#WRITE OVERPOWERED FEMALE CHARACTERS!!!!!!!!!

[blackkatmagic]

The amount of unhappy asks already about a anakin/consequences fic with a badass overpowered eldritch female main protagonist is... wow.

How dare you not write mainstream, Kat, it's not like you're known for that or anything...

Oh, you're right, that's probably what it is. I was putting it down to this almost being a full moon, but. Yeah. That makes unfortunate amounts of sense.

And yes! Truly this is outside my wheelhouse. Two random side characters who get fridged for Manpain™️, being badass?? Truly hope this doesn't start a trend with my writing. That would be tragic. 😔

[starrysharks]

i used to be a bit conscious about having so many girls/fem characters in my works (starsaints carnival is the only developed story right now that doesn't have a female protagonist, and most of the time i have to actively go out of my way to make male characters) but you know what fuck it i like girls so i'm gonna write girls goddammit!!!

[kennys-parka-jacket]

So, like... is everyone aware that Princess Kenny is a mary sue? Is that common knowledge? Because I was in the online fanfiction community during the 2010s and it was all "mary sue" this and "mary sue" that. And as I watched the black friday trilogy I noticed PK had a few notable traits:

-is a girl

-has magic powers

-everybody loves her

-significant characters go OOC as soon as she shows up

-tragic backstory

-gets everything she wants even if it doesn't make sense for her to do so

-is kind of a jerk at times, but her jerkery is ignored by the narrative

-sexually liberal

-is basically invincible and unkillable

-speaks in broken japanese (this is very specific to 2013 anti-mary sue culture)

-is part of some kind of minority (in this case transgender)

-has rainbows associated with her abilities

-is way more powerful than everyone else in her universe

Like... homegirl is a mary sue

[inwinterhell]

As a female athlete myself, I just want to quickly appreciate how George R.R Martin writes his women who fight. It’s never, “she wanted to be a warrior so she worked harder than everyone and eventually she could beat all the boys.” He actually gives his characters strengths and weaknesses—as well as cultural ties to fighting— and he makes these traits enhance the already existing plot lines these characters follow. The mental game is also always just as important, if not more, than the physical game, which I’ve found is true in sports and probably much more true in actual life-threatening situations.

Arya is a small child. She’s nine, she’s skinny; she would probably never excel at being a knight, so instead she learns a different type of fighting. She’ll never overpower anyone, but she can be quick and sneaky and use her left hand which most people don’t know how to fight against. Also, I would argue that Syrio’s teachings about “looking with your eyes” were far more important to her than the physical part of water dancing. Most of the time she isn’t using her skills to directly fight people, but to run away, to spy on people, to catch food and survive. Syrio is her friend, Needle is Jon Snow’s smile, etc. Arya learning how to use her stature to her advantage is part of a greater connection to her identity and the people who helped her.

Brienne is stronger than most men, but she faces constant misogyny because of that (which is all too realistic). She constantly faces internal battles with her own self-image and harassment wherever she goes. She gets taught to use men’s pride and anger to her advantage:

“Old Ser Goodwin was long in his grave, yet she could hear him whispering in her ear. Men will always underestimate you, he said, and their pride will make them want to vanquish you quickly, lest it be said that a woman tried them sorely. Let them spend their strength in furious attacks, whilst you conserve your own. Wait and watch, girl, wait and watch (AFFC Brienne 7)”

Finally, “no chance, and no choice” is her most memorable line for a reason. It’s not her martial prowess that makes her a great character; it’s her bravery and honor.

Cultural ties are also so important to the reasons many women in the series fight. Asha is Balon’s last remaining child when all her brothers are dead and gone. Of course she knows how to fight and sail. Her tension with Theon is less about her showing off and more about her proving how much she actually knows her people while he doesn’t (of course that isn’t Theon’s fault but that’s a whole other post). The Mormont women learned to fight because they historically had to fight off invaders; the Sand snakes’ skills show their connection to Oberyn, etc.

Anyway I just love how George uses fighting to enhance his characters’ personalities and not define them. None of them are physically or mentally infallible, and none are exempt from misogyny. They just learned to do something that empowers and protects them despite society’s expectations. George’s writing of women is definitely not perfect, but this is something I really appreciate.

[mxtxfanatic]

Bing-ge and Victim's Entitlement as Portrayed by MXTX

I was thinking about Bing-ge’s journey as an abuse victim into an abuser and how much the creation of Bing-mei is a critique on both the writing trope that creates Bing-ge as well as the societal expectations that drive it.

In the world of PIDW, one of Shen Yuan’s main critiques was about how terribly the young Luo Binghe is treated by the narrative, so much so that he views it as torture porn. From being abandoned as a baby, to being abused as a servant and watching his adoptive mother wither from sickness and die, to finding his way to Cang Qiong Mountain and suffering under a cruel shizun who then pushes him into hell, Shen Yuan finds all this unnecessarily cruel. However, Shang Qinghua knows that the trauma Luo Binghe suffers directly correlates to the enjoyment readers are meant to get out of the second half of the protagonist’s life when he becomes overpowered and primed for vengeance. Shen Yuan knows this, too, as this is the trope he girds himself with as Shen Qingqiu to work up the nerve to push his disciple into the Endless Abyss, to “earn” his happiness. However, is this a true happiness? Does the trauma justify any and all of Luo Binghe’s actions?

On the surface, Bing-ge seems happy! He is able to enact revenge on Shen Jiu—and demolish Cang Qiong Mountain Sect who acted as accomplices to his abuse—and was given narrative access to any and every woman of marriageable age who crossed his path. He is even able to destroy his world by merging the three realms with no consequences to himself. Bing-ge has seemingly reaped the twisted “reward” that having survived unconscionable abuse and abandonment from the time of his birth had sown for him, and PIDW readers were able to enjoy and defend Bing-ge’s later megalomaniacal actions directly because they had read through hundreds of pages of his ill-treatment beforehand. The worse Luo Binghe’s childhood was, the more they were willing to accept of his actions in adulthood. We see a similar thing take place in the SVSSS fandom: the reveal of Shen Jiu’s past as a child slave is used to justify his later abuse of his child disciples—children who had no hand in his trauma but who he has decided to bear the brunt of it, anyways. But Shen Jiu lived a very unfulfilling adulthood due to his unwarranted actions until his untimely death. Is Luo Binghe any different?

Enter Bing-mei: the revised protagonist who abandons revenge in pursuit of experiencing genuine affection from the only person who gave it unconditionally. No, Bing-mei doesn’t get all the girls or all the power. He does not become the emperor of all three realms and he is not an uncontested leader that all conscious beings bow to. In fact, he is very tame and controlled in comparison to his PIDW counterpart despite not having complete control of his sword that amplifies his negative emotions. But when Bing-ge slips into the world of SVSSS and discovers that, despite all of this, Bing-mei has an intact world, platonic relationships, and a shizun who loves him, he’s willing to throw it all away to experience that same life. Bing-ge is revealed to be the unhappy, unfulfilled one, because the one thing he wanted—genuine unconditional love—was the one thing that he cannot earn or forcibly take. No amount of audience hype can change the fact that Bing-ge must leave behind the happy Bingqiu couple to return to his destroyed world in his unsatisfying reality.

This isn’t just a theme in SVSSS, either; it’s present in all of MXTX’s works in how people—both characters and the irl fandom—react to antagonists and asshole characters who have experienced trauma. In mdzs: a female cultivator tries to say that Jin Ling endangering other cultivators should be forgiven “since he’s an orphan.” Jiang Cheng throws his parents’ and sister’s death around to justify being an unrepentant serial killer. Jin Guangyao cries about how much his father hates him compared to the legitimate Jin heirs that he murdered. In tgcf: Qi Rong escapes discipline at every turn because his mother had to escape with him from his abusive father, and Mu Qing’s transgressions against the marginalized are ignored because “he was poor, once.” All of these characters have their actions whitewashed both in their stories and by their fandoms at large because their defenders believe that their trauma excuses any of their subsequent behavior.

Yet, MXTX does not prescribe to this idea. Notice the pattern of how the above characters end their stories. Jiang Cheng tanks his reputation and loses the respect of his only living relative. Jin Guangyao and Qi Rong die. But Jin Ling experiences setback after setback until he adjusts his behavior, and Mu Qing had to earnestly apologize under harrowing circumstances to be forgiven. It is not characters who seek justice for being harmed who are punished in these novels but those who persevere in their entitlement to do whatever they want because they were once harmed, thereby eventually destroy any goodwill others, particularly their loved ones, had towards them. The characters who are able to contain their actions to aim only at those who wronged them or else honestly reflect on their sense of entitlement in order to change for the better become well-liked by their peers. And as for Bing-ge: his inability to change within the narrative of PIDW may have “earned” him all the material things his world could offer and the affections of an unseen audience, besides, but he misses out on true human connection and love. These are the things he can never forcibly take, because in real life, no amount of trauma would entitle him—or anyone—to those things.

[tls12lessthan3]

thinking about orvs metatextual engagement with its genre and specifically how that interacts with its women again. kim dokja is a self insert for the reader - what he thinks is largely meant to represent what we think, especially in the beginning before sing shong really fleshes out his character. kim dokja sees the world through tropes, directly acknowledging the genre around him and the cliches we expect e.g. the overpowered mc, the scheming villain, the beautiful heroine.

but a major part of his arc is deconstructing this reductionist view of the world in a way that parallels the author's deconstruction of the genre, and that plays really well with the way orv writes women. yoo sangah is perhaps the best exanple - shes introduced as the heroine, a one-dimensional pretty girl who in any other novel would become kim dokja's love interest. but the authors allow her to be her own character, directly challenging the stereotype of the heroine and calling attention to the genre's typical lack of depth for such a character. i think this undercurrent plays in the background often but really comes to the forefront when yoo sangah reminds kim dokja of her putting pepper in their bosses' coffee, a memory kim dokja had supressed because it didn't fit with the pretty girl persona he made for her.

i interpret that moment as yoo sangah pushing her way out of the mold of heroine often found in these stories, demanding a depth be added to her character, asking kim dokja - and thus the reader - to see her in her entirety, to see the heroine archetype for what she could be. orv is at all times in conversation with its genre, and its simultaneous writing of female characters with agency and depth and acknowledgement of the tropes these women are expected to fulfill is undeniably a part of that. and its a part i enjoy. most of the time.

[l0v3tast3]

Pervy!Krueger? He just, looks like a man who would steal your panties and purposely grind against you when you and him are training.

god sebastian krueger is so hot. i love him his skins in cod ? his voice ?? his regular voice sounds so calm and even u just KNOW he's hiding some freaky shit behind that !!! thank u anon for opening up this beautiful new path of a new character to write <3

✎ tags: mdni! nsft, female reader, age gap (r is 20's, krueger is 35), dirty talk, abuse of pet names, possessive!krueger, edging, public s3x, he buys u slutty outfits, innocence/corruption kink

✎ word count: 1.3k words (not proofread)

translations: spatzi - little sparrow (pls someone confirm i'm not 100% sure?) mein engel - my angel / schatzi - little treasure jammere nicht - don't whine / das gör - brat

masterlist

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!sebastian who teaches you self-defense mostly for the opportunity to feel you up that much more. he uses the excuse that you're small (you aren't that much shorter than him) and it makes you an "easy target". but you always hear the satisfied little laugh he huffs out whenever he effortlessly pins you down, you always feel his hips pressing into your back or stomach when he straddles you and holds you by your wrists.

✧ ˖ ° it's very obviously a power play for him, another way for him to make a point of how he has you now, how he won't let you get away. sebastian reminds you of it constantly. he spells his name on your clit, leaves you covered with the imprints of his teeth and stains of his cum and spit. when he's covering your body with his, his thick cock stretching you enough for him to be licking away the beginnings of tears under your eyes, he'll remind you of it. "spatzi, you feel so good. you were made for me, don't you know? just as i was made for you. no other man will ever make you feel like this- right, mein engel?" sebastian makes damn sure you know who you belong to, and proving how easily he can overpower you (and therefore protect you) while "training" you is just another way to do that.

