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menagerofmischief · 2 months ago

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shrimp cocktail, cold appetizer, lobster, coca-cola, yes dessert, served by oscar piastri

Dia's Diner Menu

shrimp cocktail rivals to lovers cold appetizer rough sex lobster "I love watching my cum leak out of your pussy" coca-cola somnophillia dessert aftercare

Oscar Piastri x Ferrari!driver!reader

TW: one bed trope, unprotected sex (wrap you willy please), sleep dry humping

WC: 2k

A/N: I enjoyed writing this one a lot. Also I wanted to say I'm so thankful to all of you that sent requests and that I can't wait to write all of them but you'll maybe have to be patient with me because I'm a student and am pretty busy with school. I hope y'all are gonna enjoy this one.

Some bigger force, God or karma or fate or whatever else there is, was definitely out to get me. Because this had to be the worst fucking night of my life. I’m not being dramatic when I say that.

Why was this the worst night of my life?

We just made it to Singapore for the upcoming Grand Prix and went straight to our hotel. The whole grid was staying at the same place since it made things more convenient. I go up to the reception to check in and get the key to my room, all but ready to collapse into the mattress and sleep the jet lag off.

“I’m so sorry Miss,” the receptionist says, tapping her fingers against the keyboard, glancing up at me every few seconds. Finally she looks up, her expression apologetic. “It seems there was a mistake with the booking and we double booked your room.”

I fight off the urge to groan and roll my eyes, instead plastering a smile on my face. “It’s fine, it’s not that big of a deal. Just put me in whatever room is available.”

She makes a face, looking down at the computer again and then returning her gaze to mine. “I really am sorry but there are no other rooms available right now.”

Now I really did groan. “Fantastic. Can I know who the other person occupying the room will be?”

Before the receptionist had the chance to answer, my worst nightmare in human form came up to the desk, standing right next to me. “Hello. I’m here to check in - it’s under Oscar Piastri.”

The woman - I finally glanced at her name tag, seeing her name was Alice - looked between us, then down at the computer before looking at us again. “Sir, as I was just explaining to the lady here, the hotel double booked your room by accident.”

“It’s fine just put me in a -”

“There’s no available rooms.” I cut him off. “Just the one.”

Oscar looked at me, narrowing his eyes. McLaren’s golden boy, affectionately nicknamed ‘the polite cat’ by the fans was the biggest thorn in my side for a long while now. Everything started back in F2 with our on track rivalry which grew with each race. Then I signed into F1, fulfilling my childhood dreams of racing in red and thought I escaped him. I thought too soon apparently because after my announcement post, his followed soon and I was once again back on track with him.

Did I have a reason to hate him? Absolutely! Was it awfully petty and possibly over-dramatic? Very likely. It was my first race in F2, I was about to finish P2 it was amazing. Then he crashed into me and drove us both into the wall, causing us both to DNF and lose out on a podium.

We have hated each other ever since.

“It’s okay - we’ll share.” Oscar’s voice brought me out of my thoughts, quickly turning my head to look at him.

“What!?”

Oscar took the key from Alice and dangled it in front of me, a smirk on his face. “I said we’re gonna be bunking.” He pulled the handle of his suitcase, “Come on then, Y/n”

✿ ✿ ✿

“You stay on your side of the room,” I said, putting the chair in the middle of the room to make it a half marker. “And I’ll stay on mine.” The one queen size bed would definitely be a problem as well, but one I would mention later.

“And how are you gonna go the bathroom since it’s on my side?” He asked, his voice holding a teasing tone.

“Bathroom if free ground, hallway too” I stated, crossing my arms over my chest.

Oscar’s gaze dropped down, stayed for a few seconds and then his eyes met mine again. He hummed, “And if I wanna open the window then what? Since it’s on your side.”

“Don’t act smart,” I told him. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“You wound me!” He gasped, pressing a hand over his heart.

“Shame it’s not fatal.”

✿ ✿ ✿

This was definitely the weirdest night of my life.

With only one bed in the room, no couch and neither of us willing to put our body in uncomfortable positions sleeping on the chair or on the floor, night before practice - Oscar and I made an agreement to share the bed.

One of the extra blankets from the closet was bunched up and put down the middle of the bed separating the two us. Not that it served much purpose considering that it was kicked down and off the bed while we were sleeping.

I woke up, rubbing my eyes to adjust to the dark and then I felt it. The slow, yet desperately feral rolls, the pressure and the pleasure. I had to press a hand against my mouth to stop myself from moaning, taking in deep harsh breaths through my nose.

I came to a realization about three things, so goes:

Oscar had moved a bigger part of his body onto my side of the bed.

He had pulled me close and caged me in his arms sometimes during the night.

He was grinding his very much hard cock into me - in his sleep.

My cheeks were on fire and it felt like the rest of my body was too. The pajamas, which I purposely picked out because of how light they were, felt suffocating now.

I didn’t even realize what I was doing until it was done, my body moving on its own. One leg pushing slightly forward, opening just enough space for Oscar’s hips to chase mine and my ass slowly barely grinding back into him.

I was enjoying this much more than I should have and it was wrong. God, it was so wrong. But when his erection was rubbing so perfectly against me, I couldn’t bring myself to care.

I was wet, I knew I was. I could feel how soaked my panties had gotten and the uncomfortable feel of my slick underwear did not escape me. As the pressure increased I couldn’t help but let out a moan.

The noise felt deafening in the silent room and my eyes widened. Oscar’s body stilled and my breath caught in my throat, the dread of having woken him with my moans taking over me.

A moment passed, two moments passed. Then Oscar’s hands tightened around my body, pulling me even closer to him, my ass pressed just against the outline of his dick. One of his hands moved down my stomach, dipping into the waistband of my sleeping shorts and going straight down into my panties.

He ran a finger through my folds, coating it in my slick and it took everything in me not to moan. “You’re fucking dripping,” his voice in my ear made me freeze. Awake afterall. “This wet from me humping you? And here I thought you hated me.”

The pad of his finger touched my clit, a gasp falling from my lips at the pleasurable feeling. “Did you enjoy me rutting into you while I was sleeping, you dirty dirty girl?” He added more pressure, rubbing circles on my clit and this time I didn’t hold my moans back. “Woke up halfway through, when you started grinding your ass on me like a bitch in heat. You seemed so into it, I thought I’d just keep going.”

“Wasn’t,” I whispered.

“What was that?” He growled into my ear.

“Wasn’t grinding on you,” I said, through gritted teeth.

His fingers pinched my clit and my whole body surged forward, mouth falling open to let out a loud moan. “Don’t lie,” he said, the tone of his voice leaving no room for argument.

“Fuck you.”

“Oh don’t worry sweetheart, you will.”

Oscar pulled his fingers out of my panties, making me whine at the loss of friction on my clit. His chuckle vibrated through the room. He got up onto his knees on the bed, arms coming forward to grab my shoulders, and pulled me roughly so I was laying on my back.

I couldn’t help but look at him above me. His eyes were full of lust, pupils blown wide and cheeks red. As much as I didn’t want to admit it to myself, he looked absolutely ethereal.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, fingers hooking into the waistband of my sleeping shorts.

I held his gaze, a shaky breath falling from my mouth. “Don’t stop.”

In one move he pulled down both my shorts and my panties, throwing them behind him without a care. Then he took off his own shorts, followed by his boxers - that ended up being thrown somewhere too. He pulled me up enough to take my top off, and then pushed me down again, leaving me completely bare.

Oscar leaned over me, his mouth drawn in a smirk, his breath hot on my face. “Tell me not to kiss you.”

“Kiss me,” I whispered. He didn’t waste a second, as soon as the words were out of my mouth he was surging forward, his lips pressing harshly against mine, tongue pushing into my mouth. He pulled slightly back, my lip caught before his teeth and he gently bit down, making me whine into his mouth.

“Fuck me,” I panted into his mouth. “Please just -”

I didn’t get to finish what I was saying as he pushed himself into me fully in one go, making me scream. His hand pressed against my mouth, muffling the noises I was making. “Do you want to wake the whole hotel up?” He asked as he began thrusting, pulling himself out until only the tic was still in me and then forcefully pushing back in again. “Some people came here to sleep, not to listen to you moaning like a whore on my cock.”

His other hand went between us to rub my clit. I was practically sobbing as he worked his fingers in fast circles around my clit while roughly thrusting into me. My vision was blurred with tears that were spilling from the corners on my eyes.

Oscar’s hand moved only a little, leaving room for me to speak but close enough for my lips to brush against his palm with each word. “Cum,” I babbled. “Gonna cum! Oscar, please!”

“Yeah?” He asked, his voice hoarse. “Gonna cum for me like a good little slut? Go on then - cum”

I came with a moan, wrapping my legs around his waist and caging him in. Oscar fucked me trough my orgasm, his own following. He twitched inside of me before cumming, painting my walls and making me whine at how full I felt.

He pulled out of me slowly and went to the bathroom to clean himself up. After a moment he returned with a wet, probably warm, towel in his hands. He kneeled on the bed and gently spread my legs with his hands.

“Fuck,” Oscar groaned. “I love watching my cum leak out of your pussy.” His fingers dipped to collect some of his cum which had spilled out of me and was slowly dripping towards my ass, and pushed it back into me, causing me to gasp.

He leaned forward and placed a kiss on my forehead and somehow my cheeks burned ever hotter. After he gently cleaned me up and terrorized me to drink water, he laid down in bed next to me and pulled my body into his, arms wrapping around me.

“Are you finally going to let me take you out to dinner?” He asked, his voice husky and breath hot against the side of my face.

I hummed, my eyes barely open and already feeling sleepy. “Don’t crash into me while I’m winning on Sunday and we’ll see.”

“That was one time!”

I chuckled, placing my hands over his hand on my stomach. “Yeah, I’ll let you take me out to dinner.”

Believe it or not this might have actually turned out to be one of the best nights of my life.

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toruro · 1 year ago

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i just think….toxic ex bf!dino who starts hoeing out to make you jealous.. he fucks any random girl at any random party but only thinks of you, making sure his hickeys are visible enough for you to see them, posting pics with randoms on his socials 💭

nectar of the gods

tags: smut (18+), angst, toxic chan (duhh), pet names (baby), creampie

w/c: 1.4k

a/n: this concept is insanity actually anon i am in love with u (WINK WONK WINK WONK WINK WONK) ..,,, pls visit my inbox more often :3

thinking about your toxic ex chan.

it's funny when you say that, because he was the one who said he wanted to end things on good terms; told you he wanted "none of that drama ... none of that petty shit." chan had said it so casually that you're now having a hard time trying to figure out if you're going crazy.

crazy, because just three nights after you two ended things, he was posting on his finsta (which, by the way, he demanded you stay on for the sake of keeping peace and not cutting ties) at some party you weren't invited to with some girl you didn't know dancing—no, grinding—on the same man whose lap you were bouncing on just a week earlier.

crazy, because two days later you go to hang out with your group of friends and of course chan is there (because when isn't chan there?), and you swear you haven't seen him wear a shirt with a collar that low in ages and ... is that a hickey? you might go crazy.

crazy, because you aren't sure if he expects you to stare ..,, crazy, because you swear you see his lips curve upwards into a smug smirk when you turn your eyes away, bashfully heating up in the cheeks. "you good?" he asks casually, when you choke over your water a little when you decide to glance back at him and catch second and third splotchy, bruising mark under his collarbone.

crazy, because you aren't sure why your stomach bubbles up with some nasty feeling of ... anger? uncertainty? jealousy?

crazy, because how could you be jealous? you broke up with him—told him you've got too much going on in your life, and while chan was great and all, you don't really have the time for a boyfriend right now. so really, you have no right to be jealous, isn't that correct?

fuck, you've gone crazy.

it doesn't help that you try to avoid him. the next week, you don't sit next to him in the lecture you have together, and you don't think chan'll make a fuss about it. after all, it seems like he's moving on just fine, so you hardly consider the fact that he might be just a bit bothered by the fact that you choose to sit next to seungcheol instead.

you don't expect him to walk up to you afterwards with a frown etched deep into his lips as he scoffs, "already throwing yourself on my friends?" to which you'd like to respond with: "aren't you doing just the same?" ... 'cept you don't say that, because that would mean you're jealous, right? and you're not jealous ... no way!

so you just shake your head softly and say that you're sorry for causing a fuss. that you'll sit with him next time. that you'll start talking to seungcheol less. chan grins at you and nods his head, and as he turns away to head to his car, you catch the fading mark on his neck from a few nights before, and wonder if you should say something.

you don't, of course.

that night you go home, and you're scrolling on your insta and then there's that bright ring around the chan's finsta and so curiosity undoubtedly kills the cat. maybe you tear up a little at the sight of a an obviously faded chan who's got his cheek pressed up against another girl's, both of them grinning as people party in the background.

and so you call him, and he's sweet at first. asks you, "hey what's up ... hey are you crying?" to which you respond with more sniffles. and you wanna hang up, you wanna hang up so bad, but then you think that if you cut the call he's just gonna go off and talk to that girl—or worse, he'll fuck her—and you're totally not jealous but you also totally can't let that happen.

and so you cry a bit harder—you replay the image of those stupid, big fat hickeys on his neck—and you let your tummy churn while you wallow in your own self pity.

"what's wrong baby?" chan asks you from the other side, and in the background you faintly hear the blaring techno and you briefly consider telling him you miss him, which is odd because you don't miss him ... do you? you just don't want him to go off with what's-her-face ... right?

and so you're silent, tryin' to figure out what you should say but then you hear this voice and it's too high pitched, too bubbly, too girly to be chan's, and suddenly your heart sinks right down to your stomach.

"channie, c'mon! let's have some fun?" the voice of a girl calls in the background, and you're just about to open your mouth and say something when chan beats you to it.

"i gotta go," he tells you in a rush and oh the sound of the line being cut will be you're undoing, because now the image of chan fucking this random ass girl burns into your skull and for some reason, you can't seem to shave it down.

and so you drown yourself in your tears, pressing yourself into the cushions of your couch and your sobs rack through your empty living room while chan is probably in some strangers room fucking the living daylights out of a cunt that isn't yours.

you think you might just fall asleep like this—alone in this dimly lit room with nothing but your tears dropping onto your lap; and so when you hear chan's voice you think this might be a dream, but then you look up and suddenly you see him.

he stands in front of you in all his glory, face flushed and faux blonde hair brushes just over his eyes as he walks closer to where you sit on your couch. chan shushes you when you ask him why he's still got your keys—tells you that isn't important right now—and he cups your cheeks and wipes your tears, asks you why you're crying, why there are tears in your eyes when "channie's right here ... channie's not gonna leave you ..."

and then he's kneeling in front of you, askin' you again why you're crying and so you cry even harder ... his hands are all over you, stroking your cheeks and then rubbing your shoulders, then one hand's on your hip and kneading the soft flesh and you think he's just trying to comfort you and so you cry even harder because you wonder whether he had his hands on that girl just moments earlier.

but then he's whispering in your ear, tellin' you he's gonna "make you feel better ..." but only if you'll let him.

his hands feel so nice all over you, rubbing up and down your thighs and—fuck, when did he slip his fingers between your legs? not that you care anyways, because even with your mind deluded with tears, you find the want to slowly hump your hips into his touch until he's slipping his hand down your pant, asking you if this is you letting him "make you feel good."

of course, you whine through your tears, nodding dumbly when he slips his rough fingers into your soaked cunt, murmuring into your neck 'bout how "channie's always gonna be here to make you feel better ... channie's never gonna leave ..."

he fingers you for a bit, and then he fucks you into the couch. it's hot and sloppy and heavy and messy, and it has you crying and panting—hands all over each other because you can't get enough of him.

your lips run all over his neck, his chest, collarbone—all of it, because you are in no way jealous, you just enjoy marking your territory. and chan fucks you so deep, groaning, "this pussy's made for me—just for me, you hear me?" and you are not a jealous person but you grin to yourself in this fucked out haze because chan is right.

you wrap your arms around his neck as he fucks you missionary, raking your nails into his back, tugging at the roots of his hair—doin' everything you fucking can to show chan that he might not be yours but he is yours, and you are his.

the thought that this might come and bite you in the ass crosses your mind briefly, but chan is quick to fuck your worries away, tellin' you "no one's gonna fuck you like this ..." and so you moan, and chan takes that as an agreement, so he fucks you harder until you're choking over your own sobs of pleasure.

"this pussy's mine, you got that baby?"

