#review of his disobedience and punishment

[granonine]

Death of Moses

Deuteronomy 34:1-9 Gives us the account of Moses’ death: And Moses went up from the plains of Moab unto the mountain of Nebo, to the top of Pisgah, that is over against Jericho. And the Lord shewed him all the land of Gilead, unto Dan, 2 And all Naphtali, and the land of Ephraim, and Manasseh, and all the land of Judah, unto the utmost sea, 3 And the south, and the plain of the valley of…

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine King catching feelings for you

Kaido: ah, there he is, King this is the new navigator for the main ship

King: [eyes you in disinterest] I see

You: hello, I look forward to working with you.

King: I'm sure you do.

You: [ignores his rude comment]

Kaido: would you show them around the ship for me?

King: I suppose

You: [opens the door and gestures to it] Lead the way handsome.

King: [looks at you in surprise]

During a dinner

King: [sees you're not touching your sashimi plate]

You: [notices him looking] Do you like sashimi?

King: ... Yes

You: I'm a tad full at the moment to eat mine, could I get your help with it?

King: [wastes no time taking the platter from you] I take it you don't like sashimi?

You: it's not that, I'm just not in the mood for it.

King: [can't tell if you're lying] Good, because I don't know if I can work with someone who doesn't like sashimi.

You: but it would mean more for you.

King: [pauses because he didn't think of it that way before] ... So you're going to give me all your sashimi from now on?

You: [smiles at him] Maybe, if you've been a good boy.

King: [feels unfamiliar emotions stir within him]

After that dinner

You: [goes to King's rooms] King?... King, Kaido wanted me to deliver this course log to you to review for tomorrow... Huh, I'll just leave it on his desk with a note.

King: [exits the shower with just a towel and sees you kneeling on his desk chair and scribbling something down]

You: [turns around to see him trying to duck into another room] King? Is that you?

King: [freezes, knowing he's been seen]

You: wow, I've never seen you without your mask, [realizes this is a breach of his privacy, so you should your eyes] Oh my God, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to look, I promise I won't say anything to anyone.

King: [grabs his sword and stands over you]

You: [looks up when you hear the blade slide out of the sheath]

King: [feels dread and guilt fill his chest when he sees the look of terror in your eyes]

You: why?

King: I can't let you leave now that you know what I am, the government can't know that I'm still alive. I won't ever go back to being someone else's lab rat.

You: I understand. [Lowers your head in acceptance]

King: [can't bring himself to kill you, so he throws it down] damn it all, get out of my chair.

You: [scrabbles out, and silently watches him sit down and make a call using his den den mushi]

King: Kaido, the new navigator knows

Kaido: ehh? I just got them, do you know how hard it is to find a decent navigator and you're telling me you already killed the brand-new one!

King: I haven't killed them.

Kaido: They escaped you, are they at least wounded?

King: [gets comfortable in his chair] No, they're standing right before me.

You: [had a perfect view of his thighs and the v of his hips peaking out of the towel, and now you can see up his towel, so you look away]

Kaido: what's the hold-up?

King: [sees you looking away, so he leans forward, takes your jaw in his hand, and makes you look at him] We can't afford to lose our only navigator while out at sea. I want to keep them by my side in the meantime.

Kaido: [can tell he's not hearing the full truth] ... As long as it doesn't interfere with their duties, you can do whatever you want with them.

King: thank you

Kaido: now good night [hangs up]

King: [puts down the receiver, and runs his thumb over your lips] ... If you try to leave my sight, I will kill you without hesitation. You will stay by my side, and do everything I say. I do not tolerate disobedience, do you understand me? [Gently shakes you to get his point across]

You: [feels tears well up in your eyes]

King: [feels guilty] I'll have servants bring your things, you'll sleep here, with me, from now on... I'm not doing this to punish you, I'm doing this for my own safety, and because I don't want to kill you.

You: [sniffles] I understand

King: [can hear your distress in your voice and it makes him feel sick] Through that door is the bathroom, go bathe while I make a few calls.

You: [slinks into the other room]

King: [calls the kitchens to deliver your favorite desserts, and calls the servant quarters to have them bring your stuff to his quarters]

After your shower

You: [exits the bathroom wearing a clean kimono]

King: [lounging on the couch, in front of a rather impressive spread of sweets] Your things have been moved into your new room.

You: I'm getting a room all to myself?

King: no, you'll be sleeping with me, I need to know where you are at all times

You: we'll be sharing a bed?!

King: yes, now please help yourself to these sweets, I did order them for you.

You: you did, why? [Goes directly for your favorite dessert]

King: You were distressed, and this was the only way I could think of to help you feel better... Your distress is understandable, I know this isn't ideal for you, being practically chained to my side... And while I can't let you go, I just wanted you to know that... I don't want you to worry or be afraid of me, because I'm not going to hurt you. I can't risk going back to what I was before Kaido, I won't go back to it.

You: ... You mentioned the government earlier, I take it you were held captive by them.

King: yes, it's why I wear the mask.

You: [can see him practically squirming in his seat] Really? And here I was thinking you wore it because it was a fetish.

King: well it is, but it's not the sole reason I wear it.

You: Sasaki owes me 800 Berry then.

King: you people were betting on me?

You: to be fair we bet on everything, there's not a lot to do on a boat in the middle of the ocean.

King: [sighs dramatically] That's true, but back to the topic at hand, I usually kill people for finding out what I am.

You: but not me, what makes me so special?

King: I don't know.

You: [ruminates for a moment] How did seeing me distressed make you feel?

King: uncomfortable, guilty, I dunno? I just didn't like it.

You: hmm I see, so you don't want to kill me, seeing me upset disturbs you, and you have anxiety if I am out of your sight.

King: believe whatever you want about my reasoning, it changes nothing.

You: ... One final question

King: [rolls his eyes, and crosses his arms] Fine, final question.

You: when you were on the call with Kaido, why did you make me look at you?

King: I didn't like that you were looking away.

You: I see.

King: ... Why did you look away?

You: I could see up your towel.

King: How much did you see?

You: some of your balls, and most of your shaft.

King: [feels arousal and embarrassment well up in him] Are you finished with your food?

You: I believe so.

King: come, I'll show you the bedroom.

You: [follows him and takes it in] Why are there no lights?

King: because it's time for bed [gets settled in bed when he notices you haven't moved] are you coming or are you sleeping on the floor?

You: that bed doesn't look like it'll fit both of us?

King: [rolls his eyes, grabs your arm, and pulls you into the bed up on his chest.] It's just fine, relax and go to sleep, I won't do anything.

You: [rests your weight on him and struggles to get comfortable]

King: [agitated because you're so close to him and he's experiencing new emotions he didn't know he had] Would you stop fidgetingñ

You: I'm trying to get comfortable and avoid kicking you in your dick!

King: [realizes how aroused he is by having you so close] tsk, do it quickly.

The next morning

King:[wakes up empty-handed, panics, and looks around until he sees you]

You: [asleep on his wing, face nuzzled into his down feathers, and has handfuls of his flight feathers.]

King: [mental cogs slide into place and he realizes he's in love with you] Oh fuck [sits up]

You:[awakens with a shriek when the surface below is yanked out from under you]

King: [sits up on the side of the bed with his hands covering his face]

You: [pushes your upper half up onto your palms as you twist to look over at him] What's going on?

King: [ looks over to see you half asleep, messy-haired, and your kimono had loosened in your sleep and was now only closed over your lap and under the obi belt, giving him an eyeful of your shoulders, the center of your chest, and from mid-thigh down]

You: it's like five in the morning, what's going on? [Reaches out and pulls on his feathers]

King: nothing, go back to sleep.

You: [doesn't need to be told twice, and plops back down and wiggles back into a comfortable position]

Bout a week later

King: [has so much pent-up tension he's basically a walking time bomb that everyone avoids]

Kaido: what have you been doing to him to make him so cranky?

You: I have absolutely no clue.

Kaido: well you better do something about it before he snaps and burns down my ship.

You: [ goes to King's room to find him tensed up and hunched over his desk] Kaido wants me to do something.

King: what now?

You: he wants me to fix whatever I've been doing to make you so cranky.

King: [scoffs] You haven't done anything.

You: [climbs into his lap, straddles his thighs, and cups his cheeks] And that might be what I'm doing wrong.

King: [relaxes at the softness in your voice, but pulls your hands away from his mask] This is my problem to deal with.

You: can I please help, I'll do anything.

King: anything?

You: [nods] anything

King: [wraps his hands around your hips, and pushes you down so you're seated on his lap]

You: [feels the heat rolling off the erection trapped in his pants] Oh my

King: [guides your body to gently rock against him] You said you'd do anything, and it's your fault it's like this. Don't you think you should take responsibility?

You: [huffs, but puts your back into grinding down on him] It's been days since I moved in, why didn't you tell me sooner?

King: I was already keeping you captive, [Grunts and starts to pant as he tilts his hips up to get more friction] It felt like I would've been pressuring you into something non-consensual.

You: I see [slows your movements to a halt]

King: [huffs and bucks his hips in frustration, pulling on your hips to get you to move again] Don't fucking stop, please.

You: [goes slow] Tell me, is this just lust?

King: [desperate] It can be anything you want it to be, please I just want you.

You: is this all you want? My body?

King: I'll take whatever you give me, but I'll always want more. I'm so fucking greedy for you. I want it all, I want the sashimi you don't like. I want fun evenings out, and restless nights in with you, only to be followed by quiet passionate mornings with you. I want you to look at only me, smile at only me, to fuck only me. I'll take whatever you give, just please give me this, [Presses his thumbs into the softness on your belly] even if it's only this once.

You: you're in love with me?

King: [slumps pathetically into his chair in defeat, and looks at the ceiling] Fuck ... Yes, I am. I am in love with you, and spending every night with you pressed against me has made me insatiable.

You: [giggles]

King: [flips you off]

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[auren-zagarra]

not sure if this counts as a analysis or kink analysis??? But what do you think about Riddle "mom issues" becoming a "mommy kink"

To me I personally dont see it but curious about your take on it

Riddle Rosehearts: Maternal Attachment and Fetishistic Dynamics

Disclaimer: Although this post is written by a professional psychologist, it is not intended to serve as a formal diagnosis. Rather, it is a character analysis of Riddle Rosehearts, created out of personal interest and passion for world-building. In psychological practice, accurate assessment should never be based solely on external observation. Also, just to clarify—I am not a sexologist. My area of expertise is in clinical psychology. While I don’t professionally endorse Freud’s Oedipus complex theory, I’ve included it here given the nature of the ask and its thematic relevance - discussing both the maternal fetish and the "mommy kink". MDNI.

Riddle Rosehearts is a character who epitomizes authoritarian rule-following. His profile emphasizes that he has a “strong commitment to maintaining order,” enforcing even trivial rules and punishing any infraction. He is highly perfectionistic and devoted to his studies, becoming irritable when challenged.

In his backstory, Riddle was raised by a single, unnamed mother in the strict Queendom of Roses. From early childhood she taught him how to be a powerful magic user and “controlled every aspect of Riddle’s life” – dictating his clothing, diet, friendships, and study schedule. This upbringing made Riddle extremely obedient to authority (mirroring the Queen of Hearts�� edicts) and left him with few friends or free-time experiences. In short, Riddle is characterized by rigid self-discipline and a harsh maternal influence from a young age.

Maternal Relationship and Childhood Trauma:

Riddle’s relationship with his mother can best be described as authoritarian and emotionally harsh. As the Twisted Wonderland biography notes, his mother “controlled every aspect” of his life and insisted on constant study, even forbidding simple pleasures (like sweets). On one documented occasion, Riddle ate a strawberry tart while sneaking out to play with friends – only to be caught by his mother and “dragged back home.” She “harshly scolded and reprimanded” him for disobedience, crying and begging notwithstanding, and then further restricted his freedom (even banning his friends from visiting). These episodes illustrate a childhood of emotional abuse and neglect: Riddle had no privacy or autonomy, and any small deviation (like playing or tasting a treat) was met with severe punishment. Such chronic maternal control is a form of developmental trauma. Psychological research shows that childhood emotional abuse and neglect can have profound long-term effects. Trauma studies report that maltreatment – especially persistent emotional abuse – is associated with a “wide range of long-term adverse health and developmental outcomes”, including anxiety, depression and other psychopathology.

In Riddle’s case, growing up under fear of his mother likely produced chronic stress and anxiety. Furthermore, attachment theory suggests Riddle’s maternal bond was insecure. Bowlby’s theory and decades of research indicate that when caregivers are inconsistent or harsh, children often develop insecure attachment styles. For example, if a parent is physically present but emotionally hostile (as in Riddle’s case), the child may become anxiously attached: perpetually worried about abandonment yet fearful of displeasing the parent. Indeed, Cleveland Clinic reviews note that infants whose caregivers are “less attentive” tend to have difficulty forming healthy relationships later.

In Riddle’s behavior, we see echoes of an anxious/resistant attachment: he urgently seeks his mother’s approval, fears punishment (crying and begging for forgiveness), and later in life he rigidly seeks order (perhaps to preempt any disapproval). In sum, Riddle’s childhood under a domineering mother was psychologically traumatic and would foster an insecure, anxious attachment style

Fetish: Definition and Psychological Theory

In psychological scholarship, a fetish is not a general obsession but a specific type of sexual fixation. Encyclopedic sources define fetishism as a sexual interest focused on an inanimate object or a body part that is not normally considered sexual. In other words, a fetish involves requiring a non-genital object (such as clothing, shoes, or a particular material) or a non-sexual body feature (feet, hair, etc.) for sexual arousal. According to clinical nosology, fetishistic behaviors qualify as a paraphilic disorder only when they cause significant distress or impairment. Otherwise, a mild fetish (e.g. a shoe or foot fetish) may be a benign sexual preference.

Common fetish objects cited in research include shoes, lingerie, rubber or leather, and specific body parts (notably female undergarments or hair). Historically, sexologists Krafft-Ebing and Ellis noted in the 19th century that fetishistic interests often arise from learned associations in childhood.

