#let him use that to learn his magic and that

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Beneath the Black Flag

Pairing: Poly141 x Reader

AU: Pirate 141 X Mermaid! Reader

Warnings: Captivity, threats, enemies-to-lovers themes, implied emotional manipulation, slow burn, intense emotions, sharp language, violent imagery, mild gore, simmering tension

Author's Note: I’ve been trying to upload for two days, Tumblr wouldn’t let me… hopefully this finally works again😭

Summary: You’re caught and chained by a notorious pirate crew. They want your power to find something ancient and buried beneath the sea. But you’re more than bait. And they’ll learn that, the longer they keep you breathing.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The sea screamed for you as they pulled you from her arms.

Steel netting laced with aetherroot coiled around your body like a serpent in heat, biting through your skin with each struggling thrash. Blood bloomed in the water, darkening it to crimson wine. You shrieked until your throat tore, water erupting like glass as you broke the surface—dragged up by grizzled hands and cruel ropes, your magic hissing against metal.

They threw you aboard like you were driftwood.

The deck was slick under your spine, wood sun-warmed and stinking of oil and rust. Boots closed in—four shadows, towering and dangerous. You glared up, chest heaving, hair clinging to your face in wet tangles, rage boiling in your veins hotter than sunlight on salt.

Captain John Price stood over you, silhouetted by the burning sky behind him. Smoke coiled from an unlit cigar tucked into his teeth. His jaw ticked. His eyes—sea-glass cold and hard—dragged over your form like a verdict being passed.

“Well,” he said, crouching beside you, voice rough as broken coral. “Ain’t you something.”

You hissed, lips curling back. The magic in you surged, snapping the puddle beneath your body into a whip of water that cracked across the deck—just before it fizzled uselessly against the iron cuffs at your wrists.

Chains.

You were already bound.

Price’s lips curved into a knowing smirk.

“You’ll guide us,” he murmured. “Or I’ll teach these bastards how to skin a siren.”

Behind him, Johnny MacTavish laughed, foot propped against the railing, dagger spinning carelessly between gloved fingers. “I vote we start with the tail. Bet it twitches real pretty.”

Your eyes burned. “Try it, and I’ll drown you in your own bile.”

Johnny only grinned wider. “Now that’s the spirit.”

The hold was dark and rank, brine seeping from the planks, the distant creak of the hull like the bones of a dying leviathan.

You hadn’t spoken in three days.

Kyle Garrick was the first to try kindness. His tone was gentler than the others’, eyes warm despite the cutlass on his belt. He approached with a flask and a smirk that might’ve passed for friendly—if not for the lingering glint of pity behind it.

“We could make this easier,” he said. “You help us, we treat you better.”

You stared at the chains at your wrists. Then at him.

“I hope you get torn apart by reef sharks.”

Kyle blinked. “Right. So. The hard way.”

The hard way came in the shape of Simon Riley.

He said nothing as he stepped inside, the door groaning behind him. His mask—bone-white and featureless—caught the lantern light like a ghost. He set a bucket of seawater beside you and leaned against the far wall.

You watched him in the silence.

“What are you here to threaten me with?” you spat eventually. “Knives? Fire? Torture?”

He tilted his head. “I don’t threaten,” he said calmly. “I wait.”

“For what?”

“For the moment you realize you’re not as in control as you think.”

He left before you could curse him.

And it made you sick, the way that truth nestled inside you like a splinter under skin.

You were starting to learn their routines. That terrified you more than the chains.

On the sixth night, it was Johnny who visited. The lantern he carried painted him in firelight, shadows dancing across his freckled skin. His grin was slow and sharp as he crouched beside your barrel, the gleam of his knife flashing.

“This?” he said, tapping it to your chin. “This isn’t for slicing. It’s for carving.”

You bared your teeth. “Go ahead. Maybe I’ll bite off your fucking wrist.”

His laughter echoed down the hall, bright and wicked.

“I like you,” he said. “Mean little thing. Full of fire.”

He rose, took a step toward the door. Paused.

“But fire’s only good,” he added, glancing back, “if you know when to let it burn.”

You stared long after he left. Jaw clenched. Blood pounding.

You were beginning to fear you knew exactly when you’d burn.

When Price returned, the room shifted.

The air thickened, like the sea before a storm. He dropped something beside you: a map. Ancient parchment, threaded with silver ink, edges curling from age. The sigils on it glowed faintly in your presence.

It reeked of dead gods.

“The tomb of the Sea King,” Price said, kneeling. “You know where it is.”

You looked up, lip curled. “I’m not helping you desecrate his grave.”

He didn't blink. “I don’t need your help. I need your obedience.”

He leaned in. The lantern light caught the gold in his beard, his eyes like jagged glass.

“You’ll guide us,” he said softly. “Or I’ll have Soap cut out your tongue and Simon peel off your scales. One by one.”

Something in you cracked.

Not in fear.

In rage.

“I hope you drown choking on your own greed.”

For a second—just a second—Price’s jaw tensed. Then he smiled.

They brought you above deck for the first time under a sky bruised purple.

Your tail was weak, aching. Salt dried on your skin like ash. You stumbled when the ship lurched, caught yourself on the rail.

Eyes followed you—men whispering, staring, spitting old curses. One made the sign against evil. Another dropped his rum.

Simon stayed at your side, silent as a sentinel.

Johnny didn’t joke.

But Kyle passed by and whispered, “Don’t die today.”

You didn’t answer. But your eyes found him again—lingered too long.

Later, curled in a half-filled water barrel to keep your strength from fading, you found Price at your side again. Watching the sea.

“You’re not weak,” he said.

You stared up at him.

“You’re just stubborn.”

You snorted. “You’re not a captain. You’re a coward who hides behind teeth.”

He huffed a laugh. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“We’ll see,” he said, “who ends up begging first.”

You led them to the trench.

Chains gone—just for the dive. You dove first, magic blooming like wings behind you, lighting the dark. They followed, armed and wary, through the cold spiral of the deep.

The tomb of the Sea King rose from the ocean floor like a cathedral of bone and coral. Pearls the size of skulls lined the arches. Statues wept seaweed. And in the center—a throne of obsidian, untouched for centuries.

They stared.

Not at the treasure.

At you.

Simon hovered behind you, eyes unreadable. Kyle’s breath fogged his mask. Johnny’s fingers brushed the hilt of his blade.

You turned.

“What now?” Kyle asked quietly.

“Do you kill us?” Simon murmured.

You could’ve. Should’ve.

Instead, you said, “Leave. You’ve done enough.”

Johnny stepped forward. “And you?”

“I stay.”

A long pause. Only the water moved.

“You’ll die here,” Price said. His voice, for once, held no command.

“Maybe I want to.”

Silence again. Then—

“We should’ve been enemies,” Price murmured. “But I don’t want to hate you anymore.”

You froze.

He stepped closer. Didn’t touch you. Just watched.

“You don’t forgive people like you,” you whispered.

“No,” Price said. “You fall for them. And hope it doesn’t kill you.”

You surfaced with them.

You told yourself it was strategy. Survival.

But when Kyle pressed a dry towel into your hands and whispered, “You’re not alone,” something tugged at your chest.

When Johnny flopped beside your barrel with an apple and said, “Want half, fishcake?”—you didn’t spit in his face.

When Simon watched you bleed and stitched your side without a word, you didn’t flinch when his fingers brushed your skin.

And when Price came to you, hours later, moonlight slick on the deck, and said:

“I don’t want a prisoner anymore. I want you with us. By choice.”

You said nothing.

You just reached up—pressed your palm to his chest—and didn’t pull away.

Maybe it wasn’t love yet.

But it was salt and softness. It was trust.

And it was enough.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[forsaken-headcanons]

Yoo was the person to make this ask:

https://www.tumblr.com/forsaken-headcanons/781859721592373248/the-yksteldehs-skin-has-his-own-version-of-1x?source=share

I kept on having ideas for the other survivors so I made it into an au kind of

I call it nekasroF

ertcepS - actually a good guy, they originally trapped the survivors there because they're all evil in some way, but added the Killers because they want to see if they can get the survivors to work together and become good through the power of friendship or sm

booN - no clue what to do for them tbh. Thinking they'd hate snacks and stuff (might give them an eating disorder but i dont want to offend anyone so maybe not) the friendship with 666 tseuG wasn't that great and ended alot sooner than cannon forsaken

7n700 - was actually a normal guy at first, he was a pretty good dad too. After his son ddikl00c went missing, he decided to learn code and eventually started hacking and causing mayhem to distract himself from his grief.

emiT-owT - probably the sanest one there. Had beef with ezruA, like haramA and the other cult leaders probably had to make sure they didn't kill each other, until nawpS needed a sacrifice that is. After that they just handed emiT-owT a knife and let them go crazy

yksteldehS - was originally Telamon (i like to think that no matter what universe theyre from Telamon is morally grey before seperating the good and the evil from himself), and decided to be extra good to even out the evil done by his co-workers and did the whole separating into shedletsky and 1x1x1x1 deal, but fucked up and instead of removing his hatred he removed everything but his hatred. Causing him to be evil.

ecnahC - least evil of the gang tbh, only really did bad things because they had no other option. Grew up poor, gambles in hopes of winning big and helping his family instead of doing it for the adrenaline rush. Poor aim, they don't have alot experience with a gun before nekasroF, but they know enough to use it. Worked in the Mafia for a bit, but ended up leaving because it was too stressful. Idk what to do for their lore with itrapped tho, might do a follow up or something with it once their lore gets reworked.