#answered #✰ anon #mdni #svt smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen smut #svt scenarios #dino smut #dino x reader #dino scenarios #lee chan x reader #lee chan smut #lee chan imagines #💌 drabbles

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springsylph · 10 months ago

Text

WITCHING HOUR, CH. 1/3 — [18+]

(18+) - MARKED FOR EVENTUAL SMUT, MINORS DNI!

fem!reader x arthur morgan

summary: most people in the area had issues with coyotes. yours wore a cowboy hat, but you let him in anyways. tags: marked 18+ for smut in later chapters, reader has a backstory kinda (but also not kinda), referred to as lady/ma’am/etc, arthur doesn’t know how chickens work, i really don’t know my farm lore

word count: 5.5k

a/n: setting this pre-chapter 2 ish and post chapter 1, except it’s winter for realsies, Because I Can. and please no questions about chicken logistics or I Will Cry.

you can find a link to the playlist here!

read on ao3 here | masterlist

The fictitious “stranger,” by all accounts, was possessed.

Possessed by an air so overwhelming, so sure, that it incited perversity in even the most upright.

He was an outlaw, by the cut of the whispers. The story went that he’d rolled in like a heavy fog, altogether quiet and unassuming, though still carrying the foreboding quality that preceded the raising of hackles. Mothers kept watchful eyes over their daughters, and more notably, the fathers brandished their guns.

And yet—that maddening yet—the mothers seemed to care little for their own warnings, and even the fathers were envious of a man dripping with exploits they didn’t have the luxury of entertaining.

Luxuries and lack thereof aside, the fickleness of those who spoke of him had not gone entirely unnoticed; it lent no plausibility, no substance to the dream-like tales they’d crafted in their drunken stupors. The most substance you’d seen had been spewed into the shadowy corners of Valentine, pissed into not-quite pristine patches of snow, foul stench leaking out onto already foul streets before it followed you back to the farm.

It stunk.

It stunk, and it loitered, and it’d been stealing from you.

Which is exactly why—when he shows up on your rickety porch just as winter has begun to bleed out into spring—you take up the mantle of digging your loaded barrel right into his sternum.

—

The front door tremors behind you.

The stranger shifts on his feet.

You shift with him, and gloved hands inch toward the stars in surrender not long after.

Amorphous mass comes to your mind first, rather than man. You can only discern the more essential points of his appearance: the gloves, the satchel, the rifle slung over his back. Knives are stashed somewhere you can’t see—if he’s worth his salt—but everything else blends into the dark line of trees behind him. You swallow a rather painful yawn.

His hat, evidently beaten to hell and back several times over, sits low enough on his forehead to cast shadows over his features—though not low enough to completely obscure the faint outline of a face from your view. The rest of him only falls into place once you crane your head to find his eyes.

As is customary in situations concerning your immediate safety, your throat constricts, and the second yawn you feel crawling up your throat nearly succeeds in asphyxiating you.

Petty crimes would have granted him a slighter frame, but no petty crime you can think of could have afforded him the sturdy chest, the buckling of the air around him, the crooked line of his nose, clearly less cared for than his battered clothing. He’s still a little blurred—largely from a lack of sleep on your end, and the protection of his hat on his. Even so, the hard set of his gaze offers nothing other than the tale of cruelty lived and the promise of cruelty to come.

There was no doubt. This had to be him.

(You might think him handsome, if not for the fact that it’s a quarter past three in the morning.)

The first breach in his stony composure that you catch is paper thin. Fleeting. And he’s quick to recover; any indication of surprise is sequestered with a blink. The second is an awkward shifting of his stubble-shrouded jaw, and you note with a squint that his bandana still hangs feebly off the jut of his chin.

He admits defeat after a few clumsy seconds. Cracks a wicked smile, bright as the moon peeking out from behind the crown of his hat. But it falls away quickly. Somewhere in the distance a tree branch creaks, tiny shards of ice scattering to the ground and tinkling like bells.

He was calm. Entirely too calm, considering where he stood. His hands haven’t budged, and nothing in his stance hints at an intent to attack. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looks more annoyed by your presence than you are by his.

You try not to think about his eyes. There’s something else in there, too. Apart from the agitation that radiates from them, that is. It lurks deep beneath the blue and wades through the slight dilation of his pupils; it urges him closer—or, is it you?—like the distance between the two of you isn’t sustained by the twitchy arms of a jittery woman holding a rifle.

But there’s an abrupt wind that fiddles with the cotton threads of your chemise, and you’re suddenly struck with the realization that no, your hunting rifle isn’t loaded, and in your haste to confront him you’d forgotten your boots and shawl.

The nighttime chill, ever the tyrant, lodges itself where the wooden boards scratch eagerly at your bare feet. You were cold, so cold that it ached, and you were tired. But it’d do you no good to show your hand this early. So like the hiss of a rattlesnake, you keep your voice low, and you keep it lethal.

The stranger is named by the venom falling from your tongue.

“You’ve got ten seconds to convince me not to unload this lead into your chest, Morgan.” You track the added prod of the gun to ground yourself, eyelids still heavy with sleep.

It doesn’t do much, as far as threats go. Morgan’s ever steady breathing still accents the now stagnant winter wind, a stark contrast to the throb of your heart striking your ribs. But a small scar, carved into the flesh of his right cheek, has made an almost imperceptible shift. The rest of his features take far more liberties with their movement—

—and he’s scowling.

Your heart strikes louder.

God, the shit you would shovel to be able to read minds. Animals have always been more your speed; people were a hassle—far too unpredictable, and they tended to reap fewer rewards.

In your mind's eye, Arthur lies silently amongst the fallen snow, red unfurling behind him like wings. You’d hate to have to kill him, you really would. But there was nothing more dangerous than indecisiveness: it killed, and often relentlessly.

Only, you’ve been staring too long. It’s long enough to rouse Morgan from whatever state he’d been in before you’d spoken. He’s smart enough to keep his palms facing you, and he dips his head with the same mildness that one might use to soothe a startled mare. The scowl is tamped down, smile returning to him like water running through a scraggly creek.

“Evenin’, Miss.” He drawls.

And it works. You hate that it works. There’s a dull heat that seizes your lungs at the low timbre of his voice, something akin to fire.

No. No, nothing like it. It was more like the cheap whiskey you’d downed that first night working as a farmhand, all those months ago. It’d numbed your tongue, tumbled down your throat like sun-warmed stone, and simmered in your stomach. You hadn’t dared take another swig after that. Too dangerous. But it’s easy enough, passing your shudder off as a trick of the cold and cocking your head incredulously.

“Showing up uninvited, and you can’t do me the courtesy of knowing my name?” One push of the rifle sends him back with surprising ease—away from the cabin, and away from that damned moonlight. “Ma’am will do you just fine,” you spit.

His smile fractures. Not enough to truly frighten, but enough to make your fingers clench. “You talk to all your guests like that, Ma’am?”

You steel yourself. “Only the sneaks.”

At this, Morgan stills. Shuts his eyes.

Did he really think you wouldn’t notice?

The farm had more issues with coyotes than crooks; that’s what you’d been hired to take care of, more or less. Your employers—the Campbells—were getting on in their years, and were in desperate need of someone to help keep watch during the nights. So imagine the surprise when you’d found not a coyote, but a wanted man sliding through the shadows.

It’d angered you, that first time he’d gotten away. You’d only recognized him long after he’d left. But after that night, you’d made a show of firing off rounds into the nearby woods and roaming the perimeter of the grounds under the guise of a late-night hunt.

From what you knew, he hadn’t come back to steal, but you knew you’d seen him lingering. Felt him watching. Waiting for something—but you’d made sure that every pop of your rifle drove him further and further from whatever it was that he’d been aiming for. And now Arthur Morgan is here.

He furrows his eyebrows, purses his lips, and they disappear for a moment when he goes to wet them before he speaks again, a little less amused. “Now you know I mean no offense—”

“No offense? Well, I’d kill to see what you and your ilk consider offensive.”

The wind slams the front door shut.

“My ilk?”

You wonder if it’d been your goal all along, trying to rile him up like this. Accusations slide out of your mouth and into the night air far too easily for it not to be. But the thought of anything other than catching him red-handed occupying your head unnerves you, sending you another two steps forward and into the powdery snow.

“Jesus, woman! Alright, alright.” Morgan’s eyes finally leave you, darting between where your feet dig into the cold ground and the muzzle of the gun pressed to his chest. He slumps his shoulders and looks up to the sky, still an ugly grey-black from the thin dusting of snow the night before.

“Look,” he starts, hands fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I don’t mean no harm. I swear it. I’m—just give me a minute to explain, will you? One minute, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

There’s a please somewhere in there, left unsaid yet still ever so loud. You think it might have left him in the puff of breath that still hangs above your heads; hot and heavy in his mouth, but turned to nothing but vapors once it misses its chance to solidify.

You eye him warily. This could be over and done with in a matter of seconds, and you might be able to knock that godawful mustache clean off of Sheriff Malloy’s face. You kill him—or turn him in so long as he didn’t bleed out, whichever came first—and get whatever bounty was nailed to his head. Use the money to get out. Get your freedom. Stop biding your time, and get revenge.

And yet.

“…You lying to me, Morgan?”

His shoulders straighten out, suddenly very tense. “‘Course not. You think me the lyin’ sort?”

Your voice flattens. “I figured that much was obvious.”

“Ouch, lady. Not willing to pull your punches for little old me?”

“You’d rather the lady use the gun?”

“Neither, thank you. And, speaking of which–” His chest deflates a bit, putting space between the two of you without having to step back. “—quit swingin’ that thing around. You’ll take someone’s eye out.”

Exhaustion mounting, you lower your rifle slowly. You keep your eyes trained on a pebble that’s escaped the snowfall relatively unscathed, not trusting yourself to look anywhere else. Conceding with a sniff, you toss your head toward the front door. It’s quiet, now.

“Get in, before I change my mind—and no funny business, neither. Guns, knives, whatever else you’re hiding, drop ‘em. Right here.”

Too groggy to note the stalling of movement, you wait for the clinking of metal to stop. His boots retreat from your peripheral far more reluctantly than you expect. There’s a telltale groaning of wood, and you turn to find Morgan gazing down at you with an outstretched hand from where he’s hopped onto the porch. He murmurs with a reverence that you’re sure is misplaced, so quiet that you have to watch his lips to catch even a smidgen of what he says.

“Yes, ma’am.”

This was a game to him. You knew games. And so when you go to place your hand in his it’s to eye him down, back him into whatever corner would hold him and keep him there till you knew why he’d spent the last month haunting your lodgings like a ghost.

Calloused fingers wrap around your hand like a vice, and when he’s guiding you and your icy feet up the stairs it strikes you that maybe—just maybe—your assessment of your situation had been far too impetuous. Arthur’s touch is surprisingly clinical, but even through the leather of his gloves, it was warm. Too warm.

Ghosts weren’t warm. Or, at least you didn’t think they were. And Morgan, looking like the very paragon of the West, all bright eyes and honeyed words, had given you a glimpse of something far too beguiling not to investigate. It’s when he presses the back of his free hand to your wind-bitten cheeks that you wonder what your father might think.

“Chilled, right to the bone.” It isn’t so much a mutter as it is a rumble, reverberating somewhere deep in his throat and traveling up to where the two of you have made contact. You’re avoiding his eyes again, but you’re close enough now to be able to see his muscles working his neck.

His smell overtakes you much like the cold has. The freshness of the pine needles still stuck to his coat makes up most of what you’re able to distinguish. A little bit of horse, too—he’d ridden here. Where exactly he’d hitched his horse was a mystery. But with the proximity of his sleeve to your nose, you can make out the faintest hints of a potent musk. It’s everywhere: in your nose, your mouth, under your skin. Every inhale turns your muscles into piteous liquid. There’s no hiding your shudder, this time.

Morgan suddenly yanks his hand back as if scorched, and schools whatever expression he’d been wearing prior into one of indifference. He hums. Frowns.

“Let’s…uh, get you inside.”

You offer a tight nod and turn away, but Morgan is quick to the draw; he whispers a quick “pardon me,” and goes to retrieve the weapons he’d dropped in your stead.

Oh. You’d forgotten. It seems he’d forgotten too, brushing the mixture of dirt and snow away and mumbling something about keeping his guns warm. You’re left standing dazed on the porch, skin still blistering from where his fingers had met your skin.

Morgan has the decency to look at least a little troubled when he returns. He places what he’s collected into your arms before opening the front door, and gestures for you to enter. You offer one last look to the moon before following him inside.

Your judgment on Morgan—Arthur, now—was still up for debate. But your punishment for rushing to catch him had been doled out almost immediately.

For your feet, a numbness that the fireplace had been bullied into chipping away at. Your hands are still tight from the cold, and they sit tucked underneath your thighs with the added protection of a few blankets that’d been placed over your shoulders. Your eyes flick over from the fire to Arthur, and your chest tightens.

He’s found his seat across from you: coat and satchel on the back of a chair he’s pulled from the dining table, big hands tapping away absentmindedly at his knees. With the coat set aside, there’s nothing to hide the first few buttons of his shirt that hang open, pitch black and rolled up to his forearms to account for the warmth of the fireplace. His hat remains, hair still tucked away and settled at the nape of his neck.

You’d both been sitting in silence for the last half hour, despite Arthur’s insistence on “one minute,” letting the cold of the outdoors thaw out before saying anything that might get the rifle pulled again. You did gain a bit of satisfaction at the slight tinge of red in Arthur’s ears; it seemed the cold had gotten to him, too.

You watch as his eyes wander over the furnishings of your cabin. Thankfully, the door to your bedroom is only slightly ajar, and the knot in your chest lessens. It wasn’t often (or ever) that you had visitors over, which meant that most of your things were tucked haphazardly into corners or set on kitchen counters.

The Campbells—generous as they already were—had insisted you take up residence in a cabin on their property that once belonged to a daughter of theirs. She’d long since moved out, but the light in their eyes at the thought of it being occupied again was undeniable. It wasn’t much, but it was yours. And Arthur was seeing all of it.

“Don’t get too comfy.” You frown. “…Arthur.” He beams, and suddenly there’s something incredibly interesting lingering right by your foot.

His name still feels foreign when it leaves you. At first, you’d taken it as a show of good faith; he’d sworn to keep his mud-caked boots off of your rug in exchange for keeping his feet from becoming bullet-ridden by the time the sun came up. Arthur, feeling like he’d gotten the shitty end of the stick, had joked that you may as well call him by his first name. The last person with the guts to threaten him with a shotgun had, so what was one more?

It was a weak threat, if one at all. You knew, and he knew, that you were just about the only person this side of the Grizzlies who was vaguely aware of who he was. You’d seen it in his face when you’d called him by name. It’d be an insult to call it fear; an expectation of an inconvenience would be more accurate.

Luckily for him, you didn’t care. Not right now, at least. Imposing as he was, you refused to be cowed into going along with whatever it was that he'd planned.

Your heel messes with the leg of your chair. “Don’t you go forgetting why I brought you here in the first place.”

“Not quite sure if I’d use that wording—“

“Can it, Morgan.”

His jaw clicks shut this time, but he’s still got that goofy grin smeared onto his face when you chance a peek at him. You’ll let it slide, for now. You’ve stalled long enough.

“So. My eggs. You gonna tell me, or do I need to start pulling teeth?”

“No need,” Arthur assures, “shouldn’t be stickin’ your pretty little fingers in just anybody’s mouth, Ma’am.”

An outlaw and a flirt, to boot. Wonderful. You’re wondering how long it might take to chuck the nearest inanimate object at him when he pipes up again.

“You piss in somebody’s cigarette box, lady?”

“Did I piss—Morgan, quit it!”

This seems to reign him in a bit, and his smile dips.

“I’ll be frank, since you asked so kindly.” Arthur leans back in his chair, flexes his palms. “You had people tailin’ you.”

You quirk a brow. Ah, that’s right. He didn’t know, couldn’t have. But just as you attempt to explain, Arthur holds out a hand to stop you and shakes his head.

“Killers.”

The hand fussing with the material of your blanket falters.

“...I beg your pardon?”

“Hired guns, Ma’am. Out for you. You’re real…fortunate, I’d been passing by when I was.” A rueful look clouds his face. “Not much to hire once I was through with ‘em, though.”

The quiet that follows isn’t entirely unfamiliar. He’s an outlaw, you muse. Things like this are to be expected. But it doesn’t occur to you to ask who they were, what they looked like, what they wanted. Because Arthur didn’t know, didn’t need to know, and you aren’t sure if you want him here when you wrap your mind around the sobering fact that your long-held suspicions now bear fruit. So, you settle for the obvious.

“You kill ‘em?”

His jaw twitches. “Nothin’ gets past you, Ma’am.”

“...‘Suppose I should be thanking you, then.”

