#this is repulsive. this is unforgivable

[feathered-serpents]

If anyone gets this ask

This is fake

This is a false story using a separate real fundraiser you can find here's, words and an amalgamation of images on a new blog to scam people into donating money.

The "donate to help my cat/dog" scams have upgraded to exploiting an ongoing genocide to try and scam good people out of their money. This is disgusting. This is one of the most heartless scams I have ever seen

[dollydonna]

thank god for more moreau defenders

I downloaded the free camera mod so that not only could I rotate him freely in my mind but so I could rotate the very world around him

[redvexillum]

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, human!alastor, sub/d♡m dynamic, sub!reader, d♡m!alastor, reader has a shame kink, reader has a degradation kink, c☆ckwarming, p in v, ruined ♡rgasm, rough ♡ral s♡x, assistant!reader, non-s♡x repulsed alastor, teasing, begging, reader really wants alastor's c☆ck lol, alastor being a jerk but reader loves it, you literally become his b!tch, reader is down bad for alastor but aren't we all?

WORD COUNT: 4.3K~

The cold, unforgiving floor bit into your knees, the pressure of your weight sending sharp pangs of discomfort up through your legs. Each subtle shift of your position bruised your kneecaps further, but you didn’t dare adjust. Your trembling fingers rested cautiously on Alastor’s warm thighs, the heat of his skin radiating through the fabric of his suit pants.   

The warmth was almost comforting – almost. A bead of saliva slipped from your parted lips, trailing down your chin in a slick, humiliating line before it fell to the seat between Alastor’s legs with a soft, wet sound.   

Alastor’s fingers tangled in your hair, firm but not yet painful, the soft tugging an unmistakable sign of his displeasure. You knew the mess you were making only added to his irritation, but there was little you could do to stop it. A whimper built up in your throat, desperate to escape, but you swallowed it down, forcing your mouth to remain open in its strained, aching position. Your jaw throbbed from the effort, muscles protesting as time crawled by in agonizing slowness.   

Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision as you dared to glance up at him. Kneeling between his legs, you were at his mercy, completely vulnerable as Alastor sat in his chair, unbothered by your struggle.   

His oval glasses caught the flicker of the lamplight, reflecting tiny pinpricks of firelight back at you, while the rhythmic scratch of his pen against paper filled the room. The sound was steady, deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world to continue his work while you remained trapped in this torment.   

He didn’t look at you.  

Not once.   

A surge of desperation crawled up your spine as you fought the urge to reach up and rub your aching jaw. Instead, you shifted your tongue, sliding it cautiously against the soft, limp member resting inside your mouth.   

The faint taste of salt lingered on your tongue; you were all too familiar to the taste of him. You stilled as you felt the barest twitch, a flicker of life from his cock. Panic surged through you, eyes widening in fear as you froze, barely daring to breathe.   

The cool evening air of Alastor’s office seemed to sink into your skin, prickling your exposed flesh with a chill that made you shiver. It was well past working hours, and the radio station was deserted. Not a single colleague remained to witness the intimate punishment you were enduring – punishment for the simple mistake of spilling coffee on Alastor’s papers during one of his broadcasts.   

You could still recall the way his smile never faltered, that sharp gleam in his whisky-brown eyes flashing behind the kindness of his voice as he’d patted your head and reassured you with a saccharine, “Accidents happen.”  

But now, here you were – naked, trembling, and at his mercy.   

The office was shrouded in a still, oppressive quiet, the faint tick of a clock on the wall the only sign that time hadn’t stopped altogether. After hours, the world beyond the room seemed distant, forgotten, leaving only you and Alastor in this intimate, humiliating scene.   

His command had been simple – strip and kneel – but the weight of it had sent a shiver down your spine, a rush of heat pooling low in your belly as you obeyed. Now, here you were, bare and exposed before him, your knees pressing into the cold, hard floor, while his cock rested inside your mouth, warm and soft, like a sleeping beast you dared not wake.   

Alastor sat above you, pen scratching across paper as he methodically rewrote the script you had so carelessly ruined earlier. The humiliation of that mistake clung to you, a reminder of why you were in this position at all.   

His one hand rested on your head, deceptively gentle, his fingers idly stroking your hair whenever you managed to stay still. But you knew better than to mistake his touch for kindness. The moment your tongue so much as twitched, his grip tightened, pulling sharply at your scalp, reminding you of your place.   

Your only job was to keep his cock warm and snug inside your mouth, a silent, obedient placeholder as he worked.  

But the longer you knelt there, the harder it became to maintain control. Your thighs rubbed together of their own accord, desperate for any friction, any relief from the growing ache between your legs. Your cunt was slick, shamefully wet, as arousal pulsed through you in time with your racing heartbeat.   

The sensation of his cock resting heavy on your tongue, the heat of his body so close to yours – it was maddeningly erotic, an undeniable thrill despite how perverse and scandalous the situation was.   

You felt the weight of your submission, the way you had given up control, and it sent a dark shiver of excitement through you. To be used like this, treated like nothing more than a needy, desperate thing – it was absolutely...  

Intoxicating.   

Your lips trembled as more saliva pooled in your mouth, the warmth of it gathering until it spilled over, dripping down your chin in thick, wet trails. You could feel it seeping down your neck, mingling with the sweat that had begun to prick at your skin, making you feel even more debased.   

Your jaw ached, your muscles burning from holding the same position for what felt like an eternity. The hard floor beneath you made your knees throb, but you didn’t dare shift or move. You didn’t know how much longer Alastor would take to finish his work, but you knew better than to rush him.   

You were not to taste him.   

You were not to move.   

And most importantly, you were not to distract him by giving him an erection.   

The rules were clear, and the consequences of breaking them had been made painfully obvious the last time you had failed. The memory of that punishment sent a shiver of dread down your spine, the fear mingling with the twisted arousal coursing through you.   

But as you knelt there, your body trembling with effort, small whimpering noises began to escape your throat, betraying your discomfort. You tried to swallow them down, but they bubbled up despite your best efforts.   

The sound, the vibration of your voice against his cock, was your undoing. You felt it – Alastor's cock stirred in response, twitching as the movement of your tongue inadvertently roused him.   

Your heart leapt into your throat, panic flooding your system as his cock began to grow inside your mouth. One twitch, then another, until you felt the weight of him shifting, expanding, thickening. Your jaw was forced to stretch wider, your lips straining to accommodate him as his cock swelled and lengthened, pressing deeper into your mouth. Soon, it reached the back of your throat, pushing against your gag reflex with terrifying precision. Your nose was flush against the front of his hip, the scent of him filling your senses, overwhelming and masculine.  

You gurgled around him, the sound wet and desperate as you tried to adjust, your body writhing with the effort of��holding still. Alastor’s hand remained firm on your head, keeping you in place, making sure you took every inch of him without moving, without complaint.   

Tears gathered in your eyes, blurring your vision as your throat convulsed around his cock, your stomach roiling with the effort to keep from gagging. You hadn’t been trained well enough for this – not yet – but you knew you had to endure.   

Looking up at him, eyes wide and pleading, you silently begged for a reprieve as more saliva spilled from your mouth, dripping in thick, humiliating strings, pooling on the seat of his chair and spilling onto the floor.   

Your fingers tentatively brushed against his thighs, a small, desperate gesture, seeking some sign of mercy. But Alastor remained focused on his work, his hand a steady, unyielding weight on your head as you struggled to maintain your composure.   

Alastor’s sigh was heavy with disappointment, a sound that seemed to reverberate through the stillness of the room. Your stomach churned with both shame and something darker – arousal. His gaze, piercing and critical, bore into you from above the rim of his glasses, which sat perched low on the bridge of his nose.   

That look alone was enough to make heat flush your skin, a reminder of your place, and the last time you had failed him. You could still feel the phantom sting of his palm against your thighs, the way he pulled you over his lap, spanking your dripping pussy until you came undone, making a humiliating mess of his pants and the floor beneath you. The memory sent a shiver down your spine, shame mingling with forbidden desire.  

“Seems like you can’t even do this job right, my dear assistant,” Alastor chastised, his voice low and cold, cutting through the air like a sharp blade. His disappointment weighed heavily on your chest, making it difficult to breathe. His hand tightened in your hair with a sudden, sharp tug, yanking your head back. Your scalp stung as he twisted your head up, his cock still in your mouth, forcing you to meet his gaze.   

“Suck,” he commanded, his voice smooth, authoritative. Your heart leapt in your throat as you obeyed, sealing your lips tighter around the burning heat of his cock.   

It was searing, velvet-soft and impossibly thick, filing your mouth entirely. A wet, obscene noise filled the air as Alastor began to pull you back, inch by inch, his cock sliding slowly from between your lips.   

Just when the tip was the only thing left inside, he shoved you back down with an almost cruel force, burying himself deep in your throat. You gagged, choking around his thick length as your throat convulsed, but he didn’t stop.   

Again and again, he repeated the motion, thrusting deep into your mouth, your body jerking with each movement. The sound of your voice was nothing more than a muffled whimper beneath the wet, slurping noises as his cock slid in and out of your mouth, the slick wetness of your saliva thoroughly coating his shaft. All the while, Alastor watched you, his expression impassive, almost bored, as if this was nothing more than a tedious task for him.   

Your breasts swayed with each thrust, the hardened tips of your nipples grazing his pants, sending jolts of sensation through you. Your back arched, your body straining to keep up with the relentless pace as your head bobbed up and down, forcing to follow the rhythm he set.   

Oxygen was becoming scarce, your lungs burning as you struggled to breathe between thrusts. And yet, the musky, intoxicating taste of him consumed you, drowning out everything else.   

You could feel the heat building between your legs, a maddening ache, as slickness dripped from your cunt, drenching your inner thighs. Your hand, trembling and desperate, began to drift downward, fingers aching to find relief. You needed to touch yourself, needed to grind against your palm while your boss used your mouth as he pleased.   

“Ah-ah-ah,” Alastor’s voice cut through your thoughts, humour laced with a dark warning. His grip on your hair tightened, pulling you back with such force that strands of your hair were yanked free from your scalp. The sharp sting of pain made you moan, a pathetic sound that mixed with a whimper as your hand froze mid-motion. “Now who told you to touch your pretty little cunt, hmm?” he asked, his voice a soft, mocking purr.   

Your mouth was finally free from his cock with a loud pop, and you gasped, working your jaw in an attempt to relieve the strain in your aching muscles. Your throat throbbed, raw from the persistent onslaught, and your breath came in ragged pants.   

Alastor’s cock gleamed in the low light, slick with your saliva, and the sight of it sent a wave of heat surging through your body. You wanted him to bend you over and punish you with his thick cock, fucking you until you couldn’t string two words together.   

You felt your cheeks and chest flush as your gaze flickered to the darkened patch on the front of his pants, where your drool had soaked through. Alastor’s smile twisted into something cruel, his eyes narrowing as he took in the mess you had made. “Naughty, messy girl,” he murmured, his voice a gentle, dangerous whisper. “Always making a mess of my things, no matter where you go.”  

He released his hold on your hair then, his fingers sliding away from your scalp as he patted his lap. The gesture was a command you knew all too well. Your heart raced as you hesitated, remembering the last he’d made you sit on his cock without moving, forcing you to endure the torture of feeling him inside you without allowing any stimulation.   

His thick, veiny shaft had twitched with every beat of your heart, but he hadn’t let you move, hadn’t let you seek the pleasure you so desperately craved. It had been a slow, agonizing torment, and now he was ready to do it again.   

You couldn’t do this again.   

Your body betrayed you, thighs rubbing together in a desperate attempt to find relief, nipples hardening under his gaze as you trembled before him. Your voice, hoarse and barely more than a whisper, came out in broken gasps. “Please, sir, I...I...” The words died in your throat.   

Alastor’s voice cut through the air like ice, his tone cool and devoid of warmth. “Don’t make me repeat myself, dear.” there was no affection in his words, just a chilling command that seized your muscles. 

There was no excuse, no reason you could give where you deserve to reach your peak. Not after everything you had ruined, after all the mess you had made. Your head hung low, shoulders slumped in defeat as tears threatened to spill. There was the overwhelming need clawing at your gut, twisting tighter with each passing second. Desire coursed through you, unbearable and famished.  

Forcing your back to straighten, you dared to meet his impassive gaze. He waited, unimpressed, as you hesitated, shame and arousal warring inside you. Slowly, you climbed onto his lap, legs trembling as you straddled him. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a moment, there was something almost predatory in his gaze.   

His thumb brushed across your moist, parted lower lips, your walls immediately clenching, desperate to be filled by him. Lazily, he traced the curve between your slick folds before slipping his thumb inside your mouth. The taste of your own slick filled your senses. He leaned forward, capturing your erect nipple in his mouth and suckling them, his tongue flicking against them.   

Ah, you wanted more, needed more. Your tongue wrapped around his thumb, mimicking the pressure he was applying to your nipple.  

You wanted more, more, more.   

When he pulled his lips away along with his thumb out of your mouth, he looked up at you. “Go on,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Sit.”  

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you lined yourself up with the head of his cock. The thick tip pressed against your entrance, and you gasped, a shuddering moan spilling from your lips as he slowly began to stretch you open.   

Inch by inch, you sank onto him, the sensation overwhelming as his cock filled you completely. It felt as though he was carving a path inside you, his length pulsing with heat, claiming every part of you.   

Alastor’s smirk deepened as he watched you struggling to take him, your moans echoing in the room. “You’re a loud little minx, I should put a muzzle over your pretty, red lips.” His voice was a mix of amusement and disdain as you finally settled into his lap, his cock buried deep inside you to the hilt.   

Your breath came in shallow pants, your body trembling, every nerve alight with sensation. Your walls fluttered around him, welcoming the invasion, clinging to every inch of his length.   

“Looking more like a dog in heat by the day,” he remarked, his voice strained, though his hips remained frustratingly still. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you down even further, the stretch bordering on too much, yet the pleasure bloomed brighter with each second. Your hips instinctively ground against him, desperate, always desperate, for friction, for more of him.   

