#and is held in extremely high regard

[91939art]

We dunno the other two, but Riza Hawkeye and Blanca are just the best. Arguably, one of the most mature characters of their respective series.

With FMA it's meant as an enormous compliment as series is comprised of mature or maturing characters.

Both of them are also beautiful judges of character.

I love snipers...

[forcedhesitation]

it’s completely bananas to me that halsin's sex scene features a moment where he somehow loses control of his druidic powers and wildshapes into a bear, because he’s apparently that horny. like...gale had to be infected with a mindflayer tadpole for him to make mistakes in his spellcasting, even though he already carried a small nuclear bomb of evil, weave-consuming magic in his chest. what THE fuck is halsin’s excuse? like, as funny as it is for an archdruid to be so overcome with lust upon seeing a tdick that he loses his grip on his abilities, it makes absolutely no sense! what do you mean that this guy has enough power to open a portal to the shadowfell, and rescue a little fey boy from it, but he can't control his wildshaping because "bear horny?" HUH?

[lilislegacy]

did anyone else ever find it odd how easily zeus offered percy godhood? and how it almost seemed like he secretly wanted percy to accept? well i did, and after thinking long and hard about it…

i don’t think percy understood what turning down godhood really meant

demigods do tasks for the gods because they don’t have to follow any rules. they aren’t controlled by anyone or anything. demigods are a strange hybrid - not god, not human. they are in between the laws of immortal and mortal. they are not supposed to exist. yet they do, which is what makes them so extraordinary.

percy is crazy powerful. of course, there’s the aspect of raw power. he has domain over air (storms/hurricanes), land (earthquakes and volcanic eruptions), and sea (monster waves, tsunamis, floods, basically anything that involves water.) he can control bodily fluids. he has super strength (with one hand, he held up an unconscious annabeth who was being pulled down by both arachne AND the forces of tartarus). he has super speed (he moves faster than bullets in TTC). no matter how badly you hurt him, he automatically heals and regenerates the second he touches water (an ability no other demigod has). he’s an extraordinary swordsman. very skilled in combat and warfare. he’s smart, and thinks of plans quickly. but he also has a great deal of social/poltcial power… i mean, he’s a leader and hero to both the greek and roman camps. if he says “attack,” all demigods, greek or roman, attack. no question. do you have any idea how threatening that is to the olympians? he’s also best friends and has an empathy link with the lord of the wild, which basically means all of nature is by his side too, including all land creatures. he’s also prince of horses, which means pegasi too (both of which are extremely useful in battle). and of course all sea creatures, including the mythical ones like krakens and leviathans. not to mention many of the gods really like him. hermes, hephaestus, athena, aphrodite, and dionysis have all gone out of their way to help him. artemis holds him in high regard, especially since he saved her. apollo literally considers him his friend! and poseidon - his dad, the god who is the biggest threat to zeus - is fiercely protective of him and cares about him a great deal. many minor gods also like him because he demanded them to be given more respect and for their kids to be welcomed at the camps.

percy unknowingly has more power, both physical and social/political, than anyone should ever have. he may have absolutely no idea, but it must scare the living daylights out of zeus. by accepting zeus’s offer to become a god, percy would have submitted himself to the control of zeus. zeus would be his king and ruler. zeus would then have complete control over him.

but percy said no. therefore, percy remains out of zeus’s control.

percy had no idea what he was doing. but thank the gods he made that choice. thank the gods he’s an incredible person. thank the gods percy jackson has no desire for power, because he has more of it than anyone should ever be able to have.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Based off of something I saw on TikTok recently

Hotd characters that I think would be absolutely ecstatic in calling you his spouse(not in any particular order) :

Benjicot Blackwood:

This man is going to think it’s all a dream that you married him but once he finds comfort that it’s not and that you are in fact married, he’ll smile the biggest smile and just acts proud that you chose him out of every possible suitor.

He ain’t looking at anyone else when he’s got you babe, Willem Blackwood and Alysanne brought him up better than that and he knew better himself then to do such a thing.

He’s a simp for you and everyone in the Riverlands knows this, Oscar and Kermit tease him relentlessly for this but Benjicot doesn’t fucking care, he’ll happily let his mind wander to you and talk about you at any given moment if he were to see anything that made him think about you to anyone who could hear him.

Jacaerys Velaryon;

Devote husband who’ll gladly wait on you hand and foot without question.

He loved calling you his spouse, it fills him with joy and happiness in letting everyone know that you are bound to one another for eternity.

Anyone insults you? He’s quick to say ‘have care for what you say in front of my spouse.’ With his hands resting on the pommel of his sword, a silent threat that spoke a million words. He will not allow anyone to mess with you in any regard, as an insult on you might as well be an insult on him too and Jace won’t have that. You deserve respect and by the gods he’ll give you it tenfold.

Aeron Bracken;

He’s gonna be all chivalrous about it and such but you know he’s going to rub in the fact that he got you before a Blackwood could.

He loves that he had something over them now and it was the fact that you married him and he’s on cloud nine the entire time, he belonged to you and he’ll kneel before you often just so he could look up at you with those pretty eyes of his.

He may look like an angel in human form but you were akin to a deity he’d gladly lay his life down for if it meant getting to be the one laying in your arms each and every night. His sword was yours and he’ll cut down anyone you held a dislike towards for a while, just say the word and Aeron will seek them out for you, his beloved spouse.

Gwayne Hightower

Can and will use any opportunity to call you his spouse at any given moment of any day to the point it’s borderline annoying. Not for you and him though, for everyone else that is.

Gwayne will call you his spouse for all of those in court to hear and he’ll be smug about it too because why the fuck would he not! He’s married to the most wonderful person in all the realms; you! You can’t fault him for wanting to remind everyone that he was well and truly taken and happily so.

He says it in front of Criston Cole the most for the reactions that he gets, Criston wore his emotions clear as day on his face that it was obvious to know how he was feeling, so Gwayne abuses this fact to the high heavens.

He loves showing you off because he knows he had gotten extremely lucky in life when you came along.

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY kim chaewon x reader

↳ warnings richgirl!yn, read these three parts before this one if you haven’t already, getting glimpse into yn, chaewon is chaewon…, mentions of weight & throwing up, yn’s family (a real warning fr), pre debut stuff

yn knew who she was from a very young age.

she came from an old money family, the moon family, but it wasn’t just any old money—it was wealth built over generations of hard work, or so her father would tell her.

her family was extremely important, involved in almost every major company in korea. they held a high status and were regarded with the utmost respect, held to the highest standards imaginable.

and oh was that standard installed in yn.

the numbers four, ten, fourteen, sixteen, eighteen and nineteen is something that yn will always remember for six important reasons. It's likely the reason she is who she is today.

IV

age four is the last time yn remembers really crying.

she probably cried before that, but she obviously didn’t have the memory to recall those times.

ever since she was born, she remembers being in her father’s arms, never her mother’s. her father took care of her along with her brothers.

yn knew her father wasn’t the best man, but he wasn’t the worst. at least he acknowledged all three of his children. while he definitely paid more attention to her brothers, he still looked after her.

her mother, though, never acknowledged her. even when yn was a little baby, her mother’s focus was always on her boys.

both parents’ attention was always on the boys—they were the future of the family, the men of the family. at least her father made a little bit of effort when it came to yn.

at age four, yn was at the age where all she wanted to do was play outside, winter had fallen and disappeared and it was finally getting warmer outside, so it was the perfect opportunity to go play outside.

she asked her dad to accompany her but he was getting ready for a meeting.

“go play out front,” he said patting her head, “it’s beside my window, so I’ll be able to see you, the gate is locked so it should be safe, it’s big enough for you to run around, just watch out for the flowers, the maid planted them yesterday.”

yn excitedly ran out of her father's office, dashed down the large marble steps, and headed for the front door, but not without bumping into one of her older brothers.

“where you are going?” daeun asked his sister.

"outside! dad said I can play out front," she replied eagerly.

the ten year old clicked his tongue and shook his head. "lucky you. after jae’s done getting ready with mom, I'm next." he was about to remind her that the whole family had dress fittings today for the ball they were hosting, but she was already out the door.

yn basked in the sunlight as she ran out front, rolling in the grass and sprinting on the concrete.

suddenly, her foot slipped, causing her to fall and hit her knee on one of the decorative stones. blood started to paint the stone red

yn let out the loudest cry imaginable, clutching her knee, not even caring about the blood on her hands.

“yn!”

yn looked up, she furrowed her eyebrows confused to see her mother running towards her and not her father.

“oh my- what happened?!” the woman asked kneeling in front of her daughter.

“I was running and tripped.” yn sniffed as her mom lifted her up, she wrapped her arms around the woman’s shoulders leaning her head down, “where’s daddy? I need him to look at my knee.”

“he’s in his meeting,” the woman informed the crying girl, “I’ll look at your cut.”

“but he always looks at them! do you know how to look at mine?”

the woman patted her daughters back as they made their way inside the big house, “I look at your brothers all the time, let me patch you up and then get you ready for the dress fitting.”

instead of arguing more yn just sniffled tightening her grip on her mother who walked further into the house.

“we also can’t be crying like this anymore yn, we don’t do that here.”

age four is also the first and last time yn remembers being held by her mother.

it was also the last time she remembers fully crying.

age four the standard was officially introduced to her.

X

yn thanked her father as he passed her a second piece of bread. "jae, pass me the butter, please."

"you're having another piece of bread?" her brother asked with a grin. "slow down on the carbs, yn."

"pass your sister the butter," their father said sternly. jae immediately quieted his laughter and slid the butter over to yn.

daeun gave jae hard nudge, “leave yn alone it’s not her fault she’s menstruating.”

yn's mouth dropped open as her brothers laughed. She looked at her mother with a betrayed expression. "you told them?"

"I had to," her mother shrugged, cutting the beef on her plate. "they might have been concerned about why you're eating so much."

yn pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek. ehen she realized she was having her first period, she wanted to go to her dad, but what could he do? she knew she had to go to her mother, even if it made her uncomfortable

“yn is always eating though, especially this year.” jae said, “even the maid brings her snacks.”

“always snacking and writing those poems.”

"can you shut up, lardass?" yn snapped, getting ready to lunge over the large dinner table.

"leave your sister alone," their father said, taking a sip of his wine.

silence fills the table for their mother speaks up, “actually yn, I got your dress in a size four.”

yn looked up from her now abandoned bread confused, “size four? I’m a size eight though.”

“I know.” her mom shrugs, “I feel like you can be a little smaller, it would make you look attractive.”

“why does my ten year old sister need to be attractive?” daeun asked in a joking manner.

“you know what I mean.” their mother said before looking at yn, “you need to slim down a little honey, cut out some things.”

“can you two talk about this on your little girl hangouts.” jae cut in.

yn scoffed, “what girl hangouts.” she muttered to herself, her mother barely talks to her much less have girl hangouts, “may I be excused?” she looked at her father who nodded his head.

“where are you going?”

“the washroom.”

it had been two months since that dinner, yn stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom. her size four dress fitting perfectly.

“see,” her mother started, “you look so beautiful, size four is the size for you, I’m glad you took my advice on cutting out some food.”

yn stayed silent just look at herself in the mirror, she looked up at the ceiling as she felt the back of her eyes start the burn, the water threatening to spill out.

“are still sick?” she turned to look at jae and daeun who entered the room that their mother had exited.

“she was sick?” daeun asked look at his younger sister who sat her vanity, looking through her expensive perfumes.

“yeah for like the past two months.” jae said, “sometimes after dinner I would hear her throw up like crazy in the washroom.”

daeun raised his brow at yn who barley acknowledged jae’s words.

“can you guys tell dad I’ll be downstairs in a second.”

"Sure," jae said, tugging daeun along with him. daeun looked back at yn before shaking his head and following Jae out of the room. along with him.

there’s a reason yn will always remember the age ten.

XIV

the starting of age fourteen was weird for yn.

jae was eighteen and daeun was twenty , they were barely in the house these days cause they were making their way through training for the family name, they were slowly becoming more and more important to the family business.

while yn was stuck at in the big mansion she called home, her father was also out of the house, always at meetings and press conferences and if the boys are out the house her mother is also out the house.

so yn was really alone.

and she wanted out.

she was tired of the same routine, waking up, going to school, coming home, sleeping.

she laid on her big pink bed, humming along to the lyrics of hoot by girls generation that came from her cd player, she owned every album from the girl group.

yn loved music, she loved the singing, dancing and rapping, she could totally see her self doing that for living.

wait…

isn’t sm entertainment holding auditions…

today.

she jumped up from her bed and and ran down the marble steps of her house while she called her dad.

“hey daddy! I’m going out, where? oh nothing just want to get some fresh air, I won’t leave the gated community I promise.”

she knew if she called the chauffeur to drive her, he would tell her dad. yn huffed as she adjusted her skirt and her pink chanel sweater. she slipped on her Mary janes and turned off her phone.

she was going to have to make a run for it.

yn has never ran like this in her life, her father would kill her if he found out she was doing this but it felt so right.

she ran and ran until she was right in front of the recognizable building, sm entertainment.

she walked in to see a woman standing there with a paper in her hand, she look at yn and raised a brow, “hi! are you hear for auditions?”

“yes,” yn nodded her head, adjusting her sweater, “yes, I am.”

the woman scanned yn’s expensive attire, “really?”

“yes.” yn stated firmly, she could sense the woman’s thoughts, and if there’s one thing her father has always thought her, is to not let people underestimate you, she was above them. “is there a problem?”

yn adjusted her sweater even more, showing off the costum family crest that was sown into her sweater, causing the woman’s eyes the widen.

“oh nothing, the audition rooms is down this way.” the woman says gesturing down the hall, yn’s stern face melted into a kinda smile.

“thank you.” she said before walking down the hall.

as she walked she saw a line of people leaning on the wall beside the room.

yn made her way to join the line, standing beside a girl with bangs.

the girl looked at yn and smiled, “are you nervous?”

“this was kinda a rushed idea, so I don’t know how I feel yet.” yn said looking down at her mary jane’s.

the girl laughed and scanned over yn, “hey what’s up that that logo thing, I’ve seen it everywhere since i’ve been in korea.”

yn looked at the crest, “oh, it’s my family crest.”

“that’s cool, so your family is pretty big huh?”

“I guess who can say that,” yn said before looking at the backpack the girl had, “can you actually do me a favour.”

“depends on the favour.”

“can I put my sweater in your bag? and take it out after the auditions.”

“sure!”

yn unzipped her sweater while the girl opened her bag and stuffed it inside, “thank you so much.”

“no problem.” the girl says before looking at the shirt, “ I like your shirt.”

