#very ominous human skull

[starrierknight]

𝟎𝟎𝟐. 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

"O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!" — William Shakespeare, via Hamlet Act 2, Scene 2

MASTERLIST | KINKTOBER 23' | AO3

wc— 7k

pairing— cruel!dom!gn!reader x true form!sub!sukuna

cws/tags— painplay, cbt (ball busting), doubled dicked sukuna, S&M, dumbification, humiliation, subspace, heavy degradation, size kink, voice kink, mutual masturbation, reader is AFAB, handjob, edging, overstimulation, dacryphilia, petnames: for reader “fool” & “brat” + for sukuna “slut” & “loser” & “freak” & “sicko”, porn w/ crack fic plot

Sukuna’s domain was far from inviting, a stark contrast to anything one might deem ‘homey’.

As you surveyed the colossal cavern, its vastness resembling that of a grand cathedral, the support structure caught your eye—towering bone columns replaced the conventional pillars. The entire space, from the ground up to the ceiling, was a macabre creation of bones. The ceiling itself resembled a grotesquely cracked ribcage, a grim reminder of its origins. While some bones were discernibly human, others appeared to belong to unknown and enigmatic creatures, transcending the boundaries of what you had ever witnessed before. The bizarre collection of bones lent an exceptionally eerie ambience, heightened by a peculiar, reddish glow emanating from an indiscernible light source. 

At the heart of this bone-laden spectacle stood a towering monument, a colossal mound of bones sculpted into a surreal structure. Ascending the mound was a staircase fashioned from bones, leading to a throne unlike any other—an imposing seat, constructed entirely from an assembly of human remains, awaited at the pinnacle.

Perched upon that ominous throne was Sukuna, the embodiment of malevolence—the King of Curses—displaying his intimidating presence in all its grim grandeur. Even from your vantage point, peering up at him from a considerable distance, he appeared colossal. His physique was a testament to sheer power and artistry, meticulously sculpted and adorned with bulging muscles that defied belief. Four massive, sinewy arms extended from his formidable frame, possessing an awe-inspiring strength capable of pulverising titanium into mere dust with a mere flex of their might.

It’s a shame you weren’t a sorcerer who knew what and who he was.

Summoning your courage, you cleared your throat and shouted up to him, the question cutting through the eerie atmosphere, “Where am I and who the fuck are you?”

Sukuna’s laughter, a deep and menacing boom, resonated through the expansive domain, causing the very walls to tremble and the unsettling echoes to pierce your soul.

"Ignorant fool," he taunted, his voice dripping with disdain. "You dare address me in such a manner?"

You winced, hastily clapping your hands over your ears. "Could you please lower your volume?"

His laughter, a bone-chilling symphony, echoed once more, causing the ground to quiver. "Is this too much for your feeble mortal ears? Come and face me."

His words felt like an intrusive melody, echoing in your mind, a haunting tune you wished to escape.

Surveying the daunting mountain of bones and the seemingly endless staircase leading to his throne, you hesitated. "Uh, no thanks. It's quite a lengthy walk."

Your ears strained as Sukuna mumbled something indecipherable. There was a pause.

"Come and face me!" he thundered suddenly.

"What did I say about the volume?" you snapped.

"Face me!"

"Lower your voice!"

"Come and face me-"

"Can you just tell me where I am!" you yelled back, frustration boiling over.

A groan escaped your lips as you walked towards the edge of the bone mountain, adamant about not getting any closer or ascending those foreboding stairs. Rolling your eyes, you lashed out, sending a nearby skull skittering across the cavernous expanse, its hollow clatter echoing off the walls as it bounced and rolled.

Surveying your surroundings, you tried to fathom where you were and who this exceptionally bossy man-thing-monster could be.

It felt like mere moments ago you were in the familiarity of your home, and then, in the blink of an eye, you found yourself in this eerie place.

Curiosity mingled with the morbid as you picked up a human skull, studying it intently. Before you could react, Sukuna materialised beside you, his massive clawed hands snatching the skull from your grasp. His cold, calculating gaze bore into you, accentuated by a sly grin that danced across his face.

"Mine," he growled possessively.

Startled, you instinctively recoiled from his sudden presence. "Fucking hell! You almost gave me a heart attack."

He prepared to unleash another booming laugh, but the sight of your unimpressed expression made him hesitate, his smug demeanour faltering momentarily.

Clearing his throat, he began, "You, little human, find yourself within my domain."

You snorted, glancing around the eerie expanse once more. "Right. Perfect. Fantastic. That just clears it all up, then."

"I am Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, the mightiest sorcerer of the Heian era, and soon to be your adversary," he declared.

"Oh, joy.”

You took a cautious step back, hands on your hips as you observed Sukuna's monstrous presence from this closer vantage point. His colossal, imposing form bore an unexpected juxtaposition of delicate black line tattoos, intricately strewn across his muscled physique. On each of his four wrists and biceps, ominous black rings encircled the powerful limbs, adding to the aura of menace.

Sukuna's facial features were strikingly sharp and angular, marked by prominent cheekbones and a menacing, chiselled jawline. His teeth gleamed razor-sharp, exposed in a malicious grin that laid bare his brutal nature. One half of his face retained a more distinguishable humanoid appearance, while the other bore a chaotic tapestry of marred skin resembling the gnarled bark of an ancient, scarred tree. His hands and fingers culminated in sharp black claws, a testament to his deadly prowess.

Atop his head, Sukuna wore a sinister crown of twisted, horn-like protrusions, accentuating his demonic countenance. These menacing horns symbolised his dominion over curses, solidifying his reign as the dreaded King of Curses—or so you guessed.

You whistled, gesturing toward his crown. "Seems a bit on the nose, doesn't it?"

Sukuna laughed, a deep and rich sound that carried a hint of warmth compared to his earlier booming demeanour. "It does the job, brat."

Rolling your eyes, you strolled away from him, your curiosity now fixated on the mountain of bones, which you began to inspect more closely, prodding them with the toe of your shoe. "So, why am I here, exactly?"

"I summoned you," Sukuna replied.

"Right. Why me?"

Sukuna chuckled. "Don't flatter yourself. Any human would have sufficed, it just happened to be you."

You let out a heavy sigh. "Were you bored or something?"

Sukuna's multiple scarlet eyes flickered with curiosity, a wry smile playing at his lips. "Indeed, I was."

"It's a bit... How should I put this?" you mused, glancing from the bones comprising his throne to those forming the ceiling and scattered across the ground. "It's a tad grim in here."

Sukuna suppressed a laugh, glancing at the skull in his hand that he had snatched from you earlier, rolling it between two of his hands before effortlessly crushing it to dust, akin to an aluminium can. "I don't see an issue with it."

"I imagine you quite like it... These aren't just your Halloween decorations, are they?" you remarked dryly.

"These are my trophies," Sukuna boasted.

 "Of course they are," you snorted. “You couldn’t have gone for Jack-O-lanterns? Black cats? Maybe a ghost or two? Or, I guess you have that covered… Thoughts?”

Sukuna's scowl deepened as he admonished you, "You should show more respect, human. I could kill you."

Undeterred, you crouched down and sifted through the masses of bones from the mountain, selecting another human skull. "So could most things."

"I beg your pardon—"

"Then beg. So could most things," you reiterated, standing up and inspecting the skull in your hands.

You began your ascent up the mountain of skulls, following the staircase that led to Sukuna's throne. Oblivious to Sukuna's growing bemusement and irritation, you oh-so-casually handled the human remains, displaying a level of disrespect that both puzzled and irked him. He couldn't fathom why he hadn't ended you like he had done with countless others. What was it about you that piqued his interest?

In a trance-like state, Sukuna remained fixated on you, watching intently as you climbed the staircase. Every detail about you seemed to captivate him, from the count of individual hairs on your head to the rhythm of your breaths, even the lingering scent of shampoo that trailed in your wake—the scent he inhaled hungrily.

The bones of the staircase crunched under your shoes as you ascended, the sound echoing through the cavern. However, you paid it no mind, your determination driving you forward.

A light chuckle escaped Sukuna's lips as he observed you casually taking a seat on his formidable throne. The audacity and nonchalance you displayed amused him greatly. Your courage was evident, and it only added to your intrigue. He wondered if this confidence extended to various other aspects of your life…

Languidly sprawled across his throne, you directed your attention to the aged, cracked skull in your hand, and spoke:

"Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow

Of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy."

"Why are you reciting Shakespeare? Just to annoy me or because I'm the only one you can talk to, since the others are dead?" he remarked.

Sukuna leisurely ascended the steps, watching you with an intrigued expression.

You let out a sigh and casually tossed the skull over your shoulder, the clattering sound echoing as it rolled down the mountain of bones. "What else am I supposed to do here? It's awfully dull, isn't it?"

Sukuna tilted his head, scowling deeply as he stalked closer. Was this human calling his domain dull? He felt something stir within him...

"I'll have you know," he retorted, "I work diligently to maintain this domain."

"By collecting skeletons and sitting on your ass all day?" you snickered, unimpressed.

"That... That isn't all that I do," Sukuna defended, his arms crossed, struggling to keep his emotions in check. He couldn't shake off the annoyance of you finding his domain unimpressive.

"I had to defeat plenty of foes to obtain these skulls and bones. I've worked tirelessly for this throne," he asserted.

You sighed as you stretched out lazily on his throne, making yourself at home. "I'll give you that. It's a comfortable seat."

Annoyance surged within Sukuna. How dare you touch his throne, let alone stretch out on it? You were blatantly taunting him with your actions, and he couldn't stand for it. His lip curled in a manner it never had before, his face twisted in evident disgust as he approached you, extending his clawed hands, pointing and clicking with a sinister smirk.

"Move."

You kissed your teeth, a sardonic expression on your face. "Where are your manners? Say please."

Sukuna froze, caught off guard by your audacious response. Did you just instruct him to say please? Did you dare to instruct the King of Curses? His eyes widened in disbelief, grappling with your boldness. He couldn't decipher if this was pure defiance or merely a game to toy with him. Regardless, he found your tone intriguing—albeit unsettling.

You arched an eyebrow, a lazy grin playing at the corners of your lips.

Unaccustomed to such defiance, Sukuna felt a mix of surprise and annoyance. No one had ever dared to challenge him like this. He stared at you, his cold and calculating demeanour returning to his face.

"Move, fool!" he thundered, his voice resonating through the cavern, causing bones to tremble beneath and around you.

“Say please.”

Sukuna's unmarred eyes twitched with a mix of irritation and reluctant amusement. He knew he shouldn't be enjoying this, but he found himself strangely drawn to your unyielding nature.

"Please move out of my throne. Now," he growled, struggling to maintain his composure.

You responded with a hum, your smile curiously enchanting. "Get on your knees and say it."

Sukuna was stunned, his disbelief evident. You were undoubtedly toying with him. He couldn't believe how this exchange was making him feel, his heart quickening and an unfamiliar warmth tingling in his cheeks.

For a moment, he hesitated, then, with a smirk that couldn't be suppressed, he lowered himself to his knees before you. His gaze remained locked on you as you continued to lounge in his throne—like it was made for you.

"Now say please. Say it like you mean it," you persisted.

Sukuna rolled his eyes and reluctantly obliged, allowing a flicker of annoyance to colour his voice. "Please. Move out of my throne."

The smirk on his face undermined the attempt to convey genuine sincerity.

Your eyes narrowed, determined. “Like you mean it.”

He grunted, attempting to strike a balance between irritation and compliance. "Please. Move out of my throne."

There was a faint trace of politeness in his tone, but the insincerity was evident. The reason behind your insistence puzzled him. He couldn't comprehend why you were fixated on this request.

"Why are you being so persistent?"

"Shut up. Don't question me. Say please."

He scoffed, feigning annoyance. "Fine, fine, fine."

Though the act didn't genuinely bother him, Sukuna was growing increasingly intrigued about the reason behind your persistence. He had a sneaking suspicion that your desire for him to say "please" went beyond just his tone. This conversation was taking an unexpected turn, one he hadn't anticipated.

"Won’t you please move out of my throne?" he asked, this time with genuine sincerity laced into his words.

"Keep saying please," you grinned mischievously at him, eyes alight with amusement.

This was spiralling into uncharted territory. Sukuna could feel the warmth creeping up his cheeks as he realised what you were trying to make him do. Despite the unexpected turn of events, he found himself oddly willing to comply, feeling a strange sense of euphoria from the experience.

"Please. Please move-"

"No, no. Just say 'please'. Just that. Keep saying it," you drawled.

Sukuna was momentarily left speechless, captivated by the peculiar request. The amusement in the situation wasn't lost on him, and he found himself enjoying this unexpected exchange.

"Please…!"

He began to repeat the word, his voice growing louder and more resolute with each iteration. The cavern echoed with the booming sound, filled with an unusual conviction. Throughout the exchange, his eyes remained locked onto yours, fixated on something he had never known he could feel—curiosity and a touch of vulnerability.

"That's better," you gently interrupted, your voice inviting softness.

Sukuna paused, considering you. It seemed you wanted him to alter not just his words, but also his demeanour—to become soft and sweet, a far cry from his usual cold, commanding self. He cleared his throat and spoke in a hushed whisper.

"Please..."

His voice, now gentle and honey-like, carried a richness and warmth that sharply contrasted with his typical cold and authoritative tone. He spoke with an awkward tenderness, like his vocal chords had not been designed for it.

Your eyes sparkled with approval. "Good... Keep saying it like that." 

Surprised by your approval, Sukuna found himself unexpectedly pleased with how this situation had evolved. The King of Curses adjusted his posture as he knelt before you, accommodating his massive frame for a more comfortable position.

Continuing to repeat the word in that soft, sweet tone, thoroughly enthralled by the unusual turn of events. He couldn't help but wonder why he felt so oddly giddy. This exchange was intriguing, and he found your request strangely alluring.

You hummed thoughtfully and shifted your sitting position on his throne, adjusting to your comfort. A subtle, anticipatory tension hung in the air as you rubbed your thighs together, biting your bottom lip, your gaze fixed on him as he knelt and spoke in that gentle, pleading tone. Sukuna couldn't deny the unique excitement that surged within him.

Sukuna couldn't help but notice the seductive movements of your body, a provocative display that stirred a new sensation within him. He gulped nervously, feeling a newfound exhilaration as he continued to utter that soft word:

"Please... Please... Please…"

The way you looked down at him, your gaze ravenous and hungry, sent shivers down his spine. It was a gaze that suggested desire, an eagerness to consume him whole. Sukuna was gradually comprehending the appeal of this scenario and the feelings it evoked—feelings he had never experienced before.

He found himself oddly pleased by the way you stared at him, as if he were your prey. The sensation was foreign but undeniably enticing. He couldn't quite grasp why this was turning him on, if that was indeed what he was feeling. It was an uncharted territory for him, and you were leading him into the depths of this unexplored realm.

Your face lit up with amusement, and your legs rubbed together in a teasing motion. It was evident that you were toying with him, revelling in the effect you were having on him. Sukuna felt the flush of heat creeping up his neck, a telltale sign of his growing arousal. This was a sensation he had never associated with himself, yet it was undeniable—he was beginning to enjoy this, a lot.

The King of Curses continued to plead sweetly, a rush of euphoria surging through him, a tempest of desires that he was just beginning to grasp.

You tugged at your clothes and spread your legs, exposing yourself to him as you sat on his throne. You licked your fingers and dipped them between your thighs, rubbing yourself as you listened to him begging.

All his eyes were glued to the way your fingers teased your cunt, tracing its perimeter but never quite touching yourself were he would have touch you. If it were him, he would have buried his face between your legs, not teasing, but devouring. He licked his lips, zoning in on the slick of your arousal that glisted on your folds—meaning that him begging had turned you on, maybe even more than it did him. So, that was your game, was it?

