#tw: divine right of kings

[seijorhi]

Divine Rights

for my beloved wife @iwaasfairy as a somewhat late, sort of birthday present aka the royal fic y'all have been waiting weeks for oikawa tooru x female reader w.c 5.6k tw: non-con, yandere themes, blood and a little gore, murder, violence, abuse, pregnancy & childbirth, breeding kink, smut, nsfw

“Miyuki forgot to bring me my tea this afternoon.” At the blank look you get in response, you hasten to clarify, “The maid– the new one, I mean. She always brings it after lunch, but today she forgot.” 

Guilt needles you with every word. You like Miyuki. Quiet as a mouse, most of the time she can hardly bring herself to meet your eye, much less talk with you, but on the days she finishes her tasks quickly enough – the days the guards aren’t watching the clock – she’ll sit with you while you sew or practice your reading. For a brief moment, you can imagine her a friend. Perhaps if you were her friend, or at least a better friend, you’d ignore the gnawing unease in the pit of your stomach, keep your mouth shut and spare her. 

Because there will be consequences, of that you’re certain. Whatever grace the King affords you on a whim does not extend to the servants scurrying throughout the castle. Most especially those few he allows within your presence. 

Stretched out languidly beside you, Oikawa arches an eyebrow. “Your tea?” he repeats.

Your cheeks flame. What you’d give right now to squirm away from him, crawl out of his bed, this room, and disappear entirely just to avoid him and this mortifying conversation. 

There’s a voice in the back of your head that reminds you that there’s a decent chance Oikawa’s ignorant of all of it. Why should he have to concern himself with trivialities like contraception or pulling out? He’s the King, there’ll always be those who trail along after him, cleaning up his messes. No royal bastards. No loose ends when the blacksmith’s youngest disappears behind the walls of the castle keep. 

“So that we don’t– there’s no chance of a– a baby. I meant to say something earlier, but…” you trail off, the slow trickle of his seed oozing from the raw ache between your legs speaking for itself. 

With your oldest sister and her husband, it’d taken months for her to fall pregnant. Newlyweds don’t always conceive within the first year. If every accidental slip left women pregnant, the streets by the brothels would run riot with unclaimed bastards. It’ll be fine. 

You drank the tea Miyuki brought you yesterday, so long as she brings it shortly, and you take it as normal again tomorrow–

Long, elegant fingers coax at your chin, derailing the runaway thought in its tracks. His chuckle, deep and low, registers a split second before the kiss. “Not a mistake,” he tells you, murmuring against your lips. “You’re going to give me an heir, sweet girl. Two, actually. An heir and a spare, and maybe a few after that, if you’re very, very good for me.” He says it indulgently, his own breath catching on a low shudder when his index and middle fingers curl up into your pussy, pushing his spend back inside of you, “Where it belongs,” he whispers.

You seize his forearm, “T-Tooru–” you gasp.

He has to be joking. You can’t– He wouldn’t–

The tea made sense. You’ve no title, you’re not his wife nor his Queen, not a Lady of the court or the daughter of some important, foreign dignitary. Outside the walls of these chambers, you do not exist at all. You aren’t anyone, anything beyond what he desires you to be.

You cannot have his child. 

“Please, I don’t want this. I’m not– I’m not ready.” Your nails are digging half moon circles into his skin, and the prickle of tears unshed and the lump in your throat make your voice thick and strained, but the King meets your panicked gaze with a twinkle in his eye. 

“You are,” he kisses your forehead, “and you will,” your mouth, sucking on your lower lip. “Trust in your King, love. Everything is as it’s meant to be.”

The woman who brings your meals the next day doesn’t linger, she scurries about, shoulders drawn, flinching when you ask her name.

There’s no tea – not that afternoon, or any that follow. 

—

When you were younger, you used to pretend you lived in the castle up on the hill. 

Your two older brothers would fight over which would play King while you and your sisters danced and sipped honeyed drinks and pretended to give your favour to one or the other, only to order them about once they’d been crowned. You imagined dances and feasts and thrilling hunts, tournaments with brave knights and roaring crowds. Never a dull moment. 

A life of luxury forever out of reach. 

Until it was forced upon you, but only a shadow. 

You eat delicacies you could only have dreamed of, taste rich, heady wine on the King’s tongue – once, a mouthful from his lips, Oikawa laving up the droplet that spilled down your chin.

But while you hear the distant, muted melodies that play somewhere down below, you’ve never sat in the hall by his side. Only a few of the names he rattles off you recognise. The others remain blurry figures in your head, characters in a play you’ve yet to attend. Won’t ever attend, if the King has his way. 

The court gossip you learn in dribs and drabs, never enough to paint a complete picture, and for all that he chatters away in your ear, Oikawa shares little. You aren’t privy to the schemes that run through the castle, the kingdom at large, from its highest echelon. Nothing for you to trouble your pretty little head over.

It should come as no surprise then that news of his upcoming nuptials doesn’t come from the King himself. 

“I imagine they’ll be moving you,” the maid – Miyuki’s replacement – says one afternoon, out of the blue. And it might not come as such a shock if she’d ever spoken to you before that, if the comments weren’t accompanied by a wide eyed, frantic look at odds with her stilted delivery, if you had any idea what she was on about to begin with.

You blink at her. “Moving me?”

She nods, a shaking jut of her chin. “When the King marries at week’s end. If he decides to keep you, it won’t be here.”

If.

Oikawa’s never bothered with sweet lies. Every vow he’s ever made to you, he’s followed through on, every threat delivered – no matter your tears. In that, at least, you trust him. When he withheld the tea and told you he wanted you to give him an heir, you believed it. He had no reason to lie.

Your mind spins, trying in vain to pluck the threads of an unravelling tapestry; the colours wrong and the image distorted. 

A Queen doesn’t bode well. Moving you would be the logical step; there’s no doubt a plethora of nooks and crannies he could lock you away in until he’s gotten what he wants – but now that makes even less sense than before.

A cold feeling prickles at the nape of your neck.

And then what? What happens when you give him the child he wants? What happens when you outlive your usefulness?

You’ve become stone, blank faced, frozen if not for the slight tremor in your – the hand she seizes by your wrist, fingers digging in tight. Dropping all pretence, she steps closer, voice lowering to a frightened whisper, “You need to leave. Whatever you think you’re gaining from this, you aren’t. He’ll kill us all before–”

“Enough.”

The maid snaps back like she’s been scalded, dropping into a hasty curtsy, eyes fixed to the floor as one of Oikawa’s Royal Guards – knights in their own right – Matsukawa, strides into the room, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. 

He spares you only a glance, a quick, cursory look to determine you’re unharmed. A laughable notion, really, when one considers his King’s penchant for manhandling.

“She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“She had her hands on you,” he counters. And the King will not abide that.

You bite your tongue, sinking down onto the bed as Matsukawa steps aside and the maid – she never told you her name, never answered when you asked – all but flees with a hand to her mouth, muffling a sob. Matsukawa leaves behind her, the door quietly shut in his wake.

For a long time after that you sit in silence. 

Eventually, the door opens again – a boy this time, no older than seven, carrying a tray from the kitchens. He stares with wide, awe filled eyes, and bows and stammers out an apology, cheeks flushed apple red. Only the ache in your chest draws the corners of your lips upwards into a paper-thin smile.

Your sister’s boys would’ve been his age. 

If, if, if–

“I hear you’ve had an exciting day, my love.”

The sun has set. The King has returned home to roost. 

“Is that why?” you ask, hardly glancing up as he makes his way over towards you.

“Why what?”

“I-is she barren? Hideous? Too old to bear children, or too– too–” you can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. Cruel, heartless and selfish he may be, you have to believe there’s at least one boundary he wouldn’t cross. “What happens to me when all this is done? When you have your heirs, or you grow weary of this– of… me?” you ask instead.

You don’t realise tears are rolling down your face until he’s looming over you, having pushed his way between your legs, cupping your cheeks to wipe them away. The gesture could almost be construed as something comforting, something genuine, if not for the preening satisfaction behind his sigh. 

“My stubborn, sensitive girl, twisting yourself into knots over things that aren’t yours to worry about. We’d both be much happier if you just left well enough alone and trusted me, hm? You know I can’t stand to see you cry.” Liar. “But if it will ease that tender heart of yours, know that she’s a whining cunt, I have a sizeable new merchant fleet courtesy of her father, and there is no scenario, in this or any other life–” his expression doesn’t waver, but every trace of levity bleeds from his voice as his thumb slides between your lips, “–where I will ever be done with you, do you understand?”

You nod. With his thumb hooked in your mouth, pressing against your tongue, it’s all you can do. 

“Good girl. Always so good for me.”

It isn’t unexpected when his other hand moves to unlace his breeches and fish out his cock.

“Get it wet,” he breathes.

When he’s feeling generous, your King’s the one to sink between your knees, tongue and fingers working at your core until you’re panting, dizzy on the edge of pleasure, warm and welcoming, dripping with a need that’s his to sate.

But the King isn’t feeling generous tonight. Gathering your hair in his fist, he lets out an anticipatory breath, a near hiss, when your fingers curl around him and you lean in, lips obediently parting.  Your tongue swirls around the velvety head giving it a light,  experimental suck, and his hips buck, chasing the sensation.

Usually, Oikawa enjoys your mouth almost as much as your pussy, preferring to draw it out, edge himself, let you demonstrate your ardent devotion to your King, your love – but there’s none of that now. Your scalp screams for relief when he tightens his grip, and though you should have been expecting it, the sudden thrust into your mouth takes you by surprise, eyes shooting wide, choking on the intrusion.

It’s rough and graceless, the wet, gagging sounds that spill out amidst his panting, the tears that spring to your eyes and the burn in the back of your throat. You barely have the presence of mind to work your tongue, hollow your cheeks. Suck like he wants you to.

The reprieve comes without warning, Oikawa yanking you off by your hair. True enough, every inch of his thick, flushed cock shines with your spit, gleaming in the flickering candlelight.

“Lie back,” he orders.

You sprawl back onto the bed. 

None of your earlier nerves have eased, but the tremor in your heart has everything to do with the naked desire that bleeds across his expression as he finishes ridding himself of his clothes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”

You shake your head, fingers fluttering in the sheets either side of you.

“No?” he purrs. “You don’t wish it were you I were putting in a crown–” Your insides twist into knots as he crawls onto the bed taking an ankle in his grip. A soft whine escapes, but he simply trails his fingers lovingly along your calf, pushing your shift up and sliding closer. “–pledging myself to in the eyes of God and our Countrymen?”

Your breath hitches. He knocks your legs wider, slotting himself into the open space. “I–I wouldn’t dare to be so bold. I’m already yours, that’s… that’s enough for me.”

He laughs darkly, pressing a kiss to your knee and lifting it to his shoulder. “You are mine, but if you want a crown, I’ll give you one.” 

You seize the sheets, gasping for air when his cock slides into you in a slow, punishing thrust. 

“I’ll give you a crown, the dress, all the pretty diamonds and rubies you like so long as I can have you like this you while wear them– fuck,” he moans, eyes closing, head tilted back as he savours the tight warmth of your pussy, squeezing at his cock. 

He leans down, seeking the taste of your swollen lips. With his tongue licking greedily into the open seam of your mouth, he rolls his hips and falls into a rhythm which leaves you writhing and squirming beneath him. The drag of his cock stings. The King’s never cared that it hurts and it doesn’t affect him now, his fingers digging into the meat of your thigh, dragging you closer, shifting your hips so the angle is better. Deeper. Every inch of you claimed, every inch of you his. 

“I’ll marry you too, if that’s what you want,” he pants. 

Each whimper, sharp, stuttered breath, plea for clemency, for a second’s reprieve – they spur him on. Drive him to the brink. You’re sweltering from inside out. Sweat forms at your forehead, beading along the nape of your neck – through hazy eyes, you watch a droplet trickle down Oikawa’s bare chest, struck with the strangest desire to push yourself up and lap at it, all the while the King’s cock rocks inside of you, deep, hard strokes that rob you of sense. 

Your bones rattle with each slam of his hips against the cradle of your thighs, your cries swallowed by his tongue, soothed with a kiss. Pain and pleasure war, bleeding over until they’re indiscernible from one another. “We’ll do it in the Old Ways,” he tells you, his eyes alight, his smile almost savage in its raw pleasure. “Oaths sealed in blood and fucking, witnessed by a Priest. I wouldn’t let any of those old fucks anywhere near you, but Iwa should suffice.”

All you can do is cry out, clutching at his forearm. You’re sure that your nails break the skin, but it only urges Oikawa on. 

“You want Iwa to come watch me split you apart on my cock, hm?” His weight drops, leaning over and nearly folding you in two, and on the next thrust you see stars that blink out your vision. “You want him to marry us?” You shatter beneath him, eyes rolling back, body shuddering as pleasure explodes inside of you, fizzing through your veins til every part of you is alight with it. 

