#inked revolt

[enchantingepics]

Story Prompt 44

In a city cloaked in shadows and secrets, there existed a group of friends who danced on the edge of the law. They moved like shadows in the night, their laughter a blend of mischief and recklessness. But beneath their camaraderie lay a darker truth - a heinous crime committed on a fateful evening that would bind them together in ways they never imagined.

It was a night like any other, the air thick with anticipation and the streets alive with whispered promises. The friends gathered, their hearts pounding in unison as they embarked on a dangerous escapade. Among them stood a figure, the quiet observer who would unknowingly become the linchpin of their fate.

As they ventured deeper into the night, their actions spoke louder than words. They were rebels without a cause, seeking thrills in the darkness that threatened to consume them. And when the moment of reckoning came, it was the quiet one who found themselves behind the wheel, a silent accomplice to the chaos that ensued.

But as the sirens wailed and the handcuffs clicked into place, there was no protest, no defiance. For in the eyes of society, they were all guilty by association, bound by the threads of loyalty and betrayal.

The trial passed like a blur, the weight of their actions heavy upon their shoulders. Yet amidst the whispers of condemnation, there remained a sense of solidarity among them. They had chosen their path, and together they would face the consequences.

As they emerged from the courthouse, the world outside seemed to blur into a haze of flashing lights and probing questions. The quiet one, their gaze unwavering, met the glare of a journalist with a smirk.

"For our cause," they declared, their voice cutting through the chaos, "it was worth it."

And so, as they were ushered into the darkness of confinement, their journey had only just begun.

Years passed like grains of sand slipping through an hourglass, and the once-forgotten friends found themselves thrust into a world that bore little resemblance to the one they left behind. Technology had advanced, society had changed, and they were but relics of a bygone era.

Yet amidst the chaos, they found a glimmer of hope. For in the ashes of their past, they discovered a new purpose - to defy the very system that had cast them aside. And as they stood on the threshold of freedom once more, they knew that their journey was far from over.

"Looks like we're the villains now," one of them remarked, their voice tinged with bitter irony.

"But maybe," another replied, their gaze fixed on the horizon, "it's time for the villains to save the world."

[grimfox]

the lesser of two evils is not a choice at all

so you think this time,

that it will all be different.

nevermind the lessons learned,

the lies, and what they've earned,

the pride, and all it burns.

the verdict changes.

what disgrace, this aching wage-gap,

sunk corruption, training slaves that

work so politic, in chains.

no savior waits,

they are not faithful.

when will people see

the right and left are one?

that no one up above is looking down,

just money's to be won?

the dumb and dirty

are a starving mass

of easy-swayed collapses,

wrapped in hurting,

getting led about by

weaponized diversion.

corporations bought your speaker.

politicians are such vicious, little creatures,

summoned from the underbelly,

riled to eat ya.

this is not democracy,

its oligarchic sham,

and scammed citizenry.

all part of plans a dead man never got to see.

[peachybatim]

so have you guys already developed 7 different 'sammy lived' or 'sammy plays a bigger role' aus in your head or are you Normal

[tomoleary]

Frank R. Paul “Revolt of the Martians” Wonder Stories Quarterly interior illustration (1932) Source

Individual spacecraft that are sat on.

[nemo-draco]

Boo: [as he and Whitty are hanging out in Character Limbo] So, Stilts, how've things... [he's picking up on some cues all of a sudden] Whitty, you okay?

Whitty: [having a real wrestling with his emotions type moment before...] I'm...not having a...good time right now?

In other words, the next FNF story is going great.

Visual representation of Boo asking me later if he can murder a certain Greater Good not-cloud guy. Whitty updated him on some Lore.

Boo is from @sstvar , Whitty is from sock.clip on Insta, though this is the older version, pre-redesign.