7331 tseuG - idk how to turn this guy evil he's just that good of a guy, might make it to where he was taken to one of the guest camps when he was young and like murdered his way out of it but other than that I have no idea ToT

toillE - little greedy bastard. loves pizza, like to an unhealthy degree. He barely heals anyone, only giving pizza out if you're like one hit away from death (if you get to him before he eats it all that is) also doesn't have a grudge with 7n700 because he think their hacker shenanigans are funny

namredliuB - discourages creativity, only wears his work uniform cause self expression is bad. Probably stole his blueprints from a how to build book.

rakkesuD - doesn't rhyme, only uses magic for his own gain. etc

hpaT - not paranoid, only really covers his face and stuff because he blows shit up for fun and didn't want to go to jail. Fucking HATES namredliuB, exploding stuff is how he expresses himself so they don't get along. namredliuB doesn't know why hpaT hates him.

Killer time!! I only have ideas for 1x and c00lkidd so here are those two

ddikl00c - actually a preteen, currently in his "too cool to be into playing" phase. Still has his provision, but knows somthing is wrong with it. Everything's too uncanny and stuff. Realizes immediately that he just killed a bunch of people and tries to pretend that everything's fine until the ertcepS resets his memory to try to help.

x1x1x1x - everything but yksteldehS's hatred, only really kills because hes competitive and wants to win. Doesn't hate yksteldehS but still wants to defeat him because of honor or somthing

ertcepS really said "with the power of friendship!!" and tried putting them all into a get-along shirt I'm sobbing

side note emiT-owT's lore going from gut wrenching doomed yaoi to just "OH FINALLY I CAN KILL THIS BASTARD" is too funny

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗗𝗘𝗗𝗜𝗖𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗗 𝗧𝗢 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗜 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 - eighteen max vertsappen x  fem! driver! reader ( fluff ) series summary , a journey back to the p1 pedestal, buckle up

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests )

It was supposed to be Lando’s race.

Pole position. Dry skies. McLaren in dreamland.

Max had qualified P12—not great—but the real blow came after: a five-place grid penalty for a new power unit element. P17 on the start.

The garage buzzed with static. Chaos on the radio. Rain looming on the radar like a secret it was too shy to confess. Until it wasn’t.

By Lap 9, the drizzle had turned to a mist.

By Lap 16, it was a proper downpour.

Slicks screamed. Cars skidded. Drivers cursed.

And Max—Max—was the first to gamble.

“Inters. Box me now.”

They questioned it. Briefly. As always.

But they listened. As always.

It was magic.

By Lap 42, Max Verstappen was leading the race. From seventeenth.

Like the storm had been built just for him.

Meanwhile—

Your car hated the water.

No grip. No stability. Just slip.

Lap 19. You almost spun.

Lap 30. You took damage in a tangle with George.

Lap 36—done. Slide off. Right into the gravel. The silence in your helmet was the loudest part.

But you weren’t angry. Not anymore.

You’d been angry in Bahrain. You’d been broken in Imola. But today?

You were just still.

Rain always found you. But maybe that was okay.

You waited by parc fermé, soaked to the bone, hood tugged low, and hands jammed into your pockets. The rain didn’t let up, and neither did your heartbeat.

And then—you saw him.

Helmet off, eyes scanning. His chest still heaved with the rhythm of a car that hadn’t fully stopped inside him yet. Hair wet, cheeks flushed, jaw slack from disbelief. Max Verstappen, rain-slick and storm-made.

He saw you. And before he could say anything, you moved.

Three quick steps forward—and then your arms wrapped tight around him. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, feeling the damp fabric of his suit against your skin, the heat radiating from him like lightning still lived in his bloodstream.

Max's arms came around you fast—strong and secure. One hand on the back of your head. The other around your waist like he’d never let go.

You pressed your mouth close to his ear, breath warm against his skin.

“I wanted to kiss you so bad,” you whispered, just for him. “Watching you drive like that was so fucking hot.”

You felt it before you saw it—the way his breath caught. The twitch of a smile. And when he pulled back slightly to look at you, his ears were pink.

Blushing.

Like you hadn’t just watched him win a race from seventeenth on a rain-slicked circuit.

“I—” he blinked. Laughed, soft and a little dazed. “It’s our win, you know.”

You shook your head, but his hands held steady.

“No, I mean it,” he said, more certain now. “Don’t beat yourself up over the DNF. You’ve carried us on that podium for weeks. Today, I just caught up.”

Your lips parted, but he was already pulling you in again—arms around you, rain all around you, the world forgetting itself for a minute while you stood there like two people who hadn’t just been through separate hells.

Like maybe, just maybe, the win still belonged to both of you.

The shower was warm, steam curling in soft spirals around your bodies, the air thick with the scent of soap and something electric that had nothing to do with the water. You leaned into him, your back brushing against the cool tile, and Max pressed closer—his body shielding you from the chill, his touch setting you ablaze.

His hand was firm on your waist, grounding you. The other cradled the back of your head like you were something precious—something breakable if held the wrong way.

“I wish I could kiss you all day,” he mumbled against your mouth, voice gravel-deep, lips already brushing yours like he couldn’t stay away for more than a breath.

You hummed, eyes fluttering shut as you kissed him back—slow, eager, gentle. Like you were learning him all over again. Like you were drinking him in. His body was everywhere: his chest against yours, slick skin to skin, the steam curling around you both as if it couldn’t bear to drift away.

Your hands slid across his back, memorizing the lines of him, clinging to him like you needed the anchor. Maybe you did.

And then—

Before he could process it, you were sinking to your knees on the warm tile. A breath caught in his throat.

“Wha—” Max looked down at you, wide-eyed, his hand frozen mid-air.

He didn’t expect it. Couldn’t have. Not from the girl who, just five months ago, blushed at the word intimacy, who confessed she didn’t really know how to have sex—who once giggled at the word “cock” like it was too heavy for her mouth.

But now?

You looked up at him like he was the only thing you’d ever wanted. There was nothing innocent in the way your eyes sparkled. Just a quiet, assured hunger.

Max’s head hit the tile wall with a soft thud, a half-choked laugh tumbling from his lips, low and disbelieving. “What the hell are you doing to me?” he whispered, voice ragged, his hand sliding back into your hair.

And you just smiled, wicked and soft.

Addicted to him. And maybe—just maybe—he was addicted to you too.

[danieyells]

IT WAS A PRETTY GOOD EPISODE AND WE EVEN GOT CLASH LORE AND A LITTLE CLEMENTIA LORE AND WE SAW REN USE HIS STIGMA AGAIN????? WHAT THE FUCK DOES HIS STIGMA EVEN DO?????? IS IT JUST "CHORE MAGIC"????? HE BOILED WATER FASTER WITH IT AND CLEANED UP INK WITH IT IT JUST FUCKING DOES CHORES

ALSO!!!!!

IT WAS ZENJI'S BIRTHDAY AND THEY HAD THE DAYE DISPLAYED AND JIRO SAW IT AND GOT SICK AND INSTINCTIVELY RIPPED IT DOWN SAYING IT WAS IN THE WAY AND HE FELT LESS SICK WHEN HE COULDN'T SEE IT????

HE GOT SICK AT THE MERE MENTION OF HAVING A FAMILY??????

ED GETS SICK IN THE PRESENCE OF GARLIC??????

JIN SAYING "YOU'RE MINE" HELLO?????????

THE FUCKING CLASH COMBATANT CHAT???? WE LEARNED JIRO WOKE UP BEFORE THE CLASH SO WE KNOW AROUND WHEN HE WAS OUT BUT HOW LONG WAS HE OUT FOR???? WHEN DID HE GO INYO HIS COMA?????

WE LEARNED WHERE REN IS FROM AND PARTIALLY WHERE HARU IS FROM!!!!!!

BENKEI!!!!!! WAS CLEMENTIA'S ADVISOR!!!!! RUI WAS IN CLEMENTIA!!!!!!!!! Also Benkei absolutely got in trouble for sexually harassing some female students and he's learned his lesson so hard he'a paranoid about it. Pervert Priest character archetype maybe. HE GAVE THE PC A BLESSED BRACELET THAT BROKE WHEN ED REACHED FOR THEM WITH ILL(?) INTENT?????

Ed can be in the sun for a while but it seems like it wears him down if it's too much and being in the shade is safest for him?

