#do you think it was an act of mercy or do you think he wanted her to die?

[moechies]

nanami who has you impaled deep on his cock, hands restraining your tiny, quivery wrists.

you’ve been a bad girl.

fussing over the smallest inconsistencies throughout your day spent with your dearest fiance — having taken a day off to spend with his darling girl. but you’re a brat — there’s no doubt about it. nonetheless, it’s kento’s responsibility to put you back in your place, turn you back into the pliant, nice, and smart woman he knows you to be.

so when you begin to act indifferent than your usual self, slamming cabinets with a mean force and glaring off at your fiancé at his feeble attempts to comfort and confront you, he knows you’re feeling off.

and he knows it’s not your fault — you’re big on emotions but hefty weak when it comes to communication. so, he’ll just have to force it out of you.

so that’s how he forced you here — mindlessly bouncing atop his cock with your arms confined and pressed roughly against the concave of your back. your consistency is mindless, allowing your little pussy and those weak thighs of yours to think for you as your mushed little head spits out scenarios in order to calm your fiancé.

“do it correctly. i know you can.” the man grumbles, sitting himself up against the soft pillows with a rough readjusting to your sore wrists. they ache — having being pressed against eachother for nearly an hour, and your fiancé having no intention to release them any time soon.

you writhe in his grip, crying out his name with a soft whine as a peace offer for mercy, any mercy.

“correct your posture and straighten your thighs. like i taught you many times before. don’t tell me you forgot, darling.” he eyes you condescendingly, sighing with a disappointed demeanor that has you whimpering.

“y—yhes.. yes sir!” and you do just as he says, straightening your legs and stretching out your legs. it takes you a weak couple of grinds before you manage to find a suiting pace — although slow but kento deems it acceptable.

“well done. now,” kento grunts, “tell me what’s gotten you so fussy today. will you?”

you huff, shaking your head softly with an adorable pout, increasing the speed of your pace in hopes to lose the man in his thoughts with your hips.

“now now,” kento warns, his free hand, the right one coming up to squeeze at your cheeks, his calloused thumb jabbing into your right dimple, the rest of his hand laying tight against your left. “we’re not about to play the guessing game.”

you squeak in pain, eyes closing shut which forces the previously bubbling tears to spill over your lash line.

“speak up, darling, or you won’t be cumming anytime soon. i can promise you that.” he growls — which is his last and final warning, an assertion of dominance you’ve only seen once long before.

“i—i—“

nanami removes his grip from your face, a contradicting thumb that comes to wipe at your tears so sweetly you might just cry again.

“wa—wan’ you to put a baby in m—me already,” you hiccup, “wan’a have your kids, k—ken.” finally, you crack.

nanami cums.

you squeak inevitably, not expecting the sudden fill in your womb, thick ropes of spent painting your walls white and filling your tummy. “o—oh shhh—shit.” nanami whines, cursing himself when he feels it leak against his tummy. your hips slow, meaning to stop, “no.. don’t stop. keeping going, l—love. until you can’t, for me.”

you nod shakily, hiccuping softly when you hear the man chuckle, leaning back against the headboard with a weary stare. “that’s it, doll? you’ve been so fussy, so mean all day just because you wanted me to breed this little w—womb? aw.” nanami coos, and you can’t help but feel the slightest bit embarrassed. you’re quick to pout again at his teasing, but your ploy is quickly shocked to failure when he presses harshly against the chub of your tummy — directly atop your womb.

“darling, you must communicate. how would i have known you’d ask of s—something so simple?”nanami stutters when you drop onto his lap, situating yourself tiredly onto him. “i just— ‘s-s embarrassing.” you whimper in response, lifting your head to receive a gentle kiss from the man.

kento’s quick to flip you over, quick enough that you don’t even notice your hot body against the cool sheets with your fiancés cock still impaled deep into you. “no worries now, it’s all done.” nanami grins, “now all i’ve got left to do is make my woman feel good, isn’t that right?”

[wrenaspun]

Capri prompt: write us some porn. (Spanking, perhaps?)

A simple request, one would think! And yet, uh, this is not very porny and only alludes to spanking. Sorry anon... their hopeless vanilla nature came through too strongly. I AM going to try and get another fill out with more porn than this for you -

Laurent was very relaxed and his defences, his usual iron self-restraint, were reliably nonexistent after Damen had wrung a single orgasm from him, let alone three. He blamed this comfortable atmosphere for the fact that he asked, “How do you discipline slaves?” and then, seeing the familiar obstructive look on Damen’s face, amended the question: “How did you discipline slaves, when you had them?”

Damen calmed and considered this. Laurent stroked his fingers through dark curls, marvelling at their loveliness. “I didn’t really… I suppose I would tell them they had done poorly, if I thought so.”

Laurent looked at him incredulously. Damen offered, “I might speak to the trainer?”

Laurent said, “Damen.”

Damen was laughing at him. “Laurent. It would hardly be their own fault! That was the whole — that’s why we’re abolishing — why are you even asking this?”

Laurent, who had not even considered that the conversation might take this turn, found himself blank of any answer. “I,” he said, then shut his mouth.

Damen, who knew him far too well, was grinning up at him impudently. “Did you want me to be your unruly, impossible slave? I’m not opposed.”

“Of course you’re not,” Laurent muttered, feeling the flush creeping over his face, “you never are.”

“You could speak very sternly to someone about my behaviour while I weep piteously in the corner,” said Damen. He was battling valiantly with a smile which wanted to emerge at the corner of his mouth. As Laurent watched, the smile won. The room brightened.

“You couldn’t weep piteously if your life depended on it,” he managed.

“Well,” said Damen. “I could try.” And then: “Perhaps if you gave me five minutes alone beforehand, with an onion —”

Laurent pushed Damen off his lap and marched from the bed, pouring himself an unnecessary glass of water to the sound of Damen’s protests.

“But really, tell me,” said Damen, having rolled onto his stomach, now watching Laurent’s progress through the room with warm eyes. “What were you thinking about to ask that?” His brown eyes were so gorgeous in the candlelight, warm and wide. Laurent’s skin felt shivery and bright, ecstatic to be looked at. He couldn’t talk. Damen took mercy on him and asked, “How do Veretians punish their pets?”

“Many ways,” said Laurent. “It depends on the employer. I — spanking. Caning.” He did not say whipping. “Chastity. Humiliation. It’s not all — I mean, some pets act out deliberately to provoke it. For fun. The only real punishment is to terminate the contract. Theoretically.” While the monetary incentive was there, plenty of pets would put up with activity they didn’t enjoy and didn’t want. It was a problem they were still trying to find a solution for.

Damen was watching him carefully. Laurent regretted getting out of bed: everything was easier to talk about when he had Damen by his side, within touching distance, but it felt somehow strange to go to him now, the timing awkward.

“Did you want,” Damen said; his tone said much more, “to try any of that?”

Laurent bit his lip. It was his own fault, he acknowledged, for starting this conversation with an imprecision to his language which left his ultimate meaning ambiguous. He’d thought Damen would appreciate that; Akielons were so fond of leaving every part of their bedplay to allusion. He had seen Makedon call for the recitation of a poem the other day about flowers that had had every grown man in the hall blushing.

“I was thinking,” pushing the words out, “you might want it the other way around,” he said. “To do to me.”

“Well, not while you look like that talking about it,” said Damen. “Come back to bed, sweetheart.”

Laurent did, too relieved even to feel self-conscious. Damen made a small noise as he tucked their bodies together again, and Laurent realised that the evening air was cool, that his body had grown chilled while they spoke.

“It’s not like that,” he said to the sheets. “Whatever I — looked like — it wasn’t because —”

Damen hummed easily when the words fell away, his body a lovely warm reassurance beside Laurent’s. It was impossible to be truly nervous in bed together, with the blankets drawn snugly over them, sharing body heat. “Why wouldn’t you want to do that to me?”

Laurent looked up at him disbelievingly. And then, when this did not seem to yield understanding, said, “I think I’ve done enough to you for one lifetime.”

Damen blinked down at him and rubbed one hand along Laurent’s tight spine. “I thought this was meant to be for fun.”

“Even in fun,” said Laurent. And then, “Don’t talk. Don’t look at me like that. Tell me you’ll think about it.”

“I’ll think about it,” Damen promised obligingly. And then he kissed Laurent so sweetly that it was impossible not to arch up into it, to press their bodies together as close as they would go, and then even closer, leaving words behind them.

[waitmyturtles]

Thank you so much for the tags, dear friend @lurkingshan, and what a way to kick off 2025 Asian QL discourse!

@wen-kexing-apologist done dropped an outstanding response to Shan's piece here that continues the conversation about the stripping of real queer perspectives and frameworks from Asian queer media that is very much worth reading. Just to set up how I want to respond to Shan's piece, I want to emphasize the inverse relationship of the mainstreaming of queer media to both the quantity and the quality of the queerness in queer shows.

A lot of Shan's and WKA's pieces focus on Thailand, which I will as well, because QL discourse on Tumblr is dominated by what's happening in Thailand vis à vis what scholar Thomas Baudinette calls the "T-wave" of media flowing out of Thailand that includes dramas and music, frontally led by international distribution of Thai queer media. Dr. Baudinette speaks briefly about the behavior of fans in the link above, and I want to unwind on this a bit more by way of what we're talking about with the de-queering of queer media.

I've been really critical, in my Old GMMTV Challenge project on the development of the Thai QL genre, of branded pairs, and the subsequent act by fans of shipping two real-life actors into fantasies of queer relationships. Shan above links to an incredibly important piece by @bengiyo from last year where he took fans to task for conflating their fantasies about real-life actors and projecting those fantasies on their understanding of the storytelling of fictional characters. Within that, as Shan quotes above, Ben asks his audience, and I paraphrase -- can you ask yourself if you REALLY like queer people, and queerness as a whole?

I want to propose that the branded pair system, and/or the subsequent fantastical shipping of otherwise real-life people, contributes to the erasure of queerness we are currently seeing in many shows from Thailand; the high majority of them coming from GMMTV, but to the points made above, we have now seen that happen in One31's Spare Me Your Mercy, with the SMYM screenwriter going so far as to say that NC scenes -- queer sex -- would have been distracting to the telling of the show's story. That's wrenching, to say the least, because of the sheer lack of truth behind that assumption of how stories can otherwise be told with sex and romance as important context in queer stories.

How can I prove this? I'm thinking of the controversy last year between Tay Tawan and Gun Atthaphan, both members of their own TayNew and OffGun branded pairs, who were unwittingly caught sharing a brief and playful smooch while playing a game on live camera.

The "Polca" TayNew fans were subsequently up in arms online, challenging Tay Tawan to his devotion to the TayNew "ship." In other words, his fans were angry at him for popping the balloon of their shipping fantasies.

In this case, I would like to note that while we see GMMTV reducing blatant queer perspectives and frameworks from their shows, and promoting friend-ships or bro-ships, in the case of High School Frenemy and the SkyNani branded pair, we see GMMTV's (and Thai BL's) rise continue to grow in certain Asian countries (like China, Malaysia, and Indonesia, among others) that do not allow for public displays of queerness, among other restrictions. GMMTV does not hold branded pair fan meetings in these countries, and yet, these countries are some of the channel's biggest markets for its queer shows and pairs. As well, these countries (I am part-Malaysian myself) do not have public programs of sex education. Thus, if I am to assume that the majority fan bases of these shows are young folks in countries that do not offer robust sex education, then these young folks (of any gender) might not be inclined to join in and participate in conversations about queer equality.

We, thus, get the outcry that occurred after Tay and Gun smooched. God forbid fantasies were to have been destroyed because two real-life people kissed. Two men, kissing, outside of the context of their branded pairs and outside the context of a drama. Some people have never been to the club before.

It seems to me that the fantasies of the fans are worth more, as an investment by GMMTV and other studios in Thailand, than actual artistic material that focuses on queerness at this point. Capitalism and mainstreaming go very well hand-in-hand when there's money to be made, and this, to me, speaks loudly to the excellent points that Shan has made above about really great queer art being anathema to center- and conservative-mainstreams. We're getting less of really great queer art in Thailand, because the dampening of queerness in Thai shows might very well mean more bucks for the studios.

Finally, a last point about capitalism that I'd like to make. I've been seeing a rising number of posts and comments taking Tumblr bloggers to task for being critical (like, objectively critical) of bad shows. Many folks don't want to read criticism of their fave shows and stars.

I want to note that if one takes this position -- the capitalists have won again. If you're someone who's trying to prevent critical takes from being published, well, you got got by the capitalists -- the studios, the managers who want you to be so in love with your faves that you will ponder asking a writer to censor themselves from making a critical take. You might feel ownership of your blorbo, protective of your favorite star. Those critical takes may feel, to you, like a takedown of your fave.

The studios and managers of your faves also don't want these takedowns, because if a star's reputation is dampened, that'll affect their economic bottom line, and the studio's economic bottom line. Just listen to two Thai BL dudes who've been through the ringer on this very issue. This kind of capitalism and social media frenzy can have actual and harmful effects on the human actors performing these fantastical works.

The capitalists are making their play on Asian QL. It was a hell of a move for the makers of Love In The Big City to get that show out the way that it did. And I very much hope that LITBC will have a lasting impact on South Korean media -- as the earlier, and very queer, shows of the Thai QL industry once had, and might have again, if we can support really great Asian queer art with the same gusto and strength as currently popular shows enjoy.

Spare Me Your Mercy, Love in the Big City, and the Trap of Pursuing Mainstream Popularity for Queer Art

I read this excellent post by @waitmyturtles yesterday tackling the frustrating failures of Spare Me Your Mercy, a show that was one of my most anticipated of the year, but that ended up so lost in its own confusing blend of sauces that I didn't even finish it. I appreciated her clarity that despite the show receiving strong ratings and finding popularity with the mainstream domestic audience, that doesn't actually make it a success as a piece of narrative storytelling. And if anything, its popularity underlines why it was a failure as a queer narrative, in particular.

