#malice & the unknown

[lifeinpoetry]

The past. It’s so still.

— Elisa Gabbert, from "Malice & the Unknown," Normal Distance

[thebleedingeffect]

Currently thinking about making a zelda self insert oc just for shits and giggles

[onereallygoodlambonastick]

chinese imperialists are good at what they do because they are very quiet about it

[unlckyfcku]

I wanted to give a shit but I lost it too in the divorce. Thanks Babe!

[my-castles-crumbling]

University AU - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 264

"That's my seat." A voice made Remus look up from his phone.

A boy with long black hair, a leather jacket, and multiple tattoos towered over him.

Well- towered was a strong word. The boy was short. But he was standing and Remus was sitting, so...

"I don't see your name on it," Remus quipped, but with no real malice.

"Actually..." the boy grinned, gesturing to the desk attached to the seat. There, in the upper right corner, were the initials SOB.

"Son of a bitch?" Remus chuckled, raising his eyebrows.

"Sirius Orion Black," the boy laughed. "But if you knew my mum, you'd think the initials were as funny as I do."

Remus let out a snort. "Funny, but I'm not moving." Maybe he didn't want to, or maybe he was enjoying talking to Sirius. Or maybe both.

"Well. Then I expect payment, as it is my seat," Sirius shrugged, looking as if the situation was quite out of his hands.

"Payment?" Remus asked, a bit hesitant.

"Yes. In the form of your phone number," Sirius confirmed, smirking. "It's only fair, don't you think?"

Blushing only a tad, and quite proud of himself for keeping it together, Remus nodded, quickly putting his name and number in Sirius's phone. But before they could talk more, the Professor called the class to order, and Sirius reluctantly sat in one of the empty seats a few spaces behind him.

Ding!

Remus scrambled to silence his phone, but couldn't resist checking the message.

Unknown Number: Enjoy my seat, Remus 😘 I'm certainly enjoying the view from here.

[writing-prompt-s]

Thousands of years ago, the planet was surrounded by an impenetrable energy shield by unknown aliens. Now, after entering the space age, scientists are close to being able to break it. Little do they know that what they thought was an act of malice was an actually an act of protection.

[dark-and-kawaii]

༺ 𝐿𝑜𝓈𝓈 𝒪𝒻 𝒜𝓃 𝐻𝑒𝒾𝓇 ༻

Raphael

Summary: Raphael returns to his boudoir only to discover that you’ve lost his child, and it wasn’t from natural causes. His rage spirals when he finds it was due to a fellow follower of his…

Notes: I suck at summaries But I loved how this turned out so I hope you do as well!!!

Pairings: Raphael × f!Tav/Reader

• Hurt I Angst I Miscarriage | Ascended Raphael | Raphael Gets His Revenge

Ao3

As Raphael returned to his domain, an unsettling sight awaited him in the heart of his boudoir. There, amidst the opulence, was Haarlep, his personal incubus, cradling you in their arms within the large bath. Raphael's eyes scanned the water, a macabre blend of red and clear, tainted by the presence of blood. His gaze then shifted to his beloved little mouse, your hair clinging to your face, your skin glistening with sweat, and your breath laborious as your eyes remained closed.

But it was the sight of the tiny wrapped figure beside you on the bath’s edge, drenched in blood, that sent Raphael's rage spiraling to new heights. He didn't need to uncover it; he knew within his very core that his heir, his precious child, had been stolen away. With such a great loss, for the first time in centuries, his heart felt heavy.

"What happened?!" Raphael's voice seethed with malice, his clenched fist emphasizing his anger. Haarlep, usually insolent but now treading carefully, moved away from you and gently positioned you against the steps of the bath, ensuring some comfort. Approaching Raphael, Haarlep’s concealed their voice in a whisper so that you couldn’t hear, "It would seem that your dear tav has gone and lost your little pup-," Haarlep began, only to be interrupted by a warning glare from Raphael, “The lady of the house has miscarried," The incubus finally confessed.

Raphael's rage intensified, his words laced with venom, "I see that, you insolent creature! How did this come to pass?!" Aware of the consequences should they misstep, Haarlep treaded carefully, knowing their fate might just mirror Hope's in the basement.

In a snap, Haarlep summoned a cup, presenting it to Raphael. "Korilla brought this to my attention. A glass of deceit, a venom ever so sweet. It's tainted with juniper." Seizing the cup, Raphael brought it to his nose, confirming the presence of the insidious poison. It dawned on him that an intruder had violated his sanctuary, contaminating his precious little mouse, with this abhorrent act. Even as a devil, he recoiled at the thought of snuffing out the life within a mother's womb. This transgressor would pay a heavy price, both their soul and flesh, as Raphael vowed to exact a merciless retribution upon them.

It only took a couple of hours, but Raphael manages to track down the culprit, Korilla, once a cherished follower, always by his side. Yet, for reasons unknown, she had chosen to betray him in the most vile of ways… As Korilla returned to his domain, Raphael awaited her, leaning casually against a pillar, his arms crossed in a display of controlled dominance. His face, seemingly normal, concealed the depths of his wrath. When she finally approached, he began to circle her like a predator sizing up its prey, his gaze never wavering.

“Tell me, dear Korilla, how was your day?”

Her voice was filled with falsehoods, twisting a tale to make it seem as if though she were gathering clients for him.

"Ah, ah," Raphael interjected, his tone laced with a sadistic delight. "The truth is far greater than that feeble lie of yours." His features twisted with a mix of disgust and fury, his nose scrunching in disdain. And in a snap of his fingers, the very cup from which you had sipped appeared before them.

"Justify this to me! Why I stumbled upon what is undeniably my possession, nestled within the grasp of Haarlep, grieving for the loss of my own flesh and blood? The stillbirth, wrapped in a cloth stained with the taint of blood!” He condemned her for the atrocious deed, declaring, "You invaded my sanctuary, forcefully snatching away my child from the very womb that belongs to me!”

Korilla stood her ground, her calm demeanor unwavering. "I did this for your own sake," she asserted. "That mortal was tainting your path to becoming the next ruler of the Nine Hells. I'm sorry, but it needed to be done."

“You thought you were acting in my best interest, did you?" Raphael's scowl shifts to a smile, "Your feeble attempt to protect me has only sealed your fate."

Korilla trembled, her once defiant spirit now reduced to a mere flicker of fear. She had underestimated the power and ferocity of Raphael's love for you, and now she would pay the price for her treachery. But even in the face of imminent punishment, a spark of hope ignited within her, "Raphael, you cannot blame me for this," Korilla pleaded, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desperation. "I did what I believed was necessary to protect you, to protect House Hope.

Flames consumed him, "Your time has come to an end, Korilla,” Raphael growled, his voice resonating with a deep, otherworldly tone. "But fear not, for your sister shall keep you company as I flay you and adorn my abode with your entrails.”

As his true form emerged. He transformed into a monstrous fiend with wings unfurling from his back, a tail lashing behind him, and a wild mane of fire cascading around his head. His once simple horns morphed into a complex crown of infernal bone, framing his snouted face. Two additional faces erupted from his cheekbones, giving him a total of four menacing, orange eyes. His entire being radiated with the glow of infernal flame, and fearsome tusks jutted forth from each of his mouths.

Raphael approached, his towering figure casting a haunting shadow over Korilla. His claws extended, glinting ominously in the flickering light. He reached out, his talons grazing her trembling skin, causing her to shudder in fear and anticipation. With each touch, a searing pain coursed through her body, a mere taste of the agony that awaited her.

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA # 24

A Chill Protector

Imagine dis…

We all heard about the different spirits hidden beneath the thick blanket of snow, and how winter and ice were always associated with death. As many succumb to the winter cold weather.

Parents tell their children myths and legends to their children as the snow spirits will drag them out of their warm home if they ever misbehave. Snow spirits both legends/ myths alike walk along the icy path and will drag any unsuspecting traveler to be their next victim. The horror stories he saw and heard as to why no matter how officials try to recover the bodies that might have been lost to the blizzard and snow could never have a body to return to.

But not all snow-related spirits from any legend or myth are there to lead us to a cold death. Some are protectors, to children who simply lost their way or even they join in the play.

But did you know there was a protector from the old?

Danny Phantom edition

…

Little Bruce Wayne is running to where no one knows, not even himself. That year will be the first Christmas without his parents. In the cold harsh winter in Gotham, tears never stopped flowing through. Alfred tried his best he did but some holes could not be filled with gingerbread cookies or hot cocoa. Little Bruce kept on running and running, he wanted his parents to be here, his mom who could be heard singing Christmas carols in the manor while his dad secretly put the gifts under the Christmas tree and signed the gifts from Santa, he missed the times where they would decorate the Christmas tree with both his mom and dad.

Little Bruce ran until he found himself in the middle of nowhere. There were street lampposts but no people, perhaps they had already begun to hide themselves from the upcoming harsh winter. Little Bruce tried to go back, he turned and turned but could not remember where he came from. A harsh blizzard heading towards Gotham that day, Little Bruce remembers as the dark grey clouds started to form out of nowhere.

Little Bruce tried to hide from the upcoming blizzard by squishing himself in between the dumpsters in the far corner. He knew that even if he asked for help there would be a likely chance for him to be kidnapped and be ransomed than be helped. He may be born from the higher class but he is still a Gothamite and knows of the dangers of outing himself.

Unluckily some homeless men saw and recognized him and tried to corner him, Little Bruce ran again into the unknown. He tries to lose his pursuers by sandwiching himself in between dumpsters. He had held his breath when the said pursuers ran past his hiding spots in their midst of angry grunts.

As he tried to warm himself a stranger went and crouched in front of him. Little Bruce never heard the crunching of boots when he walked so he was understandably startled, thinking that he was one of the men who were after him. A young boy with soft white hair, probably dyed a thought passed by, the bluest of eyes he had ever seen from anybody, freckles that looked like snowflakes decorating his cheeks, and an impish grin as he wore a white hoodie and cargo pants with sneakers and carrying a blue umbrella staring at Little Bruce with clear playfulness in his eyes.

Little Bruce knows that winter in Gotham is far worse than anywhere in the States yet he never seemed to question the stranger to only have a hoodie and shorts.

Little Bruce is wary of the stranger but he just puts an umbrella on top of him and puts his finger on his lips making a shushing gesture and noise as he winks playfully to Bruce.

Bruce who already sensed that this stranger had no malice but pure playfulness copied him giving his grin and shush.