✧ ˖ ° obviously, sebastian would rather die than ever actually hurt you. that doesn't mean he'll let you go without a (figurative) fight- so when he has you under him on the mat for the fourth time in a row, he'll grin while he leans down to graze his lips against yours. "what will you do when you have nowhere left to run?" before you even take enough of a breath to respond, he knows what you'll say: that you won't run. it's the loveliest sound sebastian has ever heard.

✧ ˖ ° despite his love of seeing you under him, when you finally manage to get him under you, he's has nothing but praise for you. he easily breaks out of your hold on his wrists to sit up with you on his lap, his hands cupping your face to bring you in for a kiss. "well done, schatzi. i am very impressed." sebastian rewards you immensely after that.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!sebastian who genuinely gets annoyed when you wear anything but only his shirts when you're at his house. if you dare to try to wear pants or even underwear, he'll take them off of you, pocket your panties, and edge you for as long as he deems fit. "jammere nicht- you brought this on yourself, das gör," he'll mutter with a slap to your thigh or ass whenever you start begging to cum. "how many times will i have to tell you? you don't need those when you are with me."

✧ ˖ ° eventually (and unsurprisingly) he'll start escalating to outside the house. sebastian will make sure to buy you endless amounts of little sundresses and skirts that never go past your knees while you're together. he won't say anything about it until you start catching on and ask him why, and even then, he'll play dumb. the approach to getting you to like the idea of his fingers stuffed into your cunt around others is slow at first; a hand that creeps further up your thigh with every dinner, movie, coffee date you go on. when his fingertips finally meet the edge of your underwear, he'll have the most salacious grin you've ever seen.

✧ ˖ ° sitting together on a bench overlooking the river you had walked along, your hand grips his wrist and you dart anxious eyes in several directions. "don't worry, schatzi," he'll whisper, turning towards you to press kisses against your neck. "there is no one else here. do you think i would really let anyone besides me see you like this?" his insinuation is a lie, of course- he wants them to see you. sebastian wants everyone to see his claim on you, to see how only he can make you feel good. as soon as you relax your hold he's pulling your panties to the side and drawing circles on your clit.

✧ ˖ ° it nearly becomes a habit, something you expect and anticipate whenever you go out together. sebastian will get you to the point where you're squirming in your seat before his hand even moves from your knee, casting impatient looks at him if he's taking too long. it's the one time he doesn't mind you being a brat- it is his own fault, after all. you both love the game of trying not to get caught, you trying to hide your hitched breath and rocking hips and him trying not to make it obvious how deep his fingers are reaching into you.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!sebastian who likes dressing you up in slutty little outfits and costumes. after he shows you his latest purchase and sweet talks you into putting it on just for him, he'll happily sit on the couch and wait for you to shuffle out of his bedroom. he'll have the biggest smile when he beckons you over, lathering your legs and stomach with kisses while you stand between his legs. "so ein schönes mädchen, such a good girl for me." (such a beautiful girl)

✧ ˖ ° it's not uncommon for him to pull out a matching collar for the outfit. he just thinks it's the perfect finishing touch, always a color that compliments your skin well, always fitting perfectly as a sign of his claim. sebastian will be so gentle while he wraps it around your neck, always asking if it's too tight- as soon as it's secured, though, he's tugging on it to pull your back to his chest. his hands will run all over your body as he admires it from over your shoulder, biting into your soft skin as his hands sneak under the tiny pieces of fabric.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!sebastian who, if you couldn't tell already, is very possessive of you. you're his sweet little angel, untainted by the horrors that have reached into him. you need someone to protect you. to keep you safe, to keep the wool over your eyes against the people who want to corrupt you (in less-good ways than he does). sebastian is more than happy to take on that role. you're just so innocent when you first meet, so soft and naïvely curious to learn why his cock aches whenever he's around you.

✧ ˖ ° taking your virginity was one thing, but the first time he sees your childhood bedroom when you're not living in your university dorm, sebastian ends up ravaging you. stuffed animals, pink fairy lights casting an intoxicating glow over your skin, the entire cutesy aesthetic all makes him jump on you the second he's climbed through your window. he gags you with your frilly white panties and folds you in half on your floor- there's no time wasted in burying his tongue in your little cunt. "stop squirming, schatzi. you don't want your parents to hear us, do you? lass mich mein mahl genießen." (let me enjoy my meal).

✧ ˖ ° sebastian's possessiveness over you knows no bounds- there's always a hand on the back of your neck or a bit too low on your waist in public. there's always some piece of jewelry with his initials on you. he's always by your side. he'll come with to meet your friends and when they try to pull you to the side and say something about how he never lets you stray far, he'll fuck you in the bathroom and grin when you come out all dumb. sebastian wants everyone to know that he makes you happy, keeps you safe, makes you feel better than anyone else ever could. sebastian wants you to know all that, most of all.

(´꒳`)♡ likes, reblogs, n comments are always appreciated!

[tossawary]

One of the worst parts about Ichigo/Orihime as a pairing is that I like both of them and I think they could make a very cute couple of overpowered weirdos together, but the writing is just NOT THERE for them most of the time. It is NOT supporting them as a compelling couple so far and NOT delivering on the potential chemistry.

You know when someone writes fanfiction for your ship and you want to enjoy it, but it's just so OOC and they've filed all the interesting rough edges off the characters and don't explore what it would actually be like for these two to be life partners? So, it's like, "This isn't even really my ship... You fucking Gentrified Flanderized Them." It's like that but it's fucking canon, baby.

I would rather a relationship not become canon at all than become canon in the most boring way possible. "Naruto" is the same way. How are these authors so dedicated to making potentially perfectly tolerable ships suck sooooo bad most of the time? (I know it's the misogyny. They CANNOT write women consistently well.) I am almost delighted with frustration.

At least with "One Piece", despite the many writing crimes committed against female characters all the fucking time, I feel relatively certain that Oda will kill Luffy off at the end of the story before he writes an epilogue where Luffy is married with kids.

[navybrat817]

A Hero's Reward

Pairing: Dark!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky is a hero and every hero deserves a reward.

Word Count: Almost 500

Warnings: Implied NONCON/DUBCON, kidnapping, dark Avengers, possessive behavior, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: The Basement Spouses Writing Challenge Week 5! Character: Bucky Barnes. Length: 200-500 words. Prompt: "Wherever you go and whatever you do, all you will feel is me." ❤️ @krirebr , thank you for chatting me about this and everyone should check out What You Can Do For Your Country. Written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Heroes were meant to make the world a better place. They exemplified courage, resilience, and determination while serving as living embodiments of values and ideals that many admired. They offered protection and safety. And you were lucky enough to live in a time with The Avengers, the self-proclaimed world's mightiest heroes who saved the Earth time and time again.

But no one liked to talk about the burden placed on their shoulders. Or that they had their own needs outside of the fight. So what did the heroes take for their reward? Whatever they wanted.

Bucky Barnes, also known as The Winter Soldier, only wanted one thing.

You.

“Look at me,” he ordered above a whisper.

You brushed a tear away as you lifted your gaze and moved back to the corner of your bed to cower. The cell Tony made was comfortable enough, but the massive size and aura of Bucky made it seem small and dark. It would never be your home. They took you from it the moment the Soldier decided he wanted you as his personal doll. You were told it was an honor and a privilege.

The same thing they told the occupants in the other cells, each one a reward chosen by the various team members.

“Bucky,” you said, your voice hoarse from your earlier screams. You managed to break free from your cell earlier that day, but the relief was temporary since you were quickly caught and dragged back. “I just want to go home, Sir. Please.”

Bucky observed you as he walked toward the bed, his icy blue eyes not leaving your trembling form for a second. “This place is only temporary. Steve and I will move you and his girl into our new home once it's ready,” he told you, brushing his metal hand along your cheek as you tried not to flinch. “Do you remember what I told you your first night here?”

“Yes,” you answered, trying to block out the memory.

You fought him. Well, you tried to. He quickly proved why he was a hero in the physical sense when he overpowered you. He then proved why he was your villain when he split you open with his cock.

“Yet you still tried to run,” he said, his voice laced with hurt and anger. “Wherever you go and whatever you do, all you will feel is me.”

A shiver of fear and anticipation ran down your spine as he straightened up and unbuckled his belt. You knew what was coming, but it didn't make it any easier. The worst part deep down was how much you liked him owning you. That was why you had to get away.

But he would never let you go.

“So let me remind you how good it feels when I'm inside you,” he said, tugging the sheet away when you tried to cover yourself. “And let's see you try and run from me by the time I'm done with you.”

He can keep me. That's fine! Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[happysharkintensifies]

Booktok makes me sick, not just because of all the shitty books. It's the prevalence, no, the celebration, of toxic masculinity. Every single booktok book features some variation on the same man. And without fail, against all sensible reason, these characters are portrayed as handsome and charismatic and desirable.

It makes me sick when these authors hold up these toxic, predatory traits and put them on a pedestal as some kind of Ideal Man.

It makes me sick when their aggressiveness and possessiveness is treated as romantic. It makes me sick when these shitty men forcibly grab women, invade their personal spaces, and render them helpless by 'purring' in their ears, every. single. fucking. time.

It makes me sick that these misogynistic, heteronormative, and hypermasculine social conventions keep appearing in so-called feminist literature.

Strip away the idealized elements and you have what is basically the rich, white, cishet, alpha-male archetype. He's tall, usually six feet, physically fit and muscular with obligatory six pack abs, and conventionally handsome, with a chiseled jawline. He's usually clean-shaven, and any hair he may have on his body is minimal. He maintains composure at all times and rarely shows anxiety or uncertainty. He exudes raw charisma and charm and navigates social spaces effortlessly.

His hobbies, if he has any, are stereotypically masculine. When it comes to sex, he's confident, skilled, exclusively dominant, and always knows what to do without communicating with his partner. The sex he enjoys is usually rough, animalistic and overpowering. He may have been with several women in the past, and he may be regarded as a sex god, both in-universe and out.

His toxic traits are rarely portrayed as negative. But when they are, they're usually held up as some edgy, anti-hero persona and the reader is inevitably manipulated into sympathizing with him. He'll be portrayed as a tortured, wounded animal, and his female love interest (and, by proxy, the reader) will decide on some variation of 'I can fix him'.

He is essentially the unrealistic standard the ideal Proper Man; the one that men are expected to emulate, and that women are expected to swoon over.

But what really irks me is the lost potential.

If there are men who don't fit into this mold, they are depicted as pathetic, ineffectual, or any number of negative traits.

The narrative quietly and passive-aggressively mocks them and portray them as boring and un-sexy.

After all, is this the kind of man who will bravely swoop in and sweep a helpless woman off her feet? Of course not. Such men are boys. Wimps. Cowards.

These books are supposed to be fantasy: a genre in which easily anything can be explored. If faeries, magic, and contrived mating bonds can exist, then why can't we also have male characters who exist outside the stereotypical, hypermasculine mold?

Why is it that we can have so many fantastical, impossible, and wondrous magical forces, creatures, and peoples, but we can't have men who aren't possessive, abusive, or controlling?

Why is it that male characters, have to be so innately dominant, abusive, and violent? Why do they have to be so fit and muscular and strong?

Even worse, why is it treated as something that is so natural, so inescapable, even in the realm of fiction?

Where are the men who aren't tall and fit? Where are the men who don't have sculpted abs or chiseled jawlines? Where are the men who aren't lean and muscular?

Why can’t we have men who are skinny or overweight? Why can't we have men who aren't handsome or attractive, but just average looking? Why can't we have men who are shorter or just average height?

Why can't we have men with non-stereotypical hobbies? Why can't we have men who love to read, or paint, or write, or sing, or dance, or build model kits?

Why can’t we have men who are timid and shy? Why can't we have men who feel anxiety, fear, and sadness? Why can't we have men who aren't afraid of crying openly?

Why can't we have men who aren't sex gods? Why can't we have men who aren't confident in bed? Who are anxious, or even scared, at the prospect of sex? Who are passive instead of dominant? Who want to experience intimacy and affection?

Why can’t we have men be kind and gentle and sweet for once?

I'll tell you why we can't. Because booktok says men like these are not 'man' enough. Booktok says men like these are the 'boring' option, and completely devoid of interesting quirks, traits or personality. Booktok says men like these are underserving of attention, and only fit to be background noise.

