#and always displayed as titillating

[pynkhues]

I wouldn’t say euphoria and sex education are YA, I think the shows OP has in mind are more PG-13 teen dramas, stuff like TVL and PLL never had nudity and explicit sex scenes

(x)

I can't really speak to Euphoria as I never made it past episode 2, but I watched all of Sex Education and I would absolutely call it YA, anon. In fact, I'd say YA was it's primary genre over romance, drama and comedy, as it is, at the heart of it, a coming of age story dealing with the passage from childhood to adulthood. It even ends with their graduation from highschool, which other shows like Pretty Little Liars The Vampire Diaries, hell, even Dawson's Creek don't.

What a show is rated doesn't change it's genre, it just changes it's rating, and R-rated YA has been around at least since Skins, which pre-dates both TVD and PLL. We can argue target audiences, and the ethics of having shows aimed at teenagers explicitly sexual, but that's an entirely different ask from the one the original anon asked me, which is why there aren't YA shows on TV anymore, and my answer to that question remains the same. There are! And I'd say there are plenty of non-explicit ones too, which I listed in my last reply.

[eraenaa]

Gold Rush

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister Reader Tag List

Synopsis: Everybody wants you, and I don’t like a gold rush.

Warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Mutual Pinning, Jealousy ¿Simp Aemond?, Mature, 18+, Oral Sex (F & M receiving), Fingering, P in V sex, Face Sitting, Not Proofread 

Word Count: 7, 912 (I may have overindulged) 

Beauty worth their weight in gold, and it’s the greatest blessing from the gods that you have both. The only child of Lord Lannister. Spoiled and sheltered, you had never known hardships or troubles. Pampered in the halls of Casterly Rock or anywhere you go. You leave a trail of mystification, enchantment, and adoration. Suitors line up and beg to pay you tribute. Songs and sonnets are made just to entertain and encapsulate the beauty and purity you have for centuries to come. Commoners and Lords offer their lands, riches, and allegiance just to have your hand, and now, a certain prince dared to join. 

When the words slipped out of your uncle’s lips that you should join your father in his visit to the capital, the Red Keep was abuzz with curiosity. The Golden Beauty of the realm shall grace their presence. They shall finally see and admire the being that has been coveted and praised for years. Prince Aegon was excited, to say in the least. He has been curious and titillated by your said charms ever since poets decided to write nothing about the allure and trance you placed upon men by just one look of your emerald eyes. His brother found it as a hoax. He frowned at how they exalt your name and praise you as if you were The Maiden Herself when, in reality, they only read or hear of you. He would scoff to himself every time his brother would reread the songs made in your name. He would roll his eye every time he heard gossip and talk about you from the maids and knights. He was certain that this popularity and recognition had only made you egotistical and vain— a judgment made and solidified in him despite not having known or met you. 

When the day of your arrival came, his older brother was the first to greet you, whilst Prince Aemond stood by the window and watched from afar. He frowned upon Aegon’s actions greatly, paying recognition to a girl whilst ignoring his wife, but alas, his brother could not be reasoned to nor be persuaded to do his duty. Aegon was always easily swayed and distracted by a pretty face, and with beauty such as yours, the queen’s first son had turned simple. Aemond rolled his eye as he stood by the balcony, watching his brother tour you through the gardens. Aegon displayed a beaming smile and an odd blush on his face as if he were the maiden and not yourself. You simply kept a small, pleasing grin on your lips as the eldest prince kept on speaking and offering you flattery and compliments, trying to ignore the feeling of a gaze following you ever since you entered the palace walls. 

You set your gaze above, catching the lone lilac eye of a second silver prince. You held his gaze, which showed contempt and agitation you did not know the reason for. When Prince Aegon had noticed your attention had shifted, he cast his eyes above only to see his brother with his brooding demeanor, almost scowling at the two of you. “That is only my bitter brother, Aemond. Pay him no mind, my lady,” Prince Aegon stated and offered his arm for you to take. Your eyes shifted between the two princes, quickly curtsying towards the one who stood above and the took hold of his brother’s arm before he hurriedly escorted you out of sight of the younger prince. 

You were soon introduced to the princess, the wife of the elder prince. The princess’ presence you then favored instead of her husband, who had a gown quite… touchy and clingy. You stood next to the princess, who introduced you to her adorable children, babes tugging at the hem of your gown and pleading with you with their big violet eyes to carry them. Your heart grew soft and took the little Prince Maelor into your arms, smiling widely as the babe clung to your neck and buried his adorable face into your hair. “My son has taken quite a liking to you… he is most fastidious to other’s presence, my lady,” The princess smiled. “He is simply adorable, Your Highness,” You say and brush the silver hair of the babe. “He is… he quite reminds me of my younger brother when we were children,” The princess mused, her voice afar with nostalgia. 

“Have you been introduced?” The princess then asked, “To whom?” You inquired, distracted by the babe who shifted in your arms. “To—Ah, Aemond! We were just talking about you,” the princess then exclaimed, the silver prince standing by the door. You turned your gaze to the prince you had not been introduced to yet formally. “Lady Lannister, my brother, Aemond,” The princess introduced, and you curtsied since more at the one-eyed prince while having his nephew in his arms. You hindered your frown as he said no word, only simply giving a nod and the action of his lips thinning. 

“I was just telling Lady Lannister how much Maelor resembles you when we were younger,” the princess smiled. You turned to the prince, who tried to give his sister a small smile but looked more like a grimace. “The young prince is quite charming,” You smiled and turned to the prince, who stood before you, stiff and brooding. Aemond clenched his jaw as his eye caught yours once more; you are not at all chaste nor demure in the presence of royalty as any young lady should ought to be. You were perfectly comfortable taking a member of the royal family into your arms as if you were equal in rank. Aemond seemed to stand uncorrected with his early judgment of you. 

“She is quite handsome… I always thought the songs they made were an exaggeration, but it seems to not do her justice,” Aemond heard his mother whisper to his sister, quite entranced by your beauty, and it would seem as would everyone present at the dinner table. Princess Helaena generously invited you to their intimate family dinner. His hand clenched around his chalice of wine as his brother shamelessly leaned closer to you and whispered something in your ear to cause a sweet, amused smile to play on your lips. “Are you not bothered by this?” Aemond could not help but as his sister. “About about what, brother?” Helaena asked, clueless and concerned by the agitated state of her younger brother. 

“Lady Lannister, we are most glad that you are finally here to accompany your father,” the queen said, not allowing Aemond to answer his sister’s query. “Thank you, your Majesty. You have all been so welcoming to my presence.” You smiled and could not help but let your gaze travel to the one-eyed prince, whose contempt had been nothing but plain and quite obvious. “Of course, the golden beauty of the realm is most welcome here indeed,” Aegon then chimed in. “But may I ask why it is only now that you join your father to the capitol?” The queen inquired; your gaze flew around the table, eyes expecting your answer, except for the lilac gaze of the younger prince, who stared steely and harshly at his plate. “Oh… it is because my father and uncle wishes for me to be acquainted with the court… for they are planning for me to marry soon, your Grace,” You said truthfully. That is when you feel a lone eye finally place itself upon your frame. 

The queen hummed and looked not at all shocked by your admittance; her children, however, shared different expressions from what you could read. The princess simply nodded with a ghost of a smile on her lips. The prince beside you seemed surprised and, dare you say, disappointed by your purpose of coming. And the prince across from you seemed… you could not decipher his reaction through his hard gaze. 

When morning came, you were pleased to receive an invitation from the princess to join her in the gardens to break your fast. You followed a squire, and you were led to a table surrounded by flowers and greenery, three children of the crown waiting for you. A pleasing princess and her brothers, one stoic, the other drunken. “Good morning, Your Highnesses,” You greeted and bowed, surprised as the young prince stood and matched your curtsy, moving to assist you to assist you to a seat across from him. You try not to over-analyze his actions; just hours before, he seemed disinterested in you— animosity was heavy around him. However, now, there seemed to be an air of civility surrounding him. 

“What are your engagements today, my lady?” Princess Helaena asked as she sipped on her tea, you stirred yours and replied. “My father was planning to introduce me to some of the members of the court,” You say and turn to acquire the last piece of candied lemon. “Some suitors?” The princess asked, her brothers not at all joining in the conversation, merely sitting around the two of you as if they were dolls. “I am not quite certain, princess,” You say and let your gaze travel to Prince Aemond, who stared at the candied lemon on your plate. 

“Do you have a favorite among them?” Prince Aegon then inquired; you frowned at his question. “I beg your pardon?” You asked for clarification. “Does any of your suitors hold great favor with you?” He said and took a chalice into his hand so early in the morning. “I have still yet to meet them, my prince… but I was told that Lord Arryn’s son was quite handsome, and many ladies of the court seem to favor him,” You answered but was turned to the princess, the topic seemingly more appropriate for the two of you. “Ah, yes, handsome Lord Henry,” Princess Helaena said in recognition, “It is true that he is comely. However, I heard he is one to wander,” The princess said delicately. Confusion painted your face once more, and it was the second prince who clarified, 

“Lord Henry is quietly known for his depravity,” Prince Aemond said, making your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Like our brother Aegon,” he added, smirking as that earned a giggle from his sister. “I think it would best if you stay far from the son of Lord Arryn,” The princess said, and you nodded along. 

You spent the day being introduced to Lords and Ladies of the Court, but more specifically, their sons. You felt the constant drone of a gaze following you as you conversed with the prospects of your hand. Their faces seemingly merged, and their names eluded you, so you could only offer them your pleasing smile and mindless small talk and keep your hand on their arm. 

“Do you not have to train, brother?” Helaena then appeared beside Aemond, who was hidden behind a pillar, as he observed you being acquainted with the eligible sons of the court. Helaena held a cheeky smile as she caught his brother’s actions. You had only arrived yesterday, and the princess was already certain that you had caught the attention of her enigmatic brother. It was plain to her the attraction and curiosity Aemond harbored for the golden beauty of the realm, even long before you arrived. Yes, the One-Eyed prince would scoff when his eye would catch anyone reading a pamphlet containing the written songs in your name. Still, Helaena noted that he was the first one to acquire the said pamphlets, religiously reading them until Aegon caught wind of a lioness whose beauty was hidden in Casterly Rock. As a result, the one-eyed prince hindered himself from admitting that he and his brother were attracted to the same girl. Yes, the One-Eyed prince would roll his eye in annoyance whenever he heard gossip about you in the halls, yet he still stayed and listened to all of them. 

“Should you not be joining the line of her suitors?” Helaena teased, amused by the way her brother’s nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. Helaena waited for his reply, but none came. It was a rare occurrence for Aemond to not find words. “I shall see you at supper, sister,” Aemond gritted and walked off, leaving Princess Helaena amused and with new ammunition to lovingly tease her brother. 

Supper came, and to Aemond’s displeasure or satisfaction, you were there. Seated next to his sister, whispering and giggling as if you were the oldest friends when, in reality, you had only waltzed into their life just the other day. He supposed that he should find joy that his sister had finally befriended someone, but must it be you? 

Must it be you who had to join them in supper and be in his constant presence? Seducing and tempting him even though you merely just sat there— making him question himself and his honor as he watched wine stain your lush lips or the way you would let out a low moan at the taste of the pie placed on your plate. You were too much of a temptation, a trial sent by the gods to test his patience and honor, in which he was seemingly failing, for all he wanted to do earlier was cut all the suitors who dared touch you and now taste the wine on your lips. 

When supper had come to an end, Aemond was quick to stand and had a great wish to retire to his rooms, but his mother had different plans. “Aemond, will you escort Lady Lannister to her quarters? A young lady cannot be left alone in the halls at such an hour,” You turned your expecting gaze to the prince, watching as his jaw ticked and his tense form turned rigged. It was alarmingly clear that he had no wish to extend such generosity to you, but still, he obliged his mother and offered his leather-clad arm for you to take. 

You walked out of the dining hall in exchange for the corridor. Tense, suffocating air surrounds you and the second-born prince, whose reluctance was nothing short of obvious. You tried to make polite conversation with him as he walked with you through the never-ending, dimly lit halls of the Red Keep, but his replies were only a nod and a grunt. When you reached the door of your chambers, you let go of the prince’s arm, pride wounded as you were completely ignored and could feel unaccounted animosity towards you. “Good night, Your Highness,” You drawled, growing annoyed by the moment but still had the respectability to lowly curtsy before the prince. 

Aemond gulped as you curtsied before him once again, giving him a heavenly sight of your bosom that made him stiffen in his spot. He knew that your actions were a sign of respect; he should take it as a compliment that you had bowed before him lowly, but every time you did so, all you did was tempt him more. You were shameless as you fashioned a dress with such a neckline, giving every man a sight for their desires to only fester. Now he knew why every man who had encountered you had been left entranced and obsessed; you were a vixen, a true lioness. 

Days passed as you stayed in the Red Keep, and you could feel the constant and growing animosity and disapproval Prince Aemond held for you. You had no idea the reason for it; you could not recall what you had done for him to grow so callous and mean towards you. You would hear his scoffs of derision whenever someone paid you a compliment, and he was within earshot to hear it. You would catch him as he would roll his unique lilac eye whenever you spoke or offered your opinion or even when you laughed. It was such a shame that such a handsome and attractive prince was so vile and rude. You were growing impatient and irritated with him. On any other occasion, your course of action will be to avoid and not put yourself in situations that would require you to be near the prince, but somehow, the gods were cruel and had twisted fate to have you in each other’s presence constantly. 

When night finally came and offered respite from the bitter prince, you sighed in your chambers and tried to find a reason for his contempt towards you. It was an odd feeling you did not wish to fester; all your life, everyone you met was quick to grow fond of you. You were quick to leave them enchanted by your beauty and charms. You named it as your greatest gift— your greatest power was how well beloved you are by anyone… how you could wrap them around your pretty little fingers, which is why the prince’s dislike for you had left you entirely unnerved and bothered. You were growing scared that perhaps your charms were slipping and soon, all too, would feel the same animosity the prince harbors for you. You could not find rest that night, fear trickling into your system. The prince had unraveled your deepest fears with just his quiet distaste.  