REN CAN COOK AND HIS FAMILY RAN A SEASIDE FOOD SHACK AND HE DOESN'T EAT OCTOPUS ANYMORE?????? MY BOY MISSES CALAMRI LOL

TEH CAPYBUS IS HURT :C but it's a vehicle right they got it from vagastrom why can't they repair it there? If vagastrom sold it to them clearly it's not entirely organic. . .maybe Vagastrom won't fix it unless Haru pays them

THE FOX IS SUPPOSED TO BE CONTAINED AND DARKWICK HAS PLANS FOR IT BUT IT KEEPS GETTING OUT???? HYDE GOING ON SHADY BUSINESS TRIPS?????

we know the clash factions were the "sympathizers"(to darkwick? To anomalies???) which is ere Frostheim was, the "dissidents" which were Vagastrom, Mortkranken, and I believe Hotarubi and Dionysia, and the neutral parties(Obscuary)

HARU IS ONE OF THE FEW GHOULS SO FAR THAT DOESN'T HATE ED!!!!

JIRO TRYING TO TEACH HIMSELF TO SWIM!!! REN KNOWING HOW TO RESPOND IN CASE OF AQUATIC EMERGENCIES!!!!!

ED SAYING HE'S SAVING HIS LIFE FORCE FOR RUI SO HE WON'T LET ANYTHING ELSE KILL HIM??? RUI SAYING "THIS VESSEL" ISN'T WORTH DYING FOR????

REN SAYING THE PC WOULDN'T DATE ANY OF THEM AND JIRO RESPONDING LIKE "? really?" SKDBDUDJSH

REN AND RUI AND HARU THINKING ABOUT HOW THEY ALREADY HAVE MEALS WITH THE PC. . . .

I KNOW I'M LEAVING SOMETHING OUT FOR SURE BUT

WE GOT SOME GOOD ASS CRUMBS THIS EPISODE??? ED AND JIN EVEN HALFWAY GOT ALONG. HARU WAS AN ALCOHOLIC THE WHOLE TRIP.

AND NEXT MONTH IS IN FACT HOTARUBI!!! THE HYPE IS REAL

[kaitlyn-imagines]

Can we please get some headcanons with toshinori and/or aizawa with a gn s/o who practices witchcraft? Like they walk into the house and their s/o is just like cleansing the place with a smudge stick? You're very sweet and I love your work. Thank you so much!

I'll be the first to admit that I know very little about witchcraft other than what is available online, so I tried to keep it non-specific. I'm not sure which are closed practices or not, so hopefully these are alright! :) Apologies if not!

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾ 

Toshinori Yagi:

This man is such a supportive partner—so while he might not understand any of your practices, he’s already giving you a big thumbs up when you bust out the works

You’ll be like, “Hey babe, it’s a full moon tonight, can you leave out the mason jars to collect moon water for me?”

Done and done.

You won’t even have to ask him again, because same time next month, he remembers to do it and now it’s his little chore! He likes that he can help you out with the smaller things

He’s gonna get so anxious when you bust out the tarot cards and try to give him a reading

He does NOT want to get a bad fortune, man’s struggling enough with his health as it is 

And you’re like “babe, it’s not about bringing you good or bad luck. It’s for introspection and spiritual guidance.” 

Oh… okay yeah, that doesn’t sound so bad, lol

Try to involve him when you’re looking at new gemstones! Talk to him about each of their energies and magical properties. They’re expensive, but he doesn’t mind, he’ll spoil you 

If he can manage to figure out how to use reddit, he’ll go on r/rockhounds and try to find precious and semi-precious stones local to the area so he can find you some

Overall, very sweet and supportive of your witchcraft even if he doesn’t always get it

He’ll make an effort to learn more and educate himself on it, because he wants to learn more about you and your beliefs

I.e. ‘Wicca and Witchcraft for Dummies!’

Wont ever admit it, but kind of wants to see you try on a stereotypical witch’s outfit, thinks you’d look really cute…

Shota Aizawa: 

Shane and Ryan duo type of beat

Not gonna lie, he’s thinks it’s all full of shit. He’s naturally a skeptic, and is probably gonna say something luke-warm like, “I believe that’s what you believe,” if you ask him

Same thing with astrology and tarot readings. He’ll humor you and let you read him, but isn’t going to put much weight into whatever it says

…although, there was this strange coincidence that happened the other day?

He’ll come home late one night from teaching and all the lights will be off save for some lit candles. And there you are, the shadows dancing on your face as you murmur intentions into the cosmos, practicing your works

He’ll feel a little shiver crawl up his spine because you look ethereal and powerful and beautiful all at once. Takes everything in him to politely wait for you to finish before he jumps your bones

He gets little to no sleep, so you’ll cleanse the bedroom and get him some lepidolite to help with insomnia and restfulness

He doesn’t know if it actually worked or if it’s just a placebo effect, but he’s starting to sleep through the night more often

Give this crusty man the works, boo, he NEEDS it

Herbal oils and teas, crystal accessories, little charms and protection spells—make him literally buzz with all that good energy

[windmaedchen-oceanhorn]

The flying menace: worm!

Or her real name: Delilah, also called Della. She is the biological daughter of Hypogean Queen Erin and her King consort Hypogean Cyran. They are just a hypothetical option to allow them to survive the true end game of Merlin versus the Darkness (whatever that may be in the end). More on them is here, here and here.

As for Delilah, here are some headcanons:

Della has no legs, but a nice long snake tail with rattle at the end. She also still has the bat wings, but because her tail is fairly heavy, she can use them only for short flights and in conjuction with her tail's strength of jumping around.

Before she learned to hold her upper body up and stand on her tail, she would try to wiggle herself around, more akin to a worm. That earned her the nickname "worm" from her father. Forever.

She is just as curious as her mother and studious as her father and will use any excuse to sneak around and away to see and figure things out herself. She eventually also sneaks off to Esperia, which causes some issues naturally with her parents.

Della loves her uncle Eugene, so if she DID sneak away, at first she always just headed for the Mystical House to see him and Merlin and the entire crew there.

Having said that, Della absolutely LOVES everything and everyone. xD

Particularly poisonous and otherwise dangerous things. Eugene would let his kids play with spiders all day, so he definitely approves here also, and so does Cyran. Erin is a little stressed about that despite knowing how manageable the actual harm posed to Della is.

Eventually Della also heads out to other places, including Whiteridge. She meets Sigrid (@bentleydings ) there and they become friends as they both grow up. He is the one-eyed lad featured in the drawings above.

Della has some of ther father's weaknesses as well, one of them being a low frustration tolerance with herself. If she doesn't get something right (either by mental or physical ability), she ends up sulking, being utterly unable to accept any help from others. It will need a lot of patience from her parents or friends to deal with her moody side then, and often enough, she'll retreat to sort things out herself.

Unlike Cyran, who ultimately didn't have any patience and help shown towards his frustrations (and so developed the firm believe that only he can help himself to the extend that he won't believe in genuine help from the outside), Della has that support in the background, and she knows full well that after her outbursts, she is still welcomed back into the arms of her parents and friends.

In her adult form, you can see that Delilah LOVES jewelry as much as her dad. He's also obviously spoiling her in that regard, but she likes the regal impression of it. And her manners will absolutely match that! Unlike her mother, who has always been a more reserved "Queen" (both when she was Queen consort of the Lightbearer Empire, and during the short time she served as Ygdris's representative on Esperia and even afterwards in current times), Della thrives on this self-presentation and attention she gets.

About Dellas physique: Her anatomy is closer to a human rather than a snake, just for the sake of keeping it weird. xD Cyran's snake tail doesn't contain anything other than bone and muscle. It is rather similar for Della. Except that she does have her entrails go down through the tail and on and on, until it eventually comes out towards the end of her tail. xD ;-) That made her wearing diapers rather difficult.

Below her waist, she wears a bib that's held in place by a belt at the bottom. That's because she's got the wings at the back, and they are attached to her tail, so she can't have any clothing on her backside below waist.

She can technically procreate but uhm... you don't quite yet need to know the details. xD

Some Family Facts:

The Hypogeans don't technically need to sleep and can maintain themselves magically BUT it is of benefit to allow for actual physical rest even for an immortal being. So after Erin and Cyran begin to rebuilt their broken home realm, the Hypogeans start to incorporate sleep into their lifes. Since Hypogeans never had biological children before (due to the lack of Dura's blessing on their existence), they didn't know this but these kids do need sleep and they will naturally sleep on their own a lot. Even though kids never WANT to sleep, they still also cannot control their magical flow to allow them to go without sleep. ;-)

Speaking about sleep, the royal family has a large circular bed. They RARELY rest all together, to make sure at least one of the monarchs is responsive to the realms needs. But Della LOVES to sleep snuggled up tight against her dad's tail or hiding sandwiched between her mothers wings.

Finally, lemme acknowledge @bentleydings again for actually sparking Della's existence with their sketches (also featured and marked). I never really considered kids, as I still think Hypogeans are made infertile, but then again, as Erin's as the new "god" of Hypogeans, AND with the blessing of Merlin (the new god of Esperia) I could argue that she can bless Hypogeans to receive natural offspring. <3

[dragonmasterhiccup]

"It was the teamwork," Astrid said proudly, gathering up the netted púca, careful not to touch it.

She wagged a finger at it. "You better cooperate. My husband's sister is dying because of you!" Turning to Rose, she nodded towards the circle. "Let's go!"

