#thinking about my village and feeling <_< about going back

[lyricwritesprose]

Yes, peppermint tea is, in essence, herbalism.

And herbalism is actually not based on crap pseudoscience like homeopathy. Homeopathy says, "The smaller the amount of Substance we put in this water, the more effective the water is." This is false.

Herbalism says, "Sometimes a specific plant makes you feel better in specific circumstances." This is true. Broadly speaking. I mean, people can always try to sell you on a plant that doesn't do too much (or which harms you) and people can try to sell you the idea that This Plant Is A Miracle and will not only cure your disease but make you thinner, richer, more energetic, and vastly more attractive to people of your chosen gender and orientation, but plant based medicines are Genuinely A Thing. So are plant-based remedies that don't actually fix the problem but by and large make you feel better about being laid up with a lousy cold. Many herbs in fact work.

Thing is, though, if something works, and is scientifically tested, it eventually becomes mainstream. There are heart medications based off a flower that many people have in their gardens. (Not sure if I should go into detail because If You Eat It You Will Die.) Any pharmacy in the US will sell you Ricola cough drops, and while I don't know whether the herbs in them are particularly effective or if it's just that the sugary-ness coats your throat a bit, I'd rather get through my cold with throat lozenges than without.

Huge swaths of modern medicine essentially got their start in herbalism. Think of how much medicine is based on, You Are Sick, Go Take A Substance About It. The difference is, by the time it gets to your pharmacy the substance is generally tested up the wazoo and standardized and chemically analyzed so that people know why it works and whether drinking grapefruit juice with it will kill you, and so forth. The pharmacist down at Walgreens is, in essence, your village witch, only with a huge body of evidence to back her up. (And if the village witch tells you not to take this thing with SSRIs or citrus or what-have-you, you listen, just like you would in the olden days.)

I understand that vaccines are proven to work and are a great advancement in our medicine, and also that homeopathic remedies don't work, but don't they work on the same principal? Why does one work and the other doesnt?

They do not work on the same principle.

I can see how vaccines look like a "like treats like" situation, but in homeopathy "like treats like" is a kind of magical thinking.

Let's take an example from Chicken Pox, a virus for which there is an effective vaccine and for which there is a common homeopathic treatment.

Chicken pox infects people once, and it is extremely rare to get a second case because once you have had it, your body forms persistent antibodies against the varicella-zoster virus. When I was a kid, they didn't have a vaccine for this, so kids mostly got chicken pox once and it ran around whole schools and that was it. It's a virus that is fairly minor in children, though it can cause dangerously high fevers. Adults who get chicken pox typically get much sicker than children who get it, and it can lead to permanent harms like infertility in adults who get it. Because it can be so dangerous, we don't want people to risk getting it, so we vaccinate.

The way the vaccine works is that it takes a weakened form of the virus and introduces that into the body of a person with a healthy immune system. The immune system responds and the person who got the vaccine may get some minor symptoms, like a headache or a slight fever, but it will be nowhere near as severe as getting actual chicken pox would be. Because the immune system was exposed to the virus and responded, it now has antibodies against the virus that recognize the virus and respond immediately before it can start replicating in the body. If a person who has either previously had chicken pox or who has been vaccinated against it is exposed to the chicken pox virus, their body uses those antibodies to react to the virus and protect against a systemic infection.

Are you familiar with Star Trek? It's kind of like the Borg. You can't use the same attack pattern against the Borg multiple times because if you do, they'll recognize the pattern and will be able to defend against it. The virus is the attacker, and your immune system is the Borg. It knows what it's looking for and won't let anything get through its defenses.

Homeopathic remedies don't seek to prevent illness or provoke an immune response, they seek to cancel out something that is happening in the body.

For chicken pox, which produces itchy red bumps, homeopaths use Rhus Tox - a dilution of poison ivy, a plant that causes itchy red bumps if you encounter it in nature. The Rhus Tox didn't cause the chicken pox, it's not given to prevent the virus, it's from a plant that is completely unrelated to the virus that happens to produce some of the same symptoms as the virus when you touch it.

They don't even think that the Rhus Tox will provoke an immune response from your body like actually touching poison ivy would, they're attempting to use an unrelated compound (that is so diluted that it isn't even present in the preparation) in place of your immune system to attack the itchy red bumps.

So I'm going to go over this in a few brief points:

Vaccines are preventative ONLY, they are not a treatment for illness or symptoms of an illness

Vaccines work by introducing your immune system to a partial, weakened, or dead virus so that your immune system can form antibodies against that virus and prevent that virus from replicating in your body when it is later exposed to a whole/strong/live virus.

Different vaccines have different levels of effectiveness and produce different lengths of immunity; this is for a number of reasons, but if you get a measles shot as a kid you may only ever need one booster, while you need a flu shot every year and a tetanus shot every decade. All of them work the same way, though: they show your immune system what a virus looks like so that your immune system can kill the virus.

That is why immune compromised people sometimes can't be vaccinated, or why vaccines don't work as well for them or may need higher doses or more boosters. Because they don't have a healthy immune system, weakened viruses like the ones in the chickenpox virus might be too strong for their immune system to fight, and even if it doesn't get them sick, their bodies may not be able to produce enough effective antibodies to protect them from the virus in the future. That's part of why it's important for as many people to be vaccinated as possible; the more people who are vaccinated, the harder it is for viruses to spread, and vulnerable people like immune compromised people or babies too young for vaccination won't be exposed to deadly viruses.

Homeopathy, on the other hand, aims to treat symptoms of an illness that a person is already experiencing.

Homeopathic treatments do not aim to provoke an immune response, they aim to cancel out a symptom with a cure.

Dilution is a very important part of homeopathy, with homeopaths claiming that the more diluted a preparation is the stronger it is. This is simply incorrect; I don't know how to make a more logical explanation of that, it is just wrong that less of a substance causes more of a response.

Homeopathy says "like treats like" and that may seem like using a vaccine with a weak virus to prevent infection from a strong virus, but their version of "like" is different - Rhus Tox (poison ivy) is supposed to be "like" chicken pox because both cause itching. Rhus tox is also supposed to treat PCOS, erectile dysfunction, uterine prolapse, sunken eyes, nausea, and backache. "Like" can have an extremely broad meaning in homeopathy, which should be cause for suspicion.

Here's a paper that compared the immune response of college students given homeopathic "vaccines" against a control group and against a group of students who were given standard medical vaccines. The control group and the homeopathic group both did not have an immune response in titer tests, while the vaccination group did have an immune response, demonstrating that they had protection from the vaccinated viruses. It's a pretty good demonstration both of how effective homeopathy is (not at all) as well as how to set up a fair and ethical study to look at the effectiveness of different kinds of treatments.

[batboysanonymous]

A Taste of Silence

Pt. II

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Summary: Rhys's drunken words cut deeper than any blade, leaving Y/n questioning everything she thought she knew about their bond. As heartbreak and betrayal collide, she faces a choice that could shatter the fragile threads holding their world together.

Pt. I

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Rhysand was drowning.

He had endured centuries of torment in Amarantha’s Court, faced death and destruction in ways that would have broken lesser males—but this? This was agony unlike anything he had ever known.

Because this wasn’t just losing her. This was being the cause of her pain.

The bond was still there, a heavy, throbbing weight tethered to his soul. It twisted and pulled at him, refusing to let him forget the raw betrayal in her eyes when she left. He couldn’t block it out. Couldn’t shut down the waves of anger and hurt radiating from her, nor the faint echo of her presence that haunted his every step.

He didn’t deserve to forget.

He followed her from a distance, staying just out of sight, knowing he had no right to approach her. She had retreated to a small, snow-laden village on the outskirts of his territory, a place so quiet and unassuming it seemed designed to swallow grief whole. Rhys respected her boundaries—at least, as much as he could while still ensuring she was safe.

The villagers had no idea their little haven was now fiercely guarded by shadows. Every night, he patrolled the perimeter, silent as death, ensuring no threat could come close. When a pack of feral beasts wandered too near, Rhys killed them before they could even scent the village. He cleaned up the blood and left no trace, unwilling to let her see the lengths he was going to for her protection.

She might hate him, but she was still his mate. And he would protect her, even if it tore him apart.

But even the small things he could do weren’t enough. Not when every second without her was a reminder of the chasm he’d created between them. The cold, empty nights stretched endlessly, the silence gnawing at his mind until he thought he might go mad.

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The third week after her departure, he broke.

He had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t intrude, and wouldn't push her until she was ready. But the bond burned unbearably that day, tugging at him with a force that felt like claws raking through his chest. He flew to her cabin before he could stop himself, landing with a muffled thud on the snow-packed ground.

She was outside, stacking firewood with her back to him. She froze when his boots crunched against the snow.

“Don’t,” she said without turning, her voice cold enough to make him falter.

“Please,” Rhys choked out, his voice hoarse.

She didn’t respond, and he didn’t think—he just dropped to his knees. The snow soaked through his leathers, numbing his skin, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care.

“Please,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “Please, just listen to me. I—” His throat closed up, the words catching on the lump that had lodged itself there since the moment she left. He dragged a trembling hand through his hair, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his desperation. “I know I hurt you. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I—Cauldron, I can’t live like this. I can’t live without you.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move.

“You are everything to me,” he said, his voice raw. “Everything. And I hate myself for what I did, for the way I made you feel. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it right, if you’ll let me. But if you can’t…” He swallowed hard, tears stinging his eyes. “If you can’t, I’ll still do it. I’ll protect you. I’ll make sure you’re safe and happy, even if it’s from afar. I don’t care what it costs me, as long as you’re okay.”

“How can I trust that the next time you’re drunk or angry, you won’t say something that cuts me to the bone?”

Her words hit like a dagger, sharp and precise. He bowed his head, his voice trembling as he replied, “I don’t deserve your trust, not after what I said. But I swear to you, I will never drink if it means risking your pain. I’ll stop entirely if you ask me to. Nothing—nothing—is worth losing you again.”

Her arms crossed, her shields firmly in place, though he caught the faintest waver in her expression. “And what happens the next time we fight, Rhys? What if you get angry? Will you throw my weaknesses in my face again?”

His head snapped up, anguish written across his features. “Never. I would never—” His voice broke. “You are not my weakness. You are my strength. And if I ever forget that, I want you to walk away and never look back. But I swear to you, Feyre, I will spend every day of my life proving to you that I’ve learned from this. That I will never, ever make you feel like that again.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. He could feel her battling herself, the bond between them a swirling tempest of doubt and yearning.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he whispered, his knees sinking deeper into the snow. “I’ll spend the rest of my life earning your trust if I have to. Just tell me how to begin.”

The silence stretched taut between them, and Rhys didn’t dare move. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft but edged with steel. “Prove it.”

Her shields weren’t just up—they were fortified. But he didn’t need to feel the bond to see the war raging within her.

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The days that followed were a slow, painful process. Rhys didn’t push. He stayed near enough to be there if she needed him but far enough to give her space. He continued his quiet watch over the village, eliminating threats before she ever knew they existed. He left her gifts—small things he hoped might bring her comfort. A new brush when he saw her old one had broken. A scarf enchanted to keep her warm even in the bitterest winds. And a note with every gift: I’m still here. I always will be.

She started letting him stay for longer each time he visited. They didn’t talk much at first—just sat in heavy, charged silence. But gradually, the walls began to crack. She started asking him questions, small and tentative, and he answered with an honesty that left him vulnerable and bare.

The night she finally forgave him, it was snowing.

They were sitting by the fire, the soft glow casting flickering shadows across the room. Rhys’s voice was low and steady as he recounted the years he’d spent under the mountain. The rawness of the memories was evident in the way his hands clenched and unclenched, but he forced himself to speak, each word a step toward atonement.

Y/N sat across from him, silent, her gaze fixed on the flames. Her fingers twisted the hem of her sweater, the movement restless and uncertain.

“You didn’t just hurt me,” she said at last, her voice trembling. “You betrayed me, Rhys. You made me feel small, like I didn’t matter.”

The words tore through him, but he didn’t flinch. He nodded, his throat tightening. “I know. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel that way again.”

She looked at him then, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “How can I trust you not to run your mouth again? To not let some drink or situation make you careless with me?”

He sucked in a sharp breath, shame crashing over him. “You can’t—not yet. But I’ll prove to you that you can. I’ll prove it every single day, Y/N.” His voice cracked, his chest heaving as he lowered himself to his knees before her.

“Please,” he begged, his hands trembling as he clasped hers. “Please, give me a chance to earn back your trust. I’ll never take another sip of wine if that’s what it takes. I’ll never let myself forget the weight of what I have to lose. You are everything to me.”

Her lip trembled as she stared at him, the rawness in his expression and the desperation in his voice cutting through her defenses. “I’m terrified, Rhys. Of trusting you again. Of getting hurt again.”

His thumbs brushed over her knuckles as he held her hands tightly, his head bowing. “I know. And if I ever break your trust again, I’ll deserve every ounce of that fear. I’ll deserve to lose you. But I won’t. I swear to you, Y/N, I won’t.”

The bond between them hummed faintly, like a whisper of what it once was, and it pulled at her even as she hesitated. She reached out, cupping his face with trembling fingers.

“You have one chance, Rhys,” she whispered, her voice heavy with both hope and caution. “One.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, pressing her palm to his lips. “I won’t waste it. I swear to you, I’ll never waste it.”

When she finally leaned into him, resting her head against his chest, his arms wrapped around her protectively, as if he could shield her from every hurt in the world—including himself. The bond sang louder, fuller, and in that moment, they began to mend what had been broken, piece by fragile piece.

[kurokawaia]

thoughts on sasuke with pregnant reader (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) (don't feel pressured if you don't want to write it Honey!! you know i love what you write either way 🫂)

Oh my goodness^^ ofc i'll share my thoughts nonnie!! you're too sweet omg 🫂🫂

CW/TW :: pregnancy, fem!reader, thelast!sasuke/postwar!sasuke, reader is a medical ninja

I can just imagine that on his travels that you are there with him. He is the one that asked you to come which surprised you because you'd never thought he would, until he did. During the time you were together, wondering outside the village, going to various places, you landed up pregnant.

This wasn't something to be disappointed of! No! In fact, Sasuke was the one who first brought up the topic, expressing his interest and you wanted to as well. The only problem was... how dangerous it would be for you now that you are having a child.

Sasuke and you managed to come to an agreement, that you'd go back to the village and he'd continue to travel around for two weeks before coming back for a week to spend time with you until you were further along, to which he'd stay three weeks and leave for only a couple days.

You were around 19 weeks pregnant and the both of you have been in the village for only a mere couple of hours after reporting in with the Hokage. He didn't even suspect a thing, you were wearing a coat which covered your body so he couldn't tell, only that you informed him that you wouldn't be travelling anymore due to some health issues.

But, this is were all the 'drama' starts. You're out getting some groceries because there is nothing in the house, nothing. You changed out from your ninja attire to something more comfortable, a fitted maxi dress which did, very obviously, show of your growing baby bump. Casually, you were just plopping in the stuff you and Sasuke needed into the smaller trolley's (sasuke isn't here bc naruto dragged him away to get some ramen, you said you're a strong independent woman who can shop herself (●'◡'●) )

This is when the stares start to begin. Because not only can they see your pregnant, but they can see the Uchiha Clan symbol sewn onto the back of your dress. The Uchiha symbol on your back wasn’t exactly subtle, and with your bump showing, it was pretty clear who you were and what was going on. You can feel the stares, you were only gone for what 7 months, that's not that long but you guessed that it was the fact that you left not pregnant and came back so.

It wasn’t every day they saw Sasuke Uchiha’s partner out and about anyways, since you work at the hospital AND being pregnant. That's a shocker. A group of older women passed by, their eyes lingering a little longer than usual. You didn’t blame them. Sasuke wasn’t exactly the type to be open about his personal life, and here you were, very obviously carrying his child. They probably never expected to see this side of him.

After a while, you headed to the checkout, noticing the stares hadn’t really stopped. You couldn’t help but think about how different life was now. Being with Sasuke always meant people were watching, but now, with a baby on the way, it felt even more intense. But you knew it is only because they never thought they'd ever see the day he'd settle down, and now he has!