“Got my thanks when I checked their pockets.”

“But—”

Arthur gives a grunt of protest.

Jackass.

Though your concerns about theft were long gone, it doesn’t seem like he wants to talk about this any more than you do, so you do your best to set the conversation back on track.

“Well, uh…the eggs, then?”

The tension in his jaw lessens. Arthur unfurls a long leg, digs the heel of his boot out in front of him, and rocks his foot back and forth.

“You know these winters. I can tell you do—despite all the…” he trails off, nods the brim of his hat toward your newly cultivated relationship with the fireplace, and you flush. “So, I uh, started out sneaking a few off, along with some other things for my people back at camp. Snagged some extra rations. Kept an eye on you. Two birds, one stone.”

“So it wasn’t just the eggs you’d been stealing, then?”

“It’d behoove me to tell the truth and shame the devil, Ma’am. Not that he and I are unacquainted.”

So that was a yes.

The part about “keeping an eye” on you is tacked on rather reluctantly, but at the mention of camp, your brows raise. It was true, then. The tales you’d heard during your trips to Valentine, the new faces you’d noticed in corners and back alleys, they were all real.

There was a time when you thought you might be able to find your place sleeping under the stars, free to do as you wished and go where you pleased, so long as the law kept their greasy mitts to themselves. But circumstances had seen to it that your dream went unfulfilled.

You muster up what you hope is a sympathetic smile, and Arthur takes it stiffly.

Even so, something else with his phrasing catches your attention.

“Hold on now, you said ‘started.’ There something else you’re not telling me?”

A hand, previously settled on his knee, finds its way to the back of his neck and rubs.

“Uh, y’see,” he starts, looking damn near ready to wring his own neck, and you have to laugh, because what on God’s green earth could have Arthur Morgan this bothered? But instead of finishing his sentence, he turns his gaze toward the small sliver of moonlight coming in through the curtains and poses a question:

“You know anything about chickens?”

You blink.

“Arthur Morgan,” your eyes shut, and your mouth hangs open. “I work on a farm.“

“That you do.”

“And you’re asking me if I know about chickens?”

“That I am.”

He’s looking mighty sheepish; his hands return to their places on his knees and begin to tap again, with the added scrunch of a nose. You stifle a snort and oblige him.

“Yes, I’m well versed in chickens. Now tell me what the hell is up.”

And tell he did. Turns out, one of the eggs he’d snatched had somehow been fertilized, and hatched. Arthur, of all people, had been far too mortified to go and ask one of his own for help, so he’d spent the last two months slinking around to find out if his luck might earn him another to keep the one he already had some company.

He’d named it and everything, so eating it (Marlene, he corrects gruffly) was completely off the table. By the time he’s finished his story, you’ve spent an exorbitant amount of energy fighting off several fits of laughter, and you’re fighting off your ninth when Arthur interrupts.

He leans forward, as if to confirm something, then settles himself back into his chair once he finds what he’s looking for. “You ain’t from around here, are you.” It’s a statement when it leaves Arthur’s mouth, not a question.

Observant. Observant, and deflective.

Chewing at the inside of your cheek, you pocket the uneasy feeling in your chest for later.

“Long story,” you offer. And a difficult one, at that. It wasn’t one you liked to revisit.

Arthur replies almost instantly. “Shoot.” For a moment his face pinches, like he’s dropped his last cent down a splinter-ridden nook he can’t reach. He deliberates, for a bit. But the money is long gone now. “Got a full audience right here,” he continues, a tad slower. “I’ve got…time. Why the hell not?”

There’s no smile, but there’s a genuine curiosity that creeps into his voice. It wafts over the crackling of the fire, blows fresh wind underneath wings long forgotten.

This wasn’t good. Not one bit.

You cast a skeptical glance toward the bottle of whiskey on the table. It’d been set out on instinct when you’d let him in, a habit formed from a time long gone. Would Arthur want some, maybe? He seemed like the type. And you weren’t too pissed about the eggs now, anyways. So you wrap a blanket around yourself, stand, and turn to the cupboards to find a glass. But something stops you from making it over, and you instead choose to wrap a hand around the bottle and offer it to him.

If Arthur is as confused as you are, he doesn’t show it. He mutters a word of thanks as he takes the proffered bottle. But you don’t miss the way his eyes rake over your bare legs like hot coals. Or the slight twitch of his fingers—now free of their gloves—at the light brushing of your hand over his as you pass the bottle to him.

You follow the bobbing of his throat for what feels like a lifetime as he takes down gulp after gulp. Amber liquid slips from the corner of his mouth; it catches the firelight on its trek down, and steals your air along with it when Arthur moves to wipe it away with the back of his hand.

It startles you, how quickly you’ve become accustomed to cataloging his movements. You’ve met him before, you’re almost certain of it now. If not in the fields here, then maybe somewhere in Valentine, or the woods. But somewhere. He felt too familiar to be new, too invigorating. A part of you wants to pinch yourself for giving in so easily. Maybe…maybe the folks in town had been right? Maybe Arthur Morgan was possessed? It was either that, or you were an idiot. You sincerely hoped it was the former.

The sound of the glass bottle hitting the table is what snaps you out of your trance. Blinking rapidly, you chance a peek at his eyes again, only to find them peeking right back. You do your best not to turn away. That thing you’d seen lurking out on the front porch is still there, submerged in the depths of his pupils. Still waiting.

You pull the top off of the bottle, take a quick swig, and return to your chair with an inhale and newfound resolve in tow.

Blabbering seems to come unfortunately easy with Arthur. He sits, silent and attentive throughout the entire retelling—save for the occasional grunt of approval, disapproval, whichever was appropriate. You tell him of your mother, young and hungry, and how she’d made herself available to the highest bidder—your father. Some wealthy businessman from God knows where. Twenty years your mother’s senior, it’d been no secret what exactly he’d gotten out of their short-lived union: a wild young thing to look after his progeny and keep his bed warm.

He was nice enough, for a time. Or at least nice enough for your mother to be able to tolerate. But something had sent her fleeing from that big, big house. She’d kept you in her arms and her heart till you’d found somewhat of a safe haven in the Grizzly Mountains.

“Safe” had been a bit of a stretch, though. Anyone with half a brain knew exactly what the Grizzlies were like. Arthur agreed. But your mother had been raised there, just as you would be, if only for a little while. You’re only able to remember a short split of time—just before your mother passed, and before your father had come to take you away from her.

By then your mother had already taught you most of what you’d needed to survive: reading, writing, hunting, flattery, the works. The only thing she’d left out was how to survive without her.

Your father had come to find you only a few days after, bearing news of his intentions to turn you into a “proper lady.” He made no mention of your mother or where she’d been buried.

Polite society hadn’t taken too kindly to a daughter hailing from unsavory origins, and it was safe to say that you hadn’t taken too kindly to polite society either. So, you’d spent the last decade or so making your father’s life a living hell and warding off any potential suitors.

But it became clear stunt after outrageous stunt that he had no intention of cutting ties. Rather than cutting you off, he’d settled for the next best thing: manual labor. Your father was old friends (though “friends” was a bit dubious) with the Campbells, and deemed it an appropriate enough punishment for your wrongdoings. He’d relied on your aptitude for hunting to pawn you off on them, and with the help of some expertly feigned resistance, you’d gotten him to plant you exactly where you’d wanted to be.

Away, and alone.

“Threw a wrench in my plans, but…life here has been peaceful, I reckon.” You pick at the beds of your fingernails, head bowed.

Peaceful.

Peaceful and quiet, save for the occasional moo.

Though, now that you thought about it, you’d have to tally it up to several wrenches if you counted the hitmen. But you could open that barrel of horse shit later.

The creaking of wood alerts you to a shift in Arthur’s positioning, and his voice barrels down at you from the ceiling; he must be looking up.

“You don’t seem all too ‘at peace,’ if you ask me.”

“I ain’t ask you.”

“Tuh.”

The two of you fall into yet another bubble of silence. It’s comfortable enough, though still laced with the slightest bit of awkwardness.

You couldn’t get a read on Arthur. Just about every decision he’d made tonight—or told you he’d made—had been a contradiction. It didn’t make a lick of sense. But now that you’ve had more time to ruminate, it didn’t seem like it made much sense to him, either. His body language divulges as much.

The quiet agitates you, now. Itches. You need to know more. Understand more. But you can’t do that without retracting your fangs and reigning in your apprehension. Finger beds picked raw, you test the waters.

“Not at peace, hm?” You mutter. “…How you figure?”

You hear him shrug. “Dunno.”

Silence.

You wait for him to continue, but it’s not until you look up at him that you realize he’s been waiting for you to look back. Arthur’s voice cuts through the silence once you can meet his eyes without squirming.

“Met enough people to know who’s livin’, and who ain’t.” He crosses an ankle over his knee, and gives an exhale when he puts his hands behind his head. “I’m in no place to be dealing out life advice, but you seem awfully dead, Miss.”

“Ma’am,” you correct.

Arthur makes a face, and you bark out a laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. Some stranger he was, telling you off like this.

Your eyes crinkle, smile working its way from the inside out. “Takes one to know one, I assume?”

He blinks at you. “Yeah. Yeah, somethin’ like that, I suppose.”

More silence.

“Do you think—”

“I ought to be heading out, now.” The dream is cut short. Arthur is standing suddenly, intercepting before you have the chance to say something incredibly, incredibly stupid. He tugs on his coat, fingers closing the buttons with frightening efficiency before he gathers up his gun and whatever else he’s brought with him and heads for the door.

You're scrambling up out of your chair before your brain has a chance to process.“Arthur,” you say, half to him and half to the floor, “Arthur, wait a damn minute!”

The spurs on his boots cease in their clinking. He’s got one hand wrapped around the doorknob, squeaky and now half-turned.

“…Got business to take care of.”

“At three in the morning?”

He glances at the small pocket watch you’d left open on the table. “Half past four, actually.”

“Didn’t realize you could tell time.”

He hums.

And Arthur stares at you for a moment, unabashedly. It’s unreadable at first. But then scars are shifting, and he’s leveling you with a look so bitter that it nearly has you reaching for your rifle again.

“Goodbye, Ma’am.” Arthur waves a noncommittal hand at your feet as he turns the knob. “And…go and see about those feet of yours, will you?”

He sweeps out the door.

He’s left it open.

It’s only after the faint sound of hoofbeats is nothing more than a whisper that you realize he isn’t in the cabin anymore. But somewhere between the shutting of the door and the hanging of your rifle, the faint impression of his parting words is pressed into your palm.

You look down, a bright sting and the sight of red specks on the floorboards making themselves known rather insistently.

“Oh.”

—

next chapter >>

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #I literally put off two essays to write this #plz be kind this wasn’t supposed to be this long #witching hour

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respectthepetty · 2 months ago

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Petty, I respect you.

I do.

However.

DONT BE QUITE ABOUT THE COLOURS IN ON1Y 1 BECAUSE I WILL READ A FULL THESIS ON IT, 20 PAGES!!!! 50 PAGES!!!!

PLEASEEEE Give

Meeeeeeeee 🥹

Anon,

You've opened a floodgate.

Because I always notice the colors, but just because I see colors doesn't mean I know why they are significant. Even if I see there is a pattern, it doesn't mean I understand its importance. And I don't think y'all should be subject to me screaming about Jiang Tian's paper bookmarks being yellow and pink in a book of (love?) poems where he has highlighted that "a girl's shyness is like a tender cherry under the sunlight" and "16- and 17-year-olds are like fruits in the morning sun, sparkling."

Sheng Wang asks who this is about, but we know who this is about. The colors mean things.

And more importantly, I actually didn't write weekly or episodic posts about shows until 2022. I used to wait until a show was over to write about the colors or background noise, and, mostly, I only did it when people would ask me about it. Big Dragon was the first show that I felt compelled to write weekly about the colors and background noise because it was so amazing, so 2024 is still an odd space for me to be in sometimes because as much as I love colors, I'm ALWAYS surprised how much y'all want to know about them . . . weekly . . . per episode . . . for all the shows.

I write for myself, but sometimes I think y'all don't need to witness me losing my shit every week for sixteen weeks over obviously color-coded characters in The Loyal Pin.

And sometimes I think y'all don't want to witness me losing my shit over colors that I can't completely understand like the grays in 4 Minutes.

And then other times I think y'all shouldn't have to witness me losing my shit over colors that I'm not sure are colors until I've watched enough episodes to feel sure that the colors are, in fact, coloring; then, the series, The Trainee, actually tells me the colors were coloring the entire time like I thought.

And that's why I try to be quiet about shows because I'm figuring them out in my head, or I'm waiting for enough information to feel confident about them, and I don't want to hog up the tag with my ramblings. I need to sit in it a bit to figure out what the colors mean.

Kiseki: Dear to Me was the perfect example. I didn't mention anything about colors until prompted by others because it took me until the third episode to feel certain that Chen Yi and Ai Di matched colors, then it took me close to the end of the series to realize all the cameo couples ALSO matched colors.

It took me until the end of My Love Mix-Up to realize Aoki's color had evolved.

It took me two seasons (and a movie) to feel secure that Kiyoi was a Heavenly Human in My Beautiful Man.

And it took me until midway through Semantic Error to figure out why the red disappeared.

That's how The On1y One is for me. I knew yellow/orange and blue would play some part in the story based on the posters, but I wasn't sure how until I started seeing more visuals appear.

Because even though I saw a yellow container of food for Sheng Wang in the first episode,

I didn't realize he mostly ate color-coded food until episode four.

It's such a tiny detail, so I could have easily missed it, but because I know that he is a picky eater, I feel like it's not simply a coincidence, and I quickly noticed it in the eighth episode.

But I needed to collect more images before I could state that. I needed to let the story develop before I realized it. I needed to settle into it. And that's why I wrote my halfway point post after a few people asked if I noticed.

Because I know I seem like a magician who shouts a lot, but I'm not. Sometimes, I have to be patient and let the colors sneak up on me while I'm simply enjoying the moment, like Sheng Wang's orange alarm clock nestled into the corner of his bed while he falls asleep on his light yellow pillow in his light yellow shirt.

I know not all visuals can be a literal bright yellow sign hanging from the color-coded boy's room, ya know?

I'm not Jenny who cannot grasp that she keeps taking food and drinks meant for Benny even when he realized if she could figure out the mug was about gay rights without realizing he was gay then someone smarter will along and piece the dots together . . .

Because like, girl, he's gay.

But it does take me time to collect images and get my thoughts in order, so until then, I'm going to be quiet.

Or as quiet as a loud ass like me can be.

#the on1y one #I won't move past that mug #like girl . . .#piece the dots together #the colors mean things #color coded boys in love #I'm trying to be quiet #I need to collect more images #I need to organize my thoughts #I need to live in the mess for a bit

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meruz · 3 months ago

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hi!! im sure ppl have asked this b4, but i scoured your asks tag for an hour or so looking to see if you answered anything abt it and couldnt find anything, so i was just wondering if youve made any posts on your process for making n selling merch b4? and how you know which franchises you can make merch for w/o getting into trouble w copyright n trademark stuff (hopefully that makes sense, im not sure,,,)

hi! got a bunch of asks abt merch stuff lately im gonna put it under a cut.

preface: i don't know if i'm the best person to ask about all this stuff because I'm doing merch on a strictly hobby basis LOL. I have a fulltime job which takes care of the bulk of my finances, I don't really make big quantities of anything and my main priority at cons is to just make enough money to see my friends in different cities at minimal expense. i pretty much always get a refund when i file my con taxes because my profit after all the deductions is like fucking..nothing.. lmao. So if you ultimately lose money following my advice don't blame me. OK NOW lets get into it

my process for making merch: when I have an event scheduled that I want to make merch for I start by brainstorming a bunch of stuff I wanna make. for mgscon this is what I wrote down in my sketchbook lol

i made a legend to denote which ones are actually just reprints. it gets easier to plan out merch when you already have merch. out of the new merch ideas here i actually only made like 4 of them. and out of the reprints i only reprinted like three. i also came up with like 4-5 other merch ideas after writing out this list that i actually did do. LMAOO UM. my point here is that nothing rly goes as planned.

when i get a merch idea i start with thumbnails what i want it to look like (sometimes this is based off merch ive seen before so its very realized and sometimes its really vague bc im kind of pulling it out of my ass)

then BEFORE i go into making the final art I research how I'm going to make the merch. whether its printing/constructing it myself or looking for a manufacturer. There's a lot of different places that you can get custom merch made, i used to go shopping around at local printing shops but nowadays it's really common to do it all online. For both these jet tags and the washi tape I did some of my own research into manufacturers and also asked friends for their contacts/referrals/recommendations etc. most manufacturers either have their specs/template publicly available or will give them to you when you ask. so once I've locked into a manu and gotten the specs I'll start designing the final art.

then it's sending it off and waiting! easier said than done.

i will say this process is a lot lengthier for some types of merch than others LOL. for prints... I've been doing prints for like a million years and I plan out almost none of it. I draw everything at print resolution so a week before I have a con scheduled I'll simply go through all the files I've accumulated since my last con, squeeze whatever drawings I want into standard print sizes lol (ie. 8.5x11, 11x17, 4x6 etc), and print them at a local shop. takes like a couple hours max.

how you know which franchises you can make merch for w/o getting into trouble w copyright n trademark stuff?