[chlcavalier]

[carotideae]

SOUTIEN ET COURAGE A TOUTES CELLES ET CEUX QUI LUTTENT. Rassemblements sauvages, blocages, barrages sabotages, grèves…. La répression est féroce, les déchaînements de violence de la police terrifiants…. mais tout peut basculer! Des appels à converger sur d’autres terrains de luttes, le 25 mars contre les mega bassines, contre Le projet de loi asile et immigration le 25 mars également partout en france, le 1er avril pour le droit au logement au pays basque… CULTIVONS NOTRE RAGE! Ce monde est de plus en plus absurde, non ! Il ne faut rien attendre d’en haut ! le changement ne viendra que de nous mêmes. #illustration #drawing #tattoo #tatouage #ink #art #punk #riot #revolt #revolution #anarchism #love #flowers #hope #nature #garden #tttism #france #carotideae #carotide #acab #fight (à France) https://www.instagram.com/p/CqFVQUxgHsb/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[loftydreams101]

Escape Downriver

There's motion in the ice 

Crumbling to a collective rush, 

Charging out to sea 

With years of walled-away rage 

-

The river overflows 

Out of its mountain prison,

Sending the walls crashing down 

Into a riverbed of skeletons

-

Replenishing the valleys 

On its homeward voyage

Giving back what's been stalled 

In the snow for too long 

-

It builds and destroys 

On its well-meaning journey, 

In its heartfelt revolt  

Through a wilderness of ashes 

[sacramentohistorymuseum]

We have shown what printing large wood type in multiple ink colors looks like recently but we have received a lot of inquiries about what it would look like using one of our old letterpress cuts.

The order from left to right in the galley tray at the beginning is red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple. Some of the inks are oil base and some are rubber base. In this video, Jared letterpress printed a large halftone of the most prominent part of our state flag, the California Grizzly bear.

This halftone is a reproduction of Charles Nahl’s drawing, “Grizzly Bear,” which he designed in 1854. We also thought this print was great for this time, since June 14th is the anniversary of the Bear Flag Revolt and when the first Bear Flag was created.

[grimfox]

let's go extinct

protestors in every nation are beaten by police.

the world is captive audience to demons as they feast.

all enslaved, the game is ceaseless, freedom is deceased,

and all the people want is to see some relief.

the pattern seldom changes, stilted rage is a defeat.

let passions flare to blazing, and then blame the aristocracy.

snatch up their grenades and let 'em rain down at their feet,

or fade away like palestine amidst the camps of refugees.

speaking has no meaning since they fiend for everything.

twisting all the words, they hurtle over every plea.

nothing is enough, they want to drug us all to sleep,

so they can kill the planet, take some slaves,

and rape all that they see.

the time for patience faded when their plain hypocrisy

surpassed the native grating level into genocidal greed.

and what should we believe?

that peaceful protest fixes anything?

i pray that we are all erased.

i cannot face our own disease.

[occamstfs]

Higher Education

Bit of a belated 4/20 TF! Reliving the heady days of his weed-filled youth may not help a professor's tenure track. Enjoy! -Occam

It had been quite a while since Richard had cut himself some slack. He was on track to be tenured and the obligations and rigor involved gave him little time to himself. His department has really become more of a family to him than his estranged once loved ones. He spends more waking hours in this office than any room of his spacious home. Today he’s burning the midnight oil yet again as he mars a doctoral candidate’s thesis draft in red ink.

Seeing just how much of a scarlet mess he has left for this poor student he pauses to make himself a cup of tea. He certainly doesn’t want to be seen as too critical or crotchety, though he feels assured that his students know this. Upon returning to his desk he finds a small wrapped gift box resting squarely on the marked up essay. He knows precisely who it is from and chuckles as he looks at the kitschy weed-themed wrapping paper. 

Picking it up he hears something small and light shake around in the box. The tag reads: “Happy 4-20 Old Man, why not live a little- your favorite Candidate, Mac.” Slowly unwrapping it Richard smiles wistfully as he recalls way way back to when he was in undergrad. Walking down smoke filled dorm hallways bleary-eyed as he contributes to it. Just smoking grass on the main lawn welcoming anyone to open their minds at these little sessions. An alarm goes off on his computer shaking him from his reverie as he sets the gift down to respond to the pile of emails that have accrued today.