Next, he was there holding an umbrella on top of his head the next time Little Bruce blinked he was gone.

When he tried to look for the kind stranger, he saw Alfred running towards him with clear relief and exhaustion. Alfred tried to scan him for any injuries, when little Bruce tried to ask about the kind stranger Alfred mentioned how it was a miracle, that he was still alive after 3 hours in this kind of weather.

Little Bruce kept telling Alfred that there was someone, someone who was kind someone who hid him someone who put an umbrella over his head. As the years went by Bruce kept looking for that kind Samaritan who saved him that day but over the years that memory made Bruce think that it may have been the light and the snow that made him imagine that stranger, how he was still grieving over his parents at the time. He concluded that the stranger was nothing more than a figment of his imagination to deal with his grief at that time.

…

Years later Batman along with his sons Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, and Robin were on a mission in the high ridge in Antarctica on the East Antarctic Plateau. About a suspicious sound wave which resulted in them botching another alien invasion. But before they could even go back to the plane another dying alien had shot an explosive in their direction, it may have missed them but their transportation was destroyed. Another blizzard was expected in a few minutes which brought the temperature to -135.8 F. They may have some heat built in their suits but not enough to warm them into the upcoming blizzard. It will take hours before Oracle and the others back send help to them. Superman is on a mission in outer space and cannot hear them.

As they make a makeshift shelter from the debris of the broken plane each then starts a quiet yet somber conversation with one another. Without the screaming and the death threats some of them had a few things to say to each other, Dick tried to be optimistic as they have survived far more dangerous situations and scenarios surely they can survive this and remove it from their bingo card. Maybe it’s an unconscious belief of their upcoming death, the heat sensors in their suit are already working overtime to give them warmth when fighting off the aliens, they could already see the battery in it draining as fast as they see the strongest snow storm approaching.

Batman had his entire arms surround each of his children. Wishing that his children survived this as he could hear the howling icy wind coming through the tiny cracks in their makeshift shelter.

Suddenly Batman heard the unmistakable sound of crunching of boots in the snow. He also noticed that all of his children fell into a deep sleep with how deep each breathing was. He slowly looked up and widened his eyes at what he saw.

There standing is the same white-haired teen wearing the same hoodie, the same pants, the same shoes, and carrying the same umbrella looking at him with the same playfulness twinkling in his eyes.

The teen once more opened his umbrella and put it over the head of Bruce along with his children who were huddled together. Slowly put his finger to his lips and made the same shushing sound and gesture as if they were back in the alley in between dumpsters hiding the little Bruce Wayne as if they were playing hide and seek.

Batman was just staring at him, one moment he was there next moment he was gone, like back then. Spoiler and Orphan found and came rushing to their location as they had been looking for them for 6 hours the snow and wind made it difficult to look for them.

…

Danny had fully died when he was 78 years old, he formed and turned back into his ghostly prime of 14 years old and turned into some sort of protective spirit of the winter side. Frostbite explained on how the great one can finally stop the stigma against winter spirits. Frostbite explained that the majority of the winter spirits are vengeful to the mortals, sure his tribe to end the stigma but many people just kept running away from them and when they went near a mortal they were already dead and buried them for the death rites, As Danny is both protector and a winter spirit he can finally stop the stigma as well continue fulfilling his obsession. Clockwork then added that he had the perfect dimension as a tutorial for Danny.

…

PS: If someone out there wanted to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

[etheries1015]

Thinking about... (Minor chapter 7 spoilers, probably inaccurate tho, just warning you. I've made a point not to spoil...TOO much for myself.)

Defending Lilia. In front of the people who put him down, belittled him, and shunned him, making him believe he is completely incapable of receiving love. You knew some of this from being his lover for some time during your stay on Twisted Wonderland, but something about this dream twisted a sword into your heart and etched burning words of hatred into your heart. The second the senate began to speak Ill of your lover, despite his stance of taking it in with grace, you refused to allow them to spit such, for lackthore of better terms, bullshit.

So when Lilia could not cry, you did. You cried and screamed for it to stop, you couldn't take hearing such malice about the people you loved. You screamed at them for their incompetence, their closed-mindedness, their tyranny. Sebek, Silver and Grim grabbed your arm and tugged on it to urge you to stop. You fully expected Lilia to interrupt your angry screams of defiance, however he.... didn't, for some reason unknown to him.

"Lilia Vanrouge is the kindest, most down-to-earth and open-hearted person I have ever had the pleasure of falling in love with!" You yelled, "Who are you to decide who is worth something in this world? Who are you to decide the definition of right and wrong? To me, you're nothing but...but a bunch of... "

You spun a slue of... Wordy and inappropriate insults I dare not share out loud. It truly disgusted you. Lilia had the short of the stick for most of his life, orphaned and dejected as an incompetent bat fae, a worthless knight and general, and you knew just how far from the truth they were. By the end of your mental breakdown, you didn't wait for the responses of anyone around you. Turning around and rushing away in tears is all you could do...

You were looking forward to holding your significant other in your arms, and for this terrible nightmare to finally be over.

[hwajin]

★༉‧₊˚✧ — 𝖇𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 006. — 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐥𝐗 | 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: smut, hints of angst

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: fallen!angel!felix x fem!reader

𝖘𝖞𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖘𝖎𝖘: he didn't belong on earth. felt hopeless, lost, an outsider; you kept him steady, kept his heart from wandering, kept him grounded whenever he wished to fly.

𝖜𝖈: 2k

𝖈𝖜: quite soft, corruption, unprotected sex & cumming inside

He had fallen from heaven. On his way to navigate earth – a journey full of hardships, you could imagine – he had found you, had sticked to your side ever since. You weren’t quite sure why; maybe felt as though he could trust you, maybe felt a sense of sanctuary within you – a piece of heaven on earth, as he liked to call you, though you merely laughed at him whenever he did. You didn’t put yourself on such high horse, not after befriending a living angel, despite a fallen one; he was everything good you weren’t, everything better you never mustered up to be. Felt sick and twisted by his side, felt an utter sinner when your gaze as much as fell onto him – felt a corrupter when you touched him like this, when your lips explored his body to their liking, when you managed to elicit sounds from within his throat that convinced you heaven existed, after all.

Felix’s voice was a stark contrast to his otherwise appearance. Grunts low and raspy against skin porcelain and unblemished, despite your ministrations; shapes of your lips across his body in red and purple, in blue and wet, traces of bite-marks on his softness – reaching from neck to collarbones to the plush of his thighs. He was covered in your adoration, lay prettily in your affection for him; affection he was so very unfamiliar with, so very addicted to. He hadn’t gotten treatment like this in heaven so needier for it on earth, urging and thirsting for you when you as much as teased to deny him of attention. Felix was a pretty plaything under your mercy, nothing more than a brain-fogged puppet led by your tender strings – you weren’t sure who of you enjoyed it more.

And it was sheer impossible to deny him. Despite playing hard to get occasionally – simply to tick him off and make him beg for you, not in true intent, never in malice – it needed your every nerve to keep the patience to. Felix was too sweet, too pretty, too needy, too much to ever refuse. Too good to turn down and too undeniable to ever say no to. You toyed with him, you taught him things he hadn’t known before, he’d grown addicted to you and everything new your brought, yet ironically it was you who was so enthralled by the man. Every of his lust-filled, cloudy gaze you ate up, every of his whimper at your subtlest touches you wanted to inhale and make your own, every of his beg that left his kiss-bitten, reddened lips you melted at. He was everything you thought of, the only subject occupying your mind every hour you spent awake, visiting your dreams whenever asleep. He had fallen from heaven and had turned your world upside down in the process, and you wouldn’t want to have it another way.

Felix let out a soul-ripping whimper, his head fallen back into the pile of pillows, all messy in their normally neat positions, all coaxing the man into disguised delicacy, into sweetness you feigned on a silver platter. His lips lulled the sound of your name, rolling off his tongue in a plea and you grinned in your place. The beds of your fingers dancing upon the man, featherlight and torturous, never halting for three seconds at once before taking your teasing to a different spot, one more sensitive than prior. Palms by his v-line, fingers toying with his nipples, hands clamping down on his neck shortly before moving to shape out the sensitivity of his abdomen, before your touch cradled the inner of his thighs, too close to crotch yet not possibly close enough. Never close enough.

Maybe it’s been a mistake he trusted you so very wholeheartedly. Viewed you as his only steadiness in a world unknown, named you salvation in a situation he’d lost hope to find it. Maybe his deep enthralment by you was damaging to his very nature – next to you he felt sick and twisted, felt an utter sinner when your gaze as much as fell onto him – felt corrupted when you touched him like this, your figure between his squirming thighs, eyeing him through doe-like eyes, through layers of lashes, through sheets of desire and anticipation. Surely the sin you brought upon him wasn’t something Felix was supposed to be thirsting after, to chase and reach for whenever it was absent – if doubting the possibility of heaven before, he now was sure it’d never be granted to him anew.

You still hadn’t touched him where he needed it most. His cock – flushed, tip pink and leaking, twitching in its place – lay pretentiously neglected on his stomach, precum collecting in a pool around his navel, dripping down in droplets of white, imitating waxed traces of a burning candle forgotten. Felix hadn’t known desire like this before you; one sole purpose planted in his mind and he would give anything to reach it, without as much as thinking twice. He wasn’t ashamed to beg and cry for it, to plea for satisfaction – satisfaction only you could grant him, only your hands and lips and body were capable to gift. He was twitching, thrusting, grinding against thin air – he was embarrassing, and he couldn’t mind it any less. Careless about the way he looked, careless if you thought him pathetic, a whore, frankly, for pleasure.

“Anything you want, baby?”

Your voice sweet, soaked in honey to hide malice. Felix whined out at your words, at the innocence behind them, at your pretence. Was well aware you knew what he wanted, yet got off on the fact he needed to muster up the courage to tell you. The very thought of blurting out his wishes aloud lay the man in sweat – touch me; make me cum; destroy me entirely – he would never be able to be this honest with you, to spill his heart out in such matter. Though, he needed to speak. Needed to materialize one of his wishes, at very best, to get a portion of what he wanted or else you wouldn’t grant it altogether. Felix rolled out another whine, eyes shut hard enough to create stars behind his lids to not watch your gaze on him, his porcelain skin flashing a pinkish red, preparing for embarrassment.

“Wan’ you… want you to touch me. Please.”