The King swears violently, the heat of your spasming cunt driving him over the edge. With his forehead pressed against yours, he cums with a gritted out moan, fucking his release deep inside of you. Where it belongs. 

—

The disparity between the two of you is never so stark as when Oikawa dons his regalia. From the deep teal of his fur-lined cloak, clasped with chains of gold, to the glittering gemstones set into his crown, he wears finery like a second skin. Even his leather boots would fetch more money at market than your family had ever seen in their lives.

You, meanwhile, are barefoot, hair unbound, wearing a shift stained with last night’s blood. Oikawa smiles down at you with a fond sort of benevolence while you fiddle with the last of his fastenings. At one point of time, he must’ve had a servant to help him with this sort of thing. 

Now, he has you, and seems all the more pleased for it.

“Are you coming back tonight?” you ask.

He catches your hands when you pull away, bringing them back to rest on his chest. “Where else would I go?”

These are, of course, his chambers. 

“And… her?” you choke out, refusing to meet his gaze. 

“You mean the blushing bride to be?” He laughs, the sound grating on your already fraught nerves. “You wouldn’t happen to be jealous, darling, would you?” 

If he fucks her here tonight, with you in the room, you might actually vomit. 

Biting down on the tip of your tongue, you force a nod. It earns another laugh from the King, “My little liar,” he croons. “How quick you are to forget the promises we made to each other.”  Like a dance, he spins you to draw your back flush to his chest, turning you both to face the mirror. 

The reflection paints a stark, ugly picture. Baleful eyes shadowed and drawn. Skin sapped of its healthy glow. You might’ve been a great beauty once – in the eye of certain beholders – in the King’s covetous embrace, there’s something hollow that stares back, aching and endless. A stranger plucked from the wilds. 

Oikawa rests his cheek against your hair and smiles at your reflection, tugging at the top of your shift until it slips low enough to reveal the marred flesh above your breast. He hums appreciatively. “The Queen isn’t your concern. She won’t be setting foot in here.”

The finality in his tone stops you from prying deeper. 

That, and the sharp double rap at the door. 

A quiet curse tumbles from his mouth. For a split second, his grip tightens, the beginnings of a scowl flitting across his handsome face before he smooths it out with a huff. “Later,” he promises, dragging himself away like it pains him to do so.

Rather than leaving, though, you watch as he steps aside to allow someone else entry – a guard.

Kyoutani. Mad Dog. 

Presumably nicknamed for his scowling, vicious mien and the rabidity of his temperament, of all the Royal Guard, he is definitely the last you’d pick to be alone in a room with. Somewhat darkly, you wonder if that’s the sole reason Oikawa says what he does next. “I think we’ve been a little too lax with your safety, my love. Mad Dog will be here to keep a closer eye on you for the foreseeable future.”

Honey brown eyes bear down on you, sharp and shrewd, and a chill rolls down your spine.

“Be good for him, won’t you?”

—

True to his word, she never appeared in his bedchambers; he returned alone, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed and handsy, tugging at your shift with clumsy hands and a sloppy grin before you’d fully roused.

Nothing changes – with the exception of your new guard. 

Gone is any semblance of privacy. For every moment that your King does not dog your every waking breath, Kyoutani takes up watch. You cannot ignore him. You cannot relax, pinned under his stare like a rabbit in a trap. If you thought your maids were nervous before, it’s nothing to the unbridled panic the latest exudes working under the eye of the King’s loyal hound, walking on eggshells like he’s one wrong breath away from snapping her spine. 

After Matsukawa and her predecessor, you’re not entirely sure she’s wrong. With the way he watches you, tracking your every move with narrowed eyes and a perpetual scowl, you’re more afraid that when he snaps – when Oikawa loosens that leash ever so slightly – it’ll be your neck that finds its way between his salivating jaws. That maybe this is your end, and he’s making you face it day in, day out.

You believe Oikawa, and the oaths he made – but only to a point. 

It’s why the morning they bring you eggs for breakfast and the smell sends you hurtling to the bathroom, it isn’t a sense of relief or happiness that fills you. While Oikawa rubs soothingly at your back, kissing your neck, your hair – whatever parts of you he can reach, cooing praise that goes in one ear and out the other, there’s an edge of hysteria that winds its way through your chest and constricts util it feels like you’ll choke under the pressure of it all.

In your womb, a noose and a lifeline. 

“I want my sisters. I want to see them.”

Breakfast long forgotten, lying in bed covered solely by the fine sheen of sweat sticking to your skin, you take his hand in yours and guide it to your stomach. It’ll be months before you show, but that doesn’t stop his eyes from flicking down, the hunger that pools at the reminder of the life that’ll grow there. Your child; his heir.  

“Please, Tooru. I haven’t– it’s been months. Let me see them. Five minutes, that’s all I ask.”

His eyes return to yours, pityingly, his hand stays where it is, thumb stroking bare flesh. “My love, they won’t see you.”

He might as well have slapped you. “What? Why wouldn’t they see me? You– you promised you wouldn’t–”

“I haven’t laid a finger on them,” he assures you. “They… blame you for what happened. Your parents and brothers. Their husbands. The boys. Even if I allowed the guards to permit you entry, they’d only lash out and hurt you. I wouldn’t put you through that, not for anything.”

Rationality rebels against this. Whatever your faults and missteps, you never asked for the King’s attention, you wouldn’t have tried to run if you’d known the cost. He did this, not you.  But rationality gets lost entirely, drowned beneath the wave of grief that sweeps you up. It coils around you and sinks down into your bones. Grief becomes the air you breathe, the blood in your veins. It’s agony and heartbreak and the first sob that leaves you feels like it’s cleaving you in two.

They blame you. 

You don’t fight him, not anymore. You sit pretty and spread your legs, let him fill you with rot over and over and over again, all to keep the King’s ire from touching them further. 

They live and breathe at your behest while you’ve become a broodmare, and they hate you for it.

The cracks within grow wide and deep. 

Still cradling your belly, the King laments, “I’m sorry, my love. I’d have kept you from that knowledge if I could.”

If, if, if–

—

Your breasts swell and grow tender, your middle fills out.

A simple gold band on the King’s left hand marks their marriage, but within the walls of your gilded cage, the new Queen does not exist. Beyond them, you don’t. 

She breaks that tentative impasse only once.

The day itself is unremarkable. The King left hours ago, you’re on the chaise, trying, as per usual, to ignore Kyoutani’s overbearing presence with your drawing book when you hear the muffled conversation filtering through the door.

At first, you pay it no mind. While your maid is usually the only one permitted access, servants come and go throughout the day, the guards change rotation, every so often this Lord or that Lord will come seeking the ear of the King. None of them gain entry, and so you’ve learned to mostly tune the noise out.

But the voices get louder, distractingly so. 

You recognise Makki’s, the other’s foreign to you. Female, you can discern that much, and with each passing exchange, her soft, dulcet tone morphs into something sharp and shrill.

From the corner of your eye, you spy Mad Dog stiffening, a clenching of his jaw. Without necessarily meaning to, you abandon the quill pen, folding your half-finished sketch shut, one hand drifting to flutter nervously over your stomach. 

“– hiding his pet whore! Let me in, or so help me–”

The door thumps violently, rattling the lock and you jump with it. A snarl tears through the chamber – not from Makki or the Queen, but Kyoutani, eyes ablaze, who stalks towards you, seizes you by your arm and hauls you to your feet roughly. 

For months he’s prowled on the edge of an invisible barrier he’s erected around you. He smashes through it now without care, calloused fingers digging in through the cotton of your dress while you stumble behind him, struggling to keep up with his long, angry strides.

“In the bedroom. Now,” he growls, as though you aren’t already at the door.

You expect him to toss you inside and slam the door shut behind you, with him on the other side. He doesn’t. He drags you to the huge bed, pushing you – almost gently – back onto the mattress and stomps to stand guard by its foot without so much as a word of explanation. The door swings closed of its own accord, but not before you catch the screeching wail that cuts off with another loud thump.

The silence grows heavy after that.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’d entertained the possibility that whatever it was Oikawa was plotting with you and her, the Queen was in on it. Content enough with her crown not to care where her husband buried his cock each night or that her own bed remained cold and empty.

She, after all, would remain once your part in this was done. 

But even if she was just a simple fool, tossed into this game at the whims of the men in her life, you imagined she’d be untouchable. Protected in a way you’d never been afforded.

If the Queen – pretty idiot, scheming bitch – is not safe from the King’s violence, what hope is there for you?

Your eyes drift to the sword on Mad Dog’s hip, and you do a very good job of pretending that when your hands curl around your stomach, they aren’t shaking, that the lie doesn’t taste bitter on your tongue when you whisper, “It’s okay, little one. We’re gonna be okay.”

When the King returns shortly thereafter, he doesn’t utter a word about the incident. Dismissing Kyoutani with a flick of his wrist, he cups your cheeks in warm, tender palms, marvelling at the tears that shine there as though he isn’t perfectly aware he’s their cause.

“Give me a son,” he says lowly, a secret just for the two of you, “and I promise we’ll only have to go through this once more.”

—

You know it before the first contraction, before your water breaks, soaking the sheets beneath.

The physician’s called, your maid pulled from her rest to attend you as the King refuses to allow any more eyes into the room. For hours, you wait out your contractions, breathing through the pain while the King paces and the physician flits between examining you and whispering in his ear. 

Eventually, though, he rises from your bedside and nods at the King. 

“Makki, fetch the Queen. Iwaizumi, too,” he orders. To you, he says, “She’s had such a difficult pregnancy, can hardly get out of bed these days, the poor thing. She deserves to be here for the birth of her child, don’t you think?”

Your chin bobs in agreement, too terrified to speak.

Within minutes the door to the chambers opens again, the Lord Chancellor stepping through, followed by Makki with the Queen in tow.

Mortification stirs within your chest at the sight of the King’s right hand, and you’re quick to divert your gaze to the Queen instead. She stands behind Hanamaki, pallid and thin – certainly not pregnant – and she might have been beautiful, had her expression not been pinched in a sneer. 

A whining cunt, Oikawa had said. But no amount of imperiousness can hide the nervous way her eyes dart between you, the King, and the gathered guards. 

“Your Grace,” she utters stiffly.

She isn’t wearing a crown. No jewels or pretty dresses. Her hair’s loosely braided and she wears a shift dress not dissimilar to your own. Hardly the picture of royalty. 

What strikes you, though, is that she looks passably similar to you. 

“Kneel.”

Another contraction hits, stealing your attention. You squeeze your eyes shut and suck in a breath through clenched teeth, waiting for the rippling pain to abate. 

“Don’t look at her,” Oikawa drawls. “Kneel.”

When your eyes flutter open again, the Queen’s on her knees, the edge of Makki’s blade resting upon her shoulder. Your heart lurches.

You don’t understand what’s happening, why they’re here, but the panic rising up inside of you threatens to sweep you away and you cannot help the tears that spring to your eyes or the lump that forms in your throat. Your mother should be here. Your sisters. They’d help you through this, guide you with steady hands and keep you calm – but your mother burned with your home, and your sisters, who despise you anyway, now traitors to the Crown. 

The bed’s been turned to give you the smallest semblance of privacy, but there’s no escaping the prying eyes across the room. In a room full of voyeurs, you’ve never been more alone. More terrified. You don’t want to give birth in front of them. You don’t want your children taken from you. 

You don’t want to die like this, an animal on display.  

“Tooru–” you gasp, curling in on yourself as another contraction hits.

He’s at your side in an instant, hand in yours, the other stroking your hair. He shushes you gently as the physician peers between your legs and tells you that it’s time to push.

—

There’s no more proof needed of the divine right of kings than in the two healthy baby boys the physician presents to Oikawa. 

An heir and a spare. 

The Queen still kneels on the ground at Makki’s feet. Your maid’s fussing with sheets, Iwaizumi and Kyoutani surveying from the corner, straight backed. Alert. Waiting.

Every eye but the Queen’s is fixed on Oikawa and his sons. 

“Can… Can I hold them? Please?” 

You’ll beg if you have to. Those boys are yours. He can kill you now, throw you in the dungeons below with your sisters – he can erase you from the story entirely, but those two perfect boys belong to you, and you’ll haunt him to the grave if he robs you of the chance to kiss them goodbye. 

As though the entire room isn’t holding their breath, dangling on the edge of a knife, Oikawa returns to your side, carefully laying the two swaddled bundles in your arms, and presses a kiss to your trembling lips. “My perfect, perfect girl,” he marvels, smoothing your hair back from your sweaty forehead. “You did so well. Better than I could’ve possibly hoped.”

One of the babies yawns, squirming into the warmth of your chest, the other blinks curiously at you, his tiny brown eyes a mirror image of his father’s. They’ll need to be fed soon.

Rather than snatching them back as you fear, the King eases down onto the bed beside you, careful as to not disturb either Prince, and tucks you into his side. Unable to hold it back any longer, a sob wrenches its way free, and Oikawa sighs with such exasperated fondness that it breaks you a little more.

