#tw: child labour

[untale]

we’re introduced to DIA COSCOROBA, the THIRTY TWO years old CLASSICAL BALLET INSTRUCTOR at GLASS SLIPPERS DANCE STUDIO from enchanted falls who bears a striking resemblance to MELISSA BARRERA. the whispers in the wind tells us of their HUMANE and IMPERSONAL reputation. they are often haunted by dreams of a life lived as PRINCESS ODETTE (THE SWAN LAKE).

the townsfolk often are reminded of a distorted reflection in the quiet lake, echoed footsteps throughout an empty dance hall, the grace of a swan, being present but never seen.

FULL NAME: dia coscoroba NICKNAME(S): none applicable AGE: thirty two DATE OF BIRTH: june 27th, year of [redacted] ETHNICITY: mexican GENDER: cis female PRONOUNS: she / her SEXUAL ORIENTATION: demisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: biromantic OCCUPATION: classical ballet instructor at glass slippers

... once upon a time ...

kind and benevolent, king william often wished for a child to inherit the throne. on a shining summer's day, him and his wife welcomed a beautiful little girl, whom he named princess odette. though overjoyed by the birth of his daughter, his wife passed after the laborious birth. she grew loved, and cherished... devastation fell over the kingdom when the princess was kidnapped by an evil sorcerer known as rothbart, turning the princess into a swan and condemning her to a life under his spell at the lakeside. she becomes odette, the queen of the swans.

... life in enchanted falls ...

a reserved, quiet soul often found embedded into her professional life as an instructor and dancer, dia is not the most sociable of people, though she remains far from unkind. she is easily mistaken for being reserved that it's easy to overlook the heart she wears, protected underneath her sleeve. dia is not someone that people will naturally gravitate towards, but someone that enjoys watching others, admiring from afar while being invisible to the masses. but when she dances, all eyes are on her.

WANTED DYNAMICS: close, distant, new or old friendships, former lovers, adversarial, roommates, neighbours, finding familiarity in one another despite their differences.

[songandflame-archived]

Talk about Fantine's childhood maybe? Did she make any connections or did anyone help her, even if she doesn't remember it?

@reverdies || thank you!

Ooh! I think Fantine was lucky in the regards that, while most people did not make an attempt to ouright adopt her, whether it be due to personal reasons such as lack of space or money — especially for those already in poverty — there was already a community formed amongst the poverty stricken. Those in the upper rungs of society never graced the areas of town in which Fantine ran barefoot with children in similar circumstances to her. Even if someone wealthier did come across her, Fantine was not worth their time or attention.

The poor had to be selfish to survive, no-one could blame them for that, but Fantine can remember those who gave her what they could (after their share, of course). Often, older women would take pity on the motherless child, clothing and feeding Fantine before sending her on her way. Although not educated, she could take advantage of an exploitative child labour; it was not well paid work, nor was it safe, but it allowed her a roof over her head and at least a meal whilst in various employ. Of course, as she grew older and became taller, she became unviable in that line of work, causing her to seek out other work such as farm work.

To have managed to survive infancy as she did, she must have had various people help her when they could; perhaps a woman who had lost a child and therefore cared for Fantine like her own. Honestly, Fantine can barely remember her earliest years. What she does remember is keeping those around her at an arm's length, trying to navigate the society she had been born into whilst simultaneously surviving by following unwritten rules.

In hindsight, it benefitted her that she should be a girl; most pitied her more so for nothing other than she was a young girl. Yet, there were times she wished nothing more than to be a boy— most employers preferred boys over girls, and there were times that unsavoury people would try to exploit her for more sinister purposes. However, when that happened, she would often be intercepted by an older, more streetwise woman who protected her from the consequences of exploitation. That stayed with her, most noticeably when she eventually did find herself working the streets and she made an effort to protect younger, more vulnerable girls.

[mysharona1987]

[raziraphale]

‘Out, Out—’ by Robert Frost | Chainsaw Man Ch. 1: Dog & Chainsaw

[chewiiez]

would also like to add that so many mq antis use the fact that he kicked hc out of the army (thus not making hc and xl meet earlier) as a way to hate mq and clearly that's not true because?? mq himself is a victim of child labour, and his peer fx is as well?? mq and fx antis are either super delulu or super fucked up about child labour because ur telling me hc meeting xl was more important that hc's mental health and physical health...🤨

absolutely wild decision on the part of the King and Queen of Xianle to just. hire a 14 year old to be their son’s bodyguard. what compels you to do that

[furiousgoldfish]

I wanna talk about specifically the effects abuse had of me during forced labour, because I'm wondering if anyone else is feeling the same, or if anyone has found a way to resolve the symptoms. (tw for forced child labour, abuse during labour, death threats and mentions of injury and violence)

As a kid, I've been forced to work, often in pretty bad conditions, and it would often include further abuse, berating, humiliation, criticism, yelling, I'd even be hit during the work, and I've learned that I have to keep working even if injured or crying, and had to keep those things silent and not complain. I have a specific childhood memory where I had to paint a garage for what felt a whole afternoon and I was crying the entire time, my vision was blurry, and I just thought this was normal, it was nothing out of the ordinary for me. There were also sometimes games played on me where I would be given wrong instructions on purpose, then punished for following them, or would be given zero instructions and a task I've never been taught how to do, only so I could be punished for doing it wrong, and berated for 'not knowing how to do it despite my age'.