His voice everything but put together, entirely desperate in the depths of his throat. A pitch higher, you’d say, due to apprehension, ignored need, frenzy want. And he’d pleaded. Wasn’t sacred to – or maybe was but knew better, and it was music to your ears either way. You snickered at him, at his flushed skin, at his quivering thighs, spasming body. You’ve barely touched him yet at all, and he was already reduced to a hopeless mess.

“Wasn’t that hard now, was it.”

The man sighed, hummed in relief – and then he sucked in his breath, gasped when he felt a hand of yours on the base of his length, palm warm and salvaging against his erection, hard and pulsing. Felix’s hips bucked at sheer contact, chasing more of the feeling momentarily; you let him, let him thrust into your fist, held your hand still and let him use you, essentially – you deemed he deserved it, was too good to deny anyway.

Like a dog in heat he rutted into your touch, hips heavy and growing tired quick, falling back against the soften, silk-lain mattress in exhaustion before pistoling into you again. He sweated, salty beads across his entire body, accompanying the rosy flush, complimentary against the rosy pillows and sheets and blankets beneath him. He was a sight to see, beauty personified – an angel.

Your hand disconnected from his body, leaving him cold, leaving him wide-eyed and whining, grinding hips against nothing. You had barely noticed, though your teasing and toying with your lover had driven you to overbearing impatience, heat between your legs, wet patch on your laced panties, desire for him and his pleasure pooling within you. You always wanted him as much as he wanted you, though you’d never admit it as openly. You left a cold front, pretended your love for him was a casual one – it was everything but. The sight of him alone, lost on earth and hopeless at times was enough to pull at your heart; his every word he spoke to you, about things mundane or subjects carrying meaning engraved within you; his very being, his body fallen to find your own as though a magnet, pulling you towards him and you were happy to comply, never not.

You shifted, your legs shuffling to straddle Felix’s hips while your hands hurried to take off your shirt, leaving on panties, feeling too impatient, too frenzy to pay them any mind. Your lover’s body beneath you and his eyes were big, anticipating, excited – you hovered above him, bare chest on display for him to bask in, your tummy supple over the waistband, a white bow adorning the fabric right above your sex, which you revealed by sliding the underwear to the side, hastily. Your bodies were burning, both in devotion and desire, both heated and red, both greedy for the other. Your wetness pried above his erection, your legs burning in their position to hold up your weight, though this as well you had no time to pay mind to – Felix was everything, any other feeling, your surroundings, any circulating thought behind lain behind milked glass, him and pleasure focused in your vision.

And you sunk onto him, finally. Had been eager to without your knowing, had been waiting for this as long as he was. The pain between your thighs eased off, the stretch he provided filling you up, relieving you of the pressure – and you knew Felix felt the same. The moment you lowered yourself onto him entirely his body gave out, plummeting against the mattress in full weight, relaxing against the soft cushions, the silken sheets. A breathy sigh left his lips, shaky, trembling like the rest of his love-bruised body. He’d reached heaven again, after all, even if a different version of it. A better one, he’d argue.

You didn’t give much time to adjust. Felix was hypersensitive though untouched for the past hour, and you didn’t show any mercy now, either – your own greed far too overwhelming and your hips moved atop his ones in quick motions, any patience from prior seemingly vanished. You struggled to hold a rhythm, struggled to hold your body up altogether – you launched forward, hands finding Felix’s chest, warm to the touch and sweat-laced beneath your palms and he winced at the contact, bucked his hips seeing your head hang low, your hair hiding your features, your fucked out visage beneath, barely visible. Your hips were relentless, and Felix chased the friction with his own, thrusting and bucking and longing hopelessly; he needed to see you. His hands – shaken and clammy – made their way to your head, fingers tangling into your front strands, pushing the frame of hair out of your face, exposing you to him. Your eyes finding his at the antic, at the tenderness; the knot within you tightened when you held his gaze, more than sheer lust laying beneath. Delicacy, adoration, love pooling behind his irises and you softened at the sight, at his bitten lips, shining red, at his flushed cheeks, at his mess of hair splayed out on your pillows. An angel.

“I love you.”

The confession came simultaneously, unsure who said it first, sounding into the room in unison. And you snapped, meeting his hips midway for the last time before pleasure sheathed you within its’ embrace, before you felt him fill you up with evidence of his desire, before you felt his release ooze out your hole and dirty your panties, coating your thighs, pooling at his abdomen. Minds clouded, bodies spent, confessions spoken into the room as you came back to your senses, cleaned up mutual mess, watched the man lay on his side by his designated half of the bed, tired and exhausted, eyes closed.

You settled on the empty space behind him, facing his back. Your fingers – gently, as always – traced the shape of the deep scars he carried between his shoulder blades, wings he’d lost, pain he’d gained. Maybe being the corrupter wasn’t so bad, if it meant keeping him on earth with you.

@reianagarcia @mixtape-racha @bbyboychanyeol @artisticbirb @fire-08 @lxverss @unlikelysublimekryptonite @aiko0invalid @salfetkablog @saintriots @boi-bi-ahaha @summer3sworld @bangchans-angel @jenos-eye-smiles @alnex05 @imwithurmother @yangjeonginswifee @hydroyaksha @starlit-rin @channiesgoodgirl @lizzetmv @poody1608 @fandems @stanskzsstuff @cypher-girlx @kayleigh-28 @jetblackbelle @agnes-king @seoseoya @lipstickandloveletters @viviixlyy @hanjisungsgirl @having-an-internal-crisis-rn @es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @bintificreads @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @minniesvenus @junebug032 @noellllslut @wolfennracha @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife

[forbidden-sunlight]

yandere!poseidon headcanons with fem!kokushibo!reader

warning: obsessive behavior, violence, spoilers from manga/anime. Please take caution when reading the content.

Credit for this piece goes to @recreationalfanfics and their phenomenal works, specifically this one. I would like to specially thank my friend @nixes-noxes for helping me fine-tune this script to its fullest potential.

The intention of this story is for entertainment purposes only. The behavior exhibited here is inappropriate and unhealthy, hence it should not be encouraged. There are also triggers, so please take caution. You are responsible for your Internet consumption!

A demon was born from the malice of mankind. That is the story that humans and gods believe…but that is not the truth in your case.

 Fearing death, you willingly drank Muzan Kibitsuji’s blood and became the first Upper Moon. One of Twelve Kizuki to serve him and provide aid in his quest to obtain a solution to walk in the sunlight. You had died by the hands of your descendant and his fellow Demon Slayers, unsatisfied with the life you had lived as an abomination. In the end, you could not attain the innate talent your little brother possessed.

Because you were a creature classified as ‘evil’, you were confined to the depths of Helheim as punishment to suffer for all eternity. Not wanting to perish for a second time, you sliced down  enemies and cultivated your Moon Breathing Style in the hellish landscape before you were suddenly plucked out of that place, coming face-to-face with your new master: the Valkyrie called Brunhilde. 

Apparently, she had intended to call out another champion to fight against the gods in a tournament known as Ragnarok, but for some unknown reason you were whisked here by her summons. Seeing this ‘accident’ as an opportunity, you laid out your sword and offered your loyalty to her. Yes you were a demon, but you had been loyal to Muzan until your dying breath. Being the servant to a demigod would not be any different, minus facing the antagonization of both human and gods alike for just being by her side. 

It was better than returning to Helheim, anyway. The water did not scorch your skin and the high quality tea leaves were exceptional. 

The smallest pleasures in life made a difference…but does that include being on the roster to fight against the infamous tyrant of the divine waters,  Poseidon? Probably not. 

Yandere!Poseidon

This is a god who is the physical embodiment of perfection. He is a king who has no need to be supported by individuals who are beneath him in the hierarchy of all life. Furthermore, he was not pleased when his little brother had added him as a contender in this childish tournament without his consent. Why stall the inevitable fate of humanity with Ragnarok? It’s honestly a waste of time for him. 

There has never been an opponent who did not quiver at the sight of his trident nor survived to tell the tale. So why should he even bother to give any effort in this fight? His opponent was a demon. It is only natural that a demon would be stomped down by someone like himself, even if it is a female one with a slightly impressive physique and once bore the moniker ‘Moon Hashira’. 

Untamed [Hair Color] tresses held together in a ponytail that reached to her waist. [Favorite Color] nagagi-kimono and black umanori-styled pants tied with a white obi. [Eye Color] irises and red sclera with words written on them. 

The only reason he even recognized the clothing is because Aphrodite whined about the ‘poor fashion’ taste of Brunhilde’s new ‘pet’...but did she honestly expect anything more from a demon? 

No, but she enjoyed hearing the others praise her intellect and how no one could ever hold a candle to the beauty of the lusty goddess. A hypocrite by any other name. She and Ares had another falling out, again. 

Still it would not bother the gods nor himself by allowing his opponent to try and land a hit on him before killing the unfortunate abomination. The effort of an ant trying to avoid being crushed by a boot is always…adorable. 

This act of ‘kindness’ towards the Moon Hashira led Poseidon into a match that has lasted longer than the previous Ragnarok bouts. She did not hesitate to use the water surrounding the arena to create a heavy mist that acted as a smokescreen before attacking from behind with her sword. She slashed his calves and right forearm, then jammed her sword that is made from her own flesh and blood into his stomach. She was going to kill him. She would do whatever it took to win the fight.  

This revelation enraged Poseidon. How dare a demon think that she can kill a god? Blasphemy! HE IS A GOD, HE IS PERFECTION. ANYONE WHO DISAGREES HIM DESERVES TO DIE. 

And yet he still found himself kneeling on the circular platform, leaning heavily against his trident with the bloodied edge of her sword pressed against the side of his neck. If it isn’t the reversal of positions that bothered him the most, it was the look of indifference dancing in the Moon Hashira’s eyes. As if he was the one being a nuisance and not the other way around. 

Suddenly, she withdrew her sword and sheathed it. “I will not kill you.” She said, “A hierarchy exists to keep the balance between those who sit at the top of the food chain and those who are barely scraping by. Those who upset the balance must be punished accordingly. I am a demon, so I should die by the hands of a god…but I will not allow myself to die by someone who does not respect my master. That is…embarrassing. So take this loss as an act of kindness from me. The humiliation of being defeated by someone such as myself is more than adequate punishment.” 

Turning her back to him, she stepped onto the boat that was tied to a stone pillar and drifted back to the human’s side of the arena. Poseidon also retreated, refusing Ares’ offers to escort him to the medical wing and swiftly returning to his palace beneath the ocean floor. He ignored Proteus’ concerns, isolating himself in his quarters as he…unleashed his anger onto the furniture. They could be easily replaced…but his defeat cannot be remedied just like the splintered wood, the tattered drapes, or anything he had thrown around the room. 