“Iwa, she’s crying.”

The Lord Chancellor grunts in agreement. “You seem to have that effect.”

Oikawa laughs, the tip of his finger running down his son’s nose. “Women die in childbirth every day. It’s a small miracle, my love,” his lips brush your cheek, nuzzling close, “that you were spared that, especially with twins. The Queen wasn’t so fortunate.”

At first, you think he’s referring to his own mother – it’s common knowledge that there were complications when she delivered the King’s younger brother and neither survived – until you catch a glint of steel from the corner of your eye. On instinct, you turn to follow it, and witness the exact moment the Queen’s head is cleaved from her body and tumbles to the floor.

Her body – kneeling in forced supplication, blood spurting from her still pumping heart – hangs there for a moment, as if waiting for the shock to register, for everyone to drink their fill of the grisly scene, before it too topples to the ground. 

An echo, playing out for you once more. 

Your maid screams, Kyoutani darting to wrench her back before she can flee. The physician pales. Startled by the sudden noise and the commotion in the room, two near identical wails break within moments of each other, your sons making their displeasure known, wriggling about and crying in your arms. You draw them closer, eyes wide, trembling like a leaf, to press a kiss against both their foreheads as you choke back a sob of your own. 

“And the woman?” Iwa asks. 

Oikawa, head on your shoulder, utterly absorbed in his children’s outbursts, doesn’t even bother looking up. He waves his fingers in front of their little faces and coos when they scrunch up in response. 

“We’ll need someone to clean up the blood. Take her tongue instead.”

[betterthanyalls]

Can u do a Reader x epic various where y/n is apart of Ody's crew and during the end of thunder bringer Zeus kidnaps y/n and takes them to Olympus instead of letting them either drown or get washed up onto Calypso's island?🥰🥰🤩🤩 It'd be cool if during God games or something Athena finds out what Zeus did and now instead of the games being just to free Ody from Calypso's island, it's ALSO about freeing y/n from Olympus and reuniting them with Odysseus?? Sorry if this doesn't make sense or if it's too much work lol, just write this however you want if you even wanna write it at all teehee ^^"

blinks i think i went through 37 different emotions while writing this, most of them were bad. Ok so, I'm not sure how good this is but please don't kill me😇 TW: Zeus gives reader Ganymede treatment

Part 2

Masterlist

Stolen Soldier

Various (kind of) x Reader

EPIC: The Musical ~ Oneshot ~ Angst

Words: 1.6K

Published: 11-4-2024

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Thunder roared, winds whipped, and waves rocked the lone ship back and forth. Standing on the bow of the ship was a figure of divine power and presence, waiting with a wicked grin. “Choose,” the king of the gods demanded harshly.

“Choose?” Odysseus muttered, looking at Zeus in fear. “Someone’s got to die today, and you have got the final say. You,” he pointed to Odysseus before gesturing to the rest of the crew, “or your crew.”

The captain looked to his crew, locking eyes with Y/n—his best friend, his rock, his shelter. He took a shaky breath, looking back to Zeus in desperation.

“Please don’t make me do this; don’t make me do this,” Odysseus begged. His mind seemed to be playing tricks on him. Looking back at his crew, he saw a range of emotions: anger, hurt, terror, grief, and more. Taking a daring glance at his closest friend, the soldier felt his heart shatter. Holding back tears, Y/n gave him a hesitant nod to show it was ok.

Then, a new voice tore his gaze away from his crew. Looking out over the sea and to the clouds, a figure of familiarity seemed to take place within the clouds. Illusion or not, that was his wife.

Penelope. Odysseus took staggering steps across the shaking boat and to the edge. Both of his hands latched to the wooden railing, his eyes never moving from the clouded position of his partner. Memories flooded his judgment, from his crew and Y/n, to his family waiting for him. “Captain?” A voice of uncertainty spoke up. Eurylochus. The said captain couldn’t even dare face his right-hand man as the sky darkened and Penelope faded back to the clouds.

“I have to see her," Odysseus whispered, tears brimming in his eyes as he finally looked back at his crew. The general saw all of the hurt and betrayal in his men’s expressions. The fear hurt the most to see. “But we’ll die,” Eurylochus pleaded. Odysseus knew he would regret this option until his final breath. Once he got home, how would he tell Ctimene he was the cause of her husband's death? “I know,” Odysseus’ voice broke, a few stray droplets not belonging to the storm washed down his cheeks. 

At the end of those words, the thunder roared, and Zeus grinned evilly. Zeus rose above the clouds, lightning moving to gather in his raised hand.

“Thunder, bring her through the wringer.” The crew drew their weapons in defense, charging towards Odysseus with murderous intent. Y/n stood away from the fight, not daring to lift any sort of weapon against her best friend.

“Show her I'm the judgment call. The one who makes her kingdom fall. Lightning, wield her, use and yield her.” 

As the crew closed in on their captain, the air started to become tense and electrified. Y/n took a step back from the chaos, looking up to see a phenomenon of heavenly power. “Show her what she can’t conceal; her true nature will be revealed.”

A bright light enclosed the surrounding sky, ripping down to the center of the ship. In an instant, a deafening crack sounded, and all light faded to black. Y/n felt like her soul was being ripped apart as she opened her mouth to scream her pain, but no noise came out. Then she felt a drop, only to be brought into a suffocating embrace of cold. Finally, her mind cut out. ~~~~~ Y/n felt different. She didn’t sense the shivering water anymore, but instead a subtle warmth. It took a few minutes, but eventually she managed to peek open her eyes. Y/n wasn’t on a ship in the middle of the sea with the night sky above anymore, but instead there was a grand painting on the ceiling of white marble overhead. Looking around slowly, the young woman saw an unfamiliar scene.

A lavish bedroom surrounded her, furnishings a king could only dream of sitting like average decor in each nook and cranny. Moving her hands, Y/n felt the silk sheets of a glorious bed below her. Ivory blankets fell from her body as she slowly rose up from her position. Placing her feet on the cold marble flooring, the mortal stepped through the room. It wasn’t long before she found herself in front of a floor-length mirror. 

White and gold fabric draped down on her body—a dress fit for a goddess of divine origin. Confusion clouded her eyes as she scanned her new attire. That puzzlement was quickly replaced with fear as two wooden doors opened, revealing an even more confusing sight.

A tall man wearing a white toga entered the room without a care of knocking. Striding to where Y/n stood, she instinctively took steps back from him. “My dear, why do you back away?” The smile on his face was unnerving, especially with the nickname. Y/n recognized that voice immediately, terror coursing through her veins as her lips parted to let out a gasp.

“Zeus.”