The audacity of your actions left Sukuna in a state of disbelief. The line between desire and humiliation blurred as you pushed the boundaries, challenging his self-control. It was an internal struggle for Sukuna—his centuries-old pride warring with this intoxicating, uncharted desire.

He could feel his heartbeat quicken as he grappled with the unexpected arousal that coursed through his veins. The sight of you, unabashed and bold, combined with the teasing laughter in your voice, fueled the flames of his arousal.

His voice, hoarse and shaky, struggled to keep up with the torrent of emotions. The word "please" fell from his lips in a desperate plea, almost a mantra, amplifying the tension in the room.

"Sukuna, you're hard as a rock," you pointed out, the truth of your words ringing through the air.

Your laughter, rich and playful, reverberated through the chamber, filling the room with an infectious energy. It was a stark contrast to the typically stoic and fearsome King of Curses. Sukuna couldn't help but feel a surge of humiliation mixed with fascination at his own arousal.

With your teasing remark, Sukuna's gaze reluctantly shifted downward, his eyes widening as he acknowledged the undeniable evidence of his arousal. Under the baggy cloth of his trousers, he was indeed hard as a rock, a physical response to the alluring power you held over him. He could feel both of his cocks throbbing with heat, twitching in their confines. The arousal was a foreign sensation, and the fact that you were the cause of it left him both bewildered and intrigued.

In this moment, Sukuna found himself ensnared in a paradox—humiliated by his vulnerability yet undeniably enticed by the forbidden, his instincts torn between the desire to assert his dominance and the intoxicating allure of surrendering to this new experience—to surrendering to you.

He had never felt so vulnerable, so at the mercy of his own desires.

The small, involuntary moan that escaped his lips startled him, a clear indicator of just how much you had unravelled him. How embarrassing.

His voice, once firm and commanding, now wavered with need and desperation as he continued to plead. The word "please" took on a new tone, a raw and needy edge. He was no longer the dominant King of Curses; he was a man lost.

Despite this vulnerability, Sukuna couldn't deny the intoxicating allure of the moment. He wanted to hold onto this feeling, this new vulnerability that both embarrassed and enticed him. It was a struggle to admit that he craved this, that he wanted more, that he wanted you to keep pushing him into this unexplored realm. The word "please" became a whisper, an admission of his desire, a plea for the unknown to continue.

"Hey, Sukuna? Why don't you touch yourself, hm?" you mused in a breathy voice.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me. Do as you're told."

Sukuna's breath hitched at your words, the unexpected request sending a surge of heat through his veins. It was a daring proposition, one that caught him off guard, yet the enticing tone of your voice pushed his desire higher. He was torn between the embarrassment of this unfamiliar vulnerability and the overpowering need to submit to your words.

He hesitated, struggling to reconcile his pride with the intoxicating allure of your command. Touching himself was an act he had never considered, a realm he had never ventured into. But the pull of your dominance was too strong to resist.

Summoning his willpower, he shifted slightly, his hands inching towards himself. The air was charged with anticipation as he grappled with the embarrassment and excitement that warred within him. He swallowed hard.

"Say please," he challenged.

Sukuna's challenge was met with amusement in your eyes, your laughter echoing through the chamber. He couldn't help but feel a rush of frustration and fascination at your commanding presence. How had a mere human managed to exert such control over the King of Curses?

"Oh, come on. Look at yourself. I'm sitting on your throne getting off with you kneeling before me, begging. Do as you're told."

Your words, dripping with confidence and authority, sent a surge of heat to his cheeks. His own pride clashed with the intoxicating allure of your dominance. The way you spoke to him, the way you commanded him—it was undeniably hot, a sensation he was both frustrated and intrigued by.

The word "please" left his lips almost like a whine, a testament to the power you held over him. His gaze remained locked on yours, his eyes filled with a mixture of frustration, vulnerability, and longing. You were indeed torturing him.

"Be good for me, and touch yourself,” you said in a dangerous whisper as you rubbed yourself. 

You dipped a finger inside yourself and moaned, a lazy smile on your face. You bucked into your hand as you touched yourself on his throne, putting on a show for him. His mouth watered as he pictured how it must feel inside you—slick and warm and tight—and God, what he wouldn’t give to feel it for himself.

Sukuna was both infuriated and captivated by your brazen display The way you moaned and smiled lazily, openly touching yourself, was a challenge to his self-control. But he was compelled to obey, to succumb to your desires and the intoxicating dominance you wielded.

He followed your command, tugging down his trousers and exposing himself to your gaze. His hands, large and powerful, hesitantly moved to touch himself, fingers grazing over his arousal.

His huge, domineering hands wrapped around his cocks, stroking the lengths of them and he gasped. Why was this more intense than any battle? A better thrill than killing? He bit hit lip, eyes drawn to and fascinated by his own body’s reaction to you and how milky white pre drooled down from his slits. How, with every stroke of his hands, his back archer and he bucked into his own touch.

His eyes fluttered shut as he grappled with this new experience, letting himself be consumed by the heady mix of desire and submission. The act was both mortifying and exhilarating, and all the while, he was acutely aware of your eyes on him, your presence commanding and beguiling.

He couldn't believe that all of this was coming from your voice. His eyes were glued to between your legs, his gaze never leaving yours as he continued to touch himself. Your own hungry eyes latched onto both of his huge, aching dicks as he played with himself. Everything about Sukuna was overwhelming, from his power to his body to his lust. You found yourself admitting to your own curiosity as you drank in the sight of them; The sight of them dripping and flushed and how almost swollen his balls looked with cum that hand’t been released.

Your moans and groans seemed to echo in unison, creating a symphony of desire that filled the chamber. Sukuna was increasingly lost in the overwhelming sensations that coursed through him. The word "please" left his lips in a chorus of longing, each repetition pushing him deeper into submission.

His focus had shifted entirely, the initial intent of getting you off his throne fading into obscurity. His gaze remained fixed on your intimate display, his arousal building with every touch and sound that emanated from both of you. The control you held over him was both infuriating and irresistible, a feeling he couldn't quite comprehend but was unwilling to resist. As the moments passed, he found himself yearning for more, wanting this sensation to continue, to deepen, to consume him entirely.

The clash between his innate desire for power and this newfound intoxicating submission was tearing at the fabric of his being. The strength he prided himself on was now overshadowed by a longing to surrender to your every command.

Your moans were like a siren's call, drawing him deeper into the realm of obedience and desire. He felt a vulnerability he had never known, as if his very essence was being reshaped. He wanted to rebel, to assert his dominance, but your dominion over him was undeniable. Each moan you released seemed to pierce through his defences, leaving him trembling and on the verge of shattering—a cold bullet to his cursed, beating heart.

His breath was uneven, his voice cracking with need as he continued to repeat the word "please". It was a punishment he secretly craved, an experience that left him teetering on the edge, yearning for more of this torment.

"You should see yourself, Sukuna. Kneeling before me and touching yourself so desperately... Poor thing. I almost feel bad for you," you moaned.

Your words washed over Sukuna like a tidal wave, a symphony of desire and humiliation that left him gasping for breath. The sharp pain in his chest only served to intensify the sensations that coursed through him. The way you continued to toy with him, to humiliate him, sent shivers of both pleasure and torment down his spine. It left him feeling both broken and intoxicated, aching for the next command, the next word that would bind him even further to your will.

"Go on. Tell me how pathetic you are."

The admission felt like a double-edged sword, cutting through Sukuna's pride and ego, yet at the same time igniting a fire within him. He had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, and he was both repelled and drawn to this feeling. His voice trembled with shame and arousal as he echoed the words you demanded of him.

"I'm pathetic... You're so much better than me... I'm so pathetic..."

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his humiliation. He was laying bare his weaknesses, succumbing to the reality of his own desires. Each syllable was a confession that he wanted more, even if it hurt.

You laughed at him. "Aw, I bet you wish I was touching you, hm?"

The shame was palpable, like a physical weight on his shoulders. Each word was like a punch to his ego, yet he couldn't stop himself.

"I wish you were touching me… Yes… I'm that pathetic…"

His admission was barely a whisper, laced with both humiliation and a strange sense of longing. He wanted to resist, to regain control, but it was slipping through his fingers like sand. The battle between his pride and desire raged within him, and right now, desire was winning. The shame was a peculiar thrill.

"I bet you want me to touch so badly that you don't even care if it hurts, right?"

It was an unfamiliar yearning for pain. He had spent centuries as a powerful being, feared and revered, but now he was willingly surrendering to a mere human.

"Yes... I don't care if it hurts. Please... Please hurt me..."

You gracefully rose from his throne, fingers languidly snapping in front of Sukuna's face, a signal for him to rise to his feet. He complied with your command, a sudden flood of emotions rushing through his body. Every nerve seemed to tremble with a blend of obedience and desire, eagerly awaiting your touch.

As you stepped closer, your hands gently found their place on his chest, tracing the contours of his overpowering muscles. "D'you like that?" you murmured softly, your words a tender caress.

His breath hitched, caught in his throat, eyes locked onto yours as your fingers danced across his chest. His muscles quivered in response to your gentle exploration, every moment an intoxicating revelation. Your touch, so light yet electrifying, made him acutely aware of his own body. The tingling sensation of your fingers on his skin sent shivers down his spine, making his breath hitch.

"Y-Yes... I do. It feels... Exquisite," he managed to stammer, his voice cracking under the weight of your gaze.

"You're so sensitive," you observed, your touch leaving a trail of fire wherever your fingers danced. "I wonder how you'd react if I hurt you," you whispered, your voice laced with a mix of curiosity and a dark sort of delight. "Would you still be begging for it?"

His pride warred with his newfound craving, but the latter was undeniable. "Please... I want more," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He was at your mercy, a feeling that both terrified and thrilled him.

Without hesitation, you kneed him in the crotch, hitting both of his cocks square on.

It was an instantaneous, electric shock of agony that seared through his nerves, leaving him momentarily paralyzed as the intensity of the pain overwhelms his senses. He dropped to his knees with a thump, gasping.

The pain was sharp and stabbing, radiating from the point of impact like a wildfire. As if every nerve ending in the area was set ablaze, sending distress signals to his brain at an alarming speed. Sukuna’s body instinctively recoiled, attempting to protect the vulnerable region, but the pain persisted, gnawing at his insides. The pain didn't limit itself to the immediate area of impact; it radiated outward, affecting his entire abdomen, lower back, and even his thighs.

With each passing second, the pain intensified, reaching a peak where it feels like an all-consuming force, making it difficult to focus on anything else. Breathing becomes shallow and laboured, and waves of nausea washing over him, threatening to push him to the edge of consciousness.

His entire existence was shattered because of you.

"P-Please stop…!"

Sukuna writhed in agony. The once-proud King of Curses now knelt before you, completely vulnerable and at your mercy. His pleas for you to stop were desperate, and he trembled with the intensity of the pain that coursed through his body.

But you weren't done. You wanted to test the limits of his submission, to see just how far he would go for this new, twisted pleasure that bound him to you. Your hand reached out, fingers gently tracing the lines of his face before cupping his chin, forcing him to look up at you.

You laughed at Sukuna and placed your foot on his shoulder, pushing him down so he was laying flat on his back. Sukuna had never imagined he would be brought to such a state, submitting to the will of a human. He was at your mercy, and you were showing him no mercy at all. The proud King of Curses had been reduced to a whimpering, pained creature under your command.

He could only look up at you with desperate eyes, unable to fight back or retaliate. The pain was excruciating, and all he wanted was for it to end.

Tears welled in his eyes, a mixture of both pain and humiliation. "Please... I'm sorry... Please, have mercy..." he choked out, his voice barely audible through the suffering.

As the pain continued, he was losing his mind. He couldn't understand how he had let things go this far. He was so embarrassed by the fact that he asked you to hurt him. He didn't want to feel the pain anymore. He wanted to please you, but at what cost?

"P-please! I want it to stop…!"

"No, you don't. You're sick and disgusting, and you want this."

Another wave of agony washed over Sukuna as you kicked him in the crotch again, making his dicks twitch and drool. He cried out in sheer pain, his voice echoing through the chamber. Tears streamed down his face as he lay there, completely defeated and humiliated.

You were right. He had begged for this, and now he was paying the price for his own desires. His body trembled as he tried to cope with the searing pain coursing through him.

"S-Sick... Disgusting..." he repeated your words, the humiliation sinking deeper. 

Each kick was like a dagger to Sukuna's abdomen, the pain intensifying with every strike. He could barely think straight, his mind consumed by the overwhelming torment coursing through him. He tried to beg for mercy, to make it stop, but his pleas were only met with further mockery and pain.

"P-please... It hurts... It hurts so—”

"It hurts! It hurts!" you mocked in a high pitched voice, giving him another kick.

The pain was unbearable. It was like a searing fire coursing through him, blurring his vision and numbing his mind. Each kick felt like a brutal reminder of his vulnerability and how he had let himself be reduced to this pitiful state. He tried to form words, to beg for mercy, but all that came out were incoherent cries of anguish. He had lost any semblance of control, reduced to nothing but a whimpering wreck at your feet.

Yet, in the darkest depths of his agony, a part of him was still ashamed of the desperate need for this torment, the twisted satisfaction it gave him despite the pain. He was a curse, a King of Curses, and yet he was being broken by a human. The irony was a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Stop... Please... Just stop," he managed to croak out, tears mingling with his pain.

The relentless assault left him gasping for breath, tears streaming down his face. He was trapped in a never-ending cycle of agony and humiliation, and there was no escape. Sukuna had never felt so out of control in his existence. He was begging you to stop, begging you to keep going.

You flashed a mischievous grin and ceased your playful kicking. With an enticing sway, you straddled his waist, your back turned to him. Slowly, you traced the delicate path of your nails, tantalisingly dragging them up the expanse of his powerful thighs. 

"How's this?" you purred, your voice dripping with seduction.

"Ah... Ah...! H-it's... M-mmh!" His thoughts felt scrambled as he couldn't think anymore.

Your touch sent waves of ecstasy through him. His body quivered in response to the electrifying sensation of your nails tracing his thighs. Each deliberate drag felt like a surge of electric pleasure, setting his lower body ablaze with delightful twitches and shivers that seemed to course through his entire being.

"What was that? I didn't hear you," you taunted playfully.

He struggled to form a coherent response to your taunt. The sensitivity was overwhelming, and every movement you made felt like a magnificent burst of fireworks throughout his body. Every fibre of his being was trembling, and all he could manage was a desperate whimper.

"M-mmh... Ah! It feels... Ah!" he gasped.

"Pardon?" you chimed, feigning innocence.

As if the intensity wasn't already overwhelming, you chose that moment to pinch him, rolling the skin of his ballsack between your fingers, causing a sharp wave of pain to shoot through his entire being. The pain was searing, making his body contort, but paradoxically, there was an undeniable undercurrent of pleasure. The sensation of the pinch pushed him closer to the edge, and a growing feeling of heat surged within him.

"Ah!"

"You're close, aren't you?"

A deep blush now coloured his cheeks, an undeniable testament to his arousal. He couldn't deny it any longer—being pinched in such a way ignited an intense mixture of sensations within him. The pain, sharp and intense, coexisted with an overwhelming pleasure that seemed to radiate through every fibre of his being.

"Y-yes... I'm close... I-"

Sukuna's body jerked and tensed as a slap of your hand sent waves of pain and pleasure coursing through him, making his cocks sway in the air pitifully. Your taunts only fueled the fire within him, igniting a longing he couldn't deny. He was a king, but in this moment, he was at your mercy, and a part of him relished in the vulnerability of it all.

