#but like none of those things are a problem???

[jungwnies]

wreckage - charles leclerc

୨ৎ : pairing : charles leclerc x wife!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : after a heated argument with charles, you watch in horror as his car crashes during a race

୨ৎ : genre : angst ୨ৎ : tws : car accident/injury, arguments/conflict, anxiety/panic, trauma, medical trauma. ୨ৎ : wc : 1318

part one | part two | part three | part four

They say life can change in the blink of an eye. One second, everything feels steady, solid, like the ground beneath your feet couldn’t possibly give way. And then it does. Maybe that’s the irony of it all—you never see it coming. Not really. You think you’re prepared, think you’ve braced yourself, but you’re never quite ready for the moment it all falls apart.

You fought this morning. Not just a little spat about something trivial—no, this was one of those fights that echoed louder than it should have. The kind that lingered, thick in the air, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth even hours later.

It wasn’t about anything catastrophic, either, but somehow, with Charles, the small things had a way of snowballing. His schedule. Your schedule. The time you didn’t have together. The things he didn’t say and the things you did.

“I’m trying, okay? You think it’s easy for me?” he’d snapped, his accent sharpening the edges of his words. “You know what this life is like.”

“Yeah, Charles, I do. But I also know you don’t get to use it as an excuse every single time something gets hard. I’m here, too, and I’m trying to make this work just as much as you are.”

His jaw had tightened, his gaze flickering to the ground before meeting yours again. “Sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, it’s never enough for you.”

You’d felt the sting of those words, like a slap across the face. But you weren’t one to back down, not even when the weight of his frustration pressed heavy on your chest.

“You don’t get to say that to me, not when I’m the one waiting, worrying, wondering if this is ever going to feel… stable. Do you know how hard it is to love someone who’s never really here?”

The silence that followed was deafening, his features a mix of hurt and anger, like he didn’t know which to lean into more. And then he’d said it.

“Maybe it’s hard because you don’t trust me enough to believe that I’m doing my best.”

You hadn’t answered, and maybe that was the problem. The fight ended there, not because either of you wanted it to but because there was no time to fix it. Not when he had a race to prepare for, and you had to pretend like none of this was tearing you apart from the inside out.

When you arrived at the paddock, it felt impossible to mask the weight of the argument. You greeted a few people with forced smiles, but you could see some of them watching you a little too closely. It didn’t help that Charles seemed just as tense, his jaw set and his usual ease nowhere to be found.

Carlos was the first to pull you aside, his brown eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned closer. “¿Qué pasa, eh? You look like someone stole your churros, and Charles… well, he looks worse. What happened?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “It’s fine.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Amiga, por favor. I know you, and I know him. Whatever this is, it’s not nothing.”

You sighed, glancing over your shoulder where Charles was talking to his engineers. “We just… had a fight this morning. It’s not a big deal.”

Carlos gave you a skeptical look. “Not a big deal? You’re both walking around like someone cancelled Christmas. If you’re not okay, neither is he. You should talk to him before the race.”

You hesitated, the memory of this morning’s argument still fresh in your mind. “I don’t want to distract him. He needs to focus.”

Carlos clicked his tongue, shaking his head with a small smile. “Tch. If you think he’s focusing now, you’re wrong. You being upset is a bigger distraction than anything else. Go.”

Reluctantly, you nodded and made your way toward Charles. He was still in deep conversation with one of his engineers, but when he saw you approaching, his expression softened—just slightly.

“Hey,” you said quietly, folding your arms across your chest.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice lower than usual. There was a pause, the tension between you lingering like a storm cloud.

“Good luck out there,” you finally said, your voice steadier than you felt. “I mean it. Be safe.”

Charles studied you for a moment, his green eyes searching yours. Then he nodded. “And… I’m sorry. For earlier.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, someone called for him, signaling it was time to get ready. He gave you one last look, then turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with words unsaid.

The race began, and for a while, the roar of engines and the blur of cars distracted you. Charles was in good form, holding his position, making clean overtakes. You found yourself exhaling with relief every time his car flashed across the screen.

But then it happened.

It was almost too fast to comprehend. One moment, Charles was rounding a corner, perfectly in control. The next, there was smoke, debris, and the sickening crunch of metal against metal.

Your heart stopped.

The commentators’ voices rose in panic, their words a jumbled mess that barely registered in your mind. “Oh no, that’s Leclerc… that’s a big one.”

Everything else faded—the noise of the crowd, the hum of your thoughts—until all that remained was the image of his car, mangled and still.

“Red flag,” one of them said, and that’s when it hit you. They’d stopped the race. It was bad.

Your hands trembled as you gripped the edge of the table, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening.

The minutes crawled by like hours, every second another layer of dread settling in your chest. You kept your eyes glued to the screen, desperate for any sign, any update, anything to tell you he was okay.

When they finally cut to the scene, you saw the medics surrounding his car, moving quickly but carefully.

“He’s conscious,” one of the commentators said, and you felt a rush of air leave your lungs, but it wasn’t enough. Not until you saw him. Not until you heard him.

You thought back to the fight, to the last thing he said to you, and it made you sick to your stomach. This couldn’t be the last memory you had of him, the last words you exchanged. It couldn’t.

You were already reaching for your phone, dialing his team, someone, anyone who could give you more than the vague reassurance of the broadcast.

“Please,” you whispered, the word barely audible over the pounding of your heart. “Please let him be okay.”

It’s strange, how quickly everything can unravel. You think you’ve got it all figured out, that the argument was just another bump in the road. But in the back of your mind, there’s always that voice whispering, telling you that things might never be the same.

And now, with every second that ticks by, your thoughts spiral, faster and faster, until you can’t breathe. What if this is it? What if those were the last words you ever said to him?

You close your eyes, trying to steady yourself, but all you can see is that image of his car, broken and still. Your pulse races. You told him you loved him today, but did he really hear you? Was he ever truly certain, or was that last moment of tension, the words left unsaid, enough to make him doubt everything?

You hate this. You hate the fear gnawing at you. You hate that you're sitting here, helpless, as he’s out there fighting for his life. That feeling of powerlessness—it’s unbearable.

Please, you think again, clutching the phone like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. Please, don’t let this be the end.

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[wirewitchviolet]

So I was already sitting down to ramble about something, and turns out this post and this big reply under it tie in pretty well, so, here we go.

There are enough bespoke issues trans people justifiably feel very passionate about, and enough different experiences different trans people have that it is damn easy to end up in a huge fight because one person tried to make a nice simple statement for a clueless cis audience, but viewed through another person's lens it reads like some kind of attack. And it certainly never helps that bigots are actively out there constantly trying to co-op messages and sew infighting that any statement no matter how clear and good WILL get weaponized.

Before I get into the above, the go-to example I was planning to use was "you don't have to transition to be trans." There's a ton of ways you can read that which are great and worth echoing. For instance, "hey, if you've worked out that people got your gender wrong, you are trans and can come hang out in the trans clubhouse and ask for advice and all that without proving it through medical intervention."

Or, "hey don't be a weird gatekeeping creep who only recognizes people's gender if they don't jump through a particular medical hoop like taking a particular medication or get a particular surgery, which might not be something they even want due to risks, side effects, or not seeing it as a problem to begin with, and/or might not be something they CAN do anything about, because the typical medical treatment would not work on them for any number of reasons/is prohibitively expensive/too socially dangerous to go forward with in their current situation/is only even done by like a couple dozen specialists in the world who are booked out years in advance and many of whom actively discriminate against all sorts of potential patients."

You can see how it's nice to have a short catchy phrase. BUT it's absolutely a reality that awful bigots these days are going with the wildly bad faith and not even remotely true reading of "it's OK to deny transition-related care to trans people, because they don't actually NEED it!"

And you know, regardless of where you're encountering this phrase, you should always bear in mind those points about being totally valid and welcome in the community without a signed doctor's note, and how it's completely valid to be, oh, a woman who's hung like a horse and proud of it and such women shouldn't be treated like they need to go see someone about that, give people the benefit of the doubt that they're using it in such a sense if there's any chance they are, and at the same time be on the lookout for bad faith creeps misusing it and taking whatever steps are necessary to prevent them from to or about any trans person again unless/until they somehow manage to stop being a hateful piece of garbage and somehow become a decent human being.

Phew. All THAT out of the, way, I take a fair deal of issue with seeing the comment above me saying "the 'not transgender' people in the poster are clearly intersex" because holy hell is that a bad faith reading. All the concerns regarding intersex kids following that jumping off point are super valid and worth mention, of course. Doctors are constantly looking at baby's junk, going "huh, that doesn't look right, lemme do a quick surgery I'm not even necessarily trained in to get this looking more like whichever configuration I personally prefer the aesthetics of here, that probably won't cause any long term memory problems or trauma and there's almost a 50/50 shot I'm guessing right about what this kid'll want things looking like down here in a couple decades!" And that is just incredibly messed up. As is the practice of just throwing, say, testosterone boosters at someone perceived to be a teenage boy who doesn't seem "manly enough" to someone, which is a general queer kid concern, sure.

But none of that is going on in this poster. What's going on is kids getting hit with puberty-related symptoms they do not want (specifically boobs beards and voice changes), clearly stating this, and asking for medical help to make them not happen. If we wanna play Occam's Razor with the kids plainly labelled as "not transgender," boys growing breasts is called gynecomastia and a quick Google search confirms that... it is completely useless as a search engine because it's giving me 20 conflicting reputable-looking sources ranging from 1% to 70% of teenage boys. Facial hair on cis women is also really freaking common, to a point where it being relatively rare if you're white specifically makes it feel more like a racism thing than anything.

The real thing to remember though is that the obvious reason this poster exists is to get people who are completely uneducated on any of this and have been steadily exposed to propaganda from transphobes for their entire lives to the point where they have a hard time imagining trans people as actual human beings to consider the concept of HRT from a clear perspective by taking us out of the equation for a moment and just making them try to empathise with kids dealing with some of the same stuff, and it has to make that point in less time than it takes someone to finish walking past this telephone pole or wherever else someone might place this. And... OK if I'm really honest it's probably still too wordy and reliant on people having SOME idea of what being trans even means, but it's pretty good within those restrictions! Don't overthink it! Really don't project stuff that absolutely is not actually on there onto it! Focus more on actual bigots and doing something about what they're doing than nitpicking people who are doing good effective activism work you'd phrase differently!

This is the first time i’ve seen a pro-trans poster in a long time and i hope whoever put it up is having a good day, it made me feel a little less alone.

Hamilton, New Zealand

[entitled-fangirl]

Rumors and the bastards of one Aegon Targaryen II.

Aegon Targaryen II x wife!reader

Summary: Aegon spent his time on the Silk Streets; rumors always spread. When Aemond encourages the truth of one, Aegon's wife is mortified.