You step out of your guest chambers and threaded the halls of the Red Keep, walking the darkened halls and trying to find distraction in the library. You walked straight and paid no mind if any soul was in the library because you were certain that no one else would be present at this hour. You were mistaken. 

Prince Aemond frowned to himself, thinking his mind had placed a trick upon him. The image of you haunted him even in the dead of night when he thought he could finally escape your beautiful torment. But as he heard books being retrieved from shelves and the way your scent wafted to where he sat, he grew aware that the image he saw was no apparition. You were there, with him, alone in the quiet room. 

Aemond took quiet steps towards you, the moonlight bathing you in its light. Your frame aglow, making you look more ethereal as the silver light lights your golden mane. Aemond clenched his jaw as the same prominent desire for you only bloomed tenfold. “You should not be here,” He gritted, standing at arm’s length. It was concerning that he was standing at such a close proximity and you have yet to notice. It only solidified his theory that you were so enveloped in only yourself that you care not about the world around you. Aemond bit his tongue as an amused smirk threatened to escape to his lips. You jumped in your spot and turned to him wide-eyed in fear. He had never seen a lion frightened. 

“My prince… I— I apologize, I did not know that the libraries are restricted at these hours,” You said and closed the book in your hand. “It is not,” comes the reply of the prince, making a frown of confusion paint your face. You turned your entire frame towards him, peering up at the prince who looked at you with nothing but resentment in his cold lilac eye. “Then why shouldn’t I be here?” You asked with a tilt of your head.“You should be in your chambers.” Aemond gritted and removed his gaze from you because looking at you illuminated by the moonlight made him feel too much. He stepped back, but you matched his actions and stepped forward. He took a step back again, and you only mimicked his steps. It was an odd scene, a dragon being toyed by a lioness. 

Watching Prince Aemond’s nostrils flare and his jaw tick again made you smirk, as he was clearly annoyed by your presence. “You do not like me,” you suddenly announced, making his shielded gaze cast itself upon your eyes again. “You do not know me, yet you do not like me… why is that?” You asked and stepped forward once again, leaving just a sliver of space between you and the prince. Aemond gulped thickly as you were just a breath away from him. Your scent evading his senses, your enchanting eyes assessing his every move. 

“Oh, I know you,” He spat but felt his knees weaken when you raised your brow, painting a fake confused look on your pretty face. Siren eyes mockingly turned into doe ones, and plump lips parted in fictitious shock. “You do?” You asked. “You know me? I apologize, my prince, but I do not recall our first encounter. Please, tell me how you know me,” you rolled your eyes and finally let your annoyance slip, for you had enough of the prince’s judgment. The prince and you stared each other down, him not finding words as you had your expressive, scathing gaze upon him. He did not know how to handle himself— he was always silver-tongued and quick-witted, never one to be speechless, but apparently, that changed when it came to you. When pitted against you, he felt like the quiet, dragon-less little boy he once was. His raging fire weakened and turned to mere flickers. 

You scoffed and shook your head, not wavering or stepping away from the prince, ready to retire back to your room, but he took hold of your arm and pulled you even closer to him. “I know you. You’re a spoiled… vain… flirtatious little brat,” He spat, and watching your eyes widen and fill with offense brought back Aemond’s confidence, and he once again gained his silver tongue and towering, imposing demeanor. He watched as your cheeks flushed and wondered how it would feel to touch them. Would it be as hot as the fire that burned in his veins? 

“My father and uncle used to always speak highly about you… about how cavalier, genteel, and dutiful the second prince of the realm was— it is disheartening to be faced with a mean, calloused boy who had shown me nothing but animosity since I’ve arrived— animosity which I do not understand the reason of!” You retaliated and pried his hold off you, Aemond trying not to grow amused as you said the words with a stomp of your foot as if you were throwing a tantrum. “You want to know the reason?” Aemond hummed as you glared at him. “Yes.” You said and crossed your arms across your chest. Aemond caught the action and reminded himself not to let his eye linger upon the deep live between your bosom. He was certain you did that on purpose. You were calculated; you did each of your actions, knowing fully well that it would elicit a reaction from those around you that would only selfishly serve you and your vanity. 

He could see it in how you interacted with the lords and other men, flashing your coy smile, batting your eyelashes, and seducing them with just a mere movement from your graceful frame. He could see it in how you toyed with Aegon, letting him whisper things to your ear, leaning in closer when the older prince spoke, and laughing at whatever meaningless word came out of the prince’s wine-smelling mouth. And you did it with him as well, the way your eye would hold his gaze, seeking him out during dinner and distracting him whilst in training. You were a shameless flirt. Someone who craved attention, and everyone seemed to be grateful to give you what you sought— except Aemond.

“Because you are a flirt— a tease. You toy with men because you were gifted with beauty,” Aemond seethed and that only brought a deep furrow on your brows. “I am no such thing!” You defended yourself, and the prince only scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You are. It is plain. You have them wrapped around your fingers— you know how easily an attractive face persuades them,” the prince said but frowned as he saw your lips twitch upward. As if his words and insults were a jest. “Tell me, my prince… do you agree with their sentiments? Do you find me attractive as well?” You asked and tilted your head, smirking to yourself as the dragon’s fire stuttered and backed away once more. It was a battle, each opponent taking their hits and reloading in time just to fight with the other again. 

The prince gulped and felt heat rise to the tips of his ear; luckily, the reddening flesh was covered by the curtain of his silver locks. “I— I don’t,” He said and stood his ground, forcing his voice to be steady and scathing though he told a plain lie. “I do not find you attractive,” He said more firmly and slightly more convincing this time. “You don’t?” You asked and watched as he curtly nodded and thinned his lips. “That is good,” you mused and backed away from the little space you had given him. The prince’s brow twitched as you said your sentiment, as he heard relief from your voice. “Why is that?” He curiously asked his turn to step closer to you. 

“Because your mother had proposed to my father that a union between us would be well suited; well suited to whom I do not know, but that is what she had proposed. Telling my father that she had needed to bring the subject to you to see if you agreed.” It was a nice scene to see the prince’s whole body turn to stone in shock. His thin lips parted, and his eyes held cluelessness and disbelief. You took the moment of silence from the prince to speak once more. “Well, it is most fortunate that you clearly don’t agree— it would save me from having to be in the presence of such a… prejudiced and bitter prince.” You relished the way you caught his hand clenched around nothing and the way you were certain he was ready to turn violent by your words. However, you still continued to speak.  

“Though the title of princess is quite tempting, and I am certain I’d look exquisite with a tiara— I’d rather run off with the stable boy and live in squalor than live in a place with you.” You finished with a satisfied smirk on your lips at the murderous look on the prince’s face. When his lips parted and tried to speak, he flailed on what to say. That only added to your triumph. “Good night, my prince, Aemond,” You said in a sickly, sweet tone and lowly curtsied again before walking your way back to your chambers. 

It should greatly shame the prince. His actions would haunt him for moons to come, but the moment you exited the library, and he was once again left alone, he succumbed to his desires and undid the laces of his trousers. Pulling his painfully hardened length and pleasured himself with the thought of you. Your scent still hung in the air, and your voice still rang in his ear, but what pushed him over the edge was the image of you curtsying, almost going to your knees before him. His mind was made then. Whatever act he had portrayed the past few days will quickly come to an end for he shall certainly agree with his mother that a union between him and you would be most suited. 

You sat in disbelief and utter confusion as your father announced to you that a union between you and the prince shall take place. “Why? Wh— did the queen ask his thoughts on this? Or was it just your and Her Majesty’s decision?” You questioned as you recalled the night in the library with the prince. It had only been two days since the heated and angered scene transpired, and you had done your best to avoid him and his raging lilac gaze. “The prince came to me and asked for your hand. And given the conversation I had with the queen, I assumed that his proposal has her blessing.” Your lips agape, and you try to work out your objections, but your father cupped your cheeks. “You, my darling, will be a princess just like you had always dreamed of.” He said softly, recalling how you ran the halls of Casterly Rock with a tiara atop of your head when you were younger— always begging your septa to tell you stories of princesses and their princes finding 'happily ever after.’

“I shall leave you to get ready— it will be announced to the court later today, and the wedding shall take place in a week’s time.” He announced, making you stand in utter surprise. “What?! Father— Why so soon?” You asked in disbelief. “The queen wishes his son to be married before the king meets his demise. He wishes for the king to witness Aemond joyously with his bride,” You were stunned and were certain that joy would not appear from a union between you and Aemond, making the Queen’s wishes moot. “Now, make haste as you shall be presented with your betrothed!” Your father smiled and kissed the top of your head, and hurriedly left the guest chambers. 

Aemond observed as your proud gaze was planted on the floor as they announced the upcoming union between the two of you. He was certain that news had left you in quite a state of confusion. The prince passed his eye at the sea of people, mostly on the men who had lined up for years and courted you, only to witness that the beauty they coveted was then promised to the dragon prince. Aemond’s look turned to his brother, whose jealous gaze was upon him, and Aemond couldn’t help but smirk. He then returned his gaze to you again, finally having looked up and locked your eyes upon him. Nothing but confusion in your orbs, and perhaps anger that Aemond simply found endearing. 

“I do not understand.” You gritted as you and Aemond were given a chance of privacy to get to know more about each other before the wedding. You two were in the room of the small council, the queen, your father, and the lord commander standing by the other side of the door lost in discussion as you and your betrothed were about to thread towards an argument. “You and I shall marry each other; what is so hard to understand?” The prince retorted. “I suppose the saying is true… the more comely the woman is, the more she is simple,” Aemond quickly added, grinning at how quickly you were to grow red in rage. Your cheeks match the scarlet of your gown. 

“Why, in the name of the seven, would you agree to this?! You and I are not suited for each other!” you whispered harshly, not wanting your parents to hear you quarrel. "And what makes you think so?” The prince hummed, stepping closer to you, tightening in his trousers once more as your plump lips were agape. “I haven’t had a civil conversation with you. All our interactions have been arguments— do you truly think that a marriage between us would work?” You asked incredulously, mind spinning at how abrupt, incomprehensible, and inexplicable the fates were. “You wish for a civil conversation? Let us have one then,” he simply replied and took a seat in one of the chairs housed in the long table separating the two of you.

You took in deep breaths and studied as he sat calmly, his hands placed atop the wooden table. You eventually took the seat across from him. “Why did you agree to this union?” You asked, your mind still replaying the scene in which he stated plainly that he dislikes you greatly. “Because I am in need of a wife,” he answered. You licked your lips and shook your head. “Why me, then? When you are perfectly aware of our shared… distaste for one another,” You said and watched as the prince shrugged. “Because…” the prince trailed, licking his lips as he was certain you would not believe what he would utter because he himself would find it hard to believe as well at how he had treated you since you had come. “I want you.” He finally said after a long moment of steely silence. The prince clenched his jaw as he heard you scoff, and a sardonic, melodious laugh soon followed. “You want me?” You asked, “What? You want to punish me? Make me miserable with a union with a man who hates me?” You added. “I do not hate you,” the prince sighed and rolled his eye as you stubbornly shook your head. 

“Ever since I have arrived all you had done was glare at me, pick quarrels and squabbles. You had offended me right to my face, and now you say want me?” You asked incredulously. “They say Targaryens are mad… but I had hoped your mother’s blood had leveled your and your sibling's heads.” You mumbled and did not expect to see an amused look on the prince’s face. A beat of silence surrounded the two of you, staring each other down. A lioness with a confused scowl on her face, and a dragon who had amusement and content on his. “I still do not understand,” You said, and the Prince sighed once more.

“It was all an act,” he sighed. My animosity towards you—all of it was an act. A facade to protect me because when I saw how you interacted with the other prospects for your hand… how obliging you were with them, I could not stomach the fact that you would not be mine,” he admitted, letting himself be vulnerable for the first time in years. I… I do not like sharing,” he then added. 

“I was five and ten when I read the first poem written for you,” he started. “I have not seen you… I have not a clue of who you were except that you were Ser Tyland’s kin, and you were of great beauty as they have written, and you already managed to make me grow curious,” You stayed silent as the prince continued on to explain. “I waited every week for new poems to be published… the songs in your name still did not receive much recognition— you were still unheard of by the others. I was certain I was the only one who bought those pamphlets; you were a secret for me alone.” You nodded along and rested your back against the chair, observing the prince intently as he spoke. “Aegon found the pamphlets and began to grow curious too… along with the entire kingdom, and I just did not enjoy the thought that I have to share the desire to know you— to be with you with other men,” He finished, and you bit your tongue as you did not know how to take the prince’s explanation. Was it flattering or puzzling? You had no clue. All you knew was your heart was beating loudly in your chest and your stomach was filled with butterflies. 

“My uncle often shared stories of you and your siblings…” You spoke, your turn to share an anecdote. “As a child, I have always been enthralled by the idea of royalty. So he would oblige me and tell me stories of the Dragon Princes.” Aemond nodded along as your eyes were cast upon the wooden table. “He would always go into great detail about your brother, Aegon… seeing he will be king, but I was always more curious about you,” You admitted. “But he said you always kept to yourself, so he could not truly tell me stories about you, so I would make him repeat the anecdotes already told time and time again. On how kind you were with your sister and how dutiful you were to your mother… how you were brave and determined— ceaselessly training with the sword even if you had lost your eye. And if you were not training, you were adding to your scholarly knowledge.” You turned your gaze to the Prince’s exceptionally beautiful lilac eye, “I have been fond of you long before I have met you, my prince. Ask my father and uncle… or anyone in Casterly Rock, for that matter,” You said truthfully, watching as Aemond’s lips twitch into a smile

“I would admit; I came here with the hopes of getting to know you… that perhaps a match between us would fall organically and not one that our father and mother made.” You said and fisted the fabric of your scarlet gown as your heart beat loudly at your admittance. The prince licked his lips, “Should it matter how this union was made?” He asked, “Either way, in the end, we’ll still get what we both want,” Aemond stated, his whole being satisfied as he was not the only one who pinned over a person he was still yet to meet. “I suppose not,” you smiled as your impending nuptials with a prince you had dreamed of since you were a child was to come. The door then swung open, revealing your father along with the Queen.“I hope the both of you had gotten the chance to grow more acquainted with each other,” The queen smiled, already excited with the prospect of your marriage and for you to be her daughter. You were most fitting to their family; not only will her son gain an incredibly charming and comely wife, but her daughter too will gain a friend. 