“Shall I give you a new name, dear? Something to suit your new role?” His one hand tightened on your hip, the other tracing the curve of your spine before his fingers curled into the flesh of your ass. His words send a rush of heat through you, making you tremble even harder.   

He was in complete control, and you’d be whatever he wanted you to be.   

“Let’s see...you’re a dog in heat, so I suppose ‘bitch’ would fit you perfectly, wouldn’t it?” Alastor’s lips curled into a cruel smile, and all you could do was nod, biting back a sob as his cock twitched inside you.   

The word made your heart thump loudly in your ears, shame coiling around your desire like a vice, but you loved it. You loved the way he spoke down to you, the way he commanded every part of you. You would be his bitch, his toy, anything he wanted, just to feel him deep inside you.   

“Do you like that name, bitch?” His voice was like velvet, a mocking lilt to his tone as his hands gripped your ass tighter. Without warning, he dragged you up, his cock slipping out of you in the same deliberate manner as before, inch by agonizing inch. And just when you thought you couldn’t take the loss of him any longer, he slammed you back down, his cock filling you to the base with a force that left you breathless.   

“Well?” he hissed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he held you there, his cock twitching insistently against your walls. “Answer me.”  

“Yes, yes, sir,” you gasped, your voice cracking as your hips began to gyrate on their own accord, desperate to ground your needy, throbbing clit against him, desperate for release. Your breasts swayed with every frantic movement, brushing against the fabric of his clothes, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. “Please, fuck me, sir. Please, I need it, I–” Your fingers tried to reach for the front of his shirt, a futile attempt to ground yourself, but a sharp hiss from Alastor made you freeze in place.   

Whimpering, you let your hands drop back down, your body still trembling as you waited for his next command.   

He smiled at you – a soft, almost tender expression that could have been mistaken for kindness – until his eyes darkened, sharpening with intent. In a swift, brutal motion, he thrust upward, knocking the breath out of your lungs. Your body jolted, and before you could even catch your breath, Alastor dropped you unceremoniously onto his desk, the papers and documents crumpling beneath you. The cool, wet smear of fresh ink pressed against your bare back, sticky and uncomfortable.   

“Once again, ruining my work, I see,” he sighed, his voice dripping with mock disappointment. But before you could stammer out an apology, his cock slammed back into you, stealing whatever words had been forming on your lips.   

A strangled gasp tore from your throat as the impact reverberated through your entire body, your hips widening in response, silently begging him for more.   

Your legs parted wider, opening yourself completely to him, inviting him to take whatever he wanted. Your head lolled back, exposing your throat as your chest arched forward, your entire posture one of submission. You were at his mercy, laid out before him like a prey before a predator. The raw, primal need coursing through your veins made you tremble, the tension unbearable.   

A low, dark chuckle escaped Alastor’s lips as he took in the sight of you, so utterly open and vulnerable. Without hesitation, he resumed his pace, ramming into you with a force that sent the papers beneath you sliding across the desk. The sharp creak of the wood echoed through the room with each powerful thrust, mixing with the wet sounds of your bodies colliding and the unbidden, loud moans spilling from your lips.   

You couldn’t stop yourself – every slam of his hips into yours tore another desperate cry from your throat, begging for more, for release, for anything to make the intensity bearable.   

“More,” you gasped between moans, “yes, please...” the words tumbled out, barely coherent. You were so close, your body trembling on the edge, every nerve within you alight with the promise of release. Just when you thought you would shatter, Alastor pulled out abruptly, leaving you empty and aching.   

Your eyes flew open in shock, just in time to see him gripping his cock with fervour, the slick sound of his hand moving over his length filling the room. His breath hitched, and with a low, guttural moan, he plunged back inside you, spilling a hot stream of his seed inside you. His body trembled as his cock twitched with the aftershock of his orgasm. You whimpered, your body quivering with need, every muscle tight as you fought against the overwhelming urge to come.   

His cock pulsed inside you, slick with both his cum and your arousal, and you could feel it, every twitch, every pulse of him.   

“S-sir,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as you pleaded. Your clit throbbed, painfully hard and swollen, so close to the edge that even the smallest touch would send you over. “Please...”  

Alastor’s breath was ragged as he looked down at you, his hand brushing your sweat-soaked hair away from your tear-streaked face. His touch was gentle, almost tender, but his words were anything but. “Do you think,” he began, his voice barely a whisper, “that you deserve a reward?”  

Your heart sank. You knew the answer, but saying it aloud felt like a cruel joke. “N-no, sir,” you whispered, your voice small, defeated.   

“Splendid,” he chuckled, a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he slowly picked you up from the desk. His softening cock was still buried deep inside you as he sat back in his chair, lifting you by the hips.   

Your body trembled, your cunt sopping with both his seed and your unsatisfied arousal. He watched; his gaze locked on the sight of his now limp cock as your walls clenched involuntarily, trying to squeeze out every last drop of his release.   

“That’s right,” he coaxed softly, his voice like velvet. “Squeeze it all out.” And you did. You obeyed, your body quivering as you worked to expel every bit of him from your aching, needy core, all while the pleasure you craved remained just out of reach.   

“Now, let’s try this again,” Alastor’s voice rang with unsettling cheer, the edge of his joviality making your stomach tighten in a familiar mix of dread and arousal. His eyes gleamed as he gave the command, “Kneel.”  

The word hit you like a weight. Defeat settled into your bones as you slowly untangled yourself from his lap, sliding down until all your knees pressed into the hard floor. The ache already began to throb there, but you knew it was just the beginning.   

His hand gripped the base of his cock, guiding it toward you, still slick with the mess of your arousal and his. The scent was sharp, musky, and unmistakably his. As he slid it into your mouth, you could taste the sour and salty tang of his cum instantly coating your tongue.  

“That’s right,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, more intimate. “Swallow it.”  

You obeyed, your tongue sweeping along the length of his shaft, gathering every trace of him. Your lips tightened around him, cheeks hollowing as you sucked, determined to show him you could be his perfect, obedient pet.   

A soft hum of approval escaped his lips, and for a fleeting moment, hope fluttered in your chest. Maybe this time, if you did everything right, he’d let you come.   

But just as quickly, his tone shifted. “Stop.”  

The single word was a sharp command, and you immediately froze. Your heart pounded, lips still parted around the head of his cock, waiting for his next move.   

“I have work to do,” he sighed, dismissing you as he picked up his pen and began to scribble on the paper in front of him, as though your presence was nothing more than a slight distraction. His cock still rested in your mouth, heavy and warm, with an order to be still.  

To wait.   

You forced yourself to remain motionless, your body tense as you became the perfect, obedient cockwarmer. The taste of him lingered on your tongue, salty and bitter, while the scent of ink and paper mixed with the heady smell of sex. Your knees throbbed from the hard floor beneath you, your mouth already starting to ache from the strain of staying in place.   

But despite the discomfort, the heat between your legs grew unbearable, the slickness of your arousal sliding down your thighs. You clenched them together, trying to suppress the ache, but every slight movement only reminded you of how desperately you needed release.   

Alastor’s attention, however, was fully on his work, the scratch of his pen filling the room. You were nothing more than an object to him now, a vessel to keep him comfortable as he continued with his task. Your heart raced, frustration and desire swirling in your gut, but you knew better than to move, to make a sound, to do anything that might earn his displeasure.  

All you could do was wait, hoping against hope that he would take pity on you. That, maybe, if you were his good little cockwarmer, he would reward you.   

But for now, you remained on your knees, his cock filling your mouth, the taste of him lingering as you tried to fight the urge to tremble beneath the weight of your desire.   

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[plutoswritingplanet]

Strip Me Down And Paint Me Black (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Female!Reader) pt.1

a/n: ah shit, here we go again... A continuation of "It's A Special Death You Saved", but it can be read as a separate story. Title from "Cinnamon" by Marika Hackman

Warnings: Harkonnen-typical Violence, some Sexual Tension, some Kissing, Enemies to Lovers to Enemies to Lovers to Enemies to Lo...

Summary: As you struggle with your new role as the Na-Baron's wife, plans are set in place, which will shake the very foundations of your life. Good thing, your husband is there to support you, right?

He watches you. Constantly. 

You can feel his eyes moving over your body, soaking it in like a man parched. Every movement, every twitch of your muscles is noted, stored for later. It's like he's keeping a detailed record of your every reaction, as if he wants to keep it catalogued, create a mold of you in his mind. The furrowing of your brows and the squinting of your eyes, when the Black Sun of Giedi Prime first hits your vision. How your skin turns completely gray, devoid of any color, as you take your first step off the travelling ship. 

You shift uncomfortably under his gaze, refusing to meet it, as your eyes adjust to the sheer force of the swallowing black light. 

Touch is scarce and almost revered, when he lifts his hand to inspect a curl of your hair, the strand sliding between his fingers. He raises it towards the sun, admires it with silent appreciation, and somehow, instead of touching the softer parts of your being, this small gesture makes you want to scream. Because you know.

You understand, that this is what he wants to see. Black and white, and empty. No trace of the color before, only the bleakness and brutality of the Harkonnen. And you refuse, plain and simple. You refuse to be stuffed into this unforgiving planet, expected to bed yourself over to fit it. You value your Atreides lineage more than anything in life, and you'll sooner die, than discard it. 

No matter, how delicate he has been since your first night together, how much the heat of his alabaster skin has brought you comfort, you can feel in the pit of your stomach. That this is all some elaborate rouse to keep you docile. To keep you a perfect image of a wife, the future Na-Baroness. It can't be anything else, surely. 

So even now, as you admire the strangeness of this new planet, the blooming light that envelopes your skin, you force yourself to be on guard. Even as you look up at him, his sharp features and soft eyes, you bite down on any affection that might've reared its ugly head to the surface. This is not your home, and despite the ceremonies and the titles, this was not your husband. He was an impostor, a Devil sent from the Emperor himself to destroy your life. 

His lips flash in a mirthless smile, when his eyes lock with yours. The blackened teeth, the stained gums, you hated that mouth with all your being. You hated that it fit against yours, and that it didn't repulse you quite as much as you would've anticipated. And you hated his hands. The same ones capable of such ruthless brutality, and also more than capable of soothing your sore muscles, of toying with a lock of your hair, as if your entire being was made of the finest, most delicate glass.

A small, barely coherent voice whispers in your mind, reminding you of the rustling of the leaves when wind picked up, back home. You can't live like this, it supplies, you can't survive on hate alone. 

But you've always been stubborn, like a bull. And as his hand slides down to the dip of your waist, as he leads you from the spaceship to the shuttle, and then to the Palace, hate is all you can focus on. The swallowing pit of your stomach, much like the swallowing heat of the sun above you. It expands and pulsates within your veins, as your husband parades you like a prized trophy. Bald, white heads turn, salute the both of you, dissapear in a crowd of similar faces, similar blackened stares. 

It's like you're surrounded by an army of ghosts.

- Welcome home, wife - he whispers into your ear, and you don't know how you manage to stop tears from springing in your eyes. 

Not home. Never home. Your home had trees and oceans, and your Mother, your Father and your perfect Brother. Your home had Duncan, with his warm embrace and little scars littered all across his honey-colored skin. Your home had a sun that is warm and welcoming, that brings vibrancy to your life, and doesn't wash everything out, doesn't swallow all beauty. 

The clothes you wear, the clothes he wants you to wear, are nothing like what you're used to. They make your body feel foreign, like an accessory more than your own flesh. You hate the feeling of the sheer fabric clinging to your skin, like some suffocating membrane. The heavy jewelry, which reminds you more and more of a slave's collar. He put it on you with his own hands. Delicately fitting it around your neck, caressing it with the calloused pads of his fingers, a proud expression decorating his sharp featured like a war medal. 

You wonder what he sees, when he looks at you. Are your sentiments shared? Does he see you, as you see yourself, a doll dressed for his entertainment? A wife, should the politics require it? You're sure he does, there is no other way to describe the pitiful reflection in the mirror. Perhaps, in time, you might be able to fight back some semblance of dignity, to find a way of embracing these strange fabrics. Make this cold metal feel more like a necklace for a Baroness, rather than collar for cattle. Perhaps. 

Right now, however, as his Harpies dress you, you feel less like yourself and more like a toy, for your husband to enjoy. They can't really pin your hair properly, and you don't blame them, you really can't. When's the last time they were forced to care for someone in such a manner, if they ever were? Today, they're extra zealous, rubbing your skin raw with the chemically smelling oils. It makes your head swim, the scent of some unfamiliar paste. Your eyes water, and before you can blink the tears away, one of the Harpies soaks it up right from the corner of your eye with some flimsy tissue. 

She places the wet part against her tongue, and surprisingly, it doesn't bother you, as she tastes your tears, watching your reaction with completely black eyes. You meet her stare with a blank expression. At this moment, as she begins to slide another piece of sheer fabric over your body, you can't think of a way to be afraid of her, or her companion, which is fitting a pair of leather slippers over your feet. What lies ahead is so much more terrifying.

The Baron Vladimir Harkonnen has invited you for dinner. 

The news is delivered by a horrified servant, bald head bowed, seconds after you arrive in your marital room. Your husband doesn't even blink, immediately shedding his travel clothing, and disappearing somewhere out of your sight. The Harpies swarm into the room soon after, carrying various vials and bowls, and you already know the routine. 

The prospect of dining with your family's greatest enemy seems so outlandish, your body doesn't fully register the danger. Instead, you can feel yourself shut down, sink into yourself, between the constant expanding and contracting of your lungs, and the sound of your blood rushing through your skull. 

Only, when one of the Harpies turns you towards a polished piece of black obsidian, only when you can finally see yourself, do you react. A barely-there gasp escapes your mouth, because for the second time today, you're surprised with the brutal beauty of this place, and how easily you blend into it. The Harpy leans over your shoulders, stands on her toes to reach you, and before you can react, her teeth scrape over the shell of your ear. 