He couldn't bring himself to respond, the sensations rendering him speechless, his breathing erratic, and his body trembling under your touch and words.

"Yeah? You like that, don't you? Freak."

His moans were desperate, an involuntary response to the storm of sensations assaulting him. The mixture of pleasure and pain had him teetering on the edge of ecstasy and torment. It was a chaotic dance, and he was the unwilling participant, pulled in every direction by the whims of this strange, sadistic human being.

"You're such a loser."

As Sukuna struggled to regain control, a voice in his head told him that this wasn't over yet, that the storm was far from calming. And he knew, deep down, that he wanted to experience whatever came next, no matter how twisted or dark it might be. He was so close… He could feel it. He couldn't help but admit that he was a loser. He was getting off to this… 

"You're a loser. A freak. A sicko. It's disgusting and perverted. You're so gross."

He was moaning loudly, and he was shaking in a way he could not control. "You deserve this."

"S-Yes... I-I deserve it! Please…! ‘M a loser! I’m disgusting! I deserve this!"

The words were tumbling out of his mouth, but he couldn't stop now. Every feeling you were giving him continued to push him towards paradise.

He had unlocked a hidden aspect of himself, one that craved the twisted pleasure that came from this dark encounter. The way he responded, eagerly admitting his worthlessness and desire for punishment, only fueled the fire within you.

"You're such a pathetic, filthy creature," you hissed, punctuating your words with another slap to his crotch, making him shudder and cry out.

Sukuna's moans grew louder, and he writhed beneath you, completely at your mercy. The pain, the humiliation, the pleasure—it was all merging into a chaotic symphony of sensations that threatened to consume him whole. He was nodding his head in agreement to your words. He didn't deserve more than the punishment you were giving him. He was pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.

And then it hit him. 

As his body convulsed and trembled, he felt the flood of emotions he had never allowed himself to experience before. The boundaries he had erected around his desires and vulnerabilities were crumbling, and he was exposed, raw, and consumed by the overpowering intensity of the moment. Sukuna's silent scream echoed in his mind, his eyes rolling back into his head as tears fell and streaked his face, snot dripping from his snivelling nose, drool seeping from his mouth with his tongue lolled out.

He came everywhere, ropes upon ropes of cum spurting from his cocks, thick and oozing and staining your hands and his flushed skin. His ambodmen flexed and trembled as he came, and his thighs rubbed together, veins bulging. Your hands left his balls and wrapped around each length, stroking and pumping out every last drop as he writhed and bucked into your touch. You marvellevd at the sheer amount of mess he could make as it clung to your fingers and slicked up your palms with each stoke.

Sukuna's claws dug into the ground, leaving deep gouges in the bone flooring as he sought some form of grounding in the midst of this tumultuous experience. The pain and pleasure had taken him to the brink of his own understanding, and his body's response was primal, uncontrolled, and desperate. He was no longer the composed and collected King of Curses but a mindless creature enslaved to pleasure, and enslaved to you.

You couldn't help but laugh, a triumphant grin dancing across your lips as you gazed down. "What are you, Sukuna?"

He could only drool and babble incoherently, his body squirming and writhing in response to the overwhelming sensations. The once-mighty King of Curses had been reduced to a quivering mess, incapable of forming a coherent reply. As you observed him, the power you held over him was undeniably evident, but it left you somewhat exasperated. You had expected more of a challenge from the formidable King of Curses, yet he had proven to be surprisingly vulnerable when faced with his own desires.

You paused, letting the weight of the moment sink in, and then decided to finish the sentence yourself. "Nothing. You are nothing to me," you declared, the words dripping with finality.

In that instant, Sukuna's eyes reflected a complex mix of emotions—humiliation, anger, and a hint of something resembling realisation. The reality of his vulnerability stung, and the acknowledgement of his insignificance cut deeper than any physical pain ever could. 

Nothing. 

Nothing.

a/n: this was written with spite. revenge for chapter 236. bitch. and yes, you will be exposed to silly little literature quotes n references. i will force feed you intertextuality. hugs n kisses to @lunerabo for some of the dialogue hehe. Happy Kinktober!!! :3

this work belongs to STARRIERKNIGHT . please refrain from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms.

#꒰ ✎ ꒱ — tongues in trees #꒰ ✑ ꒱ — they kiss consume #꒰ 🝮 ꒱ — kt 23 #sub ryomen sukuna #sub sukuna x reader #sub sukuna x reader smut #sub ryomen sukuna x reader smut #sukuna x reader smut #ryomen sukuna x reader smut

[llamagoddessofficial]

I'm on my knees for any more crumbs with prison AU therapist Mc and Sans 🙏 the more equal(?) dynamic is just so good And to the anon that brought it up—I love you

I'll do you one better. Here's some crumbs for ALL of them

Since she's not a nurse, this Mc doesn't have a very strong stomach. Stories of Skull's crimes sometimes make her physically ill.

Generally, Sans and Mc's 'sessions' can be quite pleasant. They talk about current events, how things are going. It's only once she starts trying to explore his feelings that he starts toying with her.

... Red teases her a lot. She tries not to react to it, it's unprofessional, but he can always tell when he's flustering her. He gets this infuriating smug grin.

Since Red is a high risk prisoner, he has to have one hand cuffed to a table during therapy. He often complains that he wishes he could be cuffed alone in a room with her in different circumstances. What Mc doesn't realise is that, considering his strength, the cuffs are basically for decoration- Red just pretends he can't break out of them so she feels more comfortable alone in a room with a massive skeleton monster who openly displays interest in her.

Sans doesn't require cuffs in his sessions. And the only time he was cuffed, he snapped them 'accidentally' to make a point. It just makes it all the more nervewracking for Mc.

Skull doesn't know she's his therapist. He thinks she just really cares about him. That's why she keeps coming back to see him, right?

Red isn't the only flirt. Sans is a lot more forward in this AU, considering she knows the truth about his nature. Granted, Sans being 'clear' about something is still incredibly cryptic, but he enjoys the shock in her eyes whenever he calmly flirts with her.

Red's flirting is warm, sincere, and never crosses the line... it leaves her flushed and (though she'd never admit it) flattered. Sans' flirting is nervewracking. It makes her feel like she's a mouse, and Sans is a cat playfully batting at her, capable of clawing her to death at any moment.

Skull gains bits and pieces of speech back a lot faster with her. Unfortunately, that means he's learning how to terrify the guards. It used to be that Skull would just scream or snarl, but now he likes to say broken ominous sentences to guards he doesn't like to see them shit their pants.

He's also figured out that, when he's really upset and angry, if he screams her name enough someone will send her. It's not a great lesson to learn... but it's better than him deciding to attack people.

Whenever Mc tries to get Skull to do therapeutic art with her, he just draws the same thing over and over. The art is scribbly thanks to his tremor, but it always looks like three people; a tall skeleton, a shorter skeleton, and a human. He draws them in various positions- standing together, sitting around a table, sitting on a couch. She suspects one skeleton is him and the human could be her, but she doesn't know who the tall skeleton is.

(It's him, her, and Papyrus. His family)

Sans, for all his power and control, gets ratty and jealous when she treats other people. The first time he hears her laugh is when she realises that was why he's being moody.

She'd never seen him so delighted before.

Sans likes when she dodges his conversational traps. He'll try to lure her into talking about herself, revealing information to him, but she won't fall for it and always turns it back on him. There's not much he's been able to glean from her. It's always so fun, to play with someone who knows what they're doing.

Again, she'll never admit it. But Mc is fascinated by Sans. Most serial killers are delusional and kinda pathetic, but Sans is as if all the stereotypes of the 'genius mastermind serial killer' were true. She gets to be up close and personal, see how he works; she gets to watch his mask rise and fall in real time.

Of course, he knows she's fascinated. He uses it to keep her coming back. He's fascinated with her, too~

#llamagines #prison au #prison therapist au #guard: ... #skull: ..... #guard: ...... #skull: ... you'll... bleed..... #guard: That's IT. I FUCKING QUIT

[burning-sol]

Written ver under the cut :)

[*intro*]

Charlie: What do you remember her looking like?

Grizzly: Well back in highschool, she had very straight long black hair.. Very, know you, like pale skin like.... *fades out*

Kian: You know, nothing changes! (she hasn't changed)

[Kiss me (kiss me), down by the broken treehouse.]

Becky: I didn't uh, I didn't know you'd be here either! I was just..back for the weekend visiting my parents.

[Swing me (swing me), upon its hanging tire.]

Becky: But uh, shit, we' got a lot of catching up to do, huh?

[Bring bring (bring bring), bring your flower hat, we'll take the trail marked on your father's map.]

Kian: 'Actually got invited to a.. You know, sort of a party for tonight if you uh wanna head over there. ..you know, with me?

[Ooo~!]

Becky: Yeah.

[Kiss me, down by the faded warnings.]

Becky: I'm... Supposed to be spending the weekend with my parents but..

Kian: Fuck it right?

[Lead me, out through the crumbling wall.]

Becky: Honestly, they're- Yeah, they're treating me like I'm um, like I'm in highschool again. *chuckles*

[Lift the barricade.]

Becky: So.. I'd really like that

[Strike up the band and make the blowflies dance..]

Kian: Alright, yeah, let's uh.. Let's fucking do it then!

[..SILVER MOON'S DARKENING...]

Kian: See where the night takes us!

Becky: Let's do it.

[..so kiss me.]

[*chipper tune plays*]

Kian: Y-Yo-u just end up wak-wa ki n g  next to some b-b-b-bodies that that that you forget in a few ho u h ours. fa ce- You know faces pass but..

Becky: ..faces pass, 《but hey you're home bound》. *she will not be leaving galloway*

[*song sounds stranger in tone*]

[Kiss me (kiss me), besides the melting tree stumps.]

Kian: I dunno ha-ha-have.... Since you've been home for the weekend,

[Kiss me (kiss me), down on the dead grey grass.]

Kian: -has anything been like weird for you like..? Anything feel strange.?

[Sniff sniff (sniff sniff), it smells so sickly sweet, but everywhere I turn there's ROTTING MEAT..]

Charlie: You can tell she's trying to play it kind of cool but li-like... She seems a little awkward about something.

Becky: Kian Stone.. You nervous?

[Ooo~!]

[Kiss me, down by the bubbling crow skulls.]

Kian: You know for old time's sake, you wanna take a walk? You know, down to Willot street? *he wants to believe*

[Kiss me, beneath the black wet chains.]

Kian: Like we used to, you know. That's kind of what I came here for if you- I-If you're-

[It's impossible..?]

Becky: Yeah!

Kian: Oh you're down? Cool!

Becky: Yeah! Okay, okay.. *she knows she shouldn't*

[I hear the voice of long-dead loved ones calling to leave quickly...]

Becky: Oh man.. Well 《at least there's one good thing》 about being back!

Kian: I'll say...

[..so kiss me.]

[*ominous interlude*]

Becky: *lets out a snicker, sounding like she's working herself up to tearing up* You know shit just happened and i i i i t kept happening and I I I.. You know, 《SIGNED ON》 with -> s o m e  th i n g <-   sh[]  y (I) shouldn't of and t h  e e n-n... I guess I got so caught up in it all.

[Kiss me (hold me), (hold me) the air got cold so quickly (kiss me).]

Becky: Eventually I- I figured it out.. But um... *she hesitates*

[Kiss me (hold me), perhaps we should go in (kiss me).]

Charlie: I-It's quiet. And you feel your eyes pull back to hers.

[Wait wait!! (WAIT WAIT)]

Becky: I didn't know you were waitin'. *she was alone*

[What was your father's name?]

Becky: I didn't know I left you waitin'...... *she lost hope*

[(KISS ME)]

[Why does this map feel just like human skin? (HOLD ME)]

Kian: *reassuring* Hey I mean.. We're here now.

[oooh...]

[KISS ME]

Charlie: She's (already dead) crying man.

Becky: *laughs full of mourning*

[HELP ME (kiss me), beside the boiling tendrils.]

Becky: I.. Even though we both have to go.. 《WHEREVER WE'RE GOING AFTER THIS》..

[HELP ME (kiss me), why do the trees have veins??]

Becky: ..I think we should make this last.

[Are there bugs on me!?? (WAIT WAIT!!!)]

Becky: I think I'm in a memory I want to be making.

[I FEEL THE OOZING CREEPING THROBBING EGGS ALL SHIFTING INSIDE ME..]

Becky: ..you know that feeling?

Kian: Yeah, uh..

[So help me.]

Kian: If you wanna run away..

[..(wait wait)....]

Kian: There's still time.

[Help me.]

Kian: ..right? (..right?)

[..(w a  i tt w a ii t.).....]

[*unsettling interlude*]

BecKY(¿): It's It's It's not all that I mean  I'm sure y ou ou ou .. I'm sure you kno o  *breathes out eerily* w w ..

[*music builds*]

Kian: Uh.. *he doesn't want to believe it*

[*bitb track is introduced, adding to the buildup*]

what remains of rebecca jones: Y-You know I.I... I I I shot my shot!! (she tried her best) *breathes out with a smile*

[*music halts on some disquietening notes*]

[*LOUD DISTORTED NOISE*]

[K I  S S   M E]

[...]

[Kiss me (kiss me), I'm feeling so much better!!]

Charlie: So she's writing this song with you and her behaviour is becoming increasingly st- r  a a n g e  as she's like [Kiss ] flitting through the [m] n n [m] n [me]  otes [Kiss me]  repeatedly and repeatedly [AND I CAN MAKE YOU STRONG] and then like  l-l--looking back to you  like [..hide hide...! (hide hide!!!)] *jumbled* noth  wrong  things were  then like  scribling  sense non on the page.

[I'LL FIND YOU SOON ENOUGH]

she made an honest mistake: This song's al(it hasn't) been inside me and [ ^.^ Your bones will harden and your skin will slough!! \(^.^)/ ] it just wants to (KIAN) GET OUT- OUT- OUT!! *she's pleading*

Kian: Like metaphorically oo o r..?

[OOOooOoOOOO~!!]

[KISS ME. YOU CAN'T ESCAPE FOREVER]

Charlie: You start to notice as you guys are kind of singing it together like testing out the..

[KISS ME. I KNOW YOU'LL LIKE THE CHANGE.]

Charlie: The lyrics and stuff and you flit back your eyes to the page she's writing on.

[THE EGGS WILL FILL YOUR VEINS. LET ME EXPLAIN A SECOND'S PAIN GIVES WAY TO PLEASURES ONLY DREAMED OF.]

Charlie: ..and it feels like the words, the letters are almost 《C CR R A W L ING》 and you blink for a second and she is [SO KISS MEEE] NOT [EE] human. [EE] SH[E] IS SOM[E]THING ELS[E].. [EEE]

[Kiss me...]

Charlie: And you blink again and once again it's you and.. Her.

[Kiss me...]

Charlie: At the base of this tree. And you blink and it's gone-

[kIsS m.e..]

Charlie: -and you just see her nice, very cute legible handwriting again.

[k..s.....e......]

[*music fades out*]

[*the music takes on a hopeful note*]

Becky: *stops his hand* Kian that's uh.. That's really good.... I'm sorry, I'm sorry.... *she leans her head against him* I'm sorry, I didn't know.. (it would turn out this way)

Forgive her: I j-just.. (wanted to be with you one last time)

[Kill me... I won't stay down much longer...]

[Kill me... I'll only wake up stronger...]

[Kill me...]

She's sorry: You know the only thing not so shitty..

[I've opened up the path..]

I'm sorry: About this 《SHITTY TOWN》..

[You'll wake up from this scary dream and laugh..]

Was you: ..is you.

