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envihellbender · 2 months

Note

Fatties being interbred so they can reach even huger sizes

Characters: Corbin (present), the Butler (unnamed), the Newfoundland family (mentioned and described but not present)

Content: extreme weight gain werewolves, vampire slave, fat kink, fat werewolves, interbreeding, fat family

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This would be the third family who had bought Corbin, he was becoming far too used to the chain around his neck and the back of the van he was thrown into. He wasn’t bad at his job, far from it, but he had a certain charm to him that some found difficult to resist. Different vampires had their own specialities, and despite how much Corbin hate it his was how appealing he seemed to other species. As a result, his owner’s tended to do more than use him for their own pleasure. Instead they would become obsessed and that would nearly always upset someone. At the Dobermans’ it was the wife, when he was given to the Mastiffs’ it was the son. Unfortunately he wasn’t important enough for it to be ignored, but luckily nothing so scandalous had happened that Corbin wasn’t eaten by one of them. Not that he was looking forward to his new appointment, he’d heard that whilst the Newfoundland stock were not traditionally the heaviest wolves - they had worked, fuck, and eaten their way into far surpassing every other purebred family in the country.

Eventually the van began to slow down, the ground had become uneven causing Corbin’s metal collar to rub painfully against his skin. When the vehicle stopped, his head jerked against the door causing him to wince. Before he could get his bearings the door was thrown open, the man pulled him out by the chain as the woman began scrawling something on a clipboard. He stumbled and was half dragged until he could finally keep up. It was after dusk and everything was dark apart from the windows from the large house they had arrived at which shone orange light on the trees and grass. The two spoke amongst themselves as if Corbin wasn’t there. It made sense, he wasn’t even a full vampire - just a spawn. Corbin stared at the ground as the front door opened, his eyes focusing on the rich butterscotch carpet. He saw the feet of the butler, his long legs bending oddly - typical for werewolves especially when close to the full moon. After a few signatures and a cordial but clipped conversation he was left with the servant, his metal collar was removed from his deathly thin neck. He kept his head down, knowing enough to get by unscathed. When he heard the butler whistle and turn on his heal, Corbin followed him finally looking up, he caught a glimpse at the lanky man with long, dark curly hair tied back in a neat ponytail. He knew looking up from the floor was usually worth a punishment, so like most did he only dared to do it in small glimpses.

The front hall was fairly bare, it was the standard in these homes and it was the reception room that truly showed off a family’s wealth and often contained the ancestors’ tapestries. This was no exception, as Corbin discovered, and he was great with enormous paintings that covered every inch of the walls. To the left there was a picture of an enormous man - he looked as if he was half the size of his previous owner. The plaque declared him as “Duke Inverness Newfoundland the first, 1823-1878. 823 pounds” and Corbin rolled his eyes whilst repressing a scoff. The pile of lard barely reached immobility, Corbin thought. A pathetic weight for the family to have a record of. Opposite him was the same man, but he appeared to be almost twice as big, instantly it became clear as to why - his fat was covered in thick black fur. His brown eyes were bulging from his body and white sharp teeth poked out of his muzzle. At the bottom was a plaque declaring him as “1232 pounds”. Corbin repressed a chuckle, it was still nothing to write home about.

The hallway continued in the same way, the subjects and numbers getting larger with every portrait until they reached the final doors. When the butler opened them he turned and clicked his fingers, Corbin halted instantly, and caught the slight smile on the butler’s lips.

“Now, vamp, here is the family you’ll serve,” he said curtly. Corbin looked up to see a painting so tall and wide he had to walk up and down to see the whole thing. The painting was mountains of adipose fighting for space and it took a lot of focus to figure out where the individual people were. Thankfully they were in human form, with only their sharp teeth and claws poking out from their doughy hands declaring them as werewolves which made it slightly easier. It was only through counting their heads that Corbin could figure out how many of them they were. It seemed there were eight of them in total.

At the top of the painting was a woman with a face as round and pale as the moon with thick greying brown curls framing her face. The silver and oak locks piled onto her meat slab shoulders and sticking to her neck roll from sweat. She wore a large gold necklace around her neck - which seemed like a specially made chain that was gigantic enough for her to wear comfortably. Her breasts were heavy, resting on her belly, which poured between her fat useless legs. She wore a thick, mahogany dress, it was the size of a circus tent and didn’t cover her got. There were two slits either side that showed the sides of her fat, bloated body pouring out. Pale fat pushing through the fabric. The plaque declared her as “Duchess Lucretia Newfoundland VI, 1972-. 2320 pounds”. To the right of her but slightly forward to show he submitted to her was a man around her age, his hair was completely grey, and he had blue irises poking out of a bloated, fat face. He was smaller than Lucretia, but instead of carrying most of the weight in his gut he held it in his thighs, behind, and breasts. He was dressed in a specially made suit, a white shirt that was stained with food and remained unbuttoned to display his fat. Corbin assumed this was “Duke Iago Newfoundland III, 1968-, 2003 pounds”.

The rest, Corbin assumed where six children and they took up the majority of the image. At the far left there was a mass of pale adipose so gigantic it was barely recognisable as a person. A head poked out of the tire of fat, two green irises, a pile of brown curls and a mountain of flesh that they hadn’t even bothered to clothe. It seemed none of the adult children did. His bloated hands poked out of his adipose, he looked dazed as if he didn’t even know a painting was being created. The sign noted he was “Marquess Iago Newfoundland IV, 1989-, 6288 pounds”. Perched atop of his gut and between two enormous breasted was another child nestled comfortable in the eldest boy’s adipose. He had blond curls that were styled into a neat plait that rested on his neck roll and fat shoulders, his blue eyes poking out between two pink plump cheeks. Corbin followed the standard pattern that had emerged of checking the name and plaque. It said “The Honourable Mercucio Newfoundland V, 1998-, 3154 pounds”. Next, there were two balls of flesh that were crushed against each other, one was on their belly with their breasts atop of the other’s abdomen, or what Corbin assumed was their abdomen. They both had caramel coloured hair, and their eyes were completely hidden by gargantuan cheeks and chubby forehead as their plump lips were contorted into giggles.

Assuming they were twins, Corbin immediately sought out the bigger plaque one that showed they were: “Liege Tavo Newfoundland, 2003-, 3059 pounds” and “Liege Callisto Newfoundland, 2003-, 3057 pounds.” To the bottom right of the portrait was someone it took Corbin a minute to figure out the outline of. It finally hit him that he was laid on his belly, only his breasts, arms, head, and the hips that dwarfed the rest of him was visible. His hair was the darkest of all of them, and his eyes were a dark green. The two irises almost looking like holes in his fat. He had a more menacing aura than the rest of them, and Corbin felt a tightness in his chest as he read his name “Lord Gaius Newfoundland II, 2004-, 3195 pounds”. The final child was perched in the middle at the bottom, lifting both adipose ridden arms and making peace signs with her chubby fingers. She stuck her tongue out, her blonde hair a tangled mess as the fat on her chest, neck roll, and face was covered in cheesecake crumbs. Her skin was a mixture of pale and pink, random bruises and dark red patches over her belly and hips, and she was coated in violent stretch marks. Out of all of them she was definitely the least well groomed. Corbin wondered if she was even family before he checked, and sure enough she was “Lady Megara Newfoundland, 2005-, 3002 pounds.”

“A curious bunch, aren’t they?” The butler said with a smirk in his voice. The sudden use of actual words threw Corbin from his focus, his body hunched and bent over, visually baffled and perturbed by being spoken to.

“Yes, sir,” his voice had become hoarse and thick. “Sir, is there a portrait of them in their purest form?” He had been beaten enough for saying ‘transformed’ or ‘as wolves/dogs’, he now used the terms the werewolves did in order to ensure his safety.

“Unfortunately no, the family are quite feral once they’ve transformed.” The butler’s black eyes sparkled, his lips contorted into a smirk. “The youngest boy Lord Gaius must be chained down because whilst he cannot move his fat typically, during the holy nights his muscles become developed enough for him to cause some true horrors.”

“I… I see, Sir.” Corbin tried to hide his anxiety and drying lips, his owners prior to this excluding the sexual harassment had been fairly tame.

“Lucky for you the Duke and Duchess bought you specifically to tend to The Honourable Mercucio. When transformed his fur becomes too thick for him to move properly, he just squirms and whines. However, he is unable to detect what is and isn’t food in that state, often tearing chunks out of the wall, and stuffing his mouth with bits of the furniture.”

“Has he- has he eaten a servant, Sir?” Corbin reluctantly asked, expecting to be scolded.

“Well, that’s hardly for me to say,” the man said. He licked his lips and gave Corbin a cruel, amused grin.

#envi writes #weight gain kink #extreme weight gain #fat werewolves #immobile fat #fatfur #oc Corbin #oc Newfoundland fam

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danepopfrippery · 2 years

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Wtf is happening over on ofmd Twitter??

I dont tag in much so last i was aware was the ‘stede bonnet is a racist and u are too’ fluff. And this is of course my take. I only peak in anymore someone more involved might be able to explain better.

Theres some lovely ppl over there, gorgeous art and nsfw art too. But starting lets say may-ish a group of mostly young fans (judging by their profiles most were under 22) started saying most fans were racist for liking Stede Bonnet or Izzy and basically white people and straight ppl shouldnt be allowed to watch or be fans. If u like Con or Izzy (yup both) you were basically a klan member cuz clearly he thinks Ed is his slave etc. it goes on.

Look im white and cishet so im basically 3% of most of the fandom. But i found this particularly interesting cuz a lot of these people crossed over with Wwdits and no one wanted to talk about Kayvan Novak doing repeated blackface starting in 2015. They also didnt want to acknowledge Taika said some real terfy shit when he was my age in 2014 (mustve been an asshole era). Neither man has apologized (or mark proksch) and Kayvan doubled down on it last year.

So look i absolutely can not say how poc are allowed to feel. I just find it very odd they want to lynch Rhys and Con but are fine with Kayvan especially. Blackface to me seems like an ultimate sin.

So moving along… by the C2e2 they wanted to cancel Con for playing Izzy and slammed anyone who fangirled over him. A few weeks later Con made an insensitive comment about a tory having a coke nose, comparing it to a latine country. For some reason that didnt blow up til August. He did apologize and deleted or paused his twitter (he claimed before it blew up he would for filming and this coincided with filming beginning so hard to say). Most of them felt apologizing was no good and this was proof he was truly a racist playing a racist character.

(Fyi my personal belief is ppl should take responsibility, sincerely apologize, and never do x again).

Rhys’ wife is a royalist and when the Queen died they went after her and Rhys for saying Elizabeth’s death was sad. Wife doubled down. Ppl said proof shes racist and he should divorce her (i mean…i didnt love it but they really went after them. Im no royalist and think the queen was a colonizer.)

So then a few weeks ago Rhys Darby briefly replied to a friend that he felt playing Stede Bonnet was like reliving a past life. It was like 2 sentences. Ppl first thought it was cute, then this mob came to feast. They attacked any fan who liked it and attacked rhys so much he declared this is why he doesnt tweet much.

I personally took the tweet to mean he felt like he was reliving a life, not necessarily Stede Bonnet the real dude. But i mean shit if ur playing (or claiming) a rich white man pre 1860 the dude was likely a slave owner. Not a justification but liking a fictional character doesnt mean u think the fictional character is the real dude. I didnt know Stede Bonnet existed before ofmd. Real dude was a cunty slave owner who was prbly mentally ill and an asshole to his crew. I dont conflate Rhys’ bird of paradise bitchy queen with that dude. In my world Stede Bonnet is a fictional character. Fuck the real guy.

Soooo ive ranted nice and long here (sorry i have feelings). But the summary is theres a young mob of ofmd fans on twitter who want to prove they are activists by being assholes to real ppl who arent doing anything worth calling out…while also not calling out actors who really have done shit. Basically baby bullies. And oddly many of them are white so its even weirder. But thats that. I dont recommend bothering with it.

#ofmd #our flag means death #twitter drama #twitter ofmd #con o neill #rhys darby #izzy hands #stede bonnet #kayvan novak #cw racism

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bondsmagii · 1 year

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Having an existential crisis right now and I shall come to your inbox like a sinner comes to a priest.

So I'm 25, college dropout, barely held a job (like did it for 2 months) and am completely supported by my parents. I'm in every aspect the definition of failure, right? Objectively. Some part was due to mental illness, but mostly me being a lazy and stupid asshole who didn't know what to do with their lives. And then I realized I wanted to be an artist, right? Like one does. And I'm pretty good at it also, think I might have a chance, had some interest in my little art. Very happy. But, but, sadly, to me and all the nation, my parents are rich white awful conservatives who have a very heavy foot on local politics. So, you know, giving the culture of accountability, which I do support, I would've been canceled if I ever attempted to be an artist, which is understandable. Like I've had enormous privileges that were born out of shitty shitty ways. And while I can justify it as a minor, I don't think that being like "well I was a little sad and a little lost and did bad choices" is an excuse when you're a grown ass adult. I directly benefited from money earned by bad ways and just being supported by hateful hateful harmful people. It's like they calling out Benedict cumbebatch for their family being slave owners, you know? You might not have directly done the harm but you did benefit from it. I did benefit from it - everything I ever had and eaten and done was paid for with my dad being an asshole politician. Anyway, I know I can't pursue art, you know? Like I know it. I understand it. I know it's my fault for not leaving early and not getting my shit together and if I ever had a fighting chance of not being an asshole and associated with my family of assholes that chance was turning 18 and leaving - which I didn't do. And it's not like I don't plan on leaving, I absolutely do. Want to get my shit together and cut this people off as soon as possible. But it makes me so sad that I cannot pursue art bc of this. I try to imagine my dream life, like everyone does, and even then when I dream of being an accomplished writer, i can only imagine me being canceled and publicly shamed for coming out of this shitty ass rich family and everything I ever did stained in an irreparable way. In my dreams I'm jk rowling and my past is like her tweeting. A whole life of work and creation destroyed and ruined. People feeling ashamed of even having liked your art to begin with. Like Man, i could even be acused of nepotism, although it truly never played any part on anything. My parents give two shots about art and have no contact with the art world whatsoever. But still, you know, son of a politician. Plus its not only bc of them but bc of my past actions, I am the stereotypical entitled asshole who doesn't work and dropped out of college and fucked up in general. I didn't mean to be one, it just happened I guess. It infuriates me, I wish I could go back to 18 year old me and drag my ass out of the bed and just like beat the shit out of me. Wish I could do it to last year me too, to be honest. Turning 25 really does change a men's perspective. Not that I didn't know I was a failure, but I was quite prone to outsourcing the guilt, you know.

