#what a rogue and peasant slave am i!!!

[gothiclit]

i think i need to reread hamlet

#o what a rogue and peasant slave i am.........

[ub-sessed]

This is most brave, That I, the son of the dear murdered, Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, Must like a whore unpack my heart with words...

--Hamlet, act 2, scene 2

Here's what I don't get: Hamlet is complaining that he's talking instead of doing, but what does that have to do with prostitution? In what way does a whore talk instead of do? Like, why did Shakespeare choose this particular insult?

#Hamlet #Shakespeare #Hamlet 2.2 #unpack my heart with words #o what a rogue and peasant slave am i

[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

[zac-yang]

Recovering the maternal in art

Thoughts on Hamlet #1

A crazed rant on Hamlet, art in modernity, Susan Sontag, and female power in Christian theology

The feminine urge to be daddy's mommy. — — Natalie Wynn, Contrapoints

This is the first of my series of meditations based on Shakespeare’s Hamlet, which I have been studying as part of English literature A-level. It is the basis on which I expand into wider general reflections on culture and philosophy, linking to other things I’ve read or watched recently.

This piece begins as art criticism about excessive author presence in modern art, with allusion to Hamlet as an embodiment of such modern artist. But then it kind of diverges into a theological tangent and ultimately an argument about gender and female power in Christian myths.

It doesn’t really neatly belong to any specific literary category. It is essay-like, but is full of poetic logic. Perhaps just read it as a kind of unhinged diary entry or notes app notes that should have stayed in the drafts.

— — Z

1

Modern authors, perhaps due to their peculiar awareness of themselves as authors, have felt this exceeding sense of self-inflicted obligation, that they have to force their authorships onto the audience, to make them aware that what they’re seeing, is in fact, created by them. And not just by the world.

‘What a piece of work / Is a man!’ Hamlet, II, ii, 301–302

What I mean by this could be seen most obviously in the attempt that modern authors try to push “message” into their works, or simply the conscious attempt to have any message at all. Consciousness is really the crime here. There is a kind of forcedness in modern art, a lack of the grace, the relaxed effortlessness that is so prevalent in classical, canonical art. Modern art is always agitating, in a permanent state of anxiety and uncertainty in whether it has “correctly” communicated its message to its audience.

Notes: Hamlet is seen by many as Shakespeare’s most philosophical play, his most message-heavy work, with deep contemplations on the nature of existence.

The long soliloquies of the eponymous prince has long been described as rigorously academic in style, perhaps most famously, in the ‘to be or not to be’ soliloquy. It is the most decontextualised soliloquy uttered by the prince, in which he solely speaks on the conceptual matters of life and death.

Yet this intellectual aspect of the play might perhaps what Shakespeare precisely is trying to satirise here. A tormenting, self-cannibalising, painful intellectual interiority, emerging in the early modern West, with its deep Christian moralism and inhuman rationalism, is here presented as precisely what drives the main character, and those around him, into misfortunes.

‘O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!’

Hamlet, II. ii. 538

The dramatic forcedness of Hamlet's messaging is perhaps most evident in the almost ravage-like scene in Gertrude's chamber (III, vi), in which he almost embodies the incestuous and murderous Nero. 'Let not ever The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom. Let me be cruel, not unnatural.' III. ii. 366-368

Susan Sontag said that art should be flirtation, not rape. Well, many modern art feels like rape to me. They feel like rape in the way that they try to force one singular thing onto its recipient. It refuses a defused, tender sensuality that slowly transmits and triggers desires through a landscape of polyamorous tenderness. Instead, it is strictly patriarchal, scriptural, the word of the Father, of God, Author The Creator. There is a violence to it. But more so there is a naivety to it.

The violence is in the naivety. In its brutal attempt to not appear naive, but rather adultly, scholarly, fatherly, like the son who resolves the Oedipus complex by identifying with the father to escape the fate of castration. The dwarf dressed in the giant’s robes.

‘But two months dead — nay, not so much, not two-

So excellent a king, that was to this

Hyperion to a satyr, so loving to my mother

That he might not beteem the winds of heaven

Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!’

