#tw pseudo

[bachibabe]

pairing: bachira meguru x fem! reader

wc: 300

warnings: pseudo-incest, fem! reader, obsessive tendencies, just filth I’m thinking about right now 😞

18+ → minors / blank blogs dni

I can’t stop thinking about sister fucker bachi and it’s causing me physical pain at this point

He’d be such a good big brother. He takes care of you, treats you so sweet. Makes sure to cook you dinner every nights and draw you hot baths. Ah, he loves the baths every night. Even though he promises to leave alone, every night he finds himself slipping in behind you. Gently washing you, cleaning your hair.

He can’t get enough of you. Your pretty skin, your gentle touch. All of it is perfect.

He’s so obsessed with you. He’s so obvious with it too. Clings to you every second he gets, wrapping his arms around your shoulders while you try to talk to your friends. Making you cling onto his arm, tits pressed so tight against him. He kisses all over her face. You always pull away when he tries to peck your lips in public, too embarrassed to let other people see. But every once and awhile he can steal one when you’re not paying attention.

His favourite was when he pecked your lips right in front of your crush. He kept his eyes locked with his, smiling into the kiss as he holds your chin in place. Not letting you pull away. That guy never talked to you again

He doesn’t care about what everybody else thinks. He wants everyone to know how much he loves you, wants everyone to see how he looks at you. How good he fucks you. Who you come begging to in the middle of the night. Who you belong to.

You’ve been together since you were little, and you’re gonna be together until they’re both dead and buried <33. He loves his baby sister so much and he wants everyone to know. He would never hide his love for someone he cares for so deeply. Someone who he’ll be with until the end.

He’s truly the ideal sister fucker, I think. <33

[admirxation]

彡 𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟓𝐭𝐡 - 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲

♡ ��𝐮𝐦. The reader's father-in-law gets in the way of her making a cake for her cheating husband (wc: 2.4k)

𝐜𝐰 — daughter-in-law!afab! x father-in-law!Leon S. Kennedy. 18+ smut mdni, dead dove do not eat, pseudoincest (in laws), modern/no outbreak au, cheating (both the reader and her husband so toxic relationship), food play (eating frosting off tits), finger sucking, vaginal rubbing, nipple play, p in v, orgasms, and cum -> you've been warned; continue at your own discretion.

You cracked an egg into the mixing bowl, the bright orange sunset yolk breaking and swirling into the beige batter of sugar and butter. Your hands moved mechanically as you swirled around the wooden spoon you adored making, but your heart wasn’t in it this time. If anything, it added more stress than the usual therapeutic feeling that was usually provided. 

The kitchen smelt sweet, with the opened powdered sugar adding a gourmand scent to the atmosphere. Only this time, it wasn’t as delicious as usual; it was more suffocating as you glanced at your recipe card and made the same cake for the same ungrateful man every single year. 

It was your husband's birthday coming around the corner, and you were making his favourite cake that he would always ask for with bright puppy dog eyes that had a twinge of selfishness in the gleam. However, as the years passed, your love for making his favourites soon faded like snow on a hot day. As you watched the intricate swirling pattern of ingredients mix into the bowl, you wondered if she does things like this for him, if he makes her do different or even in the same favourites. She was the largest reason you lost love for your husband, the secretary he became obsessed with and naively thought he was doing a good job at hiding, even when he never deleted those texts and made that awful day of seeing his exchange of nudes with her happen. You remembered how your heart lurched and your stomach twisted when you saw her. The typical stereotype: pretty, bombshell even, and younger. You were aware cheating happens, but you thought—like every naive woman before you—that your husband would never tread those paths of infidelity. 

You remembered when you confided with your best friend, to which she rightfully asked why you wouldn’t leave. You felt stupid but also smart to stay with him; life was comfortable with him, and there wasn’t much option to have a life after him; you married him right out of high school, bright-eyed and clueless and thinking that love would be enough, but now you know better—even if it’s too late to accumulate that knowledge. 

Life with him was comfortable, and while he was neglectful emotionally, materially, there was nothing to complain about; however, a proper marriage can’t continue just with gifts, and it wasn’t like a proper marriage was going to continue when your heart irredeemably broke when you found those text messages and lipstick stains on his collar, with cheap perfume lingering on the cotton. He managed to get you everything you wanted—except real love—from handbags, perfumes, and any trinket of a hyper fixation. Without him, you’d have nothing: no house, no security; you were just a high school graduate with no real experience and no one else to support you, so you played the role of the good wife, perfect hostess, like it was a survival tool. 

You heard the kitchen door open as you reached for the vanilla extract. You froze for a moment as you wiped your hands on a teatowel and realised it was not your husband; it was too early for him; he’s usually out for hours after work with the secretary; no, who came to visit was a man that always made you smile, Leon Kennedy—your father in law. 

“Smells good in here,” he says with a smooth voice, like velvet with a smoked sharp edge of whiskey aftertaste in it. You watched as his eyes flicked over your form, almost lingering a bit too long, but you didn’t mind; in fact, whenever he looked at you, something always stirred inside of you. 

Leon would often visit; it started with him checking up on his son, but now it was more often to check on you, to which you didn’t mind. You loved your father-in-law. He always made you feel welcome and accepted. When he found out about the secretary's story, he managed to make sure to check up on you often, and you could tell there was something else lingering in these checkups whenever his wandering eyes would stray just a little longer when taking in the vision, that was you, into his peripheral. You weren’t going to act as you disliked it; it wasn’t exactly like Leon was unattractive; it was quite the opposite, actually, especially when you looked at those toned arms, sharp jawline and the way his straight hair framed the harsh chiselled features you couldn’t help but find the beauty in. 

There was also something else between you two. Ever since the secretary's story was known, tension soon built between you two; you always found him attractive. It would be stupid not to see his beauty objectively, but mutual attraction soon makes the tension seem unyielding. The nights he would visit—when you were all alone—there would often be touch with little to no distance between you two. There were especially nights were touching soon swirled into lingering kisses that turned into pants and moans exchanged in each other’s mouths, and soon after these exchanges, you were as innocent as your cheating husband was, only it felt like you were doing so much worse; he was with a pretty secretary, and you were fucking his dad, but you had little sympathy for the man that started the petty streak within you.

“It’s just cake frosting and batter,” you replied while turning back to the bowl and trying to ignore the warmth that crept up on your neck from where he walked up behind and let you feel his hot breath dance along the back of your neck; his presence suffocating, but equally electrifying and arousing. 

“Just cake?” he teases in a lower octave. “Did you bake it with love?” he continues, a breath of amusement lingering at the end of his words.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, your pulse quickening when you felt his muscular arms start to snake around your waist, making your back hit his chest, and you felt how his heartbeat thumped in its chamber for you.

“No, can’t say I’m baking this one with love,” you muttered. 

“Well, he doesn’t deserve it anyway,” his hands smooth over your hips, giving them a slight squeeze that makes your breath hitch as he holds you in place while your heart jitters in rhythm. 

“You shouldn’t be touching me like this, you know,” you tease with a flirty smile.

“You weren’t saying that last night,” he matched your teasing as he coaxed out suggestive giggles as his lips grazed on the curve of your neck, leaving a soft and wet trail of kisses that made you feel weak; something your husband never could make you feel once the connection and love was lost. “Come on, he doesn’t come home for another three hours… and he doesn’t deserve all this hard work.” 

“Yeah, and who does?” 

“Me, obviously. Haven’t I taken care of you, or does my girl need some more attention,” he made your heart and body jump when he squeezed the fat of your ass, griping it and slowly massaging it, using your soft and sensual moans as an invitation to keep going and more. 

With his free hand, he dipped his finger in the pink shimmery frosting and let a wet licking out as he tasted your hard work: “Oh, he definitely doesn’t deserve this; way too good for him… Here, try some.” He says in a suggestive tone as the leftover frosting drips down the length of his finger, making his pupils dilate and swallow the blue of his gaze as he watches you take his finger in and suck on the length of it slowly; just the sight of you looking up and making eye contact with him was enough to make his cock hard, making it press against the rough fabric of his jeans to make a tented peak that was begging to be released and nestle itself inside of you

You giggled slightly: “Hm yeah… way too good for him.”

Leon smirked at your reply as his hands went back to squeezing your waist: “Yeah… like you… you’re way too good for him, but I’m good enough for you,” he punctuated his words, which had a deep grovelled tone, with a few neck kisses; he left a soft wet trail with his lips grazing down the slop and curve of your neck, making pretty little whimpers escape your mouth. “Oh, you make the prettiest sounds,” he mumbled before his neck kisses started to deepen with the tips of his teeth starting to indent on your soft and fragile skin; you didn’t care about being subtle anymore; your husband would come back with the lipstick marks and reak of perfume, so why should you keep the courtesy of secrecy when he never even thought of giving you the manner?

“Mm,” you let out a mumble of arousal as you felt his hands start to snake and slither down between your thighs, hearing his amusement and ego start to heighten when he felt how wet you were already for him, how warm and ready you were between those doughy and plushy thighs that he adored to grab, squeeze, and kiss. 

You let out a sharp gasp, inhaling the cool air that surrounded the kitchen into your expanding lungs as you felt him lift your dress up and plunge his large hand into your lacy barrier, forming circle motions around your sensitive bundle of nerves, feeling how hard he was against your ass as he kept teasing that developed wet spot that darkened your underwear. 

“Such a pretty girl, the most beautiful girl,” he kept whispering his praises as he rubbed your clit, making your chest rise and fall at a quick pace as you wrapped your hand around and interlocked your fingers with his long strands of dusty blonde hair. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you, who needs him when I’m around… Isn’t that right, darling?” 

“Y-yeah, who needs him? Aah,” your words were interrupted with an interlude of sensual moans that erupted from the base of your throat and past your glossy lips as his fingers moved quicker and rougher. 

He left a trail of kisses as he pulled the thin straps of your dress down, letting it collect in a wrinkled pool by your feet as he used his free hand to grab at the swell of your breast. 

“Oh, no bra, aren’t I a lucky man?” he pinched slightly as your pebbled nipple. 

You gasped in a moan as you two looked at one another, both of you smirking at one another as he worked on your sensitive buds and admired all those gorgeous and sexy moans you were making for him until he pushed you and bent you over the counter. 