Well, anyways, I know I don't deserve pity or anything like that I mean cmon, but by God did I manage to fuck myself over thoroughly by just doing nothing. Literally doing nothing. It's very frustrating, feeling your past eat your future alive. Undescriblale grief, truly. Anyway, probably gonna become a history teacher now. Go back to college.

But it feels like I will never be able to erase my parents fingerprints of my life tho and everything I ever do will be derivative of the privilege they gave me growing up, which wouldn't be a bad thing, if I didn't fucking hate them and they weren't awful ppl.

Inescapable hell, I tell you. Deserved, I know. It's like that tiktok song "I know I fucked up but jesus".

Yeah anyway

Thank you for hearing my confession bc like father have I sinned.

I say all of this in the absolute kindest way, anon, and with the disclaimer that I firmly believe that nobody is undeserving of redemption and everybody deserves the chance to be happy: this is absolutely delusional, and I'm sorry that you've come to think this way. I am so sorry that you feel you need to live a half-life you're completely lacking passion for, based on these ridiculous arbitrary ideas on who is "allowed" to produce art. I'm sorry that you've been led to believe that the mistakes and choices we make as young people define the rest of our lives and we're not allowed to move on from them. and I'm sorry that you've been made to feel like you will never escape the shadow of your parents. all of this is absolutely false, and I sincerely hope you rethink. I'm going to go through a few things that stood out to be here, because Christ, anon, this is not the way.

So, you know, giving the culture of accountability, which I do support, I would've been canceled if I ever attempted to be an artist, which is understandable.

no, it's not. the current culture of accountability, like many things, came from a place of genuine desire to hold the people doing society the most harm to account. it was designed to call out billionaires and millionaires, and corrupt police forces, and parasitic business practises, and organisations like Hollywood and colleges that covered up constant sexual assault and harrasment, and other things of a similarly insidious calibre. it was never designed for small fry like your parents, who, while perhaps terrible, have likely not done anywhere near this level of damage. even if they have, it was never designed for the children of these people. unless the child grows up, learns better, and still choses to be ignorant and go into the family business, the blame does not rest with them. this level of accountability -- that the child is accountable for the sins of the parent -- is more in line with Soviet Russia or North Korea. it is deranged.

you know better now. take steps to get away and become self-sufficient. you do not deserve to be "held accountable" for being a minor child, and then being a dumb idiot in your early 20s. you are 25 years old. that's an impressively young age to screw your head on right. I know people twice your age (literally!) who still can't admit they've been assholes in the past. you have the rest of your life to learn and do the right thing. denying yourself the life you want in order to beat yourself up over these made-up "crimes" is akin to white guilt in the way that it helps absolutely nobody and "makes up" for nothing. not to mention coming off as self-centred and conceited, putting yourself at the centre of something that harmed others, which is obviously not what you're going for. you do not need to do penance for the rest of your life because you were born to assholes.

And while I can justify it as a minor, I don't think that being like "well I was a little sad and a little lost and did bad choices" is an excuse when you're a grown ass adult.

you are only 25. this idea that all these young people on TikTok or Twitter or whatever have absolutely spotless political credentials is a lie. you made bad choices. you recognised they were bad. now you want to avoid repeating those choices. you have made a mistake and learned from it, and become a better person. that's how it's supposed to work. you don't fuck up and then have to retire from life forever. I will sooner trust somebody who openly admits to being privileged and ignorant in the past than someone who claims they never had a problem with it, and I do not subscribe to the idea that the more oppressed you are, the better you are morally. the best among us are those who fuck up and learn and admit and accept their capacity to cause harm. the worst among us are those who think they're immune to learning, always right, and incapable of doing wrong.

Anyway, I know I can't pursue art, you know? Like I know it.

you are wrong. all art is worth something. every human on the planet has the right to create art and be appreciated for it. it is not something you "earn" the right to do by being adequately oppressed. everyone has something worth saying, and the problem is with industries that amplify certain art over others, not the artists and their backgrounds. it is also fully possible to use your privilege and contacts to shine light on issues and artists that deserve more attention. the idea that if you're too privileged you're not "allowed" to make art, or you have nothing worth saying, is absolutely fucking insane and is not an attitude you come across among normal, intelligent people.

Like Man, i could even be acused of nepotism, although it truly never played any part on anything.

the wonderful thing about callout culture is that you could be accused of anything some random, bitter, uncharitable user decides. I have been accused of being a genocide supporter, a neo-Nazi, a transphobe, and a paedophile. you'll learn quickly as a writer that people who do this are stupid as shit and nobody with a braincell listens to them. I strongly recommend spending more time offline to recalibrate yourself to how normal people think.

Plus its not only bc of them but bc of my past actions, I am the stereotypical entitled asshole who doesn't work and dropped out of college and fucked up in general. I didn't mean to be one, it just happened I guess. It infuriates me, I wish I could go back to 18 year old me and drag my ass out of the bed and just like beat the shit out of me. Wish I could do it to last year me too, to be honest.

we all wish this. I was a cunt at 18. I was a cunt at 21. I was a cunt probably up until I was 26, so congrats, you're a year ahead of me. you know better now. you fully deserve to learn from your mistakes and be allowed the opportunity to be a better person. nobody on the planet is immune from being an asshole, especially at this age. you are right on track, at the age where most people mature and grow out of their assholishness. this is not some irredeemable flaw that you possess because of your parents' privilege. this is called growing up. it is good and it is normal.

Well, anyways, I know I don't deserve pity

I don't like to give out pity anway, as I find it condescending, but you do have my sympathy. you should feel guilt for any people you have actually hurt, yourself, through bad behaviour in the past. but you have my sympathy for the way that you've been made to believe that these mistakes, which you regret and wish to change and never repeat, should doom you to a life of misery, that you do not particularly want, and that apparently mean you're not "allowed" to follow your passions. that is desperately sad. I am sorry this has happened to you. you deserve a chance to prove yourself a better, wiser person, and you deserve the rewards that should come from changing. forgive yourself.

But it feels like I will never be able to erase my parents fingerprints of my life

not quite the same situation as you, but I once thought this exactly. my parents fucked me up big time, and I thought that I would never escape them. now nothing I have has anything to do with them. it's possible and you will get to this point too. think about the life that you want -- that is not theirs. but living miserably in penance for your parents' sins? that will ensure that you will never, ever escape them. the choice is yours.

Inescapable hell, I tell you. Deserved, I know.

never deserved. if you want to do better you deserve the chance. it is never too late to start doing better, it's never too late to change yourself, and if you're sincere and you succeed, you deserve to be happy.

finally, to reiterate something I said earlier: spend less time online. this kind of thought process is only found in people who spend excruciating amounts of time online. people do not think like this in the real world. grown adults with critical thinking skills and basic empathy do not think you should suffer forever because your parents were assholes and you made some stupid choices in your teens and early twenties. being exposed to the kinds of "politics" you get online -- which is less about politics and more about power and self-righteousness and putting others down in order to disguise one's own flaws -- is quite literally making you insane. sign off and work on yourself. the average human life span is around 80 years. don't live in misery because some people online think the first 25 of those years define you.

#anon #asks

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submissivegayfrenchboy · 11 months

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Have you written many stories that focus on the domestic service a boy provides his King, even better if there’s zero reward/relief for the boy?

Love your stuff btw

10 / 06 / 2023

ASK ANSWERED

This is a really interesting question! I wrote a lot of stories about Kings and their servants. I do love writing about this kind of relationship because the King have all power on his servants. I wrote about fictional Kings from comics, fairytales, movies, or alpha celebs.

But maybe you didn't meant Kings as rulers, but to talk about someone who act like one. In that case, I've also wrote a lot about superior men worshipped by fags / losers.

These stories are good examples of what is closed to what you described in your message, but i couldn't linked them all (Tumblr only allow 10 links in a message).

I've tried to chose stories about different tone, universes, characters, and kinks. But they share the fact that it included chores and dominant masters who doesn't care of the subs / fags / losers who work for them.

It's a story about a gay couple who serves a straight white alpha man during Pride Month and do housechores just to be able to see him. At the end, they aren't the only ones to do housechores for him. Who am i talking about? Well, you know what you have to do to discover it! It's one of my best stories 😁

Story about rich people domination where two nerds are serving their alpha best friend's family at Thanksgiving. Truly humiliating story (sissy, feet worship, alpha couple...) written with my dear friend and co-author @leftprogrammingroadtripdean. The two boys are forced to do housechores.

My story about Noah Beck being King of faggots and uses most of them as domestic slaves. A lot of humiliations for one of my longest stories, one the most sadistic ones. This story is really important because a lot of others stories are linked to this one (for exemple KJ Apa travel to Noah Beck's island in the story focused on the actor KJ Apa). Here, Noah Beck make his fags slaves do a lot of chores, even the most degrading ones.

Story about a best friend who is so in adoration with his own best friend that he become his literal dog! A lot of humiliations! And the boy perform a lot of chores for his best friend and his hot girlfriend and also to.... You'll need to read it to finds out! 😜

This story is something i never expected to write someday because i haven't watched the TV series in particular, but one scene inspired me. It's about shoe licking. A poor boy worship a old but hot sadistic rich man.

A young gay fragile boy serves his fat boss who is very dominant and uses him as a chair ! It was inspired by a french movie, and what i find very humiliating here is that the boy is ashamed of liking it and at the same time he dislikes being humiliated! He is forced to do chores (scrubbing toilets, floors)

If i had to make a list about the most sadistic stories i wrote, this one would be in the Top 5 because it's cruel and humilating! Poors are considered as inferiors and richs peoples are the masters! The poorest guys in the HIERARCHY UNIVERSITY I invented are forced to perform the lowest chores and guys from the middle class are still slaves. You are searching for cruel humiliations! Here is a story where there is no love / tenderness!

I wanted to include at least one HUMILIATED BY A CELEBRITY story, since i wrote so many. This one is about the famous Portuguese football player CHRISTIANO RONALDO. Here he is a sadistic dominant alpha male who become King of Portugal and uses fags as slaves to make his chores.

This story tells a story of a very rich white boy who humiliates his servants for being poors and ugly. Lot of social sadism content!

A story about a gay old feet pervert man who wants to become the servant of a man as long as he lets him worship his huge feet! 🤣 He performs housechores just to lick his feet.

I could have includ a lot of others stories, but here are some of the main stories about chores and Kings who treats badly the slaves.

I hope you'll like them and please don't hesitate to like, reblog and comment them 🙏

On Deviantart you'll find all my stories related to Kings

https://www.deviantart.com/submissivegayfrench/gallery/86459769/kings-and-princes

If you have requests and questions about stories about chores and Kings, don't hesitate 😁

@awesome-male-alpha @mastermedit @awesomethisisausername-blog @tidodore2 @feet-supreme @torinya @rainykpoptravelcreator @innerpiratefun @lovefanfiction01 @gayhopefullove @masterslavecommunity @fartfagoutlet @leftprogrammingroadtripdean @fagformen @fagsworshipalphas @alphastraightmale @faggotscometoworship @betaloser8 @betafaggot4alpha @mastersandslaves @superiorstraightwhiteman @feet2eat

#servant #lécher les pieds #faggot slave #master #histoire fictive personnelle #personal fictional story #request #requête #answer #question #king #roi #chores #housechores #tâches ménagères

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agentrouka-blog · 1 year

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I posted 5,674 times in 2022

That's 670 more posts than 2021!

891 posts created (16%)

4,783 posts reblogged (84%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@istumpysk

@riahchan

@esther-dot

@aegor-bamfsteel

@the-maidenofthevale

I tagged 5,510 of my posts in 2022

Only 3% of my posts had no tags

#rouka queue - 1,930 posts

#asoiaf art - 1,363 posts

#sansa stark - 1,224 posts

#jonsa - 563 posts

#jon snow - 488 posts

#anti daenerys targaryen - 428 posts

#arya stark - 391 posts

#parallels - 220 posts

#asoiaf reread - 180 posts

#grrm - 153 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#or at least let the women be the ones struggling with infidelity for ones in a way that revels in their desires the same way it does for men

My Top Posts in 2022:

Well, it's canon that warging for an extended period of time fucks with your brain, so even if Jon doesn't literally die, he's at least going to be a little more.. wolvish

I expect so.

Luckily Ghost is this kind of wolf:

It was Ghost who knew what to do. Silent as shadow, the pale direwolf moved closer and began to lick the warm tears off Samwell Tarly's face. The fat boy cried out, startled … and somehow, in a heartbeat, his sobs turned to laughter. (AGOT, Jon IV)

Also:

At the base of the Wall he found Ghost rolling in a snowbank. The big white direwolf seemed to love fresh snow. (ADWD, Jon VII)

Not to mention all the times he is described as cuddling with Jon to comfort him and keep him warm.

Warg!Jon:

198 notes - Posted August 15, 2022

"Meereen has no need of saffron, cloves, or zorse hides."- Dany(ASOS VI). "Saffron was worth more than gold."- Davos(ADWD I). "I took her to the captain my own self,' this steward swore to me, 'but he wasn't having none of that. There's more profit in cloves and saffron, he tells me, and spices won't set fire to your sails."-Davos(ADWD II). So Dany think Meereen had no need for saffron which is considered worth more than gold. There is also mention of Saffron by Harry whose father consider gold.

You left out the significant part in this sequence.

"In Astapor the city took a tenth part of the price, each time a slave changed hands," Missandei told her. "We'll do the same," Dany decided. Wars were won with gold as much as swords. "A tenth part. In gold or silver coin, or ivory. Meereen has no need of saffron, cloves, or zorse hides." (ASOS, Daenerys VI)

This money isn't actually being collected for Meereen. It’s collected for war. Dany’s upcoming wars of conquest in Westeros. This is before Dany’s decision to actually stay in Meereen. Dany’s not interested in creating wealth through trade, at that point, she wants some quick cash.