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

[myownwholewildworld]

vi. O Seanalair - acta, non verba

chapter 5 | series masterlist | ao3 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: you irremediably find yourself in Marcus' bed again and make a discovery which may help your people. a/n: i have a genuine question. do people like long chapters? because i can't seem to stop when i start writing for these two D: as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care 💖 warnings: 18+, mdni. mentions of war, death, marital abuse, etc - i think you know the drill by now. attempted SA (not by Marcus), callie fights back. fluff and angst. some internal battles. smut. unprotected piv but no creampie. oral (m!receiving). fingering (f!receiving). sleepy morning sex. aftercare. marcus is 49, ofc!reader (callie) is 26. unbeta'd. if i'm forgetting anything, please let me know! w/c: ~11.3k. dividers by @\saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

You couldn’t stop thinking about him, about what happened yesterday morning. Every time your mind wandered, it ran back to the exact moment Marcus buried himself in your slick heat for the first time.

How he made you feel. How he ensured you were comfortable and thriving under his touch. How he talked you through it and paced it down to make the whole experience even more pleasurable. How his fingers found refuge in your pussy, working you expertly in preparation to take him. How your cunt deliciously burnt with that heavenly stretch.

How you were gushing now for him, craving the fullness of his dick, pussy desperately clenching around nothing.

“Dè air thalamh? (What on earth?)” you mumbled to yourself, shaking your head to clear your mind.

The fact that the memory kept coming back―to your despair―was dangerous, extremely dangerous. Yes, sex had been good ― no, fucking amazing. But it didn’t mean anything, nothing at all.

A means to an end, that’s all he is, you mentally reprimanded yourself.

It shouldn’t bias you, despite how good he had fucked you. You couldn’t get… attached, because whatever this was, it was doomed from the beginning. That was what you had decided the first time you locked eyes with him in the battlefield, and you were not one to go back on a promise. Especially one you made to yourself ― to avenge your family.

To your disgust, you had to admit to yourself that it was harder to keep the focus on that now, knowing how satiated he had left you yesterday. It was truly shameful that you were looking forward to getting fucked stupid again.

In a couple of hours, hopefully. You couldn't wait to have Marcus plunge in and out of you. In... Out... So deep inside…

You bit your bottom lip down out of pure, horny desperation and pressed your knees together, containing the dampness that threatened to soak your underwear if you didn’t rein your thoughts in.

“A bheil thu nad shlàinte, mo bana-phrionnsa? (Are you well, my princess?)” Brighid’s soft voice pierced through your wet daydream, bringing you back to reality.

Blinking rapidly, you gave her a stern nod. A muted reply, since your throat felt dry with desire.

“Are you sure, my lady? You look flushed. There’s a fever going around in the village,” she pushed, lips pouted with concern.

Fuck, kill me now.

“I’m fine, Brighid, don’t worry,” you croaked once you found your voice.

Your cheeks were burning and had nothing to do with an illness. Unless feeling cock-drunk could be considered an ailment. Maybe it should.

“Are Daimh and Iona sick? Perhaps you―”

“They are fine. It’s just hot in here with the hearth running on full blast,” you cut her off, slightly embarrassed by the fact that Brighid had noticed your flustering.

But if she had been fucked the way you had been, she would fully understand. Of that you were sure.

Not by Marcus though, she can find another man. He’s mine.

What the hell was that about?

To avoid any further interrogation, you grabbed the jug, filled to the rim with wine. Veering around, you exited the kitchen promptly. The cold air of the hallway was most welcomed ― the Gods knew you needed it, considering you were about to enter the room where the personification of your wet dreams was.

As soon as you reached the double doors to the great hall, you quickly scanned the room. Every night the great hall of your family home would be desecrated with the presence of your enemy. The legionnaires were chatting and laughing loudly, goblets clinking with their contents spilt all over the wooden tables.

Once a sanctuary for your family and clan, you barely recognised it anymore. The beautiful tapestries that your ancestors had woven had been taken down, the stone walls bare and undressed. Even with the giant fireplace crackling nearby, it still felt cold. It even smelt different ― musty and sweaty, the lingering stench of death they carried coating the air.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you made your way to the dais. Only when you went up the wooden step did you realise that Marcus’ chair was occupied by a man you didn’t recognise, and Maximus’ spot was empty. Another sweep of the room told you what your blood already knew: for whatever reason, they had stepped out.

“Expecting someone else, puella (girl)?” the man on Marcus’ chair cackled as you approached, interrupting his talk with Cassius.

Raising a mighty brow, you decidedly ignored him, pouring wine in Cassius’ cup.

“I am talking to you, you stupid, savage woman,” he sneered.

Before you could think, the man laced his arm around your waist, forcing you to sit on his lap. Your blood ran hot with rage, palms itching to slap him until he fell unconscious. The need to turn around and spit on his face was a call from the Gods themselves.

But you couldn’t, not in a room full of Romans who would behave exactly the same way. You were at a loss here, and you only wished that when the day came and you encountered this bastard on the battlefield, you could slit his throat.

Clutching the jug between your hands, your eyes landed on Cassius. He was watching you with intent, almost studying you, but it was pretty obvious that he was not about to keep his man in check. If anything, he was about to fucking smile.

“Where’s that arrogant look now, huh?” the man cackled, pressing you against his tiny bulge.

“Do you really think you can threaten me with that?” you hissed, referring to the small erection brushing your buttocks. “That is the size of a barnacle.”

You definitely hit a nerve there, because the man pushed you off his lap hastily, grunting something unintelligible, but heard enough to know he was cursing you.

How bad you wished you could empty the contents of the jug on his face. For a long minute, you really considered it, running through the scenario and its outcomes in your mind ― you would be fast enough to catch him off guard, throw the jug at him and make a run for the small door on the back of the dais, latching it behind you and running up the spiral staircase to your father’s solar.

However, before you could act on any of it, Marcus’ deep voice interrupted your train of thought.

“Move, Brutus. Now,” Marcus snarled.

You turned around at the fury his tone distilled, his eyes locked on the man you now knew as Brutus. His pupils had darkened, his jaw tightened. Despite the tenderness he had shown you in the bedchamber, the General was an imposing man outside of it, and Brutus knew as much.

He soon scuttled away like the vermin he was, while Cassius straightened his back, eyes fixed to the front, avoiding contact with his General. Odd.

Maximus was a few steps behind Marcus, closing the door you had planned to escape through. The thought of both of them in your father’s solar didn’t sit well with you, but there wasn’t much you could say without blowing your cover.

“Dux Meus,” you bowed your head down, stepping aside to let him sit.

His opaque orbs lingered on you for a second too long, softening ever so slightly as he studied your composed expression.

You gave him a feeble smile, averting your eyes so people would not notice the brief exchange. By the way Maximus cleared his throat and a smirk curled his lips, you had not been as subtle as you had originally thought.

Once both men were seated, you proceeded to fill Marcus’ goblet. Your hand was still trembling with the fury that coursed through your veins, causing the jug to almost kick the wooden cup. Thankfully, Marcus caught it before it spilt.

His eyes shot to yours, and they were screaming at you. His mouth didn’t open, but his orbs spoke for him very loudly: Are you okay? What’s happened? They were mad with worry ― an honest one you didn’t expect at all. The hand that a second ago was straightening the cup, was now softly clamping around your wrist, the shaking gone under his soothing caress.

The weight of his sight, of his concern for you, was momentarily overwhelming.

“I’m okay,” you whispered before he spoke, giving him a reassuring nod.

“Are you―?”

“I’m fine, truly,” you insisted, worried that people would pick up on your hushed conversation.

Marcus finally let go of your wrist, and soon after you stepped off the dais to fill other goblets.

For the rest of the night, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. Before his private conversation with Maximus in the castle’s solar, you had been acting all lively and relaxed, but since his return, your features had been tamed into feigned calmness. Marcus could feel the anger simmering beneath your skin, seeping like venom dripping off a serpent’s fangs.

Wished he had stayed so could understand what had changed, but his duties to the Empire should come first. That morning, he had learnt that Agricola had been ordered back to Rome, claiming that the Caledonian tribes had been subdued, and his replacement would be Sallustius Lucullus. This news came like a shock to Marcus, who could not wrap his head around the fact that Rome was willing to withdraw the vast majority of troops to assist with other conflicts elsewhere in the Empire. It meant they would be left alone in an island that was far from conquered, despite what the false propaganda said.

They only had a couple of weeks before Agricola left with his men, leaving Marcus’ battalion, and other small military pockets around the area, in a very compromised position. In light of this new situation, Maximus and Marcus had discussed going to the Roman fort of Cawdor, just fifteen miles east of Inbhir Nis, to talk to Agricola before his departure.

But now, seeing your composed demeanour, he wished he could have stayed behind. It was wrong―putting you first before the Empire―but it couldn’t be helped. You lurked in the confines of his mind, ever present in his thoughts. It was even worse considering the ring that symbolised his marriage to another woman. Everything he thought he stood up for, crumbled the moment he had his first real taste of you.

His chest still swelled at the memory of you all pliable around his girth. How you had creamed, coating him in your arousal, the first time he sank into you. How you whimpered and hissed his name in ecstasy, the most beautiful melody he had ever heard.

However, it wasn’t only that what made him swoon, but how you blindly trusted him with your pleasure. How, despite being mistreated in bed, you had let him show you how a man should treat a woman. How fucking fulfilling it had been for him to see you fall apart, rediscovering how sex should really be like.

Marcus had never felt this way before ― caring, giving, in tune with your body. The connection that tethered him to you transcended the sexual aspect your relationship had taken. For the first time in decades, his heart was not as empty and cold. He found himself craving your eyes, your proximity. Not because he wanted to bed you again―he did―but because your presence put him at ease, even when war seemed to be knocking at his door again.

“I take you’ve finally bedded her,” Maximus’ jest forced his orbs onto his friend’s.

Marcus rolled his eyes to the back of his skull, his shoulders slouching. Sometimes he wished he could sew Maximus’ lips together or punch him square in the jaw to shut him up.

Briefly looking around the table on the dais, it seemed like the other men―Cassius, Valerius, Brutus and one of Valerius’ men―were immersed in a conversation of their own.

“That’s none of your business,” he gritted between clenched teeth.

Maximus palmed his shoulder, a hearty laugh reverberating in his chest.

“I’m just saying, the sexual tension every time she comes on the dais can be cut with a sword, my friend. Good for you, about damn time,” he congratulated Marcus, removing the hand from him. “I don’t understand why you want to keep it under wraps though.”

“Because some could think I’d be fraternising with the enemy,” Marcus admitted to his friend, knowing he could confide in him. “And it’s far from it.”

Maximus’ thick brows bunched up, confused with his reply.

“Because you’re fucking one of the savages’ whores? Like every man in your legion―”

“She’s not a whore,” Marcus quickly cut him off, anger firing at the distasteful insinuation.

Maximus was taken aback by his response, silence filling the gaps in the dead conversation for a minute. Marcus looked at his Commander, his own brows knitting now too. How dared he refer to you as a prostitute? The insult burnt his insides, he’d hate himself if your reputation was sullied because of your involvement with him.

“Alright, she may not be a whore, but she is a savage. Don’t lose sight of that,” his friend replied, the mock gone from his eyes. “If she’s not a prostitute, then what does she want with you?” he hushed, tone dropping an octave so people would not listen. “Do you trust her?”

Marcus’ frown deepened, his friend’s words gnawing at him. He had not even contemplated the scenario Maximus was implying ― he thought he knew you enough now, and you wouldn’t betray him like that. Not after yesterday’s passionate morning.

“Again, none of your damn business,” he sneered, emptying the Carmo wine in his mouth with finality.

“But it is my business to worry about your safety, dammit. I’m your second in command,” Maximus sighed, a hand pinching his nose. “I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, Acacius. There’s a lot at stake here, as you well know.”

Maximus’ reminder of his duty to Rome just angered him more.

The night was coming to an end, with the Roman soldiers scattering and walking back to the barracks. You had seen most of Marcus’ retinue leave the dais too, and you hoped you could catch him alone before he retreated to his chamber.

You were returning from the kitchen with an empty wooden tray, hoping to clear the last of the goblets off the tables and call it a day. Saying that you were looking forward to fuck Marcus tonight was an understatement ― not even the small incident with Brutus could put out the fire between your thighs.

As you ambled along the corridor, you almost collided with someone. Gripping the tray tight so it wouldn’t fall, you looked up to apologise, but the words stuck to the back of your throat.

Brutus. His cold hands clamped like a vice on either side of your waist, fingers buried so deep in your skin it would bruise. He slammed you against the stone wall, his body flush with yours and his nauseating mouth too close for comfort.

Your heart was racing wildly as your mind was coming to terms with the situation, drafting a plan.

“You’re not so fierce now, are you? How dare you insult me in front of my Commander, you slut?” the stench of his breath reached your nose, and you couldn’t help but make a face. “You are nothing more than a cockroach. If I want, I can squash you under my foot like the filthy bug you are.”

Before you could snap back with a retort, he grabbed the tray you carried and threw it to a side, then his mouth covered yours. His lips were cold and tasted horribly, his tongue trying to find an opening into your mouth. You jostled, but the grip on your hips was so tight you could barely move. His stubble prickled the skin around your mouth as Brutus kissed you sloppily, your teeth still shut.

Vile rose up to your throat, your initial panic transforming into steadfast resolution. This fucking cunt was about to get what he deserved. Who did he think he was? He was nothing, no one. A man you could best in the battlefield with one hand tied to your back and the other one holding a wooden sword, all whilst blindfolded.

When his hands loosened on your waist to very harshly squeeze one of your breasts, you took the opportunity. You lifted your knee up hastily, hitting him right on that tiny bulge he seemed to be so proud of.

Brutus started wailing, crouching with his hands protecting his groin. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you pushed him back ― snarling now, ready to fight. Quickly you snatched the tray off the cobblestone and as you were lunging forward to hit his head with it, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, freezing you in place.

Bewildered, you turned around in the arms that held you to redirect your anger at whoever dared to stop you.

Your resolution faltered the moment your emerald greens met Marcus’ brown irises.

Marcus didn’t understand what he had walked into but was pretty sure that Brutus was about to be in the receiving end of your wrath. Instinctually, he had jumped into the situation, hoping to deescalate it by holding you in place so you wouldn’t kill the man. Because if you hurt the man, Cassius would ask for your head, and he would be between a rock and a hard place.

But the moment you veered around in his embrace and Marcus saw the reddened, wet skin around your mouth, he understood.

For a second, he only stared at you, eyes fixed on your swollen lips. His brain had gone quiet, but the sudden cacophony of his own voice asking for blood brought him back.

“Marcus,” you whispered breathlessly, and his stomach churned at the unspoken plea.

His hands freed your hips to cradle your face, delving into your glassy green eyes. His heart flipped, torn with the idea of what Brutus had tried to do.

“Are you okay?” he asked the question he wished he had said an hour before.

“Aye,” you replied with a small voice.

It didn’t calm him down. In fact, he was seething with rage, blood boiling in his veins with a protectiveness unfamiliar to him.

Once he ensured you were alright, he liberated you from his grasp and faced Brutus. Commandeered by his own anger, Marcus seized Brutus by the neck of his toga, forcing him to stand up and pinned him against the wall as one of his hands clutched around the man’s neck.

Marcus really contemplated the idea of killing him. He wanted the man beheaded and six feet under. How dared he touch you? Force himself on you? Even if you weren’t his to claim, it wasn’t right ― Marcus could never put up with how badly some men treated women, so he would never allow it in his ranks.

“Marcus, don’t,” you called from behind, your soft hand squeezing his shoulder. He looked over it, jaw clenched, to glance at you. “I think…” you paused, “just let him go. I have a bad feeling about this.”

The sense you talked into him finally filtered in, and Marcus released the purchase he had on Brutus, taking a step back. His hands curled into fists at his sides ― he really wanted to smash his skull in, but you were right.

“Get out of my sight,” he muttered, and Brutus quickly obliged.

The moment you two were alone, he looked for you. His hands reached out, one sliding around your waist and his other thumb ghosting over your bottom lip. His heart was still pounding, ears ringing with fear. He couldn’t ask how you were, knowing it was an obnoxious question given the circumstances.

Your gaze locked in on his ― blown pupils, crazed darkened irises. But as much as he searched, Marcus didn’t see any dread in you. Had you been so used to being mistreated by your late husband that what happened unfazed you? How desensitised were you?

What he did see was the ghost of a past memory haunting you, the haze of years of abuse clouding your eyes. You didn’t need to speak it; he could feel it.