Because here's the thing about great queer art—it's almost never popular with mainstream audiences, especially in socially conservative countries. High quality, well-executed, honest and authentic queer art is more likely to be protested than celebrated in places where real queer people are not safe to live free lives. For an illustration of this, look no further than another highly anticipated queer drama of this year in Love in the Big City. Easily the queerest show to ever get made and aired on Korean television, it drew major protests before it even started, forcing the production to release it quickly in one go to ensure it would reach audiences. And why were those conservative groups so afraid of this little old drama? Because even just in its trailer and promotional materials, it was clear this was no sanitized, G-rated drama created to make gay people seem more palatable to the masses (unlike the film version with the same name, which not coincidentally has been much more warmly received by the Korean media establishment). This show was real, and raw, and QUEER in a way that terrified those bigots, because they know one of the most important ways the oppressed can advocate for themselves is by demonstrating their humanity through art. 

Which brings me back to turtles’ post, and the importance of separating the concerns of art and commerce when discussing the different ways media can succeed. This is something I had some good dialogue about with @biochemjess @pharawee @clairedaring @flowerbeasblog and turtles (and even more of you in the tags) when I was still watching and posting about Spare Me Your Mercy. I originally posted to unpack why the show was flopping narratively, which turned into a discussion of the fact that it was getting good ratings from the domestic audience despite this. And while I appreciated understanding how the show is landing with its priority audience, for me, it’s very important to keep a distinction between these two different kinds of success. Especially in discussions of queer art, and especially for a show whose creators explicitly said they were intentionally downplaying the queer romance part of the queer romance ( @benkaben) to avoid “distracting” from their other messaging goals. 

The important thing to keep in mind is that for queer stories, when they are popular with a mainstream audience it’s often because they are stripping any authenticity from the representation of queer people. Turtles addressed this well in her review of 2gether when she posited that part of the reason it was such a phenomenon in conservative Asian countries (aside from the timing of its release in the early days of the global pandemic), was because its presentation of queerness was mostly unrecognizable to real queer people, stripped of any true notion of queer sexuality or the realities of homophobia. Compare the reception of The Miracle of Teddy Bear—a show that absolutely refused to make its central queer character palatable for a mainstream audience, because the fact that he wasn’t palatable was the point—to that of Spare Me Your Mercy, a show whose creators chose to censor their own story. The ugly truth is that when we’re talking about queer dramas, the best and most vital shows are pretty much anathema to mainstream ratings success.

The impulse to pursue mainstream popularity and commercial success for queer art inevitably leads to watering down queer stories ( @twig-tea) to make them more light, comfortable and familiar to a majority heterosexual and socially conservative audience. And yes, of course, some degree of commercial success is necessary for queer art to get made in the first place. This is how the Thai BL market took off, by recognizing that there was an audience beyond queer people who were open to watching stories about boys falling in love, as long as it didn’t get too real. But there is a careful line to walk here, and it’s so important not to confuse popularity with artistic merit. Queer people won’t win liberation by self-censoring queer media to make it more palatable for mainstream audiences. We win when we make queer art so good and so honest that the mainstream is forced to acknowledge it. We win by challenging the mainstream perspective on queer people and how they should behave, not by catering to it. As @bengiyo said in a completely different discourse, the question is not whether the audience can love queer characters whose actual queerness is suppressed for their comfort. That kind of respectability politics is old hat and it never fucking gets us anywhere. The real question he posed is this: “Do you love us when we’re ugly, when we’re sick, when we’re old, when we’re being mean or catty?”

Which is why a show like Love in the Big City ultimately won by being so excellent, and so true, and so undeniable, that it broke through with audiences around the world and achieved some measure of recognition in spite of how very unpalatable it was to its domestic audience. Unlike Spare Me Your Mercy, this show did not get amazing domestic ratings, but its message was heard far beyond those who watched it on Korean television. And that is the point. Making authentic art that advances the struggle of queer people and making nominally queer art that can achieve mainstream popularity are completely different pursuits, and we must keep that in mind when we discuss whether and how these shows succeeded or failed. And while both must exist in a healthy media ecosystem, one will always be more vital for the survival of queer people than the other. 

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 39

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: Born Fire Days

Notes: /

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  39/47

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The journey to this cursed castle continued. Merlin and Lancelot rode together and you couldn’t help but keep an eye on them. Lancelot said few words to him, but Merlin carried the conversation between them without a problem. Of course you were curious to know what was being said, but surely he would tell you if it was something important.

Percival was clothed well against the colder weather, he had wrapped the scarf around his neck and it covered half his face, the cloak kept him perfectly warm. Some of the crew were singing a sea shanty a little to your right and you grew to like it, while Pym was encouraged by them to learn the lyrics too and join in.

Gawain came to ride beside you, something had caught his curiosity. “I have not seen you wear a ring before.”

It was so obvious that he was fishing for information, the statement was just to breach the subject.

“It was a gift.” you bit back a smirk.

“Oh?” He acted like he wasn’t eager to be nosy. “From Lancelot?”

You learned that the Green Knight was terrible at pretending. “Yes.”

“Any special reason?” He was still acting like he did not know exactly what it was.

“Gawain.” You looked at him. “Yes. It is a wedding band.”

The knight was happy to hear it. “He has spoken of his regrets on how it began between you. No vows taken, no ceremony. It has left a scar within him.”

You had no idea Lancelot had spoken of it to Gawain. “The past doesn’t matter now-”

He interrupted. “It matters to him, y/n. He was raised by the scriptures, he may no longer be a monk but the spirit of a marriage holds a great value to him. And he feels guilty for how the choice was taken from you.”

It left you half shocked. “I carry no resentment anymore for how this marriage came to be. Marrying me off to him was probably the only good thing Father Carden ever did.”

Gawain knew it to be true. “But he knows that the joy of experiencing a wedding, or joining, was stolen away. It bothers him, I know it does. I could hear it in his voice when he spoke of it.”

“It was not his fault…” you sighed quietly. “He has to know that.”

He got quieter. “Part of him knows, but the guilt he feels is making it difficult to see where his faults and those of another are. He is making amends, righting every wrong he sees, and that ring is part of it.”

You looked down at the ring. “Do you think he might ever be free of the guilt he feels?”

He thought on it for a moment. “Only if he lets himself be in time.”

In time… and until that time the guilt would continue to scratch at his soul. “The world’s burdens is not his to carry alone.”

The knight nodded in agreement. “Be not concerned, y/n. He is not alone in this, we are here to help.”

It was a comfort to know. Lancelot was beginning to find his place among the group, and after years of having to hide his heritage in solitude he could now be himself.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  Merlin had announced not so long ago that the cursed castle was near. And indeed the group came to a halt in front of a large and high rock formation that stole the sunlight from the forest beneath it. The castle was ingrained within the rock formation, as if it was a part of it. The entire place was overgrown by vines that held it in an unbreakable hold. Arthur and Red Spear, along with some of the crew, tried to cut through them but as Merlin had told the vines did not yield.

“How do we get inside?” Lancelot asked Merlin.

Merlin pointed to a spot nearby that was covered in bushes. “There should still be an entrance there.”

Upon closer inspection, the magician was right. There were stone steps that leaded down to a heavy wooden door covered in the strange vines.

Merlin spoke his plan out loud, “We must proceed on foot from here, and enter through the dungeons to find our way to the ground floor. If the curse can be broken, we will return for the horses and bring them to the front of the fort.”

“Why not ride to the front entrance now?” Red Spear was impatient.

Merlin dampened that impatience. “The front entrance of the castle is completely overgrown by the vines. We cannot cut through them, their destruction must come from within.”

“Then how do we even get in?” Pym chimed in.

Merlin looked towards Lancelot and stepped aside to make room to let him pass. “We follow him.”

Lancelot felt all the eyes on him, swallowed thickly, and went to to the door. You could see how nervous he was when he reached for the door. But the vines retracted from his touch, letting him proceed. He got the door open, although the rusted hinges made it difficult and some rubble was at the foot of the door. He held it open, letting the rest of the group in first. Percival, you and Pym were the last to enter. Percival easily slithered inside. Pym looked at the rubble with distrust, which Lancelot noticed. He held out his hand for her to take, intending to help her step over the rubble.

Her mouth fell open, eyes went wide, it lasted only two seconds before she said, “I’m not clumsy.”

It made him chuckle, still he did not revoke the offer of helping her and after some hesitation she took hold of his hand to help her safely over the rubble that indeed decided to move under her feet. None of the others had seen the flicker of concern in her eyes, but he proved himself perceptive again. She uttered a quiet ‘Thank you’ and hurried inside after the others. He held out his hand again, for you this time, tilting his head down a little in respect. You took his hand to step over the rubble in case it would move under your feet too. Such a chivalrous and considerate gesture of him. And then you felt the unnecessary hand on your rear, as if it would help in case you fell. He made it look so casual, so normal, while you snapped your eyes to his face with burning cheeks. Not a speck of regret for his actions, not one, there was only confidence to be found in his eyes.

You confronted him, “I didn’t see you do that with Pym.”

He looked so smug. “Should I correct that?”

A warning look was send his way. “She looks like the sort of person who would make you regret trying, and I wouldn’t stop her.”

He moved around your back, briefly leaning in to whisper, “I recall you telling me that I am permitted to appreciate your behind.”

You squinted your eyes at him, vaguely remembering telling him so back at the inn. It felt impossible to scold him for it when he had such a smoldering look in his eyes just for you.

Gawain spoke for all to hear. “Let’s form pairs and search these grounds. See if it is safe.”

“No.” Lancelot interjected. “There is strength in numbers and we do not know what we are facing in this cursed place. We remain together until we know it is safe.”

“I agree with Lancelot.” Arthur said.

“I did not ask.” Gawain told Arthur.

Even Lancelot winced at how icy the knight could be towards the Manblood. There was a certain competitiveness between Arthur and Gawain, two different characters that could work together and clash just as easily.

Pym scrunched her nose. “Why wouldn’t it be safe? The place is covered in vines that won’t let anyone in.”

Lancelot took no offense to her question. “If this curse can keep this whole fort from the world outside, who says it is all it can do?”

“There is nothing wrong with wanting to be certain.” Merlin said to all. “Let us find the forge we seek here first. If we end this curse we will have time to explore.”

They all looked at each other, Red Spear was the first to agree to the plan and the rest followed.

        The exploration of the castle began. Vines covered every wall, every door, everything. You could feel the presence of the Hidden, but there was something else, something that surpassed them. Torches had been taking off from the walls and lighted to see in the dark halls. The windows let in no sunlight, inside it was as if everything was frozen in the past. You avoided touching the vines, worrying that they formed a threat. The whole thing made you feel on edge and you stayed in the light of the torches as much as possible.

“Do not be afraid.” Merlin noticed your growing anxiousness.

You spoke quickly, “I feel strange.”

He hoped to calm you. “The Hidden were not the first gods, Festa and Moreii worshiped those before them. You may feel their presence here.”

“Are they dangerous?” you asked.

“Dangerous? No.” he said. “But they will let themselves be known if they see it necessary.”

“Let’s hope they don’t find it necessary then…” you mumbled.

He found it almost amusing to see you uneasy towards something he had decades of knowledge and experience with. “Your clan began here. These walls have heard the first cries of babes for many years. Have faith that the spirits residing here welcome the Ash Folk.”

You took it to heart. “I hope so.”

As the walk through the castle continued, you often felt like you had seen the vines moves in the corner of your eyes, only to find them completely still when looking their way. Something older than the Hidden lingered in these halls, it did not feel threatening only very odd and unfamiliar.

You heard your name be called, a whisper that somehow sounded loud. Lancelot spun around, drawing his sword, having heard it too, he first looked to where you were and then his eyes scanned his surroundings.

“What are you doing?” Percival looked up at him as if he were a madman.

He did not understand why the boy was not alarmed. “Did you not hear it?”

“Hear what?” Gawain was close to drawing his sword too.

“That whisper.” Lancelot realized no one else but the two of you had heard. He took hold of Percival’s jacket and brought the boy closer. “Y/n, walk beside me.”

By the tone that he had used, it was not up for discussion. And you had no argument to put forth against it, hearing your name be called by something that didn’t sound like the Hidden was frightening. You approached him, stopping a few steps away and he took hold of your jacket too to get you closer.

His eyes betrayed worry, his voice a command, “Stay close. Tell me if you hear anything out of the ordinary again.”

You nodded.

He turned to Merlin. “Have you been here before?”

Merlin had a mysterious smile on his face. “Just once. Years ago.”

Lancelot must have suspected that that was the case. “Then you know where to find this forge?”

“I do.” Merlin confirmed.

“Lead the way.” he told him.

Merlin walked passed him, taking the lead of the group, guiding them from hallway to hallway. Large steps leaded to a higher floor, into a wide hall. Two large doors reached the ceiling of the place. It took two people at each door to get them to open, their rusted hinges croaked under the weight of the wood. A large fire pit stood in the midst of the room and was at least seventeen foot across.

Merlin approached it, the height of the fire pit reached his middle. “Here is where they forged the Sword of Power. Fey Fire once burned within this very circle.” He reminisced on that knowledge and reached into the empty fire pit. “If we bring the Fey Fire back to this castle, it might shed it’s vines.”

Then all eyes were on Lancelot, while his went to yours. It didn’t need to be said that he did not want to do this alone.

Merlin turned to him, sensing the nervousness within Lancelot. “Creating the fire is one thing, making it last is another.”