Fetish vs. Kink: Definitions and Distinctions:

The DSM‑5 defines fetishistic disorder as recurrent, intense sexual arousal from nonliving objects or specific nongenital body parts, to the point of causing distress or impairment. In common usage, a fetish often implies that the person needs that object or scenario for arousal. By contrast, a kink is a broader, colloquial term for any non‑normative sexual interest or practice – especially within BDSM or role‑play contexts. Kinks include a wide range of activities (bondage, power exchange, role‑play, etc.) that go “beyond conventional sexual practices” and are not inherently disordered. Importantly, modern clinical views emphasize that neither kinks nor fetishes are pathological unless they cause the person significant distress or harm.

Fetish (sexual): a focused sexual fixation on an inanimate object or body part (e.g. shoes, feet) that may be necessary for arousal. DSM‑5 regards this as a disorder only if it persists for at least 6 months and causes serious psychosocial problems.

Kink (sexual): any consensual, unconventional sexual behavior or fantasy (often involving power dynamics or role‑play) that enhances pleasure but is not required. Kinks are not defined in diagnostic manuals and are generally considered normal variants.

Overlap/Distinction: A given behavior can be both a fetish and a kink depending on its role for the person. One clinician notes that fetishes are kinks that an individual finds indispensable, whereas kinks in general are optional interests one can “take or leave”. In short, fetishes tend to be more specific fixations while kinks describe a broad spectrum of atypical sexual interests. (Both are considered non‑pathological forms of sexual expression unless causing dysfunction).

Psychoanalytic Perspectives on Maternal Fetishes:

A “maternal fetish” – i.e. an erotic fixation on the mother – is not a standard category in modern psychology, but it can be discussed via psychodynamic theory. Freud’s classic Oedipus complex is directly relevant: it posits that during the phallic stage (about ages 3–6), a boy develops unconscious sexual desire for his mother and rivalry with his father. Normally this Oedipal phase is resolved by the boy identifying with his father and repressing incestuous impulses. However, if the Oedipus complex is not fully resolved, one could imagine a lasting maternal fixation. Britannica succinctly defines the Oedipus complex as the child’s “possessive sexual desires for their opposite-sex parent,” which are supposed to be overcome in healthy development. In psychoanalytic terms, an unresolved Oedipus might leave a man with an enduring, possibly unconscious, erotic attraction to the mother.

Freud also formulated theories of fetishism in general: he considered fetishes as defense mechanisms against castration anxiety, often involving overvaluation of a substitute object. In this framework, a fetish functions symbolically (e.g. the fetish object represents the lost phallus). Some analysts have suggested that a fetish might grow out of an intense early attachment; for instance, if a boy unconsciously equates a favorite maternal item (like her shoe or dress) with sexual pleasure, that object can become fetishized. More broadly, fetishistic interests usually originate in childhood or adolescence when sexual feelings first emerge. A “maternal fetish” specifically could be viewed as an extreme case: the mother (a human figure) becomes the focus of erotic fantasy. Psychoanalytic literature warns that such incestuous fixations are outside healthy development; some older theories even regarded fetishism as a way to disavow uncomfortable aspects of the maternal image. While mainstream psychology lacks empirical studies on “mother fetishes” per se, theorists would typically interpret them through the lens of unresolved Oedipal conflict and early conditioning.

The “Mommy Kink”:

A “mommy kink” generally describes a sexual role‑play in which one partner assumes a dominant, maternal persona (“mommy”) and the other takes on a younger, more submissive or childlike role. Psychologically, this can be seen as a form of eroticized caregiver/child dynamics. People report various appeals: nurturing comfort, authority, or even gentle humiliation under a maternal figure. For example, some participants say that playing the “mommy” role provides a “sense of safety” and allows the submissive partner to feel “small and cared for” while also experiencing the dominant’s authority. Others describe craving the “nurturing nature” of a mother figure they felt was lacking in childhood. In academic terms, mommy kink is related to age‑play or parental roleplay within BDSM, and is not inherently pathological when practiced consensually by adults. Psychological theories that might be invoked include:

Psychoanalytic (Oedipal) Roots: Freudian theory posits an unconscious desire in early childhood for the opposite‑sex parent (the Oedipus/Electra complex). If an individual’s psychosexual development were fixated at that stage, they might later eroticize maternal images. While modern psychology does not treat Freudian complexes as literal determinants, the idea suggests that early maternal bonds can influence adult eroticism.

Attachment Theory: John Bowlby’s attachment framework emphasizes that early mother‑child bonding shapes later relationships. Individuals with insecure attachments (anxious or avoidant) to caregivers often carry those dynamics into adulthood. For example, someone anxiously attached to a cold or neglectful mother might subconsciously seek out maternal figures to fulfill unmet emotional needs. In lay terms, “mommy issues” can involve an adult seeking partners like their mother. Thus, an adult might fetishize a caregiver role if they yearn for a maternal sense of safety.

Dominance/Submissive Dynamics: In BDSM psychology, the “mommy” figure is usually a form of Dominant or caregiver, while the “little” is Submissive. The appeal can be partly power exchange: the submissive feels guided and disciplined by a maternal dominatrix, which some find erotic. Participants report that dual feelings of comfort and intimidation under a maternal dom (as noted by a professional dominatrix) can be especially potent.

Coping and Role‑play: Some theorize that such kinks may serve as a coping mechanism or fantasy to replay childhood dynamics in a controlled, consensual way. If someone lacked nurturing or experienced trauma, the role‑play might symbolically provide care. However, systematic studies show that kink practitioners do not generally have higher rates of childhood abuse than others, suggesting that mommy kinks are not simply “trauma responses” but rather complex fantasies or preferences.

In summary, a “mommy kink” is best understood as a form of consensual role‑play or fetish involving maternal imagery. Its psychological underpinnings draw on attachment needs (seeking care), developmental imprinting (unconscious attraction to parental figures), and BDSM power dynamics. Notably, participants emphasize emotional themes (care, praise, discipline) rather than literal sexual abuse of minors. Therapists today view such kinks as within the spectrum of normal adult sexuality when consensual

Likelihood of a Maternal Fetish in Riddle Rosehearts:

Assessing Riddle’s profile against these theories, a maternal fetish seems unlikely. On one hand, his intense upbringing did center on the mother, and Freud might note the absence of a father could leave maternal attachments unchallenged. However, all available evidence points away from any eroticizing of the maternal figure. Riddle’s experience of his mother was predominantly negative (she punished him for play or treats), instilling fear and guilt rather than comfort or sexual attraction. For example, after Riddle was caught with the strawberry tart, he “begged and cried to his mom to forgive him” – a response of submission and anxiety, not of romantic longing. His emotional bond is anxious/dependent rather than affectionate or erotic. Moreover, Riddle’s own behavior shows no signs of unusual sexual interest in his mother. He has internalized his mother’s moral code so strongly that he “considers his values to be morally right no matter what”. In other words, his psyche is dominated by duty and fear of wrongdoing, consistent with a highly punitive superego (internalized maternal voice). Paradoxically, such a rigid conscience is more likely to suppress taboo fantasies than to foster them. Empirical trauma research supports this: children raised by punitive caregivers typically develop anxiety and hypervigilance, not fetishistic arousal. Studies show that early emotional abuse leads to anxiety, depression, and relationship difficulties – outcomes congruent with Riddle’s anxious demeanor, but not with any erotic preoccupation. In fact, Riddle channels his fixation on rules and study rather than sexuality. In summary, although psychoanalytic theory allows for the possibility of lingering Oedipal feelings, the content of Riddle’s childhood suggests a maternal fetish is not realistic. He lacks the nurturing, affectionate context that might give rise to erotic fantasy; instead, his memories of his mother involve domination and punishment. His attachment appears anxious and fearful, which typically produces compliance or rebellion, not erotic fixation on the caregiver. Thus, based on his personality and history, Riddle is far more likely to carry an exaggerated superego and social anxiety than to develop a maternal fetish. In evidence-based psychological terms, the hallmark features of fetish development (positive early associations with the object of desire, sexual conditioning) are absent in Riddle’s case, so a maternal fetish would be a highly improbable outcome.

Assessing the “Mommy Kink”:

Given this background, several points argue against Riddle having a mommy kink as well:

Lack of Maternal Nurturing: Riddle’s mother was a disciplinarian, not a caregiver who offered affectionate comfort. The typical “mommy kink” fantasy emphasizes feelings of being comforted or praised by a mother figure. Riddle’s lived experience was the opposite – he begged to be treated kindly and was rebuffed (his tears and pleas in childhood went unheard). Psychologically, one would expect that a fetish or kink develops around what was missing (e.g. idealized care) rather than what was unpleasant. There is no indication Riddle idealizes maternal kindness; instead, he mimics maternal strictness.

Role Identification: Rather than remaining in a submissive “child” role, Riddle grew up aspiring to be an enforcer of rules. He essentially became a smaller version of his mother – a young authority figure himself. From a psychoanalytic perspective, Riddle may have resolved any Oedipal tension by identifying with the parental role (similar to how he became a “little Queen” in effect). This suggests his erotic or relational scripts would favor dominance and rule‑making over submission to a maternal authority.

Attachment and Autonomy: An adolescent who has internalized a fear of his mother’s disapproval might develop an avoidant or anxious attachment style. Riddle exhibits anxious‑compliant behavior (studying obsessively to please her), which later translates into a rigid work ethic. Such individuals often crave acceptance but may express it through achievement rather than dependency. In adult relationships, Riddle might seek admiration and deference (his way of earning “approval”) rather than comfort. In other words, he is less likely to seek maternal care and more likely to demonstrate maturity and control.

Alternative Interpretation: Psychological Indicators Supporting a “Mommy Kink” in Riddle Rosehearts:

While Riddle Rosehearts canonically exhibits traits of rigidity, control, and internalized authoritarianism, there are also plausible psychological arguments that could support a headcanon of him developing a “mommy kink” in adulthood. This interpretation draws on psychodynamic, attachment, and trauma-related frameworks to assess how early childhood experiences may influence erotic preferences later in life.

Unresolved Childhood Yearning for Affection: Although Riddle’s mother was cold and punitive, he demonstrably longed for warmth and acceptance. His emotional reaction to small pleasures—such as secretly eating a tart or crying when scolded—suggests deep emotional deprivation during critical developmental years. In psychodynamic theory, unmet needs can be eroticized later in life as the mind seeks symbolic compensation. A maternal role-play could offer a controlled environment where Riddle re-experiences the maternal presence—not in its traumatic form, but reimagined as warm, validating, and affectionate. This aligns with concepts from object relations theory, which propose that individuals internalize both idealized and punitive images of their caregivers. A “mommy kink” might thus emerge from a fusion of unmet longing and power dynamics—a way to reclaim control over a past that once left him helpless.

Kink as a Mechanism of Psychological Reversal:  In trauma psychology, erotic reversal is a concept wherein individuals transform distressing experiences into controlled, pleasurable ones. Clinical literature in BDSM studies suggests that role-play involving dominant parental figures may serve as a reparative fantasy. For Riddle, consensual maternal-dominant role-play might allow him to process and symbolically “re-write” his childhood narrative: he is now choosing the maternal figure, receiving structured affection, and experiencing rule-enforcement in a safe, affirming way. This theory also draws on mastery repetition—the idea that people sometimes repeat early traumas in new contexts in order to master them emotionally. A maternal kink might thus offer Riddle an outlet to safely engage with the themes of discipline, love, and approval that once hurt him.

Submissive Traits Under Control-Oriented Mask:  Despite his authoritarian behavior, Riddle frequently displays signs of underlying vulnerability and fear of rejection—hallmarks of an anxious-preoccupied attachment style. His need to follow rules, gain recognition, and suppress emotion may be defense mechanisms against feelings of inadequacy instilled by his mother. In adulthood, such individuals may be drawn to caregiver-dominant dynamics in which they can temporarily surrender the burden of control. A “mommy kink,” in this case, would allow Riddle to engage with a nurturing-yet-structured authority figure who guides and praises him—precisely what he was denied as a child. Research on kink communities confirms that submissive individuals often seek emotional containment through structured power exchange, especially when they come from high-control or emotionally deprived backgrounds.

Regressive Coping and the Desire to Be Cared For: Another explanation comes from the idea of regression under stress. Highly rigid, perfectionistic individuals—like Riddle—often experience psychological exhaustion or breakdowns when they can no longer meet their self-imposed standards. In adulthood, this can manifest as an intense desire to temporarily surrender control, sometimes through erotic or emotional regression. The “mommy kink” can fulfill this need by allowing a controlled, adult-safe form of being cared for, disciplined, and forgiven.

Conclusion:

Based on his canonical profile, Riddle Rosehearts does not fit the pattern of someone with a “mommy kink.” His strict upbringing under an authoritarian mother seems to have instilled in him a desire for control and perfection, not a craving to be cared for or disciplined by a maternal figure. His psychological development emphasizes rule‑following and self‑discipline rather than maternal submission or infantilism. In summary, Riddle’s personality and history suggest he would be highly unlikely to manifest a mommy‑role sexual fetish; instead, he embodies the authority he once feared.

However, while canon Riddle Rosehearts internalizes his mother’s strictness and presents as a rigid authority figure, a psychological reading allows room for a nuanced alternative. Based on established psychological theory—including attachment dynamics, trauma repetition, and kink psychology—it is plausible that Riddle might develop a maternal-dominant kink in adulthood as a way to fulfill unmet emotional needs, explore repressed desires, and process early emotional deprivation.

Simply put, I don’t personally think Riddle fits the criteria—but that doesn’t mean the headcanon comes out of nowhere. It can be justified; I just find it a bit unlikely in his case.

[shall-we-die]

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Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

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↬|Lucifer|

He’d be a more sadistic and dominant yandere. He’d have more of a tendency to punish you for ‘bad’ behaviour- and he’d have a pretty low tolerance for any disobedience at all. Lucifer being the Avatar of Pride, the first sin, he’s going to be extremely arrogant, and have a strong need to maintain his image. Expect lots of praise and doting, but also expect a dominant, sadistic and possessive yandere with a high expectation for obedience.

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↬|Mammon|

Mammon would likely do some things differently than a classic yandere. But he surely would use his power and influence to control and manipulate MC, rather than resorting to physical harm or violence. He would also be more subtle in his approach, using psychological methods like gaslighting and isolating MC from their friends and family, rather than overt displays of violence or harm. Additionally, Mammon's personality as a greedy and selfish person would likely affect his behavior as a yandere, causing him to prioritize his own desires and needs above MC's.