I mean. honestly I don't know. selling fanart is the kind of thing that IP holders kind of just let slide as long as they don't think they're losing a substantial amt of money on it. there ARE a couple franchises people avoid because they've been known to send IP lawyers after fanartists... disney is the big one and they're known for being pretty petty abt it... that's why you don't really see people selling fanart of the disney princesses at cons. ive heard pokemon will also crack down if your project seems to be making a lot of money lol, part of why i think a lot of pokemon fanzines operate on a charity basis. I do feel like the pokemon company has bigger fish to fry than someones artist alley table though so i wouldn't sweat it too much.

it's also generally considered impolite/bad taste to sell fanart of small franchises. webcomics and indie games especially if they only have like 1-2 devs who rely on the income that game makes.

I'm not a lawyer so you shouldn't consider this legal advice BUT I will say... I don't think you should let IP law stop you from selling fanart lol. especially if it's low quantities/not mass produced and you're not making crazy amts of money I think you kind of have a leg to stand on. Besides, most cases it seems like the worst you'll get is a cease and desist.

you Will notice that when people start turning their artist alley endeavors into a real business they'll generally ease up on selling fanart (the case most prominent in my mind is omocat lol). but i love fanart and thats why i will never make money and thats a promise [snake saluting gif]

SORRY IDK IF ANY OF THIS WAS HELPFUL. I've been doing merch and cons for a long time (10+ years lmao, you can find record of this on this very blog) and i think im kind of old fashioned about it. i recognize the artist alley/merch scene is a lot more demanding now than it used to be but start small at local low-risk events, online sales etc and work your way up and remember to have fun and itll be ok i believe this wholeheartedly.

its literally just layers of acrylic like any other dinky charm. I'm sure pretty much any manu that does acrylic charms could do it but this specific charm/template i did order through a group order server. they're pretty well known! heres a link to their twitter

@wheatormeat sorry for taking a full month to answer this... anyways. This is tricky because I've actually been changing up my sticker manu everytime LOL IDK if I've found one I actually love.

these ones i ordered thru an alibaba manu because I was jumping on a friend's group order to save on shipping. it was ok. they arrived a liiiitle late and printed a lil dark but i think thats kind of my fault LOL I use dark colors i always need to lighten things before i get them printed and i think i just didnt lighten these enough. otherwise i rly love the quality!

i realized i never posted these online and also this is not a good picture (the lighting in my living room sucks rn) but i printed these tmnt stickers thru stickerninja they feel really solid but they needed kind of a lot of space for the cutline. but their customer service was very nice and helpful!

these ones i got printed at washimill and i was so impressed with how fine their cutline is... pricing and quality of the sticker itself is alright they feel a lil flimsy? idk. but i do like the printing. i kind of elected to go with them solely because i was already ordering washi tape. A LOT of my manufacturing decisions are made based on how much money i can save on shipping tbh.

and thats my sticker manu reviews dont forget to like comment subscribe idk if i have one im gonna stick with forever or anything im rly indecisive. ideally id like a manu based in the u.s...? because im based in the u.s. and international shipping is pricey. but idk if i keep ordering washi tape maybe ill keep using washimill. who knows...

#ask #per usual i cannot write anything concisely

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 9 months ago

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I am I the asshole for telling someone what they were doing was "mean spirited and cruel"?

(submitted this a while back but was never posted - don't know if tumblr ate it or if it broke a rule, but i'm sorry if its the latter)

My complex has a facebook page where residents can post questions or concerns to other residents. One day a woman posted asking if we could move the food bowls where people feed the feral cat colony that lives near us because when she walks her dogs they always lunge at the cats; she had just had surgery and it hurt when they pulled on the leash. Someone responded saying they had moved the bowls down and that seemed like that.

Two days later she posted again saying that our "kind and caring neighbor" (her) had called someone to come pick up the cats. From another comment on the post it seemed like she had talked to someone IRL who was rude and basically told her "I've been feeding the cats for 10 years fuck off" and then called animal control immediately after that.

This felt really petty to me, and I posted saying that calling animal control on the cats was "mean spirited and cruel". I explained that almost all feral cats taken in are put down, and that she was making a decision about the community's cats without consulting the community. I added that I was sorry she had been hurting since her surgery, but that there were other steps she should have taken before this.

She responded that I needed to have more compassion for her as she herself was very compassionate and caring person. To which I responded that she should then extend that compassion to these cats that had never hurt anyone. (Seriously, they just chill around our complex and eat rats – they’ve never scratched or bit any person or animal)

She responded that they hurt her “fur babies” everyday because they make her dogs pull at their leashes and choke themselves. She then went on a rant about how she didn’t understand why people weren’t respecting her anger and that since she lived here she had a right to want the cats gone. She also mentioned that calling her “mean spirited and cruel” had racial connotations and that I wouldn’t call a white person that.

Important context, I am a white woman – up until this point I had not realized that she was a black woman as this argument was in a facebook group and the pictures were small. But it is very possible this is something I saw and internalized without consciously recognizing it.

I was really thrown by this, and just replied yes, I would and that I’m sorry it hurt to hear, but that is what her actions were. (Which, yeah, nobody ever not in the racist category uses the ‘I’d say that to anyone!’ excuse, but I truly didn’t know what to say). She continued to respond to my comment saying how I was a pitiful person if I’d really call anyone that, and that I hadn’t addressed any of her other points.

More people where commenting at the same time on this post, and while she responded to all of them my “mean spirited and cruel” comment apparently really got her because she kept bringing it up in arguments with other people. She really felt that people were being unjustifiably angry and mean to her for something she thought she had a right to do.

It also came out that she had apparently posted complaining about the cats the day before but it had gotten so out of hand the post was deleted before I could see it. She had also gotten into several arguments IRL with people feeding the cats. This explains why she felt so ganged up on I suppose – though none of this I knew before replying.

The next day she specifically made a new post calling out racists in our community and tagged me and few other people (even other POC) who had disagreed with her about the cats. I didn’t respond, but fairly quickly that and the post from before were deleted.

I’ve been really trying to think about if my internalized racism did unknowingly influence my actions, but I honestly keep coming back to the fact that I think I would have said the same to anyone who tried to get a cat colony killed because her dogs try to attack them.

Also for those curious – the cat colony is still here! It turns out removing a cat colony from their home is actually considered animal cruelty and is illegal in this state

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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thecoolerliauditore · 27 days ago

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Sorry, not-so-amicable-exes anon here again just cause I saw your big toxic fh breakdown post again cause a friend wanted to read it and we were tlking about it- unimportant, sorry, we just had a thought. Because I've seen some anti-toxic shippers act like this interpretation is out of spite or some intentional thing shippers of other jimmy ships made up (specifically ranchers usually), but the timeline and accusation is all wrong. Like I don't remember ever seeing anyone even talk about this interpretation until post-liml? And it was very hesitantly and apologetically. There was a fic or two before this but most people even the people who enjoyed it expressed discomfort or concern at its existence and that's how most people react to them even to this day.

But I remember when I saw that first post I was like, "Oh thank god, someone else also thought that!" It felt like before that there was scenes in their POV that only happened when I watched 3l because no one talked about them, or wrote them very differently to what happened. And I saw some other people saying the same thing. I think the post even got deleted a few days later, too. It seemed to me like a lot of people had quietly independantly come up with the interpretation as far back as 3l itself, but stayed quiet until recently to avoid upsetting anyone or we all thought we were the only ones who saw it that way. I know I tend to hesitate to write characters negatively because it feels a bit wrong to do that when the ccs are friends, even if I think it would be interesting. I wonder how many people feel that way also?

But I guess what I mean to say is it seems to me that a lot of people independantly have been thinking it since 3l or ll and the only reason it started popping up in dl is because it was the next big Jimmy ship from the big shipping season, and people werent really willing to even talk about it for a whole other season because they were scared of being seen as negative.

But!! I just really think it's neat, I really like this narrative for Scott and Jimmy. It's rare to be able to get stories where people have problems and break up and move on to new relationships and grow from them. It makes sense because they're the first season couple and they've grown further and further apart as seasons go on.

Even people I see who don't like fh don't seem to WANT to talk about it, they only bring it up when asked, and try to be respectful. Maybe I've not seen something happening somewhere else? I just wish I didn't have to spend most of my energy when writing quadruple checking that I'm not making Scott a bad guy and emphasising Jimmy's faults just so people reading know for certain I'm writing it this way because I'm legitimately interested in exploring this interpretation of them, and I'm not one of "those" writers. But I'm starting to wonder how many of "those" writers there actually are. (At the risk of comparing petty fandom drama to a serious topic, but it feels a lot like I'm back on 2016 tumblr assuring people I'm not one of "those" enbies or "those" aces, trying not to get pushed out.)

I'm guessing anyone who doesn't care for toxic fh probably already has you blocked, but if there is anyone like that who does see this: Hi! I also love flower husbands a lot! They just aren't my fluffy comfort ship, I like headcanoning them as divorced and imperfect because I think it makes them more interesting to write. I love being able to write characters who don't find the love of their life immediately but each relationship still shapes them into a new person. Sometimes I like to imagine their relationship as more mild and silly, and sometimes more dramatic and intense, I'm not a one-headcanon person! But their divorce is what really inspired me about them so I like writing about it. I don't want to stop anyone from enjoying them how they enjoy them and have no interest in making people who would be upset by my content to read it, so I try to tag it correctly! I'd like to be able to write my stories without walking on eggshells wondering if someone thinks I only wrote something I worked really hard on and cared a lot about just to spite them or because I'm secretly homophobic while writing about men kissing, just because my interpretation is different. It makes me scared to put Scott in my fics at all and contributed to my writers block for fics with them in it. I think Scott gets treated unfairly by certain people too, but that's not what I'm trying to do, I wouldn't write about him if I did!

(Also sorry if my paragraphs are strange, I'm not used to writing on mobile or pouring my thoughts out.)

Hi hello welcome back!! Please don't apologize I love long asks, especially long asks about scott smahor. The fact that you pulled up that toxic fh post and read it with a friend is so funny to me. Looking back, I wish I'd planned it out better and wrote it more eloquently, but I'm glad it brings people some sense of joy/entertainment/understanding. I hope you and your friend enjoyed it, even in an ironic sense.

It's endlessly entertaining (and fascinating) to me personally how every toxic fh believer seems to undergo the same-ish pipeline of watching the fh pov and being horrified --> looking at fanon fh and disengaging out of fear --> finding other toxic fh posters in the wild and suddenly realising you're not insane after all. I know I personally went into scott's pov expecting wholesomeness and ended up wide-eyed at what I saw before proceeding to slink FH into the back of my mind for awhile.

People tend to believe others operate like they do and I think that's where a lot of the discourse originates. Most of the louder voices I've seen that are very against the toxic interpretation are from people who primarily engage in bending the characters to fit specific concepts i.e. the "toxic jimmy" brainstorm that happened awhile back on here where interpretation is less a study and more confirmation bias-ing your way into making an idea work. Which I must reiterate is completely awesome because we're making fanfics here not nukes. But this leads people to assume that everyone who writes about toxic fh is going in with the mindset of "how do i interpret these moments so that scott is an abuser" and not "wow that thing i just watched sure kind of felt like domestic abuse"

Which like. YEAH, if there was a theoretical group of people who went out of their way to interpret everything scott did ever as evil and irredeemable, I too would assume that they had it out for the guy. But that's not what's happening, usually, afaik (at least on here, twitter's situation is a bit different due to the culture and would be its own beast for me to dissect and I honestly don't spend enough time on there to really feel confident making any statement).

For the record, I think a lot of people are on the same boat regarding FH being toxic and just simply don't care enough to voice/explore it, don't want to deal with the fandom nonsense that comes with it or would simply rather shift focus onto other pairs with similar themes. i.e. there is something going on with the toxic fh believer/ethubs shipper overlap I just know there is if anyone would like to do science with me it'd be awesome.

I know that I definitely focused my sights more on Scott and Pearl's relationship following my "wow that was sure something" watchthrough of scott's series, which is ironic considering I now base alot of my thoughts about their dynamic on scott's previous relationship with jimmy.

I think there's like. Something about the DL Pearl fans and the ranchers fans specifically who tended to communicate in code re: Scott's toxicity because for a long time all of us were afraid of saying it outright. So you get a lot of posts where Scott is like. A vaguely unpleasant force in the narrative while not really being a main focus himself, which I think may have contributed to the "ranchers fans only view scott as the villainous ex to push their ship harder" argument that I've seen a lot.

Once I realised from that one Shepscapades comic that there were others who saw the same plot I did, I would go out fishing for signs of agreement/acknowledgement. Hybbat if you're reading this, take this as my apology for sending you anon asks back in the day essentially trying to bait you into posting more FH slander, there was something deeply wrong with me (there still is, I'm just more upfront about it now I think).

There's also just this very like.. us vs them mentality very apparent in the way people talk about The Discourse that kinda sucks. Weirdly enough it's kind of shifted from toxic fh vs healthy fh to fh vs ranchers (or any other jimmy ship for that matter) nowadays. I can't talk on 2016 tumblr but regarding your last point (which I know isn't directed towards me but I think it's worth saying) -- would it matter if you Were one of THOSE fh writers? (or one of THOSE aces or THOSE enbies for that matter). You're not but like. Would it?

(side note rhetorical question do not answer i dont want to know but wtf did the aces/enbies even do lmao)

Not to get too away from the discourse cus I do my fair share of glazing on this blog already, but yes yes yes big agree on fh's storyline being amazing!! I love that we essentially watch them both have to live on after their mutually life-changing marriage.

Scott especially I love because in a lot of stories that feature an abuser they're painted as entirely evil and oftentimes disappear from the story once the relationship is over, but Scott doesn't and will never go anywhere. He's forced to grapple with his previous actions and the destructive way he thinks about himself and relationships has and continues to damage both himself and the people he loves. Just like how irl even when we wish abusers would just "go away" they will still continue being living people as they've always been, not a concept that will simply perish once you overcome the trauma. I love abusive characters who are fully written as human and think they're important. Is all.

#asks #discourse #long post #i was gonna say more about how i think both perpetrators and victims of abusive relationships (cont)#(cont) tend to seek out writing that humanizes abusers more since. the abusive ppl we know irl are people #and oftentimes ppl we loved and continue to love. whereas to outsiders it's a very black/white situation #there's also i think like. a wish fulfillment aspect of it. that you or they can get better and everything can be okay again #which is obviously not like. the most amazingly healthy fantasy wowie but it's a fantasy for a reason #i know i at least have entertained one million here's how scott can get better scenarios in my head. some of them worse than others

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mxtxfanatic · 1 year ago

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Was thinking about how often I see reactionary pro-Jiang Cheng content, and I just realized something: jc stans, just like their fav, believe that every good thing Wei Wuxian has—whether loved ones or good memories or admirable characteristics or character growth, whether canon or fanon—is actually the rightful property of Jiang Cheng that Wei Wuxian “stole” from him through the sin of existing, and it is their sworn duty to correct this “oversight” of canon.

Wei Wuxian gets his happily ever after with the love of his life, so jc stans give Jiang Cheng Lan Xichen and call Lan Wangji “second place.” Or they make Lan Wangji a cheater because “he actually likes Jiang Cheng more (who doesn’t, amiright?)” or Wei Wuxian a cheater because “he can never appreciate a good thing like Jiang Cheng can.” People point out how Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang seem to have had a closer relationship than Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng, so jc stans make the latter two a ship or make them the bestest friends ever that bond over being annoyed with Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian has a close relationship with the Wen siblings, so jc stans make Wen Qing spend all their time together saying that Jiang Cheng “was right” about him while Wen Ning is being “bullied” into being “anti-jc.”

Wei Wuxian is canonically smart and driven, so jc stans say that he is lazy while Jiang Cheng is hardworking. Wei Wuxian is canonically charismatic, so jc stans say that it was actually Jiang Cheng who was loved by all the disciples and is the sole reason the Jiang Clan of the present was able to pull in new disciples post-fall. Wei Wuxian loves to learn, so jc stans say that Jiang Cheng was actually a model student being sabotaged by the slovenly Wei Wuxian.