[*song cuts out*]

*END.*

#jrwi spoilers #jrwi bitb spoilers #📚 my posts #🖍️ art #just roll with it #jrwi blood in the bayou #kian stone #becky jones

[carlyraejepsans]

> Show him the parcel. You were going to use it for leverage, anyway.

Your hands shake. It's a very stupid idea, and it might just get you killed. But you'll be damned if that hasn't happened already, and you'll be damned if you're not proud of yourself rotten for figuring it out.

And if it does get you killed, well. At least it will be with a smidge of satisfaction.

You shove your hand in your bag and hold the package up to the light.

"This—"

It's only a fraction of a second. You don't have any better words for it: the air goes wrong.

He stares at the box in your hands, completely frozen. 'Sockets wide, eyelights shrunk to a needle tip in his skull.

Every single one of your instincts is screaming at you to run, but you don't move, either. You try to meet his eyes, but he doesn't try to cross your gaze at all.

"huh," he says, at last.

The pressure in the room deflates a bit.

You can't help feeling a little delirious.

You thought he was untouchable. Every time you had to fight him, no matter how hard you tried, no matter how fast you struck, he was faster.

And then you saw it: the chink in the armor. It was enough to drag you back on your feet, to slam every last drop of willpower to begin again. Tabula rasa. Except this time, you had an advantage.

"You shield your shoulder, when you dodge." You raise the box to your chest and tap it gently above your heart, in demonstration, "Right here. I figured it had to be something important."

Sans leans forward in the chair. It creaks ominously, and you flinch at the sound. His face is inscrutable.

"cool," he says, his voice flat, "problem is, i don't remember fighting you."

Something about the way he says it...

You shake your head. It doesn't matter. He wouldn't understand, anyway.

"How do you get out of the Underground?" you repeat the question.

Sans tilts his head at you, then shoves his hands in his pockets. He lets his shoulders drop with a shrug.

"you don't."

"I don't believe you."

"welp. don't believe me then. it's not gonna change much. that's, uh, not how the barrier works." He shrugs again, leaning back into the chair with an air of nonchalance, but his eyes still won't leave the package, "your people kinda set the rules. we're not just taking a vacation down here."

"There were other humans here before—"

"they're dead."

Something twists inside your chest. The human in the photograph smiles on.

"All of them?"

"look, buddy, you seem like a smart kid," he interrupts you again, "you really wanna go home… i feel ya. but sometimes, you gotta learn when to quit. and, uh, this is one of those times. as powerful as your SOULs are, no human's ever made it past the barrier alive."

There. You almost miss it. The barest flicker of his eyes, darting to the side, then back like nothing happened.

-->

#undertale #mywriting #sans #this was a really tough one to write. anyway *blows a kiss to mod*

[xxstraymoonchildxx]

This Couple is Unusual

Prev./Next

Chapter 5 This couple, coffin talk

cw: flashback lesson 16 OM

The first time you died was during your first school year in the Devildom. 

You have felt bad for him, being stuck in this stuffy attic all by himself. He had reached out to you early on, a whisper in the night, urging you up the stairs. That Lucifer tried to stop you only fueled your curiosity.

The big bad brother who locked the youngest up after an argument. Of course, you made pacts with the other five brothers to break the magical lock to the attic. 

He was so grateful, pulling you into a warm embrace.

He hugged you tightly.

“You humans really are foolish, idiotic, weak creatures, aren’t you?”

Tighter. 

You couldn’t move.

“Hehe. Does it hurt? Finding it hard to breathe? I’m sure it must be very unpleasant.”

Tighter. 

“You’re so stupid that I can’t help but laugh. Don’t blame me for tricking you, blame yourself for falling for it.”

Tighter. 

“I hate humans. I hate them more than anything in the three worlds-”

Your ribcage cracked, puncturing your insides.

“And I hate you!”

Why this particular scene flashed before your eyes, you didn’t know for you had already forgiven him. The time you sacrificed yourself for Lucifer or several other instances you had put yourself in immediate danger would have left a better taste in your mouth. 

Now, a scythe's polished, pointy tip was millimeters away from your face. It would have pierced through your left orbit if you didn’t bend backward the time and way you did thanks to Luke’s blessing no doubt. The sharp edge of the death dealer ominously glistened in the candlelight. 

“Didn’t you know that curiosity killed the cat, my dear?” a voice croaked to your right, amusement resonating within. From your peripheral vision, you could see his dark boots that had no business having this many belts (nor him having legs this long).

“But satisfaction brought it back,” you breathed out, voice shaky. A bead of sweat of fear trickled down your temple as the rapid beating of your heart continued.

Undertaker chuckled and pulled the scythe away from you, lovingly grazing the smooth side of the cutting blade. You stared at the tool that was not designed to cut grass or harvest grains. It had the shape of an elongated bone structure; the edge of the blade ended in a skull that was decorated with thorns around the forehead and the shaft went directly into the skeletal thorax with all its components. 

He held out his free hand for you to take, pulling you upward. His skin felt weird to the touch, neither warm nor cold. Just like Thirteen’s. Undertaker gently turned your hand, thumb striking over the seal on the back before letting go, making you wonder if he recognized the sigil that proved your affiliation with the Sorcerer’s Society or the ring of light around on your finger. He eventually took a step backward, giving you a moment to ogle him.

Actually, without being fully veiled by his black overcoat, revealing a matching dark robe, and without his crooked top hat Undertaker even kind of looked … attractive there and then. His choice of clothing and jewelry was interesting for his time, if not ahead of it.

Moreover, with the murder weapon at hand, he didn’t look like a demented oddball anymore but the personified harbinger of death. A grim reaper, a Shinigami.

Oh.

Oh.

Now you knew he recognized you as a sorcerer and some other things about him started to make sense.

Undertaker stored his scythe away, locking the closet with a satisfying click. His lips were curled upwards when he turned back around. Since his bangs covered the upper half of his face, you couldn’t read his true emotions. 

/I wonder if he has phosphorescent eyes, too./

“Heh, be more careful when snooping around, unless you’re dying to experience my coffins firsthand,” Undertaker said, snickering at his own little pun at the end.

“Err, it’s definitely not on my bucket list for 1888. Dying ain’t fun,” you quickly denied, mumbling the last part. You awkwardly rubbed your sweaty neck when you felt him staring from behind his long bangs. 

Wait, he couldn’t know what a bucket list is, couldn’t he? 

“A bucket list is a to-do list before ‘kicking the bucket’,” you quickly explained. 

The mortician hummed “Interesting choice of words. Although, even if it’s the basis of my work, I understand death is undesirable - but - maybe such topics should be discussed over a cuppa and biscuits, don’t you think? You’re still shaken.”

This is how you ended up sitting on one of his coffins across from him, a measuring beaker with black tea in hand. 

Undertaker, who sat cross-legged on another death box, held out a black urn toward you, silently instructing you to take whatever was inside. Having lived in the Devildom for so long nothing food-related should and could surprise you anymore. 

Still, you must have looked baffled when you fished a biscuit in the form of a dog bone from the alienated cookie jar because the silver-haired man let out a little cackle. “Go ahead, they’re delicious, I promise~”

He was right, they were! The sweet taste was welcomed after your near-death experience. 

“Gosh, you need to give me the recipe for these. I’ve got some baking-loving friends back home.”

“Hmm, I might, if you pay me with a good laugh, of course,” he answered cheekily, bouncing his crossed-over leg.

“Wait, for real? … Let me think about one…”

Undertaker waited patiently, munching on his treat. 

“Okay, you see, my favorite childhood memory is building sandcastles with my dear grandfather – well, that was until my mother took his ashes away.”

…

Turned out that simultaneously eating and laughing was not a good idea. 

The silver-haired choked on the cookie as the laugh got stuck in his throat, bending over, battering his chest with suppressed giggles (why) while you shot up in a panic, refilling his cup. “Oh my god, are you alright?”

He made a gesture of refusal with his hand, knocking the beverage back.

“That was a killer, young Miss,” he said once you two calmed down, acting like nothing happened.

“I have yet to ask what I owe the pleasure. I assume you're still busy with the murder case, hm?”

You lowered the recipe Undertaker gave you beforehand, regarding him with a mirthful grin. “Nope. I was gift hunting for the family and ended up in front of your store by chance. Maybe it was fate? For the article, well, I don't think the Queen's cute little watchdog would let us publish anything remotely true once he finds out who Jack the Ripper is.”

Undertaker’s lips curled into a grin as well “Oh, you figured it out?”

“Yep. Yesterday's event confirmed our suspicion. Not that you sound surprised at all, tho.” 

“I had a feeling you’ll succeed. I’m sure the young Earl won’t be far behind for he is the good lapdog of Her Majesty.”

You made a face “Never have I imagined a child being responsible for resolving the disruption of the general society. Seriously, putting himself in danger like that.” 

“And that collar will choke him someday,” Undertaker said, his voice dropping an octave. “If not for his self-imposed duty, his butler will certainly be his undoing.”

“Well, if the Earl can’t find a way to circumvent his contract, that is, even for a certain amount of time. Employers tend to find a way to go around their agreements, so it’s technically not impossible.”

The mortician tapped his lips with his index. A grimoire - he hadn’t considered this possibility for they are seldom found. It would require Sebastian Michaelis’ true name and free access to Hell. However, different matters solicited his attention; exempli gratia Karnstein, so he would keep your words in mind. An interesting human you were; just maybe …

A low vibrating sound broke his thoughts. 

“Shit, I hate to cut our talk short but…” you said, eyes fixating on the screen of the D.D.D. you halfway pulled out of your dress pocket “...look at the time. Sata- err, my husband is expecting me soon and I still have to make the way back.”

You pushed the phone back and walked up to him.

“Thank you for the tea and cookies. I don’t know how long we’ll stay in London but I hope we meet again before we leave.” 

You gave Undertaker your brightest smile, surprising the Shinigami but he gently held your outstretched hand. Hands he had taken souls with.

“Likewise, young lady. Be careful on your way back. You never know what lurks around the corner.”

“Noted!”

You took your bag from where you nearly met your untimely end and walked to the door. Grabbing the knob, you turned your head backward. 

Feeling bold, you let a slight gust of wind whip around his face, revealing his odd green eyes that widened slightly at your display of magic. Proud of yourself, you winked and waved goodbye, your smile branding itself into his mind.

Laugher filled his empty store.

“What an interesting sorcerer~”

Hello folks! Writing this chapter was really hard for some reason and I struggled with the decision of putting a scene in or not. As you can see, this chapter is rather short, meaning I cut a scene out. It involved the harassment of MC. (In Victorian London some men were pathetic and walked up to unaccompanied women, even from higher ranks, assuming they were streetwalkers. In this case, the reader would have been approached by Grell with the idea in mind to make the case more personal. I'm not sure I handled this well enough in my draft, so here we are)

#this couple is unusual #crossover #kuroshitsuji #obey me shall we date #obey me #black butler season 1 #black butler #obey me satan #satan x reader #om satan x reader #undertaker #ciel phantomhive #sebastian michaelis #alternate universe #female reader #warning: historical inaccuracies #wip #fantasy #obey me nightbringer #time travel shenanigans

[aubeystawby]

SINGING BOX Wednesday Addams x GN!Reader

🌲 a date with your girlfriend in the forest + wednesday not quite understanding how radios work 📻 warnings: brief mention of dead animals

Birds chirp and leaves rustle, as you and Wednesday make your way through the forest. You're pretty deep into the sea of trees, having been walking for a bit more than half an hour, and the further you walk the darker your surroundings become, the amount of trees growing dense and their leaves thick. It's beautiful, like the kind of forest in fairy-tales and aesthetic movies.

Wednesday is also enjoying the atmosphere, the ominous cracks of twigs and the almost howls of the forest breathing, the occasional animal skull, and the deep smell of the lively nature.

The two of you are on your way to some sort of... cave? You're not completely sure, Wednesday was pretty vague when explaining the expedition to you, and also gave you very little time to question it.

But even with very little preparation on your part, you've found that the travel is peaceful. It's just you, Wednesday, and the forest. You've both been mostly silent for a lot of the walk, but a comfortable silence that neither of you have any objections to.

"Here we are." Your girlfriend says as the two of you arrive at some sort of hole in the ground.

Wednesday drops your hand that she was holding for some of the walk, and kneels down to pull various items out of her bag.

You assess the cave-like-hole in front of you, and notice that it's not just a normal hole, but it tunnels down and curves until you can't see what's beyond the turn. There's no signs of human interference anywhere around you, but there is deep scratches carved into the rough stone of the bottom and walls of the cave.

"Nice." You comment at the now clear signs of some sort of aggressive creature who's clearly visited this hole at some point.

Wednesday nods, "Indeed. Now, wait up here, I'll be a minute."

You shrug, and sit down, dangling your legs on the edge of the hole.

Wednesday jumps down into the cave with her various items, half of which you've never seen in your life.

Trying to busy yourself until Wednesday calls on you to assist, you grab your bag, looking for something to do. Digging through the random items floating around in there, you find your radio. It's old, and the antenna is bent awkwardly, but last time you used it it worked just fine.

You flip the switch, and adjust the knobs to find any channels. You try all the ones you listen to when at home, but all you get is white noise. So then you try more local channels, like a Jericho news channel, and a Nevermore student-led radio show.

Jericho news is fruitless, but this time you can almost make out what the people are saying, which is a good sign.

The student radio show is more successful. You can understand most of what people are saying, and settle for this.

They're playing some sort of pop-rock song you've never heard before when Wednesday emerges.

She silently stands below where your sitting and holds up something sharp and oval-shaped. You take it carefully, and hold it up to your face trying to examine it.

Wednesday climbs back out and refers to a book you'd brought with you, silently comparing the thing she found with anything similar-looking, trying to find out what it is.

For a moment you both silently try to identify it, until;

"Your box's prisoners are screaming."

For a moment you frown, trying to figure out what she means, until you turn your head to your radio.

It's gone slightly out of tune from the station you'd set it to, and the voices are especially loud at this particular point in the song. So she's right, it does sound like the singer is screaming (rather painfully) through the white noise.

You reach out and turn the knobs, adjusting them until the former clearness returns and the song no longer sounds almost untillegable.

"A shame, It was much better before." Wednesday comments.

You turn back around laughing slightly, smiling at her.

You look at each other for a tender moment, your gaze full of love, and her eyes growing soft. And then she's sliding back down into the cave, back to her searching and examining.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x gn reader #wednesday x y/n #wednesday x reader #wednesday x you #reader insert #wednesday series x reader #╰─www.my-writing.com─╯

[of-teeth-and-tenderness]

Blood Oath

- Chapter One -

M Demon x F Human Reader (NSFW)

Warnings: Kidnapping, discussions surrounding virginity, minor self injury, nonconsensual frotting, blood, brief descriptions of gore, minor character death

~~

Awareness returns gradually, grains of sand trickling through an hourglass. Sticky eyelids crack open one at a time, but grogginess spoils your awakening. The dimly lit room may as well be completely dark for all your bleary eyes can see. You close them, rub at them, clutch your aching skull.

Beneath you, the surface is hard and bumpy. The scent of damp earth reaches your nose as you shift and you realize you’re lying on a dirt floor, not unlike the one in your grandmother’s cottage.

Groaning, you force your eyes open once more, pushing up onto your elbow. Blinking slowly clears your swimming vision and finally you’re able to push to your feet without staggering.

Now the question remains: Where are you? Little are the clues as you look around the room. To your left sits a small, wooden table covered in tattered parchment, next to it a single rickety chair. Old, dusty tomes are piled in corners and on shelves. A single candle burns low, the dancing flame throwing reaching shadows across the walls.

You hook your finger in the candlestick and cup your hand around the little flame so you can move about the room. You search for exits; windows or—

A door!