It doesn't hurt, and you turn your head towards her, faces inches from each other. Her head turns to the side, like some curious bird, and yet again, you can't fully decide whether you're looking at a human being, or some animalistic experiment. Your hand lifts itself on its own accord, fingers finding the Harpy's chin. Gently, but with enough force, you turn her face away from yourself. She doesn't recoil from your touch, doesn't react in any violent manner. If anything, her expression in the obsydian mirror looks almost bordering on proud. You try not to shiver at the thought. 

Then, your husband appears from the shadows, truly demon-like, and the women, or creatures, scurry out of the room, vials clanking against each other, as they gather them in their muscled arms. For just a second you're struck with the realization, that you miss their company, unsettling as it is.

- Don't be afraid of them - those are the first words coming from Feyd-Rautha you've heard since you've arrived. 

- I'm not - and truly, you mean it. 

He regards you with a long, dragging look, taking in the layers of fabric encapsulating the shape of your body. It's truly a hassle, to stop yourself from flinching, when the length of his body presses against your back. His chin finds purchase in the juncture between your shoulder and the column of your neck, and his head dips down to inhale the scent of your skin. You can't believe he's able to smell anything other than the strong chemicals his Harpies rubbed into you, but you don't argue. Instead, you sway in his hold, closing your eyes, and letting your imagination take you somewhere warmer, somewhere home. 

- I need you to be very careful tonight - he whispers into your skin, and you almost whine at being forced out of your daydream - My Uncle doesn't take kindly to insubordination, and although you are my wife, I won't be able to protect you from everything. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his skin, white and spotless, pressing into yours, marred with freckles and beauty spots. What a contrast you make against him. His mouth moves over your artery, nose dragging upwards, until he reaches the space behind your ear. He plants a kiss there, which immediately turns into a small bite, and your hands grip onto his forearms. 

- Careful, you sound almost concerned about my well-being - there's a limited amount of sarcasm one could convey with such a breathless tone, but you manage, eyes locked onto the silhouette of the both of you in the mirror. 

To that, he lifts his head, eyes locking with yours in the reflection. 

- I don't like when others break my toys - he answers with a shrug, and laughs quietly at your outraged expression. - I prefer to do it myself. 

Your muscles tense beneath his grip, and you turn to face him fully. Still, he doesn't let go, holding you close, smirking at you with that same self-satisfied expression. 

- Oh don't worry - your cheeks start to warm up at the teasing tone of his voice - I haven't even had the time to properly play with you.

- I ha-

- Hate me, I know. - he interrupts, one of his hands coming up to grab at your chin, tilting your head towards him - Tonight, try to hate me in the privacy of our bedroom. For your own sake.

His head dips down, lips slotting against yours easily, and although you fight hard against the pull, soon, your mouth moves against his in a kiss that is entirely too gentle for the nature of your relationship. He whispers something in that godawful Harkonnen language, tilting his chin to kiss the corner of your mouth, your jaw. Then, satisfied, he lets you go, and you encircle yourself with your own arms, refusing to admit, that you're cold without him. 

Making a mental note to ask for tutorship on the language, you allow him to lead you out of the safety of your shared bedroom, down the winding, black corridors, towards your first, and biggest challenge. 

- With courage and grandiose... - you whisper, as the door to the dining hall slides open, and ignore with all your might, the way your husband's hand twitches around your waist. 

The first member of the court you meet, is not the Baron. 

Instead, a man of slender stature comes out to greet the both of you, a polite smile plastered on his tattooed lips. His eyes flicker between you and your husband, and absentmindedly, they remind you of little black beetles. 

- Piter de Vries - he introduces himself, grabbing your hand with graceful movement - Mentat of the court. 

He places a kiss over your knuckles, and something scarily close to disgust rises in your gut. 

- The holotapes don't reflect your beauty, my lady - his voice is unsettlingly quiet, and it worms itself into your ears like an unwelcome guest. 

Still, your husband's thumb moves against your back, rubbing up and down your spine, and you swallow thickly before replying.

- I'm honored to meet you.

He can see through the lie like you're made of glass, but you can't find it in you to care. This is not the man you're supposed to convince, and even if this Mentat is a constant whisper in the Baron's ear, let him know there's character to you still. 

- I assure you, the honor is mine - his eyes glide over your features greedily, and you wonder if this hunger is a characteristic of all inhabitants of this planet - It's not everyday you meet Lady Jessica's Daughter. 

Blood freezes in your veins at the comment, and not even the ever-present touch of your husband can stop your expression from changing. Ice and steel overtake, as you fix the Mentat in front of you with a hard stare. There is something in his gaze, something slimy and dangerous, that makes a pit form in your stomach. Still, tied to court's intricate pleasantries, you twist your face into a forced smile. 

- You know my Mother? - the question slips out from between your teeth.

The man nods, a perverted version of a curtsy that makes you want to turn on your heel, and haul yourself back into your room. Damn your husband and all the uncomfortable ways he makes you squirm, you'll take it all if it meant never talking to this Mentat ever again. 

- In a way - the answer does nothing to calm your nerves - Her talents are known throughout the whole galaxy. 

- Yes, I'm sure they are - the barely noticable note of sarcasm some how registers in your husband's brain, and with a guiding hand, he pushes you forward, towards the dining hall.

Before you can get away from the Mentat, his unnaturally cold hand wraps itself around your wrist, keeping you in place with light pressure. 

- I'm desperately interested in what you may offer the court - he says, voice low and bordering on ominous, and the pit in your stomach trurns into a boulder.

Lips curling in disgust, you wrench your hand away, but as you wind your palm back to deliver a slap across the smirking man's face, something white enters your vision. From behind your back, Feyd Rautha delivers a resounding hit to the Mentat's cheek, with enough force to send him stumbling to the floor. Your mouth hangs agape, as that same hand curls around your waist, and pushes forward, until you're forced to take a step, and then another. 

Whipping your head around to look at him, all you can see, is that same passively bored expression he has worn, since your arrival to the planet. Not even a muscle twitches, not until the door closes behind you in the dining hall. Eyes trained forward, the hand guiding you slides up your spine right to the base of your head, where he grabs a loose fistful of your hair, and pries you away from him, setting your face forward. 

Like a doll, your mind supplies, but all further thoughts get swallowed by a thundering wave of anxiety, as your eyes fall onto the only other man present in the dining hall. 

You can't fully comprehend where the floor ends and the walls begin, the whole room looking more like an endless void of black, polished stone. The table is obscenely long, but narrow, and filled with various foods, none of which you recognize. Your breath catches, as you notice a macabre center piece right in the middle of the table. A beautiful female deer stands surrounded by black flowers, it's limbs kept immobile by some invisible force. It's eyes move though, skittering around the place, revealing that this poor creature used as some messed up decoration, is in fact alive. 

- Welcome, my dear nephew - a low, slightly slurred voice rings out throughout the empty space, and finally, you can feel real dread. 

- Uncle. - Feyd Rautha inclines his head, before all but pushing you forward into the belly of the beast.

And what a terrifying belly it is. 

The Baron Vladimir Harkonnen towers over the end of the table, his frame as difficult to comprehend as the rest of the dining hall. He smiles at your husband, a show of black teeth against greying skin, and then his eyes move towards you. He doesn't hide the cruel, twisted expression, that flashes across his face, contorted in the low, floating lights. Then, as if a mask slipped onto him while you were blinking, he looks decievingly kind, like an image of a caretaker, distorted in a nightmare. 

- Lady Atreides - his voice bellows, and despite every muscle in your body screaming at you to run, you take a step forward, before taking a shallow bow - A spitting image of your Father. I'm delighted to have you here, on my planet. 

Swallowing hard, you risk a glance at your husband. He has abandoned you in favor of taking a seat in the only one of two available chairs. Blue eyes flash towards you, a hidden warning, and dare you say, a hint of concern. The deer on the table is breathing rapidly, you've just noticed. 

- My Baron - your voice doesn't shake, a small blessing - I'm honored to meet you. 

The rehearsed line seems hallow in the booming echo of the dining room, and you pray that it's enough. 

The Baron gives you no answer, as he wordlessly gestures towards the table, and after a second your body jerks in the direction of the chair. With stiff movements, you sit down, your dress digging uncomfortably under your ribs. The deer looks at you, it's eyes wide, nose contracting rapidly as it inhales. You want to grab it into your hands, tear it away from the force keeping it trapped, and set it free, so it can run into the fields of Caladan. Your husband takes a long sip from his chalice, and you mirror his movements. 

The liquid is sickly sweet, with a strong, chemical taste that coats your entire mouth. Fighting with the urge to spit it out, your neck strains as you swallow, feeling it travel down your throat, and into the pit of your stomach. 

Are you supposed to be the deer in this place? 

Feyd Rautha reaches for a vase of something vaguely resembling meat, and doesn't bother with his plate, taking the leg into his hand, and biting into it with reckless abandon. Some dark liquid spills over his mouth, down to his chin, and you have to look away, as he captures your gaze in an entirely too heated stare. This is not the time, you want to scream at him, but take another sip from the chalice instead. 

- A monumental moment in history is happening right in front of my eyes - the Baron starts, and your hand freezes half-way towards your lips. - The union of House Harkonnen and House Atreides. The Emperor truly is a wise man. 

- Of course - you agree, tying sarcasm to the back of your throat like an angry dog - I'm ever so grateful.

- I'm sure you are. 

The Emperror wants you dead, there is no other explanation. You can't move, can't look anywhere but the eyes of the deer, seeing yourself in the reflection of it's glossy iris. Save yourself, it seems to scream at you, and your throat constricts around your airwave. Save yourself, because I couldn't.

- Your cousin will be joining us shortly - the Baron directs his gaze towards Feyd-Rautha, and your husband immediately straightens his back against the chair. 

- Rabban? Shouldn't he be on Arrakis? - you don't remember when you've become so in-tune with your husband, but you sense his interest peaking immediately.

Something's wrong, something's terribly wrong, you can feel it. This slow dread climbs up your back like a snake, before sinking it's teeth into your nape. Eyes searching your husband's your fingers tighten around the chalice, around cold, black metal. You try to remember what your Mother would've done in a situation such as this. How she would comfort herself. Fear is the mind-killer, is the only thing that arrives, and the thought is as comforting, as a cold shower.

- By the Emperor's decree, our House has been ordained to leave Arrakis in favor of it's new stewardship.

You know what words are going to fall next, before they fall, and you close your eyes to brace for impact. 

- The stewardship of your Father. Of House Atreides. 

Someone save you, please. Your eyelids flutter open, gaze falling over your husband, as he watches you with a myriad of emotions running through his expression. You pray it doesn't settle on anger, and your prayers are heard. There is a cruel, twisting smirk in the corner of his mouth, and he turns his head to look at his Uncle, with a silent question. The Baron inclines his head ever so slightly, you can see movement in the corner of your eye, but the deer is still breathing, and for some reason you have to keep an eye on it, you have to know it's still alive. 

You are not stupid. You've been trained to not be stupid, in life and in politics. It doesn't take too keen of a mind to understand the gravity of the situation. The steady flow of immense wealth the Harkonnens were known for, is suddenly cut short. Given to a rival House. This was not some beautiful gift of appreciation, this was a stoker shoved right into the burning flames. 

- I'm honored - you repeat, like a bell in a church tower, and somewhere to your left, the Baron laughs. 

- There will be celebrations, later this week - he continues, as if he hasn't just delivered life shattering news - We will honor your marriage in the traditions of our ancestors. 

- Which is? - you don't really care anymore if the shift in your tone is registered as offensive. 

Feyd Rautha actually, without a doubt kicks you under the table. You shoot him a look bordering on pure shock and outrage, and all you get in response is an arched eyebrow. 

Something rattles below you, a tell-tale sound of machinery whirling to life. It gives you only one second to register, but as soon as it does, your heart jumps up into your throat. Paper thin panes of glass shoot out from under the table. The deer gives a pathetic squeak, as it's body is cut into equal pieces. No blood is shed, the whole operation barely moves the air in the dining room, and you watch the life drain from the deer's eyes, as the panes begin to move. 

They separate each piece, creating a cross-section of it's insides. The chemical wine threatens to rush back out of you, and your dig your nails into your palms. Your husbands shoe settles in constant, grounding pressure against your ankle, and although you would never admit it, it's the only thing keeping you from shattering. Whether it's a threat or a promise, you can't be sure, but there is frost in your veins, and fire in your eyes, as you slowly turn your head towards the Baron. 

He's wrong. All of them are wrong. You're not some deer, some lost shivering thing, made for a display of cruelty. You will not be brough down to some decoration, and so, you raise your chin higher, and hold the Baron's gaze. His eyes, gleaming with violent delight, jump around your face, this strange battle coming to a sudden end, as the corner of his mouth quirks up.

He moves his hand in the air dismisively, and your husband stands up, a laziness to his movements. You stand up too, your chair shuffling against the polished floor, stiff limbs fighting for an illusion of graceful movements. Wishing you could drive your point further, you bow again, this time, your eyes remain glued to the black beads of irises, shining in the amassing of flesh that is the Baron's face. 

And then you're off, heels clicking on the floor, as you bypass your husband and all but storm out of the dining hall. He follows you, you can feel his pressence on your back, but there's too many emotions running through your head to find it unsettling. The silence of it all, the calmness. Perhaps you would've preferred if he had been angry with you, if you could pinpoint his reaction, bottle it up to hate it later. 

Right now, you can't do much, other than run to your shared rooms, pretend like they are a solice, a safe space for you to exist, when in reality, they're anything but. The unsettling realization, that you navigate these corridors like a natural born Harkonnen will hit you later today, but as such, you are blinded by your own anger.

 - Did you know? - the question sounds more like a demand, as soon as the door closes behind you.

Back turned, you stand in the middle of the bedroom, finally granting yourself the luxury of outrage. Shoulders rise and fall in tandem with your labored breaths, and your nails have bitten crescent moons into your palms. 

- Yes. - you've anticipated his answer, and still, it shocks you to the very core of your being.

Hair whips around your face, as you turn to face him., strands all but slipping from the inexperienced updo. He holds  your gaze with steady eyes, crosses his arms on his chest, but has the decency of looking on edge. 