You remembered how when you and Lancelot had touched that the flames were stronger. This fire needed to burn and keep on burning, to live as the Ash Folk lived. The rest of the group moved aside to let the two of you get near the fire pit.

“Such magic is awakened by strong emotions and can also be controlled by it.” Merlin said. “Return the fire to the Fey.”

Lancelot took over the torch that Gawain was carrying and put it down into the fire pit. That one torch inside such a large fire pit seemed far too little to be helpful, but it offered something for him to focus on. He had never practiced evoking the green fire.

Percival watched with great curiosity, standing a little on his toes to see it all better. Pym kept a few steps behind Gawain. Arthur and Red Spear tried not to show how much anticipation they harboured.

You saw Lancelot stand motionless, eyes set on the flame of the torch. All eyes were on him and he must have feared failing this task. One time he had awaken the fire, just once, and it had happened beyond his control after having seen Aldith strike you down. This moment held his future and he knew it. You went to stand beside him, watching as he reached for the flames and you almost pulled him back before remembering it could not burn him. His hand was unsteady, the flames licked his fingers. The others gawked at the sight of him touching the flames without a sign of discomfort. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on completing the task, trying to find the feeling inside of him that had caused it the last time. Seconds passed, the whole room had become so silent. His features had tensed, a look of frustration growing on his face. And then the fire grew a green hue, slowly but surely.

“It’s working!” you beamed with pride, your voice reached a higher pitch from joy. “You are doing so well!”

When you placed your hand onto his lower arm, the fire erupted with force. Bright green flames filled the fire pit, sending the group a couple of steps back in awe of the light it emitted. An unseen force was unleashed from the pit, an invisible magic explosion that went into all directions. It blasted the vines to ashes, and as the force traveled through the castle at high velocity the torches on the walls all lit aflame. It was life itself that surged into the castle again, tearing down the curse that held it in it’s power.

A pattern of leaves spread throughout the skin of Lancelot’s hand rapidly and traveled up to his neck, the veins of the leaves glowed like the fire that had awakened them. In the marks beneath his eyes a fiery glow ignited, mere seconds later you felt your own marks rise to the surface of your cheeks. From the stares, you knew your own marks were glowing too and never before had so many people seen your marks. Slowly you slid your hand along his arm, joining his own in the Fey Fire.

“You could have done this too.” he whispered, eyes glued to the flames

Your hands were intertwined. “This was yours to create. The Hidden were waiting for their kin to return, and here you are.”

The sunlight fell back in through the windows that were freed from the overgrowth of vines outside of it.

Merlin was content, his eyes were filled with wonder for the flames. “The castle returns to the eyes of the world, much like the Ash Folk. Once the Fey learn of this, it will give them renewed hope. What was lost is now found.”

Lancelot moved his hand out of the fire with your own, the glow on his skin was slowly dimming. “Did you feel that as well? When you touched me…”

“I felt it too.” It had been the spark that ignited the flame inside, for him and for you.

“You’re green.” Arthur bluntly pointed out, earning half a glare from Lancelot when he saw the Manblood’s shit-eating grin.

Percival hadn’t noticed that yet, he was too busy looking at the flames and trying to get closer but Gawain held him in place by the back of his jacket.

“It looks like leaves are in your skin.” Percival said upon noticing it.

Lancelot looked at his hand, seeing the pattern start to disappear. “It are just Fey markings.”

Pym tried to look at your hands. “Do you have those too?”

“Not right now.” You had went to stand a little behind Lancelot when you could feel that the marks beneath your eyes stayed visible. It had to be the presence of such strong Fey Fire causing this. You felt the others stare at them and discreetly put the hood of your cloak over your head in the hope that it would let a shadow fall upon your face. Lancelot had noticed how you went to stand a little more behind him with your head tilted down, self-conscious about your markings being seen by everyone, but he did not comment on it.

“Shame.” Pym blurted out. “Sorry…”

“The vines are gone. Does that mean the curse is broken?” Red Spear asked Merlin.

Merlin walked around the fire pit to admire the flames. “The curse was no match for the magic of the Ash Folk. The home of the Hidden is now in the hands of their heir.”

Lancelot frowned. “What?”

Merlin explained the situation, “This castle is yours, Lancelot. It thrives only under the possession of those who keep the flames alive.”

Lancelot shook his head. “The Fey will never accept that I am warden of this castle. This is to be a sanctuary for them- "

Merlin interrupted him, “Regardless of your past, the Fey need the magic of the Ash Folk if they wish to survive or even win this war. And the Hidden will not be kind to those who harm the last of their lineage.”

Gawain wasted no time moving the plan along. “We need to send news to Gramaire that the castle is under our command now.”

“I can call upon one of my messengers.” Merlin offered.

“Messengers?” Gawain asked.

To the magician it was a completely normal thing. “An owl, a dove, whichever one of them chooses to come when I call upon them.”

Gawain needed a second to process that. “Well… that would be helpful.”

“There is one more matter that we need to attend to.” Merlin gestured to Lancelot. “The sword. Before Nimue’s death I had wished to return it to the fire and destroy it, but now doubt has grown in me. The sword has chosen you, and you must choose what you do with it. I can no longer touch it, as you have seen. The choice now falls to you.”

Arthur sighed. “We need the sword.”

“The sword will not be what wins this war, it will be our choices that do.” Lancelot told him.

“But the sword will help.” Gawain was against burning the sword, that much was clear. “Destroying the sword is a mistake.”

“It was changing Nimue.” Pym chimed in. “It’s dangerous!”

The different opinions on the fate of the sword filled the room, making it impossible to make a well-thought through decision.

Lancelot drew the sword out from the sheath, the mystical tinkling sound filled the room. “If we cannot decide, then let the sword choose it’s fate.”

Gawain was wary. “What do you mean?”

He approached the fire with the sword, holding it near the flames. “If the Hidden gave us the power to create this fire, and by this fire the sword, then the fate of the sword is now in their hands.”

Gawain took a step closer. “What does-”

Lancelot let the sword fall into the flames, the voices of the Hidden let themselves be heard. Burning ashes rose above the flames and danced around the room. More and more burning ashes filled the room, causing alarm in those who witnessed it. The Hidden did not appreciate that their kin had thrown the sword into the flames, yet their kin was not intimidated by it in the slightest. Lancelot did not falter, not even when the ashes circled around him, he watched the flames lick the sword.

“Decide.” he demanded of them, an arrogance that none other would dare to have towards the old gods. “Or I will let it burn.”

Their whispers grew louder, frightening some of Red Spear’s crew and even herself even though she would never admit to it. Gawain and Arthur were seconds away from drawing their sword in defense of a power no one present could match. Percival ran up to you, grabbing hold on your lower arm. And then the Hidden whispered something that was not incoherent.

    ~“Dark angel…”~

    Everyone, even the Manbloods, had heard it be spoken. Most took a step back when the sword rose out of the flames on it’s own, levitating above them. The sword suddenly flew through the air and landed back at Lancelot’s feet, clattering loud against the tiles. Still, Lancelot did not pick the sword up, he just looked down at the responsibility thrown at his feet once more. The symbols engraved into the sword that translated to ‘Take me up’ still glowed that bright green glow of the flames. The Hidden had decided, their opinion on the existence of the sword was made clear.

Merlin stepped closer to Lancelot, seeing the doubt in the Ash Man. “The gods have spoken.”

His eyes did not lift from where the sword laid at his feet. “Why me? After all I have done…”

“Because they know what is yet to come, what you will still do.” Merlin said. “Their faith lies in you.”

Lancelot knelt down, the sword quietly tinkled in anticipation. “Gawain?”

Gawain was almost amused by it. “The gods themselves have made their decision known. Why still seek my approval?”

He looked at you, he looked at Percival, seeking the confirmation he needed that finally made him pick up the sword. He rose to his feet, the sword glowed brighter for a moment then slowly dimmed. Arthur approached him, nodding to himself, accepting that the sword was in the hands of the former Weeping Monk.

“Do good by the Fey, by us all.” Arthur told him with sincerity, then held his hand out.

It took Lancelot a few seconds to realize that Arthur was not silently asking him to hand over to sword, but to actually shake hands. It was not something you expected to see, them shaking hands, and yet that was exactly what happened.

Then Arthur turned to Merlin. “Can this fire be used to forge weapons for the Fey?”

“None as strong as the Sword of Power.” Merlin informed. “But yes, with Fey Fire weapons can be made of excellent strength.”

Gawain was quick to action again. “We need to ready this fort. Ensure it’s structure is intact and safe, explore the grounds and area, prepare it for when the Fey from Gramaire arrive.”

“Agreed.” Lancelot said.

They discussed the tasks and who would do what. Red Spear and her crew were send to scout the area surrounding the castle to see if it was safe and if there were useful matters to be found. Arthur and Pym paired up to walk around the castle to see if it was safe to inhabit, and to make sure it was not on the verge of crumbling apart. Merlin, Percival and Gawain were to search for anything useful or of interest in the castle, so were you and Lancelot. Finding weapons would be of great help and that was the main objective. Maps of the area were wanted, just anything that offered some aid. When they all went out of the large room to attend to their task, you and Lancelot stayed behind a moment longer. He reached for the hood of your cloak, but you caught his hand.

“My marks won’t go away.” you told him.

“It must be the fire.” He was concerned to see how you shied away because of it. “There is no reason to hide them, we are among our people.”

Years. Years you were forced to hide them from the world, from your own father and brother, and now they were on display for all to see. “How do I make them stop showing again?”

A frown set on his forehead. “Why would you want that?”

You shook your head, gaze falling to the floor. For so long they had been a threat to your existence, had Aldith or Cassian ever seen them whilst you were still living with them… you wouldn’t have survived long.

He stepped closer, leaning in to whisper with as much charm as he could manage. “They suit you so well.”

Your eyes snapped up to his face, a smirk curved his lips. “It’s just strange to not have to fear anymore that they will show.”

He could see that the compliment had a positive effect. “I enjoy seeing them out of hiding.”

It was blatant flirtation now and you shook your head a little, chuckling quietly. His confidence was growing daily.

“Come on, we should be exploring this place.” You moved past him.

He was quick to pull the hood of your cloak down again, you turned on your heels to glare at him for it.

“Don’t you dare hide from me.” he chided. “Nor from the world’s light. I will not allow it. You do not return to the shadows they caged you in.”

Out of pure spite you put the hood back on again. “I am not hiding.”

By the time you had turned, he was behind you, arms wrapped around your form to keep you in place.

“You cannot claim to be cold near such a fire.” He tugged the hood down again, slowly this time. “This castle is where our clan began, if there is anywhere in this world where we can be our truest selves, it is here.”

You let him free you from the coverage of the hood, his fingers curled around your throat softly.

His voice was breathy and warmer. “There you are.”

You tilted your head, feeling him brush his nose just below your jaw. He was intoxicating, as if the magic still ran through him and heightened every feeling that he stirred in you.

He released you from his hold, touching your lower back. “Come. Let us not give the Green Knight a reason to reprimand us.”

And just like that, he started walking, as if he had not just caused your legs to tremble.

Now that all the torches were aflame, and with the sun coming in through the windows, it wasn’t needed to carry a torch to light the way. Together you explored the place, marveling at it’s appearance. The sun bathed the halls in it’s light, enhancing the beauty that had been hidden by vines. Every room was inspected and there were many.

“Do you think this place has a cellar?” you wondered out loud.

He clicked his tongue. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

Like two children excited to explore a new place, you wandered through the halls. He opened the door of a room that was filled with old furniture, while on the other side you opened a door to a large room with all sorts of weapons hanging on hooks on the walls.

“Uh… Lancelot?”

He peeked into the room, flashing a smile. “Good find.”

Another door not much further seemed to be blocked and you put your shoulder against it, trying to push it open. Lancelot watched you try for a bit.

The staring got on your nerves. “Aren’t you going to help?”

He had been waiting for a reaction from your side. “Not if you cannot ask politely.”

You saw the grin on his face and proceeded to fully ignore him while trying to get that door open. He was stepping closer, you could hear it and you heard that click of his tongue.

“You stubborn woman…” He put his shoulder against the door too.

Still, the door budged very little even if you pushed together. It got quite comical after a while.

A whine slipped out of you, “Gods! Why won’t it open?!”

“It will open.” He kept trying. “Push harder.”

“I’m pushing as hard as I can!”

“Are you?”

He got a playful smack to his shoulder for that jest. What you didn’t expect was the tap he gave to your rear in return.

He answered that surprised look he was given. “Consider it motivation.”

You turned to him a little more, hands still pushing the door. “You-”

All of a sudden the door went open, the hinges did not make a single sound to warn you of it. Neither you or Lancelot had expected it to be a door that opened to a descending staircase of stone steps. You only realized that when you were too late to stop pushing and the door opened inward, sending you to fall down into the dark staircase.

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten ​​  @the-great-adventures-of-me   @linkpk88   @fxrchxldws @elenaoftheturks ​​  @slytherlight   @beananacake ​​     @crystallizedtime ​​ @moonlightaura03 @angrygardendeer @have-aheart   @5am-cigarette   @arcanenature @thewinterskywalker @notyourwildestdream  

 @coloursforyourportrait   @koressecretidentity   @nike90   @n1ghtlux ​​  @rachlovesactors ​​  @luckyzipperscissorsbat   @morena-doing-stuff   @the-fangirl-diaries ​​  @gipsydanger17   @heavenly1927 ​​ @phantasmalbeiing @labyrinthonmymind @asarcastic-thiamstan @rainyv-skies     @stclairesplace   @​​katjusja @isla-bell-blog   @beebeerockknot   @sahvlren��@lancedoncrimsonwings @weird123abc @elizabeth-holland24 @kissingandromeda @timeshiptraveler

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story. Using this old list from the previous fic.