Under your fingers, the worn brass doorknob is freezing, like it was crafted from ice. You must tug and heave to haul the door open. Hinges squeal and the bottom edge drags an indent through the dirt floor.

Your face falls. Instead of an exit, you’re met with a staircase descending into yawning blackness. Icy air reeking of musk and a sharp, stinging odor pours from the open doorway, so overpowering you must throw and arm over your nose and mouth.

Disappointment turns to confusion. How could there be a room below this one? It must be dug into the very earth. But why?

And…. You hold your candle aloft, searching your tiny room—tiny prison—once more. This portal is the only doorway. Where is the exit? How did you get here?

Too many questions assault your aching head. You swallow the dryness in your throat and turn back to the ominous blackness.

The only way forward is down, so down you go.

Your small flame flickers with the trembling of your hand, your worn leather boots tap, tapping softly on stone steps. Your free hand grips the dirt wall, dried bits of mud flecking away and speckling the steps as you move. You can see nothing past the small circle of light provided by your candle.

As you descend, the strange stinging scent grows stronger. Your nose wrinkles, skin prickling as frigid air rushes past, chilling the sweat on your neck, brushing damp hair from your brow. How much farther could this channel go? The impossibility of it leaves you astounded and terrified.

The change is so gradual you don’t notice at first, but finally you realize you can see further ahead. A faint glow reaches you from the bottom of the earthen staircase. As you move closer, the color of light changes from pale white to sickly green.

Now a rich blue.

Gold.

Cautiously you tread as you reach the end of the staircase. Another room opens up beyond the threshold, its vaulted ceiling disappearing unfeasibly into the gloom above. Though, what draws your attention are the long, wooden tables littered with vials, tubes, and bottles filled with various liquids. One such bottle sits atop a flame, the bubbling substance within changing color seemingly at random and lighting up the surrounding space.

You approach and discover different stones and curling parchment littering the places not occupied by glass containers. Your fingers hover over a pearly white crystal, tempted to touch, but you think better of it and quickly withdraw your hand. Who knows what magic could be contained within.

Remembering your mission, you turn your attention to the other end of the room. Glowing coals sit in a brick hearth, a cast iron pot suspended above. As you approach, the evil, sharp smell grows stronger, stinging your eyes until tears gather in your lashes.

Using a nearby rag, you remove the pot from the hearth and set it on a table. Immediately, the smell begins to dissipate, the air around you growing cooler until you can take a full breath once more. What in God’s name is in that pot?

Each new encounter brings more questions than answers.

Wiping your eyes on your sleeve, you renew your search, lifting your candle to illuminate the far wall. You must be close to the way out by now.

What you find instead sticks your heart in your throat, forces a scream off your tongue, and makes you stumble back in terror, your little candle tumbling to the ground, flame dying in the dirt. Raising your trembling hands to your face, you stare, open mouthed and wide eyed at what is splayed on the wall.

The inhuman beast hanging limply before you is enormous, 20 hands at least. It possesses two arms—human-like if not for the curved, obsidian claws at the ends of its digits—and two, thick legs covered in curling fur. Instead of feet are massive cloven hooves, as wide around as a draft horse. It’s skin and fur are pure white as fresh fallen snow. Inky black cracks run here and there along its skin, like chasms carved into flesh. Stretching away from the beast are two great, rubbery wings, like those of a bat. Several steaks have been driven through the thin skin to keep them stretched wide and on display.

Morbidly fascinated, you take a step closer and raise your gaze to the creature’s head. Two dark horns curve out from a mess of white hair. Instead of a human face is a white snout, not unlike a goat’s. The eyes are closed. You wonder what hellish qualities they could possess.

The creature is motionless. It hangs limply, its stillness familiar to you, akin to that of humans who have passed on. It is dead, then, but why is it displayed on the wall like game?

It is then you notice the inscriptions encircling the monster, carved into the very wall. You squint and inch closer. They were runes once, you guess, runes for capture and imprisonment. Though, these have been warped, twisted during their creation. You wonder if they needed to be changed to hold such a creature captive.

One more step, just to see the inscriptions more clearly. Your mind whirs. The magic within the runes is still active. Why, though, if the beast is truly dead—

Something wraps around your calf, something muscular and serpentine. Heart stuttering in your chest, you screech and stumble back. Your leg slips free of whatever holds it and you retreat to the opposite wall, chest heaving, pulse galloping.

Your wide eyes meet solid black; iris, pupil, and whites are indistinguishable from one another in such wicked darkness. The creature’s snout opens, a dark chuckle sounding around pointed teeth. Flicking back and forth below its feet is a long, white tail, a tuft of black fur at the tip.

“Forgive me, little human. It has been so long since I had a visitor. I fear I have forgotten my manners.” It speaks in a thundering baritone, quiet growls rumbling between its words. “I thank you for removing that blasted pot from the hearth. The stench of it dulls the senses, you see.”

You open your mouth to speak but your voice cracks, air lodged in your throat. Swallowing, you try again, “W-What…what—

“What am I?” it suggests playfully, mouth curling into a smirk. Trembling fingers grip the front of your shift. Tentatively, you nod once.

“Many things, many names I have earned, but you, little human, may call me Orneth. I am—

“A demon,” you breathe. Realizing you spoke aloud, you clap a hand over your mouth. Orneth hums inquisitively, head tilting to the side.

“You know of me? I am flattered. Though, most humans do not have knowledge of my kind.”

Your palm slips from your face to anxiously twist in your dress once more. “I…there is a…a page about you in one of my brother’s bestiaries.” You wonder if you should be divulging all this, or if you should even be talking to him at all. However, you are woefully short on answers. Perhaps this demon can help you.

“A human who reads runes and bestiaries. I thought there was an air of magic about you, little witch.” You attempt to keep your expression passive. It becomes apparent you will not be able to hide anything from him.

Indeed, magic runs in your veins. You learned the healing arts from your grandmother and a little alchemy from your elder brother. Though you never met your mother, you’re told she was a skilled healer.

“Your perception is legendary, Demon Lord,” you praise, your voice more tremulous than you hoped. Courage fails you in the presence of such a beast.

At the title, the demon’s tail flicks. You take it to be a good sign. Perhaps his ego can be leveraged.

“Such a charming little creature,” Orneth purrs. “A refreshing change from my usual treatment.” You watch closely as the muscles of his outstretched arms flex against the magic holding him. Now is your chance.

“Please, Lord Orneth, will you tell me where we are? I awoke in a room above this one with no memory or how or why I came to be here.” The demon grins at your question and the back of your neck prickles. Intuition tells you he is planning some deception. You must navigate this exchange carefully.

“Indeed, I can tell you these things, little witch, but I will require something in return.”

“Name your price, demon, and I will do my best to meet it.”

“You must free me.” At his words, you balk. You knew this would be his stipulation, but the prospect of loosing him upon you and the rest of the world above chills you to the bone.

“What reassurance can you give that I will not be harmed?” The demon chuckles, the growling sound of it bouncing off the earthen walls and high ceiling.

“Harming she who aided me in my weakest moment? There’s no honor in that, pet.”

“And…others? My kin…I fear for them,” you tell him honestly. There is some truth in his words, you sense, but his tone carries an undercurrent of trickery.

“My quarrel is not with you or yours, child.” You bite your lip. Fear grips you, but desperation wins out. Free the demon and he can free you too.

“I…I will do my best to free you, Lord Orneth, if you will help me in return.” The demon rumbles in excitement at your promise.

“An honest little mage. Come closer. On the nearby table is an athamé. Prick your finger and let me drink of your blood. Then, a deal we will have.” Your breath falters. You know very little of blood magic, but giving your life essence to a demon is most assuredly forbidden.

“I-I do not intend to deceive you—

Orneth’s booming laugh interrupts your stammering. “And the blood will make sure of that! Come, human, time is not on our side. We must make haste, lest our captors return.”

You close your eyes despairingly. You have run out of options. The magic of this place is beyond your skill. You cannot hope to escape without Orneth.

Steeling yourself, you make your way to the specified table. The knife is cold in your palm, blade glinting in the low light. You set the tip against the finger, gritting your teeth at the sting. Blood wells under the metal point, black in the darkness.

Cautiously, you approach the demon. He watches intently, obsidian eyes trained on your leaking finger. You push to your tip-toes and raise your arm over your head to reach his mouth.

A forked tongue snakes from his toothy maw. It is slick and warm as it wraps around your wrist. A startled gasp leaves your lips as it drags up your hand and laps at your cut before disappearing back into the demon’s mouth.

Hastily, you back away once more. Orneth’s eyes flutter closed in apparent rapture as he tastes you, but they suddenly fly open to fix you with an astonished stare. You’re frozen to the spot, terrified of whatever it is he has discovered.

“You continue to surprise, pet. I see now what they wanted with you. A virgin witch is a rare find.”

“W-Who…who do you speak of, demon?” Your thoughts jumble together in your race to speak them, the shock of his revelation overshadowed by your need for answers.

Orneth’s lip curls up in a snarl. “Wizards. Wicked conjurers intent on more power, no gratitude for what they’ve already been given. Thankless heathens.” He spits on into the dirt. “This prison, these spells are their doing. They sought to control me and use my abilities for their gain, but their magic is unrefined. It can only hold me. I will not give them what they seek.”

He looks to you and studies your stunned expression a moment before continuing, “I suspect they wish to try once more with another of my kind. Another ritual of that magnitude would require a virgin sacrifice, one with magic of her own.” You stare back at him, speechless, body wracked with fearful trembling.

Now, you remember. Memory spills into your awareness like water rushing from a broken dam:

The stonemason’s son was weak with fever. You were traversing through the woods, making your way home from the village after treating the child. Hooves thundering down the forest trail made you look back in alarm. Armored men on horseback barreled toward you. There had been no time to flee. A blow to the head trapped your memory and submerged you in darkness.

In the hearth, charred wood snaps. Furiously blinking away tears, you come back to the present. You fill your lungs with air to calm your racing heart. Across the room, Orneth watches, ever observant.

His thoughtful hum pulls your attention. “It seems you and I are more alike than not, little one.” Your brows draw down in confusion and the demon chortles. “Both of us cursed in our own way.”

“Speak plainly, demon, I beg of you.” You grow tired of his riddles. There is urgency now, much more than when you first entered this chamber. Your life hangs in the balance.

“Virginity, young witch. It is nothing more than a burden. Lecherous sinners covet the maiden above all else. Men and magic folk alike are eager to abuse her flesh for their gain in one way or another. There will be no peace for you until you free yourself.”

At first, you’re too taken aback to respond. It discomforts you, the way he speaks so freely. Yet, there is an earnest quality to his words, a truthfulness.

“Of course, this could be included in our arrangement. An additional stipulation.” At your quizzical expression, Orneth smiles wide and adds, “It has been quite some time since I bedded a human. You would make a delectable treat, whitchling.”

Confusion instantly morphs into mortification. Your eyes grow wide and your face burns as you indignantly splutter, “C-Control yourself! Gods above, this is…I am not agreeing to this-this indecency!” You contemplate turning yourself over to the wizards. Dying would be preferable over this gut-wrenching shame.

Orneth’s boisterous laughter fills the cavern. You glare daggers at him, your eyes burning with unshed tears. Huffing, you turn on your heel and stomp back toward the staircase.

“Wait, wait little witch! I merely jest,” he shouts between guffaws. “We have a deal, if you recall.” You slow, scrunching up your face in ire. You are tempted to keep walking and deal with the consequences of breaking a blood oath, but sense prevails.

Sucking in a breath, you square your shoulders with purpose. Slowly, you turn to face the grinning demon, ignoring him as you tentatively approach. You remain hyper-aware of that swishing tail.

First, you tug free the steaks holding his wings aloft. The demon flinches with each and a small part of you relishes in his pain. He sighs in relief once the last spike is removed.

Next, you turn your attention to the runes and study each closely. Lifting your fingers, you bring them inches away from the symbols, careful not to touch. The power of them buzzes against your fingertips, a warning.

Your brother would be better for this, you tell yourself. This magic is old and powerful, something that takes years to master. Doubt overwhelms you and you draw your hand back. What if you falter and your error kills you both? Your grandmother cannot be left alone, old and frail as she is.

Then, one of the symbols catches your eye. You lean in and trace its shape with your gaze. You know this, know how to craft it…and how to undo it. You remember the book. The specific page floats to the forefront of your mind and you carefully recall the steps.

“There is a sequence, I think.” You speak more to yourself than the demon. Orneth is blessedly silent, to your relief. “They must be undone in the appropriate order. So, it should be…,” your eyes dart up to the symbol near his left hand, “…this first.”

You whisper words of unbinding. Magic rolls of your tongue and gathers at the tips of your fingers. The air crackles, the hair on your arms standing on end.

You press your fingers to the rune. It fizzes, the outline of the symbol glowing bright white, so intense you must squint. Then, it snuffs out and crumbles to dust at your feet.

One.

You move to the rune between his great hooves. Then to the one at his right hand. One by one they fall until you come to the last, the symbol between his horns.

Even on the tips of your toes you cannot reach. Hastily, you retrieve a chair and clamber onto its seat. This brings you eye-level with the demon. He stinks of sulfur and the last embers of a fire.

Orneth smirks at your proximity but says nothing, apparently unwilling to break your concentration. Cheeks heating up under his scrutiny, you focus on the last rune. Silently, you pray the demon will keep his word. You hope you aren’t making a mistake by unleashing the beast.

Under your fingers, the final symbol collapses. He is free, whether you like it or not. Hurriedly, you leap from the chair and drag it away as Orneth begins to tip forward. He lands on his knees with a resounding thud, loose earth raining down on you from the ceiling.

A beat of silence passes. In your ears, your blood rushes like a great river. Should you flee? Should you stay?

Then, one massive wing lifts, stretching to its full breadth. The other follows soon after. You watch in awe as the slashes left behind by the steaks mend themselves, thin flesh knitting together until each wing is whole and unmarred once more.

Gradually, the demon lifts his head to gaze at you. You freeze, the knowledge that he can move about as he pleases reminding you of your helplessness. What will he—

Orneth darts forward so quickly you do not have time to react. Thick hands seize you around the middle and you gasp when the room tilts. A grunt forces itself from your lungs when your back meets wood. Jars and crystals smash to the ground, knocked from one of the long work surfaces when the demon pins you to the table top.

You’re stunned, air refusing to enter your chest. The room spins as your mind desperately attempts to orient itself. Against your palms, the skin of his chest is so hot it almost burns.

“Now then,” he rumbles, settling between your legs. With growing horror, you discover your skirt has bunched up near your thighs in the tussle. The heat of him so near your center leaves you reeling. “This is much more comfortable.”

Finally, you cough and inhale, lungs filling with blessed air. Frantically, you push against his chest. “You…you swore—

“Swore no harm would come to you. And none shall. There are more things I can do to you like this than hurt you, little one.” He leans in close, close enough to feel the warm rush of his breath against your ear. “Unless you ask it of me.”

A shuddering exhale leaves your lips as you furiously shake your head. “No, n-no, I didn’t agree—

Orneth shift his hips and something thick and turgid slides against your inner thigh. You squeak in alarm, legs thrashing when you realize what touches you so intimately.

“Such a clever mage. So resourceful. You brim with more power than you realize. It would be an honor to spill my seed in your untouched cunt.” Your cheeks burn with his whispered praise.

Before you can scream curses at him, he moves again, this time sliding his heated length between your folds. Pleasure shocks you at the contact and the lascivious mewl that sneaks from your throat has shameful tears pricking at your eyes.

The demon groans deeply in response, the sound shuddering in the depths of your own chest. He continues to roll his hips, grinding his cock along your slit until it is slick with your want. You bite your lip so hard you taste iron, so desperate are you to conceal the lustful noises begging to leave your tongue.

