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pinguwrites · 2 months ago

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The Doll's Burial ⸻ Jonathan Crane

READ DISCLAIMER

pairing | jonathan crane x reader

summary | You knew Jonathan Crane was meant for you from the moment you laid your eyes on him — a brilliant man, filled with wit and curiosity and youth. So perfect, in fact, that you have to take him away from the rest of the world and make him yours, your darling doll. He’ll like it, won’t he?

word count | 9k

Warnings: NON-CON/DUB-CON, dark!reader, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, reader’s delusional and sick and sadistic but sweet ig, religious (specifically Christian) disdain from Jon , murder/torture towards jon/in general, jon isn’t scarecrow au, slightly ooc jon, p in v sex, househusband!jonathan, PROCEED WITH CAUTION - DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE

Disclaimer: This is part of my unfinished works. I don't write anymore, but I still wanted to publish what I have. I'll use bullet points to explain what I planned to happen at the end. Also note that this is heavily unedited, there will be a lot of mistakes.

You didn’t know what beauty was until you met Jonathan Crane that fateful winter’s night, a night where the season’s gentle touch had left windows glazed with frost, and the late evening coated in a thick, gloomy darkness. Crystal flakes were falling from the sky onto your body like specks of dust, but it was nothing compared to the way it looked on him, his dark hair contrasting with the white, the snow melting upon the touch of his skin. His breath was coming out in puffs of smoke before dissipating into the bitter air, his square glasses glinting in the light of the street lamps.

Time had frozen still at that moment, as though your brain had gone numb, much like the cold was numbing your ears and toes and the tips of your fingers. Licking your lips, you observed as the man — whose name you did not know then — glanced at the slim watch on his wrist, shivering ever so slightly as a breeze brushed him by. He was wearing an elegant suit, colored charcoal, the dress shirt underneath thinly striped, and his shoes polished and new, no doubt recently bought. He seemed to be an educated man with wealth, maybe a doctor or lawyer, but you guessed doctor, because he struck you as a scientific mind, curious but practical.

He wasn’t married, as he had no ring, which led you to believe that his profession took up a lot of his time and effort. After all, how could a man as gorgeous as him not be desired? Even the thought of him in bed with you set your loins alight, not to mention the slightest notion of him being yours until death do us part.

“Silly,” you had murmured to yourself, though there was a soft smile playing on your lips. “You’re thinking too far ahead, like always.”

But it really wasn’t your fault. He was so delightful to look at. Almost like a doll, with his plump pink lips and blush-dusted cheeks. You could imagine it already: a domestic life. He needn’t not lift a finger, not think a single thought, as long as he allowed you to hold him in his arms. How was it that someone who had not done anything at all to warrant such attraction, found himself at the center of your obsessiveness?

There’s something about him. Something different I cannot deny. He was unlike anyone you had ever seen before, anyone you would ever see in the future. It was strange how humans worked, heart so easily manipulated. What was it that caught your attention in the first place? you wondered. The aesthetic of the scene? His simple presence in the emptiness of the street? Did it even matter anymore, now that you were so hopelessly captured by him?

“Hey, excuse me, ma’am!”

Heart thumping against your chest at the sudden noise, you answered hesitantly, “Yes?”

The man, who was raising his voice so he could be heard across the street, gave you a wary look. “Do you know when the bus will arrive? I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes — the sign said it would arrive at seven.”

“I’m not sure,” you lied. You hadn’t expected him to talk to you. The event felt out of control, like you weren’t sure what was going to happen next. It bothered you, but if anything, this was a sign. A sign that perhaps he was the one. “I’m waiting for it as well,” you continued. “Do you mind if I cross?”

“I don’t.”

After you made sure there were no cars nearby, you walked across the road and finally got your first view of the man, finding his features, his mannerisms, his everything to be just as breathtaking as it was from a distance. He had a relatively low voice, around a medium pitch, and it was grated, almost like a vocal fry. He had these little freckles scattered across his face like distant stars in the sky. If it was possible, you would have plucked out every single one of them to store in a jar.

“I usually don’t take the bus,” you said smoothly, trying to start a conversation, though all you could focus on the way he was looking at you, his gaze piercing and icy, “but my car’s in a workshop. I thought I’d try my luck here before heading to the subway.”

Your car wasn’t in a workshop. It was in the garage parking lot just diagonal of his view. You had only gotten out because you wanted a quick coffee at the local café. Eternally grateful that you spotted him along the way, you weren’t sure what you would have done if you hadn’t. It had only been a few minutes, and you were already in love.

The man hummed in response, not seeming to take much of an interest. “I’m in a similar situation myself . . . I’ll be on my way, then,” he said, clearing his throat.

He started walking down the sidewalk to the nearest subway station, a walk you knew was going to take about a while. And in those clothes? He was most certainly going to catch a cold. If it was proper to do so, you would have offered him your own coat, but in a city like this, where no one trusted, you didn’t need to make him suspicious of your kindness. People were like animals, small critters. Approaching them too fast would scare them off. You had to be subtle, ease into it before you did anything too rash.