His heart cracked at the thought. And what pained him most was that one of his own men was who brought back the pain he had not seen yet swirling in your eyes. And it was so prominent now, he almost folded, lungs burning with ragged breaths.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, removing his hand from your face, afraid his touch would incite any more distress.

Your head tilted, eyes regaining part of the spark that reeled him in.

“You have nothing to apologise for, Dux Meus,” you uttered under your breath. “As a matter of fact, I wasn’t in need of rescuing, I was about to smash his head in and have his brain scattered around the floor.”

Despite your smile, there was no joke in your low tone. He realised you actually meant it. And he shouldn’t be surprised, considering he’d already seen you take a man’s life with no regrets.

“I know, but I failed on my promise.”

“What promise?” you asked, confused, with a cocked brow.

“I swore to you that I wouldn’t let this happen again. And it has, right under my nose,” Marcus confessed, the ride back to the castle after the attack still vivid in his mind. “That you wouldn’t need to defend yourself.”

Your brows lifted, expression softening and lips pouting. Were you trying to hide a grimace?

“It’s alright,” you shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

You said it as if it was meant to make him feel better, but it had the opposite effect on him. If anything, it made him feel worse.

The faded sound of footfall approaching broke the moment, both of you untangling from each other and taking a couple of steps back. Marcus watched one of the other maids scurry along, her scared eyes dancing between the two of you. For a moment, it seemed like she was about to intervene in defence of you.

“Do Ghras (Your Grace),” she mumbled in your language, one Marcus didn’t understand a word of.

Quickly, you gave her a stern look and the girl’s eyes widened dramatically, then bowed her head down and ran towards the double doors as if the devil himself was chasing her.

Your eyes shot back to his, pupils enlarged again, studying his face with a vehemence that would have forced any other man to look away. But he didn’t, mesmerised by the strength you were showing after what had happened. Any other woman in your situation would be upset, but here you were standing as if nothing of relevance had happened.

His eyes lingered on your face, deciphering how you really felt. The darkening purple mark tarnishing your bottom lip really concerned him, to the point where he couldn’t stop himself from raising his hand towards your face.

Your head snapped back away from his touch. Marcus flinched at the rejection, slightly hurt ― but he couldn’t blame you for reacting that way, he should have known where the limit was. It was understandable that you didn’t want to be touched after…

His blood began to boil again ― Brutus would pay, he would find a way to make him suffer.

As his hand dropped back to his side, you took a step forward towards him ― your fingers lacing around his wrist. The caress of your palm against his skin was warm, but your gaze was warmer. Marcus froze in place, overpowered by your eyes.

You averted your beautiful orbs, looking down to the cobblestone, as your free hand tucked away a stray red curl behind your ear. That mere gesture flooded his chest, replacing anger with care. Despite how strong-willed you were, there was this aura of innocence around you; one he had not fully perceived until yesterday morning. Now that Marcus thought he knew you a tad more, every piece of the puzzle started falling into place.

But you still surprised him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Trained reaction…” you trailed off with half-lidded eyes, your teeth sinking in the cushion of your bottom lip.

You didn’t need to finish that sentence for he knew how it ended. Your late husband was, once again, sullying your thoughts.

Heart clenching in his chest, Marcus reached for your cheek again, this time successfully. His thumb hovered over you bruised lip, afraid he would inflict more harm than good.

“No need to apologise, mel. It’s okay…” Marcus hushed, still madly worried about your well-being. “Did he… did he hurt you elsewhere?”

You nodded before nuzzling your cheek against his open palm. That simple action had his heart racing and melting at the same time. He really needed to get a grip, or he’d lose his damn mind over you ― something he could not afford amidst impending war.

“My hips,” a very long pause, “my breast.”

If his blood had been boiling before, now it became sharp icicles scratching the insides of his veins. Hearing you say that actually caused him physical pain. His heart had stilled, then resumed its maddening beating, deafening him.

When he trusted his voice had returned, he cleared this throat.

“Can I check, please?” There were no veiled intentions behind his ask, just honest consternation.

You shyly nodded after a brief pause.

You followed Marcus through the corridor, his forearm softly hugging the small of your back and his broad hand splayed on your hip. The possessiveness of his embrace was weirdly soothing.

Checking over your shoulder, you ensured no one witnessed your affectionate exchange. And once you arrived and took shelter in your old bedchamber, the tension gripping your shoulders dissipated.

But the anger inside you still burnt hot. Brutus deserved what you were about to do, had Marcus not interfered. But when he did, something about the whole night nagged at you. As if there was a bigger plan at play, one you could not construe yet.

“Your lip’s bruising, mel,” his voice tinged with concern forced you out of your thoughts.

When he touched it again, you winced. Brutus the Brute had done a bit of a number on you, one you hoped to repay in the near future.

“Can I see, please?”

Well, this was not how you expected the night to go, because judging by Marcus’ rigid stance, sex was out of the cards.

With a heavy sigh, your fingers lifted up your long skirt, exposing your loincloth. Bunching up the fabric, Marcus’ hand and gaze dropped to your mid-section, fingers careful when pushing down the hem of your underwear. His caress venerating, too respectful in comparison to how he treated you yesterday morning ― the contrast abysmal.

His eyes squinted, nostrils flaring, but he quickly tamed his furious expression. Looking down to where he was focused, you understood his reaction. Where Brutus’ fingers had sunk in the flesh of your hips, he had left deep, purpling imprints ― an aquarelle with shades of red, lilac and blue.

“What a cunt,” you hissed when Marcus’ thumbs ghosted over the bruised skin on your hips. His eyes swiftly looked up at you, apologetic. “Not you, him,” you clarified.

You hoped your half joke would lighten his temper, but it didn’t. If anything, his brown orbs darkened even more, a black veil consuming his dilated pupils.

Awright, no jokes when he’s in a bad mood, you mentally noted.

“Show me, please,” he husked, eyes loitering on the neckline of your dress.

His gravelly words shouldn’t have sent a shiver down your spine, but they did. This wasn’t the fucking time to get all worked up, but the effect he had on you had seeped further into your being than what you originally thought.

I’m so fucked up.

With a trembling hand, you pushed down the frill of your neckline, your left breast spilling over. You held back a raspy breath when the cold air of the room hit your sensitive skin and felt your nipple perking up.

You didn’t dare to look down, eyes fixed on Marcus’ torn face. His lips had fallen into a flat line, jaw clenched as if chiselled by the Gods themselves. And while you were burning hot under his inquisitive stare, his eyes were… cold.

Were you broken past the point of repair? Had Iain shattered you so much, altered your perception of sex? How would you, otherwise, explain why you were roused right now when you should surely feel at least shaken up?

By Red Cap’s beard, I’m sick. There’s got to be something wrong with me.

Sick with lust, perhaps. One you needed to control, because when Marcus cupped your breast, there was nothing sexual in his hold.

Pure, utter worry painted his features, his brown irises opaque.

“I’ll kill him,” he muttered under his breath.

When his thumb stroked the skin under your aureola, your eyes finally drifted down.

Seeing the growing bruise around your nipple was a goddamn reality check, as if someone had thrown a jar of icy water on you. It looked bad, really bad. You didn’t think he had such a tight grip on your breast, but the rush of adrenaline had drowned any other feelings, letting survival guide you.

It reminded you of a time when your body was covered with marks and lesions, and you would do your utmost effort to conceal the damage Iain had caused. How you made up excuses when your siblings queried about a bruise you could not camouflage―oh, don’t worry, I’m just clumsy―or a new limp―ah, it’s fine, I fell off a horse―that had you barely walking.

How you hid under layers of textile when visiting family so your father wouldn’t feel the guilt of shipping you off like cattle to the slaughter.

“For peace you must,” had been his final words before Iain snatched you away from the comfort of your home.

Fiercely loyal, you played your part dutifully. For clan you had silently suffered for a decade, not even once questioning your father’s decision. You endured what you had to, so your people would know peace in their time.

Never once did you let the façade tumble down. Never once did you show your fear, your desperation ― your thirst for freedom.

Never once, until now.

Seeing those bruises again brought back all those feelings you had deeply buried and thought forgotten. Panic bubbling within the walls of your chest, you blinked rapidly to clear the tears that threatened to fall.

Years of abuse crawling back, clamping your throat, stalking your mind ― it all came back in a trice. Your heartrate quickened, the sensation of nasty ants creeping along your skin unbearable. Trying to calm your agitated breathing, but the memories only making it all worse.

Suddenly you felt the searing pain when Marcus brushed your skin again. Not physical pain, but the kind that had tangled itself up around your entrails and become a part of you ― strangling your resolution, your very being. Silently suffocating you for a decade.

Why was it all coming apart now, out of all the fucking moments?

“Hey, look at me, hey. It’s okay, mel,” Marcus’ mellow voice pierced through your eardrums.

Wet eyelashes fluttering, you glanced up at him. For the first time, feeling lost in a loch of torment.

Marcus’ chest squeezed at the sight in front of him.

Your face tilted up, a downcast expression distorting your beautiful features. Your mouth had parted, letting out a trembling sigh that had him shaking with you. Your eyes, always bright, sparkly green, were now of a deep shade of a darkened hue, your blown pupils swimming somewhere in there. And they became darker with every spent tear that wetted your cheeks.

He searched your face, impending dread consuming his heart as your curated front crumbled. Something primal twisted within him, a sense of protectiveness gripping him tight.

Marcus couldn’t see you like this ― with your defences down, as if you trusted him enough to hold the pieces of you together. For a fleeting instant it felt overwhelming, staggering him.

But he knew what he had to do ― what he wanted to do. Marcus let go of his gentle grasp to envelop you in his embrace, hoping to bring you some sense of tranquillity. One of his hands softly rested on the back of your head, fingers lost between your red curls.

At first, your arms were just loose by your sides, but soon enough, when the warmth of his body seeped into yours, you laced them around his waist, hugging him in return.

Time became ethereal, and Marcus wondered if what saddened you had anything to do with today, or past events. You had hinted at a life of marital negligence, and he couldn’t help but ponder the atrocities you had to survive. Society wasn’t kind to women, at least in Rome. Was your culture any different in that respect? How had your life been?

Not easy, by the looks of it. And it pained him realising that, especially after seeing the fierce side of you. The part of you that intrigued him the most, that reeled him in despite the wedding ring on his finger.

How could someone even dare break your spirit? How did Brutus even dare to breathe in your direction?

“I’ll kill him,” he reiterated in a hush, lips pressing on the crown of your hair.

“No,” you muttered, leaning back to let him dive in your determined eyes. “I think that’s what he wanted. What Cassius wanted.”

“Cassius?” he repeated after you, confused.

You paused, lips pouting, and then nodded with averted eyes.

“Aye. There’s something about him that is not quite right… Do you trust him?”

Why was everybody making him question other people’s loyalties today? He couldn’t afford the doubt, not when Agricola’s departure was just around the corner. Marcus needed as many men as possible, and he had to trust them.

“Yes, I do. Don’t worry about him, or about―” he stopped himself before Brutus’ name leaked. “Let’s not talk about them now. Come sit.”

Marcus carefully guided you to his bed as you readjusted your dress, palm pressed on the small of your back. Once you settled, he turned around in search of the concoction Atticus had prepared for his wounds ― a mix of aloe, lemon juice and onions. The balm had been cool and soothing on his skin, so he hoped it helped alleviate your pain.

He snatched it off the chimney’s sill and walked back to you, handing it over so you would apply it. The pad of your fingers touched his knuckles, the feathery caress of your gentleness. When you didn’t grab it, Marcus foraged for your eyes.

“Will you help me, Dux Meus?” you whispered, tone stripped of your usual snappiness.

“Are you sure?” he found himself saying, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

You gave him a soft nod in reply, gathering your long skirt and holding it around your mid-section.

Marcus crouched down in front of you, knees cracking with the friction of time, and dipped his index and middle fingers in the gelatinous mixture. He reached for your hip, one last undecided glance at you, and then gently rubbed the composite on your skin.

You sighed at the touch, shutting your eyes, muscles visibly relaxing now.

“Does it feel good?” he asked, eyes focused on the other side now as he administered the balm.

“Aye, it’s cold. Tapadh leibh a Seanalair” you muttered, palms resting on the mattress as you leaned back.

Marcus’ brows pinched together at the unrecognisable, softly delivered words, but it didn’t stop him from pressing soft circles on your skin, hoping the imprint of fingers would disappear.

“Is that―”

“That barbaric language, yes,” you retorted, head tipped to one side, your green orbs watching him with intent.

Inevitably, he flinched. Those exact words had almost slipped his tongue when you both were returning to the castle after the skirmish in the forest. It was hard letting go of the old ways ― Romans always considered other cultures uncivilised. Now having been in Caledonia for a few months hadn’t wholly changed his mind, but he was starting to see that you all were more similar than what Rome had her people believe.

As a General, he had been trained―indoctrinated―to not see humanity in others. That was the only barrier keeping him from losing his sanity. Because if he saw other people eye to eye, if he acknowledged their humanity, then the resolution to wield his gladius would falter in battle.

And his resolution had faltered. Once.

“May the Gods protect and guide her, for her path is to become darker today,” was one of the few exchanged words that Murdoch of Inbhir Nis had whispered to him before Marcus claimed his life.

They still haunted him to this day. The piercing shriek of the female warrior still rang in his ears like a broken bell, her scream a dark omen it was hard to forget.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” was his poor attempt at apologising. You cocked a brow, expectant of another explanation, and Marcus sighed, realising that was a lie. “Perhaps I did, and for that I’m sorry.”

“Not following Rome’s doctrine doesn’t make us savages, Marcus,” you hushed, expression softening. “Just different.”

“I know that. I just― Force of habit,” he shrugged, slightly embarrassed for being called out. “What does it mean?”

“Aye means yes. Then I simply said thank you, General,” you explained, letting your skirt go after the concoction had dried on your skin.

“Seanalair means General? It sounds so different,” he thought out loud. “I like it. Although Dux Meus sounds better to me,” he ventured with a lopsided smirk.

“Does it now?” you laughed, the first time a crack of happiness making its appearance.

For a moment you didn’t say anything else, just pushed down again the hem of your neckline for him to spread the mixture on your bruised breast. He didn’t waste time, being extremely careful around the sensitive skin of your nipple as to not cause you any more pain.

“You like it when I call you Dux Meus, don’t you?” you said under your breath, voice low and laced with need.

Marcus’ sight shot up to yours in the blink of an eye, removing his hand from your chest. The unexpected tone caught him off guard, so focused on spreading the balm he almost missed the seductive inflexion in your tone.

He couldn’t reply, breath hitching at the back of his throat while a ray of warmth travelled down his spine.

His reaction felt wrong given the circumstances that brought you to his bed. Feuding with himself, Marcus froze when your hand found his cheek, cradling it. You bowed down towards him, the tip of your nose brushing his aquiline one.

“Don’t you?” you insisted, your mouth now ghosting his, testing his wavering resolve.

“I do,” he avowed, eyes fluttering close when your lips caressed his. “Callie― I don’t think this is the time.”

Your head canted back, a flash of anger swirling in your pupils, robbing him of the warmth of your mouth.

“Don’t tell me what I want is wrong. I am not going to let that bastard and his ruffian manners take away from me what I desire. Who I desire,” you retorted back. Not appealing but demanding. “I want you, Marcus, and I want you now. Yesterday you asked me to come back, nothing has changed. Is this not why you’ve taken me to your chamber?”

The carnal delivery of your words gnawed at him, your last question triggering his heart to spike, rejecting such vile idea. He was not a man to take advantage of anyone, least a woman who had barely escaped the hands of a repulsive scoundrel.

“Of course not. I wasn’t thinking of― Deodamnatus (dammit), Callie, I just wanted to help you,” he gritted, springing tall to his feet and raking his curls back in muted desperation.

You swiftly followed, rising up from the bed with unravelling determination in your eyes.

“Then fucking help me. Help me forget his hands, replace his memory with yours,” you beseeched in a hush.

This was fucked up. You were fucked up in the head, it was the only reasonable explanation to why his caress while applying the concoction had turned you on, literally a few minutes after you were crying your sorrow in his embrace.

You knew you shouldn’t, but your body thought otherwise.

And despite the wrong timing, you were serious about not letting Brutus ruin this, ruin you. He was just another notch in the weave of your life, another man who had wronged you, and you were not about to let him become more than that.

You were done with letting men dictate how you should live your life. How you should or shouldn’t react, how you should or shouldn’t feel. You had been ashamed of your sexuality your whole life, forced to be a sack of meat for a despicable man since a very young age. Marcus had soothed that fear, letting you rediscover what you actually desired, opening your eyes to a new world of wants and necessities.