Warnings: brothels, alcohol, being drunk, rumors, miscommunication

A/n: I am an Aegon hater BUT listen listen listen- I hated the fighting pit allegations with his "bastard children" that the twins talk about in the show. Do I think he had bastards? YES. Do I think he did all that? NAH. Also- this was supposed to be based on an ask but I may write another one with that ask cause I don't think I did that part justice

Masterlist

.....................................................

His wife was not a useless woman who spent her time doing deemed "meaningless" tasks like embroidery. She was well studied, and well spoken. She was not pushy. Alicent would never have let a woman control her son like that. But she found easy ways to state her thoughts while still being considerate to her husband. 

A woman like that felt like one of a kind.

Aegon knew that in his mind. Somewhere deep down. 

But he didn't change his habits when she came around. He still spent some of his nights in the streets of King's Landing, causing trouble and problems everywhere he went. 

Everyone knew of Aegon's "night adventures," though none talked of it. It was not something you bring up during a council meeting or spoke of in the corridors.

…

After a particularly long night out, Aegon rolled over in his bed, covering his eyes as he cringed at the sunlight streaming throughout his room.

This is why he didn't want to be king. Duty awaited him.

He was reminded that with the insistent knock on his door and his servant reminding him of the council meeting only minutes away.

He yawned, groaned with a stretch, and stood to slowly dress himself.

He could take his time, after all. No meeting started without the king.

…

Now a little more conscious, he entered the council room with a creak of the large doors. It earned the attention of everyone at the table.

Criston sat at the King's right side. The queen dowager was next to him and Aegon's wife after that. Aemond at the end. The table went round with others as well, but none were as connected in the king's life as those four. 

Y/n had always gotten along with Aemond. When Aegon was off sullying the Targaryen name, she spent time with Aemond in the castle's large solar, studying quietly alongside him. Different topics, but the shared silence was comforting.

And Aemond almost felt a guilt when he looked at her. Especially today when her husband entered the council meeting late with a staggered step and a clear look that said 'I did things I shouldn't have last night.'

The council was quiet at first, the awkwardness eating any things they had to talk about.

But once the talk of war started, the two brothers began to argue and the council meeting had truly begun.

The queen stayed quiet, her eyes set on the table, her fingers fidgeting absentmindedly with her stone and its place at the table.

Aegon never really had his arse in his seat. He loved to pace. When the arguing grew to anger, he set his anger on anything that annoyed him, prompting him to once point out his wife's fidgeting. Her cheeks turned red and she forced her hands away from the table.

But soon Aemond stood as well, eager to point out his plan in their map. As he did so, he took the long path around, passing by his brother's wife. In his hand was his own stone, which he set on the table in front of her without even looking her way or slowing his pace. 

It rolled towards the edge of the table and she caught it, silently thanking his support.

He felt like he owed it to her for what he had done yesterday.

…

"I'll never understand," Aemond muttered, breaking the prolonged silence of their studying.

Her eyes never moved from her page. "Understand what?"

He rolled up the scroll he had focused on and set it aside. "Him. Being so irresponsible."

Their eyes met, and neither had to question who he was speaking of.

"He did not want this," was her soft reply.

"Neither did you. And still you defend him. You did not wish for a man who spends his time with ale and women rather than home and duty."

Her eyes softened as his words hurt her. "I am Queen of the Realm. Me. Anyone would kill for my seat. One woman of the millions here."

"That means nothing." His eye pierced hers deeply. The gaze of Aemond Targaryen, though only half the gaze of a normal person, was double in the way it would see right through you. It made even tough men flinch. He leans over his papers. "He should be here, spending his time with his wife so she may do her duties."

"H- He does," she tries to defend. "Sometimes."

"Right before he passes out from all he's drank." There's no defense for that. He was right. "My queen, it's not that he can't make heirs with you. He just doesn't with you."

"What?"

His eye darkens. "How do you fancy an adventure down the Silk Streets of King's Landing?"

…

The meeting was over with the wave of Aegon's hand, thank the gods, and they all stood to leave.

"Except you, brother. You'll stay."

Y/n takes her time leaving, seeing both brothers' eyes roam over her for a moment before she left them to talk.

…

She sat by the fire. Since she had lived here, the servants had all begged her to sit in chairs or sofas near the fire rather than on the hard floor directly in front of it, but none held the same feeling that she desired.

She always had a cloak or fur of some sort on the floor, a small nest of sorts always awaiting for her to come back to the flames.

She had asked for a needle and thread, struggling to embroider on one of her skirts as she tried to relieve stress. But she'd never really done so before and it looked messy and her hands were too gruff with it.

Aegon entered after a few minutes. He didn't knock. He never did.

His eyes took in the room slowly until they settled on her. He tilted his head and stepped further into the room until he could feel the heat of the fire. "Aemond doesn't know what he speaks of."

"Aemond only told me the truth. I don't see why you have to lie."

He shifts his weight. "I-I told him to stop meddling in your affairs. He's far too close."

She turns her head but doesn't look over her shoulder. "He's been kinder than… most."

That hurt Aegon more than he wanted to admit. "What did he show you? What did you see?"

She begins to sew faster, as if it's a quick sport. "Does it matter? You're the king. Your affairs are none of my bu-"

"-I want you to speak to me," he said with a desperate tone. "How can I keep a kingdom together if I cannot even communicate with my wife?"

"How many?"

His head tilted again in confusion. "How many what?"

She turned her body this time, pausing her efforts on the fabric to look at him. "How many of your bastards run around King's Landing?"

Silence.

This was not a comforting silence like the solar with Aemond. 

This was a silence that suffocated you.

Aegon tore his gaze from her face in embarrassment to look down at his shoes. Like they needed his attention over the woman in front of him.

She tried again. "How many, Aegon?" Her voice quivered with his name and it send sharp spikes down his spine.

When he dared to look back up at her, he saw unshed tears pooling in her eyes.

"I-" he stopped himself. What answer did she want? What answer did he even want? "I don't see how that's relevant."

His deflection forced a sob out of her. It was light and painful, a slow withering of her from the inside out. 

Aegon deemed himself useless when it came to tears.

His jaw went slack for a moment, his eyes just watching in slow motion as his stomach jolted. He blinked and shift his weight again. "I…. I d- stop doing that."

It was a ridiculous ask. They both knew that. But she turned away from him as if keeping it from his sight was enough. 

He watched her shoulders shake with each weep as her fingers tried to pull the needle through the fabric. He closed the distance more, now daring to kneel at her side. He had no idea how to comfort a situation like this. "You have never liked needlepoint," he softly pointed out.

It was a long while before she answered. Sniffle. "I have never liked you either. Yet here I am with both."

That forces him back to rock on his heels. She was quick and had a sharp tongue. It was thoroughly impressive- when it wasn't painful like this.

The only sounds that echoed in the room were her sniffles and the occasional clicks and pops of the fire in front of them. And her tugging of the thread through the fabric.

Finally, he spoke.

"Two."

Her fingers paused. "What?"

"I've fathered two bastards."

Her head snaps back to him, but he makes no hurry to look at her. The flames dance in his eyes as he stares off. 

"Only two?"

Aegon finally lulled his head to look at her. "Two."

"You sound sure."

"I am sure. I'm very sure." He reached up, wiping away a stray tear off her cheek. Once gone, he returned his hand to his lap, pulling at the skin around his nails.

"There are rumors about your bastards…a… at the fighting pit-"

"-Who told you those?" He said in annoyance.

She hesitated. "There were so many of them there. They had your hair."

"Most bastards here do. Does not make them mine." He sighed. "Do you ever think that perhaps I'm not the only Targaryen that has roamed the Silk Streets at night?"

"You're saying-"

"-I'm saying that they could be Daemon's. They could be my father's. They could be his father's, or his father after him. But they're not mine." His kind eyes set on her. "I won't be blamed for all of King Landing's problems. Only the ones I cause."

She set the needlepoint aside and rubbed her hands over her face. "I just wished…"

Aegon waited patiently for what she would say.

"I just wish you would spend more of your energy here. With me. You're forcing me to neglect my duty." She ran a hand through her hair. "I cannot take your mother's insistence again. She's relentless."

He sighed again. He loved to drink, and that usually ended with him stumbling into the brothel with the help of his friends. That was his release from this prison they all called 'duty.' But perhaps there could be silver linings in all of it.

He couldn't say no when he never gave her a decent try.

"Fine. I'll… hold back on the drinking. And the… the late nights. If it guarantees your happiness. I want to make you happy." It would be hard. No, it would be like torture to not drink as often, to not spent hours forgetting life and having to return to it with a headache a few hours later.

But she deserved a decent try from him.

"Thank you. And when I am with child, we can… access it all once again." She tucked a stray hand of his hair behind his ear. "Thank you. Truly," she added again.

"Of course," he smiled sheepishly. "Just promise me to never assume the trust of the rumors of King's landing. Just ask me. I've done awful things, but I'll admit them to you at least."

For once, she smiled. "That's easy enough. I never should have gone with Aemond last night."

"From now on, the streets will see little of their King and Queen," Aegon smiled back. With a hesitant stretch and groan, he stood. "I have petitions soon. Perhaps you'll wait for my return?"

She pushed herself up to stand, taking Aegon's hand when he immediately offered it. "Of course. But not here. I'll be in the solar."

His brows furrowed. "What's wrong with here?"

"If I have to pull that needle through fabric one more time, I will stab it in my eye." She said it with no emotion, and it caused a bright laugh to pull from Aegon's chest. 

She was witty.

Finally, she broke into a breathy laugh and moved to collect her things for studying.

He followed her for a moment, curious to see what she had before he left.

"In the least, Aegon," she spoke over her shoulder. "Think of the money you'll save when you're away from it all. Whores and drinks are expensive, I'd wager."

His voice was low in her ear as he stood next to her. "Darling, when you're King, they all beg to buy a drink for you. I haven't bought myself a drink in almost a year."

She shivered at his proximity and she spared him a glance- almost one of offense. "Then you spend it all on women?"

He shook his head as if it was a dumb thought. It was true that he spent a lot on the streets. But now that he considered it, no one had ever really asked where it went. The crown just provided it and that was that.

"Then where-"

He put a finger over her mouth. "There are two children with no father to provide for them." He tilted his head side to side, "Perhaps their mothers find themselves with… extra money from a donor of sorts."

Her eyes widened. And just as she opened her mouth to ask more, he walked away, leaving her to her thoughts.

How wrong she had been about King Aegon Targaryen II

.......................................

