Hello,

So here I'm venturing into a more supernatural/AU version of the Glee 'verse, with another fill for the Glee Kink Meme (and yes, rating is going to go up eventually...it's from a kink meme, after all.) I'm not going to repost the whole prompt, but the general gist is: Everyone in this world develops some kind of super power during puberty, and a brand appears on their body that has something to do with what their power is. Blaine hides his from everyone because he has a power that no one should have, and he's always been taught that he can't ever, ever use it on someone. When he transfers to McKinley, though, the bullying becomes so bad that he finally snaps...and it turns out he was always told never to use his power on anyone for a very, very good reason.

BE WARNED. The parameters of this prompt wanted: humiliation, dub and noncon, lots of sex, and sexual slavery. If any of that squicks you, I'd advise you not read. It'll take a while yet to GET to all that stuff, but yeah, it'll be there. Also, there is established Kurtosfsky in this. I put the main characters as Kurt and Blaine because the story will more or less focus on them, and there will be eventual Klaine...but Blaine gets pretty dark in this.

Still with me? Yay! Then please enjoy :)

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the rightful owners of any recognizable elements herein. Please don't sue.

When Blaine Anderson was eleven, his teacher stood at the head of his classroom and told the boys to line up with Mr. Henderson, the gym teacher. The girls were to remain in their seats and wait for Ms. Ericson, the volleyball coach. The boys dutifully trooped to the front of the room, soft whispers of curiosity and excitement already buzzing through the line. Mr. Henderson led them through the hallways down to the gym, where a projector and screen had been set up, as well as a couple of microphones.

Two men in dark suits were standing by the projector cart, smiling politely as Mr. Henderson directed all the boys to sit on the floor in neat rows in front of the screen. Blaine, as well as most of the boys, already had a pretty good idea of what they were going to be talking about, and the buzzing only increased. Blaine ignored the whispering and giggling, drawing his legs up underneath him and resting his elbows on his bent knees. Idly, he studied the men, his eyes drifting over the mesh-covered cutout on one's left shoulder blade that revealed a pale green Mark in the shape of a curling vine.

As Blaine watched, the Mark undulated and writhed across the exposed skin of his shoulder blade, twisting in on itself before unwinding and crawling upwards towards his neck. The other man's Mark was high on the side of his neck-high enough that he didn't have to modify his clothes—a sharply defined hawk in a deep, dark brown. The hawk preened and ruffled its feathers every few seconds, flapping its wings when the man turned his head.

Blaine wondered if the man could achieve a full transformation—the Mark was almost as dark and well-defined as the wolf that danced and howled across his grandfather's forearm, and Grandpa could change all the way.

"All right kids, quiet down!" Mr. Henderson barked, and the floor underneath them trembled just a bit. Instantly, they silenced themselves, turning their full attention to the two men at the front of the gym.

The man with the vine Mark smiled warmly at them, clapping his hands together in a lame show of excitement. "Hi boys! My name is Mr. Santos, and this is my friend Mr. Harris. We're here to talk to you today about something very important. Can anyone guess what we're going to talk about?" Mr. Santos's voice was falsely cheerful, and even from a few rows back, Blaine could see the boredom in his dark eyes. Even so, several of the other boys raised their hands, waving them wildly. Mr. Santos pointed at a random boy in the first row.

"Our Marks!" the boy, a total teacher's pet by the name of Jonathan, chirped brightly. Mr. Santos flashed a toothy smile.

"That's right! You and your classmates are getting to the age where your Marks are going to start appearing, and your talents are going to show themselves. Mr. Harris and I are going to talk to you about what you can expect to happen, and give you some things to look at with your parents. We have a neat video for you to watch, and then we're going to talk about it, okay?" Mr. Santos nodded to Mr. Harris, who pushed a button on the projector.

On the screen, a couple of happy-looking teenagers appeared and started talking about what a special time it was when a person's Mark appeared, and how it was a natural part of growing up. Blaine rested his chin on his hands and promptly started thinking about the level that he was trying to beat in Mario Kart. Several of the other boys—mostly those with older brothers or sisters—also tuned out, though no one dared to start talking or whispering with Mr. Henderson right there watching.

It wasn't like the video was telling them anything new. Blaine's dad had sat him down that summer and they'd talked about the Marks. Blaine had already asked all the questions he had about them, and his dad had answered with the same brusque straightforwardness he'd used when talking about "the birds and the bees" a few months later when Blaine's mother had found him trying to stuff his own sheets into the washer with a bright red face.

He already knew his own Mark would show up sometime in the next few years (his mom had gotten hers when she was eleven…Dad's hadn't shown up until he was almost fifteen). He already knew that once his mark appeared, he'd be expected to show it in public or wear a tag that identified his talent if his Mark appeared in a place he was embarrassed to show. He already knew that the darker and clearer his Mark, the stronger his talent would be. He even already knew that he had a pretty good chance of his talent being some kind of shapeshifting ability (as his maternal grandfather, his dad, and two uncles were all shifters of some degree), but that it could be something completely different than anyone in his family.

He already knew these things…and the teenagers in the video were way too happy about "having a very pale Mark, or a talent that's not as obvious as other people's" being perfectly normal and still something to celebrate. Blaine was pretty sure even Mr. Henderson rolled his eyes at the overly peppy voiceovers and poorly-acted 'scenarios' in the video.