No, you were not fucked up. Men were. You were just dealing with the repercussion of their fucking actions the best way you could. And if Marcus thought otherwise, then he was just part of the problem, not the solution. No matter what he had shown you so far.

Good fucking riddance.

“Faex (shit),” he exclaimed under his breath before framing your face between his broad hands.

His mouth crashed against yours, teeth colliding. The moment his tongue sank between your lips, you moaned a sigh of relief, the heat between your legs enlivened.

The desperate strokes of his tongue had you answering with fierce ones of your own, fingers quick to find the V opening on the front of his toga so one palm slid across his ribs. His skin felt like fire under your touch, and you only hoped that heat was redirected south of his tummy.

Stalking the hairy trail guiding you down, soon enough you found his manhood. Still soft and pliable, you felt a throbbing pulse shooting up his length. With a smirk, your fist clamped around his girth and Marcus gifted you with a guttural groan that you eagerly swallowed.

Slowly you began pumping him, working him hard, while his mouth ransacked yours with tidal force. His cock palpitated and you felt high with power, knowing you literally had him on the palm of your hand. Thumb swiping his wet glans, you squeezed him hard, endowing you with yet another rumble.

“I want to taste you, Marcus,” you purred against his lips, drunk with the memory of your visit to Naimh’s cottage.

“Fuck,” he blurted out, jaw as tight as a bow. “Don’t― Fuck,” he repeated after another compression on his already stimulated cock.

His resolution finally dissolved. While still gripping his shaft so he wouldn’t go anywhere, Marcus unwrapped his toga in quick motions, the white fabric falling to the floor and leaving him completely exposed to your hungry eyes.

Marcus was the fucking reincarnation of Alator, all hard edges except for the welcomed softness of his lower tummy. Your mouth watered at the sight, proving it difficult to show self-restraint.

This time around, you were not shy to undress yourself, anxious to get started. Then you faced him, both standing bare in front of the other.

And without any other words, you dropped to your knees. Marcus closed his eyes, face tilted to the ceiling, while his erection swayed at your eye level, enticing and yearning for your touch.

The second you fisted his base and led him to the damp warmth of your mouth, Marcus hissed between gritted teeth, his eyes meeting yours instantly. Suckling on his flushed head, you maintained eye contact with him, but when the musky taste overtook your senses, your eyelashes fluttered close as you gave yourself free rein on his cock.

Your tongue twirled around his glans, the tip playing with his slit to clean off the precum beading there. Then your lips trailed down his length, pressing gentle kisses on your way south to lick the heavy balls underneath. When you were satisfied with the spit covering his sacks, you lapped his underside, feeling the throbbing, feeding vein until your lips sealed shut around him again, hollowing your cheeks to make room for his delicious girth.

You went through the motions over and over again, revelling on his taste, on his growing weight on your tongue. While saliva and precum overflew, dripping down from the corners of your mouth, you looked up again.

Marcus’ heavy-lidded eyes were transfixed on you, his hand gently resting on the back of your head to feel your bobbing. His hips slanted forward when you stopped, waiting for him with an open, welcoming mouth.

Slowly he fed you, rocking his hips softly, while you remained still below him. The tip of his mushroom head kissed the back of your throat, and you irremediably moaned around his circumference, clamping your lips on him.

When he pulled back, the pop sound forced you to open your glassy eyes. A bridge of spit connected his angry tip to your swollen lips ― a connection that reached further down to your gushing pussy.

“Stop, mel. Or I’m going to come,” he pleaded, caressing your cheek with a tenderness that contrasted heavily to what you had just done.

“And is that a bad thing?” you asked innocently, blinking rapidly as one of your fingers swirled in the air between you to catch the thread of saliva and push it into your mouth, licking your finger clean.

Then you pressed a kiss on his tip, lingering with parted, waiting lips.

Marcus pouted, his fist wrapping around his base to contain himself, but couldn’t resist the urge to stroke your lips, swiping his glans a few times on your mouth.

“No, it isn’t. You’ve sucked me so good, mel, but I want to fuck you as you deserve,” he admitted, and you definitely didn’t argue.

He extended a hand towards you, which you gladly accepted to stand up to your feet.

“And I want to fuck you so good, you’re even going to forget your name,” his promise made your slick pussy throb at the expectation.

“That’s all I’m asking,” you whispered, crawling onto the silky bed.

His gaze tracked you like a wildcat chasing after a vole, lingering on the swaying of your hips as you inched forward, settling on the centre of the mattress. You saw his eyes darkened with desire, taking in the moment ― for a tad too long, because his attention drifted to the bruising skin on your hips.

“Marcus,” you called softly, shifting his attention as you coaxed your thighs apart, your sweet dripping nook in display for him.

He stilled, transfixed on your sex as if it was the first time you bared yourself in front of him. His mouth fell flat into a fine line, then the tip of his tongue flicked out to lick his bottom lip ― a simple gesture that had your pussy leaking onto the linen.

Without a second to waste, Marcus joined you on the bed posting himself between your legs, his broad frame blanketing yours as you slowly sank into the feathery cushion underneath. Your hands reached up his ribs, tracing the battle-scarred map of his skin until your palms rested on his shoulder blades, pushing him down towards you.

This time, the kiss was gentler, paced. The languid strokes of his mouth pulled a wanton moan out of you as the weight of his throbbing cock rested heavily on your mound, his balls rubbing against your puffy fold every time he leaned forward. It was feverishly intimate ― the way his nuts would kiss your sex, your clit writhing in your seam.

The soft pressure of his lips turned into a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. His hand cradled your left breast with reverence, thumb skimming your pebbled nipple delicately and incessantly. Fingers intertwining with yours, Marcus brought your laced fists down your belly and past his erection.

Guiding your hand, Marcus pushed your own fingers past the cover of your seeping slit. A throaty sob escaped your lips, eyes shutting with pleasure, as the General showed you how to press tight circles on your thudding clit, leading you and your desperation right to the edge of a cliff. A now-known wet warmth pooled around the bottom of your spine, your inner walls squeezing nothing but the emptiness of your womb.

“Oh…” you cooed, back arching into his chest.

“You love that, don’t you?” Marcus teased you, his fingers moving yours against your slick nub. “You’re melting, mel. You’re so wet already, why?” You didn’t reply, brows pinching in concentration, mouth agape. “Did tasting me excite you, hm?” You gave him a little shy nod, too focused on the thunderous, pulsing feeling in your cunt. “You enjoyed sucking me, having your sinful mouth full of me… dribbling, just like your pussy is drooling now.”

His sweet talk had you gushing again, his thumb now drawing tight, precise circles on your clit as your middle and ring fingers framed it for him, for his delightful attention. The sensation was so intense, so delicious, it curled your toes as your limbs stiffened ― climbing up Beinn Uais (Ben Wyvis) was less strenuous than this.

Your lungs were burning, heaving now, but your pussy was catching fire.

“O mo chreach (oh, my goodness), Marcus― I’m coming, don’t stop,” you begged, lewd noises spilling from your mouth. “Please, please, don’t stop.”

“I won’t, sweetheart. Come for me,” Marcus purred, mouth ghosting yours, inhaling your needy whimpers, fingers insistent.

At his command, you did. Fuck, did you come… Your pussy clenched almost painfully whilst your overstimulated button pulsated maddingly in your seam ― your whole body quivered as you reached for the sky, stars bursting behind your eyelids.

And as you came crashing down, an intense orgasm hitting you from all flanks, Marcus led your fingers away from your twitching clit, down to your leaking hole. He rammed your two digits in your pliant, slimy opening, compelling you to fuck yourself throughout your blissed climax.

Your pussy wolfed down your own fingers down to the knuckles with ease, Marcus’ hand halting the movement of yours.

“Curl them,” he whispered, kissing your cheek. “Curl your fingers, touch that spongy spot for me.”

Still blissed out from your high, you followed his directions as your eyes fluttered open. His blown pupils had yours in a trance as he watched your expression transform when you found the precise point he had referred to.

Without breaking eye contact, you fingered yourself under his attentive guidance. Pleasuring yourself like this should feel wrong, but Marcus made it seem as natural as breathing. His constant reassurance became a mantra, humming his approval when your hips jerked up in ecstasy.

Suddenly, his middle and ring fingers joined yours in your tight pussy, the burning stretch almost unbearable. The feeling of fullness so severe, you started withdrawing your own hand.

“No, don’t pull out, mel. Follow my lead. I know it’s overwhelming, but it’ll be worth it,” Marcus breathed. “Trust me.”

You did. So far Marcus had shown you a path of pleasure you thought forbidden, and this was not the time to doubt him. With four fingers shoved in your throbbing pussy, the palm of your hand cradling the back of his between your thighs, you let him guide you ― it was overwhelming… but in the best fucking way possible.

Marcus knew perfectly what he was doing, because soon enough the pads of his fingers were persistently rubbing that tender spot on your anterior wall while his thumb smothered your clit yet again.

“Fuck, I-I’m coming again…” you hiccupped, whimpering aloud now as the coil inside you started tautening again.

“You’re pulsing so hard, do you feel that?” he gritted out, your walls squeezing all four fingers tight. “Such a sweet grip, mel.”

“Y-yes,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut as another tidal wave washed over you with an ungodly force.

You screamed Marcus’ name, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes due to the intensity the orgasm hit you with. After that, you felt your cunt beating for a very long minute, the contractions further apart as you relaxed under Marcus, all sweaty and satisfied.

“Do you think you can take me?”

Your heavy eyes flew open at Marcus’ strained voice. Looking down, you realised his cock was still resting on your mound. A constant trickle of precum had slid down his shaft, a milky puddle sitting on your skin.

Even if you were tired, you couldn’t deny him ― not when he had been so mindful with your needs. And, truth be told, you wanted him inside.

You didn’t reply. Instead, you curled your fingers around his girth and slid his glans along your slick slit, soaking him in your arousal. You lingered on your sensitive clit, rubbing it with his tip a few times until you led him down.

The moment his throbbing head kissed the mouth of your cunt, you knew you could come again, no matter how tired you thought you were. You led him in and let go of his thudding cock when he was halfway in.

You sighed, trying to relax your muscles, but your pussy had a mind of her own. His girth pried your pussy lips open and, once fully seated inside you, Marcus froze in place. His brows furrowing as you fully sheathed him, wrapping him in your wet, tight heat.

“I could stay here forever. You hug me so tight, take me so well now…” he hushed, leaning forward, his weight almost crushing you. “You only need a bit of encouragement, patience… And I am a very patient man. I’d be so happy with just making you cream, mel.”

He was right. Sadly, you were no stranger to sex, but this kind? This was so new to you, sometimes you doubted yourself ― what you were doing, how you were doing it. Something about Marcus made you feel insecure, because you didn’t want to disappoint him. For once in your life, you wanted the man to enjoy you, make you fall apart.

Your head spun around to the point of almost fainting when he pulled back softly and then back in. A wail broke free from your mouth as Marcus slowly but steadily rutted into you, picking up the pace with every mind-blowing thrust.

You dug your nails on his back, leaving bloody crescent moons behind. His mouth hunted down your lips, fusing into a deep kiss as he fucked you good and harsh. The snapping of his hips against yours filled the room with wet, squelching sounds ― the atmosphere brimming with the musky scent of sex and sweat.

Marcus dove in so deeply, you swore you could feel him in your throat. His sharp stabs hit all the right spots, another climax building up ― both of your sexes pulsing in unison, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. It wasn’t long until you were creaming around his girth again, moaning like a madwoman as another climax overtook all your senses.

The General pumped his cock into you relentlessly, fucking you through yet another wave of ecstasy. He pulsed inside and you knew were close to finding his own release. When your walls relaxed around him, Marcus swiftly pulled out, a chesty groan bouncing between the walls of the room ― his flushed, reddened glans nudging your clit as his warm spent spurted out in thick, white ropes.

His cum clung to your pebbled nub, sliding down your tacky, swollen pussy lips and pooling on the sheets underneath.

Marcus kissed your forehead before falling to the other side of the bed, utterly spent. His skin glistened under the candlelight while his chest raised in quick succession.

As your heartrate calmed down, you giggled, the most content you’d ever been. Marcus looked at you, a creeping smile curling his lips, and extended an arm towards you, inviting you onto his chest.

You were quick to accept, your blushed cheek resting on his sternum. He kissed your forehead again, a slight brush that pulled a satisfied sigh out of you.

Neither of you spoke for a while. Surprisingly, the silence was comfortable, calming in a sense. You never got to enjoy the aftermath, too busy with keeping yourself together. This was different.

Marcus was different.

But he couldn’t be. He was just another man focused on the next battle ahead, planning your demise. Whether you liked it or not, the General was your enemy, a conqueror ― the incarnation of everything you hated. The man who had killed your father right in front of you, with his expression blank and devoid of emotion.

You hated him. You should hate him. Your determination shouldn’t falter just because you were fucking him. You were not doing it for your own enjoyment; you were doing it because you had a purpose. In fact, you should be repulsed every time he put his hands on you, every time he easily sank into you, blissfully stretching your inner walls.

And despite everything, despite knowing who he really was, you still… liked him. You were not disgusted by his touch, but horny for it, craving him.

You were so fucked.

Marcus stirred under you, battling his own demons.

He knew this was wrong but couldn’t stop himself. There was a gravity around you that pulled him in, no matter how hard he fought against it. Irremediably he found himself orbiting towards you, like two stars in a colliding path.

There’s no harm in having a little fun.

But was it just that? A little fun? Couldn’t be, not when his unoccupied mind kept drifting back to you. Before he would be thinking about the next step, what he needed to do to win the next battle, but now war was far from his mind.

He wished he could shut the door and keep the outside world at bay. He wished he could live in this little cocoon with you.

But duty always called.

You had fallen asleep on top of him, so carefully he moved you off his chest. His mind was so loud he couldn’t follow you into Morpheus’ realm.

Sitting back on the bed, Marcus looked over his shoulder at you, sleeping on your side. Your face was buried in the pillow underneath, your red curly hair an angry could around you. Completely naked on his bed, you were a godsend. A voluptuous figure with generous, round breasts; your moonlight skin glistening with the product of your pleasure.

His eyes travelled down your figure, arriving at the sweet gap between your thighs. His cum was still smeared all over your mound and pussy lips, dry and tacky, a reminder of the shared passion.

Damn, you looked beautiful.

With a sigh, he got up and walked towards the basin near the fireplace. The fire kept the water lukewarm, and he dampened a clean rag and wringed it out. Walking back to the bed, Marcus sat beside you. Delicately, he pushed one of your legs aside and swiped off his spent, cleaning your folds with extreme care not to wake you.

But you did. One of your eyes fluttered lazily, and looked over your shoulder to stare at him, slightly dishevelled.

“You alright?”

Marcus smiled softly, discarding the rag to the feet of the bed as he laid down behind you, head propped up on his hand.

“Yes, I was just wiping you clean,” he muttered, kissing your shoulder.

You groaned with a smirk, pushing your sweet ass against his hardening bulge. Your buttocks rubbed his growing erection as your eyes shut again.

“Another round?” you whispered and then bit your bottom lip, wriggling your hips so his manhood found refuge in the gap between your thighs.

“You nymph,” Marcus moaned. Your heat was turning wet again, soaking his now stiffened cock. “But I can’t, I―”

“I’ll be quick, I promise,” you husked sleepily, one of your hands slipping down your belly to grab his beating dick poking between your legs. “Just a quickie, Marcus, please,” you added, leading his leaky tip inside you.

There was no discussion after that. Groaning, Marcus plunged in in a smooth motion, your velvety walls parting to greet him and hug him tight. His arm draped around your waist to hold you in place and began fucking into you from behind. You hummed your approval, Marcus paying worshipping attention to your neck, kissing and nipping at it.

When you squirmed and whimpered, your pussy clamped down around him with force, announcing your orgasm. Still rutting into you, the hand holding you down trailed down your belly to gently pet your clit.

Your moans grew louder and needier, your ass pushing back into him, meeting every thrust. You came sobbing his name, strongly pulsing around him, wetting his cock and balls with your warm cream. Mustering all the strength he could, Marcus pulled out, his dick resting between your pussy lips.