[heich0e]

the suna where he asks if you'd have a baby with him

ask game: a christmas drabble from an established AU AU: wouldn't it be nice?

you've never been particularly good at giving people presents.

not for lack of trying, or lack of care—you want to be good at gift giving, but somehow you've just never quite mastered the skill. you're too indecisive to pick just one thing, so you always end up with a strange mismatched array of little gifts when the time comes, none of which have any particular connection to the other.

and that's to say nothing of your absolutely horrendous gift wrapping abilities.

before you started dating rintarou, christmas was always a real point of stress in your life. from picking out the gift, to tracking the item down, to trying (and ultimately failing) to wrap it in a way that didn't give the impression that a child had done it one-handedly. the stress that built up around the holiday often overshadowed any of the actual enjoyment you were meant to derive from it. and though none of your exes had ever explicitly called you out on being a god-awful gift giver, you knew that it was true.

thankfully, in that way that only rintarou seems to be able to do, that problem just... disappeared when the two of you started dating.

maybe disappeared is the wrong word, but that anxiety that you always used to feel cresting as the holidays drew near just never seemed to swell to the same point of misery as it used to. you never felt the same pressure to pick the perfect thing. to wrap it beautifully. to get it right.

because rintarou has this way of... reassuring you. of sensing when you're struggling and making things... easier. all without ever having to ask.

"i'm not big on gifts," he'd said to you, a full three weeks before your first christmas together. "wanna just go somewhere for the holiday, instead of buying presents? i've got some time off and have been thinking about going to kyoto."

and that settled it.

each christmas since then has passed similarly. either rintarou makes a plan, or very explicitly tells you what he'd like to get as a gift, and when the time comes, any of that stress that used to build up around the day just never even has the chance to take root.

but this year, there's a different sort of nervousness you feel about the holiday.

"my mom sent us a card," rintarou says, coming around the corner of your living room with a little red envelope in his hands. "she invited us to visit for the new year, too."

you shift in your seat under the kotatsu, looking up as he stands over you. "do you want to go?"

he sighs, slumping down onto the sofa behind you. "not really."

"we don't have to, then, if you really don't want to," you assure him, leaning back against the sofa so you're a little nearer to him. he inches forward on the couch cushions to close the gap even further. "but it might be nice to see your family."

rintarou isn't particularly close to his parents, who divorced when he was young. of his family members, the nearest to him is his little sister—and their relationship had largely been built once they both reached adulthood.

"last time we went to see my family my grandma tried to take you to a shaman to get you pregnant," rintarou replies dryly. "you sure you wanna go through that again?"

"i don't think the shaman was the one who was supposed to knock me up," you point out, and rintarou huffs out a laugh. you turn away from him a little. rintarou's grandmother was tired of waiting for great grand children and had tried to use shamanism to speed the process along—it had ended in an argument over a family dinner. "you two really are related, huh?"

"what was that?"

you peek at him over your shoulder.

"i think we should go to see them."

rintarou's brow quirks slightly at your words, and you lean forward so your elbows are resting on the edge of the couch cushion.

his eyes are always so green when you're this close to him, lined with those dark wispy lashes. so pretty. delicate and effortless in a way that would upset you if he wasn't already yours.

"you really wanna go?" he asks you quietly, and you can feel the warmth of his breath on your lips when he speaks. you nod a little, and your lips brush because of the proximity—not quite a kiss, but enough to make him lean forward in search of one.

you pull away before he gets what he's looking for.

"and you can tell grandma that we won't need the shaman this year."

because she's already gotten what she wanted.

he blinks at you, and then his eyes widen, and before you know it he's sitting bolt upright on the sofa with a look of utter disbelief on his pretty face.

just like always, rintarou made gift giving easy this year.

only this time, the present is something you'll both cherish equally, because it's something you've been wanting, too.

[dog-bimbo]

minors and ageless blogs do not interact ! fem!reader ☆ shiu is an absolute prick in this one just the way i like it :')

sugar daddy!shiu kong makes it clear on the get go that the relationship is purely transactional. he covers your tuition and whatever expenses that you need. in return, you gotta sit still and look pretty during his client meetings. and there were a lot of those meetings going on in his life... he doesn't want a companion to share his woes with, he needs a sweet little thing who'd make him look better in front of the clients. having a doll like you just makes it so much easier to deal with those guys. he really isn't like your traditional daddy that you see in movies. he doesn't mindlessly shower you with gifts and money and take you out on dates just to see you smile, he makes you earn each and every bit of the financial support he's been providing you with. it might seem a bit crude, but again, it's a transactional relationship after all.

you're his arm candy, all young and pretty in the outfits he chooses for you—none of them reach the knees. he likes it casual during the daytime—he doesn't care much for the tops low cut, turtle neck, buttoned collars, whatevers fines as long as it's paired with the tiniest of skirts. he likes ass and tits but most importantly, he likes thighs. sunny afternoons at lavish private properties or client offices don't go by easily by just discussing brokering services and pretending to care about the client's problems. you're either by his side or on his lap and he cannot go on without kneading the soft flesh of your thighs. one thing about him is that he makes the most out of the space he sits in. he's charming, even with that shit eating grin or a muted smirk that he flashes at you whenever you pluck the cigarette from his lips for him to exhale the smoke or ash it for him since he's too comfortable leaned back.

during the night however, the tiny little dresses he makes you wear seem like they're barely there. dainty jewellery, freshly manicured nails, his favourite shades of lipstick on your extremely kissable lips... he rubs his thumb on your bottom lip, tilting your chin up and looking down at you with his piercing gaze like he's evaluating you—"you've gotten the hang of it by now, i don't expect anything less from you. you'll be good for the clients n' extra good f'me, hm?" he lets go of your chin after you answer and gets out of the car, circling around it to open the passengers door for you.

it's like he's making you put on a show for the clients by the way he instructs you to charm them with your demeanour. his clients are total pervs too since he's not letting you leave much for imagination with your clothes. this is a business and sex sells—everyone knows it. "it's a big bad world honey, i don't have to tell y'bout how it works, yeah?" he murmurs if the clients are just oogling at you. but if it gets to you a bit too much, and trust me, he catches onto things faster than most people, he has his ways of dealing with it.

after the meetings is when you truly get to the good bit. he covers your semester fees on time even without you having to remind him along with the additional college charges. he's cunning but he's trustworthy and diligent. but for that extra cash to splurge, you gotta let him blow his steam off. he latches his lips onto your neck and gradually your tits after freeing them like he's starved, like he's been waiting for it. "the bastard chewed my damn ears off, can't stand 'em..." he grunts as he sucks on your nipples, his other hand groping your tits with a grip borderlining on a harsh one. "but you..." he bites on one with his teeth and tugs on the other with his index and thumb, "you're a fucking doll, so good f'me..." and by the time you're done with fogging up the tinted windows of his car, your poor cunt is left oozing out a bit of his cum as it trickles down your inner thighs.

he pulls out a thick wad of cash, fanning through it. "open up, sweetheart," he murmurs, thumbing through a few crisp bills. you bite down, the stack hard against your teeth. it's humiliating to the core but business is business, and you’ve got to earn your keep.

[caldella]

Stolas antis largely either refuse to see the pretty big character arcs Stolas has already gone through or are mad that he doesn't have some impossible ability to see and fix all his upbringing-based biases instantly. At this point, that's on them. His character arc is frequently going to be at a different pace than Blitzø's because, uh, he's not Blitzø, and Blitzø is literally the main protagonist.

And those who say he's a whiny crybaby, I can only assume are caught up in/perpetuate the same social trappings that have convinced him of his own lack of worth. Welcome to being part of the problem, I suppose.

Stolas' breakdowns/quick masking hit me at such a personal level and really they're shown so damn well IMO. Stolas is 100% a "big feelings" individual who very, very badly needs to be expressive. It's part of who he is. He is intelligent and feels things very strongly when his depression allows. But his reality has told him over and over that his forms of expression are unwanted, even the positive ones:

His excitement over his birthday is unbecoming. His bitch-crying is ugly, and his sadness is annoying.

His politeness is wrong, his interests are boring. He is boring.

His feelings don't matter.

...Did I mention his sadness is annoying?

A note on this one: Stolas was 100% on his own during this scene originally. It's immediately after Ozzie's, where Stolas said that Via was with Stella that night and the palace was empty. At some point in the evening, Stella came back and used that unexpected return to belittle him in what he thought was a private moment alone. Judging by his reaction, that's very familiar behavior. He's not allowed to express himself even when he thinks no one is there to see it.

When Stolas actually tries to express himself properly, or risks being genuinely vulnerable, it's usually thrown back in his face. If not intentionally thrown back, it's perceived that way because of all of the above treatment he's experienced.

His emotional breakdowns are rooted in the learned perceptions that:

He's not allowed to be excited

He's not allowed to enjoy his hobbies/interests

He's not allowed to be polite

He's not allowed to be upset

Nobody likes him, and laughing at him to his face is encouraged

The only time he can actually be honest about his hurt is when he isolates and collapses into himself where no one can see

People who dislike him are allowed to barge into his privacy and belittle him for things he deliberately didn't want them to see - he can and will be cornered anytime they see fit

In the end, he's not allowed to be or feel anything that is actually him. His happiness does not matter.

Of course he has large mood swings, both because of who he naturally is and because every feeling he's ever had has been negated. So his only options are to bottle them up until he collapses in private, or lacking privacy, falling into a mini-collapse until he can mask up long enough to get away.

And of course none of this is healthy.

So we know that Stolas internalized the abuse he received during his life, and that includes the bitch crying line, which makes me think about Stolas' ability to stop himself from crying, even when drunk Stolas manages to stop himself from crying very quickly after crying, which gives me the feeling that every time Stolas cries, the bitch crying line from Paimon just plays in his head over and over again.

In regards to s2 e8 we don't exactly know but considering how him crying in s2 e9 went I wouldn't be surprised if he managed to stop himself shortly afterwards in s2 e8 as well.

[harryspurpleloofah]

Elevator

(Picture is from my policeman premiere from hshq.in)

Summary: Harry’s staying at a hotel and he meets a woman who’s there for a gala in the reception. They get stuck in an elevator together and things escalate

Warnings: swearing, fingering, p in v sex, no condom but the reader specifies she’s on birth control, smut

The sound of her friends’ laughter echoed faintly behind her as she stepped into the hotel elevator. The soft click of her heels against the polished floor was the only sound in the otherwise silent space. The party had been a whirlwind—champagne, music, and a lot of noise—and now, the quiet of the hotel felt like a welcome reprieve.

She hit the button for the eleventh floor and leaned back against the mirrored wall, adjusting the strap of her shimmering dress. The elevator doors began to close, but just before they could seal shut, a deep voice called out, “Hold it!”

She quickly presses the open button to let the man in. He was tall, lean but broad-shouldered, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, revealing just a hint of his collarbone. His messy hair fell over green eyes, and there was something effortless about the way he carried himself like he hadn’t been in a hurry at all.