I would also often be told that if I don't work, I can't live, and would be threatened to be kicked out and left to die if I don't deserve to be sheltered and fed, so refusing to work was not an option, I would be beaten for it and forced to work injured. It was also why I couldn't walk away from abuse during work, it always felt like a death threat over my head if I refused to do anything, because I would be risking being kicked out and left for dead.

So, the specific after-effects of this are not just severe anxiety during work, but also all of my body functions and sensations completely stop if I'm working. Even if I'm working for hours and hours, I will not experience any hunger, thirst, need to go to the toilet, I won't feel exhaustion, pain, anything. It feels almost like my body is back at the 'death threat' mode and stops everything in order to work, because it's still etched in my brain that if I don't work, I cannot survive, and so our entire survival depends on being fit to work, on stopping all body functions and sensations until the work is done and survival is secured.

And then of course, when I get back home, enter my room, I collapse almost immediately, feeling intense pain in all of my muscles and back, weakness, hunger, dizziness, sometimes tension headache, severe exhaustion. I worry this is because my body was under such severe stress being triggered during work, that it's affected the same as after surviving additional trauma. I had hoped that after a few years of work and nobody hurting me while I'm doing my job, that this would subside, but unfortunately, I'm still having the same symptoms, even working for kind people who offer to me to take a break or bring me something to drink while I'm doing physical work. I don't even notice I'm thirsty until I'm already looking at the drink.

Does anyone else have experience with symptoms like this? And did you manage to resolve some of it, and find a way to work without your body reacting to it as a severe threat to existence?

[shadows-colours-critical]

Can you tell us about the characters you hate and why? For Shadow's colours

Dominik - Has slaves in his factory, kidnaps, kills, and experiments on children to raise them as either slaves or child soldiers (a form of child labour,) and isolating workers + children from the outside world.

Corundum and Vermilion - Same as Dominik with the children, but both are outright shown being a child abuser in multiple drawings.

Pastel - Inconsistent characterization along with almost constantly being drawn being out of character from her described personality and a stigmatism of people with Schizophrenia and DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder.)

3 - No other motives other than she wants to keep Pastel alive and being a sexy mommy stereotype, and despite all of Mel's attempts, 3 isn't even remotely scary, nor does she make sense because we don't understand why she made Pastel kill a random child.

Fern - Rich, racist, physical and verbal child abuser that slept behind Spirala's back after they had Pearl, who seemingly enabled his behavior and did nothing until he slept with someone else behind her back.

Razzberry - The whole personality change to literally just being reduced to a "hypersexual" man who is addicted to drugs and being a womanizer. Not to mention the semi-queerbaiting.

AK-47, Colhoun, Cheesecake, Frostbite, Bronze, Carmine - Stolen characters from people who don't want to associate with Mel anymore.

[coockie8]

ok wut ur mom had knee surgery at 16 nd shes shocked u also have joint issues??????

:)

I have been telling my mom that my hips lock and stick since I was 6 years old. It shocks her every single time.

I've lost count the amount of times she's said something wildly ableist like "if your joints are this bad now you're gonna be in a wheelchair by the time you're my age!" which is her weird way of telling me I need to exercise more, like I don't do my planks, jacks, sit ups, squats, and yoga poses almost everyday (not when my body feels like it's crumbling beneath itself for obvious reasons). My mom is very much the "if I didn't see you do it, then you didn't do it" type.

Which is like :/ Lady you'd had surgery done on both your knees by the time you were 18. And yeah, I probably will wind up needing wheelchair assistance on occasion by my late 50's, because I literally do the doctor-recommended preventative exercises, and they don't help. I wish I knew what was wrong, but beyond giving me exercises, my GP just won't look into it because he just doesn't feel like it, or whatever.

I don't understand her weird mentality that my sister and I are "too young" to have physical disabilities like this, when she'd had surgery done on both her knees by 18. But then again, my mom has always been the "rules for thee, none for me" type.

Off topic, but I need to bitch; the perfect example of this phenomenon was about 2 weeks ago, she'd crushed two earwigs on the counter, and then just left them there for my sister or I to clean up. If either of us had done that, I'd still, to this day, be getting screamed at for it.