In the blur of motions, you gasped as the cold surface pressed against your already-hardened nipples, but now mixed with a room-temperature sensation; when Leon bent you down, you accidentally smacked your hand at the edge of the bowl, the pink frosting oozing everywhere on the counter and now pooling over to your tits, making a sticky brim collect on your plush skin. At the same time, Leon had pulled his jeans and boxers down—along with your underwear—as he pushed his sensitive, reddened tip along your wet folds, making you sing like an angel with every moan that protruded and danced along your lips. 

“Ah, Leon, s-stop teasing me,” you whimper out. 

“Mm, okay, guess my good girl deserves it now, doesn’t she,” he teased in that tantalising tone. Still, he turned you around, making you yelp as he lifted you up quickly and put you on the counter, watching his brows rise in intrigue with the image of the pink frosting oozing down the mounds on your chest. 

He grinds the tip of his dick along your puffy folds before slipping his hard and wet length inside of you, filling you up and making you gasp. 

“Oh, fuck, Leon.” 

“That’s it; use that pretty mouth for good, hunny.”

The room started to fill up with orgasmic exchanges as he pushed further inside your gummy walls, biting his lip as he felt your cunt suck him in further for his tip to bash against that spongy sweet spot he had found so easily, like his body was made to be connected to yours in an intimate exchange; far more compatible than you and your husband, or him and his ex-wife. 

Leon couldn’t hold it in anymore when he watched the pink frosting start to set on your soft skin, letting his face bend forward and lick the sweet mess off your tits.

“Fuck, you taste even more sweet now,” he whispered before his tongue proceeded to lap up every sweet bit of mess that had accumulated down to your sensitive buds, making you whimper and writhe underneath his touch as the stiff tip of his tongue circulated on your nipples and leaving the occasional nibble to make your heart jitter and your walls tighten and spasm around his thick length. 

“Oh, my god,” you moaned out. 

You felt like your body was on fire, with arousal pooling in your stomach, the sensation almost being too much for you to handle as your eyes rolled up until only the whites were visible and accompanied by your dazed and dream-like expression as you bit your lip in ecstasy. 

The push and pull of his cock was quick but steady, his tongue lapping around your sensitive buds, making you get so much closer to your high—which was never hard to find with Leon’s skill. 

“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum!” you moan out in an orgasmic and pornographic tone. 

“That’s it, baby, cum on my cock like the good girl you are,” he punctuated his words with a harsh bite from the tips of his teeth around your nipple, making a catalyst for the clear gush that trickled and spurted down his length and onto the kitchen counter. “Oh, you’re so sexy, you messy girl,” he whispered as his gaze went down to watch his dick push in and out of that pretty little pussy of yours.

You heard him curse under his breath before groaning, followed by heat that pooled inside of you as he cummed and unloaded his white release inside your tight cunt; he had completely ravaged your body with bruises on your hips where he had held you, bite marks on his chest, now his cloudy release spurting out of your spent hole.

🏷️ taglist: @elfven-blog @porcelainseashore @angelstargel @localkiss -> check my pinned post if you wanted to be added to the taglist; if you want to be deleted from it just message me privately.

a/n: father in law returns! I haven't written this type but they did get kinda popular on here and they were my favourite things to write hehe. I kinda fell off Leon content and I was planning on making a in law series with him but I kinda fell off the love for him for a bit; I still adore him but I think it's been obvious that I've been more involved with my anime fandoms at the moment. This is a multifandom blog, it's no longer the solely Leon blog it was at the start, so I am sorry if people get disappointed with the lack of resident evil stuff. However, pookie is not forgotten, I do have TWO planned one shots for him to come out during later November and December so the RE girlies will be fed haha

[whotfelsewantedtobelynnyx]

Chat, I regret to inform you that I have added a new hyperfixation…so…

Agatha All Along Incorrect Quotes!

Alice: Hold the fuck up.

Also Alice, crawling into Lilia’s lap: It’s me. I’m the fuck up. Hold me.

Rio: I have an idea!

Jen: No murder.

Rio, sighing petulantly: I no longer have an idea.

Lilia: I have a bad feeling about this…

Agatha: What do you mean?

Alice: Don’t you ever get that little voice in the back of your head that tells you if something is going to get you in trouble?

Agatha: No.

Jen: That actually explains so much.

Lilia: As far back as I can remember, I’ve always had this little voice in my head telling me to “live it up today, because there’s not gonna be a lot of tomorrows”.

Agatha: You do realize there’s medication designed to get rid of those kinds of voices, right?

Teen: A bird flew in through my window and I’m trying to befriend it.

*later*

Agatha: Why don’t you quit bothering me and go talk to your bird friend?

Teen: Matthew and I are not speaking at the moment.

*the coven, huddling together behind a makeshift shelter to shield themselves from repeated gunshots*

Alice, hastily shoving the others behind her so she can return fire: Agatha, do you have any idea who would want to shoot you?!

Agatha, squashed between Jen and Rio: Many people want to shoot me. I take great pride in that!

Jen, glaring at the group as she hands over bail money:

Alice, tapping her shoulder: What about Teen?

Jen, glaring more: I’ve got to bail him out too? Where’s Agatha?

Teen: No one called her. We used Lilia’s phone call to call Alice and Rio’s to call you. Then Rio used my phone call to vote for American Idol.

Rio: :)

Jen: Rio isn’t answering her phone.

Agatha: Here, I’ll try.

Jen: Alice and I have tried six times each, what makes you think that-

Rio, picking up on the first ring: Hey, sweetheart.

Agatha: The ends always justify the means!

Jen: Do you know who said that?

Agatha: Was it Oprah or someone nice and great like that?

Jen: It was Machiavelli. A decidedly non-Oprah like person.

Jen: I bet you didn’t even finish the thing I asked you to get done!

Agatha: For your information, I most certainly did! Got it done last night!

Teen, whispering to Agatha: You didn’t get it done, did you?

Agatha, whispering back: I don’t even know what she’s talking about.

Lilia: I am at a loss for words!

Teen, glancing at the camera like his mom like he’s on The Office: Despite being lost for words, Lilia yelled at us for the next 45 minutes.

Agatha, carrying Señor Scratchy out of the room:

Señor Scratchy: *snuggles under her chin*

Agatha, kissing his head: You are being punished. Please stop being adorable. I love you.

Teen: I got a trampoline tent for summer sleepovers!

Jen, whispering to the other adult witches: …think of all the sex.

Alice: There are two types of people.

Rio: If you wanted to eat someone, you could put a fire under it and slowly roast them :)

Lilia: …three. Three types of people.

Jen, cautiously: I can’t believe I didn’t notice this before, but…Teen, you are a little crazy.

Teen: Aren’t we all a little crazy here, Jen?

Jen: No, I mean you’re aging-ballerina, child-chess-prodigy, professional magician kind of crazy.

Teen: It’s my mom’s fault. You know, we come from a Jewish family, but she used to tell me the reason Santa didn’t come was because my room was too dirty.

Rio: I’ve come looking for trouble. And if I can’t find trouble, I WILL create some.

Alice: Do you trust me?

Lilia, smiling proudly at her: Yes.

Alice, who has been completely panicking: Wait, what? Why?!

Agatha, awkwardly glancing around for help: Er…Alice, I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know what to say to people who are crying. So I’m just gonna hope that the tone of my voice makes you think I do, okay, sweetie?

Alice, sniffling: …thanks, Agatha.

Agatha, patting her on the back with a bit too much enthusiasm: No problem, kid.

Lilia: I told Agatha about it weeks ago!

Teen: She WHAT?

Agatha: What??? Lilia says insane shit all the time, how was I supposed to know this one was true?!

Lilia: Bank accounts are a sham created by the shadow government!

Agatha: SEE?!

BONUS:

Wanda, watching from the afterlife: so…when exactly do kids grow out of that whole emo, rebellious stage?

Lorna, shrugging: I don’t know. Alice is still in it.

[lilacxquartz]

part 9 of 19 of kinktober: brain riding

kenjaku’s brain x reader

plot: kenjaku would like to try something a bit different with you — themes: oral sex, brain riding, gender neutral pronouns for kenjaku, f!reader, coercion, potentially body horror — a/n: if the idea weirds you out, this is your warning to click out, otherwise read on <3 — w.c: 800ish

kinktober masterlist • main masterlist • ao3

“Come on, I promise it’ll be fun,” Kenjaku teased, dragging your fingertips along their still freshly sutured incision, “it’ll be unlike anything like you’ve ever experienced before.”

You stammered in slight uncertainty, narrowing your eyes into a concerned stare; studying the liquid that trickled out of their partially undone form. “I-I don’t know, this might be too weird… even for me.”

Kenjaku could only smile as they pulled you back down over their body, urging you to straddle over their frame. They didn’t want to pretend with you anymore—at least not since you last saw their technique and surviving form—so this was simply… the next big step forward.

“Trust me,” they coaxed, lowering their voice into a breathy whisper, “I promise it’ll be fun. If you’re that scared, you can sit a little lower over my vessel’s face and we can work our way up.”

You could only blink as your mind paled at the thought, still struggling to imagine just how this could possibly go. Admittedly, this was something that you had never once anticipated before and yet here you were, giving into the impossible.

“Alright, just… just give me a moment, okay?” you replied in a strained tone in an attempt to calm yourself down.

They simply stared up at you as you straddled over their stomach, their arrogant grin slowly widening with each passing second.

“Do I just… hover over the brain, or?” you asked in a resigned tone.

They tilted their head back in anticipation. “I’ll tell you when, how’s that?”

A whole flurry of troubling thoughts swept through your mind the more you tried to talk yourself into carrying the act through. For one, you felt suddenly… insecure? What could the view for them even be from that sort of angle? Given that your thought process could be easily reflected on your expression, they pulled you down ever so slightly by tugging at your wrists to at least, reassure you.

“Don’t worry about it too much,” they murmured, trying to pad you forward on your knees, “I can promise you that my eyes will be closed if that’s what’s bothering you,” they lied, wanting nothing more than to revel in the view.

You tilted your head in half disbelief, not quite believing them. “R-really?”

They hummed with a confirming nod, finally getting you to hover right where they wanted. With a quick pull, they cast aside the skull cap for now, propping it over to the bedside table before shooting their tongue up towards your clit, hoping to steal a taste while you were still adjusting.

A slight yelp escaped your lips as the rest of your body tingled in a pleasurable shudder; your legs settled parallel over the soft, fleshy mass felt almost softly foreign when compared to any other area of flesh. The tissue was alarmingly supple and left you feeling a little afraid for them.

“A-and you’re sure that this doesn’t hurt you?” you asked in a somewhat innocent tone, genuinely concerned for their safety.