[angelltheninth]

Hi there, I was wondering if you still take requests ( If not that’s fine) I was thinking if you could do a fem-reader with my boy marcus or thieram ( thieram is the bartender jinx calls chuck) !! Thank you for your lovely writing, And keep up the good work !

One Marcus fic coming right up! Although Chuck is an interesting request, might write something for him at some point.

Pairing: Marcus x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, under the desk blowjobs, teasing, fingering, masturbation, cum swallowing, office sex

Word count: 0.7k

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters

A/N: Are taking the "fuck the police" thing a little too literally in this one? I guess in this case it's suck the police but whatever.

Marcus loved to talk a big game, to act tough, to be looked as authority among the Enforcers. It was a role he played well, at least as in public. In private though, in his office he was all yours to command.

As much as he tried to deny it he couldn't help but fall apart under your skilled hands and mouth.

He couldn't keep his eyes off you as you wrapped your lips around his leaking cockhead, your hand rubbing and twisting along the base, "We don't have much time." He groaned trying his best to keep still in his chair as you took him in deeper, licking along a vein running down the underside of his dick.

"You're the one who asked me to come here. Besides it's still early, there's no one here yet." You were very intent on drawing out more of his moans and whimpers as you shifted your hips, making sure he has a good view of your two fingers slipping inside your pussy.

"But you're the one who got under the desk at your own accord. I don't even have to ask for your mouth anymore, you just offer it freely." He reached one glowed hand to the back of your head and pushed you closer. His cock twitched as you took him deeper in your mouth, sucking hard and then deliberately stopping. You closed your eyes and hummed, your eyes searching for him.

You liked what you saw there. Desire. His eyes shining with want, his mouth parted just a little and his breathing ragged and labored. "Why did you stop?"

Your chuckle made him groan, his hips twitching upwards resulting in you pulling away, leaving just the tip in your mouth. You focused on the head, giving the little slit a tentative lick before pressing a kiss on it, then downward and then licking your tongue all the way around it. "I like that expressing Marcus. You should wear it more." You smile against the side of his cock as you drag your tongue painfully slowly back to the tip and taking his length back into your mouth.

"Good Gods. Your mouth is..." Marcus shut his eyes tight for a few moments, opening them as a whine escaped his lips, "Heaven. My love, you're heaven. Go faster. Show me how well you can suck my cock."

Deciding to show him mercy this once obliged with his request, taking his cock deep until it hit the back of your throat. One of your hands clenched his uniform tight while the other was still busy fingering your cunt. Getting Marcus to fall apart for you, because of you, in his office, where he should be the one holding all the power send such a surge of power through your body.

"Fuck, I'm gonna, oh fuck. Swallow it, don't let a drop go to waste, please love." Marcus surged forward, half folding over his desk as he flooded your mouth and throat with his cum. You kept swallowing, gulping it all down with gusto until he was done.

There were multiple white strings of cum connecting his cock and your tongue when you pulled away. "Not let it go to waste you say? Well then don't mind me." He barely arched an eyebrow at you while you pushed yourself up, your sticky, wet fingers falling away and replaced by his softening cock. "Much better." You mumble against his jaw as you settle comfortably on top of him.

"I think so too." He wipes your mouth with the pad of his thumb while grasping your hand and bringing your fingers to his lips, licking them clean one by one. "We have to clean up soon." You wiggle your hips in response, "A-Alright. A few more minutes. Oh and expect to get called in here again sometime today, I'll have an oral report for you."

"Oh? A special one just for me? Aren't I a lucky girl." Marcus smirked back at you and grabbed both fistfuls of your ass, dragging you closer to him.

"Very lucky." He murmured against your cheek. Honestly at times like this it was hard to tell whose who's bitch.

[maglors-grief]

https://www.tumblr.com/teleit/764731859378847744?source=share

Team radioactive wastes' coping skills will never not amaze me lmaoo

Anon this is why I never venture into the hotd tags because I know if I come across posts like this then I won't be able to stop myself from responding 😭 I truly meant for this post to be short but it got pretty long so apologies for that lol. Also you sent me this ask like a month ago so sorry for taking forever to respond.

First of all, them saying "team black stans is being almost hysterical, trying to convince us that Saint Rhaenyra would never dare to kill Alicent's children" is immediately disproven by this quote in the book:

"Her first act as queen was to declare Ser Otto Hightower and Queen Alicent traitors and rebels. "As for my half-brothers and my sweet sister, Helaena," she announced, "they have been led astray by the counsel of evil men. Let them come to Dragonstone, bend the knee, and ask for my forgiveness, and I shall gladly spare their lives and take them back into my heart, for they are my own blood, and no man or woman is as accursed as the kinslayer"."

I have no idea where team green stans get the idea Rhaenyra is the bloodthirsty monster of the story because the paragraph right after that one is Aegon II saying:

"I want them attainted, I want them arrested, and I want them dead".

He said this at the start of the war, before there were deaths on either side, and yet he was still ready to kill his sister and her family. Aegon II then went on to throw a party for Aemond when Lucerys was murdered. But some people still think Rhaenyra was the monster.

Rhaenyra was willing to accept her siblings if they joined her side because she knew they had been manipulated by Alicent and Otto all their lives. While Aegon immediately wanted every single one of them dead and had to be talked down from it.

Of course I know there will be some team green stans that will say that Rhaenyra was bluffing and she would have murdered them anyways but she gave mercy to Alicent of all people simply because she was her father's wife even after declaring her a traitor and a rebel. And this was after Rhaenyra already lost multiple children because of the war and was going slightly mad from grief. Rhaenyra still didn't have Alicent killed even after Alicent mocked and belittled the deaths of Rhaenyra's sons and acted like the deaths of Rhaenyra's son mattered little compared to Alicent's own children by saying "bastard blood shed at war".

Let not have it forgotten that Rhaenyra herself did not commit any kinslaying during the war but Aegon II and Aemond did. Rhaenyra tried having mercy on her enemies who never once tried showing her and her family any.

It is insane to me how much team green stans will focus on Rhaenyra possibly killing her siblings but yet they fail to blame Alicent and Otto for making Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, and Daeron targets in the first place with all their scheming. Alicent and Otto apparently did what they did because they feared Alicent's children would be killed by Rhaenyra, so they started a deadly war that ended up killing them all anyways, it makes no sense.

I dislike that Rhaenyra gets all the blame in the tense relationship between her and her siblings. Do team green stans think Rhaenyra just woke up one day and decided to not get along with her siblings? Do they really not think that Alicent was not heavily involved in them not liking each other?

Her siblings were made to be a threat against her since day 1. Rhaenyra was a 9 year old child who just lost her mother but yet she still accepted Alicent as her stepmother when she easily could have thrown a fit over her father marrying again.

"Princess Rhaenyra poured for her stepmother at the feast, and Queen Alicent kissed her and named her "daughter". The princess was amongst the women who disrobed the king and delivered him to the bedchamber of his bride"

That was not someone who wanted to dislike her stepmother and future siblings. Alicent turned against 10 year old Rhaenyra as soon as she gave Viserys sons. Alicent was the one turned the court into two fractions.

Op said that us team black stans think: "that Otto and Alicent are the second and third coming of Satan, and they are must be blame for everything"

By the time the book mentions that 3 of her siblings have been born in the book we have seen nothing negative from Rhaenyra about Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond. But we do see multiple attempts from Alicent and Otto to discredit her and push for Aegon to be made successor:

"The amity between Her Grace and her stepdaughter had proved short-lived, for both Rhaenyra and Alicent aspired to be the first lady of the realm... and though the queen had given the king not one but two male heirs, Viserys had done nothing to change the order of succession"

"Those who asked, "What of the ruling of the Great Council of 101?" found their words falling on deaf ears. The matter had been decided, so far as King Viserys was concerned"

"Still, questions persisted, not the least from Queen Alicent herself. Loudest amongst her supporters was her father, Ser Otto Hightower"

"Even after Ser Otto had returned to Oldtown, a "queen's party" still existed at court; a group of powerful lords friendly to Queen Alicent and supportive of the rights of her sons"

They were the ones that made her siblings be her enemies by trying to rob her of her claim to the throne to give to her brother. What was young Rhaenyra supposed to do in this situation?

Also during this time is when we see Alicent say: "'Ser Criston protects the princess from her enemies, but who protects the princess from Ser Criston?' Queen Alicent asked one day at court" and I am convinced she did not say this in court, in front of other people, out of genuine concern for 13 year old Rhaenyra but as a way to slyly question the heir's virtue for the first time, something they loved using against her later on.

So yes I do completely believe that Alicent and Otto are to blame for everything. Between the years of 107 AC - 110 AC we don't see much of Rhaenyra at all but we do see Alicent and Otto actively working against her and splitting the court apart. And this is just the very beginning of their actions against Rhaenyra. In an effort to keep this post from getting insanely long, I won't even be mentioning everything they did over the next couple decades, such as being the ones who committed treason and started the Dance while Rhaenyra was minding her own business on Dragonstone.

And if we're talking about House of the Dragon, the idea that Rhaenyra would kill her siblings came from Otto Hightower. Otto was removed from his position as Hand of the King because of Rhaenyra and Alicent was trying to defend her and so I believe that Otto made up that Rhaenyra would harm Alicent's children in the future because he wanted to keep control over Alicent. He would not be there anymore to ensure they remained divided so he came up with some egregious lie to make sure Alicent would remain loyal to him and the future plan of usurping Rhaenyra.

We see no such indication from Rhaenyra herself in season 1 that she means her siblings any harm. Even in season 2 she's still incredibly reluctant to hurt that side of her family (except for Aemond because he killed her son) and was upset over the death of Jaehaerys because she didn't want to hurt Helaena.

Teenage Aegon didn't seem to feel threatened by Rhaenyra until Alicent made him feel threatened by her.

As you all know, Rhaenyra was just so scary and threatening during her time living in the Red Keep that she was somehow the one getting mistreated and bullied by Alicent to the extent she had to move to Dragonstone to get away from it 🤔 but yeah Rhaenyra was the threat and meant her siblings harm...

Otto was scheming to get a half Hightower/Targaryen on the throne before Rhaenyra was even made heir in the show. Rhaenyra got in the way by being made heir and so Otto began plotting to have the throne usurped. Alicent participated in this and helped. She raised her children to hate Rhaenyra. Alicent knew what her father had planned and did nothing to stop it. So yeah once again Alicent and Otto are the bad guys and I truly do not understand the mental gymnastics that team green stans do to defend them.

~

I was just going to ignore the rest of their post and only focus on the beginning of it because I didn't want this post getting any longer but I couldn't resist including some honorable mentions. From here on out, I'm not using the book as a reference because the original post seems to be mostly based on House of the Dragon and the person even discredits using the book as proof lol.

Op says: "As proof, you are given quotes from a book that these fans have hardly read in its entirety, their own opinion, which, of course, is an indisputable fact". - I have actually read the book in its entirety and I don't even know what to say here because yeah the proof is actually in the book and it's in the show that Alicent, Otto, and the rest of the Greens are to blame for everything. My opinion is always based on what I have seen in the book and the show. Meanwhile I believe that most team green stans have hardly even read one single page of Fire & Blood and their "proof" is usually just based on whatever their feelings are.

"Stories like Dance of the Dragons require you to dive into the personalities of both teams so you can understand the tragedy of the situation" - Op says this but then does nothing but bash all of the Blacks. They seemingly refuse to see their point of view, all while focusing on the Greens and their feelings. Doesn't seem like they have dived into the personalities of both teams because from everything they say the Blacks are all monsters while anything the Greens did can be excused. It's the hypocrisy for me because they're mirroring the exact behavior they just criticized others for.

"Your father doesn't care about you, and you don't understand why. Did you do something wrong? Why does your father love your half-sister and her children, but not you and your siblings? Why doesn't he protect you from your nephews' bullying?" - Alicent didn't protect her son from the bullying either and she was actually aware of it whereas Viserys didn't seem to be. She pretty much told Aemond that he needed to not make a fuss about it because their side of the family needed to appear united. Also why only mention Jace and Luke bullying Aemond and not the fact that Aegon was the ringleader of it all?? Jace and Luke were much younger than both Aegon and Aemond and they only wanted to impress Aegon so I think it's ridiculous that they tend to get all the blame for it while team green stans usually make up excuses for Aegon's treatment of Aemond.

"Your half-sister Rhaenyra HATES you. She shows no shame in showing her disdain, barely tolerates your existence, and never punishes her children for bullying you. She won't talk to you, won't play with you, and even seems to hate your name." In the show we don't see Rhaenyra hating her siblings. Where is her disdain? Where does she barely tolerate their existence? Where are we shown that Rhaenyra is aware her sons are bullying Aemond? Due to the large time jumps, we can't say for certainty if Rhaenyra ever did interact with her siblings or not in season 1. We only get to see one episode of Rhaenyra with her sons living in the Red Keep and it doesn't provide enough information for any of us to be making statements about her relationships with others. Also Rhaenyra is a grown woman with her own children and responsibilities to worry about, I can't blame her for not playing with her siblings.

"Your father yells at Aegon because Aemond said that Aegon is the one who lied about your nephews being legitimate Velaryons." - Yeah Viserys yelled at him but Alicent straight up slapped him right before that for not keeping an eye on Aemond even though that should be her responsibility as their mother. Aegon was forced to take the blame and get yelled at because he didn't want to blame Alicent. Maybe Alicent shouldn't have been telling dangerous gossip to her kids if she didn't want them possibly getting in trouble for it.