He has lost against an imperfect creature. Him, the one who is the most feared and blessed god in the pantheons. How could this have happened?! How?!

Though is the Moon Hashira truly an ant if she had beaten him? No. But there is no use thinking about the wretched embodiment of impurity anymore. He…has lost the match, and in the end it is just one loss for the gods. Humanity will be destroyed, and the divine waters will be restored to their glory once the vermin have been eradicated. 

Shortly after he had regained his composure, Poseidon returned to the Grecian’s private balcony to watch the other matches. As he is a god, his wounds healed within a matter of hours…so why could he have still felt the sword in his belly, twisting his insides? Why?

This might be the starting point in his descent to madness. He would remain a silent statue even in the aftermath of his adopted nephew’s death by Jack The Ripper’s hands, and Shiva’s obvious win against Raiden Taeemon while his brethren watched the events unfold in awe and anger. 

But no matter how hard he tried to dissuade thoughts about the Valkyrie’s servant, his mind always drifted back to the Moon Hashira. He silently reflected on their fight; he remembered the humiliation when she spared his life, her deadly grace as she released one form of the Moon Breathing Style, her perfection. 

[First Name] [Last Name], the Moon Hashira and a demon summoned from the depths of Helheim to save humanity….she was perfection. And Poseidon wanted her.

Knowing that the moon always gravitated towards the ocean would only feed into his delusions that it must be a sign from the Fates that this is his other half. The companion who will be by his side for all enternity. So why does she still dare to stand by Brunhilde and whisper in the demigod’s ear? Why does she converse with the samurai Kojiro, when he had no business being near her, let alone sharing a plate of Japanese snacks and tea? 

How dare she smile at the man who had killed Heracles and the traitorous Buddha? She is perfect, there is no need to waste her time teaching her breathing techniques to a brat that went toe-to-toe with Loki in the greenhouse! 

When the tyrant of the oceans witnessed [First Name] showing more emotions around the other combatants, he knows must act swiftly or else she will be snatched away by someone else who is lesser than a god of perfection such as himself, or worse be cast aside by her malicious master for the sake of humanity’s survival. 

He will make the necessary arrangements with Proteus to prepare his kingdom for the arrival of a new queen.

Bonus Content: 

The Moon Hashira is fully aware of Poseidon’s psychotic tendencies and will not make it easy for him to whisk her away like Zeus’ previous mistresses. Nor is she blindly loyal to being oblivious to Brunhilde’s scheming. 

She did not live for half of a millennia as an Upper Moon by being an idiot.

Taglist:

@rukia-writes

@recreationalfanfics

@dazailover1900

@nixes-noxes

@the-dumber-scaramouche

@onecantsimply

@yellow-snark

@radioactivesweet

[why4anne]

Money Power Glory

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Category: Mafia! au

Part: 3/?

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Kidnapping, Torture, fighting

Summary: When you accidentally found yourself in the middle of a mafia show down you had no idea that your life was about to change, forever. For better or for worse.

Masterlist

The earthy scent of basement was the first thing you noticed as you came to your senses. With your head pounding you opened your eyes. Thankfully the room was dim, the only light source being a floor lamp in the corner. You looked around, taking in your surroundings. The room was empty except for the chair you were tied, the lamp and some form of AC unit, the cold concrete walls and the lack of windows made you feel claustrophobic. Where the hell are you? 

Your heart raced as panic began to set in. Memories of being attacked on the street flooded back, and you struggled against the restraints binding you to the chair. The room felt suffocating, and the realization that you were trapped in an unknown location only fueled your fear.

You took a deep breath, attempting to calm yourself. Panicking wouldn't help, and you needed to assess the situation. As your eyes adjusted to the dim light, you noticed a door on the far side of the room.

The sound of footsteps approached, echoing in the cold, damp space. The door creaked open, revealing a figure in the shadows. You strained to see who it was, but the dim lighting obscured their features.

A man with black hair and a suit walked into the room, followed by two other masked men, his bodyguards you assumed. “So this is Leclerc’s new plaything? Pity you chose the wrong man, you are a cute one” He snarled, grabbing your chin with his rough hand and looking you over with a condescending gaze.

You recoiled instinctively at his touch, the feeling of his rough hand on your skin sending a shiver down your spine. Fear pulsed through you as you struggled against the restraints, desperate to break free from the chair that held you captive.

"Who are you? What do you want?" you demanded, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance.

The man's lips curled into a cruel smirk, his eyes glinting with malice. "You don't need to know my name, sweetheart. All you need to know is that you're in a world of trouble now."

He circled around you, his footsteps echoing ominously in the small room. "You see, Charles Leclerc made a big mistake by letting you go. He thought he could protect you from afar, but he underestimated me. And now, you're going to pay the price for his arrogance."

Your mind raced as you tried to make sense of the situation. Charles had warned you that his world was dangerous, but you never imagined it would lead to this. Trapped in a basement with a man who clearly had ill intentions, you knew that you were in grave danger.

"What do you want from me?" you repeated, your voice more desperate this time.

The man leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to send a message to Leclerc. I want him to know that he can't just walk away from killing three of my best men. And you, my dear, are the perfect pawn to use against him."

Panic surged through you as his words sank in. You were nothing more than a tool in this man's twisted game, a pawn to be sacrificed for his own agenda. But you refused to go down without a fight.

"Please, you don't have to do this. I’ve only met him three times, I’m not important." you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper.

The man's smirk widened, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Oh, but you are. Charles Leclerc has not shown any interest in anyone since he took over as the head of the family. Yet, for you, he not only actively sought you out. No, he offered you his protection, he offered you a place in his home. He has an obsession with you and I plan on using that to my advantage.” 

“What are you going to do to me?” Your throat dried up at the thought of what he may do to you in his sick need for revenge.

The man chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Oh, darling, the possibilities are endless. But rest assured, it won't be pleasant for you."

Your heart hammered in your chest as you wracked your brain for a way out of this nightmare. But with your hands tied and surrounded by armed men, escape seemed impossible.

“Let’s see, I don’t want to ruin that pretty face of yours” He feigned puzzlement, rubbing his chin as if he was thinking. “Ah, I know, let’s see how you like the cold.” 

He motioned for his men to open the door before he walked over to the AC unit and turned it on. The air coming from it was freezing and you were suddenly aware of your lack of clothing you had on. All you were wearing were a pair of shorts and a tank top. 

“The temperature will continue to drop until you inevitably get hypothermia. I have a live feed sent to the Leclerc’s so don’t worry, he will have front seats for this” The man smirks cruelly before turning his back on you and walking out of the room with his men.

As the door creaked shut, leaving you alone in the cold, dimly lit room, the reality of your dire situation set in. Shivering in the frigid air, you strained against the restraints, desperate to find a way to escape the impending torture.

The chilling air gnawed at your skin, causing goosebumps to rise, and your breath became visible in the icy atmosphere. The room felt like a prison, and the cruel intentions of the man who held you captive loomed over you like a dark cloud.

Your mind raced, searching for any possible escape plan. The chair was sturdy, but you wondered if you could somehow topple it over, using the impact to break free. With each futile attempt, the cold seeped into your bones, making your movements sluggish.

The seconds felt like hours as you fought against the numbing cold, the fear of hypothermia looming over you. Your thoughts darted back to Charles, wondering if he had received the live feed and if there was any chance he could intervene.

As the temperature continued to drop, your teeth chattered uncontrollably, and your body trembled. You couldn't help but wonder how much longer you could endure the bone-chilling cold. The pain in your extremities intensified, and you felt a growing sense of helplessness.

Hours passed and just when you thought you couldn't bear it any longer, the door creaked open again. The man returned, without his bodyguards this time. A sinister grin was plastered on his face as he observed your suffering. The fucker was wearing a heavy coat as well as a pair of gloves and a hat, as if to taunt you with the prospect of warm clothes.

"Having fun, sweetheart?" he taunted, reveling in your distress. "I hope you're enjoying the preview. Charles needs to learn that his actions have consequences."

You mustered whatever strength you had left to glare at him defiantly. "You're a monster," you spat, your words barely audible through the chattering of your teeth.

The man chuckled, seemingly amused by your defiance. "Monsters are subjective, my dear. I'm just playing the game, and you happen to be a pawn. Now, let's see how much longer you can endure this before begging for mercy."

You continued to endure the bone-chilling cold, your body trembling involuntarily. The room had become a frozen prison, and the man's sadistic amusement only fueled your determination to survive. 

The man circled you, his eyes glittering with malevolence. "You're a tough one, I'll give you that," he remarked, his gloved fingers tracing a pattern on the back of the chair. "But toughness can only get you so far in my world."

You gritted your teeth, refusing to show any signs of weakness. The pain in your extremities had become unbearable, and the cold seemed to seep into your very core. Desperation clawed at your mind as you tried to devise a plan to escape this frozen hell.

Just as you thought you couldn't endure it any longer, the sound of chaos erupted on the other side of the door. The sound of gunshots and screaming got closer and closer until, at last, the door smashed open once. This time, however, it wasn't the sadistic man who entered but a figure you didn't expect. Charles stood in the doorway, his expression a mix of anger and concern.

"What the hell is this?" Charles demanded, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene before him.

The sadistic man grinned, reveling in the surprise on Charles's face. "Well, well, if it isn't the great Charles Leclerc himself. I hope you're enjoying the show."

Charles's gaze hardened as he assessed the situation. "Release her. Now."

The man laughed, seemingly unfazed by Charles's commanding presence. "Oh, I don't think so. You see, Leclerc, you made a mistake letting this one go. And now, they're going to pay the price for your arrogance."

Charles's jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. "You're playing a dangerous game.

The sadistic man shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. "It's only dangerous if you lose, Leclerc. And right now, it seems like you're losing."

As the standoff unfolded, you felt a glimmer of hope. Charles was here, and maybe he could put an end to this nightmare. The room seemed to hang in tense silence, the cold air thick with anticipation.

In that moment, Charles's eyes flashed with a resolve that sent a shiver down your spine. The room erupted into chaos as Charles lunged at the sadistic man.

“I should shoot you right here but that would be too easy for you.” Charles spat, holding the man down. Men filed into the room and fear filled your senses before you realized that they were Charles’. He let his men handle the man, taking him away, before quickly moving over to the chair that you were tied to. He made quick work of the ropes that were digging into your skin before he took you into his arms. 