They lightheartedly laughed in response to you, their tone of voice adopting a nonchalant edge, “Well, it might mess up my vision a little but don’t worry, I can fix all of that later. Besides, my brain is firmer than the average person’s, so you’re not damaging a single thing.”

Kenjaku technically meant that first part in a joking manner, but they partially regretted their jab a second later, knowing that you wouldn’t take it in the way they hoped and would very likely hesitate to let yourself go fully.

To counter this, they attempted to pull you down a little closer; their brain tongue greedily lapping up wherever it could feel, the rest of the rosy matter slightly pulsating as it did so as the subtle movements almost caused them to tremble.

Continuing, they licked at your folds whenever you slipped up and tried to steady yourself. Your clit was the primary focus, but your lacking confidence was something that they’d have to train you out of in the future; which was already pre-planned in their mind. Working with what they could, they flicked at your skin’s swollen peak, pushing you towards a quickly building climax. Perhaps it was both the fear and the arousal and the unknown; all three things combined to overwhelm you into a heated mess.

In a way, it was surely frustrating due to the host’s body responding with want and need, pooling tingling pleasure in between their legs. They couldn’t stop now however—not when you were so close—so instead their tongue zigzagged at an almost hurried rate, sending rising shocks of shuddering bliss through your body, forcing you to eventually coil and flood in a seeping release that trickled into their cerebral lips.

As you finally stilled your grinding process, you sat back over their chest and then rolled over to your back, your body involuntarily flinching slightly at the cap they used to secure back over their brain.

“I’m never letting you live this down by the way,” they teased, already planning the next moment they’d do this with you again (and again and again.)