The god in question continued to walk towards her with that two-faced smile until he backed the mortal into a wall. “Mmm, you’re as smart as you are beautiful,” he took her hand, placing a kiss on her knuckles. Y/n shuddered in disgust and fear; her heart raced faster than a chariot racer's steeds. She wanted to push him away, but her body felt locked in place. Y/n tried to speak, but her lips were closed tightly like a stone wall. “Hm, dear, I think I know a dress that’d fit your body much better. Let me help.”

~~~~~

Within only the second morning of the Heavenly Palace, Y/n had the overwhelming urge to jump off. But she wouldn’t be allowed such a pleasure with the god at her side. Zeus had taken it upon himself to guide the mortal on a tour through Olympus, which only influenced her thoughts. 

Y/n kept her eyes on Zeus every second. Not out of intrigue or anything of that sort, but of apprehension. Each movement of his that was near her direction, the mortal would tense up and pause everything. Soon enough, the king of Olypmus noticed and grinned with faux comfort. “Dear, you seem tense. Allow me to ease you.” ~~~~~ Day after day. Weeks after week. Zeus never let Y/n leave his side, threatening any god or goddess who even dared to give her a sympathetic glance. The woman was a shell of who she once was. Her eyes sunk and her soul depleted; she felt her life draining by the day. Not in mortality-wise, no Zeus would never let her perish. But in consideration of her spirit.

Each night she would cry until no more salt would leave, leaving only choking sobs. Each night she was infiltrated by the king of Olympus. Y/n would stare at herself in the mirror, vomit building in her throat as her eyes trailed down to every mark on her body. No spot was untouched. No matter how hard she tried, Y/n could never wash off the sin. The mortal would scrub her skin until she was raw and bleeding, but the phantom touches remained.

Each night she missed her home and friends more and more. Where was Odysseus now? Did he forget all about her when he returned to Ithaca? What about Penelope? Would she miss her best friend? 

Seven years. Seven years of misery, force, and agony. Seven years of physical and mental torture she endured to no fault.

But soon, like all stories, her savior arrived. ~~~~~

Athena stood in front of her father, spear and shield in hand, while staring into the king’s eyes murderously.

“I’ve played your game and won. Release them,” the goddess of wisdom demanded, shifting her gaze to where Y/n stood anxiously beside Zeus’ throne. The mortal had gone through so much, and Athena was determined to save her. 

Zeus glowered down at his daughter, rage covering his expression. “You dare to defy me? To make me feel shame?” He growled, his fists clenching so tight that his knuckles turned a bright alabaster. “No one beats me; no one wins my game!”

The lightning god stood up threateningly, his hands glowing a static yellow. “Thunder, bring her through the wringer!” The air was caught in Y/n’s throat at the familiar words, her eyes wide in horror. Zeus rose up, the electricity in his hands growing as the woman noticed the alarmed looks on the other god’s expressions. “Show her I’m the judgment call, the one who makes her kingdom FALL!” With a vociferous burst, he threw the lightning at his daughter, forcing her back onto the floor. Once the light faded, everyone looked to see the warrior lying face down, her body still as ice. “Is she dead?” the voice of her brother Ares asked hesitantly. Y/n thought back to every moment her and Odysseus had been with Athena. They were an unstoppable force together. Now though, Y/n only wanted to rush to the goddess side.  Before anyone could do anything, Athena struggled to her feet, holding her aegis in defense while pointing the spear tip to her father.

Zeus’ look of utter shock soon turned to rage at her defiance. In response, he sent a barrage of bolts towards his favorite child. Against this attack, the war patroness held her shield strong and pushed against the force, making her way to her father.

Finally, at the feet of the king, she grabbed his arm and fell to her knees.

“Let them go, please. Let them go.” Her plea was finished as the goddess collapsed, her breath slowing to a stop.

[obitos-whore]

Naruto men with a chubby s/o

Tw: mention of stretch marks and weight loss, but overall it's mostly just fluff

(Includes: Kakashi, Obito, Gaara, Kankuro, Shisui, Itachi, Sasuke, Madara and Naruto)

────────────────────────────────────

Kakashi

Loves absolutely everything about you and doesn't shy away from showing you off to everyone

Touch starved bby loves to snuggle with you and use your stomach as his personal pillow. It's his favourite part of your body, aside from your face and hands

Would never judge or scrutinize you if you choose to eat something unhealthy as a little treat

Even though Kakashi is known for his level-headedness and overall chill demeanor, he has a zero tolerance policy when it comes to snide remarks aimed at you and will brutally destroy everyone who said the wrong thing with his words alone

Obito

This man is on his hands and knees appreciating you and your perfect body

Can't keep his hands to himself and finds it adorable when you chide him for getting handsy. (He just can't help it, okay?? You're just so soft and squishy and warm. The perfect snuggle buddy for the certified cuddle bug)

If you have stretch marks, rest assured that Obito will find them just as beautiful as the rest of you and trace and even kiss them oh so tenderly

Wouldn't hesitate to deck everyone square in the face who dares to say something even remotely insulting to you

Gaara

Thinks you're the definition of perfection and divinity

Loves resting his head on your thighs and will fiercely shower you with love and words full of adoration should you ever feel insecure about them (or any part of your body for that matter)

Would never tease you about your weight, let alone even think about it (#1 supportive king with the purest of hearts)

Should you ever find yourself struggling with finding fitting clothing, Gaara will ensure you're always dressed nicely/comfy by hiring someone to make clothes tailored to your preferences

Kankuro

Completely and utterly adores and loves you to the moon and back. And no amount of prejudice can or will change that. Quite the contrary actually. The more people try to tell him to break up with you and "choose wiser" next time, the more stubborn and protective he gets

He's cool with people making jokes about themselves, including you and himself as well. But he will intervene immediately if he feels that you are overdoing it and actively destroying your self-confidence

Shamelessly grabs and smacks your ass every chance he gets. He just loves watching it jiggle or giving it a firm, but not bruising, squeeze. His motto is: "If I can't grab it, I'll slap it"

He's your biggest hype-man and will stop at absolutely nothing to make you feel good about yourself and boost your confidence

Shisui

Shisui is not afraid of showing his complete adoration for you and worshipping you like those ancient deities. That's how high his standards are for himself

That man would literally die to have you lay on top of him and smother him with your love while touching you everywhere. And by that, I really mean everywhere

Loves to fluster you by calling you things like "Gorgeous" and "Sexy" and winking playfully at you (It's his way of boosting your confidence)

He's more than happy with your body and how things are. But should you utter the wish to lose some weight, he will be right there to support and encourage you on your journey

Itachi

When he looks at you, all he sees is a smart, attractive and overall just lovely person who deserves the world and nothing less

Will listen patiently to you whenever you're feeling insecure about yourself and offer advice and words of encouragement once you're done venting

On particularly bad days, like when you're talking about yourself in a self-deprecating way, Itachi will gently interrupt you and start listing all the things he loves about you. It hurts him seeing you being so harsh on yourself and counters it by being gentle in response

Doesn't give a flying fuck about what society considers "normal" or "desirable". You are the apple of his eye, his beloved. And he's pretty damn happy with you as his partner

Sasuke

Despite the general assumption that Sasuke is more the superficial type of guy, he actually doesn't care what body type you have. He loves you for who you are. Looks are secondary in his eyes

He won't judge you if you have a sweet tooth or like hearty meals, but he still makes sure you maintain a healthy and balanced diet, for example by cooking with you

If someone's mean to you, I guarantee you that be will not let that slide and make it his mission to teach whoever made you feel bad about yourself a very unpleasant lesson

When you're cuddling, Sasuke will gently trace the crevices in your skin, making sure you can feel his love for you in every single one of his touches

Madara

This man adores every pound on your body and does not tolerate any self-deprecating comments, joking or not

If you're feeling insecure about yourself, he will acknowledge your feelings and remind you that he wouldn't be with you if you weren't attractive, both inside and out

Can effortlessly pick you up and carry you around and will do so to prove his point (his point being that you're effing perfect and should give zero fucks about what others think of you)

If he catches someone saying something negative about your weight/appearance or even looking at you the wrong way, he will glare at them with his sharingan activated and put them in a Genjutsu where he makes them go through their deepest fears and relive their most gruesome memories

Naruto

Another supportive king who would go absolutely feral if someone offended you and would happily get into a fistfight with them to defend your honour

Absolute sweetheart who loves every curve of yours and thinks you're the most beautiful person on earth. He's not necessarily good with words, but he wears his heart on his sleeve and will make you feel loved and desired in his very own, unique way

Dead ass Talk-no-jutsu's you if you ever doubt yourself and/or struggle to see your own worth and beauty. You eventually have to shut him up with a kiss because otherwise he would spend the next two hours gushing about you to you

Clings to you like a baby monkey every chance he gets, because he just loves loves loves how huggable and soft you are and how much comfort you bring him

[gremlingottoosilly]

The Horror and the Wild [Emperor!Konig x fem!Reader]

It's time for the wedding - and the wedding night. Emperor is going to make sure you will bear his offsprings by the end of the night. Tags and TW: Dub-con, aphrodisiacs, power imbalance, breeding kink, size difference, loss of virginity, age difference(Konig in his forties, Reader in her twenties), medieval/fantasy AU, Konig is a pervert AND an evil dictator AO3

You weren’t saved from the humiliation of a public wedding. 

You weren’t saved the torture of picking the flowers as you were choosing the attire to your own funeral – and you weren’t saved your innocence by allowing yourself to ignore all the handmaidens and their horrible, disgusting picture books about penetration, pools of blood and hell that is saved between the legs of a man. 

“My condolences, dear princess. For your parents. And congratulations on your wedding. Our deepest hopes go to your coronation, Empress.” “From the king of South, we send our sheerest condolences. And congratulations on the wedding.” “May your parents rest in peace. And glory to the Emperor.” “Grief surely suits you, Dear Empress. As well as the crown.”

You think you might puke right in your royal garments, looking at all of the royal visitors. 

King Price of Southern Kingdom, with all of his knights – you do not know if you can find solace in the girl clinging to the hand of his masked knight, the stench of death filling you with calmness that you don’t know how to deal with. The girl is terrified, just like you – if you may, you’re probably the same age, that years of servitude grazing in the hands that are covered by the sheerest amounts of gloves. 

The lady – you don’t know her name, and you doubt that any woman in this hall is even allowed to have one other than her husband’s – is looking at you with understanding. You think you might actually die. 

— Lady Ryley? 

She smiles, and before you can go to her – hold her hands, ask her to disappear with you, maybe run away somewhere, you don’t even know where – the masked knight already drags her away, a firm hand on her shoulder. You’re alone, the weight of the royal robe is pinning you to the floor. 

You are dressed in black as the only form of rebellion – guests must assume you’re still mourning your parents, the grief in their eyes is mixed with congratulations on the Empire finally getting prospects of offspring – you hope you’d tore your womb from your body before König could lay his hands on you. Guests may assume that the wedding is a tab bit strange, maybe somewhat unusual for the emperor to marry someone of your status – tiny kingdom, no worthwhile resources, and almost zero prospects for trade. Maybe, you were the only treasure this kingdom ever had to sell so eagerly. 

König holds your hands because you know that you would try to run the second he is letting you go. You know he knows this, too. Guests may assume that he is being protective of his young wife – assassins aren’t unheard of in these places, after all, you were the empress now. The much smarter guests knew what kind of looks you gave him – perhaps, you had the best options at killing the notorious emperor right after he robbed you of the last remains of your dignity. 

You smile and wave like a damned pampered pigeon, pretty and useless, all dressed up in bows and black pearls, dark stones illuminating the depths of your despair – only the monster you had for a husband would even consider ordering a mourning dress this beautiful. You’re almost ashamed of wanting to paint it red – you almost feel bad while holding the butter knife and thinking about plunging it into your chest, ripping away all the delicate laces and ornaments that cut through your skin each time you breathe a bit too freely. 

— You look divine in this dress, meine Liebe. 

He smiles, you know he is – he didn’t forget about his damn hood even on his own wedding, but he holds you dearly, but he smiles with his eyes, an eerie sense of happiness that makes every guest shake in their seats. The Ruler of the Empire doesn’t smile. Not at his wife, who looks like she would rather kill herself, for sure – but he smiles as you say your wows, knowing full well you are not going to fulfill them, but he laughs when the priest stutters once you refused to say you do the first time – König has to squeeze your hands, reminding you of your place. Even your stubbornness has a limit, apparently. 

His lips are dry and chastity. 

König knows he can’t kiss you like he wants to – too many guests, too many pricks, thinking they have a look on his wife. If it weren’t for the admirers and desperate rulers of foreign lands, trying to force their songs and daughters to marry him out of a pathetic attempt at saving their countries, he wouldn’t even think about a public wedding. If it weren’t for the annoyance of constantly swatting the offers away, he would never allow the world to see you. Not how beautiful you look, not how pretty your eyes are, glistening with tears, not how much he just wanted to smother you with affection like there isn’t anyone around. 

Hells, if he knew so many people would accept the short notice for an invitation, he would invade their kingdoms while they were away at his wedding. 

König holds your face in his hands, the contrast between soft skin and his gloves is making you shiver – he pushes his hood up, even just for a little bit, and the only thing that is ever revealed to the audience is the scars on his chin and sudden dryness of his lips. He thought he overcame his childish anxiety when he was still a tiny bird stuck in his adolescence – but he looks at you, his pretty little princess, and his hands are shaking from the anticipation of a kiss. 

The guests will assume you’re crying because you love him so, so much. 

The Emperor knows better, kissing the tears from your lips like it was the sweetest treat around. 

*** You thought you were smart.

You really did. 