‘My father’s brother, but no more like my father/ Than I to Hercules’

Hamlet comparing his father to his uncle, the current King Cladius, and himself, I. ii. 138–142; 153–154

This is the modern author. The anxious son, boy, fearing castration, if not already castrated, living in the shadow of the father, haunted by him, resenting his mother, the wanton, the whore, the true artistry of the world.

Hamlet (1949). Laurence Olivier

True art is always promiscuous. She is the Saint of All Sins. The Virgin in the Brothel. The Whore in the Church. The Holy Witch. The High Priestess of Filth. She is a woman. She is mother. The Oracle (whose words are obscure because they’re divine, not to Him the God, but the real, hedonistic god of music and joy, through whom she is enlightened in darkness). The Sea. Shall I moor tonight in thee.

Twilight, Contrapoints, Natalie Wynn

He, the God, and Her, Nature, whose fundamental battle is once again reenacted in this.

Genesis 1:2, the Spirit of God moved upon the face of waters. God moved on top of the sea, God on nature, man on woman, reason on art, this is the fundamental violation, the real original sin, the forbidden fruit of knowledge, brought forth by Himself through his very presence. The fault of the Fall is not in us. It is in Him. For to be holy is to be aware of the profane, as the opposite is equally true. Therefore to be profane, to be sinful, is precisely to be aware of the existence of the hallow. To learn about it. To aspire to it. Without sin, there would be no God. Like there would be no man without woman.

‘Whatever is the subject of a prohibition is basically sacred’.

‘The taboo does not banish the transgression but, on the contrary, depends upon it, just as the transgression depends on the existence of the taboo: “The transgression does not deny the taboo but transcends it and completes it”.’

Georges Bataille, Eroticism: Death and Sensuality

‘That discourse one might call the poetry of transgression is also knowledge. He who transgresses not only breaks a rule. He goes somewhere that the others are not; and he knows something the others don’t know.’

Georges Bataille, Story of the Eye

Notes: St. Augustine of Hippo wrote that original sin is transmitted by concupiscence and enfeebles freedom of the will without destroying it. But isn’t will also what precisely drove one (Eve) to the origional sin? Perhaps the will is much like Kant’s conception of freedom, a thing that creates its own limits.

Without an elusive ideal to aspire to, we will never be aware of our skin-felt wretchedness. The fruit is not only planted by God, it is God, it is God who eats the fruit, it is God who is the fruit being eaten, and it is God who is watching all of this.

I find it interesting. The closeness between the angel and Satan. Almost mirror images. In Michelangelo’s painting of the sin of Adam and Eve from the Sistine Chapel ceiling.

The decision to have the woman be the one to eat the fruit therefore, is interesting, on multiple levels. She is the original sinner, but also the one closest to God. For the fruit is God, but the fruit is also sin, and it is through the death of the man that she (gives birth to) achieves salvation. She is sin, but she is sin in grace, the glorified sin, the sin made divine, the virgin who gives birth, saved from stoning (here she also mirrors the other Mary, the other permitted sinner, Mary Magdalen), who gives birth to the man who is going to die, through which she successfully redeems herself. She is the mother, and she is the sinner, the original in both, and in both she is holy.

Eve is Mary and Mary is Eve.

The tree of death and of life in the Salzburg Missal: Eve gives the representatives of the old covenant the fruit that brings sin and death from the tree of paradise. Mary, on the other hand, gives the faith hosts, the bread of life. — — The New Eve (Latin: Nova Eva) is a devotional title for Mary, the mother of Jesus. Since the second century, numerous Eastern and Western Church fathers have expressed this doctrinal idea as an analogy to the biblical concept of the New Adam.

The man is essentially an accessory to her, a passage through which she penetrates through to achieve her eventual goal. He is only a thing that she decorates herself with. The baby in her bosom. The man on her laps (Pietà). The feminine urge to be daddy’s mommy. The gravedigger, whose death goes unmentioned, outlived everyone. Her blue robe is serene, like the halcyon sea.

Sandro Botticelli’s Madonna and Child, painted in 1480, shows a reflective Mary in deep blue.

Z

17.03.2024

(with notes later added 24.03.24)

Source:

Susan Sontag, Against Interpretation, On Style, The artist as examplary sufferer

Natalie Wynn, Contrapoints, Twilight

Georges Bataille, Eroticism: Death and Sensuality, Story of the Eye

Janet Adelman, Man and Wife Is One Flesh: Hamlet and the Confrontation with the Maternal Body

I have also posted this on Medium.