And to your surprise (not that you’d admit it to them), you didn’t feel completely opposed to the idea.

~~~

related art piece

[bachibabe]

He feels conflicted about it at first. He hates the way he's pawing at his cock over his sweats. He hates that he's such a fucking perv for watching his little sis play with herself. He hates the way he cracks the door open, trying to see just a little bit more when he's so close to cumming. He can't help but be enamored- you're trying so hard to get off but you don't know how... if he just got a second to show you how good you could feel... he cant help himself from slipping into the room. Approaching your bed slowly, carefully. But you're far too gone. You had been whimpering his name the whole time...

Next thing you know big bro choso is the only one who can make you feel good :(( You come over to him all whiney in the kitchen when hes cooking and its... yeah. Good morning to you too!!

choso is a little sister fucker, shut up! he likes to touch and grope you in naughty places but it’s okay because he’s your big brother and that’s what big brothers do!

[gladiatorcunt]

- DIRT IN CHAINS | X.

i can’t wait for the nights with you, i imagine the things we’ll do

cw: kinktober prompt (feet), semi crack treated seriously (he just comes back and says footjob. now.), pseudo incest (step brother & step sister), no shelly or chris 💀, set in the 90’s with brandon lee’s eric, small-ish age gap (reader’s in her early 20’s), fem ballerina!reader, random kurt cobain crush mention, implied inappropriate behavior when reader was 18 and after (nothing explicit but it could be seen as done with certain intent), attempted non con mention (not involving eric or reader)

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

Body of my body, flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone.

If you serve a chunk of still bleeding meat to a gruesome stray dog, then that is love. If you toss a coin to a crow with a glint in its beady eyes, that too is love. Even when you scoff and grumble at the perceived inconvenience and continue your jaunt down the muddy alleyway. You are assuring an animal that you believe it deserves to have its hunger sated and tended to like a toothache. don’t be surprised when gangrene sets in around your ankles and wrists, bracelets made of red jade. They bite for the same reason that you sharpen their teeth and beaks with roadkill and gemstones. It is life’s greatest gift to ever be well fed, such neglect can open a void from which there is no escape. If only your heart could plug up the hole.

The most painful sentences in existence are hypotheticals that start with if. That's why this will be nothing of the sort, hunting season will be successful.

Your step brother Eric was shot about a month ago the night before halloween, and you’re coping by robotically moving through life as if it couldn’t happen to you too. It’s all too easy to succumb to the panic and the grief but you’ve never been wired that way, it’s safer for you to retreat into a cocoon of numbness.

You don’t want to think about where the woman he saved from being raped is, as happy as you are that she’s okay. Knowing any of that would only remind you of the knife Eric got thrown into his back before he was thrown from her apartment window. He lived in the same building and like the good guy your step brother was at heart, burst in the room with the best intentions.

His good deed got him killed, and all you’ve done is play his music on repeat as you rot in your bed. He’d want you to continue your ballet career, hell, he showed up to your recitals and performances more than your own mother. You always ignored how his presence made you feel simultaneously relaxed and confident but also so stressed you’d be worried about pissing yourself on the stage.

Wide smiles and long dark hair that glistened in the theater’s warm lightning, he would always be the one to stand up and whistle first.

Eric’s favorite ballet was your ballet company’s Swan Lake. He kept a picture of you as Odette in one of the pockets of his leather jacket.

Your parents had only been married 4 years, but you’ve changed a lot from the starry eyed 18 year old that mooned over your older step brother and tripped over your pointe shoes.

Your dad started teaching you how to play guitar before he left, when you were 5 and your chubby hands plucked at the wrong strings. Eric wouldn’t leave you alone when you told him the story, and spent an entire weekend getting you caught up on your missed lessons until you both had a swarm of blisters on your fingers.

Now you’ll never see him again, never get caught in the rain when you’ve begged him to drive you home and wish you could tuck a strand of his wet hair behind ear, never hump your pillow and muffle your sounds into your balled up fists because he’s staying in the next room and you have to be quiet.

You’ll never see him with his band again, caught in that weird space between a groupie and a supportive family member. He liked to embarrass you, make big shows out of looking directly at you and coming to the edge of the stage to poke your cheek. He’d ruffle your hair and your cheeks would be so hot, one wrong burst of electricity from the wires attached to their instruments and you’d go up in flames.

You never told your mom but you always wanted a brother, you should’ve known you weren’t gonna have him for very long.

Hangman’s Joke. God, you wish.

“Hey, peach, ya miss me?”

Hand on your heart you think you’re dreaming at first, but you’ve never really had any dreams where Eric was front and center. He haunts all your other ones, regular strange ones where you’re running around department stores and fucking Kurt Cobain but someintes he turns into your step brother, sometimes you fuck them both.

You shoot up in bed, the straps of your lavender silk nightie slip down your shoulders so you pull them back. It’s the middle of the night, and your vision is blurry, but when your eyes focus properly you see him standing in front of your bed.

It’s Eric, your brother, you don’t even care if there was a gas leak overnight that’s got you fucked up or if this reslly is a dream. You can’t pretend to be fine anymore if he’s right here in front of you, suddenly there’s an umbrella over your head in the pouring rain again.

“Eric, oh my god, what the fuck! How are you even- I mean- How the fuck are you alive?”

He sighs, tonguing his cheek and shaking his head. “I’ll tell you all about it later, I promise, ‘m tired, peach. Missed my girl, didn’t she miss me?”

It’s a little cruel because of course you have, but the dulcet tones lull you into nodding. You don’t want to cry, and you’re scared to reach out to touch him because of the chance that he might disappear. Eric’s haunted eyes soften, and he intertwines his bizarrely muddy fingers with yours. There’s warmth, and maybe it’s just your hummingbird heart but you feel a soft rhythmic thumping under his skin.

It’s different, slow as molasses, more like the chiming of a grandfather clock. But Jesus fucking Christ he’s real.

Your sham of a facade shatters as you bring your joined hands down to your breasts, forcing his knuckles to press into your sternum.

Eric pushes you back down on the bed, his knees dig into the mattress on either side of your hips. His stare is intense, dark and enticing as he reaches down to curl his hand around your calves.

“I used to be obsessed with uh, vampires, ain’t that a bitch?” He chuckles, massaging your ankles and staring off into space. “All that mysticism and unimaginable power and all I could focus on was the way they talked about their cravings. How they get hunger pangs like a normal fuckin’ and it’s bearable until it’s not, it consumes them like they’re boilin’ from the inside out.”

You suck in a breath, Eric’s eyes flick over to you immediately.

“Then I look at you and i’m right back in rehab, toes curlin’ at the thought of getting high again. I think I know how those bloodsuckers feel.”

“Eric- Don’t say that.” Your heart seizes up, but you keep yourself from falling off the ledge.

He kisses your ankle, his black lipstick leaving a stain as he leaves a trail of carnage up to your toes. His lips split wide on a fox’s smile, slipping his tongue in the crease between your toes and sucking each one clean, almost like he’s trying to eat your flesh off the bone. He nuzzles his nose into the sole and inhales deeply, taking in the dirt you didn’t wash off in the shower, the plastic hospital smell from your bath mat, your cherry almond scented body wash.

“Yes, all i fuckin’ need, right here.” He whispers, staring at you dead in your eyes.

He flicks his tongue out to taste the high arch of your foot as his hand caresses your still bruised toes. But they’re faded, you quit ballet a long time ago.

“You have pretty feet, y’know that? Always liked helping you lace up your slippers.” Eric laughs “You’d get so fussy about me doin’ them properly but you’d kiss my cheek after, all sweet on me.”

He lavishes every inch of both your feet with his tongue in broad strokes, making out with your toes because he can’t resist sucking them into his mouth one more time.

You moan, fisting your hands in your nightie, your step brother’s back from the afterlife apparently and the first thing he wants to do is get a footjob from his step sister.

Eric tucks his hair behind his ears so he doesn’t have to bother with it for right now, you can tell that this is like one of those moments on stage, he wants your full attention.

He’ll always have it.

You’re the one that pulls your feet out of his grip to slide them down to his crotch. You keep eye contact as you massage his clothed bulge with your toes, rubbing your heel into his balls and applying light pressure here and there.

You blink up at him, too innocent and too worn down by life already all at the same time, “Like that, big brother? Does that feel good?”

Eric grunts, wrapping his hands back around your ankles and pushing your feet further onto his cock.

“Yeah, peach, feels so fuckin’ good, holy shit. Just like that, keep doin’ me like that, baby.”

You bite your lip, nearly tearing through the skin in your efforts to make your newly risen step brother jizz in his ripped jeans. You wish you had psychic powers and had the foresight to know he was coming over, you would’ve put on those socks with the frilly edges and a red rose stitched on the white fabric.

But he’s so worked up from this already, he’s breathing heavily and rocking his hips forward to hump your feet. He’s grinding his teeth together, already so close to unraveling from how much of a little tease you’re being.

You hum and turn your right foot to ghost the edge of your toenail around the tip of his cock. He groans as he twitches and a bead of pre seeps through his clothes, you can trace the outline of his length so clearly you know he’s not wearing any underwear.

The look in his crazed eyes reminds you of all the times he’d take you to the attic of his loft, making up scary stories and playing guitar with you. When you turned 21 he surprised you with a cheesy golden heart shaped locket, with a picture of you two at your parent’s wedding, joking about how awkward you look with each other there. Eric’s penguin style suit and your agitated face that’s partially covered by gaudy turquoise puffy cap sleeves.

He chuckled and said that every time you look at it, you’ll feel nothing but happiness for what those two losers are about to experience.

Part of that experience is you curling your feet around his clothed cock while giving him just enough of a view of your hairy pussy, you forgot to put a pad on so there’s some blood trickling out of you that Eric is just so utterly enraptured by.

His groans are death rattles now, long and pain stricken, at some point he stops humping your feet and lets you worship him like this. Eric kneeling above you, drooling deep in the back of his throat at the sight of his baby sister caressing his painfully hard dick with her cute dancer’s feet.

Your mind is filled with all the pretty shoes you can put on and do this again, you just got a new camera as an early birthday present too.

“You can come if you promise not to leave again, Eric, I'll hunt you down and kill you myself this time.” You promise, digging the ball of your feet into his perineum.

“I crawled out of the earth back to you, didn’t I? Couldn’t let my sweet peach perform alone, she gets stage fright.”

He comes in his pants and you continue to gingerly move your feet along his length, soaking up the cum that wets your toes like a sunflower does sunlight at golden hour.

[sunnyissweet]

IM BAAAAAAAACCCKKK <3333 hoping to gain my moots bacc

[cryptidbait]

Pseudo Subscorp Week 2024

Day 1: Haunt

[sandreeen]

Sung Hyunjae || The S-Classes That I've Raised

[okulki]

Jacketko page in my sketchbook

Wooooooo

Closeups

Fun fact: that tree with a noose is an actual tree i found near a lake lol :P

[bachibabe]

Big brother kita….

[sky-kiss]

Orin/GN!Durge: Pride (18+)

A/N: Look just. I dunno. There's that fun lil' solo-satisfaction challenge going around but this is NOT tagged for that because no one should be burdened with Orin lol. But like...I thought it'd be a fun character study? So... now this exists. I'm sorry.

Orin/GN!Durge: Look, by Orin Standards this is Tame

Pride drives her to her bloodkin's bed. They are gone again, off to do the slave-lord's bidding. It tears at her. The memory of their last exchange haunts her, heavy like a touch, like lips tracking up her spine, a tongue pressing to the small of her back.

"Off again, is it? You fly from our pasture so often these days. Our sheep whisper, bloodkin." 

They smile, so pretty, so pale, teeth white, white, white—she likes them better flecked with blood, sank deep into the throat of their shared kills. "And what do Bhaal's sheep say?" 

Pride is why she touches herself. Bhaal's Chosen needs reminding. Orin slips beneath their sheets, leaving her scent on them. She winces, fingers dipping between her legs and finding herself dry. She rarely takes pleasure in something so banal, and the touch is such a little thing. Not sweet like a blade, barely anything at all. 

But she thinks, rotates the memory in her mind, and there. Better. 

"That you have made yourself the Tyrant's toy. Bane's Chosen, they say." 

And her bloodkin had laughed at her. Foolish Orin, fool child—always kept in the dark about their plans. Father’s plans. Orin bares her teeth, twisting. The sheets catch about her legs, silk-slippery, too soft, all of it. Hollow thing, empty thing—and the fingers are not enough, no, no. She thinks of the knife again (their knife, and Orin's stomach clenches, a sharp pang of arousal tearing through her), but cannot find the will to move.  The world narrows to a single point: their laugh. It echoes through her damned skull, slips its tendrils into her flesh, and so she slips a finger inside herself. 

Bhaal's Chosen crooks a finger, making her cross the space between them like one of their supplicants.  

Her heart thunders against its cage of bones, threatening to snap them, as her bloodkin's hand settles at the curve of her throat. They press—delicious pressure until the world's edges go black and curl inwards. "Sweet kin…you doubt our Dread Father?" They trace her cheek with their nose, voice like honey, syrupy-thick. Their left hand comes up, fingers curling against her clavicle, scratching, tapping, in time with her heart. 

She swallows, snarling. Tear it free, yes, tear the traitorous thing from her chest. It ought to have beat for Bhaal alone, but it hungered for her Bloodkin's touch. Weak-flesh, pathetic thing. She lifts her hips to press deeper. The moment she breaks from the memory, the pleasure washes back out to sea, and she cannot will it back. Orin thumps her fist against the mattress, turning her face into the pillow as if to suffocate herself with their scent. 

"The Lordling calls you away, and away you run. He bleats, and you turn your ear." 

Bhaal's Chosen ignores her. "Look at you." 

Her bloodkin hums, curling their fingers, breaking her skin. Orin chews the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood. It aches to have them close—like her flesh is too tight. Like it should give way. Heretical thoughts flood her head—they are flawed things. Father made them incomplete. Orin's stomach twists. The answer is to tear them open, yes. Crawl inside, stitch their seams to hers—only then can they be truly whole. 

"Sweet Orin…my gift." 

Orin turns onto her belly, letting instinct wash over her as she sinks further into the memory. Her hand shifts, bones rearranging, stretching, setting until it's their hand. All its familiar calluses, nails sharper, threaten to tear at her insides. Good. Good...oh, it is written, decreed. It is Father Bhaal's will that they should tear one another apart.

"It will be you and I at the end of all things." 

They have whispered this same promise to each other over the years. They will drown the world in blood and carnage. They will build their citadels with its bleached bones and stand amidst the hollowed shells of its corpses. They will kill and kill and kill until it is only them. 

Pleasure swells, and she whimpers, dragging her nails up her belly to cup her breast. She clutches until the flesh gives way. She must imagine it's her bloodkin's nails, taking those few millimeters to press nearer to their heart. 

Orin thinks of the light leaving their eyes, burying her dagger in their heart. Perhaps she will pierce their lungs first, yes—swallow the last of their air…

The changeling shudders, fucking herself harder, gasping at the thought of her kin's knife finding its mark between her ribs. Yes, together. They'll go together, just as promised, just as…

Orin pulls taut, her cry short and clipped. The savageness of her orgasm and its suddenness catches her by surprise, her body clenching on nothing first and then gripping her fingers hard enough to hurt as they press back inside. The longing, the hunger, the emptiness…oh, all these wretched sensations remain…she is never enough to chase these things away. 

It will take more whispers in the dark, more blood, more promises…it will take their lips on her throat and the press of them between her legs as they bask in a fresh kill…

…it will take death, yes. Their blood and flesh mingled. And then Orin will be satisfied. 

[shockinglysubmissive]

The Video

Shigaraki needed some porn, and Dabi was willing to provide it, at a cost of course.

Warning: pseudo-incest (video of sibling), masturbation, degradation, unprotected sex, humiliation

Solo Shigaraki and Dabi x Karuna (OC)

Word Count: 1.3k

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @dabislittlebeaniebaby @daniidil @dabislittlemouse

Being a villain means having to go deep into the shadows. That means, no internet for months at a time.

"Come on Dabi. You brag about all the sexy videos the mystery girl sends you. Share. I need something good to beat my cock to." Shigaraki practically whines, gloved hands reaching for Dabi's phone.

"Fine. But I'm warning you. You will regret this in the end." The devious smirk on Dabi's face doesn't deter the scrawny man. Scrolling through an album of photos and videos, he finally selects his favorite. It was the longest one in the collection. "I'll show it on one condition. You aren't allowed to cum until..." His finger drag across the screen, zooming through the video. "25 minutes 46 seconds."

"Whatever. Just give me it!" Shigaraki wets his lips with his tongue, hungrily waiting for the video.

"I'm not showing you until you swear. And trust me, I'll know of you lied to me." Dabi says firmly, holding the phone away from his boss.