Never have you felt this pleasure before or even imagined anything could feel this way. Every second that passes chips away at your resolve, more baser instincts itching to take over. Though…could you let…a demon…?

A snout nuzzles against the shell of your ear. “What say you, pet? Shall I split you open and free you from that wretched curse you carry?” You whimper in response, your nails digging crescents into his flesh. The temptation…it is….

A shout from behind startles you both. Your eyes snap open and you let your head fall back. There, upside down from your viewpoint, stands a man, his long, gray beard reaching down to his leather belt, a pointed hat clutched in his white-knuckled hands. Embroidered in the hat are symbols, descriptions of his status and rank.

A wizard.

A rolling growl shakes the glass jars above your head. Fear races up your spine at the sound and you quickly look to the demon. Orneth’s lips pull back in a vicious snarl as he regards the magician frozen in terror at the base of the stairs.

Then, the demon drops his gaze to you, his expression softening. “My apologizes, sweet one. It appears our pleasure must wait.” The sound of frantic footfalls reaches your ears. Orneth’s hateful gaze returns to the staircase. “I have wizards to kill.”

Sudden wind whooshes around you as powerful wings beat once, twice. The demon raises into the air and launches himself toward the stairs. The abrupt absence of his body heat leaves goosebumps prickling across your skin.

You slide from the table to land on trembling knees. Embarrassed, you hastily straighten your shift, your thighs still damp with desire. You drag a hand down your face and shake your head. How could you have nearly let a demon defile you in this hellish place?

Screaming shocks you out of your reverie. It’s distant, likely near the top of the stairs, but there is no mistaking the agony in it. Hesitantly, you follow the sound, afraid you’ll be trapped here forever if you don’t take your chance.

The cries grow weaker as you climb the endless staircase. They die off completely as you near the top. Faint light glows through the doorway ahead. Moonlight.

A way out.

You ignore the burning in your calves and your haggard breaths to sprint up the last few stairs. At the top is the little room in which you awoke. Beyond is another door. Fresh air smelling of spruce and aspen billows through the opening, bringing with it the promise of freedom. You race across the room and burst outside, but quickly skid to a halt in the grass, your hands flying up to clap over your mouth in revulsion.

The wizard’s shredded body…or what remains of it…litters the clearing before you. Innards, sinew, and bone are spread haphazardly across the ground, blood painting the grass in inky darkness. At the center of the carnage stands Orneth, his snout and chest covered in gore, the contrast of the vital fluid splattered against his pale skin stark in the moonlight.

Over his shoulder, the demon quietly regards you. Fearfully, you meet his dark gaze. His lips quirk up in a grin, his long teeth dripping with ichor. With one, powerful beat from his wings, he shoots up into the air to vanish into the night sky.

Above you, stars twinkle. A cool breeze rustles leaves and chills the sweat beading along your brow. Gathering up your skirt, you pick your way through the grass and return to the trees.

Home awaits.

#ofteethandtenderness #exophilia #monster oc #monster x reader #demon oc #demon x human #demon x reader #monster x human #monster x you #terato #monster boyfriend #monsters

[spearxwind]

Ough thinkingabout the godzilla monsterverse movies. The 2014 one is genuinely just so.. good. Like.

But then all the others are insanely bad I dont get it. The only one that's ever so slightly passable is the second one (kotm) but the more I look back on it the worse it is as like, a movie

and yeah yeah before you say "well its good because its just supposed to be a movie about monsters fighting" well dont you think it could have been done better?

the first movie works very well because its not made as a monster movie its made as a natural disaster movie, where the natural disasters are huge monsters. Their actions have weight, the budget people have to fight back is limited, there are genuine stakes (and the fights have more weight to them as well) and the human element does matter and helps move the story along (for better or for worse) no matter how much people complain that they "didnt care what the humans did" or didnt care to watch them, maybe part of why you didnt like the movie is because you weren't paying attention to what they did

In the rest of the movies though every human factor is almost if not completely pointless. In kotm they just kinda fuck around as supposedly ecoterrorists and wake up ghidorah but then ghidorah doesnt do anything the whole movie except fly around ominously (he doesnt even kill anyone i dont think they fake out of that like 4 times its infuriating) and then in the gvk movie its just absurd. like theres no cohesion to it

(that's another one, skull island is a fantastic movie, very stylish)

like season one of strangers things "something fucking weird is happening in this town and we are realistically responding to it" versus season three "a bunch of kids sneak into a super secret russian complex and fuck shit up somehow" its just a progression that doesnt make sense

I know the monsterverse is marketed to children and has plots a child would make and are increasingly """child-friendly""" but man idk I just wish they would have done it better. Monsterverse has just become the marvel avengers of kaijus and I am using marvel in a derogatory way. Like yeah sure its cool monster fighting movies but objectively you have to admit theyre just not good.

#thunderclap #i knowww theres gonna be annoying people responding to this too #'but theyre cool to watch' yeah just saying it could have been better #i have a lot of onions about this specifically #and obviously i will go watch the movies anyways i still have hope one will be good but i know it wont #i would just rather throw money at legendary for these than throw money at marvel

[littlelesbinonny]

The Devil's Den

Chapter 38: In Which The Daylight Is Fading

You can read this also on Ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46831621/chapters/117962293

::!TW!:: *brief depictions of blood/gore*

There was still a hint of the sunset radiating in through the stained glass of the church and Alcina winced at the tinge of pain in her bones that came with it. At least it would be gone soon, but truly she had something much more pressing to deal with than that of the setting sun. Still, the haunting color of the darkening amber to red was ominous.

A coldness set in as she had followed the priest with haste; hope beyond hope, she was sickeningly praying to any God that may exist that she wasn't about to walk into what she thought she was.

But she did.

A mutant had been here.

At her very doorstep. It had made itself known. 

But how many? One? A handful? A hundred?

A boiling rage and fear began to pour down her spine; a thousand and one thoughts slamming to the front of her mind while she look upon this mangled human.

This boy the priest had so hysterically been crying over was splayed out on the ground in a large, spattered pool of blood and entrails. His flesh was torn apart from his face to his belly. His skull was visible through the damage as was his ribcage. If she hadn't known better she would have guessed a tiger had escaped a local zoo. She shuddered internally as flashbacks of her own altercation raced through.

He lay near the deacon common hall doorway near the exit she so often took to escape into the human world, an easy location for this attack to happen; the predator would take no notice until the deed was done and scatter off in the blink of an eye.

Father Sullivan was there, as were two other priests, a deacon, and now Alcina, three of her men, and the priest who'd come to fetch her.

The humans were pale as death; sickened to their stomachs as they were not used to the sight nor the smell of a freshly carved up body. The rank, metallic smell of blood affected the vampires in a very different way than it did the clergymen, but this was more than a somber, disturbing manner. 

The men stared at Alcina and her men with blank faces. Pure shock. Sprouting anger, perhaps, and utter disbelief this was taking place. Alcina and her men were no better; blank stares, void of visible reaction.

"Send for Donna," she whispered over her shoulder to the vampire on her left, "immediately."

He left in a blink.

"W-what h-have you to say for yourself?" Father Sullivan finally uttered, his tone drenched in a whisper that bore the depths of pure hatred masking the fear, keeping any semblance of power he was desperately grasping for.

"That the enemy that slaughtered this boy is also ours, Father. Be careful with your quick judgements; don't you teach at great lengths about that?"

"H-he had just turned 17!" 

The priest holding the most upset about the situation chimed in again, breaking the stare-down between Alcina and Father Sullivan.

"What are we going to tell his mother?" 

He droned, kneeling next to the body, his mannerisms in a fit just as much as his rambling.

"H-how?! How can this be?"

His eyes darted back to Alcina, his lips twisting into rage as he clenched his fists; "you don't have enemies! Vampires have no enemies - you lie! You lie through your sharp teeth of death!" he rose haphazardly, his sight never leaving the vampires before him, "y-you devils - evil - pure evil! The church's alliance with you has never made sense to me! I knew - I knew! Something was going to happen - none of you can be trusted - how can the House of God make deals with the Devil Incarnates!?"

"Father Archer!" Father Sullivan shouted, "enough!"

"No, no! I won't be silent! I won't - I have to say my piece! God would not have us -"

Father Archer was silenced as Alcina, quicker than their sight, grabbed him by the neck, hoisted him into the air and slammed him into the neighboring stone threshold.

She bore her teeth, scowling detested, silencing him with not only her dangerous visage but her strong grip around his throat.

"The mutant beast who did this, the one you so vehemently brand to belong to us, is not of our sect!" she spat, "I'll have you keep your bullshit behind your lips or I'll take your tongue with gladness! You know nothing of what you speak and I'll prefer your silence to your barrage of misinformed prejudice! And if it comes down to tit for tat, Father Archer - I - and my vampires, my lycans, have kept your pitiful little church and all your people safe for centuries which you should be ever so fucking grateful! You all live so freely above us with no returned services but the use of your church to the entrance of your world. Do you really think to be so much better than us you could evoke smite to the underworld with your pitiful excuse of self-righteousness?!"

"Please!" Father Sullivan interrupted, fitful and bothered, "please, can we stop this?!"

Alcina held her gaze at the kicking, struggling, crumpled-face priest in her grasp as she silently heeded Father Sullivan's request. She was about to lower him when she felt a presence that froze her solid. A presence she never, ever, in a million years that could be her existence, wanted to feel lingering near the doorway to her right.

No.

-

You took Monday off from work because, well, you were far too preoccupied with magick than sitting at a fucking desk for eight hours.

Your crow family had not left your balcony all day as you sat in your room alternating from your bean bag chair to your bed, reading and practicing, mindfully staring out your balcony doors, and pondering the entire earthquake that had reshaped your entire life. Whenever you grabbed yourself a snack, which was becoming more and more frequent as you worked up such an appetite while you practiced your magick, you shared with your crows each time. They cooed and purred and made all sorts of sweet noises each time you came out. If it weren't cold outside you'd leave your door open and see if they'd wander in. But, they seemed content to be where they were and you couldn't help but smile every time you looked up to find them there.

The vampire memoire, as you were beginning to call it, was full of so much information. The further you got into it, it started to give way to information on vague locations of vampire covens all over Europe, Africa, Asia, and now North America. Not to your surprise, it mentioned the covens in New York, right under your feet. Nothing was terribly revealing, as the author of course was much too smart for that, but it mentioned the the Basilica of Saint Patrick's Olde Cathedral not far from you. That piqued your interest greatly and you decided to pay it a visit later today. 

This book also went into decent detail about how the truce and coexistence between vampires and the church began. There had been a stalemate take place in Romania; a vicious, bloody battle was waged in a village between a large coven of vampires and a church back in the 1600's. Eventually only one priest and one vampire were left. They both lay nearly at death with each other in the demolished courtyard after the bloodshed, and agreed that their kind could benefit each other if they could come to an agreement, otherwise they'd wipe the other off the face of the earth, and in the end was it worth it? The priest allowed the vampire to feed from him which revived the vampire, the vampire took the dying priest and bled him, turning him into one of them to solidify the truce. Then the two of them approached the neighboring churches to explain what they had done and to plead their case. It had been a compelling argument and the church, and vampires, agreed to cohabitate. The vampires promised to never attack and kill anymore clergy, and to protect the churches from any enemy, lycans mainly, that might attack, and the church offered dark safe havens for the vampires to dwell in during the day, and allowed entrances from covens underground passage into the human world peacefully.

Crazy shit what goes on in the world and no one knows the wiser.

You assumed that Saint Patrick's Cathedral must be one of the many entrances to the human world for the underworld. Who knew how many times Alcina used that very church to come see you, the thought made you smile.

When you bundled up and left your apartment to go find something to eat late afternoon, your crows loyally followed you overhead. Sometimes they'd swoop down to hop along a high stone fence you trekked along, cooing and cawing and otherwise making you grin from ear to ear gaining you off-hand looks from the other passerby's. You didn't care. You were a magickal creature, of some sort, with your own little army of crows and they were boring, plain old humans - they could suck it.

The evening was becoming beautiful. The breeze had stopped, which made the otherwise biting cold now very bearable, though you almost perfected the warming bubble you'd used on the plant and you weren't so bothered by the cold so much anymore. And now you were off on your last adventure for the day after a wonderful warm dinner.

'Careful.'

You heard as you walked through the dispersing and meandering crowds on the sidewalk.

'Careful.'

It came again several strides later.

You couldn't help but look around you, seeing if someone was speaking to you directly or if you were simply hearing a passing conversation. But nothing.

Ebony and the rest were hopping along the fence as they had been and you brushed it off, taking another turn down a block to the cathedral.

'Careful!'

The warning came in louder this time, almost inside of your head and you looked up to find all six of your crows were huddled much closer together and now taking to the sky above you. Setting your sights back on your path you began to wonder if this was not the same voice you'd heard when you named them all, that resounding, yet soft, 'yes' reply was eerily similar to you.

Not yet a handful of buildings away from the stone wall to Saint Patrick's, you were suddenly being bombarded by your crows. They were dashing in front of you, blocking your path, cawing at you, almost colliding with you as you ducked.

"What the hell! Quit!" you halted and merged yourself to the fence beside you, watching their strange behavior with apprehension.

Then once more;  Careful - Careful!     Careful!   C-careful!                         Careful, careful!  Careful!  C-careful!

And then they were gone.

What the literal fuck? You thought as you watched them scatter to the sky and fly down the street, taking a very sharp turn towards the basilica and disappearing.

Suddenly you were very still and silent, feeling the wave of sharp uncertainty takes it purchase in your heart for a long moment. 

Were your crows... warning you?

So you had heard Ebony speak that day, just as you had heard them now, plain as day.

While you were in excited disbelief to think they could possibly telepathically communicate with you, you were still pretty shaken by their upset. What on earth had made them act in such a way?

Against your better judgement, you continued on and found yourself at the entrance to the large, beautifully ornate Saint Patrick's Old Cathedral.

It looked welcoming, a thing you never really experienced from a church. And perhaps that was because you associated it with your Lady of the Night, her kind, her easy ability to come see you from such a close distance because of this building, right here.

As you walked slowly along the well kept black iron fence to search for a possible opening for you to enter and explore, you noticed the large forest green door that you assumed lead into a courtyard of sorts, was open. Everything was locked up tight, so it shouldn't have been, should it? And from there you could heard what sounded like shouting.

Without much real control of your own, your feet took you through the threshold, almost ignoring the beautiful large trees and dead grass of the courtyard, and found you were being drawn to a warm amber light spilling out from another open door where the voices had gotten sharper and louder, and then silent all together.

You were not prepared for the sight that met you.

And you were unsure what you saw or comprehended first.

The pool of blood. The absolutely mangled body in it. A clergyman standing there, still as a statue. Or Alcina, holding up another clergyman by his throat against a doorway, her white turtleneck covered in blood.

Like a magnetic pull, her eyes were drawn to yours and your sights locked.

It was palpably disconcerting.

No. 

No, this couldn't be.

Her lips seemed to move as if uttering your name breathlessly, the look on her face twisting between emotions you couldn't decern. And you just stared.

Surely she had not done this, surely this was not what it looked like. It didn't make sense. This didn't make sense. You were caught in a time loop where the same phrases continued to replay causing a spinning hectic argument within your heart and mind.

No. No.

The bickering became so loud you began to stagger away. You couldn't think, you could only move, and moving you were. Quickly.

She couldn't have done that. She wouldn't have done that. Alcina isn't a mindless brutal killer. This isn't right - this isn't right! 

Had blood-rage taken her over like it had the other night in my apartment? Had she snapped unwillingly and someone unfortunately got in the way? Had she lost control? 