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↬|Leviathan|

Levi would likely bring his own unique quirks to the archetype. his otaku interests and shy personality might lead him to use more subtle and manipulative tactics to keep the MC under his control. he might try to appeal to MC's otaku side, using references and inside jokes to try and connect with them. he might also become extremely protective and possessive of MC's favorite anime or manga, seeing them as a shared interest and something to bond over. You have to do homework every night and if you don't, you will be punished. Like reviewing new anime or summarizing his favorite mangas...

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↬|Satan|

As Satan is not a traditional yandere, he may have his own unique traits and behaviors that differ from the classic portrayal of a yandere. For example, he might be more cunning and manipulative than other yanderes, using his intelligence and charm to control MC. He might also have a stronger desire for control and dominance, seeing MC as his personal possession and property, rather than just a romantic partner or love interest. He may also have a darker and more sadistic side, taking pleasure in causing pain or discomfort to MC as a way to assert his authority and power over them.

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↬|Asmondeus|

Asmodeus could exhibit some different behaviors from the classic yandere. He doesn’t just use violence to keep MC under his control.. He has his charm and good looks, which he can use to his advantage. He’s the Avatar of Lust, after all.. which means he has more at his disposal than the average yandere. He would probably try to manipulate MC with his natural charm, sweetness and compliments, trying to make them submissive and compliant through positive reinforcement instead of brute force.

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↬|Beelzebub|

He could have access to a different set of resources or magical powers that allow him to keep MC under his control in ways that other yanderes couldn’t. Additionally, his demonic nature may give him a distinctly devilish flair.

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↬|Belphegor|

He'll probably be a lot more sarcastic and sassy with you, and he's also very mischievous so he'll definitely prank and tease you a lot, and most of the time he'll have a witty remark to say about nearly everything. He's also not the *stereotypical* yandere with the yandere "glares" at all. Instead he'll be a lot more smug and playful most of the time, especially when he's messing around with you. But if he gets protective of you or jealous he's definitely become possessive and more intense, *especially* when you're alone.

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↬|Diavolo|

He would likely be more possessive than aggressive, using persuasion and manipulation rather than overt violence to control MC.

He might try to justify his actions by claiming that he only wants to keep MC safe and happy.

He may use his position as the future king of the Devildom to make sure that nobody intervenes in his relationship with MC.

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↬|Barbatos|

Barbatos may have some unique traits that set him apart from other yanderes. For example, while most yanderes are known for their extreme possessiveness and obsession, Barbatos tends to be more subtle about it. He may not always be outright violent or aggressive like some yanderes, and instead, he may use more manipulative tactics to keep you under his control. He may use words and actions that seem innocent on the surface, but could actually be meant to make you more dependent on him.

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↬|Simeon|

He may be less aggressive and more subtle in his manipulations. He may use emotional manipulation, gaslighting, and other psychological tactics to make them doubt herself and their instincts rather than resorting to physical violence or abuse. He may have a more sophisticated and calculating approach than a classic yandere, who often tends to be more impulsive and reactive.

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↬|Solomon|

Solomon may do things differently from the typical archetype. Here are some possibilities, As a sorcerer, he may use magic and spells as a way to manipulate and control MC, rather than just relying on physical force. He may be more subtle and strategic in his methods, using mind games and manipulation to subtly keep MC under his control, rather than relying on overt displays of jealousy or possessiveness. He may also have more intellectual and analytical traits, making him a more cunning and calculating yandere than what is typical.

||[🅄nique]||

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     ⇆ㅤㅤ◁🅃ㅤㅤ❚❚ㅤㅤ🅅▷ㅤㅤ↻

[bean-bean2000]

The Maid - Part 1

Pairing: Loki x reader (on going series)

Warnings: Angst, abuse, mental health (depression, mentions of suicidal thoughts). Eventual loki x reader pairing.

Please read at your own risk. Your own media consumption is not my responsibility. Please read and review the warnings before proceeding.

Thank you and enjoy!

Part 2 Series masterlist Main Masterlist

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You stare up at the ceiling as you lay in bed next to the man who calls himself 'your saviour'. Every time he stirs in his sleep, you gasp and wince in fear of waking him. He is far better asleep than he will ever be awake.

Three years ago, you fell into the arms of a man you thought would help you. You were alone, homeless and desperate. Your parents had died in a house fire, which left you with nothing and no one. Naive, you trusted the first person that showed you an ounce of kindness. You had fallen intro a trap, one you thought was love, but was in fact a cage. Your parents had left you with a significant debt to repay to the crown. He forced you to work for him, do whatever he wants, in exchange for money to help pay off the debt. You have been stuck in this horrific home since, unable to do anything without consequence.

You haven't had a proper night's sleep in years. Your eyes are sunken with deep dark circles beneath. You hardly eat anymore.

You stopped feeling anything at all, years ago. All you feel is numb, like a zombie, a shell of your former self. A life that is so far away, the memories have long faded.

You're so lost in thought, gazing into nothingness when you're suddenly yanked out of the bed.

"Get up. You're leaving. I finally found a use for you." he spits at you.

You don't have enough energy to question him as you get up sluggishly and head to the bathroom to change.

As soon as you exit the bathroom, he is dragging you outside where a a dozen soldiers await; people are lined up in front of them.

"Here. Take her." he says to the guard as he shoves you towards him.

The soldier looks you up and down and nods. You're swept away by other men and hoisted onto the back of a carriage. Other men and women peer up at you in fear.

It doesn't take long for you to realize what has happened. You've been sold to the crown to be a worker. You stare at the floor and zone out, wondering if you will forever be forced to be at the mercy of others that are powerful and wealthy. As the carriage takes off, you feel nothing, you hear nothing, all you see is your so-called 'home' slowly fade behind the trees.

The others have fallen asleep as you stare out the carriage. You have no idea how long it has been but the sun has long set and it is deep into the evening when you arrive at the castle. The guards shuffle you out, line you up and assign you your duties.

"You." The woman points at you. "She will do." she says as she hands you a pile of clothes. You stare up at her as she clarifies your new job: maid.

The guards lead each group of workers to their designated quarters.

"You are maids. You will follow the schedule, with no excuses. You have been sold to serve for the crown. You will receive no pay. Your pay is the right to live in the castle. You will be provided food and shelter. Any act of disobedience will be punishable by any means appropriate that is decided upon the guards or anyone of higher status. You are to speak to no one. Do your job and stay quiet." The guard finishes explaining your new life then turns around and shuts the doors closed behind him with a loud bang.

The silence is deafening. Everyone too scared to say a word. They all choose a makeshift bed on the floor and prepare to get some sleep before the new day.

You sit in your cot and stare at the floor. You don't realize how much time had passed until the sun shining on your face and the guards are yelling at you all to wake up and start the day.

Will I ever know freedom? Will I ever find happiness? Or am I forced to succumb to this measely life until I die?

The first two weeks seem to pass without problems, until the guards decide to take it upon themselves to 'discipline' as they deem fit.

Most guards resort to name-calling, degradation or sometimes physical punishment. Nothing, nobody was as terrible as one who we called "Snake". He would slither his way into the chambers and choose his prey for the week, sometimes longer. He did as he pleased, if met with opposition, he would often beat them into submission.

You managed to avoid him as long as possible until one night, his large finger points towards you.

You stare at him, expressionless. You refuse to give him the pleasure of seeing your pain, your fear or your desperation. His eyes turn cloudy with anger as he watches you approach him, emotionless.

The others look at you with fear and pity as he drags you out of the maid's quarters towards his room.

He throws you on the floor and closes the door behind him.

"You think I don't know your little game, you harlot?" he sneers at you as he picks you up and slaps you so hard you fall to the floor, your cheek pulsating in pain.

He grabs your cheeks tightly with one hand and squeezes "You will fear me. You will obey me." he threatens you.

Once again, you stare at him blankly. You feel nothing, you haven't for a long time now.

He growls in frustration and punches you again, searching for any reaction; tears, a grunt, a whimper, anything, and yet you show nothing.

"You witch. Impossible. Everybody fears me." he yells at you as he strikes you again. You lay on the floor motionless, your nose and mouth bleeding.

"You will answer me when I speak to you!" he growls in anger as he strikes you again.

You stare up at him and remain silent.

"Are you deaf? mute? Useless! Maybe, you will be useful for other things instead...." he sneers at you as he smirks disgustingly with a knowing look.

Again, you stare at him blankly again. As he begins unbuckling his belt he says "Submit to me. You will do as I say, maid."

You start laughing which makes him look up at you in rage.

"You dare laugh at me?! You filthy servant!" he grabs you by the neck and holds you down tightly, slightly cutting off your airways but enough for you to remain awake.

"Submit to me!" he yells at you.

"Never." you croak.

He screams in a fit of rage and strikes you again. You continue to laugh.

"Witchcraft! You're a disgusting witch! Submit to me or I will have you burned at the stake!" he spits at you.

"I promise you, I will bite your dick off if it comes near me. The human jaw can be so powerful, sometimes a crowbar isn't strong enough to pry it open and I promise you I will not let go until my jaw is pried open." you threaten him as you begin laughing hysterically.

He stares at you in confusion, disgust and fear.

"I knew it! You're a witch!" He screams.

"Are you sure you want to test that theory?" you laugh at him.

He yells in frustration as he strikes you again "I said submit to me!"

You stare him directly in the eyes "No matter how loud the wind howls, the mountain will not bow down to it."

His eyes turn red with rage, he picks you up and throws you across the room. He kicks you on your side.

He continues hitting you as he demands you submit to him. You repeat the same word, almost as a prayer "Never".

You didn't care if you died or how, but you promised yourself that no matter how desperate you would become, you would never submit yourself to another man again, no matter the cost.

Once he is finally done he spits on you, drags you back to the maid's chambers and throws on you the floor as he slams the door behind him.

A few women crowd you and help you to your cot. You're bleeding from your nose and mouth. Your eye is black and swollen shut, your lip is split, your ribs hurt when you breathe.

Even after all that, you realize you still feel nothing. You stare up at the ceiling as the other women surround you to help clean your wounds.

From that moment on, you have been the subject to the Snake's abuse. You have spoken no words, except for "Never" every time the Snake commands you to submit to him. You would rather take on every physical punishment, than let him touch an inch of you.

A few weeks pass with the same abuse, except now other guards have partaken in it as well. You are now referred to as "witch" by the guards. They sneer at you when you walk past them. You keep your head held high and walk straight forward, without giving them a glance.

I am my own person. I have my own thoughts. I am not a puppet.

You repeat these phrases everyday in your head, like a chant to keep you grounded. You've taught yourself to recite small facts about your life to yourself in your head, such as your birthday, your favourite colour, your favourite author and book. It reminds you of who you are, of who they can never take away from you.

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As the months go by, the abuse never ceases. It periodically skips you, allowing your body time to heal before being targeted again.

You have managed to be friendly with the other maids, but still keep to yourself and limit your words. You rarely speak and only do so when absolutely necessary. You decided it was safest for you this way.

You have been generally assigned menial maid tasks, such as cleaning the chambers of the guards or other members of higher status than you, until today. You’re assigned to clean King Loki's quarters. He owns an entire wing to himself, therefore you are to do it alone as he is very particular about his items. It was decided upon the head maid that you were the least likely to steal and most likely to complete the job to Loki's very high standards.

Without much of a choice, you accept the new assignment and make your way to his wing. As grateful as you are for this opportunity, to work alone and use the specialized cleaning supplies for the king, you were also in so much pain. The previous night was the harshest in a long time. The guards told you the king wanted to send you a personal message. By the end of it, you could hardly move and had to be dragged to your cot. Laying in bed, you wondered why the king would choose you for this punishment. You had done nothing wrong, what made you deserving of such poor treatment?

As you're walking to the kings wing, every step you take is followed by a limp and a wince. Nevertheless, the work had to be completed. The consequences were too severe if the work were not to be completed to his prestigious standards. If the king was willing to send you such a message the previous night as a warning for what was to come, the current pain was worth suffering through. From what you've heard the kings punishments never ended well. Nobody ever returned.

With that in mind, you headed to his wing with a slight limp and a wince under your breathe with every step.

Two week pass by and you've been permanently assigned to clean the kings wing, as per his request. You hope it is because he is satisfied with your work, rather than this be some cruel plan.

Once the guards heard of your new permanent position as the kings personal maid, their visits became daily. You were now the only maid being succumbed to their harsh treatment. You knew they were trying to sabotage you so the king would be displeased with your work and be rid of you.

Even so, everyday you wake up and perform your duties. You persevered and refused to let them think they won, no matter how painful, you always kept your head held high.

You're walking to the kings wing, products and cleaning items in hand when a guard approaches and swings his arm at you. You fall to the floor, Cleaning products go flying across the hall, splattering on the floor, against the wall and all over you.

"Tsk tsk tsk... what a shame... you better pray the king doesn't see this mess you caused...." he laughs as he walks over you.

You say nothing as you try getting up but slip on the soapy wet floor. You curse at the mess.

He can't see this. I have to clean this up. I can't be delayed, the king accepts no excuses for punctuality. He will kick me out on the streets... or worse... have me killed.

You get up shakily, holding on the wall for as much support as possible. Your body aches as you start mopping up the mess with speed that can only be explained by pure fear.

Once it's decently done you run to the next room and start cleaning as fast as possible. The pain from the abuse inflicted upon you daily is taking its toll. You decide you have to suck it up until you're done.

You're doing your final task: The king's bedroom. With one wrist against your chest, you clean the bedroom. You're trying to make the bed but can't do it with one hand. Shakily, you move your other wrist and try grabbing the sheets. You hiss in pain and pull back. You're slowing down, taking longer to do simple tasks. Your wrist is swollen wrist and throbbing in pain from the fall earlier. You can hardly move it.

You manage to finish making the bed and is finishing off by dusting the room, keeping your wrist to your chest to stabilize it as much as possible. As you were working through your pain, you didn't notice the time until you hear somebody clear their throat behind you.

You gasp in surprise and spin around.

"King Loki... your highness... I apologize for my tardiness... I-" you start rambling, your head looking down and your legs in a curtsy.