Such a slick motion, such an easy task – the girl coming with Knight Riley, the weak one, with trembling hands and face that spoke of innocence of lambs and with calloused hands of a fellow worker, took your hand as you were leaving. The veil of laughs and jokes about finally conceiving a worthy heir for the empire made you shiver from horror – and the girl swatted you to her side, a single sleight of hand putting…something in your palms. 

Some sort of plant – dried, smelling of something sweet and edible, flowers that would feel crispy on your tongue. She smiles softly, her hands are gentle on yours – she whispers in your ear before your respective monsters can catch you and throw you in their layers again. 

She said, it was mercy. 

She said, it would make -it- feel quick and easy. 

You hoped, it was a poison. 

It had to be, you wouldn’t accept anything else – the desire to die and fulfill the destiny of a loyal servant, the whispers of the god of dignified death – you may not see the sweetness of the afterlife with your Princess, but killing oneself to save their bodies from being violated is a worthy fate for any. You pushed the plant in your mouth as swiftly as possible, chewing on the dried grass and crispy flowers, hoping the effect would be immediate. 

You’re bathed and oiled like a pig for devour, short for the apple stuffed in your mouth – instead, you have forced a mouthful of wine, goblets after goblets. To ease the tension of the first night, the servants said, smiling understandably. You feel warm, you feel dizzy, you feel hellishly feverish, and it couldn’t be just from the alcohol – you close your eyes and hope that the plant took its way finally, releasing you from the shell of the mortal life. You’re dressed up in pretty garments, skimpy as something that the empress should never wear – you feel like a cheap whore when your skin is glossy with oils and decorated with flowers. 

Just before you started chewing on them too, your husband finally arrived. 

You hoped you’d be dead before ever seeing him naked again – but you’re forced to watch his muscles tense as the only thing saving his lack of dignity is the smallest ever piece of undergarments. It doesn’t help in hiding his arousal, the monstrosity between his legs. You knew you would have to die before he is ever putting anything in you – but you see the outline of his manhood, poking from the side of a simple cloth, and somehow, you feel hotter than before. 

You blame it on the wine, you blame it on the poison you took. The warmness is spreading in your tummy to your lower areas, forcing its way to moisture your garments, a wet spot, embarrassingly big for an Empress, is slowly spreading between your oiled, scented legs. You’re nothing but a feast for him, a pretty little snack – you knew how much he liked to eat, after all. What great talent he had in forcing your legs apart and showing his head between them, that sinful tongue of his speaking of prayers and soft little blasphemies in the sweetness of your maidenhood. 

— You’re burning, little princess. 

You hoped it’s the poison working. 

For a second, he placed his hand on your forehead and caressed it softly, accessing your temperature. For a second, the cold of his hands made you nuzzle into his palm like a cat that was fed nothing but the finest pieces of meat by the hand that was ready to skin it for its skin. For a second, you hoped that his embrace alone would be enough to kill you. 

If you die, which you must do, you wish it would be with his hands holding you softly. 

— A virgin fewer? I thought you’d know what we’re going to do by now, little prin…

— Don’t stop be from dying. 

You let go of those words before you could claim your silence. 

König’s hands are grasping you immediately, a finger lays in your mouth, making you gag – you open your lips from instinct, no matter how much you want to stop him from ever entering your mouth. He is weirdly smooth with you, the other hand going to grab your waist and press you on the bed – like you ever had a chance to stand against him and run away. Like he didn’t have a row of guards just outside the door. 

— Dying? Scheisse, dumme What did you do? 

He quickly grasped your tongue, the traces of the flower still lingered on your teeth, on the further corners of your mouth – you didn’t know if you had to spit it out or eat it whole, and you didn’t want to guess in the matters of death and loss of dignity. You gag on his fingers as he laughs – an unusual sound. First, the smiles and happiness in his voice, the rings and chains he put you in, and now laugh? Perhaps you died already, and this is your eternal damnation. 

— Let go of me! You have no…

— Were you still so scared, Liebling? 

— I wasn’t…what do you mean, Your Highness? 

The title is good, the title puts some distance between you and him. Only imaginary – he is still as close as possible, hands on your body, wiping the traces of the flowers on the silk sheets and holding you in his embrace again, as tight as he possibly can. You feel ill, you feel hot, every time he puts his hands on you, you can feel your core throbbing, the poison making you dizzy and dumb. 

You almost feel like begging him to touch you again – and again, and again. König, for one, can’t wait to watch. 

— I wonder where you got it. Such a clever Katzen, ja? Eating aphrodisiacs before her wedding night, like I would just mount you like an animal without preparing my wife? 

He laughs and laughs, hand in your hair, petting you gently like you truly were a cat. You’re dumbfounded, the fewer makes everything make less and less sense. You close your eyes, you open your eyes – you feel him on you. Looking, watching, observing, you want him to stop, and you want him to rip away those stupid garments and touch you, as he did in that dim hallway, to push his masterful, sinful tongue down your folds and treat you like a…

You whimper as you fell on the sheets, truly embracing the cat in-heat stance you were for the last few minutes. You roll on the sheets, smooth silk makes your core cool just a bit, the pressure only building with each time you try to hump the sheets, not caring anymore if you were behaving like an animal. 

Perhaps, the Knight’s maiden really wanted to make everything easier for you – just in her own way. 

— Wh…what have you done to me? 

He is bracing his hands between your legs, lingering touches on the wetness of your garments, making you both shiver in anticipation. He is forcing his tongue on you, the immediate pressure making you meow from the sensation. You hate it, you hate it, you have to hate it because if you don’t, then what the hell are you even doing. It’s too much and too little, it does nothing to relief the warmth between your legs, only making you wetter with each stroke of his wide, warm tongue. — I haven’t done anything, little princess. You just want me. 

— I would never want you. 

— I can stop. 

You snap your legs around his neck before he can withdraw his face. 

König is laughing, the sheer adorableness of your expression making him want you even more. You look perfect, so lost in desire for him – gods, he just wanted to devour you, to strip you of all you worth and make you his just as much as he is yours. But simply pleasing you with his tongue won’t ever be enough for this night – he had waited for so long, too long, disgustingly long, he had to have you in every way possible. If he won’t consummate the marriage today, he might as well just die. 

Other night, he will make you beg – plead for him to give you his cock, push the throbbing member in your trembling folds, snap the pleasure from your hands and force you to accept being his wife. The other night, he could wait and tease you for as long as possible. The other night…

He doesn’t have the patience for this night – he can’t even kiss you now, the mere feeling of your trembling lips would snap him beyond repair. It’s unfair to you, little princess, his desire is too much for someone like you to take – alas, he has to have you. Alas, he will have you, one way or the other, even if he’d have to push your pretty head into the pillows and force his manhood between your folds. 

But you plead for him, the desire in your eyes, mixed with fear and anticipation, is enough for him to laugh again, his hand squeezing your chest. You look divine, absolutely – you would look even better when properly bred, tits full of milk, and belly swollen with his little soldiers. Emperor never thought of getting an offspring, always knew his fate was to fall into obscurity with the country he created, but you have wide hips, a soft belly, and warm hands – all the requirements of a mother. But you have the submissiveness of a pet and the wit of a wife. 

But he can’t wait to push his seed into you – with a groan, before you could even lay your eyes on his cock, he is already forcing it in, ravaging all the resistance you once had. 

The plant made you warm, aroused, and wet enough to be dripping when he first pushed his cockhead between your glistening folds. You cry, the feeling of being intruded, ravaged, bot entirely painful, but now very pleasant either, is nothing you were expecting of the first night with your husband. You were expecting screaming, pools of blood, half of your organs falling out from the newly made hole between your legs. 

You just feel…intruded. The knot in your stomach is as tight as ever, even as König gives you a few minutes to adjust, the outline of his manhood throbbing in your tummy. You don’t even want to look at him, and he allows you to drift into a trance, the aphrodisiac you took doing all the job of preparation for him. 

He is feeling you, raw and sensitive, your maidenhood is dripping down your thighs and his cock as he wasn’t exactly gentle – he will be the next night, and the night after, and after, he will promise to take care of you, little princess, but this night is about taking what belongs to him – and he will never allow you to keep your dignity when you can simply be his dumb, adorable wife. 

— You’re so…heavens, princess, you’re strangling me. 

He laughs, struggling to push in and out, his hand finding its place on your folds, playing and tugging with your swollen little clit. The bud is wet, no matter the pain you’re experiencing – the drug won’t allow you to stop wanting it, wanting him, König knows it’s not genuine, he has to work to make you this aroused, but for now, it will work. He doesn’t want you to feel pain – and he will make sure you’re able to take him. 

— Too much, it’s…stop, wait, I am…

— You can take it, Schatzi. 

— I can’t! — You will. 

You whimper under him, you cry under him, he only continues to move, tearing your loyalty to your kingdom with each harsh thrust. You came to this room wanting to die, but now you feel your hands wrapping around his neck, your hips buckling to meet his, to bring the overcoming pleasure like König isn’t the one to tear you apart – you feel raw, you feel tainted, the pleasure in your folds is nothing what you ever had before. 

You’re betraying yourself with each moan and each whimper – you find yourself begging for him, the tears of yours is not just from pain anymore. He kisses you, rough lips on your mouth, making sure you’re as prepared for him as he is, you want for him to stop, but you plead with him to continue. 

— Stop already…I…

— I only came twice, little princess. And you – trice. Doesn’t feel fair, ja? — ‘s not, I can’t take it anymore…

— I will breed you, Schatzen. Until you’re swollen with my sons. — It w…won’t be royal children…

— Ach, my blood is enough to make a dog royal. — But…

— I will breed you, little princess. You can stop pretending you don’t want it.

You’re not even sure at what orgasm you are already – you feel like he came already, the wetness in your cunt should be evident of his already breeding you quite a few times, but the time is a blur when every time you cum, your vision blurs and your brain becomes foggier and foggier. 

König knows you will look perfect, all thoughtless and swollen with his children – not now, maybe, with a few elixirs to enhance your ability to bear children, but he can’t wait till you’re done. You might not like it at first, princesses do tend to be just a bit dumb when it comes to their duties, but there is something in your eyes that is telling him you’re going to bring him sons just like a good girl you are. Just like he expects you to do, your pretty tummy all swollen, and your body is barely handling the passion of his lovemaking. Gods, he knew you would be worth it. Even if, to his knowledge, you’re not a princess at all.

[cosmiccardistry]

Advice You Need To Hear Right Now

(Minors DNI + DNF!) Hello everyone, it's Cosmic or Card! Today, I'm doing a relatively simple, but needed tarot reading - one that pertains to, 'Advice You Need To Hear Right Now'! There are three colors to choose from: 'Pile One' will be blue, 'Pile Two' will be green, and 'Pile Three' will be red. When choosing a pile, look at the colors. Truly take them in. After that, shut your eyes. Breathe in and out until you feel calm - almost empty. Once you are relaxed, allow the color corresponding to the pile you're meant to engage with to appear within your mind. DISCLAIMER: I am a novice tarot reader. So, I do not intend for people to take my reads one hundred percent seriously! Also, this is a collective tarot reading. I am not reading your specific energy alone. As a result, it is unlikely that everything in your chosen pile will apply to you. Be discerning and use your own intuition! ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

PILE ONE

Shufflemancy/Channeled Song(s) : I'll Try Anything Once - The Strokes, The Less I Know The Better - Tame Impala, Borderline - Tame Impala, Jingle Bell Rock - Bobby Helms, Canned Heat - Jamiroquai Words/Sentences/Phrases/Numbers That Came To Mind : "I fucking love Tame Impala, man - did you know that it's just one guy?", 555, banana, minions, bwah, rabbids First Four Cards From Deck #1 : Seven of Cups (Rx), King of Pentacles, Ace of Cups, Ten of Wands (Rx) First Four Clarifying Cards From Deck #2 : The Fool (Rx) (Clar. 7oC - Rx), The Sun (Clar. KoP), The Hermit (Rx) (Clar. 1oC), Nine of Wands (Clar. 10ofW - Rx) You really believe in something. You are deeply committed to whatever this "something" is. It could be a relationship, career, goal, idea, or something else entirely - however, what it is matters little. This commitment you are making is not as positive as you seem to believe it is. It is a negative situation pretending to be otherwise. The foundation you are currently focusing on - regarding this "something" you deeply believe in, despite all the red flags - is simply waiting to crumble. It's waiting to crumble because it's not meant for you. A good commitment, worthy of belief, does not make you feel extremely exhausted, or sap you of the passionate energy you wish to pour into something or someone. In fact, it is meant to do the opposite of all those things, Pile One. You have many options and opportunities, whether you see them or not. You could be putting your time and energy into many other and healthier things, but you don't... why? I think you understand, deep down, in all your wisdom, that you should commit yourself to things that make you truly happy - energies and opportunities that heal your heart, rather than break it further, but... you continue to ignore your inner wisdom. You ignore your inner wisdom in favor of continuing karmic cycle after karmic cycle with... whatever this commitment is. You might even become annoyed when the Divine tries to give you other, more emotionally fulfilling, opportunities in favor of pretending to be happy. The thing is, though, you could actually be happy! You would just have to do the work (which is easier said than done, I know - but still)! And there is an outright refusal to do the work, here - to heal the wounds that keep you in these karmic cycles. Your advice is to drop the swords - the defensiveness - against the help your spiritual team is trying to give you, Pile One. Not only that but drop the commitments that continuously hurt you in favor of... taking a leap toward happiness instead. Genuine happiness, I mean - not the kind of faux happiness you've convinced yourself you have, but the actual stuff! Head toward the future and away from the past, focus on healing yourself with the assistance of those around you (physical and/or spiritual), and you will achieve honest-to-God contentment. Thank you for reading, Pile One! And take care of yourself! :-) ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

PILE TWO (TW)