#shakespeare #hamlet #oedipus complex #literature #feminism #catholic core #philosophy #contrapoints #natalie wynn #twilight #georges bataille #eroticism #susan sontag #art criticism #art #literary analysis #literary criticism #diary #rambles #the virgin mary #symbolism #renaissance #ideas #theology #women in art #thoughts #oedipal complex #freudian #mommy issues

[snail-speed-6]

Hamlet's Motivations (and lack thereof)

Hello Tumblr I want to share with you some of my Hamlet musings. This one's about why Hamlet acts the way he does. This is analysis not fanfiction! 

Hamlet wishes “be all my sins remembered”, because to him, as long as he is remembered that will be enough, regardless of how he is remembered. He develops a fear of being forgotten through watching everyone forget his father. 

As he dies, Hamlet’s last request is for Horatio to share his story. He freely gives a foreign ruler his blessing without conflict and seemingly no particular interest about preserving the Danish future of his country, but just asks that his personal story be told. 

This longing for remembrance shapes Hamlet’s actions throughout the play, and could be the reason as to why the ghost’s instruction “remember me” has such a profound effect on the character. In this ghost’s command Hamlet sees himself and his desire, and perhaps he thinks that if he can keep the ghost’s - and therefore Old Hamlet’s - memory alive, then perhaps there is a chance for him to be remembered too. 

As John Kerrigan put it in his article ‘Memory and Remembrance in Hamlet’, Hamlet is haunted by a past that is begging to be remembered, which drives him to a madness and provokes further speculation about the fate of his own memory. 

This fear could also play a role in Hamlet’s ‘procrastination’ of his revenge, as he knows that as soon as the deed is done, he will likely meet an unfortunate fate himself and no longer have a chance to influence and interact with the world he so dearly wishes to be remembered by. Influenced by how the people around him treat memory, Hamlet acts accordingly, vowing to remember his father as long as he can and to somewhat keep him alive by prolonging the ghost’s wishes. Once that is fulfilled, as Hamlet fears, “the rest is silence.”

Hamlet’s tendency of self-criticism could also be the factor that determines his actions in the play, because it is at moments of self-criticism in his soliloquies that Hamlet resolves to take action and effectively move the plot forward. 

In act 2 scene 2, Hamlet cries “O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!” calling himself a cheat and a coward for all he has not done, then goes on to craft a plan to catch Claudius with the play. And as he leaves for England, Hamlet sees the soldiers going to fight for land and feels useless, but then resolves that “from this time forth, let my thoughts be bloody or be nothing worth”. However, it can also be seen in the play that these moments of self-loathing and criticism come from Hamlet reflecting on the actions of others and comparing them to himself, which could mean that Hamlet is only basing his action and worth on others, and what he feel the expectation of his should be, not what he feels is right. 

Coupled with this, Hamlet believing that his thoughts must be “bloody or be nothing worth” could be Shakespeare exposing the way that men were expected to act ‘brave’ and ‘strong’ to be considered “worthy”, and uses Hamlet as an example of how constant influence, and expectation of rash action making the ‘better man’, can corrupt otherwise kind people into those who believe in nothing but violence. For someone like Hamlet, who is chiefly a person of thought and not action, adopting this ideology would have completely changed him. 

In fact, Laertes almost completely mirrors Hamlet in this way; after his father is killed, he goes straight to action, resorting to violence almost immediately, whereas Hamlet (despite his previous sentiment) still hesitates. 

Laertes’ thoughts are “bloody”, and it is this that allows Claudius to manipulate and corrupt him through his desire to take revenge. As a foil to Hamlet, Laertes shows how easily corruption could have taken hold had Hamlet succumbed to his self-criticisms borne from a heavily patriarchal world that couples strength with violence. 

Shakespeare, therefore, attacks the idea that a man must be willing to kill for honour and perhaps dissuades from the idea of taking revenge at all by the tragic fate almost all the characters end up in in Hamlet and Laertes' pursuit of revenge. This could also be Shakespeare praising a lifestyle of thought and not action, as most direct action taken in the play leads to some sort of tragedy.

If you made it to the end I'd love to hear some opposition!! What do y’all think?