“We have, your grace,” You said with a small smile. She gave a pleased nod, and her smile widened, “That is good. Come with me, child. Plans have to be made, and you still have yet to be fitted for your gown!” She said and held out her hand for you to take. You stood and turned briefly to your betrothed; you once again curtsied before him. Now, a smile intended for him was placed on your pink lips, and Aemond’s longing gaze followed you as you walked out of the room with his mother. 

The day of your wedding was quick to come, and you felt entirely giddy and excited about marrying Prince Aemond. Your father escorted you down the aisle, the eyes of the kingdom following you as you gracefully walked to your soon-husband, who had a rare smile on his lips. When your father gave your hand for the prince to take, you felt gooseflesh scatter throughout your entire body. Aemond looked at you adoringly throughout the entirety of the ceremony, not at all paying attention to the Maester who blessed your union. 

Aemond was entirely impatient for him to announce you as his wife and for him to finally be able to kiss your lips. To mark you as his in front of the gods and the entire kingdom. And when that moment finally came, the desire that burned brightly inside the both of you only grew. Aemond was not one to show affection publicly, but he could not hinder himself as he cupped your cheeks to deepen your kiss that was witnessed by all present in the hall. Their screams and cheers faded and turned mute as both of your lips intertwined. 

Suppressed desires could not be contained any longer as you and Aemond had finally had a taste of each other. There was supposed to be a banquet to celebrate your union; the Queen had organized the feast to perfection, and your father spared no expense for the celebration. But it was unfortunately missed by you and your husband as Aemond quickly led you to your shared bed chambers, both of you unable to wait for nightfall to be in each other’s arms. 

“Aemond,” You mewled as he pushed you up against the stone pillar in your chambers. His lips kissed your neck, leaving his mark with every kiss, and his hands quickly untied the laces of your gown. You hear him growl as you boldly move your hand to cup his hardened length against his trousers, hesitant as you move your hand. “We should be in the feast,” You said but made no move to halt your pleasurable actions. Aemond shook his head, “Do you want to attend the feast, or do you want to be pleasured, wife?” He asked and watched with dark eyes as the sleeves of your dress draped down your arm and revealed more of your milky skin. “I want you, husband.” You breathed, and Aemond let out a pleasurable sound as your hold on his length tightened. 

“Kneel,” Aemond gritted, and your eyes widened at his command. “Kneel and show your devotion to your lord husband,” Aemond demanded and clenched his jaw as you did as he asked, slowly going to your knees, your eyes still locked upon him. You licked your lips as you were eye-leveled with his bulging length, “Take it out,” Aemond commanded and tightly closed his eye as you did the action, your skin finally touching his. You bit your lip at his massiveness, at how well-endowed he was and how beautiful he fully was. You swallowed thickly as you recalled the books you had read in the dead of night, detailing how man and woman should be. 

Aemond let out a strained sound as you placed a ghost of a kiss upon the tip of his cock, your name spewing from his lips as you peppered light kisses along his length. “Stop being a tease, little wife,” he gritted and felt his stomach tighten at the smirk on your lips and the view of you kneeling before him. Your dress had dropped lowly, and he could see most of your bosom that had been tempting him for days on end. 

You let out a breath and to him to your mouth. You half expected yourself to be repulsed, but with each moment you had his length between your lips, bobbing your head, sucking harshly, hearing the moans your husband spewed, and looking at his pleasured etched face, you felt your cunt drip with want and anticipation. Aemond groaned louder as you fondled his other parts, thanking the gods for blessing him with you as his wife. Thanking them for their favor to let him be bound to the Golden Beauty of the realm. The prince breathed in harshly as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, the need for release in him loudly pronouncing itself, making him abruptly pull out. He could not be so selfish and let himself succumb to pleasure whilst you were still filled with need. 

Aemond pulled you to stand, fervently meeting your lips once more, and guided you to bed. Your dress finally fell, and Aemond greedily took one of your tit into the hot cavern of his mouth. He bit the bud and elicited a sweet whine from your lips, and he quickly soothed it with his tongue and felt you clung to him tighter. Taking his other hand and guided it to you other needing tit to pleasure it as well. Aemond smirked upon your bosom at how in need you were of him. Aemond moved his lips to your neglected tit, and his hand trailed down south, your eyes rolling back and your hands fisting the back of his head as you finally felt his cold hands upon your needing heat. 

“So desperate for me, little wife,” Aemond hummed in satisfaction. Your moans echoed throughout the chambers, along with the sound of your wetness as Aemond slipped his finger in you, his thumb circling the pearl of your cunt, earning more of your sweet moans. Aemond moved to kiss your lips again, feeling how tightly your cunt clenched around his finger. You parted your lips as you felt climax nearing, your wide, lusted eyes locked in with your husbands, but before you could even succumb to ultimate pleasure, Aemond stole away his finger. “Aemond,” You whined, but your husband only smirked and pecked your lips. Making you watch as he brought his coated fingers to his lips and sucked the essence of you clean. 

Your mind was dazed and frustrated as he denied you pleasure. Your eyes followed him as he removed his tunic and lay nakedly on the silk sheets of your feathered bed. “Come here,” He ordered, and you hesitated for a moment. You took your bottom lip between your lips and did as told, moving to straddle him as he lay. His hands found home on your hips, urging you to move forward, and you furrowed your brows in confusion as your core threaded farther away from his length. “Aemond, I—“ Words were lost as the prince’s lips were met with your cunt. His hands forcing you down upon his face. Your head tilted back in pleasure as you rolled your hips upon his face, his prominent nose perfectly aligned with your nubbin and his tongue darting in and out of your tightness. 

“Aemond,” You cried as your thighs were quick to shiver; release was finding you once more. “Aemond… Aemond…” You uttered his name like a prayer. With one flick of his tongue, you came undone, your moans ringing loudly that you were certain that it was heard in the halls but could not find care. Aemond had a slight smirk as he moved you closer to his length. Your eyes were still glazed from your climax, and your mind was so disoriented that you did not even realize that Aemond had positioned his length at your entrance. The sharp pain of your maidenhead being taken was the only indication you had that you had now sunk upon his cock. 

Aemond relished at the sight of you atop of him, your cunt taking and squeezing his cock. Your breast was heaving, and your eyes were welling with tears. Aemond reached out and took your bosom into his calloused hands, kneading the taut, soft flesh— earning a pleasured moan through your pain. Aemond gave you the liberty to move whenever you felt comfortable doing so. He was an impatient man, but he savored every small movement you made as you clenched along his cock. 

Your furrowed brows dissipated, and your mouth parted as the tip of cock perfectly hit the spot inside of you that made you see stars. Aemond’s breathing labored as you rolled your hips, seeking further friction. He moved his cold hands to your hips and guided you to bounce upon his cock. “Aemond!” You cried, and Aemond could only marvel at your pleasured face and bouncing tits; you squeezed him so tightly that slight pain mixed with his delight. “Are you going to come, my wife? Will you come at your husband’s cock?” Aemond hummed and sat up, placing his head between your ample breasts, greedily inhaling your scent. “Yes… gods, yes!” You cried as he harshly thrust inside you. Both of you meet your peak, Aemond spilling his seed deep inside your cunt and you clawing at his bare back and leaving your own marks. 

“My wife,” Aemond hummed in satisfaction and nuzzled his nose against yours, a smile on your lips as your foreheads pressed as the cheers from the feast that you two disregarded were lowly heard in your chambers, “My prince,” You smiled and kissed his lips, your heart full. Your being wholly satisfied as you were bound to the prince that your young heart had wanted long before. 

[the-crooked-library]

Creative Lineage - Dracula, Orlok, and the others

Here's the thing: the relationship between Nosferatu and Dracula is incredibly interesting - especially considering that Nosferatu (1922) was based on Dracula the book (1897), and most subsequent visual adaptations of Dracula for some reason used aspects of that film as inspiration, instead of adapting the original novel directly. As a result, there have always been endless comparisons between the two; but, in light of our most recent Nosferatu (2024), I must expand on what I personally think is their most significant (in regards to both plot development and analysis) difference.

TL;DR: it's characters. The main source of divergences between Dracula and Nosferatu is that these stories consist of vastly dissimilar characters, stuck in relatively similar situations.

I could go into heavy detail, and I will - under the cut, for the sake of all our dashboards.

At first glance, the stories of Dracula and Nosferatu are almost identical. The beginning sections follow the same essential plot beats - a young, newlywed solicitor travels to a creepy castle in Eastern Europe to assist a reclusive Count in his immigration to the West. This Count is, in fact, a vampire (otherwise known as a nosferatu), and terrorizes the young man for weeks, before departing and leaving him imprisoned; the solicitor escapes, is rescued from the wilderness by a nunnery, and returns home - where the Count has already begun his murderous process of settling in.

Here, in my opinion, is where the similarities end.

The key to understanding Nosferatu is remembering that Orlok is not Dracula; Thomas is not Jonathan; Ellen is not Mina, and so forth; and despite the mutual inspirations that affect each film adaptation of either story, the characters never react to the plot as a viewer would expect, if their precursory experience has been limited to only one or the other version.

Naturally, there are reasons for the continued addition of Nosferatu elements to Dracula adaptations. The most prominent of them is that, quite simply, audiences enjoy a fated, dangerous, inadvisable monster romance. By and large, we are titillated by the taboo; and - without adapting Le Fanu's Carmilla (1872), or adding a vampiric element to an adaptation of Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera (1910), or expanding on the queer elements of Jonathan Harker's sojourn in Transylvania - the easiest piece of classic media to sample for this sort of theme is Nosferatu (1922).

The 1922 film was, in a sense, an adaptation of Bram Stoker's Dracula (at least, enough to get the creators sued by his estate). In its efforts to circumvent copyright laws, it plays fast and loose with Stoker's lore and characters, renaming the Harkers, the Count, and everyone else - and, crucially, adding an element of erotic fixation that the vampire develops upon seeing a portrait of his solicitor's young wife. While still overseas, he builds a psychic connection with the melancholy and sensitive Ellen; it is both horrifying and sensual, and ultimately what she uses to destroy him - sacrificing her own blood and life to keep him out of his coffin until cock-crow. Ellen dies, but the sunlight annihilates Count Orlok, and the ending is a bittersweet new dawn.

This fixated, possessive, murderous eroticism (first displayed in its currently recognizable form by Carmilla) has become a cornerstone of the vampire genre. Elements of it are recognizable even in relatively modern media like Interview with the Vampire, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Twilight, as well as numerous Dracula adaptations (of which the 1992 Coppola film might be the most well-known); it is even present in other, indirect offshoots like NBC's Hannibal TV series. It is, therefore, essential to note that these overtones did not exist in the same way in Dracula the novel; and the reason for that is, specifically, a difference in character.

Count Dracula, while dangerous, vampiric, and psychic, does not possess that same singular fascination with any given character in Stoker's book (save perhaps for Jonathan Harker, temporarily). He does drain Lucy night after night, and his method of killing, like with all vampires of his type, is allegorically sexual; but it isn't personal. She keeps receiving blood transfusions - effectively, refills!.. Other than her blood, he has little interest in her. He has companionship enough already - after all, he lives with three female vampires, who may be courtesans or wives, but are colloquially referred to as Vampire Brides; and, additionally, he maintains ongoing communication with some of the people and animals that live on his land. As such, when he does bite Jonathan's wife Mina, it is a practical decision - made in order to establish a potential spy in a group of people who appear to be intent on hunting him down.

Similarly, Mina herself - despite the usual characterization of her film portrayals, which are in many ways epitomized by Coppola's 1992 version - was not originally a vulnerable maiden. She is confident and educated, she has worked for a living as an educator prior to her marriage, and she knows how to use a typewriter as well as shorthand. She has no emotional connection to Dracula whatsoever beyond pure incandescent hatred; and, frankly, forcing her into any sort of romance with him is deeply inaccurate to her character - because Mina Harker is endlessly in love with her husband Jonathan.

They may be on the lower end of middle-class, but relatively stable and planning a life together - not only as husband and wife, but as solicitor and secretary, as well. It's as close to a power couple as a novel from the 1890s will approach.

This is not the case for Ellen Hutter, largely because her social circumstances are far more precarious.

Unlike Mina, she has been forcibly isolated for the majority of her life. In that, she is yet another in the line of tragic madwomen of the gothic genre - mostly due to her eccentricities and her psychic gift, which (as the Eggers version specifies) manifested early in her childhood and became socially inexcusable during her teenage years, much like any real-world form of neurodivergence. It is implied that she has been institutionalized at some point as a result; and even prior to that, her father kept her confined indoors and away from other people in efforts to control her.

This isolation is what originally leads to her connection with Orlok - who was woken from his centuries-long deathlike sleep when he heard her reaching out into the ether, begging for a friend. Then, later in her life, the same circumstances unfortunately have a direct effect on her relationship with her husband Thomas, too; while she is attached to him, she cannot ignore that she is also utterly dependent on him as her ticket to a stable life, as well as out from under her father's thumb. Again, unlike Mina, she has no marketable skills or opportunities outside of this marriage; and while Thomas never shames her for her past, he still pressures her to ignore and repress it. The manifestations of her psychic ability concern, then unsettle, then frighten him - and, ultimately, there is a transactional aspect to their union. Thomas expects himself to move ahead in the world, like his friend Friedrich; and Ellen is expected to eventually become normal. She is expected to become a happy, pretty wife and mother like Anna Harding - because, while Thomas cares for her and fully intends to provide for her, he refuses to actually understand her.