You started sobbing both from relief but also from all of the pent up fear finally releasing. He sank to the floor, holding you close and you savored his warmth. He took off his blazer and hung it over your shoulders to try and get you to warm up. The smell of his cologne was oddly comforting. 

“I’m here, I’m here. You’re safe now” Charles continued to whisper in your ear. His voice was soothing and you felt your heart slow at his comfort. “Let’s get you out of here, darling” He coos before scooping you up in his arms, carrying you bridal style. The warm air of Monaco in the late spring hits you as you’re carried outside. You couldn’t believe that it was this hot outside while you were freezing to death in that basement mere minutes ago. The shivering finally subsided and you felt yourself relax in Charles’ arms.

“I’ll take you to my house, you’ll be safe there. It’s too risky for you to be by yourself right now, sweetheart, but I promise that I’ll protect you from this ever happening again” Charles vowed as he carefully put you down in the backseat of his Escalade. He rounded the car and sat down in the other seat before his driver turned on the engine.

The drive was peaceful, not a single word being uttered between the two of you. Charles’ hand found yours, rubbing gentle circles in your palm, as if trying to sooth you and keep you calm. The soothing sensation lulled you into a light sleep, the events of the day crashing down as your eyelids become heavy.

“We’re here sweetheart.” Charles whispers in your ear some time later. Your eyes blink open and you’re met with his gorgeous face smiling down at you softly. “Hi there, you slept well?” He chuckles at your tired expression.

“Yeah” You answer in a soft voice, happy to finally be safe and sound in the protection of his home. 

“Good. Do you want to walk or should I carry you?” He asks as the heavy gates in front of his estate opens and the car rolls into the long driveway. 

“I can walk, thank you” You answer him, not taking your eyes off the huge mansion in front of you. You are in awe, this is the biggest house you’ve ever seen. 

 Charles helped you out of the car, his arm wrapped protectively around you as you stood on shaky legs. The grandeur of his estate loomed before you, and you couldn't help but marvel at the opulence of the surroundings. The worry and fear from the basement began to dissipate as you entered the safety of his home.

As you walked through the luxurious halls, Charles guided you to a spacious bedroom. The room was adorned with elegant furnishings and soft, comforting colors. It was a stark contrast to the cold, dimly lit basement you had been trapped in just moments ago.

"Feel free to make yourself at home," Charles said, his voice gentle. "I'll have someone bring you something to eat. You must be starving."

You nodded gratefully, still processing the surreal turn of events. As Charles left the room to attend to your needs, you took a moment to appreciate the warmth and safety that surrounded you. The trauma of the basement lingered, but being in Charles' care provided a sense of solace.

After a warm meal, you found yourself sitting on a plush couch in the living room, wrapped in a soft blanket. Charles joined you, his expression a mix of concern and relief. He took a seat beside you, his hand finding yours once again.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for any signs of distress.

You managed a small smile, appreciating the genuine concern in his gaze. "I'm better now, thanks to you. I can't believe you came for me."

Charles sighed, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand. "I told you, I won't let anything happen to you. You're under my protection now."

You nodded in understanding. Your own stubbornness put you in this situation in the first place. If you’d just accepted Charles’ care from the start none of this would’ve happened. But, you knew better now and you were not about to turn his protection down a second time.

“I need you to understand that what happened today was not an anomaly in my world. People get hurt, kidnapped or even worse on a daily basis. So I need you to stay here, in the house, where I can keep you safe. Do you understand?” Charles explains in a voice that leaves little room for negotiation

“But what about uni?” You ask the first thing that comes into mind.

Charles sighed, his expression softening. "I understand the importance of your education, but your safety comes first. We can arrange for online classes or find a way to make sure you don't fall behind. Right now, being out there alone is too risky. I won't let anything happen to you."

You nodded, realizing the gravity of the situation. "I trust you, Charles. If staying here is what it takes to be safe, then I'll do it."

A small smile played on his lips. "Thank you for understanding. I'll do everything in my power to make sure you're comfortable here."

As the evening wore on, Charles remained by your side, offering comfort and support. Despite the harrowing experience, you found solace in his presence. And as you drifted off to sleep in the comfort of his mansion, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the unexpected turn of events that brought you into his care.

Tag-list: @cmleitora @anne1444444 @halover13 @buendiabebeta @buttfug213

[sgt-seabass]

ʙᴜʀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪᴛᴄʜ

✧˚ · . your fairy tale life ends in a slew of blood.

pairing — witch!bucky barnes x fairy!f!reader w/c — 5.3k listening to — ♫burn the witch warnings — no use of y/n, dark elements, body horror, blood and gore, non-con, kidnapping, bondage, chasing, mild violence, use of magic for evil deeds, drugging, dead dove (don’t eat it and complain to me about it) a/n — happy halloween! thank you to @goldylions for beta-ing. all mistakes are my own. shout out to @navybrat817, @rookthorne and @vonalyn for cheering me along with this fic.

Many fairy tales had been read to you as a child, back when you were small and your wings tiny. The forest was a place for fairy kind, as were all biomes. A holy sanctuary for those with magic, where the trees hugged and created a shelter of heaven-spun leaves and branches. An unspoken promise of protection.

It was not a place to be afraid. Not even in the nighttime. For the moon, bathed in the sun's light, provided a wave of peace to the world around it. The deepened hues of a dark forest lit by starlight were a place of magical refuge.

While many normal humans would be afraid, fairy-kind was taught that forests were a place of ancient souls, like the deep sea or the clouds above. And being half-fairy, this was a teaching you received at an early age.

But the forest you woke in was unlike any story you’d heard before. This was uncharted territory.

“Tinker Bell.”

The misty voice startled you awake. Your eyes opened, immediately taking in the deep red sky. There was a blood moon above, unlike any lunar eclipse you’d seen. The red glowed across the sky and your skin, as if you were alight with the malice that lay hidden.

As you sat up, you took in your surroundings. The dark oak and spruce surrounding you stood as noble knights, protecting something from view with its thick foliage. What wanted to remain hidden?

The dirt floor was sodden with woven roots and fallen leaves, dead and decaying. The only sweetness in the air was the subtle whiff of sap, but it was entirely eclipsed by the earthy smell of rotting wood among damp, stale bark.

This was no fairy tale but a place of nightmares.

No animals scurried at the sound of you rising, no birds sang, the area seemingly barren of any life. You didn’t know how you got here but knew you needed to get out. A place like this was not something Mother Nature would have conjured.

Your heart craved the softened, freshly aromatic scent of the forest near your family home. Where the leaves were crisp, and the sun gently kissed the treetops, creating a beautiful shine. You could almost taste the lovely sweetness of the fresh berries you’d find foraging. It was the opposite of how your stomach roiled at the smell of a dying forest.

The red light made it hard to see, darkness covering every inch of land. Looking down at the muddy turf, you wondered if it was blood you stood upon. But a quick swipe through the grime confirmed it was earth. There was an oddness to the scent of the soil. You rolled it between your fingers, pursing your lips. While it was dirt, this was not dirt you would find in the human world. It did not hold the magical properties it usually would.

This meant either you’d been transported to another realm or were stuck in a plane between the layers of earth and heaven.

Your hands patted over the clothes you’d been put in. A green sundress with a red robe tied neatly with a bow around your neck. These weren’t items from your closet. They felt fresh. New.

A sense of danger prickled across your skin, goosebumps rising on your flesh and hairs standing on end. You were not alone here.

The sound of old leaves crunching sounded behind you, and it didn’t take much initiative to begin running in the other direction.

Your heart began to race as a chase started with the unknown entity. You could hear it behind you, deep breathing and grunting. It was an obstacle course trying to avoid logs and roots, while trying to stop yourself from retching due to the pungent smell of burning, decaying flesh.

Sprinting away from danger raised a primal fear in you. The kind that rips your body apart so that every ounce of concentration, energy and intelligence can be used to escape the nightmares that trailed behind.

A blend of growls mixed in as a pack of rabid wolves jumped out from the side, lunging for you. You yelped, narrowly ducking and weaving away from the gnashing jaws of the animals. They joined the chase behind you, barking when you managed to jump a log that tripped a few of them. The wolves didn’t stop, though. They joined the ominous deep breathing that pursued you, as if you were Red Riding Hood fleeing from danger.

Needing to go faster, despite the close confines around you, you extended your wings from your back and threw away the cloak. Normally, your wings would open to the light of the sun, the streaks of light reflecting beautiful rainbow hues. But now, they added to the glowing red surrounding you, as if they were broken and bloodied. A sense of foreboding overtook you at the thought. 

You began fluttering to move faster, your feet only lightly touching the ground. Being half fairy, you couldn’t reach the heights of a typical fairy, restricted by your human-sized body, but that didn’t matter with the many branches that loomed and imprisoned you close to the forest floor.

Crows cawed, their wings flapping as they followed you with red eyes. You could tell they and the wolves were not real, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t hurt you. The birds dove for your wings, and you had to change paths to try and avoid them.  

Snakes slithered along the ground, and spiders bared their fangs on the branches above your head. It was claustrophobic, as if this evil presence was closing in on you, causing you a fear worse than your most violent nightmares.

With heaving breaths, running on pure adrenaline, you pushed yourself further than ever before.

You started to lose the animals and the mysterious creature, and it gave you a chance to begin your song.

Fairies cast their magic through their voices, affecting all who listened. Humans often did not understand the words but did not need to. The melody alone was enough to bring love and laughter to life. For that was the gift fairies brought. Through the pureness of their hearts, magic could be accessed and shared with the world.

While fairies appeared like blossoming flowers, there were dark vines that snaked from the ground. Those who used their magic for wicked intentions were considered dark witches. Banned from the sanctorum where Mother Nature sits, witches could never gain Mother Nature's trust, hence never earning their wings.

The song you cast into the acrid air was one of hope. A beautiful tune that caused fairy dust to fall from your wings as you fluttered faster, your strength increasing. But what you did not see behind you was the way the ground swallowed the dust, absorbing it to fuel a power that lay below.

“Tinker Bell.” A voice called to you. The name is reminiscent of the childhood teasing you’d endured during your youth. But the voice now held no innocent oblivion to the way it made fun of you. “Pretty fairy, you cannot outrun me.”