“thanks, it’s miumiu.”

“that sounds expensive, I’m yizhuo.”

“I’m yn.”

“good luck yn.”

“good luck to you too yizhuo.”

the girls stood in line for about an hour, yn listened to yizhuo talk off her ear about if they both made it into sm all the way until it yizhuo‘s turn.

yn looked at the time on her watch, her family wouldn’t be home for another couple hours, she should be able to get home on time , hopefully.

she watched as yizhuo walked out the room with a smile on her face, mouthing a good luck.

if they weren’t there before the nerves were definitely catching up to yn now, she took a deep breath and walked into the room to see three adults sitting.

she gave them a charming smile and stood in front of them.

“hello.” the woman out of the three said to the younger girl with a smile, “state your name and age.”

“I’m moon yn.” yn looks at the three adults, they were scanning her face as if they were trying to figure her out, “and I’m fourteen years old.”

“okay yn, what’s your specialty?” one of the men ask, looking the girls mary jane’s, how is she gonna dance in those?

“uh…” yn didn’t even know what to say, this was definitely an impulse decision on her end.

“always snacking and writing those poems”

“rap.” she states causing the three to raise their brows in surprise, obviously not expecting the girl decked out in pink to say that, “I love rapping.” she lied.

“show us you skills.” the woman said causing yn to mentally curse herself.

she looked deep into the back of her mind to find one of her writings, shaking off her nerves she recited something she wrote a while ago, her flow becoming better as she went on, trying her best to free style.

as she finished the woman nodded her head impressed, “did you write that yourself?” she asked writing on the paper in front of her.

“yes.”

one of the men hummed nodding his head, “now what song are you performing for us today?”

I guess her days of memorizing and singing girls generation songs and choreography is finally gonna pay off.

“I will be singing into the new world.” yn says shaking out her nerves.

the three nodded their heads surprised, this girl kept surprising them.

“let’s hear you.”

as yn started, all she did was think of the words her family members would tell her, to always show confidence, to show people that you’re better, and that’s what she did.

once she finished, she put her hand on her chest to smooth out her breathing, she can’t believe she just did that, the only time she’s done something like this was in the comfort of her big bedroom.

“thank you yn, you will definitely be hearing back from us.” the woman said to the girl who smiled and thanked them.

yn was about to rush out the room but was stopped by one of the men.

“are you related to the moon family, you look so familiar, like I’ve seen your face on tv.”

yn hesitated, she thought about lying but they would easily search her family up, “yes.” she nodded her head.

all three of them looked even more surprised, but yn had no time for more conversation rushing out the room and bumping into yizhuo, who had yn’s sweater in her hand.

“woah, you’re in a rush.”

“yeah, I have to head home.” yn said taking her sweater from yizhuo’s hand and dragging it on.

“wait can I get your number.” she asked handing yn her phone.

yn rushingly typed out her phone number in the girls phone and rushed out the building.

“it was nice meeting you!” she heard yizhuo yell.

and just like how she got to sm entertainment she got home the same way, she ran miles making her way to the gated community that she called her neighbourhood.

yn was about to make it through her gate, when she heard a familiar sounding car, she immediately ran to the back of the house and climbed the tall fence falling to the ground with a big thud.

she didn’t have time to whine about the pain and ran towards the outdoor stairs that lead to the balcony of her bedroom.

she slide open the clear sliding door and rushed into her room.

she took off her sweater letting out a sigh of relief until she heard foot steps heading towards her room, she threw the sweater across the room and jumped on her bed right on her stomach.

her bedroom door opened to reveal daeun, “dad wants to talk to you.” he said before closing her door.

yn felt a nervous feeling bubbling in her stomach as she got up from her bed and out her bedroom.

it was silent as she went down the stairs to find her father standing at the end of the stairs looking at her with a stern face.

“have a nice walk around the neighborhood?” he looked at yn who laughed nervously.

“yeah I got back an hour ago.” she lied forcing a smile.

“come with me.”

yn nervously followed her father into the dining area where the rest of her family sat staring down at her.

“sit.”

she sat beside jae who side eyed her before looking at their father, she hasn’t had much of an relationship with her brothers now that they’ve have started officially working with the family company.

she could brush of the obvious favouritism towards them when she was younger but as she got older the more she resented her brothers.

her father stood looking at her as she looked down in her lap.

“look at me, we don’t look down.” he said sternly causing yn to snap her head up immediately.

“now tell me why,” he starts, “one of my associates is telling me that they saw my daughter running around the city and entering the sm entertainment building?”

yn winced at the sound of her fathers voice before looking at her mother and brothers that just stare at her waiting for her to talk.

she couldn’t stay silent, if someone is talking to you, you answer them.

“I want to become an idol.” she says quietly, silence fills the air after her words.

“you want to become an idol?” her father asks shocked, why in the world would his daughter want to become an idol, “no, I won’t allow it.”

yn inched up in her chair looking at her father with pleading eyes, “come on dad, just look at it, if I debut and I have a perfect idol image, everyone will praise you for raising such a good daughter and bringing a good image to the family name.”

her father looks at her processing her words the look on his face made her hopeful, “I’ll be the best trainee to exist, I’ll be at the top of everything, I’ll be better than everyone, I’ll show them that the moon family is multi talented and not to be underestimated.”

there’s more silence.

“you’re gonna be at the top of everything, if you aren’t number one of everything I will take you out.” he says looking at yn who couldn’t fight her smile but dropped it immediately.

“thank you.” she replied in a level toned as her father just nodded in response.

“go to your room.”

she rushed out the dinning room and up the stairs to her room, as soon as she closed her door a smile broke onto a big smile.

she heard buzzing from her phone only to see an unknown number.

hey it’s yizhuo, I really hope we get to train together, wanna call rich girl ?

yn couldn’t help but playfully roll her at the nickname before typing out a sure.

she spent the whole night on the phone with yizhuo, she had never talked to a person like how she talked to her, she felt relaxed.

if she gets into sm she really hopes yizhuo gets in as well.

and her hopes came through.

yn squealed on the phone as her and yizhuo opened their letters at the same time, both of them being accepted into sm entertainment, meaning they’ll be training together.

yn will never forget fourteen.

XVI

age sixteen, was a age full of accomplishments and hardships.

she was number one for every single monthly evaluation since she started training at fourteen, living up to her promises she had made to her father.

the compliments that the trainers and senior idols that visited the trainees would say to her felt good, she had grown a passion for the little lie she made in her auditions she loved rapping, it was what she felt comfortable with.

but under all the accomplishments she has had, there was a girl who wanted to burst into tears everyday.

her father really took her words to heart about her being better than everyone, he told the company to make sure yn trained on her own in another practice room, making her isolated from the other trainees.

after a year yizhuo and her stoped texting and calling each other, yn’s head was full of training and being the best that she has barely paid attention to her phone.

she thrived in the praises her father would throw her when she would tell him that she hadn’t slept because she was training so much.

his thats my girls made her feel like she was on top of the word, with her father’s praises she didn’t need friends she didn’t want friends. all she wanted was to make him proud, maybe even have her mother finally notice her.

the other trainees would call her untouchable, and not in a good way she was pretty stuck up in their eyes, with her rich girl mentalities. when she was in the same room as them the aura always shifted she never laughed at jokes, she never cried at harsh feedback, she was always stone cold, when people tried to talk to her she would always say something shady and mean and walk off.

but she somehow came on top every time, even with her in their opinion shitty attitude.

she was like a robot, some of them wondered how she didn’t get tired.

but oh she did.

it was was five am and yn was currently passed out on the practice floor, she had been practicing since the early morning before with zero breaks, she didn’t remember the last time she had eaten anything but that didn’t matter when she was practicing.

voices were heard outside the door but yn didn’t even flinch completely out like a light.

“I never saw her leave yesterday.”

“why do you care yizhuo? didn’t she stop talking to you.”

“yeah but… I’m just worried.”

“is the door locked.”

“I don’t think so.”

“let’s check on her.”

the door creaked open and gasps filled the air, yizhuo and two other trainees jimin and minjeong ran over to yn’s passed out body.

“yn!” yizhuo shaking the girl who could barely open her eyes at the action.

yn tried to open her eyes fully but it was so difficult, she felt yizhuo pull her up to lean against her, “jimin unnie give her your water.”

jimin pulled the water bottle out her backpack and handed it to yizhuo who had to force the water in yn’s mouth since the girl could barely grip anything with how weak she was.

yn leaned against yizhuo as silence filled the air, the three girls looked at her with concern as she attempted to sit up.

“this is humiliating.” yn mumbled to herself as she looked at the three girls with red eyes.

“what happened?” jimin asked looking at the girl that she always thought was at the top of the world who currently looked like she fell off the top of the world.

“I don’t know,” yn said trying her best to keep eye contact with the older girl, “I was practicing and then I wasn’t.”

“you’ve been practicing since yesterday?” minjeong asked the girl shocked, she didn’t have much of an opinion on yn like how the other trainees did, she thought the girl was hard working to be honest, but now maybe a little too hard working, “have you eaten?”

“no, its whatever.”

“it’s not whatever.” yizhuo said looking at yn, “this is crazy yn, you’ve been blowing me off because you’ve been depriving yourself?”

all yn did was lean back onto the girl, exhaustion surrounding her.

“I was wondering how you stayed in shape, I guess the secret is you don’t eat.” minjeong said mindlessly, causing jimin to nudge her.

“hey,” the oldest started, “how about we go to the cafe across the street and get you something to eat, for yizhuo’s sake at least.”

yn looked at the older girl before letting out a sigh, allowing her to pull her off the ground.

jimin had firm grip on yn who could barely stand up as yizhuo and minjeong got off the floor.

“I’m practicing with you in this room for now on.” yizhuo said dusting herself off, “jimin and minjeong unnie are as well now.”

yn side eyed the girl, “I don’t think that’s allowed.”

“I don’t care, right?” yizhuo turned to jimin and minjeong who hesitantly nodded their heads in agreement.

yn stayed silent, looking at jimin In shock when she interlocked her hand with yn and guided her out the door, she barely knew the girl but was already acting so kind.

“I like your bag.” minjeong said to yn as the four of them walked, she picked it up for yn when they left th practice room, “how much was it?”

“actually never mind don’t tell me, It’ll hurt too much.” the girl cut yn off causing the other three to laugh.

yn will never forget sixteen because she acquired three of the most important people in her life at that age, plus another a year.

XVIII

age eighteen was when yn officially thought it was the end of the world.

after letting yizhuo, jimin and minjeong into her life she grew a sense of freedom.

she still worked just as hard as she did at sixteen but this time she had people looking after her, there was also a new addition to the friend group a year later.

yn laughed as aeri took photos of her in the practice room.

the five girls were put into a group together, they were told that they were gonna debut together, yn was just glad that she was debuting and with people she considered her friends.

“no fansite’s please.” yizhuo joked as she stood in front of yn guarding the girl from aeri’s phone, “that’s how we’re gonna act like when we debut.”

“knowing yn she’ll pose for them.” minjeong cut in laughing at the three girls.

“I’m made for the cameras.” yn joked posing for aeri while yizhuo kept blocking her.

“yn your phone is ringing.” jimin cut in on their fun, “I think it’s your dad.”

yn furrowed her eyebrows, why would he be calling her?

she took her phone from jimin’s hands and brought it to her ear, walking out into the hallway, “hey dad.”

“hey honey, I’ve got some news for you.” she couldn’t pin point her father’s tone as he talked, “the company is doing a partnership.”

“that’s good?” yn replied not understanding why her father needed to tell her this, the family barely talked to her about the business, “is that all?”

“no actually, it’s with hybe.” he said into the phone while yn tried her best to understand why he’s telling her this, “okay?”

“meaning you have to leave sm,” he says nonchalantly while yn felt like water had been poured all over her.

her heart was in her stomach, “what?”

“yeah, you’ll be transferred to be a trainee in source music.” he says it like he’s reading off of something, “you’ll be guaranteed a spot in their upcoming new girl group.”

“dad- I’m already in a group- I’m literally debuting in a couple of months.” yn felt like she was gonna throw up, all this hard work, her friends for nothing.

“this is business yn.” her father said sternly, “I can’t have you in company that could be a possible threat to money.”

“but you said, if I stay on top of everything I can stay in sm, I’ve been number one for the post four years almost five years.” she argues, this couldn’t be happened.

“I said you could be an idol if you stay on top of everything, nothing about the company.” her father said.

“dad please.” yn said into the phone her voice cracking.

“are you about to cry?” her father asked sternly, “we don’t do that, stop it.”

“I’m not crying.” yn said looking up, “just this is so unfair, I’ve worked hard.”

“so have I,” her father replied brushing off his daughter’s words, “it’s either you move to hybe or you’re not training anymore.

and with that he hung up.

yn took a deep breath to calm her nerves and opened the practice room door to only be met with four girls staring at her like they’ve seen a ghost.

“did you guys hear anything.” she asked, throwing her head back when they nodded.

“I’m sorry guys, he’s just such-”

“an asshole.” aeri cuts off looking at yn with sad eyes, “so you’re really leaving.”

“I guess I have to, this was just dropped on me out of thin air.” yn trying her best not to burst into tears.

“maybe we can all audition for hybe and become a group there.” minjeong said look at yn who slide down the wall and wrapped her arms around her knees.

“no you guys have worked too hard for that.”

“so have you,” jimin said, “this is so unfair.”

yn shrugged she looked at yizhuo who stared back at her, she could see the tears rushing to the girls eyes.

she smiled weakly at yizhuo who rushed to her side and bursted into tears, “this is so unfair, we were supposed to debut together, now what? you’re back to being a trainee?”

yn and the rest of the girls hugged the crying girl, “it’s okay.”

“it’s not okay.” yizhuo said harshly, “you’re supposed to be crying with me.”

yn couldn’t help but laugh at the girls words, “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to convince myself that this is fake.”

the girls huddled together in silence, “he said I have guaranteed spot in the line up for their new girl group.”

“so I guess we’ll see each other music shows?” aeri tried to lighten the mood, causing the girls the weakly laugh.

yn will never forget age eighteen, it was the year all her hard work went down the drain.