“Thanks,” he said, stepping inside, his voice low and smooth. He flashed her a quick smile, one dimple deepening.

“No problem.” She replied, stepping back a bit from the panel so he could pick which floor he was heading to.

He reached over, letting her inhale his Tom Ford fragrance which she recognised from a colleague who worked with her. He pressed the button for the 7th floor and smiled at her again.

“Long night?” he asked, glancing at her reflection in the mirrored wall.

“You could say that,” she replied, catching his gaze in the reflection. “How about you?”

“Just got here,” he said, leaning casually against the side of the elevator. “Checking in for the weekend.”

“Are you on holiday here or..?”

“No more like a business trip kinda thing. I’m Harry by the way.”

“Y/n.”

Before either of them could say more, the elevator jolted throwing both of them off balance. Harry reached out steadying himself against the wall, while she grabbed the railing. The elevator came to an abrupt halt, the lights flickering once before switching to a dim emergency glow.

“For fucks sake you have to be joking.” She muttered under her breath. The floor indicator was stuck on five and none of the buttons responded to her touch.

Harry straightened, furrowing his brows. “That’s… not supposed to happen, is it?”

“No,” she replied, pressing the emergency button. A tiny voice crackled over the speaker. “Please remain calm. The elevator is experiencing technical difficulties. A technician has been dispatched.”

Harry glanced at her. “Well, that’s reassuring.”

She sighs loudly after ten minutes. “What is this?”.

Harry chuckles, “this is not ideal is it now?”

“Far from.”

“There’s worse people to be stuck in an elevator with aren’t there?”

She smiles slightly, “I have no problem with you. I’m just really tired. And my feet are killing me.”

Harry’s gaze flickered down to her heels and he made an empathetic face, “Jesus those look like they’d hurt in minutes let alone the entire night.”

“Exactly. But they look nice in the moment so it’s kinda worth it.”

They both went quiet for a second when Harry saw her head looking around the elevator, “looking for a way out?” He questioned.

“No I’m looking for a camera.”

“Why what are you planning on doing?” He teases. She chuckles.

“Nothing like what you’re thinking. I just wanted to know if we’d die in here alone or maybe they’d find us.”

“The lady on the button said they’ll be here in a bit don’t worry.”

“She said that twenty minutes ago.”

“So they should be coming any minute now.”

As if on cue the lights flickered and the elevator jolted again. “What the fuck?” She exclaimed. Harry sighed as he shrugged off his blazer.

“It’s getting awfully warm in here.”

“What if we suffocate?” She asks in panic.

Harry looks like he’s considering it for a second before shaking his head, “no elevators aren’t sealed. We won’t suffocate.”

She calms down a bit, “but we might starve.” He points out.

“You’re not helping!”

He raises his hands in surrender while laughing, “sorry sorry. I couldn’t resist. Don’t worry we’re gonna be fine.”

She sighs and sinks down in the corner, holding her knees to her chest. Harry looks over, “sweetheart if it makes you feel better I’d be trying to get us out right now but my engineering skills are non existent.” He says.

She smiles slightly at his attempt of a joke as he sits down next to her. “You ok?” He asks gently.

“I’m fine. I just got a bit panicked sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it love. It’s normal this isn’t a regular situation.”

They wait for another five minutes and nobody’s still there.

“I have to admit,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “this is starting to feel like one of those scenes in your romance novels.”

Her breath catches, and she couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “What makes you think I read romance novels?”

He gestured to the book peeking out of her bag, his smile teasing. “Just a hunch.”

She chuckles, “okay I enjoy one from time to time. They’re not as bad as some people say yknow.”

“Yeah. But there are some real gems..that are honestly painful to read”

She laughs and nods, completely agreeing. She looked back at him. He had the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen. Fuck it he was the prettiest guy she’d ever seen. His curls fell around his face like he was strategically painted to look that way. His lips were a shade of pink that she couldn’t believe was natural. She realised she was staring and looked back.

“I suppose this wasn’t how I was planning on ending my night but I don’t mind entirely,” he smiled, nudging her shoulder slightly.

“Me too. You’re right there are worse people I could be stuck with right now,” she continued.

“Much worse.”

Another ten minutes pass and they’re both just waiting it out now. “If we were to pry the door open..”

“Nah. Wouldn’t work. We’d just end up getting stuck because the elevator might start moving while you’re trying to get out.”

He sighs and jabs his ringed finger into the emergency button again to which they hear the same voice reassuring them it won’t be too long now. He sits back down.

“I like your rings.” She said quietly, what she meant was that she’d take all five fingers if she could. She didn’t know if it was the elevator air or if she was just going a bit crazy but her attraction to him was just growing. And the fact that there was no visible camera in the elevator wasn’t helping things.

As if Harry was thinking the same thing, he pointed out, “we sure there’s no camera?”

“I don’t know but I can’t see one.”

He shifted a bit, looking straight ahead instead of at her now. “You dating anyone?” He casually asked.

“Not at the moment no.”

“Oh.”

“Well there was a guy.”

“And?”

She sighs, “his name is Josh, I dated him for a bit but he was just always looking at other girls and..comparing me so it was bad for me..”

“God what a loser.”

“Yeah…” She laughs. “Completely unrelated but he wasn’t very good at sex,”

“Well…you could still have a good personality.”

“Yeah but he didn’t so he was lacking in everything.”

After a bit more gossiping about some of the ickiest men on earth who had somehow just all managed to squeeze into her love life, Harry laughed.

“Ok you’ve told me the worst, have you ever actually had good sex?”

“Honestly? I haven’t. All my time alone has been better than any time with someone else. It’s like men who are good at sex barely even exist anymore.”

The elevator jolts again. Harry sighs, “you ok?”

“I’m good don’t worry.”

Harry starts looking at her again. She’s so pretty and the bad experiences with sex are just turning him on even more. Just making him feel like he could give her so much more than anything she’s ever had. He tries to distract himself as much as he can but it’s just not working. His trousers start becoming tighter and tighter. It’s getting noticeable.

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t drenched in her own thong as well. She was equally as turned on as him if not more, it just wasn’t as visible. She looked in the mirror and realised her lip gloss had come off again. She sighed and reached into her purse to get the tube.

As she put it on she could feel his warm green eyes on her. It made her want to absolutely melt but now she was trying to get a reaction out of him. Did she want it? A hookup? In an elevator, with the risk of being caught in the middle of it by a maintenance team? Fuck yes.

But she needed to make sure Harry was in too. As she spread the liquid over her lips her gaze flicked over to try to gauge his reaction. He was looking at her with interest, his blazer resting around his crotch area. Was he trying to hide an erection?

He wasn’t giving her any distinct signs and he seemed really nice, she didn’t want to ruin what she’d already made with him by being weird and asking him, a total stranger for a hookup in an elevator that was stuck on the fifth floor.

She froze when his ringed fingers brushed his arm, not closely enough to be sexual but not far enough to be platonic. “You’re gorgeous. You know that?” His voice gently says.

“Thanks..”

“Do you want this?” He asked

“I-I think I do yes.”

“I don’t want I think love, I want I know. Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

He licks over his lips before moving over her to capture her newly coated lips in a kiss. It was soft, both their lips slowly falling in love with each other. His tongue came in later, nudging a gap in her mouth to enter and when it did it was like it would never leave, exploring her mouth with so much confidence like he owned it already she just didn’t know.

He lifted her up and pinned her against the mirror before turning her around, making her face herself, “look at how pretty you look for me baby. I’ve had to sit here and just watch you and not do anything about it for the last hour.”

He kisses her neck gently, savoring each bit of her skin like he has to ration it, sucking gently on bits then soothing them with his tongue just as quickly before she’s in any real pain. He starts sliding off his rings, throwing them on the floor to land on top of his discarded blazer, “don’t want these to hurt you pet.”

He unzips her dress and helps her get it off. He takes her thong, sliding it down her legs and checks if she’s wet enough, which she is, soaking. “You don’t need lube baby yeah?”

“Yeah-yeah I’m fine,” she replies breathlessly.

He inserts a finger, she lets out a moan. He adds another and begins to thrust them both in and out stretching her out for himself, “I’m quite big baby will you be able to take me?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Sure?”

“Sure.”

“Of course you will. Good girl.”

She moans again, gripping onto the hand railing with on hand and Harry’s arm with the other to balance herself because her legs are a lost cause now, completely turned to jelly. He unclips her hair and lets it fall down, “beautiful,” he mutters, putting it to once side and going back down on her neck as his fingers worked her.

“That’s it baby come on my fingers f’me.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, letting go instantly with a sigh of relief as she feels like climax taking over her body. “Now tell me what you need honey?” He urges.

“You-your cock please.”

“Again?”

“Your cock Harry.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Hold still for me ok?”

She obliges and looks up at herself in the mirror while she waits, all her efforts to get dolled up tonight down the drain, her mascara is messy, her gloss smeared, her hair not in the updo anymore, one of her earrings missing, she looked completely ruined.

He teases her with just the tip, “love I’m asking you again,” his tone is gentle, like it was before when he was talking to her normally “are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Are you on birth control? I don’t have a condom.”

“Yes! Harry fuck please yes.”

He can’t do it anymore either, he pushes in completely earning a deep moan from her, she feels like she’s being split in half on his cock and he’s gently raising her chin everytime it falls for her to get eyefuls of the pleasure on her face as he pounded into her from behind.

“Oh god baby you’re so tight..”

She groans, her hand going back to pull him closer by the neck to which he obeys, finding her lips in a loving reassuring kiss, praising her for being able to take his cock so well.

His thrusting becomes faster but less deep as he also chases his high, he waits for her though, making sure she’s completely satisfied before worrying about himself.

“I’m so close Harry,” she reassured him, egging him on to go a bit deeper to carry her there. She comes hard with a plethora of guttural moans that push him over the edge too, shooting a hot load in her. She feels so..full. Even after he pulls out she’s just in that mania of orgasm.

He smiles at her while still breathing heavily, zipping himself back up, still supporting her around the waist making sure she won’t fall. He crouches over to get a pack of tissues from her bag which he uses to clean her up and then another to clear her gloss and mascara. Most of her makeup came off but he doesn’t mind. She’s just as gorgeous if not more.

He scans the elevator floor for her missing earring and wipes it down before giving it to her and watching as she slips it in the hole in her earlobe. Then he helps her put her dress back on and gives her some time to catch her breath.

When she’s conscious enough to know what’s happening, he’s crouched over her bag, writing something on her notepad, the maintenance team standing by the open door gesturing them to come out.

She gets outside and the warm light of the lobby hits her, a stark contrast to the cold one in the elevator. She’s about to look around for Harry but he’s standing right next to her. “Do you wanna come back to my hotel?” He gently asks.

She smiles, “thanks but my house isn’t far, I’d love to keep in touch though.”