"The hall is a mess. You're late. Your work is very subpar today. I'm disappointed." he tells you coldly while staring you down.

You say nothing as to avoid accidentally insulting him or frustrating him further.

"Consider this your first and last warning. If this happens again, you will heed the consequences." He says to you, chin up, staring at you while you keep your eyes on your shoes.

You mumble another apology when he dismisses you.

You quickly run out of his bedroom. Your heart is racing, you're shaking.

You run to the maid's quarters and go to your cot, avoiding the others. You're staring up at the ceiling, wondering how you possibly escaped his wrath. Replaying the scene in your head, you realize you never looked at him. You've never seen the king in person, only in pictures.

Luckily, tomorrow is the weekend the guards go out to the neighbouring city as a security check-up. You stare at your wrist, which is now purple, blue and swollen. You go to the bathroom and lock the door so you're alone. You remove your clothes as take in a sharp breath as pain courses through your body. You use two wooden sticks you found outside earlier, to stabilize your wrist, hoping it will speed the healing process. When you look up at your reflection you notice the deep colouring littering your body. Purple, blue, yellow, green.... bruises in various levels of healing spread across your body.

You come to the conclusion that you need help... medical help. You slip on a night gown and make your way to the clinic where Dr. Banner resides. He is the only doctor the workers of lower status trust, as he is kind, caring and genuine.

He welcomes you in his room and questions why you came to him so late at night.

You say nothing. You lift your night gown and watch as his eyes widen in understanding. He turns around and files through his medical cabinet.

"Here. Take one pill a day for 3 days. It will completely numb your pain and significantly increase the healing process. Put this healing balm over your bruises and on your wrist, every night for a week." he says to you as he hands you the medicine.

You open your mouth to thank him when he lifts his hand up "No need... please stay safe... if ever you need anything, you know where to find me." his eyes filled with pain and compassion.

You nod and turn around to walk back to your cot.

You immediately spread the balm over your body once your in the bathroom and wrap what you can in bandages to keep it from absorbing into the clothes rather than your skin.

Laying down in bed, the adrenaline from the day wears off and fatigue takes over until you fall into a deep sleep.

Part 2

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I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. Feedback is always welcome. Feel free to send me suggestions for scenes/drabbles that I could add into the stroy :)

Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list!

[mistywaves98]

pantalone and cockwarming pretty pleaseee!! i think, he would totally tease you and be mean if you shift around too much while he’s trying to do important paperwork! he says he’ll play with you later but minutes pass and he just continues to work with that same smile :(( he’s so frustrating

✧･ﾟ:* ->A/N: RANNNN I'm so sorry I got to this so lateeee it's literally been a year 💀💀 and I apologize for it being short too 😭

✧･ﾟ:* ->Pantalone x Fem! Reader

✧･ﾟ:* ->¡Warnings!: NSFW, Cockwarming, You're his assistant, An eensy weensy bit of degradation, Pet names (dear, sweetheart), Not really much to be warned about here!

✧･ﾟ:* ->Minor writing smut! DNI if uncomfy!

"What have I told you about attempting to distract me while I work, hm?" A gloved hand moved down to hold your hip with a bruising grip, making you halt your actions on Pantalone's lap,"But sir, it's been hours!" "Only one and a half to be exact, sweetheart. Instead of worrying about the amount of time you've spent on my cock, you should work on your ability to tell time." Even if it wasn't hours, it certainly felt like it. A groan of frustration passed through your pouty lips as you buried your head in his chest, while holding his shoulders tightly.

This was absolute torture, having to be stuffed to the brim with your superior's cock while he did his work as a painstaking pace. You couldn't even move either, not with his hand keeping your hip in place, effectively preventing you from trying anything. Everytime you attempted to convince him to give you any kind of friction, he would simply give you that signature, charming smile of his as he placed a finger on your lips to shush you. 'Just one more paper,' he'd say, but then one would turn into two and then three...until your patience ran thin again and the whole process would repeat itself.

Your face was flushed a bright red as desperation began to seep in. The head of his cock was nudged against your sweet spot, making you squirm everytime it twitched inside of you. If only you could move just a bit...

"Ah ah ah, what did I just tell you? Do you want me to punish you for disobedience?" His velvety voice rang in your ears. At this point, you almost nodded your head. You wouldn't mind being punished, if it meant he would finally fuck you. Pantalone saw the neediness in your eyes and smirked knowingly. He patted your hip as if to soothe you even though you were clearly too riled up by now,"Aww are you getting impatient? Does my little assistant want me to bend her over the desk and rail her like the little whore she is?" To that question you eagerly nodded, hope filling your eyes for a moment, only to be crushed when when you saw his smile widen and his eyes glinting with cruelty.

"You know what they say, dear...Patience is key. If you want me to give you the pleasure that you desire, you have to be a good girl and let me finish my paperwork in peace," He suddenly leans in, his mouth right by your ear as he speaks in a sweet tone that clearly holds an underlying threat,"If you don't and dare to move an inch, you will be denied your orgasm for the entire night, all while I use your pretty body for my pleasure, understood?" All you can do is nod weakly as he flashes you a grin, kissing your forehead before picking up one of the documents on his desk to review.

You're definitely in for a long night...

[dramioneasks]

HP FESTS: Dramione Month (Part 8)

Dramione Month 2024:

Better Off Dead by galaxy_skies - T, one-shot - fter two months of research and asking around, Hermione had finally settled on a tattoo parlor. She wanted something to mark the end of the war – a tangible mark on her skin that said I survived. But she wasn’t an artist and she was indecisive to a fault, so gathering the courage to actually visit the tattoo parlor took her another two weeks. With a deep breath she pushes the door open. The store is in a dangerous part of London – dingy and unkempt – and if not for the glowing reviews scattered around on enthusiast websites, she wouldn’t believe the place was fit for a cockroach. But inside – a threadbare sofa and walls filled with black and white art – the place is clean. There’s a smell of disinfectant overpowering the faint smell of cigarette smoke, and as the bell jangles behind her a coarse voice yells out. “With you in a minute, love.”

Closeness by Hyemi_28 - M, one-shot - Hermione was dragged into a cell of the Malfoy Manor's dungeon, after Harry and Ron couldn't free her from Bellatrix's hands... She wants to survive, but Fenrir Greyback wants her to himself... Bellatrix locked Draco to that cell too, to punishes him because of his disobedience... They have to share the dark and cold cell and he wants her to survive this at any cost.

theo’s meddling services by greenappletheory - E, one-shot - Theo Nott decides to meddle in Draco Malfoy's love life using a cursed closet that will not unlock until an orgasm is reached.

The Secrets Under Your Skin by galaxy_skies - T, one-shot - It was, perhaps, karmic retribution that led Draco Malfoy to being stuck in the lift. He’d complained about having to take one at all as Hermione rolled her eyes and explained that they were perfectly safe and they were not taking thirty flights of stairs back down from the conference room, thank you very much Malfoy, she was in heels.

Heat Waves by saneasluna - M, one-shot - ”Is he watching?” Malfoy whispered behind her, his breath hot on her skin. Hermione felt his lips brush the shell of her ear as he spoke, and she suppressed a shiver, despite the humid night.

The Only One by Dara_Art, Tippilo - E, one-shot - “Is that what you’re wearing?” Ginny asks, inspecting Hermione’s all black dress. “I mean, not that you don’t look positively ravishing, but are you really going to wear black to your wedding?” Hermione glares at her friend. “I think it’s perfectly appropriate when you are marrying Draco Malfoy. This is a day of mourning.”

This Time by Lexxus - not rated, one-shot - Draco and Hermione broke up two months ago. To keep up appearances, they pretend to still be together. A text conversation uncovers lingering feelings, misunderstandings, and the prospect of a sweet happy ending.

roken & Bruised by galaxy_skies - T, one-shot - Hermione was supposed to be enjoying her Friday evening off from work. But her telephone had rang unexpectedly at half-ten with a harried-sounding nurse insisting that she come to the hospital and pick up her boyfriend. Flustered, Hermione had agreed and then stared at the phone receiver after the nurse had hung up. She didn’t have a boyfriend. But someone had used her name and muggle phone number to pretend that she did.

War opposites by Hyemi_28 - M, one-shot - Draco and Hermione meet in the heat of the battle and the danger and heightened emotions lead them on a new path...

Lord Granger by Sessediz - T, one-shot - In which Draco is absolutely thrilled to find out the results of the Ministry's magical and mundane compatibility test 💌

Overture by Zeebee3 - E, one-shot - He was skeptical, and his question was imbued with it. “You’re seriously okay with having to hug me for four and a half minutes?” Her arms tightened but her chin lifted a stubborn half inch. “We don’t have a choice. Professor Trelawney—” “I know, I know.” He rubbed over his brow, needing a moment to acclimate to the concept that for the next almost-five-minutes, he’d be hugging Hermione Granger. And not only hugging but holding, the position so intimate he’d blushed at the in-class demonstration performed by two simulacra transfigured from a cobweb. --- Or, Draco and Hermione are partnered for an unification assignment.

Does This Feel Like Love? by galaxy_skies - M, one-shot - Draco does what he’s told. Learning Occlumency just gave him another way to compartmentalise – another way to distance himself from his own actions. From his own bloody hands.

Drips and Drabs by augustaoctavia - not rated, WIP - no summary

Locked Doors by galaxy_skies - T, 2 chapters - “Right.” Pansy all but tosses Hermione into the room – ignores her startled cry – and glares at them both. “Draco is in love with you.” She points at Hermione. “Hermione is in love with you.” She points towards Draco. “Figure it out.” Pansy throws up both of her hands.

Commutatio Conscientia by Undercover_ballerina (undercover_ballerina) - T, one-shot - When Lucius is freed from Azkaban and sent to the Manor on house arrest, Draco is worried he might pull some tricks.

Dimwits & Dragons by avaclava (PaperCraneAudiobooks) - E, one-shot - Draco discovers the magic of muggle tabletop RPG's and their power to bring people together.

Cat-astrophic Conclusions by saneasluna - G, one-shot - After months of domestic bliss, Draco Malfoy begins to piece together the clues; his girlfriend has a secret child with another man - right?

Letters from the past by Undercover_ballerina (undercover_ballerina) - G, one-shot - Neville is the new Headmaster, while he waits for the students to arrive, he receives a package. [WARNINGS: Character Death]

Sacrifices by Hyemi_28 - M, one-shot - Hermione accidentally get pregnant from Draco before the war and she have to make her sacrifices...

Sunshine After the Rain by galaxy_skies - T, one-shot - Like waves crashing into the shore, they’d collided after the war. Not just one mistake, but a pattern of repeated behaviour they should have never indulged in. His breath hot against her neck while he pushed her up against the wall, the way he’d groan her name in a broken whisper when they were finished. The way she’d knot her fingers in his hair as though she never wanted to let him go. But she had. All because he’d lost himself too deeply in the churning waters of his heart and whispered his feelings against her freckled skin.

don't blame me by goldrushrenegade - M, one-shot - Her voice is thin, on the verge of breaking, “What the fuck happened?” His hands push hers out of the way, pushing his shirt back down. She lets him, brain stuck. The image of the freshly cut scars is vivid in her mind, burned into her eyes. She doesn’t need the wounds in front of her to be able to remember them clearly. “There was a misunderstanding,” he says bitterly. Her eyes return to his face. Voice measured and deliberate, she asks, “Who did this?” - Don't blame Hermione for what she does when she finds out who tried to kill her boyfriend.

After Tonight by Dizzle00 - E, one-shot - Hermione gazed at herself in the mirror, changing her earrings for the third time that evening. Her black cocktail dress was shorter than anything she’d typically wear, her black stilettos much higher than she’d normally risk, and her lips painted with a darker shade of red than she’d usually dare. But tonight was far from ordinary; the stakes were far too high—it would be her last chance. Lately, she had buried herself in work, attempting to distract herself from the ache in her chest, knowing that after tonight, Malfoy would be gone.

call me draco by thatblondebitvh - M, one-shot - "Why, out of all people, me?” He raised an eyebrow, waiting. A drop of wine got caught in the corner of his mouth, threatening to drip down his chin. She clung to it like it were her lifeline, only to watch as his tongue flicked out to steal it before it stained his skin. She let out a shaky breath and said, “Because I had nowhere else to go.”

This Could Be Love by galaxy_skies - T, one-shot - At too early o’clock on Saturday morning, when she ought to be sleeping in, especially given the late night she’d had prior, Hermione wakes up to a clattering and a shout from her living room. “Fucking – why the fuck – Granger!” Hermione buries her pounding head under the pillows and hopes very much that the man swearing in her living room is just some terrible dream. A nightmare.

[lyledebeast]

Wildernesses and Blood Facials: The Nightingale Vs The Patriot Part 3

Read Part 1 here.

Read Part 2 here.

As I was watching The Nightingale for the first time, I kept thinking how much Sam Claflin's Lieutenant Hawkins actually is the villain The Patriot's audience is meant to believe Colonel Tavington is. Superficially, they do have a lot in common. They are both handsome, ambitious, cruel, brutal British officers. Hawkins' atrocities hit different, though, and the reason for that reveals a difference that far outweighs their similarities. There are so many interesting points on which to compare and contrast them that I was hard pressed to choose one for this meta! However, I've finally settled on their very different ways of representing imperial masculinity and the roles that masculinity plays in their respective narratives.

The first notable difference is that, despite his being of a lower rank than Tavington, Hawkins is the highest ranking officer in most of his scenes. As such, he functions as a model of imperial masculinity for his subordinates, and he takes that role very seriously. Like most standards, this one functions through exclusion. Obviously, race and nationality serve as two points in this: the Aboriginal guides and Clare's Irish husband are categorically excluded. Other excluded traits include stupidity and compassion, and as we'll see, the second of these is deemed far worse. Hawkins appoints himself arbiter of this standard, and offenders face punishments ranging from being mocked out of their hearing to death.

One of the first pieces of dialogue Hawkins shares in the film is with his subordinate, Seargeant Ruse, after the captain who is reviewing Hawkins for promotion goes to bed. Hawkins points out that the captain does not drink.

Ruse: "Doesn't drink? I bet he likes it up the windward passage, that one."

