all out. There’s no way out but through. So she does try to be gentle. And it makes things a thousand times worse.

It's over as quickly as he can make it be over. His body has long been trained by previous princesses. It’ll do what’s necessary regardless of his horror. He does … He does hurt her. It’s unavoidable. He can’t … He can’t make himself take the care necessary to avoid it. He can’t give that much, not willingly, not to any princess. So he has to just make it quick instead. It’s not violent. It’s not sadistic. It’s as fast and as remote and as impersonal as he can make it. It’s horrible. The sickness of it sinks into both their guts.

And then afterwards …

He’d demanded the night. A cavalcade of horrors, to affront and terrify a princess into refusing. A night and her virginity. He’s taken the one. But he can’t escape without the other.

So Haruhi, lying there … she takes a while to get herself together. To shudder and cry and pull herself through it. And then she tries talking.

Because she hasn’t forgotten Nekozawa. Every other chevalier she’s seen suffering here, every other person she’ll have to leave. She can take her six with her, pull them out, keep them safe. But there are so many others that she can’t. So she has … she has to try.

Does he know what happens if there’s a queen? Does he know if that gives her power over the box? Will it let her get the rest of them out too?

Kyouya doesn’t know. None of the newer chevaliers know. It’s all been lost across the centuries. But he … he’s been here longer. She’s pretty sure. Does he know?

He cannot deal with it. Her. But …

He’s taken things that cannot be repaid. And she’s Queen now anyway, or will be after this night. Very shortly there won’t be choices anyway. So. What a question. What an unbelievable question. Far too much to hope, especially not for him, not when he’s hurt her. But why not try to help everyone else out?

He doesn’t know the powers of a Queen. But he does know that …

There was a scroll, a contract, kept with the box in his time. When the sacrifices were offered, it was done in sight of the contract. The thing that binds them all to this hell. That contract will have the details of what was agreed to, what is owed to her, and what she has the right to do. It’s kept by the families. Kept with the box. As queen, she would have the right to view it.

Will she …

He doesn’t want to ask. Doesn’t want to finish it. Never give a princess any of your hope. But she waits, and he has to ask.

Will she free them? If she has that power? Will she do it?

If she has that power, Haruhi responds immediately, she will free them. And if she doesn’t have that power, she will get it. If this is a contract? Her mother was a lawyer, and she will find a way to get that power. If she does nothing else. No one will stay inside this box.

He can’t answer that. Or believe it. And so the rest of the night passes in … in incredibly awkward silence. Haruhi actually sleeps. She’s so pragmatic. Hurt and horrified and so pragmatic. He wants to claw his way outside his skin. But he’s lain in agony alongside many a princess in his time. One more night is nothing.

In the morning, he escorts her back out to her chevaliers, all of them grey and sleepless and scrambling sickly to their feet. He meets Kyouya’s eyes, and has only his own horror to offer for the mirror he finds there. His own horror, and nine keys, the last they need to escape.

It doesn’t matter about the dangling deal for Honey. She’s won. Won the keys and won queenship. No princess in the box has any hold on her, or anything of hers, after that. They can … They can go free. All of them.

Before she does, though. The keys in her hand, freedom in her hand. Haruhi turns, and asks her … asks the man who hurt her.

If she’s queen now. If the game is won. Does that mean the princesses no longer have power?

It hits like a lightning bolt. Even as they vanish. Even as they disappear before him. It hits like a thunderbolt from the sky.

The game is won. The challenge is complete. The princesses, the remaining princesses, lost. So what happens to the losers? Will the magic still protect them? Vicious anticipation rushes through him, because the Ouran Device has never been merciful. So he very much doubts it.

Maybe they can’t be free from the box. Maybe this queen won’t keep her word. But maybe that doesn’t mean there can’t be changes inside the box.

The price for his actions against his queen may yet call due. But in the meantime.

And Haruhi and her chevaliers …

Seven bodies appear, abruptly, in a tiny room, and tumble onto a wooden floor. Next to a box propped on a table. Seven bodies fall out, no longer dressed in the magical finery of the Ouran Device, but in the clothes they wore days or months or years ago when they first entered it. Seven bodies tumble out onto the floor. And then lie very still. In terror … In terror that it’s not what they hope, that it’s something else, something worse. Everyone freezes.