Richard begins his cookie-cutter responses to colleagues, scratching backs and brown nosing as need be to advance his own career. Not too long into this dull work however does he begin to smell that unmistakable skunky scent coming from Mac’s half opened gift. He scoffs and rolls his eyes, shocked that his subordinate would fully shepherd drugs into his office before pausing to remember that weed is legal here, in this state at least. He tosses the box in the bag making sure the scent can’t escape as he returns his attention to the ocean of busywork.

He cannot find purchase however as he finds himself impossibly distracted, the tea he made tastes bitter in his mouth and every so often he smells a whiff of the joint hiding in his bag. Richard rushes through a couple of responses before checking the clock and realizing Mac was right, partly that is. He can afford to head out a little early. It is a holiday of his youth after all, he thinks to himself smiling mischievously as he grabs his coat and heads to his home. 

Tenured he may not be but he makes enough to live incredibly close to campus. It’s about five so theoretically the work day is over anyway, but he lives close enough that should there be need he could easily return. He would be happy to even, he puts his hand in the bag and fingers the ripped paper of the gift box. Patting it as if to say maybe another time, though resolving to chew out Mac for such an inappropriate gift. 

Tossing his bag on a chair and entering his quiet home he pours himself a drink and heads to watch the daily news. As soon as it touches his lips though he spits it out all over himself. It was beyond revolting, for the life in him he can’t figure out why though? It’s what he always has as a treat isn’t it? He wipes up his mess and grills himself as to what on Earth caused him to do that. Going down the list of possibilities he finds himself distracted as wafting from his open bag is the impossibly alluring scent of Mac’s joint. 

For a time he just sits and stares at his bag, mulling over any real consequences there could be to just letting himself smoke just this once. He’s sure his colleague Dr. Bennet can barely go a school week without smoking away at least a day. Flicking the metaphorical angel off his shoulder he decides to go for it. It’s just one joint, what could possibly go awry.

The doctor takes one massive hit and remembers that whatever the kids are smoking today is leagues more intense than the kush he had back when. He coughs heartily and stumbles into his kitchen to get some water, smiling as he remembers the old adage that coughing actually gets you higher. He pours a cup for himself, spilling a tad over the counter and neglecting to clean it up.

Richard decides to throw on a record before returning to his joint once more. God he remembers loving nothing more than just sitting and watching his wax spin on his player as smoke danced in the air. He reclines back and immediately feels more at home. He’s lived here for almost a decade now and never has he felt more comfortable than this moment. He laughs at himself wondering why he’s waited so long to smoke again. Maybe he should text Mac and thank him?

At this his phone rings and he sobers up almost immediately, his first couple hits washed away as he sees a text from his department head. He holds the joint with his lips as he uses both hands to unlock his phone, smoke sailing wistfully past his eyes as he starts to read it. Sitting there looking at the bright screen of his phone alongside the ever increasing smoke though his eyes quickly dry and he sets it down. How important could it be anyway? The workday is over; he is under no obligation to respond, he reasons. Surely it’s nothing. He sets his phone down and goes to lie back on the couch and listen to his old music, taking another massive hit.

He struggles to kick his shoes off as they suddenly grow uncomfortable on his feet, almost as if they were a couple sizes too small, that can’t be right though as if his feet were growing in his old age. He laughs at the idea, picturing clown feet at the bottom of his thin legs, not seeing in reality that his feet are starting to strain his socks. Nor could he possibly notice as their odor begins to mingle with the overpowering smell of weed filling his den.

His phone vibrates again and he furrows his brow before his eyes glaze over as intended. His clothes all over begin to feel a little uncomfortable on his body. He grimaces wondering what exactly the move is before duh, this is his house! He hits himself on his head as he decides to just strip, he was always half naked smoking outdoors back then he may as well do so in his own house. Taking off his clothes he doesn’t notice as there is a skip in the record as it changes, the grooves warp, harden, and shrink as his pristine record collection diminishes into a massive, slightly disheveled CD collection. Richard certainly doesn't notice as he scratches at his chest, the only thought in his head as he rips his joint once more is “Man, I love this song.”