Hawkins: "Bloody sodomite."

A recurring theme is this film is attacking a man's gender or sexuality for seemingly unrelated traits. Just prior, Ruse calls one of his subordinates a "girl" for having muddy boots. Adherence to strick military codes is not simply an aspect of manliness; it is treated as reflective of the whole. So, when Jago shows disobedience by repeatedlyhesitating to kill Clare as well as her baby, Hawkins attacks his identity, shouting, "What are you made of?"

The character Hawkins regards as having the best makings is Willy, a young English convict who aids the officers in their overland trip to the nearest town. He teaches Willy to shoot in an attempt to groom him, hinting at Hawkins' own evolution into man he has become. As much as Ruse tries to fit that model, he always falls short. He is too interested in Aboriginal people, albeit in a predatory way. Hawkins sneers at his desire to rape a woman he captures, even though Hawkins rapes her first himself. He also takes unnecessary risks. After Ruse kills Charlie, their first Aboriginal guide, for insulting Hawkins and leaving them stranded, Hawkins holds a gun to his head and asks Willy if he should pull the trigger. But in spite of Hawkins' disappointment with Ruse, he is the sole other survivor of the party that sets out at the beginning of the film. They leave Jago to die when he is wounded by Aboriginal men trying to rescue the woman Ruse and Hawkins raped. Hawkins fatally shoots Willy after he fails to kill Billy when they arrive at their destination.

Jago and Willy's "failures" cost them their lives while Ruse's only results in his humiliation even though it is the one that most nearly leads to the mission's failure. Jago's failure to kill Clare is never cause of concern for Hawkins because he does not see her as a threat. He merely sees a soldier who will not kill without hesitation as having no value. Before he shoots Willy, he tells him, "I thought you had something. You don't." Hawkins is not merely a cruel man but a scathing portrayal of the way imperialism dehumanizes everyone, including its own enforcers. Ruse may be a fool, but he shares Hawkins' view that people with less power than themselves exist only to be exploited, and this asset outweighs his liabilities.

Tavington has a very different kind of relationship with men on his own side. Although he has less power than General Cornwallis and more than Captain Wilkins, he convinces both of them to do what he wants. Cornwallis initially berates him for the use of "brutal tactics" against Patriot soldiers and civilians, but Tavington eventually uses the militia's debilitating attacks on supply trains and Cornwallis's own humiliation at Martin's hands to sway him in the opposite direction, even though Cornwallis initially blames Tavington for those, too. When Wilkins hesitates to burn a church that has civilians locked inside it, Tavington does not threaten him. He merely reminds Wilkins of what he himself had said about rebels against the crown deserving "to die a traitor's death," and Wilkins carries out the order.

These relationships could have functioned as a critique of imperialism in their own right. Both Cornwallis and Wilkins hold sincere desires to win honorably, but both also decide the "win" part of the phrase is the more important. And history has taught us again and again that imperialism and "brutal tactics" are a package deal. However, I do not think that is what The Patriot's writers are going for. This film's model of imperial masculinity is not Tavington but Benjamin Martin. Martin does not become a hero through his contributions to the eventual Colonial victory; he is a hero when we meet him. In his own words, he has "fought this kind of war before," and his tactics at Fort Wilderness were as brutal as any used by either Tavington or Hawkins. Rather than using Tavington to represent a particular worldview, the film presents him as an exceptionally evil individual man who can only be defeated by a good one. Martin's past actions are irrelevant to this struggle; after all, he is haunted by these choices! He is beloved by his friends and family while Tavington is an object of fear, envy, and disdain.

Viewed through the lens of individual attachment and emotion, Tavington and Martin are very different. But in terms of how they both use imperialism to advance their personal aims and are in turn used by it, they are very much the same. I have encountered a rumor recently that a scene in which Wilkins defects to the Patriot side was planned but not filmed. Such a scene would not only have deprived the film of its singular Loyalist but, assuming Wilkins survives, also given us yet another Colonial American war criminal who faces no consequences for his choices. By focusing so intently on Americans VS the British, That Patriot attempts to avoid the issue of imperialism altogether.

In some respects, these two films are almost mirror images of each other. In The Nightingale, imperialism is the root of all evil. It undergirds both the racism that plagues Billy and Charlie and the misogyny that plagues Clare. It also holds White British men to a standard not one of them can actually meet. Hawkins is dead at the end of the film at the hands of an Aboriginal man; it is hard to imagine a more catastrophic failure to live up to imperial masculinity. In The Patriot, imperialism is simply the water everyone is swimming in, and there is no masculinity that is not linked to it. Even the single Black militiaman's masculinity is tied to his "choice" to fight for his freedom. American independence was itself an imperialist project. Among other motives, Americans coveted the land beyond the Appalachian mountains barred to them by the Royal Proclamation of 1763. The outcome of the Revolutionary War was devastating for Native peoples, not to mention enslaved Africans. For people who recognize this history, The Patriot is an incredibly frustrating film to watch. While The Nightingale takes place in a different century and on a different continent, it handles the same themes of oppression, violence, and retribution with so much more thought, nuance, and generosity that it serves as the perfect antidote.

[whencyclopedia]

In Miserable Slavery: Thomas Thistlewood in Jamaica 1750-86

"In Miserable Slavery: Thomas Thistlewood in Jamaica 1750 - 86" is a detailed account of the life of Thomas Thistlewood, an Englishman who moved to Jamaica in the mid-18th century and became a plantation overseer and later a small-scale landowner. The book provides valuable historical insight into the lived experience of both enslaved Africans and their oppressors, making it a significant contribution to our understanding of the history of chattel enslavement in the Caribbean.

In Miserable Slavery: Thomas Thistlewood in Jamaica 1750-86 is a detailed account of the life of Thomas Thistlewood, an Englishman who moved to Jamaica in the mid-18th century and became a plantation overseer and later a small-scale landowner. This book is a meticulous collection of thoughts and daily occurrences as outlined in Thistlewood’s diaries, which provide a rare and brutally honest insight into the daily operations of chattel enslavement in British colonial Jamaica.

The book provides a microhistory of the Trans-Atlantic trafficking of enslaved Africans, offering a rare and intimate look at the personal motivations, behaviour, and outlook of a colonial overseer who was fully immersed in the institution of slavery. It also provides significant historical, socio-political, and economic lenses through which readers can have a deeper understanding of the prevailing norms and atrocities of 18th-century life that surrounded chattel enslavement. It sheds light on that era as a period of intense political conflict and great unrest stemming from the constant threat of uprising from enslaved Africans such as the Tacky's War/Rebellion of 1760. The book provides valuable historical insight into the lived experience of both enslaved Africans and their oppressors, making it a significant contribution to our understanding of the history of chattel enslavement in the Caribbean.

Divided into eleven chapters, In Miserable Slavery chronicles Thistlewood’s life beginning with his origins in Lincolnshire, England, exploring his journey and settlement in Egypt, Westmoreland, Jamaica. The book uses intriguing details to describe Thistlewood's labour, loves, fears, frustrations with the economy, self, and others to leave readers eager for more of this history. The book illustrates how Thistlewood treated enslaved Africans solely as property without humanity though restlessly aware of their capacity to retaliate and brutally punish them for what he perceived as disobedience, escape attempts, or simply his need to assert his dominance. The book does not shield readers from the uncomfortable experiences of the time, as Douglas Hall is careful and committed to maintaining historicity by recounting the exact phrases, considerations, and emotions detailed by Thistlewood's diary associated with even the most heinous of acts against enslaved Africans. Some acts included merciless flogging, chaining, rubbing salt pickle and bird pepper into the wounds of the enslaved Africans, and psychological torture. One of the most notorious examples from his diaries is the “Derby’s dose,” where he forced enslaved Africans to defecate into each other’s mouths as a form of punishment. The diaries also document Thistlewood’s gross sexual exploitation of enslaved women, which was a common practice among white men in the Caribbean at the time. He regularly assaulted and raped women on the plantation and recorded the encounters in his diary in a detached, unemotional, matter-of-fact manner.

Through Hall’s compilation of Thomas Thistlewood’s records, readers are led to an introductory understanding of the characteristics of plantation slavery, colonial Jamaica, and by extension, the British colonised Caribbean in the 18th century as defined by extreme violence, exploitation, and inhumanity, with plantation owners and overseers like Thistlewood exerting unhindered power and dominance over the lives of enslaved people. It is a painfully enlightening book permeated by English language, colloquialisms, and slurs reflecting the time, literacy, and opinions of Thistlewood and his companions. The author uses a formal and direct tone that is useful for unequivocally underscoring the diarist’s original meanings and thoughts and it is void of Hall’s personal opinions and analyses of Thistlewood’s writing - a commitment to maintain its authenticity.

Douglas Hall, Professor Emeritus of History at the University of the West Indies, Mona, Jamaica also wrote Free Jamaica 1838-1865 (1959) and Five of the Leewards 1834-1870 (1971). This book is an essential read for history enthusiasts, history professors, Caribbean academics, and generally anyone desirous of directly interacting with the jolting, unfiltered occurrences of an 18th-century plantation in the Caribbean.

Continue reading...

[bluecatwriter]

Overindulgence

A Blood of My Blood-inspired fic for the peer review of @ibrithir-was-here and @animate-mush! Set when Quincey is a toddler, inspired by this art, and by my thoughts of how Mina might've borne the brunt of Dracula's cruelty and manipulation, especially early on in their time at the castle.