Furthermore, it must be noted that leaving her father's estate for her husband's house did not entirely save Ellen from her isolation. Unlike Mina, she has no real friends of her own. Her only friend in the 2024 film is Anna, her husband's best friend's wife; and in the 1922 original, even that tentative affection is unclear. As such, Orlok remains the only character that truly knows and accepts her as she is - which inevitably complicates their dynamic.

While Orlok is, by his own admission, incapable of a human love, he is overwhelmingly and exclusively obsessed with Ellen. Unlike Dracula, who even in death keeps the company of his women and his people, Orlok exists in utter solitude. Prior to his death, he was also heavily avoided due to his being in "covenant with the devil." The 2024 film especially makes it clear that Ellen's call, which woke him from his slumber, is exceptional; their connection is intensely personal, and it is as close to love as he can ever feel.

This aspect of the vampire's characterization fundamentally alters the context of his behaviour throughout the film. While Dracula moved to England in search of new hunting grounds and little else, Orlok goes to Germany specifically to find Ellen. By marrying Thomas Hutter, she broke the covenant she made with Orlok in her youth; thus, knowing that his claim has been infringed upon, the Count makes contact with Hutter's real estate law firm, summons him to the Carpathians, crosses the sea, and arrives to Wisborg as a physical manifestation of every dark urge and ability she has been attempting to repress. He torments her husband, tricks him into signing a marriage annulment, plagues the city, and murders the Hardings - all of it for her. She is his unique and all-consuming motivation. Again and again, he insists upon their covenant, reminding her that she has never truly belonged to the human world, and he is not incorrect in his assessment. Ellen's surrounding society infantilizes and binds her, often literally. She has nothing to lose by leaving it, except for her own sense of morality; and that is why Orlok, who represents her own abnormality, remains a beautiful, nightmarish temptation.

The other characters diverge from Stoker's just as much.

Thomas Hutter has little in common with Jonathan Harker beyond his choice in career and his time at a vampire's castle. Despite his careful attachment to his wife, he does not actually take her opinions into consideration when he plans their life - he prioritizes his social and financial advancements, which are of no interest to her, and which he sees as his duties to her and to himself; and, when she exhibits any of her unusual or melancholic traits, he does his best to try and move past them as quickly as possible. He does not experience the same attraction to the horror that she does; he cannot bring himself to understand it; and both in 1922 and in 2024, he is also largely oblivious to her eccentricities, gifting her flowers despite the fact that she does not like to see them picked and dying in a vase. That is a far cry from Jonathan - who knows his wife's love of train schedules, who is practicing shorthand with her, and who is willing to join her in cursed, godforsaken undeath when faced with the possibility of her turning. Ultimately, Thomas exists too firmly within the same societal constraints that Ellen abhors, and their relationship has none of the foundation that is unshakably shared by Jonathan and Mina.

At the same time, while the Anna is a parallel to Lucy, and her husband is a corresponding Arthur, the Hardings (once again) have no particular commonality with them. Their characterization remains undeveloped in the original 1922 film - and while Eggers does grant them some definition, it is still in no way similar to Stoker's.

Stoker's Lucy is a charming, cheerful, flirty, and a little coquettish young girl; she exists on the cusp of womanhood and marriage, and her pre-vampire arc revolves around her choice between three almost-equally delightful suitors. She adores and idolizes Mina, she is childishly excited about her future; and in these things, she is very different from Anna, who is already married, a mother of two with one on the way - and who does care for Ellen, but in a motherly, rather than girlish, fashion.

Her husband, too, is quite different from Arthur Holmwood.

In 2024, Friedrich Harding is - above all else - the film's personification of the trap that is patriarchy. He is the epitome of what a man is expected to be: a successful business owner with a pretty blonde wife and 2.5 kids (I thought Anna's pregnancy was very much on the nose. Quite literally, 2.5 kids!). He is generous, he cares for his family, and he is firmly Rational. On the surface, Harding appears to be an ideal made flesh; and as the film progresses, it becomes evident that this ideal is designed to crumble.

Much of Harding's rationality is heavily hypocritical. While he claims to be making all his decisions based on pure logic, Ellen's - an outsider's - perspective exposes the truth behind his motivations. He ignores her warnings because he does not like her and considers her impudent; he kicks his own sick best friend out of his house with only his similarly sick wife to care for him, because he is annoyed and unsettled by their references to the supernatural; he refuses to listen to Von Franz and ignores the danger his family is in, because he is frightened of losing them to something he cannot comprehend, rather than a mundane, potentially treatable illness. All of these decisions are emotional, rooted in his misogyny and closed-mindedness - and so, Harding loses his daughters, his wife, his unborn son, as well as the unflappable, rational facade he had been so carefully maintaining. He ends the film a wreckage of himself, having committed necrophilia with the corpse of his wife because he was emotionally, irrationally unable to let go of her even in death; he dies of the plague that came to Wisborg through his own ship yard, holding her in his arms. Even under the guise of benevolence, his patriarchal worldview undermines and fails him entirely. It is a terrible thrill to watch him fall apart, and the ruin that is left in his place is one of the most obvious illustrations of the story's principal themes.

The other characterizations follow a similar sort of pattern. Sievers, unlike Seward, has no romantic rivalry with Harding; and beyond a professional connection, they are not really friends. Von Franz is far less knowledgeable about vampires than Van Helsing - for the majority of the film, he is stumbling in the dark with the rest of the cast, only finding a way of destroying Orlok in Herr Knock's codex. Knock, too, is far less noble than Renfield - even though he is just as insane as his counterpart, he sees Ellen as an object to be traded for money and power, rather than a kind soul that he would die to protect.

(Quincey Morris, unfortunately, does not exist in Nosferatu. Murnau hadn't found a place for a cowboy in his production; consequently, Eggers could not, either.)

The point is, really, that while Dracula and Nosferatu share a common premise, a comparison between them cannot be made without acknowledging the glaring differences between their characters. For instance, even though Orlok's relationship with Ellen is toxic in the usual vampiric way - part sex, part horror, part possession, part liberation - Thomas is by no means a perfect partner for her, either, because he is not Jonathan Harker, and Ellen is not Mina. Similarly, Von Franz, Sievers, and Harding are not a brave vampire hunting team - they are all blind, each in their own specific way (Von Franz, lacking straightforward knowledge; Sievers, trusting Von Franz without question; Harding, unable to think outside of societal rules). Expecting them to react to their situation the same way as the cast of Dracula is an exercise in futility.

As such, if you do get the chance to see the film again, or if it merely plays in the darkness of your skull when you close your eyes - instead of fixating on the few surface-level similarities between two different vampires and the people they haunt, allow the story of Nosferatu to seduce you on its own terms. Whether it is 1922 or 2024, we, as viewers, deserve its living blood - rather than the shadow of its predecessor.

[dogsohavoc]

Rope Play with Pure Vanilla <3

Content warnings - Male sub, restraints, oral sex (male receiving), slight dubcon

“Mm- I didn’t think… this would be something you’d like, Y/N”

Perhaps asking you why you kept rope underneath your bed was a mistake. Truthfully, he’d been worried you were up to some… other unsavory activities.

But he would have never imagined something like this.

Feeling so vulnerable, it wasn’t something he was particularly familiar with. His body— every movement was tight, restricted. Every mere shiver worsened the feeling, as the thin, red, rope further constricts against his skin. An art dedicated to restraining someone? Pure Vanilla Cookie had never heard of such a practice.

And yet, why did something like this… make him feel so hot?

The ropes forced his legs wide, holding one open so every part of him was left open to your gaze. And that's what you did, simply just…

Watch him.

Take in how his face flushes further with every bite into his skin, breath quickening as a particularly cruel length tightens under his thigh.

His body was forced to yield, legs forced wide with one tied up just below the knee. He could see the artistic intent; the expression, but being treated like this? Like his only purpose was to be seen– to be admired.

The unkind pressure only exacerbated his yearning. He aches for you, to be touched by you. Can’t you see how much he needs you? His cock, left long neglected and weeping all over itself at the mere thought of you taking him in your hand, stroking him gently like you always do.

Even as he whined for you, as he breathily begged, you were completely apathetic to his suffering.

His body was so conditioned to your pleasurable touch, he was hard from the moment you first bound his wrists. But, even as his hips twitched forward with every tightening of the rope, you hadn’t so much as acknowledged him… only uttering small directions to move his body how you needed.

Normally, he might have been put out by being ignored so blatantly. But in a situation so terribly titillating with his sweaty body on display, it intensified his arousal immeasurably.

Precum leaked out of him so heavily it had begun to seep into the rope, and that's when you reacted.

“You’re making such a mess, Nilla. This rope was expensive, you know?”

“I-”

He inhales sharply as you press your foot into his thigh, the one that rested on the mat, and so *so* close to touching his poor cock. Muscles locked up– everything within him begged for more contact, to buck up and pray that his most sensitive place even *grazed* against you.

“Mm-! I’m sorry...”

His voice sounds miserably… sticky.

“You’ll make it up to me though, won't you, Pure Vanilla?”

“Yes! Please, I just need yo-”

You cut him off with a click of your tongue.

“Patience. You’ll get what you want, but first, I have a little something I want.”

You reveal something from behind you– a little polaroid camera. The glint of it is more threatening than that of a blade… surely, you couldn’t want that?

“I just want a couple photos! Nothing much, and they won't be seen by anyyyyone else,”

He can't help but shake, muttering out a shaky ‘okay’

“Good boy!”

There’s no time for him to sputter at the pet name before you’re once again guiding his body.

Tilting his hips up and urging his back to curve tastefully, till he was in the perfect position to show off every part of him.

How the fat of his raised thigh compresses under the crossed patterns of rope, how his nipples contrast so beautifully against the vibrant red… how his lips part, the peek of his tongue inviting- no, begging you to claim them. You captured it all with a click of the camera.

He feels airy inside as you examine the photo so critically, as though it were a piece in a museum.

“That turned out perfect… you wanna see?”

His throat clicks as he swallows. Panting so much had made his mouth dry.

“Y-yes.”

It…

It’s hard to believe this was him.

Seeing himself positioned so lewdly, yet in a poised manner that would not be out of place within a renaissance painting, felt foreign.

But…

His teary eyes flicker down as a tiny spark wriggles up his spine. His dick twitches against his thigh, flinching from the slight bite from the movement. It felt sensitive enough that he feared he wasn't far from an orgasm.

You weren't as merciful as Pure Vanilla, though.

A spiderweb of knots had been tied over him, curving over his chest and framing his sternum in a diamond. The method you’d used meant that every mere twitch would constrict his body further. He’d been squirming so much in his restraints you could barely fit a finger underneath now.

“You’re beautiful like this ‘Nilla,” you breathed, earning a pathetic sounding whine from him.

You're tracing the knot that framed his chest, pulling it tightly to watch how the entire rig dug into his body from such a small adjustment.

“But I think you're even prettier down here…”

His whole body locks up when your finger taps the very end of his tip– thigh muscles involuntarily spasming. His breathing grows heavier and heavier with each slight circle over his tip. It was so wet, so slippery, that your index slid over him smoothly.

You're getting worked up yourself, circling him gently and squeezing, feeling how well he filled your palm.

“Oh!” He puffs out from deep within his chest, startling you into yanking your hand back.

All of a sudden, he's squirting all over your retracted hand, mouth gaped and eyes blown. He was completely silent, like the breath had been stolen from him… he didn't twitch or writhe against the bonds either.

Witches, did you ruin it for him?

His dick is twitching like crazy, even as the last bit of cum dribbles lazily from him. It clung thickly to the backs of your fingers, stringing together when you rubbed them against each other in disbelief.

“You– ‘Nilla? You alright?”

He sniffles once, body still locked up as though it expected more, before letting out the most pitchy whine you’ve ever heard from the man. The poor cookie has gone from breathless to hyperventilating within moments.

“Please… It- ‘sso much–”

The ropes are tensing, pulling, as he wriggles against the bonds. He came, so how is he… still so hard? It’s flushed a deep umber, now glistening wetly from the remnants of his semen.

“I know dear, but first, are you okay?”

It seems like it takes all of his brain power to hum out a crackly ‘Mmhm’.

You chew your lip… his cum was starting to drip down your wrist.

Well, he gave you all that so why not put it to use? It's so so wet as you wipe his own cum off onto him. It forces out a choke, his eyelids crinkling from the overstimulation.

Taking it slow for him, you lean down and kiss around his thigh, licking up the salty mess that had dripped over it. His taste– salty with just the slightest Vanilla highlight– stuck to the back of your throat thickly.

He gives another broken whine, tilting his hips forward so his dick bumps your cheek.

“Please– Witches! Your mouth, I need it-”

It was hard to not acquiesce when he begged so prettily for you. The heat between your thighs told you to make him beg harder and harder… but your heart couldn't take breaking him down any further.

You were fighting not to melt yourself as you pressed your lips to his sticky tip. He was completely coated in precum, the tang washing over your tongue.

Dual tone eyes cracked open the moment your lips parted around him, a sob heaving from his chest. Slowly, you slid him deeper into your mouth, feeling superheated on your tongue.

He's silent. Breathless. Completely overwhelmed, tensing as his tip bumps into the soft palate of your throat.

Pure Vanilla is all you can taste, all you can smell. He looks positively wrecked. All shreds of sensibility had been torn away with his ruined orgasm. You start to pull back after the tiniest little gag that sets him shaking. He resists your departure with just the barest, twitchiest little bucks, but he still falls wetly from your mouth.

Kissing along the length of him, you stare up at his weak expression. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he visibly pulled and twisted against the restraints despite how tightly they bound him. You quietly asked him if he wanted to be untied- but there was no response besides a weak twitch of his hips.

It was easy to fall into a quiet rhythm, gently sweeping your tongue over the most flushed part of him, then grinding him against the back of your throat to feel each bead of pre coat it with every lave. All your attention is on him. Nothing else matters to you besides watching every single spasm.

The attention seemed to almost bring him to tears, and you honestly didn’t know how much longer the rope would hold on with how much he was yanking on it. You worried it was cutting into him, but he gave you the greenlight with every quiet question. So you continued pleasuring him leisurely, kissing all over him torturously to stave off the satisfaction of being buried in your throat.