- How long?

- The news came right after the engagement began.

That, admittedly, knocks the wind out of your lungs, and you take a step back, until your behind collides with the obsidian desk. Hiding your face in your hands, you rub your palms against your temples, tug at the roots of your hair in the process. 

- So, what now? - you ask, sounding so drained, so tired, you almost don't recognize your voice.

His shoes invade your vision, as he steps closer. Your husband, your Bull. You don't want to look up at his face, scared of what you'll find there. He doesn't share the same sentiment, apparently, as he lifts your chin with his fingers, until you meet him with a withering expression. 

Feyd Rautha leans down, capturing your lips with his. Not really in the mood for kissing, as your head races with a myriad of terrible thought, you push against him. Should've known better, he loves a fight. Tongue slipping through the barrier of your teeth, you can taste the strangely chemical wine on his breath. His hands grab what they can of your body, until they settle on the sides of your face, where he tugs you up onto your tippy toes, taking a drink of you, like he did from the chalice. 

Breathless and confusingly aroused, your fingers twist into the material of his dress shirt, but before you can truly let go, he pulls away. Hands still on your face, you are suddenly pulled forwards, as he drags you in front of the mirror. Thrown off guard by this change of pace, you try to writhe yourself away, only to be gripped even tighter, so hard, you can feel something shift under the skin of your jaw. 

There are dark stains all around your lips, stains that taste just like the wine. Feyd Rautha stands behind you, much like he did before the dinner, but all comfort from that moment is trampled under his foot, as he slides his arms around you. 

- Now, I must make you into a Harkonnen - he rasps into the base of your neck.

Then, reaching towards your lips, he wedges his fingers inside, pulls until you can see your teeth in the reflection. Black, thick liquid covers them completely, staining your mouth in the process. The wine, you realize, but before you can rationalise any more, tears spring in the corners of your mouth. Disgust bubbles in your stomach like an awoken volcano. Disgust and anger, so much anger. 

Your husband humms softly behind you, cranes your head back. 

Your body feels foreign again, as he kisses your tears off of your skin.

[morelikeravenbore]

✨Sebastian Sallow Spicy Oneshots.

In the interest of ✨aesthetics✨, I'm compiling all my spicy oneshots together to link back to my masterlist. I'm a turtle writer but I'll update this list as I write more. All stories crossposted to wattpad & AO3.

Sebastian Sallow x unnamed female character. Mostly Sebastian's POV. Triggers and content warnings on each post. All characters are 18+. Minors dni, please and thank you. 🔞

Friendly disclaimer: if you're uncomfortable with Hogwarts Legacy smut, please keep scrolling and do not engage ✨🦋💙 I am of the opinion that it is possible to use ones ✨imagination✨ to age-up characters and explore adult themes in a healthy and appropriate way.

✨ Feigning Indifference | Explicit | Quidditch Smut, Beater!Sebastian, Feral!Sebastian, Shoulders!Sebastian 1.8k words.

Thanks to his seventh-year growth spurt, Sebastian is hardly any smaller without his bulky gear on — a fact he uses to his full advantage to shoulder through the crowd. It takes him several minutes to wind his way through; supporters and haters in equal measure jostle for his attention, girls squeal and find excuses to touch him, Imelda criticises his technique as he passes (even though he just won her the bloody match), and somebody lets off a series of explosions overhead that shower the crowd with green and silver sparks. — And on the edge of it all, standing alone by the stands, there's you: arms crossed, little pout on your cute face, feigning indifference. 

✨ Pandora's Book | Explicit | Unhinged Sebastian | Objectophilia | ongoing.

Seeking distraction from his interminable apathy, or a temporary relief from his guilt that didn't resort to obliterating his own memory, the girls he took made him feel good, said pretty things that made him believe, for a while, that he wasn't broken and irredeemable. But then, issues of that nature were likely a job for St Mungos rather than some girl's mouth in the back of a disused classroom, and over time, the thrill of mindlessly fucking his pain away began to dull, and he recoiled from their sweet nothings and gentle affections; like everything else in Sebastian's life, even the flames of desire eventually turned cold, and his escapades became less about feeling better and more about feeling anything.

Still, he couldn't say with any measure of truth that he'd felt anything like this from a book before.

✨ Good Boy | Explicit | Needy Sebastian 1.5k words.

On bad days like these, Sebastian simply couldn't believe in love until it held him close and kissed him and told him he wasn't the deplorable monster he believed himself to be. Love had always evaded him, but by some stroke of luck he wasn't deserving of, he'd found it living in the body of the girl currently squashed between him and the wall.

✨The Final Goblin | Explicit | Post-battle Sebastian 1.5k words.

Ordinarily such a demure little thing, whenever Sebastian's brilliant, powerful girlfriend unleashed her gift of destruction upon their enemies, it broke something inside his brain - as if all that raw power she tore from the ether went straight to his cock, turning him feral.

✨Tethered | Explicit | Imperio-kink Sebastian [dub-con] 1.3k words

Sebastian wasn't entirely sure why he'd used the unforgivable curse on her. He had no doubt he could've convinced her to do whatever he wanted quite easily; after all, getting what he desired came naturally to him, what with his Slytherin charm and all - but there was always the risk she'd shudder away from him, repulsed by his touch as if she could physically feel his tainted soul marring her perfect skin. For all his bravado and over-confidence, Sebastian wasn't sure he could bear it if she recognised him for what he really was: a monster.

✨Lessons in Upholstery | Mature | Sebastian is needy | Sebastian x Aurélie 1.6k words

There was a unique ache that existed when she was out of reach — one that started as a small hole in his chest before spreading rapidly until his entire being felt hollow, an ache that demanded they share a too-small bed so they had to sleep tangled together, or eat at a too-small kitchen table so she had to take most of her meals sitting in his lap.

✨ You can also read my long-fic How to Make a Villain which isn't spicy but is full of mutual pining, yearning, slow-burning idiots in love: 📔 [tumblr |wattpad | ao3]

[bittergirlsworld]

I finally gave up and saw TVD to understand some stuff in TO, and I just have to say: what an awfully written show. My goodness, how the hell is the most annoying girl in Mystic Falls the anchor who holds them together? Caroline, the fandom darling has no personality whatsoever. She's a camaleon, she's what they need her to be in the episode. Sometimes, she's the greatest soul alive, sometimes she's only there to slutshame another girl for doing exactly what she does. Sometimes she's pinning after her boyfriend, sometimes she backstabs him. Sometimes she's so repulsed by the 1000 year murder who bribes her with fancy things and sometimes she's okay to use the hell out of him to have what she needs. Elena, who's supposed to be the protagonist, becomes more and more the love interest to Damon. His love for her, that both recognize as toxic, comes from a sire bond and everyone insists to pretend that she loves him just the same without it as if she wasn't heavily projecting Stefan on him to the point he calls her out. The Originals, who were supposed to be invicible, the most insane of them just dies for a teenage hunter. Finn, the most sane one, portrait as a bore because he resented the bother who kept him in a coffin for thousands of years. Katherine, who I swear is one of the only two female characters really interesting in this show, is called a bitch all the time for the unforgivable crime of running from a psycho hybrid who wanted to slaughter her and then slaughtered her fucking family. Elijah and Rebekah does not exist outside of Klaus. Rebekah was just extremely annoying till they gave her a real personality and in the spin-off. Out of nowhere, she was obsessed with being human. Bonnie, poor Bonnie. The racism was blatantly showing. She was only there to be the magic negro trope. They didn't even allowed her to have romantic storyline! Her boyfriend who she resurrected cheats on her with a freaking ghost and she still back with him in season 5? She deserved so much better. Damon turns her mother in a vampire and then she's his best friend? She loses her entire family as well and is never treated with the same courtesy Elena has been treated. Not even the fancy balls she could attend, apparently. (Her wigs were also terrible. Poor Kat, they made her appear so old sometimes with those hairs).

And the romantic pairings? Awful. Damon and Elena were downright disgusting. He raped Caroline. Why everyone pretends he wasn't compelling her while having sex with her? Why all these centuries old man are so obsessed with fuck teenagers? How's that's romantic, date a girl on high school when you had two shares of a lifetime? Even if we take in consideration the lore that vampires stop aging when they're turned, the only couple who would make sense in this logic were Stefan and Elena, since Stefan was a teenager when turned. Klaus and Caroline had no romantic connection. She used him dry, he bite her to die to make a point to her boyfriend. He would be her last love but fucked her and left. She hated him but would happily accept his gifts while treating him like a dog. Damon and Elena loudly assume to each other that they are terrible together but then forget because they're fucking again. I swear to god, that relationship was pure based on their sex drive. She wanted that old dick so bad she blamed dead Katherine for the fact he killed her friend and threatened her brother.

The timeline made no sense. Plotholes all around. Why Bonnie couldn't make magic while being the anchor? Must be because she would be too powerful, and with Elena being so useless, they couldn't allow that. Caroline is another one completely useless for the plot. She could disappear from the show and wouldn't change a single thing.

It's really awful. After finally seeing this I can say with conviction that The Originals was the best they could have.

[shiveringsoldier]

Still thinking about Lawrence of Arabia and thinking specifically about Lawrence and Ali being one another’s foils.

We have a rather violent introduction to Ali, but his actions become increasingly nonviolent as the film progresses. Lawrence progresses in the opposite way.

Before we hear his voice or see his face, Ali kills Lawrence's guide, Tafas. He does so quickly and cleanly, firing only one shot, and he shows no remorse afterwards. When Lawrence says Tafas was his friend, Ali simply replies, "That?" Lawrence is appalled by the act and asserts that “none of [his] friends is a murderer.” He also throws in a good heaping of racism, calling the Arabs "a little people, a silly people, greedy, barbarous, and cruel."

Later in Part I, Ali objects to Lawrence's desire to rescue Gasim, but his objections are utilitarian more than anything else. The Nefud Desert is a cruel, unforgiving place, seemingly impossible to cross. If Gasim isn't dead now, he will soon be, and it would be suicide to go back for him. Lawrence's successful, albeit defiant, rescue mission earns him Ali's respect. But Lawrence is later forced to kill Gasim to protect a newfound alliance. In contrast to Ali's quick murder of Tafas, Lawrence's execution of Gasim is shoddy. He fires several bullets before finally managing to kill him, and he immediately discards his pistol in disgust. Near the end of Part I, Lawrence confesses that he enjoyed the killing. None of his friends is a murderer, but he is now a murderer who enjoyed committing the murder.

In the latter half of Part II, Lawrence leads an Arab army on a mission to take Damascus. During the journey, they come upon the ruins of a village as well as the Turkish soldiers who presumably ransacked the village. Ali, seeing Lawrence’s desire to kill the soldiers, all but begs him not to do it. Lawrence instead leads and gleefully participates in a massacre, gunning down surrendering soldiers without a second thought. Ali participates as well, but reluctantly and only briefly. Ali cries out in horror even when the carnage has only just begun. After his very brief participation in the slaughter, he looks for Lawrence in the chaos and pleads with him to make it stop. In the aftermath, Ali spits Lawrence’s racist words from Part I back in his face: “Does it surprise you, Mr. Bentley? Surely you know the Arabs are a barbarous people, barbarous and cruel. Who but they? Who but they?” Lawrence has become the cold-blooded murderer, and Ali has become repulsed by the violence.

They are also foils in the way they dress, with Lawrence’s white garb and Ali’s black garb. The state of their clothing reflects their arcs as well. Ali’s clothing rarely becomes dirty. There’s some dust on the lower end of his robe, but that’s generally it. Ali gifts Lawrence with his Bedouin attire following his rescue of Gasim. Lawrence dirties his attire when he fails to save Daud. (He blames himself for Daud’s death to the point of viewing himself as his killer.) His clothing becomes positively filthy during the massacre. The last time we see Lawrence in his Bedouin garb, it is still stained with the dried blood of murdered Turks.

I love their arcs individually and even more in tandem. It adds to the tragedy.

[hyperfixation-fix]

(Reminded of this thought by this post - thank you for the dopamine @sunshinepov , I absolutely loved your drawing)

I can barely begin to imagine how painful it must have been for Nico in that moment, clinging to Percy's arm, feeling him slip, watching him fall. Rick did kind of touch on it, but... it must have been agony.

Nico knew what they were falling into. He knew exactly what they would have to endure to get to the gates, if they even survived at all. He watched the man he had loved and hated and yearned for for years falling into the most unimaginable suffering, suffering he not only could imagine but had gone through. And Nico was helpless.

And you know what's worse?

He was watching Percy fall with Annabeth. For Annabeth.

Nico had gone through Tartarus completely and utterly alone. No one had tried to stop him. No one had followed him. No one had been there to hold his hand, fight by his side, weep with him, hold him, lend him the strength and love to keep going. And now he watched as Percy, the person his life had revolved around for so long, gave everything without a second thought to protect someone else from the torture that Nico had suffered alone.

Can you imagine the anger and jealousy?

And can you imagine the guilt and shame that must have immediately followed? To see an act of pure love, to watch someone risk their everything for another... and to feel... jealous. To make it about you. To hold their suffering up alongside your own, compare them, and think, "Lucky them." Nico must have been repulsed by himself, right to his core. To be so different, alone, unloved, unlovable, self-centred, selfish, monstrous, and so very, unforgivably weak.

Gods, Nico deserves so much love.

[softsan]

˚ 🥀⊹ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋, 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄. (𝐩𝐭.𝟐)

✉️ ・ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

✉️ ・ ── 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬: | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |

✉️ ・ ── 𝐦𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 | 𝐲/𝐧'𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

✉️ ・ ── 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Mafia AU, Angst, Kingpin!Taeyong, Queenpin!Y/N, Fem!Reader, Childhood friends, Betrayal, Enemies to lovers, Eventual Smut.

✉️ ・ ── 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧:  You were the only surviving heir of the old-time Mafia kingpin that had ruled the four territories. You were long thought to be dead, living the normal life you had always wanted...Until you run into a Taeyong, a formidable ghost from your past. You are then thrown back into the Mafia underbelly, reuniting with enemies you had hoped had forgotten you. Will you run away? Will you stand beside Taeyong, kingpin of the North, and be his queen? Or will you take your rightful revenge.