He giggles once more as he hears his stomach rumble and he recalls what a persistent issue the munchies have always been for him. In fact it was one of the reasons he quit back in his grad school, he simply couldn’t afford all the weed along with the food budget that satisfying his cravings demanded. Shouldn’t be a problem now though, he thinks, he is an, uh? Pausing as the haziness sets in his eyes burning pink as the thoughts in his head slow. He’s a professor right? Though his mind slows he continues his steady crawl to raid whatever snacks lie in his cabinet.

There he, surprisingly, finds a stoner’s paradise. The shelves are lined with chips and cheap pastries beyond imagination. He once more holds the joint in his mouth as he reaches deep to double fist some bags of chips, tacitly continuing to smoke as his stomach rumbles in jubilation. In his gluttony he drops bags to the floor and laughs letting the joint fall to the floor wondering if the five second rule applies to weed, guffawing some more. He hears his own voice in his head telling him to keep it down but as if he’s going to listen to that square.

He turns up his CD player’s stereo in protest as his inner monologue grows more agitated. Dude you’ve gotta turn it down, you share a wall with the neighbors. He stuffs his hand in the potato chips and starts devouring them as he reflects on this. Shares a wall? But that would be he lives in a duplex, or wait? He looks around his place and sees it smaller than he remembers it, right? Continuing to scarf chips getting grease all over his hands and face as, so far beyond his notice, it begins to produce more oil itself than it has in decades. 

Continuing to snack he hears his phone ring as his boss is fully calling him now. Stumbling up and over to his phone Richard doesn’t notice as his thighs begin to fill his underwear. He had lost a lot of weight from his long years of working and now that he is finally indulging once more it seems a healthy weight is returning. Rubbing together as he makes his way to the couch, the friction draws his attention to just how pleasurable physicality is when he’s high. Gosh he needed this. 

He grows distracted as he arrives at the couch, his phone stops ringing before starting up again as his Department head calls once more. Seeing her contact picture appear he says aloud, “whatever bitch” laughing like an ass as he hangs up on her and sets his phone to do-not-disturb. Once more there is a buzz in the air as the music set up changes once more. Phone now in hand he starts to play music the only way he has ever known, wrinkles and the few gray hairs that remained totally disappearing from his face as he presses skip on his phone and is awash in adoration as his all time favorite album starts playing. 

He sits there and just takes in the music as he rubs his slightly distended stomach. Grimacing as he thinks he should start hitting the gym. He hears Mac all the time talking about how much he loves hitting the gym high. His heart suddenly flutters as he thinks about Mac and grows giggly again. He feels a pang in his head that such behavior is inappropriate. He is a prof- He’s a? His mind strains to recall what exactly he is. His eyes search the room looking for any hints before landing on the TV seeing the Daily News that has been playing through it all suddenly turn to static before coalescing into the video game Mac was always talking his ear off about in office hours. In the once professors mind though the only thought present is, Fuck! I love this game!

Energy surges through his body as he searches for a playstation remote. His pulse races as his excitement grows and he feels a desperate urge to stretch. He feels as his tendons extend. Rubbing his arms across his torso he feels his increased weight begin to coalesce into firm yet weighty muscle. His hands twitch and scratch against his increasing strength as he controls on the couch, moaning and laughing at just how lascivious this pleasure is, his voice vibrating deeper as the pitch of the song and video game blast louder in his head. Haha wait a second, he thinks, I’m so fuckin’ sore I must already be going to the gym faded with Mac right?

He blushes and stretches some more, feeling his back arch and his tight torso stretches to its limit before surging beyond it. His arms raised behind his head they grasp at air and feel the sought after remote and a hat which he instinctively throws on. Ah this hat is Mac’s isn’t it! He is briefly confused once more as he tries to remember what exactly his relationship is with Mac. It’s? He’s, are they roommates? Rich looks around the room, eyes shifting to where there once was a record collection, no a CD stand? Why would he need either of those though haha, as if Mac’s apartment has space for that!

Mac’s apartment. The thought repeats many times over in his mind and his eye twitches as he feels a pain that the high cannot make pleasurable. Grimacing, he decides to try and focus on the game. Black ink slowly staining his body as he clicks buttons. After little time at all though he realizes, fuck, it’s been so long since he’d hit that joint hasn’t it?