But Haruhi … she knows this room. She recognises this room. So she scrambles up first.

Is it real? She looks at Kyouya. Instantly, instinctively. Her shadow king, who’s guided her through everything. Kyouya. Is it real? But he can’t answer. He’s too terrified. He can’t answer. So Haruhi scrambles over to him and …

Orders him. Orders him to stand up and answer her.

And he resists. Instinctively. The reason so many princesses had brutalised him. Because his defiance is bedrock, carefully cultivated, a grim viciousness that’s haunted even his interactions with Haruhi. As it should. As she knew it would. She knew he’d balk.

And in the box, the magic would have forced him to compliance. But here …

He braces for it automatically. Braces for the unnatural demand, for the magic to force him to his feet. But it doesn’t come. It doesn’t come. He freezes out of sheer shock. Realisation. Terror. His princess ordered him, and he’s not moving. He’s not being forced to move. The seconds tick on, and the relentless grip around his body and his will does not come.

They realise what’s happening. All of them. They realise what it means.

And Haruhi beams in relief, and flings her arms around him. It’s over, she whispers, hugging him desperately. It’s real, it’s over. We got out. It’s real. We’re out.

She breaks down in sobs onto his chest, and Kyouya …

He can’t respond. He can’t make himself. He can’t believe it.

No one ever gets out of the box. Princess or chevalier. No one, not one single person, has ever gotten out. Not in centuries. Not in three hundred years.

He’d planned to win their freedom within the box. He’d planned to lie and manipulate and murder and do whatever it took, within the box, to protect the one person who’d ever offered him true friendship, to protect their chosen companions, to make a space where no one could hurt them. He’d planned to die for Tamaki if he had to. To murder for the others, to be the ruthless shadow king that they couldn’t be. He’d planned that. But he’d never … he’d never hoped …

People don’t come back from the box. They don’t escape. They don’t get out. The heirs are sacrifices. No one knows what happens to them within the box, but they know it’s not pleasant, and they know that they won’t come back. Kyouya had known from the moment his father had declared him heir that he’d been offered up so that his brothers wouldn’t have to be. He’d known that no one would come for him. He’d known that he’d never be free.

And now that’s …

There’s no magic on his body. There’s no fist gripping his will. But he still can’t move. He still can’t get up. He still can’t hug her back.

She freed him. She sacrificed … For him. She freed him. She had all the power in the world, the power to completely destroy him, and she freed him. And not just him, but …

It can’t be repaid. There’s no word for the magnitude of the debt. It can’t be repaid.

And it’s not just him. No one else … No one else is moving either. No one else can. So it’s something, someone else, that moves them.

There’s a noise behind them. A wet gasp for air, someone else’s shocked, ragged, desperately hopeful breathing. There’s someone else. And all six of them, chevaliers, lurch to their feet to defend their princess. Queen. To defend Haruhi.

But it’s not … She gives out a cry behind them. Bolts past them. Because it’s not an enemy. She bolts into her father’s arms.

And he folds down around her and cries.

He lost her mother. He lost everything. And then he came home, and found that someone had taken his daughter. And he’d gone to the police, but he’s a man with an entertainer’s job, he’s a lowlife, they didn’t care, and even when he found one who seemed like they might care, two days later they abruptly didn’t again. They hadn’t been able to meet his eyes. They’d been stiff, adamant, ashamed. But they hadn’t helped him. As if someone had leaned on them from on high. They hadn’t helped. No one had helped.

No one official, anyway. Friends at work, yes. People he knew. They’d helped scour the city. But they couldn’t find her. The person who took her controlled the police. Of course they couldn’t find her.

He’d thought the worst. The worst nightmare of his life. He’d thought the absolute worst. But here she is. She’s back. In his arms. Here she is.

With, yes, six other people. Six young men. He doesn’t know what to make of that. Hopes it’s not what he fears. But she hadn’t been afraid of them. Hadn’t seemed afraid of them. And she’s here. So let’s deal with that, the obliterating relief of that, first.

The six young men look … Gutted, he notices absently. They look gutted. They stand back, and almost seem like they can’t watch, can’t bear to, but none of them, not a single one, takes their eyes off his daughter. Like she’s too precious to look away from.

All right. In a minute. All right.