✉️ ・ ── 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Possessive Themes, Future Explicit Sexual Content, Murder, Kidnapping, Strangulation, Torture, Weapons, Graphic Violence, Heavy Angst, Explicit Language, Alcohol Consumption, Mentions of Drugs, Betrayal, Morally Grey Characters.

✉️ ・ ── 𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

Past.

Your melodic laughter filled your family’s gardens, “Hurry up Taeyong!” You gently pulled him along, your fingers intertwined with his.

You twirled past the trees, your hair blowing behind you in the wind. He followed you wordlessly, besotted by your sweet voice. It was filled with such innocent excitement.

You dug your heels in the grass, coming to an abrupt stop by the stone water fountain that was at the garden’s center. Taeyong was still bewildered by your touch, your kindness, and most importantly how you didn’t withdraw with repulsion. You didn’t see him as the monster he was, but as a boy. A friend to play with inside this lonely cage of yours.

“Father brought them back for me from his trip,” You delightedly pointed at the fish in the pool, enamored at their beautiful colors.

Taeyong’s faint smile slowly faded, lines creasing across his forehead. His heart ached, heavy with conflict. He was stuck between what he ought to do, and what he wanted.

“You must be close to your father...”

“Not really.” You dipped your fingers into the water, letting the fish nibble at your fingertips, “He’s always been closer to my brother— ” You paused for a second, “They never allow me to go on trips with them.”

Taeyong had vision as such. He knew you’d never really seen anything past the grand walls they’d built around your family’s mansion. It was the reason why you were such an easy target—a sheltered, naïve, and longing desperately for a friend to play with.

You were the defenseless little girl who unknowingly spilled all your family’s deepest secrets, and he was the unforgivable monster that had gained your trust, and friendship. Who would soon be responsible for the cold-blooded slaughter of one of the greatest mafia families to have ever existed.

“But that’s okay," You beamed, "I’ve got you now.”

Present

Taeyong’s head pounded, his skull screaming as he rolled over onto his back. He stared absently at the ceiling, running his hands through his hair.

He couldn’t get you out of his mind. The curvature of your neck. The scar cut across your delicate skin.

It’s not possible.

You could never have survived what had been inflicted upon you... A full-grown adult couldn’t have bared it, let alone a twelve-year-old girl.

“You’re dead.” He whispered to himself. 

This was just his guilt coming back to haunt him.

“Hey, boss!” Taeil knocked on the door of Taeyong's master bedroom.

“Come in.”

“I’ve had to cover your meetings all morning. What the hell have you been doing in here?” Taeil raised a brow, glancing about Taeyong’s room, “Is there someone else here—”

“There’s no one here.” Taeyong cut Taeil off.

He knew what Taeil was implying.

"My mistake," Taeil shrugged, "All you’ve been doing lately is working, I just thought maybe you’d finally decided to balance it out with some fun.”

“What do you need?” Taeyong’s voice was curt, clearly not in the mood for this conversation.

"Yuta and Winwin are on sight for today’s job." Taeil brushed off Taeyong's attitude, "But they've just called in for some backup," He readjusted his black glove as he talked, “It appears a handful of Eastern forces have eyes on our target too.”

Taeyong gritted his teeth, his pride taking offense. The East was overstepping itself by entering his territory without his permission. Moreso, they dared to come after his targets too? Taeyong had thought they’d know better, especially after the last time.

“What are you doing?” Taeil frowned.

Taeyong rose from his bed, opening his closet to reveal a number of suits and ties, “I’m going to greet our little friends” He said mockingly.

“Boss—" Taeil wavered his hands, "You can’t be serious.” Taeil's eyes widened in alarm, “These are just some low-level thugs. Yuta and Winwin are more than capable of handling it themselves.”

“And yet, they request backup?”

“As —aa precaution!” Taeil tried not to stumble over his words.

Taeyong began to button up his white-collared shirt, “It’s been a while since I’ve been in the field. I'm itching to spill some blood,” His tongue instinctively darted at his lips.

That’s what I like to call fun.

Taeil shook his head disapprovingly. If Taeyong were to go, then there was no way tonight wouldn’t end up in an utter blood bath.

“I’ll make sure all the paperwork is in order,” Taeil grumbled, dreading the outcome of tonight.

You spent most of your free time curled under your blankets mindlessly binge-watching reality TV shows. You had two assignments due by the end of the week, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to work on any of them. 

Your thoughts would dwell on the devilish ghost from you dreams. The ghost you’d wished had remained as but a nightmare. 

Too many years have passed. He doesn’t recognize me. You tried to comfort yourself to no avail.

You’d never be safe again if he came to know of your existence. Neither, would the ones you held dear, such as foster sister Yebin and your roommate Jen. Their lives would all be in jeopardy if Taeyong were to ever uncover the truth.

“I cannot believe it!” Jen barged into your bedroom, her nostrils flared with frustration.

“What’s wrong?” You tore your eyes away from the television. 

“He’s with another girl!”

You blinked a couple of times, waiting for Jen to elaborate.

“He told me that he was just going to play pool with the guys.”

You slowly nodded, catching on. Jen was talking about her latest fling, whom she’d met in her economics class. 

“Maybe he is,” You said, instantly regretting it as Jen came charging at you, sticking her phone in your face.

“Do you see this?!”

You did. Jen was holding down her fling’s friend’s Instagram story, replaying it over and over. You sighed. He clearly had another girl on his lap and was at a house party of sorts.

“We need to go now!”

“Go?” Your lips tilted downward “I’m in my PJs, already!” Your eyebrows knitted together.

“You’ve been in your PJs for the last three days.” Jen dismissed, throwing back your covers and yanking you away from your comfortable warmth.

“Jennnnn,” You whined. “Just break up with him over text. You guys haven’t even been together for that long.”

“Not a chance! I need to see his face when he realizes he’s lost the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”

You groaned as Jen flung one of her low-cut miniskirts at you.

“Wear this,” She demanded, “Oh, and this.” She threw one of her neon tube tops at you.

“I’m going to freeze to death.”

“We are going to look so hot. He’s going to regret ever fucking us over,” Jen vowed, ignoring your protests.

“He blends quite well as a college student,” Winwin apathetically commented on their target who was mingling on the opposite side of the room.

“He’s at a house party drinking his fucking ass off,” Yuta replied less than impressed.

Taeyong remained silent. He and his boys were at the edge of a room, pretending to down cups of stale beer as the obnoxiously loud music thundered throughout the house.

Over by the bean bags was their target. He was the scumbag that had taken loans from a few high-profile clients of Taeyong’s before heading underground without paying his dues. Unsurprisingly, it appeared he owed money to the Eastern gangs as well. Not that Taeyong would give them the chance of getting their hands on him. 

Taeyong’s clients had requested a particularly brutal kind of hit. One Taeyong had every intention of carrying out. 

The beat of the music thumped the ground at your feet. You wobbled after Jen, carefully trying not to trip in your seven-inch heels. You cursed her under your breath. Did she really need to drag you along?

“I see him.” She shouted over the music. You nodded, without hearing a word.

You weren’t accustomed to being around so many people. Bodies dancing and bumping into each other. You were completely out of your element. You couldn’t hear a thing, you could barely walk, and your skirt was continually threatening to rise up on you.  

Jen’s cage-like grip pulled you deeper into the vast living room.

Taeyong's mask of indifference fell instantaneously, and so did his of beer. It spilled at Yuta’s feet before rolling away.

Taeyong ignored Yuta's vexation, his sight focused solely on you. He hadn’t imagined he’d see you so soon. Your twinkling eyes, your pouting lips.

Taeyong’s eyes drifted to what you were wearing. You were sporting, a skirt that shouldn’t have really been called a skirt and a top that barely covered your breasts. He tried not to observe the smooth skin of your legs and how your shoulders glistened under the colorful lights. 

The heat in his chest bubbled, awakening something he thought long to be dead. 

Why are you here? 

You took a left following your friend who was dragging you deeper into the room.

"I need to get her out of here.” He directed to his boys, shouting over the music. 

“What are you talking about?” Winwin raised his voice, “Johnny’s in position." His eyes furrowed, "He's about to take his shot.”

Taeyong couldn’t allow you to see what was about to unfold here. 

“Yuta," He ordered, "Get her friend.”

Yuta’s eyes followed Taeyong’s line of sight. He was thrown by the sudden change of plans, it wasn’t like his leader to hesitate and risk endangering the mission. 

You could see Jen’s sort of boyfriend in the distance. Jen kept her pace, swerving past those who danced. You weren’t as elegant accidentally bumping into a woman a few feet taller than yourself. The woman was pissed, her face red from drink. She shoved you, Jen’s tight grip loosening. You yelped, anticipating you’d fall to the ground. However, your back collided with another. Thankfully, they’d broken your fall. 

“It’s all right, I’ve got you.” His voice whispered in your ear, the heat of his breath sending shivers down your spine.

You tried to push away from the stranger, but he had an iron-like grip around your waist.

“Let me go!” You tried to cry over the music.

“I can’t do that.” The stranger said, carefully spinning you around to face him.

It can't be? It isn't?

What was left of your cool completely evaporated.

—Taeyong.

His beautiful eyes stared into yours, searching for an explanation. 

“Y/N?” He softly mouthed.

You read his lips. Your face flooded with fear.

He does remember me.

His heart hammered in his chest. It was you. Your expression when he’d said your name had told him everything.

Taeyong’s hold never wavered as he led you silently out of the house. Once the back door opened, you were belted by a cold gust of wind. You shut your eyes, not brave enough to face your fate.

Taeyong could feel the skin under his fingers turn to gooseflesh. You were undoubtedly cold. Whether from your lack of attire or from being reunited with him, Taeyong wasn’t entirely sure. 

The night was the darkest of purples, starless and void of any stars. Taeyong positioned you against the wall, satisfied you weren’t close enough to any of the windows to see the horrors his boys would impose. 

You felt Taeyong reluctantly let go of your waist. You could hear him unzip his leather jacket, then you felt something heavy drape over your shoulders.

Why is he offering me his jacket?

He gently placed both of his hands over your ears. He prayed you wouldn’t hear a thing. To his surprise as soon as the skin from his hands made contact with your face, you opened your eyes. 

Taeyong felt weak under your gaze, his face hot. He didn’t understand the sway you held over him. It was almost preposterous, as for years nobody had managed to crack the hardened shell that had encased his heart. 

At least not until he crossed paths with you again. 

The driver followed the long bend of the road, Taeyong’s vehicle roaring in the dead of night.

Taeyong had the most profound urge to play with your hair as your unconscious self lay peacefully on his lap. Winwin, their resident chemist had given you a sedative, putting you into a slumber.

Admittedly, Taeyong wasn’t keen on the idea, but he couldn’t foresee any other way you’d come with him willingly.

“Are we dropping the girl off?” Taeyong’s driver asked from the front seat.

He should have said yes. He should have let you go and allowed you to continue living the ordinary life you’d since built for yourself. However, Taeyong was not beyond being selfish. You had been the one thing in this world he had wanted. The one thing he’d thought he’d long lost. He knew in this very moment, he’d never allow you to leave him again.

“No, take us home. She’s staying with me.”

NETWORKS: -​

MONI’S NOTE: Part 2 is here 🥳. What do you think about then changes I've made? I would much appreciate your thoughts, comments, reblogs and likes are extremely valued.

TAGLIST: Let me know if you'd like to be added to this taglist!

© softsan - all rights reserved. please do not repost on any social media sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

[yandere-daydreams]

reading your works is always like... ohhhh ew what the fuck. that's horrible unforgivable repulsive. now do it again

every now and then i go on a fic reading kick (like, multiple 20k word oneshots in one day), and it can be really hard to realize how fucked up your taste in fanfiction has gotten when you're not actively staring at a list of ao3 tags that could also serve as a list of trigger warnings for the bible. if i don't feel like i'm being haunted by visions of a past life for at least 2-3 business days, i'm not leaving kudos. it's probably not healthy, and yet, it is how i choose to go through life.

[nyctoaerah]

⋆♱⋆RETRIBUTION CH; 4

⋆♱⋆SYPNOSIS You found yourself stripped of your immortality, a punishment for daring to flout the edicts laid down by your father. Your transgressions? Two-fold. First, the grave sin of disobedience, and Secondly, the cardinal offense of falling irrevocably in love with your Lady in waiting. In your father’s eyes, the sanctity of your divinity was tarnished by a same-gender relationship, a concept that he vehemently repudiated as aberrant and abhorrent. Such unforgivable love, he pontificated, dulled your goddess-like essence. Thus he used his powers and casted you adrift into a parallel universe suffused with curses and sorcerers whose love aren't really the healthy type of love, a punishment to show you that ‘Love’ isn’t all about sunshine and rainbows

⋆♱⋆WARNINGS Gore, Slow Burn Yandere, Love Percentage Au. Pseudo Incest on Choso’s Case. Confusing Bullshit. Toji is smelly af. Cannibalism (kinda), Cringe, Unedited. Mentions of torture.

⋆♱⋆PAIRINGS Yandere! Jjk x Isekai’d! Goddess! Reader

⋆♱⋆LOVE INTERESTS Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Shoko Ieri, Yuki Tsukumo, Kento Nanami, Utahime Iori, Choso, Toji Fushiguro, Sukuna Ryomen.

⋆♱⋆NOTE Also posted in wattpad & quotev. Hearts and Reblogs are greatly appreciated<3.

⋆♱⋆PREVIOUS & NEXT CHAPTER

⋆♱⋆MASTERLIST

EACH INHALE THROUGH YOUR nose pulled the stale, musty air into your lungs, therefore, you decided to breathe through your mouth, making a conscious effort to keep your nasal airways closed to avoid the unpleasant stench emanating from the man.

No matter how fervently you struggled to elude him, evading the man proved an insurmountable task. 

Your every fiber ached with the desperate want to revert to your true form and scram, or ideally, melt into the very earth beneath you.