He grins and hands her the slip of paper, with his number on it. “Whenever you want Angel. Just give me a ring.”

He leans in a bit closer, “honestly disappointed I didn’t even properly take off my shirt for you love. We’ll do that all next time kay?”

He winks at her and starts walking back up to the stairs, deliberately avoiding the elevator this time. What a man. She looked down at the number. She knew this was gonna be on speed dial from now on.

[barleyo]

Make the Most of Freedom.

Father! Sukuna X Daughter! Reader (smut)

A/N: can you tell i'm going through a sukuna obsession right now? ^_^ he's literally my everything currently, and i love him as a father

Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), slight mentions of abuse and forced marriage, sexism and heavy misogyny, oral (f receiving)

Wordcount: 1.7k

Your father was decent enough to you, as fathers went. None were particularly good, but you had recently heard gossip of a man who married his daughter off to the town's local pervert in her eighteenth year, convinced by a lump sum of silver, so, certainly your old-fashioned, stern father was a lucky draw. For all the so called "decency" your old man had, though, he had a certain distaste for women. Girls more so. 

Perhaps it was when your mother died that he gained this sneering mentality on the opposite sex. Likely that being left with you, a girl he was forced to raise on his own, was what caused it. Either way, Sukuna's affections for you only ran so deep.  Not abusive, necessarily. Distant was more like it. Neglectful where it mattered most, you often thought, but diligent in your personal matters. 

He practically had a legion of homebound spies to keep him up to date on you.

Choices were not something you often got to make in your life. Every day seemed to be planned out down to the second for you. Servants crowded you and equated you to a pampered house pet. Practice this, say that, eat this, but definitely don't eat that. Look this way. Look there. 

Do not look at him. 

Boys were a nonstarter. Romance was hardly allowed to be the subject of your fantasy. If Sukuna could gain a monopoly on your mind and control your every thought, he would. Without a second thought. He could not, though, so luckily for you, you could peer around a wooden beam on the veranda and watch one of the younger servant boys walk around your father's estate. 

To catch a glimpse of a boy was a rare treat with how often Uraume, on your father's order, tasked you with some type of busy work or etiquette training. Still, you enjoyed your cheeky voyeuristic moments. You savored them, knowing that the spare moments you had to yourself were your only chances at feeling normal. 

Normal girls at your age had other normal girls to chat with about boys. Normal girls had suitors and gentleman callers. Normal girls' pursuers did not disappear randomly after attempting to court them. Normal girls did not have fathers who were feared across all lands. No, that was a you-problem. 

Then again, normal fathers did not love their daughters as much as Sukuna loved you, despite how terribly horrid he was at showing it.

Like every other day, you were aimlessly trapped inside your home. Perhaps not trapped. There were plenty of places to go—your father owned more land than any man could reasonably need—but where else would you go? Outside to be teased by the sight of assorted servants and concubines enjoying the simplicity of their lives? Or, perhaps you could go to the servants' quarters, where Uraume would grill you on your posture and wipe nonexistent smudges off of your face. As wonderful as those exhilarating options sounded, you felt that staying inside the four comforting walls of the main house would be in your best interest.

You leaned against the sliding door parked at the entrance of the house. Trailing your fingers gently over the wooden frame, your found that the door was slightly ajar. A careless servant must have left it open, and you must have been too lost in your thoughts to feel the cool draft wheedling through the crack. Your finger pads pushed against the doorframe to slide it shut, but a familiar voice stopped you. 

That boy. That wonderfully, blissfully ignorant boy. 

You envied him on a few days, but desired him on most. In essence, he was free. Freer than you, at the very least. He seemed your age, but he walked with the experience of a man your father's age. You wondered if he knew things you did not. If he could teach you—touch you.

Sukuna disliked the younger boys that worked on the estate. Lazy, the lot of them. Lazy and easily rousing to the otherwise whorish women who worked with them. You assumed your father simply did not like people, with the way he had a complaint for every make and model of society. 

Women were inferior sluts. Girls were stupid and vapid. Men were arrogant and audacious. Boys were impure little bastards and something you would have nothing to do with under his roof.

He made that very clear when you attempted to ask about leaving the estate with the boy. He pleaded for you to ask your father, and stupidly, you did.

Your father looked at you with what could most plainly be described as disgust. Shame, you would say, if you thought your father was capable of feeling any. 

"Leave?" 

You knew you made a mistake the second the words left your mouth. No phrasing or tone change could have saved you. 'Leave,' 'home,' and 'you' were words Sukuna wouldn't tolerate in the same sentence, unless of course the sentence was: 'I shall never leave home or be away from you, father.'

"For what?" he asked, clenched hands resting on the top of the table. Uraume, knowing what was about to happen from the guilt-stricken look on your face, had disappeared into the servant's quarters right after presenting dinner. "That boy?"

Such venom was spat in the word. Such degradation forced into a single syllable word. You bit your tongue for a moment, feeling offended on the behalf of your tawdry crush. 

"Why, I have half a mind to lock you up. He is the one who had put these ideas into your head, isn't he?" Sukuna asked between bites of his dinner. The idea angered him to his core, but the idea of such a pathetic man-child attempting to take his only heir was humorous enough to keep his temper even enough to eat.   "You probably think you love him, right? Foolishness."

He scoffed and waved his hand at you dismissively, nose crinkled. After a thick gulp of his wine, he continued, practically speaking to himself as you fumed silently in embarrassment. 

"He's just a boy. Swine, really, and you—" his eyes sharpened— "are not to see him again."

That shattered any hope you had left. The small window of freedom you had, the small glimpse of a future, was snatched. 

"That is not fair!"

Childishness, as Sukuna had expected. He sighed and ignored you. What he hadn't expected was the quick, flagrant backtalk you spat out. 

"He isn't just a boy. He's a man, and I am a woman now," you said, voice rushing to match the pace of your furious mind. "I'll leave whenever I want to. If I want to go into the city with him, I will. A woman can choose..." you trailed off, obviously not being as experienced as an independent woman as you claimed to be. 

Sukuna's expression never shifted. He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink—he simply stared at you, his gaze sharp, predatory. The silence hung heavy in the room, oppressive, thick with the weight of unspoken things. His eyes bored into you like a vice, until you began to regret every word that had left your mouth.

"You are a woman," he said loudly, his voice a low rumble of danger and fact, "it's what I hate most about you. Just like any other woman, look at how you turned out. Spoiled. Pampered. I'll bet a whore too," he added, peering down at your body for a beat too long, seeing the way the silks trapped your matured form. "Is that why you set yourself out to leave? Lover-boy knocked you up like some common whore?"

You could tell by his tone he didn't actually think so lowly of you, but the relentless taunts broke you. Any pretense of womanhood shattered under the embarrassment of father chiding you. 

"Well, who will want you now, hm? Not a pretty, little virgin anymore. See what boys do?" Sukuna stood and pulled you up by your shoulder, forcing you to his level. 

"They ruin you."

If boys ruined you, what did men do? With your father's hands digging into your hips and with his tongue attacking your rosy clit, you reckoned that they saved you. 

Yes, saved. That was the word for it, when Sukuna's spit baptized your dripping cunt, you felt saved. How such a feared, demonic man could make you feel such heavenly things, you knew not, but that wasn't what was important. What was important was that you could hardly remember the name of the once tempting boy you had fought so hard to go with. 

Many nights after the argument with you father, you tried to force yourself to leave. You made it to the door each time, sometimes further into the garden, before returning back to your room. Your scarce knapsack was unpacked quickly and you tucked yourself back into bed like nothing had happened. 

The night that you made it to the estate gates, you ran back home as fast as your bare feet would take you. You clawed at your father's bedroom door, splintering the tips of your fingers as you cried it for him to let you in. 

You would admit it. He was right. As always, regretfully. You were a stupid girl with the dreams of a woman and eyes bigger than your true appetite. As you sobbed into your father's robes, sick gratification crossed his features. 

"Not your fault," he mumbled between your thighs, licking agonizing stripes through your folds. "Y'never learn. I know."

Your body laid bare before him, showing every curve and blemish, every sin clear as day, you seized and rocked on the mattress. Your blood was hot and your chest was uneven. 

Inexperienced and needy, you gave into your father the second his hands slid down your panties. You let him guide you. Your shepherd, his sheep. Your white wool was his for the taking, and he harvested with interest. He took all you had to give. Ever noise you could make, every gasp, he stole from your chest greedily. 

He could have you, all of you. Nobody else could match him in that moment. As your cunt melted into his mouth, he peered at you through heavy lashes with pure ownership.

How could you ever leave the man that finally made you a woman?

[theshadowsingersraven]

I think the reason why I keep coming back to feeling that the E/riel side of this fanbase needs reminding that Elain isn't real (even though they literally know this, and I know they do.) is because they're the ones frequently treating the currently unresolved narrative issues as if they can be resolved with what people in REAL LIFE would do.

i.e. Lucien should just take the hint and move on, Elain and Azriel should just be together, Elain shouldn't "grovel" for a man she's uncomfortable around (I don't love the word grovel tho tbh. I think if it suits the narrative then an apology could be satisfying, but currently I don't feel that it's owed? I can see how people are frustrated with the lack of communication and might want Elain to acknowledge that.) Elain and Azriel already like each other so that should be enough, Elain's body language should be enough, etc.

None of those apply to characters in an unresolved romantic conflict within a narrative.

You can't resolve narrative conflicts how you would resolve interpersonal conflicts in real life. The purpose of a narrative is to entertain and captivate an audience while getting across the story, message, overall theme, etc. The entertaining aspects are often but not limited to difficult character interactions, drama, stakes, angst, discomfort, hurt, anger... all things we don't want in real life.

This is what I mean when I say people are elevating Elain to a status of personhood and why it's such a problem because of its far-reaching consequences. Her being humanized to this point means people reject the idea that she should have an arc with consequences for her choices/actions, stakes, challenges if they include Lucien, etc. Particularly if it involves addressing her character flaws or conflict avoidance. These things are not bad for Elain.

Characters are like diamonds. They're forged and become multi-faceted under pressure. We can let Elain be forged. It will not hurt her overall as a character to have to face things. If anything, it's overdue.

[multifandom-exe]

Leather Jackets and Ketchup ‘Mishaps’- S.Black x Reader 

Word Count: 2.7k (my longest yet :p)  Request: hey there! can i get one with prompts 79, 174 and 175, with Sirius, please? thank you!  Prompts: 79. No its just… I cant believe your wearing my clothes”  174. “Did you see what she was wearing?”  175. “So what if I had sex with your ex?” 