CW for abusive relationships, mental/emotional abuse, mental manipulation and mind control, violence, blood, injury and mild gore, violent threats, and violence/murder fantasies. (It ends on a somewhat hopeful note, but it's a rough ride getting there.)

~~~

I wish to spend more time with my husband.

It was a simple request, brought humbly— or as humbly as she could manage— before her lord. Time had softened her to the unyielding lines of his will, made her realize that outright rebellion was met with swift punishment. As her husband sacrificed for her, so she sacrificed for him, and they both sacrificed for their son, humbling their own will to their master's hand so that harmony would reign in the household. That's what marriage was, wasn't it?

And yet, she found herself greedy. Her longing for her husband had never gone away, and she wanted to be able to see him without having to beg for permission each time.

Her master, lounging in his chair by the fire while she stood before him with hands folded, quirked his lips in amusement. "My child, you have spent many long hours in the company of your husband since the two of you have come into my household. What has created this greed in you for more?"

Hours, yes, if all were totaled together. Hours spent in snippets and minutes, when they were allowed, the two of them acting out husband and wife for her master's amusement. She tried not to dwell on these thoughts; her lord was in her mind, seeing everything she thought, and she must remain submissive if she was to achieve her ends.

I wish to spend time with him more than just our feeding. I enjoy passing time in his company.

"Come here."

She balked for a moment, then stepped closer, her bare feet soundless on the stone. She didn't like that her lord was sitting— lounging— while she stood, as if she were a child no older than the toddler she was raising. He kept drawing her with his mind until she stood right up against him, his parted knees gently touching the sides of her legs as he leaned back in his chair. 

"And what will you do, should I grant you this request? Do you intend to sneak tastes of him while I am away?"

Of course not, my lord. I would never drink from him without your permission.

"So what do you intend to do?"

She didn't like standing here, pinned between his knees, his red eyes looking up into hers with something like amusement. He was toying with her for no reason— he never took her seriously. To him she was just the mother of his heir, the woman who happened to live in the household and was only useful for snatching away her young child when he got too noisy or bothersome. 

She tried to hold back her daydreams of bashing her lord's skull in.

I wish to speak with him, to read books together, to speak of our son and of our life here. I wish to hold his hand and to keep him from becoming lonely in the long hours when he is not carrying out your will. 

"He can read books just as well by himself, and if you ever wish to discuss your son, you may bring it up with me. And what wish have you to hold his hand? Do you crave warmth?"

I crave my husband, she thought, before she could stop herself.

"Crave. What a fascinating word. What unrelenting hunger it evokes. And what of it, Wine-Press? How can you be sure this craving will not lead to disobedience?"

She felt his thoughts force their way into her mind. She instinctively resisted before allowing him in— fighting him just made the punishment worse. Though he watched her thoughts, he did not often intrude, but when he did, it was usually to inflict fear. 

As long as she was obedient, her thoughts stayed her own.

When she disobeyed, his mind rushed into hers like the current of a diverted river, destroying everything in its wake.

The thoughts he pressed upon her were images, sharp as recent memories: usually scenes of violence, her husband or son being torn limb from limb by the wolves, or being tortured by their lord while she was forced to watch. 

He never made good on the threats; he seemed to entertain a genuine fondness for both her loves, particularly her son. But he had no such regard for her. He tormented her casually, as a careless child might pluck the legs off an insect.

She never told her husband about this punishment, fearing that he would lash out against their lord and endanger all of them. His burden to bear was keeping enough blood in his body to sustain them; her burden was enduring the punishment against her that their lord meted out. 

The only way she could endure this disinterested cruelty was knowing it was a sign that he never considered her a threat.

She tried to not ever let the thought fully form that he would regret underestimating her.

This time, though, the thought that he pushed into her mind was of a very different kind: an image of her drinking from her husband without their lord's permission, her husband gasping in pleasure under her kisses.

This is not my thought, she told him levelly, but the vision of the two of them entwined, without their lord's watchful eye, made an ache form in her chest where her heart used to beat.

"And yet it is your desire, I can see plain on your face." Her lord was staring up into her eyes now, his gaze keen but amused; he was reveling in this. She stood still at stone, determined not to tremble as he kept her pinned between his knees.

I would not steal that which is yours, she responded, trying to keep her thoughts calm even as the intruding thought played out the scene before her. Her husband was writhing in pleasure, whispering, I am only yours, Mina, only yours…

She looked sharply at her lord, unable to contain her frustration. I know he is not only mine, lord. He is yours, and I am yours, and our son is yours, and all in this castle is yours. I do not deny it! I have learned this hard lesson. I implore you to trust me.

"Trust you?" he echoed, his smile even more amused than before. "You, who have been defying my will since you arrived here? You, who daily entertain thoughts of driving a stake through my heart? You, who flinch each time I speak with my heir, whose mind burns like fire when I partake of the one who has agreed to be my sustenance?" He suddenly stood, and she stumbled back to catch her balance as he towered over her. "What makes you think you have earned my trust, child?"

It was useless to argue with him, to point out the injustice of his accusations, so she didn't even try. Instead, she took another step back and slowly sank to her knees, then pressed her forehead to the stone floor at his feet. I trust in your mercy, my lord. I humbly beg you to grant my request.

His satin shoe glided along her cheek, and nudged its way under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. He gaze down with something like fondness, but the sharp glitter in his eye made a shiver pass through her. 

"How I love to see you grovel," he murmured.

She caught and banished the thought of ripping his body apart with her bare hands.

"Very well," he said, and turned, his foot dropping away from her chin. He stooped and held out his hand in a chivalrous manner. She would rather tear off one finger at a time than take it, but she sat up and slipped her hand into his, allowing him to help her to his feet. He rarely touched her physically, but it didn't matter— he was already in her mind, leaving never a thought or a moment alone. 

"We shall dine early tonight," her lord told her as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and began to walk toward her husband's chambers. "We shall each have our kisses, and then you may spend as much time with your husband as you wish."

She felt a pit in her stomach. Something was wrong— she knew he would not give in so easily. There must be some plan at work here. In her mind she gazed at the wall of fire that separated her thoughts from his. He could see everything in her mind, but she could see nothing in his. She only had her instincts to know that some terrible mischief was afoot.

They climbed the stairs in silence, his arm crushing her hand against his side. He walked into her husband's room without knocking, as usual, and they found him sitting at the window with their son in his lap. He looked up in surprise to see both of them there.

"Mum!" her son cried. "Papa is reading me the princess book!"

Despite the fear coiling inside, she smiled. He was referring to a book of fairy-tales that her husband often read their son, sometimes with her projecting images of the story into his mind. The fair princess of the tale always had silver hair and beautiful blue eyes, and the rescuing knight flowing black hair and a kind smile. The dragon always died.

"I— is everything all right?" her husband asked, his eyes widening with uncertainty as his gaze flicked between her and her lord. Between them, their son squirmed out of his papa's arms and raced forward, bowing from the waist as he'd been taught and saying, "Hello, Father."

"Hello, my little diavol," her lord said, with the fondness that couldn't be feigned, ruffling the boy's black hair. He raised his head to address her husband. "Nothing is amiss, my friend— we have just come to dine early tonight."

"Kisses!" her son shouted, jumping up and down with excitement. "Kisses kisses kisses!"

She quickly shushed him, pulling him against her side with her free hand. Her husband shut the book he'd been reading and stood up, fumbling with his collar and tie. "Of course, my lord. I am sorry I wasn't properly prepared. Just one moment."

Go out into the hall and wait your turn, she told her son, but her lord immediately intervened. "No. Stay here. You will have your turn soon." She tensed, uncertain what this might mean— but trying not to let on to her son that she was feeling tense. Why did he want the boy here? 

He let go of her hand and walked toward her husband, who had removed his collar and tie and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, exposing his pale throat. The bruises from the last feeding were still purple on his skin, and she felt fear running like ice up and down her spine. He was already a bit weak from last feeding…

Her husband stood very still as their lord circled behind him, and her husband looked at her with wide eyes, as if to ask what was going on. Usually their lord fed standing in front, not from behind.

I don't know, was all she could say, shielding the thought from their son. I don't know.

Their lord slid his hand into her husband's hair and tilted his head to the side, looking at her deliberately over his exposed neck. She was rooted to the ground, trying not to clench too hard on their son's shoulder. Her lord breathed on her husband's neck, and he shivered.

"Papa…?" their son said, a bit hesitantly.

He's fine, she immediately assured him. Father is just going to kiss him, as usual. Isn't that right, Papa?

"Yes," her husband said, and he did an admirable job keeping the fear out of his voice. "And then whose turn will it be?"

"Mum's, and then mine!" the boy said, excited again. 

She watched their lord teasing at his ear, mouthing over his skin. Her husband had broken out in a sweat. What was he doing?

When their lord bit down, her husband shrieked.

It was a short, unexpected sound that froze her down to her feet. Her son startled and cried out in alarm, and a flood of tears leaked from her husband's eyes as he coughed out another sound, and another, to try to make it sound like he was laughing. She felt ice in her lungs as she numbly watched their lord champ at her husband's neck like a wild animal, sending a spasm of pain over her husband's face with each movement. Precious blood seeped out of the messy wounds, running down into his white shirt. Their lord had never hurt him like this before— not this badly, not in front of the child.

She was moving toward them before she knew what she was doing.

"Mina, stop!" her husband gasped.

She stopped. Her lord looked up at her over her husband's bleeding shoulder, digging his fangs in deeper and making a tremor of pain go through her husband's body.

"It is his right," her husband said, and tears flowed down his face even as he grimaced a smile. "Don't stop him."

"What's going on, Mum?" her son asked, clinging to her skirt.

She forced a thought in her son's direction with one half of her mind. It's all right. Papa's fine. See? He's smiling! With the other half of her mind, she had rushed to the wall of fire that divided her mind from her lord's, and was tearing at it with her hands. Stop hurting him! Stop! Hurt me instead! STOP!

"I'm scared," her son whimpered.

"It's all right, son," her husband said again, his voice with pain as their lord kept gnawing on his neck, moving down to the meat of his shoulder, leaving bleeding bite marks all the way. 

Her lord locked eyes with her, his eyes gleaming with amusement. From behind the wall of fire, she heard laughter.

She started to move forward again, but her husband stared at her with terror radiating from his white face. "Mina, please."

She hesitated.

Her son hung on her skirts, behind her. Her husband stared her down, his face set, tears gleaming like silver over his forced smile. "Please," he whispered. "Don't."

He asked for so little. She could do this.

So she stood there. She stood there and told her son that it was all right, as their lord ripped and tore at her husband's flesh, as he lapped up mouthful after mouthful of precious blood— too much, he was taking too much!— as the color drained from her husband's face. 

She stared into her husband's eyes. Say the word, my love, and I will kill him.

Through the convulsing jaws on his neck, her husband shook his head ever-so-slightly. Hers was an empty threat, empty, empty, and they all knew it. She was not strong enough. Not yet. But when she was strong enough, she would take their captor apart piece by piece, burn him with fire until only ash remained, scrape him down to nothing.

Her lord looked up, and loosed his fangs long enough to chuckle. He seemed so amused by her fantasies of killing him. He did not know that this was a certainty in his future. She would make sure of that. 

At last, she backed away from the wall of fire in her mind. She imagined herself sitting on her knees, bowing once more with her face to the ground, even as her physical body stayed upright.

My lord, I beg you. Her plea was no longer desperate, only heartfelt. Please stop.

Her husband whimpered in pain as their lord sucked up another mouthful. Stop what? her lord said. Is it not my right to drink of him as I will?

Of course it is. But I beg of you to stop. I will do anything.

Her lord paused, his gaze piercing her across her husband's shoulder. His thoughts crawled into her mind, sending images of her chained to a wall, nailed down in a coffin for days without sustenance, separated from her son. Anything?

She gulped, refusing to let her tears fall. Name it, and I will do it. 

He chuckled and dug in his teeth again, sending another barrage of images her way. Of her groveling at his feet for hours, of her lying on a table as he used a hammer and mallet to shatter each of her bones, one by one. Anything at all, my wine-press?

She clenched her fist so hard the bones might crack, even as her other hand ran soothingly through her son's hair. Anything.

He released his teeth, and her husband crumpled to the floor like paper in a fire. Her son rushed to his side, but she was frozen in place, eyes locked with their lord as he wiped blood from his mouth with his sleeve. His face was flushed and ruddy, devoid of wrinkles and even his beard— he looked no older than a teenager now, rolled back in time through the precious blood of her husband.

She had not looked into a mirror in years, but in that moment, staring at his flowing black hair and his smooth face, those clever eyes, that grinning mouth… she thought she remembered that this was what her own face looked like.

She snarled before she could stop herself. In the background, she heard her husband laughing unsteadily and choking out words for their son, telling him that everything was all right, that it was all a funny joke, that Father had gotten a little carried away with his kisses— oops! 

She looked at her lord, hands folded, willing her body not to tremble, chasing away the thoughts that wanted to burn and main and kill. What would you have me do?

He smiled, his face looking eerie with its youthful cast. His voice came through her mind like a hot knife. There is nothing I want from you, my useless bitch. Take your time with your husband— you will never possess him the way I do.

She stared down at her husband, who was half-collapsed, still trying to soothe their son while steadying himself with one hand, and she wished that she could howl with anger.

Her lord opened his mouth and spoke aloud, his voice higher and younger than usual. "Now it is your turn to kiss, my dear."

It was permission to touch him, permission to rush to his side and help him up and onto his bed, their son still clinging to him and looking worried. Her husband moved under her hands like a rag doll, panting in pain, his face pulled taught, his eyes glassy, his skin so pale it was almost grey. 

Her lord was watched her keenly as she lapped up the blood running in rivulets from each of his wounds, trying to get the precious blood without taking any more than he had already lost, and perhaps ease the bleeding a bit in the meantime. Her lord could easily drink with barely a mark left behind, but here her husband's skin was ravaged, bits of gore sticking up from his pale flesh, the bite-marks messy and half-shredded. She would not allow herself to weep, not when their son was watching.

"And now your turn, my son," their lord said from behind her. She turned, aching to contradict him, but she knew she could not.

Hesitantly, their son climbed up onto the bed. "Are you all right, Papa?" he asked carefully. 

"Of course," her husband said in a faint voice, trying to hold out his wrist, but he was too weak to do so. She took his wrist gently and held it before their son.

Just a little sip, she told him.

"Nonsense," their lord said, his voice sharp. "He is a growing boy. Drink as much as you wish, my son."

Looking confused and still a bit scared, the boy sank his teeth into her husband's wrist and began to drink. She stared at him, feeling each drop leaving her husband's body as physical pain. Her husband was trembling, and it was all she could do to keep from tearing her son away from him.

After a couple small mouthfuls, he pulled away, looking uncertainly from parent to parent for approval.

"Drink more," their lord said. "You must be hungry."

"I am, but Papa…"

"Papa is fine, don't you see? Isn't that right, Papa?"

"Y-yes," her husband whispered, his eyes almost lolling back in his head. 

The boy took another few mouthfuls. She dug her fingers into the covers, feeling like she was going to scream. 

When he pulled off, their lord smiled at him. "Now, my child, I will put you to bed tonight."

"Really?" the boy said, his face lighting up with wonder. 

"Of course. I promised your Mum that she and your Papa would be allowed to spend time together." Their lord strode forward and plucked their son from the bed, cradling him and giving him a little tickle in his side that made him giggle. "Perhaps I shall tell you a bedtime story, of a brave dragon who taught those who wished to slay him their place in the order of things. Would you like that, my little one?"

"Yes!" the boy said, snuggling into his Father's arms. She saw that he was safe from the punishment, then; her husband alone had borne the weight of her impudence. 

Cradling her son, her lord left the room, turning to give them both a smirk on that too-young face before shutting the door behind him.

"Mina…" her husband whispered, and fell limp on the bed.

She spent a long, long day doing everything she could to keep him alive. She had treated an infected wound of his before, and dug out the yarrow she had dried the previous year, heating up water on the stove and making a poultice with shaky hands. She tore up her clothes to bandage him, she held him close, she whispered soothing thoughts into his mind, she mesmerized him so that he thought he was home in England and not in this castle. 

The sun rose and fell, and exhaustion tugged on her, but she stayed with her husband, her tears wetting his silver hair with red.

In the evening, he opened his eyes, and he was alive, if very, very weak. He was surprised to see her lying beside him; they had not woken up beside each other since their first night together at the castle.

"Does he know you're here?" her husband whispered.

She curled up beside him, holding him close. Of course he knows. He knows all. And he has permitted this— at least for now. She wanted to say I am sorry, but she didn't know how to begin explaining that her greed had nearly gotten him killed. So instead she held him, and whispered soothing words. He tucked his head against her breast, and they laid there, his body warm and fragile and near.

They were not kept apart after that. She was free to visit him, as long as she asked her lord's permission first. Whether she had passed some sort of test, or if tormenting her in that way had become boring to him, she did not ask.

Someday, though, they would be free of their lord. Someday, she herself would cast off their yoke and cut their captor to pieces, and she would fully claim what was hers.

It was only a matter of time.

~~~

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 5/5

Book Blurb:

LIMITED EDITION FIRST PRINTING featuring sprayed edges, designed chapter headers, full color inside covers, and front cover foil with spot gloss—while supplies last! For fans of Jenna Levine, Hannah Nicole Maehrer, and K.F. Breene, the steamy, laugh-out-loud paranormal romance about learning how to love—including the darkest parts of ourselves—complete with HEA, clothes-ripping-hot love scenes, and a crew of devilish demon brothers who are supposed to be the bad guys . . . From the instant New York Times bestselling author of SANCTUARY OF THE SHADOW and MY FUNNY DEMON VALENTINE!

The hunter shall become the hunted . . . And the timid shall become the fierce.

Enslaved to an evil demon queen for millennia, Mishetsumephtai has only ever served one purpose. He is the Hunter, the one who drags the guilty back to Hell.  But finally tasting freedom on Earth has changed him, and for the first time, Mist questions his duty. The human femalewho smiles at him with no idea what a monster he is, draws him in, and he’ll do anything to possess her.

Lily Donovan thought the most dangerous thing about running to the corner store at night would be the aisles of junk food. She didn’t bargain on encountering chaos in the form of a man with unusual tattoos and beguiling amber eyes, stalking her through the ice cream section. Since the death of her parents, Lily has tried to forget what she is. But denial is not an option when she’s confronted with everything she’s been running from.

Neither Mist nor Lily can ignore the burning magnetism between them. But Mist’s reprieve from Hell was always temporary, and the punishment for disobedience will be worse than death. Yet he can’t relinquish the woman whose scent calls to him like nothing he’s hunted before.