You pressed your thighs together to squeeze his throbbing manhood and cradled his glans as he pumped himself between your inner thighs, his tip kissing your clit every time he pushed in. A minute later, Marcus came undone too, his warm spent landing on your cupped palm around his mushroom head.

Marcus remained still behind you as his cock softened and both of your breathings calmed down. Your eyes were still closed, but a smug smile curled your lips.

“See? I was quick,” you retorted.

“Always true to your word,” he joked, pulling back to grab the forgotten rag. He began rubbing your skin again and you parted your legs to have him wipe you clean. “But I really need to go.”

“So soon? Where are you going?” you pouted, craning your neck to glance up at him.

“It’s almost dawn. I…” Marcus fell silent, pondering his options.

He could tell you where he was going as a test to your loyalty. Prove Maximus wrong. He didn’t know why but confiding in you felt natural.

Marcus really wanted to trust you. If nothing went wrong, then he would know he had nothing to worry about.

“I’m going to the Roman fort in Cawdor with Maximus. We need to discuss some news we’ve just received,” he explained, carefully studying your expression.

“Oh, okay,” you muttered, completely unbothered by the information he had just shared with you, as if he had just told you that today was going to rain. “I’ll leave then.”

“You can stay and sleep in, no one will bother you here, mel,” he kissed your shoulder, heart lighter, before he stood up and started putting on his black armour.

You rolled around to lay on your other side, watching him dress with your hands tucked under your face.

“Need a hand with that?”

“No, I’m okay, thanks,” years of practice made it easy. He tied the belt around his waist and sheathed the gladius, then walked towards the bed to bend down and kiss you goodbye. “There’s some more of the concoction there. Please use it.”

You nodded your agreement, still half asleep, and Marcus stepped out.

The moment the door had closed behind Marcus, you had sprung to your feet, dressing yourself in a frenzy. But knowing you couldn’t just follow him, you had paced around the room for half an hour.

You had never run faster in your entire life. Once in the stables, you had fought with Kelpie to saddle her and trotted to Bonnie’s crannog. There you had encountered Torcall, who grilled you with questions.

“Where have you been? You’ve been gone the whole night! I was worried sick! What the hell are you up to?! Don’t tell me you’ve been with him, please.”

Needless to say, you didn’t answer any of it. You were a grown ass woman and didn’t need a nanny. Plus, it was none of his fucking business.

You had not intended on falling asleep on Marcus’ bed, but you had felt so at ease, you hadn’t fought your heavy lids.

You just told Torcall that you had gotten your hands on some valuable information and needed to go again. You knew that Marcus was testing you, if you could be trusted. If you told your father’s men about this, they would take action, outing you in the process.

No, you had to go alone. If you passed his test, then you were sure he would share even more in the future, just what you wanted.

Daimh and Iona were at the dining table, breaking their fast. You had kissed each of them before vanishing again.

It didn’t take you long to track down the prints of hoofs on the muddy eastbound path. Soon you caught up with Marcus and some of his men. Maximus, Cassius and Valerius accompanied him, as well as three other legionnaires you did not recognise.

You kept your distance from them and traversed through the forest instead of the path to avoid being seen. After three long hours, you finally arrived at your destination.

You were not prepared to see all those troops at Cawdor. There were hundreds of soldiers, the fort brimming with life. At the same time Marcus and his retinue arrived, a legion did too.

Why were there so many men here? Something was going on, something that could change the course of history. Was this just a repositioning exercise?

There were no women in sight, so you couldn’t just put a cloak on and blend in as you had intended. So you remained in the shadowy edge of the forest, hidden behind a tree.

Suddenly Marcus halted and veered his horse around. Someone from the newly arrived legion stepped out on a white horse.

“Governor Agricola,” you heard Marcus say in a greeting.

“General Acacius,” the man said back.

So, this was Agricola, the man who terrorised Caledonia. You wanted to hate Marcus, but your easy hate for Agricola burnt hot. He was the one responsible for the defeat of your people, the one who had taken prisoners in boats and parade them around the coast to show others what would become of them if they rose up in arms.

“We’ve heard the news of your premature departure, Governor. We wish to discuss the defence of Caledonia in your absence,” Marcus spoke clearly.

“Not Caledonia. Britannia, Acacius. That’s its new name. Use it,” Agricola’s arrogance seeped through his stupid smile.

Britannia? The bastards had already renamed your land? How fucking dared they?

But this was huge. It seemed like Agricola was leaving, possibly taking many of his men with him. If that was the case, the number of Romans in Caledonia would drastically reduce, giving you a fighting chance.

The snap of a branch behind you startled you, quickly turning on your heels. The forest was dark, so you squinted your eyes while scanning the area.

Perhaps it had just been an animal, so you redirected your attention back to the men.

To your misfortune, they were walking through the portcullis and a second after you lost sight of them.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

You ran back to Kelpie, needing to make the way back home fast.

Finally, some good fucking news.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel

@pepperstories @mewantpeepaw @inept-the-magnificent

[kaynanarie]

Eyes of Gold (Part 12)

(A WukongxReader story inspired by Beauty and the Beast and Lutung Kasarung.) (First) (Prev)

            “Where are you? Please come out?”

           The whispers of a familiar voice roused you from a restless sleep. You yawned and blearily squinted around you, trying to remember where you were. The shadowy silhouettes and dust tickling your nose brought back memories of a storage room. It had been daylight when you first hid but now, night had shrouded you in disorienting darkness. You sat curled up in the corner, wondering how much time had passed and if it was safe to finally leave.

           A quiet creak startled you as the door swung open. You watched a shadow silently creep in, slow and low to the floor. As you grew more accustomed to the dark, the form of a small monkey took shape. A familiar monkey with glowing, golden eyes.

           “Peaches, are you in here?”

           You sat up from your hiding spot in surprise. “Shihou?”

           As soon as he saw you, Shihou dashed across the room and flung himself onto you. He clung to your shoulder and patting your face with his tiny paws. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

            “I’m fine,” you assured the monkey, wrapping your cloak around him in a warm hug. “What are you doing here? Won’t you get in trouble?”

            “I was worried.” Concern, relief, and disapproval flashed across his face when he met your eyes. “You didn’t return to the mountain after the demons left.”

            “I guess you heard about the attack, then?”

           “Yes.” His frown pulled into a scowl, teeth bared as he glowered at the floor. “If I had known Bull Demon King was here, I never would have let you leave alone.”

            You ran a hand through his fur, feeling him relax under your soothing touch. “It’s okay, you didn’t know.”

           “Why didn’t you come back?”

             “I was helping the villagers,” you said, sitting back down with Shihou perching on your lap. “Thankfully, no one was hurt; just some damaged buildings. But when my sister heard the demons were gone, she came to see for herself. Elder Gran sent me to hide until she left but I guess I fell asleep.” Gentle brushes smoothed his agitated fur back into place. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

            Shihou sighed and nuzzled against your shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

            “Thanks to your hair.” Shihou suddenly looked worried when he met your gaze. You quickly explained to calm his concern. “It protected me when the bull tried to attack. Sorry I lost it. I think Sun Wukong took it with him…” you trailed off with a yawn.

            “Don’t worry about it. As long as you’re safe, that’s all that matters,” the monkey said with a relieved smile. “You should get some rest. We can return to the mountain in the morning.”

            Shaking your head, you forced yourself to stand, keeping Shihou balanced on your shoulder. “No, we should leave now while everyone else is asleep. I’ve already stayed too long and my sister might catch us trying to leave it we wait.”

            “If you insist,” Shihou agreed hesitantly. “There were guards posted around the village when I snuck in. I can guide you around them but we’ll still have to be careful.”

            You nodded. “Okay. Let’s get going.” Pulling your cloak close and Shihou closer, you slipped out of the storage room and through the empty house with careful steps. At the front door, you paused to peek out.

            Tilting his head, Shihou listened and pointed down a side street. “No guards for now. That should be the fastest route out of town. Once we’re outside the village, I can take you the rest of the way.”

            With a final glance, you hurried down the alley and into the shadows. The night was thankfully empty, the rest of the village sleeping off a stressful day. Only moonlight and icy wind filled the streets as you weaved between buildings. Distant voices on the winter breeze occasionally floated by. Each time, you would freeze and Shihou would listen but the guards were too far and too distracted to be of concern.

            It took longer than expected and exhaustion was quickly catching up. Your steps were clumsy, your body weary, and yawns plagued you with every other breath. Even your eyes were fighting to slip close between heavy blinks.

            Soon, you reached the edge of the village, shivering from bitter cold and fatigue. You almost cried seeing the great stretch of field and looming mountain still left to traverse.

            “I’ve got it from here,” Shihou said, nimbly flipping off your shoulder. In a puff of smoke, he transformed and landed in his taller demon form. You weren’t sure if it was your own tired mind or the moonlight softening his features but his figure seemed more striking than usual. It was only made worse when he smiled at you; warm, golden eyes brightening his handsome face. “Come on, up you get.”

            You were still recovering from your drowsy admirations when Shihou turned and knelt away from you. “What?”

            “I said I would carry you before and this will get us back to the mountain faster.” He grabbed your hand and tugged you forward so you were flush against him. Looping your arms around his neck, he held your knees and stood, easily hoisting you onto his back. “Ready?”

           Too tired to protest, you only nodded and nestled against his warm shoulder. “Yeah, let’s go home,” you mumbled sleepily.

           Shihou startled and stumbled a bit but quickly recovered with a brisk pace. “Sure thing, Peaches. You get some rest; we’ll be there in no time.”

            You closed your eyes and drifted off, only half aware of your surroundings. Shihou’s rhythmic steps, quick and sure; his hold never faltering. Winter chill shifting to a summery heat, chasing away your lingering shivers. The quiet ambiance of the slumbering jungle settling around you as the mountain welcomed you back. It was comforting and familiar and gently lulled you to sleep.

            The next thing you knew, Shihou was setting you down amongst plush blankets and fluffy pillows. As he turned to leave, you caught his hand and clung to it. “Stay?” you asked, smiling soft and sweet. Your half open eyes caught his flustered face but he didn’t shy away. Instead, you felt him shuffle into bed next to you, hugging you against him in a comforting embrace. Warm fur tickled your cheek, carrying his soothing scent of peaches and stone. You snuggled closer as you felt the tug of sleep pulling you back under.

            “Goodnight, Shihou,” you whispered.

            The last thing you remembered was his purred, “Goodnight, my Peach,” and the gentle press of lips to your brow.

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~🍑 Peach Friends 🍑~

@joyfulllittlething @iluxurycruisedthatship @drspecialhell @moondrop39-dovewing70 @happycarp @chibifox88 @rutabaga-menace

(If you would like to join the tag list, let me know!)

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Something fluffy and cute with the return of Shihou! Just to share the vision of the soft boi, he's absolutely inspired by various artworks I saw of the 1996 Journey to the West. Thank you so much for reading, all the wonder feedback has kept me motivated! Until next time!

You can also find this story on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60643669

[fangdokja]

🔞“He says he’d do anything for you. But would you believe him?”

❤︎ Synopsis. Beneath his playful smile lies a predator in waiting—muscles honed for control, a filthy mind veiled by charm, and a dark obsession that festers with every glance you give him. You think he’s harmless, but when his restraint finally snaps, you’ll learn just how wrong you’ve been.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Best Friend x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. Unspoken Desires - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 5,580

♡ TW. dom + top + older + sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, fear play, isolation, monitoring, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, depression and mental illnesses, implied suicidal tendencies, unhealthy coping mechanisms, masturbation, hinted needle play, degradation, name calling, implied drugging

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr content guidelines involving mental illnesses, self-harm, and suicide, some plot details of the original story were purposefully made ambiguous to fit the platform.

♡ A/N. Actually I was trying to write wholesome, then it went to my usual writing style oop. Though, I wouldn't really say this is explicit. Seems lax for me, but that also has its own appeal.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who grew up with you in a tiny village nestled deep in the heart of a high fantasy world, where magic thrummed beneath the earth like a heartbeat and gods were whispered about in the rustling of leaves. A world where war and peace ebbed and flowed like the tides, and your childhood playgrounds were forests that spoke in riddles and rivers that glowed faintly under moonlight.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who first met you when you saved his life—or maybe he saved yours. You can’t even remember anymore. But you were just kids back then, barely old enough to wield a knife, much less survive a wolf attack in the woods. He’d laughed with bloodied teeth and sparkling eyes, like almost dying was the best day of his life.

"You’re an idiot," you’d muttered as you yanked him out of the beast’s jaws, dragging him behind a tree.

"Yeah, but you saved me," he grinned through bloodied teeth, his grin wide enough to split his face.

"Only so I don’t have to explain to everyone else why I let you die."

"Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that."

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who was always a little too much—too fast, too loud, too bright. The kind of kid whose presence filled every corner of a room, whose schemes were impossible to ignore, and whose laugh could somehow make you feel both exhausted and alive.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who was the sun, burning at a temperature that should’ve incinerated him, and you? You were the moon, distant and cold, orbiting him only because you didn’t mind the warmth.

"You’re like a puppy," you said once, watching him pace excitedly as he rattled off yet another harebrained scheme.

"Like a what?" He froze mid-step, his eyes wide with mock offense.

"A puppy. Annoying, loud, and too full of energy."

"I am not annoying!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms out dramatically. "I’m charming."

"Sure you are."

"And loud? That’s just passion!"

"Passion’s another word for obnoxious, you know."

He gasped, clutching his chest like you’d stabbed him. "Take it back!"

"No."

"You’re heartless!"

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who was your partner in everything. You weren’t just two kids in a village—you were an unstoppable duo, a myth in the making. Climbing mountains to see if you could touch the clouds, sneaking into the elder’s home to steal forbidden scrolls, setting traps for monsters that only existed in bedtime stories.

"You’re going to get us caught," you whispered as he crouched beside the elder’s door, fiddling with the lock.

"Not if you keep watch," he replied, grinning like this was the most fun he’d ever had.

"Keep watch? I’m not an accomplice to your idiocy."

"Too late. You’re already here."

"By force."

"Uh-huh. And yet you’re still standing here, helping me."

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched into a reluctant smile. "I hate you sometimes."

"Only sometimes? I must be doing something right!"

Everyone else thought he was insane, but you always followed. Not because you believed in his harebrained schemes, but because his chaos made you feel alive in a way you didn’t understand.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who was terrifyingly smart in ways that shouldn’t have been possible. He didn’t just think outside the box; he dismantled it, set it on fire, and then asked why it existed in the first place. He could weave together plans and schemes that made grown adults stammer in awe—or fear.

"You’re going to blow us up one day," you deadpanned as he rigged a trap out of nothing but twigs and string.

"Not ‘blow up,’" he corrected, his hands moving deftly. "Just… scare off the bad guys."

"Bad guys? You mean the squirrels?"

"They’re shifty little things."

"You’re insane."

"And yet, you’re still standing here."

"To see how you plan to die this time."

But he was also the same boy who fell into rivers because he forgot they were slippery, or who got stuck in a tree because he didn’t think about how he’d climb back down.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who, even as a child, hated the idea of losing you. He didn’t show it in ways you’d notice—he wasn’t clingy or possessive yet—but he’d always insist on being there.

"You don’t have to follow me everywhere," you grumbled one day, watching him trail behind you.

"Yeah, but what if something happens to you?" he said, grinning like it was a joke.

"Like what? Tripping on a rock?"

"You joke, but rocks are deadly."

"You’re impossible."

"And you’re stuck with me."

Wherever you went, whatever you did, he was there. Even when he got mad at you, even when you got mad at him, the idea of being apart was something neither of you could bear.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who, as you both grew older, turned your childhood games into full-fledged adventures.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who always made sure you had his back, just as he had yours. It didn’t matter if you were facing bandits, cursed creatures, or labyrinths that seemed impossible to escape—he would always find a way to pull you through.

And you’d do the same for him, even when he tried to stop you. Especially when he tried to stop you.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who hated how you always put yourself in danger for him.

Whether it was throwing yourself in front of an attack, volunteering to distract enemies so he could escape, or using the last of your strength to save him, it drove him absolutely insane.

He’d smile through gritted teeth, trying to play it off as his usual carefree self, but you could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his hands clenched into fists.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who started to argue with you more and more because of it.

At first, it was just teasing jabs—“You know, one day you’re going to get yourself killed pulling stunts like that.”

But when you kept doing it, his tone grew sharper, his words harsher. “Do you even care about your own life? Do you think I’d just let you throw yourself away like that?!”

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who, despite his frustration, couldn’t stop you.