"Laenor dies, and you hear that Rhaenyra has married Daemon, ignoring the mourning period. You remember this man - he laughed at Laena's funeral" - Op goes on to be sympathetic towards Vaemond, neglecting to mention how Vaemond was using his eulogy for his niece's funeral to take shots at Rhaenyra and her sons. Daemon, who probably laughed in disbelief over Vaemond's audacity, is the bad guy but not Vaemond?

[airenyah]

#i feel like a lot of the bad acting accusations are because of the tremor (?) and I'm pretty sure those are just part of his body

@jjsanguine i agree! i think a lot of it comes from how fidgety he was on camera in star in my mind. (sorry, longer rant incoming! when i say "you" in the following text i don't mean you, user @jjsanguine, but i mean the general you. i'm just letting off some steam, i'm not addressing you or yelling at you directly dfjkjsdkjg)

but yeah, the shakiness he had going on in the beginning... that's just a very technical aspect that is pretty fucking difficult when you're new to camera acting, because news flash: you can't move the same way on camera like you can irl. the camera magnifies each and every single one of your movements, especially the more into a close-up you get. you know how many times i've had to listen to my camera acting teacher scold us for moving too much on camera? for being too fidgety? i lost count, because it happened at least once (usually multiple times) in every single class for three years straight. and learning how to move (or rather how to hold still) on camera is something you can only learn by, you know, acting on camera!! and when exactly was dunk supposed to learn that before simm??

idk, maybe i had more mercy with dunk when it came to this since i know from my very own experience how difficult this is when you're not used to it (for me it was even more difficult because my only experience came from stage acting where it's the exact opposite, where everything needs to be bigger and louder instead of smaller and more quiet) but still, i think bashing him for that is very much uncalled for. besides, you can literally see his improvement when it comes to this!! he barely fidgets anymore in thk, despite style being a character with a high energy level. and not just that, you could already see the improvement back in 2023, the year after simm!! just look at how still dunk holds his body in this music video from hidden agenda/our skyy 2 era:

you know, in star in my mind there are a few things through which you can tell the lack of experience, which is why back then i didn't really say anything yet when people where bashing him. but when i saw dunk's (dunk the actor, not dunk the singer lol) performance in this music video back in july 2023 (i think i first saw it two or three days after its release?) my jaw literally dropped. the moment i saw him in this mv that's when i knew he was very much a fantastic actor. and it's not just not in the lack of fidgeting

they don't have a single line in the entire mv and yet all of dunk's emotions are completely on point. he knows exactly what he's doing and what story he wants to tell at any given point. his character's emotional arc is coherent and as a viewer you know exactly what is going on inside of him, you can tell what he's thinking and how he's feeling the entire time and it all makes sense. dunk's character and how he feels about the situation and about joong's character is the most interesting part of the story presented in the mv, tbh. dunk really carries the mv, and he carries it flawlessly

but going back to simm, another issue was that sometimes he'd act a bit too big, in a way where it would be more fitting for a stage performance but it's too big for the camera because, as i mentioned, the camera magnifies everything. this is again something that he had to learn by, you know, actually acting on camera?!!!!!! and besides, it was simm director p'new who wanted this from him:

Dunk: "I discussed Daonuea's character with the director. He recommended that I watch anime and animal cartoon characters. They display visible responses and feelings. Daonuea expresses a lot, with big reactions. He clearly shows it when he’s shocked or happy. People can see what he is feeling at the time. They can tell right away. He doesn’t hide it. It's fun to be able to showcase my childish side in the series." [from: simm behind the scenes special, 7:29 (time stamp linked)]

"act big like a cartoon character" is a suuuper difficult instruction to give to a newbie actor because in order to do this flawlessly you do need to be fully aware of how everything you do will end up looking on camera so that you can actually nail the right balance. and this was an experience/expertise which dunk simply just didn't have at the time. simm was dunk's very first series (not counting his handful of scenes in bad buddy), so of course he's not gonna nail these tricky instructions on the very first try. and i think bashing him just for that is just a very shitty thing to do. it's one thing to say "ok i don't have the patience to sit through this so i'm not gonna watch it" but you really don't have to be mean about it, that's just really uncalled for. everyone starts somewhere, you know?

and now two years later after having gained much more experience and expertise, dunk does an EXCELLENT job with style's loudness and performative behaviour. dunk makes very deliberate choices about when he dials it up and when he goes quiet and serious instead and every single time these choices are extremely on point for the plot and where the character is at in his arc (don't believe me? i have a whole meta series about it where i continue to point out when style is being loud/performative/overacts and why he does it and why it makes complete sense). honestly, i think some people currently bashing his performance either went into thk just set on hating whatever he does on principle or they simply don't vibe with the character. and it's totally fair not to vibe with a character's personality! i grew up around boys who are exactly like style so i know first hand how exhausting they can be and that not everyone will get along with them. but it's not the actor's fault if you don't get along with people of this type of personality, that's very much a you problem

anyway, another aspect in simm where i thought dunk needed a bit more practice was the crying. i didn't always entirely believe him when he was crying in simm. it was going in the right direction, but it still seemed to me that he wasn't quite feeling it and was forcing it a bit. although, admittedly for this one big crying scene (the one in the parking lot after kluen kissed dao in the men's room) the faults as to why this scene doesn't really work already start with the directing. p'new messed up the dramaturgical structure of that scene and at the time the boys and esp dunk just simply didn't have the expertise to get the arcs and the structure of this scene right by themselves without outside help. and so it's no wonder dunk struggled with the mess of that scene (i swear every time i watch that scene i hear my camera acting teacher's voice in my head asking where all the plot points are lol). anyway, the crying was also a bit better a year later in hidden agenda, though i was still not entirely convinced at certain points. but then in early 2024 the boys dropped the joongdunk last twilight mv and dunk really put his whole pussy into the crying, like, that shit's heartbreaking. and they did that in their free time past midnight after a fanmeet in a foreign country. my mouth was agape when i saw it (dunk's sobbing, that it). we have yet to see style cry on thk, but i'm already curious to see if i'm still gonna have issues with it or if dunk has finally reached the point where he's really feeling it and where he can let the tears fall freely and naturally like he was able to in the last twilight mv (or maybe he just needs joong to direct him in crying scenes in order to ace them sndnfjjfjf)

anyway, the whole point of this rant is that you can criticize an actor's performance. nobody is perfect. everyone has to start somewhere. so yes, absolutely you can criticize someone's performance. and nobody forces you to like every single actor's performance. sometimes you're just not vibing, and that's totally okay! but you don't have to be unnecessarily mean about it. and more importantly, you have to be open to an artist's improvement as well and at the very least acknowledge it, even if you're still not vibing. and let me tell you something, as someone who's been following all of dunk's series live since episode 2 of simm (and technically even since ep3 of bad buddy), it's really been such a joy to see him grow and develop his skills as a performer. especially as someone who from the start has already appreciated the things he does excel at. and there are many things he excels at, many things that he's done so excellently even back in simm and hidden agenda that it really outshines the imperfections in his performance even back when he was less experienced than he is now

airenyah out.

@secriden you don't know the feeling of getting these tags into my notifs after feeling like i've been the sole public defender of dunk's acting for the past year and a half (and that's only counting the time i started being more vocal about it online, i've been defending him in my mind since 2022 actually)

truly TRULY love the energy you bring!!!!! join me!!!!!

DUNK IS A GOOD FUCKING ACTOR AND HAS BEEN FROM THE START. EVERYONE WAS JUST UNNECESSARILY MEAN

[dykedvonte]

Can you talk about trans!Curly a little bit more? I'm curios if you have any headcanons and the like

-💀

It's just such a thing in my mind because it adds a truthful sadness and differing aspect to mouthwashing.

If Curly was trans it adds the horror of the horribly selfish thought he could have easily been in Anya's situation. It could've been him but it wasn't and he so conflicted on the pit it put in his stomach that brings and the shameful relief it wasn't. In this scenario he is friends with Jimmy for a long time still. Jimmy likely knew him pretransition. Maybe he gave Curly weird looks then, maybe they never stopped after, maybe they seemed meaner. They are guys now, bros, both of them are. He doesn't really have to worry what those looks mean anymore, Jimmy just has that face with him sometimes. It's recontextualizing a lot of things for him that he was in denial about or too ashamed to admit. How naive he was being and how he let that get another person hurt.

Specifically with Anya, it's he knows the dread and fear she's feeling. He can understand it because he had to live with it for a good portion of his life, he knows it cause he still does, just in a slightly different way. It makes him think of all the times he's been alone with Jimmy, all the times he's been way more drunk off his ass and not remember the night, Jimmy was always with him the next day. Makes him think of the comments he would laugh off both because that's what guys do but because that part of being a girl says to laugh so Jimmy doesn't do something. It's the selfish realization that he was never safe and he's uncertain now too. Mad at himself for forgeting that feeling, espcially since for a long time he would've been considered the only woman on a crew (with all that implies) for a long time.

He should've taken those blinders off, step back into that position for just a moment and it's so much more painful that Anya likely came to him because he should've gotten it. Those thoughts don't leave his mind after the crash when he's in an even more vulnerable position than she was...

[abrahamvanhelsings]

"goodsir is neoliberalism bc he tried to kill those guys blah blah blah" they kidnapped him and then they made him cut up men to be consumed as an act of control and pure humiliation by threatening to kill probably the last man he still liked in that party, forcing him to be complicit in an act he is viciously against, and to be complicit in the survival of the very men who betrayed the whole expedition and who are using him like a tool. and then the guy he's trying to protect comes up to him to sob and monologue at him about cannibalism and religion and acts of survival and belief as some kind of justification for the fact that he's an absolute pussy ass bitch who'd rather lie down and take it than stand up in the face of acts and circumstances he finds abhorrent. and goodsir was supposed to not be a cunt abt that? lol

[waywardsalt]

i made this a few months ago for a discord and i figured i might as well share it here too

[thebirdandhersong]

"Life is filled with such terrible joy. What happens, happens, and then we are gone" and that's what I didn't enjoy del Toro's Pinocchio

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ HOLY GRAIL !

part one | part two

summary: in ancient rome, where survival is determined by the whims of a mad ruler, the empire's beloved general gives you – his first and only love – to the crazed emperor to ensure your safety. (6k)

pairing: marcus acacius / fem!reader, emperor geta / fem!reader

contents: established relationship, strangers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of war and violence, mentions of sex work, swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, m receiving oral, unprotected sex, cuckholding, exhibitionism) (this is a pretty dark fic so pls heed the warnings!!!)

Marcus Acacius was the name on the lips of a thousand fallen empires. His ledger ran a deep scarlet color, which dripped like proof from his sword. The war had destroyed the General over the years — had turned the man into an empty thing filled only by untamable ghosts. The relentless battle had wrung his boyhood from his body like a slow, merciless death. Any remaining innocence has since been replaced with violence.

Rome made a legacy of his grotesque evils, turned him into a saint. Marcus Acacius did not want to be a saint. He did not want to be angry; he did not want to be cruel. He only wanted to love and to be left alone with his tenderness. His mouth filled with blood instead.

You loved him like all doomed, grotesque things are meant to be loved. In the dark. In the shadows of war. In the depths of the soul.

“This is me,” he confesses, the great General Acacius, returning to you like a ghost to its haunt. “This is who I am.”

His golden armor is sullied from a victorious battle, tainted now with blotches of soil and dried blood that’s not his own. His dirtied, unholy fists tremble at his sides as he fights the urge to cross the threshold of your quarters to meet you. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve to be held by you now. Not when he still wreaks of death.

He can still feel the breath of a fist on his bruised cheek, but the way his sword felt plunging through the beating heart of an enemy soldier plagues him most of all. 

“Love turned on me long ago— It is not a burden I compel you to carry.”

So, please, do not love me, he doesn’t say. I only know how to destroy you.

You smile at him, eyes soft with sympathy, and cross the threshold of longing with an admirable effortlessness. You cradle his weathered, war-torn face in your palms, willingly staining your delicate hands with the blood stained there.

“I love you despite. So I imagine I’ll carry it anyway,” you coo to him, gentle eyes locked firmly with his heavy ones. “And I’m certain you love me in return, regardless of what you think the siege has made of you.”

“There is naught I can do about it,” Marcus admits, words heavy with choked-back emotion. He melts into your touch but continues to deny himself the want to hold you back. “Not while I still oversee this campaign. Not while there is a war to be won—”

“We love each other, don’t we?” you interject, pleading eyes searching for emotion behind his dark, stoic gaze. Marcus swallows hard. His scruffy chin scrapes your palm as he nods once in response. You grin and say the unforgiving truth out loud. “So fuck the war.”

You pull him down by his face to press a kiss to his unclean lips. Marcus rests his shaking hands over your waist and lets you build cathedrals in his mouth with your tongue. The blood in his teeth turns to holy water. 

Marcus long understood that bringing you to the city would be his last act of love.

Keeping you in the heart of Rome was the only way he could ensure your safety, with the surrounding towns still under merciless siege. The people there were docile, and loyal most of all to the General who had won them a thousand wars. They would not hurt you because it was not in their kind too, and because they feared General Acacius’ wrath as much as they respected his mercy.

This was known to everyone in Rome except its Emperors.

Geta and Caracalla ruled together following their father’s untimely demise but shared not a brain between them. They were boys, after all, the oldest being hardly two-and-twenty –– it was in their nature to talk more than they listened, and to pretend as if they knew the world despite never leaving the city walls. 

They were as cruel and as stupid as anyone who wished to rule an empire would be.

But the two of them relied heavily on their General to keep the restless public at ease. It made it easier for Marcus to bring you with him, knowing he had the trust of the most powerful men in Rome. He knew Geta kept meticulous care of his most precious gifts — all Marcus had to do was get you there, really, and the Emperors would do the rest for him. 