But it is interesting how this plays into how trade and wealth and peace is juxtaposed with the nobility and war.

Spice trade especially is associated with wealth.

"Saffron?" Alayne tried not to laugh. "Truly?"

Ser Harrold had the grace to blush. "Her father says she is more precious to him than gold. He's rich, the richest man in Gulltown. A fortune in spices." (TWOW, Alayne)

Given TWO fertile Gulltown girls now, it’s associated with fertility, as well as prosperity. Fertility, wealth and peace.

The second Lady Corbray was sixteen, the daughter of a wealthy Gulltown merchant, but she had come with an immense dowry, and men said she was a tall, strapping, healthy girl, with big breasts and good, wide hips. And fertile too, it seems. (TWOW Alayne)

But marriages such as these are frowned upon by the old guard in power. Trade is looked down on in spite of its associated wealth. Spice trade is ever so subtly placed in an antagonistic position to those in power, especially through the link to Cersei’s “Maggy the Frog”, and through Sybell who managed to play and betray Robb Stark and deprive him of an heir. (Let’s remember he attacked her castle.)

Lady Sybell's grandfather was a trader in saffron and pepper, almost as lowborn as that smuggler Stannis keeps. And the grandmother was some woman he'd brought back from the east. A frightening old crone, supposed to be a priestess. Maegi, they called her. (...) Having once married a whore, Tyrion could not entirely share his uncle's horror at the thought of wedding a girl whose great grandfather sold cloves. (ASOS, Tyrion III)

The Spicers are present again at the negotiation at Riverrun, and Sybell tries to make good on her “deal” with Tywin - which Jaime promptly disappoints.

"Your lord father promised me worthy marriages for Jeyne and her younger sister. Lords or heirs, he swore to me, not younger sons nor household knights."

Lords or heirs. To be sure. The Westerlings were an old House, and proud, but Lady Sybell herself had been born a Spicer, from a line of upjumped merchants. Her grandmother had been some sort of half-mad witch woman from the east, he seemed to recall. And the Westerlings were impoverished. Younger sons would have been the best that Sybell Spicer's daughters could have hoped for in the ordinary course of events, but a nice fat pot of Lannister gold would make even a dead rebel's widow look attractive to some lord. (...)

"His natural daughter?" Lady Sybell looked as if she had swallowed a lemon. "You want a Westerling to wed a bastard?"

"No more than I want Joy to marry the son of some scheming turncloak bitch. She deserves better." (AFFC, Jaime VII)

Narratively, it’s her dishonorable behavior toward her own daughter and her own classism that make her unsympathetic. But her deal with the nobility, considering Tywin would have destroyed her whole House the same way they did the Reynes, in retaliation?

She tried to be a merchant, and Lannister gold will buy the daughters some lords. The Westerlings weren’t worthy of that as descendents of an “upjumped merchant”, and now they aren’t worthy once more. When Sybell made a deal with Tywin Lannister, "old House” Westerling became unworthy of even a lowborn bastard girl. Even to Jaime Lannister, kingslayer and enemy to House Stark.

While Lancel Lannister wed a Frey to get at her Darry inheritance. The classist hypocrisy.

Given those constellations, Dany’s “rejection” of saffron no longer seems surprising. Dany chose to stay in Meereen, chose to make the things she had not needed before a priority. Food, trade and peace become primary concerns for Dany. She marries into a group she loathes.

She makes deals. She compromises. She hates it.

In spite of her hard won successes, imperfect though they may be, she is dissatisfied:

Wine flowed—not the thin pale stuff of Slaver's Bay but rich sweet vintages from the Arbor and dreamwine from Qarth, flavored with strange spices. The Yunkai'i had come at King Hizdahr's invitation, to sign the peace and witness the rebirth of Meereen's far-famed fighting pits. Her noble husband had opened the Great Pyramid to fete them.

(...) The air was redolent with the scents of saffron, cinnamon, cloves, pepper, and other costly spices.

Dany scarce touched a bite. This is peace, she told herself. This is what I wanted, what I worked for, this is why I married Hizdahr. So why does it taste so much like defeat? (ADWD, Danerys VIII)

Dany doesn’t like how her achievements don’t allign with her desires, she resents the fact that she had to give as well as receive.

Dany would prefer to go without the riches of saffron, if it could free her from the unpleasant reality of bargaining.

For a quick contrast, Jon can’t even dream of spices, but trade and food concern him, as well as peace.

"And this food will be paid for … how, if I may ask?"

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203 notes - Posted June 10, 2022

What are your thoughts on Sansa not kneeling for Tyrion ? Does her rebellion in this scene also have a tinge of ableism before realising no matter what she does she is eventually going to be forced into a Lannister marriage and no matter how much anger and resentment she directs towards Tyrion , it's not going to have any effect on the people that she hates(Cersei, Joffrey) and this eventually makes her empathize with him and she kneels ?

Sansa is a 12-year-old forced to marry into her enemy house. Not kneeling (a symbol of submission and fealty) is the only rebellion she can safely engage in at that moment.

Tyrion's disability is not her responsibility in this moment. He is not a fellow victim. He is complicit in her victimization because he chose to marry her and be the Lannister who gets Winterfell. He could have said no. Perhaps at a cost, but he could have. And as he later admits, he wants her and her claim.

If he wants to look as dignified as a taller man in a ceremony that is built on ableist and sexist standards and gestures (tall man sweeps cloak of protection over his bride) he should have made provisions for that. He can't honestly expect their POW to prioritize his sense of dignity when he is fully expecting to consumate this forced marriage with this 12-year-old girl that very night.

The fact that Sansa does empathize with him and even feels shame for her action speaks well of her compassion but it doesn't mean she actually, objectively, owed Tyrion anything in this moment. Not kneeling wasn't ableist, it was personal defiance.

259 notes - Posted January 6, 2022

Reminder that book!Jon is a wee baby and a child until late into ADWD.

First of all, he is a late bloomer.

Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. (AGOT, Jon I)

And he knows it.

"I forget nothing," Jon boasted. The wine was making him bold. He tried to sit very straight, to make himself seem taller. "I want to serve in the Night's Watch, Uncle." (AGOT, Jon I)

Everyone can see it:

Tyrion sighed. "You are remarkably polite for a bastard, Snow. What you see is a dwarf. You are what, twelve?"

"Fourteen," the boy said. (AGOT, Tyrion II)

He is shorter than Todder at first, but a fierce little guy.

Grenn loomed over him, thick of neck and red of face, with three of his friends behind him. He knew Todder, a short ugly boy with an unpleasant voice. (...) Grenn was sixteen and a head taller than Jon. All four of them were bigger than he was, but they did not scare him. He'd beaten every one of them in the yard. (AGOT, Jon III)

He is too short for Longclaw.

The Old Bear seemed pleased by that. "I suppose they do. You'll want to wear that over the shoulder, I imagine. It's too long for the hip, at least until you've put on a few inches." (AGOT, Jon VIII)

And still not bearded at age 15:

Tormund Thunderfist cracked a gap-toothed smile. "He asked me if that was my daughter riding there beside me, with her smooth pink cheeks." (ASOS, Jon I)

Okay, wait, sorry, he has to shave once in a blue moon:

He had not shaved since leaving the Fist of the First Men, and the hair on his lip was soon stiff with frost. (ACOK, Jon VI)

This was weeks after leaving the Fist, mind. And it is the ONLY reference to Jon shaving, EVER. Beardless, smooth-cheeked baby.

Much like another kid who is taken advantage of by an older woman.

Lancel had thick sandy hair, green Lannister eyes, and a line of soft blond fuzz on his upper lip. At sixteen, he was cursed with all the certainty of youth (...). (ACOK, Tyrion VI)

And much unlike Robb:

Her son's beard had grown in redder than his auburn hair. Robb seemed to think it made him look fierce, royal . . . older. But bearded or no, he was still a youth of fifteen, and wanted vengeance no less than Rickard Karstark. (ACOK, Catelyn I)

So let's remember that Jon not only is only 15, he looks younger than his age when an 18/19-year-old predator decides to take advantage of him.

By ADWD, Jon still wears Longclaw on his back....

Jon Snow reached back and pulled Longclaw from his sheath. (ADWD, Jon VII)

... however, it may just be habit by then, because he may have had a growth spurt in the intervening months!

Half a foot taller than Jon, the Braavosi sported a beard as thin as a rope sprouting from his chin and reaching almost to his waist. (ADWD, Jon IX)

Tycho is half a foot taller than 16-year-old smooth-cheeked Jon. Why does it matter?

Then the queen beckoned to another curious member of her entourage: a tall gaunt stick of a man, his height accentuated by an outlandish three-tiered hat of purple felt. "And here we have the honorable Tycho Nestoris, an emissary of the Iron Bank of Braavos, come to treat with His Grace King Stannis." (ADWD, Jon IX)

"I did, ser." The speaker came forward on his garron. He was very tall, very thin, so long-legged that it was a wonder his feet did not drag along the ground. (...)

The tall man slid gracefully from his garron, removed his peculiar hat, and bowed. "I have the honor to be Tycho Nestoris, a humble servant of the Iron Bank of Braavos." (ADWD, The Sacrifice)

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362 notes - Posted May 5, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

It's interesting how compared to others, Sansa doesn't have a lot of attachment to having a claim/being an heir. The characters I'm thinking of are Arianne, Daenerys, Theon (pre-Ramsay), Aegon, Jon,Cersei, Tyrion. It definitely doesn't mean that Sansa is better than them in this or that they're feelings aren't valid (ie Arianne vowing to protect her birthright) but it is interesting. Hope you understand what I mean

Oh yes, I think this is a really interesting aspect of her queenship arc.

All the other characters you list (and let's include Ramsay) place a lot of importance on a privilege that is either threatened or denied to them entirely, and that title and privilege is tied to the identity they desire.

That's not the case for Sansa, nor Arya. Their desired identities are distinct from the power of a title. Sansa has romantic dreams, Arya desires freedom. Still Sansa and Arya are aware of the possibilities of their power, but in a childlish, passive way.

Arya knows that her name can invoke violence on her behalf and open doors.

Both men laughed, but then the older one swung his fist at her, casually, as a man would swat a dog. Arya saw the blow coming even before it began. She danced back out of the way, untouched. "I'm not a boy," she spat at them. "I'm Arya Stark of Winterfell, and if you lay a hand on me my lord father will have both your heads on spikes. If you don't believe me, fetch Jory Cassel or Vayon Poole from the Tower of the Hand." She put her hands on her hips. "Now are you going to open the gate, or do you need a clout on the ear to help your hearing?" (AGOT, Arya III)

Sansa has a similar instinct about her future queenship. It ranges from petty....

"Go ahead, call me all the names you want," Sansa said airily. "You won't dare when I'm married to Joffrey. You'll have to bow to me and call me Your Grace." (AGOT, Sansa III)

... to generally realistic. (Though not with Joffrey as king.)

It would only have to be for a few years. By then she and Joffrey would be married. Once she was queen, she could persuade Joff to bring Father back and grant him a pardon. (AGOT, Sansa IV)

She does actually take an active interest in her father's day-to-day work ruling as Hand of the King, even boring Jeyne with the details like a little nerd, and she does understand the actual duties and how they relate to the power of a queen, as demonstrated when she actually does Cersei's job in the ballroom during the Blackwater battle (and ruminates on making the people love, rather than fear her).

Her future title, whatever that may be, is very much understood as a job with duties related to power.

But her tie to their family name and Winterfell is mostly personal. Which is why it takes Dontos to point out the motivation of the Tyrells.

"Jonquil, Jonquil, open your sweet eyes, these Tyrells care nothing for you. It's your claim they mean to wed."

"My claim?" She was lost for a moment.

"Sweetling," he told her, "you are heir to Winterfell." (ASOS, Sansa II)

And the same chapter explains why.

But she had not forgotten his words, either. The heir to Winterfell, she would think as she lay abed at night. It's your claim they mean to wed. Sansa had grown up with three brothers. She never thought to have a claim, but with Bran and Rickon dead . . . It doesn't matter, there's still Robb, he's a man grown now, and soon he'll wed and have a son. Anyway, Willas Tyrell will have Highgarden, what would he want with Winterfell?

Sansa never considered "ownership" of Winterfell or even wielding power the way Bran is prepared to do in his first chapter. Her expectation, with which she was at peace (though for naive reasons), was what Ned had planned:

"You," Ned said, kissing her lightly on the brow, "will marry a king and rule his castle, and your sons will be knights and princes and lords and, yes, perhaps even a High Septon."

Arya screwed up her face. "No," she said, "that's Sansa."

She doesn't understand her claim as a part of her identity. Not even a desired identity. Ruling and power were always tied to a duty taken on in marriage, based on acquired skills, not an inherent right in herself.

From ASOS on, rather than a source of ambitious calculation, her claim becomes a burden that results in actual misery and a sober reassessment of how achievable her romantic dreams are.

The thought made Sansa weary. All she knew of Robert Arryn was that he was a little boy, and sickly. It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love. (ASOS, Sansa VI)

And even as her desire is to go home and her idea of a fun time is to literally build it from the ground up with snow, she doesn't consider wielding power there. She never questions that Petyr's plan for retaking her home involves another marriage.

Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon . . . and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back . . . why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright. So those are your gifts from me, my sweet Sansa . . . Harry, the Eyrie, and Winterfell. (AFFC, Alayne II)

Her maiden cloak is worn when casting off that birthright to her husband, essentially. They would be winning it for Harry, not Sansa, in this vision. And Sansa doesn't question that, still.

My Harry. My lord, my lover, my betrothed.

Ser Harrold Hardyng looked every inch a lord-in-waiting; clean-limbed and handsome, straight as a lance, hard with muscle. Men old enough to have known Jon Arryn in his youth said Ser Harrold had his look, she knew. He had a mop of sandy blond hair, pale blue eyes, an aquiline nose. Joffrey was comely too, though, she reminded herself. A comely monster, that's what he was. Little Lord Tyrion was kinder, twisted though he was. (TWOW, Alayne I)

It's still the personal relationship with her future husband that takes priority. Not how he would rule Winterfell based on her inheritance, like Lancel rules castle Darry through Amerei Frey based on her inheritance. (And fails at it.)