XIX

age nineteen was the age of complete chaos.

yn’s year of training at hybe was a lot, it was draining.

she trained under source for a while and hated it, she met a couple of girls that she was in the lineup with for the new girl group, they were pretty cool but it wasn’t the same as sm, she was the oldest out of all of them and didn’t connect with the girls much.

she had to watch aespa debut from behind the screen while she was stuck in the source music practice room, she still couldn’t believe her father, she always had a feeling that the family business would be put above her feelings one day but I guess she didn’t think that day would actually come.

she still talked to the girls who were now idols but it never felt the same on both ends, they were supposed to be together.

her days under source honestly felt like they were merged into one, everything was the same.

that was until yn was told that she was going to be moved under another label under hybe called ador with five other girls.

the six of them were gonna be the first new hybe girl group.

the girls were sweet, it was obvious all of them looked up to yn as a big sister, they also thought how rich she is was pretty cool.

but it was like the world was against yn because as soon as yn and the other ador girls were getting closer and getting ready for their debut yn got a call from her dad.

yn leaning against the mirror of the practice room, “hello?”

“hey honey did you get then news?”

yn slide down the mirror and say on the floor crossing her legs, “what news?”

“you’re getting moved back to source.” he says nonchalantly, “tomorrow to be exact.”

yn squeezed her eyes, “dad, you’re joking right?”

“when have I ever joked with you?”

he’s right, “so what? just like last time I can’t debut.”

“not exactly, plans changed I was told that your groups debut was gonna be postponed and that another girl group was gonna be debuting,”

yn furrowed her eyebrows she was not told this at all, “so what?”

“so, I told them that you would be a good asset to the group, you’re probably the most talented and would bring a lot of attention,”

“so I’m debuting in another group?”

“yes, you can thank me.”

yn rolled her eyes into the back of her head, “thanks dad…bye I have to tell the other girls.”

as much as she didn’t want to admit it she was excited to finally become an idol, all this hard work would finally mean something.

it was weird walking into that practice room full of other girls that have been working together, she was the new girl.

“this is yn, she will officially be apart of the lineup and will be working with you guys for now on, we’re gonna try our best to help her with the choreography and help her catch up with things, make her feel welcomed, she’s a really important figure, I’ll leave you guys to get to know her for a little.”

she tried her best to ignore the last sentence, her family followed her everywhere like a shadow.

“hello.” she said confidently even though she felt slightly uncomfortable under the eyes of the six girls.

she gave them a charming smile, “don’t worry I’m a fast learner, I think.”

she heard a giggle come from a girl standing in the far right causing yn to raise a brow at her.

“sorry,” the girl cleared her throat, “I’m kazuha.”

yn gave her a smile “nice to meet you kazuha.” she says before looking at the other girls.

she nodded along as they stated their names before looking at the last girl who just stared at her, “and yours is?”

“you don’t know me.”

“no sorry.”

“I’m kim chaewon.”

yn furrowed her eyebrows at the way the girl said her name to her, like she had some sort of authority over she, she didn’t like it.

“I’m moon yn,” yn responded, she didn’t have to say her name, that was already told earlier, but she felt like she had to.

chaewon raised a brow at yn’s tone, “rich girl huh?”

yn narrowed her eyes before turning towards the girl who had introduced herself as kazuha, “you seem cool, wanna show me some of the choreo before we have to start practicing?”

yn hasn’t acted this stand offish since she started at sm but it seemed needed, she couldn’t just let anyone talk to her the way they wanted, that’s not what she was taught.

the girl smiled at yn, “sure!”

as yn let the girl drag her to the other side of the room she heard the chaewon girl say something to the taller girl beside that she learned was yunjin, “this is who we lost ruka to? a stuck up rich girl?”

she decided to brush it off, it was the first day, they would probably warm up to each other.

oh how wrong was she.

nineteen was the age things officially went both uphill and downhill for yn.

this is just a chapter before things get worse ngl

[anghraine]

I know this has been noticed before, but Glorfindel delivering a prophecy about the Witch-king's destruction does not mean that Glorfindel is laying down the law about the Witch-king's vulnerability. Glorfindel in no way has that ability. He's struck by foresight about how the Witch-king will eventually fall and knows it won't be by the hand of "man." This doesn't mean any non-man/Man on the battlefield could have done it, or that Merry or Éowyn have some special "not a man" powers or abilities vs the Witch-king, but that Glorfindel prophetically knows the person/people who are going to end up doing it will not be men in any sense.

The ambiguity of Glorfindel's use of "man" here works really well for the English text, I'd say. In Tolkien's usage especially, "man" can mean "the species of humanity" or "adult male person," allowing for Glorfindel's prophecy to refer to Merry or Éowyn or both, but definitely not to Eärnur (an adult male and a human, however special).

BUT ALSO to be a pedantic nerd (when am I not?):

In-story the direct context of Glorfindel's prophecy is Glorfindel trying to convince Eärnur of Gondor not to pursue the Witch-king in Gondor's campaign against Angmar after the destruction of Arthedain. Glorfindel held him back at the time by telling him that he wasn't destined to defeat the Witch-king. But Glorfindel is a High Elf out of Valinor and Eärnur is a Númenórean prince of Gondor. Even by the end of the age, it's still very likely that a conversation between two such people would be in Sindarin or Quenya, and this interaction happens long before then.

This matters because, while the man/Man ambiguity works really well on a literary/meta level in English with what ends up happening, in the world of the story it wouldn't have been delivered in a language that actually contains that ambiguity (even Common may not, for all we know, but is unlikely to have been used here anyway). So, for instance, if Glorfindel was speaking to Eärnur in Quenya, he would have likely used either nér (adult male) or atan (human being), depending on which he actually meant.

From everything I've read of Tolkien's thoughts on the defeat of the Witch-king, I personally think it's likely that the prophecy would have referred to Éowyn rather than Merry, instrumental as he was.

But weirdly, this actually makes a lot of sense for the characters as well, IMO. Given how extremely unusual it appears to be for women of any species to be in direct combat in the regions where the Nazgûl are mainly active in the Third Age, it fits the Witch-king's overconfidence if he understood it to refer to gender and regarded himself as no more likely to be slain by a male Elf or dwarf or wizard than by Eärnur. And that would also fit with the uncertainty that strikes him when Éowyn declares that she's a woman.

So, in-story, I think the prophecy actually is about her and, more broadly, about gender.

[textmel8r]

HOLY RETRIBUTION. geto

(3.5k) non sorcerer bitches’ only use is to choke on pp or something like that

↝ cw . fem reader , reader def mentally unwell , extremely dubious consent , sadism , blow job , extreme degradation , cult leader geto , condom stays on because geto doesn’t wanna touch you lowly non sorcerer ew , facial , gagging , he legit almost kills reader with cock like,, chill girl

↝ an . this is so embarrassing guys im still taking time off but i was looking through my drafts and i wrote this so long ago for @inciseleviathan and i just never posted it so here are crumbs because you all are so nice to me. this is my first stand alone oneshot(n like first time i’ve ever written a sub reader…. i was shaking the entire time) + it was written so longgggg ago its so bad im sorry levi i suck butt at writing geto

↝ join my discord server! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

“Welcome, F/n L/n.”

You stand there, letting the heavy door to his room swing shut on its own. With a curt nod, you offer a gentle reply. “To be in your presence like this is an honor.”

Geto sits before you, spread-thigh and wide on his personal throne. A large, cushiony loveseat crafted from royal purple leather, its seams stitched in yellow twine. Resting an elbow on its arm, the man cradles his chin in the dip of a palm and regards you with an uninterested gaze. A stark contrast to the ways in which stars inhabit your eyes when you look toward him. Like you love him or something. Utterly pathetic. 

You move, bending a knee toward the ground, but Geto halts you. “Not yet.” So you rise back up to your feet. The obedience is appreciated; Geto enjoys this dynamic, holding the reins to your useless body. You’re the type to relinquish control in the face of high beings, he can practically smell the submission that permeated your aura. Geto smirks behind the fingers that cage his jaw. “So eager to sing praises.”

As if it was the most obvious thing in the world, you nod. “To you? Of course.”

“So I’ve seen. Your latest donations have been entirely too generous.” Cheekily, he giggles. “Does my cause really mean that much to you? Or were you just hoping to catch my attention?”

“I am just a humble follower looking to support,” you reply, bowing your neck. “I don’t want my actions to be misconstrued, this hasn’t been some sort of attempt to get in closer with you. I swear it.”

The devotion is so potent, it sends his nose wrinkling. “Raise your head. I told you it’s not time to pay obeisances yet.” Your head snaps forth, Geto can see the lump get swallowed down your throat. The hand he held to his face drops, and up the man sits, straightening his shoulders. Widening himself in all the ways similar to a predator intimidating its prey. “You’re not a sorcerer.”

You avert your eyes, bearing the shame in all its glory. “That’s right.” 

“You’re not much of anything, are you?” Not much besides a wimpy money bag he could suck dry. 

Again, you wilt. “No, Master Geto.”

It’s unbearable, the way you crumple so easily. Geto expected more, expected a little banter. Maybe a sweet smile, like all the other women liked to flash him with. A lame attempt at flirtation, to be likely shrugged off without a hitch. But this? This is utterly pathetic. 

Geto’s grin is forged in desolate disgust, eyes lidded and neck craned forward. “Step forward, will you please?” That sullen face, he must see it up close. Such a familiar expression, depression carved into the permanent frown lines that hang near the corners of your chapped lips. He knows them too well. Knows the dark circles and the permanent pout. “Look at me, and tell me what’s been troubling you.”

You stand closer, before his throne with awkwardly stiff posture. He awaits your answer patiently, calmly, giving you time to take several wet, wavering breaths of courage. “Do you see room for someone like me in your ideal world?” The question quivers with diffidence, those fingers of yours clawing restlessly into the hem of your worn sweater. “Someone… Someone as…” You struggle to find the word. “Unusable as me?”

He bites his lower lip. He has to, to stave off the cacophony of cackles knocking at the back of his teeth. “Unusable?” From an objective standpoint, you are wholly purposeless in his blueprint for the new world. A non sorcerer would only serve to poison the bloodline, it would never work. So he lies: “Please mind your tone. I don’t appreciate you speaking about my most faithful and devout subscriber like that.”

There is a moment of disbelief that glints happily in your somber, little eyes. The ghost of a smile echoes against your lips, weary, like you refuse to let yourself relish in feeling good. “Do you mean that?” There is a lilt of desperation lacing your words, like you need them to be true for your life’s sake. 

“I mean everything I say.” Oh, the irony. “Put your worries to rest, my dear. Your Master will always find a place for you.”

“I’m—uhm, may I bow now?” You sniffle and—here come the sweet tears, collecting in glassy beads, pulling down your lower lashes. “I’d like to bow, please.”

Still smiling, Geto shifts in his comfortable seat. The wooden zori sandals on his feet scrape against the traditional wooden floorboards as he widens his thighs graciously. A vacant space between his open legs that he points to; “kneel.”

There is a handful of seconds you spend hesitating, but you comply. You always do. 

“You’ve come to worship.”

“Yes.”

Your head blooms up towards him, as if Geto was the very sun. He studies, finding a deranged eroticism in the way your cheeks glisten under the warm, golden light of his room lamps. They’re sodden with tears of gratitude; gratitude towards him. Geto touches himself, a hand flattened against his own hulking thigh. Rubbing down towards his knee, then back up near his hip. A subtle gesture indicating the change in mood. 

“You know how I accept reverence.” That roaming palm of his dips down to swipe along the inside of his thigh. “Show me your glory and your love.”

Fatigue thrives in your movements. Slow as molasses, you shimmy your sweater up your torso, then over your head. Your undershirt comes off next, and his nods. “Bra too.” Your glory. Your love. You look pained, but strip nonetheless, discarding the underwear to the pile of clothes behind you. Geto makes a pleased grunt, subjecting your bare chest to his own minute of silent examination. He lets you stew in a pit of humility, glancing away while he strokes his sensitive spots to your frigid nudity. “You’re gorgeous.”

Embarrassed and short, “thank you, Master Geto.”

“There has never been a non sorcerer as beautiful.”

You wither, curling deeper in on yourself. With what? Discomfort? Or maybe chagrin, Geto muses. For such a useless bitch, you had a decently quick mind. He has no doubts that you sense the bullshit he hawks with all this sentimental beautiful garbage, as if he doesn’t sell every spineless broad that line. “Thank you, Master Geto.”

You know this, and still you donate. Still, you come back to service him. 

Thick robes bunch up around the circumference of his waist. Geto’s erection was prominent, even though the bagginess of his bontan pants. It’s a visible hard-on, stiff and poking out towards you. He massages his rod through his clothes, still watching you. The way you sit there and take it, let him beat off to your pitiful tears because this is how he’s trained his members to properly worship… “You must enjoy this,” he poses, breathy. 

“I… do.” Hesitance again. 

“Don’t you?” Geto presses, constricting the clothed head of his cock in a bruising grip. “This is a privilege. This is sacred.” He reaches for his pocket, nabs the tin package and fishes it out. A condom—he expected this from you today. Ever the greedy slut, or so he’d make you feel like you were despite your apprehension. “You should be grateful to receive my love.”

“You don’t love me…”

Truthful, he could never love something as insignificant as you. But he’d never say that aloud. “I love you,” Geto lies so easily it nearly scares himself. He loves you, he loves the troubled non sorcerer who came to him yesterday, he loves the one that came the day before that, and so forth. The man splits golden foil with his teeth, plucking out the condom and tucking the litter back into his pocket. “I love you,” Geto reiterates, reaching into his pants and pulling his hardness out over the waistband. “I love you,” he says one more time, while holding himself firm in one hand, rolling a sheath onto himself with the other. It’s purple latex, strangulating his shaft all the way down to his pulsing balls. The appendage hangs heavy between his legs, and you gawk at its every minute twitch. 

“You…” You flounder, stumbling over words. “Are we g-going to have…?”

“Have sex?” You nod, and Geto casts a scornful gaze upon you. “And disrespect the sanctity of my clerical celibacy? I should bleed you for thinking something so ridiculous.” Geto took an oath, a vow of abstinence and truth be told, he upholds that vow. Though, perhaps it’s his aversion to touching ordinary people that is the reason he’s made good on his sacred promise thus far. He can’t stomach the idea of flesh to non sorcerer flesh. 

“I’m sorry. I just assumed, w-with the protection.”

Geto takes his dick, pumping slowly. “You understand my caution. I don’t want our skin to meet, it’s unnatural.” Still masturbating himself, he huffs, “Tell me you understand.”

You nod absentmindedly, maybe even a little hurt, he thinks. “I understand.”

Geto smiles kindly, puffing out a cute chuckle. “Good.” He shakes his cock, wags it around in your face like he’s teasing a puppy with a piece of meat. “Go on, then. Idolize me with your mouth.”

He doesn’t moan—Geto never moans when he gets licked by useless bitches. It’s unexcitable, your perturbed kitten licks, nervously laving around the crown of his cock head like you’re afraid it’ll grow teeth and bite back. Brilliantly ordinary, and his jaw tenses in sexual irritation. 