No matter how many times he argued, begged, or outright yelled at you to stop risking yourself, you always brushed him off with that infuriatingly calm logic of yours.

“If I didn’t, you’d be dead. So what’s the problem?” And every time you said it, he felt like his chest was going to explode—partly from anger, but mostly from fear.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who would never admit it, but the thought of losing you terrified him more than anything else in the world.

He’d rather lose a limb, his powers, even his own mind, if it meant keeping you safe.

And the fact that you didn’t seem to value your life as much as he did made something dark and desperate coil in his chest.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who, during one of your worst arguments, snapped. His usual charm and humor vanished, replaced by raw, unfiltered rage.

“Do you think I need your sacrifices? That I’m some helpless idiot who can’t survive without you throwing yourself in harm’s way? I’m not weak, and I don’t want to watch you die for me, do you understand that?!”

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who stormed off after that, leaving you both in silence for hours, maybe even days.

But when he came back, he wasn’t angry anymore.

His voice was calm, his smile soft, but there was something unsettling about the way he looked at you, like he was trying to memorize every inch of you in case you disappeared.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who started to take more control over your adventures after that. He’d laugh and joke like normal, but he always seemed to steer you away from the most dangerous paths, even if it meant taking longer to reach your destination.

And if you ever tried to put yourself in harm’s way again, he’d find a way to stop you—whether it was with words, tricks, or, in the most extreme cases, outright forcing you to stay behind.

———

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who never thought he liked you as anything more than a best friend. You were his partner-in-crime, his constant, the only person who truly understood him. He couldn’t imagine his life without you, but that didn’t mean he liked you like that.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who felt something strange the first time you smiled at someone else like you smiled at him.

It was during one of your adventures—a random stranger you helped along the way. They cracked a joke, and for the first time, you laughed. Not your usual quiet, wry chuckle, but something brighter, something real. He grinned along with you, but inside, something cold and heavy settled in his chest.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who didn’t understand why it bothered him so much when others got too close to you.

You’d always been his.

Not in a romantic way—just in the way best friends were.

You were his partner, his moon, the person he trusted more than anyone.

But when someone else tried to share your attention, that bad feeling in his chest twisted into something darker.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who started noticing it more and more.

The way you’d listen to someone else’s plans without questioning them, even though you always teased his. The way you didn’t hesitate to step between someone else and danger, even though you knew it would make him furious. The way your expression softened when you thought no one was watching, as if you never looked at him like that.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who told himself it was nothing, just a weird phase.

Maybe he was overthinking it.

He had no reason to be upset.

You were his best friend—you weren’t going anywhere. But the more he thought about it, the more that thought didn’t feel like enough.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who started acting without realizing it. His smiles grew sharper when others talked to you, his words more cutting, his presence heavier. He’d laugh it off when you called him out, waving his hand like it was all a joke, but deep down, he knew it wasn’t.

He just couldn’t figure out why.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who, during one of your adventures, snapped at you for the first time in a way that wasn’t about your safety.

It was something small—someone you met on the road had complimented you, and you’d actually smiled back.

He didn’t know what came over him, but before he could stop himself, he was already muttering, “You’re just going to smile at anyone now, huh? What’s next, inviting them to join us?”

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who immediately regretted it when you frowned and looked away. You didn’t argue back, didn’t tease him like usual. You just stayed quiet, which somehow felt worse than anything you could’ve said.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who started avoiding the subject entirely after that. He went back to his usual carefree self—laughing, joking, pulling you into more wild adventures.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who didn’t know why he felt this way until one night, while camping under the stars, he caught himself staring at you. The way the firelight flickered across your face, the way your usually emotionless eyes softened when you stared into the flames, the way you always sat close enough for him to feel your warmth but never closer.

Something in his chest ached, and for the first time, he realized why.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who didn’t want to admit it. Didn’t want to ruin what you had, didn’t want to think about what it might mean.

But he couldn’t stop himself from wondering. Wondering if anyone else could make you smile the way he did.

Wondering if anyone else could be your constant.

———

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who isn’t stupid—he knows you don’t see him the way he sees you.

He can tell by the way you laugh around him, carefree and unguarded, like you’re sharing a joke with an older brother. By the way you roll your eyes at his antics, always more amused than annoyed.

By the way you lean on him, not like someone who’s in love, but like someone who trusts him to always be there, no matter what.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who knows he’s just your best friend, the person who drags you on adventures and watches your back.

Nothing more, nothing less.

But that doesn’t stop the knot in his chest from tightening every time you treat him like something so casual.

Like he’s just another part of your world, instead of your entire world, the way you are to him.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who wonders sometimes if he’s being selfish, wanting more than what you’re already giving him. You let him into your life, trusted him in a way you trusted no one else. But it wasn’t enough.

It was never enough.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who pretends it doesn’t bother him, flashing his usual grin and cracking jokes whenever you call him out for being clingy.

“Can you blame me? You’re my favorite person in the world! No one else even comes close.” But underneath the laughter, his mind is racing, twisting, plotting.

Because if you couldn’t love him the way he loved you, then he’d just have to make sure no one else could either.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who starts pushing the boundaries of your friendship without you even noticing.

Casual touches linger just a second too long, playful teasing takes on a sharper edge, and his protectiveness turns into something almost suffocating. If you notice, you don’t say anything—maybe because it’s easier to brush it off as just him being his usual self. But he knows better.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who tells himself it’s fine.

That he can wait. That you’ll realize it eventually.

That you’ll see no one else will ever understand you the way he does, no one else will ever protect you the way he does, no one else will ever love you the way he does.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who grows darker, quieter, when someone else gets too close to you. The usual charm and humor are still there, but there’s something off about the way he smiles, too sharp and too cold.

He won’t say anything at first, just watching, waiting, calculating.

But if they try to take you away, to pull you out of his orbit, that’s when things start to unravel.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who starts isolating you without you even realizing it. He’s the only one who can keep up with you, the only one who knows how to handle your quirks and your flaws.

The only one who will never leave you. He plants the idea so carefully, so subtly, that you don’t even question it.

It’s just the way things are.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who knows, deep down, that you don’t love him the way he loves you.

Not yet, at least. But that’s okay.

Because he doesn’t need your love—he just needs you.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who tells himself it doesn’t matter how long it takes. Days, months, years—it’s all the same to him.

Because in the end, you’ll cave.

You’ll see that no one else could ever love you the way he does. That no one else could ever deserve you.

———

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who didn’t even realize how far gone he was until one day, when you were bathing, he accidentally walked in.

You didn’t scream, didn’t flinch, didn’t even care.

Just stared at him with those cold, emotionless eyes of yours and calmly said, “Door’s unlocked.”

As if it was nothing.

As if the sight of your bare skin, the water sliding down your body, wouldn’t haunt him for the rest of his life.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who felt his breath catch in his throat, his usual wit failing him for once.

He laughed it off awkwardly, muttered some excuse about needing something, and stumbled out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

But the image of you was burned into his mind, refusing to fade no matter how hard he tried to shake it off.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who hated himself for it, hated how much his body reacted to you.

He wasn’t supposed to think about you like this, wasn’t supposed to feel this way.

But no matter how much he tried to fight it, the memory of you kept creeping back in, setting his skin on fire and making his heart race.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who found himself lying awake that night, your image replaying in his mind on an endless loop.

He could still see the way the water glistened on your skin, the way your hair clung to your shoulders, the way you looked at him so casually, so apathetically, as if you had no idea what you were doing to him.

———

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who you’ve always seen as a goofy, harmless puppy.

Sure, he’s tall and muscular—towering over most people effortlessly—but his easygoing attitude and boyish charm have always made him seem more like a loyal guard dog than anything remotely dangerous. You’ve never thought twice about sharing space with him, leaning on him, treating him like the oversized, overprotective best friend he appears to be.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who knows exactly what you think of him. He plays his part so well: the playful idiot, the one who makes you laugh when you’re down, the one who keeps you safe without asking for anything in return.

And while some parts of that are true, they’re far from the whole story. Because the truth is, underneath that sunshine grin and those puppy-dog eyes, he’s not your harmless protector. He’s something much darker, much more dangerous, and he hides it all so well.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who doesn’t just want you—he wants to own you.

Every glance, every laugh, every little touch you give him fuels something primal inside of him, something he keeps locked away beneath layers of charm and wit. Did you think his broad shoulders and ripped physique were just for show?

That all those hours spent training, honing his body, were just about looking good? No. It was for you. It’s always been for you. To keep you safe. To keep others away.

To ensure that when the time comes, no one—not even you—could stop him from taking what’s his.

———

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who goes home after a long day with you, his head swimming with the way your body brushed against his, the way your apathetic expression softened for just a second when you cracked one of your rare, sarcastic jokes.

It’s unbearable, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in his chest, and by the time he’s alone, he’s already burning up with the need for release.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who hates how much power you have over him. Hates how weak you make him feel when he’s wrapped around your little finger, playing the role of your goofy best friend when all he really wants is to pin you down and make you look at him differently—to see him not as your protector, but as something darker.

Someone who could ruin you in ways you’ve never even imagined.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who locks himself in his room, leaning back against the door with a sharp exhale, his muscles tight with tension.

The second his hand dips into his waistband, it’s like a dam breaking. He doesn’t even try to fight it anymore. His mind goes straight to you—how you’d feel, how you’d sound, how you’d look beneath him, your apathetic mask cracking under the weight of his touch.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who starts slow, dragging his hand lazily over his length as he pictures the way you’d squirm beneath him, trying to keep your composure. He knows you’d fight him at first—of course you would—but he also knows how easily you’d give in if he played his cards right.

How easily he could shatter your walls and make you depend on him, need him, the way he needs you.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who whispers your name under his breath, his voice rough with desperation as his strokes grow faster, harder, more erratic.

His mind races with all the things he wants to do to you, all the ways he wants to mark you, claim you, destroy you so completely that no one else could ever have you the way he does.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who bites his lip to muffle the low, guttural sounds escaping his throat, his free hand gripping the edge of his desk so tightly his knuckles turn white.

He pictures you underneath him, tears welling in your eyes as you try to push him away, only to melt under his touch. The thought makes his head spin, and his hips jerk up involuntarily as he chases his release.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who finally spills with a choked groan, your name falling from his lips like a broken prayer. The pleasure rips through him like a tidal wave, leaving him trembling and breathless, his body taut with the intensity of it.

But as the high fades, a darker satisfaction settles over him, mixed with a burning hunger that refuses to be quenched.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who leans back against the wall, wiping a hand over his face as he catches his breath.

He feels no guilt, no shame—only a gnawing desire for more.

Because this isn’t enough. It’ll never be enough.

He wants you for real, not just in the dark recesses of his mind.

———

You lay there, the soft, rhythmic sound of your breathing the only thing that pierced the quiet of the night. The warmth of the small, candlelit room was comforting, a stark contrast to the cold, dark woods outside the village walls.

You were nestled in your bed, the soft fabric of your nightgown clinging to your body as you drifted in and out of consciousness, your dreams filled with the excitement of the adventures you and your best friend had shared throughout the years.

Unbeknownst to you, his eyes were fixated on your form, his gaze hungry and possessive. He'd been watching you for hours, his thoughts growing darker with every passing minute.

He knew you didn't see him the way he saw you, but that was a problem that could be rectified.

He took a deep breath, his hand moving to the bulge in his pants, and whispered to himself, "Mine. You're always mine." His grip tightened as he began to stroke himself, his eyes never leaving your peaceful face.

The sound of his zipper was the only disturbance in the stillness, and he felt his heart pound in his chest as he grew harder at the thought of you, his untouchable moon.

"Sleep tight, fucktoy," he murmured, a twisted smile playing on his lips, "because when you wake up, you'll finally know who you truly belong to."

The tension grew palpable as his strokes grew quicker, his breathing becoming ragged and erratic. He was lost in his own twisted fantasy, imagining the way your eyes would widen in shock and fear as you awoke to find him there, invading your personal space, claiming what he believed was rightfully his.

"You think you can ignore me?" he whispered harshly, the anger and frustration in his voice barely contained.

"You think I don't notice when you laugh with others, when you let them touch you?" His hand moved faster, his teeth clenched in determination. "You're mine, and you always will be. I'll make sure of it."

His eyes roved over your body, lingering on the curve of your hip, the swell of your breasts, and the delicate line of your neck. The urge to reach out and touch you, to mark you in some way, was almost overwhelming.

But no, not yet.

The anticipation was too sweet.

He sat on the edge of the bed, the soft mattress groaning slightly under his weight. The room was suffocating in its darkness, only the flickering candle on the bedside table casting dancing shadows across your peaceful face.

He could see the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the soft sound of your breaths echoing in the quiet space. It was a sound he'd become all too familiar with, a sweet melody that lulled him into a sense of security and power.

His hand moved under the covers, the fabric of his own trousers straining against his growing arousal. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep his breaths even as he touched himself.

His eyes never left you, studying every curve and line of your body as if he could burn the image into his mind. You were so close, yet so far away. It was infuriating, a constant reminder of what wasn't his.

Yet.

He corrected the thought in his head with a smirk.

You were his, had always been his, even if you didn't know it yet.

He'd make sure of it.

His hand stroked faster, the wet sounds of his self-indulgence seeming too loud in the otherwise silent room. He couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of triumph as he watched your chest rise and fall, oblivious to the dark desires that swirled around you like a tempest.

"Bitchy cumdump," he murmured under his breath, the word a vile whisper that seemed to hang in the air like a curse.

"Rape slut." He liked those names, the way they painted a picture of you that was so much more… palatable than the cold, untouchable moon you portrayed to him.

But you could also be warm, alive, full of passion and fire, and he knew it.

He just hadn't figured out how to make you burn for him alone.

His hand stroked himself roughly, his eyes never leaving your sleeping form. You had your back to him, the soft curves of your body hidden beneath the thin fabric of your nightgown.

It was almost translucent, revealing the shadowy outline of your curves, your skin so pale it seemed to glow in the moonlight filtering through the window.

His eyes roved over you greedily, taking in every detail, his mind racing with thoughts of what lay beneath that delicate exterior.

He reached out with his other hand, the one not busy with his own desires, and traced a line down your spine.

You shifted slightly, a soft sigh escaping your lips, but you remained asleep. The sound of his own breath grew heavier, his strokes more frantic as he felt the heat of your body through the fabric.

"Mine," he whispered again, his voice low and guttural.

It was a promise, a vow that echoed in the quiet of the room, a declaration of war against anyone who dared to claim you.

His breath hitched as he reached the peak of his desire, his hand moving faster and faster as he thought of claiming you, making you his in every way possible.

With a low, primal growl, he came, his seed spilling onto the bed sheets.

The warmth and wetness of his release brought him back to reality, his hand slowing as he stared at the evidence of his obsession with you.

His heart raced in his chest, a heady mix of longing and satisfaction coursing through his veins. He had never felt so alive, so powerful, so… right.

He leaned back against the headboard, his eyes still glued to your form. You hadn't stirred, hadn't woken up.

It was like you were a doll, a perfect creation made just for his amusement.

He felt a twisted sense of pride that you hadn't noticed his depravity, that his need for you was so strong it could only be expressed in the dark when you were at your most vulnerable.

But that would change.

Oh, how it would change.

As he withdraws his hand from the warmth of his climax, he was careful not to disturb you, his eyes lingering on the soft rise and fall of your chest. He reaches for a cloth beside the bed to clean up the mess he’s made, his mind racing with thoughts of what he’ll do next to claim you fully.

He’s always been the one to watch over you, the one to save you, the one who understands you better than anyone else.

But now, it’s no longer enough to just be your best friend.

He reaches under his bed, his hand brushing against the cold, rough fabric of a hidden bag.

The zipper whispers open, revealing an assortment of morally questionable items: ropes, gags, handcuffs, and a few bottles of clear liquid with handwritten labels. The scent of leather and something else—something darker—wafts out, mingling with the stale air of the room.

His breath hitches as he runs his fingers over the contents, feeling the weight of each item. They're tools of his obsession, tokens of the future he's crafting in his twisted mind.

His eyes flicker back to you, sleeping so peacefully, so utterly unaware of what's to come.

He pulls out a syringe from the bag, the cold metal glinting in the moonlight.

With practiced hands, he fills it with a pink liquid, the viscous substance swirling within the glass tube like a trapped, desperate thing.

It's a potion of his own making, something that would ensure that when the time came, you'd be too compliant to resist him.