#hamlet #snails can write #critical analysis time!! #it's not fanfiction but it's still writing?

[dnickels]

I don’t mean that people never do things that are cruel, selfish, weak, petty, and vicious. But I do not think they ever do it in a way that’s so tediously explicable. It’s all far too neat; it all makes far too much sense, this moment on which a person’s entire being is supposed to hang. When actual people act, there’s always an element of the inexplicable at play, the sourceless molten stuff we call human freedom. An abyss in the other, the dark hole of their subjectivity. But these people are wind-up toys. Try comparing them to the entertainments of the past: Flaubert or Eliot or Shakespeare. You can work out where Emma Bovary is headed right from her beginning, but her mind still dances. Hamlet might have been the first truly psychological hero, but he’s still an excruciating mystery to us and to himself. ‘O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!’ He would like to feel things he doesn’t feel, and to act in ways he doesn’t act. Why doesn’t he? Not clear! There’s room to wonder, which is how you know he’s alive.

#there are some HOT takes about tumblr darlings in here #I'm not entirely with him but he's definitely pointed out the nexus of art-as-therapy therapy-as-art brain #which I DETEST

[lizardrosen]

I also think he influences Ophelia so like. she and hamlet are just hanging out and she's like "we need to redistribute the wealth" and hamlet is thinking "...I'm a little intimidated but you're actually SO RIGHT."

TLDR; Laertes indirectly causes Hamlet to become socialist. what a guy.

PLEASE YES!!

there's also a really interesting recurring element of hamlet "poormouthing" and almost trying to make himself more relatable.

Off the top of my head: "And now, good friends, as you are friends, scholars and soldiers, give me one poor request." and "And what so poor a man as Hamlet is may do, to express his love and friending to you, God willing, shall not lack." and "Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks, but I thank you." and "What a rogue and peasant slave am I!"

and after a while laertes has to tell him to knock it off, because we all know he's not actually poor and he may think he's being supportive but actually he's just being sort of a jerk.

#hamlet #laertes #ophelia #politics #sort of #cleverclove #friendship is great

[foxilayde]

I feel like I’m sharing brainwaves with @writefightandflightclub . Go read their awesome post about the MK System and Nathan Bateman.

With regards to The dramatic Nathan; I was reading Hamlet yesterday (remember, he’s Nathan’s middle namesake), and I had an “ooooh shit!” moment, half asleep in the early morning hours, about the drama and theatricality of Nathan Bateman. Im at the part where Hamlet is acting “mad” around Polonius, putting on this unhinged persona to distract Polonius from his true intentions, and the way Hamlet orchestrates the play-within-a-play to “catch the conscience of the king” and it got me thinking about how we don’t really know if anything we saw transpire between Nathan and Caleb prior to the revelation was authentic in any way (on Nathan’s end anyway). We know he’s a good actor because one bit that we know he “put on” was the tearing up the drawing. But how much of the rest was a put-on for the experiment’s sake? The singularity talk, the choreography, the being a dick about the god complex, the Pollock, the drinking, even the Oppenheimer quotations seem Shakespearean in a “oh what a rogue and peasant slave am I! // To be or not to be // for Hecuba!” kind of way!

The obvious other parallel is the death scene… and that makes Kyoko Laertes? And Ava is Fortinbras? And Caleb is Polonius?? No it’s not a perfect parallel 😂… what do you guys think about all this? Am I onto something? Was this obvious to everyone except me? Do I need to touch grass?

#Nathan Hamlet Bateman

[evelynnsometimes]

hey! I'm glad i'm not the only weirdo who memorizes shakespeare (I'm not an actor and i'm also sure other people do it)

what's your favorite monologue?

yay!!!!! im so glad im not the only one!! most of what i know are from hamlet, "to be or not to be" and "oh what a rogue and peasant slave am i" are probably my favs since i know those the best but theres a really great monologue in middle of the roaring girl (not shakespeare but another great play from his contemporaries) that never fails to tickle me and is a close third

[irl-shakespeare]

hey y'all its ya boi here with a spicy mental health tip. for fun in college i memorized a bunch of hamlet just because i enjoy it and its finally coming in handy! when im at work and feel like im gonna have a panic attack, i just quietly do some recitations to myself either of "to be or not to be" or "o what a rogue and peasant slave am i" and it provides just enough mental effort that it clears out the bad stuff just enough that i can breathe and rationalize and feel a little better. it may not work for everyone but it's helped me 💕