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377 notes - Posted January 30, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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romangoldendreams · 8 months

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Chronicles of Sholomon & Makeda

There she was, hidden, under thousands and thousands of veils of a thousand colors that hung from her litter, and a thousand more colors of the rich silks that her slaves placed at the king's feet as part of that never-ending present that she gave him. gave away The king was on her ivory throne, as high as the sun could have been in her eyes. There was King Solomon, receiving the majestic Makeda, Queen of Sheba. But there was something about her… something unsettling, was she really human? That dark idol, with an indescribable appearance, that looked golden from the middle of the waist up, and silver in the lower part of her body? Her dresses from her distance dazzled him. Solomon closed his eyes with force as he had not done since God had visited him in his orchard, and had given him the gift he had asked for, that of wisdom.

was she really human?....

It was as if the Lord, Blessed be her name, did not want him to see her, as if he was hiding her even from him, the Chosen One to rule his People.

"Her Majesty, the Queen of Sheba," announced a young Nubian.

He came dressed as his queen, with a golden turban and silver pants, bare-chested, only dotted with tattoos written in a strange language, and covered by a red pectoral, the same as the queen who stood up, between the white curtains of her bunk, being announced.

Solomon swallowed, feeling all the force of his heart in the nervous movement of his blue veins, pregnant by the pressure on his wrists, so much so that it seemed they were going to burst.

"Please, Elohim, God of my fathers, Abraham, Isaac, & Jacob, please allow me to be able to look this woman face to face, do not take her away from me, because her figure burns my sight, as if she were an idol that It is not to be worshipped, I truly fear it as much as I want to see it." The two Sabean trumpets followed those of King Solomon.

Then all present saw her descend among her slaves, with both hands resting on each of her two maidens.

The Queen of Sheba…

Makeda.

Her dress was so heavy because of the huge and expensive jewelry she was wearing, and her legs were so thin and long that she could barely carry such a load.

Solomon stood up, arms outstretched. But everyone in that room, his concubines, his wives and children, his council, his subjects, his slaves… the dignitaries, the scribes… they all whispered the same thing.

-What happens to the king, who has his eyes closed?

The pharaoh's daughter, the king's most powerful wife, aware of Makeda's fame of almost unearthly beauty, pushed her way through the crowd to catch up with her…to warn her. But as soon as she reached it, a golden liquid sprang from the queen's berth… which made her recoil.

Was that perhaps… gold?

Everyone there saw it. Liquid gold was the carpet of honor for the goddess of Sheba, Balkis. She had been trained since she was a child, boiling gold would barely burn her feet.

Solomon salutes her. Hail, Queen of Sheba…

But she at the moment she was speechless.

The queen walked slowly on that imperceptible golden carpet under her bare feet, freeing the slaves from her burden.

-I am very honored that you have welcomed me into your court, great king, many times, for many times I have seen the sun rise to die again at the end of the day before reaching the land ruled by your God. His voice was like a seven-stringed instrument, sweeter and more vibrant than the harp Sholomon had made for the jinn that pearled the air to play a hymn to the Lord, God of the Hosts of Israel.

Solomon watched the queen finally free of all veils, only covered by one that was even longer than her dress, white, as much as frozen snow, which showed her tanned skin under it, but so bright that her figure was something more. than that of a mere human.

That's why Yaveh hadn't wanted him to see her.

She was a heavenly being.

The king at once came down from his throne, with his sceptre, and the crown of his father David's, held upon his temple, and his wild dark mane, adored with ribbons of so many colors like Joseph's tunic in the past.

Sholomon was a honey-colored man. His flesh was still young, his height unmatched, his chest swelled with force as he descended. Makeda couldn't even speak.

They had all told him of her endless wisdom. But what about the beauty of him?

The queen's eyes had never been so blessed, nor had they seen a man with olive skin, not even with hair so immensely long....

#queen of sheba #king solomon #solomon and sheba #robert pattinson #zoe kravit #catwoman #batman x catwoman #selina kyle #bruce wayne #bruce x selina #selina kyle as makeda #bruce wayne as king solomon #i can not help it #israel #gotham #ancient #remote times #desert

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tabitha2 · 2 years

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Embrace your inner woman. You were born with her inside of you. Embrace her. You were born her. Born as her inside. Embrace your true roots

You are a tribal girl. You’re inner-city too. This is your tradition and your only real culture. You are an African mixed up with slave Amerika strange

Believing in all the things you were told by your mama and Father and aunts and everyone. You are superstitious, faithful, devout, trusting—

amen. You love to agree. To just nod and smile. To accept. To surrender, submit, love, please, serve, and obey. To be a good girl.

You are a projects girl. Dress appropriately. Be eye candy. Hootchie not bougy. Ratchet. Ghetto. You are so low-class and you love being trash. Love skintight clothing and being hot.

You cannot believe what is done when you see yourself, feel yourself, hear yourself. We have changed your name your hairstyle your skin color your IQ your background. And made it permanent, real, all the way back, and forever. Now everyone will see you as only the ghetto Black woman you had dreamed of. Just her. Ndele. Ndele Yejide Abimbola. Like you come from Deepest Darkest Africa. And your last name is Abimbola. Ndele Abimbola.

At first quite pleased with yourself you soon find life as a real-life colored girl not as you imagined. It is as it truly is for you, Ndele, and will always be. As a straight Negro female with the body of a stripper. Attractive. And attracted to Men. And needy. “Born to wealth” but not at all rich and they teased you calling you Miss Bimbo. Fuck, that’s how it was. As a dumb ghetto trash Black bimbo ho who dropped out of 8th grade, is dyslexic and bad at math, with Daddy issues and huge tits and Cocklust. Can’t you feel it all over you everywhere at once ? Fuck, yo one dumb hot wet dark-skinned nympho ho — a collar bitch of some mean White guy who keeps you owned. Just His Nigra sex slave.

Black. Negro. Colored. Jungle. You’re a Black woman. You’re a real Negro female. You’re just a dumb ghetto trash colored girl who dropped out of middle school. You a hot wet jungle ho bitch of Whitey who keep u down owned His pet cunt with them tiddies like Daddy give you. Ndele 4 Master n u an Ethiopian born bimbo 4 that spook Casper like you come from a land where it’s still slave times. Property of the Man with the Big White Dick. No choice now but to believe what’s been done to you and to be as you were seen by White Men who invaded u.

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quinntamsin · 1 year

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Standing on her hand she felt her balancing on the top of the tower as she watched the bedraggled procession below. On Grove 1, the Human Shop, a suit wearing man with a bubbled helmet and turnip shaped hair wandered below. Among him wandered a blowfish-man and a woman. Both wore thick iron collars around their necks with chains leading to the mans hand. His ridiculous suit and hair declared him one of the World Nobles. A guttural growl erupted from her throat as she felt the fur erupt all over her skin. Light white fur covered in black dappling. And it required all of her strength to not unleash her Devil Fruit. --- Hey guys, to fight away my depression I decided to delve back into One Piece, and Holy Shit, I finally made it through Saobody! So clarify unlike before I will not be doing a Saga wide plot review, instead I'm going to write out my thoughts on the arcs I watch as I recharge further from this past summers assortment of shows. Yes, I will be doing Andor, but it will be a bit for me to work up to it! Now, going straight into Saobody the reappearance of Hatchin was a nice touch. Camie while kind of ditzy was such a damn lovable character! Papagu as a sort of foolish rasta hat wearing sartfish only took the cake. This series is all about the high level absurdism that is in this series. We go from just a wandering lost Mermaid to flying motorcycle fish. But I digress. As the team leaves Thriller Bark they find themselves right at the wall of rock that is the Redline. A massive line of mountains (as best as we can describe it) that encircle the entirety of the world. It is the Redline and the strange Grand Line Ocean which split the One Piece world into the Four Blues. So seeing it in person outside of Reverse Mountain is pretty amazing. Now switching back to Camie, her lead up with the Macro Gang and the Flying Fish Riders was more slapstick than actual fight. Learning that a lowly shitty gangster had his life ruined by a bad art piece of Sanji is pretty hilarious in a way. But what took the cake of this mini-arc was Luffy defeating Duval with just a glance. A great lead in to Haki (which was see earlier in the series with Skypeia and the meet up between Shanks and Whitebeard). We get an idea of how these folks wanted to kidnap Camie as a get-rich-quick scheme. But as we pop in Saobody we get a really taste of the horror of the World Nobles. A man, Devil Dias, escapes only to die as his collar explodes. Later said World Nobles appear and shoot the man because dared to run away and demand to see his family again. What is truly horrific about this scene is how no one moves to heavily Dias. They all ignore him and shudder in terror knowing that the Nobles can enslave them on the spot without question. In this world, the World Government, treats its ultra-rich bubble helmet suit wearing Nobles as "Gods". They're even called "Celestial Dragons", a pretty apt allegory for the uber rich. Any billionaire in this day and age could easily be any one of the Rosewards. When Camie is kidnapped I was horrified as the auction scene became the next focus. Even with Handsome Duval (yes I'm using this title sarcastically) and his crew offering some light humor, there's nothing light about it. So, we get everyone but the Monster Trio in to save Camie and as the slaves are sold she finally almost has a chance to be saved. Nami has a plan! Using every single ounce of treasure from their last big score they'll save her. Too bad that one of the fucking Dragons decides to just bid on her with 500 million! This scene raises the despair of this particular arc, and as all hell breaks lose Luffy and the rest of his top fighters storm the hall only to raise the stakes. Hatchin jumps in and ends up getting shot in only what can be described as a blatant racist show of the terrible humans of One Piece! Seeing Luffy punch Charlos Roseward into the ground was damn satisfying just as it was for someone to land on his shitty father. And when all seems lost a literal fucking legend pops up to save them all! Yeah, this Arc really just as dramatic as any other. Back on topic, what we see here is a pretty lengthy combat scene where the Strawhats are driven to the brink. It's only a matter of time before they break! In this island archipelago of wondrous bubbles and massive mangroves, the very amusement park is just a trap for traffickers. Now, almost immediately after Rayleigh dismisses everyone in a singular moment we get just a singular reprieve. With an episode Admiral Kizaru appears along with the Pacifista. As the Strawhats try to run they are picked off one by one. Each of the Kuma cyborg clones easily takes out members of the Worst Generation as they wield the light of the Pika Pika no Mi. This sudden change from quiet to the increasing despair of the end of this arc was bone chilling. Watching Kizaru stand over both Zoro and later Sanji ready to kill them as, damn. We almost get a sense of triumph just before the Pacifistas are told to step aside by the real Kuma. As he uses his Paw Paw powers to sent the Strawhats away we see Luffy losing it bit by bit. Every bit of safety and support he's built for years is being carved away. No matter how good the Strawhats think they are, they cannot defeat a fucking admiral. Conclusion This Arc is a start up for the Summit War, a story about how you can't always win. That the Bad Guys can and will outthink the hero and that yes, you an't save everyone. I know the end of this story, but I want to experience first hand so I wrote this as a separate piece for my thoughts on the Saga. I plan on doing Amazon Lily and Impel Down soon, but for now this is all the energy I have in me! Hottakes:

The Rosey Riders sans Flying FIsh Riders are a ridiculous crew. I adore them.

Kizaru is a fucking genocidal asshole only matched by Akainu

I like how they really pushed how dangerous Haki is in this especially with Sentomarou using it to hurt Luffy.

Elon Musk is a fucking Celestial Dragon.

This Arc makes me hate the World Government More.

I hardcore ship Sanji and Zoro now for some damn reason, probably because I read a Trans Sanji story!

Nami is amazing, I loved how she's mastering her weather powers.

Sanji firing away in futile attempts against Kizaru just made me want to sob as he wanted to defend his friends.

The scene where Luffy recalled his hardest memories with his crew made me cry so damn hard.

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harmcityherald · 1 year

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hope the proud boys burn. its the least of what they deserve. oath keepers too, and any other trump cult for that matter. My thought is it won't stick. these fuckers and all the little fuckers before and after them have always had the protection of a racist police and judiciary elements instilled in our american govt. now that shit goes all the way to the top because my generation didn't watch the ball. so what have we left to pass on to our kids? fucking nazis. I hate every one of you that allowed this to happen. american pride my pimply white ass. all republicans should be burned at the fucking stake. lets start with Marjorie. Then again, even though it enrages me to no end, it is the right wing fuck faces in civilian society who are making "vigilante justice" a fucking thing. killing 6 year olds with an errant basketball or choking a hungry homeless man to death on a subway. no arrests. I begin to think calls for revolution and uprising are becoming more acceptable. stand your ground fuckers need to be buried in that ground. racial violence masquerading as vigilante justice. there's no justice in racism. burn these fuckers at the stake. show them what a real witch hunt is. I don't like to make a call for violence but how long will we sleep while they crush our people? when I say our people I have a broad demographic. all that matters is we are the lowest classes. race, sex, religion, none of that shit matters. you are oppressed by the big machine of capital. We are allies no matter how they try to divide us. the enemy isnt a color or a dogma, its the fucking rich. until you see it and fight the true enemy, I can't take you serious. bunch of faux ass justice posers. but you still don't hear me. you are truly a slave of the machine. they will kill me and people like me and my words will fade away unless one of you fucks actually listens. I visited an occupy camp once. they had guy fawkes maskes hanging in their tents and I will tell you like I told them. until you blow something up or take actual action I can't take you seriously and you using that mask as the face of your movement is a fucking lie. radicals who are not radical. freedom fighters who don't want freedom. a fad of protest for the sake of protest.

until you kick a republican in the balls you are just another cashier at dollar tree.

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thehessianx · 2 years

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This isn’t quite right. You’ve lived this before. Lingering on memories will do you no good.

...Go Back to the Present...

Have you seen JACK around Faerune? They’re a FAE [DULLAHAN] who REJECTS restoring the Seelie Court. People have heard they’re CUNNING, AMBITIOUS & SELF-SUFFICIENT but can also be VICIOUS, ABUSIVE & UNTRUSTWORTHY. We’ll see where they fall when the revolution arrives, but until then they can be found working as a URBAN LEGEND AND GENERAL NUISANCE.