Pausing his game he uses his bleary eyes to scan his apartment floor for the roach. He didn’t drop it in the chip bag did he? He checks far too quickly to possibly see it before giving up. There’s gotta be an easier way to smoke some more right? Out of the corner of his eye he sees the rocks glass he was using as a stupid smile inches across his face. Through the haze in the room the only thing Rich can see when looking at such a cylinder is a bong. Rich reaches for it, the glass growing taller and embellishing as he does. In a fluid motion he snatches it and starts to stumble around and look for a lighter. 

Lucky for him in Mac’s apartment they seem to be scattered around as if they were decoration. Thinking of Mac his mind is a sea of conflict again and there is a sudden urge, a craving, a need to smoke right now. He lights the bowl and before he even inhales from the beyond filthy bong he is at ease once more. Smoke rocketing into his lungs he holds back a coughing fit before a giggle breaks the line and he loses control. 

Between each cough he feels himself lose something. He sees Mac and laughs at the idea that he could ever be in charge. Mac’s older than him, right? He sees an unfamiliar house that he could never afford as it turns to static and shrinks into a small one bedroom apartment that doesn’t even have his name on the lease. He sees a degree he sees multiple degrees and not only can he not imagine himself having the willpower to get them, he laughs at the idea that he would even want to sit through a single college course. Smoke fills the air as if he were hotboxing the apartment and he rubs his body as hair pushes its way out of his skin. He needs to shave, Mac like him smooth. 

Feeling his body once more, flexing his bare body against the couch and rubbing his hands across his itchy stomach smiling without a care in the world or a thought in his head he hears a key turn in the front door. His eyes stay closed as his smile grows wider and the only man, the only thing, that matters to him in the world approaches. Mac stands over him, dressed in a suit as he clearly came from the campus and says, “Miss me, Dick?”

Dick’s eyes burst open more bloodshot than could possibly be healthy and he stares wordlessly, longingly, into the eyes of the man domineering over him. He’s a little confused at what the smirk on his face could mean, but Dick is confused most of the time, so he’ll just wait for Mac to explain! 

He doesn’t. Mac leans in close to Dick’s ear and just whispers, “Happy 4-20 Doc. Thanks for giving in.” Then puts his mouth over Dick’s before his mind could even recognize the words being said. He loses control instantly without a hand touches his cock as it expands heartily, no underwear to hold it or his cum back as he forevermore loses control over his mind, of his life. Not that he minds, how bad could life be with someone as nice and great as Mac watching over him! The two continue to make out on Mac’s couch, not caring for the cleanliness of the suit as the bong is knocked onto the table. From now on there is little at all that Dick would care about at all besides his master, his Mac.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I’ve been thinking about ways Killer might’ve been instrumental in furthering Nightmare’s goals of widespread negativity, and I think he probably encouraged Nightmare to engage a lot more with mortals in Universes that aren’t aware of the Multiverse as a whole.

Universes that don’t know either Killer’s or Nightmare’s reputations or faces, but also don’t know anything about the Star Sanses, or Dream or Ink.

Reminding Nightmare that human mortals have their uses, and their souls are often stronger than most of monsterkind, reminding the Boss that cases like himself, Dream, Ink, Error, and even Killer are basically outliers. Not typically considered the norm.

I think Killer probably came up with the idea of creating cells inside those universes, secretly training and manipulating both human and monster agents to serve Nightmare’s goals, regardless if any of them are fully aware of that or not. Targeting any dumb or desperate fool, especially those who have any political power or authority over a certain place like a country or an army.

Encouraging wars, gang wars, revolts, territory spats, and acts of mass terror in these universes that could give Nightmare all the negativity he needs without anyone being all the wiser.

With everyone being too busy pointing guns and fingers at eachother to notice that they’re being used for something bigger. And Killer will keep the guns of war going by discretely turning everyone against their own groups, spreading rumors and propaganda.

Assuming Killer targets people who aren’t exactly important to that universe’s script, he may even be able to evade Ink’s attention for some time.

So while the Star Sanses might think that Nightmare only has himself, Killer, and possibly also Horror, Dust, and Cross/XChara doing his bidding.