[beenyos]

dear benjamin,

I HATE HAMLET. STOP READING IT IN THE VC. DIE

your dearest, tartaglia

now i am alone. oh, what a rogue and peasant slave am i! is it not monstrous that this player here, but in a fiction, in a dream of passion, could force his soul so to his own conciet that from her working all his visage wanned, tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect, a broken voice, and his whole function suiting with forms to conceit? and all for nothing- for hecuba! whats hecuba to him or he to hecuba that he should weep for her? what would he do had he the motive and cue for passion that i have? he would drown the stage with tears and cleave the general ear with horrid speech, make mad the guilty and appall the free, confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed the very faculties of eyes and ears. yet i, a dull and muddy-mettled rascal, prak like john-a-dreams, unpretnant of my cause, and can say nothing-no, not for a king, upon whos property and most dear life a damned defeat was made. am i a coward? who calls me "villian"? breaks my pate across? plucks off my beard and blows it in my face? tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i' th' throst as deep as to the lungs? who does me this? ha! 'swounds, i should take it, for it cannot be but i am pigeon-livered and lack gall to make opression bitter, or ere this i should have fatted all the region kites with this slave's offal. bloody, bawdy villian! remorseless! treacherous, lecherous, kindless villian! o vengance! why, what an ass am i! this is the most brave, that i the son of a dear father murdered, prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words and fall a-cursing like a very drab, a scullion! fie upon't, foh! about my brain. -hum, i have heard that guilty creatures sitting at a play have, by the very cunning of the scene, been struck so to the soul that presently they have proclaimed their malefactions. for murder, though it have no tongue, will speak with the most miraculous organ. i'll have these players play something like the murder of my father before mine uncle. i'll observe his looks. i'll tent him to the quick. if he do blench, i know my course. the spirit that i have seen may the devil hath power t' assumr a pleasing shape. yea and perhaps out of my weakness and my melancholy, and he is very potent with such spirits, abuses me to damn me. i'll have grounds more relative than this. the play's the thing wherein i'll catch the conscience of the king.

[frankiefrankiefrankies]

OC-Tober Prompt group #2 - favorite thing

“Oh what a rogue and peasant slave am I!”

The augments of Ceti Aloha V were all deeply fond of classical literature. No one ever spoke of their lives before Khan Noonien Singh ruled one quarter of Earth, but Maya suspected it was a common thread in their educational background. The survivors of the Botany Bay had works of Shakespeare, Milton, and Homer committed to memory and passed these on to their children as if they were cherished oral traditions.

“…Make mad the guilty and appall the free,
Confound the ignorant and amaze indeed
The very faculties of eyes and ears.”

With few options for recreation, recitations were a favorite activity, and plays lended themselves to it best. Suzette Ling organized this particular staging of Hamlet, and Maya had her theories as to why she was chosen for the title character…none of them had to do with merit. Too few men were interested, and those who were were too old to portray the young Prince of Denmark, and Suzette likely wanted to curry favor with Khan. Everyone did.

“…No, not for a king
Upon whose property and most dear life
A damned defeat was made.…”

Undeserving though she felt, Maya tried not to dwell on it, for it was one of few times she believed her her father was actually proud of her. He had been eager to coach her, and the time they worked together had been her fondest memories. For once her father was enthusiastic about spending time with her and patient when she made a mistake.

“…But I am pigeon-livered and lack gall
To make oppression bitter…”

Though, the more she worked the more she began to believe that maybe she did deserve this after all. Memorization came easily, and she had no trouble relating to Hamlet: a young prince mourning a parent with an unhappy relationship with the other, who felt as if his home was a prison.

“..For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak…”

For a moment, Maya was distracted. She stepped out of Hamlet’s head and into her own to try to quickly read her father’s face. Had he understood the same interpretation? He still seemed pleased, so perhaps not. Unless he hid it well.

“The play’s the thing, wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.”

#fanfic #original character #writing

[startswithirene]

O, What A Rogue And Peasant Slave Am I!