What happened? He asks eventually. Ragged, cried out. Still hugging Haruhi to his chest. Where were you? What happened? Are you all right? And she curls into his chest in answer, but the others … the others glance at each other. The others suddenly look concerned.

She didn’t know anything about the box, anything about the families. She’d been kidnapped into it. And that means they still have enemies. Or potential enemies. She’s their queen. And several of them know all too well that that means she has people in this world willing to kill her. People of their blood. And someone arranged to have the box delivered to her. Which means someone already knows to watch this house.

It's not Kyouya who steps forward now. He can’t. His father will be the first in line to slaughter her, or rather to pay someone else to slaughter her. He knows it, and it terrifies him. He’s been gone from this world for who knows how long? He never thought he’d get out. He has some things in place, regardless, not optimism but just pragmatism, pragmatism and stubborn defiance of fate, but he doesn’t know enough. He doesn’t know the state of the board, who knows where they are, who will move first. His resources are tiny, and he doesn’t know where the blow will land from. He freezes and he hates it.

But someone else steps forward, grimly determined.

Honey.

He moves forward, and Haruhi’s father instinctively pulls his daughter away from him, pulls her slightly behind him. Honey flinches, but stays the course. Stands politely, while Haruhi tugs impatiently at her father and looks at him. He stands at attention, in a way he never did inside the box, and holds her eyes with a true gravity.

We’re not safe, he tells her, as gently as he can. The people who sent the box … we don’t know which family they were. We’re not safe. We have to go somewhere else. We need protection.

Her father glares at him. Petrified. But Haruhi straightens easily.

Okay, she says. What do we need? Where do we go?

Honey hesitates, just slightly. The tiniest bit. He looks back at Mori. And he looks back at Kyouya. But then he faces her again, shoulders as straight and expression as terrified as anyone has ever seen it.

I would offer my family home, he said, with all the formality of an heir. We’re powerful fighters, and the other families know not to mess with us lightly. We honour our debts, my queen. If you let me contact them, I promise, my family will protect you.

Which … Haruhi’s father is very baffled. Haruhi is concerned. Why the formality? Why the fear?

But Kyouya speaks, here. Not a protest, not really. Just. Just Honey’s name. And Honey looks at him.

The only reason we had to do it this way is because of me. Because she still … Because she still had claim over me. The only reason you or Haruhi had to get hurt is because … I owe this debt. And my family will help me honour it. You know they will. Please. Please, Kyouya. Let me.

Because the Haninozuka Clan, unlike the Suohs or the Ootoris, did not sacrifice lesser heirs to save preferred ones. They honoured their word. Grimly. Bleakly. But they honoured it. Honey had always known that as the eldest it was his duty to protect his younger brother. He’d been grimly proud of it. He was his family’s heir, fully and truly. And they would honour his word as such. They had never imagined they would get him back. But they would honour his word, if he gave it.

And the last debt owed, the reason they’d had to go to the ex-chevalier in the first place, the reason it had come down to Kyouya’s sacrifice or Haruhi’s, had been because Honey was still owned. They’d … They’d done it for him. To leave without sacrificing him.

Yes. His mother, his father, his brother. If he told them that. They would honour his word.

They would help him repay his debt.

Ending Thoughts

I have several more scenes in my head, but this is where my energy ran out. But a few of the other pictures in my head:

Honey and Mori do take up defence of the team, and the Haninozuka and Morinozuka Clans are the backbone of Haruhi’s ‘faction’.

In the safety of the Haninozuka compound, Haruhi finally has a little breakdown in the showers about essentially letting herself be raped, even if she doesn’t blame the ex-chevalier for it, and finally has a conversation with Tamaki about it, because Tamaki … He’s played the role of courtesan to several princesses to try and keep them from killing Kyouya, and he gets it. Everything she’s feeling. He gets it. And he’s … He doesn’t know how to feel that she did it for Kyouya, for Honey, for him, but he can at least help her through it. They sit naked in the showers together and just comfort each other.