[tosxa-h]

[TOUCH] make it angst make it angst

[TOUCH] The sender's touch is gentle as they explore a particularly sensitive scar on the receiver's skin. Tw. Harm, child abuse mention.

Ajax was littered with scars. As long as he could remember his body was marred in some way even if only slightly; scrapped knees and elbows from various raucous activities, fingers cut from fishing hooks or serrated knives, and there was also the time his father once hit him so hard he lost his balance and opened his chin on a kitchen chair. Perhaps he hadn't meant too, perhaps he forgot just how young his son was and Ajax almost didn't blame him- who else could do the damage he did to others at his age? Breaking the neighbour's kid's leg? How inconsiderate can you be? But we were playing soldiers.

I wanted to win.

By the time his long months in the abyss had passed that scar on his chin had become one of many and by the time he had grown into the adult he was today it had practically faded. You may mistake it for a shaving accident perhaps (if he could grow a beard). Or a natural divot in his skin. Ajax, however, knew it was there. He wasn't angry at his father and his old school notions of parenting for it, he rarely gave that punishment amongst the many much thought beyond how he had lost his balance.

His balance got better after that day.

It was also safe to say it was far from feeling sensitive now. It was simply a memory from his childhood. A lesson his dad had taught him.

Lumine's gloved hand was gentle and warm , perhaps it was that gentleness that caused a chill down his spine. Gentle wasn't a gesture he was used too. Her petite fingers brushed the tissue just above his left hip and he briefly caught his breath, his muscles stiffening ever so much.

After all this time, was it really so delicate? How strange... of all scars to still feel. It was this one.

Instinctively Ajax grabbed her hand in the split second his mind had tried to process it all. The breath, the stiffening sinews, the memory. Panic. It was brief and not something he often felt. It unsettled him. He released her hand as fast as he had held it. But the uncomfortable feeling it left created a heaviness in his chest.

"That's enough show and tell, Girly." Ajax did his best to keep his voice normal with a smile, despite his heart racing. How had this started again? Oh right, something about his pain tolerance, how some other injury was nothing compared to this. He didn't realise how right he was until she touched him.

[clown-around-and-find-out]

.

[peanut-tyrug]

// Depictions of child/forced labor

I brought this up on twt but I’m gonna bring it up here

I’ve been thinking: What if Candy Land wasn’t so sweet and colorful? What if it was a slightly dark and twisted version of what it was?

Following up on that: What if in “The Great Lollipop Adventure”, Lord Lico won? What if Lord Lico’s plan of making Candy Land “Licorice Land” succeeded?

I’ve actually already have a few ideas for how it’d go. Mainly like the sweets, specifically the main characters from the movie (Jib, Mint, Jolly, etc.) fight to overthrow Lord Lico and bring back Candy Land.

Extra plot: After the Sweet Celebration ended, and Lord Lico took over, everyone became servants to him and the various places in Candy Land had been altered to fit Lord Lico’s licorice dream.

Mint, Gloppy, and Jolly become guards of the former Candy Castle (now called the Licorice Castle, referencing earlier iterations of the board game). Why is Jolly a guard? I had an idea that he’d turn into like a giant gummy dragon to guard over Lico’s palace. Lolly, Frostine, Gramma Nutt, and King Kandy all become servants to Lord Lico. Mama Gingertree is corrupted and the Gingerbread Kids, including Jib, serve/work for the corrupted Mama Gingertree/Lord Lico.

But what causes the sweets to want to overthrow Lico? Jib! He sends letters out to the residents of Candy Land (w/o anyone knowing) and through the letters explains his idea/plan to overthrow Lico after failing to get into the castle.

Some of these ideas could be subject to change/extra additions.

Also, Mint would resemble someone amongst the British King’s Guard. He would eventually begin conforming and firmly abiding by Lord Lico’s rules shortly after being forced into the role of Castle Guard to prevent exile/getting hurt. He’s currently the only one with an outfit change atm.

[northlight14]

Leucis

(Picrew link here)

Basic Information

Pronouns: he/they (slight he preference)

Alias’: “Trouble” (Greyson Honfoli)

Relatives: unnamed parents (now deceased)

Affiliation: unknown

Occupation: shop owner, thief, assassin 

Personal Information

Eye Colour: pure white

Hair Colour: black

Height: 5,8

Gender Identity: non-binary

Sexuality: gay

Species: tiefling

Marital Status: single

Status

Age: 20

Star Sign: scorpio 

Date Of Birth: 6th November

Place Of Birth: Ashborn

Status: alive

Background Story

Leucis was born in a very impoverished part of Ashborn, where crime was around every corner. Even so, his parents were very good people and did what they could for him to make sure they had a good life. Leucis was always an intelligent and ambitious child, however, aiming to escape their current life. Seeing this, their parents worked as hard as they could to raise money and earn Leucis a formal education. 