They collect a few more, move to Forks, leave, then come back a while later. Edward falls for a human girl, Bella Swan. She doesn't think that you can love something you want to eat. They play baseball. She doesn't like the Terrible Trio. Her thoughts are violent. Edward begins to panic. It's kind of cute in a way. It'll be very not cute when Jasper and Alice get involved. She silences everything with her gift. Maybe not the most useful gift but it's enough for a distraction. She lunges for Victoria first. Her family handles the rest.

#twilight

[starrierknight]

❣ TAGLIST FORM | BYF + DISCLAIMERS ❣

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎: hi, darlings!! this is my first kinktober, which is so exciting! while this doesn't adhere to the official 2023 kinktober prompts, i hope it will be enjoyable for you all! 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒: this event exclusively features dom!reader x sub!character. the reader inserts are always gender neutral and written with AFAB anatomy in mind. all fics will be published at 11:30pm BST. all writing for this event will be tagged under ꒰ 🝮 ꒱ — kt 23 ❣ REBLOGS ARE VERY APPRECIATED! ❣

𝟎𝟎𝟏. 𝐃𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | megumi fushiguro

❥ dumb doll | 1.8k

You have a bad habit of breaking your favourite toys.

𝟎𝟎𝟐. 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | ryomen sukuna

❥ poor thing | 7k

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

𝟎𝟎𝟑. 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 | getou suguru

❥ just us / microcosm | 7.2k

“I am tired, I have a colossal need of you.” — Albert Camus, from a letter to María Casares written c. June 1944

𝟎𝟎𝟒. 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | toji fushiguro

𝟎𝟎𝟓. 𝐏𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐇𝐘𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃 | yuuta okkotsu

❥ chew toy | 3.1k

Your puppy missed you while you were at work. Won’t you give your dog a bone(r)?

𝟎𝟎𝟔. 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄 | yuuta okkotsu

❥ guilty pleasure | 5.2k

“It is always pleasant to divulge a secret under dramatic circumstances.” ― Thomas Burnett Swann, Day of the Minotaur

𝟎𝟎𝟕. 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 | gojo satoru

❥ glutton for punishment | 7.2k

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ 'Cause I'm all that you want, boy / All that you can have, boy / Got me spread like a buffet / Bon a—, bon appétit, baby — Katy Perry, Bon Appétit

𝟎𝟎𝟖. 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑/𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐄 | toji fushiguro

𝟎𝟎𝟗. 𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊 | choso kamo

𝟎𝟏𝟎. 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 | gojo satoru

❥ drunk 'n' nasty | 8.8k

“Here's to alcohol, the rose colored glasses of life.” ― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned

𝟎𝟏𝟏. 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀 | getou suguru

𝟎𝟏𝟐. 𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐘𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃 | gojo satoru

𝟎𝟏𝟑. 𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐒𝐌 𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐋 | yuki tsukumo

𝟎𝟏𝟒. 𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 | megumi fushiguro

𝟎𝟏𝟓. 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊 | ryomen sukuna

𝟎𝟏𝟔. 𝐆𝐔𝐍𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 | gojo satoru

𝟎𝟏𝟕. 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 | choso kamo & yuki tsukumo

𝟎𝟏𝟖. 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | getou suguru

𝟎𝟏𝟗. 𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐌 | gojo satoru

𝟎𝟐𝟎. 𝐁𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐇𝐘𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃 | choso kamo

❥ like rabbits | 5.3k

You both like the thrill of the chase, but he likes being caught more. You were fully willing to take advantage of this fact (and him).

𝟎𝟐𝟏. 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐗 | toji fushiguro

𝟎𝟐𝟐. 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐈 | getou suguru

❥ lit fuse | 6.3k

“Each of us is born with a box of matches inside us, but we can't strike them all by ourselves.” ― Laura Esquivel, Like Water for Chocolate

𝟎𝟐𝟑. 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 | maki zen'in

𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝐅𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍/𝐏𝐄𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 | choso kamo

𝟎𝟐𝟓. 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘/𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 | gojo satoru

❥ bite the hand that feeds | 5k

“Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling, and Domine non sum dignus should be on the lips and in the hearts of those who receive it.” ― Oscar Wilde, De Profundis

𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | ryomen sukuna

𝟎𝟐𝟕. 𝐒𝐄𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | nanami kento

❥ work hard, play rough | 4.4k

You don’t work or play by the rules. So what if that’s unfair? This is a dog-eat-dog world, and the losers get left behind.