As far as booktok is concerned, men like these can't exist.

[neyafromfrance95]

I find it so interesting that even though Galadriel will “close the door” on Sauron, she never renounces ownership over Nenya and even takes it with her to Valinor, something that sort of was his idea, and even tho he never touched it, it’s a still a part of him, always with her. RoP is setting this nicely in S2, with her feud with Elrond. And Nenya is also known as “the Ring of Adamant”, and Sauron’s fortress in Mordor, Barad-dûr, is also called “Tower of Adamant”. And Galadriel is still tempted by the One Ring thousands of years later. I think Galadriel blocks Sauron because she’s aware she can’t resist him, she would eventually succumb and be at his side. I’m so excited to see the “the Last Temptation” scene, honestly. They better not disappoint, please

i think one of the most fascinating aspects about galadriel in tolkien canon is that back then no one dared or even wished to write female characters like that in a fantasy genre.

galadriel wants to lead, wants to rule, wants glory, and is tempted by power.

but in trop right now, while she is an ambitious leader who always does things her way, she is mainly motivated by revenge.

lorebros say she needs to become wiser and tamer to have an "accurate" development, but tolkien!galadriel has never been a pure virgin mary the lorebros claim her to be. she actually needs to become wiser, much stronger and even more thirsty for power than she is right now! so what will take galadriel's ambitions to the next level? doesn't it make sense for it to be an influence of the dark lord?

even if she is an unwilling companion or if it's a forced mind-palace shenanigans, sauron would slowly mold her into something alike himself, would give her a taste of true power that she won't ever be able to forget. she would close the doors on him after seeing for herself how real the possibility of her becoming a tyrant is.

but if she were to overcome his temptations as early as s2, trop and lotr contexts wouldn't fit together in a way that makes sense. her suddenly overpowering sauron would feel too premature and unearned.

and while in the future, she becomes so strong that sauron isn't able to access her mind, she still can't stop fighting him. besides gaining more power, her main goal is still fighting sauron.

i think it's truly fascinating that she takes nenya with her to valinor. it's as if she is unwilling to fully give up her deepest desire for power, as if she is still unable to let the fighter go. but with added trop context, it would also indicate that she just can not give up the only thing that connects her with sauron! nenya is the only reminder of him and of their fated connection so she can never take it off!

so just like sauron needs to still covet her in the end of trop, galadriel needs to still be consumed by her fight against him in order for their stories to make sense in regards to lotr.

[flowerandblood]

The Sin & The Penance

[ modern Frollo • Aemond x Esmeralda • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, revenge motive, description of physical and mental disabilities, remorse, depression, hysteria attacks, swearing, trauma, suicidal thoughts ]

[ description: After a car accident, his brother has to deal with the consequences of what happened, and he, as his protector, does not know how to help him. His sister comes up with the idea of hiring someone as his carer who will be able to cheer him up and occupy his mind. It turns out, however, that the girl he hired charmed not only his younger brother. Obsession, self-destructive behavior, verbal and physical aggression, sexual tension, dark, malicious Aemond. ]

Author's note: This story is a request, but I decided to freely use what I liked in the book and Disney film to create a new, disturbing story taking place in modern times. It is intended to be uncomfortable and will contain scenes that are at least morally questionable, in my version "Esmeralda" is not Romanian. This story will also include motifs from Jane Eyre, which was a separate request. My story will also touch on the problems of people with disabilities, so if these are sensitive topics for you, I advise against reading further. You have been warned.

Part 1 − The Knight & The Judge Part 3 − The Doubt & The Delight Epilogue

Main Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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That night he could not sleep – he wriggled in bed, checking from time to time whether she had perhaps called him back or written anything. Although he had tried to reach her at least ten times she did not answer and he was afraid to write her a message.

What if she went to the police with this?

Maybe that's what he deserved, he thought after a while with regret, staring blankly at the bright screen of his phone, wondering if he should try again despite the late hour.

As much as he tried to find some logical justification for what he had done, he couldn't explain what had really driven him.

Admittedly, at first he was guided only by anger and spite, but then these emotions disappeared, replaced by a hot, dark desire that filled his loins, completely overshadowing his cool judgement.

Something about her brightness, her lightness, her joy, made him long to lean over her like the dark sky, like night over the stars, and cover her with his blackness, his emptiness, consuming and devouring her.

He had never experienced such a disturbing and overpowering sensation before and was horrified that he was prone to such thoughts and such actions.

He had completely lost his mind because of her.

She had asked him to let her go, so why didn't he do so?

Alys had always been eager for his aggressive, violent games, he knew that, and he felt no remorse about what he was doing to her or where, but this little girl was terrified, trembling all over with fear, and yet all he could think about was how desperately he needed to feel her.

Perhaps subconsciously her cheerfulness, her attitude attracted him.

Maybe after years of sadness and mourning he wanted to feel at last something more than grief.

He covered his eyes with his hand, sighing heavily at that thought, feeling a squeeze in his throat and heart.

He only fell into a restless sleep in the morning with his phone lying next to his face, and was awakened two hours later by his alarm clock anyway, which he switched off with displeasure, tired, sad and embarrassed by what he had done.

He couldn't look Daeron in the face as they ate breakfast together. His little brother looked up at him from over his bowl of his favourite cereal with milk – he knew he was about to start asking questions about her.

"When will Esmeralda come here to sew our costumes?" He asked finally, stirring the milk with his spoon, looking at the chocolate balls that floated on its surface.

He pressed his lips together, not knowing how to explain to him how much he had fucked up.

What he had done to her.

"I don't know if she'll even show up here again." He replied truthfully, Daeron gave him a quick, horrified look.

"She promised me. She promised me we'd sew them together and go to the ball." He muttered, his eyes filling with tears again.

He decided he wouldn't be so cruel as to let him believe it was her fault, though part of his mind opted for that.

"I know, but I hurt her and I'm afraid she won't forgive me." He said lowly, swallowing hard, fiddling with his coffee cup, not daring to look at him, his heart pounding like mad.

"What do you mean? Did you hit her?" He asked in disbelief, and he clenched his eyes, realising that in his childish mind the greatest harm a man could do to a woman was that he could slap her.

He was silent for a while, not sure how or if I should explain it to him, whether it would be too much.

"In a way. And I did something else, much worse. Against her pleas. I could go to jail for that." He muttered, covering his face with his hand, feeling that even though he hadn't eaten anything he felt sick to his stomach.

"Why did you do that? She's so kind. What did she do to you? Did you get angry with her because of me?" He mumbled through his tears. He felt a tightening in his throat at the thought that, like any child, he was trying to justify the adult in his head, deciding that after all he was smarter and more experienced than him, so his behaviour must have been because he, his little brother, had done something wrong.

"No. No, it didn't and doesn't have anything to do with you. This is our adult business, but she has the right to be very angry with me and not speak to me. However, I'm completely sure she doesn't blame you." He replied quickly, biting his lower lip.

It wasn't until he spoke it aloud that it occurred to him how pathetic, inappropriate and cruel what he had done was, how afraid she must have been of him.

Was she telling herself she liked it so she could somehow survive it? She decided to go along with it so she wouldn't suffer?

"Do you think I can call her?" He asked in a quivering voice, and he looked at him with his heart pounding fast, recognising in the back of his mind that it was an excellent thought, that she might want to at least talk to him.

"Yes. Yes, of course. I'll give you her number, but call her from your phone. She's not answering from me."

He stared feeling the cold sweat on his back at his brother's reflection in the mirror driving towards the centre, seeing as he pressed the numbers written on the piece of paper on the keypad of his phone and lifted it to his ear – he heard the quiet beep of a call waiting.

He shuddered as someone answered, trying to focus on the road, complete panic in his mind.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Hello? Hi, it's Daeron. Can you talk? No, he can't hear what you're saying, we're just driving to the centre." He muttered, and he swallowed loudly, feeling a constriction in his chest from which he found it hard to breathe, trying to erase from his mind the image of him slamming into her again and again with the brutal, sharp thrusts of his hips.

"He told me that he had done you wrong and that he had hurt you very badly. I'm very sorry he did that. I just wanted to ask when we're going to sew our costumes." He mumbled out quickly. He felt his eyebrows arch in shame and covered his mouth with his free hand, resting his elbow against his car door, looking ahead in disbelief.

How could he do this to her?

For a moment Daeron listened to what she was saying on the phone with concentration and he was dying inside, afraid that she would explain to him with details of what he had done to her. After a moment he nodded as if he understood what she meant, he saw his face lighten a little.

"Okay. Okay, I'll ask my brother if he agrees to it. Bye bye." He said softly and hung up, sighing heavily.

"And?" He asked looking at him in the mirror, stopping in the car park, feeling like he was about to go crazy. His brother looked down at his fingers.

"Esmeralda said that after your argument she can no longer come to our house, but that I can come to her at the University. She said that the building is modern and wheelchair accessible, there are special toilets, lifts and everything needed. We could do my homework in her room in the dormitory and then walk around the campus, sewing and painting." He said uncertainly, glancing at him pleadingly. He swallowed loudly, feeling disappointed and at the same time understanding of her decision and grunted softly, turning off the engine.

"Would you like that?" He asked him calmly, and his brother nodded quickly.

"Then so be it."

Despite his requests, Daeron refused to tell him which of the boys had called him Quasimodo.

He said that it didn't matter now.

He thought with regret that his younger brother had more maturity and calmness in himself than he did.

Sitting at work he was all nerves, he had not received any notification that anyone had filed a police report on him, so for some reason, perhaps out of fear, she had not done so.

He felt both relieved and ashamed at the same time, unable to look at himself, thinking that he was not only disgusting on the outside but also on the inside.

When Alys suggested that they go to the toilet for a while he simply agreed, feeling that he needed to lash out, to expel the grief, shame and desperation that seemed to fill his whole body.

He turned her body violently with her back to him, thinking with fatigue that he didn't want to look at her face. As he unzipped his trousers he tried to focus on what he saw in front of him, on her panties lowered halfway down her thighs, her entrance sticky with arousal. He closed his eyes and grasped his cock firmly in his hand, giving it a few aggressive, hard strokes.

As much as he tried, he couldn't stop thinking about her sweet moans, about how wonderful she smelled, about how tight she was, about her body convulsing in his embrace.

He got instantly hard, wasted no time and surprised his lover, who moaned with delight at feeling how direct and exceptionally violent he was this day, his thrusts full of desperation and aggression, his groans low and throaty.

Something was wrong – her insides were different, her buttocks were different, her scent was different, too intense, her moans too deep, too sensual, not as innocent and surprised as hers.

He pressed his lips together feeling he couldn't focus or get as much pleasure out of it as he would have liked.

"− shut the fuck up −" He growled speeding up but it was to no avail – when he opened his eyes he saw a completely different woman in front of him. He slowed down, swallowing loudly, feeling that nothing would come of it.

"− fucking bastard − ah, don't stop − what happened? − did I do something wrong? −" She asked as he slid out of her and fastened his zipper in a quick motion, furious, disappointed, humiliated, distraught that he wanted her, this little girl, her moans, her scent, her touch, her gaze, her tight, weeping cunt, being able to spend whole nights with his face sunk between her thighs, begging her forgiveness, muttering between the flicks of his tongue that he would make it all up to her.

"− no − I'm sorry, it's my fault −" He said lowly, not wanting to lash out at her. She grunted quietly, surprised, putting her lacy underwear and trousers back on over her hips, fastening them with a quick, nimble movement.

"− you seem stressed − something wrong? − do you want to talk? −" She asked softly, and he felt a kind of gratitude that she hadn't laughed at him or judged him, that she had acted as if nothing had happened.

He decided, however, that he didn't want to share his thoughts with her.

"− no − forgive me − have a nice day −" He said calmly, opening the cubicle door and left the restroom, moving down the corridor in front of him, clenching his eyelids, brushing his short, slicked-back hair with a quick movement.

What had happened between them, what he had done to her had left a mark on more than just her.

He felt as if he had woken up from a lethargy after five years, everything around him was sharper and brighter, painfully clear.