No! No!

You couldn't stop the barrage of thoughts and you began to run. 

You weren't sold on what you were hearing, but it sounded like Alcina was calling after you, and though it was getting closer it sounded so far away.

You knew her. You knew her. There's no way she had done that. She was a protector; a woman you loved so deeply; a woman who had never hurt you even though she had more than enough capability. She hadn't done it. 

So why couldn't you stop running?

The cacophony in your head nearly had you screaming for silence as you slammed your door behind you, slumping into it letting the cool of the steel chill your overheated face. You don't even remember getting to your apartment. You don't remember flying up the hundred stairs since you couldn't wait for the elevator.

Once more you heard your name and you spun but kept your back flat against the door.

In the darkness of your hallway was a familiar silhouette that would normally make your heart sputter with glee, but this time it was fear and complete uncertainty and you hated that almost more than the thought of Alcina being part of whatever the fuck you walked in on.

Alcina was apprehensive as hell, panicked at the whole of this situation, dreading this moment with fervor. 

"Please," she said softly and as calmly as she could, "please, just listen to me before -"

"Did you have something to do with that?" you blurted, anxious and uneasy, letting the demon of blame take hold. 

Alcina halted in her approach giving you the space you were silently demanding, twisting a painful dagger in her chest.

"Were you involved with whoever was slaughtered in there?" you asked sharply.

"You weren't meant to see that -"

"No fucking shit?! You think?! Did you? Did you?"

You were so overwhelmed. 

Alcina was overwhelmed. Maintaining it much better than you were.

She had to take pause and a long breath in and out as she tried so hard to figure out how to navigate this conversation. You had every right to be upset and confused and blame her for what you saw. Which you never should have. The fates were playing cruel tricks on her in a time she absolutely did not need them. You were never supposed to see that! Why were you there to begin with?! Of course you were going to have a thousand questions, questions she couldn't answer. She couldn't tell you what you rightfully needed to know, not yet, not now, it was all too much.

"Of course I didn't!" Alcina finally barked, not so much at you but at how annoyed she was at this fucking situation.

You could see how she was trying to hide her despondence. It gave you a little hope of your own that you were, in fact, overreacting. But then, were you really?

"I know you are hell bent to keep what happens underground a secret from me, which ok, fine, but it seems like it's no longer under the ground and I think you owe me a goddamn explanation."

"Draga mea, I -"

"No, no, don't you draga mea me right now - I am - upset, I'm scared, I'm - wanting that scene expunged from my motherfucking brain!" you blurted as you walked into your living room.

Turning halfway there, you looked to her. She was still so eerily beautiful even though she was covered in blood and it made you angry. You wanted to just fall in her arms and forget everything but that was not happening.

After another bloated pause, realizing she wasn't going to offer up anything, you flopped your arms at your sides, "I want to know what is going on."

Alcina's visage turned hard, her breaths apparent as she took her time to keep calm, "I cannot tell you that."

"Is this another one of those won't's disguised as a can't?"

"For fuck sake draga mea!" she replied as her hands flew into the air, her eyes showing a most unusual form of defeat, "You must understand it's not out a spite for your asking! There are simply things I just cannot and will not tell you right now! Telling you will implicate you in a danger I refuse to push you any closer to!"

"So I am in danger?" you shot back.

"You certainly could be."

"But that's not something you thought might be good for me to know?"

Alcina took a visibly steadying breath, lowering her hands at her side as her fists clenched slightly, "you're already too close to this than I ever wanted you to be, draga, I am trying to protect you."

You huffed, trying yourself to calm your unrest, "did it ever occur to you that maybe what I need is for you to be truthful and open and honest with me? To, I don't know, not leave me in the dark and instead fill me in on some threat that might be lurking around the corner when you're not here? What am I supposed to do if you're not here and I walk into this blindly?"

Oh you were infuriating. You weren't allowed to counter such a valid argument when she clearly wasn't prepared and not in a place to tackle this right now. She had so much on her plate as it was and this was going to send her overboard.

"Draga please, I just need you to trust me!" she pleaded as she reached the end of her rope.

"It's not so much about trusting you Alcina! I'm absolutely petrified of not knowing what to expect now. Why can't you just tell me what the fuck I might be facing so I can defend myself?"

Alcina's face dropped and she stepped towards you, reaching for your shoulders and gently taking them in her grasp, "don't be absurd," she nearly whispered, her eyes dark and stern, "you absolutely could not defend yourself against it..." the look on her face growing more severe, "do you remember what I looked like when I came back to you many months ago? Do you remember the scars, the gashes, the wounds that should have healed through me with ease? Do you?" she asked harshly, "I nearly died, draga mea... I was almost killed. You are no match for this foe, that I know for certain. This is why I need you to trust me. Please, please leave this be!"

You swallowed involuntarily, feeling the unease getting worse as she spoke. Of course you remember. Your blood was what healed them.

"And do you remember what healed you?" you questioned right back, your palms now resting on her forearms, "I healed you. Which is something I want to talk to you about very soon... I'm... changing. Drastically. I still don't know how or what, and neither does Malka, but -"

"Who the fuck is Malka?" Alcina asked briskly, releasing her grip on your shoulders as her jealousy shot through her veins, a lesser of her finer attributes.

Oh boy. 

"Uh, she, she's an older lady I've known for years. She's been helping me - she's a Jewish Mystic - "

"What?"

The spikey energy prickling off Alcina made you throw your hands up and you stepped back, rubbing your face as you paced a few times through your groans, "she is not what we're talking about right now! We're talking about me!" you relented, facing her once again, "please! Alcina... please, I need you, I need you and your guidance and support now more than ever. I'm so scared about so many things that I currently, at this very point in time, am so beside myself I do not know what to do... please... I will trust you, if you'll please just give me a little in return. Please."

Alcina felt her heart sputter, and not in a good way. That look in your eyes, that pleading uncertainty made her wince.

She approached you again and took your jaws in her cool, soft grasp, "I... tomorrow I will come back to you and we will talk," Alcina spoke softly, "I promise. I will listen to you. And I will tell you more."

You nearly melted into her touch as she caressed a loose piece of hair from your face, that familiar visage of the caring, nurturing, loving woman you need so much returning giving you some semblance of peace.

"For now I must return to what I left. Please, I want you to stay put, stay here, don't leave at night if you can help it, not until I return to you, alright?"

Your nod was a little hesitant, "o-ok... I won't."

"I love you draga mea, more than I think you understand. Please keep yourself safe."

"I love you too... you stay safe too, ok?"

She nodded and leaned to kiss you, pressing her lips reverently to yours, breathing you in, savoring the last it of silence she would have for a great while she was sure. Alcina still held your face as she pulled away, burning the image of you into her memory, the fear still lingering in the pit of her stomach making her uneasy.

"I must go."

Her parting left you cold and unsure. Something still didn't feel right. Not at all.

You grabbed your phone and dialed.

"... Malka?"

"Ketzeleh! ...what is wrong?"

"I uh, I need to see you, I need your help."

#alcina dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu/female reader #alcina dimitrescu/original female character #alcina dimitrescu/reader #lesbian #f/f #fanfic #wlw #fic #donna beneviento #blood #gore #tw blood #tw gore

[regallibellbright]

Okay so that post about tragedies in video games bounced off some neurons and my thinking yesterday about Dragon Quest Builders 2, and a thought finally cohered there, so let’s talk about Dragon Quest Builders 2 and dramatic irony with our BFF, the God of Destruction!

Okay. So Dragon Quest Builders 2 works off the setup of Dragon Quest 2, where a cult of monsters called the Children of Hargon (named for their high priest) are menacing humanity. It’s mentioned, literally once or twice before the final battle, that Hargon is specifically trying to bring about the coming of his evil god Malroth, who he summons as the final boss of the game. This is about all the characterization and build-up Malroth gets, and his design is an evil six-legged dragon with a big skull necklace. He’s not very memorable. But, since he’s a god of DESTRUCTION specifically, it fits really nicely into the idea of Dragon Quest Builders. Builders in this series are tied to any act of crafting and creation - making a house is building, but so is making medicine or cooking. Farming is an aspect of building, outlawed under monster rule along with the rest, because these acts are tied specifically to humanity. The premise of the game is bringing hope back to the world by reintroducing humans to the art of making things. So Builders 2 establishes that destruction is therefore something heavily associated with monsters and monster culture, and as a builder, you represent their opposite. The game starts with Hargon already defeated and a straggling ship of monsters kidnapping you (an apprentice Builder) and some other villagers to execute you in revenge for the cult, Hargon, and the Master of Destruction’s demise.

And then, this is not a spoiler, it makes that Master of Destruction your best friend.

The tutorial of the game has you trying to fix the ship before it sinks in a storm (because good, devout monsters can’t build, but if the ship sinks, they drown too.) It fails, and you wake up on a desert island with a strange young man named Malroth. He has amnesia and likes breaking things and fighting. He tags along after you for almost the entire game. If you destroy a certain kind of block so you can use it, he’ll break more just like it. If you attack a monster that’s not inherently hostile for their item drops, he’ll go out and fight more slimes. He’s stronger and tougher than you as the PC, and most importantly, he draws aggro for the hostile monsters. Mechanically, a lot of the weaknesses of the first game are addressed just by giving you this buddy NPC to help with combat and resource gathering. Since the actual player character is silent, Malroth also fills the traditional role of “companion character who reacts and repeats your presumed reactions so the developers don’t write dialogue for the Player Insert”. When you achieve something, like leveling up or completing a significant build, the two of you high-five. He’s always there, and the player is happy for it rather than annoyed.

And, at least in the English version (the Japanese version apparently uses an alternate kana reading of his name for NPC Malroth that could, conceivably, be an actual person’s name rather than the one used for the boss, but since the game establishes pretty quickly that Malroth has ominous dreams and sometimes hears a voice no one else can who talks about how he’ll awaken soon - and I think even calls him by his title outright, at least in English - I don’t think it’s left much of a mystery in the original, either, especially as the game makes sure to drop the evil god’s name early for anyone who didn’t play DQ2,) the mystery is not “Who is Malroth.” We all know he’s clearly the Master of Destruction reborn. Maybe the English localization could have nicknamed him “Mal”, but frankly I doubt it would have been convincing. They got saddled with one of the most Transparently A Fantasy Villain names imaginable, but honestly even if there WAS supposed to be a genuine mystery around Malroth, I think they lucked out here because I think it works better this way.

The characters don’t know what we do. The game establishes that only the higher-ups of Hargon’s cult know the True Name of the Master of Destruction. It’s dramatic irony, and it’s great. We know that eventually the truth will come out and the Master of Destruction part will almost certainly be reborn, because this is a video game, but we’ve gotten attached to our Destruction God BFF. Again, he makes the game better mechanically just by existing. When there’s inevitably a section where the two of you get separated, shortly before the internal reveal, you REALLY miss his presence. We don’t want to fight him, and we don’t want him to be subsumed by his evil god alterego. But as we get more skilled at building, he gets more skilled at destroying. We know we’re tied onto this log that’s about to go over a waterfall, and we are powerless to stop it, and knowing that he’s the final boss does nothing to stop us from getting attached. I love this. It’s great.

It also helps that the game has an actual mystery, one that it doesn’t start dropping heavy hints about early on. You know that the Children of Hargon were defeated and their leaders are dead, so how have you ended up in an archipelago where they still have control over the land and have subjugated humans? The answer here is genuinely a cool reveal, and plays into a neat little sequence from DQ2. I like it. THAT mystery is framed as a mystery, given just enough hints it still makes sense on replay while not being telegraphed. But I really do think it’s better in this case that we know who Malroth is, because it lets us feel that dread as the game progresses and we’re still getting attached to him anyway.

In conclusion: Dragon Quest Builders 2. I love it. It was my game of the year in 2019 and it was what finally got me to start writing a little again when there were a few lingering plot threads I wanted addressed, and then the game gave a free update that addressed them! I am happy.

#Dragon Quest Builders 2 #meta #dramatic irony #video games #long post #malroth #dqb2 malroth #malroth dqb2 #dqb2 #Dragon Quest Builders #this is actually relatively low on spoilers #because again it is not a secret that Malroth is the evil god Malroth #to anyone except the characters

[social-muffin]

I just watched some Tinkerbell movies and my brain can never resist mushing my most beloved khr into things. So I ask thee!

Who would make the better Guardian Fairy? Skull DeMort, or Hibari Kyoya? Specifically, they would be the guardian/guide fairy of whichever cloud isn't a fairy.

So either Hibari Kyoya learning how to use his weather magic/flame from this cowardly little fairy that prefers just staying in his shirt-pocket.

Or Skull DeMort learning how to use his magic/flame/how to fight from this angry little fairy man that absolutely bullies him for being a bit wimpy.

Both dynamics are absolutely delicious actually! And each time, the human would have something whimsical and joyful about themselves btw.

Hibari would find joy in speeding through the clouds and using his magic to ridiculous degrees. Like creating huuuuge storm clouds when he wasn't supposed to do that at all.

And Skull would find his joy doing endlessly risky airborne stunts and loopy-loops and he would always do his very best. Of course, he would always have trouble covering up that one pesky sun-magician who seems to specifically shine his baby-clouds into extinction.

I'm picturing just. A lot of flying around and cloudy mischief, all while a little fairy is either grumbling about responsibilities, or encouraging even more mischief!

Of course... All the joy would be overshadowed by the weirdly ominous storyline of the sky-magicians....

#katekyo hitman reborn #hibari kyoya #skull de mort #Khr ideas #muffin whispers #Just pondering ideas today #Trying to make the brain focus move from Hibari to Skull #So I can continue my older stories #fairies

[darkhearthorns]

We are going to DESTROY your little human consort. She should have never gotten involved in the business of fae.

"You think I'll allow it?"

As his menacing words filled the air, Maverick, the Dragon fae prince, felt a surge of anger and protective fury course through his veins. His emerald-green eyes blazed with an intense fire as his body began to change.

First, a low growl emanated from his throat, rumbling like distant thunder. The sound grew in intensity, vibrating the very air around him. Maverick's muscles tensed, bulging beneath his skin, as his form expanded and grew taller, towering over his antagonizer.

The air crackled with energy as Maverick's skin shimmered and transformed into thick, iridescent scales. Shades of deep sapphire and metallic silver cascaded across his body, reflecting the light in a dazzling display. His hands elongated, fingers fusing together and forming sharp, claw-like talons that glinted ominously.

Spreading wide, his magnificent wings unfurled with a resounding snap. Each wingbeat sent gusts of wind billowing in all directions, stirring up leaves and dust. The wings themselves were a breathtaking spectacle of intricate patterns that mirrored the dark beauty of the fae realm.

Maverick's spine elongated, forming a ridge of formidable spines that ran from the base of his skull to the tip of his tail. The scales on his head grew thicker, forming a protective helmet-like structure around his face, while his once-human ears elongated and sharpened into pointed, draconic ears.

With a mighty roar that shook the ground beneath him, Maverick's teeth grew sharp and elongated into fearsome fangs, glistening with a menacing sheen. His voice, now deeper and resonant, echoed with a primal power that sent shivers down the spines of the fae creatures who heard it.

"I wouldn't mind picking my teeth with your bones, after I roast your bodies with my flaming breath alone," his voice rumbled.