A/N: this is a rewrite of an old fic from nearly 5 years ago. Find the terrible original here. Lmk if ive improved.  Warnings: None rlly, swearing, kissing, marlene hate (sorry marlene your my wife but youre sacrificed to the story) 

 A hogsmeade weekend! Practically the only thing keeping the students of Hogwarts from pitching themselves off the astronomy tower during their 6th year. You and Lily had planned to meet up with the boys later on for some drinks an some shopping, definitely spurred on by Lilys growing affection to James (no matter how much she denies it). 

You stared into the full-length mirror stuck to the wall. It felt as though something was missing in your outfit. Youd worn your favorite today, but it still didn't feel like enough. Lily sat on the bed behind you, looking as perfect as ever. 

“Can you stop hogging the mirror please, i need to do my makeup!” She nudged you with her leg that was hanging off the bed as a giggle bubbled up from her throat. 

“My outfit is not suffering because you want to look nice for James Potter!” You turned to her with that sly look as her face dusted rosy, pink, whilst she spewed phrases of denial. 

“Well, my makeup is suffering because you want to look nice for Sirius.” Now it was your turn to gasp.  

She had this idea that you were in for it with Sirius. You disagreed of course. Sure, i mean, you had feelings for him, you liked him. He was funny, attractive, and almost as smart as you. But it had been 6 years, if there was going to be any movement on that front, besides flirting that could make Casanova blush, it probably would've happened already. You were trying to let it go, but its difficult when you see him every day. 

“Not true! You know he doesnt like me like that, im totally over it!” You began observing yourself in the mirror again, as she gave you that, ‘whatever you say’, look. “Speaking of, though, a nice leather jacket is just what this outfit needs, do you have one?” Lily agreed and turned to look into her trunk for a jacket.  

“No, sorry sweetheart”.” You jutted your lip out and frowned a little. There goes your perfect outfit.  

After a little more observing in the mirror, whilst you watched Lily apply her makeup on the floor, the obvious thought entered your head. “You know who does have a leather jacket.” That mischievous smirk littered your face. “Sirius.”  

Lily then put a head in her hands, and you could see her reaction in the reflection of the mirror. “Sure you don't have a thing for him?”  

“Shut up lils, your just jealous of how goooood im gonna look.” You guessed Sirius wouldn't have a problem with it. Youd shared a lot of things over the years. Blankets, books, food, tea, you name it. 

She chuckled at that and finally stood up, giving herself a final glance in the mirror. “You know the boys will have a fit when they see you in that.” 

You rolled your yes, laughing softly. “Yeah, because those boys are the authority of fashion.” 

She giggled at that too, before picking up everything she needed for the day. “Well, whilst you commit grand larceny, im going to go get my pancakes!” She drawled sarcastically as she turned to leave.  

You muttered a soft goodbye as you also grabbed everything you needed. The boys had said before that you were free to use their dorm whenever, although Remus did add ‘Not for nefarious purposes Casanova’. You slipped out of your dorm, your boots hitting the floor with purpose. A woman on a mission. A leather jacket mission.  

The door to their dorm creaked open slowly, as if you were trying not to wake them. but you were surprised to see they weren't all still asleep right now, desperately savoring every extra 5 minutes. 

 Their dorm was an exact reflection of each of them. Vinyl records of the latest rock bands on the walls. Books and chocolate strewn about. Stubbed out cigarette butts (Don't tell Minnie). Dirty shoes and outfits from the last quidditch game. Mugs of tea forgotten about. It was so them. Everything you loved about your friends, all perfectly wrapped up in one little room. You made a mental note to spend more time here. 

As your eyes glanced around the room, you finally spotted it, dangling across the back of a chair that was pushed against his desk. It was surprising that it was actually here, since Sirius was very rarely seen without it. It had S.B written on the back in big white letters, and various patches from bands. But according to Mary, ‘the back of my outfit isn't my problem because i can even see it’. 

You slid it across your shoulders and instantly felt more comforted. The familiar scent that you loved enveloped you. You turned and checked yourself out in the boy's mirror. Now this was a complete outfit. Perfect for a Hogsmeade weekend. 

You slipped back out of the boy's dorm and started making your way down to the great hall for breakfast. 

You pushed open the heavy doors to the great hall, the smell of fresh breakfast food immediately hitting you. You skipped down to the table, going to meet up with the girls to discuss the future Hogsmeade antics.  

You giggled as you jogged past the marauders. With the prettiest smile, you waved to them. “Hi boys, don't cheap out in Hogsmeade later!”. You rushed to meet with the girls, oblivious to all the eyes that were on you. 

As you sat down, the boys, who were a little further up the table, all sat gawking at you. James nudged Sirius excitedly. “D’ya see what Shes wearing mate?” 

He had seen, which is why, when James had asked him, he had barely been able to form a response. He had felt the wind be knocked out of him as he saw you giggling and waving, clad in his leather jacket. It was almost like he was in a trance, raking his eyes over every inch of your frame, wondering how on earth that happened. And how he could get it to happen every single day. His thoughtfulness was broken by his friend's voice belting across the table. 

“Oi, (Y/N), you look absolutely astonishing in Padfoot’s jacket!” The sound of your name made you whip your head up, as you giggled with a blush coating your cheeks. Just as quickly as he had shouted, Lily had shouted back. 

“Dont be jealous James, just because you don't want to share him!” This caused all your friends to burst into a fit of laughter, all except one. Marlene was holding a firm glare at you from across the table. 

The boys vehemently questioned Sirius for the next 5 minutes. Questions of ‘did you know she was gonna wear that?’ or ‘did you finally make a move?’ or ‘i bet you're loving this’. The latter wasn't really a question, more a very correct observation which made him blush. 

Their conversation was cut short however, when they heard a clatter of plates from a little way down the table. They all snapped their heads toward the sound and found you and Marlene glaring at each other across the table. If looks could kill, wow. It had honestly only been a few minutes since you arrived, and they were all puzzled as to what could've happened in such a short time. 

And then, as if you were reading their minds. “So what if you had sex with your ex?” Came from you, as you flicked your head to the side condescendingly. The boys' jaws dropped; they probably would've hit the floor if there wasn't a table in the way. James looked as if he was watching the best soap opera of his life. 

Sirius and Marlene had a fling a few weeks back. It obviously meant more to her than him. And through the pangs of jealousy, you had comforted her. But it seems that wasnt enough for her, she wanted you to drop Sirius entirely. 

Sirius felt a jab into his ribs, and he quickly dragged his eyes away from the scene. “Ow!” He mouthed silently, trying not to disturb the tension. Remus rolled his eyes and mouthed back, ‘did you actually sleep with her?’. Now it was Sirius’ turn to roll his eyes as he whispers. ‘Obviously not, you know she doesn't like me back’.  

‘Yeah, he wishes. Peter added quietly, which caused Sirius to blush and tut, before they all turned their attention back to the scene. 

“Listen, im sorry he didn't want you, but that's no reason to treat me horribly, because he wants me now, is it?” The condescension in your voice was enough to grate on anyone who was on the receiving end. 

“Not wrong on that one.” Remus whispered quietly, causing Sirius to whack his arm lightly. HIs heart rate sped up like crazy. Did you know he liked you, all this time? Or where you just trying to get under her skin. The thoughts felt overwhelming.  

And then, It almost felt as if time slowed, as they watched Marlene snap. She grabbed the jug of pumpkin juice on the table and dashed it all over you. You had an utterly shocked look on your face. Not just because you were covered in pumpkin juice, but also because you were slightly impressed, she stood up for herself.  

But alas, war does not stop because of bravery. Your hand quietly slid a bottle of ketchup under the table as you spoke. Marlene had missed it, but it didn't get past Sirius. “You know Marlene, I wouldn't wanna ruin that pretty fake blonde hair of yours.” You laughed cynically, lifting the ketchup bottle.  

That second, Sirius jumped from his seat and ran down the table, grabbed your waist and hauled you up in his arms. He was already dragging you away as you pressed down on the bottle, squirting it all over her. 

“Ugh! You Bitch!” She screamed as she desperately tried to rub the ketchup from her face, with the girls next to her trying to calm her down. 

You laughed maniacally as you struggled against Sirius's grip while he carried you out of the great hall. Phrases of ‘let go Sirius!’ and ‘it wasn't my fault!’ fell from your mouth. Youd eventually stopped struggling about halfway to the common room, accepting your fate. 

When you finally reached the common room, he dropped you lightly onto one of the couches, and loomed over you, like a teacher about to reprimand you. 

“Sirius! Why did you drag me out of there I was winning?” The adrenaline was still clearly running through your veins as you laughed. By the look on his face, he did not find it funny. 

“(Y/N). You’ve just lost your friendship with Marlene, and potentially just sacrificed your friendship with Lily and Mary.” That definitely soured your mood. Suddenly, it wasn't very funny. “Why, in Godric Gryffindors name, did you do that?” 

You threw your hands down on the couch and pouted. “You wouldn't get it, Pads.” You sighed and tried to turn away from him. 

He had crouched down to your level now, turning you back to him with a hand on your knee. “Oh yeah, what’s so possibly bad that it warranted staining a girl, apparently fake blonde hair, news to me by the way, red with ketchup?” You tried to hide your giggle at his comment and did your best to keep silent. “Seriously, did she insult you or something? Whatever it was couldn't have warranted that.” 

You sighed again as the argument replayed through your head. You could already feel the anger building up in you again. “You should’ve heard what she was saying about you Sirius, it was all ‘he’s this, he’s that’ And then! She insinuated I slept with you, for my own personal gain, not because I liked you, not because Im in love with you, she thought I did it for bragging rights! Which is absolutely ridiculous by the way. Anyone who uses someone for bragging rights is absolutely disgusting, especially if they use you. So no, her insulting me wasn’t enough to warrant ketchup hair, but insulting you was!”  

You were bordering on shouting at this point, although your anger was misdirected. You took a deep breath and tried to calm your shaking hands. After a beat, you lifted your head to look at him, worried youll still find an angry look in his eyes. 

Instead, he was gaping at you. You furrowed your brows, questioning the incredulous look on his face. 

“You said you loved me.” He whispered lightly, worried if he spoke too loudly the words might crack his resolve.  

Your eyes widened as you studied his features. “I did not!” You tried to insist but the shock caused it to come out smaller than intended. 

“Yes, you did! You love me!” A smirk spread across his face as he pointed a finger at you. There was another beat of silence, before you jumped up from the couch and tried to run away from him. 

“Come here!” Unfortunately for you, his tall stature was not just for show, as he quickly caught up with you.  

He caught up with you as you rounded the couch again, pushing you down onto it. He had you captured between his arms. All he did was stare at you, into your eyes. 

“Im sorry your jackets covered in pumpkin juice.” You spoke softly in the space between you two. 

“It's fine i just...” His eyes racked over your figure once more. “I just can't believe your actually wearing my clothes.” 

You giggled in response and muttered low apologies. 