The next morning, according to the arrangements made between her and Daeron, he was to turn up in the car park outside the University from where she was to pick up his brother.

He dreaded this meeting, dreaded what he would see in her face, disgust, regret and bitterness, all the way to the place he felt like stopping and throwing up.

He felt a shudder and a loud pounding of his heart when they arrived at the agreed spot and he noticed her, standing between the cars dressed in a fitted strapless dress with daisies on it, her beautiful hair the scent of which he could still smell in his nostrils loose, trainers on her feet.

He stopped, swallowing hard, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out, glancing at her – she stood at a safe distance from them and looked away, playing with the fingers of her hands, thoughtful and sad.

What he saw hurt him even more than if she had been staring at him with hatred.

He walked around the car and took out Daeron's wheelchair to which he helped him move from the back seat – his little brother beamed at the sight of her and began to move the wheels himself heading towards her. He saw with regret that she smiled warmly when she saw him, genuine joy on her face.

"Hi. High five!" She said to him cockily and their hands hit each other in the air, even though he was standing a few steps away she didn't give him a single glance.

"So, shall we go?" She asked encouragingly, and Daeron nodded.

He wanted to ask if she was sure he would be safe here, if she would remember to take him to lunch, if she would watch out for him, but he didn't dare, shame took his speech away.

He decided it would be better if he kept quiet and led them away with his gaze, then got into his car and drove to work.

He spent all day thinking about her, sitting over the case files recalling again and again her appearance, her pleasant figure, her warm face that beamed all over at the sight of his younger brother.

Why did she have to be like this?

Why did she have to be what he craved, the personification of his deepest, darkest needs, a ripe peach that someone had placed in front of him on a platter while he was starving?

When he arrived after work to pick up Daeron they both stood in the distance, said their goodbyes, and she turned away without even bestowing a single glance on him. He got out of the car, intent on helping his brother into the back seat.

"And how was it?" He asked lowly, feeling sadness and emptiness, anxiety and a strange tightening in his stomach.

"Great! We studied together in her room and then she showed me around the whole campus. We even looked in the classroom where the students were painting portraits and she told me a bit about how it was done. Everyone was very friendly." He said quickly, clearly excited and pleased. He swallowed hard, sighing softly as he folded his wheelchair and threw it back into the boot.

"Have you eaten anything?" He asked calmly, returning to the driver's seat, buckling his seatbelt and turning on the engine.

"Yes, we had lunch in the university canteen. I could choose whatever I wanted." He said with satisfaction, a wide smile on his face.

He felt like asking him if she had mentioned anything about him, if she had anything to convey to him, but realised that there was nothing she might want to tell him.

She was doing this to keep her word to Daeron.

For a few weeks it seemed to him that he had locked himself in some kind of circle, looking forward to Tuesdays and Thursdays, days during which he would see her, albeit only from a distance, her figure bright and graceful.

He wondered with pain if she still had the bruises on her neck that his lips had left and swallowed loudly, feeling ashamed that his manhood reacted to that thought with a strong throbbing in his trousers.

He had suspected it before, but now he was absolutely sure.

He was fucking mad.

On the day the carnival ball was to be held, he was supposed to drive Daeron to the centre and pick him up after a few hours, but he decided that it wouldn't be worth going home for such a short time and he would just wait for them somewhere off to the side without bothering them.

As he pulled up in front of the building he swallowed heavily, seeing her from a distance, already dressed in her Esmeralda costume, her dark, loose hair tied with a violet scarf to form a headband, bells tied to her purple skirt, simple black ballerinas on her feet, round gold earrings in her ears, clanking bracelets on her wrists.

However, what drew his attention most was her white, buff long-sleeved shirt, tucked into the the sea-colored corset under her breasts that wonderfully emphasized her waist, it's sleeves lowered so that her shoulders were bare, it was slit down in the middle, showing the bare skin of her chest.

He swallowed loudly, looking away, feeling with horror that the very sight of it made him hard.

He grunted, helping Daeron out of the car and moved behind him, guessing that she wasn't going to help his brother dress after all, not wanting to invade his privacy.

"You really look like Esmeralda! So beautiful!" Exclaimed his younger brother, and she turned gracefully raising her hands with a clink of her bells and bracelets, showing off her costume in all its glory.

He couldn't take his eyes off her.

"Where's my costume?!" He asked excitedly, and she picked up the large paper bag that stood next to her feet and smiled.

"Here. Let's go." She said lightly without looking at him, Daeron immediately pushed the wheels of his wheelchair and headed after her.

He moved behind them, feeling like an intruder, looking everywhere but at her, trying not to think about the sight of her partially exposed back.

She explained to him quickly what needed to be put on first and how – he was impressed that what she had made really did look like golden armour, but when he took out the individual pieces they turned out to be surprisingly light.

He locked himself and Daeron in one of the toilet cubicles, helping him to change, his brother looking extremely pleased.

"Are you two reconciled?" He asked, clearly thinking that since she was speaking to him again she had forgiven him. He swallowed loudly, not knowing how to explain to him that what he had done could not simply be taken back.

"I don't think so. But don't think about it. Hm?" He asked softly and he lowered his gaze, disappointed.

The sight of himself in the armour gave him confidence – it appeared that the whole thing had been designed so that he could flex his arms, elbows and wrists, the parts fitted together.

He thought with a pained grin that she had really made an effort.

"You look great. What a real knight you are. Come, it's time for you to dance a little with your beautiful Esmeralda." He said calmly, opening the door for him. He wheeled out into the corridor with a smile, his Esmeralda catching her cheeks with a wide smile of delight.

"My knight. Promise to protect me from the evil thugs!" She called out theatrically and glared at him – he swallowed loudly, turning his face away in shame, his younger brother assuring her that he would not let anyone hurt her.

Too late, he thought.

For some reason, he felt tears under his eyelids, his throat squeezed so tight he had trouble breathing.

He watched as they moved ahead into a large gymnasium where the lights were slightly dim, a disco ball was spinning on the ceiling, Girls Just Want To Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper was playing in the background, children and their caretakers spinning around, dressed as various characters and creatures.

Although many of the costumes looked quite impressive, he couldn't take his eyes off her – as she danced she sang the lyrics of the song with theatrical devotion as if she knew them by heart, her hair, bracelets and earrings glistened in the light of the multi-coloured lights, the sweat on the bare skin of her exposed arms glittered like little crystals.

He looked at her leaning with his back against the wall with his hands folded in front of him, feeling the heat in his lower abdomen, covering up what was happening in his trousers.

He looked around the room and noticed a group of boys looking at her and Daeron. He frowned, wondering if they were the ones calling his brother Quasimodo.

He felt some kind of satisfaction at the thought that they were watching his brother dance with a pretty girl.

He really deserved her.

Such a good kid.

He left after a while, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket – even though he hadn't smoked in months and was trying to quit, he felt that what was happening was too much for him.

His hands trembled as he put the cigarette in his mouth and lit it with his lighter, taking a loud drag, closing his eyes, clenching his fingers on the base of his nose.

There was only chaos in his head.

"We need to talk." He heard her soft, trembling voice and turned around immediately, taking a few steps away, for some reason terrified by her sudden proximity.

He stared at her with his lips slightly parted, his body froze still, his heart pounding like mad, his cigarette burning slowly between his fingers.

God, she was pregnant.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

"I can no longer take care of Daeron. I just wanted to keep my promise and go to the ball with him. I think he's had enough disappointments in his life and I didn't want to provide him with any more." She said shivering all over, looking everywhere but at him – he felt like he was about to vomit from terror and grief.

What?

"But…if I'm the problem, we can arrange it so that I bring him in a while early and you pick him up from under the main entrance. I'll pay you more." He muttered, completely surprised by her words, not knowing what to say, not wanting to imagine how his little brother would react.

She shook her head quickly at his words, fiddling with the bracelets on her wrists in a nervous gesture.

"I can't. He reminds me of you. You two are similar in appearance." She mumbled and burst out crying, drawing in air loudly, covering her face with her hand in an attempt to calm herself. He looked at her in disbelief, feeling his voice get stuck in his throat.

"I haven't told anyone about what you did to me, because in his eyes you are his authority. I don't want to put him through unnecessary suffering, but I expect you to come up with something and find some convincing explanation as to why I can't continue to take care of him, Mr Prosecutor." She muttered regretfully wiping her cheeks swollen from tears, struggling to catch her breath, her plump lips parted, her eyebrows arched in despair.

He didn't know when he fell to his knees in front of her, when he clasped his hands around her waist, dropping his cigarette to the ground – he pressed his face to her womb, breathing loudly, feeling like he was going through some kind of panic, his lungs compressed, tears streaming down his face one after another, everything around him seemed to spin.

"− I'm sorry − I'm sorry − I'm sorry − I'm sorry − I'm sorry − I'm sorry − please, please, forgive me −" He mumbled hysterically what he had wanted to say to her for weeks – he heard her gasp loudly in shock, raising her hands in a gesture of helplessness, felt her place them on his shoulders trying to gently push him away, her stomach trembled under his face in sobs.

"− l-let me go − please, get up −" She whimpered pleadingly, but he shook his head – he thought he couldn't do it, he couldn't let her go.

"− I need you − even if for the rest of my life I will only look at you from afar −" He exhaled helplessly, sinking his nose into the material of her soft skirt, feeling her wonderful scent fill his lungs again, the warmth of her body that enveloped his face.

He didn't care that the people around them were looking at them like they were crazy, didn't care that perhaps they knew who he was.

"− I can't − I've tried − I've forgiven you, but I can't forget − you robbed me of my dignity −" She said in a raspy, broken voice – he felt himself whooping with his own tears, clasping his fingers at her back, his helpless mumbling ripped from his throat as if without the participation of his free will.

"− do what you want with me − fucking destroy me −"

"Aemond? What's going on?" He heard his brother's frightened voice and immediately rose from his knees, letting her go, both of them wiping their faces quickly, her cheeks pale and at the same time red from tears.

"We needed to talk. I'll be right back." She said quickly, forcing herself to smile – Daeron could sense the tension between them though, his lips tightened, his gaze wandering from him to her.

"Have you…reconciled yet? Has my brother apologised to you?" He asked uncertainly and she nodded and laughed lightly, something in her response made him clench his eyelids and swallow loudly – he covered his face with his hand, feeling that for some reason he couldn't stop crying.

You robbed me of my dignity.

"− y-yes − yes, we've already explained everything to each other, we simply got a little emotional − come on, let's go back inside −" She said softly and stroked his head – he smiled at her and glanced over his shoulder.

"Are you coming?" He asked, but he shook his head, choking out that he would wait for them in the car.

He locked himself inside in the driver's seat and put his forehead on the steering wheel, feeling an overpowering emptiness and this awful, terrifying chill, as if someone had gouged out his insides with a spoon like the flesh of a fruit, leaving only a mere shell.

He thought that he had died five years ago, on the day of that accident.

He only existed so that Daeron could live on.

He shuddered, as if awakened from a deep, restless slumber, hearing a knock on the window on his side – he glanced there and saw Daeron waving at him and his Esmeralda, looking at him uncertainly, terrified of his condition, dark night all around them.

He got out of the car, massaging his forehead, feeling a terrible headache, not being sure for a moment where he actually was or what time it was – in an automatic reflex he opened the back door and helped Daeron get in, he could smell her scent beside him, her gaze fixed on him.

"Are you sure you should drive?" She asked hesitantly, and he swallowed loudly, thinking that since the day of that accident he had never gotten into a car that someone else was driving.

"Yes. Shall I drive you back?" He asked lowly, not looking at her, folding Daeron's small wheelchair.

"No need, thank you, I'll get an Uber." She muttered, his younger brother furrowed his brow, looking at her worriedly.

"We'll drive you back. It's late, you shouldn't be going home alone." He insisted.

She sighed quietly and nodded, walking around the car, sitting down next to Daeron in the back seat.

He got behind the wheel and started the engine, involuntarily glancing at her in the mirror – their gazes met, her eyes sad and tired, full of a regret she had every right to feel.

He drove ahead, trying to wake up and focus on the road, looking at the lights of the cars passing him and thought that maybe if he had killed them it would have been better for all of them.