That hard work would eventually pay off and Leucis would be sent away to a boarding school for a formal education. It wasn’t like Leucis expected, however. Due to the fact Leucis had not been to school before and his parents had never received a formal education meaning there was a cap on how much they could teach Leucis, he struggled greatly despite his intelligence, barely knowing how to read or write. This, along with Leucis’ poor background made him a prime target for bullying by his peers. And being pretty rough around the edges, Leucis would always fight back which landed him in trouble with faculty often. 

Things went from bad to worse when Leucis was 14 and he was told that his parents had passed away. Ashborn is a place with a long history of being at war and his parents, along with their house, ended up being another casualty of it. And since Leucis no longer had any money coming in via his parents, he was forced to drop out of his schooling. From there, Leucis began doing what they needed to survive, this first being selling practically all their belongings and then taking whatever job they were able to get as a 14 year old. This typically resulted in Leucis working for a lot of people who were less than decent bosses, being more than happy to exploit a young and desperate homeless teenager. Still, Leucis persevered on the street, determined to escape his situation once again. 

Living on the street, Leucis naturally saw a lot of horrific things and had no shortage of horrific experiences while working till his hands bled. This created an ideology of misanthropy in Leucis. He began believing that his parents were the last of genuinely good people and that everyone else in the world was simply evil and that most simply cover it up behind a mask of good deeds. At 17 years old, this then turned into a new idea: if human beings are all evil and are willing to do anything to hide that fact, why not capitalise on it?

And so Leucis took to the black market with his new assasin business, putting to work his skills of stealth and fighting he’d learned from the street to good use. At first, Leucis was completely horrified and disturbed when he killed someone, needing time to process and feeling sick. But over time, he began to be desensitised to it and a morbid part of him enjoyed it, essentially gaining a release out of it after experiencing so much trauma. 

That said, Leucis was not an expert and he ended up getting caught at some point. To his surprise, and utter delight, however, they were given a bargain that they would ensure he wouldn’t be punished for his crimes if he did some work for him. And so, Leucis began doing several assassin jobs for people in positions of power and they did their job of covering it up and making sure no one arrested Leucis.

These jobs were enough for Leucis to buy his own place, finally getting off the street. He had his apartment on the top floor and made the bottom floor his own general goods shop which in actuality was a shop filled with things Leucis stole off of people in the street. And that shop continues to work as his meeting place to discuss assassination jobs.

Personality

Leucis is just filled to the brim with confidence, which can come off as him being cocky but in actuality he's very self aware both with his strengths and weaknesses. Their mannerisms are very camp and effeminate as well, Leucis being very comfortable with that side of himself. 

He hates hypocrisy more than anything, disliking people who claim to strictly be good or state they’re better or more moral than him. He especially hates when his clients say this, as from his perspective if they're hiring him then they’re no better. That said, Leucis is very open about his actions being evil and doesn’t pretend to be otherwise. Essentially, Leucis’ attitude is “Yes I’m messed up but so are all of you. Don’t give me hate just because I found my way to make this messed up system work for me.” Due to having to work his whole life as well just to survive, Leucis is definitely also a massive workaholic. 

Even though Leucis is far from a good person by his own admission, he is not without good completely. He has a soft spot for the lower class as he understands their experiences first hand and operates his shop accordingly. He never steals from the less fortunate and has a strict bargaining system. Essentially, everything in his shop has a base price but he will always let people who can’t afford it bargain to have it lower. He also has a habit of charging the higher classes more for the items than the base price since he knows they can afford to spend more. Leucis also has a genuine respect for people who genuinely do try to be good and do the right thing without any ulterior motives involved. 

Leucis also definitely has a flirty side to him, enjoying going to taverns to meet guys for the night when he isn’t working. Leucis in particular has an interest in Greyson Honfoli, a town guard who despite the restrictions on Leucis, does his best to prevent the assassinations. Leucis loves teasing and flirting with Greyson at every opportunity, though he’d deny having any real feelings for him. 

Appearance

Leucis is a red tiefling with a lot of scars on his body due to how he grew up. Their hair is black and wavy and their eyes are pure white. Leucis is very slim in terms of body type but naturally is somewhat toned due to his occupation requiring him to be physically fit and a somewhat decent fighter. Being a tiefling, he has horns that protrude out of his forehead, starting red at the base but fading into black. His ears are pointed and both are pierced. His tail is mostly red like his skin but is then black and pointed at the end. Leucis also has a black snake tattoo running all down his left arm. 

Leucis dresses in a gothic style which mainly consists of black button up shirts (rarely buttoned up all the way), leather black pants, heeled boots, and chain necklaces and black rings. While on assassination missions, he wears a black jacket with a hood and a mask covering his face below his eyes. He’ll also wear flat shoes, forgo the jewellery and more flexible pants, for obvious reasons. 