"Fine fine. I promise. Now give me." He snatches the phone and runs off to his room. Moving so quickly, he didn't notice Dabi appearing amused, which would have given him his first clue to be concerned.

The preview of the video shows a stomach bulging out due to Dabi's cock buried deep inside them. Unable to wait any longer, he presses play, the video loading and suddenly spread legs fill the screen.

Black lace panties cling to a torturously wet pussy. "Go on. Told ya, bitch. You're not getting my cock today unless I get to film ya. Make it entertaining. You owe me for being a fucking brat." Dabi's voice growls from behind the camera. Eerily familiar manicured hands creep into the frame and slide the sticky panties off.

Shigaraki fights to take his belt and pants off with one hand, the other tightly gripping the phone, not wanting to miss a second of the twitching pussy showing on the screen. Growing frustrated with how long it is taking, he raises a gloved hand to his mouth, biting a finger to remove his hand from inside. With his lower clothing now nothing more than dust, he grips the base of his cock.

Turning his attention fully to the video, a grin spreads across his face as a dildo, too large for her tight hole, appears. Broken sobs, not even close to forming words fill his ears as inch by inch, the toy is sucked into her needy cunt. Only half of the toy was filling her, but babbles of "too much" and "gonna cum" are repeated over and over again.

"That thing is no bigger than me. Come on. You can take more." Shifting into frame slightly, a fully clothed Dabi leans over, gripping the suction cupped end of the toy, twisting and pumping it slowly. Heavenly whines, and desperate pleas to cum fall on Dabi's deaf ears. Ending his slow torture, he gives the toy one sharp thrust before burying it deep inside her. "Don't you dare fucking cum. I'll fucking cover your entire body with scorching hot cum if you even think about it. Now entertain me."

Shigaraki's eyes focus on the way her body tries to push the toy out, Dabi backing away to leave the frame again. Timing the jerk of his wrist with the shaky thrusts of the toy, he already feels himself nearing his release. Not wanting this to end, his fingers wrap tightly around his base. Feeling safe to release himself, he moves his hand down to roll his heavy balls.

His fingers massage his balls while the video plays, broken sobs ringing in his ears as she loses track of how long she's been fucking herself without release. Her legs started shaking minutes ago, and sweat glistened on her body before Dabi gave in.

"You want to cum bitch? Yeah, bet you do. But your only allowed to cum on my cock. So drop the toy." The sound of his belt being tossed aside is the only sound as her shaking hands toss the toy next to her on the bed, showing her puffy lips and clenching pussy. 

The camera moves, showing her full body, minus the fucked out face Shigaraki was desperate to see. Heavy breast bounce with each panting breath as Dabi settles himself between her legs. To his slight disbelief, Dabi hadn't been lying when he said the toy was about the same size as him. The biggest difference between the two were the lines of metal balls on each side of his shaft where his piercings were. 

The manicured hands trail gently over her chest, swirling mesmerizingly around the pert nipples. Shigaraki's mouth waters as he imaged how soft the skin would feel between his teeth, how pretty her pale skin would look with his teeth marks scattered around it. 

On the lower part of the video, the head of Dabi's cock disappears, a groan leaving his lips at what Shigaraki could only imagine was the softest walls pulling him deeper. A scarred hand grips one of her plush thighs as he bullies himself deeper, until every inch is nestled deep inside her. Judging by the way she squirms, the tip was pushing painfully against her cervix. 

"This must be where the thumbnail of the video came from…" Shigaraki thinks out loud, seeing the familiar stomach bulging once again. 

"I can feel you spasming. Don't fucking cum. You only cum when my seed is in your womb." Dabi growls, the hand previously on her thigh now gently smacking her clit. He gives no time for a response before fucking her the way her messy hole deserves. 

Covering the part of the video where Dabi was visible, Shigaraki fisted his cock in time with the wet slaps of skin, imagining he was the one causing the girl to fall apart and beg. He wanted to be the one who she was begging to fill with cum, not the burnt villain currently in that spot. He was getting dangerously close to the edge again, checking the time. 25 minutes 2 seconds. Just a bit longer and he will be able to cum. 

Dabi's thrusts became sloppy and rushed, the perfect cunt below him too irresistible to not breed. Smoke rises from his fingers, which had found their way back to her thighs. Shigaraki ignores the deep grunts as Dabi cums, choosing to focus on the soft whimpers as the girl realizes she's going to be allowed to cum now. 

The smoking fingers press against her clit, slowly teasing it just enough to push her over the edge. 25 minutes 43 seconds. Shigaraki pumps his cock faster hearing her riding out her high, coating his hand with his own cum. The camera pans up to the fucked out face of Karuna. Her black and blue hair fanned out on the pillow behind her head. 

A disgusted wail leaves his lips as he throws the phone to the foot of his bed. From behind the door, a deep laugh can be heard. Dabi walks in an grabs his phone from the bottom of the bed. 

"Thanks for that boss. Been needing a good laugh for a while. Now, I'm gonna go show this to your sister while I make her beg for my cock again." Waving the phone, Shigaraki finally notices the small red light indicating he had been filming himself the entire time. 

"Have any videos of her sucking dick? With all the shit she talks, bet you've fucked her face a few times. She look good covered in your cum?" Shigaraki asks. 

"You're a real pervert, boss. I'll send you the pictures later." Dabi winks before leaving the room to make Karuna deal with the throbbing erection he's been sporting since Shigaraki took his phone. 

[lilacxquartz]

CHASING HUMANITY • kenjaku x f!reader

ao3 • masterlist • << previous chapter • next chapter >>

summary: upon following his intuition with securing the study, something within him snaps.

warnings: violence, torture, death

Chapter 5. Roses

It felt weird surrendering to the crumbs of humanity that he had offered you, but you also felt like you had no choice in accepting what little he gave you to work with. It wasn’t as though intentionally sought to find comfort in his offered presence, but it was all you had right now.

You felt just a little off from the whole thing though.

The act of him offering you that hug didn’t feel kind; more so a fleeting glimpse into fabricated comfort, maybe even manipulated to mould you into being someone you weren’t quite ready to be.

The fact that this oddity of a person—this killer—that you teamed up with on a whim was more capable of care than your (former? ex?) boyfriend was a telling sign that you were unfortunately fully, well and truly messed up, perhaps even beyond repair.

For that reason, you didn’t care how fake it all might have been, because for once, you felt validated; you felt seen and you weren’t about to let any of that go.

Maybe that’s all you ever needed to begin with.

Someone to enable you.

You did as he told when you finally managed to pry away from him, returning yourself to the self assigned space that you had claimed as your own. Suddenly, the act of texting the latest ‘study’ felt like torture; so dry and tedious. The comfort that you found from the man from the ramen joint was now long gone, torn and placed into the hands of a murderer instead.

This was technically what you wanted all along, though. From the very moment you offered yourself as some sort of spontaneous dedicated tag-along fan of a man who could have been the definition of evil itself. For someone to look at you and at least pretend to care.

How pathetic were you though, to be so starved of something so terribly mundane.

A part of you twisted your own thoughts on the matter, telling yourself deep down that he did so out of a place of care because he wouldn’t have bothered otherwise.

You sighed as you flattened your back up against the knobbly headboard, feeling the ridges twist against your spine. The cold glow of the phone screen only marginally kept your attention as you texted someone that you no longer wanted to bother with.

Flicking your sights over to Kenjaku, you could see that he was in no different of a place than you either; half sprawled out and staring with a slightly covered hand at the dim hotel lighting that painted the room an almost sickly beige.

You wondered what he was thinking about when he subjected himself to quiet moments like those.

The phone buzzed again, slightly jolting you and tearing your sights away from the guy and back to your point of disinterest, where you were condemned to feed more and more into someone’s own falsely prescribed impressions of what this whole exchange truly was.

You felt bad, you really did. At least partially. It was different when you didn’t know their names. The guy slipped it to you when he inputted his digits into your phone when you were collecting his number, but you changed his contact to just ‘two’ because that’s who he was to you; a statistic for your own indirect kill count.

Your own hands might not have been as copper tinged as Kenjaku’s, but they were just barely faintly tinged with the beginnings of something similar. Just how long was it before your dubious involvement in stealing lives would be held hostage by an eventual iron grip? You could feel it after all, the pull that beckoned to you, perhaps similar to his own; to find your own meaning in this broken world?

Were you as doomed as he was?

You sighed, remembering the objective. You were easily distracted when faced with something you didn’t want to do even if it would mean that in doing so, it would result in a desired consequence.

(Praise. Validation. Acknowledgement.)

…Was that fucked up?

You shrugged as you blankly sent a reply, considering it. It probably was, but you were starting to care less and less. Maybe that’s just how it was destined to go.

The first fate you sealed was the undoing of your state of mind.

The second fate sealed would be when you can finally start letting go.

The third…?

That’s for you to find out in the future, you guessed.

Texting out a couple of words, you gambled just how comfortable the noodle shop man was.

[I’m back on the road in a couple of days, would you like to come hang out at my hotel maybe?]

A response soon vibrated in your hand.

[I’d love to! What time?]

His enthusiasm was already putting you off, at least by a small fraction. In a way, you did have that hint of creeping morality leftover. You considered telling him to just ignore you, that this was all some sort of sick joke, to please not come over, but… you didn’t.

[Whenever you can over the evening, I’ll be around.]

You hit send and quickly arranged the remainder of the details before putting the phone on the nightstand table to conclude that entire interaction. You then leaned forward, poking your head around the corner to inspect the odd guy, feeling unsure as to how to effectively communicate with him.

Resigning to a nudge of his shoulder, you stared down at him. “It’s fine. He’ll be here tomorrow and you can do… whatever it is that you have to do.”

Kenjaku stretched and sat upright, seeming to regard you in an unreadable way. He was quite particular when he didn’t properly understand something, or in this case, someone. Something about your body language seemed strange to him but he couldn’t tell what it was about you exactly triggering that sort of feeling.

“What’s bothering you?” he bluntly asked, hoping to extract some information from you. He had a penchant for social engineering, after all, and you were his biggest mystery yet. He wanted to understand more of your moods because that would make you a lot easier to both keep up as well as work with.

“Nothing,” you however replied, not seeing the issue that he diagnosed you with.

Tilting his head to the side, he attempted to brainstorm the subject anyway. “Does meeting with the man bother you?”

“It doesn’t really,” you continued to deny, feeling slightly resigned when you saw a determined glint in his eyes from attempting to dissect what was going on in your mind.

You just wanted for this phase to come to an end, but you weren’t sure how to describe it to him, hence you were being vague.

After this, you would slowly crack beneath your barely contained surface and only then would you be able to warm up again, to say those silly things that drew him in to begin with.

Yet, his persistence with seeing something more than you let on was relentless. He pursed his lips as he considered the next cause of blame for your indifference, asking his next question, “Do you think he’s a good person? Perhaps you’re having… second thoughts?”

“It’s not that,” you replied with a slightly annoyed tone that he mistook for hitting a nerve.

“Then what?” he asked you with a slight scoff, leaning back into the sofa as you also sat down on it.

You sighed. Fine. You’ll give him one little glimpse into your mind if you have to. You’ll bring up one little shred of your worries, already regretting forming the concern in your mind because you just knew that he was going to over analyse the hell out of it.

With a heavy sigh, you opened up slightly. “I just… I just don’t like manipulating people.”

“Oh? And yet you’re here with me,” he observed, finding your concerns to be slightly amusing.

“I’m not the one manipulating you, though,” you replied with some confusion evident in your tone.

Kenjaku could only shrug, his lips curling into a twitching smile. “Perhaps not. It’s not like you convinced me to spare your life or anything, but I suppose you're right, it’s more of the other way around, isn’t it?”

“You’re not manipulating me either,” you scoffed.

He hummed and his smile widened into something that resembled more of a smirk. “Aren’t I, though? I’m having you do a good portion of my dirty work, so in some ways I am. All so that you can feel something, right? You really don’t think that I haven’t noticed just how needy you were earlier on?”

“Hey, that’s different—“ you attempted to defend yourself, finding that your attempts to do so were promptly cut off.

“—ah, ah,” he interjected, reeling you forward with the pull of his arm, “you’re a willing participant in all of this, [name]. You want something out of what I can offer you and you’re acting a certain way to get it. That’s manipulation. If you’re denying it so defensively, then you’re likely just projecting, aren’t you?”

You scoffed and tried to pull away from him, finding that it made his hold around you only tighter.

“That’s not true,” you said, finally pushing back and escaping his grasp. “What on earth could I possibly be projecting?”

He let his arm sag and leaned forward, shrugging with a nonchalant expression. The accusatory tone you retailiated with was now boring, he thought, so maybe it was time to tone it down a little to get you right where he wanted. “You’re not broken enough yet, but you’re getting there. You used to have a kind heard in there, I bet, that’s why you’re probably seeing yourself in the victims and feeling sorry for them because they’re placing themselves into a situation that they didn’t anticipate.”

Confused, you questioned him, “What?”

“That’s what your relationship was, right?” he continued. “You were trapped in something unfortunate and then you came across me. Now look at you. Hopelessly searching for something in between the lines that might not even be there. But it’s a nice lie to believe, isn’t it?”

“What’s your point?” you warily asked.

“My point is that you’re not manipulating anyone,” he sat back again, widening his legs a little as he relaxed. “Everyone seeks something out and finds meaning where there is none. The ramen shop guy thinks that he has a chance as much as you do, with the only difference being that you can live out your delusions while he won’t.”

You sighed, finally understanding him. It felt a bit humiliating for him to highlight your desperation to feel something other than emotional abuse that was otherwise carried out daily when you stayed behind at home. Whether or not this was any different, you could at least pretend that it was. At least sometimes.

“Your silence speaks volumes, you know,” he added, “but that’s alright. I don’t have a problem with playing the part you want me to as long as you can play yours too.”

“But why are you enabling this…?”

“Because it’s interesting to me,” Kenjaku admitted. “It’s like a study that I can’t quite get enough of; my biggest mystery yet. But don’t worry, unlike with the others, I don’t have plans to let you go. At least not yet.”

“So, I’m just supposed to play along with luring people in?” you asked in a resigned tone.

“A sailor who answers a siren’s call is neither at fault nor is she,” he replied.

“What are you, eighty? Who talks in idioms nowadays…” you tried to shoot back in a joking way, both to cope with the situation at hand as well as to try and get him off your back with the way he was speaking to you.

He rolled his eyes in response. “Let me rephrase everything for you. You’re not manipulating. You’re surviving. Those who follow shouldn’t be so trusting.”

“Are you really trying to manipulate me about the subject of manipulation?” you asked.

He scoffed lightly, getting the sentiment. He even smiled.

“It’s about me taking on the blame for the guilt you feel,” he corrected you. “Just, listen. Don’t shut me out. You’ll help me and I’ll help you because we have a mutual agreement that can benefit us both. But I do need your compliance.”

“Well, you’ve got it…” you mumbled.

“Then that’s really quite excellent,” he replied, relaxing into the sofa even more. “Now, was there anything else?”

You thought about it for a moment but there was truly nothing else on your mind. It wasn’t as though you felt fulfilled from the conversation you had with him, but was surprisingly not that annoying to talk to as you had initially thought which was a step above the situation you were in before.

Which really said something about your life.

As a result, you shook your head.

“Then go rest or go for a walk if you’d like,” he dared to offer, thinking that there couldn’t have been a worse person in this sleepy town than him so therefore it was safe. He had some trust in you that if you got a similar feel from a stranger, that you wouldn’t try to tag along with them either. He was self aware, after all. He could entertain interesting people, but a lot of other people who wanted to hurt others didn’t really have such intricate reasons.

You stared at him, narrowing your eyes in suspicion.

“Call it an exercise of trust,” he added with a smile.

“You really trust me with walking considering that’s what got me into this whole mess to begin with?” you challenged back.

Kenjaku simply just shrugged. “That’s irrelevant, [name]. You come from a relationship that didn’t any stability or care and you ran away as a result. That’s how you ended up in this whole mess, not the other way around. Had you been in something that actually had a solid foundation and maybe not abusive, then you wouldn’t have been out all alone on a dark rainy night looking for trouble. You won’t run or try to test your fate against any other strange people because like it or not, you’ve found yourself in a better predicament than you were in before.”

You took one good look at him and huffed, refusing to admit that he was right to his face.

And he didn’t follow.

Just as he promised.

Because he knew you’d be back.