He's not a complete monster—he doesn't want to take you by force, not yet at least.

But he knows that the path to your heart is paved with fear and obedience.

He rolls the plunger between his thumb and forefinger, feeling the liquid warm against his skin. The anticipation of using it on you makes his breath catch.

He watches you sleep, the fabric of your nightgown clinging to your body like a second skin. His eyes trace the gentle curves of your breasts and the way your hips dip before flaring out, the shadow between your thighs taunting him with what lies beneath.

The urge to claim you fully is overwhelming, but he reminds himself that patience is key.

Instead, he allows his gaze to linger, his hands straying to the syringe filled with his homemade potion—a blend of aphrodisiac and sedative that would make you pliable in his hands. He imagines pushing it into your soft flesh, watching as the liquid fills you, turning you into a vessel of his desires.

He reaches out with trembling hands, his breath shallow and ragged with anticipation. His fingertips graze the soft fabric of your nightgown, tracing the line of your slit, feeling the heat radiating from your body. You stir slightly in your sleep, but do not wake, oblivious to the violation he's about to commit. He gently parts the fabric, exposing your bare skin to the cool air of the room.

He takes one of the syringes filled with his potion and holds it up to the moonlight, admiring the way the liquid shimmers. "Soon, you'll be mine," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper, thick with lust and possession.

He brings the needle closer, poised at the entrance of your pussy, savoring the moment. "And no one will ever be able to take you from me."

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

[mirensiart]

Miry I don't personally ship Ilia and Zelda. I think I might need a bit more persuading

(invitation for you to yap unrepentantly about this ship)

Oh hehehe

Well, you know those fujoshi shippers that ship two guys just because they exist in the same universe, doesn't matter if they have canon dialogue or interactions?

Well I'm like that but with women lmao I just like shipping girlies together cause I like to imagine what their dynamic would be like, etc

In the case of the zelda/ilia ship, I personally like to think of their post game selves and how they could work together

Like I headcanon zelda as a lesbian who was pining after midna and ended up pretty heartbroken post game

Now enter ilia who's post game and is still struggling with the whole amnesia/memories thing, but is also deeply involved with the resistance and helping hyrule/ordon as much as she can

Just like Link I can't see her as just going back to her normal life post game

Like she goes with Link and Rusl to Telma's bar often to help with the resistance, she goes with Link to Zora's Domain often too to visit Ralis

She's around Kakariko village, like she's very proactive in my head lol

Which is why I like to imagine she crosses paths with Zelda eventually, since Zelly would also be involved in all the post game hyrule reconstruction stuff and and would meet up with the resistance and with the Goron, Ordon and Zora representatives

I like to imagine ilia gets a lil crush on Zelda from the distance, like maybe she's her bi awakening, which makes ilia's world spin like seen in this comic I did

I also like to believe Link is pretty chaotic and teases her like a sibling would about her crush but also plays matchmaker lmao

Like maybe eventually Ordon wants to finally offer Queen Zelda with a sword as a sign of their alliance like how Rusl+Link wanted to do at the beginning of the game

And Link pushes ilia to be the one to give it to Zelda and maybe their fingers brush when she hands it off to her and maybe they hold eye contact for a lil too long

And maybe Zelda starts feeling butterflies and warmth for the first time since she lost midna and maybe it's a sign she's finally healing and maybe she should start visiting ordon more often :)

Anyway, I just really like to imagine them together lol plus the royalty + farmer/country bumpkin character is a weakness of mine lmao

In a perfect world midna eventually comes back and joins in the matchmaking with Link and teases zelda endlessly lmao

[jasontoddweek2025]

Feature Post

Congratulations to everyone who did Jason Todd Week 2025! (We will also have a summer event, so look out for that!)

Here we have a list of works (fanart and fanfic) by some of the awesome creators who participated in this event. Levels of detail vary by what was submitted to the feedback form. Please check the tags for warnings!

Without further ado...

Lycanwing (@star-wars-lycanwing-bat, Star_Wars_Lycanwing_Bat on AO3) - Series

Road to Murder - On his way to murder the Joker, Jason questions his life's choices. (Drive)

Olive Branches - After a long day, all Jason wants is to go back to his apartment, but a little bird tries to get him to join in on family movie night. (Chronic Pain)

Monster - A half dragon kills Joker and reveals himself to Bruce. (Monster)

Isn't It Lovely, All Alone? - Jason is buried alive and he dies but the pit keeps bringing him back. (Grave, Buried Alive, Immortal Jason Todd)

Hello, Welcome Home - The aftermath of day 5 AKA The family cuddle pile. (Family)

Feline Therapy - Jason rescues a cat but what he doesn't know is that the cat is Tim. (Enemy to Caretaker)

Another Version of Me - Jason get triggered and Dick helps his brother realise that he is loved. (Return)

Birdie (@birdiedoesdc, a_alene on AO3) - Series

N.J.S.A. 39:3-10 - Drive

do you still wake up reaching for an empty space? - Chronic Pain

buried, banging at your door - Monster, League of Assassins

i'm gonna kill you if you don't beat me to it - Immortal Jason Todd

this live, throbbing age that brawls - Jason is a Literature Nerd

mechanically up all night, though - Red Hood and the Outlaws

i'd save a life if i thought it belonged to you - Lifeline

whenicarusflies (@whenicarusflies, whenicarusflies on AO3) - Series

We walked as tall as the skyline - Drive, Time Travel, The Batmobile Tires

when i take a breath I drown - Fear Toxin

How can I then return in happy plight? - League of Assassins

always and forever the last day alive - Grave, Buried Alive, Immortal Jason Todd

Family Problems - Family, No Capes AU

could you give me something for the pain - Enemy to Caretaker, Lifeline

you can't wake up, this is not a dream - Return, Outsider POV, Crime Alley

Chaos (Fic)/Lito (Art) (@freedom-of-speech333, Freedom_of_speech333 on AO3) - Series

The Loss of Tires (The Return of Hope) - The Batmobile Tires

Laughter Follows Me Back To Life - Joker

The Ghost of Who I Was/The Most of Who You Loved - Supernatural AU

I'm Still Here - Immortal Jason Todd

I'm Only Here For The Books - Jason is a Literature Nerd

You’re My Brother, After All - Enemy to Caretaker

The Life, Death, and Second Life of Jason Todd - Outsider POV

basalting (@basalting) - Series

late night drive - Drive

a good fuckin' day - Joker

cuckoo's egg - Supernatural AU

rest your weary heart - Grave

buy one, get one 50% off! - Family

don't think nothin' of it - Red Hood and the Outlaws - Implied Roy/Kori/Jason

it takes a village - Outsider POV, Crime Alley

Stormz (@stormz369) - Masterlist

Day 1 - Flashbacks to Jason's early years with Batman + Reader finding out he was killed. (Batmobile Tires) - x Reader

Day 2 - Reader helps Jason deal with a PTSD nightmare. (Joker) - x Reader

Day 3 - A civilian kid is afraid of Red Hood & Jason processes his feelings about it. (Monster) - x Reader

Day 4 - Jason + Reader at his grave. (Grave) - x Reader

Day 5 - Damian designs scar cover up tattoos for Jason (Family, Jason is a Literature Nerd) - x Reader

Lark Alliance (@snowberriesromanoff, lyricalark on AO3)

Day 7: come in she said i'll give you shelter from the storm - Jason Todd, the Narrows, and something like faith. A character study of Jason's pre-Robin years and the people who help him survive. (Crime Alley) - Selina Kyle/Holly Robinson

nursal1060 (@nursal1060writes, nursal1060 on AO3)

Day 2: The Pain Fades When We're Together - Chronic Pain - JayTim

salem (@worlds-okayest-fag, salemisntdead on AO3) - Series

Carry on my wayward son, there will be peace when you are done - Basically jason gets kidnapped by dick (not that he knows its dick lol). (Drive)

don’t need advice for my pain (it's making me more insecure) - Jason has a not fun night and wont ask for help. (Chronic Pain)

jason todd and the no good terrible very bad day - Supernatural AU

A minute from home (but so far from it) - Jason stuck in a time loop digging himself out of his grave over and over again. (Grave, Immortal Jason Todd)

ohana means family and family means nobody gets left behind (except tim) - Jason, Tim and Dick on a Batburger run for a family movie night, Dick and Jason argue about Disney movies and they accidentally leave Tim behind. (Family, No Capes AU)

And though I am crying and bleeding and barely breathing (youre killing me) - Absolute angst piece about Jason having a mental breakdown in his bathroom bc trauma. (Scars)

i don't believe in luck (against the sun we're the enemy) - Sentient Gotham AU where Jason is Gotham's chosen knight. (Outsider POV)

FaalThien (@faalthien, Faal on AO3)

Day 1 - Time Travel

Day 2 - Joker - JayDick

-

Day 4 - Immortal Jason

Day 5 - Monster, Jason is a Literature Nerd

Day 6 - Scars

Day 7 - Return

[raycatz]

I have a headcanon (one of many possible pieces that can be moved around) for LU Hyrule that I like but I also have a feeling that it's maybe something some would have strong opinions on. How quickly do you think folks would block me 'xD if I were to say that the speculation that the healing houses in Zelda 2 are brothels is something that like- I've integrated into my headcanons for LU Hyrule's backstory. OKAY HEAR ME OUT. (no, they're probably not meant to be brothels. It's a nintendo game. It could be a place of worship, or a hospital, or a kind villager. (I also haven't played Zelda 2,,) BUT! If they are brothels- there are various ways to add this into a story which I think works well for Hyrule. No, he's not working- stay with me)

More background, I'm a fan of Terry Pratchet's Discworld, especially the Night Watch series in the city of Ankh Moorpork. The city has various guilds, some of which being the assassins' guild, thieves guild, etc. These are jobs that are going to be done regardless, so the idea is that by being recognized by the city as guilds, there can be rules and regulations protecting the workers and also making sure what they do abides to guild standards. Thieves in the guild can't kill, for example, because that's the assassins' guild's job and would require an extraordinary amount of paperwork to sort out. Another guild is the seamstresses guild which is a guild for, ya know

From the discworld wiki:

The Seamstresses' Guild does not have a formal school, most of the training being, so to speak, on the job. Some Seamstresses are based in houses of negotiable affection or, in older language, houses of ill-repute, although these houses are often highly spoken of. The head of the guild is Mrs. Rosemary Palm; "Mrs" indicating seniority rather than marital status. The guild enforcers are the Agony Aunts, Sadie and Dotsie, prim, silent old ladies who will always catch up with a client that has behaved badly toward the Seamstresses. A punished client who is able to complain to the City Watch afterwards is considered to have gotten off lightly. [...] The Seamstresses regulate their own behaviours like other good guilds. For instance, the Guild prides itself that a customer may safely enjoy the services it provides, and will only end up battered, bereft of money and clothing, and otherwise ill-abused, in an alley in The Shades at midnight, if his personal tastes were to run that way.

The second piece of background information is the book series Bloody Jack which I listened to on audiobook as a kid. It's about Jacky Faber, an orphan girl who disguises herself as a boy to serve aboard the Dolphin, a man of war ship tasked with hunting pirates, set in 1801. I've seen posts on tumblr where the following trope is disliked (but to be fair there's probably posts like that for all tropes under the sun and I like how it was used in Bloody Jack, so), but Jacky gets her period on the ship, has no idea what it is, and thinks she's dying. She can't ask any of the men on board about it but she does have an idea of somewhere she might get answers. She's put together what sex is, and the sailors often talk about visiting brothels, and the ladies working there would probably have answers for her if she's dying of some disease or something. So, when the ship next docks she visits a brothel and asks them if she's dying. She's very kindly given the sex-ed and period talk and great! She's not dying and they're not going to out her as a girl to the crew, thank goodness! She thanks the lady and goes back to the Dolphin much relieved.

OKKIE DOKIE! Now we take both of those and a ftm trans headcanon and apply it to LU Hyrule! ~13-15 y/o LU Hyrule in the middle of Zelda 2 gets his period and thinks he's dying. (it also works with the headcanon that Hyrule isn't getting proper nutrition so maybe his period came late.) He's recently learned how Ganon can be revived with the hero's blood and Hyrule's like, I'm cursed ohhhh shit! He looks for answers and takes the same route as Jacky. After that, I think he starts a rapport with the brothels. He's never asked to work or offered services (and if he was, it would be unless that is something he would want (and pay for), but nah he's not interested and after expressing that he's not asked again.) He's adopted as a little brother and is welcomed in the houses as a rest point.

There are headcanons where Hyrule isn't welcome in his towns because Ganon's minions are after him. I've read many variations: the townsfolk like him but he and they know he can't stay long--to him being shunned and unwelcome. With either case, I think the healing houses would be adamant that Hyrule will always have a place to stay. He is grateful, but if Ganon's minions are following him, then he doesn't want to stay in any place long, especially when it might put them in danger.

Also going back to Discworld's Seamstresses, I think Hyrule would take on the role of the Agony Aunts- if a client has behaved badly towards a seamstress, Hyrule will make sure they have hell to pay.

Hyrule has another safe place to stay and the seamstresses have another person looking out for them.

The seamstresses are very supportive of Hyrule being trans. They joke with him with tips on how to present more masculine. They have suggestions for packing if that's something he's interested in. Safe binding. Proper menstrual care and access to needed materials, remedies for cramps, etc.

I really like the idea of the majority of the role models in Hyrule's life being women. He has the seamstresses, the Zeldas, Impa, and the fairies of which he is a brother to as well.

I also like to think that Hyrule is very sex positive! It works with the aroace headcanon (though I think Hyrule being with whichever of his Zeldas he gets shipped with is cute, too. Enjoying various headcanons is fun and cool! but shipping aside,) Even though sex is something Hyrule isn't interested in himself, I do think he's supportive of it. He's the ultimate wingman. Talking about sex or reproductive health might make others in the chain squeamish but for Hyrule it's something completely normal. He's a strong advocate for sex education, safe sex, and fantasy contraception! 👏 He's also fantasy pro-choice! 👏

Thank you for reading my TED Talk on Hyrule!

[greenerteacups]

What did you think about Katara and Aang ending up together? Did you ship them or Zutara?

Also, if you watched The Legend of Korra, what did you think of that show’s treatment of Katara’s character?

My beloved friend in Christ, look me in the eye and tell me you don't know what I shipped when I watched that show. Look at me. You know. You know damn well.

AS FOR KATARA IN KORRA for me the key part of accepting her character shift in the second series is that she's supposed to be like 90. I don't know anybody who doesn't seriously chill out when they're 90. She's pretty much at the end of her life. Her husband's dead, her brother's dead, Toph fucked off to live in the swamp, Suki has been erased from the collective consciousness a la Spiderman, and ninety-something Zuko is off somewhere riding around the country on a DRAGON in full ceremonial garb, doing recon missions for the new avatar and hunting terrorists. (That last one is awesome, and I have no notes. That boy's doing what he's meant to. I still think they should kiss. But that's not a writing critique, that's just what my heart feels is true and good.)

More generally, the sequel series doesn't give us much of the passion or lovable high-handedness she had in the original, but she was also a teenager. I have to give the writing space to bend and stretch around a 70-year time jump, and that leeway includes the possibility that Katara majorly chills out once her home is no longer under imperial occupation and she's not regularly enlisted in armed combat to defend the fantasy Buddha. Or she just got it out of her system and tapped out around 30 to have kids and live luxuriously off whatever gratitude-annuities she gets from Every Nation In The World. I like to imagine she had some adventures in her 20's and 30's leading the reconstruction effort in the Earth Kingdom, made a reasonable contribution to the waterbending academies in Republic City, decided that she could leave the rest to Sokka and Toph, and went home to enjoy life at home in peacetime. It's not the most dramatic or glamorous life, but I never get the idea that Katara wants either of those things. I think girl did her part, got her happy ending, and decided to stay there. Frodo sailing West at the end of the book? Couldn't be her! The Shire was saved, but not for you? Nope! Not here! Not Katara! She can go back to the Shire, thank you very much! She freed her homeland from a century-long imperial occupation, and she's going to march her ass home and enjoy it, thank you! Fighting the Red Lotus? Leave a voicemail. She's out teaching all the girls in the village to throw ice spears the size of a pike. She will Catch You Guys Later.