“Plus, I like the taste of pumpkin juice” He smirked, capturing your gaze again. Obviously, you didn’t get the memo, as your response was… 

“Taste? I know you're a dog, but you don't lick your-” but your words were soon cut off by Sirius’ voice. 

“For once in your life, be quiet!” He chuckled lowly before leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss. It was slow at first, soft, almost anticipatory, but it quickly sped up, almost like it was 6 years of emotions spilling out into one kiss. 

“I love you too, by the way” He breathed out as you broke apart, your foreheads laying against each other 

“Well id be very upset if you kissed somebody you didn't like, like that” You giggled, lightly running your hand through his hair. 

“And i love seeing you in my jacket by the way. But maybe next time tell the truth, and dont antagonize and cause a scene.” His reprimand fell short since he had the dopiest grin on his face. “But thank you for standing up for me.” 

You didn't think your grin could get any wider, “Of course.” You lay another kiss on his lips. Maybe Lily was right, you are definitely in for it. 

 Bonus 

The portrait hole swung open as James, Remus and Peter tried to search for their friend. Who was wrapped up in his own little world with his sweetheart on the couch. 

They stepped through as James tried to shout up to the dorm. “Pads? We're going to Hogsmeade soon!” His shout wasnt answered, so he glanced around the room. He found you two nuzzled together on the couch, only breaking away at the sound of his voice.  

“Oh, Christ alive, Pads get a room! Peter cover your eyes!” James wrapped a hand around his friend's eyes as you and Sirius burst into a fit of giggles on the couch.  

“Were coming!” You both untangled from each other and shifted off the couch. 

“I cant believe that was what got them to confess! A jacket! D’you think it would work the same if i wore Lilys clothes?” And with a smack of the back of his head from Remus, the group left to finally enjoy their Hogsmeade weekend. 

A/N: lmk how i did, leave requests for any hp character. comment for taglist. i love u

[mymoshangthoughts]

the amount i wanna explore the immortal alliance is just So Much

okay there are LAYERS to how i feel about these events

because look guys, so far as we understand, airplane is a pretty normal dude. a bit of an internet troll (ok a lot of an internet troll), a horny writer, and an immature punkass who's completely shameless, but like... he's not a mass murderer ya'll.

it KILLS ME that we never got an airplane extra about the immortal alliance because dude HOW HE FELT ABOUT THAT IS A LOT

yeah, he's grown up in this world and yeah he might have had no choice either via the system or via mobei jun or a mix of both, but its absolutely bonkers to be able to just walk off "yeah, a bunch of CHILDREN died in really brutal ways directly because of my influence". like shen yuan was wracked with guilt for years and he only 'killed' one kid and he knew that kid would walk it off.

and i dont buy the explanation that airplane wasn't treating pidw like a real world because frankly... i just dont think that makes any fucking sense if he was born there. yeah, it's gotta feel a bit wonky and unreal with the system in his head, but dude he was BORN here. suspension of disbelief that this world wasn't 'real' wouldnt last a few years, much less several decades. the sheer number of people he would have met, interacted with, and knew were REAL wouldnt make it possible. i do think that he made a huge effort not to get attached to anyone, knowing that bing-ge was gonna kill the fuck out of basically all of them, but theres a big difference between "ahh yeah that guy is gonna die so imma try not to get attached" and "lol ive lived in this world for thirty years but i dont actually think any of this is real"

so look, theres two possibilities for airplane's reaction:

he really does have a seriously fucked up side of him thats 100% okay with murdering children

he was VERY not okay with what happened but he had no choice and he's just Coping the best he can

there's also some answers in-between, but fuck i need to know this answer so badly because knowing the answer to how airplane reacted to the immortal alliance is SO character defining and it drives me insane. characterizing a person who can justify children dying because "not my problem, idc" versus someone who's horrified and traumatized over the part they played in child murder IS KINDA A BIG DIFFERENCE

personally, im coming to a headcanon somewhere in the middle. because tbh none of the airplane extras really spend any time addressing him feeling any sort of guilt over the situation. which does make it seem that he really does have a seriously dark side to him. and he did walk off his fellow disciples getting murdered by mobei jun very easily. but also, i headcanon that he is just the Master of compartmentalizing shit that fucks with him. cant deal with the events of the immortal alliance? thats fine, imma just put those feelings in a box and Never Think About Them.

i actually like to think that airplane's issue with the immortal alliance is the exact reason that mobei jun showed up in person. airplane is doing the immortal alliance thing because the system isnt giving him a choice and he's trying Very Hard not to think about "oh wow, theres gonna be a lot of junior disciples dead by the end of this haha, wow, they look so young ahhahaha, did teenagers always look like toddlers??? bc this is fucking me up REALLY FUCKING BAD" and mobei jun notices that something is Really Wrong with airplane and he cant decide if he's worried or suspicious of airplane's behavior

so he decides to show up in person, just to make sure shang qinghua isnt gonna pull anything but also that the idiot doesnt die while he's acting So Weird

but i think that airplane is like hyper pragmatic

so he's horrified in the planning stages and maybe even in the execution stages, but once it's over he's very much "they're already dead, theres no changing that, theres no point agonizing over it" and its not that he's OKAY with what happened but he literally cannot justify tearing himself apart over people who are dead because that isnt going to help anything. they're not alive to see him upset over it and even if their ghosts could see him, they're not gonna really feel better over dying bc "the guy who killed me feels really bad about it"

i also think that the years airplane spent growing up as shang qinghua play into it A LOT. he's had decades to come to terms with the immortal alliance happening. he knows its a major plot point, it's basically one of two major plot points that shang qinghua has a part in, and the system is unlikely to let him get out of it. so he's spent a longgg time numbing himself to the reality of "im going to murder dozens of children"

this is all my speculations tho and i just wanna rip my hair out that we dont have an immortal alliance extra!!!!!! i just want to KNOW instead of guessing where his head is at. literally, if he doesnt feel any guilt over murdering children, that's kinda a Big Deal characterization-wise. and if he does feel guilt but he doesnt express it thats ALSO a Big Deal characterization-wise!!!

I JUST WANNA BE ABLE TO ACCURATELY PORTRAY HIS PERSONALITY FFFFUUUCCCKKKK I HATE THIS

anyway, im obsessed with the idea that mobei jun is the one who notices when airplane is Not Okay even when he's compartmentalizing like crazy. like airplane is so far down his hole of "its nbd and idc" that he actually believes it. he has to believe it to be able to live with himself. but the way he's fucked up shows up in other ways, maybe he's more forgetful than normal or scattered or clumsier or some mixture and mobei jun just Knows something is wrong, even when he doesnt know exactly what that wrong thing is

and like it becomes this thing where sometimes mobei jun knows airplane better than the little shit knows himself. airplane is so busy lying to himself to cope with his new reality and mobei jun sees through the lies that airplane believes.

but heres where mobei jun hits a problem lol. like, he knows theres something wrong, he knows how to read shang qinghua suupperr well, but does he know what to DO about any of that? absolutely not lmfao

"hm. qinghua is not okay. i should beat him four times today" LIKE THIS MAN DOES NOT KNOW HOW TO HELP EVEN WHEN HE UNDERSTANDS THE PROBLEM AND THAT'S HILARIOUS TO ME

like mobei jun shows up to the immortal alliance like "qinghua has been in pain over this. i'll show up unplanned and beat the shit out of him in front of everyone. that'll help."

i just think these two are an absolute disaster area and i love it

btw i am desperate for mobei jun's pov during the immortal alliance okay because LOOK

I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT ALOT

AND IM CONVINCED THAT MOBEI JUN /DID/ HAVE FEELINGS FOR AIRPLANE DURING THAT INCIDENT

BUT ALSO

ITS COMPLICATED

like i dont think mobei jun is simping like binghe, i think he's got some weird mixture of denial and affection and frustration and pining and hatred and suspicion thats all mixed up in all the best ways that during that time he is super in love with airplane but he's also got a lot of other Complicated feelings toward him AND I JUST WANNA SEE HIS POV TO PROVE MY HYPOTHESIS SO FUCKING BADLY WHY THE FUCK DO WE NEVER GET HIS POV IMMA SCREAM

mobei jun's fb status "its complicated"

airplane's fb status "single"

mobei jun: ...........im going to murder him. im going to murder him in his sleep. omfg i hate him so fucking much. WTF DO YOU MEAN SINGLE, YOU ASSHOLE

[bluzebub19]

hello! can i request viktor or jayce with a reader who has autism and doesnt speak but is good at science?

Writer's note: Hello! Thanks so much for your request! This is like the first request I got and I already started on it. Hope you like it! Any tips with writing are very much appreciated!

Warnings: None, just fluffy stuff. Not proofread.

Pairing/s: Viktor x GN! reader who's autistic and nonverbal but loves science

Platonic Headcanons

● As a mentor or colleague, Viktor respects you a lot. He encourages your work and never underestimates your capabilities, treating you as an equal in every sense.

● He enjoys the calmness you bring to the lab, and he appreciates the efficiency and focus you put into your work

● Viktor is protective in his own way. If anyone tries to belittle or patronize you, he’s quick to step in. He may not be a physical one, but his words are sharp.

● He takes the time to understand how you prefer to communicate. Whether it’s through notes, gestures, or subtle expressions, he adapts because he doesn't want you to feel self-conscious. A feeling he's very familiar with when he views his body, his disease as a weakness.

● Viktor occasionally shares personal anecdotes from his own life, hoping to make you feel more comfortable around him.

●To him, he finds it refreshing to work with someone who sees the world as he does. You make him feel understood in a way that's rare for him.

Romantic Headcanons

• The platonic headcanons, of course, still applies here.

• Viktor truly admires your dedication and love to science, and he often finds himself fascinated by the way you approach and solve problems. He's intrigued as well by your ability to notice patterns and details others overlook. Your perspective makes him think differently, which is why he values your opinion.

• Viktor is patient and observant. He never pushes you to speak, respecting your methods of communication. Instead, he learns to read your body language, small gestures, or the notes you scribble down to express yourself. Even so, he’s comfortable with your silence and finds it peaceful rather than awkward.

• Viktor’s subtle affection shows in little things: placing a blanket over your shoulders when you were too focused on work and fell asleep on your desk, or saving the last of your favorite snacks for you.

• When he realizes his feelings for you, it’s a quiet epiphany. He isn't one to confess dramatically, he shows his affection through mostly his actions. A touch on your hand, a gentle smile when you accomplish something—he hopes you notice. Though, that's not to say his words aren't beautiful to hear when it rolls of his tongue. He manages to sound like a poet with how he describes his feelings without even saying "I love you." Because to him, those words are an understatement.

• If you reciprocate, Viktor treasures your love like it’s the most precious discovery he’s ever made. He cherishes every small moment with you and continues to support you in every way he can.