With no destination in mind and no path to guide your way, you continued through the forest with threatening sounds behind you. And before long, the trees opened up into a small clearing. There was no reprieve, though, as the trees that formed the circled area were so thick there would be no way you could continue into the forest without having to squeeze past.

Skeletons and discarded bones covered the ground, and each time your foot touched one, they crumbled with a sickening crunch. Humans, animals, and all kinds of beings lay dead in the field, no flesh left to discern them. Their graveyard would soon become yours too, you feared.

“Tinker Bell,” the voice sounded, and it was much closer now. You spun around with fluttering wings, doing a full turn with magic dust falling to the ground, but you couldn’t see anyone. The ground rumbled beneath you, and you gasped at the sight of vines shooting up to try and grab you.

With darting movements, you maneuvered around the vines that tried to capture you. But the more you began to panic, the more magic that came from you, and the world around you absorbed it. The vines started growing in power, getting thicker and faster the more you tried to fly away.

The blood moon was in full force now. The entire sky was a pool of scarlet, ruddy and nauseating. This realm was feeding off your fear, taking it and using it for its own power. 

It was then the being showed itself, walking from the thick foliage into view. The sight of him shocked you so severely that you became distracted, and the vines took their chance to snake around your ankles and up your legs, stopping at your upper thighs. Another two vines grabbed each arm, holding you helplessly in place.

Before you stood an Oni. Or at least someone appearing to be one. A Japanese legend, Oni, were created through the death of a wicked human. Weidling iron clubs as their weapon, they would find enjoyment in crushing and destroying humans. They were bearers of punishment. While this man had no weapon, you feared for what he had planned for you.

But what did you do apart from giving the world your pure heart? What made you deserving of an Oni’s wrath?

Your wings kept fluttering as you took in the man's mask. Covering his face was intricate carvings on a deep charcoal wood. Horns extended on either side, with swirls that covered them down to the blackened eye holes. You could see his piercing blue eyes, stark in comparison to the darkness that surrounded them. The carved swirls continued down the mask's jaw, where it had cut sharp teeth with two fangs on both sides. The man was bulky, not the size of the Oni you had heard of, but he certainly eclipsed the size of an average human. He had to be almost seven feet at least.

He wore only black, with loose pleated pants on his legs and a robe covering his top beneath. One of his hands shone in the red light, and it took you a moment to realise that’s because it was an intricate metal, not flesh.

The sight caused an unrelenting fear in you, as if he had your heart in his hand, beginning to squeeze your very life with his threatening grip.

“Hello, Tinker Bell,” the man spoke, the deep timbre of his tone shaking you to your core as you struggled against your binds. “Are you lost, little fae? These woods are no place for a fairy like you,” he teased, and you could hear the smile in his voice despite the way his face remained hidden.

“Then let me go,” you snapped, trying to use wisps of magic to get the vines to recede, but all it did was make them stronger.

“Ah, hm, no.” The man approached in long strides with flouncing hair as the vines forced you to your knees, your body sinking slightly into the plush earth. “That would be an awful waste of all my effort, Tinker Bell.”

“That’s not my name,” you snapped, beginning to tire of his antics. You just wanted to go home.

“Don’t bore me with your birth name. Tinker Bell suits you much more.” His stature towered above you as he looked down at you, his hair falling around the sides of the mask. The mask was even more intimidating up close. Power radiated off his being, darkness oozing like a sick sludge from him. This was a man to be scared of. 

You began to tremble, causing the vines to rustle as you tried to still yourself. In the eyes of a predator, it is best to try and make yourself seem intimidating. But there’s not much you can do as tears well in your eyes. Your mother had always teased you for having such a sensitive soul.

“Aww, are you going to cry? I haven’t even done anything yet.”

You sniffled, spikes of fear lighting your blood like an electric bolt. “What do you want?” 

“Those wings, pretty girl.”

Your eyes widened, and your blood ran cold. You held your breath with a sharp inhale, anxiety clutching at your heart. When you’d first presented with your wings, you’d been warned that they were a rare commodity, much like an elephant's tusks. There were puissant people who wanted to increase their power, and a set of fairy wings granted immense magical properties.

“I don’t want to die,” your voice turned into a high whine as reality set in. This red forest would be your final resting place.

The man laughed heartily, causing you to flinch like he had slapped you.

“Oh, you’re not going to die. Don’t you know? Fairy wings grow back. Why on earth would I kill you when I can have a fae of my own?”

If anything, that was a fate worse than death.

“What’s your name?” You gulped, holding back the sobs that wanted to escape.

“You can call me Bucky.”

You were not above grovelling, and you were already on your knees, so you begged. “Bucky - please. Just let me go home. I’m begging you. I have a family, friends, people who will miss me. Just let me go, and I won’t tell anyone about you.”

His eyes darkened as if they were adapting to the shade of the mask surrounding them. There was a deathly silence as he considered you. “No.”

He seemed angry at the mere thought of you being missed. You wondered if it was jealousy. Does he have anyone caring for him? Unlikely based on his method of trying to gain more power. This does not seem like a personable man.

So, you tried a different angle.

“Bucky, you’re a witch, right? That’s how we’re in this realm. You made it?” His eyes narrowed as you spoke, but he didn't stop you. “We’re the same. Magical beings. We should be working together, not against each other. M-Maybe I can help you with some magic? In exchange for my release?”

“The moment I let the vines go, let you leave this place, you will leave me and never look back. Don’t lie to me, Tinker Bell. I can see through your bullshit,” Bucky spat venomously, moving away from you towards a large log that sat in the clearing.

And he wasn’t wrong. It was your intention to run and conjure a teleportation spell the moment you got out of this nightmare realm.

The vines picked you up despite your screams for freedom, carrying you towards the log. “Please, don’t do this! We’re cut of the same cloth. We should be working together! You can stop now. It’s not too late. Please, let me go!”

Bucky watched as you were placed over the log so your front rested against the bark. Your body curved over the trunk, breasts squishing uncomfortably against the hard surface as the vines pulled your arms and legs towards the ground.

A heat rose in your cheeks. You were stuck with your ass elevated, your dress ridden up, so your panties were on display to Bucky. The more you struggled against the binds, the stronger they held.

The blood rushed to your head when you let your neck relax, chin bumping against the log. Reality was setting in, your hope beginning to whittle away. “Please, don’t.”

“Plead all you want, Tinker Bell. No one can hear you here,” Bucky’s voice sounded behind you, his hands groping at the flesh of your thighs. “In fact, I’ll enjoy it more hearing your sounds.”

Bucky let his hands run over your skin, causing goosebumps to rise everywhere he touched. You could sense the power emanating from him, a dark magic present in his entire being.

The vines held firm, so tightly wrapped around your limbs that it felt as if they were seconds away from snapping your bones in their grip. You whimpered, skin cutting against the bark as you writhed.

You couldn’t help the arousal that began to pool in your core with the way Bucky groped you. His devilish hands warmed you like he lit a fire in your entire being. He was undoubtedly a powerful creature.

“You’ll want to be numbed for when I cut your wings off…” Bucky trailed off, and when you looked back you gasped.

He’d taken his cock out. Hard, veiny, and inviting – the thick flesh had an angry red tip, shining precum at the tip. You wondered if he tasted as powerful as his magic.

Bucky took a string of fabric to tie back his hair so it was in a tight bun. You watched, mesmerised by how he moved so fluidly.

He kept his eyes on you the whole time, his dark stare not leaving you as his cock bobbed between his legs when you let out a sniffle.

The mask stayed on after Bucky had finished with his hair, and you couldn’t help but be curious about your captor. Would he look like the demon he projected?

Bucky lifted the bottom of the disguise to spit into his hand, running his palm over the ridges of his cock with a grunt as his metal hand yanked your panties down.

Reality came crashing down, and you cried out. “Wait! Don’t! Please, don’t.”

“You don’t want to be in pain, do you? I could cut your wings with no analgesic, but I’m doing you a favour by giving you my cum,” Bucky’s hands gripped either side of the trunk, allowing his cock to sit nestled in your exposed ass cheeks. “I’m being nice. I’m not even going to fuck you.”

You shook your head, a sob escaping you. “This isn’t being nice.”

“Oh? Not even when I do this?” Bucky snapped his fingers with an incantation, and a small vial of pink liquid appeared in his hand. He took the ampoule, moving his cock out of the way so he could pour it over your ass, letting the pink sparkling fluid seep down into your folds.

Your entire body went taut, sudden bolts of pleasure shooting through your body like firecrackers. Your toes curled, and you wailed out a moan, wings fluttering crazily as you tried to process what was happening.

The arousal coursing through you was like nothing you’d ever felt before, Bucky’s magic infecting you and making your brain spiral like you’d had multiple orgasms at once.

Rainbows of colour swirled in your vision as Bucky began sliding his cock against your ass. You could barely register the rocking movement as euphoria filled your brain, the lust making your hair stand on end.

“See? It’s not so bad, Tinker Bell,” Bucky groaned, humping against you and pushing you harder against the log. “I bet no one has touched you like this before.”

Bucky kicked your legs out so you were spread wider, allowing him to slide his cock along your pussy, collecting your arousal. He rubbed the tip of his cock on your clit, and you moaned obscenely. “St— op”

“Ah, you don’t really want me to, do you? Look how wet you are for me. I bet I could make you cum just with my cock.” Bucky wasn’t wrong. He rolled your clit with the head of his dick, and whatever magic he’d used on you had it feeling like tongues were lapping at you.

“That’s it, come on, cum for me. Soak me. Lose that innocence for me, my little slut,” Bucky leant forward, hands pressing down on your wings, teeth nipping at your ear.

That was all it took for the dams to burst. The world was vibrant as you came, red filling your vision, your body shaking with mewls as your juices gushed against Bucky’s cock.

Your wetness allowed Bucky to easily slide against your flesh, heat radiating from his pulsing cock as he grunted with each thrust. “Fuck. You’re perfect.”

Time seemed to warble, your brain unable to keep up as Bucky grabbed your ass, pressing your cheeks together so he could fuck them harder. “Shit, fuck, oh— oh, I’m close.”

Bucky suddenly pulled back, and you hoped the ordeal was over. How wrong you were.

“They’re soft as silk, Tinks,” Bucky commented, running his fingers over the reflective surface of your wings. You tried to flap them to get his hand to move away, but he was fast, grabbing onto the delicate membrane of your wing.

“Don’t touch them. That hurts,” you whimpered in your haze, writhing against the vines.

“Oh, I’m going to do far more than just touch them.”