It was simple, but it was not easy; though he imagines no war ever has been or would be. Both of you had survived, yes, but neither of you had been spared. Bringing you here was a testament to that, which you seemingly could not comprehend. You were as soft and green as the countryside he plucked you from, too naive for politics.

Marcus tells himself that this was the merciful decision, anyway, as he gives you a tour of Caracalla’s labyrinthine gardens — the place farthest from the feasting hall where the noblemen dined. Hidden behind climbing leaves, free from prying eyes.

“I can’t imagine why you would be so apprehensive in bringing me here. It’s beautiful,” you marvel aloud as you walk ahead of the man guiding you. 

Your sandals pad faintly along the cobbled trail as you skim your palm over the bed of blooming roses. The petals feel like silk against your skin. You pluck one from the soil, careful to avoid its thorns, and hold it up to your nose. You turn to face Marcus with the crimson flower resting on your cupid’s bow.

“And it smells better, too,” you quip softly, tilting your head to your shoulder as you smirk behind the budding rose.

Marcus just barely manages to bite back his own grin until you reach out for him, tapping the delicate flower against the bridge of his strong nose. He exhales hard through his nostrils in place of a laugh.

Your giggling comes carried on the breath of a warm summer breeze — a symphony of salty ocean, dainty florals, and the pretty oils you’d bathed in. The wind billows through your thin, white gown and creates music with rustling leaves. You squint one eye when the setting sun peeks through the swishing tree limbs, bathing you in a golden-hour aura. 

You’re as beautiful as sin. Sweeter than death. Smiling at him like this is the beginning of something that died the moment you entered the city walls.

Marcus clears throat and gently guides your hand away. His cautious eyes flit around the vacant garden. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, you find, despite being the strongest man in all of Rome. You feel safest at his side, so you don’t know why he always looks so frightened.

“I know you are drunk on youth and immortality, petal, but we cannot get ahead of ourselves,” he advises, all stiff and stern, though the term of endearment spills effortlessly from his mouth. “We’re in the city now. So we must play the part. Like we discussed.”

He speaks to you with an unintentional sort of vagueness that makes you bow your head like a scolded child. Your arm falls limp at your side. A scarlet petal slips from its stem and hits the unforgiving stone.

“I know,” you murmur with a poorly hidden frown that conveys otherwise. Your sheepish gaze flits from the ground to Marcus’ unwavering stare and to the ground again. “I just thought— whenever we were alone, that we might—”

“We aren’t alone. We must behave as though the city is full of eyes. Understand?”

“I can’t,” you confess, peering up at the General from beneath your lashes. 

Marcus’ chest stings, like the fiery sun blazing his newly-fashioned armor. “What do you mean you can’t?” he bites emotionlessly.

He looks like a corrupt sort of angel in this light, unnaturally handsome and hopelessly wartorn. He was as hard as the earth below your feet — a statue made of clay, iron, and marble — cold to the touch and melting only for you. 

His heavy eyes were so brown they looked almost black, and they shone with a perpetual sort of gloom. His gaze swam with the prophetic darkness of a man who’s seen too much, though you often felt like you could drown in its void. For a man so adept at killing, he looked at you with a remarkable softness.

It wasn’t as shallow as physical desire. It was something far more cruel. You wanted Marcus Acacius the same way flesh wanted to knit itself together over a healing wound. It was simply in your nature to love him. 

“I mean, it’s impossible,” you ramble with a concerned furrow to your brow. Your grip on the flower’s papery stem tightens until the bulb rattles with the force. “How am I to be here with you but not touch you? That’s like asking the seasons not to change— It’s unnatural, and it’s cruel—”

Marcus swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His hands begin to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists instead.

“It’s the only way I know to keep you safe!” he confesses, words sounding heavy in his mouth. His eyes flit across the garden in a paranoid search of something that isn’t there. “Emperor Geta will take care of you. I know he will. And his brother is a half-wit, but he is kind when he wishes. He’ll take a liking to you, I’m sure of it—”

You interject his anxious rambling with a stubborn shake of your head.

“I can’t be someone else’s,” you murmur, voice as wet as the tears glittering in your wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t know how.”

“You will learn,” Marcus tells you with an emotionless stare. Not because he’s sure you will, but because he knows you have to. “For me.”

Your pretty features swirl with anguish. “Marcus…” you whisper his name in a feeble whimper caught in your throat.

He does not soften at your emotion like you’re used to. He’s practiced apathy for so long that it comes naturally to him now. He bites his tongue to keep from kissing you and lets the blood stain his teeth all over again.

“If not for your own sake, then for mine. The Emperors would have my head if they understood the pretenses I brought you under.”

You flinch at his words, perhaps finally understanding the weight of the unforgiving world in which you live. The surest example of such cruelty stands before you now, in the only man you ever loved now using your purest devotion as a means to keep you pliant. But your anger for the merciless arrangement is long eclipsed by your yearning.

“Then I will,” you tell him, rigid with a glacial disposition Marcus hasn’t seen before now.

The choices here were few. Either you were slaughtered outside the city walls by soldiers and pillagers, or you were slaughtered within them — in the metaphorical sense that burns physically in your chest now. 

Being without Marcus feels like a fate worse than death, but you want him so desperately to live. So much so that you’ll fall on the sword of your longing and bleed out at his feet. Knowing that you’re under the same sky would have to be enough for you. 

You can’t tell which it is — sacrifice or self-slaughter — but Marcus knows it isn’t as poetic as all that. 

Death is death.

Emperor Geta staggers drunkenly down the spiral stone steps of the west wing of his castle. The path to his chambers is illuminated by several dwindling torches hung along the brick walls. The subtle squeaking of his leather sandals sounds much louder in the quiet — filled only by crackling flames, a distant dripping noise, and the song he slurs under his breath. 

The latter ceases suddenly when he stumbles to a stop at the sight of General Acacius. The man stands like a statue outside his bedroom door — arms crossed behind his back, old spine perfectly straight — like the obedient guard dog he is. 

The thought makes the Emperor’s lips curl into a crooked smile. “What are you doing here, dog?” he calls to the General as he approaches him, voice echoing down the soulless corridor.

“Your nameday present, your majesty—” Marcus answers and tries not to make a face when the Emperor stands before him. The bittersweet scent of wine stains his breath, overwhelmingly so. Geta was never one to practice temperance. “—I was told to see that you got it.”

The younger man hesitates. “From my uncle?” he wonders aloud.

Marcus nods wordlessly in response.

Geta pauses for a moment. His wide, glassy eyes flit over the General’s shoulder to the arched doorway behind him. His stomach swirls at the thought of what may lie inside. The last nameday present his uncle sent from overseas was a monkey his younger brother has grown much too attached to.

“Well… What is it?”

Marcus swallows hard and steps aside. “Look inside, your majesty.”

Geta takes a deep breath in and swings the creaking door open. His bedroom is lush with crimson silk and golden candlelight, familiarly fragranced with cinnamon and sweet myrrh. It’s accompanied by something foreignly floral, a feminine rosy-lavender that catches his attention before his eyes ever find you.

He steps through the threshold and finds a strange girl standing by the window, before a platter of fruit and wine — bathed half in the silver beams of a full moon, and half in flickering orange flames. 

White silk adorns your frame, so delicate it’s nearly see-through. One of your shoulders is mouthwateringly bare, and there’s a slit in the fabric that rises to your hip. You look as pure as a dove, though you’re so obviously built for sin.

The ground sways beneath Geta’s unsteady feet.

You crunch audibly into an apple before you realize anyone’s there. The juice runs down your chin before you swipe it away with the back of your hand. Only then do your eyes lock with the Emperor’s, who seems equally stunned to see you there. You tense and say nothing as you hide the bitten fruit behind your back.

“It’s a woman,” Geta observes to no one in particular, though his dark eyes have not yet wavered from yours.

Marcus stands behind him and nods — hands still clasped behind his back, heart still pounding against his ribcage. “Yes, your majesty. In plain terms.”

“Well,” the Emperor glances over his shoulder. “What does she do?”

“Whatever you want,” the General answers, though the words taste like vinegar on his tongue. He swallows the bitterness down like bile and leers at you, looking upon his lover as though she were a stranger. “You need only ask.”

Geta, satisfied by his answer, turns back to you. His initial surprise has ebbed into something more pleased, diabolically so. His pink lips curl into a sneer as he walks slowly towards you, eyeing you up and down with curious eyes — a predator stalking its prey.

“Is that true?” he asks you, voice ringing through the quiet room. “Or is he confusing you for a dutiful hound?”

“A dutiful whore, your majesty,” you correct with an acquiescent smile, following the story as Marcus intended. 

The half-truth comes easily to you. Not a lie exactly, but not the whole tale either. You’d spent many of your years working in a brothel on the outskirts of Rome. You were a young woman, unmarried, without family or viable prospects — whoring seemed the most obvious decision then, though it feels so long ago now. 

You’d waited your whole life for something, for Marcus, though you hadn’t expected it to kill you when you found it. You won’t die a saint if the crazed Emperor decides to take your head, but perhaps you could be a martyr. Perhaps that’ll be enough.

Fear beats through your body like a second heart, but your eyes never waver from the Emperor’s. It’s easiest to meet his gaze. He feels more like a human that way. 

There are flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and dark strands in his gold hair. He’s got stubble on his long neck, spots on his broad nose, and wrinkles on his forehead. Not quite as perfect as the pristine white-gold armor would let on.

His eyes flit down your form once more. Something sparks in the deep brown of them, a flicker of silent realization. He spins suddenly on the heel of his sandal to flash Marcus an accusatory glare.

“Is she your whore, General?” he lilts into the heavy silence. His brows raise when he receives no answer from the man across the room. “The question was not rhetorical, Acacius.”

“No, your majesty. She is not mine,” Marcus answers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. It’s like he’s plunging a knife through his own heart. He can feel the cold sting of the sharpened blade and the burn of the blood on his skin. “Though, I don’t believe whores belong to anyone.”

A boyish chuckle spills from the Emperor’s mouth. “No. They don’t,” he says with an airy giddiness. “Not before now, anyway—”

Geta spins back again, pleated skirt fanning around his pale thighs. His smile fades with an eerie swiftness. “What are you waiting for? Undress,” he commands with a wave of his ringed hand.

Your wide eyes flit instinctively past him to Marcus, who still idles in the doorway. Only then does he realize how long he’s been staring at you. He forces himself to glance off in another direction, but his gaze keeps finding yours — like a magnet, or a planet with its own gravitational pull.

Your eyes lock, and the only thing you hear is each other, though neither of you has spoken a word. This is the only way, you hear his voice in your head as clearly as your own. This is the only way to stay together. The only way to survive.

Geta mistakes your fear.

“Don’t worry about him, little dove,” he coos, and taps the bottom of your chin with his fingers — as soft and petaled as your own. He smiles when your attention turns to him again, speaking loud enough for the General to hear. “He’s only the guard dog. And good boys get scraps, don’t they, Acacius?”

Marcus’ face screws like he’s tasted something sour. He’s grateful the Emperor isn’t looking at him to see it. “They do, your majesty,” he monotones.

“So you will watch. And report to my uncle how his lovely present fared,” he calls to the older man, though his eyes remain locked with yours. You tense when his pale hand reaches suddenly for your face. He holds your cheeks in his fingers until your lips jut in a soft pout. “Let’s hope I don’t have to send him back your head, little dove.”

He says it with an absentminded effortlessness, as though it’s something he’s done before. 

Still, you manage a small smile and blink up at him with innocent eyes. “What good is a dead whore, your majesty?” you quip.

Geta’s grin widens.  “Precisely. Now undress.”

You reach for the singular sleeve of your slip with trembling fingers. Your right hand sweeps across your left shoulder, skin blazing with fear and anticipation. The fabric trails down down down your arm before falling to your feet in a puddle of milky white silk. Your bare body glows silver and gold between moonlight and flame. 

Goosebumps pebble over your skin despite the humid summer night as Geta circles you like prey. His eyes trail slowly down your form in time with his rhythmic steps. The sound of his sandals scrapping the stone floor, crackling candlelight, and subdued breathing are the only sounds in the quiet room for several long moments.

The Emperor disappears behind you, and you forget how to breathe. Your wide, wet eyes find Marcus once more — pleading, though for what, you cannot say. His face reveals nothing but wrath burns in his gaze.

Geta reappears at your right side. You smell grape wine on his breath when he nears you, breathing heavily through his mouth as he reaches out to touch you. His ringed hands smooth over your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat. He smiles as though your fright pleases him.

“You’re skittish for a whore,” he muses, playful in a way that makes your stomach wrench. “Are you sure the General didn’t bring me a virgin?”

You swallow hard as his hand trails down your body. Over the swell of your breast, skimming his thumb over your taut nipple, before tracing the expanse of your ribs. His fingers run down your stomach and past the thatch of hair between your legs. They dip finally between your thighs. 

Geta hums a faint moan at the velvet feeling of your pussy. The way your lips part for his fingers, silky skin warm and wet to the touch. 

“I’m whatever you want me to be, your majesty,” you answer, breathing hard through your nose when he pulls his hand away — a warmth you find yourself begrudgingly grieving.

“I need only ask…” the Emperor coos, running his middle and pointer finger over your bottom lip. They shine with the honey you leak despite yourself. Your mouth parts, and he rests the pads of them on your tongue. “…Do I not?”

You nod wordlessly through the salty fingers in your mouth, trying to imagine their Marcus’.

Geta smiles when he parts from you. “Undress me,” he demands. 

You work at his tricky armor with nervous hands and bated breath. 

You unclasp his cape first. The white fabric, now free from its chain, falls heavily to the floor behind him. Your fingers have gone noticeably clammy as they struggle with the sleeves of his tunic. It takes you a beat too long to loosen the laces at his shoulders. The cloth falls finally and puddles around his feet, leaving his lean body on display before you.