Kyouya, meanwhile, has an incredibly painful conversation with Haruhi’s father where he has to basically confirm some of the man’s worst fears about what happened to his daughter, and does it in the coldest, cruellest way possible in an attempt to fall on his sword for not being able to plan well enough to stop it from happening. And Ranka … Ranka sees through him enough, and knows his daughter enough, to see through that and realise that Kyouya is trying to atone for failing to protect her, and likely because Haruhi … because his daughter was determined to protect him, and she was stubborn enough to get there first. Because Ranka knows that feeling. It’s … It’s different in tone, more horrifying now, but he still remembers her keeping her parent day secret so he could sleep, can still remember the tiny child looking after him in his grief even though she’d lost her mother, and he can extrapolate that out into his stubborn, gentle, precious daughter protecting this young man whether he wanted it or not. And a bit of him hates it, hates that she went through that, wants to hate Kyouya for allowing it, but …

He'd never devalue Haruhi, her choices, that way. If she thought this young man needed protecting, then he needed protecting, and that’s that. And he can empathise with Kyouya’s grief over it.

With the backing of Honey and Mori’s families, they start moving to get Haruhi recognised as queen by the contract, and getting access to the contract. Hikaru and Kaoru ask for permission to contact their family as well, as if she’d deny them, because it’s still … They’re all still running on chevalier training, and it’s still not real that they’re out in the world and can do things and not get tortured for them. Which … Haruhi breaks, a little, but they work around.

Tamaki’s grandmother and Kyouya’s father are, indeed, their primary enemies. And no one knows yet that Tamaki’s father was the one to essentially kidnap Haruhi, as well as lean on the police not to investigate it. He did it out of loyalty. He did it because alone of his family, he loved his son and wanted to protect him, to change the game, to give him a tool to maybe escape. But to do so he kidnapped Haruhi, let Ranka think she’d been trafficked, and put her in a position where she did wind up raped. So Tamaki, when he finds out, has horrifically mixed feelings on the matter.

And the ex-chevalier who hurt her? Mostly because they both had no choice, but still?

He’s also a Suoh. One of the sacrificed heirs from generations past. And when she does free him, and all the other chevaliers from the box, that’s …

The Suohs owe several debts. Several debts.

As for the Ootoris … They try, once they realise that Kyouya is more than her slave, that he is her Shadow King, to prevail on his family loyalty to steer Haruhi favourably towards them. And Kyouya comes very, very close to murdering his father in front of the families. Because his father just … doesn’t get it. Won’t get it. Not anything Kyouya’s been through. Not anything he condemned Kyouya to. But in a way …

They can’t let themselves. Kyouya’s father, Tamaki’s grandmother. They can’t let themselves. Because their brothers were sacrificed for them, and they were raised knowing they’d have to sacrifice one of their own children, that the pattern would just continue, and so they couldn’t let themselves feel it. It was their way to protect themselves, the product of centuries of this pattern, and it’s not an excuse, but it is a reason.

And Kyouya … he is Shadow King to Haruhi’s Queen, and then actual King to her Queen. It takes a while. It takes a long while, because the stain of princess-and-chevalier lingers, but …

He trusts her. And she him. She stood under his sword. And he was the first person she turned to at every turn.

He does love Tamaki, is willing to die for him, and I did consider this going in an OT3 direction. But I think in the end it’s HaruKyou.

This was … This is a fic that’s been playing in the back of my head for something like a decade now. It won’t be written. But I have a lot of scenes, and I felt like describing them somewhat. Heh.

Apologies to all, and carry on!

[whumpflash]

Acacia Aneura: Water

cw: fantasy slavery, dehumanization, dehydration, referenced beating, crude language

previous // Masterlist //

∆•∆•∆

Judd lay there for what felt like an eternity, plagued by hunger and the ache of yesterday's wounds, kept miserably conscious by his own twisting, anxious stomach in spite of his exhaustion. His skull pounded with the familiar throb of a dehydration headache, and his throat and tongue felt like they’d been sandblasted. 

Skye didn’t help. Every time Judd was on the verge of falling asleep, his companion would shift on his thin mattress, letting out a wincing breath or a muffled cry as the movement tore at his new wounds. Judd wished he’d just shut up. Let him forget about what a coward, what a selfish fucking turncoat he was for just one second, but every noise was a reminder.

Coud’ve been better, Could’ve been worse. And Judd had made that choice for both of them.