Review:

She's a witch who was just looking to get ice cream but finds herself running into an extremely hot and sweet tattooed guy at the store... who just happens to be an infamous Hunter and demon from Hell. Lily Donavon has a tragic past and has done everything in her power to forget about her heritage as a witch. Mishetsumephtai "Mist" is a demon that has been enslaved to the evil demon queen for years, he is forced to be her hunter... he is known as "The Hunter" the best there ever was in Hell... but he finds himself questioning his duty and wanting a companion for himself... so he hides and takes a "leave" of work.... and then he meets Lily. Mist and Lily immediately hit it off and she doesn't know he's a demon... but his clock is running out as his queen is demanding he return to work... and when his secret comes out can Lily still love him? This is the second book in the series and what a delightful one it is! I've loved reading this series so much and each book is such a great time. It's romantic, it's funny, and it's got heart. It's seriously such a fun time to read and a paranormal romance series I would highly recommend!

Release Date: March 25, 2025

Publication/Blog: Ash and Books (ash-and-books.tumblr.com)

*Thanks Netgalley and Kensington Publishing | Kensington for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[captain-n-crunchies]

$50

Rich Bf/ Itachi x Black/Chubby Reader

' 60% OFF SALE AT FASHION NOVA SUMMER DEALS FOR THE HOES!"

Summer deals for the hoes??? Now Fashion Nova play too much I thought as I scrolled down the site on my iPad, hitting the flashing sign on my screen. Endless amounts of outside and summer outfits littered my screen...but that's no sale! $30 for a 2-piece top and bottom!? Yes, it gave brunch or mimosas at the beach but still, it only 10% off but, I tap my size and the color and continued adding endless amount of clothes, shoes, and earrings into my cart.

' Tachi gon whoop my ass after this one..' I thought when reviewing my entre cart, Itachi loves it when I spoil myself or put a dent in his wallet but, lately he's told me to spend a little less, I understand it thought I filled up my walk in closet to the max and my shoes is practically covering the wall; when I walk into the closet you'll think it's a mall just full of outfits from the summer time to winter chic to spring flings etc. I delete a few items the cart only depleting by a smidge, I look down at the price...a whopping $640.87 but, I got free shipping! I open my cashapp my balance is $800 buttt I could ask tachi to give me just a bit more, right? I bite my nails and think should I order it with my money and be an independent baddie on a budget? Or be a baddie with a walking wallet on her with no budget? As I think I hear the door open.

" Baby? Com'er for a second"

' Tachi's home!' I thought as I put on my Ugg slippers and went quickly down the stairs, Itachi now sitting on the couch with his glass of whiskey and his computer; I tip-toe behind him and cover his eyes with a childish giggle.

" Guess Who?" I say with a smile, he chuckles and hums for a second.

" Hm? Is it my wonderful reader?"

" No, it your wonderful, gorgeous, beautiful, breath taking, sexy, darling reader"

He just chuckled and kissed my hand as I come around to sit beside him, my plush thighs connecting with his when he lifts my legs onto his thig and rubs my calf. I lean closer a give him a peck whispering a welcome home from his long day at work. He kisses me back and he tells me about work, his eyes now calmer and less tense. We talk about what we have planned for the week and other things that came into our brains.

" Darling, have you did what I asked of you for today?"

Shit! I forgot, Itachi told me to try to clean out one side of my closet so I can have a tidy area for the rest of the year so going bit by bit I did see some shoes I didn't like but, I didn't donate them or threw them away NO! I put them in the attic because I couldn't let them go to waste! What if pink Chanel come back in style and I can just bring the whole collection back? Through my inner turmoil Itachi watches me with a black expression as I awkwardly try to explain.

" Well, I did clean out some but, I got tired, so I took a nap, then I made me a little snack for the hour because I only ate a bagel and-"

" So, you didn't clean out much?"

" It's progress...You just have to lean into it! See if you look at it from my point of view it very hard for a girl to get rid of -"

" So, you didn't clean, nor have you gotten rid of anything dear?"

I just sighed and nodded, putting my head down and looking away. Itachi sighs and lifts my chin up and kisses my lips.

" Let's see how much you've done then we can go on from there hm?"

" But! You've been at work all day, Tachi! It wouldn't be fair to let you help my mess."

" Nonsense dear, up now let's see what 'progress' you've made"

He airs quotes progress and picks me up from the couch onto my feet and walks to our bedroom while I slowly walk behind him, he's too calm...like Itachi would never hurt me but, he doesn't do the not listening thing. When me and Tachi first started this, he set clear rules that disrespect and disobedience would come with spanking, a short allowance, and no sex for week or 2 months depending on what I did, usually I'm a peach! only go punished a few times when I got a bit too bold with him. As I finally gotten into our room, he's standing there with a disappoint look.

" Only five pairs of shoes are in a box and two tops darling? This looks like 30 minutes of work-"

" Actually, an hour! It would hard because I love the leather heels but, they kind of hurt my feet but it's my only pair of leather heels I mean, I do have dark denim thigh highs but, they aren't giving the way those heels did, so I did a process and-"

" Darling."

I stopped talking and looked at his stern face, he sits on the bed and pats his thigh, and takes the band from his long hair down and loosens his tie.

" How many you think hm?"

" How many what?"

" You know what baby don't act dumb, unless you are as dumb as I thought.

My legs tighten as I try to explain how I should get away from this one punishment ranging from pleas to bargains but, Tachi just shakes his head and pats his thigh again.

" Not going to say it again baby, you've got 10 seconds before it 30 spankings and no cumming till the entire closet is clean."

He started counting and I quickly bend over his lap.

" Please me gentle Tachi" I said small and meek

" No promises my angel"

*SMACK!*

*After her ass got tore up*

" Your going to listen to me more hm?"

" Yes sir.."

" Good, now tomorrow I'm off I'm going to help you clean out some of it okay baby?"

I just nod snuggling into him, he tore my ass up and then gon try to be all loving after? Thats real bipolar but, whatever; I grab my phone from the table and see the sale is almost over.

" Tachi?"

" Hm?"

" Can I borrow $50?"

He looks down at me with one eye and I show him the sale, he rolls his eyes and pats my head.

" Later dear, go to sleep"

I nod, shutting down my hand and climbing on top of his thin frame hold his shoulders and laying my head on his chest.

" Night Tachi"

" Night baby"

..." Can I borrow $50-"

"No"

A.N: ( Im back like crack! Yall tis was my mannnn back in 89' like when I tell you he was BAD! He was, and yall I've been so tired like I tried to write but I couldn't so I'm post more now that I'm motivated.)

Like and comment who yall wanna see next!

[h0rnyfanficwriter]

jaylex cockwarming fic PLEASEE pre marble hornets theyre doing overnight script revising but jay just rlllyyy wants to fuck alex so alex sits on his dick while workin on the script 👍

Thank u so much for the request. Keep them coming. I love jaylex ! I hope I did it justice. Sorry, this is a little rushed hope u enjoy :)

"Jay.." Alex let out a hollow sigh as he let jay stumble into his apartment with 7/11 shopping bags full of snacks and a handful of movies being balanced on his small arms. Jay pushed them all onto Alex's counter and gave him a sweet smile, one that made Alex's chest warm up and his cheeks brightened. They sat at Alex's wonky dining table being held up by a few cinematography textbooks and made a little nest for themselves surrounded by old scripts , red vines, and Alex's favourite: mountain dew Alex's tried eyes were directed at the pages of the 'Marble Hornets 'script, but he wasn't actually reading the words . Jay's eyes were on Alex, his red cheeks got brighter as he got lost in his fantisies of how amazing it would be if Alex just bent him over this flimsy table and railed him or jay sucking him off under the table or- "Um Jay?" An angry looking Alex broke him from his daydream."What did you say?" Jay responded with widened eyes and a tone of 'oh shit I've just been caught.' jay was franticly searching Alex's face for a clue. "Should we change this line to fit Tim's personality better. You're the script supervisor, do your job! " Alex rolls his eyes and shoves the script in front of Jay.

"Alex..." Alex looks up, still maintaining the frustrated expression."Why are you always so tense?" With a dumb rush, he silences Alex's upcoming retort with a kiss. Alex deepens it, parting Jay's lips with his tongue and wrapping his hands around Jay's small waist. This sudden makeout was scary, but the pleasure of their lips connected blinded them, and slowly, jay worked his hands down Alex's chest, teasing his nipples through his t-shirt, earning an uncharacteristic moan from him. Eventually, he reached what he wanted to get to Alex's belt, subtly unbuckling it and un-buttoning his pants. "Do you wanna?" Jay looks up with a sultry face he didn't even know he could pull , Alex returned it with a nod and a smirk. He has never seen this side to jay whenever they'd do something Alex was the one on top , the one in control he felt comfortable in that the power to play with , command and at times punish jay was a power he craved , needed , in and out of the bedroom but this was exciting and new and scary but ....hot . So with that nod, Alex sealed his fate and let jay control. He sat back in his chair and watched jay unzip his fly , pull his jeans down slightly and take his now hard cock in his hands jay used what spit he had to lube Alex's cock he rubbed it in with a few strokes then started unbuckling his pants he sat on Alex's hard dick and bounced up and down to 'get comfy' .Alex let of a soft whine and tired to thrust up "no," Alex looked up at jay confused "I'm gonna stay here on your cock and your gonna continue working on the script" Jay's eyes narrowed guaging how much he can get away woth before Alex flips and takes back control "fine" Alex's face controted a part of him wanted to flip jay and fuck his disobedient face into the table but instead he sighed and for the fist time in his life kept composure knowing all Jay's wants is a reaction. He got on with reviewing and amending the script but he couldn't focus the shifting and the fidgeting jay was doing was going to make him snap he held put for a fee more minutes until "such a good boy~" from Jay's lips it felt wrong and that phrase made Alex lose it he picked jay up and threw him onto the shakey table and pounded every second of anger into him "teasing little....good for nothing..." Alex muttered to himself as he ruined jay "fuck, Alex!" Jay's eyes rolled back in his head the light above him became blurred. Alex's hand wrapped arround Jay's cock and pumped it in the rytham he was fucking sone more moans, fucks and pumps later jay came arround Alex's cock his cum coating his hand and Alex came in suit filling jay and subsequently staining his table and causing a massive crack down the middle .

The day after filming resumed and evryone met at Jay's to discuss filming locations they all sat around the table "how the fuck did u break it more!?" Tim laughed , jay looked at Alex with those same sultry eyes.

[cynic-spirit]

Bruce wants some scolding

Bruce and Y/N are seated in the cozy study room at Wayne Manor, where the evening is calm and intimate. Y/N is reviewing some notes, while Bruce lounges casually on the sofa, his eyes following her every movement. The atmosphere is relaxed, but a playful tension lingers in the air.

Bruce, leaning forward with a mischievous grin, breaks the silence. “Professor Y/N,” he begins, his tone both respectful and teasing, “I’ve been thinking about your classes and all the times you’ve had to discipline your students.”

Y/N looks up from her papers, intrigued by his change in tone. “Oh? And what about them?”

Bruce’s eyes twinkle with mischief as he continues. “Well, I was wondering if you’d consider me as a particularly naughty student. Someone who might need a bit of… extra guidance.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow, a smirk forming on her lips. “And what kind of guidance do you think you need, Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce leans closer, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive whisper. “Maybe someone to teach me a lesson or two. I promise I’ll be a very attentive student, eager to learn.”

Y/N’s heart races at his implication. She meets his gaze with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “Is that so? And what exactly would this lesson involve?”

Bruce��s grin widens as he gently takes her hand. “Well, I was thinking something along the lines of a ‘punishment’ for being so ‘disobedient.’ But I leave that to your imagination, Professor.”

Y/N chuckles, her eyes sparkling with playful challenge. “I must say, Mr. Wayne, you’re quite bold. But I suppose every professor enjoys a bit of creativity from their students.”

Bruce’s eyes follow her as she stands up, moving closer. “Then I’ll consider myself fortunate to have such a creative professor. What’s the first lesson?”

Their playful exchange is filled with laughter and anticipation, as Y/N playfully considers Bruce’s request while both of them revel in the fun and intimate connection that their teasing brings.

[ogradyfilm]

Recently Viewed: Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence

[The following review contains SPOILERS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]

What is “bravery?” Is it dying for one’s cause without hesitation, even if the sacrifice is ultimately fruitless? Or is it surviving by any means necessary, using wit and cunning to carry on the fight another day? This is the central theme of Nagisa Oshima’s Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence, a World War II drama that explores the conflict between the Imperial Japanese officers occupying the island of Java and the Allied POWs under their supervision.

As far as the tyrannical Captain Yonoi (Ryuichi Sakamoto, pulling double duty as the movie’s star and composer) is concerned, the foreign soldiers in his charge are subhuman wretches, inherently unworthy of respect—that they allowed themselves to be captured is irrefutable evidence of their dishonor. Yet these “cowards” consistently refuse to be intimidated, enduring starvation, solitary confinement, grueling interrogation, and unimaginable torture in order to protect their comrades from accusations of espionage and subterfuge.

Major Jack Celliers (a positively angelic David Bowie)—who surrendered to enemy forces only after they threatened to slaughter innocent natives—is particularly vexing in this regard. His arrival throws the camp into utter disarray, his audacious insubordination and stoic defiance inspiring small acts of disobedience and rebellion among the ranks. When the men are denied food for some minor infraction, for example, he smuggles rations into the barracks; when the guards retaliate by raiding the medical tent, he encourages the patients to sing as loudly as possible, their voices drowning out the barked orders to submit to inspection.

Perhaps this selflessness is what attracts the deeply closeted Yonoi to Celliers. The major’s unwavering loyalty appeals to the captain, who secretly sees himself as a disgrace to the Bushido code for his failure to die alongside his fellow radicals during the thwarted 1936 uprising; this irresistible admiration, which directly contradicts his prejudices, consequently manifests as infatuation, obsession, and insatiable carnal desire—with tragic repercussions.

Beyond the obvious and frequently discussed queer reading of its narrative (which is, to be clear, a totally valid/inevitable interpretation of the material), Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence is ultimately about challenging the characters’ inflexible preconceptions. To quote the eponymous Colonel Lawrence, who serves as a mediator between the two opposing sides (albeit with limited success):

You are the victim of men who think they are right. Just as one day you and Captain Yonoi believed absolutely that you were right. And the truth is of course that nobody is right.