Shufflemancy/Channeled Song(s) : Kiss Me, Son of God - They Might Be Giants, Rose Blood - Mazzy Star, Fade Into You - Mazzy Star, Video Games - Lana Del Rey Words/Sentences/Phrases/Numbers That Came To Mind : Election, death, pass away, "play stupid games, win stupid prizes", president, precedent First Four Cards From Deck #1 : Two of Swords (Rx), Eight of Wands (Rx), Page of Wands (Rx), Queen of Wands (Rx) First Four Clarifying Cards From Deck #2 : Page of Pentacles (Clar. 2oS - Rx), Eight of Swords (Rx) (Clar. 8oW - Rx), Ten of Cups (Clar. PoW - Rx), The Moon (Clar. QoW - Rx) Pile Two, I am going to be as kind to you as possible. Namely, because it seems like you need that kindness right now. You've been going through a rough time lately... haven't you? I immediately started feeling sad when I began reading for you. I'm here to tell you that it's okay. Everything is going to be alright, no matter what happens next. You'll get through this. There is always an upside to every negative situation we face, even if that upside is hard to see in the heat of the moment. You might not know what to do with yourself. You might feel like you have no sense of direction, at the moment. You had all these plans and ideas, but... now - all of a sudden - they don't seem to matter. That being said, though, they do still matter. Your wants, hopes, and dreams will always be worth considering and fighting for - even if the world around you suggests otherwise. You are not meant to forgo your passions - not in this lifetime, not ever. Things might be moving slowly, but they are still moving nonetheless. You aren't trapped. Everything is not falling apart. You are not unmendable - and your life is not, either. The sadness and anxiety you feel are clouding your judgment right now. You have more opportunities for happiness than you, currently, think you do. For instance, you have many people who love you. They love you, whether they are around you physically or not. Don't push everyone away in favor of being alone. Embrace your loved ones - family, friend(s), romantic partner(s), pet(s), spiritual guides, ancestors - they want to be here for you in this trying, emotional time. Please, allow them to be. Get tarot cards for yourself, if you don't have them already - lean further into spirituality. Lean on the shoulders of the bright, unseen spiritual beings who love, guide, and protect you. On the other side of all this anguish, there is sunlight. There is justice and peace. There is victory and stability. Life is a constant cycle - you suffer the lows, so you can experience the highs again. I only ask that you prepare to see those highs, Pile Two. If we are not open to seeing the blessings as blessings, they pass us by without notice - prolonging our suffering. Consider noticing the small things—the little positives that make life worth living. It may be difficult to do, especially if you're dealing with mental illness, but it does make a difference. Not only that, but it becomes easier with time. You could also try twisting consistent, reoccurring, negative thoughts you have into positive ones! I know this seems like such a cop-out, but it does work! You will have negative thoughts no matter what; we all have them. Don't make it your job to force positivity onto every "bad thought" you have. I'm only suggesting that, if you notice a particular, negative thought process returning repeatedly, turn it on its head. It works and, again, it is something that gets easier to do with time. As a final bit of advice for you, Pile Two, get involved in something that will give its energy back to you. This could be a hobby. Anything. Involve yourself in something that brings you some semblance of happiness, is healthy, and lets you put your worries on the backburner for a while. Therapy could definitely be of use, too - if available to you! Oh, oh, and here are two lists of crisis prevention hotlines - if you need them: (x) (x) Aside from all that, I hope you feel better, Pile Two, and that you have a good one! :-) Thank you for reading!

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

PILE THREE

Shufflemancy/Channeled Song(s) : What Makes You Beautiful - One Direction, Just Dance - Lady Gaga, Spectronizer - Sentai Express, Sticky - Tyler, The Creator, Balloon - Tyler, The Creator Words/Sentences/Phrases/Numbers That Came To Mind : "I'm/You're insecure", Just Dance (the video game series), childhood, remember, internet, Justice (the clothing store), brick wall, things, thingies, trombone, trumpet, band, violin, orchestra, balloons, Animal Crossing First Four Cards From Deck #1 : King of Pentacles, Ace of Cups (Rx), Six of Cups, Nine of Cups (Rx) First Four Clarifying Cards From Deck #2 : Queen of Pentacles (Rx) (Clar. KoP), Justice (Clar. AoC - Rx), Ace of Wands (Clar. 6oC), Knight of Cups (Rx) (Clar. 9oC - Rx) You may have been feeling incredibly stuck recently. Particularly when regarding your career, finances, and goals. Either that or you believe that gaining more stability - financial or otherwise - will keep you from becoming stuck. If your heart isn't involved in the process, though, that is unlikely to be true. I say this all the time, but follow what you are passionate about and stability will come after the fact. The last time you followed your heart, however, may be cemented in your mind as a negative experience. Whatever happened has caused you to internalize an immense amount of heartbreak. It could have been anything - a bad relationship, a terrible job, an abusive home life - it doesn't matter. You were taught not to follow your heart and intuition as a result of what happened regardless. You need to break free from the trauma and suffering you have dealt with in the past, Pile Three. It's holding you back and keeping you from the stability you long for. This, also, could have even been a wounding that occurred in childhood because I keep occasionally thinking of different things that remind me of my own childhood. Me thinking of my own childhood makes me also believe, that - maybe - you finding ways to connect to your inner child could be helpful, here. You may believe that avoiding others and their assistance is best for you, but it really isn't - not when it comes to healing, anyway. In fact, by avoiding others, being judgmental, and pushing kind people who only want to help away, you are screwing yourself over. You are clearly not content with the past, so - again - release it! Easier said than done, definitely, but it can be done, Pile Three. By releasing and moving forward toward the future with an open mind, things will become so much easier and you'll actually get what you want. Stuff will actually start moving in the present when you release opportunities and ideas from the past that weren't meant for you. You have a future to enjoy, and you have a current moment to thrive in - don't let the past take anything more from you. You have everything you need, currently, to lead a fulfilling life - even if it may not seem so. You simply need to inspect things differently, with a fresh set of eyes, and you will see that fact. It is difficult to flip your perspective so abruptly, so be kind to yourself while you're working through any negative thought processes you may have, or past traumas that still haunt you. Resilience and strength will be instrumental, at this time - if you do choose to put the work into healing what still pains you and holds you back. However, I do believe you have what it takes to heal, Pile Three! I genuinely do! I wish you the best of luck on your journey, and I thank you for reading! :-)

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

[sweet-caress-of-twilight]

Disney Animated Canon Dashboard Simulator

🦁 a-mighty-king Follow

How do I look?

🦌 a-life-in-the-woods Follow

mid

🦁 a-mighty-king Follow

That's why your mom is dead

🦌 a-life-in-the-woods Follow

ik you're not talking when your uncle killed your dad 💀be so fr rn

🦁 a-mighty-king Follow

moots you have 24 hours to unfollow a-l*fe-in-t*e-w**ds

🧞‍♂️ phenomenal-cosmic-power Follow

geez, wanna buy some vowels?

🦁 a-mighty-king Follow

how dare you say we piss on the poor

#classism tw

🧞‍♂️ phenomenal-cosmic-power Follow

I'm not classist, my best pal is a street rat

🐭 rescue-aid-society-official Follow

Actually, we prefer the term "mouse" - Bernard

🧞‍♂️ phenomenal-cosmic-power Follow

I don't believe it, another "piss on the poor" moment? I'm not even talking about you dawg 💀

⚡️ b01t Follow

...

🥖 one-jump-ahead Follow

actually I wouldn't mind being pissed on

🌺 jasmine-like-the-flower Follow

AYO?

📖 milo-thatch Follow

#aladdin horny heritage posts

💛 more-than-this-provincial-life Follow

h

💪 roughly-the-size-of-a-barge Follow

I SHOWED YOU MY COCK IN DMS PLEASE RESPOND

💪 roughly-the-size-of-a-barge Follow

I CAN'T BELIEVE I'VE BEEN BLOCKED BY BELLE ANYWAYS DNI IF YOU STAN THE BEAST

🕯 b3-0ur-gu3st Follow

#THE BEAST SWEEP

💪 roughly-the-size-of-a-barge Follow

shut your goofy ass up before I melt you

😜 yaa-hoo-hoo-hooey Follow

Gawrsh, did someone mention me?

🐤 d0n4ld-duck Follow

hes not talking about you you big palooka

😜 yaa-hoo-hoo-hooey Follow

Actually, you're supposed to put an apostrophe in the word "he's"

🐤 d0n4ld-duck Follow

GAHHHHHHH WHAT'S THE BIG IDEA?

💚 theboywhowouldntgrowup Follow

adults are so annoying like go pay your taxes grandpa 🙄

🏴‍☠️ theworldsmostfamouscrook Follow

You are a minor who knows nothing about the world. You are the ugly one here. I can make YOU shut up but I suggest you one thing. You don't want to deal with a devil like me.

🐊 tiktokcrok Follow

Hi

🏴‍☠️ theworldsmostfamouscrook Follow

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

🏴‍☠️ theworldsmostfamouscrook Follow

moots please tw crocodiles

💎 m4d4m-m3dus4 Follow

BOO

🏴‍☠️ theworldsmostfamouscrook Follow

THIS IS THE LAST STRAW MEDUSA!!!!!11 I'M BREAKING THE MUTUAL!!1111!!

🐚 p00r-unf0rtun4t3-s0u1s Follow

And this, my darlings, is why we don't put our triggers out in public

💜 m3g4r4 Follow

Hercules save me

💜 m3g4r4 Follow

Hercules

💜 m3g4r4 Follow

save me Hercules

💪 zer02hero Follow

Never fear, I'm on my way!

💪 roughly-the-size-of-a-barge Follow

Nice pfp bro

💪 zer02hero Follow

254.421.81.132

🛐 a-righteous-man Follow

uhm,,,,this entire dashboard is rife with sin and degeneracy. Do you all have no shame?

🐐 esme-and-djali Follow

fiwruehfiuerhgiuerhughgeuyrhg

🐐 esme-and-djali Follow

Sorry that was Djali typing anyway OP literally tried to burn me at the stake for being Romani????

🛐 a-righteous-man Follow

And I would do it again to cleanse the world of your wickedness! You flaunt your heresy and expect us to applaud?

🐐 esme-and-djali Follow

how about you keep that energy when you look in the mirror? cause last i checked, your obsession with me wasn’t exactly “holy”

🛐 a-righteous-man Follow

You dare speak to me of obsession? I shall have you blocked and reported from this webbed site!

🐐 esme-and-djali Follow

lol ok

🛐 a-righteous-man Follow

DO NOT SPEAK TO ME THAT WAY! YOU SHALL ANSWER TO DIVINE JUDGMENT!

🐐 esme-and-djali Follow

frollo got termed lmao sucks to suck

🔥 officialhades Follow

that sucks, i was gonna invite him to my place for a BBQ

🔮 th3-gre4t-and-powerful Follow Why do I always wake up to the chaos of this dashboard? I need coffee and Kuzco's head on a platter.

🦙 realemperorkuzco Follow

tf is u doing ur really killing my groove here :(

🔮 th3-gre4t-and-powerful Follow

Get off of my dash.

🦙 realemperorkuzco Follow

u havent blocked me tho

🎢 pull-teh-lever Follow Uh, Yzma, are we still making spinach puffs for dinner? Asking for a friend.

🩶 bear-nessities Follow

Hi guys, this is my first post here! Good vibes only!

📖 milo-thatch Follow

Unfortunately, there appears to be a spelling error in your username. It is supposed to be "necessities."

🩶 bear-nessities Follow

🤓🤓🤓🤓

🏄🏾‍♀️ 0hana-means-family Follow

Guys, I have a theory: I think Baloo and Little John are the same person. I mean, have we ever seen them online at the same time?

🦊 stealfr0mtehrich Follow

You know, Little John did get termed recently....

🦊 g00dby3-may-seem-4ever Follow

Nice pfp

🦊 stealfr0mtehrich Follow

Thanks, I stole it from you

#oodelally

😴 br1arr0se Follow

🦁 a-mighty-king Follow

Um this is extremely offensive to people who have been put under sleeping spells??????

🍎 myprincecame Follow

Excuse me, Simba, but Aurora has been putting under a sleeping spell, as have I. Please don't spread negativity here :(

🍎 myprincecame Follow

plsushthepostistreu - Sleepy

🦁 a-mighty-king Follow

you know that by being sleepy, you're appropriating the culture of those who have been put under sleeping spells?????

🥖 one-jump-ahead Follow

so...just fuck being tired, I guess?

🍎 myprincecame Follow

Please no profanity on my posts, Aladdin :(

🎩 un81rthd4y Follow

anyone in this thread smoke weed

[clandestineivory]

Can you write some hcs of Affogato Cookie x Clotted Cream Cookie?

Ofc honey (I’m so tired and I need this boost of creativity and confidence)

AffoClotted hcs

Summary: After making a secret alliance with the Créme Republic’s very own Consul, he now stays within Clotted Cream Cookie’s mansion. The two get a bit closer then expected. Hell, Affogato Cookie thought that this would give him an advantage to have a personal relationship with the Consul…but then he got attached as well and shit took a turn.

TW: Why is all of this just bickering, these idiots need to get a room and make out, too much tension for their own good, swearing, failed manipulation because Affogato is actually pathetic now, Clotted Cream gets internalized homophobia and hates it, Dark Cacao tries to abuse both (and fails)

Also personal hc that Affogato is pansexual and transmasc, and Clotted Cream is bi but fails to hide it

Whores istg /j (This was the thing I use to start all my drafts)

—

So, after Clotted Cream finds a completely vulnerable and pathetic ex-royal advisor, he knew that one, Affogato could be using this little alliance as a way to regain power, or two, he was actually really interested in living with the Consul and actually having a house again. Yeah, Clotted Cream realized that it was both.

During the meeting when Clotted Cream was first introduced to the Ancients, Affogato was with him, yet…preferred to stay on the airship for a bit longer. He actually had to be pried off of it by Financier because he was still genuinely nervous about seeing Dark Cacao and getting even more of a punishment because he showed his face to the King.

Luckily, when Dark Cacao saw Affogato, the oh-so heroic Consul shielded Affogato (begrudgingly, but he couldn’t show that) from any threats that the King of the Black Citadel wanted to enact on the ex-advisor. And don’t worry, Clotted Cream also defended Affogato’s sorry ass! Y’know the drill, saying that he was “reformed” and trying to become better under the eyes of the Divines! (Yeah, like Affogato believed in that dumb light stuff. Clotted Cream was also kinda coming up with stuff on the spot, but he managed to maintain that cool and composed demeanor for most of the time.)

I kinda forgot what else happened in the Cookie Odyssey so let’s actually get onto the silly ship part of it!

—

Clotted Cream practically begged Affogato to sleep in the guest room, but our dear little ex-advisor merely shook his head and had that bastard grin of his. So yeah, they were sharing a bed the entire time. Totally normal, I know. They were roommates after all… 😘

They bicker…a lot. Usually, Clotted is tryna settle the situation down, but as soon as Affogato says some kind of petty insult and has that TOTALLY charming rolled eyes, expect the ex-advisor to be picked up by Clotted Cream’s coat belts and practically thrown onto the guest bed. Awh, so sad… 😞 But don’t worry, because Affo sneaks back into the Consul’s room anyways and snuggles up to him. After all, keep your friends close, but your enemies closer~ (they HAVE to make out)

Clotted Cream is probably good at flirting (probably.) but when he’s around Affogato and the teasing cocky bitch whispers some kind of flirty joke, he can’t help but feel REALLY flustered, even though he tries his best not to show it, he’s really a nervous wreck.

The Consul gets a bunch of internalized homophobia, probably due to Elder Custard being a bitch and super toxic. Especially with the idea that an esteemed politician like him would be following all the rules and stuff about this kind of thing…

Affogato already saw the look on his face. Ah yes, that look of “Wait, is this right or am I just a fool?” kind of look. During one time when Clotted Cream had that look again while filling out paperwork on his desk, Affogato creeped up behind, took the Consul’s chin, and gently but teasingly pressed his lips against Clotted’s for a second, before smirking proudly.