Trivia

Leucis is insecure about his scars. 

Leucis overcompensates for his lack of formal education and poor background by speaking in a more formal and sophisticated way. However, when they’re more comfortable with someone, angry, or flustered, they’ll speak more casually and swear more. 

Leucis is mostly self taught when it comes to reading, writing and math's and has very bad spelling and handwriting as a result. They will also get defensive if anyone corrects them, even if done sincerely. 

Leucis was born with the surname Gabbard but no longer goes by that, instead only being referred to by his first name. This is because it makes him more anonymous and also he doesn’t want his family to be associated with the work he does, even after death.

While Leucis is a very good assassin and trained in stealth, they are lacking in more physical strength. While strong, it isn’t their greatest skill so prefer to rely on sneak attacks. 

Leucis always starts a kill by cutting the victims throat so they can’t scream for help and then either killing the person quickly or torturing them before death depending on how bad Leucis feels the person was.  

The first person Leucis was hired to kill was one of his old bosses

Leucis’ drink of choice is red wine. 

He has a comfort item which is a stuffed rabbit that's very ragged. It’s the last of his belongings from before he became homeless and the only thing he didn’t sell. It’s the one thing he has left of his parents. 

MBTI is ENTP

Alignment is neutral evil

[dont-look-me-in-the-eye]

Origins Pt 2 - 1, 2, 3,

Pt 2 of the Dr Facilier origin story that nobody asked for, takes place in the year 1900(ish).

TW: implied child abuse, child labour (he's around 14 in this one), depictions of a panic attack.

The dirty glass slipped out of his hands. Someone had knocked into him from behind, and now there was glass shards on the floor. 

“Kid! The hell you doin’?” Marcel yelled from the other side of the kitchen. Adri’s stomach dropped. 

“Dropped a glass,” he muttered.

The chef muttered something in French that Adri couldn’t pick up. “Don’t just stand there dumb as a post, clean it up!”

He felt sick. Marcel was gon’ think - gonna know that he was shit, he was gon’ come to his senses -

Or worse, he’d lose his job and then his father-

He pushed the thought down, and started picking up the shards.

Well, he would have, if Brie hadn’t pushed him back with a force he didn’t know she had. 

“You tryin’ to get blood on the floor too? Get a damn broom.” she muttered.

He went to the closet to get it. 

It was wet and cold. He didn’t mind. The dark blanketed him, and that soothed his nerves just a bit.

His hands were still shaking. Everything was shaking just a bit. He couldn’t breathe. 

He couldn’t breathe. 

He couldn’t see properly either, his vision was distorting, like he was looking out of  a glass,

He sucked in a shallow breath. Another. Another. 

It wasn’t enough. He felt like something was pressing against his chest-

Fumbled around for the broom, was he dying?

Sucked in another breath, less shallow this time.

Grabbed a bucket, he really was shit, crying like this,

1, 2, 3, suck in a deeper breath.

He smothered the panic down. It made a lump in his throat.

He'd already been here for 5 minutes. He couldn’t sit in this closet forever, right? Get out, you useless-

Wiped the water spilling from his eyes.

Jumped three times. Why, he didn’t know, but it helped dissipate his anxious energy.

1, 2, 3, open the door.

Out of the comforting darkness and into the light.

1, 2, 3, sweep the shards into the bucket.

1, 2, 3, throw the glass into the dumpster out back.

1. 2. 3. Breathe.

And maybe if he said sorry enough…

Well.

Right now he needed to wash the dirty dishes. 

3 steps at a time.

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[aidenknow]

I think about how easy it is to force children to work. Child labor for the win. It's really not that hard, especially these days where kids don't worry about money unless they're 16 years old, abused, and chronically online as an artist. You could hire a 13 year old to work for you and be like "hey I'll credit you" and that kid will shit their pants and work with you 24/7. New slave, ez. Minors are so stupid.

Funny that you said something like that. Because ironically, I am dumb and naive, even when I am already an adult

Maybe you are stupid for thinking this is a good idea to scare someone with copypasta

[hor3nee]

• Life •

Sukuna grappling becoming a father while you give birth.

CW/TW: GN! reader, Labour/Childbirth, Sukuna typical violence mentions, BRIEF suggestive stuff, Nothing graphic, Religious metaphors & LOTS of life/death talk, (LMK if I should add anything else!)

Characters: Sukuna x Reader

AN: Nobody dies in this fic! It's fluff-ish. (It's Sukuna and reader giving birth, as fluffy as that can be man), prequel to this Descendant fic

   Life was such a fickle thing, not that it mattered to Sukuna. He was above life, death sickness and health, beyond it, above the proper empathy to care for it. It wasn't that he didn't understand, because he did, once mortal himself, and existing on this earth surrounded by the humanity that populated on it for years as a curse, he understood. But there was no legitimate reason for it to matter to him unless he could gain from a life, there was no reason to mind it.