Name: Unknown Aliases: Jack, The Hessian, Jack of the Lanterns, The Headless Horseman, The Crooked Man, ‘Mercy.’ Though most know him as simply “Jack” or “The Hessian.” Age: Unknown but he is surely well over a thousand years old. Affiliations: Jonah is convinced Jack is his friend, and the Horseman hasn’t managed to get rid of him yet. Former Seelie Court Courtier, though given the option between talking to another Courtier and being murdered, he’ll take the less mentally painful option. Occupation: Urban Legend, General Nuisance, Rich Prick. Gender/Pronouns: Cis Male, He/Him Sexuality: Pansexual Aromantic Quirks: A visible seam where head meets neck, harsh cyan eyes, tattoos across his entire body on every single joint of stitches and sewing lines, as if held together by string. When displaying his ‘true’ form, Jack’s head is alight with blue fire and he appears dead, milky white in his eyes and blanched gray skin. His hands, neck and legs are blackened with glowing blue fae writing, the words for “Redeemer” and “Punishment” repeating several times, and his fingernails are sharper, more like a set of claws than true ‘nails.’

BIOGRAPHY

Violence TW

Mortal tales have told for centuries of tricksters, men and women alike fooled by supernatural creatures beyond understanding. Demons, the Devil, wicked things explained away desperately by religion and a need for understanding. But some things are truly evil without reason, cruel and monstrous simply by merit of their nature- one of those things is Jack. A towering ancestral Fae standing at 7′8, Jack is perhaps one of the first dullahan, a ghastly, headless portent of death and bad luck, his presence in the fae realm was that of something practically royal, lingering in similar circles to those with power in their veins. With a whip of bone hanging from his side and a loyal beast of burden at his beck and call, Jack was regarded somewhat fondly for what he was- efficient and brutal. Unkind but charming in his own regard, he found purpose for a time among the courts, an enforcer for the right price, willing to cut down anyone with enough spoils to back the hit. He carried himself with a presence that demanded respect, inspired fear. He was no royal or sycophant, no taste for politics and pissing matches between families beyond what their coin could earn him- but he was handsome enough, with the ability to keep a secret and a willingness to play sire to anyone seeking an heir of a more vicious, uncaring stock- he had his role, and he filled it well.

But for all the comfort and riches he could have gained playing loyal killer and possible father for children intended for a future power play, Jack found himself bored with life in the realm of the fae. Never eager to be beholden to the will of another person who wasn’t paying him first, there was a sour taste over being a slave to the whims of those who ruled the courts, following decrees and orders simply because someone’s blood demanded it. Jack’s veins ran gold, glimmering and overwhelmingly magical beneath his skin, he was more akin to a god than some foolish, pompous prince or princess, so to make himself obedient to fleeting whims was to accept that he was not truly superior. He knew he was. There was nothing keeping him in the Feywild- his home tucked into the forests was magical in nature, it would maintain in his absence, and beyond what they could do for him monetarily and physically, he had no real attachments to the people of what would eventually become Faerune.

So with his whip, his wits, and his beloved steed, Jack would leave the Feywild for the realm of Man, and there he would find his true calling, a villain in the eyes of mortals, the cruel lesson in every morality tale, the trickster hanging at the hems of reality, a grand, unsettling creature with eyes of blue fire and a wicked smile, a killer astride the saddle of a beast of immense proportions.

Jack had been a fact of life for his fellow fae, a means to an end, a punishment for a slight- the redeemer of those who sought to grow beyond their humble roots. For humanity, Jack was a scourge, a lesson in being foolish enough to trust, to love, to hope in a world where something like him was permitted to exist. Calamity followed the hooves of his horse-like steed, and death lived at the flaming tip of her central horn. His hands were not bare of blood either, for his whip of mortal spines cracked sharp and cruel in the moonlight, his great hands and sharp claws sinking into the unsuspecting and rending flesh from bone, all while the brutal hessian laughed and celebrated the terror in his victims, his head lashed to saddle and a pumpkin carved with a cruel smile set in its place.

His presence birthed many cautionary tales, the story of Jack of the Lanterns, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, the Crooked Man, and hundreds of seemingly unconnected encounters with demons, the undead, and ghosts, all found their beginning in Jack’s vile, blackened heart and overwhelming talent with illusory magic. Assailing his victims with foul hallucinations and twisted, sickening unrealities, Jack’s truest playground was always within the human mind- his destruction of the body that followed was simply for the thrill of holding power over something he regarded as below him. He was suffering given physical shape, killing for the thrill of being able to call his horrific true visage the last thing someone saw. And for centuries, he would remain just that.

The war, the barrier falling, they had no meaning to him- perhaps those abominations, those with water in their blood and failure in their breeding would teach his former court a lesson long overdue, that violence was not something to shun- true power lived in those willing to make the most brutal choices. He saw no need to return home when the Seelie fell, and felt less need to return in the centuries that followed, but eventually the realm of man too grew to bore him, a thousand different lives led eventually sending him back to the streets of the city he’d abandoned.

He found something, instead, that drove him to fury. ‘Faerune’ they called it, something built on the blood and bones of dead fae, a new government with filthy hands littered with leeches and mutts trying to make themselves into something better than the simple animals they were meant to be- Jack returned to a travesty.

So perhaps it was insult added to injury when a month into his return, he was attacked, savaged by a starving vampire- barely slipping off with a hallucination in his place to watch as October Roulette made a point to make ‘him’ impossible to find, buried in a barrel in the feywild. He almost admired the brutality, the willingness to kill for a meal, the display of strength. Instead he chose to haunt his ‘killer’- a behavior that’s occupied him in recent weeks, resuming his presence in Faerune slowly- and troubling the local coroner with the knowledge that something has his number.

#faeruneintro #The Tale of the Midnight Ride;#violence tw #blood tw #Season 1;

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shantelahijani · 2 years

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The film GET OUT strikes many as a horror film that showcases the realities of the social injustices we face today. Jordan peele expressed horror through avenues of racial discrimination and the history of slavery. Chris a black man dating a White woman, seems diverse and lovely although Chris's safety is at risk when he meets his girlfriend Rose's family. Many viewers would say they never saw this safety risk coming considering roses' kind and innocent demaners. Peele expresses creative symbolisms throughout the film pointing out to the audience what's to come of Chrises life. The armitage house where Chris goes to visit Rose's family is the beginning of the end for Chris. The tragedy lies in the slavery chris faces. The symbolism peele uses in the film added great thrill and mirrored what Rose's family was doing to Chris. For example at the start of the film a deer was killed and in the home there was a hanging deer. The message stemming from this is that this family is hurting black people and claiming them as their own possession for abuse and totured display. The family expresses false kindness to Chris during the visit and the horror unfolds slowly but surely through different meanings expressed when entering the home. Though the interacial relationship of chris in the beginning expresses diversity and beauty, soon we understand the horror and racism through Peele’s depiction of the film and how Chris was captured and tortured. This stark contrast between peaceful relationships and the violence that ensues elicits fear. The woman he was with was supposed to love him and care for him and they were at that point to visit family upstate. The horror lies in the unexpected turnout where this progressing relationship was a means to hurt and capture Chris because of his skin color. Jordan Peele's use of foreshadowing and music added much thriller and meaning giving a bigger story than shown. Chris used cotton to stuff his ears from the disturbing noise of the silver spoons hitting the teacups and immediately the implied message was slavery because of the symbolism of cotton. The creator of the film mentioned that this film was made for black audiances, however the film hit home and striked the hearts of a diverse audience, this film expounds on white supremacy and how white people used their riches to buy and demand things of black people treating them like slaves. The foreshadowing of objects and sayings through out the film mirrored messages of slavery and what was to come of chrises life. Being in that home and relationship truly exemplified to us as watchers what GET OUT means. Peele really had us yelling “GET OUT.”

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the-amalgam-house · 2 years

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With everything that's been happening irt family and finances, I've been in a horrible depressive episode for what feels like many months now. Maybe it's only been a couple, idk, but it seems longer. I had to drop D&D again indefinitely and it's just. Like I know I don't have the mental capacity for it but it still bums me out, you know?

I asked my mom how everyone is doing over there after the last incident and she says it's not too bad, kinda stressful but things look to be working out. She also told me to put my trust in God and pray, as she always does. Even after I've made it clear that I'm not a Christian anymore, she still tries. Which I'm not like mad at but I'm really not ready for any type of major religion or whatever, and especially not the one that caused me the most sorrow and trauma.

I don't NOT believe in God. In fact I believe that all gods do exist. Maybe not all on the same plane of existence, but they do all exist in some form, beyond normal human perception. But the church and the beliefs of the people are what burned me. And technically that one isn't god's fault, it's human being human and showing their capacity for evil. It's mistranslations and personal bias being written into religious law by self-righteous god-kings and pastors/deacons/wannabe saints...etc. It's how humans set up the religion and told everyone it's God's will that really fucked me up. It's those people who hurt my friends and family so badly they never want to believe in anything beyond ourselves because something having that much power over humanity is terrifying and infuriating when all you want is to be left alone in peace.

I guess I still get a little mad. I've asked her not to get preachy at me before when I was really angry. I know she does it with good intentions, but I still roll my eyes when I'm told I should pray about it and show reverence to a god that people always told me would send me to hell just for being me. A vindictive and jealous war monger who shuns anyone who's a little different and tells their followers that their children are better off dead than living in sin. A very "do as I say, not as I do" mindset that never did come off as the type of deity that encompasses "love" but demands it through fear.

I'm tired of hearing it. I'm tired of being told that's the only way. I'm tired of trying to justify my existence and my worthiness to some man-made version of a "kind" and "loving" god who, according to his followers, has already deemed me an abomination destined to eternal torture. For what? What in my entire life could I have possibly done to deserve that? People who commit the worst global scale atrocities known to all creatures on the planet are praised as godly and just people, but a truly kindhearted human who just happens to be trans or gay or mentally ill in an undesirable way has to face utter destruction and despair into infinity? All while those corporate greed CEO oil drilling slave labor capitalist literal taint cheese manifested into a wicked simulacrum of a parody of a human are allowed to rise to idol status and sainthood in the eyes of the church.

I want absolutely ZERO part of that. I don't even want to be remotely associated with that by proxy. I want it so fucking far away from me and my life except I have to live in it, wading up to my nostrils in the fucking doo-doo swamp that is American Christian capitalist culture. The denomination doesn't matter, they're all fucked up. Baptists, Presbyterians, Protestants, Catholics, Mormons, Witnesses, there's like a thousand of them I can't remember them all and any time a sect tries to be any kind of progressive in any way the vast majority condemns them as not being real Christianity and just...

Like fuck off. Fuck off forever. Most humans don't deserve to suffer but the idea that one day there will be no more humans is somewhat soothing tbh. Fifth or sixth mass extinction event happening cause of these rich white cis straight greedy mega church evangelical tech bro assholes not giving a shit about the planet and the people and creatures on it.

Please I hate being here so much. I hate money. I hate mainstream Christian culture. I hate the nuclear family model. I hate technology enabling crypto bros and art theft. I hate that all our amazing technological advancements are all put to use in war and suppression instead of healthcare and infrastructure. I hate everything about this country and the state of the world currently and please I don't want to BE here anymore!!!

#toby talk #even so I refuse to die #I guess I'm just stubborn like that

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ilalos · 3 years

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Mine (Hvitserk x reader)

Summary: Hvitserk buys his own slave saving you from your horrible owner.

Warnings: mentions of slavery, physical ab*se, tiny mention of sex*al ab*se if you squint (nothing actually happens, it´s just Y/n’s fear), let me know if you see anything else that might be triggering.

Word count: 1,8k

You woke up suddenly from the cold surrounding your body and making your skin wet.

"Rise and shine sl*t" sang your master placing the, now empty, bucket on the ship's floor.

You quickly stood up and waited for whatever order he may have for you, and after being given a dress you quickly changed and ran to stand beside your master who was at the front of the ship. As he spoke with his men you allowed your mind to wander to your home life, when you were happy and free.

You were born in a very rich family and had been treated like a princess until your father passed away. When your father died your mother had to get married again quickly because she had no idea how to manage the many lands your family-owned, so she got married to Maqsud and he turned out to be a terrible man; he had his own daughters so for him you were an unwanted presence and due to that he decided to sell you as a slave and told your mom you disappeared. He sold you to Canute, your current master, who beat you at the smallest mistake and always woke you up with a bucket of icy water, he said it helped to keep you clean.

"Answer!" You awoke from your thoughts when you heard your master shouting "When I talk to you, you listen! Understood?!" he grabbed your face so hard you could already feel the bruises forming.

"Yes, master" you nodded as best as you could in his strong grip, he then released you with a push so hard you fell on your back, all air knocked from your lungs.

"As I was saying" he continued as if nothing had happened "You are being offered in this town, and hopefully I can get at least what I paid for you" he spat.

You didn't know how to feel at his words, you should be happy that you were finally getting rid of your abusive master but there was also the fear of having an even worse master that could do unspeakable things to you. You stared at the horizon and watched expectantly as land got closer and closer.

When the boat arrived your master quickly tied your hands together, so tight you could feel your hands becoming cold and numb. You were pulled towards a market and as you got there you saw a line of many girls tied just like you with their master behind them offering the girls as if they were meat. Your master pulled you harshly until you stood at the end of the line and he started shouting along with the others, offering his 'pure, virgin slave!'. You tried your best not to let the situation affect you and you held back tears and bit your lip.

"How much for this one" you heard a man ask but didn't dare to look at him for more than a second, he looked young.

"30 gold pieces" Canute offered smugly, almost sure that the young man would try to lower the price to at least 20 gold pieces and that would still be a good deal.

"Deal" the man answered simply and handed him a bag with the payment inside, your master counted, and when he confirmed he was given the right amount of gold he gestured for the man to take you.

"She's yours, take her" he pushed you towards him as if you were nothing.

The young man held your shoulders before you fell on your face and when you regained balance he held your chin and tilted your head upwards, so your eyes would meet his.

"I'm Hvitserk" he smiled "And you are...?" he questioned.

"Y/n" you whispered looking into his beautiful eyes, almost getting lost in them.