“I said to idolize me.” 

“I’m trying!” And there you go, crying again. He throbs at the lowly mess of tears and snot and humiliation you wallow in, jaw shivering in quiet sob. “I’m trying, I promise!”

“Maybe you really are unusable…” He mutters as though he hasn’t already come to that conclusion thirty minutes prior. “Cannot even lick right.”

You plummet into a deeper bow, clammy forehead sticking to the filthy ground at his feet. It’s an abhorrent sight to see, and he watches with stone-face stoicism as you grovel. “I’m sorry!” Your shoulders stutter with each cry wracking your lungs, “I’m sorry, Master!”

He lets you spill tears, watching and waiting with his cheek perched against his balled fist. For fuck’s sake, he curses himself for overestimating your brittle psyche. Had that morose little visage you wore not been so devastatingly provocative, so worth salivating over, he’d have given you the boot already. Finally, Geto yields, nudging the back of your skull with the sole of his sandal. “Sit up.”

As always, even in your worst states of mental stress, you abide by his words. His law. Bare chest presented to him again, and Geto sighs, pleased. You really were a sexy thing, all squishy and damp and so very sick. The struggle will be worth it. “Good,” he praises loosely, “good.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, voice reduced to a wet, little whisper. 

Geto is quick to shake his head. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“But I can’t make you…” 

“Make me cum?”

You fluster at his bluntness, but nod sheepishly. “Not today.” Your eyes, they scamper to your top, forsaken to the floor. He sees the way you long to grab your sweater. “I don’t think I can today.”

“Today is as good a day as any.” Geto will not accept your retreat. Not now, not when his crotch yearns for the warmth of an esophagus. That plastic smile never wavers; it sticks to Geto’s lips like tar, mouth corners sharp as shards of glass. He cinched the muscles at his waist, his groin, and made his dick jump. It bobs, up and down and up, and the man sighs. “Can’t you see how it aches for you?”

You bear a grimace, looking past the swelling thing to regard Geto with empathetic eye contact. “It… Does it hurt?” 

“So much, I can barely stand it.” And the way you show your guilt so transparently has Geto’s intestines whirring. Because you wouldn’t do anything to cause pain to your Master. So sweet of you, honest. Still, he siphons your half assed consent by challenging that unshakable compassion within you. “Do you want me to hurt?”

“No,” the answer is abrupt, eager. “No, never.”

So easy. “Then you must wish to remain useless to me.” Geto laughs dryly. “That must be it, isn’t it?”

Distress oozes in the way you lunge forward, a shaky hand quickly finding purchase around the girth of him, and he sighs one more. “No,” you protest again, “no, no I’m sorry. We can do this today.” Lips purse against his cockhead; Geto lets you press your stupid kisses to him, even if the stimulation is hardly good enough to consider it worthwhile. 

“Settle down,” he commands gently, showering you in his pitying stare. “Do you need some help?”

“Yes, please, Master Geto.”

“Okay,” he softens to you. You’ll need every ounce of softness he decides to grant. He can feel that numbing chill torment his spine; despite the layers, Geto shivers with the weight of the chill. It’s a customary routine that has been written into his genetic code—to summon a curse was as easy as breathing. It’s an ugly thing, dispelling into the air, levitating above your crown like a fucked up halo. Vivid hues of sickly greens and oceanic blues meshed together in an amorphous, amalgamated fish-like curse. It blinks at him with one large, bloodshot eye, begging to be manipulated. 

“Take a deep breath, and put me in your mouth.”

The trust you’ve invested into Geto must be researched. You complete his every whim, inhaling a gulp of oxygen before ducking down to take his thick head. It sits in your mouth, against the plate of your twitchy tongue, bracing for something to happen. Geto has you right where he needs you.

The curse sinks through the atmosphere, plummets down to latch onto the nape of your delicate neck. You don’t miss its noticeable weight, and your eyes widen comically as your skull begins the slow descent down his shaft. He feels the tip of himself prod the webby back of your mouth; you feel it as well, lurching upwards with a strangled gag. 

He doesn’t feel sympathy. He doesn’t feel much of anything towards you besides twisted lechery, seeking rapture in every excruciating retch you shed on the impalement. It sickens him—when had he begun to seek release over women’s tears like this? At what point in his miserable existence did sex become a syrupy conduit to sadism? 

“Do not vomit on me.”

Nails bleed into the meat of his shins. You clutch at them, scratching for mercy through a layer of cotton. Another disgusting gag vibrates his dick when your chin meets his balls. He breathes ragged, uneven breaths, watching with parted lips as his cursed spirit forces your nose into the wiry tuft of his pubic bush. 

Visceral revulsion stickies Geto’s mouth. Your skin, your drool, it touches him. Rivulets of saliva and tears and sweat collect in the pit of his groin. “My love is in your throat.” The mess is hard to overlook, but Goddamn it, he can’t focus on anything past his own pleasure. A malevolent smirk is what Geto wears as he hunches forward. Chest heaving from over your head. “You’re turning blue.”

He giggles in excitement like a school boy, fixating on your struggle. Poor nostrils flared, and the frenzied inhaling tickles his sopping pubic bone. The claws in his legs grew weaker, your pupils rolling backwards and—oh no.

“Hey.” He lifts his hips, a quick and sharp thrust that knocks the consciousness back into your stupid brain. You choke violently, windpipe seizing so fucking nicely around him. “Hey. Wake up.”

Unintelligent babble fizzles out of you, and along with that, more globs of soapy spit. You’ve been shoved down for so deep, for so long, that Geto could actually get charged with battery assault. Or perhaps animal cruelty is more fitting for such a situation. As much as having your neck bulge like this really, really turns him on, Geto also needs you alive. Needs your income, your impressive donations. 

 “I’m ready to finish.” You must be so relieved, because you burst into tearful nods. “Let me have my way with you for a minute longer. That’s all I need.”

The cockwarming was a good preemptive to get the juices building, but Geto needs more to grab onto that climax. He needs more noises, and more struggling. He needs that repetitive back-and-forth of plunging a hole, the primal motion of pumping and pumping and pumping until he explodes. Leaning back and getting comfortable, Geto hoists his bulky thighs up and slides them onto the shelves of your bare shoulders. The angle is orgasmic like this, perfect trajectory to carve into the innermost core of your throat. Geto digs the heels of his stiff shoes into your upper back, and now, he points two lazy fingers towards the curse. A signal.

It grips your head, slimy body leeching between hair follicles, sucking onto your scalp. No warning permitted, the thing begins to oscillate in sporadic up-and-down movement. “Yes,” he cracks, infatuated by such a flawless display of submission. Your head gets bounced in his lap, mouth teeming with man and just giving in. Every single jolt and gasp and gag and sob and sniffle makes him preen, ass lifting to meet your vigorous throat with rough humps. “Fuck. I’m…”

It was a hasty in-the-moment decision when Geto exploits his curse, using it as a vestige for his impatient hands. The fish rips you from his cock, and you scramble to take in a glutinous gasp of spit-soaked fresh air. He’s on the edge, toeing the line of his orgasm, and in his lust, he kicks you back to the floor with his foot to your chestplate. Drained and malleable, dumb from his meat, you fall. Tits bouncing sluttily on your strident impact, and Geto wants to spank them ‘till they bruise. 

He’s already doused in you. Your saliva coats him like a second layer of skin, soaking his pubes so grotesquely that he feels compelled to reciprocate. His knees slam down hard enough to creak the floorboards, bracketing your head as it lolls back limply. “You impressed me,” Geto murmurs, swallowing his repulsion to wade his fingers through your DNA as he strips that futile tube of latex from his erection. He splats it lusciously against your forehead where it lays almost as useless as you. “I’d be a fool to question your loyalties after that display."

“Ngh…” It’s a small chirp, a barely-there sign that you’re still alive. He coos, sitting upright to kneel above your fucked-out skull.

“I thought I was going to dislocate your jaw,” Geto laughs breathlessly. You don’t return his laughter. He masturbates himself, one hand stroking your spit down his length in rough tugs, the other resting below to palm his sack. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t reply. Hell, you barely move. That’s alright, Geto enjoys this visual all the same. He’s fucking his fist, choking out stuttered breaths, aiming himself inches away from your wet face. “I accept your reverence,” he pants, “this is your purpose. This is what you m-mean to me.”

Your purpose in his new world is no greater than a Kleenex. A rag for him to spend his seed on and then toss behind the bed. He cums with an obscene groan, thumb pushing down on his throbbing tip to funnel gooey semen into the sliver of openness between your dry lips. Geto’s jaw hangs for the entirety of his orgasm, massaging out every last drop of his essence to feed you. It spurts, some whipping out over your cheek, down your chin, into your nostril. You whine in exhaustion, not even trying to combat the cock spraying your face. He bites his lip. 

“This is what you wanted, right?”

“...”

He shakes himself off, harvesting one last drip of cum that splashes against your upper lip, before tucking his ruined, slimy prick back into his pants. The urge to bathe bored into him; he was never a fan of that sticky post-sex grime, especially not a non sorcerer’s grime. “Well, this is what I wanted.” Geto stands in a smooth motion, despite his trembling thighs protesting. He cringes at the way his dick sticks to the fabric of his briefs. 

“A-Are you l-leaving?” You ask, still lying unmoving in a puddle of fluids, shivering against the cold wood. Your words come out croaky and soft, and Geto suspects he might’ve bruised your voice box.

“I am.” You flinch at his shortness. “You should clean yourself up.”

And then he leaves, sliding the door to his room shut. Geto could’ve stayed. He could’ve found a towel somewhere around the estate, he could’ve held you in his lap and stroked your hair and wiped away the remnants of his orgasm from your ruddy cheeks. But why would he waste his time? None of that bullshit will change the fact that, aftercare or not, you’ll still come to him at the same time next week for your holy retribution.

You’re addicted to receiving his love, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[fanaticsnail]

Aphrodisiac: Caesar Clown

Birthday Celebration Masterlist

Word Count: 2,600+

Themes: Caesar x f!reader, gendered terms used, aphrodisiac (reader), dub con, crying, whimpering, kissing, breeding mentioned, creampies, oral, multiple orgasms, angst, fluff, unrequited requited love, mdni, smut, 18+, nsfw.

Notes: It is @imveryyellow's birthday! Happy birthday, you absolute darling. I am so happy to share this fic made for you. I hope you like it! Art source from One Piece.

The crude squelching of hips snapping against hips echoed throughout the laboratory at the base of the Charlotte's keep. Pace set in an impossible rhythm, all fast and jagged, Caesar Clown exhaled in shaken pants and huffs of breath with every in-thrust.

“C-Caesar-!” you whined, cupping his hand gripping your thighs to hold him close while he stapled you to his desk, “Please, fuck me harder! I can't take much more of this!”

Caesar couldn't agree more, his stamina slowly depleting the longer he held you against himself. It was agony for him, each muscle contracting while his knees creaked and begged him to stop.

With the backs of your thighs against his stomach, holding both knees against his much larger chest, he continued driving in his extremely larger cock into your tiny cunt while sobbing out your name. With each buck forward, your breasts rippled and bounced for him.

Paper flying over the desk, several bottles of unmarked, cloudy liquids scattered on the floor, Caesar felt his edge approach once more. Your walls gripped and contracted around him, fluttering innocently like the wings of a butterfly while you began milking him of his release.

“Breed me, Caesar! Give me your cum. N-Need it!” you whimpered, tears beginning to pool on your waterline and sting at your creases. “Please fill me up. Please, please, please.”

“O-Oh, sh-sh-shit-!” Caesar cried in defeat, immediately flooding you with thick ropes of white, viscous splashback pooling at your entrance and painting his stomach with his release. Your vision split with a crack of lightning, abdomen contracting and squirting on his crotch as his tip flicked a switch deep within your body.

Both riding through your highs, he curled his body against yours and tested the flexibility in your legs and back. Holding his cock within your pussy, Caesar looked down at you with eyes holding the greatest sympathy.

He didn't mean for this to happen. Neither of you did. Lying beneath him, nipples pebbled, skin erupting in a sheen of beaded sweat, and goose-flesh puckering at every follicle on your body, your brows furrowed and eyes clenched while you caught your breath.

“How are you feeling, miss?” Caesar asked you softly, laying your legs either side of his hips and gently caressing your cheek.

“I-I-... I-... I need more,” you whimpered up at him, leaning into his touch and already feeling another wave of need rise in your gut and hold onto his cock. Caesar clicks his tongue empathetically before groaning at the way your pussy began squeezing him.

“I know, I know, I'm sorry. I wish it was anyone else-... That I was anyone else,” he admitted softly, attempting to stuff you with his rapidly reducing cock to no avail. “I promise, not much longer. I'm doing my absolute best for you.”

You sobbed when he retracted his cock from your needy core, but your cries morphed immediately to moans when he knelt between your legs and began kissing apologetically against your overly sensitive cunt. Kisses moved to swipes of his tongue flicking against your clit before moving down and drawing his former release out and consuming it alongside your arousal.

Each movement he made was an apology against your body. Each time he bobbed and swiped his head against your core, his honey coloured eyes flicked up to watch over your features. He read your body like a book, a scientist using your wriggles and bucks as a guide for testing his hypothesis regarding your pleasure.

Encouraging your hands down to grip his horns, he allowed you to guide him to move exactly as you needed him to. Feeling you once again close to your release, he chased your ecstasy while you reined him in.

“G-Gonna cum again-!” you warned him, shouting as your thighs shook over his ears, “Hghnmmm- Caesar!” Caesar gripped the desk beneath your ass, his knuckles swelling with white from the firm grasp while you abused his head by bucking into his face. He couldn't help the way his cock began to swell at the moment you coated his face with your transparent cum.

Slowly mouthing at your sensitive clit before drawing down to your slit, he romanced you with skilled ministrations against your quivering pussy. You released his horns from your grip and slumped back onto the wooden desk. Paper stuck to your back as you moved to look at the man kneeling beneath you.

Finally pulling his lips away from your pussy, he peered up at you through humble and innocent lashes.

“Any better?” he queries, his lips glistening with your slick coating it in a heavy sheen. “Worn off yet, or do you need more?” He rose back up before falling back onto his swiveling office chair.

You took a moment to drink him in, noting how worn and haggard his expression was. Eyes half-lidded and lips pouting, Caesar was exhausted, but his cock bobbed up invitingly against his abdomen.

“More.”

Working as the administrator for the Charlotte family, it was your job to personally oversee the progress Caesar Clown was making on the remedy for Big Mom's predicament. The impossibility she had found herself facing was the fact that, while she could continue making more and more children, her sons needed incubators for their seed to sprout into new life. They were impossibly large, and no spouse she found for them were fearless enough to take them.