And by the loose, greedy and otherwise just gluttonous standards of what it meant to be a creature of 'gain' to Sukuna, you fit it to the T, your life mattered to him. Your life, it was something he wanted, no needed to maintain to be kept satisfied, if you weren't there to be by his side, he'd be left starved.

To lose such a thing, would only ignite a certain wrath inside of him.

The screams of agony that parted from your pretty little lips had his chest twisting into a feeling of irritation. He much preferred your screams of ecstasy, making you scream his name in sweet pretty moans when he bedded you. Not this, screams of something he was also the culprit of in fairness, sobbed screams of pain as your body tore to birth his child.

Sukuna enjoyed such screeches of terror, weak defeated sobs he could rip and tear from the pathetic lot of mortals he terrorized, all of whose lives served no purpose to him. The issue is, yours does serve purpose, a great purpose to Sukuna. You're always there, by his side, and when you're not, it bothers him, he's greedy, hungry for you.

Your pain only infuriates him, he doesn't like it at all, no, he loathes listening to it.

Finally, finally, it stops after what felt like torturously long, it comes to a stop. Like that, the tightness inside his chest unwrapped, Sukuna didn't think he'd ever feel relief, he wouldn't need to, he had never fought an opponent he couldn't defeat, pillaged an army that would come close to his strength there was no concerns or worry for him to have to be relieved from. Yet here he was basking in such relief. Your screams stop, now instead replaced by the bothersome cries of something much more smaller. Squeaky small wails, that of an infant. his infant.

"Lord Sukuna." A muttered voice of one of the midwives comes through the door separating Sukuna from the delivery room. The door opens to the midwives attending finishing up and then all bowing in submission, their heads hanging low as Sukuna stands by the door-frame.

"Done?" He asks, more so a statement, a demand as everything he speaks is.

"Yes-" The meek voice of a midwife responds, she not daring to look up from the floor of the delivery room.

"Then what the hell are you dimwitted fools doing? OUT." There's the slightest growl in his voice at the command, one that though slight works wonders on any who dare stand in his presence, and to which without a moment of hesitation has all the midwives scatter out of the room, rushing out with their heads low. Only one pauses to shut the door behind herself, not wanting to risk the stupidity of leaving the door open.

Now, only the sounds of a baby's cries echo in the room, the small thing wrapped, protected in a small blanket. The moment is deafening as it is loud, there are as many thoughts as there is nothing in his eyes as he stares at the small baby you held. Yes, you made his child, 9 tedious months of him practically carrying you around everywhere and it was out now.

Sukuna was, well Sukuna, he didn't bother thinking much of the specifics, but rather the obvious reality of the situation during those passing months, and didn't see a reason to. He could still sleep with you, could still have you around, could still listen to your voice speak with him in converse. Was it different? Sure, but in no way that bothered him. Cravings? The King of the Curses can provide feasts. Tired? You needn't walk, he has four arms for a reason. The bodily change? Sukuna guts humans like pigs, the size of your stomach was far from grotesque to such a demon like Sukuna.

But now, he is met with the reality, the sight, the sound the smell of the newborn babe, absolutely reeking of familiarity, a literal complete being of two halves, Sukuna and you. It's overwhelming, and not in the way Sukuna likes, not in the hedonistic pleasures he enjoys but rather overwhelming in thoughts. Thoughts as rampant as blank in his mind, fogged like he was considering all of this.

"Sukuna." A clear call of his name comes from your throat despite its audible hoarseness of exhaustion, still as captivating as always, catching his entire attention. No one can command the Sukuna, but he doesn't need to be commanded when you call for him, because it's in his full will and gratification to come to your side, which he of course does. Stepping softly to where you are laid, surrounded by stained sheets, tools and incense presumably used in aid of the birth.

"What?" His throat rumbles, a question with no particular answer aside from the obvious literal whole baby you had birthed in your arms.

"Look at them... Beautiful, aren't they?" And perhaps by the grace of a god he'd doubted existed, there was a moment of serenity now, the fog cleared from the depths of his sick mind as he gazed upon the small bundle in your arms. That was your grace perhaps, no definitely, definitely your grace, you had bore his child.

That damned sinister grin came over his face as he reached down to the infant, the large monstrously large hand of his ever so delicately traced the cheek of the little one, a comical contrast between himself and the child. For the entirety of you and Sukuna's time spent together, he had considered you the only life that truly mattered to him, and now you had created a life from the mere womb, you've given him another life he'd find true importance in.

His child's life, blessed by the sanctified arms that cradled it.