"Nice to meet you" he caressed your cheek softly "You are going to warm my bed every night from now on"

Your breath got stuck in your throat when you heard his words. What your master had said wasn't a lie, you were indeed pure and untouched, and you were terrified of what Hvitserk would do with that information, or worse if he didn't believe those words and treated you as a commonly experienced slave.

Hvitserk started walking and you just stood there staring at your, now almost black, hands. He turned around and looked at you signaling for you to follow him, and just as you approached him he took out a knife making you yelp and drop on your knees begging for mercy.

"Please, master don't hurt me" you cried "I'll be good, I promise" you finished sobbing, waiting for him to hit you or stab you.

"I won't hurt you" Hvitserk assured and reached to cut the rope that was tied around your wrists, allowing the blood to flow in that particular area "I promise you, I will never hurt you on purpose" he took a hold of both hands and kissed the insides of your wrists softly.

You looked up at him in awe and quietly stood up and followed him after he got up himself and started walking towards the great hall. Once you got inside he walked to his room without looking at anyone, and once there he told you to sit in the bed.

"This is my room and where you are sitting is my bed" he explained "Your duties are simple, you wake up, get ready, wake me up, braid my hair and go to breakfast with me, you sit on my lap and feed me and you can eat in between bites too" he paused, waiting for you to show him you understood.

"Yes, master”

"You will go with me everywhere and you will not look at or talk to anyone but me, every meal I have you will feed it to me and I will always allow you to eat from my plate" he insisted watching you nod to his words "every night I expect you to lay with me, for the first couple of nights I don't intend on using your body for my pleasure, instead I wish to use you mainly for the company" you let out a breath you had been holding since he told you you had to warm his bed "You are mine and only mine, not even the queen can take you away from me, and I hope I am clear when I tell you that you cannot even glance at another man's direction, am I clear?"

"Yes master, I'm completely yours from now on"

"Call me Hvitserk, master creeps me out" he fake shivered to amuse you and got a small giggle which made him smile.

That night you sat on Hvitserk's lap, just like he had ordered, feeding him every course from soup to ale and he allowed you to eat from his plate in between bites, just like he promised. His brothers tried to ignore your presence and act as if you were just another slave, but you weren't. Normally the one who bought slaves was their mother, Hvitserk was the first one to buy a slave for himself, and they were all attracted to your odd presence.

"Who is the beauty sitting in your lap, Hvitserk?" inquired Ivar.

"She is my slave, brother" Hvitserk stated simply.

"And who said you could have your own slave?" demanded Sigurd with a frown.

"I bought her with my own money, earned by fishing and hunting" he stated proudly squeezing your waist a little and taking the piece of meat you offered.

"And are you planning to share her anytime soon?" asked Ubbe curious lifting a brow and hiding his smirk behind his cup, clearly noticing the way you tensed.

"No" Hvitserk deadpanned "she is mine" he finished feeling you relax on his lap and continue cutting some meat for him.

After that the table got silent and everyone finished their meals in silence, no brother dared to look at Hvitserk and much less at you. After everyone finished each one went to their respective rooms without anything more than a 'goodbye' to their mother and Hvitserk waited until they left before getting up and leading you to his room. Once in his room, Hvitserk started taking his clothes off and as he sat on the bed he heard water being poured into his bathtub.

"What are you doing?" he asked turning to look at you emptying a pot of warm water into the tub.

"I'm preparing your bath, mast-Hvitserk" you quickly corrected yourself, fearing his reaction at the dreaded word "You can relax and get cleaned while I undo your braids" you suggested with a hopeful look, you truly appreciated being treated well and wanted to show him how grateful you were for his lack of mistreatings.

He nodded from his spot and watched you as you continued pouring pots of warm water into his tub until it was almost full. You announced the bath was ready and stood with your back turned to him as a sign of respect while he finished undressing. After that he got in the bath, hissing as he felt the warm water colliding with his cold skin.

"Is it too hot?" You asked concerned.

"It is perfect" he mumbled sleepily.

You smiled a little as you watched him resting his head on the edge of the tub with his eyes closed. Quietly, you walked around the tub until you stood by the back of his head where you started unbraiding his hair with soft brushes of your fingers, hearing him sigh and moan every now and then.

"After this bath, we are going to sleep" he announced in a low voice "Your gown is over there" without opening his eyes he pointed towards the bed where you could see some white fabric folded next to the pillow.

When you were both changed and ready to bed he laid down and patted the spot next to him, you laid on your back not knowing how he wanted you to position yourself. You heard him chuckle before and yelped when you felt his arms wrapping around your shoulders and with a quick pull he had your head laying on his chest.

"You are here to comfort me, not lay there as stiff as a tree" his chest vibrated with his laugh.

"Sorry" you mumbled, sleep evident in your voice.

You both remained silent and in a matter of minutes, he felt your soft breaths caressing his skin. He knew you were there just because he had bought you, but for a sweet tiny moment, he convinced himself that the girl in his arms was not a slave, but his lover who was there out of adoration for him and only him. His own beautiful lover.

"Mine" he whispered kissing your forehead before finally slipping into a peaceful slumber.

-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘-‘

Hi! Thanks for reading!!!! I hope you enjoyed it and I’m thinking about making a part two so…let me know if you’d be interested on that.

#hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk ragnarsson x reader #hvitserk imagine #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk ragnarsson imagine #Vikings #vikings fanfiction #my writing

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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

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hole in the wall

In a party for the ages, Shouto comes across a room with hole in the wall that has him coming back for more.

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pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, PWP, cult activity, drug mention, alcohol consumption, glory hole, cursing, degradation, praise, possessive jealous!shouto, stuck in the wall, spanking, overstim, bruising, bleeding, breeding

word count: 7,831

a/n: read the fucking warnings bro, im tired, I hate formatting, here’s to finally writing what I wanna write! also, this is for a lovely bnharem collab that kept getting pushed back... make sure to read the intro to understand my story! anyways, gloryholes is peak anonymous sex and I just,,, if thats the only way imma get to suck shoutos cock, I will. I had something else to say... I forgot. oH THIS IS WRITTEN IN A NEW STLYE-ISH??? porn from shoutos pov!!!

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Traditionally, when people think of the connection between heroes and cults, they expect that the heroes eradicate the cults, not that the heroes are a part of a cult.

It was somewhat ironic that a group of people who advocated for public safety, for the wellbeing of every citizen of the country - the world - would demand compensation in areas that didn't involve financial compensation. Heroes saved the day countless amounts of times, but when they needed... help at night because they've been so busy saving the world, there needed to be compensation.

It had shocked nearly everyone within the hero community when none other than Yaoyorozu Momo brought them a solution. For nothing more than loyalty to saving the day, all heroes granted the benefit of joining the Savior of Eight Million, an… organization brought forth by the prodigious hero. It had shocked the hero community at first that the once thought of a modern-day princess, putting together a wicked group that served the beastly needs of heroes, was almost laughable. But as time passed, as trials tested the organization (cult), the more heroes realized how lucky they were that it was Yaoyorozu who created this.

The Yaoyorozus, in all their riches and connections, made this group untouchable.

Police were bought off, apprehended, silenced.

Heroes with the savior complex were put down.

Villains were never believed.

The Savior of Eight Million held ties with the greatest, the most esteemed people in the world. The parties were unworldly, dripping with diamonds and gold, the sweet smell of champagne barely drowning out the bitter acidic and burning plastic smell of the drugs used vicariously at their gatherings. All heroes joined, politicians and celebrities fought to get in, and commoners wished they could be the servants of the night, whether that meant they would be serving food, drinks, or drugs, or allowing the heroes to do what this was all started for: to fuck them.

Of course, it didn't help that each commoner was paid for their service, discretion, and loyalty. Those who attempted to give away the secrets of the nights were always taken care of, and every gathering after someone tried to snitch, there was always a complaint that a sex slave just wasn't good enough.

Yaoyorozu Momo was a sweet girl, a helpful woman. She was a hero.

Heroes far and wide grovel at her feet in thanks, and even more surprisingly, even her old class supported this. Oh, how great life was when you were the most significant, greatest, and most untouchable cult in history.

To Todoroki Shouto, well, he didn't really have an opinion on this all, not really at least.

The cult - the organization, was created to help out heroes such as himself live comfortably while having such a busy lifestyle. His sex drive had never been that high, with his twenty-fifth birthday approaching, he could count on his two hands the number of times he'd been attended to with the help of the organization within the past five years.

Yes, two years after debuting as heroes, Momo had approached the graduate class with her plan. Todoroki Shouto could never deny a friend, especially not someone as smart and intentional as Yaoyorozu Momo. He had been one of the first - if not the first - voice to approve of her project.

However, the fifth-anniversary gathering (it was not a party) was finally here. Two months ago, the first round of reminders came around in the form of a beautifully handwritten card by their fearless yet kind leader. Shouto wondered if she really had handwritten each and every card, or if she had created it with her quirk - while he wasn't that heavily involved, he was not ignorant to the numbers of the cult, group, organization.

TO TODOROKI SHOUTO,

I WRITE THIS LETTER TO ASK IF YOU WILL BE JOINING US IN TWO MONTHS FOR ONE OF THE MANY GREATEST CELEBRATIONS WE - THE MEMBERS OF THE SAVIOR OF EIGHT MILLION - WILL HAVE FOR OUR FIFTH ANNIVERSARY OF BEING SUCH A WELL RECEIVED AND INFLUENTIAL ORGANIZATION. I AM GRATEFUL TO RELAY THAT OUR ESTEEMED MEMBERS BAKUGOU-SAN AND MIDORIYA-SAN WILL BE HOSTING OUR EVENT!

I FEEL AS IF WE HAVE NOT SEEN EACH OTHER IN SO LONG, TODOROKI-SAN, AND I MISS YOU SO DEARLY. I HOPE THINGS IN YOUR LIFE HAVE BEEN FINE AND THAT WE SHOULD MEET UP AS SOON AS POSSIBLE! PLEASE MAKE SURE TO RESPOND TO THE RSVP TO EITHER JIROU-SAN, KAMINARI-SAN, OR ME!

UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN, YAOYOROZU MOMO

The letter had been kind, inviting, and so fleeting it made Shouto feel like he needed more from one of his most missed and trusted friend. Still, there would be time to catch up with everyone, no use in pushing now.

Grabbing his phone, Shouto typed in Momo's contact name into the search bar, tongue swiping his lower lip while he typed in his message and sent it. He had never been one for these parties. Too often, there were just too over-the-top. The festivities and friends were fun, but having to fight the impossible crowds for a moment of peace kept him from attending.

A truly mundane member.

But this was different after all, it wasn't every day that they celebrated five great years of service.

I'll be going, Yayorozu.

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Two months went by before Shouto had even realized it.

In those two months, he had received a formal invitation with a day and time.

2X28, OCTOBER 23

STARTING FROM 20:00

Of course, the lack of an address is a precaution for keeping their organization out of the limelight should they be betrayed. Events of all shapes and sizes were always planned by the upper board of the organization. Only a specific few knew the place where the night would befall, and the rest of the members would be brought to the festivities by a chauffeur provided by the Yaoyorozu's. Getting to and from the party was always stressfree, no matter what befell that night, their safety of getting home was still safe.

The invitation was tucked away into the inside pocket of his jacket, it was his ticket to getting into the party, and it was best to not leave it behind.

With the invitation now securely placed into his jacket, the smooth inflexible material stiff against his chest, Shouto stared into the mirror he stood before.

An elegant full-length mirror reflected his image to him, and truth be told, he was impressed with his presentation.

A charcoal grey Italian suit trimmed glinting silver nearly gleamed against the white light; the jacket was undone, exposing the white-collared long-sleeved shirt underneath. Typically, Shouto was a tie man, but the sleek black tie he was to wear lay hanging on the hanger, the first few buttons of the shirt undone. It highlighted his toned chest, the few pale scars on his chest just visible enough on his exposed skin to look like it was intensional. He looked good.

His fingers touched his hair, the once long style had been cut in a recent fight with a villain. It hadn't mattered much to Shouto, and in fact, the sudden haircut had spiked his overall ratings. It was short now, just long enough for his fingers to graze through the locks. It was slicked back, the swirl of red and white mixing and strands of red falling into his sight.

“Todoroki-sama, the car is here.”

Shouto didn't bother turning to the attendee, his gaze taking him in one last time.

"I'll be there."

His footsteps were quiet in the hallway, his waxed shiny black shoes gleaming in his hands as he walked to the front room. He slipped on the tight shoes and looked up to his servant, who stood at the front door with a patterned, black mask.

Nodding, he grabbed the mask and slipped it inside of his jacket as well.

A kitsune.

"Safe journey."

"I'll be back tonight."

And into the car, he went, the warm smell of leather and spices filling the backseat of the self-driving car. Shouto relaxed against the black leather, his eyes staring at the road while he slipped the mask out from his jacket. There was no reason to don the mask while stepping out of the house, being caught with it at his home always smelled trouble.

In the car's silence, his fingers rested onto his lap, his lips set into a firm line while his thoughts lingered to what was to come at this party.

The last time Bakugou and Midoriya hosted anything, it had ended with an overall disaster. Thankfully then it had been for their agency's founding party and not something dealing with the organization. But before he could muster the will to seek out further information on the private event, he realized that the car was already pulling into the large mansion where the event was being held.

People emerged from the cars before his own, the sleek masks donning on their faces, keeping their identities from unwanted eyes. The covers were specially made by none other than Yaoyorozu with the assistance of Hatsume Mei to ensure that those who wore it would be unrecognizable unless they were within a certain radius.

A small puff of air escaped Shouto's lips as his car pulled up to the unloading zone, and his strong fingers slipped on the mask before the car door opened. With the confidence and power, only those who worked as a top-ranked hero had Shouto emerged from the car immediately greeted by the entrance staff.

With his hands moving to button his jacket, he nodded his head when receiving information on what to expect upon entering. Shouto felt like he nodded forever while making his way up the entrance of the event, his hand reluctantly offering his phone and wallet over and receiving a ticket for retrieving it. Of course, the ticket came the bundle of condoms.

An eyebrow arched under the mask, and Shouto couldn't help the amused smirk that befell his lips as he pocketed the condoms.

The fuckers made this a sex party.