Yet, the prospect of metamorphosing back into your human guise was filled with trepidation. The notion of him witnessing a repulsive, gargantuan worm contorting into a person would potentially trigger aggression, and you're not in the mood to fight.

After all, it would be double assault too.

The assault on your olfactory senses from his offensive stench is damaging you too, and it would be worse if he were to add the physical damaging too.

And you don't want to risk it.

Seriously, you groaned inwardly.

Doesn't this guy possess an aversion to basic hygiene? Was he really that oblivious to the existence of potassium alum or the simple efficacy of deodorant? While the information of human smells regulation eluded your understanding, you knew that there's this ‘deodorant’ concept of a substance applied to the underarms to stave off malodorous stenches.

Doesn't he use that?

You felt incredibly uneasy as you perched uncomfortably on his unwashed shoulders, already imagining the putrid green aura that signifies a strong and offensive body odor.

Putanginang kili-kili yan. You thought.

The man then suddenly opened his mouth and yawned. The yawn he released unleashed a putrid wave of odor that assaulted your senses like a physical blow, causing your stomach to churn in protest as you froze.

The fumes invaded your nostrils and your meticulously maintained standards of personal cleanliness recoiled in horror at this olfactory assault, your inner hygiene guardian screaming in protest. 

WHAT THE FUCK???? HE HAS A BAD BREATH TOO?

You wailed internally.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You sat there on his smelly shoulders, utterly stupefied.

That man that picked you up was sauntering by with a grotesque  behemoth of a worm sitting on his shoulders, A.K.A you,  without any shame.

He reeks, and his smell is enough to incapacitate even the hardiest of skunks. Yet, the people around seemed unfazed, their reactions ranging from mild wrinkling of noses and curling lips to indifference.

A wave of incredulity washed over you. Were their nostrils forged of iron?

Nevertheless, there was no denying the unsightly, repulsive sight of that gargantuan worm clinging to the man's shoulder. Who in their right mind could overlook such a monstrosity? The edge of your patience threatened to splinter.

What the fuck is wrong with these humans?

You've been briefed by your father on the supposed stupidity and repulsiveness of humans, yet experiencing it firsthand was a whole different level of shock.

Could it be deemed normal for them to accept a rotund man, drenched in a putrid stench, nonchalantly bearing a worm with an unsettling face atop his shoulder?

These humans are crazy. You thought, acting as if you're not crazy yourself.

You can feel the weight of regret crushing your spirit as you silently reprimanded yourself for even considering the transformation into such a loathsome form. Amidst the tumult of your inner turmoil, the surroundings begin to dim as the man strides purposefully through somewhere, then through a door.

The ceiling looms above, adorned with strange alien objects that defy recognition to you. The sterility of the environment would have been a welcome reprieve and a fresh breath of air, had it not been for the olfactory assault perpetuated by your uncouth carrier.

As he traverses, you two encountered a few passersby who recoil in visceral aversion at his noxious presence and a slight sense of relief washes over you. Finally witnessing the unbridled revulsion reflected in the reactions of these normal humans validates your own repugnant assessment of the situation.

Finally, normal humans. You mentally sighed in relief, then suddenly, you heard a voice speak.

“So you’re Zeni’n Toji, huh?” a voice utters in a language foreign to your understanding, the moment you saw the man's mouth move, you immediately close off your nasal passages in a desperate bid to shield yourself from the overpowering bad breath emanating from the man.

“Nope,” The black haired man shrugs.

“Not a zeni’n anymore.”

“It’s Fushiguro now, i took my wife’s last name,” The man said, his fingers roaming over the sinewy muscles of his neck. You winced as his touch grazed your slimy exoskeleton.

“Duly noted. So, Fushiguro, I presume you’re the one making these purchases then?”

Peering ahead, you spotted another man draped in a weird ensemble—a solid black garment adorned with five white crests, that is wrapped-front style featuring square sleeves and a rectangular body, with the left side crossing over the right. The peculiar attire perplexed you.

They started to talk, but you were oblivious to what they’re saying, for you are too distracted by the foreign language and the strange attires.

Do humans truly wear such strange attire?

You pondered, you don't really know how things in the other realms, cause your experiences was limited to the confines of your father's celestial castle high above the nebula, forbidden from venturing into the realms beyond.

Bound by the restrictions imposed on you, your existence had been confined to the splendors of the nebula realm—a domain reserved for supreme beings like Aionarch and yourself, alongside his twin sister and her progeny. The nebula is considered to be the most divine and beautiful place in existence in your world, and the highest of them all.

A place more Celestial and Ethereal than heaven itself.

Here, the very fabric of existence holds a unique resilience, swiftly restoring anything that dares to meet destruction. It's a celestial sanctuary where permanence is a fleeting concept, and the essence of eternal renewal is in the ethereal currents. In this sacred domain, nothing can succumb to irreparable harm without the sanction of aionarch.

Nebula is limitless, though, you have only heard of its magnificence from Aionarch, as you have never truly been able to explore it. The only time you did venture into the nebula was with Xeranthi, but even then, you and your mother were restricted in how far you could go, always under the watchful eye of Aionarch to ensure you ‘safety’ cause he was too afraid that his precious wife and only daughter might become lost or in danger. Thus, you were never allowed to venture too far and wasn't even allowed to go to other realms.

The second realm was heaven, where a plethora of deities resided, including Ataraxia. Though a paradise in its own right, it paled in comparison to the ethereal beauty of the nebula. 

Although you have never experienced the beauty of heaven firsthand because you are stucked on the nebula, or more like locked up in the nebula, you have heard descriptions of it from ataraxia. She believes heaven is visually stunning, but interestingly, she also believes that the nebula surpasses it in beauty and grandeur, and that the heaven is only the second most beautiful place in the realm.

Then the third realm, Shaxilu, housed the lower deities—a realm known for its inhabitants' disdain towards Aionarch, bottom feeders deities who yaps without knowing much.

A realm teeming with fauna and lesser beings, it boasted of beauty yet lacked the divine allure present in both nebula and heaven. Here, the deities grappled with their responsibilities, ensuring the demigods remained contained and restraining the meddling of their celestial kin amongst humans.

Then came forth rhe fourth realm, known to humans as Earth, Earth was beautiful, yet it was getting destroyed by the humans who call it home.

Beneath this realm, existing as the darkest abyss of existence, was the fifth realm known as Kolase. Nestled in the deepest depths, Kolase was a place that humans calls hell. Everywhere in Kolase,  cries of tortured souls and the shadows of demons and other eerie beings were palpable. Despite the horror that filled its every corner though, there was an undeniable beauty to Kolase, a charm that struggled to surface amidst the ceaseless chorus of tormented wails that echoed through its depths.

And by now? You felt as if you were on kolase again because of him.

The cloying stench emanating from him is suffocating, it was akin to an inferno raging in the depths of kolase itself. A shudder runs through you as you avert your gaze, the foul odor threatening to overpower your senses. 

You observe him through narrowed eyes, his words muffled by the foul miasma enveloping him. His voice cuts through the thick air, each syllable laden with a putrid undertone that makes your stomach churn. Clenching your jaw, you silently commend yourself for sealing off your nasal passages, sparing yourself the full assault of his repugnant breath and reeking armpit odor.

“How much does those things sell again?” The black haired man asks, green eyes lazily scanning the place.

You blinked, not understanding any of their words.

What did they meant by that?

“About 7 million yen, Fushiguro-san,” the man replied without hesitation, his eyes locking with the gaze of the green-eyed man before him.

Huh? What are they saying? Your lips pressed tightly together.

The black haired man's lips curved into a knowing smile.

“Mhm. So, all I have to do is auction off that things then, and i get the money.” he drawled lazily.

“Yup. Half of the proceeds shall be yours,” the man stated.

“Good,” the green eyed man murmured.

“Just make sure that those jujutsu high brats—No, that gojo satoru brat comes.”

“Rest assured, Fushiguro-san.”

“Is it settled then?” the man inquired, seeking confirmation. The smelly man merely nodded.

“Let us proceed, then.” the man beckoned, his steps purposeful as he began to walk away, a silent invitation for toji to follow in his wake. And follow he did.

Meanwhile, you were confirmed. the foreign words that they uttered left you bewildered, the cadence unfamiliar to your ears. Are humans speaking a different language? The thought nags at you, a stark reminder of the vast gulf separating your celestial realm from this alien world. Everything about them feels foreign—from their attire to their accents and the peculiar sounds that spill from their lips. 

Your irritation simmers beneath the surface, exacerbated by your inability to comprehend their discourse. Yet amidst the confusion, one word rings out with unmistakable frequency—“fushiguro.” Your gaze flickers to the man who had hoisted you up, connecting the sound to his assumed identity. Fushiguro, was a name that rolls off your tongue just fine, and it's pretty, just tarnished only by the off-putting odor clinging to him.

Beauty marred by filth. You noted.

You were having many thoughts and suspicion as Toji and the man strode down the shadowy corridor. The further they ventured, the more secluded the surroundings became. The door at the end of the corridor drew near, its surface adorned with an array of locks and pins, and you couldn't help but think that this is a bit shady. 

With a metallic creak, the door swung open, revealing a dimly lit room that can only be described as reminiscent of a clandestine laboratory.

The walls were lined with shelves stacked high with various glass vials, beakers, and jars containing unknown substances that glowed in shades of red, green, blue, and purple. Strange symbols and diagrams were etched into the walls, aswell some equations, like a cult. In the center of the laboratory, a large stainless-steel table dominated the space, its surface littered with an assortment of scientific equipment—test tubes, Bunsen burners, and many more.

You noticed a series of cages lining one wall, each containing a different creature. Some were familiar—a dark, sleek-furred cat with unnaturally sharp claws, a plumed bird with iridescent feathers that seemed to shimmer in the dim light.

On the adjacent container lay a grotesque being, a nightmarish amalgamation resembling a spider. Its elongated limbs flexed with unnatural dexterity, stained with crimson. The creature's pallid, almost translucent body contrasted starkly against the bloodied appendages, it lacked eyes, a nose, any semblance of face—save for the gaping maw  with serrated fangs.

You winced at the sight of the ugly creature. Shaking off your revulsion, your gaze refocused on the man passing two small containers to Toji.

The lower limb buds of the creature resembled paddles. Fingers were also visible, detailing the complexity of its anatomy. Furthermore, small swellings were starting to outline the future shell-shaped parts of its ears, while its eyes were visibly defined. The upper lip and nose were present, adding to the overall features of the creature. And it was all curled up.

You knew what the fuck those things are.

Fetus.

What they have is a fucking fetus, albeit a bit weird since it's color purple.

But still, why the hell do they have those? Did they ripped those out straight out of the mother's womb?

Your throat constricts.

Your heart raced as Toji suddenly forcibly pried open your deformed mouth.

Oh my fucking goodness, don't tell me that they're gonna feed that to me?

You tried to squirm away, trying to close your mouth, but Toji thrusts the containers in your mouth.

With a sickening squelch, your saliva coated the containers and you felt a surge of panic rise in you, the urge to gag overwhelming. The glass made a sharp contact with your Epiglottis, causing  discomfort before slowly gliding down your throat as you struggled to swallow it in one piece. A trail of saliva escaped from your lips and dripped down your mouth as you finally managed to swallow the glass completely. 

This is just a dream, it's not happening. You gaslighted yourself as you sobbed internally as you  you fought back the rising bile in your throat, your every muscle tense with discomfort. 

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𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Tension filled your rigid body and your mind was filled with revulsion, your veins coursing with a vile concoction from the memory of that abhorrent act of swallowing a fetus in a glass jar. The sensation churned in your stomach, the urge to vomit it overwhelming.

Could the fetus metamorphose within you? Would it grow inside of your wormy stomach? Would it explode from the jar and live inside of your womb? What the fuck.

would you unwittingly become the surrogate mother to a baby and birthing it while being a worm?

The horrific scenarios played out in the theater of your mind, driving you to the brink of a mental collapse as you and Toji were on a bridge.

Toji on the other hand, strolled nonchalantly, one hand thrust into his pocket while the other had a gadget in his hand, it was glowing and from what you assumed, it looked like a mirror, he was talking but you paid no mind to him—not like you can understand what he was saying anyways.

You still loathed him for making you eat the poor fetus.

The mental image of a tiny human bursting forth from your body made your poor stomach churn, causing a nauseating wave to pirouette up your throat. As you allowed your thoughts to meander, a disquieting unease began to simmer within you. Toji's incomprehensible babbling faded into the background, as all you yearned for was to shed this fucking worm form and revert back to your true self, urgently and unequivocally. The urge to turn back into your true form and just kill toji so he doesn't have to see it surged through you.

After all, you would do the poor humans that is living in the earth a favor by killing a man that smells like the fart and smells like Thioacetone.

Surely, it's not a sin to kill such man right?

But then, was this the fabled retribution aionarch had told you about? It suddenly made sense why you were exiled to Earth, to make you suffer from the overwhelming pungent odor of the man—You are but a clean and hygiene freak after all.

Suddenly, Your gaze unexpectedly locked onto the  fluttering of a random butterfly that was on a top of a flower. In that fleeting moment, a profound realization struck you like a bolt of lightning as you got an idea of what's happening.

The Butterfly effect. 

Your throat constricts as you realized that you are actually experiencing it firsthand right now.

A minor pledge made in haste to ataraxia had unfurled loads of calamities. From the seething wrath of aionarch, getting tortured, to a harrowing plunge to the earthly realm, to your regeneration not working, to ugly creatures assailing you and to Metamorphosing into a worm, and then getting kidnapped by a reeking man, and now you have an fetus inside you?

please let this be a dream. you sniffed.

You shut your eyes, a thousand thoughts raging through your mind, silent sobs echoing internally as you prayed for this nightmare to cease.

Suddenly, a rumbling sound, like of a horse hooves in a frenzied gallop, rang in your ears.

What the fuck?

Your eyes opened, and when you saw that there's indeed a horse, your lungs seared as if the air had been forcibly expelled from them, a scream bubbling in your throat.