He grunted loudly, tilting his head back, leaning against the backrest, recognising that he had completely lost his mind, that he was sinking into depression and hysteria, that he had reached the very bottom.

It seemed to him that she sensed that something was happening to him – he was catching her on the fact that she was glancing at him uncertainly, answering something to Daeron who was chatting her up, talking about his friends' costumes. She was just nodding, pretending to listen to him, her hands playing with the material of her skirt in a nervous gesture.

God, how he longed for her to drive with him to their house, to go with him to his bedroom, so that he could kneel before her and whisper how sorry he was, how he wished he could make it all right, to slide with his hands the material of her shirt and her skirt, so that his lips could kiss her whole beautiful, warm body with devotion and adoration, her feet, her calves, her thighs, her stomach, her breasts, her neck, her face, her….

"WATCH OUT!" He heard her scream of terror and pressed the brake suddenly, at the last moment stopping in front of a crossroads where he should have given way to those driving on his right and left – a man almost rammed into them and started honking at them, gesticulating aggressively, opening his window and shouting, asking what the fuck he was doing.

He looked quickly in the mirror, feeling as if he was deaf, his brother was crying loudly, snuggled into her, shaking with fear, her eyes wide, staring at him in horror.

"… are you all right?" He asked dully, feeling like his head was spinning – he saw her nod quickly, and then suddenly he went dark in front of his eyes, his head dropped limply and hit something hard.

He was awakened by someone's conversation. He felt someone touching him, something pleasantly warm enveloped him – his body was lying on something soft and comfortable, he thought he was lying on the sofa in his house.

"− overwork, dehydration, stress, trauma − anything could have caused this, ma'am − when can his sister come? −" An unfamiliar voice asked.

"− his younger brother called her, but she only managed to buy a plane ticket for tomorrow −" He heard her soft, warm voice – he shuddered and opened his eyes with difficulty, wanting to see her, to make sure nothing had happened to her.

He spotted her blurred silhouette in the warm light of the night lamp – she was sitting next to him on the sofa in his living room, still dressed in her Esmeralda costume.

"− can you stay here until she arrives? − are you a friend of the family? −" Asked the man who was apparently a paramedic, packing his suitcase and pulling off his latex gloves. She nodded.

"− y-yes − yes, I'm his little brother's carer −" She replied calmly, the man and she both glanced at him when they noticed he was awake.

"− how are you feeling, sir? − you had a panic attack and fainted − I have given you intravenous sedatives and strengthening medications, you should feel better soon −" The man with the black beard, surely a few years older than him, said to him.

He grunted quietly as he tried to raise himself up on his elbows, feeling everything around him swirl and lay back, giving up.

"− fuck − I'm dizzy −" He muttered, his stomach sore and clenched.

She rose from her seat as the doctors left Daeron's room, sighing heavily in relief when the woman explained that he had only been scared.

"Aemond!" He shouted when he saw that he was awake, riding up to him in his wheelchair, wiping his face red from tears.

"− I thought − I thought you had died − you weren't moving − w-we couldn't wake you up −" He mumbled, and he hugged his head to his chest, closing his eyes, stroking his soft hair with his large hand.

"− I'm sorry − I'm so sorry − I've been working too much lately and I fainted −" He lied, swallowing loudly, his brother nodding his head in understanding, cuddling into him like a teddy bear. He kissed his temple, feeling tears well up in his eyes.

He thought he needed to pull himself together.

"− Esmeralda said she would stay with us until Helaena arrives − now it's up to us to take care of you − lie here and don't worry about a thing −" He said in a voice hoarse from crying and patted his head – he felt a tightness in his throat at his words, his eyebrows arched in emotion, he smiled involuntarily, feeling his lower lip tremble.

"− then I'm in good hands −"

He watched wordlessly as the doctors and medics left their house, Daeron showing his Esmeralda where she could find clothes to change into – she appeared a few minutes later in his long black hoodie reaching halfway down her thighs, her legs wonderfully bare.

She bustled around the kitchen with Daeron, trying to make dinner – he couldn't get out of his awe at what a harmonious duo they were, his brother talking to her without shame or embarrassment.

If he had been wiser, if he had given her a chance then instead of humiliating her, maybe now they would be preparing dinner together.

He rose to sit down when she brought him tea and sandwiches, thanking her meekly. He sighed heavily feeling he wouldn't swallow anything and although the medications were starting to work, he felt like his head was going to burst.

She only returned to the living room after she had helped Daeron change into his pyjamas and put him to bed. She approached him hesitantly and sat down next to him on the couch, not looking at him but at the floor.

"How are you feeling?" She asked quietly, covering her knees with the material of his sweatshirt.

He looked at her, silent for a long moment.

"Exactly as I should after what I did." He replied finally, not knowing how else he was supposed to call what he was feeling.

She looked at him with her eyebrows furrowed in pain, regret and sadness in her gaze, but at the same time also some kind of concern.

He thought in disbelief that his fate mattered to her despite what he had done to her.

She lowered her gaze to her knees, fiddling with the material that covered her thighs in a nervous gesture.

"He needs you composed. Emotionally stable." She said sadly, her lips trembling.

He stared at her face unable to take his eyes off her, thinking only of how much he wanted to touch her, dreaming of her hugging him and locking him in her arms.

"I know." He said dryly, understanding exactly what she meant.

He couldn't be unpredictable, distracted while driving in the car, at work and on a daily basis.

Could not be distracted by her.

"Why did you do it? Then when I wanted to leave?" She finally asked in a voice quivering with grief, and looked at him, the depth of disappointment, sadness and emptiness in her bright eyes.

He licked his lower lip dry with stress and swallowed hard, feeling his heart pounding like mad as he stared straight into her face.

"Because I wanted to feel you. You were so sweet and soft. You were melting in my hands. I couldn't stop." He muttered at last, feeling with shame how pathetic that explanation was, thinking he was just a fucking pervert.

He drew in a loud breath as she slid the blanket off him and sat on top of him, pressing her buttocks against what was under his trousers – he wanted to grab her hips, feeling a rush of adrenaline from disbelief, but she grabbed his wrists.

"No. Don't touch me. If I feel your hands on my body I'll start screaming. I will tell Daeron everything you did to me and that you tried to do it a second time." She said with a seriousness from which his breath caught in his throat; he immediately placed his hands as before on either side of his body, watching in disbelief as her tiny fingers undid his button and zipper, his cock immediately swelled and began to pulsate, a loud shuddering sigh escaped his lips.

God, was she really going to do this?

As if in response to his thoughts, she spread the material of his trousers to the side and slid his boxers down, revealing his throbbing erection, twitching with lust, the head of it pink and glistening. He pressed his lips together and closed his eyes, swallowing loudly when he felt her grab it's base with a gentle flick of her hand and direct its thick tip between her warm thighs.

She had no underwear underneath.

She lowered herself onto him a tiny bit, barely sinking the fat head of his cock inside her, teasing him with the lewd click of her moisture – the sight of him stretching her slit and how wet she was turned him on so much that a low, helpless groan escaped his throat.

"− be quiet or I'll stop − do you want me to stop? − you didn't give me that choice, but I'm not that cruel −" She said with regret as he shook his head quickly, feeling how desperate he was to feel her again.

"− please −" He heard his own pathetic voice, not believing he was allowing it, but he no longer cared what she would do to him, he wanted to fuck her in any way she would let him.

He felt some relief at the thought of being humiliated, he wanted her to do to him what he did to her even though he knew she didn't have his awful nature.

"− what are you asking me to do? −" She whispered softly, almost tenderly, as if her superiority over him was giving her back what he had taken from her, her power over her own body, over what was happening to her.

"− use me −" He breathed out in a voice hoarse with emotion, saw that something had changed in her gaze, her lips parted in a shuddering breath.

He clasped his hands on the fabric of the couch and leaned his head back, gasping out loud as he felt her let him all the way inside her, his hard, fat cock throbbed aggressively with desire squeezed wonderfully by her hot, tight walls – he knew he was embarrassingly close to fulfilment and that she felt it too.

She put her hands on his shoulders, leaning over him, but not moving, waiting for his manhood to stop twitching inside her – her pretty, flushed face surrounded by her dark, shiny curls, her bright eyes fixed on him, her plump, swollen lips parted in a quickened breath.

"− use you? − mr. prosecutor wants to make me feel good? −" She asked in a whisper, her voice trembling with fear and arousal, as if she herself was shocked by what she was doing and by the fact that he was listening to her, by the way he was responding to her, by how much he desired her.

"− yes −" He mumbled out and closed his eyes with a low moan, feeling that with flick of her hips she slowly slid his cock out of her only to push it back in with a loud click of her wetness.

"− why? −" She exhaled, moving on top of him painfully slowly, her tight fleshy muscles giving him a wonderful squeeze each time she forced him back between her plushy folds, they both began to breathe louder and louder. He bent his legs at the knees, involuntarily tentatively responding to her thrusts with deep stabs of his hips.

"− God, don't you see that I crave you? −" He groaned low, with the last of his strong will restraining himself from tightening his hands on her buttocks and forcing her to move faster.

There was something wonderful about this slow agony, in the way she teased him, rubbing herself at the spot from which she felt the greatest pleasure, a sweet moan escaped her lips at his words.

"− are you always like this when you see me? − like you are now between my thighs? −" She mumbled in embarrassment, speeding up, their naked bodies began to slam against each other with splats of her moisture – he dared to buck into her harder, they both began to pant loudly, looking at each other with their mouths wide open, her lips puffy with desire.

"− of course − I jerk off every day thinking about you − fuck −" He muttered with difficulty, feeling the tickle and heat in his lower abdomen, his cock swelling with desire so much that he felt like it was about to explode if he didn't come inside her, their naked bodies slamming against each other.

He delighted in the sight of her throwing her head back at his words, her hot core pulsed hard around him, sucking him inside, her fingers clenched on the material of his sweatshirt, her buttocks slapping loudly against his thighs, soaking him all over.

"− touch me − touch me −" She cried out and he caught her quickly, one of his hands weaved into her hair and pressed her face against his, their lips joined in an aggressive, thirsty, sticky kiss, the fingers of his other hand clenched on the soft, firm skin of her ass.

They moaned loudly into each other's mouths as he began to pound into her like mad, almost not sliding out of her anymore – he embraced her and hugged her body to his, gripping her around the waist, her hands stroking his cheeks, his neck, his scar, his cock thrusting into her weeping folds twitching and throbbing like crazy.

"− fuck − fuck, baby, m gonna cum −" He babbled between the flicks of their lips, tongues and teeth. She gasped and came at his words with a loud mewl of surprise – he felt her moisture run down her thighs onto his lower abdomen, her muscles began to clench on him greedily, squeezing him wonderfully. He threw his head back and moaned in relief when he felt his warm seed spurt out inside her.

"− oh God − oh my fucking God −" He mumbled, experiencing such an intense orgasm for the first time in his life – for a moment he went dark before his eyes, he could see or hear nothing, there was only the wonderful hot pleasure spilling over his whole body, his hands clenched on her hot skin.

He hugged her close, snuggling her face into the hollow of his neck, covering their bodies with his blanket, not wanting Daeron to accidentally find them in this position, while having no intention of changing it.

He felt wonderful.

He stroked her soft hair placing tender, wet kisses on her temple, his other hand trailing reassuringly down her back, feeling that she was trembling all over with emotion, unsure as he was of what had really happened between them.

"− sleep here, little one − I won't touch you against your will − I promise −" He whispered, but her silence answered him – she breathed loudly along with him, lying still, his half-soft manhood still throbbing deep inside her.

"− I know −" She replied quietly after a moment, rising on her shoulders, sliding him out of her with a soft motion of her hips, his hands clasped helplessly on her thighs.

"− please, don't go −" He muttered, looking at her in horror, his heart pounding like mad.

Please, let me go.

"− I'm sorry −"

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

Please, let me go.

She rose from the couch, trembling all over, covering her thighs with his sweatshirt, his semen mingled with her moisture ran down her naked skin.

"− I'll sleep in the free room next to Daeron's bedroom − I'll lock myself in − don't come to me and don't ever touch me again − we're even −" She said in a calm, quivering voice full of sorrow, sadness and emptiness.