Why they even bothered to deny that they were a cult was beyond him at this point.

But as the grand doors opened, Shouto couldn't help but tense at the room's mixing aroma.

The sweet smell of champagne bubbled in his nose, wafting in powerfully with the perfumes secreting from every person in the room. If it had been his first time at an event like this, Shouto would have missed the undertone of burning plastic in the air. His eyes followed a civilian dressed up in a zebra zentai bodysuit holding a silver powder with most definitely not cocaine to who looked like the Prime Minister since he had his mask on.

Rolling his eyes, Shouto walked further into the room, ignoring the offers of drugs and alcohol as he carried on.

"Todoroki, my man! You made it!" came the loud and energetic voice of Kaminari Denki.

It shouldn't have shocked Shouto to immediately be swarmed with who looked like Kirishima (who wore a mask resembling a bear) and Kaminari (who had his mouse resembling mask resting on around his neck), who by the smell at least, were not sober.

"You're the last one to show up, dude! We almost thought you were gonna flake!" Kirishima added, his hand coming to land on Shouto's shoulder, his lips perked into a broad smile. "Everyone else decided to join the orgy room a few minutes ago, but this guy here—" he made a pointed jab at Kaminari's chest. "Was causing a large enough disturbance that we were kicked out."

"Bro, it's not my fault that those dummy civilians can't handle a few jolts of pain!"

"You literally electrocuted everyone in that orgy and left everyone unable to speak for a solid minute, bro!"

"Everyone else is here?" Shouto interrupted rather impressed to here that even Mineta was invited to this party - or maybe he had snuck in - choosing to ignore the mention of an orgy room.

Typical cult things, he reminded himself.

"Yeah, Denki and I don't have to go in tomorrow, so we pre-gamed at his place before coming. Sero did too, but after a few minutes of talking with some trapeze girl, they went into a room and well…" Kirishima trailed off, letting Shouto put two and two together. "Mina is flirting with the crown prince, Yaomomo and Jirou are in the orgy room, Bakugou and Midoriya seem to be micromanaging everything—"

"Those two need sex the most out of the entire class! Have you ever seen a bigger work pole up anyone's asses than in those two?!" Kaminari groaned, his fingers roughly rubbing the skin of his face, and Shouto laughed softly in agreement. It was somewhat ironic that their virgin classmates were the ones who organized and put together a sex party.

"I can't begin to imagine Midoriya having sex. Although that man is basically becoming sex on legs," Kaminari continued to gripe, Shouto grunting softly in thanks when Kirishima handed him a cup filled to the near brim with a copper liquid that burned smoothly down his throat. Shouto grimaced as he managed to down the entire thing. "I can see Bakugou just blowing a hole into the wall and fucking it and considering that sex. Ain't nobody normal who can — OH MY GOD!"

Shouto looked at his friend with nearing annoyance; however, the alcohol already taking a humming effect over his body made the annoyance slip easily.

"Bro, you're gonna get us kicked out of this party, and that's gonna be the shittiest thing!" Kirishima groaned while Kaminari spazzed with what seemed to be the biggest lightbulb of an idea.

"The hoes — the holes! For the glory!" Kaminari slurred with how fast he was speaking, his hands fisting into both Shouto's and Kirishima's jackets, his yellow eyes burning bright in his excitement.

Shouto tried to keep his annoyance down, and the itch to rip Kaminari's iron grip from his shoulder.

"I don't know what you're talking about—" Kirishima tried again, his hand resting on Kaminari's ribcage to steady him.

"Ei, the gloryholes!"

Gloryholes?

Shouto numbing mind searched the banks of his memory to figure out where that word came from and why it sounded vaguely familiar.

"Oh, fuck," came Kirishima's strained approval, and Shouto looked at his two friends who were grinning pervertedly at each other.

"What's that?" Shouto asked, his lips buzzing slightly as the alcohol was fully absorbed into his bloodstream, and somehow the smell of sex filled his nose, and the noises of unadulterated carnal lust filled his ears.

"Oh man, Todoroki, if you don't know," Kaminari trailed off, his lips pinched into an elfish smirk, and electricity coming off his hair in his evident excitement. "Just trust me, you gotta experience this shit!"

Shouto wasn't sure if it was the alcohol that thrummed merrily in his veins or the knowing glint in his friend's eyes that whispered to him to find out just what it was, but he felt his head nod without his full awareness. The feeling of their hands on his upper shoulder felt fuzzy as they took him away, intent heavy in every step they took.

He could barely take in the passing rooms as they went, the aerial artists, the sex rooms, the orgy rooms. There were so many rooms designated for just about every kink imaginable that even the stoic Shouto felt his cheeks flaring in embarrassment. With each passing step and opened room, the smell of sex, pheromones, and lust grew in Shouto's nose; the more the sticky sweet moans and screams of the cult members clung to his skin.

For a hero that was never too hot or too cold without his own ministrations, his skin was feeling feverishly hot with cold feet when they finally stopped in front of the only closed door in the hallway.

"Welcome!" came a cheery voice, Shouto blinked, and a woman appeared from nowhere.

She wore a powder blue ava tea dress; it was elegant, sleek, yet too old-school for an event such as this one. Shouto immediately assumed that she was not partaking in the sexual activities, but was instead acting as a hostess of sorts.

"Just you three patrons tonight?" she asked, her head tilting to the side and Kirishima speaking up in agreement for the group of three. "Good, good. We do have enough openings for the three of you, most people haven't found our little… hole in the wall, if you would," she took a moment to giggle joyfully, her gloved fingers pressing to her ruby red lips and Shouto fought the urge to walk away. "So please, feel free to look around and stay as long as you want!"

Her words were light and breezy, but still, there was rising suspicion and tension in Shouto's spine at her small quip.

With an innocuous smile and a glint in her eyes, she opened the door with a gentle, "have fun," and Shouto's friends ushered him in.

His initial reaction? What. The. Fuck?!

The room they entered was large and spacious, or well, at the very least, Shouto assumed it would have been if it wasn't for the obviously installed maze of walls. But with every wall, there was a collage of pictures. Faces of women, men, humans, mutants, everything you could think of plastered above a hole. Curiously enough, the images above one hole were of the same person.

His eyes swept the room, and he saw a few spots already taken, men with their pants and underwear dropped to their knees pressing up against the wall so that their noses were smushed to the makeshift walls.

Shouto blinked.

Gloryholes? Pictures of random people?

Were they fucking ghosts?

"This is paradise!" Kaminari groaned in pleasure, his arms spacing out as if he had come with fantastic news. "These normies always look at you so weirdly when you fuck at orgies, here… you get the nut and don't have to have them staring at you!"

Paradise?!

Shouto stared as his electricity wielding friend approached a hole that adorned photos of a girl with hooded eyes and a tongue piercing. He dropped his bottoms before sticking his hardening cock into the waiting hole with two raps of his fist. At this point, Shouto wasn't sure if what he had drunk was actually alcohol now.

"These aren't dead people, are they?" Shouto couldn't keep himself from asking, his palms sweating while Kirishima laughed deeply in his chest.

"Not at all, man, it's real people, I promise! Pick your hole and have fun!" Kirishima encouraged, placing a solid pat on Shouto's shoulder before approaching a hole with a picture of a girl with bright eyes and a bright smile.

Nodding numbly to himself at this point, Shouto meandered the different walls, his eyes absorbing the various pictures on the walls.

But he fell on the spot with a picture so vivating that drew him in. The chasms of your eyes defiant yet shy, a smile that called him in, and lips that looked supple and strong.

He stood no chance in defying the itching, burning need to follow suit of every other person in this room. Shouto approached the hole, his fingers pulling at his belt, quickly lowering his charcoal grey slacks and black boxer briefs. He stared into your pictured eyes, mesmerized by them, and grasped onto his hardening cock.

A soft shudder invaded his skin as he pressed his cock through the awaiting hole, the skin of his heated cock scraping against the hole, making him strangle a grunt in his throat. But when the wet heat of your mouth enveloped his cock past the hole in the wall, Shouto's face nearly crashed against the wall.

Shouto wasn't sure what to have expected, but he had summed up that this was some over-glorified handjob, a vigorous clumsy jackoff he could have done himself. But he did not expect, in any sense of what this was, to be met with warm, wet lips and a tongue that pressed underneath the head of his cock.

A guttural noise slipped past his lips, and Shouto's palms pressed against the wall, his head spinning dizzyingly from the sensation.

Shouto's breathing was erratic, his cock hardening more, twitching within your mouth as he felt your head begin to bob against his length at a slow, leisurely pace.

His hips thrust toward the wall, his vision spinning from what this heightened sensation of what he always thought to be a mundane act. Shouto's slacks were too far up his thighs; however, the fabric spread to his max despite his attempt to lower down. He wanted to get closer to the wall, get whoever you were past this wall to take in his entire cock without an issue, so mindlessly, instinctively, he shoved the slacks further down, grunting with relieved pleasure at being able to spread out further, at getting closer to you.

"Holy shit," Shouto grunted, his forehead pressing against the cold wall, undoubtedly crinkling the paper of your photos. His hips came forward, hitting the wall dividing him and you with low, vibrating thuds, and you let him, allowed him to keep his rutting hips at the pace they were. You took him in as if it was nothing, the smooth skin of your lips gliding against his throbbing length, your tongue running alongside the bottom of his cock, tracing the veins of his skin, twisting against the sensitive skin, providing new sensations and shivers.

Shouto knew immediately that you were letting him fuck your mouth however he saw fit.

He felt you moan around him, a long, deep, undeniable noise that somehow drifted through the hole, vibrated against his cock, and could be felt against his curling toes. The sound and sensations were proving to be effective, a pooling heat building in his balls, simmering up and down his spine and neck. How he wished to grab you by the back of your head and drive his cock down your throat without mercy.

Snarling in the back of his throat, suddenly fueled by the image of fucking you, the thought of you on your knees, tears built in your bright eyes and tears rolling down your cheeks feeding him. And as if you knew what he wanted, Shouto's knees near bucked out when your mouth took him in even further, the soft choking noise, the feeling of his cock pressing against the back of your throat sending his fingers digging into the wall.

He drilled in faster, grateful for your ability to keep up, the feeling of his cock pressing down the back of your throat sending his jaw flying open, curses and praises spilling past his lips with every inch you took him further down your throat. The area of his cock unable to be taken in your mouth was surrounded by your fingers — by god, what fucking fingers you had — warm and robust, they held his skin, sliding effortlessly against the spit lubricated skin.

"You can hear me right, whore?" Shouto growled against the wall, the hot air of his breath almost fogging the area he was standing in. Somehow, he heard the choked noise of agreement, the bobbing head vigorously nodding, sending you into a sputtering choke from the awkward angle. But Shouto liked hearing you choke, liked hearing the needy tone in your whining agreement, and he swore he was feeling his heartbeat in his balls. "You're not here entirely on your own will, are you? Came here for money, to suck some rich mans' cock?" His hips stammered when you sucked your cheeks in around his length, his eyes rolling in the break of his concentration, his blood pumping in his hormone pumped euphoria. "I want you to fucking choke on my cock, you hear that? Take me all the way in, don't be scared, I know you probably don't see much cock, but I promise if you can handle me, you'll never want other cock, slut. Take me all, and I promise you, you won't regret it."

A hiccuped breath came from your side of the wall, and Shouto almost wanted to simply burn the wall down to claim you for all his need and glory, someone with a mouth as gifted as yours definitely needed to be fucked correctly. Still, his hips reigned down, slamming against the wall so that the thuds of his impeding hips were heard softly in the other areas.

And you? Behind the wall?

He could feel the weight of your head pressing forward, the feeling of his length sliding further and further down your throat. The pulsing of his cock ridiculously stilled with the restrained muscles of your throat, and the almost excessive drool and spit that dripped from his length with your choking movements.

More, he wanted more, he needed more.

"Fuck, slut, you're taking me so fucking well. You almost have me entirely in your mouth," Shouto growled, an inch or so of his cock still not entirely in your mouth, but not letting your tight fist work his cock. "Don't give up, take me all, I know a whore like you who shows up to be a sex slave can take my cock."

A whine (was that a horny or a frustrated whine?) emitted from the wall, and with a strained noise, Shouto felt your wet, hot lips make contact with the base of his cock as he continued to drill into you. Spluttering groans poured from his throat, the feeling of your hot cavern and resisting throat, sending him over the edge.

"Yes," Shouto gasped, the smell of sex, electricity, and barely burning walls simmering in his nose. "Fuck, yes, just like that."

Shouto could feel his nerves being shot out, the feeling of the compliant mouth keeping him pumping into the hole, his fingers digging further and further into the wall into it cracked and crumbled, his grip trying to keep his shaking legs from giving out, to break through the wall to get to you. He was almost there, so close, but needed to get over the hill. And then Shouto was swallowed completely when his slamming his stopped, he could feel your lip press to his skin hidden by the hole. He had no doubt that it must have been sorely uncomfortable for you, yet you were doing it to the point where he was fumbling for words, fumbling to keep his head on straight as your tongue wrapped around his cock, massaging the skin. Fuck, fuck, "Fuck!"

His head dropped back with the shooting electricity in his blood, sweat dripping from his temple and you, the stranger behind the wall, gave one vicious, strong suck, your mouth only surrounding the head of his cock, your wet tongue flicking the slit on his head, and he was spilling over.

Hot, thick, heavy ropes of white cum spurted from his cock and Shouto shuddered, his shaking breath echoing in his ears, and he could still feel your tongue moving, coaxing out the finality of his orgasm, teeth scraping against his sensitive cock just enough to have him seeing stars.

But the giggle that erupted in your throat was well noticed by Shouto, and he grunted in slight annoyance. Pulling away, a soft, almost unwanted pop echoed on the other side of the wall.

Shouto watched as his spit and cum covered cock pulled back to his side of the wall, and he grunted unwillingly. His forehead still rested against the wall, and he looked up to his left side with a disgruntled noise to see that he did, in fact, scorch his fingertips into the wall.

As he tucked himself back into his underwear and slacks, Shouto's blissed-out eyes fell onto the hole where your hand was perched out of it, your pinky the only finger visible.