~~~

You returned at some point during the night, or rather closer to the morning. He wanted you to be wide awake by the evening, so he allowed you to sleep in. While you were out cold, he shopped for another outfit for you.

Considering the man’s type, he observed that he was into women who were comfortable in their own skin. So maybe nothing too revealing. He had a thought that you would refuse to wear anything too suggestive out of spite anyway, so that plan was scrapped in his head before it reached the surface.

Outfits were a relatively powerful component, he supposed. He was very certain that this man would show up with flowers of some sort and assume that this must have been some sort of date.

That led him to the confusion that slightly simmered away in his mind with one simple question; what on earth did the noodle shop guy see him as?

A friend? A relative? Perhaps the age gap was a blessing, he considered, because the man was still confident enough to meet with you despite the male company you had.

He looked at your phone that you left behind, thinking that you did perfectly well. You gave him an address, a time and even used emoji hearts to see the messages through.

How… endearing?

But he also did suppose that your words didn’t quite match your style, at least from what he could understand about you. He glossed over the perfectly intact grammar and over enthusiasm to match the man’s and he grimaced slightly, thinking you were more of the type to be facetious during your usual exchanges. If this much was forced, then your interest likely never existed in the first place, so maybe there was no reason for him to feel weird to begin with.

He sighed to himself, thinking back to the brief feeling of arousal that he experienced within your company after that news highlight.

For some reason, the idea made him feel uneasy. It was weird though, considering what type of person he was, but the idea of forcing himself onto you didn’t feel right. It left a sour taste on his tongue, so he didn’t press the thought any further. He would continue to manipulate you in other ways, but he did have a strong feeling that you weren’t actually looking for something sexual.

Maybe… emotional?

Cold showers it was then, at least for now.

If it was meant to be, then he would wait for an opening.

Pocketing your phone just for the sake of it, intending to push the conversation towards a direction he wanted in particular if the man decided to text you at any time, he set out for the town square to find a clothing store.

Once there, he skimmed the racks until he found a semi modest dress. He also found more clothes that could suit you and your new identity, so he added that to the pile as well. After all, he had to start you off from fresh, which meant leaving behind your old life and not leave behind a trail of sloppy evidence on your own end.

He also stopped to pick up a few quick bites to eat at a local supermarket, tutting at the lack of selection. He picked up whatever would put enough energy into the two of you and then headed home with his hands full and returned just in time to watch you stretch awake.

It was only two in the afternoon, which was decent enough he supposed. You went to bed at five in the morning though, so he thought you’d be out for much more, but he wasn’t about to argue with you about how your own body operated. In comparison, he was a light sleeper, so he wasn’t one to talk either.

Kenjaku threw you a packaged sandwich, watching you with some amusement as you started to dig in without questioning it from the second your eyes opened. It was a little concerning actually how you just blindly ate whatever he presented to you and maybe one day, he would have to scold you out of that habit. He could even be cruel about it, since his impulsive thoughts were very rarely contained.

Had they been better managed, then he would still be working his ass off at the hospital. It was only because he finally slipped that he… nevermind.

You were done eating, so it was the next phase of the plan. He threw you the dress.

“Change into this, will you?” he requested.

You simply gave it one look and nodded, walking off to the bathroom to get changed. He let you go, of course, not quite caring where you demanded privacy and where you didn’t. Although, he did for once wonder more about your body, imagining just how you really looked underneath those clothes, feeling that faint hint of arousal poking underneath his trousers once again.

Slightly widening his eyes, he reached for the monk robes and donned them in a near instant, thankful for the flowing material to hide the annoying consequences of his own damned biology.

He then sat you on the sofa the second you emerged again, his movements a little strained. While everything was hidden, moving around with the thing was a little painful.

“Is there a chance that this man thinks this is a date?” he asked, trying to resist the urge to ogle you.

You considered it, seemingly oblivious to his glaring. “I think so…? He asked me for my favourite flower in the shop, so he might have taken it seriously when I shot him the hangout request.”

“…And what was your answer for that one?” he asked.

“African daisies,” you calmly replied.

“Yeah, I highly doubt that there’s a place here that carries such a thing,” he lightly laughed, but also mentally logged the answer somewhere permanent in the back of his mind. “He’ll show up with pink roses.”

“How can you be so sure?” you asked, genuinely intrigued.

“Red would be too serious and romantic, this guy has too low self esteem for that,” he shrugged, seeming to be an expert on the matter, “he would still want to impress though, since he strikes me as a people pleaser so he’d go for roses because they’re a bit pricier than the other flowers. Pink is good as an in-between option.”

You quietly nodded as you considered his words, thinking about just how much he’s capable of speaking if you gave him the opportunity to do so. Maybe he was right about most things, but the way he spoke still was slightly off putting.

Kenjaku in turn also watched you go quiet, trying to get a good read on you. For now, he was misinterpreting it as you being conflicted with sympathy in regards to the noodle shop man, because he was still under the impression that it was some sort of internal moral battle for you. This led him to feel off again about the whole situation, finding that he didn’t quite like how you were likely thinking about the man and his feelings.

How kind of you.

He hated it.

Pressing on, he informed you more about the way you should be acting and the way you should try to drop down this guy’s guard until he was both comfortable enough and even trusting in your company.

If the process of the ‘study’ was what really bothered you, he would give you an opportunity to go for a walk again or just stash you in the bathroom as he got to work on the guy. He wasn’t totally clueless, after all, he knew what he was doing to people was an atrocity and you were still very new to his way of life and given your background in comparison to his own, you were likely not so used to seeing people in distress.

In a way, he was especially excited to tear away this man from you and remove him from the space where he settled in your mind (even though you were no longer thinking about him). He was almost vibrating at the thought of it, feeling elated from the consideration alone. Not to worry for you, he would offer you the comfort that he promised; a small price to pay, he thought, for erasing the existence of someone unworthy.

And come the evening, the door knocked at last.

Kenjaku watched as you opened it, overseeing the situation from afar and trusting you to hold up your side of the plan. The man didn’t seem to mind him being there, even if there was a slight flicker of uncertainty when the two of them briefly locked eyes together.

Maybe the fact that he was now wearing the monk robes was actually a good thing, if he had to read more into it. Perhaps this man thought that he was celibate or something similar, because what else could a monk possibly be?

He internally stirred as he looked away for a moment, biting back a sarcastic comment as he did so. The awkward dance of a hug that you didn’t really want to reciprocate from what it looked like was too painful to witness.

He looked again towards your direction.

You were now holding a bouquet of pink flowers.

He was right.

That aside and more onto the task at hand, he speculated that the man perhaps found his own meaning in you, which meant that he had to tear you away in order to drive an educational response from the guy. Killing you wasn’t an option, so he had to research him in a different kind of way. This man obviously thrived on optimism and delicately assigned hope without the confirmation that it was being given to him, so perhaps he could take it away by simply just being warmer to you.