By the time the door slid open, Judd was almost too tired to turn his head and see who it was. What was the point, anyway? His new master could do whatever he wanted, and Judd had to take it. If he wanted to avoid that, he'd have to get the fuck out of here. It was like Skye said, he had to show his fight. Get stronger, get fed and watered, and then he could escape. It was like Skye said…

Fuck Skye. He didn’t ask to be saved. Skye was here of his own will and his own fault, and if Judd did what he had to to survive, that wasn’t anything to feel guilty over.

Skye had been here before, and he’d still risked being sent back. He’d risked it.

He came back.

Fuck!

Judd grit his teeth and stared at the ceiling and waited for whoever to bear down on him.

It was Burke. He could see from the corner of his eye. Flanked by the same stupid goons, carrying…

Water.

Burke held two glass bottles, filled to the brim and shining with condensation. Judd sat up so quickly his head spun, and the man grinned at his reaction.

“Thirsty, are we?”

No fucking shit. The city people had more water than they knew what to do with, but Judd hadn't had any since the market yesterday. He knew Burke could’ve given him something to drink at any point, but this was about desperation. Control. And as much as he hated it, Judd knew he'd do anything for a drink. He didn’t even care if it was laced with Compliance, he needed it.

Drink or die.

Skye had woken at Burke’s entrance, and was painstakingly pushing himself into a kneeling position, his head bowed. Burke regarded him with a raised eyebrow.

“Look at that. The mutt already remembers how to greet its betters. Looks like the punishment did it good.”

Judd had to fight a scowl.  Stay calm. Pretend to obey. Get water.

He couldn’t find it in him to be annoyed when Burke knelt beside Skye first. He deserved that much. Still, a desperation was beginning to crawl up his throat at the sight of the bottles. His eyes were locked on Burke’s hands as he twisted off the lid of the first, lifting it to Skye’s lips. Skye had far more self control than he’d be able to muster; sitting placidly, hands on his knees as Burke slowly titled the thing up and allowed him to drink.

It was torturous to watch. Burke had to be dragging it out on purpose. A slow sip, a pause, another tip of the bottle, on and on as Judd’s head throbbed and his hands twitched at his slides.

He needed it. Fuck, he neded it, he’d do anything.

At fucking last, Skye emptied the bottle. Burke closed it with a twist, and passed the empty container to one of the guards. Judd’s turn. He could feel his body shivering, with the cold, with pain, with the fucking anticipation. Remembering Skye, he bowed his head, squeezing his hands together in his lap, and Burk hmmd.

“‘27’s already learning too. Good boy.”

Remembering how Sonora withheld it from him before, Judd forced himself to remain still, to not recoil at the phrase. He needed the water.

Burke dropped to one knee beside him, unscrewing the bottle. He didn’t hold it to Judd’s lips right away, and he had to fight to contain a whine of frustration.

“How are you feeling, ‘27? Ready for the fights?”

That was tonight, wasn’t it? He’d feel a lot more fucking ready if Burke would just give him the water.

Judd forced himself to nod.

“Very good. It’s sure to be quite the event.” The bottle at last hovered near him, cool rim pressing to his lips. Judd squeezed his hands together tighter, fighting the urge to grab the bottle and guzzle its contents.

He had to play Burke’s pet. Just for now, just long enough to drink.

The man tipped the bottle up, and the first trickle of water hit his tongue, cold and sweet, bringing relief to a bone-dry throat. Judd could’ve cried at the feeling of it, taking as much as he could before Burke pulled it back.

“Slow down. We don’t want you getting sick.”

Again, he nodded, eyes locked on the glass bottle. He’d drunk less than a quarter, there was so much left. He was lost in his own relief when Burke let it touch his lips again, not even caring, hardly even noticing when his so-called master began to stroke his hair.

It was emptied too soon. Judd no longer felt like he was dying, but he needed more, and Burke was already standing to leave.

“If you continue to behave, you will not want for water,” Burke murmured, as if in reply to Judd’s protesting thoughts. “I gave you this as a show of good will. But if you defy me, I have no issue taking it away. Now what do you say?”

Skye answered first.

“Thank you, master.”

Judd echoed him. Thank you... master.” His voice sounded hoarse and insincere, but Burke didn’t seem to care. He was already turning his back.

“Bring them some food,” he ordered one of the goons. “I want them ready for tonight’s activities.”