People imagine the Lan as accepting Wei Wuxian post-canon or imagine aus where the Lan adopt him as a child, so jc stans make Jiang Cheng the adopted Lan child, who Lan Qiren now likes better than his own nephews. People write Nie!wwx, so jc stans write about how “actually” Nie Mingjue sees Jiang Cheng as the brother he never had and views Wei Wuxian as an unwanted nuisance and competition. People make the most batshit ooc au where the QishanWen are actually good and adopt Wei Wuxian, and jc stans turn that into actually, the Jiang siblings are adopted while Wei Wuxian stays with the “totally horrible, abusive” father in Yunmeng. Fucking Baoshan Sanren descends from her mountain to look for her martial grandson, and jc stans will shove Jiang Cheng into the narrative as a disciple because “he’s just so lovable!” In all of these cases, some will still imagine that Wei Wuxian still gets left on the streets as a petty afterthought.

Shit, even some of the BAD things that happen to Wei Wuxian canonically are misappropriated by jc stans to give Jiang Cheng unearned sympathy. Wei Wuxian was whipped as a child? Now Jiang Cheng was too, but also his dad hates him. Wei Wuxian is an orphan who creates his own family in adulthood? Jiang Cheng is now disowned/an unloved runaway who later finds his people because who wouldn’t want him (amiright?). Wei Wuxian was at risk of losing his golden core completely in the transfer if it failed? Well Jiang Cheng was going to DIE! “See? Look how much harder Jiang Cheng’s life was than that pathetic attention whore Wei Wuxian! Doesn’t he deserve all the things Wei Wuxian has? Aren’t they rightfully his???”

And it’s like, you can’t even escape into fan content with this type of mentality, because look out how much I mentioned is popular fanon. Notice how ubiquitous these ideas are surrounding anything to do with Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, even if only one of them is mentioned. No matter what anyone reads in the novel, no matter what individuals come up with in their own heads, no matter what tag or platform is used or not used to keep it out of their hands, jc stans will be there to create a reactionary counterpart to prove that nothing, nothing can ever just be Wei Wuxian’s. Because at the end of the day, the “oversight” that jc stans want to correct isn’t Jiang Cheng’s supposed depreciation by the author. The “oversight” was the author daring to say that Wei Wuxian deserves to be treated as his own person and not Jiang Cheng’s personal property. And every fandom interaction has been retaliation towards that fact.

The main character of the novel is relegated to mere a lightning rod that exists to attract all of Jiang Cheng’s bad qualities while injecting him with all of Wei Wuxian’s good, but jc stans wonder why people are upset.

#mdzs #human gripes at fandom

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lucky-clover-gazette · 4 months ago

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kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 4

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

‘Does it bother you to think of him hurting your country?’ ‘You know it does. Are we playing now with the fate of nations? It won’t bring your brother back.’ There was a violent silence.

the girls are fightinggggg (love damen calling laurent on his misdirected bullshit)

‘You know, my uncle knew who you were,’ said Laurent. ‘He spent this whole time waiting for us to fuck. He wanted to tell me who you were himself, and watch it wreck me. Oh, had you guessed that? You just thought you’d fuck me anyway? Couldn’t help yourself?’

i’m sure it’s easier for laurent to entertain the notion that nothing damen did was real at all, and doing so also hurts damen, so two birds one stone

‘You said, “Kiss me”,’ said Laurent, each word enunciated clearly. ‘You said, “Laurent, I need to be inside you, you feel so good, Laurent,”’ He switched to Akielon, as Damen had, at the climax, ‘‘it’s never felt like this, I can’t hold on, I’m going to—’’

i did my complex analysis of laurent’s mean girl era last chapter. this is a good example of him just being a petty bitch for the reasons outlined in that analysis

‘Charcy,’ said Laurent, ‘was a distraction. I have it from Guion. My uncle sailed for Ios three days ago, and by now he has made landfall.’

and it worked, and laurent was too emotionally compromised to anticipate or prevent it. imagine laurent learning that, directly after being tortured. and now he’s dealing with this. Ls on Ls on Ls.

(or did he know? stuff he says later makes me think he might have, but then again, he also lies to damen a LOT in this scene)

‘I see. And my men are to die fighting him for you, the way that they did at Charcy?’

i mean the previous chapter already established that they both know laurent meant to be there, but if they’re doing cheap shots, i guess this works fine in a pinch

Laurent’s smile was not pleasant. ‘On that table is a list of supplies and troops. I will give it to you, in support of your campaign to the south.’ ‘In exchange for,’ said Damen, steadily. ‘Delpha,’ said Laurent in the same tone. He felt the shock that made him remember that this was Laurent, and not any other young man of twenty.

He had not come here prepared to negotiate. Laurent had. Laurent was here as the Prince of Vere facing the King of Akielos. Laurent had known who he was all along. The list, written in Laurent’s own hand, had been prepared before this meeting.

all true, but don’t underestimate the fact that laurent did NOT anticipate falling in love or actually trusting you as an ally

He said, ‘Did you plan this from the beginning?’

so "from the beginning" is complicated here. if i'm going to try to sort things out to the best of my ability, i think a good place to start is making a list of things laurent could NOT have expected at the beginning of the series, when he was presented with damen:

that damen would not immediately take any opportunity provided to him to escape captivity

that damen is a respectable and admirable person and invaluable strategic and military asset

that damen and laurent would fall in love (and even still now, i don't think laurent is letting himself believe damen really cares, and certainly isn't letting damen do the caring)

that the regent would try to assassinate his own nephew. laurent says in the text, at some point, that this was a genuine surprise, and that he didn't think his uncle would ever go that far

but, okay, even if laurent didn't expect the assassination attempt, or any of the other minor things in vere like the patras debacle, did he expect at some point to find himself and his men forced to do a military campaign? he must have, which is why he started the correspondence with delpha. i suppose he could have planned to do that from vere, too, and just adjusted things when he was forced to travel. and nothing that laurent failed to expect directly got in the way of the foundation of his plan, if his objective was to obtain delpha and make enough allies that together they can take down the regent.

so to answer damen's question, yes! laurent planned this specific long-term objective (taking delpha, getting kastor and the regent in ios, methodically turning a faction of powerful akielions against kastor and gaining the support of vask and patras) from the beginning. because he recognized damen the moment he saw him, laurent could immediately put together that kastor is allied with the regent, who would totally come up with something like this to torture laurent. and so laurent put his mental energy into planning a way to gain enough political and military power to defeat both kastor and the regent, and further manipulate them into being so confident that they would have no time to retaliate when the people laurent enlisted attacked them. i don't think laurent gave a shit if kastor lived or died, or stayed on the throne, as long as the regent was defeated, but it made sense for kastor to be a priority as well since the alliance between kastor and the regent makes the regent more powerful.

and, to be generous to laurent, none of this really has anything to do with damen. like none of it is designed to punish him, it doesn't even really involve him. it's another instance of laurent just living in a different genre from the start. damen's pov has been so fixed on his relationship and interactions with laurent, but there's been so much more happening that we just haven't seen. and laurent, i think we can assume, is and has always been deeply focused on things other than their relationship.

but even now, this plan doesn't do damen direct harm. the most harm it does is make things awkward with nikandros, and make damen feel bad about the regent being in his own country (which was probably going to happen anyway). but still, damen is super pissed. he doesn't realize or admit it, but i almost think the fact that laurent always had this plan makes him a little insecure. like, to realize that he hasn't been as important or useful to laurent as he previously assumed. on top of all the other stuff pissing him off about the situation, he's also jealous of an abstract plan, because it's had laurent's attention from the start, and right now laurent is choosing that plan over their friendship/relationship. a kingdom, or this.

laurent doesn't want to deal with "this," and honestly has some pretty pressing matters beyond "this" to handle, so he's chosen "a kingdom." even if damen's heart is still stuck with "this," he'll have to follow laurent's lead and focus on "a kingdom" too. i'm sure they'll both do a perfectly professional and functional job of this, and it won't make things inconvenient or uncomfortable for any of their allies at all.

‘The hard part was getting Guion to let me into his fort.’ Laurent said it steadily, the private edge to his voice a little more private than usual.

do they ever talk about it? like does laurent ever tell damen what happened in the cell?

also i like how damen doesn’t take this as like flippant and arrogant, as he would have in book 1. he immediately clocks that laurent is hiding something and just deflecting.

Damen said, ‘In the palace you had me beaten, drugged, whipped. And you ask me to give up Delpha? Why don’t you tell me instead why I shouldn’t simply hand you over to your uncle, in exchange for his aid against Kastor?’

like you ever would.

‘Because I knew who you were,’ said Laurent, ‘and when you killed Touars and humiliated my uncle’s faction, I sent the news of it echoing to every corner of my country. So that if you ever crawled back onto your throne there would be no possibility of an alliance between you and my uncle.

good failsafe, laurent didn’t know he wouldn’t need it. although i’m sure it’s both vindicating and hurting laurent to hear damen threaten this, making the failsafe necessary, even if we know that damen’s heart isn’t in it.

'Do you want to play this game against me? I will take you apart.’

this is all very complicated and unnecessary and frustrating to damen, but it's laurent's area of expertise. this kind of emotionally evasive manipulative political negotiation makes him feel empowered. the approach laurent takes in this scene is almost certainly a way for him to cope with the things in his life that feel uncontrollable and uncomfortable, by doing something familiar that he knows he can control.

‘Take me apart?’ Damen said deliberately. ‘If I opposed you, the remaining scrap of land you hold would have a different enemy on each side, and your efforts would be split in three directions.’ ‘Believe me,’ said Laurent, ‘when I say that you would have my undivided attention.’

this is soooo amy dunne of him

Damen let his eyes pass over Laurent slowly, where he stood. ‘You’re alone. You don’t have allies. You don’t have friends. You’ve proven true everything your uncle ever said about you. You made deals with Akielos. You even bedded an Akielon—and by now, everyone knows it. You’re clinging to independence with a single fort and the tatters of a reputation.’ He gave every word its weight. ‘So let me tell you the terms of this alliance. You will give me everything on this list, and in return I will aid you against your uncle. Delpha remains with Akielos. Let’s not pretend you have anything here worth a bargain.’

damen honey i’m so sorry but you cannot win this one. especially when you yourself would probably lay down your life on instinct for laurent if someone randomly came into this tent and tried to kill him

‘Please,’ said Laurent, ‘insult me further. Tell me more about my tattered reputation. Tell me all the ways that bending over for you has damaged my position. As if being fucked into the mattress by the King of Akielos could be anything other than demeaning. I am dying to hear it.’

and somehow laurent still manages to turn even his own shitty decisions back on damen, implying that even if laurent owned up to being fucked by damen, it couldn’t be anything other than demeaning, and damen is a fool for considering it to be genuine lovemaking

‘Did you think,’ said Laurent, ‘that I would come here without the means to enforce my terms? I hold the only proof of Kastor’s treachery that extends beyond your word.’ ‘My word is enough to the men that matter.’ ‘Is it? Then by all means, reject my offer. I will execute Guion for treason and hold the letter over the nearest candle.’

cunt (affectionate)

‘Are we going to play another kind of pretend?’ Damen said. ‘That it never happened?’

and in this game of pretend, damen doesn’t get to hand-feed a pretty blonde named laurent >:(

‘If you are concerned it will go unmentioned between us, never fear. Every man in my camp knows that you served me in bed.’

“you served me” GOD laurent you are such a bitch

And that is how it is to be between us?’ said Damen. ‘Mercenary? Cold?’

if laurent was normal, there are plenty of reassuring things he could tell damen to explain that they can do this together, and ios will be okay, and they're in a good position to win as a team. but since he's being a salty little bitch, he's not going to do any of that, and he's going to make damen feel extra bad by using their romantic history against him. and despite all of these slights against him, damen knows that he has no choice but to give laurent delpha and ally himself with laurent's cause. because laurent really has planned this from the beginning. sure, current damen probably still would have done all that if laurent had just asked, but book 1 laurent had no idea of anticipating their allyship, and book 3 laurent is intentionally trying to push him away.

‘How did you think it would be?’ said Laurent. ‘You’d take me to your bed for the public consummation?’ It hurt.

this is a brutal scene for damen, even if i understand laurent’s headspace. i’m sorry buddy, breakups are no fun.

actually, do you think damen has ever experienced a breakup? he’s a prince who grew up with a harem of sex slaves. jokaste just kind of did whatever she wanted and damen was chill with it. so probably not.

It was too neat. He hadn’t thought as far as Kastor’s defeat, or who would become kyros in Ios, the traditional seat of the King’s closest adviser. Nikandros was the ideal candidate.

not laurent doing damen’s job for him…

‘I see you’ve thought of everything,’ said Damen, bitterly. ‘It didn’t have to be—you could have come to me, and asked for my help, I would have—’ ‘Killed the rest of my family?’

i mean, laurent definitely wants the regent dead. i think this is just a dig about auguste, and furthermore about damen not telling laurent the truth at any point.

also, damen straight-up admitting that he would have helped damen is something laurent would have needed a gun to his head to say out loud, and there aren’t even guns in this world. i said this in a note last chapter, but laurent assumes that damen is just as terrified of attachment and vulnerability as he (laurent) is, but we see that damen is willing to swear attachment and make himself vulnerable in order to support laurent and build trust. laurent is just denying that aspect of damen, because he’s traumatized and stubborn and doesn’t want to be let down.

Thickly, Damen remembered running his sword through the man he’d believed was the Regent; as if killing the Regent would be his expiation. It wouldn’t.

that explains why damen acted how he did in battle. but he also knows, in the reality of this moment, that it wouldn’t have made up for auguste even if he had killed the regent. killing a member of laurent’s family isn’t going to make up for the fact that he killed a member of his family.

He thought of all Laurent had done here, every piece of impersonal leverage, to control this meeting, to ensure it played out on his terms. ‘Congratulations,’ said Damen. ‘You’ve forced my hand. You have what you want. Delpha, in exchange for your aid in the south. Nothing given freely, nothing done out of feeling, everything coerced, with bloodless planning.’

this is almost laurentian, in terms of dialogue. very poetic and theatrical. damen is not handling this breakup well, and it’s almost like he’s defensively taking on some of laurent’s overdramatic bitchiness. it’s a reaction from him we haven’t really seen since book 1.

this dialogue also feels slightly anachronistic, in a good way. with some minor editing it could be a believable text that modern au damen would send after laurent breaks up with him in a formal email even though they still have to work on an assignment together. i think it's the "nothing given freely, nothing done out of feeling, everything coerced, with bloodless planning" that really gives off the vibe of an emotionally compromised teenager trying to cope with the fact that they still have to see their ex in english class.

‘Good,’ said Laurent. He took a step back. Then, as if a pillar of control had finally collapsed, Laurent surrendered his full weight to the table behind him, his face drained of all colour. He was trembling, his hairline pricked with the sweat of injury. He said: ‘Now get out.’

laurent: i won. get out. also laurent:

Laurent had known who he was, and had still made love to him. He wondered what mix of yearning and self-delusion had allowed Laurent to do that.

may i interest you in the “sam reads capri” tag on my tumblr blog, damen?

also i just think “he wondered what mix of yearning and self-delusion has allowed laurent to do that” is a BANGER line. maybe one of my favorites in the series. astute, bewildered, devastating (sad), and devastating (scathing) all at once.

If he’d imagined it, it was as a single, cataclysmic event, an unmasking that, whatever followed, would be over. Violence would have been both punishment and release. He had never imagined that it would instead go on and on; that the truth had been known; that it had been painfully absorbed; that it would be this crushing pressure that wouldn’t leave his chest.

damen always thought that he would be the one to rip off the bandaid for them both, so the entire time he has been saving them the pain by waiting. but now he knows that laurent never had a bandaid, and he (damen) has been left to slowly and painfully pry off his own. the pain isn’t over, it’s just beginning. and laurent has felt it this entire time, in a way damen put off for himself.

Laurent had tamped down the smothered emotion in his eyes, and would endure an alliance with his brother’s killer, though he felt nothing but aversion. If he could do it, Damen could do it. He could make impersonal negotiations, speak in the formal language of kings.

(also wow do i want to tell damen that laurent isn’t averse to him, he’s just lashing out, and badly needs someone to show him love and support at this time. but as always, oh fuck, he can’t hear me. and to be fair, it isn’t really in-character for damen to just passively accept poor treatment, or to force laurent to accept his support when he’s been told to go away.)