His torso is lean and mostly hairless, save for splotches of chestnut on his sternum and stomach. His skin is smooth and flushed from the alcohol. His stomach is slim but noticeably full. The Emperor is well-taken care of, though his subjects outside the keep suffer from the consequences of war.

Your trembling fingers curl around the hem of his loincloth. His pale skin is warm to the touch, boiling with desire while you freeze over with fear. You crouch before him as you drag the garment down his scruffy thighs. You hear Geta sigh above you when his half-hard cock meets the cool summer night air. 

He’s paler there compared to the rest of his golden body, though the mushroom tip glows a faint strawberry-red color. A vein trails in jagged lines to the base of his heavy cock, fading as it reaches the thatch of dark blonde hair at his pubic bone. He’s not nearly as thick as Marcus, though not many people could hope to be — but he is long and thin and soft like velvet.

“How do I look?” Geta wonders as he steps out of his loincloth. He tilts his chin to his chest to peer down at you, on your knees to untie the intricate laces of his sandals. You blink up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Without my armor,” he adds, then repeats. “How do I look?”

You realize, then, that he wants your praise. Though you’re unsure why, you’re not in any position to deny him of it. “You’re a— a very handsome man, your majesty,” you respond cautiously, with a wavering smile.

You hear his breath catch at the compliment. The corner of his mouth flickers upward, and his nostril flares as he takes a deep breath in. 

“Well, go on, then,” he insists suddenly, nodding his head to egg you onward. “Good whores don’t keep their masters waiting, do they? You don’t want to see me impatient, little dove.”

You wrap his stiff cock in a tentative fist, averting your gaze as you give an experimental kitten lick to the bulbous, strawberry tip. Your tongue swipes away the pearlescent pre-cum beading there. The salty tang is foreign on your tongue, sweeter and thicker than you’re used to.

You imagine your lover when you take the Emperor’s cock in your mouth. A practiced form of dissociation that comes naturally to you now. 

You focus on the way the stone floor digs into your knees as you cup his balls in your hand — a desperate attempt to finish him quickly. Geta shudders when you swallow him whole, burying your nose in the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock. His head tips back as he groans at the ceiling.

“You are a proper whore…” the Emperor moans with a delirious smile. He tilts his flushed cheek to his freckled shoulder to sneer at Marcus, then frowns when his eyes meet the back of him. “Are you distracted, General?”

The man keeps his back turned and his eyes trained on the wall, counting the bricks there to distract his racing mind. His mouth snarls at the Emperor’s words. His hands ball into fists as he fights to keep his composure.

“Just giving you your privacy, your majesty.”

“Nonsense!” Geta laughs, loud. “You should watch! You should observe— so you know what to tell my uncle.”

Marcus can hear the mischievous lilt in the younger boy’s voice. Like it’s all just a game to him. Like you’re just a whore to be played with, and like Marcus’ only hope of companionship is warfare. Both might’ve been true once, but not since you find each other.

The general smacks his lips against his teeth. “As you wish,” he deadpans and spins on the heel of his sandal.

He’s strangely grateful to find the Emperor’s body obscuring your own. Geta’s lean, pale form towers over your kneeling one — back muscles flexing, hips thrusting, fingers knitting in your hair.

But Marcus can still hear the sounds of your mouth on the other man’s cock. The room fills with heavy breathing, wet noises, and the Emperor’s unabashed whines. Embers of envy burn in the General’s empty chest. A wildfire of want and wrath rages behind his ribcage.

You swallow with Geta’s cock in your throat and squeeze softly at his balls. You hear his breath hitch just before a lengthy moan spills from his parted mouth. Several loads of salty cum spit down your throat a second later. The man shows you little mercy as he holds you by your hair, keeping your nose pressed to his pubic bone. You take shallow breaths through your nose and try not to choke.

You pull off of him when he lets you go. A string of saliva threatens to keep you connected. You take a deep breath in and swipe at your swollen mouth with the back of your hand, staying on your knees while the Emperor tilts his head back. He exhales a breathy laugh of relief at the ceiling. You peer up at him with wide, wet eyes, still so uncertain of your fate.

“Proper whore, indeed,” Geta muses, almost to himself, as he drops his heavy head once more. 

His flushed chest sparkles with a foreign feeling at the sight of you beneath him — eyes teary and fearful, lips swollen and rosy, features flushed with sweat and sex. His cock jerks, still sensitive but threatening to harden again. He grips himself with a loose fist.

“On the bed,” he instructs suddenly, then grins madly at your shock. “You didn’t think I was done with you, surely. Not until I mount you like a mare, anyway— Treat you like the bitch in heat you are…”

Geta cups your warm cheek in his free hand. His touch is strangely gentle as he cradles you there, right before he smacks gently at your jaw to urge you upward. 

Your bare feet pad towards the bed, then. Geta swats your ass as you go and laughs when you squeak in response. You fight the urge to look at Marcus, lest you see the rage burning in his eyes — lest he see the heartbreak swimming in yours. 

Marcus watches you crawl over the silken sheets, both of you sporting similar far-off gazes. He feels a bit like a ghost now. An empty, invisible thing, doomed to watch the rest of the world go on without ever being able to live in it. It’s dreadfully symbolic of how he’s lived most of his life, and how he’s spent the years loving you. Because even if a ghost is full of love, the only thing it knows to do is haunt.

The silk pillow feels cool under your burning cheek. The mattress dips under the Emperor’s weight when he kneels behind you. His ringed fingers smooth over your ass and down the arch of your back. He treats you with an uncharacteristic sort of tenderness, as though he were molding you out of clay.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” he whispers under his breath. “And timid, too… I like that…” 

Your pussy clenches at his words despite yourself. Geta’s chest swells with pride accordingly. “You don’t have to be scared, little dove. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Despite his words, he does not bother to ready you for his cock when he positions himself at your pulsing entrance. You hadn’t expected him to, of course — not many men were as kind as Marcus in that way, who often treated your pleasure as if it were his own. But the slick sticking to your thighs has made your pussy more than pliant. Your velvet walls swallow Geta’s cock with a pulsing vigor.

The Emperor groans as he fucks into you, savoring every inch as he buries himself to the hilt. His ringed fingers dig into the plush of your waist, as though you were a toy he didn’t want getting snatched away.

“Look at the hound!” Geta giggles boyishly to himself. “He’s itching for a feel of you— I just know it.”

Marcus remains as still and stoic as the battalion trained him to be. He reveals nothing on his face, though his skin prickles with flames of envy beneath his armor. 

Marcus Acacius was not a jealous man. His love for you was a testament to that. He visited the brothel you boarded in and spared the same coins as every man in the establishment did. But it was different now. Because the Emperor does not deserve you, and he forces Marcus to watch as if he knows it, too.

Something within him seethes, like a feral animal trapped behind his ribcage, desperately clawing its way out.

“Look at him,” Geta snaps when he sees you staring at the wall, eyes glassy and glazed over. He’s grinning all over again when your gaze snaps to Marcus’. 

The soldier’s weathered eyes burn with tears then. General Acacius has faced death a thousand times over, but it wasn’t quite as heartwrenching as this. His wrath simmers to a boil. He swallows it down like fire.

This is her salvation, he tells himself. This is how she survives.

Your features twist with the anguish of being seen as the Emperor lays himself over your back. His slick chest sits flush with your spine, pinning you to the mattress. “I bet he can taste you now. Smell you,” he murmurs in your ear, chapped mouth brushing the shell of it. “His mouth is salivating at the thought of putting his tongue on you— Isn’t it, dog?”

Marcus swallows through the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away stinging tears and feigns an air of nonchalance. “It would be… impolite to talk so brashly about something that doesn’t belong to me, your majesty,” the General responds. Obedient. Loyal like a hound.

Geta grins wide. “Good answer, Acacius.”

When the Emperor finally fucks into you, it’s with a sloppy sort of precision. There is no rhythm or care to his thrusts. He is led only by his blinding pleasure, like a man who has only ever fucked playthings and his own fist. He props himself on one forearm and curls the other beneath you, holding your breast in his ringed hand.

Geta’s flushed cheek presses against your own while he slides in and out and into you again. You hear his groaning as you feel it rumbling in his chest, still laid against your back. You stare at a framed portrait on the wall across the room and wait for it to be over, even as your body refuses to dismiss its simmering orgasm.

Your swollen clit ruts against the silk sheets with each of the Emperor’s sloppy thrusts. You can feel a wet spot forming beneath you, and your stomach twists at the thought of seeing proof of your own pleasure. 

His balls smack your leaking cunt, creating a symphony of lewd noises — moaning, whimpering, clapping, smacking. Marcus thinks the sounds of war were more merciful than this.

“Do you understand what that means, little dove?” Geta croons into your ear, words choppy through his labored breaths and irregular thrusts. “You belong— to me now… So whatever you used to be— whoever’s you used to be— no longer matters.”

He thrusts once, hard, and shudders above you with a choked-back groan. You grit your teeth to swallow down your own noises of pleasure. The assault on your clit, though unintentional, is still yet relentless. You feel the distant white-hot burning feeling begin to swell in the pit of your stomach. A coil about to snap.

“Fucking me— Making me feel good—” the Emperor pants, punctuated by his hips against your ass. “—Is your only duty now. Understand?”

You nod, cheek running over the silk cushion as you grip it in your fists. “Yes, your majesty,” you gasp.

Geta presses his smile to the apple of your cheek. He can feel you leaking around him. You’re enjoying this just as much as he is, to be sure. A proper whore, indeed.

“Now… Take my spend like a good bitch, and thank me for it—”

He fucks you harder, and your face twists with a pleasure you’re too weak to fight away. 

Your gaze falls instinctively to Marcus as your orgasm threatens to swallow you whole. Your eyes squeeze shut in a feeble attempt to hide. Your mouth parts with a silent moan as you cum around the Emperor’s cock.

“Thank you, your majesty,” you whimper obediently into the pillow as you tremble beneath him. “Thank you.”

Geta buries a whine in your neck when he cums again. He gives you only two pitiful, warm loads but still possesses more stamina than your Marcus. He stills, then shudders, then rests his unforgiving bodyweight on top of you when pleasure makes a puddle of him. And of you, you assume, as a mixture of your spend leaks out of your cunt and onto the sheets.

“Write to my uncle, Acacius—” Geta slurs into your skin, heavy through labored pants. “—A thank you for my nameday present.”

Marcus forgets, until then, that he can still be seen. He felt more akin to a corpse hidden in the walls, forced to spend his afterlife in a merciless purgatory. His heart has stopped beating, frozen over, and now sits dead in his chest. He will never be as gentle as he was with you. He will be bloodied knuckles and pulsing wounds. Rough and cruel and angry.

“Yes, your majesty,” the General nods, thankful that it’s over now.

Geta rolls off of your body and onto the empty spot beside you — not shy about his nude form or yours. The sudden lack of warmth makes you shiver. 

“And tell him to send another— To keep the General’s bed warm, too,” he says, patting your ass with his palm before smoothing tenderly over the skin. “One whore’s as good as any other, I’m sure.”

Marcus flinches at the thought of being with anyone other than you. He couldn’t hide the look of disgust if he tried. It makes the Emperor laugh loudly in response.

“Oh, did you— Did you want to try this one?” Geta muses knowingly, pointing to your limp body, still trembling beside him with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“No. No, no, no— See, this one’s mine,” he corrects the General as if he were a child. “And it would be impolite to touch something that belongs to me, would it not? It would be treasonous, even.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Marcus nods, lip flickering in a mere hint of a smirk as his plan finally comes to fruition. “It would be.”

The Emperor sees you now as his property, and no one hurts what belongs to him without meeting a certain death. Marcus is comforted only by the thought that nothing can touch you now. Not even him. But perhaps that’s the price he pays for love. Perhaps, in the end, love is grief.

“So best tread lightly, Acacius,” Geta warns with a crooked smile, petting you like a dog. “I’d hate for someone to get hurt.”

[phantomrose96]

Anyway Mouthwashing spoilers

I'm turning Curly over in my head for the narrative punishment he's put through. Like you could you COULD interpret him as a pure victim, framed for Jimmy's crime and forced to suffer in skinless silence while his assailant gets to assume his role but it's more than that, to me. It's not just Jimmy bad Curly good. It's Curly's enablement of Jimmy that sets all of this in motion and, now, how will you take Responsibility, Curly?

It's Curly's "I've known Jimmy a long time. He'll listen to me." It's Curly's brand of leadership that hinges more on being seen as a good leader than on actually taking action. Because being seen as a good leader requires everyone to like him and that's more important to him than actually protecting Anya from Jimmy.

You could say "Jimmy just had everyone fooled into thinking he was a decent guy" except no you can't, because Anya hid the gun from him knowing Jimmy may go ballistic learning she's pregnant with his baby. And she hides the gun because Curly wouldn't. "Why do they have locks on medbay and the cockpit but not in the sleeping quarters?" Anya asks to Curly. Curly knows Jimmy raped Anya but his brand of I Need To Be Liked leadership asserts that Jimmy deserves a seat at the table of this solution. Curly won't do anything. He won't do anything even when he says he'd do anything.

And this is even after Jimmy tore into Curly with left-field accusations about the crew being laid off being something Curly wanted. All the evidence we have says the whole crew is being let go, Curly along with everyone, but Jimmy turns on him and makes it out like Curly wanted this and Curly is the enemy to everyone else on the ship. Curly won't stand up for himself. He won't shut Jimmy down. Swansea holds onto the axe because when locked up the axe requires the Captain to unlock, and maybe Swansea recognizes he's on a ship with a Captain who would not use the axe on the man who needs it.

