2017 Locker for Damien

[kayable]

Name (as you'd like it to appear in the subject line for your stocking): Damien

Fandoms: Yu-Gi-Oh, Galactik Football, Prince of Tennis, Animorphs, League of Legends, Hunger Games, Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Supernatural, Merlin, Homestuck.

Characters/Pairings/Moresomes:
YGO: Ryuuji Otogi (mangaverse)/Seto, Yami no Malik/Yami no Bakura,
Galactik Football: Rocket/Sinedd, Artegor/Aarch,
Prince of Tennis: Mizuki/Yuuta, Mizuki/Fuji, Mizuki/Ryoma, Momo/Kamio, Mizuki/Shinji, Kaidoh/Momo, Akutsu/Ryoma,
Animorphs: Visser Three/Elfangor, Visser Three/Ax, Tobias/Ax, Visser Three/Tobias, Rachel/Tobias
League of Legends: Vladimir/Talon, Talon/Zed, Darius/Talon
Hunger Games: Seneca Crane/Cinna, anything about past Tributes/what happens to Tributes after they become Victors
Star Wars: The Force Awakens Kylo Ren/Finn, Hux/Finn
MacDonald Hall by Gordon Korman: Bruno/Boots is canon and hilarious. Only exception to the 'likes' paragraph.
Supernatural: Kali/Gabriel, Hermes/Gabriel, Lucifer/Gabriel, Micheal/Gabriel (yes there's a pattern here)
Merlin: Merlin/Gwaine, Arthur/Gwaine, Lancelot/Gwaine, Uther/Merlin
Homestuck: Alpha Dave/Dirk, Caliborn/Dirk

Characters I like to read about for gen fic: Ryuuji, Mizuki, Ryoma, Shiji, Finn, Caliborn, Dirk, Gabriel, Gwaine and Cinna.

Likes: ...So here's where it gets messy. I like really dark, messed up, emotionally fucked over fic/art where characters are getting wrecked or coping with having been wrecked. Characters hating themselves for loving whom they do, and knowing it's a bad relationship. Narration that acknowledges what's happening isn't good instead of romanticizing it.

Gaslighting, mob/group, emotional manipulation, addiction, blackmail, guilt, coercion, abuse of authority, hatesex, dub/non con, all of that is awesome and would make me happy as long as the narration doesn't normalize it. I like my bad stuff to have the creep factor emphasized.

Dislikes: Animal abuse, a/b/o, romanticized rape, fluff, sweet happy relationships.

Anything else: Um. Sorry for having such dark tastes? ^^;; I will be happy with anything, I tried to put up a range of fandoms because I know my preferred pairings are pretty obscure! Art, fic, anything at all will make me happy :) And thank you for reading!


Reminder that NOTES are welcome too - just a nice little comment (either plain, or you can even type it up on a nice little graphic/image etc.) for the recipient.


(Comments are going to screened until the reveal on Feb 14. Lockers will be open until the end of Feb.)

Comments

[graygriffin]

Hi there! Unfortunately I can't really write dark stuff, but I'm glad to see another Animorphs fan! Also I've read a bunch of Gordon Korman books and they're really great. Sadly I haven't read McDonald Hall or else I'd probably try to give you something for that.

[(Anonymous)]

(Trigger Warning! nsfw, non-con, rape, blood, maybe something else that I'm forgetting right now. Happy Valentine's Day, my friend. c:)

To play with death

It had been a while since he had come to me. A hint of surprise showed on my pale visage - a mere show for the eager audience that had found their way into my chambers. If truth be told, I had never doubted he would return. He always did. That was the benefitf a dog, they were loyal to the bone, bound to return to their masters many and many times, no matter how hard they struck them. You do not bite the hand that feeds you – I know of that rule very well myself. His fair skin would still show the faint marks that I had adorned him with weeks ago. Oh, how beautiful it would look, glistening with the tiniest drops of scarlet. Soon, he would give himself to me once more, like he always did.