You’ve pushed him right to the edge, watching him clench his teeth with the sheer overstimulation, but you’re not ready to let him cum yet.

‘It's just too fun messing with him~’

You smile while giving him one last peck- to which gives the most defeated moan you’ve heard as the largest wad of precum yet flows past your lips.

Before you can consider pulling away, you hear the most terrible tearing sound, then suddenly your face is pressed to his pubic hair, forced to choke on his cock.

Scrabbling at him proves ineffective as he starts to pulse within your throat- Witches, he’s cumming. It’s hard to fight back nausea and tears as you try to keep yourself settled. Your shoulders creak- he’s holding you down so hard!

The rope holding up his thigh had obviously torn… you couldn't look up to see with your current faceful of blonde hair.

Your tongue is pinned to your teeth with how much he fills your mouth, barely able to swallow around him as loads of cum start to flow down your esophagus regardless of how you felt about it. He’s continuing to tense, shoving your head down tighter and tighter with every heavy pulse you felt. Spit had long started to dribble down your chin, thick rivulets of his cum splashing out when your throat seized in its best attempt at coughing.

Witches. Your stomach felt so full already. How did he have this much left to give? He already covered your wrist earlier, and now…

You felt a painful twinge in your belly. This must be karma for all the teasing.

He gives one more heavy grind to your face, freezing up at the crux of the grind, overwhelmed as he realises what he’s done to you. The encompassing weakness was starting to take over his body. So, all he could muster was a flustered ‘Oh dear-’ as he freed you from his prison.

It was almost jarring how fast you tore off him, gasping for air, then coughing as you subsequently inhaled something you shouldn’t.

“Oh my-! I’m so sorry. I don't know what came over me.” He frets, crossing his leg over his dick for what modesty he could manage while watching you clear your airways. You were a complete and utter mess. Cum, spit and snot completely covering your cheeks and chin, the start of a pounding headache, and an absolutely soaked pair of underwear.

Panting and grinning like you were hysterical, you regard his worried expression.

“Let's do that again. Next week.”

You coughed again, watching Pure Vanilla go through the several stages of grief right before your eyes.

…You’d need time to recover first, but Witches you were gonna have fun with him.

[mega-ringsandthings-world]

Hi, as a Mishanks expert, I wanted to ask your opinion on something. Do you think Shanks actually is a less capable swordsman now that he lost his arm? Does Mihawk actually think that? Also, would Shanks be able to match or win against Mihawk if he hadn't lost his arm?

Hope this doesn't sound weird, I hope you're having a good day! 🧑‍🦰🗡️

Hi! Not weird at all! And thanks, it's going great so far! Hm, I don't think Shanks losing his arm turned him into a less capable swordsman, but I'd say he's now certainly a more reserved one than he he was pre arm-loss. For lack of a better term he's not as flashy as he was. If we go by his left arm being his dominant one, then losing it meant he lost the ability or at least made the choice to stop using grandiose or clever moves like a lot of other characters. He's just as a good swordsman as he was with two arms, but he's streamlined his techniques after losing an arm. We've never seen him fight much when he had both arms attached, (although we get a nod to it when Whitebeard is meeting with Shanks and brings up having watched a duel between him and Mihawk with the implication that it was intense) but we have seen how he fights with only one. The recent fight against Kid is a good example, Shanks' use of his sword is powerful, direct, and incredibly controlled. Even his the name of his attack is stated precisely and intensely. And when he draws in Marinefored, there's no flourishes to it except for him taking an action stance. Shanks is no less powerful, but he's more simpler out of necessity. And...Mihawk doesn't like that. Mihawk doesn't consider Shanks less powerful or less capable because he lost an arm, but he does have a issue with how Shanks and his fighting style adapted to losing an arm. Which is honestly kind of bitchy, but that's Mihawk for you. I mean, "NoT wHen You'Re halF the MaN yoU USed to bE" says it all. He wasn't insulting Shanks' skills with that, he was poking at Shanks' physical lack of an arm. Mihawk doesn't like reserved. He's bent out of shape because Shanks is no longer drawing on techniques he is capable of in his duels against Mihawk, and the fact that Shanks is no longer physically capable of using those techniques or is choosing not to use them to consolidate his swordsmanship with his non-dominant hand is no excuse. If Shanks wants to duel with him after the arm loss, Shanks can either start re-incorporating every aspect of his skills back into his physical swordplay or grow his arm back. whichever he prefers, Mihawk won't be picky about that. (he'd prefer the arm) I think before the arm-loss, Shanks was evenly matched with Mihawk. Mihawk is the best swordsman in the world, so he surpasses Shanks in terms of power and skill with a sword, but Shanks is the only one who Mihawk can not strike a winning blow against and vice versa. In their earlier days, they were both neck in neck, but Mihawk always held that tiny lead on Shanks. And also in those days, Shanks was a lot more flashy and expressive. So he didn't just give Mihawk a duel, he gave Mihawk a show as well. Which was titillating for Mihawk. Because if it was anyone other than Shanks, the fight would always be to-the-death-matches. Other peoples' lesser skills only allowed them to fight seriously and nothing more, because one wrong move, one display of lesser skill and they were dead. Shanks, being matched with Mihawk, could play with Mihawk. He wasn't fighting for his life or reputation against Mihawk, he was fighting because he wanted to. He could challenge and provoke and give as good as Mihawk could. And Mihawk misses it. Either way, Shanks didn't lose much power or skill, just re-structured it a bit and Mihawk has been pitching a hissy fit over that for years.

[ciaossu-imagines]

Teito Klein Headcanons

Teito’s not the best singer around but he enjoys singing. He finds it calms him and he’ll often find himself singing to himself under his breath when he’s really stressed out or going through something really emotional.

Teito’s really bad at managing money, not really having had much experience at having money of his own that he can spend. Money tends to burn a hole in his pockets and he feels the need to go out and spend it immediately. Often he spends it on gifts or things for the people he cares about. He doesn’t have a lot to give the people in his life and it’s always something he feels a little guilty about, so whenever he has the opportunity to buy something or gift something to someone he likes, he jumps on the chance. He’s not the best at thinking up gift ideas but he tries to really put thought into them, though he often chooses either too practical things or things that have no practicality at all.

Teito does know how to sew, but most of his sewing is clumsy and just gets the job done. He’s never gotten, and will never get, the knack of blind-stitching, so all of his sewing projects have very obvious threading on them. To try to prettify his sewing attempts, knowing this trait of his sewing, he chooses thread in bright colours or colours he finds particularly pretty to sew with, though they often clash with the colour of the fabric he’s using. In a little twist though, I could see Teito as someone who would pick up knitting without too much difficulty and who would be really good at it naturally.

Teito can pop and crack most of his joints. He cracks his neck immediately upon waking up, just as a force of habit, and can crack his knuckles, knees, shoulders, and toes. It grosses out those around him sometimes, honestly.

Teito hates being mistaken for female. He assumes it’s because of his short stature and more youthful appearance, both things that he wishes he could grow up quickly and change. He’s a little jealous of people with more muscular frames and I think he’d be the sort of person who would choose weightlifting and such as exercise forms in an attempt to reach his goal. However, despite hating being mistaken for female, he doesn’t really have a lot of negative thoughts about dressing up as female if the need for it arises. To him, clothes are simply clothes and don’t necessarily represent who or what he is. If dressing as a female gets him to where he needs to go, he won’t think twice about doing so and he’s cross-dressed before in the past several times. Going along with this, because he doesn’t necessarily view his clothing choices as indictive of who he is, he’s rather casual about what he wears and doesn’t give a lot of thought to his fashion choices.

Teito wouldn’t really care if he were to ever need glasses. In fact, he tends to think that glasses look cool on people and, when he sees someone wearing a pair of frames that is unique, either because they’re patterned or some non-standard colour, he will compliment the person on them. He’s definitely tried on both Hakuren and Castor’s glasses before, just out of curiosity as to what he’d look like in them.

Despite Mikage and Frau both having a marked interest in porno mags, Teito has only looked inside one once. He immediately was so embarrassed, nervous, and somehow guilty feeling about doing so. He blushed extremely hard and he just didn’t find it a pleasant experience. To him, such displays of nudity and sexuality are something precious that should only be shared with someone you care about deeply, not something that should be put up to titillate and gain money. Of course, given that Teito has seen the dark side of sexual slavery, this also colours his negative opinion towards pornography, which he views as similar exploitation for money.

Teito is really prone to nightmares. He sleeps through most of them, though anyone in the same room with his sleeping self that he wakes up with these nightmares will notice that, while sleeping, he cries during these nightmares. He hardly ever remembers them fully upon waking up, though certain images or sounds will remain with him and he’ll find them hard to shake.

Teito doesn’t like action movies and he especially hates horror movies. He just doesn’t see the appeal of them. He sticks to more family-friendly movies and he especially loves comedies. His love for comedy movies and television shows will lead to him watching stand-up comics and he’ll gain an appreciation for that art form as well, gaining quite a few that he really likes. He has very negative reviews though on insult comics or those who always make other people the butt of their jokes and, as an audience member for a show like that, he might lose his temper and start shouting at the comic, leading to him getting forcibly ejected from a few venues.

Because he’s had very little to call his own, when Teito has a place to call his own, his own furniture and living space, he takes great pains to keep everything neat and cared for. He treasures everything, even if it’s second-hand, thrifted, or cheap and ‘disposable.’ To him, just being able to have those things is a kind of miracle and he deeply appreciates getting those little miracles. If he spills something, he’s quick to wipe it up. He treats any spilled food or drink on furniture right away with stain remover or spot remover. While his cups and plates are either second-hand or bought from the dollar store, he’s gentle and delicate with them when he’s using and washing them and he’d be upset if he ended up breaking something. When others give him things for his living quarters, he goes to a lot of effort to take care of those things and they become little ‘treasures’ for him.

[mrsoharaa]

Ꮺ ❥ 𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆

characters: Miguel O'Hara x Reader

content warnings: MDNI +18 ONLY, biting, dry humping, slight swearing, Miguel being needy.

a/n: this was not meant to be this long I swear lmaooo. I kinda got carried away with this....oof, but I definitely do NOT regret it. this one...this one made me claw at my sheets and hurdle into my blanket ngl lool. (also this isn't entirely proofread, too lazy, was rushing towards the end ngl...sooo...sorry for any errors!) but, enjoy! ( ദ്ദി ͡º ꒳ ͡º)✧

"Are you...sure you're okay with this? you don't have to do this..." his sleek voice rumbles in a soothe, concerned monotone. A waft of warm, enticing sensation slightly coils through your veins at the sheer gentleness and care in his smooth tone.

A small smile jests at the corners of your supple lips, gently unzipping the back of your suit, gliding down the stretchy fabric down just mid length of your shoulders and turn your back to face him. Your bare, tantalizing skin open to his roaming, cardinal eyes. The impervious, carnal desire to greedily tame it for himself, gnawing at the roughen layer of his beautiful brazen flesh. Practically digs his protracted claws deep into the callous of his tightening fists.

A soften chuckle hardly brushes pass your lips, still displaying your tender, silken vulnerability to his hungry eyes. Your head barely makes it over the strut of your right bare shoulder, pliable irises delicately gazing over at the towering, stifled man fighting every nerve thrashing urge to smother you entirely with his ascending hunger and thickening lust for you.

"If I wasn't okay with this Miguel, I wouldn't be here now would I?" the soft little glint of approval in your glossed, bewitching eyes and those simple, humbled words of utter assurance was all he needed to heed before taking a step or two closer towards you.

The drastic difference of height between you both still amazes you to this day (you can never get over it, you relished the feeling of being completely and utterly small to someone thrice the size of you...especially when it was him). The overcast of his soaring, brawny frame looms over you from behind, noting the intricate silhouette details of his pretty slicked back hair, wide, broaden shoulders and a slim figure that dipped ever so perfectly just below the waist always insinuated some sort of buzzing sensation through the midst of your fluttering, smaller body.

You exhale a low breath, twitching slightly to the sudden gentle touch of his larger, wider hands subtly homing onto each side of your tensed arms. Your heart racing frantically against your chest, mind already going fuzzy with accelerated exhilaration and a surge of pulsing thrill.

You tilt your head delicately over towards your left shoulder, exposing more of your gleaming, smooth naked skin to his view. Feeling the sudden tightness of his grip on each side of your arms slightly squeeze, a heavy, hot breath exhales from his full lips.

What a temptress you were.

He carefully weaves some of your loosen darken locks to the opposite side of your shoulder. Giving him a much better view of your luring skin.

Hums ever so deeply within the depths of his solid chest, leans in closer to the exposure of your neck and breathes heftily amongst the delicious, intoxicating aura that resonates from you. Stimulating his already spiked hunger and fervor for you.

With a quick glimpse over your shoulder, you were met with those beautiful pools of sleek ruby staring ever so intently and longingly down at you. Sending yet another wave of enticement and titillation down the stride of your tensed body, the added smoothness of his languid fingers brushing ever so softly, comfortingly along your limbs, only seeping deeper into the heightened, sensitivity of your growing yearning.

He takes in another inhale of your flushed skin, presses his nose just beneath the juncture of your clenching jawline and finally grazes his piercing fangs over along the sweetness of your plush flesh. The overwhelming, candied scent of your radiating aroma only violently routing his clouded carnal thoughts of wretched insatiability.

"Remember what I told you to do when it becomes too much?" his rasp voice drops a couple of octaves, grounded with nothing but over-consuming haste and need clawing through his baritone vocals.

You nodded slowly, inhaling another breath as your eyes peer back to note his dire glare.

Your thighs instinctively push together, skin crawling with arising goosebumps and pivoting elation.

He simply grunts deeply against your skin, breathing over you once more before reaching over the softness of your belly securely, pushing you back against his stern chest and finally sinks his edged fangs deep into the lush of your lavishing, warm flesh.

A steep growl and a sharp inhale through his nostrils fills the air around you. Along with the bitten back, inaudible hitched whine grating harshly down the back of your throat.