"Divine, rather." He rumbled, a short snicker leaving his twisted tongue, but laced with genuine adoration. Utter devotion to this small life, to both two lives he had found himself so graciously gifted. Of you, of his child.

[0bticeo]

lurk | feyd rautha

part four of five. (part 1.) (part 2.) (part 3.)

summary:

“i need you,” he rasps, etching a molten kiss on the dip of your collarbone. “need to get rid of his taste.”

his hand crawls up your thighs, the folds of your velvet dress gliding against your skin. you can still hear the soldiers outside, feel the low thrum of their clamour in your very bones. should you focus, you’ll perceive the baron’s suspensors sucking away at gravity, the servants’ roaming about, feet like neelde-ants on cold marble.

anyone could catch you.

“what are you waiting for, my lord na-baron?”

wc: 1.6k

tw: political machinations, reader being inches away from killing everyone in the damn place including feyd, kissing, biting, mentions of breeding, possessive & needy feyd, sub!feyd, oral (fem receiving), fingering, hallway sex.

you’re getting tired of dreams. 

there’s terrible, terrible purpose dripping from their edges. you see it all - snapshots of horror, fractals reflecting endless bodies dropping to the ground. sixty one billion people, dead. ten thousand worlds burning, the universe begging for respite under your brother’s crushing fist.

paul. little mouse, whom you’ve shielded all your life, whom you’ve sparred with, crysknife pressed against his throat, his shield a feeble protection against your blade. something shatters. blades. so many of them. your blade. jamis’ blade. feyd-rautha’s blade. 

your dream has you standing in what you know to be the emperor’s ship, shrouded in bene gesserit veils. two silhouettes stand against the bleeding sun of arrakis. 

the realisation embeds itself in your mind, marble-carved. fate is looking down upon you and tells you: one of them dies in the end.

when you wake up, there’s a scream dying on your tongue.

you don’t know where you are. you don’t know where you are, why your side is on fire, why you taste blood in your mouth.

slowly, you rise, heart beating furiously, breath laboured. i must not fear. your fingers dig your sheets. the infirmary. fear is the mind killer. you close your eyes, will yourself to breathe. fear is the little-death that brings total -

a hand settles over yours, bone pale fingers weaving with yours. warmth settles on your shoulder. you relax, ever so slightly, leaning into the touch, burying yourself in the crook of feyd-rautha’s neck. he’s all sharp edges, honed to deadly perfection. in the quiet midnight of geidi prime, he softens for you.

“what troubles you?”

you wonder if you should tell him. of the golden path, paved with blood, so much blood it clings to the soles of your feet, you see it rise, rise, eager to seize you-

a low mumble of your name.

“dreams are messages from the deep,” you whisper in the crook of his neck. 

his hold tightens over you, brings you closer to the warmth of him, thumb running over the smooth skin of your belly, over your unborn child growing there. from your position, you can feel it, the way his vocal cords vibrate. he’s purring, soothing you bit by bit.

you tilt your head, hand coming to cradle his face, knuckles brushing against his cheek.

“i should be plotting your death.”

a low chuckle, a flash of almost eagerness in his eyes.

“i don’t doubt you will.”

his hand wraps around your neck, resting on the soft skin of your throat, bringing you closer to him, shifting your bodies until you’re straddling him, arms wrapping around his neck. you could strangle him. you could use the voice. ask him to take the knife you know rests on the bedside and slit his own throat like the harkonnen beast he is. use it yourself.

but you’ve sealed your fate the moment you stepped on arrakis. so instead, you let the darkness swallow your confession.

“i don’t want you to die.”

“i won't,” he mumbles against your lips, words like an oath as he kisses you.

they say the beat of a butterfly wing can cause a tempest on the other side of the globe. you wonder what tempest will be borne out of the fury beating in your chest. here goes: morning comes. the spice rules it all, even the baron’s affairs, so he gathers his troops to make a planetary governor out of feyd-rautha. 

the glorious sun of geidi prime shines its lifeless light upon you all. 

the finest harkonnen soldiers, ruthless hounds barking their sovereign’s name in fervent adoration, thousands upon thousands of ants stretching as far as you can see. they corrupt it all the harkonnen, eating away at the horizon. waiting. 

you’re waiting, too, hands folded before you, lone silhouette clad in dark robes, veils like a mask before your face. bene gesserit, the court calls you. 

not quite.

by bearing feyd-rautha a child, you’ve gained a modicum of respite. the bene gesserit will spare you, the mother of their precious kwisatz haderach. they will keep your survival a secret and bury it behind inscrutable eyes.

plans within plans within plans. you’re a pawn in the baron’s meaty hands, he’s a pawn in yours, and the bene gesserit have been pulling the strings for ninety generations. 