The ache of loss didn’t make sense, because Laurent had never been his. He had known that. The delicate thing that had grown between them had never had a right to exist.

and yet it did exist, and it does exist, and it will exist, and that’s why we’re reading about it.

damen and laurent both feel like they have a right to their kingdom’s thrones as princes, but they don’t have the right to simply be people in love. again, a kingdom or this. the themes are theming.

If it hurt, it was fitting; it was simply kingship.

what did i just say??? THE THEMES ARE THEMING!!!

If he could give Laurent up, he could do this.

stoppp can someone get him a pint of ice cream and an olivia rodrigo album (should i make lamen divorce era playlists. like one for each of them.)

Damen remembered hoping for a homecoming where it could be between them as it was in the old days. As if friendship of that kind could survive statesmanship.

damen’s being soooo broody about the ways kingship nerfs his social and romantic life, omg. it’s a hint of his immaturity and relative youth to other people in power, and his difference in jadedness and trauma compared to laurent. he is still lowkey a frat guy who wants to party, even though he cares about his schoolwork and future prospects

‘He’s playing us against each other,’ said Nikandros. ‘This is calculated. He is trying to weaken you.’ Damen said, ‘I know. It’s like him.’

"yes, honey..."

nikandros private twitter venting moment #4. especially considering damen’s response

‘He left us at Charcy.’ ‘There was a reason for that.’ ‘But I am not to know it.’

damen doesn’t really know the reason, but he can assure nik, there was a reason. nikandros private twitter venting moment #5.

It was not worth Delpha. He could see that Nikandros knew it, as Damen had known it. ‘I would make this easier,’ said Damen, ‘if I could.’ Silence, while Nikandros kept his words in check.

nikandros private twitter moment #6. this time he just posts a blurry picture of laurent’s offer and captions it with “🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬”

‘The men will talk,’ said Nikandros. He was pushing the words out with distaste, he did not want to say, ‘About—’ Damen said, ‘No.’ And then, as though Nikandros couldn’t help the words that came out next, ‘If you would at least take off the cuff—’ ‘No. It stays.’ He refused to lower his eyes.

kind of curious why, in this moment, damen is so determined about this. he’s had reasons in the past, but it would be cool to get some current insight, if it’s not just an instinctual thing

Nikandros turned away and put his palms flat on the table, resting his weight there. Damen could see the resistance in Nikandros’s shoulders, bunched across his back, his palms still flat on the table.

nikandros private twitter moment #7. he just posts this meme with no further elaboration:

Into the painful silence, Damen said, ‘And you? Will I lose you?’ It was all he allowed himself. It came out in a steady enough voice, and he made himself wait, and say nothing more.

AWWW poor baby :( no like fr damen :(((( it’s going to be okay

As though the words were coming up from the depths of him, against his will, Nikandros said, ‘I want Ios.’ Damen let out a breath. Laurent, he realised suddenly, wasn’t playing them against one another. He was playing to Nikandros. There was a dangerous expertise in all of this; in knowing how far Nikandros’s loyalty might be stretched, and what would keep it from snapping. Laurent’s presence in the room was almost tangible.

i think this was more an unintended outcome of the plan, but i’m sure mean girl era laurent would be pleased to know that his actions inadvertently incentivized damen’s best friend to declare himself loyal to his ex (laurent) instead

‘Listen to me, Damianos. If you have ever valued my counsel, listen. He is not on our side. He is Veretian, and he’ll be bringing an army into our country.’ ‘To fight his uncle. Not to fight us.’ ‘If someone kills your family you don’t rest until they are dead.’

i know this is nikandros trying to convince damen that laurent isn’t just going to let go of what damen did to auguste, and can’t be trusted as an ally. but it also makes nikandros accidentally sound like a book 1 laurent apologist, by making the statement with “you” as if it’s a universal maxim. like, if nik was in laurent’s shoes, he would have wanted damen tortured and dead too. nik is an interesting guy, because he's a little more aggressive with his principles unprovoked than damen, but he’s also similarly limited in perspective due to his status and lack of humbling experiences. i’ll try to do more complex analysis in addition to memeing on him, if/when opportunities arise

Nikandros was shaking his head. ‘Or do you really think he’s forgiven you for killing his brother?’ ‘No. He hates me for it.’ He said it steadily, without flinching. ‘But he hates his uncle more. He needs us. And we need him.’

damen going full ant with a bindle :(((

‘You need him enough that you would strip me of my home, because he asked you to?’ ‘Yes,’ said Damen.

nik private twitter vent #8. this time he literally just tweets a single “.”

The men came to attention as he passed, and said only, ‘Exalted,’ if he spoke. It was not like sitting around a campfire swilling wine, exchanging low tales and ribald speculations.

he should be at the club

Jord and the other Veretians from Ravenel had been sent back to Laurent to rejoin his army in the extravagant tents at Fortaine.

jord and the others standing awkwardly nearby laurent’s tent, trying to ignore the muffled adele ballad playing within

Alone, he didn’t have to be King.

i can’t believe that damen, groomed from birth for eventual kingship, now resents that kingship almost exclusively because it means he can’t be boyfriends with laurent. blonde man brainrot

He wasn’t alone. She was naked, at the base of the stark pallet, her full breasts hanging downwards, her forehead to the floor. She didn’t have palace training, and so could not quite disguise the fact that she was nervous. Her fair hair was caught back from her face in a fragile clasp, a northern custom. She was perhaps nineteen or twenty, her body trained and ready for him. She had prepared a bath in an unadorned wooden tub, so that if he pleased he might make use of it; or of her.

the way this is written, especially in the context of the series so far, makes this hard to read as anything other than revolting. i think this is due to a few craft elements:

the clinical description, lacking sensuality entirely

damen relating the things he’s observing to the aspects of the institution that he understands (she wasn’t trained in the palace = slaves are trained to do this. she was placed here for him to use = she didn’t show up here because she wanted to be here, or even knew him at all, or wanted pleasure of her own). unlike his past self, who passively understood the institution but chose not to think too hard about what it implied, the mental connections damen has made through being a slave himself prevent him from regarding this slave with the same thoughtlessness

damen's observations portray the anxiety and vulnerability of the slave, rather than willingness or submission. in book 1 we have a lot of moments where damen thinks of slaves as lovely, sweet, aimless non-people, almost like they're lobotomized. he regards them in a way that's both condescending and unconcerned for their free will, because they don't want or need free will, because they're slaves. his issue with the mistreatment of the akielion slaves in vere wasn't with their enslavement itself; it was with the cruelty of their masters, non-slaves who have free will and therefore should use it honorably. at the time, he truly believed that, as long as a master is kind, a slave has no reason to feel anxious or vulnerable or afraid, because there is honor in a slave's submission. if book 1 damen noticed that a slave was nervous, he would have found it adorable and charming, and would have taken it as an invitation to prove himself a caring master. but that doesn't even cross his mind here, while noticing this slave's nervousness in book 3.

another interesting craft detail: a sort of parallelism in the last part. damen notices that the bath, an object, has been prepared for him—just as the slave, a person, has been prepared for him. he groups them together, in that their same designated function is to be used: "he could make use of it; or of her." and that's where he stops the description altogether, because i don't think he feels comfortable with what that similarity between person and object implies.

it's easy to simply tell a reader that a character has evolved. if this story was written by a different author, there might have just been a moment where damen said out loud, "actually i've realized that slavery is bad," while the topic was otherwise avoided beyond its relevance to the story.

it's much harder to show, consistently throughout the story, exactly how that evolution has occurred, and the difference in damen's perspective compared to how he'd thought about slavery at the start. well done, pacat.

He had known that there were slaves with Nikandros’s army, following behind with the carts and the supplies. He had known that when he returned to Akielos there would be slaves.

… but seeing it in person is still viscerally uncomfortable

‘Get up,’ he heard himself say, awkwardly, a wrong order for a slave. There was a time when he would have expected this, and known how to behave around it. He would have appreciated the charm of her rustic northern skills, and bedded her, if not tonight then certainly in the morning. Nikandros knew him, and she was his type. She was Nikandros’s best, that was evident; a slave from his personal retinue, perhaps even his favourite, because Damen was his guest and his King. She got up. He didn’t speak. She had a collar around her neck, and metal cuffs around her small wrists that were like the one that he— ‘Exalted,’ she said, quietly. ‘What is wrong?’ He let out a strange, unsteady breath. He realised that his breathing had been unsteady for some time, that his flesh was unsteady. That the silence had been stretching out between them too long. ‘No slaves,’ said Damen. ‘Tell the Keeper. Send no one else. For the length of the campaign I will be dressed by an adjutant, or a squire.’

see my previous comment. this is really well-done, especially the panic attack-esque reaction and ptsd trigger. i made a comment a WHILE ago about the way both damen and laurent have ptsd in this series, but it manifests differently due to their proximity to their own traumas. laurent’s trauma was prolonged but a few years in the past; he’s had a lot of time to learn how to cope with it since. but damen’s trauma began when the story began, and it’s been intense and unrelenting basically the whole time: his father’s death, kastor and jokaste’s betrayal, his enslavement, his time in arles, his loss of identity by laurent’s side, and his forced return to his royal identity and obligations. that’s a lot of shit to unpack, and most of it is still happening. it's raw, and damen has had no time to process. nor has he received comfort, or even acknowledgement of what's happened to him as the trauma it is.

"he realised that his breathing had been unsteady for some time." this is a person experiencing a ptsd trigger for what might be the very first time, realizing as it happens just how quickly and thoroughly trauma can disorient his mental, physical, and emotional awareness and self-control. there is the complex intellectual development i discussed in the previous comment re: damen's feelings about slavery, but it's also this visceral gut reaction that tells damen and the reader that things will never be the same.

‘Wait.’ He couldn’t send her naked through the camp. ‘Here,’ he unpinned his cloak, and whirled it around her shoulders. He felt the wrongness of it, pushing against every protocol. ‘The guard will escort you back.’

he felt the wrongness of doing the right thing, but he still did it anyway. i think that is a big moment for damen, especially relating to akielion slavery.

i know i talk a lot about laurent in these notes, because i love laurent very much. but i also love damen, and i’m glad that he is our narrator. his pov is a big reason why these books work, in their chosen genre, at all. and i do think that this genre was a choice—laurent may be living a gritty psychological thriller, but a big theme of the series as a whole is that laurent was sweet in the past, and has the right to a life where he can be sweet again. but laurent, as we meet him at the start of these books, is heartless by choice. damen is many things, but he is never heartless. and whatever genre these books are, i think they're deeply defined by the fact that they're written with heart. they are not cynical, and they are not jaded. that's why damen, and not laurent, is our narrator. laurent's cynicism and jadedness are a foil to damen's idealism and trusting/forgiving nature. while damen does have some things to learn from laurent about strategy and cultural misconceptions, the ethos of the series matches damen's emotional and philosophical outlook far more than laurent's. ultimately, damen's heart helps laurent reclaim his sweetness, and become a better ruler and happier person. damen's heart is also what leads damen himself to reform akielion slavery, unite his kingdom with vere, and step out from his father's shadow. this is, at the end of the day, damen's story. and i don't think it would be the same story, with the same meaning or heart, if it was told by anyone else.

which, regarding meaning—in addition to the individual chapters, i do want to start thinking more about some of the more overarching things going on with capri. so i might as well start now. and if i had to start formulating an overall series thesis at this point in the re-read, i think it would have something to do with the concepts of submission and captivity.

captivity and submission both imply, in our common perception, a coerced and degrading loss of free will. and we certainly see that, in the way damen and laurent have both been held captive and degraded throughout their stories. we also see how, despite being victims themselves, they both have used captivity and submission to coerce and degrade others (laurent coerces and degrades damen to avenge his brother) and deny them free will (damen is complicit in the institution of akielion slavery, which denies slaves free will). for a lot of the series, damen and laurent are in constant disagreement about which of them is morally worse—damen thinks laurent is worse because of the coercion and degradation, laurent thinks damen is worse, and therefore deserves the coercion and degradation, because damen is complicit in akielion slavery and killed his brother. but we as the reader start to realize, as the series goes on, that they're both right about some things, both wrong about other things, both hypocrites on occasion, both doing harm, both trying to help, both captors, and both captives.

from this, it would make sense to assume that captivity and submission are the problem here, and the story's thesis is that those concepts are always dishonorable. however, i don't think that's the point at all. i think capri is about the ways captivity and submission can be honorable, if actively chosen with the moral responsibility, complex thought, and emotional depth of a person with free will. after all, what are loyalty and integrity, if not freely-chosen emotional and intellectual captivity? what are vulnerability and attachment, if not physical and emotional submission freely given?

damen and laurent are both complicated people who do dishonorable things. however, in their own respective arcs and in their shared romantic plotline, they both come to understand the multifaceted nature of captivity and submission, and reclaim those concepts as sources of empowerment, healing, and positive change. it's the difference between damen being forced to submit to laurent as a slave in arles in book 1, and damen choosing to stay by laurent's side in book 2 as a man. it's the difference between laurent submitting to his uncle, being manipulated into vulnerability so he can degraded and abused, and submitting to damen, making himself vulnerable despite his trauma so he can be truly loved and cared for.

this isn't a fully formed thesis yet, but it's good to at least get it cooking. and i'm not trying to guess the author's intention as much as summarize my own succinct interpretation. there isn't, like, One Right Answer here, and i'm not setting out to read the author's mind.

but still, i dunno, man… i think i'm onto something. after all, we have these major arcs about damen realizing slavery is wrong and laurent struggling with submission, and yet both of them proudly choose to keep the cuffs. and in a more metatextual sense, the evolution of this story's genre and purpose (slavekink erotica -> whatever the fuck these books are) is not irrelevant. so i'll keep an eye on it, and hopefully come up with something solid by the end of the re-read. i unironically love the challenge of writing a succinct thesis, which is not the nerdiest thing i've ever said, but it's definitely in the top 5.

#capri #sam reads capri #captive prince #kings rising #lamen #laurent of vere #damen of akielos #this one is very damen-centric yay <3333

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goggles-mcgee · 6 months ago

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Hi! I hope you’re doing well! Do you have any head canons about your felinette stories (Moving on, finding home; The haunted Bride, The not-so phantom…) and Marinette, the Rolling Stone? I love all of your stories, specially daminette 😈

Hi! Of course I do! But since you're grouping them for the Felinette, I will focus these headcanons on the felinette aspects a bit! Also I am so sorry for the very late reply. Motivation has been very low 😔

Moving On, Finding Home:

•As Marinette starts to work with Amelie, Amelie decided they should go out for lunch along with Felix, but when they got to the cafe she suddenly had some business to take care of and rushed off. Felix took this as an opportunity to really talk to Marinette and apologize for his behavior last time he was in Paris.

•At first she's skeptical but as he went into detail about why he did it, she feels for him. He told her about the loss of his father and that he knew it wasn't an excuse but he had been hurt and angry. Especially at Adrien and his Uncle. He was surprised when she didn't immediately jump to Adrien’s defense.

•Since he was so willing to be vulnerable and he seemed genuine in wanting to start over with her, Marinette told him everything that had happened at school. At first she had just wanted to explain that her and Adrien weren't friends anymore but once she started talking she couldn't stop.

•After this talk, things work a lot smoother, and Felix actually tags along with his mother when she goes to meet Marinette. Somehow them having lunch became a routine as well, but neither teen complains.

•Amelie adores Marinette and has a hard time not spoiling the girl but she can't help that her love language is gift giving and look...if Marinette is going to be taking on as big a project as she is then of course she needs a new design desk...and tablet since her old one had a chip on the corner...and a new mattress because her little designer needs the best sleep to dream up wonderful designs!

•Felix does try to reign her in, but it's hopeless.

•Tom and Amelie are two peas in a protective-parent-pod. They love talking to each other about their respective child and all they do in the name of that love, like the time Tom threw Marinette’s birthday cake in the trash several times in a panic because he didn't want to spoil the surprise. Tom and Amelie basically become bestie with a fond Sabine watching over.

•Amelie being a Petty Betty and allowing paparazzi to take pictures of her, Felix and Marinette when they are out together (with permission, of course) all so she could show off how cute Felix and Marinette are together but also to rub it in the face of her brother-in-law that she nabbed the very talented designer before him.

•Felix does become the new Chat Noir, but he changes his name to Grimalkin and Adrien, who starts not-so-vague posting on his Chat Noir account on social media that the name sucks and nitpicks about everything of the new Cat Hero.

•The class start to think the reason Marinette has "changed" so much is because of Felix, and they start trying to include her in things again in an attempt to lure her away from the "problem" Lila hates this and tries to intervene but it never works out for her.