She tried everything to bribe their partners into getting in the mood for them. Money, sweets, alcohol, time away from her island, returning home to their families as a bargaining chip for whether they become pregnant - but nothing worked. All out of resources, she procured the infamous scientist, Caesar Clown, to produce either a sufficient option for external insemination, or the easier option: an aphrodisiac.

Caesar went with the latter option.

Extracting spores from mushrooms, pollen from flowers, and remedies from herbs growing throughout the island: he bound them together in a centrifuge before fermenting them in demijohns beside his desk.

As you made your way towards his office, you were in your own head about everything balancing among your duties. Seek out Caesar, organize a delivery for sweets, find the kitchen staff and stock take inventory, likely return to Caesar once more to check up again, visit with Oven and Katakuri to get progress on their away missions, organize tea with Brulee and Pudding, hire a new groundskeeper to replace the one Big Mom was unsatisfied with, visit Caesar again to triple check his development: all to be done in a well timed manner and coinciding with tea and biscuits in the main hall with Big Mom to fill her in.

Big Mom has been working you to the brink of insanity, and you have been neglecting your most basic needs. Although eating and drinking, you barely got any sleep and you had no time to seek out any romantic interests of your own. You were no longer your own person. You lived and breathed to serve the Charlotte's, and you wore that title remarkably well.

The only person outside of the Charlotte's you got to see regularly was the clown working away at his desk. You saw no point in procuring him initially on a permanent payroll for the Charlotte's, but the fact he was attractive, and he was very easy for you to look at and talk to, meant a lot to you while you interacted with one another daily.

Everything was always: ‘yes, miss,’ ‘no, miss’, ‘not yet, miss’, and ‘as you wish, miss’ with him. He would look up at you, regardless as to how much smaller you were than the giant, and hold you on a pedestal as his only interaction with the outside world of late. You could tell he liked you, and you truly had no intention of ever taking it further than that…

…Until you knocked over one of the demijohns and spilled the unmarked liquid all over yourself.

The reaction was immediate: Caesar hastily sprinting to his feet and finding clothes and towels to dab it from your flesh while cursing, not at the loss of liquid, but how you were immediately exposed to it. He babbled out about how he was yet to find a remedy for the brew, and how there was only one way to dispose of the substance from your body.

You were barely alert to his words. As soon as the scent fled to your nose and fogged your vision in lustful clouds, your panties immediately splashed with the haste of your arousal. Without even being touched by an external source, simply the wind Caesar produced against your body while hastily drying your skin and cleaning you up was enough to have you climax immediately.

The mewls and cries you expelled, your pussy spasming in euphoria without ever being touched, was enough to inform Caesar that his product was well in motion and coursing through your veins.

“Miss, are you alright?” he asked softly, disposing of the rags immediately. His hands clasped around your ankles to check in on you, but your mind was in such a daze that you couldn't do anything other than suck in a shaken breath. Your knees buckled and you dropped a stack of paperwork you were carrying on the floor beneath you.

“C-Caesar,” you whined for him, attempting to clench your legs shut to provide your pussy with stimulation. “What the fuck did I just knock over? C-... Fuck-... Caesar, I n-need-... I need-...”

Immediately, you leaned down and captured his lips with your own, morphing them needily against his while reaching towards your clothes and peeling them from yourself. Caesar muffled a cry against your lips, scampering backwards and attempting to pull himself away to save you from using him to defile yourself with.

In lieu of calling you the little title he'd bestowed onto you, he whispered your name against your lips to gain your attention. Using his chin to pry himself away from your lips, he tried to have you see reason. He knew there was truly no use, the potent aphrodisiac now taking to your bloodstream through your respiratory system, and in search of one thing only he could truly give you.

You needed to be filled with his cum, and you needed to ride it out for as long as your pulse beat with the aphrodisiac flooding your system.

Caution to the wind, Caesar attempted to be as careful as he could with you in aiding you to a comfortable position, but he halted as soon as your hands began touching his cock. He was nowhere near as aroused as you were in your heightened state, but your enthusiasm for him caused his cock to immediately spring up in attention.

Caesar’s empathy was unmatched in this situation. He knew what Big Mom wanted, and this batch was extremely potent. Although he found you attractive and adored spending time with you, he knew that you would never want him the way he wanted you without this.

As he removed your arousal-soaked panties, and peeled off his garb, slowly placing your back against the desk, the only phrase he repeated was two words to depict his honesty intentions.

“I'm sorry.”

Using the reserves of your strength, you moved to stand on jellied legs. Hastily closing the distance between you both, you straddled his lap and sunk down your dripping pussy onto his cock and sighed in relief at the merger. Caesar groaned out and gently began rocking you up over his shaft by clapping a hand on either side of your ass.

He was so much larger than you, even from this position, your faces could barely touch. Opting instead to nuzzle into his chest, you both lazily rolled in time with one another while you felt the need once again bloom in your abdomen and spur you on.

“I'm sorry,” he again whispered, moving one of his hands to cradle the back of your neck into his chest, “I'm sorry this happened, and I'm sorry it's me helping you through it.” Caesar's tears began to fall, soft sobs spilling from his lips which ticked up at the edges while rolling his hips in time with your own. “I'm sorry for everything. You deserve more than this.”

You couldn't help but giggle at his admission, not so much laughing at his devastation, but reactionary to the situation currently unfolding between you. You, an administrator to Big Mom, being impaled on the cock of the man she hired to create an aphrodisiac so potent it would make any partner willing to be used as a depository for her children’s cum.

And he was the best lay of your life.

You were uncertain whether it was the aphrodisiac, or whether he truly was as skilled to make you see stars every time his mushroomed tip kissed your cervix. Planting your hands on his shoulders, you felt the aphrodisiac begin to wear off at the sides of your mind. Despite the need no longer incurring, you felt yourself truly wanting to continue riding him.

“What's-... What's so funny?” Caesar sniffled out, causing you to look up at him while you continued bobbing on his lap. You darted your eyes between both of his, and smiled broadly.

“You're… You're not half-bad at this, is all,” you giggled, “Regardless as to how brief the interactions are between us, I do enjoy your company, Caesar Clown. I'm glad it's you.” You drew your arms down to clutch at his waist, driving yourself harder on his lap and riding him with a hastened pace.

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpered, moving his hands to both girdle your waist within his thumbs and forefingers, “I love talking to you, too. You're the highlight of my day each time I see you down here.” He matched your rhythm, feeling his balls begin to twitch and quiver in his gut.

“You are mine too,” you admit, feeling your need begin to split at your vision, knowing this was truly an eruption fostered by your own needs, without the influence of the aphrodisiac. “I actually find you quite delightful. Y-You're also really fucking good at this. Fuck, a little slower please? Can you please fuck me harder too?”

“Yes, oh fuck, yes,” he gasped, using his much larger frame to slowly slot you down in timed rhythm on his lap. “I-... You-... Fuck, I've thought about this since I got here. D-Didn’t want it to be like this.”

As you felt your vision begin to tip over the edge, you moved your hands from his lap and hooked them around his neck. Drawing him closer to you, you pressed a needy and passionate kiss against him. All tongue, lips and teeth, you christened his cock in a crown of lust while you tasted yourself on his tongue.

He moaned in your mouth, feeling his abdomen tense up and his cock immediately shot up a lighter expulsion than the one he had moments prior. You came with a soft whimper against his lips, both of you slowing your movements while you were engulfed by his frame.

Breaking away from his kiss and gazing down at him, you smiled with a soft promise uttered from your lips.

“That's okay, Caesar. There's always next time.”

After cleaning one another up and sealing the soft pact with a kiss, you made it through your duties in a timely manner. With a small spring in your step, you had a progress report regarding Caesar’s success for Big Mom’s consideration prepared with an anecdotal, first-hand experience of how the concoction truly worked.

Finally seeing a future for the generations of Charlotte's, she was in such a delightful mood, she dismissed you and Caesar both from the remainder of your duties for a longer weekend. Using this time to navigate your budding feelings for one another, you truly enjoyed getting to know him better as a man rather than a coworker. You became quickly infatuated with him, and he was obsessed with you and the way he could make you smile.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @jadeddangel

🎶Happy Birthday to Me🎶

If you would like to celebrate by indulging my caffeine and bubble tea addiction, my Kofi link is here.

[survivalove]

one thing that annoys me is people reading yangchen’s books and acting like she should be this bloodthirsty assassin.

the point of yangchen’s character isn’t that she revels in violence. it’s that she would forsake her cultural beliefs for the sake of the world if she saw it necessary. and she did.

and the air nomads punished her for it.

because they were still a living and thriving culture that could hold their own accountable.

while the rest of the world held her in high regard for her efforts, even in death, there were those from her culture that wouldn’t let her deeds go unpunished on the permanent record.

aang doesn’t have that.

he can do whatever he wants and the rest of the world wouldn’t care. no one will ever hold him accountable for his cultural missteps so he has to. that’s why it’s important to aang to hold himself to his beliefs. to keep his people and culture alive.

do you ever watch celebrities talk about being famous? how they know they have legions of fans that will praise them no matter what? and how terrifying that is to them? how important family is to them? because those are the people that keep them grounded. do you line what that feels like? to be inherently famous and have no one left in your family to keep you grounded? to be a human that’s only ever seen as a god?

no, you don’t. i don’t. but that is the life aang lives.

it’s why people who complain about the finale are annoying. it’s why people using yangchen to downplay his choice is also annoying. and it’s why people acting like yangchen had nothing to lose are extremely annoying. because her choices cost her a lot. and it hurt her. because she loved her people too.

[sugairsstuff]

Hii,

I have a request I love protective Rhys so can you do a Rhys x reader where someone insults her and Rhys gets all overprotective and angry, like how dare they insult my mate🤭

I hope you have a great day and thank u for writing it

Bye❤️

i’m sorry for taking so long to write this! i hope you enjoy my spin on the prompt <3

i’m flattered

rhysand x fem/reader

warnings: none

description: a noble has quite a lot to say regarding your appointment to high lady. as much as you’d like to do it yourself, your loving mate swoops in to put them in their place.

Coming to the Court of Nightmares to play pretend in these political dances veiled in the disguise of a party was never something you were excited about through all your immortal years of knowing Rhysand. So, naturally, you were feeling an extra weight of anxiety now that you would be attending as the High Lady of the Night Court—therefore a major piece in what was originally just Rhysand and the Court of Nightmare’s game of chess. You understood your mate morphed himself into an entirely different person as he believed that the one way to keep this imbalanced section of the Night Court under order was to keep them intimidated with the illusion of a cruel leader—for who would challenge someone who held no moral bounds?

While your mate had years—if not centuries—of practice in carefully carving this mask to wear at a ball that wasn’t even a masquerade, you had only been High Lady for two years. Before that, you kept your head low or simply did not attend the events held in this part of the court. It goes without saying that you were extremely prone to criticism, which was especially worrying in a place that was kept under control through the guise that they were not allowed to question their authority.

Alas, your lover insisted that it would be better for you to attend with him. Rhysand promised that you were safe there in his company (and that the food and drinks would be to your liking), while urging that it was better to show your face and prove that these Fae did not make you afraid than stay behind and let them mumble amongst themselves. Because, of course, this court was no longer run by only the High Lord, so now you needed to demand respect as well.

Standing in the mirror, you decide that at least it was somehow easing to be wearing such an elegant gown to the ball. With long sleeves and a deep plunge, your black dress hugs your curves and falls over your hips to the floor. You thought it was a nice touch that the ends of the long skirt are flecked in white that gave the illusion you had just waded through a pool of stars. Your hair is done up nicely as well to flaunt your neck and the silver jewels decorating it, the light piece of jewelry falling deep on your chest.

“I’m wondering if bringing you may be a mistake after all,” a familiar voice hums lovingly behind you. You whirl around from the mirror, brows furrowed as you watch your mate expectantly for an explanation.

Rhysand chuckles, raising his hands in a surrendering gesture as he pushes himself off of the doorframe he was leaning against, “You are one beautiful distraction, darling. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to stay focused on politics when I have the brightest star in Prythian right at my side. That’s all.”

You roll your eyes regardless of the fact you’re now sure you didn’t need to put blush on when doing your make up earlier. “Oh, yeah, cover it up, Mr. High Lord,” you huff in faux annoyance, though perhaps some real insecurity.

Rhysand was quick to notice that, and even quicker to invade your personal space by wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you to his chest. “Don’t forget Mr. High Lord needs his Mrs. High Lady there,” he coos, grinning when his cheesy words evoke a sweet laugh from your lips.

You decide to change the topic rather than continue to brood over the inevitable reality of the ball you are about to be an unwanted spotlight in. “Is everyone else ready?” you ask, thinking of your friends who also are expected to be attending due to political reasons. Azriel, Cassian, and even Mor were always expected to at least show their faces.

Rhysand nods idly, clearly too distracted by you to shift his mind to be thinking about them. “They’re waiting, but I’m sure they won’t mind it if we’re a little late,” he says, grinning like a feline as he leans down over you to try and capture your lips with his. You evade Rhysand’s flirtatious attempts to seduce you by leaning back and resting your palm against his chest.

“Nuh-uh. No way am I being late to this thing,” though you pause and return his playful grin, “though if it goes well, maybe we can celebrate later. The zipper on this dress is pretty difficult to undo,” you hum.

“I’d be glad to lend a hand with that.” he winks, smiling like a fool as his boyish attitude earns yet another laugh from you.

Rhysand was a tempting sight to be seen, though. It appears as though he wanted to make you two look like dynastic royalty with the way you both are dressed, perhaps to look utterly untouchable to the rebellious crowd you are about to endure. His suit was pitch black, tailored perfectly to hug his V-shaped waist and embroidered with deep purple lacing at its hems. His sleek black hair is pushed back with what you assume is gel, though either by Rhysand’s doing or its own failure some of raven strands had fallen down over his forehead. You couldn’t help but make the allusion of you being the stars and him being the milky way.

“Alright, let’s go before you get too carried away,” you insist. And with that, Rhysand pulls you closer to him and winnows you to where your friends wait—some more impatiently, as Azriel stands with his arms crossed and an accusing expression at the two of you for being late.

By the time you arrive in the Court of Nightmares, you realize the party wasn’t starting without Rhysand and you. The throne room was done up extravagantly to meet the expectations of the High Fae citizens of Hewn City, the pure silver decorations a stark contrast to the deep, shiny ebony that the room was etched from.