your gaze flits to the scene before you. feyd-rautha harkonnen, clad in dark leathers, silver embroidery like pauldrons over his shoulders. the mass of his uncle hovers above him, a hovering beast eager for power. two meaty hands encompass his face - absolute disgust coils in your chest as you watch vladimir harkonnen kiss his nephew. he kisses back. a show of dominance.

the soldiers howl his name, earth trembling under the clamour. they salute, arms crossed over their heads, a living, breathing organism, synchronicity at its peak. 

arrakis has a new ruler. 

a hand clasps over your wrist, drags you away from the adoring masses, in the sweet darkness of the palace’s hallways. you’re pinned against the wall, and feyd-rautha looms before you, terrible hunger burning in his eyes. slowly, he lifts your veils, high enough to bare your mouth to him. 

“my lord-”

you’re cut off by his lips on yours, eager, desperate, savouring you like fine arrakean spice-wine. 

“i need you,” he rasps, etching a molten kiss on the dip of your collarbone. “need to get rid of his taste.”

his hand crawls up your thighs, the folds of your velvet dress gliding against your skin. you can still hear the soldiers outside, feel the low thrum of their clamour in your very bones. should you focus, you’ll perceive the baron’s suspensors sucking away at gravity, the servants’ roaming about, feet like neelde-ants on cold marble.

anyone could catch you.

“what are you waiting for, my lord na-baron?”

he nips at your ear, grin sharper than his blade as he sinks to his knees. slowly, intimately, a shadow curling at his mistress’ feet. he unravels you, nails raking up your thighs, liquid desire burning in their path. 

“eyes on me.”

your eyes snap open. oh, he’ll be the death of you, with the way his eyes freeze you in place, willing, begging for his touch. you shiver, a low, needy sound escaping you. 

he grins, a flash of black teeth against the liquid darkness of your robes. shadows will swallow you whole - he will swallow you whole. already is, with the way he trails kisses up your thighs, teeth sinking in the meat of it until blood drips on your skin. 

he’s lapping at it, hands wrapping around your leg, spreading you apart inch by precious inch until he fits the broad expanse of his shoulders in the space he’s carved for himself. he raises his head, leans his cheek against your thigh, nuzzling in its softness. there’s blood coating his lips, sweet like forbidden fruit, and an unquenchable fire in his eyes.

“exquisite,” he purrs, nail digging in the blossoming mark he’s left, until your hips seek his touch.

he puts his mouth to you. you bite your lip, hard, as you feel him tease you, tongue lapping at you like sweet pomegranate, skilled fingers coaxing pleas for more. the cold of his silver ring has you keening - you're melting against him.

it’s obscene, how the only sounds you can hear are the pleased moans of your lover, the squelching of your juices dripping down his face, his wrist. it’s too much, too fast - your nails dig into his nape, bringing him closer. fucker’s purring, hands digging in your hips. he’s making a feast out of you, and you’ve never seen prettier sight. 

feyd-rautha, kneeling at your feet, a pretty, pretty blush dusting his cheeks, his soft mouth on your cunt, ruining you as he denies himself sweet release.

“feyd-”

a jolt - he’s just nipped your clit, and you’re falling apart with his name on your tongue, burning, melting in the pits of desire. you grow boneless, faltering on unsteady legs. he pulls you to him before you can fall, kissing you, moulding his devouring mouth to yours. 

distantly, you register that he’s breathless, that he’s pressing you against him, that you can feel the dampness at the front of his pants.

his voice is a low, needy rasp.

“you taste divine, my dear.”

there’s a commotion. someone, somewhere, is calling. a servant. a feast is prepared. blasphemy - the baron is a beast, and he will not have his nephew leave without obscene amounts of food. good. it leaves room for you to plan - you’re running out of precious, precious time. there are too many variables for you to act alone, yet you are.

you’re sitting at feyd-rautha’s side at a banquet table. on you watch, a mockery of a bene gesserit, nails digging in your palm. there’s a knife before you, of course. the baron’s sitting at the head of the table, stuffing himself until he’s about to burst. 

repulsive.

you could do it now. put an end to the harkonnen, avenge your family. plunge that knife in the baron’s throat and watch him die like an animal. 

but revenge is best served cold. you remember princess irulan being seated in front of you. you remember the emperor at the head of the table. you remember his knife slicing through unknown poultry. a falcon. he’s doomed your family to death. 

the emperor is old. paranoid. anybody would’ve seen that the atreides were far too loyal to even consider rebelling against him, rising influence or not. someone convinced him otherwise. the truthsayer, reverend mother gaius helen moriam. 

you take a bite of your own meal and find it tasting like ash. the only dish you yearn for is revenge.

you want the baron dead. you want the emperor stripped of his power. you want to watch the split second of horrified realisation on the reverend mother's face. 

you want them to burn, and burn they will.

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