He wanted to touch her fingers but she turned and left the living room, hiding her face in her hand as if she was crying again, disappearing down the corridor.

He lay looking dully at the spot where she had stood just a moment before, feeling a squeeze in his throat – with trembling hands he slipped his boxers back on and zipped up his trousers, feeling tears of disappointment running down the sides of his face onto the pillow under his head.

We're even.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses

[bones4thecats]

➸ Frontline; RoR! Thor × Goddess! S/O

Characters: Thor A/N: This was so cute to write. It turned out slightly different than intended, but I like it regardless. Anyways, enjoy! ➥ Summary: When sent out to deal with a newly developed Jötunn invasion, Thor runs into a new Goddess. Could this be the start of a beautiful relationship? Or possibly the start of a tear in the Norse Pantheon?

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Thor ═════════════════════════════════╝

🌩️ While the Gods discussed in the room, a large-figure walked down the halls. There was no sign of a smile on his face, complete darkness covering his eyes as everything evolved

🌩️ It was a mere few days ago that the Norse Pantheon received news that the Jötunn had invaded once again. The Gods was fearful that they could possibly overpower the not-nearly experienced fighters around and possibly destroy everything in their paths

🌩️ The God of Thunder and his father on the other hand, declared that it would be pointless to just sit by in fear and leave any room open for the large-monsters to come in through. Odin had told his son to ready himself for battle in the next few days

🌩️ Thor just nodded and stood, grabbing his hammer, and walking out of the room towards the exit. He knew what his father meant. Hunt those bastards down and end them as fast as you can. And disobeying his father and missing such a fight is something Thor just couldn't do

🌩️ As he walked through the forests surrounding Asgard, Thor heard something from afar. Looking upwards from the ground, his hood slightly moved from the wind. Above the treeline was a decent amount of large, disfigured heads. It appears the Jötunns were closer to Asgard than he initially figured they'd be

🌩️ Gripping his hammer tighter, Thor jumped in the air. Every swing resulted in bursting one of the monster's heads, causing blood to splash everywhere, even on the God, as he swung

🌩️ Thor had managed to take down many Jötunns, but there were even more than predicted as well. Around maybe tens of hundreds. Honestly, it was impressive how they managed to jumble together with enough brains to not try killing each other for walking the wrong way

🌩️ The God of Thunder narrowed his eyes and threw his weapon at the giants. It had gone through nearly six of their bodies before it was knocked away by one of the Jötunns. Thor's eyes widened in surprise and caught the flying-hammer quick enough so it wouldn't fly off

🌩️ He looked at Mjolnir and furrowed his eyebrows, glaring down at the monsters with growing fury. They had never, ever, been this hard to deal with. They must have been evolving from the many years of the Gods taking their kind out for trying to take them out themselves

🌩️ All of a sudden, one of the Jötunns dashed to make it above Asgard's walls, but, before Thor could get there, its head exploded. But, instead of there being Odin, there floated a woman

"You need some help there, dear?" The female said.

🌩️ Oh great. And she was arrogant.

🌩️ Thor huffed slightly and threw Mjolnir at another giant's head, making it smash and blow blood everywhere. The woman just smiled and jumped out of the way easily, though she did manipulate the branches of a nearby tree to come up and block the blood with its leaves, successfully saving Asgard from cleaning their streets and buildings of the red-bodily fluid

"Not a talker. Understood." She joked.

"You dare oppose the Jötunns, Goddess? We will have your carcass for such a grievous insult!" A Jötunn yelled.

🌩️ The woman with a ponytail smirked and laughed, her hand covering his eyes as she leaned backwards

"I'd like to see you try laying one of your mold-growing hands on me."

"Why you-"

🌩️ Thor blinked in surprise again as you cut the beast's hand off with your sword, making it wail in pain as you smirked larger and began to cut its face apart happily. You were just as, if not more, sadistic when fighting like Thor was

🌩️ When you finally stopped harming the Jötunn, you looked up at the rest, who just gulped and ran off in fear. You had made them flea with just knocking down one of them without any mercy. He'd have to take some notes there

"Anyways, now that this is over," you began, looking up at the God above you. "Aren't you gonna introduce yourself to the little-lady?"

🌩️ Nodding, Thor held out his right hand, transferring Mjolnir to his opposite, left, hand out of habit.

"I'm Thor, God of Thunder of the Norse Pantheon and son of Pantheon-Leader, Odin." You smiled and shook his hand happily, slightly bouncing as he watched.

"Well, Thor, God of Thunder of the Norse Pantheon and son of Pantheon-Leader, Odin. My name is Y/N, Goddess of Nature and the Feminine Warriors of the Norse Pantheon. Pleasure meeting you!"

[princessbrunette]

OUTERBANKS: THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE AU — THE LORE ♡

₊˚⊹ ���

CW: depressing tones, violence, death, blood, gore.

AN: okay, so i don’t really know what this is — but i wanted to open this up as an au i could write drabbles for with reader x character and i decided to write some extensive lore behind the universe i’m creating. i’ve always loved zombie media so i wanted to combine my fav things n create this little au for you guys. this isn’t really a fic but more so an opener to inspire drabble requests n ideas in my inbox, kind of like an experimentation. okay, hope you enjoy !! ౨ৎ

“We got gate one locked down, I repeat Pope— we got gate one locked down. Proceed with opening gate two. Over.”

“Got it, thanks JJ. Over.”

The squealing of mechanics shakes the dusty ground as the old gates begin to slowly slide, squealing as they open up revealing the long forest road up ahead. John B readies himself for a simple supply stake out, headed out alone to check out an old warehouse one of the runners had scoped out a week prior. As he exits the gates, he looks right and then looks left — stepping on the squishy skull of a previously dealt with Infected, its body lulling out from the old rickety grafitti’d sign reading Kitty Hawk.

The world went to shit back in 2020. Some sort of pandemic that had people biting others, their brains overpowered by aggression and hunger for flesh. One day everyone was cleaning up the beaches after Storm Agatha, the next day people were tearing into flesh right infront of your very eyes. At first, the people of the Outerbanks had moved out onto their boats, living out on the water with the occasional supply run. It worked for a while, the infected couldn’t swim so as long as your boat was afloat — you were safe from their bloody unforgiving jaws. However, supplies started to run out pretty fast, and people began to turn on eachother. Hopping boats and pirating until no one was left standing and the water was tainted with blood— the infected gathered on the shore to feast on the bodies slowly being washed up by the tide.

The pogues had found you by week six, your body curled on the pier by the Chateau crying into your hands having lost everyone you’d ever known. You were sure to soon perish— no supplies, no weapons, no food. Life had become bleak, hopeless — until for the first time in your life you’d felt the cold barrel of a pistol pressed to the back of your head.

“Who are you and why are you out here?” Kiara barks, a khaki green bandana tied to cover her nose and mouth.

“I’m— i’m just looking for shelter. I don’t have any weapons on me I swear I’m safe, please just —”

“Are you bit?”

“No!”

“Turn around.”

When you slowly turn, you’re met with two female faces, one more familiar than the other. Besides Kiara stands Sarah Cameron— a girl you went to school with. She looks more unsure than Carerra, hand resting on the pocket knife wedging out of the waistband to her denim shorts.

“I don’t think she’s bit Kie… hey, I think I know this girl.”

It was Sarah who had convinced Kiara to bring you back to the Chateau and let you stay. It was also Sarah who got you accustomed, explaining the role everyone played. She was a negotiator, her social ranking in the old world aiding her in communicating with people outside of the barricades they’d made. Kie was in charge of supplies, stock take and recruiting. She decided who was in and who was out. Pope was the brains, did all the mathematical equations to help the group understand their circumstances and chances of survival better. JJ, a fighter — most skilled in dealing with firearms and building bombs, which came in pretty handy when clearing out what was left of Kitty Hawk. John B was their leader, he often came up with the main strategies and stuck his neck out on the line.

Everyone was their own cog in the well oiled machine they’d built to aid them in surviving an apocalypse. It was uncertain what you could bring to the group until you’d mentioned that you’d been studying to be a nurse.

“S’good thing you come in useful ‘cus I was totally gonna suggest we use you as bait. Y’know, cos of the whole doe eyed damsel in distress thing you got goin’ on.” JJ jests with a smirk, and you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you to make sure you knew he was only kidding around.

You became a lot more useful for patching people up once you’d cleared out Kitty Hawk. The pogues and yourself had began to collect a larger group of survivors, creating a small town to live in what once was the behavioural-correctional camp. You’d collected gardeners, seamstresses, doctors — people of all ages looking for shelter and safety to live in the many dormitories the land had to offer. You had the evening shifts, patching up any runners that had return from their time outside of the gates with injuries.

You remember the day Sarah got bit so clearly.

The Twinkie had come barrelling through the gates so fast, the townspeople that protected the entrances barely getting them open in time before the vehicle was speeding in— Kiara and John B ushering the blonde out the doors yelling out for you urgently with devastation in their voices, begging you to amputate the arm she’d been bitten on.

The pogues had gone for what was promised to be a civil meeting with Ward and Rafe Cameron. The two had taken over what was left of Kildare, creating a strong colony in a gated community that Ward had just come into possession of right before the outbreak. They were feared, respected — and they wanted Sarah to return to them.

Of course, the meeting was a set up— and when Sarah had refused to go with them — they opened fire, attracting rogue infected to swarm in on the group. In the chaos, Sarah was bitten — and JJ in a fit of rage had shot Ward Cameron straight through the skull infront of his only son. This started an all out war.

You recall arriving to Sarah, and your heart sinking. It was definitely too late, her eyes blood shot and skin uncharacteristically pale. She was whispering “Its okay.” Over and over. You wasn’t sure if she was convincing you or herself.

Kiara took her out to the forest to put her out of her misery before she got the chance to turn into one of the brainless monsters that had existed outside the gates. She was stronger than you could ever be, holding back her tears as she aims the barrel to the blondes head. You weren’t there, but you heard the gunshot as you were patching up JJ who was skimmed by a bullet. You slept by his side that night without uttering a word about it.

Everyone got a little more serious from that point on. You often stared at the heart with her initials she’d carved into her old bunkbed that now sits empty in her dorm, her things laid out like she was still coming back to collect them one day. John B got a little more stern as a leader, over protective of you as he made it clear he didn’t believe you’d be able to protect yourself out there — banning you from leaving the gates. JJ became a more ferocious fighter, busying himself with target practice out in the forest shooting bullseyes each day to ensure he could quickly take down whoever he needed to. Pope got more reserved, more moody — hanging out by himself infront of maps or in the radio room with Kie trying to find new survivors. Occasionally, just occasionally — the bunch of you would get together and drink round a camp fire. Things would feel normal again, just for one night — the group laughing and telling stories the same way they might have done before the outbreak.

You wondered how long this could last, if there was ever an end to any of this. You also wondered if there was a reason to it all happening, if you were being punished for the way you’d behaved as human beings. Mostly though, on a day to day basis— you wondered when Rafe Cameron would return for his revenge. It was only a matter of time.

[shalotttower]

Fractalize (part 2)

Title: Fractalize

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Summary: "You do this sometimes," he continues, tugging a bit harder. "When I ask a question and it takes you longer to respond. When we watch a movie, and I'm sure you stopped following at least twenty minutes ago."

Word count: 2100+

Characters: Chrollo x Reader (female)

Notes: yandere Chrollo, kidnapped, depressed and miserable Reader, Reader is dissociating, morbid pondering, morbid imagery, psychological manipulation, intrusive thoughts, non-con touching, non-con kiss. I start thinking that sad is probably my favourite genre to write at this point.

Part 1

Fractalize - making things into smaller copies of themselves over and over again.

Your mother always smelled of fresh linen and something powdery, like her face cream which you tried once in secret. The fragrance held you mesmerized, and when the jar accidentally dropped from your hand, shattering into pieces, it lingered everywhere: on the bathroom tiles, in the cracks and narrow space under the sink. Her silent disappointment was so overpowering that you cleaned the mess three times.