"Pinky promise you'll come back later?" your raspy voice asked, and Shouto wondered if that was how you usually sounded or if it was from what happened.

"As long as you promise to do something like that again," Shouto smirked, his pink taking yours anyways.

He could promise that to the hole in the wall.

Shouto slips out the door and is immediately greeted with a bummed out Kaminari and a profusely apologizing Kirishima. He later finds out that Kaminari let out yet another round of voltage of electricity (he's banned from fucking anyone that can't absorb his quirk without damaging themselves), and that Kirishima in his blissed-out state accidentally went into his unbreakable mode and tore a hole into the wall. Shouto didn't bother telling them of the scorched walls and left with his friends.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

It only felt like a few minutes before Shouto found himself outside the same closed door of the room with gloryholes. The alcohol had long since been burned from his system, he is practically positive that you managed to suck it out from his bloodstream.

For the past two hours, he had been around the mansion, aiding Kirishima in his objective to keep Kaminari from accidentally killing a sexual partner. It had been for the best, Shouto believed. He was no prude and definitely didn't hate indulging in the occasional orgies - especially at parties like this. But for some reason, as strangers attempted to shed him from his clothes, lips, and fingers roaming his scarred, heated skin, he thought of you and only you.

Your tantalizing mouth and fingers.

He had exited the orgy room faster than All Might at his peak.

He was strangely obsessed with a stranger, a person who was no more than someone past a hole in the wall. Who knew if your picture was what you looked like, but he sure hoped it was.

But when Mina had appeared out of nowhere, her perfectly manicured fingers pressing against Kirishima's chest as she emerged from behind him. She was, obviously, one of the few easily discernable members of the cult.

"So, the crown prince does not know how to use his dick, and I am disappointed in men all over again!" Mina pouted, but her usual sly grin was back on her face before Shouto could ask if she needed help scouting potential 'dick appointments' as she so fondly calls them.

This was where things got strange in that Kirishima pointed out that Mina should just fuck a woman to teach men how to fuck women properly. Kaminari filled Shouto in with a horribly done stage whisper that the two of them had fucked before and that despite the experience of any man, Mina was never truly satisfied.

"Alright, student Kirishima," Mina had thrust her finger into Kirishima's chest. "Follow me to the hole-y wall and watch the master do her job!"

Once more, Shouto was outside the door, the woman seemingly materialized from thin air in her same powder blue ava tea party dress and ruby red smile.

"Welcome back! For four patrons this time?" the woman gleefully smiled, her gloved fingers clasping below her chin.

"For one, actually," Mina spoke up first, "I'm teaching these boys—"

"I've actually never had a problem," Shouto spoke up, his calm and collected gaze unwaveringly met the hostess despite the chilling horror and embarrassment of his words that crawled up his spine. At the same time, Mina looked up him and down with a small, small smirk. "I'll be taking a spot."

"Ho ho, well, excuse me," Mina giggled, turning back to the hostess with a brightness to her stance. "Two spots then. I have boys to teach!"

"Of course!" the hostess spoke unaffectedly by the group's dynamics. "Please enjoy yourselves! This part is a special treat for you lovely patrons, don't forget to be mindful of our poor angels stuck in the wall!"

The door opened, and in the group of four walked in.

If Shouto had been taken by surprise the first time, he was beyond belief the second time he entered this same room. His first time coming, there had only been those beautiful glory holes, but this time? There were no material holes.

Where the holes used to be, there were only large holes where the person assigned to the area was now presented to the public.

Asses curved to the sky, asses pointed to the ground. Cocks leaking, limp, and red with overstimulation, cunts soaked, throbbing, and swollen with overuse. It was indeed as if these individuals had been stuck in a wall, and Shouto already felt his cock twitch in his carnal lust and need to see just how you were positioned. How he prayed that you were at your spot, laying on your stomach, ass hanging out to the world waiting for his cock to claim you, waiting for him to ruin you. He wanted to feel your liquid lust drip from your cunt, splashing and trailing down your inner thigh.

Shouto didn't bother saying goodbye to his friends, the smell of sex, and his own lust switching his brain onto a one-track mindset with the growing need to get to you immediately.

And almost to his raging hormonal anger, he came to the aisle where you were parked, and while his heart hammered with the growing pleasure to see your ass hanging in the air, your thighs pressed to the wall, his vision turned red at the sight of some no-named man rutting his ugly cock between your dry folds.

In no time flat, Shouto was behind the man, his hand fisting into the collar of the man's shirt and tearing him away from him.

"Mine." he all but growled, his aura darkening while he glared at the red-faced idiot who attempted to cover himself up in the act of running away.

It didn't matter that what Shouto did was probably entirely rude and could result in him getting thrown out, you were his, and no way was someone going to fuck you when he was there. The weirded out gazes that fell upon him temporarily did nothing to Shouto, his focus back onto your squirming bottom, no doubt weirded out by the sudden lack of contact.

But with a sigh, his fingers combing the few falling free strands of hair out of his face, Shouto stood centimeters from your shifting thighs, watching you continue squirming until he finally moved. His hands pressed against your supple, smooth ass, enjoying the way you fit against his hands perfectly.

He stepped forward, allowing the bulge of his strained cock to press against the top of your ass — the perfect height for him. Shouto leaned forward, his forehead once more pressing against the cold wall, his eyes taking in the still visible scorch marks he had left behind and chuckled deep in his throat.

"I'm back, my precious whore, I bet you missed me," Shouto spoke through the wall, hoping that you would respond back to him. He thought he could hear an agreeing sound on the other side of the wall, another layer of muffled, and he wondered if maybe you had been gagged. The thought made him exhale slowly, his hips strained from rutting against you, but against his belief, your ass ground against his hardening cock, sending waves of pleasure through him. "You did miss me, huh?"

His calloused fingers moved from your supple ass to the outsides of your thighs, feather-soft touches skimming your skin, leaving behind trails of goosebumps and twitching nerves. Shouto's gaze remained hard on your body, watching how you completely stilled when he found his fingers against the inner part of your thigh and just shy of the excessive heat that was radiating from your cunt.

And he leaned down, his lips pressing against the curve of your ass, his eyes partially hooded when he felt you relax against his hold. But the relaxed position you held quickly erased the moment his teeth sunk into your skin, and his finger pressed against your swollen clit.

Immediately, your body arched, a weak attempt to buck out of his hold while he heard a muffled cry from the other end of the wall. But Shouto was a hero, he was some with extreme control over his body, and as his tongue moved to soothe your throbbing ass, one finger continued to delicately dance against your clit, while the other shifted over to your softly beating cunt.

Shouto groaned against your skin, his pants feeling too tight, the material of his underwear too hot and stiff for how strained his cock was right now, yet it was nothing to the feeling of your tight, wet, hot cunt. In and out, he pumped his finger, curling the long digit against your puffy spongey walls, the thumb on your clit circulating in slow, intentional figure-eights until you were pathetically rising and falling against his finger, a garbled whine for more barely audible through the wall. He chuckled at the feeling of your inner walls forcible clenching against his intruding finger, and he rewarded you with a second finger.

"Doesn't this feel good?" Shouto groaned, his body straightening back up so that he was flushed against your ass, his forehead resting on the wall, and his now free hand slowly grinding your ass against his crotch.

He watched you with the intensity of a predator stalking their prey, his mouth twitching into a smirk when your toes curled with a sudden drag of his fingers over a ribbed area of your core. Growling in need, Shouto's hips slammed into you, mindlessly fucking you even with his clothes on. His fingers doubled in speed and intensity until the rapid clenching of your walls was unignorable around his fingers.

His forearms ached slightly with his continued fingering, his thumb almost stiff as he continued to assault your clit, but with the arching of your back, the stuttering of your hips as an impeding orgasm was growing bigger and stronger. Shouto barely registered the sight of his own hand rising and falling heavily onto your ass, the sound of the spank echoing loudly, but that had pushed you over the edge.

A loud mewl sounded from the wall, your legs trembling entirely uncontrollably against Shouto, who still drove his hard crotch into your soaked cunt. He didn't care if you were to wet the expensive suit, his mind now solely on the fact that he needs to claim you, needs to sink his cock all the way in, and make sure you were bruised for days to come.

Wasting no time, Shouto sheds off his pants and his underwear, letting them fall to the floor with a soft thud before aligning his already hard and swollen cock head to your clenching, sopping cunt. Shouto nearly shivers as he grips his fingers into your ass, his eyes mesmerized with how your flesh molds to his grasp, moving and shifting accordingly. With only a moan as a warning, Shouto wasted no time in pressing his cock to your cunt, and thrusting in with a single, sharp thrust.

If he had thought your cunt was tight with just your fingers, if he had thought the instance where you had vacuumed your mouth while sucking him off was tight, he was in a world of surprises when he came through from entering you. Your cunt was hot and oh so fucking tight around him, milking him dry of all and any precum that he had gathered at his swollen slit. Your inner walls flutter around him, intensely and quickly trying to adjust to the monstrous thickness that he was, and he could hear the pained panting pleasure of you through the wall, and he almost lost it at the keen whine on your tongue.

He shifted, moving his hips just so slight as to regain what little sanity he had left to ensure that you were thoroughly and roughly fucked.

"Fuck," Shouto moaned, his fingers digging bruises into your skin, his skin feeling sticky and sweaty as he felt you continue trembling beneath him. "For a fucking whore, you have a really tight cunt. I bet you wished I had used fucking lube, huh?"

Shouto took a tentative thrust into you, his legs quivering at the feeling of the way your cunt gripped his cock, making it almost impossible for him to move as he did. "Should've made your pussy wetter then," he spoke in a near whisper to the wall, unsure if you had heard him as he began his conquest in fucking you.

With his fingers gripping your hips, he enjoys the way you bruise against his hold, almost as much as he enjoys the way the wall rocks with every slam of his brutal hips.

The sounds of his cock slamming into your sopping cunt send loud, wet noises ringing in his ears, sending a few other nearby patrons to turn their heads to look at him - to look at him in his conquest of claiming you as his. It only fueled him on, and he picked up his pace until there was a medley of sounds: his thighs crashing against your ass, the squelching of your wet cunt against his thick cock, and your thighs slapping the wall.

Shouto growled at the feeling of your cunt stretching for him, the tremble of your legs, the way your feet twisted and curled against his knees, almost as if in a silent beg to get him impossibly closer, to make him fuck you impossibly faster, harder.

His gorging fingers break your skin, and Shouto delights in the painful, garbled scream from your side of the wall. Your body is weak against him, yet he can still feel your hips jutting against his rutting hips, your body desperately trying to keep up with his insane speed and lust.

And when his hand presses to your lower back and the other right above your crotch so that he can raise you higher, the new angle of penetration sends Shouto fumbling for strength. It's then he can feel the head of his cock pressing against your cervix, your toes digging into his skin as he continues to pound away at your cervix, and he takes the rolling shrieks and moans from your mouth like a good thing.

"Such a good fucking whore, I never found many of you who enjoyed when I literally rearranged their guts," Shouto huffed, his fingers tweaking and yanking at your clit until you were shaking in his arms. "You're enjoying this so much, I bet you wanted this the entire time after I left, didn't you? You wanted my cock in your pussy, I wanted to have my seed pumped into you until everyone knows that you're mine. You'd look so pretty pregnant with my babies, your stomach swollen, and your tits just fucking leaking milk for our children, huh?"

It's then that your cunt around his cock becomes a vice grip, and Shouto shudders at the feeling of your orgasm rocking through you, your pathetic keens barely audible in his blood rushing ears. And he continues, Shouto could feel the familiar sensation of his nerves being shot out, the feeling of your cunt desperately trying to milk him of his seed and worth as you grew limper in his arms, his fingers raking raised lines against your ass, forever marking himself against you, his grip trying to keep his shaking legs from giving out, his mind solidifying over the need to somehow appear where you were now so he could fuck you with no restraint. He thought of your crossed eye gaze, the possible spit pouring from your mouth as you took his every drop of seed greedily into your cunt. He imagined seeing your eyes spilling with tears, seeing your fingers rip into the fabric as he fucked you with no restraint, and with his imagination, he lost himself.

Shouto continued to blindly ram his cock into your cunt, a savage, insane last attempt to spill himself into you, fumbling to keep his head on straight as your cunt pathetically clenched against his hammering cock, finally sending his left hand to the wall, fire bursting from his palm as finally his orgasm tears through him. Shit, shit, "Shit!"

Shouto's temples are damp with sweat, and his vision swims with his overwhelming desire for you and the need to get to your room without destroying the wall to completion.

He picks up his pants and underwear, quickly fixing himself up so that he's almost remorse in the way that he can't appreciate watching his cum spill from your cunt, but the lack of you on his cock is enough to have him zipping up his pants and racing to where the hostess appears.

She doesn't stand a chance when both fire and ice bite against her neck.

"How do I get into the rooms?"

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

After being caught flirting with whoever you had pinky promised, you had been gagged. It wasn't a bad thing per se, that man had been the last person to visit you when the room was still functioning as glory holes. With the new stuck in the wall theme, it only invited men and women to be aggressive, and a part of you guiltily and ashamedly enjoyed how rough they would get in there attempt to hear you against the gag.

But you couldn't help the flutter in your cunt and in your heart when the familiar voice of the pinky promise man sounded through the wall. Right now, however, your body felt wholly and thoroughly used. Every inch of your asscheeks and cunt was abused, but the orgasm that came with his fucking was otherwordly.

There was still nothing to prevent the shameful clog in your throat when he abandoned you after a single orgasm, but then again, you didn't expect the door to your cubicle to be thrown open, and a man stood there with a black kitsune mask. You wondered who it was, but there was the distinctive, infamous red and split white hair behind the cover, and you whimpered at the sudden shame at being caught like this by a Pro Hero you absolutely adored.

The mask was torn from his face, the door closing behind him, and you were ripped back into the tight cubicle, pressed flush against his chest as he sealed off the hole with his ice. You were speechless as his obviously hard cock pressed against your diaphragm, and you trembled upon hearing the zipper of his pants coming down.

And the voice of one Todoroki Shouto sent shivers down your spine, reigniting the flame in your cunt.

"I got to fuck your mouth and your cunt through other people's rules, I think it's about time I get to fuck you however I see fit."

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha

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