“Well? Are you still getting those…frankly boring and negative thoughts, or are you too shocked by me?”

Clotted never said anything in that moment, his eyes wide and a deep blush appearing on his face. In that moment…well, I think he probably forgot, since it all happened so quick. But Affogato definitely remembered it. Of course he could recall the way the Consul pulled him closer, tugging on his hair and letting out a few breathy sighs as he did so.

…well, they certainly got a room, didn’t they?

[eldritch-spouse]

I'm leaning shakily against my weapon. I'm bruised, bloodied, and my clothes are in shambles. The once disgraced King of Wrath is cackling at his victory, he steps towards me.

“Go fuck yourself” is the last the last thing I say before I collapse.

TW: Mild gore; Implied noncon.

He's in his own Heaven.

A disgustingly depraved Eden painted in tones of coppery crimson and the distinct stench of viscera. His "angels" swarm the arena, loyalists roaring for the valiant comeback of their righteous King, and the fools who had been swayed aside get torn asunder, as they should be.

The screaming, animal-like wailing, the zip of claws on flesh and splatter of guts on the ground and the woosh of weapons swinging- This is music. A symphony, Kalymir's flawless melody filling the skies of Wrath as things are set right anew. Even so, even so empowered by the rage and adrenaline permeating the air like a thick coat- All Kaly really listens to is your erratic, bubbling breaths. The way your throat wheezes and scratches in a desperate attempt to let your compressed lungs work. The whimpers you try so hard to mask.

You're a divine vision like this, mangled and undone on the ground, limbs twisted like a child's broken doll, caked in your own gore, broken. Completely and utterly physically broken. Keyword being physically. Even at death's doors, your spirit still rages on like the wildfire the demonlord has always known it to be. And at the same time some part of him is angry that you do not publically beg for his mercy, another one is much happier that Kalymir will get all the time in the world to find out what really makes you scream in terror.

The thought of it. Ohhh just the thought of dragging your worthless husk of a body to his mansion, your trail of blood painting the streets with his victory... Doing whatever he wants to your defeated self, healing you just enough for you to put up a mockery of a fight so he can prolong your punishment- Because you deserve it, you've been a bad little whore and you've caused him a lot of trouble...

Fuck, he's so hard he could cum with a mere brush.

Kalymir leans down to your level, a ruthless rictus upon his garish visage mocking you further as he listens to your pitiful attempt at upsetting him.

" AND WHY WOULD I DO THAT- " He starts, drooling as you start to pass out. " WHEN I CAN FUCK YOU NOW? YOU'LL MAKE A GREAT COCKSOCK. "

[vintagetvstars]

Carol Cleveland Vs. Nichelle Nichols

Propaganda

Carol Cleveland - (Monty Python's Flying Circus) - another hilarious comedy lady without whom python would 100% not have worked

Nichelle Nichols - (Star Trek) - She speaks for herself. Legendary, iconic, at the forefront of feminism and civil rights in the 60s, she is a triple threat who did so much more. She volunteered from 1977 to promote recruitment diversity within NASA, including some of the first female and ethnic minority astronauts. Martin Luther King Jr. compared her work on Star Trek as a 'vital role model' to the civil rights marches. She refused to be dismissed, fought for visibility and shone whilst doing so. As a woman in stem, and simply a woman she means the world and stars above to me.

Master Poll List of the Hot Vintage TV Ladies Bracket

Additional propaganda below the cut

Carol Cleveland:

TW: 3rd pic is a little NSFW probably don't view this at work

Nichelle Nichols:

She is the original badass babe. She was a black woman in a leading role on TV in the 60s, a trailblazer for black actresses for years to come. She is so beautiful and so awesome.

she's fantastic. have you seen her? paved the way for black actresses on TV even while her lines and scenes were being cut and improvised the most iconic uhura line in the series. (sulu: "I'll save you, fair maiden!" uhura, pushing him away: "sorry, neither!") she's incredibly talented and it's a crime the show didn't give her more screen time (or make her sing more often because she also has a beautiful voice!)

“Sorry, neither” in response to “fair maiden” was ad libbed by her. There’s a lot more I could say but what else do you need??

A sci-fi icon!

She was such a trailblazer, and Uhura was such an important character for so many people to be able to see on TV. Apparently Mae Jemison (the first African American woman to go into space) cited her as a reason she wanted to become an astronaut. She was just an absolute legend!

The story of Martin Luther King telling her not to quit Star Trek gives me chills. Representation matters. “Thank you so much, Dr. King. I’m really going to miss my co-stars.” Dr. King's smile, Nichols recalled, vanished from his face. "He said, 'What are you talking about?'" the actress explained. "I told him. He said, 'You cannot,' and so help me, this man practically repeated verbatim what Gene said. He said, 'Don’t you see what this man is doing, who has written this? This is the future. He has established us as we should be seen. 300 years from now, we are here. We are marching. And this is the first step. When we see you, we see ourselves, and we see ourselves as intelligent and beautiful and proud.' He goes on and I’m looking at him and my knees are buckling. I said, 'I…, I…' And he said, 'You turn on your television and the news comes on and you see us marching and peaceful, you see the peaceful civil disobedience, and you see the dogs and see the fire hoses, and we all know they cannot destroy us because we are there in the 23rd Century.'"

She shared the first interracial kiss on Star Trek, helped propel real life African American women into space-related careers, and looks divine in a mini skirt.

HOW DID UHURA WALK BACKWARDS SO FAR??? WOW!

[ofallthingsnasty]

tw excessive violence, reader is gn but kinda masc coded

When it turns out you're Doflamingo's soulmate, he is beyond angry. Not someone equal to his standing, not a lesser noble, not someone with even a smidge of power - no. Just you, a peasant. With an unassuming face, hands that have seen many a day of hard work but never blood, you’re entirely useless to him. Oh, he wants to strangle you with that red string that connects you, wants to kill you for the audacity of being born into nothing but dreck (and he could, he thinks, he could. Not with the red but the gossamer one that springs from each fingertip). He feels like he needs to watch the blood pearl through the skin of your throat just to spite fate who brought a pig to his altar instead of another king.

But he doesn’t. For some strange reason, he doesn’t. Maybe it’s curiosity, maybe it’s the way you take his kicks so well when he shoves you to the floor and crushes your windpipe with a lacquered shoe, it doesn’t matter. He spares your life and simply takes you with him, not able to look at you for weeks after. Now he can see how foolish he was back then, now he knows what a blessing you actually are, how he let his emotions cloud his judgment.

You were made for him. The only thing in this world that is truly and entirely bound to him - blood can betray him, chosen family can run far and wide and return with sharpened knives to thank him for his years of help, but you - you can’t even lift a finger to paw at the hand that chokes you. You can only take, take, take - take the hits, the beatings, the violence, the frustration. You’re so utterly and devastatingly perfect for him that he wouldn’t be surprised if you grew back a limb he cut off in another fit rage. His loyal dog, cowering by his side, his whipping boy, shouldering all of his frustrations, you’re everything all at once.

Fate has been brutal to him, more so than to anyone else - to fall from living godhood right into obscurity, into the dust he had to rise from again, all because of the stupidity of his own father. But it also gave him a piece of divinity back, made him the only god you’ll ever know in your life, a cruel roundelay you’ll have to dance, dance, dance until the day you drop dead.

[james-vi-stan-blog]

to your knowledge, did King James ever abuse George in some way? I’ve seen people throw that word around

tw abuse, child abuse, coercion, violence against animals and stuff

It depends on what you mean by abuse. If you consider a severely power-differentiated relationship abuse, then the whole thing is abusive, but also every interpersonal relationship in the 17th century is abusive.

I don’t know of any reported instance of James hitting George, nor of overt sexual coercion (though we know very little about their bedroom life, such as it is possible for historians to argue that they never had sex, although this is a minority view now). James was VERY into marrying off his courtiers, including his favorites, and when George married Katherine, while James still expected George to be constantly at his side, he encouraged them to go at it and make babies. Most of James’s favorites seem to have transitioned out of sleeping with him, and he remained very affectionate with them. Also, remember how James called Carr not wanting to sleep with him “a mere unkindness”? He was hurt, and I read those words as being whiny and guilt trip-y, but it’s not like he was demanding constant service. (Also, many historians think George was probably not having sex with James towards the end of James’s reign simply because James was very sick. Yet this is the period of James’s most intensely romantic letters.)

James, we should remember, hated violence (at least between humans) and had trauma over being shouted at. This doesn’t mean he would never perpetuate it. He did have a temper (nothing like Henry VIII levels though). He led armies, personally oversaw torture, sentenced people to brutal death, etc. — although in this period these would be seen as just actions that a moral king should do, protecting his people against criminals and outlaws. James was popularly criticized for being too soft.

There is an oft-repeated story about him trying to strike a teenage Henry Frederick with his cane during a hunt. This would have been considered acceptable discipline for a father to mete on his son, if “justified” by bad behavior. However, Henry Frederick simply rode off and most of the hunting party went with him, signaling that the prince was more popular than the king and James was not considered justified in this case. (Though, I heard this story told once where HENRY FREDERICK is the one who tried to hit JAMES.)

James and George did argue with raised voices, James publically snubbed George during problem periods of their relationship, but I don’t know that these would really be “abuse” rather than conflict. There is the aspect of the power differential, where George has to grovel and apologize to get James to forgive him, because James was the king. However, James very readily gave his forgiveness (and not just to George, he was generally very eager to forgive any of his friends or favorites for anything if they promised him their love).

Robert Carr DID yell at James, and the main thrust of James’s extremely long feelingsdump letter to him was that he felt hurt and betrayed that Carr wanted to “hold him by awe” (fear) “rather than by love”. So James felt Carr was controlling him by threats and angry outbursts, which James resented, saying that he would do anything for Carr for love, but if he felt he was being taken for granted and Carr was bullying him, that that love would swiftly turn to hate.

(Of course, we must remember that James was a divine right king, so we should be suspicious of his characterization of Carr’s behavior. When James is this massively entitled, such that he genuinely thinks it is a religious sin to resist his will, is he correctly perceiving this situation? Is he overreacting to a relatively modest drawing of boundaries by Carr? I’m inclined to think James genuinely felt betrayed and Carr really was yelling at him and scaring him, but we can’t fully trust James’s perspective.)

So, the short answer is, I don’t know of any instance between James and George that is unambiguously abuse, although of course their whole relationship is colored by power and manipulation. But I’m not a historian or biographer or anything. I’m just a James enjoyer, constantly learning new things, so there could have been an instance somewhere, I simply haven’t learned of it yet.

In the Mary & George trailer, there’s an instance of James wiping George’s face with blood, but this is not from violence against humans; this is a ritual of the deer hunt, where the leader of the hunt (James) marks his companions with the fresh blood of the kill. So this is an act of favor and weird homoerotic intimacy rather than violence towards George.

[callsign-king]

TW: Angst, loss, body horror, self hate (King goes home for the weekend for home maintenance)

(Generally just putting a thought into writing about what king does on the weekend. Inspired by Teebs writing on @las-almas-border-patrol for Rudy. Their drabbles for Rudy is just so great and I adore it. It's not an RP thing. Though please read the TWs)

King could feel the exhaustion in his bones as he pushed open the door of his nearly empty home, Furniture covered in plastic sheets, with a thick layer of dust coating the shelves and even the walls. he kept the outside immaculate, whenever he came home for the weekends it's just spent outside entire time.

the only consistently cleaned place in the inside was a maintained and polished dresser decorated with photos and knick knacks. his hand drifting to a picture of a marine with brilliant blue eyes and dark hair the pooled into ringlets atop his head, "good evening my King, your majesty has returned." he hummed sadly setting the picture down removing his mask. Eyes falling onto the dirty cracked mirror across the hall, a hallow man looking back at him. with sharp dark eye brows and startling grey eyes. "what are you looking at?" it snarled at him. King stepped back in anger and frustration.

he really should remove that.

It serves no purpose.

'He put it up though?' the thought shooting through the man like a railgun. dropping the thought to move to the kitchen, his mind drifting as he saw a younger him singing as he ran to kitchen hugging a shorter man from behind, "Eres tan sabrosa como huele tu comida." King muttered in the other's neck.

"I'm glad you like it," The short man chuckled, "Gunny is coming by with Marie and little Dani, and I really hope they like it."

"And they will mi amor because they like you." the young King's hands softly grasping the ladle in his husband's pulling him away from the stove. The two of them dancing slowly though there was no music except in his heart as he guided his lover to and fro. "your cooking is divine made by the hands of a god." he mused twirling the other around.

A scoff escaped his throat as he was brought back to the present. nails digging into the trim as he quells his rage staring into the empty dusty kitchen. A pot still on the stove, though empty, sleep that's all he needs... then he'll head out to the garden for day. His mind not giving him a rest as he trudges up the stairs, giggling and laughter echoing in his head.

a younger king holding his new groom across the threshold of their new home. a life they built. the younger man dressed in his blues looking rather dashing as the officer towers over him. "I still don't understand why you agreed to all this?" the younger man laughed laying sprawled out on the bed while young King's hands explored and tugged at every button and strap.

"Do you remember the mission before I proposed?" he enquired exposing the bare and hairy chest of his lover. the thick dark curls barely hiding the fading scars that marked him. The short man hummed in agreement feeling a contented a purr in the back of his throat.

"you could've died," King explained gently, "and all I would've gotten was an email about a subordinate losing his life and told to notify his next of kin. I want to be the one to hold your flag or the very least to have you hold mine. We both deserved better then an email. Our love deserves to be declared."