---

His vision blurred. Give her away? "Yeah. Yeah, of course I will. But you need to hold on, so you can get to your wedding day."

Oh, this was hard to watch. He tried using the healing magic again, but it was draining. He wasn't used to using so much, and Lyra probably wasn't, either.

Hiccup stiffened. They got him! "Lyra. Lyra, come on. They found the púca!" Knowing how weak she was, he scooped her up. "Don't let go, Lyr. You hear me? You're getting your magic back!"

Running out of the hut, he was glad Lyra lived so close to the woods. As soon as he was out of view of any Berkians, he let his wings loose, feeling the now familiar weight on his back.

He hadn't learned to fly yet, but he rode dragons! He knew what to do. And he knew that flying was faster than running.

Opening his wings, he took flight, still holding Lyra in his arms. "Almost there, Lyr...hang on!"

He could feel her fading. Pumping his wings faster, he could finally see the circle come into view.

Oh, gods...how can he land? Time was of the essence. As they neared the circle, he did what Toothless had done for him so many times: he held her tightly, wrapping his wings around them both until they came to a stop, apologizing to Lyra the whole time for jostling her in the rough landing.

Hiccup took the brunt of the fall, but that was the plan. Opening his wings, he was breathing hard, but could see Astrid running towards them with the púca.

He squeezed Lyra's hand, "Any second now, Lyr. Don't give in!" Sitting himself up, he adjusted her so she could still lean on him. "Fight it!"

"You need to switch them back!" Astrid told the púca, "He was human before. Being human is killing her. She needs her magic!"

Hiccup's eyes pleaded as he looked at the púca. "Please, fix this!"

@dragonmasterhiccup

Púca mischief and magic switch (closed starter)

The house was coming along great. Ash balanced on the roof as he laid the boards. His brothers were around him helping with the building’s exterior. Ash had chosen a piece of land more towards the outside of the Viking village but an easy walk to the chief’s hut. And a much easy walk for the people to get to Lyra than Gothi’s hut. Ash’s chest warmed at the thought. Lyra would be the main village healer one day. A high honor.

“Hey! Stop day dreaming lover boy.” His eldest brother, Talon, nudged him. With an eye roll he got back to work. His other two brothers, Finn and Rhys, had returned through his circle carrying carpets and more wood for the roof. Soon they’d be able to work on the inside.

“Hey! Dad needs all of us back for a meeting! That means you too, Ashy! We’ll come back after.” That… was annoying. But fae councils were serious if all the court was needed. The two hopped off the roof with help from their magic.

Little did they know that a púca had snuck its way through the open circle. Taking the form of a wolf at first it snuck into the forest. Watching the faes work. The creature waited for the perfect time to cause trouble. As the brothers left through the circle they closed it. The púca changed shape again. A black cat with gold eyes stalked into the village. The feline making its way towards the next grouping of magic.

Lyra and Hiccup came into view. Looks like the two had been heading towards the new home. The púca could feel the power surrounding her. With a purr the cat rubbed up against her leg, causing her to stop.

“Aw, look at you! You’re so pretty.” Lyra picked the cat up and cradled it in her arms.

“Do you know who he belongs to, Hiccup? I don’t think I’ve seen this one around before.” She turned so her brother could pet the cat too. But as soon as Hiccup’s hand made contact with the sleek fur both he and Lyra were struck with pain like being struck by lightning. Lyra fell to her knees as the waves of electric shock went through her limbs. The cat jumping away and shifting into a more goblin like form. It cackled at the two in pain before running off.

As the agony faded away, Lyra found herself shaking. Her body felt heavy and tired and… sore? She blinked in confusion. The earth was oddly silent too. She… she couldn’t sense the magic around her anymore! Wait.. Hiccup! Hiccup was hurt too!

“Hiccup? Are you okay?” She’d worry about herself after. That… thing had zapped her brother.

[ruesol]

Lucid Submission - chapter 6

(feudal lord!sukuna x reader)

synopsis:

The fearsome demon king, Sukuna Ryomen, is reborn as an immortal human man as punishment for ruining the balance of good and evil in the divine realm.

To lift his curse and return to his original form, Sukuna must complete the condition bestowed upon him by the deities.

However, it requires him to have a child with the street thief who stole his coin pouch.

fanfic masterlist

chapter warnings: bloody imagery, fantasizing murder as revenge, Gojo is a serial cheater, I’m sorry.

—

Uraume’s handwriting on the parchment paper is crisp and clear. The night before, Gojo had been narrating all the best methods he had used to seduce his wife and other women, and Uraume had been writing everything down so Sukuna could study them later. It felt like a ritual of humiliation, with the women giggling every time Sukuna had a genuine question regarding a method, or how Gojo would down a shot of sake when he was getting bored.

And all for what? So he could impress you and, well, impregnate you.

The words mocked him on the page. For years, the only things he’d been reading were port contracts, money lending agreements, and other business venture-related documents, but now, he was reduced to a bumbling fool who had no clue how to get a woman to like him enough to let him bed her.

But what else can he do but pull the furthest strings for an unyielding heart like yours?

–

Lord Gojo’s guide on seducing a difficult woman:

Listen to her needs and capitulate no matter how trivial the request may be.

Buy her expensive accessories so she may show them off to her friends. They will complain about their idiot husbands, and you will shine in her eyes.

Kill a man in front of her to show off your physical strength (she will know that you are a beast in the sheets).

Spend time with her and learn about her hobbies, no matter how boring. Lord Gojo adds that being partially drunk during this step helps one stray from going insane while listening to mindless chatter.

Tell her you are only in love with her each time she finds a whore in your quarters.

–

If Sukuna had to admit, the entire list mainly seemed to apply to Gojo Satoru’s life. Uraume had informed him that the young lord had a notorious past of cheating on his wife. The fact that she has stuck with him for so long, even after his repetitive mistakes, was quite amusing.

Sukuna sighs. All the suggestions have a condescending tone to them. The only one that sounds the least bit genuine is about getting you a gift and listening to your requests. Since you are not present for the latter, Sukuna decides to head to the local market to buy you a present before he returns to the estate.

As usual, it is overstimulating. He wishes he could magically conjure whatever he needed in his palm and swiftly leave. Alas, the yearning for his original form deepens, but he traverses through the mist of people. Dull rumbles of multiple conversations fall deaf on his ears as his mind tries to scavenge what you could possibly like as a present.

Uraume follows suit, dodging scampering children and the yells of salesfolk. The disorganization of the street market seems to be getting to him as well. The usually level-headed man was visibly agitated.

��How can I listen to her concerns if she does not tell me anything? The most I’ve heard her say are swear words,” Sukuna complained to Uraume as they walked through the crowd. Both men scan the area to find something that would suit you best.

“Perhaps you took his advice too literally, my Lord,” Uraume suggests as he picks up a silk pouch on display. The embroidery looks impeccable, but Sukuna snatches it from his hand and places it back on the table. “She has no need for a money pouch. I buy most things for her anyway.” Uraume rolls his eyes and continues to follow Sukuna.

“And what do you mean by taking things too literally?” Sukuna continues as the men walk further into the market, with different smells and sights attacking their senses simultaneously.

“I mean that maybe listening is more about taking notice. You can listen to her wants and needs by being receptive to her reactions. Granted, she may be crass and indifferent sometimes, but you will notice a difference if you observe with greater attention.”

Sukuna pauses in his steps and absorbs Uraume’s advice. “Maybe that perverse fool had something useful to say after all,” he says, referring to Gojo Satoru.

“I guess so,” Uraume sighs.

Nothing in the market has caught their attention because, for some reason, Sukuna was feeling especially picky. Maybe it was because of his ever-growing pride or how curt your responses were whenever he’d try to converse with you.

And then he saw it–the answer to his concerns, sitting pretty in a wooden box, surrounded by other wares, was a hairpin with flowers engraved on it. It did not look very remarkable, only crude iron welded together to form the flower, but something about its simplicity made it stand out from the others. A young boy, no older than thirteen or fourteen, runs up to the front of the shop and greets Sukuna.

“It’s a hydrangea, sir,” he says with great enthusiasm. “Welded it myself.”

Sukuna does not look over at the teen and only gazes at his hands, which were covered in calluses and burn scars. Seems like a hardworking young lad who probably cannot afford protective gear.

The old demon’s hands graze over the pin, touching the painted red centre. You have a lot of red robes, so that the pin would complement them well.

“It represents remorse and penitence.”

The boy’s statement hits Sukuna deep in his chest. A critical thought that had been swimming in his mind since his encounter with Geto was that he could probably never reveal why he was so dead set on being your husband.

Worrying has been embedded in his psyche. He sometimes has dreams where you fall in love with him, but, when you find out that he has sacrificed your child for his gain, you cry and scream till you melt into a puddle of blood by his old statue, your skin falling off first, the cavities around your eyes stretching as your bones liquify along the marrow within. Your heart is the last to deliquesce, still beating until it hits the ground. The red liquid glistens under the winter sun as his second set of arms and eyes finally return, then he hears echoes of the Dieties applauding him from the heavens for fulfilling his sentence.