Hot waves of surged electricity and a tinge of burn seers all over your quickly heated skin. Your hands instinctively curl into tighten fists as your body hurls closer to the solidity of his firm, slightly hunched stature behind you.

You close your eyes tightly, fighting back the swelling thick tears blurring your vision. The intangible sensation of piercing pain quickly molds into a torrid, mind spluttering euphoria. Quickly washing over the piercing sting of his elongated teeth.

The rumbles and trickling reverberations of his grumbled grunts and elevated growls pings at the growing warm, fluttering sensation drawing all over you. Pushing your trembling thighs ever so tightly against one another with such shaken pressure. The pit of your swarming belly filled with heightened elevation and swelling rapture.

You hastily slump your head to the opposite direction of his nudged face smothered deep into your pulsing skin, lips finding home at the bulge of his flexing bicep.

You whimper more audibly at the accelerating, sweltering simulation coursing through the plain of your punctured neck. Your nails finding refuge on each side of his entrapping, muscular arms that draped around you.

Hardly flaking out your gritted teeth, you subtly skim them against the flimsy holographic fabric that hardly hid any of his protruding muscles. Whisking out yet another stammered groan from you, your nails prying into his suited skin.

Thick brows twitch to the sudden sensation of your nails clawing into him, slowly peers his hazy polished irises and captures the distinguished, rapturous expression drawn across your exquisite face. Reeling him in even more so to his deprived, twisted hunger and craving for you.

Instinctively bucks his hips into yours, earning himself a shaky, breathy moan to expel from your sputtering lips. Groans and huffs ever so heftily against your neck, palms strictly pulling you more closer into his encasing, hulked frame.

"F...fuck" was all that could be heard within the vast, dark vicinity you were both enraptured in. Your poor, smaller body trembles ever so violently when he begins to become more...touchy with you. Strong, wide hands roam curiously, needily along the voluptuous curves of your sweet, addicting body. His prone senses and spider like genes, revving into overdrive to consume you entirely.

Your head starting to become numb, lost into the burning passion of peeked arousal and pinched throbbing. Your hands softly run up the length of his contracting muscles, intricately and sensually, feeling up every crevice, dip and inch of his budging, clothed flesh.

Relishes in the way you caress his rough, rigid body.

Grumbles something deep and incoherent against your perpetual skin. His grip around you tightens as he absentmindedly walks you towards the nearest surface he could guide you to. Feels you stumble a bit as your mid abdomen hurls against the ledge of his office desk, bends you over gently as he continues to feed from your savory neck. Melds his firm hips against yours, sturdily pins you with his body against the cold surface of his once neatly organized desk.

Your palms quick to flatten themselves amongst the cool surface of his desk, chest pressing into the smooth, cold exterior.

"M-Miguel" you weave out a breath, feeling the hounding weight of his body pour down onto your back, his silky lips pressing and smearing ever so deeply into the flush of your pulsating skin.

His wandering hands never leaving your squirming, perfect body. Pulls and grinds you unbashfully against his own figure with such rigor and sensuality.

Your sweet, staggered moans only encourage his notions that much more. Pressing his pulsing bulge against the globe of your lush rear.

His teeth finally detaches from your neck, sheathes in a guttural, almost animalistic like groan against your skin. Too wrapped up in his own depraved rapture of senseless dry fucking you against his desk.

His mouth never parts far from your calling flesh, weighted breaths of pitched grunts and Spanish slurs cradles into the plushness of your neck.

"Joder, te sientes tan bien cariño…me haces tanto bien…" he husks out heavily, pressing the prominent tent of his bulge deep against the shape of your rippling bottom. Sultry, lapsed breaths fan swiftly along your ear. ("Fuck, you feel so good sweetheart…you're doing so good for me…")

"Just...just a little bit longer ok? just hold out a little bit longer for me, yeah? I just...need this...I need you right now- god, I just need you right now...so god damn b-bad" the blazing, enticing words that swindled off his perfect, full lips tremored all down your shuddering body.

Your nails scrapping and clawing pointlessly against the cold surface that pinned you against him.

Cheeks burned of pooling blood rushing to your adoring flesh, legs quaked to his every desperate grind and thrust he'd implore onto you.

After intense, moments of being so blindlessly consumed by the two of yours complete lust and desire for one another, you could feel the prompt halt of his hips messily plunging against yours. A torn, strained heavy grunt of pleasure hotly fuming deep int your heated ear.

Your body twitches sporadically against his stilled, tensed frame. Feeling a damped wetness prod against the upperside of your bottom. His hips gently rubbing against the soften, clothed backside of your body.

The weight of his foggy head slumps down amongst your right shoulder, sloppily yet, tenderly, places genuine, endearing kisses up and down the room of your exposed skin.

"Gracias, preciosa...you're too good for me"

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Kinktober 2024 - Pain Play (Fealty kink & dirty talk)

For @elentarial, my dear friend, who's given me yet another pairing I'd never written before. Túrin is made to submit to taste real freedom.

Prompts: Pain Play (Fealty kink & dirty talk)

Pairing: Túrin x Orodreth

Words: 565

Warnings: Pain Play, dirty talk, oral sex, dom/sub vibes, submission

The pressure of a slender foot upon his back was painful, but Túrin was too proud to say so out loud.

“A bridge,” Orodreth scoffed throatily as he flexed his leg to increase the force of his titillating punishment. “Who do you think you are?”

Wild, improvident dismay threatened to seduce the ill-fated human into speaking rash, unpardonable words, but he bit his tongue stubbornly.

Despite being his Lord, Orodreth was far from the oppressive paternal figure Túrin had defied and defamed before. On the contrary, the present ruler of the hitherto unassailable realm was of a rare, crystalline beauty that made his wilful subject wish he was a more amenable man.

“I’m your devoted servant,” Túrin purred, bowing his head low and splaying his murderous hands against the cold, iridescent tiles beneath him. “Do with me as you please, my liege.”

When he heard a low chuckle come from above, he smiled to himself.

Orodreth, calm and collected, was the first to fully realise how desperately Túrin yearned to be made to submit to the superior wisdom and power of another.

All his life, he’d been coaxed, cajoled, and castigated perfunctorily, but the fire in his blood demanded to be tamed.

“Will you contradict me publicly again?” Orodreth thundered, wrenching Túrin up by the arm with such force that they could hear his bones creak in protest.

Shaking his head, Túrin clenched his teeth against the nauseating wave of blinding agony as five cool, unyielding fingers closed around his chin like a vice of steel to make him look up into a pair of unfathomable eyes, ablaze with dark desire and dangerous displeasure.

“I want you to be good for me,” Orodreth purred. His tone made it very clear that he was issuing an order rather than stating a merely polite request. “You shall show me how much you respect me and my word by putting that impudent, impertinent mouth to better use. Do you understand me?”

When Túrin didn’t reply immediately, Orodreth slid his free hand into his hair and tugged.

The wonderfully rousing sting of white-hot pain brought Túrin back to himself, and he gave a sound that was half-moan, half-whimper.

“Very well. You may begin—you always surrender so beautifully! I admit being quite touched by this display of repentant grace,” Orodreth drawled and extended his hands invitingly.

Pushing past the dull ache thrumming along his raw nerves, Túrin rose a little to undo the laces of his rightful ruler’s richly embroidered breeches.

As he opened his trembling lips to welcome Orodreth’s thick, swollen cock inside him, Túrin couldn’t help groaning in utter relief.

There was no guilt or fateful manipulation here—his Lord to whom he’d sworn his unconditional fealty stated what he wanted, and Túrin complied dutifully.

Compared to the mental torment he suffered, he even earnestly relished the honest, clean sensation of the purely physical discomfort his rare disobedience triggered invariably.

“You do this so well, my darling,” Orodreth praised as his head fell back with a muted thud which only emboldened Túrin to work that glorious cock harder, faster, and deeper. “Just a little more! By the stars, you’re a rare treasure!”

Orodreth’s words had no hidden meaning—they were crude and genuine—and Túrin felt his constant anxiety abate as his Lord’s thighs spasmed and clenched.

This was worth every tear—at last, Túrin was free.

@tolkienpinupcalendar <3

Thank you so much for reading!

☞ Masterlist

[jeremy-ken-anderson]

When you talk about a show being palatable to a larger audience, Goblin Slayer falls pretty much at the opposite end of that ideal.

It goes out of its way to inflict trauma on the audience; to display horrible things and linger on them; to draw out uglier emotions from the viewer. This is interesting to me because it means there are many potential viewers who simply wouldn't be able to stomach this show. At the same time, it's one of the better-written high-fantasy (that is, "Tolkien-inspired") anime I've seen in a while. It also reminds me of Record of Lodoss War for all the times it cleaves to old ttrpg tropes.

I wonder what inspired the decision to make the cinematography of this anime as mean-spirited as it is. Do they feel as if the story of vengeance can't be told without the audience feeling the trauma of the vengeance-seeker? Is it a rite of passage or a kind of gatekeeping - a kind of "You must be this thick-skinned to enter" thing? Or is the author just a pretty decent writer who also happens to be a pervert and he decided to include sexual assault in his story because he could?

Also I kind of dig the harem setup in this one? Because it's tragic? Because every one of these young women interested in Goblin Slayer recognizes that there's a high chance this broken man won't ever understand their feelings toward him, let alone reciprocate.

At the same time it's a pretty blatant case of shoving the audience into a voyeuristic role without having that say anything in the story, which makes some of the cinematography borderline pornographic. Like, even the tired old 80s films with the peeping tom trope had the purpose of expressing the stupid and breathless excitement of a young boy transgressing as part of his sexual awakening. Didn't always say something wise, but it said something. A lot of the titillation in Goblin Slayer is there for its own sake and happens when we the audience are the only ones there to appreciate the weird camera angles.

The first episode is the worst one, in my opinion. If you're interested in the series maybe try starting at episode 2.

[gascon-en-exil]

Anon says as if FEH isn't using the few Male OCS to sell muscle. Bruno literaly became a meme and then there is the deer men of book VIII

Those are not remotely equivalent. Bruno hasn't been consistently relevant for years, and despite having been in the game since 2017 has all of two alts - neither of which are particularly sexy. The new deer guy is currently just background art; the internet only started thirsting after him so hard because we've been so starved of male OCs, especially after Book VII.

Further, the attempt to deflect from how female characters are objectified in FEH and similar properties by pointing out overly muscled male designs has always been a deeply flawed one. One exists for straight male titillation; the other exists as a straight male power fantasy. There is absolutely a point to be made about how hypermuscular bodies in media promote unhealthy ideas about what men should look like, but that's an entirely separate conversation from the one that frames characters as sex objects. Gay/bi men are best in a position to appreciate the issue from both sides, and the solution we most often pose when discussing such things is to show a wider variety of male bodies in states of (potentially eroticized) undress - a solution that I imagine would not go over well with the sorts of straight men who like to bring up muscular male characters as a gotcha.

The shirtless muscular guys of most media are never framed or positioned in the same way that even more modestly-dressed female characters often are when they're being marketed based on some kind of sex appeal. Gay porn games are the only type of animated media I've seen that treats male characters at all in the same way as female characters are handled on most of FEH's seasonal banners. As an example, let me revisit a point I made about a week ago, in reference to the new winter banner.

Here is Claude, wearing a reindeer-themed holiday outfit.

Now here is another character wearing a reindeer-themed holiday outfit, this time from the gay dating sim Camp Buddy: Scoutmaster Season.

A bit excessive? Yes, but I've got a point to make here. Let's talk about the differences. We've got

a crotch bulge, as well as a small treasure trail. Contrast summer Lorenz and his speedo with Ken doll anatomy.

extensive muscle definition, including pronounced tits pecs. Contrast summer Ephraim, summer Dimitri, and others.

visible nipples, something the internet also went crazy over when they randomly appeared on Fargus back in November. This isn't merely about being anatomically correct; nipples are an erogenous zone for some men, and to include them in a bare-chested design indicates that this character is not just a slab of muscle (as the power fantasy angle would prefer) but has potential erotic vulnerabilities.

a harness that greatly resembles bondage gear, and is in fact used in that way later on.

most obviously, about as much skin on display as the average female unit on summer banners

and while not apparent here, a willingness to commit to the inherent silliness of the bit in the subsequent sex scenes, which employ a flurry of intentionally bad holiday-themed puns and have the characters act out a reindeer-flavored variety of pony play.

But that's far too horny for a winter banner, you say? Don't tell that to Edelgard's thigh-highs and upskirt. Isn't that specific combination a fetish in its own right?

Or Yunaka with her cleavage and camel toe and strategically-placed bits of bare skin.

Or just look at the Byleths side-by-side. Only the female version is baring her shoulders and midriff in a form-fitting top...surely that's for entirely innocent reasons.

And again, check out any given summer banner and see just how far FEH will push its rating with its female cast.

Of course this is all from a gay male perspective; I can't speak to what women find attractive in animated male characters. Anecdotally the most popular options are characters who are already prominent and popular (so...not Bruno or the unnamed deer guy). Also, there are times when women in the fandom pick up on stuff about these guys' bodies that I wouldn't have even thought to eroticize at first, like Dimitri's proportionally small waist. Others can feel free to add onto this if they like.

TL;DR, if FEH truly wants to sell itself on sleaze (which of course it does, and already is), it seriously needs to step up its game with its male cast.

[glenngaylord]

Dam! - Film Review: Hundreds Of Beavers ★★★★

Tired of watching the world circling the drain? Would you like to smile for 108 minutes? Then trust me, drop everything and watch Hundreds Of Beavers now! This low-budget indie instant classic marks the feature directorial debut of Mike Cheslik who spent 4 years making it, including over 1500 effects shots in freezing temperatures in Wisconsin and Michigan. Remember that name.

But wait! There’s more! The story of Jean Kayak (co-writer and producer Ryland Brickson Cole Tews), a drunken Applejack salesman who goes on an epic journey across the frozen tundra to hunt and kill the aforementioned beavers in order to win over a strong-willed Furrier (Olivia Graves), is told in black and white with almost no dialogue. Although such influences as Looney Tunes, Buster Keaton, and the surreal films of Canadian legend Guy Madden shine through, this live action/animated hybrid remains in a class of its own.