Nothing forced of course, he already knew that you were dealing with some feelings to do with him, so he could just play that into his own advantage.

The guy was insecure, after all. His body language suggested that he was nervous and was very likely overthinking every single little action you gave him. If Kenjaku showed up and started to get close with you in a way that went beyond just being friendly, then that would be one way to get him to crumble mentally.

He seldom got to dissect people’s minds as he was more hands on and practical when it came to his own approach. Maybe having you around for that trust factor was more beneficial than it was an obstacle. After all, it was only thanks to you that the hitchhiker from days before even went that far along with his otherwise sketchy plans.

Oh, he could do it tauntingly too. He could deny anything of the sort if the man would start to get suspicious; claim to just be your very good friend and call him out on why he’s so focused on where his hands are going or why he’s thinking such thoughts to begin with.

What a great idea, he thought.

He swooped in from the second that he settled on such an idea, joining you at the table within a flash. It took everything he had not to let his sarcastic personality take over though, idly listening to the forced laughter and watching as you dryly entertained the guy.

But then the man complimented you in a way that you liked and he had to watch as your eyes ever so slightly lit up, smiling with both your heart and your soul.

There was that ugly feeling again.

Snaking an arm around your side, he moved in just a little closer to you, finding it utterly entertaining when the guy stopped mid sentence to nervously gulp and stare at what exactly was going on.

You didn’t move away either, which likely only fed into the guy’s worries further.

You continued on as usual, listening to the guy as he spoke but his demeanour now seemed a little deflated and not as confident as before; his voice shook at times, his words stuttered and he no longer made as much eye contact. The light in his eyes no longer twinkled, instead dulled at the prospect of reeking uncertainty.

His cause of being was no longer true as he was forced to endure an unspoken betrayal for something that you didn’t even have to accomplish at your own hand.

Insecurity was a bitch, after all.

Kenjaku crept a little closer so that you could now pick up on what he was trying to do. His shoulder rubbed against yours and his cheek leaned against your arm.

It was so suggestive that the man could no longer hold in his suspicions.

“Are you two together?” he blurred out. There it was. A voice that was both fearful and assuming; so self accusatory as he wondered if he was treading on spoken for grounds.

Kenjaku hummed and smiled at the man. “No. we’re just friends.”

The man didn’t buy it, of course. The seed of doubt had already been planted and the uncertainty was quickly blooming but then when you didn’t deny his words, he started to regain his composure once more.

How fucking peculiar.

Did he really think that he was so much better than him, or what?

Now that was a thought, because he absolutely wasn’t. What a spin. Kenjaku lightly scoffed, unable to hide how he felt about the guy’s persistence. His own pride was truly being threatened because it wasn’t playing out how he envisioned it in his head, but then again, such imagines seldom did. Just like the librarian who reacted in a way that he didn’t truly care for.

Kenjaku leaned back slightly as the man continued to regard you with awe, watching as you spoke about your varying hobbies and interests, attempting to relate to you in a way that seemed acceptable. You weren’t truly buying this, were you?

“You’re staring a bit too much,” Kenjaku piped up at last, letting the jealousy show. You didn’t react and he thought it was odd, but then again, maybe you just thought that this was all part of the act.

The man wavered. “I-I am…?”

He nodded his head, feeling the annoyance rise. “Too much eye contact is a bit off putting, don’t you think?”

He watched as the man’s gaze flicked down to your chest in a quick attempt to look away, prompting a snort out of Kenjaku when he messed that one up.

“I’m sorry, I’m not too good with people—“

“—you’re doing fine,” you replied however, stifling his worry and playing your part perfectly well.

Kenjaku however didn’t like something about the way that the man continued to look at you with that persistent unblinking gaze.

“You’re staring again,” he was quick to remind the man of his behaviour, his voice carrying a hint of venom as he finally surrendered to a taunt.

Finally, the man’s demeanour crumbled a little more.

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” he finally protested.

However, rather than whittling the guy down slowly and focusing on a psychological route, Kenjaku couldn’t quite resist anymore. Without really thinking about it, he got up and walked himself over to where the man sat and slammed his head straight into the table, rendering yet another soul briefly unconscious.

He then dragged him over to the bed and stared at him, snapping his sights over back to you. He considered letting you go on a walk or hide away in the bathroom, but no, something else was going on within him and he needed you to watch him perform.

Using a knife that he kept in his pocket, Kenjaku cut at the man’s achilles tendon prompting a guttural cry from him. Moving quickly, he quickly stifled it with a pillow rammed into his face, something that he growled at you to hold in place. “Keep him quiet.”

Without protest, you obeyed. You didn’t complain nor did you question what he was doing and just did as he said. How peculiar again, he thought. What a strange thing you truly were.

Kenjaku’s eyes scanned around the hotel room, noticing a bottle of half empty hand sanitiser resting atop the desk. He stepped back and swirled it around in his hand, placing it on the nightstand table for now as a plan formed in his mind.

Reaching for a sock off the floor, he stuffed it into the man’s mouth that he kept secure with a belt tied around his open maw to further silence him.

“Keep him steady,” he murmured.

You could only nod and obey.

“Since you like staring so much,” he muttered off to himself, rambling in what seemed to be a crazed slurry of incoherent feverish thoughts, he considered just what to do exactly.

Dipping briefly into the bathroom, he pulled out a first aid kit from the mirror cabinet that he had stashed away. Extracting some medical scissors from the box, he had an idea to really emphasise the point of staring as he returned back to the scene.

While the man was still relatively out of it from the probable concussion that was forming from his slightly bleeding forehead, he kept the man’s eyes just barely open and snipped away at the eyelids. Bothersome things, really. His arms convulsed as he worked and his legs thrashed. Luckily, the sock did a good job at keeping his screams contained for the most part, at least.

You looked uneasy as you stared. For now, he allowed you to look away from such horrors. “Close your eyes if you want.”

Compliant as you were, you did as you were told, even if it was more of a suggestion than an order.

Snipping away at the remaining tissue, he carefully carried over to the next eye, wiping the blood off the blade on the man’s cheek. He watched blankly as his sockets attempted to close again and again, but of course, they couldn’t. His eyeballs rolled around in their holes, wide, erratic and bloodshot as the man desperately searched for answers.

Staring at the convulsing spheres, he found another annoyance. He wanted for them to stay in place and so, digging into the kit, he pulled out two safety pins. Propping one open, he pricked the needle in and pierced the matter, finding that the prick melted into the flesh like soft jelly. For some reason, he expected a popping sound, but found that eyes were rather soft when being poked around.

To his delight, it all stayed in place.

A shame that he had to go this far though; if only bodies weren’t so pesky with their involuntary reactions.

Next came the fun part: he unscrewed the lid of the bottle and discarded the pump, tilting it just enough to slowly trickle the hand sanitiser into the iris of the horrified man. His eyes were forced to watch as the burning liquid fully submerged in his socket, all as Kenjaku watched in continued delight as the crescendo finally reached and the sounds of true pain were finally met.

It was never screaming if it was real pain.

It was something much more raw.

You could hear them too, your eyes were screwed desperately shut in an attempt to block it all out.

Kenjaku however shrugged at your reaction, continuing onwards. He watched with deep set fascination as the man slowly lost his vision in the most brutal way, finding him rather boring once he no longer flinched at whatever sharp object he drew close to his eyes. So be it, he thought. That was that. The fun was over, and now it was time for him to be discarded and thrown away, like a broken toy that he no longer had any use for.

Taking out his pocket knife; he swiftly traced out a scarlet line as he tore open the man’s throat, gutting the man from his stomach and then moving the blade down his arms and legs.

He took one glimpse at you; finding that your eyes were finally open and yet, only seeing indifference in your glare.

Maybe this was it.

Maybe you were broken at last.

Goodbye to that once kind heart, you didn’t need it.

Since the checkout wasn’t until tomorrow, he was comfortable with leaving the hotel room overnight after otherwise brushing it clean of any evidence left behind that would give either one of you away too quick, too soon.

But first, just as he promised you, he would tend to you.

Since because of you, he accomplished one of his most satisfying kills yet.