∆•∆•∆

The door opened again within the hour, Burke’s goons bringing them platters of food, and thank fuck, more water. The meal was some fancy shit Judd didn't recognize. Worm-like strands coated in something thick and red, lumps of meat drowning in both. It was weird, but it was hot, and the smell made his mouth water, so he ate it without hesitation, doing his best to slow down and not make himself sick. He sipped the water when he was done, savoring every bit. Once the guards had taken the remnants of the meal, leaving them alone, he turned to Skye.

“How… are you okay?” he asked, and the words felt like sand in his mouth. Dry and unpleasant. But didn't he owe his failed savior this much?

The other man made a move like he wanted to shrug, but thought better of it at the last second. “I’ve been worse,” he said in a low voice.

“I’m—” Sorry. He stopped himself. “Burke said there's a fight tonight,” he said instead. “He… he said I’m gonna be in it.”

Skye closed his eyes, nodding. “Good. S’good. You gotta show him he needs to keep you there.”

“I know. I will.” Judd swallowed. “What are they like? The fights?” Skye had to know, right? Either he’d been a part of them, or… or he’d watched them. 

“Deepends,” the older man answered. “They change ‘em up now and then. Sometimes they’ll have you using weapons. Usually it’s just your hands, usually it’s not to the death.”

“To the death?”

“I wouldn’t worry ‘bout it in your case. He picked you. Branded you. He probably wants to keep you around, at least for a while.”

“As a fighter,” Judd said, and Skye gave him a somber look. 

“Yeah.” 

Yeah, and maybe more, his eyes said, but Judd shoved the thought away. He wouldn’t need to do that if he could prove himself, if he could impress Burke. He’d fucking find a way. Judd had no idea what it would be like up here, but he’d been in fights before. For fun, for supplies, for survival… a fight was a fight, right? Even as banged up as he was, Judd was willing to bet they’d underestimate him.

Who would his opponent be? Another captive wastelander? A city-dweller who fought slaves like him for fun or glory? Or… someone else? Did the city folk ever make slaves of each other? Could he end up facing someone who was born and bred for this bloodsport? He guessed he couldn’t count that out, but if it came down to it, Judd wasn’t afraid to fight dirty to win.

It was impossible to tell the time of day from their room, and the hours seemed to drag on as they waited. Skye spent most of the time lying on his stomach, his eyes distant. Judd couldn’t blame him. He felt like he should say something. Offer comfort, or a distraction. Make a plan to get away. But he didn’t feel up for starting a conversation. Instead he tried moving around, stretching stiff limbs, preparing for the imminent fight. He was almost chomping at the bit for the event to start by the time the door swung open. Again, it was Burke, this time accompanied by two sets of goons.

“It’s time,” he said simply. “I hope you’re ready”

He was. He’d show off his grit tonight, and a week from now he’d be on his fucking way out. Skye too. He’d make sure Skye got the chance to run too. 

Two of the guards moved to Judd, getting him to his feet and fitting a pair of metal cuffs around his wrists. He accepted them without so much as a snarl. He could obey. Comply for now. But as they left, he saw Skye was also being roused, fitted with his own set of restraints.

The sight of them spurred an uneasy feeling in Judd. He was going to watch, right? The older man seemed unsteady on his feet, face locked in a wince as he took a half-step forward.

“Pitiful,” Burke said, his eyes on Skye. “Maybe your opponent will go easy on you.”

Opponent. “What the fuck?” Judd hissed, and was answered with a sharp backhand across his face. He hunched forwards, grimacing.

“You speak when spoken to, 1027,” Burke said, offering no explanation.

What the fuck? He was going to make Skye fight like this? He didn’t stand a chance. Judd’s mouth opened, but he closed it again just as fast.

Be obedient. He couldn’t stop Burke from throwing Skye into the pits, no more than he could save himself from them. All he could do was offer the illusion of compliance. Hopefully Skye didn’t get too badly hurt. If Judd saw an opportunity and the older man couldn’t keep up… fuck, he wasn’t going to sacrifice himself out of guilt. Skye would want him to get out, wouldn’t he? Judd hoped it didn't come to that, but he had to be ready if it did. Skye was smart. He’d find a way on his own.

Right now, he had bigger things to think about. Right now, he had a fight to win.