And once again, after hundreds of years, he experiences a new emotion–guilt. 

Sukuna is quick to cough up as many coins as needed to buy the present for you.

–

The trek back to the estate felt long, mainly because Sukuna was agitated to give you the present immediately. The thought of your reaction had him anticipating. Uraume had to ask him to slow down repeatedly, as the smaller man’s lungs did not have enough capacity to rival Sukuna’s hulking resilience. Sukuna only barked at Uraume to join him for his morning exercise.

Uraume balked at the idea by mentioning that Sukuna would be a ravenous beast if he weren’t served breakfast as soon as that last droplet of sweat slides down his neck.

As usual, you do not create much of a racket without his presence, which irks him. It seems that he is the only person to whom you display a negative reaction. He gnaws the thick end of the stick anyway, hoping his willpower will help him break through.

And if not for his willpower, then the gift surely would. You liked pretty things.

But before he can enter his quarters, where you’re resting, Nobara drags him to a far corner of the estate.

“You better have something of utmost importance to say because I do not like being ordered around by a subordinate,” Sukuna half snarled and whispered. The pin he had bought you was still in the box, sitting cold in his pocket.

Nobara rolls her eyes. “Well, do not forget that I left my demonhood for you. Anyway, you must approach with caution when it comes to your wife. It seems that you kidnapping her has…reminded her of some unpleasant memories.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Sukuna did not have time for Nobara’s vague message. The agitation was eating away at the patience in his chest, now gnawing on the bones of his ribs.

“I cannot tell you much because it is not my story to share. But promise me that you will take your time with her. She will be more willing to give you the marble if you do so.” Gojo’s words ring in his ears like a jingling chime–Sukuna would need to be a good listener if he wanted you to trust him.

“She has been quiet ever since she told me about her past. Maybe you would’ve known about it too had you not gone on your trip, and she probably would’ve handed the marble over if you’d have just listened,” Nobara continued as she gazed past Sukuna, eyes trained on the closed entrance of his quarters.

Right. Nobara still did not know the exact logistics of how Sukuna needed to extract the pearl from you. And it was none of her business. No one except Uraume needed to know. Nobara, Yuuji, and Megumi may be thousands of years old in spirit, but they still behaved like children. Who’s to say what could happen if they knew?

Sukuna found himself clutching the gift box in his pocket. Maybe he could take Nobara’s warning with a grain of salt, considering that you were still somewhat of a stranger and no one knew much about your past. Still, he trusted her word, especially since she was the sole receiver of your personal information.

The gift could wait.

Sukuna distractedly mentions that he needs to rest and bids Nobara goodbye, ignoring her suggestion. He walks back to his quarters, where you’re lying with your back to the door. The uneven rise and fall of your shoulders told him that you were awake. So he approached slowly and sat right behind you on his knees.

Sukuna needed you to harbor trust towards him. If not, then all his efforts would go in vain: the kidnapping, the forceful education, the trip to meet Gojo, and keeping secrets from his closest subordinates. The sacrifices and adjustments he has made so far do not yet weigh down on his shoulders. But the moment they do, he knows it will all come crashing down. It’s best if he keeps his past away from his present.

“We’re going to be together for a while, so it’s best we get along,” he says. You do not reply, but he does not miss the brush of a sarcastic snicker you quickly silence. Something is better than nothing. Humiliation is also a form of acknowledgement.

“Is there anything in particular that you wish to do?” Again, no response.

“Sewing, crafts, visiting a temple, going on a trip–just name what you want. I’d rather know explicitly than endlessly pick your brain.”

You do not budge, only sighing deeply as you scratch the tatami mat. The sliding door to the courtyard is closed, so it’s not like you had set your sights on something distracting.

“So spoiled,” Sukuna muttered under his breath after clicking his tongue. “Do you wish to participate in a duel with me?” he sarcastically suggests.

You sharply inhale, and Sukuna takes note of it. Maybe Gojo Satoru’s advice had some substance to it after all.

“Do you…wish to learn how to fight?”

No answer, but your body has stiffened, which is enough confirmation for him. “We will begin at the crack of dawn. Get plenty of rest.”

And with that, he wraps you and himself in a thick blanket, and pulls you close, his nose diving into the crook of your neck.

Sukuna found himself feeling relaxed for the first time in a while. Your scent had a unique familiarity that he would not find even in the most hidden corners of the Divine Realm. He does not believe that a human can be capable of being so enticing. They were never the objects of his interest, even when he was a demon, only choosing to sink his fangs into their rotting souls when they’d be punished to work through their sins in the Demon Realm. But something about you arouses a guttural ache in him—an amalgamation of desire and, surprisingly, admiration. 

He revels and revels for the next hour and comes to the conclusion that it’s the Divine Magic in your blood that makes you seem this way to him. Your soul was created to entice and lead him astray, yet its existence is the key to his redemption.

–

You wake up before the eve of dawn, excitement flowing in your blood as your heart races faster than it has since you ran away from the man who had wronged you. You could say his real name if you wanted to, but even the thought of referring to him felt like a bad omen, so you’d simply call him Kyo.

You were finally going to learn how to wield a weapon–a real one, at that. The type that the shogunate soldiers would unsheathe when there was danger afoot. The thought of running your fingers along the sharp blade makes you jitter in Sukuna's hold, and you shift, turning around to face your sleeping husband.

But before you wake him up, you stare at him, taking in his peaceful state. The man had a perpetual frown stamped between his brows since he had met you, yet now, he looked so relaxed and innocent like a sweet child holding onto his favorite object. Your nose almost touches Sukuna’s because of how tightly he has held you close. You’re afraid that if you blink too much, your eyelashes will tickle the bridge of his nose, and the frown will reappear.

The feeling of conflict has not gone away since the day he had forcefully sat you in his lap and fed you with his own hand (albeit, by threatening to fuck you if you didn’t swallow). On one hand, you want to do nothing more than slap and punch him; on the other, you want to express your gratitude.

The two sides often die down in the middle, where you do nothing but pretend as if you do not have a voice, only speaking when necessary. It’s easier to mask embarrassment that way, but even then, your pride crumbles because Sukuna knows exactly what to say and do no matter how you act.

It irks you in ways that feel like a thousand birds screeching directly in your ears.

Sukuna stirs, and you freeze, almost afraid that he could read your mind (or, who knows, with the way he talked about his demonic abilities, he probably could).

His lashes flutter, and his eyes immediately lock onto yours when his half-lidded gaze completely opens up. “I will get the courtyard ready for your lesson.”

It’s odd how he speaks barely above a whisper, contradicting his usually crass attitude and gruff voice. The richness of his timbre grates your spine, and you shiver, only nodding at his declaration, still partly dazed.

He calls Nobara to get you ready and hastens to get ready. The girl is awfully cranky, being woken up earlier than expected, but she does not complain. She binds your hair in a hairstyle that will not hinder your performance, and gives you clothing that will be both warm and easy to move in. She gives you basic advice about fighting, but it all falls on your ignorant ears because you’re too busy fantasizing about driving a sword deep in Kyo’s chest.

You try to ignore the titillating feeling you get when you imagine warm spurts of his blood gurgling out of his chest, but you have too much expendable energy. Maybe you could hurt him enough only to render him static, instead–a living, bloodied corpse fresh in the snowy forest, waking hibernating bears. He’s dead enough to not move on his own, but he’s alive to the point where he can feel every tear, bite, and dig the bears would make.

Your excitement mutes itself when you see long bamboo sticks in the courtyard.

There’s no one but you and Sukuna in the courtyard, so it doesn’t mean that the bamboo sticks could be for his bodyguards. Disappointment grows with every passing second.

Under the dull light of the cobalt sky, Sukuna finally gets a good look at your bandaged arm. “What happened?” he asks as he points to it. You quickly retract your arm behind your back.

“I fell,” you lie.

“Where?”

“By the courtyard’s steps. I slipped on the snow.” You were sure that he would stop the lesson before it began if he knew that you had almost run away from the estate the day before.

“I see.” Sukuna does not look convinced, and his frown deepens.

“I thought we were fighting with swords?” You quickly change the topic, squinting at the sticks in a grimacing manner. Sukuna picks up a stick and slowly walks over to you. “We will. Just not yet. Every great fighter starts with simple objects till he is adept enough for a real blade.”

“She,” you correct Sukuna. It did not matter if the greatest swordsmen in history were all, if not mostly, men. Within your mind and heart, you were nothing less. A soul comes before its body.

“She,” he corroborates.

The lesson starts with learning how one must stand when handling a sword. Bamboo sticks weren’t as heavy as real metal swords, but Sukuna still told you to stand with your feet far apart enough to distribute the weapon's weight through your body equitably. Optimal combat practice requires the correct posture.

He teaches you how to hold the sword next. His large hands cover yours as you grip the sword. “You mustn’t let the strain fall on your wrists or your joints will ache; instead, let the strain fall on the muscles of your forearms and biceps, that way you will be able to move the sword more freely as well.”

When you make a mistake, still depending on your wrists to move the bamboo stick, Sukuna clicks his tongue before enshrouding you in his warmth, his back pressing against yours. Your spine is aligned right down the center of his ribs. The sheer heat radiating off of him protects you from the nipping morning chill.