And that much deserved praise.

~~~

tag list: @cloudybunns @ahoeindeedinneed @angis-filthy-corner

[gemsofgreece]

Hey! This is a linguistic ask, I think? I actually have another question as well, but since it has nothing to do with this topic, I'll send a separate ask. Anyway.

Could you tell me the meaning of βασιλεύοντες? When I looked it up, it appeared that this word is plural and that it would be translated more literally as "reigning ones". The pages showed me that it can be written as something like basileus. The specific phrase is "παρεγένοντο δὲ εἰς Σπάρτην ἐπὶ τὸν Ἑλένης γάμον οἱ βασιλεύοντε ς Ἑλλάδος. From what I understand, Ἑλλάδος is Hellas, i.e. Greece. So βασιλεύοντες Ἑλλάδος would be something like "those who reign over Greece". In the English translation, it's usually "Kings of Greece". However, if it's indeed basileis, from what I have researched this term is not literally "kings", since, for example, basileus/basileis was used for Byzantine emperors and for other authority figures other than kings in Ancient Greece, such as certain types of leaders. With that, my question is the following: does this word necessarily imply royalty or at least something equivalent to royalty in the society in question? Or, for example, can it be used to designate a noble? If it's exclusively royalty, it could apply to a prince (since in this context it's being applied to princes, including). Another intriguing thing is that one of the characters designated as such is actually illegitimate. In case the characters so named are needed for the interpretation, this is about Helen's suitors and in this source they are: Odysseus, Diomedes, Antilochus, Agapenor, Sthenelus, Amphimachus, Thalpius, Meges, Amphilochus, Menestheus, Schedius, Epistrophus, Polyxenus, Peneleos, Leitus, Ajax son of Oileus, Ascalaphus, Ialmenus, Elephenor, Eumelus, Polypoetes, Leonteus, Podalirius, Machaon, Philoctetes, Eurypylus, Protesilaus, Menelaus, Telamonian Ajax, Teucer, Patroclus. The source is Pseudo-Apollodorus' Library.

The other term that is present in The Iliad and is διογενὲς, which can be written as diogenes. The translation, from what I researched, would be something like "sprung from Zeus", "Zeus-descendent" and similar things. While researching if this meaning was literal or could have another possible connotation, I found the following suggestions:

The term describes characters who have Zeus in their bloodline in some way.

The term describes heroes in general in a complimentary way, regardless of their association with Zeus.

The term describes characters of royalty, as royalty comes from Zeus.

In the English translations, Caroline Alexander translated it as descended from Zeus, Zeus-descended, seed of Zeus and god-cherished (it's the same word in all cases), Martin Hammond translated it as Lord, Richmond Lattimores translated it as illustrious and Robert Fagles translated it as Prince. My doubt arose precisely because the translators seemed to have different interpretations and so did the academics (which is where I got the 3 theories suggested above from. It was from articles). Lattimore seemed to interpret it as a way of designating praise, Fagles seemed to interpret it as something that designates royalty, Hammond seemed to interpret it as something that involves status and Alexander simply went with the most literal idea, although in the case of god-cherished she may have interpreted it as designating someone divinely favored (in the sense of support). In The Iliad, this term is used in several characters, such as Achilles, Odysseus, Patroclus, Menelaus, Telamonian Ajax, Euaimon, etc. In The Odyssey, it's used with Odysseus.

I tried to research to see if perhaps some Greek scholar had given their own interpretation, but I couldn't find anything, probably because it hasn't been translated into other languages. So I'm curious if there was any Greek professional who suggested some possible meaning for this term? Is it to designate heroes? Is it a compliment? Is it literally someone who is descended from Zeus? Is the character royalty?

Many thanks in advance!

Hello! Welcome to Greek semantics haha

a) Βασιλεύοντες

Βασιλεύοντες is the plural masculine present participle of the verb "βασιλεύω" (basileúo) which means "I reign". Consequently, it means indeed "the men who reign over". Participles are extremely important in Greek and they replace common nouns very often. In this case, it could have been βασιλείς (basileís), kings, and it would not make any difference in the meaning of the text whatsoever. The choice could purely be aesthetical, personal, even instictual, without much thought put into it. Of course, the participle offers one additional information; time, those are the men who are currently reigning.

Who and what can a basileus (king) be in Greek history is pretty fluid. In general, it means the person who rules a particular state or region, no matter how small or vast. It is not always that or just that though. In Mycenaean Greek, the same word (in the form of something like quasireu) was to describe a nobleman of authority but quite probably not the king. This was the anax. The anax barely makes it to the early Archaic Homeric Greek. While various characters are basileis (most are the ones you are inquiring about) and by that time it really means kings, only Agamemnon is referred to as anax if I remember correctly, and Priam from the Trojans.

So, here's how that worked more or less. All of them were kings to their respective regions. Hellas and Argos (Central and South Greece, at the time) were always divided in smaller kingdoms where a chieftain, a warrior king ruled. These small kingdoms were technically the predecessors of the Greek city-states. Agamemnon was a basileus like everyone else. He could not really meddle at the inside matters of, say, Ithaca instead of Odysseus or Phthia instead of Achilles. However, when an issue greater than each's inside issues arose, when multiple basileis had to face a challenge together, when there was need for a common policy, then Agamemnon had the first say amongst them and he would take the final decision. He was the anax, the "king supreme" of Hellas and Argos. (Around that time both Hellas and Argos start being used interchangeably to define all of central and south Greece too and by the time of pseudo-Apollodorus Hellas was by far the most prevalent term to use.) The usage of anax soon faded after Homer. It interestingly made a comeback in Byzantine Christian context later. For example, the Virgin Mary is sometimes called "Ánassa", Queen (of Heavens). Derivative words from anax are present in modern Greek, i.e anáktoron, royal palace.

After the drop of anax, basileus was the only and general word for king. In Greek it resolutely does not matter how vast his land and how many people or ethnicities the basileus rules over as long as he is the supreme ruler in his region and answers to no one. This is why in actuality the obvious distinction between king and emperor that exists in western European languages are nowhere near as clear in Greek. In fact the Greek word for emperor αυτοκράτωρ (autokrátor) was a term coined in the Roman period to translate the Latin term imperator (commander, used for the Roman emperors). Αυτοκράτωρ means "the one who has all the power to himself". In other words, it was not a word that held a distinct meaning than that of the king. It was a coined term to emphasize on the power of the emperor, who in the eyes of the Greeks was... a king, but a strong one. This is why there are instances of the title ΒΑΣΙΛΕΥΣ ΑΥΤΟΚΡΑΤΩΡ (basileus autokrator). It techinically means "the king of all power". After the division of the Roman Empire and the fall of the western part, Greeks just kept calling the emperor βασιλέα (accusative case), as was their way. Especially once Greek became the official language in 610 BC, this was the official title for the emperor; Βασιλεύς Ρωμαίων. Modern Greek has probably been influenced by the western perception in this and treats βασιλιάς and αυτοκράτορας (the casual modern nominative cases) as different types of royalty and power like in the west, however this wasn't the case up until the Middle Ages.

Now, you are also right that sometimes the word addressed noble people without them being strictly royalty. It could be if the person had the utmost authority for a considerable area or if they were just royal, as in kin to an actual king or connected to them. It has always been even used as a compliment for commoners as well, "kingly". This belief has very old origins, certainly already in early archaic times. Someone kind and civil in their behaviour, someone with grace, bravery and other virtues, someone beautiful was thought to descend from royal genealogy or was praised as "fit for a king", "fit for a queen", even "fit for a prince or princess". This association never went extinct, it very much exists in modern Greek folklore. Furthermore, the names Basíleios (Basil, kingly), Basileía and Basiliké (queenly, royal) are some of the most common in Greece.

b) διογενές

Here it would be useful to have the full phrase you encountered this to know how literally or figuratively the word is used. And are you sure it's διογενές and not διογενής? Because the former is neuter. Both ε and η are transliterated as e in English.

If it's literal then yes, we are talking about a descendant of Zeus or something made by Zeus.

If it's figurative, then the explanation of this word will be consistent with the last paragraph above. Here I invite you to consider whether you have also stumbled onto the word δῖος (díos) that describes Homeric heroes several times, most of all Odysseus. And perhaps you know that Διογένης was a pretty common Ancient Greek name. Okay, keep this thought in mind for later.

Zeus' name ultimately derives from the PIE Sky Father god Dyeus. Its root can be better seen in the conjugation of Zeus' name (Greek proper nouns have declensions too). In Latin characters, it goes like Zeus Dios Dii Dia Zeu. Now, this di- root that has PIE origins meant "shine, brilliance, skylight". It is why the most important god is called as such because after all he is the God of the Heavens, THE God. (Other sky deities like Ouranós, unfortunately transliterated to Uranus, were later developments as Greeks were expanding their perception of their theogony).

So, δῖος means something like "divinely luminous", "god-like", "godly", "brilliant". It kind of means all those things. This is why Lattimore translated it as "illustrious", because it has the meaning of "great, renowned" and it is also through the same reasoning and a similar etymological concept, as it derives from a word that means shine, bright in Latin. Illustrious though misses a little on the divine connotations and the connection to Zeus in comparison. BTW no I did not forget this is about διογενές (diogenés) instead but the second part of the word is very easy to explain. In short, in this context it means birthed, produced, descended. So since δῖος and Zeus have the same etymology, you can say that it either means produced / descended from Zeus (literally or figuratively) or "made of (Zeus) divine brilliance". The most important thing here is that it does not matter much. Yep. The reason it does not matter is because if it's figurative then it absolutely designates praise. Godly. Divinely brilliant. God-luminous. A proper descendant of Zeus. Not that he certainly is. But he is magnificent enough that he could be. That's the point of these words. So whether Alexander's "seed of Zeus" is poetically accurate or not depends on the context of the full phrase, which I do not have.

Coming back to the beginning, a proof that it was often meant as praise and not always as a literal conviction that the character in question necessarily came from the (admittedly massive) genealogy of Zeus is how common the name Diogenes was in the real Ancient Greek world. All these common people did not actually claim ancestry from Zeus or that they were made of his divine skylight. It was a figurative form of praise, like names usually bear positive connotations.

Now, Hammond's and Fagles' Lord and Prince are way too liberal translations (another way to say they were wrong), however their reasonings are not all that far off. It's not that the terms δῖος and διογενής-ές designate royalty or status but they were definitely praises more frequently associated to nobility and royalty. This is because Ancient Greeks thought that their legendary heroes and kings and noblemen were superior to the mere humans that they were. After all many of them seemed to actually descend from gods according to the Greek myths. They were imagined as mortal humans but with some presumed distant divine intervention in their genealogy that made them more glorious human beings. This is a recurring positive association to nobility and royalty, which in turn evolved into this association of virtuous, gifted common people with a presumed relation to nobility and royalty that I described in the first answer. So, yes, it was commonly used as praise for royalty but no, it did not in itself mean royalty.

From a figurative perspective, Lattimore's "illustrious" is the closest interpretation however it misses on the divine aspect of it, which is the most important. It is unlikely you will find various interpretations from Greek professionals because the understanding of the word is pretty unanimous in Greece. Διογενής as an adjective is not in use in Greek anymore probably due to its direct association to Zeus, however there is the just as ancient synonym θεογενής [descended from god(s)] which also produces proper names such as Θεογένης or Θεαγένης, which mean the same thing except it comes from the most generic term for the god θεός and not specifically Zeus the Sky god (which are interestingly believed to come from different PIE roots despite sounding so similar). The connotations of it being overwhelmingly figurative and designating praise are clear to us because such adjectives associated to divinity ie θεϊκός, θείος meaning divine, god-like etc are very common in Greek and are used very liberally and expressively all the time.

The reason I focused way more on the figurative explanation is because the fact that we get four so different interpretations probably means the context of the phrase wasn't that of a character that we already know that was an offspring of Zeus. And because the literal meaning is so much easier lol

Okay for you and anyone who made it this far, congrats, you made it through a massive post with Greek semantics!

[diejager]

Hmmmmmm Makarov with his daughter on her wedding day... she's ovulating but she powers through it and after drugging her husband to sleep Makarov claims 'their' wedding night

All the hard work and time your would-be-husband put into your wedding wasted when he wakes up confused and disoriented, deluded into thinking that you had consummated your wedding and spent your honeymoon somewhere that’s blurry in his mind.

And he’s honestly confused about your hesitation to see and visit your father, Makarov came out as such a caring father and a generous man that he’s proud and happy to call his step-father! It’s simply a perk that he’s so rich and powerful. He asks, but you seem to… shrug his worries off, to turn the conversation around when he tries to bring your awkwardness and discomfort around your Makarov up.