You felt as Bucky played with the pliability of your wings, the body part easily manipulated as it was soft and light, the only dense part of your wings being the cartilage that secured them to your back.

Pure horror filled you as he placed his palm onto your wing, forcing it against the log, using his other hand to curve the opalescent surface of your appendage around his cock.

“Fuck. So fucking soft. I knew it would feel amazing,” Bucky moaned, using your wing like a sheath for his cock.

You could feel the heat from his dick against you, your wings sensitive and full of nerves like the rest of you.

“Stop…” You cried, tears still falling, and you were surprised you had any left to cry.

To be defiled like this was something unimaginable. The happiness that you so often felt in your soul was becoming a chimera – no more than a hopeful illusion.

With Bucky’s grunts sounding behind you, you craned your neck to look at the sky, the red reflection making it look as if you were shedding tears of blood.

The blood moon shone proudly, the sky clear of clouds, leaving just redness to cover everything. What did you do to deserve this? Was it simply your fate to be a sacrifice to the wretched? Was there such a thing as fate at all? For so long, you’d considered your life set up upon a lineage Mother Nature set out for you. But no loving figure would force this reality upon one of her creatures, right? Your whole belief system felt shaken, like your entire world compass was stomped on and shattered.

What had you done wrong?

In reality, you’d done nothing to merit such treatment.

Yet the world bestowed the pain on you regardless.

“Enough, stop. It hurts,” you whimpered, the bend on your wing uncomfortable as Bucky thrust into it.

“Oh, it feels too good to stop, pretty girl. It’s like fucking straight magic.” Bucky’s hands braced against the log, using wisps of dark power to keep your wing in a circle.

The power from him escalated, dark clouds pouring from him and billowing across the ground, covering the graveyard of souls surrounding you. His breathy moans got louder, his grip on the log causing cracks to form in the wood.

“F-Fuck, feels too good. I’m going to cum. Yeah, you want my cum, don’t you? Dirty slut.” His hips lost their rhythm, beginning to stutter as he came. Bucky was quick to pull back, his cum coating your back where your wings connected with your flesh.

It was an odd feeling that washed over you. It was something akin to calmness, although it was forced upon you. The last movement you could manage was to look back, brows knitting together when you saw that Bucky’s seed was coloured black, before your body went involuntarily lax.

You lay over the log, your breathing levelling out as you became numb to the world. His spell didn’t just anaesthetise your body, but your emotions too.

You couldn’t even wish to be asleep as you started at the foggy ground.

The vines eased up, not needing to hold you so tight when there was no struggle, their tension leaving marks on your limbs.

“You’re so perfect.” Bucky complimented, but there was no smile on your face.

There was nothing.

You were nothing.

This was the end of everything, and the start of the aphotic zone.

The remnants of your tears fell onto the bones below, cleaning away some of the dirt covering them. But the damage to them remained. Just as the damage to you began.

You couldn’t see what Bucky was doing, nor could you feel it, but you could hear it. There was a sick squelching noise, followed by a sawing sound, as Bucky began to hack at the cartilage connecting your wings.

It was like nails on a chalkboard, nausea roiling in your stomach as you had no choice but to lay there like a rat in a laboratory, ready to be dissected in some horrid experiment.

He could have magically removed them. He’d more than exemplified he had the power to. But he’d chosen the barbaric route for his own crooked pleasure.

Bucky was silent, concentrating on his work as your body wobbled with each run of the jagged blade against you. Blood coated your skin, the ichor running down your sides and covering the wood below you. It gushed out, and if you didn’t feel light-headed before, you certainly did now.

The only words you heard enter the world were a whispered fire incantation. It was then you smelt your flesh burning, the blade heated to cauterise your wound as it sliced.

If you had any control, you’d be wailing, screaming, doing anything to try and get out. Bucky stole your anguish from you, leaving you like a doll atop the log as your identity was violently stripped from your back.

Mother Nature had gifted you your wings. They were your responsibility. And you failed to protect them.

Yet, in your neutered state, you were apathetic about it.

The impromptu surgery went on for what felt like hours, the slow removal of your body parts done both with intricacy and unrelenting brutality.

Your back felt significantly lighter as your wings fell to the ground, crunching the skeletons below into dust.

It was done.

You would never be the same.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I left some scarring. I want my fairy to be special and bear markings made by her owner,” Bucky said proudly, as if you could respond.

You just stared at the skull below you. God, how you wished to be dead on the ground.

Bucky came around the log and stood in front of you, cupping your face with his palms so you were forced to look at his masked face. “Ready to go home?”

Drool dropped out of your mouth and down your chin, unable to control your functions. Bucky swiped away the moisture. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Bucky snapped his fingers, and you were instantly transported to his home.

It seemed like a small cabin in the middle of a forest, based on what you could see from the dirty window. Every surface was covered with tomes, vials, herbs, and materials needed for spells.

The place had an earthy smell with a mix of floral sweetness.

You sat in the corner of the room, and it took you a moment to realise you sat in a large birdcage. With your body still paralysed, you could only elicit a small whimper at the realisation that you were trapped. A purple field covered the cage, assumedly stopping you from using magic.

Bucky startled you, suddenly materialising with your wings in his arms. Seeing them made your heart drop to the earth's centre. They’d lost their colour, aura, and everything that made them special. Now, they were no more than an ingredient.

You watched as Bucky placed them onto his desk, dusting himself off before turning his attention back to you. “Sorry about the mess. I should have cleaned up before you came over. But I’m sure you won’t mind.”

There was a sense of anticipation as he removed his Oni mask, showing you for the first time his face. You were surprised at how handsome and regular he looked. Sometimes, the evillest were the people we’d never suspect if we passed them on the street. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” He waved the mask before placing it next to your wings. “Since I act like a demon, I might as well look like one, right?”

With a grin, he moved to the bubbling cauldron that was hanging atop a fireplace, scooping up some of the mystery green liquid into a small wooden bowl.

There was intention in every movement as he collected the foul-smelling soup. As he came to your cage, every part of you wanted to scream and run. Yet you didn’t move an inch, sitting upon the cot with your back to the cage wall.

“Here. This will help you heal faster,” Bucky said, as if you had a choice in what you consumed. You felt ill as he got closer with the sloshing broth, your stomach flipping as he raised it to your lips. He had to physically pry your mouth open to pour the soup in, the heat sliding down your slack throat with ease. “That’s my girl, Tinks. Such a good fairy.”

His praises fell on deaf ears as your senses were overtaken by the putrid taste and smell of whatever concoction he had fed you. Almost instantly, you got movement and feeling back.

For the first time in your life, anger overtook you. You’d never felt rage before, but it was all that occupied you now.

With your wings gone, a whole part of you had been taken away. Without your gift of purity, you didn’t have the same emotional control. You felt human.

You jumped up, whacking the bowl from his grip and wrapping your hands around Bucky’s neck, ready to squeeze the life out of him. “I’m going to kill you,” you snarled, entirely unlike your usual self.

Bucky had stolen your innocence and replaced it with darkness.

“Is that so?” Bucky tilted his head, unphased as you squeezed. “Interesting.”

Your anger turned to desperation as Bucky’s form turned to sand in your grip, the course grit slipping through your fingers.

“No!” You screeched, running for the open cage door.

But Bucky was faster, reappearing on the other side of the cage and quickly slamming the wire door in your face.

“No! Let me out! You fucking wench! Hag! Get back here, you old bag and fucking let me go!” You gripped the bars, shaking them desperately as you tried to conjure as much magic as possible. But you had nothing, Bucky’s forcefield holding strong. “I can see why Mother Nature rejected you, warlock. You’re nothing more than an imp, picking on others so you can feel better about your own weakness. You fucking prick.”

There was no chastity left. Your virtue had been lost when your wings were stripped from your being.

“Now, now, that’s not nice. You hurt my feelings.” Bucky frowned, moving back from your enclosure. “Those wings of yours will grow back, and so will your temperament. I’m a very patient man, and I have no issue making your whole existence suffering. But if you know what’s good for you, you will apologise when I return. Wings or not, I expect you to keep the nature of a fairy, Tinks.”

With a flash, Bucky disappeared, leaving you alone in the dank room.

You collapsed to your knees, resolving into a fit of sobs. Without your object of anger there, you were reduced to nothing but sorrow.

Letting out a shuddered breath, you looked over your shoulder. Out from the scarring, popped the smallest amount of new cartilage.

The cycle would begin again.

To be updated on when I post please follow @sgt-seabass-library and turn on post notifications.

[konpeitochodai]

𝐅𝐎𝐂𝐔𝐒: 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐄𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐝 両面宿儺

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ a potential series; sukuna x f! reader (tw (?): mentions of illness and violence) ; 1.3k words unedited; masterlist

in the tapestry of history, the heian period was a brushstroke of opulence amidst the canvas of japan’s past, a time when the court was a chalice of culture, brimming with the nectar of artistry and poise. the air was thick with the scent of cherry blossoms, and the rustle of silken robes was the music of the day as nobles engaged in the delicate dance of courtly life.

you, a bloom in the illustrious garden of nobility, were the quintessence of heian splendor. your family, a lineage as old as the cedars that lined the path to the imperial city, was revered, and you, their sole daughter and heiress, were the embodiment of their grace and honor.

yet, whimsy often has a shadow, and yours was a malaise that draped over your vitality like a silk veil over a lantern's glow. illness had visited you, an uninvited guest whispering tales of fragility through the corridors of your being. your days, once filled with the laughter of courtiers and the whisper of brush on paper, now passed in a quieter cadence, punctuated by the careful ministrations of healers and the hushed prayers of your kin.

in this realm where the fantastic and the corporeal waltzed in a slow, intricate rhythm, your path was as unforeseen as the flight of a dragonfly over a moonlit pond.

as dawn's light surrendered to dusk, a calamity unfurled its cruel wings over the village that cradled your noble house. Whispers of smoke curled into the sky, a prelude to the inferno that would soon engulf the homes and hearts of your people. the flames, like ravenous beasts, devoured the tranquility of your sanctuary, reducing dreams and legacies to embers and ashes.

in the sanctity of your chamber, illness had rendered you as immobile as a painting, a silent observer to the chaos that raged beyond the shoji screens. the urgency of evacuation stirred the air, yet it seemed fate had woven a different thread for you. your attendants, faces taut with fear, fled for their lives, leaving you adrift in a sea of solitude, your life's flame flickering in the oppressive heat.