I've heard complaints that it feels like Katara didn't have any role in the post-imperial reconstruction process, and while she maybe doesn't found an institution or get a formal position of power, I think the real complaint is that we don't know enough about her to say. All the other Gaang members have a Thing that sort of represents what their goals and values were after the end of the first series. Zuko was Fire Lord (and got a sickass fucking dragon), Toph started the Republic City police (admittedly unexpected Lawful Toph Moment), Sokka becomes a city councilor for R.C. and then Chief of the Southern Water Tribe, Aang refounds the Air Nomads and also is the Avatar for the next 70 years. Which are visible and lasting marks of impact that make it easy to imagine how the others spent their time. That doesn't mean Katara didn't spend her time doing worthwhile and productive things, but we don't see them. We do know that she got bloodbending outlawed in the United Republic, and she became a "master waterbender" who's called in to consult on Korra's development both in her capacity as a martial arts expert and in a broader strategic/political way as one of the premier living experts on what it takes to be the Avatar. We don't see her much, but we do get the idea that she has plenty of respect from the people who matter.

It makes me a little sad she's not included in some of the stories we hear about the postwar Gaang exploits, like Toph and Sokka's work in Republic City, or early clashes with the Red Lotus. She's the best waterbender in the world and you guys saved the world together as teenagers; it feels like she should've been riding shotgun on some of these missions. But I try to make peace with it on the grounds that if she's not out there hunting down terrorists, it's because she's tired, goddammit. She took down a dictatorship at 15. She's been ass-whooping fascists for longer than most characters in the show have been alive. Katara is too cool of a character for any lack of detail to make me think she wasn't doing stone cold shit well into her fifties.

[nabaath-areng]

On the train home and distraught over it. My heart lies scattered all over the dust grey floor in pieces that are both pitiful and innumerable.

[fumifooms]

Makima, devils and self-fulfillment

Dumping some Makima and CSM thoughts after a part 1 binge bc I think about her forever and ever. I’m sure I’m forgetting some devil lore, feel free to correct what i get wrong/what’s been confirmed. On the table of contents there’s why & how Makima got fixated on Chainsaw, her revealing liking for the country mouse and discussion of her nature & emotions & desires. Was the scorpion doomed to be a scorpion?

The most of this post was thought of during a conversation with @saccharineomens and I don’t think it makes sense to jump into the spiral it sent me on without first laying down the interesting groundwork theorizing she did:

"Thinking about how makima herself wants to be deified. I wonder whether she recognizes the difference between Love As Worship and the love that Aki, Power, and Denji had. She says she wants to help humanity by having Chainsawman eat the “bad” devils, but why does she want to help humans? Because she was ordered to by the Prime Minister? No, her drive seems much more personal than that, it seems like she teamed up with the PM for contractual reasons. (In the most recent chapters we see governmental members wanting certain devils to be eaten, too. What was Makima’s relationship with them? She’s too independent to just follow THEIR orders, she’s Control.)

So is she wanting to better humanity for the accolades, or out of the goodness of her heart? She sees the big picture. She sees any small sacrifice as worth it for the end result, and she’s ruthless. Perhaps she thinks that a more sedate human race would be easier to control? But Makima doesn’t loathe humanity. She never acts like she sees all humans as lesser. She loves humanity’s creations, like good food and movies. She just wants Good Things all the time

She says she prefers the country mouse BUT adds a story where she helps exterminate country mice like vermin. She likes the simplicity yet rejects the idea of being simple. Makima the complex individual you are"

~

The story itself seems to prefr the country mouse. Well- it strikes a balance, shows that a risk to live good & fully can be very worth it, but still that stability over ambition is preferable, proning having a simple happy life over fame, a simple job instead of a dangerous one, etc etc. And I do find Makima’s answer on this so so interesting, she prefers the country mouse, but this preference isn’t out of affection or sympathy but because of how relaxing it feels to exterminate them when they cause problems.

Order satisfies her. Her order satisfies her. She likes the action of rooting out disorder. Maybe this is the devil part, like how Power especially wants blood and drinking it, I feel there’s an itch to every devil, and for Makima it’s a very rigid world view/morality/standards & making things follow her rules and submit to her order.

And maybe this is why she’s attached to humans too, why she felt it was worth it to stick with the government- because devils are chaotic by nature (it’s a whole plot point that hell is essentially a free-for-all battleground for example), meanwhile humans are the species that universally rule Earth with systems they invented and instilled. They made then enforced rules, complex and intricate webs of them. She feels alienated amongst devils but she understands the humans’ need for an orderly organised society, and now she wants to be part of it. Control and conquest require social dynamics after all, requires civilizations or groups. War is chaotic while peace is, well, peaceful— Makima resents her sisters for being death, famine and war, things that throw the world in such chaos. She wants a world of perfect order, no matter how much collateral damage there will be if the end result is control.

This is even more interesting if you consider that yes, Makima is untouchable of her own design, she deifies herself with her omnipresent amount of control and the sway over others that she seeks and encourages— There is this urge to dehumanize her for it, that yes, she is the devil of control and that means she was never going to be any different, have any more feeling be any less uncanny. And I love part 2 so much for this, because it shows us the war devil and the famine devil and we see how frankly uncharismatic with poor self-discipline they are, Nayuta too, and it helps us realize just how much Makima’s success was self-made.

She admires Chainsaw Devil, the Hero of Hell, because he had his own code and his own rules and he made Hell, the chaos pit, submit to them unfailingly. Wherever he goes he decides what he does and what happens to the people he encounters but does so consistently, he has his mechanism and his rules that he always obeys, and he fulfills them every time. It’s still a mystery the why of Chainsaw Devil’s behavior back then and how it works exactly, maybe Pochita left hell because he was tired of these rules he lived by like chains, but still, he was a servant to his code. Makima would have been glad being killed and eaten by Chainsaw Devil because it’d have been becoming part of his design, his conquest, his domination, she’d have been part of that —his— order. Through her death she would be shaping his world and be part of a conqueror’s making history. Like how she appreciates the country mice that die for the sake of order. Like how sacrifices must be made to herself, like listing the name of every person whose life was lost to the Gun Devil— All for the ~greater good~, for her vision for the world. Conquest always thinks its reasons are justified.

And she does mention with the country mice thing that she goes out to a friend’s farm every year! She has a human friend?? That she visits yearly and she genuinely likes it?? Ultimately she lives a busy city life because of her goal and drive and her urge & satisfaction with overseeing shaping the world herself, but part of her, like so many characters including Angel and Aki and Reze, wishes she could live a slow peaceful country life. Moviegoing and dogs and mice in a farm- Wouldn’t it be so much simpler if Makima could find fulfillment and happiness in being a farmer, in keeping control of her own farm, getting satisfaction from exterminating vermin and expertly getting everything right, the right crops grown at the right time on the right soil? Here, too, in a way it’s trying to have full control of an ecosystem, but her goals would be easier to achieve and better, without ceaseless sacrifice or much pressure. But Makima wants grandiosity and her goal does matter to her on a fundamental and moral level, she does think she knows what’s best for the world, and with the power to change it why wouldn’t she strive to? Visiting the farm is just a break, just something she does in fall to help out and just in time to see the vermin extermination. It calms her, then it’s back to actual work.

In capitalism, even the one at the very top of the ladder is ultimately alienated from others and often unsatisfied by their lifestyle, always wanting more and more power because surely that’s the extra edge they must be missing to be content— like how Makima thinks she wants to dominate Chainsaw Devil instead of being his equal. And she says it herself too, she likes humans the way humans like dogs…….. And she keeps so many dogs :( Makima prefers the country mice because they’re calming to root out, maybe because she usually mainly deals with city mice. It’s very easy to equate humans to the mice in this allegory because it’s pretty direct and she’s already likened humans to lesser animals compared to her. She’s self-isolating by design for her design but she still craves relationships and contentment, and the dogs are the embodiment or her want for bonds and occasional simplicity because there is no possible ulterior motive, no way they tie back into her wider plan. They’re her personal life— something that feels so alien when speaking about Makima. Personality and individuality and likes and preferences and friends they visit every year. She likes how easily she can train a dog and how they become putty in her hands, at her beck and call, how much they love her and how much she enjoys their love. How simple and straightforward and easy it is. She keeps them because she likes being loved by them and loving them, and she’s gotten and raised so many. A conqueror always wants more and more and more, is never satisfied.

Devils and agency

Like Power the blood devil wanting blood and having a fixation on drinking it like with Denji’s, or how it was shocking that the violence devil was pretty tame and nice and how he himself theorized it was because he was a fiend and possessing a human body… There’s something to be said about nature vs nurture with the devils. The way they reincarnate and always embody their fear makes it seem categorically like nature, that they always always end up fulfilling the role they were named after and born to fill… Outside influence they’re helpless but to conform with. Like the humans accepting their spot in the social ladder and the shittiness of their living conditions and job under capitalism. Makima craved being equals with someone despite being the control/conquest devil, Angel Devil despite claiming to be a devil who likes to see humans dying was haunted by their deaths and wanted to avoid ones like Aki’s. The Ghost Devil being ironically haunted by Himeno, seemingly helping Aki in her memory out of… Lasting affection? Or maybe it was less about being haunted itself and more about it recognizing how Himeno haunted Aki, and acknowledging that, with the memento, paying her respect to the ghost of her. It’s Angel Devil’s devil nature that makes him like human suffering, so then is it his angel nature too to still care about their deaths? Is there truth to this or is that just personality, just our confirmation bias haunting every part of their identity like it might in their own view of themselves too? We do know different reincarnations of devils do have different personalities after all.

Yoru, war devil, is the most interesting one when talking about the nature vs nurture debate with devils. There is how through her we see the perhaps the most the consequences of a devil stopping being feared— we see a horseman for a concept as universal and horrifying as war be reduced to some bird who needs a contract with a human to have any power even just on the situation when meeting Asa. And through the story we get to know her better, and it becomes clear that her goal is fueled in good part by simply wanting to be remembered and respected through fear. Liked, validated, seen a powerful. But what is more isolating than war? Or control? We also see Nayuta accepting others’ house rules. If part 1 shows perhaps the futility of running away from the truth, with Denji’s memory, with escapist coping mechanisms, with passivity and denial under a corrupt system and with abusive relationships- running away from your own feelings and from the reality of things and from all that you are, more complex than simply human or devil or both or neither— part 2 builds upon the theme of cult of personalities, the chainsaw church, etc. The apocalypse is coming, but this celebrity superhero might save us all, or doom us all uh, dunno. The hero of hell reliving the cycle of pressure from responsibilities and expectations, maybe the part will end with Denji running away like Pochita did~

But yes, on the reverse, I think Famine is a very interesting example of how a devil’s namesake may be more innate than coerced by circumstances. One would think that a famine devil would only like inflicting famine upon others, not being famished itself, but Famine has a bottomless stomach that can never, ever be satisfied, sated. I struggle to find a psychological explanation for this, except that maybe instead of her being hungry it’s her feeling empty when she’s not eating, tasting and having that high sensory experience that releases serotonin in humans, sort of like drugs? But I do take this as a step towards the compulsion theory overall, feels like a reach in the consistency otherwise. And compulsion does not mean it’s something that they like nor that it’s something that they fight against, pretty neutral, just a nature that nudges you towards one path. Maybe it’s even just their go-to for entertainment. Maybe it’s the only thing that makes them feel right and whole. But still the debate remains, what is it, a compulsion or an urge or an itch or an active desire or a conscious chosen want? Does it change anything in practice?

And because of all of this earlier, devils being self-fulfilling prophecies with their role is not in unsignificant part nurture, because doing their atrocities is how they stay remembered— feared, powerful, known— hell and devils are a very isolating place and breed after all, and we do see devils can want companionship. Existentially, it’s their purpose and how they justify their place in the world, in the terrifyingly vast and unknowable cosmos.

We still know so little of what makes Chainsaw Devil so special, why his carnage is so self-controlled. Despite a chainsaw maybe being possibly one of the most "nature" thing you can be— a tool to cut things, a human tool that can be helpful for many things, something to be wielding by another at their judgement on what they decide, but mainly something to cut, a tool suited for carnage, to hurt and to destroy. A blade with a toothed chain, spinning around and around and around endlessly on the same road at the same pace. Such a…. Innately circular concept. And yet the Chainsaw Devil is his own, not driven by an urge or by chaos but his very own brand of order, his own unique assigned purpose, a "if you call i’ll come running to help" policy equalizing everyone. He chooses to withhold his destruction and interference otherwise, and then he chooses to be used. If it’s a choice, of course.

Maybe this is what inspired Makima so much, that Chainsaw Devil could decide what to make of himself despite expectations or innate role. Because even Hell he decided & managed to subjugate under his will and whim, with a precise vision and process. When Chainsaw Devil acts like Denji or is defeated, Makima clicks her tongue and loses her admiration and respect. Makima admired and liked Chainsaw Devil, but only as long as he matched her great image of him in her mind, as long as he followed he rules for what she thinks he should be like. She admired him for his unrivaled self-made success, but once he stepped out of that to truly embody self-fulfillment and agency, disappearing from hell to live on his own road at the beat of his own drum… Well. Surely that was a mistake she has to correct. However their second battle ends, the better conqueror will have prevailed and she’s happy about that, all in the spirit of domination and subjugation.

Imo Makima’s biggest tool, similarly capitalism’s most helpful effect for its own purposes, is complacency. Resignation and passivity helps uphold the system and go along the flow of the will of the people in power. Aki and Reze go along with orders even when knowing their job is trash, etc. In Angel Devil especially we see him go along with the flow uncaring about anyhing, and we discover it was in part due to Makima taking away memories that motivated him. If every devil decides this is just how things are and how things should be that’s what they’ll continue to be and do mindlessly, not pursuing a better life like Chainsaw Devil and Denj and not seeking to change the world like Makima. I think even Makima veils herself to a lot of things, she doesn’t like to think deeply about some things, like her desire for connection, or how making bad movies disappear is strenuous and unsustainable and requiring sacrifices at best— how her judgement is as subjective as anyone else. How liking the country mouse and her friend back at the farm and her dogs could be not devoid of sentimality. Wanting bad movies erased is her one biggest show of selfishness, of pettiness and individuality, it’s about her tastes, simple as. About how she can have tastes, and cry seeing a scene of people hug, and want things that aren’t logical, her ideology and mind twisted into a pretzel to avoid acknowledging that she doesn’t live and breathe purely for the mission she’s made a single-minded robot out of herself to accomplish. Nayuta is assertive and selfish and loud, Makima is manipulative and strategically both for her goals and for coping hollow.

Everything in her plans and goals she says is for the greater good, necessary evil, manufactured happiness the way she’ll have decided for people— and that’s the thing isn’t it, like with War, it’s the crack that shows it was all truly about herself after all. Her self-made deification still had the flaw that a self made it. Makima is not omniscient, and it’s not Chainsaw Devil the not-so-fellow-kindred-soul conqueror who gets the best of her, but a city mouse, a dog, someone she would have never thought to respect, Denji.

[jaguarys]

For the record I don't think the Sannin had some sort of dramatic falling out. I think they grew apart in a way that they almost didn't notice. I think they found different interests, different people, and no matter how much they told themselves they were still as close as they'd always been they weren't. And I think it was a process of continually realizing these people aren't who you idealized in your mind; that they are maybe, kind of, sort of bad people; that they have done things you can't ignore, and that, maybe, they are your enemies. But there's no closure there. There's no sense of relief to be gained. Because you love them. You love them more than anyone in the world–– more than your students, more than your spouse, more than your family, more than your village. They know more about you than anyone ever will or ever could. They hold pieces of you, not only in your knowledge, not only in your youth, but in your soul, because they are one-third of it. You know them more, and less, than anyone could, and definitely more than you should

[prosebushpatch]

So I decided to restart my animal crossing new leaf for the 3ds file completely but I didn't know that Tom Nook would OFFER TO BUY the entire town and let you carry over the money to the new town and it's hysterical because the mayor basically peaces out, cashes in on 30 million bells, changes entire identity, and accidentally becomes the mayor in a new town. There's a fanfic there but I'm too lazy to write it.

[scarlettfevor]

Looking back, the way Garroth was acting in the last episodes of season one of diaries was ridiculous. Like, you're a grown ass man WHY are you, as the head guard, sulking in your room all day just because you saw the girl you've liked for literally 2 months kiss another guy when your village is on the brink of war???

[running-in-the-dark]

ooooh. we got an apartment!!!

the house isn't completely finished yet so we can't move in until April. we'll have to figure that out. but that's fine. it's in the town where my husband works! which is amazing.