He actually secretly has both deals & agreements with certain Multiverse-Aware universes—supply Nightmare and his Gang with resources & they’ll leave you alone—but thanks to Killer’s idea, he also has billions of regular Joes working for him and they aren’t even aware of it.

And, of course, Killer would be the one out recruiting people. And I think that the information about the operative cells would likely stay classified strictly between Nightmare and Killer, even if Horror and Dust are very likely suspicious.

But if any of them try to confront Killer about it he of course plays the fool, acting loud and annoying so all they’ll want by the end of the questioning is for him to just shut up and go away and they’ll completely forget what they were even asking in the first place.

(Not Dust though. Cuz while I get the vibes that Horror and Cross just wouldn’t want to deal with Killer, I think the similarities Dust sees between Killer and the anomaly only prompts Dust to pay closer attention to Killer’s actions and less his words.)

I think Nightmare’s Gang can be pretty cool if the rest of the Multiverse sees them as mostly a group of ragtag criminals causing mayhem and negativity wherever they go, but it’s just a front for a more numbered, highly structured and functioning organization with bigger, long term plans.

You could walk past a member of Nightmare’s organization and you wouldn’t even know it. The member themself may not even be fully aware of what they involved themself in.

[cupids-chamber]

| Overblot!Azul Ashengrotto x Reader — “ COLD INK “  Commissioned by an anonymous user Commision me here_

Gender Neutral Reader (You/Your prns), Suggestive themes (No outright sex scenes, but suggests and/or implies it, depends on the reader), Possessive behavior/Yandere content (Do not romanticize this sort of behavior in real life), Bdsm? (No sexual scenes, just implied arousal/excitement from pain), Implied consent/Dubcon? (Reader doesn’t explicitly consent to Azul’s actions, but doesn’t mind it), All characters are aged up (This is due to the fact, that depending on how you read the story, it can imply certain things), Do not try this at home.

Carefully you traveled throughout the halls of what was once the Octavinelle Dormitory. The entire environment and surroundings of the dorm and the beautiful violet halls were much darker than before, gloomy.. Leaking and doused with ink, the walls stank with the putrid smell of it as well. You tried your best to walk into a safer area, careful steps, trying not to make much noise and most definitely not to slip and fall given the ink that surrounded the halls, were slick and slippery. One wrong move, and you could’ve gotten caught in God knows what. You took a deep breath, going through the intercrete and lavishly made dormitory, a part of you feared the overblot's, and hence why you're hiding out in here. You had figured that it would be much easier to hide indoors, rather than outdoors, where your housewarden was, in all his glory. 

You still remember the piercing blue eyes as he glared at you and then grinned, while you ran into the dorm once more, running as far away from him as you could. The sickening stench of ink that drowned the walls of your once glorious dorm, only reminded you of the horrifying sight you had witnessed—It was abnormal, the transformation, and how the entire dorm had followed in the steps of it's very own housewarden converting to a more corrupt mindset as his negative thoughts overruled his positive ones. 

It had been a good twenty minutes or over, as you roamed the halls, each hall growing more and more darker and ominous, as you’re reminded of the hazy image of Azul in your head. You had long since taken off your shoes, to stop yourself from leaving a trail of ink in a path that led back to you... 

Your thoughts had blurred quite a bit, as well.. The putrid smell melting your thoughts and consciousness, it was getting harder to breathe and if you hadn't known any better, you were sure the walls were closing in on you, as if they were guiding you somewhere. The space itself was suffocating, as the image of Azul’s wicked smirk replayed in your head, like a broken radio, the way he looked at you and then smiled.. The scene replayed in your head so many times, until eventually it began to blur and you couldn't even remember how his overblot form truly looked, only colors and a blurry vision of the same little clip that kept replaying in your head for the past hour. 

It didn't take long for you to grow tired, and nauseous. The smell of rotten ink was suffocating you, heavy breathes left your mouth. You felt sick, your gut turning and twisting, and the ink made you feel completely out of it, it was as if the ink was all over you, it wasn't. But you could feel it all over you, practically taste its spoiled flavor all over your tongue. The disgusting and revolting black gooey substance haunted you at every corner of the dorm, and for a moment you began regretting coming in here, praying for a way out... But there was no way out, hours of opening doors and finding no exit, no safe place, no area uncovered, without a speck of ink. 