[squidballsinc]

omg i cant believe after injecting himself with that serum thingy he turned into an etherial and went on a rampage and we only managed to stop him after great difficulty and leveling half the hallow including half of our AND his organs he BARELY survives after like 27 surgeries and even now is like a shambling broken excuse of a human being who's every move is excruciating but whos chronic terminal disease has miraculously disappeared with the caveat of even more extreme side effects of all the OTHER problems left after those 27 or so surgeries barely put him back together but at the very least his hallow navigation abilities have gone up 200% bc turns etherials have a different set of senses compared to basically other living thing (based on the fact that none of them are, technically, alive) and that turning into one actually, you know, has a lasting impact on your own senses perceive the world and therefore the hollows so the upper ups are like "go in and navigate for us" and hes like "okay" bc hero complex despite the few people who care for him in the world vehemently interjecting because this way he can help right? this way he's changing things, saving the world, becoming a hero? right? .right.?

anyways alt vers. under the cut

art study of toilet bound hanako kun by AidaIro, references below

also credit to dragaliareferencearchive's harumasa character references that i used while drawing this, very helpful! ^u^

[crowtrobotx]

Idk if I've ever complained about my one cousin and his wife and the way they raise their kids here but. without getting into too much detail, they are setting all 4 of them up for eating disorders at the very least and insane trauma at the worst. I got invited to their Xmas Eve party which I will NOT be attending but there was a note on the invite reminding guests that the kids aren't allowed to have candy and oh if only it was that simple. No candy, no soda, rigorously regimented portion sizes and meals. None of them were allowed to have condiments until they turn 6. All of this is done in the name of (per my cousin's wife) keeping them as "healthy" as possible and presumably avoiding such horrors as being fat or god forbid "lifestyle illnesses" as if those are a thing/a thing that people deserve to be shamed for. I want to strangle these people.

My mother who has always been much more of a peacekeeper than me is always like "well, they're not your kids. don't make it your problem" and it's like actually i think i will!!!!

[littlelicho]

i've been called! i analysed it way too much not to say anything

Just A Man and its role is something i've been pondering over a couple of days ago, actually, and i came up with a little something. a little theory, if you will

the Just A Man bridge is not about being a man, nor about being a monster - it's a question about the tipping point with a hint of foreshadowing

when you look at this bridge - as transcribed in the original post - and at how it is composed in terms of structure and imagery, it's relatively easy to notice it revolves around quantitative questions. even those that seem (rightfully so) qualitative at first glance, 'comet to meteor' and 'reason to blame', can be framed as quantitative: how long distance in earth's atmosphere has to pass for a comet to be considered a meteor?* to what degree of intensity does the reason have to accumulate to be seen as blame for things?

*factually speaking, a comet becomes a meteor while burning up upon entering the atmosphere

quantitative questions that are asked to point the line between A and B would have, ideally, a precise answer. but if the boundaries of two sets are blurry, how can you pinpoint the exact moment A becomes B?

(normally that's where a fun little word "discrete" comes in, but i'll spare you the details)

if psychological notions are somewhat more up your lane, may i suggest linking this to the problem of categorisation in theories of concepts and mental representations of objects? i find Eleanor Rosch's prototype theory to be especially helpful here (the prototype is most similar to other members of the category and least similar to members of other categories)

with me so far?

even though we can't find the specific point in time or other measure for one thing to become the other, those two things are unequivocally separate and different objects, which suggests there is at least a relatively narrow space where the transition happens.

the bridge hinges on the question when? which suggests we're looking for a point in time aka an event.

so what event can show us how a ripple becomes a tidal wave? when a flame is big enough to be a fire?

the answer is, i daresay, none.

no one event is that transition. instead, one situation builds upon another. until they reach the tipping point.

pushed to their limit, the individual reaches the point of transition by being put in a situation - aka forced to make a choice, because what moulds a situation more than the choices made? - where the consequence is to either let the thing break you or change so that it won't.

the narrow space of transition we were looking for is this tipping point where a situation, a choice, or both, significantly propel the character in a new direction, transform them.

let's take a little break from that - for just a bit - to notice another thing: how the bridge begins. the transition from the first part of the song to this one goes, lyrically, like this,

I'm just a man But when does a man become a monster?

it makes a coherent sentence, doesn't it? but musically, those two verses are significantly different. the first one is almost a capella (sung without instruments), while the second is more intense, with a new beat and lack of earlier legato strings, even if the whole range of instruments (and voices, interestingly) takes a while to unravel. i would see it as a hint that even though the concepts presented are related - heavily - they are not identical. Odysseus' view of himself as "just a man" is, of course, linked to the question of the tipping points between different versions of his character, but the question isn't exclusive to the transitions of his attitudes and approaches. it's still general, nearly rhetorical: where's the line? or, more specifically, how much can you push him to his limits until he's either broken or changed?

and that, i think, is foreshadowing to what Odysseus' story is exploring, among others

now let's tie it all back to the story

the first time we heard the bridge - and its motif of the question - is both the introduction of the concept and the first tipping point: Zeus, the king of gods, demands Odysseus to kill a child.

he complies. he also doesn't mention it again until literally half of the whole musical (song Monster)

the second time we hear the motif is during Ruthlessness after Poseidon kills over 500 of Odysseus' men and is set on striking him in just a moment. but more specifically, it's sung as a background for a very interesting exchange:

odysseus, sounding broken and terrified and in shock (understandably), asks poseidon what have you done?

when does a ripple become a tidal wave? sings ensemble

forty-three left under your command, Poseidon points out

when does a man become a monster?

Odysseus' own words from Remember Them get repeated back to him: I am your darkest moment / The monster that always draws near

and then Poseidon adds, almost like an afterthought, any last words?

and here's the thing - the underlying message is: you're dying in a sec, bud, no way around it. say your goodbyes or your manifesto, whatever is fine because you won't be here in the next moment.

then the most fascinating thing happens - Odysseus, seemingly broken only a few seconds ago, now confidently and forcefully exclaims that no, he is not dying, thank you very much. he opens the windbag and yeets himself and the rest of the survivors the hell out of there.

i believe that short second of silence between Poseidon's question and Odysseus' answer, alongside a build-up to it, is the second tipping point, where Odysseus makes a very fateful choice: to put up a fight and come out on the other side alive. the motif appears to foreshadow the defining choice that is about to be made.

i think the contrast of Odysseus' responses between the first and the second tipping point tells us a lot about the way it influenced him - choices he makes after them both even more so, which could be the whole essay in itself, to be honest. from my perspective, he finds the strength to fight in Ruthlessness because the choice to obey the gods and kill a child broke something in him - and he can't afford any more of that if he's to come back to Penelope and Telemachus

the third time the motif appears is during Thunder Bringer.

specifically between Odysseus' begging Zeus by repeating the lines from The Horse and The Infant (Please don't make me do this / Don't make me do this) and his exchange with Eurylochus ("Captain?" / "I have to see her." / "But we'll die." / "I know.")

this conversation is how we find out that Odysseus made his choice and what it is, the bridge once again coming right before and/or during a defining moment in his story.

what, for me, also cements this as another tipping point, is that Penelope's/siren's promise to free him from suffering is incorporated in-between the lines as well - this promise can easily be, and often is, read as luring Odysseus to give up and die, and therefore be freed of his turmoil. so the choice between himself and his crew is not only the choice of who is forced to die but also who is forced to live. and just as with Poseidon, Odysseus refuses to give up.

it's easy to assume the motif is there to showcase Odysseus truly "becoming a monster" - which is the idea i deeply dislike, i don't believe he actually ever did that - but i argue that his decision to sacrifice six of his men to pass Scylla would be a way better of an example of such a behaviour, if one were to assume this transition.

interestingly enough, the motif doesn't return in either Monster or Six Hundred Strike, which are often framed as events when Odysseus "embraces the monster in him" and therefore should be, theoretically, considered a tipping point. again, i don't agree with this interpretation, and for me, that's another argument for why a so-called villain arc is not a story in EPIC.

to sum up: i believe that Just A Man bridge serves as a question of "where's the limit that incites change?" and appears as a foreshadowing or a companion to a choice that not only pushes Odysseus to his limit in one way or another but also changes something for him, influencing the direction of his character development.

that's all just a theory, of course. i thought of something, of a way to interpret the story, and analysed the whole thing to see if it was there, but that also means i may have fallen for the confirmation bias. there's also a good chance there's something i didn't consider that would invalidate either most of it or some crucial part

i am eagerly waiting to see how the Ithaca saga will conclude the story, what it'll tell us about Odysseus and the ways he's changed - and maybe it'll prove me partially or completely wrong!

i do believe the idea is worthy of at least consideration, though, and if anyone is still here after this long, labyrinthine essay, i want to thank you so so much for reading, it means the world to me. have a great day, and lots of love! 💕

There's something interesting about the chorus of "Just A Man" being used in different sections when Odysseus is facing off against two different gods.

The original full chorus is:

"But when does the comet become a meteor?

When does the candle become the blaze?

When does a man become a monster?

When does a ripple become a tidal wave?

When does the reason become the blame?

When does a man become a monster?"

We hear the words just a man being used in different contexts - Athena telling Odysseus he's just a man, Odysseus calling himself Just A Man when facing Circe and when he deals with what he's about to do to Astyanax, but the only two moments a part of the Just a Man chorus were used were in:

Ruthlessness - right after Poseidon kills most of his men.

The only section we hear then is "When does a ripple become a tidal wave, when does a man become a monster?"

So in this case, what comes before it's excluded, and the sentence "when does the reason become the blame is too"

Thunder Bringer - right after Zeus tells Odysseus he can choose who lives and who dies.

This time around, they bring back The Horse and The Infant and then they bring back: "

when does the comet become a meteor?

When does the candle become the blaze?

When does a man become a monster?

When does a ripple become a tidal wave?

When does the reason become the blame?

When does a man become a monster?"

And the thing that makes me wonder about the symbolism - allegory if you will - of these moments.

In the first one, it is pretty clear that he's questioning at which point he'll become a monster if he does this and at what point will this child become so much of a threat that a god comes to warn me about it.

In the second one, Odysseus isn't making any choices - but rather having someone else inflicting something onto him.

In the third, he's again being offered a choice - that's not really a choice at all because both he and Zeus know what he'll do.

I'm not entirely sure the point Jorge is making with Just a Man - because I need to check and see in what context it'll be used again in Ithaca saga, but I couldn't help but notice the pattern when relistening to all the sagas.

It doesn't seem to strike a parallel of Odysseus becoming a monster - because I discussed this already, and he's not going through a villain arc -, because of the moments where he chose to reimplement the themes of the song, but I'm also not entirely sure of the connection - or if there's one - at this point.

Do you guys have any thoughts?

[aggressionbread]

Me after finally getting an airbrush