𝟎𝟐𝟖. 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐔𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | yuuta okkotsu

𝟎𝟐𝟗. 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 | maki zen'in

𝟎𝟑𝟎. 𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐗 | getou suguru

❥ pretty when you cry | 3.5k

You did his eyeliner and one thing led to another. Who can blame you, though? He had it coming (pun intended).

𝟎𝟑𝟏. 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 | unspecified m!character

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I aim to complete 15/31 fics this year (2023) , and then finish off the rest next year (2024). this is a two year event! (⋆ˆ ³ ˆ) ✎~

these works belong 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 #jjk x reader smut #jjk x reader #kinktober 2023 #kinktober masterlist #sub! jjk #sub!jjk

[isabellamodesto]

Hamlet Act ll Questions (3-24)

One of the main ideas of Act II is the way in which Hamlet's grief and despair are affecting his mental state. He becomes increasingly unhinged, to the point where he feigns madness in order to avoid arousing suspicion as he investigates his father's death. The act also introduces the theme of appearance versus reality, as Hamlet must navigate the murky waters of court politics and determine who is truly trustworthy. Furthermore, the act raises new questions about the motives of the characters, particularly Claudius and Polonius. Both are shown to be manipulative and deceptive, using language to further their own agendas. The audience is left to wonder what their true intentions are and how they will affect the outcome of the play. Overall, Act II serves as a bridge between the initial setup of Act I and the more dramatic events of Acts III, IV, and V. It deepens our understanding of the characters and sets the stage for the conflicts and tragedies that are to come.

2. A passage that captures the essence of Act II can be found in Hamlet's soliloquy in Scene 2, where he expresses his frustration with the state of the world and his own inability to act: "O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I! Is it not monstrous that this player here, but in a fiction, in a dream of passion, could force his soul so to his own conceit That from her working all his visage wanned, Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting with forms to his conceit? And all for nothing! For Hecuba! What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, that he should weep for her?" In this passage, Hamlet is wrestling with his own sense of inadequacy and impotence. He is struck by the power of the player's acting, which is able to evoke genuine emotion and passion in the audience. Hamlet is frustrated that he cannot seem to muster the same level of conviction in his own actions, even in the face of his father's murder and the corruption of the court. This passage encapsulates the major themes of Act II, including the exploration of Hamlet's psychological state, the use of language and acting as tools of manipulation and deception, and the contrast between appearance and reality. It also highlights the central conflict of the play, as Hamlet struggles to take action against those who have wronged him while questioning the very nature of justice and revenge.

3. I chose this passage because it highlights Hamlet's inner turmoil and his struggle to take action in the face of overwhelming circumstances. It speaks to the major ideas of the act as a whole, including the exploration of Hamlet's psychological state, the use of language and acting as tools of manipulation and deception, and the theme of appearance versus reality. The figure of speech that I find interesting in this passage is the reference to Hecuba, a character from Greek mythology. Hamlet asks, "What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, that he should weep for her?" This rhetorical question highlights the idea that emotions and actions are often motivated by external factors that may have no direct connection to the individual experiencing them. It also echoes Hamlet's own sense of disillusionment and frustration with the world around him, as he struggles to understand the motives and actions of those around him. The image of the player, who is able to evoke genuine emotion and passion in his audience, is also significant. This highlights the power of language and performance to shape our perceptions of reality and suggests that appearances can be deceiving. Hamlet is struck by the player's ability to create a convincing illusion, and this leads him to question the nature of truth and the value of his own actions. Overall, this passage captures the essence of Act II by highlighting the major themes of the play and emphasizing the psychological complexity of Hamlet's character. The use of rhetorical questions and vivid imagery adds depth and nuance to the text and underscores the philosophical and moral questions at the heart of the play.

[realprinceofdenmark]

what a rogue and peasant slave am i. my father's ghost beseeched me to take revenge on the traitorous king and he still lives. he makes mad the guilty and appalls the free. i shall convince him of his guilt with a play depicting his sin. bloody, bawdy villain... but i am pigeon-livered and lack gall. imbecile king will not disgrace denmark any longer

#for hecuba #remorseless treacherous lecherous kindless villain #they have proclaimed their malefactions for murder though it have no tongue #the spirit that i have seen may be a devil