It wasn't long till your legs had given up on you, you were tired. Your breathing was unstable, eyes struggling to keep open, as you tried your best not to fall asleep amidst the messy halls, somehow attempting to crawl into a safer area, somewhere... anywhere, where the revolting scent and sight of rotten ink didn't keep threatening you.. And that was the last thing you really could remember, your heart thumping harshly in your chest, body threatening to give up on you and then.. pitch black, deep into slumber, and you couldn't even tell where exactly you had ended up by the time your consciousness had left you. 

You slowly blinked, vision blurry and distorted, you couldn't see anything yet, your eyesight failing you once more. There were large tentacle-like things that had been wrapped around you, on your legs and hips, holding you in place. Their grip wasn’t as tight as one would expect, lightly holding your tired body in place. Your entire body ached, soar from the physical strain of the events that had occurred right before your slumber hit—especially your back, which was flushed red and pained, from the awkward position you were forced in during your slumber. You could only assume how much your unconscious state was pushed around. 

Your mind hadn't yet registered just how much of a dire situation you were currently in, your mind felt numb as if still recovering and registering all the events that had led you here.. before you fainted… Until you felt something cold, yet soft, slither up your thighs. 

Your lips parted slightly as your mouth opened a bit, on display. Your breath hitched as the sudden dryness in your throat had hit you, causing you to let out a hoarse noise. Your vision was still blurry, and your heart began to thump loudly as there was a sharp ring in your ears, but somehow— you were still able to register that soft laugh. 

Azul chuckled a bit, hands traveling up your thighs, the larger tentacles that had once held you in place were gone, just a smaller one holding you firmly in place, by your upper waist. Azul’s hands softly gripped your hips, the harsh marks, the tentacles that had previously gripped and forced you down, left a raw and fresh bruise, that his nails happily dug into, causing you to harshly hiss through your gritted teeth, eyes growing a bit wider than before. His mouth grazed over your neck, "Did that hurt?", he whispered, feigning innocence as his breath ghosted over your sensitive skin. — You remained silent, which only caused him to dig his nails deeper into your bruises, harshly digging through your flesh— So close to drawing blood, yet he’d stop right before that. 

Azul smiled as he watched your facial expressions change, the way your mouth remained slightly a-gaped, he moved one of his cold hands, slithering up your body before lifting up your chin, he looked directly into your glossy eyes, hazed while tears threatened to fall from the torment. 

"This won't do", he murmured softly into your ears, before harshly biting down onto your neck, leaving a bright mark. His teeth dug into your soft skin, blood dripping out of the fresh wound that had been formed from the sudden onslaught, causing you to whimper as tears began to fall, the pain affecting you more than usual. — He grazed his tongue over the new wound, licking off the blood, which only resulted in you letting out involuntary noises. He hummed softly, as your eyes began to roll back from the pain and maybe even pleasure. 

Azul only giggled watching you wither and squirm, dragging his nails through your back, leaving long strides of nail marks and bruises, his lips ghosting over your own before he dragged you into a soft kiss, that became all the more forceful. — You could practically taste and feel the raw ink on his tongue, cold and unsavory, but his movements turned soft as his hands grazed over the bare bruises he had left on you. 

When Azul had finally felt as if he had done enough, he stopped. You weren't sure if any part of your body was left unmarked, unbruised.. eyes glossy and red, from the amount of times you had cried, your throat was aching and in pain, it was dry from the lack of water, yet any noise that had left you made it worse. Azul lifted your chin up, gently pouring water into your mouth—It was cold, just like his touch. A bit of the water drizzled down from the corners of your mouth, from his careless movements as he fed you. 

You could barely speak nor move, when he had picked you up, hands gently gliding over the bruises and wounds all over your body, causing your breath to hitch, and your eyes shut tightly.. Without a single care, he harshly pressed down on an aching wound, causing your eyes to water as you let out a shaky loud gasp, as he laughed softly at your state. "Are you hurt?", he asked apologetically, feigning guilt— you would've believed him had he not been smiling, ".. I'll get you something to eat.. after all, you'll have to get used to this'', he whispered the last part, humming softly, and you couldn't quite hear it over the harsh thumbing in your heart and ears.