A literal horse was charging towards you and toji—looking like as if it was about to attack you.

Why is a horse coming our way?! You gawked.

THIS IS SO RANDOM! You wailed.

Panic gripped you, muscles coiling tight as you squirmed against Fushiguro's neck, a desperate attempt to make him aware of the impending danger.

“You with the big tits! Move! A random horse is literally coming our way—a fucking horse!”

You were practically screaming at him through your worm like mouth, but it was all distorted and can't be comprehended.

Thus, he remained oblivious.

However, he noticed the way you tightened around his neck—as if you wanted to strangle him.

“Hm? What’s up with you?” He asks dumbly, before looking forward, and gawking.

“The fuck is that?” He gawked.

“That’s so fuckin’ random.”

“Why the hell is a horse—” Toji didn’t even finished his sentence as the horse crashed with you two—Kicked you two. The world around you condensed into a singular point of terror as the wretched horse pushed you to the ground. A guttural shriek tore from your throat, the sound a mix of fear and confusion, as your being buckled under the strain.

Involuntarily, your body reacted on its own and your worm form began to change in your normal form.

Toji's strangled sound of “huh” was barely registered as the world spiraled. The wooden bridge that you two were in shattered and gravity claimed its due, and with a sickening plunge, you and Toji plummeted towards the churning water below.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Toji's mind reeled in disbelief at the surreal situation before him. The weight of water pressed against his body as he swam upwards.

“What the fuck did just happened?”

his fingers raked through his hair, pushing the wet strands out of his face as rivulets of water trickled down his skin.

“Did A literal horse just attacked me?” he exclaimed, his voice laced with incredulity. His eyes darted around, searching for answers in the murky depths of the water. The absurdity of the situation made him shake his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips despite the tension in his muscles.

“Fucking weird....” The memory of the horse's unexpected assault annoyed him. Toji swore that he will kill the horse.

“Ugh.. is this my punishment?”

Toji's hand absently reached up to massage the tense muscles at the base of his neck, a habitual gesture that offered little relief in the current circumstances. Frustration welled up inside him as he realized that his precious worm couldn't be found.

“Wait, Where are you?” he muttered, his brows furrowing as he scanned his surroundings. 

“Where are you?” he called out, the words muffled by the water surrounding him. His movements were sluggish in the aquatic environment, each motion hindered by the oppressive force of the water.

In the meantime, you would have been pleased that Toji had finally bathed, even though it was accidental and somewhat coerced due to being pushed by a horse. It was a positive development, however, leaving you feeling relieved. You would have been rejoicing in this achievement, had it not been for the fact that you're practically drowning.

The crushing weight of the water pressed on your body and the sharp impact of the rocks against your back was painful, it felt like as if it was scrapping your back, their jagged edges, almost enough to cut through your skin, leaving you momentarily paralyzed. You involuntarily inhaled a rush of frigid water, and your esophagus began to sear as the water made contact with it, your nose contracted in pain. 

You squirmed, desperately trying to tune out the pain gnawing at your back from the jagged rocks, you swore that you could see a crimson stream mingling with the rippling water below because of it. Frantically writhing, you sought to propel yourself upwards, but before you could swim upwards, a sudden impact crushed down on you, fragments of the fractured bridge fell down on you. 

Your ribs began to break from the force and a searing conflagration within your chest. Your vision was obscured by a watery haze, the burn of chlorine stung your eyes as you fought the drowning urge to gasp, your fingers clawing at your constricted throat, nails gouging into your flesh.

Unable to contain the burning flood, your body convulsed in a futile attempt to expel the deluge, lungs saturated as you swallowed more of the river's waters.

Transform. You tried to say, trying to force your body to transform into something that can breathe underwater.

Fucking do it—now. 

But your body wouldn't listen.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Your eyes struggled to focus as the world around you were in a murky haze, every breath was like a dagger of pain stabbing at your chest. The cold seeped into your bones, chilling you to the core. As clarity slowly crept back into view, you felt a firm grip clamping the tender flesh of your nose shut. 

Someone's lips was pressed down firmly upon yours, looking to aim for a perfect, airtight connection. With each exhale, you could feel the rush of air invade your lungs, and your brows furrowed.

They seemed to sense the stirring of consciousness within you and abruptly withdrew, leaving behind a glistening residue of saliva on their lips, likely remnants from the urgent CPR efforts.

A surge of bewilderment crashed over you as you sucked in a deep, shaky breath, your chest heaving as you greedily welcomed the life-giving oxygen into your deprived lungs.

A violent fit of coughing suddenly seized you, your chest heaving and convulsing as you tried to ciugh out the water that had invaded your airways, your throat was burning like liquid fire.

Each gasping breath felt like shards of glass scraping against your insides, and there was a sharp pain radiating through your body with each jagged inhalation.

A comforting hand pressed against your damp back, patting you, though you were too disoriented and drained to push it away.

“Can’t believe that this is happening... putanginang buhay to... pinaglihi ata ako sa kamalasan eh.” you grumbled through a hoarse rasp. Your fingers absently rubbed at the tender flesh of your neck.

The person withdrew, leaving you to slowly raise your gaze with wide, searching eyes.

There was a man with long, jet-black tresses tightly bound into two long black stringy hair tied into two high ponytails that jut upward and outward. He had purple eyes and across the bridge of his nose, a dark crimson mark stretched from one side of his face to the other.

Adorning his neck was a circular scarf and a purple vest adorned him. Beneath the vest, a loose, light tan robe cascaded down, enveloping his arms and legs.

Your chest heaved as you slowly lifted your gaze towards him. Was it his hands that had pulled you from the water? or was he merely a figment of your delirium?

Your face suddenly irked as you remembered the horse that attacked you, nonetheless, you thanked him for saving you.

“Thank you,” 

You managed to say before a crease formed between your eyebrows, a question ready to spill from your lips.

“Wait.. who.. who are you?” you inquired, though a sudden tension gripped your jaw as the realization dawned that he likely couldn't comprehend your words. After all, if Fushiguro doesn’t speak your language, this man probably does too.

“I’m your son.”  he stated bluntly.

You froze—You can understand what he’s saying somehow—unlike with fushiguro.

But then, what the fuck is he saying?

How could he claim such a title when logic insisted it was an impossibility? You never touched a man, let alone you're a virgin.

This seemed biologically impossible.

Tangina, anong pinagsasasabi neto?

“dude what.” you deadpanned incredulously, the weight of bewilderment settling on your features like a heavy cloak.

You’re plunged into a swirling abyss of bewilderment.

The very notion of him being your son is preposterous, absurdly impossible. You’ve guarded your body like a fortress, and you’ve never slept with anyone—not even with ataraxia.

But then, could it be that you unwittingly underwent Parthenogenesis? Some goddesses, like your mother had a children without having sex with a man after all.

But as you search the recesses of your bewildered mind, not a whisper of memory surfaces to confirmed that you had undergo through parthenogenesis.

Besides, Surely, such an aberration would never escape Aionarch’s eyes. Hell he even keeps an eye on your virginity and reminds you how important your chastity is.

So... How could he be your son?

After some moments of thinking about it, you finally spoke.

“I’m not your mother, no.”

You shook your head in utter disbelief, feeling the weight of confusion pressing down on your shoulders like a leaden cloak.

“Listen, whoever you are, I believe that you’re mistaken. I am not your mother,” you managed to utter through tightly clenched lips, a sense of exasperation tingling at the edges of your patience.

“You are mistaken,” the words escaped your lips, each syllable heavy with disbelief.

“There is no resemblance between us,” you murmured, noticing the flicker of irritation in his eyes at your assertion.

“Besides.. I’m a virgin, and... my lover is a woman.” Your jaw clenched, trying to wrap your mind around the bizarre revelation.

“And... And I never conceived you,” you stammered.

“You can’t be my son seriously.” You said shaking your head.

He clicks his tongue in annoyance at your assertions.

“If you're searching for clarity,’ he began, his steps deliberate as he closed the distance between you.

“My brother lies within your womb,” he said solemnly, his gaze locked with yours in an unflinching intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

What is he saying? What did he meant by his brother is in your womb? That's seriously creepy.

 “What?” you hissed, the word barely more than a whisper as your mind struggled to assimilate the incomprehensible stuff that he was saying.

“We share the same womb, we came from the same womb. Within you,” he stated.

“So... that would imply that you birthed us all,” 

“What the fuck kind of logic is that?” You snapped.

And with that, the two of you began to argue.

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𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𑁍ࠬܓ━━𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐅𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒:

𝟎𝟎𝟏.Choso assumed that [Name] is his mother because [Name] swallowed his brother (literally) and now his brother is just resting on [Name]’s stomach.

𝟎𝟎𝟐.[Name] was actually glad when they fell on the river because the water finally touched Toji’s skin.

𝟎𝟎𝟑.Mahito is the one who gave the body to choso on the anime, but in this, i changed it, and someone else gave him his body, and that someone is important to the story:P

𝟎𝟎𝟒.So Toji was supposed to sell the death painting wombs, ik that they're hidden somewhere on jujutsu high, but, on this book, jujutsu high only have 6 death painting wombs on them since some of them (Choso, Eso, Kechizu) already have bodies and the other one is on [Name]’s stomach.

𝟎𝟎𝟓.Choso isn’t really [Name]’s son, it’s just that he believes that she’s her mother. From what i know, when they were given the bodies by mahito, they have no memories and doesn’t know their mother or something and only knows that they live for each other.

𝟎𝟎𝟔.And yes! There’s a language barrier between them! And only choso knows how to speak the language [Name] is speaking (You’ll know why he knows that language later)

𝟎𝟎𝟕.Basically, [Name] doesn’t understand any of the words Toji is saying.

𝟎𝟎𝟖.Toji was using a cellphone and talking to some of his clients, but [Name] sees it as a mirror bcs there’s no cellphone in her world

𝟎𝟎𝟗.[Name] and Choso argued after that, but Choso ended up winning the argument.

━━━━━

𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐒:

𝟎𝟎𝟏​​​​Putanginang kilikili yan means  “That fucking armpits/damn armpits”

𝟎𝟎𝟐.​Putanginang buhay to, pinaglihi ata ako sa kamalasan eh. It doesn’t really have a direct translation in English since pinaglihi doesn’t have its english counterpart, and the closest translation of this is “Fuck this life, i was probably conceived from misfortune”

𝟎𝟎𝟑.​Tangina anong pinagsasasabi neto means “The fuck is he saying”

━━━━━

🔪 || 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒

╰┈➤ 𝟎%

—𝐒atoru is fucking disappointed. How was he supposed to eat you now if you aren’t a mythical bird? Suguru and Shoko told him that you might be a shapeshifter after all. 

╰┈➤ 𝟏𝟎% (𝐔𝐩 𝟓%)

—𝐒uguru found some parts of your hair and some parts of the destroyed necklace when he and Satoru went to the forrest (without permission). And guess what? There were little letter like engravings on every part of the broken necklace. He’s not sure on what language it is though.

╰┈➤ 𝟎%

—𝐓oji is fucking pissed because his worm is missing. Where the fuck are you? He still needs to sell those death painting womb for some money.

╰┈➤ 𝟒% (𝐔𝐩 𝟐%)

—𝐒hoko is trying to decipher all of the words found on the broken necklace, she noticed that some letters of it are different though, there's no kanji, katakana, hiragana, and not even a single letter in the alphabet.

╰┈➤ 𝟐𝟎% (𝐔𝐩 𝟐𝟎%)

—𝐂hoso is confused. Aren’t you supposed to be his mother? Why are you acting like that? Why are you being so mean and snappish to him? He’s pretty sure that mothers aren’t supposed to act like that towards their sons... He literally saved you from drowning and this is how you repay him? He’s starting to feel annoyed at you for denying everything, seriously, why can’t you just admit that he’s your son? Your lips feels soft against his though.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄:

I SWEAR, I'M SO FUCKING EMBARRASSED AT THIS CHAPTER 💀💀💀 it's so random and all😭😭 I'M GETTING A SECOND HAND EMBARRASSMENT THE FUCK??? And some of it are also confusing too. Like everything is so random 💀💀💀 (ig reels r getting onto me, the horse scene is from an ig reel that i have watched)

Anyways, Choso is not related to [Name], he just thinks that she's his mother or something. So, i also decided to just make [Name] speak tagalog because there's a language barrier yk? I don't wanna use some translator to make her speak other languages. Imma just make her speak my mother tongue.

Alsooo, more scenes w [Name]'s family and the jujutsu high students on the next chapter:33

The choso part got my lazy writing fr..

​​​​

how i feel after hurting my mc every sngle chapter: 🥰🎀

Yeah, just don't mind me babbling...

[pandorasfavorite]

Sworn protector

Summary: Anoung and his group starting make fun of you. Neteyam didn’t let that happen.

Note: he’s so cute istg.