“Like this,” he moves, making you swing along with him. But you still repeat the mistake, still unable to grasp the concept of movement. Sukuna groans, and he only holds you tighter to him, like being pressed to your smaller form was going to be the only solution to the gap in your execution.

It’s dizzying–the heat of his body, and his lips next to your ear as he instructs you. You can’t help but tense up completely. And infuriatingly so, your husband senses it almost immediately.

He pulls the bamboo stick out of your grip and drops it on the ground. He gathers your face in a single hand, tilting your chin so you can properly face him. “If you want to do well, then you have to trust me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Your shoulders are still stiff, and the effort of Sukuna’s consolation is barely making a dent in your determination and steeled mindset. It’s hard to meld and mold into what he wants. Life has lost all its logic since the moment you met him on that fateful day. When you close your eyes, you can still feel the chilled soil and snow staining your knees. The past weeks have felt like a fever dream.

The vermilion in his eyes stirred into something deeper, crimson going obsidian black, and that’s when you realize that his pupils have blown wide. You’ve seen that look many times–the heady gaze men would have when staring at the brothel’s women was similar.

However, what distinguished Sukuna’s gaze from the debauchees’ was that it was softer, earnest behind the brusque determination.

“Lose yourself. Fall into me,” he whispered as he stared at you, not daring to lean closer. A part of you wants to rebel further by pursing your lips and doing the opposite of his command, forcing him to get frustrated and oust you from his life, but you know that a good swordsmanship is hard to come by, and this could be your only chance at learning a craft that could help you defend yourself.

You nod slowly, and he promptly moves away, handing back the stick he had dropped earlier. “Now, mimic my movement, and then you can do some strength training for your muscles. Your days as a thief have left you weak. You’ll need to regain your stamina if you want to keep learning every day.

His aggravating comments do a surprisingly good job of motivating you to do better for the next hour. So much so that you pass out due to exhaustion, making Nobara grumble as she dragged you to the bathing room. Flashes of consciousness return to you, but you ultimately fall asleep in the bath as Nobara is scrubbing your arm.

You wake up in the dining room, across the table from where Sukuna watches you like a hawk.

“Early riser, you are,” he scoffs, and you groan as you drag yourself to the table, muscles worked to the bone that they ache with every movement. The spread seems to have more meat than usual. You don’t comment about how you have more side dishes placed at your end. Or that his bowl of rice is untouched and his chopsticks are still clean.

“Please refrain from making jokes, as your humor is nothing to be proud of. I fell asleep in the bath, so how did I end up here?” You get straight to the point with your interrogation, which makes Sukuna sigh. He picks up his chopsticks and presses his lips in a flat line. “Eat a little and I’ll tell you.”

Not having much choice, you do as he says. As much as you hate to admit it, Uraume’s cooking is excellent. The food tastes like he cooks out of pure interest and not his obligation to Sukuna. You used to cook like that, too, but now that time seems so far away. Out of reach, like it has simply disappeared.

A sip of the soup has you feeling almost entirely rejuvenated, and you try biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from sighing in satisfaction. Your kidnapper of a husband didn’t need to know that you were starting to get comfortable with this life.

“Before you lose your mind, I shall tell you that no one other than Nobara and I were around when it happened.”

Sukuna’s statement only makes you raise your brows, but you digress from making a further curious comment, only shoving another mouthful of venison and rice.

“I carried you out of the bathtub and helped you dress up.”

You nearly choke on your food as your eyes grow wide. You slam your chopsticks down and wrap your arms around yourself as if protecting yourself from a wild animal.

“You saw me naked? Wha–Why did you employ Nobara then?” you yell, and Sukuna rubs his temple as he rests his elbow on his thigh. Uraume shuffles in with some tea and makes an off-handed comment about arguing after dinner, as the soup only tastes good when it’s warm, but that only earns him a glare from you.

Sukuna motions him to give you both some privacy, and the white-haired man grumbles something about being spoiled and slams the shoji door shut.

“Nobara may be strong, but she cannot carry a grown woman. If it is any consolation, she was helping me dress you up, so we were never alone.”

“Still, we have yet to consu–we do not know what each other’s bodies look like beneath our clothes. It was rude of you to act that way.”

“You already know what my upper body looks like. I can show you the bottom half if you’d like to be on even ground.” Sukuna’s deadpan expression has you horrified, and you’d hurl your bowl of rice at his face if you didn’t respect each grain harvested.

“That is unnecessary!” you quickly counter.

“I do not see what the issue is. We are husband and wife, and we will eventually–”

“Do not complete that sentence if you wish to live.” You aren’t sure how you’ll set his death in stone (and if he is a demon, then he is practically immortal), but you do not have any significant threats in mind to spit out.

“You have already tried to defy my strength and failed. Empty promises do more harm than good.”

You sigh, your head in your hands as your mind tries to fill in the blanks to the best of its abilities, but alas, no significant memory arises. The only thing you could do was ask Nobara whether Sukuna was telling the truth, and even then, you’ve known the man long enough to be aware that he does not see any point in lying. His ego has him convinced that he does not need to sugarcoat or hide his true thoughts.

“I did not expect having a conversation like this before giving you your present,” Sukuna confesses as he places a dark wooden box on your end of the table. You look confused, but you open it anyway. Your gaze moves from the hairpin to his face, which seems uncharacteristically bashful as he stares at his bowl of rice, pretending to gather a morsel for himself.

“Why did you buy me this?” you ask as you run your fingers along the ornament. The metal looks somewhat crude, but when you examine the pin closer, you notice that the flower has small details like little folds on the petals.

“It is a wedding present. I noticed that I hadn’t bought you a proper one. However, judging by the conversation we just had, consider it an apology bribe instead.”

You don’t know what to do with yourself. You cannot handle conflicts with a sound mind. It does not come easily to you. A person either yanks your sanity away from you, or they’re patient enough to understand you. Sukuna Ryomen had done both in a matter of weeks.

“It is pretty,” you say as you place the box back down. Your soup was still warm, so you continued to eat, not wanting to waste Uraume’s effort. You can feel the weight of Sukuna’s gaze on you, but you do nothing to address it. The man across from you is usually eager to show off his power and strength, but all you see is someone trying their best to veil their self-consciousness. It evidently stings him that you haven’t worn it immediately.

“It is. And so will your quarters be once Nobara sets it up soon.”

 Your ears perk up in hope, but a part of you thinks he’s joking with you, trying to show you where the true power lies in this relationship (if you could even call it that).

“I believe I have already told you that your humor is not very sharp,” you mumble with a deadpan edge in your tone.

“I am not jesting. You will sleep in your own quarters from tonight onwards. Of course, Nobara will sleep in the same room, so you don’t do anything rash.”

The words are caught in your throat, but they don’t itch to get out. You sink the verbal affirmation deep in your gut, where your pride dissolves it. Instead, you grab the pin he had gifted you and put it in your hair.

“I see,” you mumble, pretending to be absent-minded.

When you look up, you notice the ghost of a simper on his face before he promptly bites the inside of his cheek.

----

taglist: @sukubusss@lady-of-blossoms @gradmacoco @cheriiepies @brunnetteiwik @poopooindamouf @miakxn @emochosoluvr @sunasgf1 @albakugo @00frenchfries00 @kurtswld @riahlynn-102 @purplehideoutmentality @magnificientscarlett @after-laughter-come-tears @justlia110 @dishs0pe @favvkiki @i0lovepink00 @ihe4rtme

[lottiesnotebook]

happy friday beloved, please make emmrich say this to cara: "Nobody actually happy and healthy has ever felt so desperate to prove it"

These came in literally the same second, so it felt only right to combine them. Please enjoy some more Horrible Princess Rook, she really is at her worst with Emmrich, but fortunately he seems to be enjoying it...

Cara Hawke-Laidir/Emmrich Volkarin, dubiously consensual hurt/comfort, healing magic, pre-relationship, Cara is a Horrible Brat (who really needs a hug)

@adainesjacket | @creaking-skull | @dadrunkwriting

in a single touch

Cara, Emmrich has discovered, over the course of their brief acquaintance, is hard to pin down at the best of times, but now, she is practically a blur, flitting from Arlathan to the Anderfels to Antiva without, as best he can tell, a pause for food or sleep or even thought. Even now, with the rest of their companions abed and exhausted, he can hear her pacing the library, the soft thuds of her pulling the books from their shelves and returning them with no sense of order. At the door to their room, Manfred is stood, expectant, an inquisitive chirrup rattling through his teeth.

“I know, my dear boy, night-time is a dull period for one with as little need for sleep as you, but nevertheless, we must let our friends rest.”

Manfred emits a rebellious screech, which Emmrich suspects he learned from Cara. He knows, however, what his companion is trying to say: Rook’s awake. Why does she get to be awake?

“She ought not to be, given how busy she has been of late.”

Manfred folds his arms, tapping one foot, defiant.

Emmrich sighs. “You are, however correct — she is proving a distraction to both of us, and if anyone requires rest, it is her.”