•Gabriel is having a rough month, what with Lila Rossi being herself, the Dupain-Cheng girl getting snatched up by his dreadful sister-in-law right before he was going to open an early-experience type of internship so he could keep her close and figure out how to akumatize her but also she did have great talent and it would be a waste if he let her slip through his fingers, then Adrien reveals he and Mlle Dupain-Cheng aren't on speaking terms and to top it all off!!! There is a new cat hero who is actually competent, and that is making being a super villain very hard.

The Haunted Bride:

•Marinette had for as long as she remembers, been obsessed with the Culpa Mansion. Her parents thought it was cute and funny at first, but when she still spoke about it and even spoke about details, she couldn't have possibly known, but when she overheard her parents talking about taking her to a professional or something she stopped talking so in depth about it.

•But she dreamt of it almost every night and keeps a dream journal where she drew a lot of things from her dreams. She has it locked and hidden because she fears if anyone found it, they would think she was crazy, especially her parents.

•Hawkmoth is defeated and in jail, but Adrien did somehow get through it all without being suspected of aiding his father. Nathalie is the one taking care of Adrien since Gabriel took the fall for everything.

•Marinette as Ladybug, decided against Ladybug and Chat Noir revealing their identities to each other. Something just told her not too but she did promise that if Chat found her, she would let him know. Her and Adrien dating kind of happened out of nowhere to her, but then he kept making cat puns here and there, and well Marinette came to the conclusion he was Chat and hat found her. So she made her own subtle references.

•Adrien does not know that she is Ladybug, but she thinks he does. He just started dating her because she reminded him of Ladybug, and while he did start to like her, he was still very much in "love" with Ladybug.

•Marinette starts to realize he actually doesn't know who she is, and it kind of opens her eyes to how he tries to manipulate her. She doesn't think he is doing it maliciously or anything, but she can see how much he values the class and keeping things happy, and she sees that he's doing it kind of subconsciously so he can keep his perceived normal and happiness. It's why he never breaks the peace, even if it's the right thing to do.

•When she wins the trip to the Mansion, Marinette actually exchanges letters with the owner of the Mansion, who happens to be her age, and she thinks that's cool. They become pen-pals and friends, and Marinette is just so happy to get to rant to someone just as obsessed with the mansion as much as her.

•When she and her class go to the mansion, she is already trying to break up with Adrien but that's kind of hard to do when he won't spend any time alone with her like a boyfriend should. She finds out that Lila is the one manipulating him in hopes that he would be charmed by her and fall for her. The girl squad (some of them) are helping her.

•Marinette is almost always somehow left alone, and during those times, she meets with Felix, and they just have a fun time hanging out, and Marinette finds herself falling for him. She only ever meets him at night though but it's when she's with him that she feels the happiest and most clear headed. He keeps her grounded.

•But while staying in the mansion, her dreams come back in such vividity that she starts having trouble determining what reality is and what is a dream.

The Not-So Phantom of the Théâtre du Châtelet:

•Felix is not scarred, nor does he live underneath the theater. The Phantom is a character he plays to manipulate and scare those who seek to hurt the theater and the owner, his mother. He doesn't mind the rumor. He plays into it in the name of protecting his mother and the theater she loves. He also does not care nor mind hurting others to do so.

•He works as a permanent stage hand and sometimes a stage manager since he knows the theater better than anyone. Yes, he did build hidden trap doors and such to help with his time as the Phantom.

•But what started as him protecting his mother and their theater kind of morphed into punishing those he thinks deserves it and if you're thinking his mother would not approve of this or not know what her son is doing, nah. She knows and supports her troubled little man.

•When he first meets Marinette, he immediately realizes what potential she has and is charmed by her almost immediately. They become friends as costume designer and stage hand. But when he sees the treatment of her from her ex-boyfriend and the lead actress, he will do anything to protect her.

•Marinette didn't believe in the Phantom until all these strange events started happening, and she keeps getting roses left in her workshop. She doesn't know how she feels about everything and thinks that makes her an awful person.

•She does have a crush on Felix, and they connect so well, but she also can't help but be drawn to the Phantom when they keep having encounters.

Marinette The Rolling-Stone:

•Marinette meets Felix after her big move to London when she goes to her new private school. Yes, Jagged and Penny enrolled her in a private academy because they feared what people would do if she were in a public school, given all that happened and what was televised.

•It's a school that allows her to work from home sometimes. The excuse that was given was that it was due to her adopted father's work schedule, but in actuality, it was because Marinette told Jagged and Penny about being Ladybug and the Guardian and they agreed she could home-school on days she needed to be in Paris.

•She got adopted into the Quantic Kids group by surprisingly Felix. He just felt like she needed friends, and she reminded him of himself before he became friends with his friends.

•It takes a while for her to trust them, but when she does, she cries over how much happier she is. When she starts getting feelings for Felix she's scared but Jagged and Penny help her through it.

•Felix doesn't know when he fell for Marinette, but contrary to what his friends think, he didn't freak out or get angry or anything like that. To him, it made sense, she made sense...they made sense. So no, he isn't scared of his feelings and is more than determined to prove himself to Marinette.

•Her friends find out she is Ladybug and convince her to let them help. Of course, she doesn't want to, but things are getting worse, and she needs people she can trust. Jagged and Penny are also there to help as well.

•Felix, of course, becomes the new Cat Miraculous Holder and becomes known as Carbonel!

#felix culpa #felinette #felix graham de vanily #ml salt fic #ml class salt #adrien agreste salt #lila rossi salt #goggles ideas #miraculous ladybug #ml headcanons

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thr0wnawayy · 4 months ago

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Just HOW corrupt is Hero Society?. Pt 1.

At this point in MHA's timeline, it's no secret that Hero Society is beyond saving. In my time lurking in these tags, I've seen the occasional post tackling some aspect of this corruption, all of which I found insightful. Today I'd like to share some of my own tidbits and thoughts regarding the sensationalized hellscape that is MHA's Japan.

Hawks' Origins:

Something that always bugged me was the timing, It seemed to good to be true. Hawks' dad gets caught, ENDEAVOR of all people is the one to do it and the Commission just happens to arrive.

Well, no. Let me ask you this, why would they send in the Number 2 hero to deal with a petty thief turned murder. A hard hitter like Endeavor would have been the WORST possible person to send as opposed to like, Eraserhead who would have been able to dissarm Takami quietly.

It's not like Mr. Takami was particularly dangerous either, his feathers at best could make for decent lockpicks or shivs but that doesn't justify Endeavor's appearance nor does it make sense given his arrogance. To him the situation would be small fries.

It just doesn't make sense when you assess the risk, it's not like Endeavor has ever been good at restraint (See: Hero Killer Arc) and the possibility of collateral wasn't exactly zero when you consider Mr. Takami got caught jacking a car (additionally not a major or dangerous crime). So he gets arrested, the seeds of Hero worship are planted in a young Keigo's mind and Hawks + his Mother flee and become homeless. Hawks eventually goes looking for the police and returns with:

Well they aren't police.

So, your telling me that these Commission agents just so happend to be around Hawks, here in some backwater cranny. What interest would the HPSC have in this dregg of a family (How do they even know their names). They shouldn't. Not unless they knew something before hand.

(I find it funny that the scene parallels how Tomura was found, down to their respective "saviors" having their own agendas)

We know Hawks used his quirk as a sort of motion detection system to alert his father of any intruders. Mind you, we don't know how far or accurate he was prior to the HPSC's efforts (minus being able to reach the city). So it's possible the HPSC avoided detection by watching from a distance and avoiding certain areas where Hawks could sense them.

Just how long was the Commission watching, how long did they allow the abuse to continue. How long did they watch the Takami's starve on the streets from afar before acting. So many questions, yet no answers.

"Cool but how does the HPSC tie to Endeavor?" You may be asking.

Well, sometime before the arrest happened Hawks had actually left the house and ventured into the nearby district woth his mother.

And came home with an Endeavor plush. Funny how that works huh?. It's not implausible to assume that the Commission simply requested Endeavor to handle Mr. Takami, possibly adjusting his schedule for their convenience.

I'm not suggesting that Endeavor knew of the Commission's scheme here, nor am I suggesting he (intentionally) helped. (Enji's cruel, yes. But he's also an idiot in anything not hero/celebrity related.).

Something I ask myself is, were there other candidates?. Children stuck in situations like Hawks', what happened to them. Were they abandoned to either die or become villains, killed to eliminate potential threats, or perhaps they were just born "unlucky".

Some final notes:

Hello, I apologize for the amateur nature of the formatting, I'm still getting used to the sites formatting options, as well as trying to figure out my "style" so to speak. Regardless I hope you found something in this post and look forward to your thoughts and opinions regarding the content above.

Yours truly,

Thr0wnaway.

#bnha critical #mha critical #I admittedly don't know how to tag this

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cybrsan · 1 year ago

Note

hi new follower here! I've read your stuff on AO3 but I didn't know that you post here too. for the prompt list, I'd like to request # 93 and # 123 for smut with whiny, petty hongjoong. he doesn't have to be a sub but he's very hornknee and touch-starved 👀 I'd love to see your take on it. thanks if you write this 🫶

Omg, I'm so touched! Thank you so much for supporting me both here and on AO3. Also, I absolutely loved writing this request—needy Hongjoong is everything to me. I did mix in a little bit of angst for the scenario to play out but I hope you don't mind and enjoy it anyway!

Prompts: 93. “Say you want me, and I’m yours.” + 123. “Fuck you.” “When?” Pairing: Hongjoong x F!Reader Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut Word Count: 1.1k Tags/warnings: Miscommunication, clothed sex, sex as a coping mechanism (kinda)

Requests are currently closed, but my masterlist can be found here.

When you finally feel Hongjoong slip into bed next to you, it must be in the early hours of the morning, considering that you had gone to sleep a little past midnight. You stayed up as long as you could, waiting for him to get back from the studio so that you could catch up on the new episodes of the drama the two of you have been watching together. It’s something you don’t have time to do often due to his hectic schedule, and he had promised to come home early and make it a date.

You always try to be understanding of his schedule, understanding that the time you do have with him is borrowed and can be quickly taken away if something work-related comes up. You would never insist that he put you first, knowing just how passionate he is about music. Seeing the way his eyes light up when he talks about it or the way he seems to radiate pure, unbridled joy when he is on stage is a gift in and of itself. You love his love for it all.

But, really, is a text too much to ask for? Or a phone call to let you know he’ll be late, that something has come up? You almost say something, but then he slips his arm around your waist and pulls you close. You settle into his embrace, sighing contentedly. You may be upset with him, but you can discuss it in the morning.

You almost fall back asleep when you feel Hongjoong’s lips on your shoulder, and his fingers find their way under your shirt, ghosting over your stomach. He slots his hips against yours, and you can feel his half-hard cock pressing against you.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you say, looking over your shoulder at him in disbelief.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Hongjoong says, kissing you gently. “I tried to make it home early, but I got carried away.”

“And now you want to wake me up so that you can get off?”

“Please, I need you. I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

You groan and shut your eyes, turning away from him. “Fuck you, Hongjoong.”

“When?”

You almost laugh but stop yourself, not wanting to give up the facade of your annoyance. “Take care of yourself. I’m going back to bed.”

“Baby,” he whines, rocking his hips against you. “Don’t do this to me.”

“Take care of yourself,” you repeat, except this time, you thrust yourself back against him.

Hongjoong groans and, spurred on by your words, begins to rut against you. He buries his face in your hair as his hands move over your body, exploring every inch of you that he can reach. He tugs you closer by the hip, allowing you to feel the hard outline of his cock against your ass with every movement. Even separated by your clothes, you can feel the heat of him, his need palpable even like this.

He gradually increases his tempo, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate. He pants against your neck, hot breath raising goosebumps on your skin. Having him use you to get himself off like this feels so erotic, and you’re surprised by how turned on it’s making you when you haven’t even been touched. Without even realizing, you have begun to move back against him, meeting his every thrust. As if Hongjoong can sense your need, he moves his hand from your hip and dips his fingers below the waistband of your panties.

“Want you to come with me,” he moans, breathless.

He circles around your clit, teasing it gently as he continues to move against you. You can feel him trembling with effort, trying to prolong his own orgasm until you get close to the edge. His fingers move against you expertly, instantly finding the spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. You moan, white-knuckling the bedsheets as pleasure tears through you.

He moves faster now, thrusting against you in time with his fingers as he takes you closer and closer to the brink. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear, telling you how beautiful you are, how good you are for him, how lucky he is to have someone like you. His words and his touch prove too much for you, heat coiling in your gut, and you come around his fingers with a gasp.

He groans as he soon follows you, his entire body shuddering against yours as he comes. He slows to a stop, holding you close against his chest as your breathing returns to normal. He continues to whisper words of love into your ear, pressing kisses into your skin to punctuate each sentence.

Eventually, he murmurs a soft apology. “I really am sorry for not showing up. I should have been more considerate.”

You turn to face him, kissing him sweetly. “Joong, it’s alright. I just wish you would have let me know so I wasn’t waiting around all night. It didn’t feel great.”

“I know, baby, I’m so sorry.” He frowns, looking so guilty and upset that you almost feel the urge to comfort him even though you know he’s the one in the wrong. “Do you feel used?”

His question takes you off guard, and you can’t control the shock on your face. “What? Why would you ask me that?”

“I don’t know…” he lets his sentence trail off, trying to find a way to articulate his thoughts. “I missed our date and then came home and acted so selfishly, wanting you even when you weren’t in the mood. I don’t want you to think that all I care about is your body or that I don’t value your time because that couldn’t be any further from the truth.”

“Hey,” you coo, wrapping your arms around his waist. “If I didn’t want it, I wouldn’t have initiated. You have never made me do anything against my will. I love you, Joong. You should know by now that all you ever have to do is say you want me, and I’m yours. Even if it’s early in the morning, and I’m grumpy and half-asleep.”

He beams at you, moving forward to pepper your face in kisses. “I love you so much. How did I get so lucky?”

You laugh and jokingly push him away, trying to escape his overzealous show of affection. “I love you too. Now hurry up and change so we can cuddle and go to sleep.”

He quickly obliges, and after changing into a fresh pair of boxers, he crawls back into bed and pulls you close. You practically melt into his embrace, an overwhelming sense of comfort washing over you. For the second time tonight, Hongjoong buries his head in your hair, taking in the scent of you as his breathing slowly evens out. It doesn’t take long for the both of you to drift off into a peaceful slumber, content in each other’s embrace.

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icequeenbae · 1 year ago

Text

You Bet Your Ass (m) | BBH

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Established Relationship, PWP, slice of life, fluff, smut

Warnings: explicit content, unprotected sex, anal (m receiving while being a drama queen about it), sex toys (picture fluffy tail butt plugs)

Word Count: ~3.6k

Summary: Baekhyun realizes that betting his ass for a petty argument with his partner was moronic. He is a man of his word though. He will follow through.

Author’s note: Yay, it’s time to celebrate another milestone!! Thank you guys for joining me on this wild ride haha I hope you enjoy this little somethin’ bbhorny times detected lmao This would be a little different rip Baek's ass but I just wrote that on a whim in a couple of days and thought it’s great for the occasion. Let me know if you enjoyed it!

Tags: @k-vanity @exo-writers-net @bbh-net @superm-net

Baekhyun’s eyes were rounder than the moon when he realized that he was wrong.

You were having a very out of the blue argument just the other day, and the fatal words had escaped his mouth.

‘Can you bet your ass that you’re right?’

It wasn’t even a real issue to fight about. The reason you got so fired up over nothing was alcohol, of all things. Neither one of you was willing to let it go and leave the other one having the last word, so...

Baekhyun fucked up.

‘When we confirm that I’m right, I’ll shove the fluffiest puppy dog tail butt plug up your ass and have you call me master.’

Baekhyun royally fucked up.

‘Might clamp your cute little nipples too.’

Baekhyun dug his own grave.

‘Or I will shove it up yours and have you eat your words.’ You simply rolled your eyes at him then, and to a clueless spectator it could seem like you’d forget about this petty argument by tomorrow.

But there you were the next day, standing right in front of your bed and drilling Baekhyun’s bloodless face with your eyes.

‘I told you it wasn't Bugatti. It’s number two on the list.’

Baekhyun was almost glad that you enunciated that, because he couldn’t see the screen in front of him. He stayed still for a bit, as if his soul had fled from his body, leaving him behind as a lifeless shell. His head was a vacuum, and his usually quick-witted mind was failing him at this crucial point of his existence. A few more moments passed before he slowly looked up at you, like a bashful child.