A soft hand reaching up, the memory shifting and contorting, the warm chest beneath him flayed open, his eyes darting up as half of his amor's was just face gone, just a void where his jaw should be, an eye missing staring blankly back at him. "Don't worry, I promise I'll never die. Just do the same for me." His husband chuckled a flicker between the horror he feels and the memory of the past fighting to choose which one he should see. which one feels more right.

Jolting back to the present he feels nauseous, he wants to remember that night, but every time he does, it gets little more twisted, the rot starting sooner and sooner. sometimes he wonders if they'll come a day when in his memory all he brings over the threshold is a corpse...

His hand gripping a metal card in his pocket setting on the night stand; the Ace of Spades. A good luck charm he could hear su amor say. He needed sleep. His bones aching for rest as he drags his feet from the bed to an old rusty cot. King's large form falling face down a top; the springs squeaking louder then should be possible, but he didn't care he needed sleep. His mind replaying the memories again watching every interaction with his mind's eye. "Te extraño mi amor." He mumbled again the musty pillow. Whatever mask he wore, wasn't needed here. Not when he was alone with nothing but his memories.

[corvuschriisti]

into a white & soundless place.

!!! (tw for bone breaking, mutilation) !!!

You would have thought death would feel different.

Technically speaking, it's not your body that's dying, is it? You've established that this realm is not yours, correct? If Reyson was not real, if Python and Diarmuid and Harken were not real -- then you surely cannot be either. Then why does everything feel so...

It starts off as a game. Forsyth looks filled with rage and you can tell that he knows; somehow, the green knight has divined that you were indeed the one to smother Python in his sleep. To be there with his last breath.

Yarne looks between you and you also know that he's trying. He's just a boy -- and you wonder: did you look like that when you were just a nestling, too?

Through doors and crooked alleyways you all cram your bodies against stone and rot and vines and shadows. You hold onto Byleth's hand and find a familiar warmth, it comes not from the professor but from that which radiates above you.

He glows. He is cold indifference, the way a god might look down upon its worshippers. You do not know if you have even knelt at Reyson's alter, but you do know that you have found salvation between the strands of gold, the spaces between fingers. It is not yours to keep -- fleeting creature that you are: your place of worship is wrought with lies and filth and betrayal.

( It is not the memories of Harken's murder. Of Diarmuid's beheading. It's the memory of turning to Reyson, eyes wet with something that's not-quite tears, a desperate reaching out -- the words "I love you" spoken for the first time ever... that is what distracts you. )

And it snaps. Snap, crunch, break. There is a space on a bird's bones that hinges right near the fold, where the humerus meets the radius and ulna, that crushes.

You're usually so much more careful. Oh, stupid, stupid, hated thing.

It sets off a ripple effect, cracking to the first digit. The pain you feel in your body is more than anything you've ever experienced. And still:

"Reyson..."

It's aimless. You've lost Forsyth and Yarne, and you are slowed through thin, suffocating tunnels. You cannot fly with a broken wing. So, you reach.

( Because he is a bright light. He is everything you wish you could be. He is a home, even if he lost his own. He is where you want to settle your weary head. )

If you cannot be like the hawk king, then you cannot be worthy of a heron. And you will never, ever be like the hawk king.

You reach, and suddenly you are him. You are something divine and holy once again, much like you were in the fight. You can feel his hatred burn you from the inside out, and you wonder if this is your punishment.

If anyone should get to close your eyes forever, it should be Reyson. And thusly: he does.

[ohbutwheresyourheart]

2, 3, and 23 for Tansy!

Hehehe thank you for giving me a chance to talk about my most troubled daughter. TW for discussions of cannibalism, suicide, and religious trauma.

2. What’s something about your OC that people wouldn’t expect just from looking at them?

Well, for Tansy, the immediate and obvious answer is “she’s a necromancer” haha.

I’m still hammering out the exact lore on necromancy for Unquiet Bones, but so far: it’s a power bestowed on Tansy (so those in the know believe) by Ysa-Munda, the Goddess of Death. Mother Josefina, the head priestess of Ysa-Munda, initially thought it more likely it was a gift from Xenith, the God of Life, on the basis that Ysa-Munda would be shooting Herself in the foot a bit giving someone the power to bring people back from the dead. But… she got shouted down. Because, hey, what would she know?

Some followers of Ysa-Munda have a very mild form of Tansy’s powers: they can search the afterlife for souls and occasionally perform seances to bring the soul briefly back to speak with loved ones. Even this, however, is seen as stepping of Ysa-Munda’s toes and only done in special circumstances -- e.g., if someone died in a sudden accident, then with a sufficient ‘donation’ to the temple, it might be allowed for the deceased’s family to contact their soul to say goodbye. This may or may not also be used to figure out inheritances.

(Sidebar: Ysa-Munda is also an unofficial patron goddess of lawyers/accountants, because nothing in life is certain except death and taxes.)

Tansy, however, can go much further than this: she can bring souls all the way back from the dead and place them back in their bodies. This is how she resurrected King Damian when he was dying as a child (and has done so multiple times since).

The downside to this is that Tansy is explicitly a necromancer, not a healer. The soul gets put back in the body in… exactly the state the body is in. So if, say, she resurrected someone who died of a virulent flesh-eating plague -- well, that would probably be quite traumatising for the soul in question.

The other downside is that Tansy requires a physical connection to the person she is resurrecting. For anyone not related to her by blood, this is satisfied by drinking their blood or, for a full resurrection, eating their flesh.

(Damian, oddly, is exempt from this; his father, King Theodoric, claimed it must be due to Damian’s royal blood: he is, via the divine right of kings, connected to all of his subjects. Nobody in the intervening years has seen a good reason to disclaim this, or an alternate explanation.)

Very few people, even within the cult of Ysa-Munda, are aware of the extent of Tansy’s powers, as Mother Josefina feared that widespread knowledge of a true necromancer would cause either a) mass hysteria and danger of violence towards Tansy, and/or b) that Tansy would be petitioned to resurrect multitudes of people. Mother Josefina , especially given her doubt even now that Tansy’s gift truly does come from Ysa-Munda, fears that Tansy using her powers any more than absolutely necessary would bring Mother Death’s rage down upon them all.

3. What is your OC’s fatal flaw? Are they aware of this flaw?

This is SUCH a good question because I was honestly stumped for a little while!

After mulling it over, I think Tansy’s fatal flaw is ultimately her inability to see situations from the perspective of other people.

For example, when Damian tells her again and again that he doesn’t want her to continue resurrecting him, Tansy assumes he’s just attempting to shirk his responsibilities as king and not realising how grateful he should be for a miracle (possibly because she heard this expressed as a child by other people).

Or when she asks Lucia to leave Varnius’s commune and come back to Haelgavaard, not understanding why Lucia would turn down someone who cares for her and is willing to provide for her material needs and why that wouldn’t be enough to erase her mental health issues.

Tansy isn’t malicious (although she definitely does some awful things), but she is someone who has rigid beliefs that are extremely difficult to change. She considers herself to be logical and is inclined to think people who disagree with her without (in Tansy’s opinion) a good reason are being controlled by their emotions. The solution, then, is to talk the person down until they realise how irrational they are and come around to Tansy’s way of thinking.

23. What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

I think both of these ultimately come back to fear.

Tansy was deeply terrified and traumatised as a child when her first attempt to resurrect her foster mother who died of the plague turned out horribly. Her foster mother suffered immensely until she was killed again to put her out of her misery, the rest of her foster family turned against her and denounced her as a monster, and she was then ripped away from the only family she had ever known and taken to do that exact awful thing again to a boy her own age.

She was then told that the fate of the entire kingdom rested on her doing that awful thing again, and again, and again, as often as needed. Even as the boy she grew to care about grew, in his turn, to hate her for being his tormentor. Even when she fled the kingdom, she was eventually dragged back and the metaphorical shackles put on again. There is no escape from her life except escaping her life, and the thing she is most afraid of in the world is facing Ysa-Munda when she dies.

Tansy has been afraid of so much, for so long, that she’s grown almost numb to it: the fear has been so consistent that it’s become her baseline and she can no longer really tell when she’s feeling it. Tangled up in this is the thread she clings to that as long as she does what she’s told and fulfils her given role then everything will be okay and she’ll be okay and so she just has to keep treading the same path and -- yeah. She’s a mess.

[thefanfictiontaria]

Timeless

Fandom: The Song of Achilles/Greek mythology

Genre: comfort, melancholy

TW: I mean they're dead?

Characters: Patroclus, Achilles

It was undeniable the two will be in love forever. No matter how much time passes.

================

Patroclus.

The name had always felt oh so wrong.

It was ironic how it meant "glory of the father", and yet I could never make him proud.

Patroclus.

Everyone always said it in passing. Always a command or a laugh, sometimes mocking, usually either anger or complete indifference.

Never with care.

That was until you came along.

"Patroclus."

My name on your lips only ever sounded right. The tone you use, calm, comforting, loving. Despite any contradictions of fate we often found ourselves in, you always said my name as if you were kissing a rose, delicate and caring.

And when the war was over we stayed. On the hill where we were buried where there wasn't so much to do, but you've always been able to make me smile.

We were offered a place on Olympus. We agreed to visit there from time to time, wanting to stay with mortals. We used our divine powers childishly. We were both deprived from it, ten years of war completely draining our adolescent enthusiasm.

Years passed. We saw the city of Troy thrive again. Fall and build up again. Then, it was abandoned completely. For centuries it was covered with more and more dust and sand.

We ran in the sand. Rolled in it like stupid. Laughed. Achilles looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes and we kissed again and again. We could do that here.

"Patroclus."

I smiled.

Then, men came again.

Their clothes were peculiar. Some of them wore pristine, black and white clothes whereas others had more simple shirts and brown pants. They brought along many things, some of them so similar to ours we wondered how long passed. Their language was very different though.

Then, they began digging. Yells of what we could only assume was wonder rang out as they discovered the ruins of Troy. They discovered all of the things from the past that were so normal for us and always reacted with amazement. Do they not have vases? Cups? Coins?

A few of the men dug up our grave, at last. They yelled in their language so loudly and so excitedly it was amazing they didn't scare off birds. We were also excited. We exchanged glances and then hugged each other tightly. Our story will live on.

"Oh, I love you, Patroclus!" You said with a laugh. I laughed back.

After that much more people came. Much, much more. We slowly learned to distinguish different languages. Suddenly, the income of people stopped.

Then s few people came back.

Then it was silent again.

We knew what it meant: war.

After a few springs people returned. They looked completely different. Some still wore the ridiculous suits, but after some time it passed.

Now, much more common folk came. Instead of measuring and researching they just looked and did things with weird devices.

Our tombstone was fenced off, so nobody could touch it. Then a sign was made next to the fence.

We were both ecstatic to find out it had greek among the different languages. Even though it was very simplified, we managed to read it.

"This is the tombstone of the legendary pair Achilles and Patroclus. Discovered in 1875 it is dated to be about 3000 years old.

Achilles and Patroclus were very important figures in Greek mythology and history. The two had died during the Trojan war where the Greeks attacked the city for capturing Helen, one of the Greek king's wives. Despite Achilles' god-like powers he chose Patroclus, an exiled son, to be his companion, which ultimately lead to both of their deaths. Patroclus was killed by Hector, a Trojan Prince who thought it was Achilles himself due to the armour. Achilles took gruesome revenge and refused to give back Hector's body, for which he was later punished by the gods.

Their relationship is very controversial. Many sources say they were lovers, others insist they were best friends due to the amount of female slaves Achilles allegedly took.

No matter what though, it's safe to say their story is timeless, surviving through so many centuries."

Whoever wrote it was right.

We are timeless.

Our souls are bound together through our ashes and through our love.

Flowers wilt. Trees die, cities crumble, civilizations fall, stone turns into dust.

But not us.

We will remain together, as one.

Patroclus and Achilles.

Forever.

[weetlebeetle]

Ptr Exclusive: Practice

[Divinity AU] Zeke and Bo don't act enough like a married couple, aka Zeke finds any way to make what he wants necessary for the both of them

TW: A whole lot of kissing and some heavy petting. Arranged marriages too

Word count: 3248

Blurb:

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“I don’t blame you,” he said.  “We just need to practise.”

“Practise?” she echoed, uncertain and taken aback by his severe expression.  He angled his body so he could face her fully.

“The more you do something, the easier it gets.” Bo didn’t know why he enjoyed talking to her like she was an idiot.  At the very least, her indignation chased away her anxiety.  “Menial affection won’t be so difficult if you’re used to it.”

“You want to practise holding hands?” she asked, not bothering to dress up her tone into something more palatable.  She was blunt and rude.

Much to her dismay, he smiled.  “If you desperately want to, we can.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Neither did I.” He spoke quickly so she had no time to interrupt.  “Practising would take time and there’s no telling if we’ll be prepared the next time the King comes to visit.  If you got used to kissing me, hand holding wouldn’t seem like such a big deal.”

Her eyebrows furrowed.  She must have misheard him. “I … pardon?”

“If you kissed me, anything less intimate will be easy,” he said, unbothered by her bulging eyes and shell-shocked expression.  “We could even hold hands while we do it, if that’ll make you feel better.”

She wanted him to be joking, but his lips were drawn into a thin, serious line.  He watched her squirm without a hint of teasing.  Five long seconds passed.  If he was going to admit he was joking, it would be cruel of him to toy with her for any longer.

He remained impassive.  He wanted her to respond.

Floundering for the right words and trying to stop her hands from shaking, it took her another five seconds to clear her throat.

“Uh, I-um.” Her eyes became more and more itchy the longer she stared at his face.  “Right now?”

“Yes.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Read it here