A subtle smirk carved itself into my mien as he nonchalantly dropped onto my deep red lounge. Despite his attempts of seeming ever so careless, I could still sense his everlasting vigilance. His gaze never left my person, not even for a brief moment. He knew the dangers of the predator whose den he ventured into over and over again by his own will. No matter how imprudent the assassin seemed, he never dared to leave only a single stain on the luxurious cushioning. I had not needed to teach him so much.

Patience has never been a virtue of mine. He must have felt my faint touch in his veins as he shifted in his seat. Nimble hands loosened the maroon scarf he wore around his muscular, yet slender neck, revealing the soft flesh beneath. I brought the immaculately polished glass of winer close to my lips, filling myself with the intoxicating liquid within, licking my lips clean of even the last drop. I had always been affluent but hardly ever wasteful. That was a lesson that I had to learn, long years ago.

The dragonblade around his wrist idly reflected the dim candlelight that lit the room. The quiet was only broken by the soft sound of glass setting on a smooth surface, safe from the storm that was about to rise. When I rose to my feet, my dark-haired companion followed with utter obedience.

A sharp movement, yet hardly unexpected, prompted me to turn – just in time before my back collided with the closest wall. My brows rose expectantly as the air was so forcefully knocked out of my lungs. I felt the familiar, cool metal against my skin, relishing the sensation as it left the finest cut as it was lifted ever so slightly. That was when the room was truly filled with silence. The crimson rush that was so prominent before deserted me and all that was left was the warm breath of the man I shared this dance with.

I sucked it in through my teeth greedily, thousands of witty remarks filling my mind in an instant and yet my lips were sealed. Any word would have been wasted so long as the silence lingered between us. My scarlet eyes followed his every movement as he restricted my movement carefully with his strong grasp. With an almost playful ease, his blade cut through my waistcoat and the silken shirt beneath, staining the delicate fabric in a bright crimson as my skin tore open beneath it. Delirious from the sensation, my mind could not anticipate it as his pointed teeth found their way into my neck, drawing blood once more. An inaudible gasp left my lips when his eager tounge harboured what surged forth from the broken skin.

It was only when I could sense the faint sound of a heartbeat returning to my senses that I felt them go numb again. Mild irritation rose inside me, only to be matched by a smug smirk, much like the one I was fond of wearing. I felt myself struggle against the iron grasp, but it was to no avail. His dagger tore through my garments with ease, leaving shallow red lines on my flesh where it had entered. The calloused fingers felt rough against my smooth skin, skillfully carving patterns into my body.

I felt myself grow weaker beneath his touch as the crimson bloom surged forth from my wounds. My source of power, restriced by sheer force, unreachable for me. The tables had turned for this one time only. He forced his lips against my own, and for an instance the warm, wet sensation felt awfully pleasant - though I would never dare to admit it. All the while, the deadly blade rested against my chest, holding my body in place by its sheer presence. I panted hard when he left me, but only for a second before crashing into me again, claiming my sealed tounge, entwining it with his own.

The assassin approached further, pressing the cold, iron buckles of his chestplate into my bare flesh. I sensed his rough touch on my hips, liberating me from the fatal threat at my carotid shortly just before he returned his attention to my neck, adorning it with dark purplish bruises. It was only when he tore away the remainder of my clothes that my hazed mind snapped. A dark glare filled my visage and I pressed against his grasp with all of my force, but it was to no avail. A deep chuckle emerged from his throat as he drew me closer, invading my body with his own. His fiery eyes rested on mine as he dug into me, slowly advancing as he went. Quiet moans left my mouth, my eyes a burning scarlet, prepared to ravage him in his full existance if only he let me.

Carefully, he disregarded my own arousal until the very end, bestowing me with the sweetest release only when he saw it fit. Physically emaciated, I slumped back against the wall at the very first opportunity that was given to me. Dizzy from the bloodloss, my vision dimmed and my lids fell shut. Only then, a seemingly far-off sound returned to my fading consciousness. The silence had been lifted. Without even as much as a command, my broken skin began mending itself, bruises faded one by one, leaving not even the slightest trace of what had occured.