Tews invites comparisons to the client era greats such as Charlie Chaplin and Harold Lloyd and holds his own with his bumbling, idiotic, yet crafty hunter. Despite facing one obstacle after another, much in the style of an anvil dropping on the Coyote as he chases down the Roadrunner, he always bounces back and stays true to his mission. The beavers, along with assorted rabbits, wolves and raccoons, all appear as actors in mascot costumes. It looks like the world’s largest furry convention as we watch the animals build dams, evade traps, and ultimately concoct a hilariously unexplained science fiction project.

At first, I thought this could have easily been a ten minute short, but the grand scale of it all won me over as the filmmakers consistently raisied the stakes and the mayhem factor. Every time Jean gets his tongue stuck on an object, a hook plunged through his hand, or an sudden icicle formed when he exhales, I had a terrible case of the tee-hees. You’ll witness literally dozens of whiz-bang scene with every single shot having something interesting and unexpected happening somewhere in the frame.

As Jean kills various creatures, he frequently takes them to a Trading Post headed up by a Merchant (Doug Mancheski) who hilariously chews tobacco and fails to land it in a cup. This recurring motif, just like the rest in the film, finds a hilarious payoff by the end. His daughter, the previously mentioned Furrier, takes a liking to Jean even while slicing apart his dead animals. Their relationship becomes the beating heart of the film. You root for this pair as Jean trades his pelts for hunting tools which often lead to disastrous consequences. His stabs at building fires, fishing, and creating traps feel operatic with this film’s extended run time.

If you’re a fan of shirtless bearded hunks, you’ve also come to the right place. In the real world, Jean would have succumbed to frostbite, but here, his lovely exposed bod feels more feature than bug. Sure, it’s titillating, but it also enhances the comedy. By the time he’s completely naked with his private parts strategically blocked by assorted objects, you’ve entered Austin Powers territory.

I can’t say enough about the creative work on display. Cheslik expertly layers practical shots with all manner of animated work, perfectly supported by a wonderful score by Chris Ryan. Everything zips along breathlessly thanks to Cheslik’s sense of pacing as he acts as his own Editor. Quinn Hester’s cinematography at first seems quite classic and simple, but as the mayhem intensifies, my jaw dropped. You just can’t believe what you’re seeing here.

Sure, all told, we’re cheering on as one man tries to slaughter literally hundreds of woodland critters, but it’s hard to be too put out when his prey all have zippers! I might have suggested cutting out 10-15 minutes, but when you have a movie titled Hundreds Of Beavers, size matters! So take a break from the real world and let the brilliant Cheslik and Tews transport you to your happy place.

[brunildabilali]

Satisfy Your Longings: A Glimpse into Ingenious Dining Establishment Menus

In a perpetually advancing culinary garden, uniqueness is the activity's label. Restaurateurs regularly aim to titillate palate buddies along with distinct tastes and also innovative blends. It's not practically providing a food; it has to do with supplying an experience. One establishment that has actually masterfully woven uniqueness into its own cooking textile is the Gin Palace Restaurant. Let's consider just how this mixed drink haven has actually redefined what it indicates to introduce on the menu.

The Origin of Advancement

Innovation in the cooking globe typically starts in the center of the innovative method-- the kitchen. Gourmet chefs at the Gin Palace take on experiments that test and also grow the taste buds. Discovering ingredients you have actually never been aware of or even believed to combine is actually not unique. In season menus, properly curated to show the best and most amazing meals, always keep restaurants returning for more. The fusion of standard approaches with innovative flavors makes sure that every meal is a distinct recommendation.

A Cocktail to Eat For

The star of the Gin Palace is, unsurprisingly, the gin. Crafted mixed drinks are actually greater than just beverages; they're a crafted knowledge. Each beverage is a lyric to the mixological crafts, coming from the choice of the excellent gin to the accurate blending of botanicals. The Gin Palace's bar is actually home to uncommon and vintage gins, some going out with back centuries.

International Infusions

The globe is actually an industry of tastes, as well as the Gin Palace has actually taken total perk. Street food-inspired tiny plates and also globally-influenced keys always keep the food selection knowledgeable and adventurous. The chefs draw from global street food scenes to turn classics, like Korean-fusion tacos or Indian-spiced fries. Fine eating encounters food truck in a good blend of the accessible and the splendid.

The Treat Difference

No food is actually complete without a wonderful ending, as well as the Gin Palace's dessert food selection is actually a grand ending deserving of applause. Puddings are actually not only wonderful, they are actually an event. The bread cook's developments reflect the innovative feeling of the cooking area as well as bench. One could locate a deconstructed tiramisu offered in a cocktail glass or even an elderflower-infused panna cotta as pleasing to the eye as it is to the flavor.

The Future of Taste

Appearing ahead of time, the Gin Palace as well as bistros like it are actually the pioneers of a culinary frontier where borders are regularly pressed. Menus will certainly end up being a stock and an adventure in print, guaranteeing an expertise that could merely be discovered within their wall surfaces. Technology that centers on narration by means of meals as well as cocktail is the future, as well as facilities able to commit in it will definitely experience the perks of a devoted, thrilled customers.

In a sector where the only constant is modification, development is actually not only a pattern; it is actually the key to survival. The Gin Palace displays this theory, and its own food selections are a testimony to the energy of bold to become different. The rewards are as unique as well as mouth-watering for those going to indulge as the dishes that style its own dining tables.

[stankycowboy]

“very well. tell me about something wicked, then.” / from del!

A slow, thoughtful smile extends across his face like a splitting wound. His once rampant chewing pauses, then resumes at a more stymied pace. The wintergreen flavor almost completely dissipated. “Wicked, huh?” He rolls his bottom lip between his upper teeth, eyes glazing as he runs through the gamut of his memory; of a recollection that might warrant the descriptor—something to titillate the youngest Endless. “Hm, how bout…how bout this”. He tells her of the slaughter of Ponyville. How he gunned down every man, woman and child. This was before the hunger. This was just for show. Just because he wanted to. He tells her how their bodies scattered over the dusty town, about the legend that not a single person escaped-- he can't vouch for its truth, but it seemed plausible on account of the sheer toll of the dead. No detail is spared for how long the shootout went, what few wounds he suffered, how each person was butchered. There is no shame when relating the deeds, if anything, there is joy. If he has done anything wicked in his life, it is this. It is what called Jesse to him. It is what got him turned. This outright display of casual murder called monsters to him, made him one himself. The blood that coats his hands now, is only a layer upon what had dried many years before. It goes to show his true nature, makes it clear what he is to his core. Wicked? Wicked is what he is. Not what he has become. He has always been a monster hidden in mortal skin. When he ran out of reasons to follow the laws of man, he became what they feared. There is a question of destiny to Severen. Was this path of midnight massacre chosen for him from the start, or had he cultivated it himself? The answer is unnecessary now. It is clear this is what he was meant to be. It is clear what he is. When the story draws to a close he is smiling at her, every tooth on display, glazed eyes giddy as her influence invades his mind. He is deep in the recesses of the memory, feeling the heady mix of adrenaline, the stench of blood and gunpowder clogging his nostrils. He can see the corpses scattered about them, it brings him joy. "I never saw another sunrise after that". And he never missed them since.

[pieties]

List of signs & how romantic they are because I’m autistic and trying to think and make sense of stuff idk

Aries- passionate, impulsive, not necessarily romantic but when they are it’s all passion and fire and adventure

Taurus- romantic in practical way ie: picnic, poetry, love letters, fancy dinner, expenses, spa, beauty and love and art combined, indulgence and feeling taken care of and taking care of. Poetic and sensual, earthly delights

Gemini- not romantic, but Witty, attractive, exciting. If there is romance, if comes from talking and they may have a romantic titillating way w words. Sapiosexual lol, mental romantic stimulation

Cancer- romantic in emotional and gestural ways- in some ways, a mix of Taurus’ practical indulgence and Gemini’s words of affirmations. But way more homely and intimacy through emotional depths.

Leo- grand gestural romance - wanting and giving. Public displays of affection. Also needs words of affirmations, practical romancing, emotional displays… kinda like the first 3 but more about undivided attention

Virgo- practical but incredibly devoted romantics. similar to the undivided attention of Leo’s, but more focussed on running errands for you, or you for them, helping, arranging, cleaning, adapting, serving… can be devotional in a sexy religious way if you will…

Libra- Flirtatious and diplomatic, balanced stable levelheaded romance w the classic stuff like flowers, fancy date, beauty similar to Taurus but on a more intellectual level… beauty and art and love combined, love as philosophy, law, negotiation, finding the perfect balance. Level-headed Sacrifices for each other

Scorpio- sacrifices like libra, but not always levelheaded. Willing to take big risks for both pleasure and to go deep emotionally with each other. Similar to cancer in the emotional depths but more piercing, with virgo devotion. Sensual and physical is amplified by the emotional depths

Sagittarius- adventure and passion are at the forefront, similar to Aries. philosophical like libra. Movement and change and travel, always in motion and never stagnant. Adaptable like virgo, stimulating conversation like Gemini. Exploring for the sake of exploring, optimism amplifying pleasure

Capricorn- loyalty to longterm partners. Have to see something worth holding on to. When it’s at that point, emotional depth like cancer and undivided attention like Leo. Practical matters like virgo. Sacrifices like libra and Scorpio, believe that beauty and love take work and the payoff is lovely. A naturally dominant air to them with a soft center

Aquarius- attracted to courage to leave the usual path and Underdogs with will and reason. Romantic in the philosophical way like libra and sag, intellectual stimulation like Gemini, undivided attention like Leo, loyalty and willing to comity to longterm worthwhile partners like Capricorn. Nontraditional romance, in love with your mind and ideas and values

Pisces- emotional depths like cancer and Scorpio, but more adaptable/mindchanging. Open to all possibilities, all dreams and desires, but quick to change mind. They Believe in their lover so much, devotional like virgo but in a spiritual and dreamier way rather than religious. Romance without boundaries

[jimin-bangtan]

Chameleon Park Jimin 3

~ Written after seeing several people expressing resistance to Jimin evolving over time ~

BTS extensively used social media platforms, vlogs, fan meets, fan signings, and other creative events to help increase their fanbase and name recognition.  In spite of the huge learning curve, long work hours, and meticulous practice sessions, Jimin always appeared to be upbeat and enthusiastic. He had chosen to take on the risk of learning his craft on the job with possible failures and slips on display, and then the company upped the vulnerability of exposure by having Jimin be the one who would expose his body on stage as well. He was required to be muscular and fit to titillate fans as he lifted his shirt to show his cut abs or tore off his shirt or performed shirtless. 

The pressure surrounding this act was likely both internal and external.  Jimin began doing heavy exercise and strict dieting. Severe dieting is more accurate. Although all the guys were required to commit to dieting, Jimin’s now self-imposed restrictions became so severe he would pass out, become weak, and be moody due to the lack of energy.  He has expressed that he felt uncomfortable exposing his body then and also remarked that they were instructed to do some risqué things that were uncomfortable at those ages. Now not only could fans witness any mishaps that might occur from the untrained voice being asked to perform while sometimes jumping around, dancing, and maintaining your breathing, but now those ill-intended audience members could add criticizing his body and overall appearance to the mix as well.

I feel Jimin appeared to have possibly developed an eating disorder at this time due to the high expectations and requirements. I say this because after that very muscular phase finally passed, Jimin became painfully thin at times, losing muscle mass and strength.  Being that Jimin is a perfectionist at heart, he often does everything he executes to the extreme - to his mental and physical detriment.

There was a time when the group became so concerned they had what seemed to be a filmed, group intervention for Jimin, where V explained that they wanted him to eat well because his health was more important than his looks.  That was a brave and loving thing for V to do, even if, at the time, Jimin resisted and felt uncomfortable with the exposure.  I feel the unhealthy dieting was an ongoing problem that he has hopefully overcome, although I presently still hear him talk quite often about weight and eating in a less than healthy way. I’ve observed that Jimin also gains weight to a normal amount then loses a significant amount of weight when performances approach.

Fans were not - and are not - always nice or polite and some were intentionally hurtful, and it’s only gotten worse since then.  Jimin was one member who was highly engaged in social media from early on, and most certainly saw the comments and conversations being had about it all.  Between the company’s requests, his own personal pride, as well as the ongoing stress of his chosen career, Jimin had a lot of pressure on his young shoulders.  Considering how young they all were, they handled the stress incredibly well, but it at times took its toll in other, less obvious, ways.

As BTS’s talent, success, and popularity increased, they understood more and more what they wanted to say, how they wanted to say it, and how they wanted to show it on stage.  Jimin went through some intense struggles, especially with his voice, but compensated for that with intense stage presence and performances.  While he was working to find and improve his full voice, he enhanced and elevated his dance and appearance.  He was always a very good singer with a good voice, but due to the sore throats and limited training, he suffered at times with the effort.  The situation really ate at his confidence and security, I feel. Fan criticism didn’t help the matter, yet he worked harder and continued to persevere.  The company and band recognized more and more what a commodity Jimin was and how his abilities could be used. His unique voice was found to be very useful in his higher range and his unusual tone added uniqueness and richness to the songs.  He was given more singing lines and more elaborate dance routines. 

Jimin also seemed to become a focus of humor for many of the episodes in the various reality type shows they filmed. Jimin can actually be very funny and would create interesting moments when he was involved.  V, during Festa 2020, described Jimin as often surprising them and was unofficially in charge of bringing surprises to the group. In other words, Jimin was innovative and interesting when doing the things he did. However, I feel the company often set up Jimin to lose some of those games intentionally because no one is that unlucky or unskilled that they would lose as often as he did. 