Beautiful faces all around the room turn to watch you and your mate enter, their drinks idle in their hands and their conversations paused so that they can get a good look at the new High Lady. You swallow, keeping your chin up and moving on to the main floor alongside your mate. The back of Rhysand’s hand brushes yours, and when you turn to look up at him you see that he’s offering you his arm. You link your elbow with his, allowing him to lead you the rest of the way into the parted crowds.

When the pair of you begin to near the dais, you see only one throne sits at the centre of it. Rhysand seems to have this planned, though, as he gently guides you away and lets go of your elbow once you reach a small cluster of nobles. Of course, it all came down to symbolism and perception, because rulers who are supposed to be equals should have their own thrones to sit, and holding on to you when not walking would be seen as more controlling than chivalrous.

“High Lord, it’s been quite some time since you’ve visited,” one of the Fae spoke. Her features were sharp and dark, brought out by her even darker makeup. To your surprise, she turns to look at you, “And you’re not alone. You must be our new High Lady, I’ve never seen you at any of the parties here.” the nameless female hums, her gaze dragging down along you. You can see in her brown eyes she finds nothing to criticize as she releases a small ‘hmph’ of both disappointment and approval.

“Yes, I am. I’m glad to finally have the opportunity to visit Hewn City properly.” you respond, offering a small, neutral smile. You decided that maybe if you treat these people politely, and not allow any snide remarks to outwardly anger you, they would see you as immune to their judgment and would back down.

The female raises her brow. Rhysand later would tell you her name is Emelia, daughter of a family known for trades. But when you glance to your side, you realize your mate has been pulled aside with Mor in what looks like an unpleasant conversation with Keir, the steward of Hewn City.

Emelia decides to strike while you’re alone, having no respect for someone who, technically, wasn’t her direct authority, “Well, that makes it sounds like you weren’t allowed to visit the Court. Why, does your High Lord keep you at arm’s length?” she drawls, sipping her golden-flaked wine in a weak attempt to hide her triumphant smirk.

Your back straightens, stunned for only a moment at her implication. “Well, it’s just a little difficult finding free time to revel so often when there are duties I must see to for the Night Court as a whole. I’m not sure if you will understand, however, considering how many of these occasions you’ve mentioned you spend your time going to.” you quip, quickly realizing that being nice and courteous to people wouldn’t work, and that Rhysand was unfortunately right to maintain equilibrium in Hewn City through intimidation.

You leave Emelia fuming in your wake, not bidding her a farewell as you head to Rhysand who now converses with Keir alone. Your mate looks relieved when he sees you coming, moving like a wisp in your black dress across the ebony throne room. The male to his left, however, looks less than pleased to see you coming in contrast.

“Keir,” you greet as Rhysand bends to kiss your cheek in loving greeting.

Keir only says your name in return before looking to Rhysand. “Well, that’s all from me, enjoy your fun, Rhysand.” he says, sending a scrutinizing look your way before departing.

Your mate lets him go without the satisfaction of a response. Rhysand sighs, turning to face you and reaching a hand to adjust the positioning of your necklace. His hand brushes against your collarbone as you meet his eyes. “Was she giving you trouble?” he says, recalling that he had to leave you with Emelia, “I felt some tension on your end of the bond,” he murmurs, careful of the level of his voice due to the room being full of prying, pointy ears.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you assure him, taking your turn to do some adjusting by straightening the sculpted fabric of his overcoat. You thought you had managed yourself well with Emelia, who you assume was somewhere between a jealous young female to another rebellious citizen spewing the opinions fed to her by others, and your confidence began to return until you and Rhysand were silent enough for a conversation to reach your ears.

“Look at her. Dressed like a queen and yet she does nothing for the Night Court,” a male voice scoffed. You hear female and male voices laughing almost forcefully in adoration. The male continues, his voice only slightly muffled from the crowd and the distant music, “All I’m saying is, I don’t even work in politics and I could probably do a better job than her.”

After some more irritating cackling, a female voice pipes in, “The dress is tacky, anyway.”

With your heart in your stomach, you don’t even have the chance to look around and locate the owners of these voices as you notice your mate has already walked the few feet over to the small group near the edge of the throne room.

You worry that following after your mate and standing there as he, you assume, chides the yapping male, you make your way to the nearby refreshment table. Azriel thankfully stands there, who seems to be avidly trying to blend into the wall in order to avoid conversing with the unpleasant guests.

“Pretend we’re having a conversation. I’m eavesdropping.” you tell him once you arrive, and Azriel responds with a joking ‘yes, ma’am’ as you become another one of the pointy-eared eavesdroppers.

“Cielo,” you hear Rhysand drawl, a wicked grin on his face as he inserts himself into their conversation. Satisfaction begins to lift your heart back into place as the group’s laughter comes to an abrupt halt.

“Are you implying you think you’d be a better High Lady for me?” Rhysand hums, brow raising at Cielo, who now looks stiff with embarrassment. “Really, I had no idea you harboured such feelings for me, I’m truly flattered.” Rhysand continues just enough so that Cielo’s friends have turned their amusement to their rather humiliated looking pal.

Rhysand takes a step forward, a few inches taller than the glaring male. “I’d hate to break your heart, but if you ever speak about your High Lady and my mate in such a disgusting manner again, I will make an example out of you as to exactly what the punishment is for disrespecting your authority.” and just as his friends began to snicker, Rhysand’s sharp violet gaze turns to them. “And that goes for all of you,” he snaps. Rhysand stalks away, leaving the small crowd of Fae in silence as he finds you next to Azriel.

“You know,” you say cheekily, “I could’ve handled that, too.”

Rhysand sighs as he takes a glass of wine from the table, likely wanting some alcohol to stroke away the flames of his temper. “I know, darling. Sorry for beating you to it, I just couldn’t stand by and listen to them spit bullshit like that.” he scoffs. You can’t be bothered to be mad—too busy gleaming in triumph and pride over your love’s protectiveness.

“Well, I think they learned their lesson,” you giggle, glancing to the group who now watch you and Rhysand in weariness rather than entitlement.

“Good. If they can’t appreciate what you do for them, they could at least keep their mouths shut.” he hisses. You rest your hand on Rhysand’s elbow to bring his attention back to you.

“Why don’t we dance? That way, no one can judge us for not speaking to anyone.” you suggest.

Rhysand takes your hand and kisses the back of it, “I like the sound of that.” he agrees.

After a night full of dancing and more inevitable political conversations, you and Rhysand winnow back to the House of Wind as you call it a night. You find yourself standing in front of your long mirror, trying to reach back to undo the finicky zipper of your dress. You see Rhysand take a step closer to you in the mirror and feel as his hands snake into place on each side of your waist.

“So, how about that celebrating?” he grins to your reflection.

[canisalbus]

For some reason, I was always under the impression that Machete (through various misfortunes and happenstance) just sort of... BECAME a priest - I wasn't aware that be actually WANTED to be one :0 what was his reasoning for that line of work? I mean, I guess growing up in and around the church might foster an interest, but...?

Well, priests were held in extremely high regard at the time. Apart from nobility who had the benefit of proper education, they were usually the only people who were literate, and being able to read was a massive advantage. Social classes were extremely rigid, if you were born a peasant you died a peasant and so on. But if you managed to join the clergy, had luck on your side and didn't do abysmal job, you might be able to ascend to a higher status, accumulate more wealth and live reasonably comfortably regardless of your origins (to my understanding the main reason people didn't choose this path to escape poverty and hardship was because of the literacy requirement. I've read that some village priests could only write their name and memorized everything else, but for the most part you had to be able to write, read and speak at least passable Latin). Committing crimes against men of God was a severe offence, more so than regular laypeople, and (at leasts in some eras and places) priests themselves couldn't be tried in regular courts and had their own ecclesiastical courts instead, all of this made clergy kind of a protected class.

Machete spent his early childhood in a monastery, after his parents left him there (he was sickly and his family was stretched thin and couldn't care for him anymore. Before orphanages monasteries sometimes housed orphans and foundlings until they were old enough to be apprenticed). He grew up in a strongly religious environment so a certain sense of spirituality and fear of God was ingrained in him from early age. He was a quiet, meek, punctual and polite kid, and because he didn't like to play outside and was so well behaved, he was allowed inside the scriptorium and the library. He was inquisitive and very fascinated by books so the monks taught him to read, and when they commented he'd make a good priest he was instantly entranced with the idea. He wasn't interested in preaching, but if there was a chance he could be safe and respected, even regarded as holy, he felt he had to do everything in his power to attain that. Sure he was sort of guided and trained towards that goal all along, but he also genuinely thought it was something that would give his existence meaning and significance, after being discarded by his birth family and feeling vague worthlessness and lack of belonging ever since.

[nyerusnova]

Glad to see that Tim being a giant Dick Grayson fanboy is finally being highlighted again, and sparking more discussion especially on their early relationship! (Please gimme more!!! I love them so much, augh!)

Probably as a result of that surge, there seems to be reciprocal chatter on the topic of how young Tim actually felt towards Jason, too. It's honestly pretty interesting, because it's more nuanced than it appears at first glance.

Which means it's very fun to dissect! ✨

There's a degree of subjectivity to keep in mind, because readers are going to have different interpretations of the same scenes, or will pull from entirely different scenes than one another to form their individual view on this topic. That's just how it is in comic book fandom, for many things! Regardless, in this case... if the scale ranges from the extreme of "Jason was Tim's Robin" to the other extreme of "Tim actually hated Jason [as Robin] or thought he was a loser that got himself killed" — the actual truth is closer to the middle, as is often the case.

At least, in my opinion.

Mainly I want to focus on those relatively early days with this post, to highlight Tim's initial(-ish) feelings towards his heroes, and touch on the point at which they really begin to change. This turned into a very long post, though. Brevity is beyond my skill, so grab snacks and water lol. Transcripts for each image will be posted at the very end under the cut.

So, the two storylines I want to cover are "Rite of Passage," which is rolls into "Identity Crisis." (NOT to be confused with the major crossover event "Identity Crisis™" which came years later, and is where Jack Drake dies.... But it sure is an interesting coincidence that Tim deals with the loss of each parent in two similarly named stories!) These take place before Tim is even Robin, and I'll be considering them as one arc for this post.

Detective Comics vol. 1 #618 (July, 1990) -- Pages 1 & 2

"When Gotham needed him, he was there. When the Batman needed him, he was there. He was a hero."

"One day, I'll be as good as Jason. One day I'll wear the suit."

To start off, we have this opening from "Rite of Passage." Tim is still in training here, mainly helping Bruce with minor stuff from the cave. His parents are off traveling, alive and well as of these next few pages. He's still bright-eyed and full of wonder. An extraordinarily weird but ultimately innocent kid.

So his view on Jason is positive and fairly simple: a hero, and someone to look up to as Robin. Clearly, Tim here doesn't think Jason was deficient in his role, either as a protector of Gotham or as Batman's trusted partner.

Moreover, Tim already held Dick in very high regard because he was amazingly skilled before he became Robin. To Tim, that's not something he'll ever be able to achieve. Meanwhile, Jason wasn't like that. He was a regular kid without crazy acrobatic training since practically birth. Yet he still went on to be a hero—which is obviously motivational for Tim who finds himself in similar shoes.

It's true that Tim only ever knew or thought of Jason as Robin, and idolized him in that regard. But that's kind of all that mattered to him at that point, because he was this kid who was utterly star-struck by his heroes. Even if he's technically aware of their shortcomings as people, it's overshadowed by the hero-worship.

It was kind of the same with Bruce as Batman at first. (Which was still enough for Tim to risk life and limb to help his beloved hero, before Bruce even knew his name.) Dick was the only one Tim had any sort of "personal" relationship with beforehand, so there is an extra level of attachment—and hence why it was the nidus for his obsession with Batman. Yet even then, it wasn't like he actually knew anything about Dick as a person until later. Until then, Tim's ideas of him were all he had, too. With Jason, Tim just didn't get to know him at any point before his return (oof), apart from what he heard over the years secondhand (also oof).

Ultimately, it's the loss of innocence—along with the ricocheting bullet that is the unresolved guilt of those around him—that begins to change Tim's perception. Not just of Jason, but of things in general.

Batman vol. 1 #455 (Oct., 1990) -- Page 13

"I know why they do it now. Why they put on the suits, and the masks, and go out into the night. They're angry, they're full of rage. They want to hit back."

Losing his mother was a major shift for Tim, obviously. This is right after the previous storyline, and Tim's had the worst week or two of his life (so far). His monologue here is a reference to what happened to both Dick and Jason. The unbearable pain of loss, the rage masking the grief underneath. And importantly, that he feels both of them were justified in their anger. (And Bruce too, indirectly.)

The major theme of the aptly named "Identity Crisis" is to mirror aspects of Dick and Jason and Tim's lives—to show how they converged onto the same tragic road. It's something that Tim notices early in the story, and was frightened by. Now, horrifically, it's become a part of him as well. His parents are gone, and he was entirely helpless to do anything about it. Dick was the same way, Jason was the same way. The cycle is repeated.

In particular, the part about him wanting to go to Haiti for revenge—for his mother—sort of struck me as being an intentional parallel to Jason and Ethiopia. It's a bit of a stretch, especially in isolation, so others may see it differently (e.g. the angry ramblings of a grieving child that does sound like something anyone might say). But it always stuck out to me because of how much Tim is compared directly to Jason in this arc. More on that below.

It's not something I can really give an accurate feel of because it's a lot of subtle things that begin to add up, so I'd encourage folks to read this arc themselves to see what I mean. (Or maybe you'll still disagree which is fine too lol.) Again, many things are in reference to both Dick and Jason in relation to Tim, but it's weighted more on Jason's side.

Batman vol. 1 #455 (Oct., 1990) -- Page 18

"You think my anger will boil over, the way Jason's did. I can assure you, it won't!"

Tim's grief has begun to pull away the veil of idealism that enshrouded his heroes in his mind. It doesn't apply only to Jason, but to the rest of them. Plus add the fact that Tim's keenly aware that he's being managed, even if the adults around him are careful to not outright say certain things. He still knows.

Bruce, Dick, and Alfred are all worried about Tim potentially turning into "another Jason." They (and mainly Bruce) caution Tim to not ignore his emotions, but they're still concerned that he may be overly eager to prove himself in order to cope, and could get hurt or killed as a result. While they aren't wrong for their caution—especially at how unsettlingly similar all the circumstances are—they aren't very subtle about the elephant in the room.

Imagine how that would affect Tim's perception of his predecessor, especially when he's in the midst of a traumatic event he hasn't had time to fully process. The negative association is pretty much inevitable.

Tim's known from day one that he's walking in Jason's shadow, and now it's become inescapable. Tim went from seeing Jason as a goal to reach, to feeling that unless he surpasses him, he wasn't going to be taken seriously by anyone. However, as of this arc, Tim doesn't even fully come to that point yet.