Indeed, both the Japanese and Westerners seem to consider “guilt” to be a relative and irrelevant term. Yonoi, for instance, is quite forthright about his policy of punishing arbitrarily-selected scapegoats as a warning to future saboteurs; the victorious Allies, meanwhile, are likewise perfectly content to incarcerate and execute only the lowest ranking military personnel for atrocities committed on the battlefield, all but pardoning their equally culpable superiors.

Such is the senseless nature of war, violence, and power.

[newberyandchai]

The Giver (1994)

The Giver. What an incredible book with so many messages tucked inside its pages. It makes you want to cry, scream, jump for joy, and sit in silence for a little while after you finish it. I happened to have a cat on my lap at the end of my reread — the one who rarely settles and relaxes — and I wanted to pet her for a long time and feel her soft fur underneath my hands while I processed everything I had just read.

This is also the first reread I’ve done for this blog. This book was assigned to my small English (just called Reading, in those days) class of six kids in 7th grade — or maybe it was a book another class was assigned that I could have stolen off an empty desk, read, and returned (which happened more than once). I remember the blue plastic seats that gave some nasty static shocks in the winter, and I remember the dusty row of computers we never used. I remember sitting on that side of the classroom while everyone else, who had all come from the same elementary school and already knew each other well, sat together near the windows on the left. Reading was our first period of the day, and we alternated between going to that classroom on Mondays, Wednesdays, and every other Friday. On Tuesday and Thursday mornings, we lined up outside the back entrance to the school to wait for the teacher to walk us to the chilly Spanish annex. She had a pair of eyes tattooed on the back of her neck because she was “always watching,” she told us.

And I mention these vivid memories because…

[This is a book in which any spoilers might compromise its emotional impact (if you care about that sort of thing). You can read the whole thing here for free if you can handle minimizing some banner ads, or you can support a local bookstore and buy a copy here.]

I don’t really know how to even begin to talk about it without just going through each part of the story, so here is my (lightly abridged, kind of rambling, kind of something else, yet still far too bloated) version of a review (discussion? examination? You choose).

The book begins in a utopian future in which every aspect of society is strictly controlled. No one breaks any rules (the biggest infraction anyone commits is riding a bicycle before they’re assigned one), there is no crime, and everyone takes pills that suppress their sexual desire as soon as puberty begins. Everyone primarily uses bikes to get around starting at the age of 9, and interactions with other communities are few and far between. Asking questions is strongly discouraged, and lying — even an innocent lie like using exaggerations in figures of speech or mixing up one word for another — is a punishable offense. Punishment is never severe, but corporal punishment is used even for these small infractions to discourage any disobedience at a very young age. This way of life is referred to as Sameness.

Everyone’s lifelong occupation is assigned to them at the age of 12, and parents apply to raise children who are birthed by women who were assigned the role of childbearer. In a similar fashion, there are no natural deaths in the community; the elderly apply for “release,” which is a very abstract concept among the residents that is treated more like venturing to another location, called Elsewhere. We also learn a little later that virtually no one can see any amount of color – things are described simply as “light” or “dark.”

The main character, Jonas, has been experiencing flashes of seeing color for the first time when the book starts: “But suddenly Jonas had noticed, following the path of the apple through the air with his eyes, that the piece of fruit had — well, this was the part he couldn’t adequately understand — the apple had changed. Just for an instant.” He is assigned to be a Receiver, in which he will complete training to become the community’s next Giver — the person who preserves the memories of the times before Sameness.

Receivers are assigned very rarely, and the community’s Giver is getting older and needs a successor. Before Jonas was born, another Receiver was chosen but did not complete her training for reasons no one talks about. Upon being assigned, Jonas learns that he is now exempt from some of the community’s rules, with some new ones in place: he is allowed to lie, he can receive answers to any question he asks, but he is not allowed to apply for release.

Jonas’ training sessions involve the Giver “giving” Jonas memories through touch. The first memory he receives is of snow, as if he is living that moment himself in his mind; in it, he rides a sled down a snowy hill, which is at first exhilarating and like nothing he has experienced before. But the memories he receives aren’t always full of joy. Jonas soon receives a memory of pain, which involves breaking his leg as a sled from a different memory crashes:

“Sideways, spinning, the sled hit a bump in the hill and Jonas was jarred loose and thrown violently into the air. He fell with his leg twisted under him, and could hear the crack of bone. His face scraped along jagged edges of ice and when he came, at last, to a stop, he lay shocked and still, feeling nothing at first but fear. Then, the first wave of pain. He gasped. It was as if a hatchet lay lodged in his leg, slicing through each nerve with a hot blade. In his agony he perceived the word ‘fire’ and felt flames licking at the torn bone and flesh. He tried to move, and could not. The pain grew. He screamed. There was no answer.”

During his training, Jonas receives memories of war, grief, and devastation, as well as every other emotion and experience that no one else in the community has ever felt before. He begins to understand the deep isolation and depression the Giver feels: how do you describe a beautiful color to someone who has never seen any of them before? How do you go back to your home and have dinner with your family after living through the memory of a mother grieving the death of her three sons during wartime? Jonas describes it as if the moments of contentment and peace that come from living in a state of Sameness “[have] been taken from him now.”

Jonas tries at different times to make his friends and family understand what he has received from the Giver, but he realizes they’re all living in a bubble that he himself will eventually be responsible for keeping intact through his role as the next Giver. With his knowledge of the world through the memories, he has the capacity to feel curiosity and wonder at what lies beyond the confines of the community: "...He saw the familiar wide river beside the path differently ... He knew that there was an Elsewhere from which it came, and an Elsewhere to which it was going."

But by feeling more deeply, he becomes increasingly aware of the shallowness in which his peers will live out their entire lives, which further separates him from them. His sister Lily complains of being angry when someone breaks the rules on the playground one day, yet Jonas knows that she isn't truly feeling anger, just "impatience and exasperation. He knew that with certainty because now he knew what anger was. Now he had, in the memories, experienced injustice and cruelty ... He knew there was no quick comfort for emotions like [anger and sadness]."

This disconnect is made most apparent when Jonas watches a video of his own father “releasing” the weaker of two twins who had just been born:

“To his surprise, his father began very carefully to direct the needle into the top of the newchild’s forehead, puncturing the place where the fragile skin pulsed. The newborn squirmed, and wailed faintly. ‘Why’s he–’ ‘Shhh,’ the Giver said sharply. His father was talking … ‘I know, I know. It hurts, little guy. But I have to use a vein, and the veins in your arms are still too teeny-weeny. … All done. That wasn’t so hard, was it?’ Jonas heard his father say cheerfully. As he continued to watch, the newchild, no longer crying, moved his arms and legs in a jerking motion. Then he went limp. His head fell to the side, his eyes half open. Then he was still. With an odd, shocked feeling, Jonas recognized the gestures and posture and expression. They were familiar. He had seen them before. But he couldn’t remember where. … He killed it! My father killed it! Jonas said to himself, stunned at what he was realizing. [His father] picked up a small carton that lay waiting on the floor, set it on the bed, and lifted the limp body into it. … [His father] picked up the carton and carried it to a small door in the wall; Jonas could see darkness behind the door. It seemed to be some sort of chute into which trash was deposited at school. His father loaded the carton containing the body into the chute and gave it a shove. ‘Bye-bye, little guy,’ Jonas heard his father say before he left the room. Then the screen went blank.”

Jonas is horrified because he now knows what death really is through the memories he’s received, but his father remains completely unbothered and unaware of what he’s just done. Similarly, the concept of love has no real value in the community, either, and Jonas is even gently chastised for his choice of words when he asks his parents if they love him. They say they enjoy him and are proud of his accomplishments, but they assert that the word love is “so meaningless it’s become almost obsolete” and ask him to use more precise language next time. Jonas is shocked and can't fathom ever using that word for the kind of love he's received in the memories.

The previous Receiver, before completing her training, applied for release because the Giver — her own father — had to give her painful memories that she couldn’t bear. When she died, the memories she had received were transferred back to the community, in which everyone felt all the memories and feelings she had been given. The Giver describes it as a dark time, but Jonas and the Giver come up with a plan to break the cycle and return feelings and memory — the essence of living — to everyone. Jonas will leave in the middle of the night, and because he’s received so many memories already, the Giver will be able to help the community move forward once they are returned and guide everyone away from living in Sameness. Jonas’ goal is to “find the Elsewhere that they were both sure existed."

Throughout the book, Jonas’ family has been caring for an infant who was struggling to thrive in the nursery. Having a third child is usually not allowed, but Jonas’ dad believes the baby may get stronger in a home environment before he is assigned to his permanent family. Jonas is rubbing the baby’s back one night to get him to settle while recalling a memory he had received earlier, and he realizes he has accidentally transferred the memory from himself to Gabriel. Later, Jonas learns that Gabriel has not met growth expectations and is scheduled for release the following day (“‘It’s bye-bye to you, Gabe, in the morning,’ Father had said, in his sweet, sing-song voice”). Because of this, Jonas’ escape plan is moved up. He leaves with Gabriel on his father’s bike:

“Jonas reached the opposite side of the river, stopped briefly, and looked back. The community where his entire life had been lived lay behind him now, sleeping. At dawn, the orderly, disciplined life he had always known would continue again, without him. … The life without color, pain, or past.”

As he continues forward, sleeping during the day and traveling only by night, he hears the sounds of planes and other aircraft close by, likely looking for him. As he continues on, he runs out of food and has to feed both himself and Gabriel with raw fish and berries he finds alongside the road. To comfort Gabriel, Jonas frequently transfers happy memories to him, as if the emotions they bring forward are literally sustaining both of them on this journey. 

I think this section essentially gets at the essence of the book. Jonas has just been remembering all the food he’d received in the community and how no one had ever gone hungry:

“But when the memory glimpses subsided, he was left with the gnawing, painful emptiness. Jonas remembered, suddenly and grimly, the time in his childhood when he had been chastised for misusing a word. The word had been ‘starving.’ You have never been starving, he had been told. You will never be starving. Now he was. If he had stayed in the community, he would not be. It was as simple as that. Once he had yearned for choice. Then, when he had had a choice, he had made the wrong one: the choice to leave. And now he was starving. But if he had stayed . . . His thoughts continued. If he had stayed, he would have starved in other ways. He would have lived a life hungry for feelings, for color, for love. And Gabriel? For Gabriel there would have been no life at all. So there had not really been a choice.”

The ending is pretty ambiguous. As the two grow weaker from hunger and exhaustion, Jonas somehow feels that his destination is close, but he still doesn’t know exactly where he’s going. He reaches a hill during a snowstorm and doesn’t have the strength to pedal anymore, so he takes Gabriel into his arms and tries to warm them both with memories of fire and sunlight as he begins the climb:

“…He felt his face begin to glow and the tense, cold skin of his arms and hands relax. For a fleeting second he felt that he wanted to keep [the memory] for himself, to let himself bathe in sunlight, unburdened by anything or anyone else. But the moment passed and was followed by an urge, a need, a passionate yearning to share the warmth with the one person left for him to love. Aching from the effort, he forced the memory of warmth into the thin, shivering body in his arms. Gabriel stirred. For a moment they both were bathed in warmth and renewed strength as they stood hugging each other in the blinding snow.”

Using “his final strength, and a special knowledge that was deep inside him,” Jonas reaches the top of the hill to find the same sled that he saw from the very first memory the Giver transferred to him. He gets on and both he and Gabriel start to go down the hill. 

“He forced his eyes to open as they went downward … and all at once he could see lights, and he recognized them now. He knew they were shining through the windows of rooms, that they were the red, blue, and yellow lights that twinkled from trees in places where families created and kept memories, where they celebrated love. Suddenly he was aware with certainty and joy that below, ahead, they were waiting for him, and that they were waiting, too, for the baby.”

And two or three more ambiguous sentences later, the book ends.

I think this story is about the importance of feeling everything fully and how emotions (especially love) are such a vital part of the human experience. Even the terrible feelings we typically seek to avoid at all costs, like physical pain, heartbreak, and grief, are worth living through, and sharing those negative emotions with others to find comfort is equally important in fostering positive ones like joy and love. I also think the book is about the isolation that comes from having no one you can truly relate to — it’s about the community you either find or lose depending on which collective memories people share.1

There are other books in this series that may debunk my theory, but I’m completely convinced that both Jonas and Gabriel ended up dying in the snowstorm and that the memory of the sled is just Jonas’ hallucination as they both slowly succumb to hyperthermia. Even if the true ending isn’t as bleak, it’s clear that the author believes that sharing feelings and memories with others is worth risking death in pursuit of — that “[Jonas’] life [would be] no longer worth living” if he stayed. And since this is told from Jonas’ perspective, the fact that he is recalling times in which those memories and emotions were shared with others at the very end indicates how dearly he holds them.

I’m not so sure I would have the courage to do what Jonas did in his situation, but I hope that if I was presented with the choice to either maintain the status quo like those before me or risk everything for the good of everyone, despite having no idea if would succeed, I would do it — not necessarily to make others happy or because it was a duty I couldn’t run away from, but because I truly believed my actions could change things. Too often I feel powerless in the direction my life leads, letting my days wash over me like a warm, comfortable wave instead of trying to swim against the current… and thus is the repeated sentiment of my 30th year.

Albus Dumbledore says, “...There will be a time when we must choose between what is right and what is easy,” and though I don’t necessarily have any community-changing crises I can run out and vanquish at the moment, I’m trying (maybe not my best, but increasingly) to make a little bit bigger of a ripple in the world’s pond. (Lots of water metaphors today.)

I’d give it an 11 if I could, but obvious 10 and obvious Recommendable.

1 I feel like this is especially true with the millennial generation, as nostalgia for a time before the internet and smartphones is a sentiment most of my peers seem to share. Tamogatchis and Pokemon are cool again and we’re all still watching the TV shows we grew up with, just now on streaming services (at least I am; nothing beats a Spongebob season 1 episode). It seems like my generation is collectively yearning for the things we used to love and share with each other — maybe because the things that replaced them haven’t been able to offer the same kind of connection. 

You could say this is just a capitalism-fueled marketing trend that we’ve all been gullible enough to buy into at different points, but there seems to be growing number of people around my age feeling both underwhelmed and jaded with technology, especially with the rise of AI seeking to cheapen our connections with others (and those connections have already taken a huge hit from the pandemic to begin with).