Time passes strangely in the Lighthouse, in that it does not seem to pass at all, so to combat this, Emmrich has installed a number of timekeeping devices in his room which he has just about managed to synchronise. By his count (as he has not, of late, been asked to accompany Cara on her quests, lest he ask questions about inconvenient trivialities like ‘food’ and ‘sleep’), she has not rested in 48 hours, at least.

Nobody would believe that, of course, by the glittering smile she throws him as she catches sight of him on the balcony.

“Professor!” she coos, bright and sweet and intentionally offputting in its falsity. “You’re awake too? Thank the Maker, I was getting so bored being the only one still up. Please tell me you reconsidered my request for more… personal anatomy lessons?”

She stretches out on the couch as she speaks, arching her back like a particularly languid cat, a pose that shows off both her curves and her bruises to best advantage. They stipple her skin in black and blue, fading to yellow and green in places where healing magic has already applied, but there are already enough of them that he cannot suppress a hiss of sympathy.

Her eyes narrow at that, which he feels a little ashamed for preferring to her glittering, false smiles. She is young, she is labouring under an unbearable pressure, and he should not take pleasure in cutting through her facade so quickly, so cleanly.

“My dear,” he says, descending the stairs slowly and deliberately, “you should be resting! Are your injuries keeping you awake even now? You should have come to me-”

“No need!” she says, that brittle brightness returning, edges sharper now, though. “I’ve had lovebites worse than these, they aren’t that scary, and I’m not even tired.”

He could almost believe her, if not for the way her leg bounces and the cracks across her eyelids flicker with magic no longer entirely under her control. He can tell, even at this distance, the agitation of exhaustion from someone not quite ready to surrender to it. He wonders, sometimes, if Cara Hawke-Laidir even knows how to surrender to a weakness as trivial as sleep.

Johanna was much the same. For better or worse, this has made Emmrich an expert in treating this particular ailment. He settles at her side on the sofa, allows her to sprawl her legs over her lap. She will never betray a weakness if she does not believe she has already won, already lured him close with the wiles she is so clearly proud of.

“I have barely seen you, these two days,” he says, neither agreeing nor disputing her point. “I suppose it must be difficult to rest, with the gods keeping you so busy.”

She snorts. “Sure, the gods. If it isn’t the Wardens, it’s a bunch of lost Veiljumpers, or the Crows losing track of their knives, or demons in the Necropolis, or-”

She cuts herself off, before she can continue. Resentful as she seems, the Shadow Dragons, in their ruined city, are the one faction she never begrudges her assistance to, any more.

“But,” she says, reverting to her usual, false brightness, “it’s working, right? There’s less fighting, the group are actually hanging out even when I’m not around to make them play nice. Davrin’s got his griffins back, Harding dealt with her whole Titans thing, I’ve picked off at least a few of the Venatori in Minrathous-”

“And you, Cara?”

She blinks at him, stupefied at the interrupted. Her eyelashes are very long, fanning across her elegant cheekbones like ibis feathers. He takes a wicked satisfaction in silencing her, however briefly, and rewards her with a burst of healing magic into the bruises on her legs. She shudders at his touch, which permits him time to continue:

“Are we taking care of you, in turn?”

She blinks again, and then, a laugh bursts from her lips like a ribspreader laying her ribs open, so he he can see the bruised, beating heart she hides behind her glittering smiles.

“Taking care of me?” she echoes, “I don’t need taking care of, I’m fine! My gods aren’t rampaging, I don’t have any siblings or cousins to betray me, I’m not dealing with the Blight or the ghosts of my ancestors or some asshole dragon obsessive on my tail-”

“Cara,” he interrupts again.

Again, her eyes narrow: “What?”

“Nobody actually happy and healthy has ever felt so desperate to prove it.”

She moves to swing her legs aside, to rise and storm off, but she accepted his previous surrender, and now his hand, still wrapped around her ankle, pins her in place.

She glares at him. “What do you want from me?” she demands. “I run around after Myrna and Vorgoth and Johanna as much as anyone else.”

“What I have always wanted. The truth. From you.” Not the glittering smiles and pretty lies, not the painted artifice she presents to the rest of the world, but the truth of Cara Hawke-Laidir that is written on the fragile bones beneath the skin she pretends is impervious to harm.

Her eyes light on his, for less than a moment, and skitter away. “Nobody wants that, Emmrich.”

“Have I ever asked you for anything else?”

Her lips part, ready to spit barbs, but something catches the lie in her throat as their eyes meet once more. Myrna and Vorgoth, the Mournwatch as a whole, have asked her for favours in exchange for their aid, but whenever Johanna has appeared from the woodwork, Cara’s help has always been freely offered.

“Nobody,” she says, quietly, but with that same ribcracking sensation her laugh had provoked, “wants a girl with a traitor-god in her head and a family name everyone can see she’d never live up, even if she actually tried. They want Cara Laidir, pirate princess and mage extraordinaire. That’s what I give them. When you aren’t ruining my show.”

She pouts, then, an expression for once not calculated to please, and the more pleasing for it. She is more pleasing like this, glassy glitter discarded, diamond-sharp edges revealed.

On impulse, he catches her hand in his, feels the ice of her fingers in his own, presses a kiss to each of the many rings that decorate her fingers. She may think herself a woman of pyrite, all shimmer, no substance, but all her rings are purest gold.

“Perhaps,” he says, “I simply admire the actress too much to accept her in a role that is beneath her.”

Once more, she has nothing to say, but as she turns her head away, he catches a glimpse of colour burning in her cheeks. He has never seen her blush before, either.

[notinthislife50]

Chapter 9

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

FLASHBACK

Today was the day. You knew it the moment you stepped out of the apartment.

Across the street, sitting far too obviously at the curb, was the familiar beige sedan. Fucking S.H.I.E.L.D., still following you. Still thinking you hadn’t noticed.

Further down the block, another car. Two shadows inside watching you even closer.

Loki and Bucky.

You felt their presence.

You straddled your motorbike. No helmet. Reckless? Maybe. Necessary? Definitely.

In the other car, Bucky clicked his tongue. “No helmet, Doll,” he muttered.

Loki smirked faintly but didn’t look away. “She’s going to get herself killed.”

Your heart hammered in your chest. You twisted the throttle sharply, making the engine roar to life, and peeled off down the street at a speed that made both men tense.

You didn’t go far. With a sharp, controlled motion, you skidded to a stop, sliding the bike sideways until you were facing the beige sedan.

Before the agents inside could react, you were off the bike, gun drawn You pointed the weapon straight at them. “Stop fucking following me!” you snapped, your voice cutting through the evening air. “And if you’re gonna keep doing it���

You squeezed the trigger. Twice. The tires deflating instantly.

“learn to be a little more discreet about it.”

In the distant car, Bucky lets out a bark of laughter.

Loki’s mouth curved into a slow, pleased smile. “Glad to see she’s as feisty as ever,” Loki murmured.

You swung your leg back over your bike and peeled away, heart pounding, heading for the only place that still felt safe: Joe’s Bar.

Inside, it was dark and familiar. You shoved your way to the bar.

“A beer and a shot of tequila, Joe,” you said.

Joe didn’t argue. He poured the drinks, sliding them over with a small, knowing nod.

You downed the shot first, chasing the burn with a swig of beer, hoping it would steady the nerves clawing under your skin.

You dropped your bike keys onto the bar. “Take care of her, Joe.”

The old bartender’s face softened into a sad smile. “Good luck, Y/N.”

You pulled your hood up over your head, tucking away your face, your nerves and your fear. The weight of the moment pressing down on you.

“Well…” you muttered to yourself. “Here goes nothing.”

The cold air hit you like a slap. You zipped your coat up tighter around you.

You walked in the direction of your apartment. You knew they were somewhere near.

You stopped to look at the moon and sigh deeply and that’s when you heard it.

Heavy boots crunched behind you.

You didn’t have time to turn.

An arm snaked around your waist, yanking you back against a solid chest. A gloved hand clamped over your mouth.

“Easy, Doll,” Bucky’s voice rasped “Don’t make me hurt you.”

You thrashed instinctively or tried to but you were fighting against a super solider with a metal arm, you had no chance.

Somewhere in front of you, a figure emerged from the shadows tall and lean, his eyes borrowing in to yours.

Loki.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone, darling,” he said, voice thick . “There are dangerous men walking the streets!”You growled against Bucky's hand, kicking again.

Loki stepped closer, his fingers tilting your chin up tenderly.

A shimmer of magic danced along his fingertips

“You’ll thank us later,” he whispered against your lips.

And then he spoke words in a language older than time, letting the magic pour directly into you.

The world blurred, your muscles went slack, and the last thing you felt was Bucky lifting you easily into his arms, holding you tight against him.

“Got you, sweetheart,” he whispered into your hair.

Darkness swallowed you .

PRESENT

Both men snap their heads in your direction, both tensing at the question just asked and you waiting for the answer.

@staley83

[estazolam]

Excited to share my thoughts on Dark Arthur! Maybe not as dark as the artwork imagines.

(Still using Google Translate, please don't mind my grammar🥺)

Let's start with the reason why it became like this.