That scent clung to her knitting needles too when she sat with yarn on her lap. It made way into your mind place, waiting for the most inappropriate of moments to resurface: she would show you how to knit, loop after loop, and eventually you were able to create your own tiny scarf.

Hideous, that's what it was.

But also the first thing you ever knitted, so you cherished it, not caring for the holes and loose threads. She called it pretty, mothers do lie like that.

"I was thinking," Chrollo begins. Clean plates are stacked next to a dish rack, ready to be dried. You help him sometimes with this mundane chore out of boredom or a faint allusion to the life you had.

"Mm."

When you stand so close, his shoulder occasionally touches yours, and a lump forms in your throat, a very unimportant physical aspect of your being that you've stopped paying attention to long ago. You swallow it away, like every single morning before putting on the same shirt for the eighth day in a row.

Dry and repeat.

"Is there anything specific you'd like to do today?"

You pick up another plate. How odd. A few months ago this question would've made you ecstatic. Not that there was a real chance to sway Chrollo's plans, but it was a gesture, the pretence that your input mattered, and you took everything from it, until it started tasting stale. A shy kind of feeling, misplaced and fragile, would bloom in your chest, and prompt you say something soft, silly and naive: 'maybe we can have a picnic?', 'I'd like a carrot cake', 'yes, I want to watch that period drama for the hundredth time.'

And he would agree sometimes. Or suggest his alternative instead, which turned out more often than not to be less favorable, but you accepted it because what else was there? In-between the walls decorated with expensive paintings, books you already read three times, between Chrollo who listened intently to every word and a faint buzz of some high-end place, you chose to take whatever you could.

It doesn't bother you anymore, going or not going. Doing nothing or doing something. Being with him in a room or being alone, even though the last one is more compelling. The initial excitement that came with having small choices has passed. You think sometimes that if you took a knitting needle and sunk it deep into your chest, the surface around it would start crumbling and bare a hollow cavity with just ribs and dusty spaces.

Chrollo's suggestions are very thought out. Aimed to convince you that this arrangement isn't that bad after all, but also aimed to bring him something from it, be it sitting uncomfortably close to you on a sofa or holding your hand the entire walk. His presence is stifling in more ways than one, and you've been choking, choking, choking on it for so long, that finally all those cracks running across your insides started to feel liberating.

"No," you say. "Not really. Anything you want is fine."

Chrollo's been asking this more often lately. What you want to eat and what you want to do. Even whether you want to go out sometimes (with him, of course, never alone). Perhaps he's trying to figure any new preference you might have. Or a part of him can sense this deterioration that's slow to set in, but once it does - it stays.

"Dear," there's a tone in his voice. It's not worry per se. Chrollo doesn't worry for you, he worries for that little world of his, made of forced interactions, silk bed sheets and fake domesticity, which you're a part of, an intricate cog he can keep closely tucked to his side. Sheltered, protected, cared for - these words don't fit. So you use other instead, like imprisoned, kept, thing. He likes to have them, from trinkets he steals to human beings - you. Maybe it comes from years of owning nothing at all, having nothing at all, and now the allure of having much and more is like second skin.

You've heard stories about children abandoned to their own devices. Those who were left to roam the streets, scavenge through trash and fight other kids for a half-eaten sandwich or a can of beans. You wonder if he was like that, with messy hair, bony limbs and a desperate need to own something that no one could take.

Bit by bit you slip.

That tone means he's sensing it already, that bit by bit you're trying to leave him behind.

Chrollo always catches up with things easily. From the way he grips your arms, you wonder if that's what he did just now, caught up.

"Yes?"

The dishes are all done, clean and sparkling. The sink shines too, almost mocking you with its perfectness - there's nothing to do anymore. Your mind space of fake wooden floors and wide windows is waiting to be occupied, but it would feel wrong to retreat there so soon. Chrollo will ask questions, and if you're not able to keep up, he'll notice too. He slides both palms down your skin, squeezing a tad harder at the elbows; and so you stare into the sink.

His hands aren't soft at all. They're a little dry from soap, callused around fingertips. How effortless it would be for him to break your bones, one by one, starting from the wrist, but that won't happen; no, all that comes from him is words whispered in your ear, caresses and cruelty wrapped in kindness - it sounds poetic when phrased this way.

Your reflection stares back from the stainless metal. She doesn't look bad. Chrollo takes good care of her, makes sure she eats balanced meals and drinks enough water. She looks alright, with shiny hair and healthy nails.

The eyes is what doesn't match this picture of okay-ness. Not empty. Not vacant. Just frozen in time and very, very still.

Chrollo presses closer until his chest is touching her shoulder blades. You wonder if he considers it a victory, this silent compliance. It's not acceptance really, because that should be accompanied by a sense of peace or fulfillment and none of the two are currently present. It's not even resignation - that requires energy to acknowledge defeat.

If neither of those, what is it then?

"You've been awfully quiet today."

A drop of water falls from the tap and slides down the drain.

"The whole week in fact," his thumb strokes her stomach through the fabric. Slow circles, up and down. Chrollo enjoys physical closeness so much that it should be surprising for someone like him - reserved, calm and collected - to thrive on such things, but you suppose when it comes to her there's an exception.

"Not that I mind it, but if something's bothering you, you know that I'm always ready to listen."

There is something bothering you actually. Many things. You want your cat back. You want him gone, away, to see your mother again and bake with her. Eat fresh pastries while listening to old songs on the radio and talk about silly things or whatever she liked to ponder over before you were swept off your feet like in those old fairy tales. You want your phone and accounts unlocked so you could message friends. You miss your grandmother with her apron, the way she laughed at corny jokes and told stories about her youth. You want many things that Chrollo would never agree on - you're well aware of that, that's why you keep them safely tucked away and rotting.

You also want him to stop pressing against your back, and this is far easier to achieve. Slowly you untuck yourself from between his body and the counter, then turn around. He watches your face calmly like always, with this unblinking gaze full of strange fixation; there are small lines in the corners of his eyes, barely noticeable ones. You count them - six in total, three for each eye.

Then you blink.

"I don't think there is anything."

"Really," Chrollo hums, playing with the hem of your shirt, and you wonder if he knows something you're not aware of him knowing. "You've spoken less than ten sentences in two days, yet there's nothing bothering you. I must say I don't believe that."

So this is how it's going to start. This is how the conversation begins, and it'll flow from here until Chrollo finds what he's searching for.

"I've been paying close attention."

You don't doubt it.

"And what did you notice?"

"Nothing pleasant," his finger finds a loose thread and wraps it around. The pull is light, as if testing whether it'll prompt you to move closer into his space. "Quite concerning things actually."

You don't budge an inch.

"You do this sometimes," he continues. "When I ask a question and it takes you longer to respond. When we watch a movie, and I'm sure you stopped following at least twenty minutes ago. Or when you go over the same page until it's clear that I'm looking."

Chrollo's collarbone is a crisp line with a faint old scar; your attention skims over it to the sharp edges of his jaw. No smile today.

"And I wondered where you have been going."

He tugs a bit harder and the thread snaps.

It should've stunned you how fast everything crumbled - the imaginary wooden floors, Miss Whiskerton on your lap and the lizard, the wide windows - but no, it's surprisingly anti-climactic. Nothing breaks dramatically, just splits the middle, leaving you with cold kitchen tiles underneath your bare feet. You thought about this scenario - Chrollo cornering you, many times, and the words you would choose when he did, yet they fail to manifest and nothing fills the silence except a mute sensation of acknowledgement which settles over your head and shoulders. Your knees don't buckle. Your breath doesn't hitch, there is no shivering, and perhaps that's the most terrifying reaction of all.

So what, you think. And it's such a simple thought, plain and ordinary, so what.

Chrollo has his ways, but you have yours; they are slow and small, and squeeze you very tight. You can't comprehend this new expression on his face, haven't seen it before.

"My dear," he says in a quiet voice, so unlike his usual smooth, charming tone. "Broken thoughts and forlorn dreams can't fix what you want them to."

He taps your forehead, as if to engrave those words into the soft tissue of your brain. They slip away though, like running water.

"Wherever you choose to wander, there's not a single spot where I'm not right behind. Delusions don't suit you and it's simply sad to watch."

The kiss comes without warning; Chrollo doesn't bother to say anything else, just cups your face. It's warm and deep, a full-mouthed kiss that tastes faintly of tea you two drank during breakfast.

It's rot, you realize with a ten minute delay; and this slack mouth he's caressing isn't yours. There's a plant behind his shoulder, some small cactus with white needles sitting on a windowsill. The sunlight creates patterns on the glass, soft yellow circles and lines. They shift every passing second.

He's going to do this now, isn't he. Kiss you when you slip too deep as a way to break the pattern and remind that this is where you're supposed to be - with him. In the kitchen wearing a thin shirt above the knee, with cracks that spread across your insides, seeking for every small space they can fill. You'll grow older by his side, he'll bring you material pleasures to compensate for the lack of mental ones - books, clothes, jewelry, a pet if you decide to ask (you won't). Chrollo is going to kiss you often until age creeps onto your faces, and you'll watch each other turn old together.

The plant on the windowsill looks so dry.

"Dear."

He pulls back a few inches. You meet his eyes.

"Mm?"

You will let the rot dig under your nails and wait for it to eat away until his hands eventually become empty; rot is something to grab onto. It's slow to set, but spreads fast once does and never runs out of supply.

[crazyinlovewithbucky]

“you’ve bewitched me, doll”

——————————————

Summary: you have the same powers as Wanda but your powers are darker. You were a villain and you fought the avenger but eventually, they helped u get rid of the dark magic and u became one of them. You are reading their minds in secret but there’s only one mind that revolved around you only, which is Bucky’s. you keep teasing each other and playing mind games until one day you get into action.

Characters: Bucky Barnes (the white wolf) X female reader

Warnings: Smut, M masturbation, mind reading, witches, unprotected sex, overstimulation, praise, teasing, multiple orgasms, creampie, almost getting caught, mind games, begging, & lots of +18 explicit smut, Y/N's pov in the middle.

Word count: +3k

A/N: this is my first time writing smut ever + English isn’t my first language so excuse me if I misspelled anything lol

P.S: Y/N is such a girlboss! + This takes place before Wanda vision and MOM! (aka Wanda didn’t get hold of the darkhold yet but Y/N did)

You were laying in your bed in your room in the compound watching your favorite TV show, your teammates were all on a mission except for you, Bucky, Sam, and Yelena. Sam and Yelena were in the gym training for their next mission. You and Bucky only shared a wall as your rooms were next to each other. You were just laying there remembering it all, how you became the most wicked witch ever, you even almost overpowered the scarlet witch herself as you locked yourself away for a year with the dark hold learning all its secrets and spells. Your brain brought you back to the events in New York and your infamous fight with Doctor Strange and how you almost wiped him and all the Avengers out from the face of the earth but that broken small little girl inside of you stopped you before it was too late, instead, you just asked for help and they were kind enough to put all your broken pieces back together and help you.

Strange took the dark hold and hid it away from the entire world that even he, can’t even have it. You were relieved by this thought as you can’t forget all the dark awful places this cursed book took you and how it almost made you go insane. Even though, it was the reason behind all your powers and knowledge of magic. Suddenly, you got snapped out of your thoughts by the random thoughts of your next-door neighbor.

The winter soldier himself, you’d be lying to yourself if you said you don’t find him hot, you had that secret crush on him since the first time you laid eyes on him which was when he tried to stop you from crashing Sam to death when they were fighting you. You knew that some part in your dark-tinted heart wanted Bucky to hold you down and fuck all the darkness out of you. You giggled at that dirty thought and went back to exploring Bucky’s thoughts.

You kept it a secret from everyone that you can read all of their minds but you couldn’t help it, it was a new environment for you and these guys were supposed to be your enemies so you felt like you had to, just to prepared for any kind of betrayal, as you promised yourself no mistakes like that again. You will not trust anyone again. But these guys made it different for you, they showed you what true family is. Especially Bucky. As you’re in his mind now, there’s an old song from whichever decade he’s from playing in his mind as he’s polishing and cleaning his metal arm. He’s so focused and you decided to play with him for a bit.