it was in this haze of despair and fever that a figure emerged, a towering silhouette against the backdrop of destruction. his presence was as enigmatic as the moon's path through a cloud-strewn sky. though your vision swam with the dance of your malady, you perceived the strength in his stance, the aura of power that clung to him like a shadow. this figure, a stranger amidst the chaos, stood as the only clarity in the blur of your world on fire.

his motives unreadable, his origins a mystery, he was the unknown variable in the equation of your fate, the last sight your weary eyes held onto as consciousness slipped from your grasp like the final petal of a season's last blossom.

in the thickening smoke, your voice, hoarse and weak, mustered the strength to speak through the veil of suffering, "end this... please, let this be my final reprieve." but the command, even in its plea, was met with a cold indifference from the towering figure. a command, no matter how faint, seemed to stir a distaste within him, a rebellion against the very notion of being ordered.

as the fire's light danced in his eyes, a revelation pierced the haze. he noticed the presence of a large curse spirit, its form twisted and malevolent, clinging to you with a parasitic zeal. this entity, unseen by the fleeing villagers, was a specter of malice, feeding off your life force, exacerbating your plight amidst the chaos.

his gaze, now fixed upon the curse that besieged you, revealed a new layer of complexity to the unfolding drama.

the curse spirit, drawn to the cursed energy that seeped from you, began to feed, siphoning your essence as you lay unconscious, lost to the world. and thus, a relentless battle ensued, a clash of wills and power. the figure, whom the flames seemed to bow before, engaged the spirit in a fierce conflict, each strike resonating with the intent to annihilate. the dance of their combat was as ferocious as the fire that consumed the village, a testament to the fury and the might that these beings wielded.

the battle that unfolded was a spectacle of raw, unbridled power, confined to the space where only the strongest curses dared to tread. sukuna, revered and feared as the disgraced one, found himself in an unusual predicament. he had only allowed a fraction of his immense power to surface, a sliver of his true capabilities, confident in his supremacy over any adversary.

yet, the cursed spirit that emerged from your body was no ordinary foe. it was a force to be reckoned with, its strength seemingly bolstered by the cursed energy it leached from your unconscious form. each exchange between sukuna and the spirit was a maelstrom of violence, a testament to the spirit's unexpected might. sukuna’s blows, usually decisive and fatal, were met with a resilience that bordered on the implausible.

as the fight raged on, sukuna couldn't help but entertain a thought, a morbid curiosity that gnawed at his pride. if you, whose body seemed so fragile and unassuming, were to perish, what magnitude of cursed energy would be unleashed? the spirit's tenacity hinted at a latent power within you, a reservoir of cursed energy that belied your outward frailty.

sukuna, engaged in this fierce struggle, found himself pushed to exert more of his power, to tap into deeper wells of his curse, not out of necessity, but to satisfy his own growing intrigue. what secrets did your weak body hold? what potential did it mask? these questions fueled his ferocity, driving him to dominate the spirit that dared challenge him, all while pondering the enigma of the cursed energy that lay dormant within you.

sukuna, in the midst of the battle with the malevolent spirit, decided it was time to end the charade. he unleashed a devastating increase in his power, amplifying it by a quarter, which sent shockwaves through the battleground. The spirit, previously feasting on your energy, stood no chance against such a formidable force.

the air itself seemed to shudder under the weight of his might, and the spirit that had been leeching off your energy recoiled, overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught.

sukuna’s intentions were clear; he was poised to end not just the battle but also your life, to absorb the unique cursed power that had piqued his interest. as his hand reached out, the world seemed to stand still, the finality of the moment hanging heavy in the atmosphere.

but then, a flicker of change swept through Sukuna's domain. his senses, sharp as ever, picked up the approach of a multitude of sorcerers, their combined presence enough to cause even the disgraced one to take pause. It wasn't fear that stayed his hand, but rather a recognition of the opportunity that lay before him. the thrill of the chase, appealed to him the most.

with a swift decision, sukuna altered his plan. rather than dispatching you and facing the incoming sorcerers, he chose to whisk you away, making an escape not out of necessity but as a deliberate act to fuel the narrative he reveled in. the chase would continue, and you, now an integral part of this high-stakes game, unknowingly was now caught in the eye of a storm, a valuable piece in sukuna’s grand design, as he led you both into the unknown…

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ hello !!! this is my first ever attempt at the prologue of a series !! but i’m sort of unsure if this is interesting enough to keep going lol…i enjoyed writing it but idk i like writing drabbles and such and would like to receive requests !!! maybe i should’ve put that into a formal post lol lol. but yeah, i hope you enjoyed and let me know if i should continue this series

[cyjammy]

Vox and Valentino: A Display of Trust

VALENTINO AND VOX

Not going to lie, I was the most excited for this dynamic and it just barely beats out Vox and Alastor’s rivalry. For four years they were both the big unknowns only seen for about 30 seconds in the pilot.

There were theories about their dynamic that I hoped to god wouldn’t be true in the show.

Because they didn’t make sense, they looked friendly with each other when they hunkered down for the extermination. And there was no way one sinner (Val) could create an empire alone.

AND I’M SO HAPPY THAT DID NOT HAPPEN.

Valentino being hot headed and brash was not on my 2024 bingo card, but I’m here for it.

(Yes, he’s a bad person. So is everyone else in the show. Alastor hangs out with cannibals and most likely participates. It’s a show about Hell.)

I LOVE HIM. I love everything about him down to the voice, the fluctuating emotions, the drama, the possessiveness — ALL. OF. IT.

I love me some fucking drama and I was LIVING for the back and forth between him and Vox.

Valentino is in charge because of the power he has.

He’s not a words guy, he uses action. He refuses to change his ways because that’s what got him to the top. He’s ready to hunt down Angel just for moving out.

Mind you he still goes to work and fulfills his side of the contract, Valentino just can’t handle not having control.

Micromanaging Angel’s life down to the smallest of details. Controlling who he can talk to, what he can wear.

He wants his plaything back in his sight, he doesn’t want him getting defiant. He wants his leash short so he doesn’t get any ideas.

And the way he gaslights the fuck out of Angel hit hard. Getting away from an abuser and then having the distance you finally need to heal, but being forced to be in contact with them is so restricting that it hurts.

Jesus that was fucking with me.

You don’t necessarily have to be smart to manipulate people, and Val knows that. Val plays the part of the fool so people underestimate him.

He feigns impulsiveness.

When asked for strategic advice he plays dumb.

That’s calculated, and it may just be written off as idiotic, but that’s probably what he wants.

He has to be playing dumb, there is no way he has survived this long by pure luck.

Vox makes do with him by his side because Val can gain trust and place sinners under his spell.

That makes him a valuable asset. Vox supplies the equipment and Valentino supplies the merchandise.

Because that’s all he considers those who are under his employ.

They’re things to be sold to an audience.

But Vox might not see the subtle ways Val messes with him.

Val’s a bratty, unsympathetic, monster that will do anything to get his way. With the guidance of someone with a more grounded personality removed from his issues is when he is able to see reason.

And Velvet can’t even do that, only Vox.

That shows respect and trust.

Even when Vox was spelling it out for him slowly it wasn’t a slight against him, it was a reminder and it held no malice.

If it did, Vox would have lost his temper as he did with Alastor. He kept himself measured for Val and reigned himself back in.

He may know that it won’t get him anywhere after dealing with him for so long. If Vox didn’t see Valentino as a worthwhile investment, he wouldn’t even go through the effort.

Vox knows the best way to get Valentino to listen.

Valentino is extremely self centered. Vox speaks in a way that makes Val want to care, while still making sure it benefits him as well.

“OUR brand”

“Any idea what YOU would look like chasing random whores around town”

“OUR image”

Their partnership is of the upmost importance. Vox needs to make sure the empire remains, that the Vs have their power. That they’re on top.

And that’s a goal Valentino can get behind.

Valentino backs off with disappointment, because he enjoys violence. And he wanted there to be a show.

So instead he throws out something that could really get under Vox’s skin.

Alastor.

Val could have used this information to cripple Vox, make him vulnerable during a time where he needed to stay focused.

But instead, he uses it now.

Val was bored, he knew how Vox would react, and he wanted a show.

And a show he received. Pressing all the right buttons to see his partner go mad.

I want to see more of Valentino. So far his actions could be read as surface level — dumb and erratic — or strategic.

As of now, I’m assuming he knows what he’s doing.

Anger clouds your judgement and both Vox and Val were subject to that effect within a few minutes. That doesn’t necessarily mean Val is a fool and that Vox calls ALL of the shots.

Val acts idiotic around his colleagues because he knows they won’t take advantage of him. Until I see how he is around Angel Dust outside of those voicemails or around his other employees is when that can be settled.

I’m hoping this is a strategic play, because that would be an amazing use of misdirection. All the signs are there, and it could be so.

I also love how Vox is never fearful of Val and vice versa. They both would take steps toward each other that would be misconstrued as advancing toward violence.

Neither flinch. They look a bit surprised, sure, but never scared.

The respect is there and I love the relationship Val and Vox have.

[probablybadrpgideas]

I’m literally currently working on a thing about the inherently evil/inherently good thing with dnd dragons chromatic vs metallic and I saw your elves thing which

1 cool

2 got anything for dragons?

A dragon is to you as you are to a mouse. Sure, you get the odd sicko who actively wants to make the mouse suffer, and the animal rights activist who actively wants to improve the mouse's life. But most people just don't give a shit about the mouse, and only really interfere with the mouse when they send in an exterminator to get it out of their house.

The chromatic and metallic dragons are at war, and the reasoning for that war is unknown to anyone but them. They don't really care about the other beings of the world enough to explain the conflict. Even the elves will be long gone in the blink of a dragon's eye.

Now, the metallic dragons have figured out that they can pass themselves off as good and benevolent, and use the lesser species as agents and catspaws. By the same token, the chromatic dragons have figured out that destroying the lesser species deprives their enemies of agents. But these aren't motivated by compassion or malice. The Gold Dragon sees the adventurers as disposable weapons, its "noble wisdom" no more personal then a gun's scope, and would happily kill them if they stop providing an advantage. The Red Dragon sees the village as a potential source of adventurers, to be destroyed as we might cut a car's brakes, and won't bother if there's an easier way to deal with the threat. Neither is personal.

Ultimately, the dragons are just two sides in a war in which we're the bullets. Neither side is motivated by the desire to harm or protect- honestly, a few sickos or humanoid rights activists asides, neither side cares about us either way. The only difference is that one side cares what we think.