My lips curled in displeasure when it dawned to me that it was only my own heartbeat that I sensed. I sunk to the hard mahagony floor.

I had been toying with death all along.

A manic laughter burst from my chest.

The dog had been a wolf in sheep's skin all along. It was always more appealing to dance with an equal.

[kiyala]

Seto/Ryuuji; 652w; T, dragon (sorta) au, mentions of abuse

The name Kaiba Seto is known well enough around the entire world, but there's nowhere that it carries as much weight, as much story, as within dragon-collector circles.

It started with the prize jewel in his collection. Her name is Kisara and she is both fierce and beautiful, the first of several more dragons of her breed, the sunlight glinting off their glossy pearlescent scales, their blue eyes shining like sapphires. Seto has collected as many blue eyes white dragons that he can reasonably keep in his dracary, then moved onto collecting other kinds of dragons.

None of them, Ryuuji thinks, are quite as peculiar as he is. He sits on his haunches, watching Seto approach, and flattens his wings against his back, slouching forward to lie on the ground to give off an air of indifference. He flicks his tail lazily, lifting his head as Seto approaches his clearing.

"You must have paid a pretty price to be allowed up here," Ryuuji comments, glancing over at his father. Otogi-san, he knows, would not miss the opportunity to charge Seto through the nose just to guide him up here to Ryuuji's dragon cave.

"Nothing I couldn't afford," Seto replies flippantly, arms folded across his chest. "Most dragons don't talk."

"Most dragons," Ryuuji laughs, "aren't as interesting as I am."

He watches as Seto's eyes narrow, assessing. Even if Seto doesn't agree out loud, the fact that he's come here to meet with Ryuuji says enough.

"I want to talk to the dragon," Seto decides. He glances over his shoulder, to where Otogi-san is standing. "Alone."

Otogi-san laughs. "There's no point. Dragons speak loudly enough that his voice will carry. He couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it."

Ryuuji laughs as well, so perfectly in control of his response that he doesn't even flinch at the memory that comes up unbidden.

"Humour me," Seto says, and his glare is piercing. "I believe I've paid you enough to afford at least ten minutes alone with the dragon."

Otogi-san doesn't respond immediately. He glares at Ryuuji, like this is somehow his fault. Ryuuji bites back the apology that is already making its way out of his throat.

"Ten minutes," Otogi-san replies, hobbling down the path and out of sight.

Seto waits until he's gone, then turns to Ryuuji. "You can shift now."

Ryuuji freezes up. Seto isn't meant to know—nobody is meant to know.

"Please," Seto scoffs quietly. "I've spent enough time around dragons to know that I'm not looking at one. What are you?"

Shifting, Ryuuji stands in front of Seto as a man, arms folded across his chest. "I'm whatever I need to be."

"Whatever you're asked to be?" There's an edge in Seto's voice that speaks of experience with the same thing. Ryuuji doesn't think he's reading too deeply into it. He doesn't think that it's chance that he's picked up on it either. Seto wants him to know that in one way or another, they're the same.

"Yeah," Ryuuji admits.

"I could use someone like that," Seto murmurs.

Ryuuji sneers. "Don't go thinking that you're about to save me, Kaiba."

"I'm giving you an opportunity to use your set of skills for something else," Seto replies. He shrugs, turning away from Ryuuji. "Think on it. I'm not the most patient of people."

"You came here for a dragon to add to your collection," Ryuuji says, frowning.

Seto laughs. "Dragons don't talk. I knew that before I came here. You have a day. I'll be back tomorrow to hear your decision. If your father asks, I'm giving you time to decide if you want to join my collection. I only take those who come willingly. I have no interest in owning you, but I think we could work together."

Ryuuji shifts back, before his father can figure out that something is amiss. "I suppose I'l see you tomorrow, then."

[luckycricket33]

i've actually been quietly excited for a while now that someone else seems to be so invested in my terrible awful boy but alas i am a shy