There is a few things you don’t do when talking to someone taken. You don’t flirt with them, you don’t disrespect them, and you sure as hell don’t touch them, ever. Neteyam had responsibilities as the eldest child to not start problems in his families new home, or course all those responsibilities was on the tip of his head. Even the strongest slip. He watches you and his siblings from a far nearly everyday to ensure everyone’s safety and compliance to rules. The soon to be new chief didn’t respect the rules of a taken mate, An’oung often lacked the ability of respect though. Over the past few weeks Anoung was anything but respectful to his family, but stepping over the line was when he approached you. This was unforgivable. You were sitting on the shore looking at the shells under water in your own little world, not bothering anyone or anything. The taunting voices make you emerge from the water, not hearing what they said clearly, “huh? What’d you say?”. Anoung scoffs at you in a repulsive way, “are you some kind of freak?”. “He asked if you were a freak”, one of his friends chimes in, leaning in closer. Your ears drop similar to your head, “…no” you try to walk past the group but one of them grabs your wrist pulling you to face them. They all snicker at you and your distaste, “look at her little baby tail” one of them grabs your tail drawing a loud gasp from you. You smack his hand, hissing at him ultimately entertaining the group more. This encounter doesn’t go unnoticed by Lo’ak though, “Hey fish lips, hands off” he yells. Neteyam was walking with Lo’ak at the time and didn’t see what was happening until his little brother ran off randomly. Of course Neteyam followed after him at a light jog not understanding, and then fury ran through his body. That feeling of protectiveness that he’s tried to hold back the whole time his family was here, all falls out. He storms ahead of Lo’ak, he steps in-front of your pushing you behind him lightly. Neteyam wastes no time to push Anoung backwards roughly, hissing at him no words exchanged. Anoung puts both his hands up in surrender while also pushing his friend back behind him so he doesn’t start something. “Good choice”, Neteyam manages to grit out a the group before putting a hand on your back and guiding you away. Lo’ak trails a little ways behind letting you and your mate have a moment alone. Neteyam’s hand is softly resting on you back still hit his other hand is clenched in a tight fist and it’s obvious his jaw is locked. “I’m sorry Teyam”, you mumbled out feeling ashamed for no real reason. “Don’t. Just prattle on about something so I don’t turn around”, he says opening and closing his fist. “What?”, you respond in a small whisper. Neteyam has no reason to turn around, you thought he handled the situation pretty well. Neteyam wanted nothing more than to shove his fist into each and every one of their faces, in fact he craved to feel the crack of a broken nose just once. “Please just start talking about anything, just anything baby”. You can talk, if that’s all he’s asking you to do well you’ll do it. Just start talking about the sand or maybe the new necklace your working on. “Ok ok I can do that, I’m making a necklace for you. I was going to make a matching one for me so everyone knows your mine”. Neteyam hums feeling himself slowly uncoil and calm down just a little, “are you gonna weave something into them?”, he says wanting you to continue. How can someone be so beautiful while angry? How can he be so in control of his emotions even when he’s been through the most? “Yes maybe some stones or shells similar to each other” you say noticing his shoulders falling from relaxation just slightly. Your turn your body to face his completely bringing your hands to rest on his cheeks. You smile at him brightly your teeth poking out slightly making Neteyam return a soft look as well. Your thumb runs across his face soothingly, him instinctively moving towards that hand. “Thank you for protecting me teyam”, his eyes opening making contact with yours.

His hand moves to hold yours that is still resting on his face, “always”.

[angelic-dew]

yandere gyutaro headcannons !

✧༉‧₊˚୨ 🖇 ୧・request; " I really liked your yan kokushibo headcannons, can I get akaza, doma and gyutaro next plss?? "

✧༉‧₊˚୨ 🪴 ୧・author's note; here's pt. 2!! as promised :) If you want to view akaza's click here, to view kokushibo's click here. next up should be inosuke then doma! i lowkey made gyutaro sound like the joker lmfao

✧༉‧₊˚୨ 🍃 ୧・ pairing; gyutaro x g/n reader! {you/your pronouns!}

✧༉‧₊˚୨ ✖ ୧・trigger warnings; manipulation, isolation, kidnapping, stalking, vague mentions of physical abuse, psychotic behavior, possessive nature, jealousy, abuse of power, love-bombing and grammar errors. If you are sensitive towards any of these themes please dni for they will be mentioned. {proofread.}

⚝. Just a reminder I don't tolerate nor do I encourage the following topics in reality; I like keeping it strictly to fiction.

꒰🪴꒱. Gyutaro is mesmerized by you. You were simply a treasure that needed to be preserved from the harsh reality of this cruel world. He couldn't lose you to the others who were out to get you for their own selfish desires and needs! The others only wanted you to suffice their own egotistical needs of theirs, they didn't care for you. They didn't for what you were. They only needed you for their own purposes, afterwards, they would simply discard you as if you meant as little as a speck of dust. A germ. An imperfection.

꒰🍃꒱. Well, that's what he thought about the others around you - so despicable and disgusting. They always reminded him of his past, when he was weak, feeble, a good-for-nothing, a useless, ugly child. All he wanted was to protect the ones he loved; his precious sister, Ume. He'd risk his life just for her, she was his everything and the only one who didn't frown upon him.

꒰🪴꒱. Unlike his fellow demons (Kokushibo + Akaza), you two never actually encountered eachother. It was more of a love-at-first-sight situation honestly. While at the Entertainment district one faithful night, he saw you from the shadows whilst Daki was busy capturing more victims to add to the food supply. You were walking and minding your own business as his eyes sage-green eyes glowed almost perfectly in the darkness which he watched from, a soft orangey umber lightly glistened to compliment his pupils. Those eyes followed your every move and trait you exhibited right there and then.

꒰🍃꒱. Gyutaro found you rather intriguing. Something radiated off of you, and that something wrapped him around your pinky. Was this some kind of spell of sorts? You were so alluring! But again, you were human. Those same disgusting creatures which he utterly despised. They could be so cruel. So unforgiving with no compassion for those in a position lower than them. He wanted to get away from you; you could've been of the same breed, a repulsive soul.

꒰🪴꒱. Surely, that could potentially be the case, however, why would he be so captivated by you if that were to be true? It didn't add up! He hasn't felt this way towards anyone but Daki; and it's safe to say, she isn't human. Not anymore at least. However, this felt stronger and it had more of a certain grasp on him than previously thought. What was he doing being so caught up with a simpleton?

꒰🍃꒱. He kept watching. The further you walked into the district, he began moving from roof to roof, still keeping himself hidden but still able to sneak glimpses of you. Your hair swayed in the chilling gale as an angelic smile plastered itself along your face, he watched how your face crinkled from your smile. It was so adorable.

꒰🪴꒱. He blushed. The heat was ever so slowly rising to his face as he kept watching you in all your beauty, you were a natural charmer, possibly. Gyutaro had never been so caught up with someone let alone a human like this before! But it could've been petty feelings due to the given moment. It wasn't a puppy crush after all, he would most likely never see you ever again. Yet, that was something he didn't want to happen.

꒰🍃꒱. He was so torn between letting you go or keeping you for himself. He is a bit selfish. As the night was still young, he took this time to his advantage. Meticulously taking his time to watch you, looking about to see if you talked to specific persons, your interests? Maybe even mannerisms and habits you exhibited at the time. Honestly, he did find you a bit strange even if you had him head-over-heels. Yoshiwara was known for sex work and having many prostitutes; who knew what you went there for.

꒰🪴꒱. Hours upon hours went by, it felt like mere minutes to Gyutaro. At that time, you've already done your business at the district and was focused on making your way back home. He couldn't lose you like that! Not after you captured his attention that is. He needed to know more about you to know you inside and out.

꒰🍃꒱. He finally made up his mind. He was going to follow you home; so creepy! But he did what had to be done. He followed you from afar still keeping you in his line of sight and made sure to remember where you lived. He had to retain that information, it's not like he'd see you often at the district.

꒰🪴꒱. Within a matter of 2-3 weeks, he observed your routine. Likes, interests, habits, eating patterns, sleeping patterns and all. Keeping tabs on you nearly always (when he could at least). The nights were spent with him carefully peeking through your window, watching your chest rise up and down as you slept peacefully, unaware of the green eyes resting themselves on your figure.

꒰🍃꒱. I am a firm believer that the demon tends to take things of yours just before you head to bed/not in the room at the time. He's sneaky and cunning with it as well; only small stuff though! Things such as a small fragment of clothing or trinket in your room that still has lingering touches of your scent. Something not so detectable.

꒰🪴꒱. As for rivals, he'd never dare to hurt them well maybe one or two, but what's one human less? Gyutaro is more of a person, well demon, to sulk in his own mind and overthink that'd you'd always prefer that person over him; after all he's an ugly, pathetic demon. That's all he is right? He just hates the thought of you belonging to another besides him.

꒰🍃꒱. It doesn't take him long to inform Daki of his new found strange behavior (sneaking out at nights all the time). And she is astonished, he older brother having a crush over someone? They must be great. If only it was a simple crush and not a full-blown obsession. However, as soon as Daki hears it's a human she's partially skeptical over this whole situation, yet she wants her beloved brother happy. Even when he rants for ages about you like a fangirl.

꒰🪴꒱. Honestly, it doesn't take him long to finally take you as his own; with the help (and permission) of Ume of course. He truly cannot withstand seeing you interact with those others. Who knows what their intentions may be? And after so many years of pining after you,, he needs to feel you. Just feel the soft warmth of your skin against his for once, his only wish.

꒰🍃꒱. At last, he took you to your new home! where he and his sister resides at the district. He felt so ecstatic that you're finally near him, now he doesn't have to make it a chore to find you every night. Isn't that great? You'll be right next to him every second of every day! In contrast to Gyutaro, Daki seems to be harsher towards you. Don't get me wrong she likes you, for her brother's sake, but you're a mere human. You better not try anything with her brother.

꒰🪴꒱. As expected, when you awoke you would freak out. Both of them would obviously have to explain themselves, more importantly, your fanboy had to. He was nervous and jittery, being in your presence sent him sky high! But he wasn't the most - good looking; he knew this well and clear.

꒰🍃꒱. Therefore, he opted to win you over with gifts. Maybe have Daki go and get you a nice outfit to suit your beauty, how about flowers? Many people like that! A home-cooked meal? Well he usually eats his meals raw.. but will try just for you! He just wants to have your love all to himself. Tying you up and night or holding you tightly within his arms. Sniffing at your hair and eagerly cherishing your scent. Wishing for you to be his yet doubt lingered in the back of his mind. It hurts him. Please, don't try to even fight back; it will not end well, especially if Daki is around - she can be ill-tempered.

꒰🪴꒱. You better get used to your new normal. It's not changing for even a moment.

© angelic-dew, please don't translate or reclaim without permission <3

[certifiablyinsanez]

Good Omens/David Tennant/Michael Sheen/Neil Gaiman tangent: I have always had a genuine distaste for celebrities and celebrity culture for as long as I could remember. I could never relate to people having celebrity crushes, fangirling, having bedroom walls covered with posters, etc. I always felt so alienated about it as a kid. When I got older and tons of celebrities from our youth (I was born in 98’), were being arrested and outed as horrible people, I felt vindicated almost. Even now, I live by the motto “your fav is problematic” because I just live with the assumption that every celebrity has likely done something unforgivable and honestly I’ve been right 9/10 times. Even people I looked up too, who shaped who I was growing up, have been revealed to have done repulsive things. I’m talking bl*ckface, unapologetic racism, owning sweatshops, abuse, protecting abusers, etc. But if there were to be celebrities I’d want to meet and thank and celebrate, Michael Sheen and David Tennant, as well as Neil Gaiman would be on the list. Of course, people are people and good people can do bad things. But genuinely, their skills, their energy, their warmth, their chemistry; everything adding together has culminated in something that genuinely has had a profound impact on my life. It feels silly to feel that way over one bit of media these veterans have made over their careers that have been going on longer than I’ve been alive. Of course I’ve seen more of their work, but this one is my favorite because it feels like it was made for me. As if they were like “there’s a lonely person out there who has never seen themselves on screen, who feels unheard and unloved and unseen. Let’s fix that.” And they did that for MILLIONS of people. How spectacular. I’ve never actually cared to meet a celebrity really, but now I hope that one day I’ll meet them and let them know how much I cherish their art.

[chaifootsteps]

So hazbin hotel fandom has :

Racism

Fatphobia

Harassed someone to the point of committing suicide

Also harass anyone who criticize the show

And now they are harassing a user who criticized how the show handles SA.

Did I missed anything?

Whatever repulsive, unforgivable, jaw-droppingly horrifying thing they do eight minutes from now.

[seleneprince]

I think that what makes Beron an asshole is not that he's sexist, but that he's a huge classist and egocentric jerk. He hates everyone equally regardless of their gender, but specially if they're low borns. His repulsive aura has nothing to do with women or how he views them, because to him, people are only two things: Useful tools or insects beneath him. He's gonna treat you like shit no matter what you have between your legs. Which sucks anyway, but hey, at least he agrees that men and women are the same.

I've been reading the books and sure, he's obviously an awful husband and father, but there's nothing on his behaviour that implies he's a sexist pig (unlike some other characters who make it obvious because misogyny is their whole personality). He was the first High Lord to give a piece of his power to Feyre UTM to bring her back, and it was after him that the other Lords did it too. He had no problem with his wife living with her sisters, away from him, until Hybern killed and so she was forced to return. They had a somewhat decent relationship at first, until he found out about her affair with Helion. It's after that when Beron begins to treat his wife like absolute shit and despise Lucien, knowing very well he's not the father. He doesn't do that because she's a woman and that automatically pushes him to abuse her, but because he wants to punish her for being unfaithful. It's not justified and, considering they had an arranged marriage, i think they should've just touched the topic of lovers and mistresses at some point instead on inmediately jumping into the torture train.

There's also an scene when the High Lady of Autumn remembers her sisters and her grief shows, and Beron places a hand on her shoulder in a gesture that's described as "comforting". It doesn't make up for all the damage he's inflicted on her, but it was weird to me because, everyone knows what kind of man he is and he's not asshamed. He doesn't need to play a role in public, so why try to comfort your wife, the very same one you've tortured to the point she has becomed a shell of herself? There's also the fact that he knows Lucien is not his, why not get rid of him? He allowed him to be educated just like his brothers and referred to him as another one of his sons.

In my head, Beron is more than just a secondary villain with bigoted beliefs that appears conveniently to show how much of a piece of shit he is. He's a terrible father, but he still considers Lucien his own. He makes his wife's life a living hell, but also cares for her enough to notice her grief and try to comfort her. He doesn't give a fuck wether his subjects are happy or not, but he still puts the court first and has no problem considering an alliance with another dictator to keep his land out of harm. Him stating he wouldn't hesitate to join Hybern if he won the war was morally unforgivable and disgusting, but as a ruler, is a somewhat understable move. He's thinking of what's best for him and his court, and not about what's "right".

Conclusion: Beron Vanserra is a bigoted, classist jerk that only cares about what's his and thinks hurting his family is for "their own good". He's twisted, narcissistic, manipulative and selfish, and also capable of love in his own fucked up way. And I enjoy him for that.