#maverick; answers #dragonisms 🐉}

[jakesuit0]

Beautopia Review

Susan Strong returns, and the show recognizes how significant her reintroduction is to Finn and the audience by staging her appearance at the Treehouse as grand and important. Jake is distrusting of Susan, bringing up the events of her first episode, while Finn still holds on to the hope that Susan is human. Susan herself has developed, now speaking slightly more fluent English. We can already infer that the Hyoomans are mutated descendants of humans who sought shelter during the Mushroom War. We learn in this episode that those humans didn’t just live in a dirty sewer. They built an underground civilization called Beautopia. Beautopia, just like the humans led by Two Bread Tom and Hugo, shows its in humans’ nature to rebuild. Beautopia is even an island civilization of sorts. Unlike the islands and The Drift, Beautopia’s society was abandoned presumably hundreds of years ago. Susan has attempted freeing Beautopia from the Lub Glubs before, but meeting Finn has reignited her hope of restarting the civilization.

Jake’s prejudice towards the Hyoomans is on full display. He scares them with his shapeshifting for his amusement, building on his desire to rule them like “angry gods” in “Susan Strong”. Susan almost drowning Finn works great as a reminder that Finn and Susan are not exactly the same. The episode really plays up the awkwardness between their relationship. Finn and Susan do feel a connection to each other and they want to be in each other's lives, but their lack of understanding of what the other person is keeps getting in the way. This scene and Susan’s surprise of Finn’s lack of gills is a wake up call for Finn at how different they are. Finn must be disappointed and starts to believe that she probably is a fish person. However, he still feels a connection to her. That and his heroic nature makes him determined to still help and trust Susan and defend her from Jake’s insults. In actuality, Susan’s surprise is that he is like her. Finn takes his hat off here and his hair has continued to grow back since “Mortal Folly”. 

Finn, Jake, and Susan take a boat to Beautopia, a precursor to the Islands crew (minus BMO). We get a string of great Jake moments including a very catchy sea shanty. Jake’s smug reaction to Susan’s terror over a pool floaty is hilarious, and him struggling to breathe while being used as a paddle is even funnier. Another pool floaty coming out after an ominous buildup with horror movie music is also very funny. The true forms of the Lub Glubs have a very creepy design. The implication that they have existed for hundreds of years leads me to believe they were mutated from nuclear residue, eventually pushing out the humans. One of them chews on a human skull with a bunny hat, leading to many wild fan theories connecting it to Fionna. 

Jake and Susan complete their arcs in this episode with Jake finally trusting in Susan and Finn once again inspiring Susan to overcome her fears. Finn tells Susan that humans and hyoomans have to stick together, staying consistent with Finn’s lesson in “Susan Strong” that everyone is the same or “wild animals”. Jake delaying throwing in the lantern is yet another hilarious moment. One of the Lub Glubs reminds Jake of his mother, like how a drawing of one reminded him of his father. Many interpret this as a subconscious memory of Warren Ampersand. It could be, but I don’t think the resemblance is quite strong enough. 

The episode ends on a fantastic, quiet moment. Finn and Susan have yet another awkward moment, with Finn refusing to stay. Susan puts Finn’s hand under her hat, resulting in the two finally understanding each other. The episode does not confirm if Finn’s reaction was to him feeling gills or not. However, I think it can only be read as Finn realizing Susan is human, even without the context of later episodes. Susan puts Finn’s hand there as a response to Finn telling her he isn’t like her. Finn’s surprise only works if she is human because Finn was already convinced Susan was a hyooman. I like the reveal being more subtle and the show’s restraint at only giving us a tiny piece of the puzzle.

The dynamic of Finn, Jake, and Susan makes for a great episode with lots of nuanced interaction full of heart, tension, and hilarity. It makes for a worthy followup to one of season two’s best episodes. 

Grade: A

#adventure time #beautopia #finn and jake #finn the human #jake the dog #susan strong

[catsafarithewriter]

Are you still taking asks, if so Protective Baron

A/N: Here's a secret: I'm always up for taking asks ;) I pondered on this, and wasn't sure if you were thinking more self-sacrificing protective or angry protective, so I guess it'll be a surprise ;) enjoy!

x

"I know I have said this many times over the years, old friend," Toto says softly, "but this is the most reckless thing you've ever done."

The Bureau is quiet – too quiet – and so there's no way for Baron to miss Toto's gentle warning. Even the mantelpiece clock is silent, its second hand frozen a moment before the hour.

Baron tears his gaze away from Haru's still form, lifeless, but not dead – not yet, not if he has anything to say about it – laid across the sofa. He listens out for a breath that never comes. "Can you blame me?" he asks.

"It's not a matter of blame," the old crow Creation replies. "It's a matter of what else you're going to lose in the attempt."

"I'm not going to lose her," Baron snaps.

Toto and Muta exchange glances, and the unspoken agreement between them unnerves Baron more than any raised voice.

"Baron," Muta offers, uncharacteristically softly – like a mourner at a funeral, Baron thinks, and then discards the thought angrily, "this is kinda out of our hands. Death came for her – literally, with the bones and the scythe and the hourglass..."

"We've faced bad odds before."

"Not these kinds of odds," Toto says.

"We have time–"

"Time is very much the one thing we do not have." Muta gestures across to the desk. "Look at her hourglass, Baron! The only reason the last grain of sand hasn't already fallen is because you've pulled some fancy-schmancy time-freezing trick with the Sanctuary, but that ain't a solution!"

"It'll break the Sanctuary," Toto warns. "You can't put that kind of strain on this place for long."

"Then I'll save her before it gets to that point!" Baron retorts. He paces the Bureau, trying to look anywhere but that fateful hourglass.

It's an insultingly simple affair, too simple for the value it holds, and only contains a single speck of sand – suspended moments from falling. The handful of sand it had first arrived with, before Baron had been driven to such physics-breaking extremes, had each vanished as they fell through the upper glass. It sits atop his desk, still and quiet and ominous.

"It's not your fault," Toto says in the awful, unnatural silence. "What's happened to her... you had no way of knowing."

"Yeah, how could you have known being so close to a Creation world and its magic would be toxic to a human?" Muta adds. "It's not like either of you ever got a manual on this stuff. And Haru – she never let it slip to any of us."

To stay with him, Baron thinks. Because she would have known that he would have barred the Sanctuary doors from her if he'd had any inkling of the damage it was doing. Because in her heart-first recklessness, she would rather have risked it than walk away from the Bureau.

From him.

"She's not going to die," he says, and there is steel in his voice. "I won't let her."

"With all due respect," Toto says carefully, "I don't think Death is asking your permission."

"Then I'll just have to make sure he listens." He gathers up his top hat and his cane, throwing a sorry smile to his friends. "She's not dying," he promises. "Not today." And he steps out into the Sanctuary courtyard.

Out here, time resumes its steady march, the air alive in a way it had been lacking in the Bureau. He approaches a cloaked figure, their face veiled in shadows which give the impression of a skull. In one bony hand, a scythe rests.

"Have you come to your senses?" Death asks. "Will you relinquish the mortal?"

Baron stares up to the hood, to the empty abyss where eye sockets lie hollow in place of irises and pupils. "You're not having her."

A rumble rolls through Death. "Her time has run out, Creation. At best, you have bought yourself a goodbye, but mark my words, it is a goodbye."

"There must be a way. There always is."

"I am the one constant," Death replies. "Once the sands of her hourglass have run their course, they cannot be renewed nor returned." The hood inclines in a way which could almost be an apology. "Her time is up, Creation."

Baron's heart beats an unfamiliar staccato; a heady mixture of grief and love runs riot in his veins.

"Can they be traded?"

He feels Death's eyeless sight turn on him. "What?"

"The sand," Baron says. "You said it could not renewed or returned – but can it be given from another hourglass?"

"Gifted," Death amends. "It must be willingly given from one's own hourglass, but you, Creation, cannot."

"I must have an hourglass. Every living thing has an hourglass, you told us, and I live."

"Indeed," Death concedes, "but yours," and he sweeps an hourglass out from the recesses of his cloak, "is a Creation's."

The hourglass before Baron has a wooden frame, carved with intricate leaves, and the glass possesses an almost iridescent sheen – like his own stone-cut eyes. But it is the contents which is the strangest of it all.

There is sand within, but it is frozen in place, the grain fused together in an almost glassy fashion.

"You are an immortal," Death says. "You can no more portion out a fraction of your lifespan, than you can halve eternity. It's all," Death intones, "or nothing."

"Then take my all."

The bony hand tightens around the strange hourglass. "You understand what that will mean for you."

"I understand enough," Baron says, and he does. He understands that Haru will live. That's all he has to understand. "Give her my time. All of it."

Death looks to him with something that might be pity. The skeletal fingers dig into the glass. Cracks spiral out.

"Then so be it."

The hourglass shatters.

And in the Bureau, Haru wakes.

#the cat returns #cat writes #tcr ficlet #'i pondered on this' means i lay face down in the garden until inspiration struck #i do all my best thinking under threat of rain #okay but surprise ask prompts are one of my favourite things #...in hindsight i realise that maaaaybe you were thinking more active protection #(like we see in tcr) #but in my defence #i have made a habit of going off in weird (technically within prompt request) directions #so this should come as a surprise to nobody #enjoy? #(i regret nothing)

[caixinliang]

Practice 1:

Assignment 2, Concept Art - Human and "Inhuman"

. Blog post 01

The film Annihilation was the starting point for this concept design exercise.

In the course of the class, Mr Leo mentioned the design of the human-turned-monster in the film "Annihilation" and the TV series "The Last of Us", which was very inspiring, so I decided to start from those inspirations for this concept.

I have analysed several legendary screen images presented below，and summarises a few interesting design points.

Example 1: Integration of diverse organisms

A talking grizzly bear in movie “Annihilation”, a pioneering new concept in sci-fi cinema.

In the film "Annihilation", the design of "a talking grizzly bear"(inhuman) is transformed from the "explorer who calls for help"(human).

The skulls of bears are melded with those of humans.

Example 2: Making the human organism grow like a plant

Screenshots from the TV series "The Last of us"

Compare the similar design in the film "Annihilation".

There is an incredibly powerful scene where the entire human body(human) is dissected, growing and spreading like a plant (inhuman) in the film Annihilation.

Example 3: The human figure and the Uncanny valley.

Mr Leo mentioned the concept of "the Uncanny valley" in class, which means: when a design has the shape of a human being but is not exactly like a human being, it will give people a horrible feeling.

The "human" turned "humanoid plant" in the film "Annihilation".

Compare the real world：

Taken in Hawaii in 1996 by Laszlo Kestay, the photo shows a scientist smiling over a dark mass of intertwined shapes that eerily resemble human corpses. At the bottom of the pit is an ominous red opening. Turns out, the "bodies" are actually hardened lava formations, and the fiery hole is known as the West Kamokuna lava skylight.

https://curious.com/curios/10757#date

Example 4: Use of shape language

The course also covers the "Design of shape Languages".

The conceptual design in Pan's Labyrinth changed the monster's features, with the monster's eyes growing on the palms of its hands, highlighting the design points while enhancing the visual richness, and adding a sharp triangular graphic feel to the monster's face (adding a sense of sharp aggression).

Pan’s Labyrinth | Film Quarterly

Screenshots from the film Pan's Labyrinth

Example 5: Transformation process between human and inhuman

screen shot from the seventh episode of “Love, Death & Robots” series-"BEYOND THE AQUILA RIFT".

Watch Love, Death & Robots | Netflix Official Site

Originally it looked like a female silhouette(human) - up close (after changing the lighting) it became a monster(inhuman)!

This is all for now~

Reference:

Annihilation (2018) Directed by Alex Garland [psychological horror film]. United Kingdom United States : Paramount Pictures ( North America and China) Netflix (international).

Pan's Labyrinth (27 May 2006) Directed by Guillermo del Toro [dark fantasy film]. Warner Bros. Pictures.

Love, Death & Robots (March 15, 2019 – present) Directed by Tim Miller [adult animated anthology television series]. American : Netflix Studios.

The Last of Us (TV series) (January 15, 2023 – present) Directed by Craig Mazin Neil Druckmann Available at: HBO MAX (Accessed: 14 November 2023 ).

Kestay，L . (2017) Underworld portal . Available at: https://curious.com/curios/10757#date (Accessed: 14 November 2023 ).

#concept art #video games #human #inhumans #monster #hertfordshire #game art #annihilation

[infinityactual]

A snippet of my AI Lasky AU. CW for mild and brief description of a fatal head wound and major character death mention.

Also @poisonheadcrabsalesman if you're so inclined.

--

Replay.

Replay.

Replay.

He kept expecting a reaction. Something involuntary...a flinch, a cringe, a wave of nausea, the urge to look away, cover his ears...

Replay, for the eleventh time. Still nothing. He raised his arm, or rather his visualization of a limb that no longer existed, then paused and let it drop back to his side as he simply thought about sifting through the data, and the file complied. Frame by frame, he watched the coming and going of his death. What could only be described as a flake of orange light, bright like a spark, sliced across the frame. For a Spartan, being touched by a single Light Rifle round was an annoyance at best, but the soft, fatty meat and fragile living mineral of his own head offered minimal resistance.

The round pierced his skull between his right eyebrow and temple, and he found himself morbidly mesmerized and intrigued at how different yet similar it was to a physical bullet when it came to damage. Skin and bone deformed as the transmission of kinetic energy pushed the tissue out and back, creating a barely-visible bright red mist.

Human reaction time was slow compared to most other things in the universe at large. There were already bits of grey and white matter spattering John's breastplate and his head had jerked back by the time his eyes went wide with the realization that he'd been hurt.

He watched as his limbs went slack, but not quite. One arm made a lackluster attempt to reach up and press a hand to what he had not yet realized was a mortal wound. Ah, an arm had wrapped around his chest, keeping his mortal coil upright long enough for John to put himself between his wounded CO and the direction the shot had issued from, before picking him up, cradling him to his armored chest and almost scurrying back up the ramp and into the Pelican they'd walked off of just minutes earlier.

The viewpoint switched. John had him laid on his back inside the Pelican, and for several moments, he could only see himself squirm with ominously uncoordinated movements. John shifted, pulling him up so that his torso was laying against the Spartan's thighs. For a brief moment, only a handful of frames, he could see that he didn't look too bad from this angle. Then Sarah rushed into frame, very nearly dragging a medic bodily behind her.

The next one hundred and twenty-eight seconds showed Sarah pacing like a caged animal while the medic knelt in front of his consciousness's former residence. His limbs had stopped struggling shortly after the medic had started her work on him, and now Sarah stopped pacing. The camera shook, whether from turbulence or a near miss while the Pelican was en route to Infinity, he didn't know. Six seconds later, the medic's shoulders rose and fell in a hard sigh before she looked at Sarah and spoke. Sarah didn't respond immediately. Then she turned her back to the scene and pressed a hand to her mouth.

He'd always replayed at this point. The remainder of the footage showed the frankly eventless ride back to Infinity, and he'd written it off as unimportant; but this time, a datum caught on the tendrils of his now-synthetic mind. He refocused himself on the big man holding him, and the woman now braced against the Pelican's bulkhead.

John's head tipped back, and stayed there for several moments, before slowly lolling forward so that the chin of his helmet rested on the collar of his breastplate. Sarah had a hand pressed to her eyes, and he could see that rather than her usual angry mask, her face was twisted into a grimace he recognized as a soundless sob.

Something bloomed in his matrix, like a bright light made diffuse by smoke or fog. He furrowed the brow on his visualization as he tried to place this new sensation. A few milliseconds later, he realized it wasn't entirely new, just an old sensation experienced through a different lens. Seeing the two people he loved the most expressing their grief seemed to tug at what he could only call his soul, and he followed that sensation deeper. Over the course of a few minutes, but what felt like hours to his new perception of time, Thomas reacquainted himself with his emotions. They were both familiar and strange, like ancient greyscale photographs retouched and colorized.

Same old shit, but to the left.

So, just another day aboard the Infinity.

#halo fanfic #microfic #angst #ai au #ai lasky #snippet