© cupids-chamber, do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work without prior permission and or confirmation.

[ch3rriiii-bunn]

I was wondering if you could do where Muzan and Douma have a female partner who has tattoos

And they don’t understand the concept of tattoos . Like they would ask them “Why would you sit in a chair and have needles pierce you repeatedly . You humans are weird.”

And they would be like “It’s called art.”

Tattooed s/o♡

This idea is so cute. Hope you enjoy this!

Warnings: fem!reader, reader is described to have tattoos, fluff, a little suggestive on doumas part

Douma

Douma first noticed your tattoos when you joined him for a bath. His knowledge of tattoos are people who were/are criminals, and he felt pity for you, evening going as far as to ask what crimes you've committed. "I've never seen criminal tattoos in these designs though," he said.

You chuckle. "These aren't criminal tattoos. These are tattoos with different meanings to me that I wanted to have put on my body," you explained. "Is there a special reason you want these meaningful tattoos? It's beautiful, I won't lie, " he asked, tracing his slender fingers over your tattoos outlining the shape of them. "Not really anything special, really. I also love the art designs of it all," you said only for douma to look at you confused.

Douma decided to join you and see for himself how a tattoo is done. The tattoo place you went to is safe and welcome to humans and demons. There was no hostility there, so your demon boyfriend douma didn't need to hide himself. As the tattoo artist began adding a new tattoo on your arm, douma sat in the chair next to you, watching intensity on what's happening.

Minutes soon turned into an hour. You'd think douma would be frustrated, but he still had his eyes locked on the needle piercings your skin. "Y/n, doesn't that hurt?" He asked "yes but it's fine, " you respond. "How strange... not only are you sitting in this chair for hours, you're ass probably hurting you, but you want to take this pain just for an artysle you want?" He asked, and you only nod.

After the session, you signed being relieved from the pain but smiled at the beautiful design done on your arm. "I thought it was silly at first that you sit in this chair for this long, having these needles poke into your skin repeatedly, but I see that it's worth it for you. I still dont understand, but seeing you satisfied, good, " he said.

As the tattoo artist applies petroleum jelly on your tattoo and then wrapping a bandage, you notice douma still sitting in the chair, but this time examining your body. "Baby, is there something wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm just thinking about where I want you to tattoo my name on your body. Maybe on your boob or under your boob maybe" he thinks with his chin, resting between his fingers

"Douma!!!"

Muzan

Muzan has lived for centuries. He's not stupid on what tattoos are. However, he's not that educated on them. Muzan didn't like the tattoos on your body and even went as far as to shame you for it.

"How revolting. Why would you even let needles sink that dirty ink into your skin permanently? And humans wonder why they are so weak. You're putting that poison in your body," he said with disgust. "But I'm healthy... if the ink was dirty, my body would show clear signs of infection, but I'm okay," you said, almost laughing at his assumption.

You practically begged muzan to come watch you get a tattoo. "You should be grateful for the time I'm wasting just to sit here and watch you put that filth in your body," he spits out with his arms crossed. "Yeah, yeah, I'm grateful," you said with your head tilted, letting the tattoo artist make the design you want on the side of your neck.

As time went by, muzan grew impatient from sitting in the chair for almost 2 hours. His foot began to tap until he had enough. "How much longer is this going to take? You've been sitting in that damn chair for almost two hours now." he complained. You chuckle. "Art takes patience. You can't rush it, " you said only for muzan to make a first in anger. "What a foolish answer"

Once you were done, muzan took a good look at your neck. "Do you like it?" You asked. "It's not ugly. Why blue roses? I thought red roses were your favorite," Muzan asked curiously.

"Of course, I love red roses, but I wanted to try something different this time. You always talk about the blue spider lily and sadly I haven't seen one but since we both love flowers and you love the color blue why not get a blue rose for a tattoo" you laughed.

"What an idiotic thought to have. Wasting that time just to have a blue flower that's not the flower I wanted, " he said, turning his back to you, but his ears turned red at your stupid yet cute idea.