Bucky was obsessed with you and you knew it, you loved it, you even touched yourself to the thought of it. When you started getting used to them and getting close to them after they adopted you in the compound, Bucky kept picturing you in your underwear after he saw you this one morning by accident only in your bra and panties. He noticed for the first time how absolutely hot you are and how you were definitely his type. From this moment on, he started to notice you more, even though he hid it so well but you were in his mind and you knew it.

You knew how any sound from you made him obsess over you for hours so you got out of bed and searched for that song that keeps playing in his head and you played it, knowing it will get a surprising reaction out of him.

And it did. He looked over to your shared wall and smirked, and you felt that smirk. But what you didn’t know, is that Bucky knows you’re in his head. He noticed it first when he pictured you wearing skinny leather pants that hugs your ass cheeks perfectly and saw you wearing them the very next day. At this moment, he knew it was too perfect to be just a coincidence. He wanted to test this theory of his more, as he kept picturing you and thinking of you in certain places and wearing certain clothes and him knowing your playful teasing nature, you entertained every thought and idea of his and served it to him on a golden platter. He kind of liked how you keep reading his mind, this is why he kept seeing you and imagining you in very sexual scenarios and kept fantasizing about you. He knew you loved it.

You both kept playing these mind games for a while now and keep hearing each other masturbating at the thought of you two together in one bed. He knew you loved the idea of him masturbating and touching himself to you while moaning your name, and you did the same to him. Even the rest of the team noticed that heavy sexual tension between you two whenever you are all gathered for a meeting or a house party.

Bucky knew you were playing with him the moment you played that song, this is why he smirked. “you want a reaction doll, you’ll get one” he said to himself while he adjusted his metal arm on his torso again and laid in bed thinking about dressing you slowly while his hands are between your thighs teasing your entrance and you’re moaning his name in his ear and him burying his head in your neck biting and kissing your sweet spot. You, being in his head, seeing him doing this to you made you breathe heavily and feel your cunt gets hotter and wetter. You sat in bed in silence and paused the song which made him smirk and grin more in the other room, knowing what his thoughts did to you.

Bucky couldn’t actually handle more of these mind games and wanted to taste you so badly, he was really desperate for the real thing more and needed you. He thought that if he kept that “let’s try the real thing” thought in his mind, you’d cave and ask him to fuck you. But you didn’t, which made him more craving and weaker for you. But you couldn’t help it, teasing is actually one of your kinks. Now, you can read in his mind that he’s tired of fucking himself to the thought of you and he wanted to actually do it. You actually thought of just going to his room and burying yourself in his bed, giving him permission to do anything to you but you didn’t really have the guts to do it. You were not the begging type. But little did you know, he was.

You heard him get out of bed and get out of his room, with one thought only in his mind. You. Fucking you, licking you, tasting you, burying his cock inside of you. Your heart started to beat a little faster as you heard him knocking on your door, you walked to your bedroom door slowly as you kept seeing what he was going to do to you for the rest of the day as it keeps playing in his head. You opened the door and saw heavy-breathing shirtless Bucky standing in front of you with nothing but lust in his eyes. “Aren’t you tired of these mind games yet, doll?” he said as he got closer to you that you can feel his hot heavy breaths on your forehead and you looked up to him and smirked. “Gosh, you’re killing me.” He said while moving closer making you step back and he kept moving forward until he was inside your room. He closed your bedroom door with his metal hand without breaking eye contact with you.

“What are you talking about, Barnes?” you said while trying to hide that smirk on your face as you got him where exactly you wanted.

“No, Y/N, don’t play dumb. I know you’re in my head and you can see what I’m thinking about” he licked his lips while looking at yours. “I know you love it, don’t lie to me doll” A shadow of a smirk formed on his lips which made you more turned on than ever. “I can smell the throbbing heat between your thighs baby, please don’t lie to me” Your heart kept beating more and your breaths became heavier.

“What do you want, Barnes?” you wanted to tease more and be more playful with him since you knew, this turned him on too.

“I wanna fuck you, Y/L/N. I wanna feel your body on mine. I wanna feel your wet throbbing cunt hugging my dick while it’s buried inside you.” He kept staring at your body like a prey and he’s the predator, you still can read his mind and what’s going on in his head, is a literal porno starring you, and him. He’s not lying when he said these things, you can see him actually doing it. “I know you want it too, kitten, please let me fuck you.” He did something, you weren’t expecting at all. He dropped to his knees in front of you. Lust is the only thing you can see in his eyes, and you love it. “You’ve bewitched me doll, all I want is you. Please let me at least touch you.” He made such an accusation of you bewitching him, in fact, you didn’t do anything at all, you just woke up one morning and saw him fucking you raw in his dreams out of nowhere. Jesus, this man will be the end of you as you are of him.

you moved closer and placed your left hand on his shoulder and your right hand on his head, playing with his hair, he looked up at you as he was still on his knees wearing nothing but gray sweat shorts. “Only with one condition, Barnes,” you said while pulling his hair a bit. He didn’t break eye contact and opened his mouth a little. “It has to be good” he smiled and grabbed your thighs from behind while lifting you up. “You’re in good hands doll, be sure of that” he chuckled while throwing you on the bed.

Y/N's POV:

He threw himself on me but being careful not to crash me, he started kissing me heavily as our tongues kept fighting for dominance. He obviously won this fight then he started taking my shirt and my shorts off. He broke the make-out to get a good look at my body as he ripped my bra off. He bit his lower lip hard when he saw my breasts and my hard nipples. “Just how I imagined them” he smirked while moving down to kiss and suck them and he put my life nipple in his mouth sucking and biting it and the other one is in between his fingers. I moaned hard and kept pulling and tangling his dark brown hair in my hands.

“You taste so good doll, fuck” he said between breaths then he pulled himself up to my neck and buried himself in it. Kissing and biting on my sweet spot while leaving his marks all over me. His fingers started to trace the line of my panties as he proceeded to take them off. I kept moaning in need of any attention to my lower area as it was soaked wet and needed any kind of ease. “Just say what you want doll, I can feel your heat against me,” he said while moving his hand down on my bed till it reached my swollen clit. I moaned loudly at his touch. “I know you need me, babe. I wanna hear you begging” he said while rubbing circles on my clit making me moan and scream louder. He wants me to beg just like I made him beg to fuck me.

“Know your place, Barnes, you’re the one who begged me in the beginning,” I said between moans, trying my hardest to sound confident and well put. He chuckled and looked at me “Still won’t cave Y/L/N. Fine. We’ll do it this time your way.” he said while taking off his sweat shorts and boxers and running his hard dick on my entrance, teasing. “But I promise you, next time, you’ll be the one begging on her knees, kukolka” God, I love when he throws Russian words like that. He noticed my reaction to this Russian word as I moaned at the sound of it and opened my legs more for him. He smirked and held my legs and wrapped them around his waist while adjusting himself at my entrance. “Я собираюсь трахнуть тебя так сильно. что ты не сможешь ходить несколько дней.” He said while pushing his full length inside me as I screamed his name so loud, he even put his hand on my mouth. His Russian accent, his full length inside my wet cunt, his groans in my ear, his messy hair, his slight beard tingling my neck, his neck kisses, all of these things happening at the same time making me lose my mind. If I’m not losing it from the dark hold, then I’ll lose it because of Bucky Barnes. He’s my karma.

He kept thrusting slowly at first, trying to adjust himself inside me while stretching my insides and making me get adjusted to his length. I don’t know if I should focus more on how our bodies are connected or on how he just told me he’d fuck me so hard that I won’t be able to walk for days in Russian. Gosh, I didn’t know how much I needed him until now. “You don’t know how much I’ve been dreaming of this moment, babydoll,” he said between his groans while thrusting slowly and making eye contact. “I know Bucky, I know” I moaned while he kept thrusting as he locked our lips together. This kiss felt different than the ones before, this one felt more passionate and genuine, and it wasn’t lustful. He broke the kiss while looking me in the eyes “I’m still a man of my word Y/N, try to be quiet sweetheart.” He said while holding both of my hands with his right hand and lifting them above my head.

Next thing I know, with my hands tied together with his right hand and his metal left hand around my throat, his pace and thrusts grew faster and harder as it felt like he was on a time mission and he have to finish the job fast. I can’t put my mind around how I am such a moaning mess right now. With this fast pace and hard thrusts, his lengths kept hitting my g spot rapidly and I felt the knot in my stomach kept tightening and getting closer on edge. Another person’s thoughts broke mine and Bucky’s moans as I felt a presence on the same floor getting closer to my room. My eyes widened and I stopped Bucky quickly by flipping us over so now I’m on top and he’s on bed. He held my waist as his penis is still buried inside me and I placed my finger on my mouth singling him to keep quiet. He nodded, knowing that I’m hearing someone.

Using my power, I locked the door quietly and put a force of magic around the room that would soundproof it. Bucky watched me sitting on him moving my hands and using my magic to make sure we don’t get caught which made him grin and lick his lips. When I gave the look that ‘we’re good now’. He pulled me closer “You are a fucking goddess and I’m so lucky to get to be inside you.” He whispered in my ear while playing with my dark hair and pulling it down to my shoulders and back. “You’re so beautiful Y/N” he pulled me into another passionate kiss and unconsciously I started to grind my hips on him as if he will still inside me. We moaned in each other’s mouths, never breaking the kiss. I hate how we were almost close to releasing and got interrupted by stupid Sam as he was looking for Bucky. Little does he know, his best friend Bucky is under the witch who almost killed him, begging her to let him fuck her.

Bucky held me waist so tight stopping me from grinding on him as he continued fucking me so hard. He kept thrusting so fast inside me, never breaking eye contact. He was still underneath me, holding me in place, thrusting his dick in and out of me like I’m just a sex doll he was playing with, which turned me more on. He’s so good. He makes me feel so good. I can’t even feel myself or how loud I am now as I’m so high on the feeling of him hitting my g spot, making me vibrate and shake so hard. He knew I was coming and I knew he knew so I didn’t have to tell him. He pulled me closer so now my chest is touching his and his hands are now holding my butt cheeks and he didn’t stop thrusting hard. I buried my head in his neck. Can’t stop moaning. “That’s it, baby, that’s it doll. Cream me. Cream my cock.” His words were just what I needed at that moment to push me off the edge. I let go and came all over his cock. I can feel the heat of my cum dripping down on his cock and his inner thighs and staining the bed sheets underneath us and yet, he never stopped fucking me or thrusting hard. Making me feel overstimulated that I can’t stop cumming. “Good girl. You’re such a good girl Y/N. fuck-aghhh I’m cumm-mm”

I felt a striking hot liquid burst inside me that made me scream out his name loudly as it hit my sensitive g spot which did not help my cumming to stop. He kept thrusting until he stopped cumming but I didn’t, which made me so weak that I can’t stop screaming or moaning. It felt so good. He felt so good. I hadn’t had like this before. This is the first time someone made me feel that good or made me cum this hard. The thought and the feeling of it made me want more. Made me want him more.

He stopped thrusting and moved his hands away, resting them on the bed as it must’ve been sore. Our chests are against each other breathing hard and heavy, our bodies are still connected down there with our mixed cum covering his cock and filling my cunt. I got up slowly and was going to get off of him but did it slowly as my insides are still sensitive and any move could cause another burst out of me. “No no no no no. Come here” he pulled me down on his cock again making me moan and flipping me over so now he was on top again. “Please, doll, not yet. You fit me so good, I don’t wanna leave you yet” he said while burying his cock inside me more making me squirm beneath him.

I would be lying if I said that I don’t feel fulfilled with him inside me like that. I know I’d hate the emptiness I’ll feel when he pulls it out. But I have to stay safe. “Sorry babe, safety first,” I said while kissing him on his lips. He whined and pulled it out and yes, I do hate the emptiness. I pouted at him. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s your call not mine” he smirked then held my shirt from the ground and cleaned me up before I went to the bathroom to pee and clean myself with water. I finished and stood at the bathroom door looking at Bucky while he was laying there on my bed, naked, looking at me, smiling, looking so hot and fucked out. I smiled widely at how I’d always wanted to see him like that since the first day I laid my eyes on him. Fuck, I think I’m in love. And by running through his mind, I think he is too.