Still, Blaine forced himself to look like he was paying attention, to smile and raise his hand with a question he already knew the answer to when it was over. He took the little booklet with the cartoony MeandmyMark title emblazoned over a picture of a racially diverse group of smiling children proudly showing off their Marks and not caring at all that two of them had Marks that were so pale they were barely visible, and one apparently had the ridiculous talent of being able to make things sparkle. He solemnly promised that he would go over everything they'd talked about today with his parents, and clapped for the speakers after chorusing a 'thank you!' with the rest of his classmates.

Then he filed out of the gym with the others, and didn't really spare another thought to Marks until Heather Maloney came back to school after Christmas break with a slate-gray thundercloud billowing its way across her cheek and jawline. At recess that day, she stood on the soccer field, surrounded by almost all of her classmates, and closed her eyes. Everyone gasped appreciatively when a cloud about the size of a beach ball slowly formed over their heads, then shrieked in laughter when a few fat drops of rain began drizzling down, quickly turning to slush in the cold air of Ohio's winter.

A few other kids in Blaine's grade got their Marks that year, but Blaine was not one of them. Lots of the other boys in his class didn't have their yet, and of the classmates who did, Heather's remained the most impressive. The ones who had their Marks switched into another gym period, one designed to help them learn how to use and control their talents. Blaine wished a little bit that he was joining them…but it was more because he was curious about what kind of Mark he'd have, than any real jealousy.

His Mark didn't show up that school year. Or the next.

In fact, it wasn't until the summer before he started high school that he woke up with a weird, itchy sensation across his chest. He actually expected to find some kind of insect bite or rash when he took his shirt off to get in the shower, but the skin of his chest was unblemished, except for the little patch of coarse hair that was starting to come in over his pectorals. As the day went on, the itching intensified, centering right on his breastbone. By dinner time, it had started to burn a little as well, though he couldn't really say it was painful. Just…uncomfortable. Like the skin over that part of his body had suddenly shrunk too small.

He found it disconcerting enough that he told his parents at dinner. His mother immediately demanded that he raise his shirt, but when there still proved to be no rash or irritation, she merely exchanged a knowing look with his father.

"Well honey, looks like we're going to have to get your school clothes altered…unless you'd rather just wear a tag," his mother said, patting his cheek affectionately.

"Huh?" he replied stupidly. The only people who needed tags were people who…oh.

Oh.

His parents chuckled as comprehension dawned on his face, his father reaching over to pat him on the back. They spent the rest of the meal casually speculating what Blaine's talent would be. He rather hoped his father was right and he would be able to take on the form of some animal, like both his dad and his grandfather. Then again, he reflected, looking to where his mother's blouse had a tastefully sheer patch over the left side of her ribcage, where a whirlwind of navy blue could be seen constantly churning and spinning, something like being able to affect the weather would be neat.

His mom wrapped an ice pack up in a towel for him right before he went to bed, pecking him on the cheek with a proud smile. "My little boy, growing up so fast," she sighed, and Blaine ducked his head bashfully. He took a couple of aspirin and lay in bed with the TV on, though he wasn't really paying attention to what was on the screen. Every now and again he would scratch his chest, though it didn't really help the itching.

The strange, aching itch persisted for a few days, long enough that Blaine thought the constant irritation might drive him crazy. His mom clucked sympathetically, noting that it had taken her older sister's Mark a whole week to come in. Blaine groaned and thumped his head on the dining room table a few times when she told him that, prompting both his parents to laugh brightly.

He spent the rest of the night sulking in his room.

On the fourth day, though, he woke up to realize that the itching was gone. He blinked sleepily for a few seconds, staring at the damp spot on his shirt where the melting ice pack had soaked through a little despite the towels. Then, he grinned widely and jumped up off the bed. He darted over to the full-length mirror hanging on his closet door, yanking his shirt over his head as he went.

He thought he had prepared himself for whatever he might find. He'd been hoping it would be something cool like the golden lion that regarded the world regally from his father's back. Maybe something like the silvery lightning bolts that crackled on his aunt's wrist. He'd even told himself he wouldn't mind if it wasn't something awesome like shapeshifting or weather control. When he actually looked at his Mark, though, he was confused.

It started just below his collar bones, stretching down his chest and ending just above his navel. The shape was strange…a narrow, inverted teardrop, with spiraling twist to the point. The Mark's edges were rippling lazily, as though he was looking at something that was underwater, but that was the only movement.

The shape wasn't what bothered him…not all Marks were literal representations of a person's talent. Several of his classmates had ended up with very abstract Marks. All of his relatives had Marks that were pretty on-the-nose in regards to their talents, but he knew that didn't really mean anything. It wasn't unusual for someone's Mark to be completely different from any other Mark in their family.

No…what had his eyes widening, his breath catching in his throat, was the fact that his Mark was completely, utterly pitch black.

He'd never seen a Mark that color…didn't even know they could be that color. The general rule was the darker the color, the stronger a person's talent. What on earth did it mean that his was that dark? Hell, what did this mean his talent was?

"Blaine, honey, are you up yet?" His mother's voice floated through his half-opened door, and he heard her knock lightly a moment later. The door swung open, and he turned around to face her, his mouth opening to ask her what she thought his Mark was.

The question died in his throat, though, when he saw her expression. Her eyes were locked on his Mark, and gone so wide he could see the whites all around. Her hands flew to her mouth, the laundry basket she had been carrying falling to the floor with a thump.

"Mom…Mom, what? What's wrong?" he asked softly, not sure that he wanted her to answer. Because his mother didn't look confused, or surprised.

His mother looked afraid.