Batman vol. 1 #456 (Nov., 1990) -- Pages 14 & 15

"Drop-outs don't make it. And dead heroes are no use to anyone!"

It's really easy to take away "Tim totally thought Jason got himself killed" as the main thing here, but I think that's missing the forest for the trees.

First some context: Bruce has gone out on a mission to get Scarecrow, and expressly forbade Tim from doing any shenanigans. Meanwhile, Tim is grappling with wanting to prove himself and trying to help Bruce from the cave, all while trying to deal with his emotions. At some point, he falls asleep and ends up having like... exhaustion-grief hallucinations of Dick!Robin and Jason!Robin who confusingly caution yet encourage him. The main theme of this part is facing your fears.

Depending on how you want to interpret the intent of Jason's dialogue here, you could go several ways with it. Ranging from "writer's feelings towards Jason" to "a peek into Tim's mind as his fears manifest as visions of his heroes" or some mixture thereof.

Though Tim argues with Bruce that Batman needs a Robin, we're shown that Tim is understandably scared of joining Batman's "war." He's still not willing to let Bruce go it alone, though, and that's something he feels more strongly than his fear.

Meanwhile, hallucination!Jason's warnings are a lamentation of what happened to him in a way, but it actually exactly describes Tim's current situation even more so. Unlike Jason, Tim is under-trained, under-experienced, doesn't even have a suit of his own yet. But like Jason, he can't sit by and do nothing while someone he cares about is in danger. Tim knows that if he goes out there, he will probably get himself killed, and it will be his own fault. So he's about to disobey Batman's orders, and fly right into danger. If that got Jason killed, then Tim—who is in a way worse position experience-wise���has every chance of ending up the same.

Like... it's about Jason, but it's also about Tim. It's Tim's worst fears made manifest, via the representation of why he is even here in the first place (Jason's death).

That's my theory anyway, but perhaps this is an overly charitable reading of this scene on my end. (Not that I think that makes me wrong lol.) However given that Grant wrote both parts of this arc, and the beginning of which is especially favorable towards Jason, it certainly is something to ponder. I have a lot of thoughts on it I can't expand on here tbh but perhaps that'll be another post.

Anyway, returning to the point of the similarities vs differences between Tim and Jason: since this is the arc that solidified Tim as the next Robin in comic continuity, it makes sense that the writers really pushed the comparisons between the two of them, specifically. (Even though Dick was pretty similar, as going against Batman's orders is the Robin thing to do, it's not his shoes Tim is directly filling.) So making Tim's "debut" story arc mirror Jason's "swansong" is an obvious narrative choice.

To drive home the parallels, I wanted to include this panel from just a few pages prior to the "daydream":

Batman vol. 1 #456 (Nov., 1990) -- Page 9

"The suit is magic."

That so distressingly close to Jason's famous "being Robin gives me magic" line (Batman #385, page 6). Given all the previous context, it's hard for me to just dismiss it as pure coincidence. Even if it is, the point still stands. Tim is shown having the some of the same heartbreakingly naive views as Jason once did, right in front of Jason's memorial, just as he's about to go and run off into the night against orders.

I think that speaks for itself. There's a lot to take away from it, if you so choose. Especially given the context of that specific Jason arc.

Alright, back to the main course:

So in the end, Tim actually goes out in civvies and a ski mask because if he fails, then at least he wouldn't bring shame to Robin's legacy™. When he gets fear gassed saving Batman, it's once again both Dick and Jason that he hallucinates encouraging him to push past his fear. (Shout out to the fact that he's literally more afraid of tarnishing the legacy of Batman & Robin than he is of dying.... I'm sure this will not be a recurring thing for him in the future.)

Tim's ideology is shown to be similar to Jason's, and the actions Tim ultimately takes are similar to Jason's... but the outcome is different. And it really isn't just "Tim succeeded where Jason failed." At least, that's not what I took away from this. Rather, Tim had no reason to succeed any more than he had to fail, just that he did. Luck combined with caution because he knew what happened to his predecessor, and the fact that Batman was there to finish the job all made the difference.

You could say (and I know some will) that it's just classic Jason character assassination and the writers trying to implore readers that this new kid is different we promise pls don't hate us look how much better he is! But in this case, that feels like it undermines the whole point of this story. It doesn't fit with what the characters actually say.

Thus, we return to the question of how Tim felt towards his predecessor. And the answer is different from where we started, because Tim is different. Not that different though. Because even though at this point Tim—like all the adults around him—has probably attributed Jason "going off on his own" being what led to his death, Tim still thought of him as a hero to look up to. It's about Robin, first and foremost, yes. But Tim is fully aware of the people who made that suit mean what it does, because it's all intertwined.

Batman vol. 1 #457 (Dec., 1990) -- Page 20

"I mean--Dick made it into a symbol the whole world knows. Jason gave his life for it."

Even further, Tim thinks of it in terms of Jason having given his life for what he believed in, for the legacy that now falls to Tim. There's a sense of gravitas there. He's afraid of failing both the Robins who came before him.

Ultimately do I think Tim adored and loved Jason on the same level as Dick or something? No. It's not comparable. (Dick was like part of some of Tim's earliest memories and everything! They have a really unique bond ok.) Yet Tim was also far from thinking poorly of Jason so early on. Frankly, it seems that Tim thought of Jason as a noble hero and a cautionary tale. Yes he took risks and sometimes went too far, generally stuff that Tim doesn't want to repeat and all that. At the same time, Tim still saw him as someone whose legacy and memory was worth honoring.

It's complicated, which is why I like it so much—because it feels real. Having conflicting feelings towards someone is... so human. Especially someone you never got to know, yet who plays such an integral role in your life via the shadow of their death. How can you feel anything but complicated towards them?

It has to be said that, yes, Tim's views—even before Jason's return—change over the years. He becomes more jaded as a person and is surrounded by people who are even more jaded than him... and who often mention Jason as the "failed Robin." It's something that's hung over Tim's head all the damn time. The curse of the Robin mantle.

So it shouldn't come as a surprise that Tim's idea of him becomes more akin to "sounds like a skill issue" as the years go by. All bets are off after Jason's return, and the Titans Tower Incident™. At that point it's firmly "I am better than you, loser" lmao.

And... that's all without getting too into things like authorial intent and general "moods" of different DC writers towards Jason at a given point. Or retcons that played a role in his characterization and how other characters talk about him, depending on what "era" you're reading. That's way beyond the scope of this post though!

TLDR; even though young Tim Drake was obsessed with Dick Grayson as Robin, he still looked up to Jason Todd as well. He didn't think of Jason as a cringefail loser until later. :)

(image dialogue transcripts under cut ↓)

Dialogue Transcript for Image 1 (Detective Comics vol. 1 #618 -- Page 1):

Narration box (Tim): When Gotham needed him, he was there. When the Batman needed him, he was there. He was a hero.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 2 (Detective Comics vol. 1 #618 -- Page 2):

(Scene continued from previous page)

Narration box: But he was nothing special, really. Just a boy, who was taught--trained--brought to his full potential by someone who knew how. Just a boy... like me. I know I can do it. I know I can. One day I'll be as good as Jason. One day I'll wear the suit. One day I'll be a hero.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 3 (Batman vol. 1 #455 -- Page 13):

Tim: I hate him! I hate him! I know why they do it now. Why they put on the suits, and the masks, and go out into the night. They're angry. Full of rage. They want to hit back. They want to fill the hole that's burning inside them.

Bruce: There's more to it than that, son. Much more.

Tim: I know. It's just--I feel--like going to Haiti myself and strangling that creep with my bare hands!

Bruce: The Obeah Man will spend the rest of his life in a prison hospital. He's history. Forget him! But don't fight against your anger. It's natural. Accept it. Live with it. One day it'll be your friend.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 4 (Batman vol. 1 #455 -- Panels from page 18):

Tim: Because you think my mother's death has upset me too much. Well, it did. But I've taken your words to heart. I can cope. You think my anger will boil over, the way Jason's did. I can assure you, it won't. But that doesn't make any difference, does it? Why can't you have a little faith in me?

Dialogue Transcript for Image 5 (Batman vol. 1 #456 -- Page 14):

Narration box (Tim): Blast it! My head's starting to swim. I'm about ready to give up. I almost wish I'd never heard of Batman and Robin!

Vision Dick: Heroes never give up, Tim.

Vision Jason: You know that.

Tim: Dick--! Jason Todd!

Vision Dick: You're training to fight in a war, Tim. It'll last all your life. No matter what, you have to go on fighting.

Vision Jason: Drop-outs don't make it. And dead heroes are no use to anyone! I thought I knew better than Batman. I thought I could run before I could walk. I killed myself, Tim. Because I couldn't wait. Because I couldn't think it through.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 6 (Batman vol. 1 #456 -- Page 15):

(Scene continued from previous page)

Vision Dick: Think, Tim. Concentrate!

Vision Jason: You can do it.

Both: You can do it!

Tim, waking up: What--? Robin...?

Narration box (Tim): I must have been daydreaming. They're right, though. There's a solution to everything. I can find it! So here I go again... Whim. Caprice. Doing something without forethought.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 7 (Batman vol. 1 #456 -- Panel from page 9):

Narration box (Tim): The suit is magic. It gives you power. It hides your weakness. It makes you give it everything you've got. It makes you a hero. If only I could!

Dialogue Transcript for Image 8 (Batman vol. 1 #457 -- Page 20):

Bruce: Are you afraid of it?

Tim: No. It isn't fear. It's more... the suit carries so much history. I mean--Dick made it into a symbol the whole world knows. Jason gave his life for it. Failing them--what they fought so hard to build--that's what worries me!

Bruce: I appreciate that, Tim. That costume weighs a whole lot more than any symbol should... and I'd be failing you if I expected you to bear that weight. So... let me know what you think.

Narration box: A mask has a double edged, he said. It hides your own anxiety as it strikes fear into your enemy.

[acapelladitty]

`♡° kinktober 2024! ---

☆ kink: voyuerism

☆ pairing: scarecrow/reader

☆ summary: Amused by his latest victim, Jonathan plies her with pheromones to see how it will impact his testing.

kinktober '24 ☆ main masterlist ☆ ao3

Tapping a long finger against the monitor which covered her small cell, Jonathan couldn’t deny the thrill of excitement which curled his spine and stirred his cock as he watched the scene before him unfolding.

The room was basic as could be and housed little else than a mattress, threadbare blanket, and a few bottles of water which he had been kind enough to replenish earlier before returning her to her cell. He had held her for three days, sweetened promises of allowing her to leave alive if she complied keeping her in line with his wishes.

He had fed and watered her, ensuring that his offerings were enough to keep her strong enough to endure his toxin.

Or at least, that is what he had informed her as he placed the first plate of food just within her door.

The subtle dose of aphrodisiacs which laced each bite of food and sip of water she inhaled was not a reality which she had to be made aware of.

Arousal. The bodies natural reaction to the stimuli which the world afforded it.

Fluttering eyes.

Shaking extremities.

Raised pulse.

Arousal manifested as fear.

Arousal manifested as lust.

The question of how lust would impact his toxin was a question which had plagued his thoughts in recent times and she had proven a fantastic test subject in that regard. She was compliant, submissive to his tests on the hope that he was a man of his word and would release her. A fool but one whose foolishness would be rewarded if she continued on her chosen path.

It didn’t hurt that she was easy on the eye and, despite his injuries, lust had yet to abandon him as quickly as some of his other sensibilities had.

And to see her now, her hand thrust down her pants and moving sloppily between her legs as she pleasured herself, had sparked his lust in a way which he had not felt in some time. His own cock hardening between his thighs, he watched her with hunger flashing in his sharp eyes as his own fingers clenched at his forearm.

Laying out against her mattress, her back and head slightly propped by the wall which she reclined against – the quality of the cameras which Nygma had installed allowed for a clear image as he zoomed in closer. Her expression was mixed, arousal laced with anxiety as her eyes visibly flicked to the door of her cell, as though waiting for him to discover her at any moment. Her hand was hidden by her pants but from the way her hips shifted against the mattress he could tell that she was rubbing herself with some speed – lips forming soft ‘o’ shapes as she presumably bit back her noises as much as possible.

Jonathan dropped a hand to his own pants – the fly quickly zipping open as he freed his half-hard cock from its confines. His thin hand wrapped around the base of his cock and he gave his shaft a firm squeeze, teasing himself to a full hardness as his other hand shifted to the switch which would turn on the speakers to her room.

“Debased, depraved little rabbit. Trapped in hell and yet still unable to keep pawing at herself like a wanton thing,” Jonathan scolded and his voice was even, giving nothing away of his own arousal as his hand jerked along his cock slowly.

Through the camera, he saw her startle as her fingers pulled free of her pants like they had burned her. Her eyes darted across the room in panic as she looked for the speaker and camera which he had installed in her room but her eyes found nothing as the electronics had been set into the very corner of the ceiling in such a way as to remain undetectable – a choice he had not alerted her to until this point.

“What? How are you- where are you? Can you see-” Her voice was pretty in how flustered and high-pitched it came out due to her shock.

She had a voice capable of making the most beautifully panicked noises as his toxin pulsed through her veins and forced her to experience various horrors which he had been meticulous in noting within her ‘file’.

“I can see everything, dear. What kind of doctor would I be if I were not capable of monitoring my patient at all times. For your own safety of course.”

Even though the camera was incapable of picking it up, Jonathan could sense the hot flush which swept across her face and crept down her lovely neck as she realised that he had seen everything she had been getting up to.

Stuttering and shaking as her hands pushed up into her hairline, her legs remained spread on the mattress as she swung her head around the room – still determined to source the camera which watched her every move.

“I didn’t mean to- I can’t help myself, Doctor. My body feels like it’s on fire.”

“Hmm, this could be a side-effect of the toxin,” Jonathan lied with an unseen smirk as his cock twitched in his hand, his own knees spreading wider as he hunched closer to the monitor. “An unexpected one and one which I have never encountered before. Perhaps something about you is different, some part of your psyche craving release from your fears. Attempting to avoid your instincts may result in unknown consequences, some more physically damaging than others.”

Her lip wobbled for a moment, her knees drawing up to her chest as her arms wrapped around them and pulled them even more flush against her upper body.

“What shoul-what should I do? You promised to take care of me,” her voice stuttered, hands shaking as they gripped her legs. “Dr. Crane, you promised.”

“You should keep going, dear.”

An answer which obviously shocked her as her mouth fell open in surprise.

“But-”

His palm polishing the head of his cock for a moment as he released his shaft, Jonathan only just caught the groan which threatened his lips.