∆•∆•∆

tag list:

@kixngiggles @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @dont-look-me-in-the-eye , @snakebites-and-ink , @starsick1979

[unforgivenn]

16th HOUR — #4 Inhumane

Masterlist/ Previous

CW: captivity, dehumanization, suffering, experimentation, needles

Samuel's world shattered as rough hands seized him, yanking him through a labyrinth of sterile corridors that echoed with distant cries of anguish. Panic surged through him, his heart pounding in sync with each hurried step. Beside him, guards marched in silence, faces obscured by masks that exuded an unsettling lack of empathy.

"Let me go! Please!" Samuel's voice cracked with desperation, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. The guards' grip tightened, propelling him forward with brutal efficiency.

Through a sudden turn, they emerged into a blindingly lit observation area. Samuel squinted against the harsh glare, eyes struggling to adjust to the surreal scene beyond the towering glass window. Before him lay a nightmare incarnate.

L class.

The designation whispered like a curse through the sterile air. Samuel's breath caught in his throat as he beheld the figures within. Bound to metal frames, their bodies contorted in agony, limbs stretched and restrained. They wore sterile white suits stained with sweat and blood, faces obscured by gagged mouths and wide, terror-stricken eyes.

Were the people there alive?

"No... no," Samuel choked, horror gripping his chest like a vice. He pressed against the cold glass, fingertips trailing over its smooth surface as if reaching out to those trapped beyond. His gaze darted from one tortured face to another, unable to comprehend the depths of suffering laid bare before him.

A scientist moved among them with clinical detachment, a figure of authority in the sterile environment.

Samuel's breath caught in his throat. These were not livestock; they were people, once full of dreams and aspirations. Now reduced to mere vessels for experimentation, their humanity stripped away with each invasive procedure.

One figure, a young woman with hollow eyes, met Samuel's gaze through the glass. Her expression was a silent plea for understanding, for someone to acknowledge the nightmare consuming them all. Samuel felt her desperation like a physical blow, a stark reminder of the fragility of life within these walls.

The scientist approached the woman with clinical detachment, wielding a needle with practiced precision. Samuel's heart raced as he witnessed the invasive procedure, the woman's body jerking in response. A cry tore from her throat, muted by the gag as agony etched lines of suffering on her face.

"No!" Samuel's protest emerged as a hoarse whisper, barely audible over the hum of machinery and distant cries. His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms as the guards tried pulling him away from there but it was as if his feet had been stuck to the ground. Anguish and helplessness warred within him, emotions raw and unfiltered.

"They're... they're alive," Samuel murmured, voice barely audible over the rush of blood in his ears. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision as he struggled to comprehend the cruelty unfolding before him.

The guards pulled him away, their grip unyielding as they forced him down another corridor. Samuel stumbled, legs heavy with shock, mind reeling with the horrors he had witnessed. His body trembled with a mixture of fear, anger, and helplessness.

"Fuck, Would you just move on livestock?" one guard hissed, a cruel reminder of Samuel's fate. The word echoed in his mind, a bitter truth he could not escape.

Down another corridor, through steel doors that clanged shut behind them, Samuel found himself in a sterile room marked with the ominous 'S' on its door. Inside, technicians awaited, their eyes devoid of compassion as they prepared their instruments.

Samuel turned, eyes blazing with defiance. "They're human! You can't—"

A sharp blow to his gut cut off his words, driving the air from his lungs. Pain flared, but Samuel refused to yield. He couldn't afford to break, not now.

The guard's sneer twisted into a grimace of contempt. "Keep dreaming, S class. This is your reality now."

Reality. The word echoed in Samuel's mind, its weight sinking deep into his bones. This was the world he now inhabited, a world where humanity was a luxury reserved for the privileged few.

As the guard shoved him onward, Samuel cast one final glance at the woman beyond the glass. Their eyes locked for a fleeting moment, a silent exchange of shared despair. In that brief connection, Samuel found a spark of determination amidst the darkness.

He would not be broken. He would find a way to resist, to fight back against the tyranny that had condemned them all. For her, for himself, for the countless others whose voices had been silenced within these walls.

The journey continued, each step a testament to his resilience. Samuel walked with purpose now, his spirit unbroken despite the weight of his circumstances. Ahead lay uncertainty and fear, but also the flicker of hope—a beacon in the darkest of nights.

And as Samuel disappeared from view, swallowed by the labyrinthine depths of the facility, a whispered promise lingered in the air.