Curly never wanted anything bad to happen. He never tried to hurt anyone. He never crashed the ship. But he's the one person who could have shut Jimmy down for every horrible sign and action along the way and he didn't he didn't he didn't he didn't. And the very first time he tries to intervene is when it's too little too late. HE gets eviscerated. He gets all his skin burned off. Because of what Jimmy did, but because of what Curly allowed.

And now his chance to act as Captain is gone. His chance to do right is gone. Jimmy is captain now and everyone who knows he's a monster is no longer capable of acting against him. And now skinless voiceless eternally watching, Curly has to lie in his own blood and bear witness to what Jimmy is doing, to everything he enabled. At Jimmy's mercy now like all the others, who physically beats him now and who is there to stand up for Curly? Enable. Enable enable enable.

[gojonanami]

will literally send you small bottles of my eyelashes to make wishes on if you write some of these men being subs

𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐒 - ft. nanami, geto, gojo, & choso

warnings: nsfw, 18+, tying up, blindfolds, handjobs (m! receiving), riding, oral (m! receiving), edging (m! receiving), overstimulation

a/n: *adds small bottles of eyelashes beside bottles of tears* i have a collection now :)

NANAMI

“sorry gojo, nanami’s a little tied up at the moment,” you have his phone pressed between your cheek and shoulder, as you run your fingers down his chest, watching his muscles twitch under your touch, “yeah I’ll tell him to call you back, bye,”

kento can only look up at you helplessly, his arms tied above his head by his own black dotted tie, his button up undone and hanging off his body, his cheeks deliciously flushed for you.

“should’ve have let gojo heard you earlier, begging for me,” you lean down, ghosting your lips across his jaw, “but you would’ve liked that wouldn’t you, kento?”

“no…I wouldn’t—“ and you tsk him, the click of his belt sending a shiver through his body, as he grits his teeth, “please, can you—“

“that sounded like a demand, nanamin,” you undo the button of his slacks and tug them down, your eyes fixed on the tent in his boxers, “and I don’t think you’re in any state to make those, are you?” And your question is punctuating by a finger tracing over his erection.

a hiss leaves his lips, as his blue gaze pierces you, “please, touch me,”

and you smile, as you pull his boxers away, your lips kissing his weeping slit, your fingers grasping the base of his hard cock, “of course, kento.”

GETO

“no wonder gojo likes to wear these,” your lips brush over his left ear, tongue tracing the outer part before drawing a circle around his gauge earring, making suguru swallow thickly, “heightens all your other senses,”

“don’t think that’s why he wears one, sweetheart,” his words leave his lips slowly, doing his best to keep his voice steady — how cute.

you’d fix that in a moment.

“well that’s why I have one on you,” your fingers trace over his bare stomach, lips kissing down his body, before your tongue drags over his abs, “look at you - special grade geto suguru — at my mercy. spread out all for me,” and his cock twitches, teeth baring down on his bottom lip, “don’t act like you don’t love it, sugu, your body betrays you,”

And your thumb and forefinger toy with his nipples, pinching it, drawing a short gasp from his lips, “stop—“

“you don’t want me to stop, do you?” you lean away, and it’s a point of pride for him — he didn’t want to beg, he couldn’t. but god, fuck, he was so hard, “we all have base desires, suguru — even sorcerers,” you climb into his lap, straddling him, the only thing separating his cock from your needy cunt being his already far too soaked boxers.

“fuck—“ he’s trying to touch you, but you catch his wrists, “princess—“

“tell me what you want,”

even with the blindfold, you knew he’s glaring, “you know what I want,”

“use your words,” and you grind down on him, making him groan.

“please, fuck me,” your lips curl, as you tug down his boxers and sink onto his leaking cock.

“good boy.”

GOJO

“you don’t usually have a problem talking, so talk,” you press kisses to his jaw, “oh but you got your mouth full don’t you?” your fingers run over the panties you have stuffed in his mouth. Drool left the corners of his pretty pink lips, his eyes blown out with pleasure from the numerous times you had brought him so close to climax.

only to pull away.

“look at you, spread out for me in your expensive little chair — imagine what the higher ups would think of you — the strongest sorcerer all fucked out by my touch? so fucking close to bursting from a single touch,” your pointer finger ran over his twitching cock, “do you wanna cum, Toru?”

and you ease the panties from his mouth, “fuuuck, please, baby,"

"please what, toru? i've already given you so much, you're so greedy," you press your lips to his, swallowing his protests and his whines, as he tries and fails to find any friction against you, but you're woefully out of reach, "look at you, your cock is so pretty like this — all flushed, just like your cheeks," your fingers trace over his cheek bones and the bridge of his nose, "and all f'me? i'm so lucky,"

"please," he's panting, head tilted back.

"please, what?" you lean close, as your fingers reach for his dick, but stop short.

"let me cum, please, I need to—with your hands, your mouth, I don't—" and he's gasping as you climb into his lap, your dripping folds above his cock.

"the only place you're cumming, Toru, is in my cunt."

CHOSO

how many times has choso come already? four, five, seven?

you'd lost track. and so had choso from the looks of him. he's laid back, panting, as your lips and tongue clean up the cum he'd spilled on himself. god, he tastes utterly too good for his own good.

"made such a mess again, choso," you chide gently, as he whines, his thighs shaking from your treatment, his purple eyes clouded over with lust as they flutter open, "such a good boy for me though,"

he's whining, "please, love, i can't—" he's shaking his head, sweat dripping down his body, as he's already so hard again, red and leaking pre-cum, already jerking when you've barely moved to brush against his cock again, "it's too much,"

"do you have one more for me, sweet boy?" you whisper quietly, waiting for the safe word that never leaves his lips, as his teeth find his bottom lip, a sharp inhale as he nods. and you're trying so hard not to swallow him whole -- pressing your thighs together to hold yourself back, before your mouth sinks onto him again.

he's jerking forward, his violet eyes watching you part your pretty lips for him, letting his cock enter your mouth, and it's all too much, too soon. "can i please, I want to--" his hands reach for your head and you look up and nod, bobbing your head more steadily, as his fingers find purchase in your hair, as whines and gasps leave his lips.

"feels so good, baby," tears in his eyes, he's begging, "please, please, i'm so close, i can't--" and you suck on his cock as your tongue swirls around the length, and he's cumming hard and fast down your throat, as he pants, out of breath, as you pull yourself from his length, a string of saliva and cum dripping down your mouth.

he watches with glazed over eyes and his chest heaving, as you kiss your way up his spent body, "such a pretty boy f'me. all for me."

a/n: i was gonna write full length fics but i figured with how long my wip list is, i better be a little more judicious with my time lol - i hope you all enjoyed <3

[unluckiestmember]

Arcane x Ransom! Reader

Summary: How would the Arcane characters react if the reader was held for ransom?

Characters: Jinx/Powder, Violet "Vi", Caitlyn Kiramman, Viktor, Jayce Talis, Sevika, Silco and Licker (mention).

Warning: Slight cursing and suggestive themes/implied sexual themes.

A/N: I literally got the idea for this request from Helluva Boss, particular episode 6 of season 2. I hope you all enjoy this though, I know I did!

Powder/Jinx

“You have who?! Where are they?!… You want me to pay you for them? Oh I’ll pay you alright!”

Jinx doesn’t take the idea of you getting hurt lightly. She already is super overprotective of her little trinket, so when she heard that you were being held for a price, she wasted no time grabbing Pow-Pow, Zapper and a bunch of chompers to aid her in her “heroic rescue” for her princess/prince. As soon as she is where you are held, you don’t have to see her to know she’s there for you. Don’t expect any talking, just laughter and hollers followed by gunfire, screams for mercy and explosions.

Before you know it, the Loose Cannon is standing in front of you, pulling you into the tightest hug ever and dressing your face with kisses. She will ask you countless questions while freaking out, beating herself up over you being in such a position. But when she feels you touch her and assure her you’re okay, she’s on cloud nine. As soon as she laces the area with bombs to blow it to kingdom come, she’s back at her hideout, being super affectionate and touchy the entire night. Don’t expect anyone to be touching you for months unless they want their head blown off.

Violet “Vi”

“… What?… You… You just pissed off the wrong woman.”

First word that you were kidnapped, Vi wasted no time hunting your captors down and beating them to a bloody pulp. The woman is like a bull seeing red knowing you were somewhere cold and scared away from home and her arms. So until you were back to her, anyone was able to get a personal greeting from the pink haired fighter. Vi is pretty merciful, but in situations like this, she isn’t afraid to push the envelope by giving life threatening injuries to the bastards that hurt you.

When she found you, she didn’t bother asking any questions or giving any money to your kidnappers, unless they counted a mouthful of fists and kicks as payment enough. When she’s done with her punishment, she’ll immediately scoop you into her arms and take the both of you back home, where she checks you for injuries and asks if you are okay. Please comfort her. She may act all tough and cool, but the situation scared her due to thinking she lost you just like everyone else. As soon as she knows you are alright, she’ll promise no one will ever do that to you again.

Caitlyn Kiramman

“You kidnapped Y/N? Why would- Who do you think you are? You better let them go right now!”

Caitlyn was used to people being kidnapped on the job, having to save them or negotiate with criminals for their safety. But she would have never imagined such a thing happening to you of all people. When she was told you were being held for ransom, she understandably panicked before taking deep breaths and thinking of how to get you back to her. The enforcer can easily scrounge up the money for you to be freed, because you were more important than any coin that reaches her pockets.

So when she arranges a meeting with your kidnappers and finds you so scared, she finds it hard to stop herself from grabbing you and making a run for it. If the kidnappers pull a fast one on her though, all bets are off and bullets are flying. When she has you back, she will watch you like a hawk and be on the defensive for a while. But if you assure her enough that you are okay, she will lighten up. On the bright side, after the incident she’s more romantic and spends more time with you in and out of work.

Viktor

“Look, I’m sure we can talk about this. I’ll get you the money, just. Please don’t hurt them…”

Viktor beat himself up when he heard you were taken away from him for monetary purposes. He just doesn’t understand how he would let this happen- How he would let someone easily take you under his nose and put you in harm’s way?! He could’ve waddled in his sorrows, but he couldn’t. He had to save you and he had to act fast! It would hurt him, but he would ask for assistance from Jayce and the council if he can. And if they can’t help him? Well. Maybe it was time to break out those so-called dangerous machines Heimerdinger warned him against using.

When he finds you, he’s wasting no time trying to negotiate a way around matters so you could be freed. And if those negotiations don’t go according to plan, then he’ll use his machinery and his brain to outsmart the criminals into freeing you. When you are back together, he’ll just. Hold you. Like you are a precious gemstone. He’ll promise you this will never happen again. No one will ever lay their hands on you again…

Jayce Talis

“Is this supposed to scare me? If anything, you should be the one scared- Do you know who I am?!”

Jayce does not take threats lightly, especially when it comes to his family, friends and his loved ones. As soon as he was told you were held for Ransom, he let his anger and determination to get you back fuel him to do anything to send a message and bring you back to safety. You will immediately know your boyfriend got the message because in a matter of hours, enforcers are barging into the area you were held like they were entering a war, shooting, punching and slamming anyone who got in their way from their goal; You.

And Jayce is in the middle of it all, swinging his hammer without remorse before running to your rescue as your knight in shining armor. As soon as you grab his hand, he’s walking you back to his place casually through the enforcers destroying everything in their sights and leaving a message for the assholes that took you; Never. Ever. Touch the councilman’s lover. Don’t expect to go anywhere without guards following you if Jayce isn’t, whether you want to or not. Jayce just can’t take the chance for you to be taken again. Is it extreme? Yes. But it was worth it.

Sevika

“Ransom? Seriously? Please, that’s nothing. And I’m about to show you why.”

When it comes to ransom, Sevika wasn’t new to having her friends or past lovers be kidnapped for money. So when she heard you were being held hostage, she casually grabbed her poncho, fixed her arm for a brawl and headed outside to round her co-workers up. When she found you and the ones that took you, she wasted no time kicking in the doors and sicking her co-workers on everyone before she made her way towards you after knocking some skulls in. She’ll ask if you are okay and especially check you for any injuries before grabbing you and joking how you found yourself in this predicament.

The fight rages on as soon as she places you outside for safety. Saving you wasn’t enough. No, she needed everyone to know that when someone messes with you, they have to deal with her and the rest of Zaun. When everything is over and done, Sevika will take you both back home and treat any injuries you want before kissing your cheek and simply talking as if you weren’t kidnapped to begin with. If you think she doesn’t care, then hoo boy. The way she’ll treat you that night in bed will make you think otherwise.

Silco

“Hmm… If I were you, I’d beg for mercy when I get there…”

Silco is never one to be threatened because he’s always the one making the threats. Hearing about you being held for Ransom made him immediately go on the move to round up Sevika to follow him in bringing you back to him. If he gets there and doesn’t find you anywhere, he will deliver a silent signal to bring the house down. But if you are present, then he won’t need violence to be delivered by his Right Hand. He’ll just need to put the fear of gods into your kidnapper.

He’ll paint them a picture of how he’ll find their families and let them listen to the melody of their bones breaking. How he’ll have Licker carve paintings into their bodies and let them choke on their own blood as they beg for mercy. What do they think of that? They wouldn’t like that at all. As a matter of fact, they would hate it so much that they would release you and fade from existence right there. As soon as you are back to Silco, he’s going to take you back home as if this was only a minor inconvenience. But as soon as you two are behind closed doors, he can’t help from keeping his hands to himself and make promises against your skin.

If you have any requests for Arcane, X-Men '97 or Blue Eye Samurai, send them my way!

Likes and retweets are always appreciated! I love you all, stay safe, stay hydrated and have a good day!