The company enjoyed dressing Jimin up in silly costumes and having him do the humiliating penalties because he was “so cute”, and unfortunately for Jimin, he was an attention magnet for viewers and fans. It appears to me that Jimin was not in on this joke because it seemed to wear on him at times. Even recently he made a remark that he was bad at games and lost often, but maybe his luck had changed.  I feel that while his bandmates were happy for the attention brought to the group (3 minutes), it sometimes bothered them that Jimin would often become the focus of the host or interviewer or fans at frequent moments.  I’m sure that created some unintended tension in the group occasionally.  

As I said, in the midst of this hectic professional life, Jimin was growing as a human being as well.  He is not perfect and had some learning to do as far as interacting with his members at home, being a bandmate on stage, or just existing personally.  They were all under stress, and as they have said many times, they would become touchy when tired and stressed and frustrated. 

Jimin had his moments where he said the wrong thing or used the wrong tone. Jimin could be sassy and has admitted that he has a blunt way of just saying what is on his mind. He says he can be clumsy with his words. Sometimes he was too playful or too flirtatious to his embarrassment or others.  All of this was done with cameras often in their faces, filming the work and behind the scene moments as well. 

I feel another way Jimin and the other maknae (younger) members were somewhat exploited was that more of their private lives were shown than the hyung (older) members. I don’t know if they were aware of how it would impact them over time or if they were told they didn’t have a choice, but they were at the editors’ mercy as far as the narratives created or shown about them. They may have been too young to understand the consequences and the permanent Internet presence of everything you had ever done, even if you had outgrown situations or later realized the effects.

In spite of the stage persona that Jimin executed so well, Jimin still was able to show that off stage he was genuinely an authentic, caring, warm individual.  He started the birthday celebrations and gift-giving culture within the group.  RM said people often have trouble complimenting or celebrating others’ accomplishments but Jimin never did. RM said he was grateful for Jimin’s ease at doing that for others. 

However, I don’t feel, for reasons I’m not sure, that others returned the favor for Jimin. And sadly, due to personal insecurities he already had, he was one who really needed to hear the positive feedback. There was a time he would ask things like, “What about me?” or “How’d I do?” when compliments were being given to others, and it may have looked as though he was seeking attention or praise when he actually really needed the approval for his peace of mind. With all the uncertainty created by his unsupported professional development, he needed to know he was pulling his weight and hitting the needed marks. 

Later, I feel Jimin had gained enough confidence not to need or to seek out external reassurance (and/or possibly others eventually gave him the feedback that he needed more freely).  On a very recent RunBTS when they were doing flying yoga, Jimin chose a back row to participate but then lost a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors initiated by V to have to move to the front row instead. He did not seek out the attention of the front row or the teacher’s praise, but you could tell it still affects him when he receives affirmation for his efforts. When the teacher said that Jimin was good at the activity, you could tell Jimin appreciated and was proud of the recognition but no longer was desperate to hear it. He even seemed surprised at the teacher sharing those words.

Jimin also likely needed the positive encouragement because the hate and criticism he was receiving online or in the media for anything and everything he did - or didn’t do - was continually growing and still exists to this day.  Over time, the online comments escalated from criticism to death threats. It became - and remains - very hostile and vicious.  The Jimin who would once talk openly and frequently on vlogs and VLives, began to withdraw and not share as much and not show up as much.  The Jimin who would post often and keep fans informed about what was happening in the group, while still respecting his and his bandmates’ privacy, began posting less and less. To his credit, he still remained positive and caring in spite of an almost organized effort to discredit, diminish, and devalue him.

I have explained how Jimin was transforming physically but also emotionally and behaviorally up to this point. Some changes were empowering due to positive experiences and events, and some were destructive due to harmful actions and intentions. All of the experiences were contributing in some way to who Jimin had become so far ----- and then came the Covid pandemic…

See Chameleon Park Jimin Part 4 -  This possible final chapter will more specifically address the current thoughts about Jimin’s evolution as pandemic and post pandemic situations and transformations took hold.

[sira365]

The Downfalls of Holoblogging (When You're Anakin Skywalker's Former Jedi Master)

characters:  Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker rating: Teen and Up Audiences word count: 1.8k ao3 • star wars masterlist

Summary: Running a holoblog has its pros and cons. For Obi-Wan, the scale seems to tip more to the bad side. He has to learn that the hard way.

Blue Milk - Why? A reader commented on my ‘ Beverages Yays and Nays’ post to do a write-up on blue milk, an Outer Rim speciality. I’ve been stuck on quite a few starships recently, and with nothing to do in hyperspace, I took it upon myself to bring this review to fruition. Blue milk is an acquired taste. I am deeply aware of my proclivity towards cerulean beverages (see my entry on ‘ Must-Order Drinks at The Outlander and Avoiding Death-Stick Dealers’) , yet blue milk still eludes my fancies. This horrid lactose drink is most objectionable in its purest form, leaving the consumer with a rude, gamy aftertaste of Bantha. Scathingly strong and hardly un noticeable, it overstays its welcome at the back of your throat.  There is much scientific literature to support the unappetising nature of blue-colored foods. Blue foods just do not occur naturally in the universe in significant amounts, consequently removing automatic appetite responses to anything blue. The color blue, when seen in exotic fauna, may also suggest poison, further prompting humanoids’ primal nature for self-preservation. On this basis, I must give blue milk a paltry 2.1 marks out of 10. Science is on my side. That is all I have for today. Last week, my work brought me to the fiery Mustafar system in the Outer Rim, so expect a titillating, spicy review of Mustafarian cuisine to be up next. May the force be with you. 

As he scanned his datapad, Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker's eyes widened like saucers, horrified, no, enraged by what he was reading on his datapad screen.

"Unbelievable!" He yelled out loud, "Koochoo!" 

Master Obi-Wan Kenobi lifted his head up from a projected display of Point Rain's terrain, and perked up a curious eyebrow at his former apprentice. 

"And what idiot has decided to incur the wrath of Anakin Skywalker this time?" Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin took a few impatient steps towards Obi-Wan, “Look at this shit on the Holonet!” He angrily gestured at his datapad, tilting the tablet so the older Jedi could also see the utter garbage he had just read.

Obi-Wan gave an exasperated eye roll. This was just another one of Anakin’s freaking-out-over-shit-he-saw-on-the-holonet crises. Just last week he had spent hours consoling the 20-year-old over netizens turning podracing into so-called holonet memes (“It’s a serious sport! This is outrageous!”) .  “Anakin, it’s the holonet, don’t waste your outrage on silly ar-” 

That’s when Obi-Wan saw the words at the top of the screen. 

He saw the font, he saw its azure tint, he saw the title: “Blue Milk - Why?” .

He remembers the font, specially picked to make the page look smart and clean; He remembers the tint, hand-chosen to fit the theme of the review; He remembers the title, carefully crafted to concisely encapsulate his thoughts.

In rainbow vivid memory, he remembers. He can see it in his head in perfect clarity, patiently typing it out on the voyage to Rodia, copying the passage to his browser, shaking an angry fist at everybody and no one when his connection faltered while uploading (flaky hyperspace net was the bane of Obi-Wan’s existence). 

Anakin Skywalker had stumbled upon his food review on his Holoblog; His food review was now Anakin Skywalker’s object of scorn; He was the koochoo .

Well kriff. 

“Yes? Do finish your spiel, Master.” Anakin quipped, making a childish yapping sign with his free arm.

For the first time in his life, Obi-Wan Kenobi didn’t quite know what to say.

His holoblog had always been a side hobby, something to do in transit. A Jedi’s life brought him to the most obscure corners of the galaxy, which was undoubtedly exciting. But throughout the years, Obi-Wan had found that the degree of adventure and the amount of boredom experienced while traveling were directly proportional, a tragic reality all intrepid Knights faced. What was a man supposed to do with himself while stuck in hyperspace? He found his solution in running a holoblog. 

A pseudonymous holoblog he started when he was a but a starry-eyed Padawan, ' Hello There, Galaxy ’ had accumulated a small but loyal following over the years. Needless to say, there was a lot on there that he didn't need his wayward ex-Padawan snooping around in. 

I have a bad feeling about this.

"This is unbelievable. You know what, I'm going to give this, this," Anakin aggressively swiped at the screen, scrolling through the blog page attempting to find the name of its owner, " Ben person a piece of my force damned mind. Do people not understand how versatile blue milk is? Blue milk custard, blue milk pudding, blue milk cake! Some people just need to keep their stupid opinions to themselves!"  His mechno arm tapped the screen of his datapad vigorously as he typed up a storm in the comments section.

“This, is, outrageous.” Anakin said what he was typing out loud, nose scrunched up in dissatisfaction.

That went on for a few more minutes, during which Obi-Wan cringed multiple times. Once because of Anakin’s scathing message, another because he was reminded of his former apprentice’s embarrassingly limited vocabulary - “Master, what’s another word for outrageous? Ugh, screw it.” - Obi-Wan found it appalling that one of his finer qualities never rubbed off on Anakin.  Not for the first time, Obi-Wan wondered where he had gone wrong. 

“Annddd send!” Anakin exclaimed, pressing the “comment” button on the bottom of the page. Unbeknownst to the young knight, his action was rather pointless considering the author had already heard and witnessed the rage-typing of what he wanted to say. 

Anakin returned his datapad to his tunic pocket, “That’ll show that snarky Ben what an - “

A ding rang out into the room. 

Anakin Skywalker paused mid rant to look at his Master, “Obi-Wan, did your datapad just beep?”

Obi-Wan cursed the day he got promoted to the Jedi Council. It was only after rising to the position of councilor did he start keeping his datapad’s notification system on, what with all the extra duties and communications he now had to take on.

The negotiator in him stepped in, “No, I believe it’s from one of the data terminals.”

Although he acted like one at times, Anakin Skywalker was no fool. He was certain that the sound rang out not from the data terminals, nor the command table, nor the PA system. The snappy, one-note chime undoubtedly originated from one of Master Kenobi’s beige tunic pockets. 

Anakin stared at his Master. Obi-Wan stared back. The two Jedi battled for dominance over the truth.

Anakin’s suspicions were raised, and with good reason. Of all the things to lie about in the universe, why on Coruscant would Obi-Wan choose an innocent notification bell to be dishonest about, unless it wasn’t innocent? 

Something more was going on and Anakin Skywalker was going to get to the bottom of it.

“Would you mind showing me your datapad, Master?”

Obi-Wan wouldn’t budge, “Why, that’s rather unnecessary, Anakin. It’s probably just some paperwork sent over by the council.” 

“Then there’s no issue giving me a look, is there?” Anakin challenged.

“It’s possibly confidential, my young friend.” Obi-Wan replied.

“Oh, I’d never tell.” Anakin made it a point to shrug his shoulders.

The two had started circling the strategy table, each calculating what tricks the other had up their sleeves. The holoprojection separated their prudent gazes.

“They’re all a drag. I wouldn’t want to bore a young Knight with all his future ahead of him to death now, would I?” Obi-Wan responded. 

Anakin knew his Master’s strengths lay in his wits and was painfully aware he could not beat Obi-Wan at his own game. In order to win, Anakin would have to turn the table in his favor. 

And so he did.

Grabbing the alloy rim of the anti-gravity strategy table in the center of the room, Anakin spun the floating surface with force, and the sandstone terrain of Geonosis swiveled across both Jedis’ eyes. 

“Anakin, what in Sith hells are you doing?” Obi-Wan couldn’t grasp what was going on, thrown off by his former apprentice’s abruptness (In retrospect, he should have known better). 

He only had a split-second window, but Anakin was able to seize Obi-Wan’s fatal moment of distraction. Swiftly, he threw out his arm and reached for Obi-Wan’s datapad using the Force, pulling the flat screen towards him straight from the Master Jedi’s pocket. 

By the time Obi-Wan realized what nefarious plot had just transpired, it was already too late. The evidence of his crime was in the hands of his former Padawan. His fate was sealed. In despair, he watched as Anakin activated the datapad. In resignation, he looked on as he saw Anakin’s slighted eyes widen, his suspicions confirmed. In exasperation, Obi-Wan braced himself for the melodrama that was about to go down. 

“Master, I think you have some explaining to do.” Anakin folded his arms in front of himself, displeased. 

Blue milk just stinks, Anakin. Obi-Wan wanted to say, but that wouldn’t be very diplomatic of him, nor would it be very helpful against an Anakin Skywalker grudge. No, it would not. 

“Anakin, there’s really not much I can say. It’s purely a personal opinion.” 

But the knight could not be assuaged. And if Anakin was to be completely frank, this squabble wasn’t about his Master’s ridiculous thoughts on blue milk anymore. How could his Master have kept his holoblog a secret from him all these years? It was…It was outrageous! 

Sure he had his secrets, what with his marriage and murders and what nots. But those were big secrets! Not something small and miniscule like a holoblog! And if Obi-Wan would hide something so trivial from him, what else was Obi-Wan not telling him?

“Why didn’t you tell me you have a blog, Obi-Wan?” He said, betrayed. 

“I, I didn’t think it was important.” And that was the truth, well, part of it at least. His decision to keep his blog on the downlow was largely motivated by keeping Anakin from reading those posts from his early twenties, when he admittedly had a bit of a wild streak going on. 

There was no way Anakin Skywalker would not be going over his blog later on. Being a pain in the ass was Anakin’s modus operandi afterall. In the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan spied Anakin already scrolling through his page. Obi-Wan sighed. He was too naive to think that Anakin would at least wait till he was gone to stalk his articles. 

“Obi-Wan, you did what with who in Canto Bight?!”

The Master Jedi groaned, both for the mentioning of Canto Bight and his former apprentice’s erroneous grammar. 

It’s “whom”, Anakin, “whom!”

“QV stands for…That’s Quinlan Vos, isn’t it, Obi-Wan? And, and Master Tachi too! Seriously, Obi-Wan?” 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. For the first time ever he wished that they were on Geonosis sooner. With Anakin on another corner of the battlefield, he could be rid of this tomfoolery. 

Sighing once again, Obi-Wan accepted his fate. He would just have to live with his former Padawan knowing about his - there was no nicer way to put it - dirty secrets. 

If only he had found another hyperspace pastime all those years ago. Who knew running a holoblog could be so dangerous?