Probably in S1 or S2, Merlin was burned at the stake for some reason because his magic was exposed, but the reason he was exposed was to save Arthur, and he even apologized to him even when he was imprisoned in a dungeon. Arthur felt very guilty because he could not stop Merlin's execution, and Morgana left Camelot because of this incident.

Arthur almost lost hope of survival, but he always had a sense of responsibility for the people of Camelot, so in order to prevent Uther from continuing to burn innocent people like this, he would not leave Camelot, and he would not forget Merlin's expectations of him.

He chose to make his appearance more cruel, it's definitely different from Uther, just a disguise.

After that, due to Morgana's departure and Arthur's changes, Uther became devastated and Arthur became the regent.

When the ban on magic was lifted, magic returned to Camelot and Merlin was resurrected. His memory was still at the time of his departure, so he was quite shocked when he returned to Camelot.

The date of this day was exactly the date he left several years ago. The streets were quiet. He wrapped his hood tightly and walked towards the gate, but was stopped by a patrolling knight, who warned him to walk quietly and not disturb the king on the top of the castle. Merlin raised his head and his eyes met Arthur's.

Arthur, who has become a young king, is no longer the cheerful prince he used to be. Merlin feels uncomfortable and doesn't know how to get along with Arthur.

In the hall, Merlin trembled and held King Arthur's hand, but Arthur grabbed his shoulder and turned around to grab his neck.

But Merlin heard him whisper in his ear: I won't hurt you.

In fact, Arthur was just maintaining a cold-blooded mask. Facing the people in the hall, he could not show obvious emotions to Merlin, and could not let them know that Merlin was his only weakness now. He could only wait until the meeting was over and take Merlin back to his chamber, then he could let his tears flow and hug him tightly.

After that, Merlin gradually got used to seeing Arthur's kind nature and his sincere smile only in private.

The most touching thing is that Merlin found that even so, Arthur still had a hard time getting up in the morning, and he was very happy to see the familiar part.

Arthur would even take him to the library to learn magic. The long separation made Arthur become much more frank. When Merlin asked him why he had to study, he told him: I can't bear to lose you again, so you need to be strong and I always believe you can.

Merlin: *Shocked

During the day in public, Arthur would still speak to him in an unyielding commanding tone, but at night when they returned to Arthur's chamber, he would apologize to him gently.

After Merlin became stronger and solved some magical threats for Arthur again, Arthur was finally able to smile more and no longer had to hide it.

In terms of their relationship progress, when Merlin first came back, Arthur was sad because of his hesitation. They used to joke with each other a lot, but now there is less joking.Merlin used to praise him for becoming a great king, but he was not sure if he was a great king now.

When they first met, Arthur joked that he had been trained to kill since he was a baby, and now showing off has turned into self-doubt.

Merlin noticed this, so he said that the people of Camelot are now living a happy life, and you are even going against your nature for them. Your love for Camelot has never diminished, and you are definitely a great king.

Arthur finally let go of his worries after hearing this. He took Merlin's hand and kissed the back of his hand, then held his face.

He said: "I have always felt guilty when you are gone, I didn't even think you could come back, I have always been happy to have your company... I think I love you."

And Merlin just said:"You prat. "Then kissed him.

[galwithalibrarycard]

OUAT Pilot rewatch liveblog

- Okay, so this show started airing when I was about to turn 17, and I have not watched the pilot episode since the first time I saw it. I am now older than Emma Swan. This fact is already fucking me all the way up.

- This episode is way better than it has any right to be. I’m remembering how it’s similar to literary adaptation webseries in that seeing how the stories are adapted and spotting all the little references to the original stories is such a huge part of the fun for me.

- Remember the days of guessing who the citizens of Storybrooke’s fairy tale counterparts would be before the reveals? Remember the Doctor Whale reveal? That was the good shit. I almost wish they hadn’t just told us that Archie was Jiminy Cricket. I wonder how long that would’ve taken us to guess.

- Emma seemed like such an adult to me at 17. And she WAS an adult, but now I’m like, no wonder she was a mess. She was only 28 and alone in the world. Poor thing.

- Henry is adorable.

- I still hate Rumplestiltskin so much. I cannot un-hate him. I hate season one Rumplestiltskin for season six Rumplestiltskin’s behavior and I can’t help it. Boo, hiss.

- Regina/Evil Queen though. No wonder everybody in the fandom loved her on sight. She is serving (and credit to Black queer people et al. for that phrase).

- I hope there has been at least one Evil Queen-inspired drag artist in the world since OUAT. It just feels right. Because the costumes are so awesome and would be so fun to put a drag spin on.

- “Good can’t just lose!” *heavy sigh* God, I forgot how unbelievably annoying the intense literalizing of fairy tale morality in this show was. I can feel the ghost of waves upon waves of my past annoyance with this show washing over me. Let your characters be shades of gray, if everyone is either good or evil then you have written a cartoon. The writers would never learn this.

- The politics of adoption in this show though. What must it be like to watch it as an adoptee? A birth mother? An adoptive mother? I’m sure people from all those experiences have written essays. I will do some googling.

- Did anyone ever write the fanfic AU where Snow goes through the wardrobe before giving birth and gets to raise Emma in the non-magic world and keep her memories? I’d read that.

- Or the AU where none of them go through the wardrobe and Emma ends up growing up with her parents in Storybrooke. Except then if time is frozen she’d be a permanent baby and couldn’t break the curse. Maybe she could be the only one who grows in the town instead of Henry somehow?

- It is unreasonably funny and delightful to me that Snow and Charming’s Knights of the Round Table, as it were, are Gepetto, small child Pinocchio, Granny, Red, and several dwarves. And that most of those people are genuinely fearsome when it comes down to it. Hell yeah.

- Regina offering Emma apple cider and I can hear my teenage self yelling at the TV “No, Emma, it’s probably poisoned!” Lol

- That being said, i understand why the reaction to Regina and Emma was immediately “let’s ship them.” They are both extremely hot and the tension is crackling.

- Grumpy/Leroy whistling the tune of Whistle While You Work, menacingly, in his cell in Storybrooke jail, lol

- did we ever find out who the wolf who ran in front of Emma’s car was? Was it Ruby?

- Also, Emma passed out from that car wreck and they took her to jail rather than the hospital? How does that make sense?

- oh, Snow gave Henry the book! Where did Snow get it?

- Doc the dwarf being the doctor at Emma’s birth is almost too on the nose, omg

- Mary Margaret talking about adopted kids struggling with the question of why their birth parents gave them up, and then Snow answering her question in the next scene. “We have to give her her best chance.”

- I wonder if Ginnifer and Josh thought about this birth scene when their first son was born and experienced a moment of relief that they didn’t have to put him through a magic wardrobe. I feel like I would’ve thought about that if it was me. I mean this question in a completely non-parasocial way.

- Oh I forgot that Charming sword fights while holding his newborn (yikes) and that he gets stabbed and that’s why David’s in a coma in Storybrooke!

- Henry’s castle, awww.

- The clock is still stopped. The horror show of Henry being the only person in town who ages, damn. Does he ever go to the park and bump into the three-year-olds he played with when he was three, except they’re still three and he’s ten? (I think it’s Haley Whipjack who has a great bit about this in their OUAT season one video.)

- How much pain Emma feels about her parents abandoning her, and how tempting it must be for a moment to believe her parents wanted her- and then it turns out to be true. Wow.

- Regina: “because this is my happy ending”

Regina under the curse in Storybrooke: still miserable AF

- the curse hitting like glass shattering around Regina and Snow is a very cool shot

- Regina’s position of “leave my kid alone” would be totally understandable if it didn’t come with so much judgement of Emma for putting him up for adoption in the first place. Her position is still understandable, tbh.

- It’s still so smart that they Uno Reversed the Snow White story and made Charming the one asleep in Storybrooke.

- Goddddd the way I actually feel like Mr Gold/Rumple has potential and I want to see more of him by the end of this episode. Even though I already know I hate his ass and what they end up doing with him.

- And the ending with Emma staying, the clock moving, and Henry smiling! I want to know more! This story has so much potential! (And it will fail utterly at living up to that potential!) Pain. Just pain.

- I solemnly swear that this rewatch will only go up to season three at the furthest. I refuse to hate-watch the back two-thirds of this show’s run again. This was fun, I want to keep it that way!

[whalehouse1]

Finally getting around to reading recommended reading for Garth and I forgot how bad sidekicks could get the “treat them like Robin” in the 60’s and 70’s and the “make a female that is like totally into him who he doesn’t return affection for and the “everyone is horny, it’s the 90’s baby!,” cause he is getting hit with a lot of these. His personality changed based on the story being told and I really hate it.

[maddieandangel]

Consider: character-exclusive trinkets.

[fauvester]

xuejiao and his secretary/attack dog/fiancee/2nd cousin

[catcatb0y]

Every time Helluva Boss or Hazbin Hotel has a glimpse of genuinely GOOD WRITING, I go insane. Both of these shows feel like edging to me, like they will tease me with these bangers and then leave me to dry EVERY DAMN TIME.