“Arousal is a natural bedfellow of fear and beyond shame. Such release may be necessary for your own safety and we can investigate the source of this unexplained arousal during our next session. No other patient has even reacted in this way to their testing.”

Pleased with his lies and eager to follow through on his manipulations of her, Jonathan allowed something almost like concern to leak into his voice. She would question herself. Question her very morals and sense of self as her body betrayed her in such a way to a situation which no normal person would find any satisfaction in.

Perhaps she would work out his game, accuse him of slipping her drugs designed to induce such arousal, but he would deny her and his honesty in his use of toxin against her would benefit him. He had no reason to lie to her and her lack of understanding would shift her reality to one which could only benefit his goals.

Her movements uncertain, her fingers slipped down her pants once more and the microphone in her room picked up a soft sigh as she started to touch herself again.

Irritated by the lack of a fuller view, Jonathan flicked the switch once more and his voice flooded the room.

“Given the uncertainty of this reaction, you may wish to remove all clothing from your lower half so I may observe your physical reactions more thoroughly.”

“But then you’ll- I don’t-”

“For your own safety, dear.” Throwing the pet name out in an attempt to soothe her, Jonathan smirked as her hands shifted to the waistband of her pants and slowly pulled them free of her ass – exposing her entire lower half to Jonathan’s hungry gaze.

Her cunt was framed by dark pubic hair and the sight of it pulled a sharp growl from Jonathan’s throat as his cock twitched in his grip, his fingers jerking along the length messily as he imagined how she would taste under his busy tongue. A thought which only grew more intense as her fingers were quick to plunge within her hole, sinking in with such ease that Jonathan knew she was painfully wet and ready to bring herself to a satisfying release.

Masturbating in sync with her as her fingers continued to split between her hole and rubbing gently against her inflamed clit, Jonathan ensured that the microphone on his side was turned off to hide his own steady grunts as he jerked at his cock like an inexperienced schoolboy – arousal making his movements sloppy and uncoordinated as he leaned in as close to the monitor as he could.

He knew she had come when her fingers stuttered in their frantic movements and a sharp gasp cut through the soft moans which filtered through the microphone. Continuing to chase his own pleasure, Jonathan stared openly at the mess of her cunt – only slightly visible through the quality of the camera – as his cock jerked and his release spilled across his hand, a few errant drops falling to the floor as he continued to roll his calloused hand across his sensitive length to milk every bit of pleasure that he could.

His grunts slowly dissolving into controlled pants, something hot and almost like shame touched at his senses as the come down of his arousal hit, but he ignored it with a steeled spine as he quickly wiped his hand off on a nearby tissue and tucked his softening cock back into its confines.

On the monitor, a similar shame appeared to be affecting his little rabbit and her face was visibly reddened as she pulled her pants back up to cover her exposed cunt, her back settling against the wall as her knees drew up to her chest.

Clearing his throat and tone of any guilt, Jonathan flicked the microphone on once more.

“Have you satisfied those aroused feelings?”

“No.” She confessed, the words bursting from her throat with a clear desperation. “I still feel hot and uncomfortable and horny as hell. This isn’t right. I don’t want to feel like this.”

“We have little control of our natural reactions to stimuli,” Jonathan lied, “so perhaps you should continue to work on these feelings between our sessions. I will observe where appropriate to ensure that your body does not go into cardiac arrest or other catastrophic failures.”

His words had their intended effect; fear making her lip wobble even as arousal refused to leave her heated features.

It was beautiful.

And Jonathan couldn’t help but wonder how far he would push it as he held on to his little rabbit for as long as he deemed necessary.

[emblazons]

"Dustin's non-conformist plot keeping him ideologically separate from his friends and Steve is something they just introduced in S4, idk why they would make him different than his OG self and then finally give him a plot related only to losing Eddie in S5" yeah...no.

Let's take a stroll through canon and talk about it.

forewarning: long / image heavy post

The lead up to Dustin hitting a "wall" about his non-conformity has worked its way into all the seasons leading up to this one in EXTREMELY clear ways, even outside of Eddie. Eddie is just the tipping point for that bent toward non-conformity traumatizing him.

Dustin was one of the FIRST of the party to experience a desire to conform, which we saw when he got to know Steve, and then tired to emulate him using Steve's hair spray & embracing his (toxic) ideology about girls—

—until he backed away from the "lie" of conformist confidence he was trying to project (post-rejection) & ended up encouraged by Nancy...and seeing how that upset the shallow girls even more.

We start S3 with that "lesson learned" and immediately end up with a Dustin who calls people out on their bullshit in S3 and S4 when they were behaving like 'conformists' in regards to their romantic relationships + is true to himself in romance and his interests—

—who then in Season 4 finds a specific kind of kinship with Eddie in particular, because he embraced the "non-conformity" in a way none of his friends had on the same level (including Mike in his own way).

Dustin found kinship with Eddie not just because he looked up to him, but because he reflected back his own personality. They bonded over something Dustin had already learned for himself (that behaving in a way that is dishonest to your true self is not how you should go about your life) and held to it even to the point of challenging his best friends—

—only to immediately lose him and that kinship in the most brutal way possible, when Eddie finds out about the supernatural shit that has been haunting him in secret and helps him fight it....only to then die right in front of his eyes.

Like. Let's be so honest with ourselves. As brutal as him losing Steve (king of high school, struggling EVEN NOW because he doesn't know how to be his authentic self) would be...it would not have even a modicum of the same effect on him given his current self-perception. It would hurt, lets be clear...but it's not tied to his own sense of identity the way Eddie had become, and we even see it in how Dustin regularly calls Steve's mindset and his behaviors foolish throughout S3-S4.

The loss of Eddie ties into Dustin's sense of himself in a way that has been building up for 3/4 of the seasons we've had so far—and him being left with Eddie's last words to continue that non-conformity as the impetus for him feeling isolated from his remaining friends while being haunted by Vecna makes perfect sense narratively if you think about Dustin as a character on his own.

just...you know. Some food for thought lmao

[butch-reidentified]

I've spoken before about psychopathy, particularly my own, and the importance of recent research and demolishing the stigma and absolutely absurd past conceptions and measures of psychopathy, which were exclusively based on studies of male prisoners convicted of violent crime.

Just to reiterate - psychopathy is not being deranged and uncontrollably violent. Villanelle from Killing Eve is actually an excellent and well-researched example of high-EQ female psychopathy, and the first fictional portrayal I can genuinely see myself in. Psychopaths with high EQ are entirely capable of cognitive empathy, and many (like myself) are actually very gifted in it, and can even make excellent counselors/therapists as a result of this combined with a lack of strong internal biases and the fact that we won't be emotionally impacted/drained by patients. This presentation of psychopathy is becoming more and more recognized and studied, and is distinctly more common in women. We retain the core defining traits, obviously - boldness, deviancy, disinhibition, very high fear threshold, a tendency toward meanness (self-control is a thing, though), reduced capacity for remorse and regret*, and of course lack of affective (emotional) empathy - but are much more able to moderate ourselves and prioritize social functioning, and tend to view the sadistic behavior of low-EQ psychopathic males as wasteful. My wife calls it "prosocial psychopathy."

Anyway, I just kind of wanted to touch on this again since it's been a while and there's a fair few new followers out here. I encourage you to read the above links and check the tag - it's a pretty interesting topic, to me at least.

Edit 4/25/2024: *Regarding the reduced capacity for remorse/regret: I firmly believe this sounds worse than it is. For people like me, at least, it's not that I'm going around doing terrible things and incapable of feeling bad about any of them. The truth is that remorse & regret most frequently occur as a result of intensely emotion-driven behaviors, which as a concept is largely foreign to me - I don't tend toward remorse/regret because the way I interact with the world, analyze situations, and choose to behave in response, is inherently from the very beginning done with the acceptance of potential consequences actively held in my mind. I'm not prone to regret/remorse because I know myself extremely well and make choices as consistent with my understanding of self as possible, having already prepared myself for the possibility that things could go wrong. It's more about being prepared for what might happen and able to cope when things do go wrong, rather than being a piece of shit and not feeling anything about it.

This doesn't make me better or worse than others; it's a neutral fact that male supremacy has made seem otherwise by constantly claiming that "logic" or whatever is superior to emotions. Fuck that. Loads of the best people I've ever known have been very emotion-driven (what non-shit people identify as a form of being passionate) and some of the shittest people I've known would waste their dying breath insisting they're 100% logical creatures, as if that's even a real thing. To me it feels very simple: if I'm making the best (most internally consistent, most reflective of my personality and values, etc) decisions I possibly can with whatever information I have at the time, then I've done my best, acted with integrity, and don't need to regret my choices. This is very challenging to write/talk about bc of the stigma & connotations involved, but again, this is a completely neutral fact to me in the same way I describe being a woman as a completely neutral fact despite the stigma & connotations involved there. Does any of this make sense?

[readychilledwine]

Champagne Papí

Summary - Rhys just can't help but celebrate your recent accomplishments in the most extreme ways

Warnings - Alcohol, Mentions of wing clipping, Feyssian, drunk shenanigans, and sexual references/jokes

🎂Birthday Masterlist🎂

✨️Rhysand Masterlist✨️Master Masterlist✨️

All you had wanted to celebrate your new research publication was a quiet night with your mate and the Inner Circle circle, and Heavens knew you deserved it.

Years spent researching from dusk to dawn, countless hours with papers surrounding you with notes crossed out, rewritten, x'd out again, and then circled aggressively. Being a daughter of Day made you meticulous, a perfectionist, and frankly, too smart for anyone else's good. Helion being your uncle only made that worse.

You were practically raised in his lap, reading from a young age, asking him big questions, and only taking a nap once your curiosity had been sated. It had turned you into a scholar, and one the Night Court was desperate for once Helion shared you were near a breakthrough regarding the repair of clipped wings, but you just needed someone with wings to try it on.

Emerie was a shining example of your hard work. She was glowing next to Mor, repaired wings fluttering in delight as they were examined. You had found a surgical procedure that, in combination with healing magic, allowed you to reconnect the tissue and for everything to regrow. You had a small group of females you started with and all of them healed beautifully. Then from there, it was a camp of females, all housed away from their homes for a month while you and your team worked what they all thought was a miracle.

A hand brushed your waist, pulling you close and out of your thoughts. “You deserve all of this,” the soft purr of Rhysand's voice grounded your nerves. “My intelligent, beautiful, selfless mate.”

“The party is a little much.”

He scoffed, drinking his champagne before looking at you. “It isn't enough. What did you expect? A quiet gathering?”

Males and females were dressed to the nines in their finest threads, a lavish dinner was served, you had been forced to give a speech, and now drinks were flowing freely as other scholars and healers looked over the display of your notes and research, as well as looking at the physical evidence of repaired wings in graceful coordinated gowns paid for by the High Lord.

“Do you think they're happy?”A brow raised at you in a silent question. “The females, I mean. Do you think they're happy?”

“I think you've given them something back they thought they would have lost forever.” Rhys grabbed two more glasses of champagne, handing one to you. “The trauma is still there, but you will be able to single handedly create a new legion of warriors, heal little ones who had their birthright stripped from them, and now anti-clipping laws can be pushed harder. You've made it so there is a damage measurement, and therefore consequences other than imprisonment.” You took a sip of the beverage, savoring the flavor and soft bubbles. “I spared no expense. Only your favorites for a night meant to honor you, darling.”

You leaned up, kissing his cheek. “Thank you, Rhys.”

“Yeah, thank you Rhys.” You two turned to see Cassian with long legs thrown over his shoulder, high heels held in his hand as bare feet danced. “Feyre here decided that she needed, how many glasses, baby?”

He turned so you two could see his very flushed mate, her smile huge and eyes glassy. “Only 8.”

Cassian turned again only to glare at Rhys, “She called you her sugar male”

Rhys snorted, all signs of the High Lord gone as his shoulders relaxed and his smile grew. “What does that even mean?”

“You give her all the nice things,” another annoyed voice approached. Azriel was also glaring, Nesta on his back giggling as well. “Ness agreed.”

Rhysand felt his jaw drop, making you laugh, “This was for my mate!”

“Yes, well, Feyre and Ness decided tonight they are also your mates,” Azriel smirked as Nesta bit his ear before moving to kiss his neck. “What is it y/n calls you? Ness couldn't remember.”

“Champagne papí,” you answered while laughing. The nickname was an old joke. One passed along to all the new members of the Inner Circle.

Before Rhysand and you felt that bond snap when he returned home, he had courted you. Rhysand gave you expensive shoes, jewelry, books worth a pretty penny.

All because he wanted you to have the very best. And when he discovered you hated wine, but loved the bubbly, he started buying the most expensive bottles he could find.

Rhysand hated being called daddy, hated when he heard that name used between grown males and their partners.

But papí? Papí you could call him all day long. The way the native language of Day rolled off your tongue made him shiver and it stuck.

Rhysand rolled his eyes, “Papí is reserved for my delightful darling.”

Feyre's feet were still dancing to the music, her hair swaying behind Cassian, “And me!”

You couldn't help but let out a soft laugh as your mate sighed. His brothers both wished you a goodnight, leaving with their intoxicated mates. Rhysand was back to leading you through the party, letting other scholars stop you and ask their questions.

You were exhausted by the time you two collapsed in your shared bed, the soft silks welcoming you like gentle caress. But your mate clearly wasn't.

Rhysand's hands found their way into your hair, fingers digging at your scalp and sending a wave of chills down your spine. “You are the most amazing female I have ever met,” he whispered into your ear. “You so selflessly spent decades solving an issue your court wasn't even involved in. You've given so many females their freedom back. I can never repay you for this.”

“Rhys, it wasn't about repayment-”

“I know, darling. I know,” he continued massaging your scalp, fingers twisting your hair in the natural curl pattern. “Let me at least say that I love you then. That I am beyond proud that I have the honor of being your husband, mate, and High Lord.”

He watched your lips twitched up, “I got you a present. I wanted to wait until we were alone,” his hands left your head, making you whine as he stood and went to the closet you two shared.

Rhysand returned with a small black box, sitting next to you, “Neve out did herself with this, my darling.”

You sat up and took the box from him. The velvet was her signature black importanted from a fabric maker over in Scythia. You opened it slowly, laughing as you saw the stardust cut single champagne diamond centered on a delicate platinum chain. It was exquisite. Possibly one of the clearest diamonds with the clearest cuts you had ever seen.

“A champagne diamond from your champagne papí,” he purred in your ear as he put it around your neck. “And right now, I want to see you in nothing but this.”

He laid you back down, kissing you softly, and the true celebration party began.

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