"I will survive," he vowed silently, a mantra against the relentless tide of despair. "I will survive, for as long as there is breath in my body."

The words he had said just a few moments ago had disintegrated from his mind once the door with 'S' carved ominously on it was opened.

Next

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(let me know if you want to be added or removed <3)

[hold-him-down]

“Use the largest needle you have.”

“Use the largest needle you have,” the handler says, wrapping a hand around the back of the boy’s neck. The newest resident, whose name has not been made available to the team at Belleview, cringes away from the touch, and both the handler and the nurse laugh. “This little fucker bit me this morning,” the handler says through his teeth. His voice leans playful, but the words, and more specifically, the way he tightens his grip in warning, says otherwise.

The pale, too-skinny blonde boy who, three days into his residency here is already covered in bruises, tracks every movement in the room. He has the fear in his eyes that all the new ones have before they really understand what it means to wind up at Belleview. The nurse selects a syringe, fills it with a greenish yellow liquid, and returns. 

“Here we go,” she says to him, wiping the side of his neck carefully. “Don’t worry about the needle,” she continues as the worker flinches. “He's just blowin’ smoke up your ass. He doesn’t have the jurisdiction to make that kinda call.” She smiles at the handler and nods, then says to the boy, “Try to hold still.”

The handler’s iron-grip on his neck anchors him in place while the needle slices into his skin, and for just a moment before the pain hits, the boy seems to become acutely aware of the fact that the needle is massive, before the pain takes over, and his world implodes.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

I looked and didn't see this one. I'm looking for a fairly dark fic around werewolves being owned/second class citizens. Derek becomes Stiles because he was accidentally sold by the Argents? Parts I recall: 1. a girl was abused in a hot tub and the video was released online, later derek shows her how to control her shift. 2. He gets a job at a lumber yard and eventually earns respect from the crew? It's not "To make it right." This page is awesome btw

Hi anon! @dramione321 says it's this one. It's been deleted but here's a dropbox copy.

unchained by exlamation

[skylessknights]

THE FINAL BOW by skylessnights

✦ Pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Male!Fenring OC

✦Tags/ Chapter Warnings: Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Timeline Inaccuracies, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Additional Tags To Be Added, No Beta

Synopsis: Sheltered at birth, Ruark Fenring was born at his mother’s bosom and tethered to her side from childhood to the ages of an adult. The Known Universe is whatever she claims it to be: cruel and deceitful, unsafe for the likes of him. But when his father abruptly takes him to Giedi Prime in an attempt to open his eyes to the world of politics, Ruark is forced to play a role on the grandest stage of them all with only his mother’s lessons to guide him towards survival. In time, the son of House Fenring soon learns that the Harkonnens are nothing like the monsters he had seen in plays and operas, especially the Baron’s psychotic nephew, the one they call na-Baron Feyd Rautha

↳ READ CHAPTER ONE HERE

[dieinct]

anyway one of my favorite things is to read fic and be like yummy yummy regressive politics buried in this fic by someone who would certainly think of themselves as progressive

[boop-someone-today]

Me just casually having the headcanon that Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan are ambidextrous.

Reason: For A-Jiu, it’s because street rats and slaves were forced to use both hands for survival. Street rats because they would get broken limbs doing dumb shit to survive, and since you mainly jut out your dominant hand, that was the one that would get broken, forcing you to use the other one. For slaves, it’s kind of the same reason, especially for Qiu Jianluo, who loved to torture our A-Jiu, constantly giving Xiao Jiu a broken limb, forcing him to work with the other hand.

Prompt idea for an og!Shen Qingqiu: Just chilling at a peak lord meeting, bored out of his mind, and just switches hands no problem writing notes to eat the provided pastries. Cue everyone who noticed curiously peeking over his shoulder to get some blackmail on the poor left handed writing of the Peak Lord of Qing Jing (except Liu Qingge who was just genuinely curious), only to find it flawlessly flowing with the rest of it.

Of course, that leads them to try to get him to fight with his left hand.

He also does embroidery with both hands, cause why not.

For Shen Yuan, his reason: He was bored, and decided why not. It caused him to work his left hand out while sick in bed, give him some cool skills to show off if he ever got well enough to go to a public/private school. (Which he didn’t, he died because of a bun)