‘Heh,’ he laughed awkwardly, and you only offered him a perfunctory smile. ‘Rolls-Royce Boat Tail is more expensive? It seems like I’ve- made a mistake?’

‘You were totally wrong.’ You responded mercilessly, making him shudder.

‘Babe-’

‘Oh no. Forget it.’ You raised your palm, cutting him off. ‘I had to listen a-a-all night how ‘fun’ it’s gonna be for you to see me all fluffy-tailed and roughed up.’

‘I said no such thing!’ Baekhyun shrieked, quickly catching himself as you gave him a look. ‘Babe…’

‘Did you not?’ You huffed, crossing your arms on your chest. ‘I assume you also do not recall running your mouth about my nipples?’

Baekhyun licked his lips nervously and swallowed.

He remembered. He remembered how he initiated his own demise. Was he for real? And for such a nonsensical argument too…

Baekhyun dropped on his knees right in front of you, and you almost jumped from the sound of him crashing on the floor so dramatically.

‘Y/N-ie, I was in the wrong.’ He said, hugging your legs. ‘I’m sorry.’

When your ass is on the line, nothing would be beneath you, not even begging, right?

However, this did not faze you at all. You were so used to his antics that it only made you even more determined not to let him off the hook.

‘Oh, but Baekhyunie… What should we do? You’ve already purchased the device for the execution.’

This was the reason why Baekhyun avoided drinking as best he could. He didn’t just get himself into the most ridiculous entanglements, he also acted whimsically on his urges. Say, going to a specialized shop to buy the fluffiest looking tail butt plug and a pair of fluffy ears to match. He went as far as to tell the poor cashier that he was going to put it to very good use.

Well, he didn’t specify on whom.

‘Worry not, my love. I got some nipple clamps and a collar to complete your-’

‘Ba-abe-’ He muttered desperately into your thigh, hugging your hips even tighter. ‘Please, I can’t do it…’

‘Why is that?’ You huffed, although unable to resist the temptation to ruffle his soft blonde hair with your right hand.

‘I just can’t,’ he whined childishly, offering no reasoning.

‘It’s funny how you assumed that I was gonna do it the second we ‘confirm’ that you’re right. And now you’re a groveling mess at a mere thought, and I’m supposed to be the better man?’

Baekhyun knew you were right.

He also knew that if he whined for a bit longer, you would probably leave him be. But your words left a bitter taste in his mouth. He was pretty obnoxious about this when you made the damn bet, and he was the one who initially suggested the punishment. And he was so sure he was right that he didn’t even try for a second to step into the loser’s shoes. He didn’t think it through, and now he had to stand by his word and meet his fate like a man. This was only fair to you. Maybe a little less fair to his butt.

You craned your neck forward to peek when Baekhyun became silent for too long. He did make you kinda angry earlier, you weren’t gonna lie, and you were almost determined to make him suffer for it. But he was still your partner, and you loved him. So, when you noticed that he was getting way too stressed about it, your hand moved smoothly to pet his hair calmingly.

‘Baekhyun-ah…’

‘I’ll do it.’ He said curtly.

His voice sounded small and dispirited, and it took you another second to catch his meaning.

‘Huh?’

This time, he made an effort to sound more confident.

‘I said, I’ll do it.’

That exchange took place last week. And he still couldn’t do it.

He made an unenthused attempt on that very day, actually. Made a huge mess on the bed, trying to utilize massage oil to get himself ready. Instead, he simply oiled up all of the sheets, and his entire body, and didn’t manage to get the butt plug anywhere near his ass. He was screeching and wailing and groaning – all that without getting it even 0.1 inch in.

You felt like watching it was worse than just doing it yourself.

‘Babe, just give up. I don’t want you to suffer like this.’

‘No. I said I’ll do it, so I will, I just need to prepare. Shall we reschedule for Saturday?’

He had probably hoped that Saturday would never arrive, but it did. And even then, he had yet to muster the courage to take on his punishment with dignity.

But it’d been an hour, and you were getting tired of watching him huffing and puffing, crying about the injustices of life and his poor asshole. He was buck naked the entire time too.

‘I’m also cold… Why is it so cold in our house? Can’t we afford heating? I should try and earn more money…’

You sighed.

‘Baekhyun, it’s not gonna work.’ You stretched your arms and legs before sitting down next to him. ‘Either quit it or let me do it for you.’

‘You? Do it for me?’ He shook his head. ‘Impossible. I’d like to preserve at least some dig-’

‘Lie flat on your belly. Right now.’ You ordered strictly.

‘Yes, ma’am.’

You smiled at his sudden obedience. He obviously trusted you to help him get it over with, but preferred to be strongarmed into doing this. To preserve some ‘dignity’.

‘Just relax, baby. You’re way too tense.’

Climbing on top of him, you poured some of that massage oil onto his bare back. You ran your palms up along his spine smoothly, and Baekhyun grunted like an old man.

‘God, you are just one giant knot.’ You muttered, putting a little more force into it.

Another muffled grunt escaped his mouth, this time sounding a bit more like a moan.

‘Here, here, grandpa. You can entrust yourself to me. Both your back and your butt.’

He grumbled into the pillow, and you could not make out his words. Instead, you went up his shoulders to knead the back of his neck. This spot was always sore, and he did not surprise you by suddenly going tense and groaning loudly before deflating into a lax mess.

‘You know what, Y/N…’ He mumbled between sighs of contentment. ‘You can fuck me in my ass right now and I won’t object.’

‘That’s the plan,’ you giggled, satisfaction washing over you just from seeing his reaction to your touch.

Of course, you knew all of his spots, both physical and emotional. It did not take you long to turn him into a whimpering puppy. The only thing missing was the tail.

‘Seriously though,’ Baekhyun spoke up hoarsely. ‘I think I’m getting hard.’

You tugged your shirt off and leaned onto his back, allowing him to feel your half-naked body.

‘Good for you,’ you purred into his ear, chuckling as he squirmed.

Hand snaking under his abdomen, you found yourself squeezing his length.

‘You’re not ‘getting hard’, baby. You are hard,’ you hummed, giving him a couple abrupt pumps before running your oily fingers over his lower stomach. ‘Let’s get you ready.’

Baekhyun whined and hugged his pillow, while you crawled towards the edge of your bed to get the discarded lube. When you shuffled closer to him again, you couldn’t resist slapping his cute round butt.

‘Ouch!’ He yelped just for the sake of it.

‘Don’t be so sensitive, sweetie,’ you mocked him lovingly.

‘You mean!’ He answered sulkily.

‘I am very nice! And I wouldn’t start a quarrel with me if I were you. My finger’s about to be shoved up your ass quite literally.’

He was whinging again, but quickly recollected himself, throwing a blue glove at your face.

‘At least use this.’

‘Are we playing doctor?’ You teased him lightheartedly.

‘Y/N, I’m gonna die. I’m literally dying.’

‘Okay, okay.’ You capitulated, putting the glove on. ‘Drama queen.’

It wasn’t like you were a pro in this either. He was the one who had put you in this position, not that you’d asked to do this. However, you did use the time in between his last attempt to pop his anal cherry and today to gather some helpful information. So, you were intending on using it to your benefit tonight.

‘You will like it more than me, that you can count on,’ you reassured him.

‘I seriously doubt it,’ he grumbled before jumping up. ‘Ah-ah-ah, what are you doing, I’m not ready!’

‘Sorry, I poured too much lube by accident,’ you smiled sheepishly. ‘Lie back down before it gets smeared all over the sheets.’

He kept complaining under his breath but obeyed.

‘Can you like… perk up your butt a little?’ You asked, trying to find a comfortable position to start.

‘No.’ He shot back unapologetically. ‘I’ll die.’

‘Why do you keep dying before anything happens?’ You reproached him. ‘You are such a pussy.’

Baekhyun turned his head around dramatically to glare at you.

‘What?’ You stared back. ‘Did I lie? Am I wrong?’

He turned back to his pillow and slightly repositioned himself, bending his right knee.

‘Good. Arch your back a little too.’ You pressed on his lower back, and he grumbled again.

‘You hate my guts, don’t you?’

‘I love you a million, baby.’ You replied with a smile, barely containing a schoolgirl giggle from locating his asshole. ‘Wow, I didn’t expect you to prepare. How neat.’

‘Shut the fuck up,’ he replied, also laughing despite his embarrassment and frustration.

You traced his butt cheek with your index finger before rubbing his anus lightly.

‘Oh shit-’ He tensed up under the pad of your finger, and cursed again.

Giving him some time to adjust to the light strokes, you kept spreading lube over his sphincter.

‘Are you still dying, hon?’ You inquired. ‘Try to relax.’

‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ he gurgled into the pillow he kept holding onto.

‘We can stop if you-’

‘Just get it over with! And then I can proceed and finalize my death.’

‘What an honorable man,’ you noted sarcastically. ‘If you squeeze your butt like that, I won’t be able to do anything.’

He huffed like an intimidating hedgehog, and then sighed, giving up the last of his pride.

‘Okay. Just please don’t rip my ass.’

‘Have you seen the size of this plug? You’ll live.’

As soon as he relaxed enough for you to try something, you probed at his ring of muscles again. Praising him for keeping it more or less slack, you were able to insert one digit.

He was now only communicating in breathy curses, so you added more lubrication before slipping your finger out and inserting it back in just as carefully. It took a while for Baekhyun to get used to it and stop resisting the intrusion, and you were beginning to feel more and more like a doctor performing a procedure on him.

‘You’re doing great, baby. Two fingers in.’

‘Y/N… I can’t do this…’ He muttered feverishly, and you knew he didn’t mean it.

Frankly, he looked like he was simply in denial about enjoying this. But he had no idea that you would not rest until you found the most intriguing spot. It was the only reason you had agreed to the whole thing. You were curious about what would happen if you located it and stroked over it gently.

Like so.

‘A-a-ah!’ He jolted, and squeezed your fingers almost painfully.

‘What?’ You asked, unsure about his reaction.

‘That- what was that?’ He muttered, gripping the pillow case with his fist.

‘Did it hurt?’

‘It hurts now… But not before.’

‘It wouldn’t hurt if you relax! And I think it was your prostate. Didn’t know it’s that sensitive though.’

‘My wha-’

‘Can I stroke it again?’ You asked, enthusiasm reignited in you, despite getting rather stiff from the position you had to be in.

‘No! Leave my prostate alone,’ he barked, yet perked his ass up higher.

‘Getting mixed signals here. Should I read your ‘no’ as a ‘yes please’?’

‘Y/N…’ He whined, and you circled his spot again. ‘If you do, I think- I think I’m going to-’

‘Die?’

‘Come…’

You oh-ed in surprise. Not that you didn’t do your research, but the pace of this was unexpected.

‘Not yet. There’s one little thing left.’

You slowly slipped your fingers out of him, making him groan.

Finally, the intricate sex toy was in your hand, ready to be deployed. In several modes too, but your wrought-up partner didn’t need to know just yet. Thus, you had placed an important appliance under one of the pillows earlier.

After holding it for a few moments to make it comfortably warm – Baekhyun was a whiny little bitch, after all – you spread a sufficient amount of lube on it to make sure it’d fit easily.

Baekhyun could be heard cursing again.

‘Okay, come to momma.’

He emitted a growl, which thinned out into a whine.

You sat next to him and stroked his butt cheeks. Now that you were thinking of it, he would look pretty good with a fluffy tail. You didn’t know you had it in you, but now you certainly felt aroused at the thought of pulling at it as he fucked you. Wouldn’t that be just perfect?

‘Shit, it’s cold!’ He complained as soon as you pressed the metal body of the plug to his hole.

‘You are very high-maintenance, did you know that?’ You complained right back. ‘Take it if you wanna finish tonight.’

‘Why do you hate me so mu- a-ah-’

The plug slipped into him with much less resistance than you’d anticipated, and all that was visible now was the tail.

‘How is it?’ You asked, genuinely curious. ‘Baekhyunie? How does it feel?’

He kept breathing through it for another minute, and then managed to retort.

‘Like it doesn’t belong there…’ He tried to glance at his poor ass, but gave up halfway. ‘My life is a joke…’

‘I bet it is.’

He made an effort to glare at you.

‘Get over here.’ His angelic blond hair made him appear much less menacing than he wanted to.

You stretched out next to him, but not before removing the rest of your clothes to become equally as naked.

‘Fuck.’ Baekhyun cursed, burying his face in your breasts. ‘Remind me to never argue with you again, ever…’

‘I thought you were having fun,’ you ruffled his hair a bit, while he was letting you.

‘Yah. The pain in my butt hole isn’t really aligning with my idea of fun.’

You shoved him back slightly to get him off your chest, and groped his ass. The disturbance made him flinch, although not entirely displeased.

‘How would you react if I told you that this cute fluffy thing actually has a pretty handy remote?’

The blond looked confused, but only for a second – before you gripped at the base of his ‘tail’ and angled it.

‘Ah! Fuck this shit!’ Baekhyun moan-yelled, confirming that the toy was damn near his spot.

Chuckling at this, you leaned in to kiss his bare shoulder and reached under the pillow in the search of the said appliance.

‘There it is.’ You showed Baekhyun the remote. ‘I bet this will be nice.’

You clicked once, not giving your partner a chance to say anything.

‘Oh shit-’ He jolted in your arms, and clenched his jaw. ‘Y/N…’

‘I know, baby. I won’t ramp it up much.’ You promised, pressing your index finger to one of his nipples.

The tiny bud was firm, and you could see Baekhyun shiver from the touch.

‘Should’ve clamped them in the beginning…’ You mused, gradually increasing the vibration of the toy. ‘Does this feel alright?’

Baekhyun moaned in response.

‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ you snickered.

He didn’t let you laugh for much longer though, grabbing your waist and pushing you back down. Opening your legs roughly, he got between them and instantly pressed his hard cock against your labia.

‘Fucking hell-’ He gritted out, as soon as his hips snapped forward, disturbing the plug inside him.

‘This is kinda hot, I’m not gonna lie,’ you sighed, stroking his lower back. ‘Move or I will level your ass massage up again.’

‘Fuck no, I already feel like I could come…’ Baekhyun replied quickly, slowly retracting his pelvis before swaying it into you. ‘Shit, Y/N, it just feels so weird-’

‘Weird but nice, right?’ You lowered your hand to tug on his ‘tail’ again.

‘Oh god please-’ He sighed, dropping his head on your shoulder.

You could feel him shake every time you adjusted the toy. It was definitely affecting his prostate, and the sobbing he tried to muffle by your skin only confirmed it.

‘Babe,’ he moaned, renewing his slow thrusts into you. ‘You want my death or what?’

Snickering at his words, you playfully scratched his upper back with both hands.

‘Faster.’ You replied simply, grasping the remote again.

Baekhyun focused on delivering upon your request, and you physically shuddered with him. The vibration was quite literally driving him mad, so he was soon groaning in both pain and pleasure. His speech was incoherent, and you weren’t sure how many times you had clicked the button, but you could hear – almost feel – the vibration ripping through his tight muscles and abusing his prostate.

You knew his hips were moving on their own, more out of instinct rather than intent, but it was all fine. At this point, you just wanted him to finish. The buildup left both of you a complete mess, and the craving you had in you now was more of his euphoria, not yours.

‘I’m c- babe I’m-’ He tried to speak, but the intense sensation overwhelmed him to the point of squealing.

Readily clutching the remote, you pressed the button several times to avoid overstimulating him instead of prolonging his pleasure, and he still allowed a high-pitched whine to escape. He was trembling and writhing on top of you, and you could feel the hot creamy wetness pooling at your own entrance. The visual stimulation sent you into overdrive.

‘Fuck, Baekhyun-’ You moaned, eyes closing shut as you joined your partner in the oblivion.

It was at least half an hour later that you were finally able to untangle yourselves from each other, and free Baekhyun’s abused asshole. Not without him grunting and grumbling the entire time, of course.

‘Shit. I won’t be fucking sitting down for a fucking week.’ Your partner complained in a tired voice, flinching as his sphincter constricted again after the plug was removed.

‘Lying down is better anyways,’ you hummed, planting an impish kiss onto his butt cheek.

Baekhyun muttered something incoherent, and you were sure there was more diffident cursing in there.

You scooted closer to him and stroked his hair lovingly. Suddenly you realized that you did not employ all the inventory you had prepared.

‘Damn, we forgot about the ears and the collar too!’ You gasped. ‘Well, you can always wear them next time…’

You shrugged, trailing off, and turned to him, anticipating his reaction.

Baekhyun’s face assumed the most scandalized expression.

‘Next time?!’

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog, it is important to me and I appreciate your feedback💜 As usual, my asks are open~

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