“Are you coming?” he asked, turning around, waiting for you to follow him. His tone was expectant, and almost humorous, like the thought of you continuing to wait for the bus was amusing to him. It made you amused. There would be work to do with his arrogance when you finally take him away, you made a mental note of that.

“No,” you responded. “I’ve changed my mind, I’ll have a friend come pick me up.”

“. . . Are you sure?” he pressed, concerned. He was concerned for you. It was so sweet.

“I’m sure,” you repeated. If you were with him for a second longer you would have gotten down on your knees and proposed.

He considered your words, then nodded. “Well, have a nice day, ma’am.”

“You as well . . . I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Jonathan. Dr. Jonathan Crane.”

“Jonathan,” you repeated, the word rolling off your tongue with ease. Jon-ah-thun, meaning God has given, gift of God. A gift to you, surely, or why else would he be here, standing in your presence if he wasn’t meant to be taken away? To be polite, you gave him your own name, hoping he liked it as much as you liked his, and simply said, “Have a nice day,” hiding the butterflies inside your stomach that flew around like hail in a blizzard.

Jonathan Crane, my very own doll.

+++

The chains clinked against the others in the link, the cuffs tugging against the skin, pulled so hard it restricted the blood flow. It was only then the noises stopped, and a defeated sigh left your doll’s lips. His head leaned against the wall and his posture slumped, as though he had given up. It was a shame, too. The sight of him struggling was exhilarating. It filled you with such excitement and arousal that you wished he kept going.

Currently, you were working, with your laptop placed out in front of you on your desk, some oatmeal to your right. The camera system was hooked up to the large monitor, so from here you could watch Jonathan’s movements. He had been awake since the break of dawn, the time he usually got up for work, except he wasn’t at his house today, he was in your basement, body against the cold floor, trembling like a scared bunny.

The planning was the most difficult part of this endevour. You had never actually kidnapped someone before. When you were a child, the local police suspected you in the mutilation of a few small critters in your apartment complex, and in college you were involved in the accidental death of one of your fellow students (he fell down the stairs and hit his head, nothing that anyone could prove was your fault), but to actually kidnap someone was entirely different.

It would be an ongoing investigation until the case was classified as cold, and even then some cold cases were picked up again after years; you had to make sure no could connect a link, because some people were too narrow-minded to understand how true and unconditional your adoration for him was; and not only that, but the amount of research — or stalking, as some might call it — that you had to do was exhaustive; but really, it was worth it, and Jonathan would fall for you just as you did for him within a few months, maybe a year at most. He would come to realize just how much you cared about him, and just how wonderful your life could be together. Once you arrived at that point, things would flow seamlessly. You had all the precautions in place. Even if he did try and escape, you always had a sedative in your pocket, and all the doors to your house was just as secure on the inside as it was on the outside.

The only thing you worried about was witnesses. See, Jonathan was usually very careful not to go into secluded alleyways or dingy locations on his own, which made it difficult to take him. So, you had to bump into him in a coffee shop — a coincidence, you had told him — and from there lure him out.

You sighed lovingly and gazed at Jonathan through the screen, deciding that it was time to bring him breakfast and lay out the ground rules.

After a few more minutes, you crept down the stairs with some food and water, careful not to step on any of the parts that would cause a creaking sound, and unlocked the basement with the passcode. When you opened the door, Jonathan raised his head, scooting his body away from your figure until he backed into a corner.

It was a dingy little place. It used to have carpet, but you removed that in favor of plastic tarp on the floor, nothing that could indefinitely stain the cement underneath. The walls were covered in that as well, and there was no window or clock to let him know the time. There were blankets to the side, and a small toilet to the other corner of the room. It was a good enough place for now. You hated seeing him in these conditions, but only once he proved responsible would you update him to a secured bedroom. At this point in time, he wasn’t capable of understanding things, and would only try to run away if you gave him more freedom.

Jonathan stayed quiet for a long while, and so did you, but then he scoffed. “I’m not eating that.”

Frowning, you bent down to his level. You placed the bowl in front of him, the sweet aroma of cinnamon and honey filling the stale air. “It's not poisoned, you know that.”

Jonathan did know that. He was smart enough to realize that a person wouldn’t go through all the effort of bringing him here, only to poison him. There needn’t be a conversation over this. He didn’t reach for the bowl yet, but you knew he would when you left. Eventually, hunger would get to him.

“Are you in love with me?” he asked next.

Yes, yes I am. I love you as true as the air you breathe, as blue as your eyes gleam, and as certain as the beat of your heart.

“Why do you ask?” you said instead.

“Your eyes are always dilated, you can’t keep them off of me. Not at the bus station, the coffee shop.” He paused. “You’re sick. I’m not in love with you. Whatever fantasy you have is not real.”

“You may not be in love with me now, but you will be soon.”

There was no point in hiding your intentions.

He scoffed again, head down. “Realize this, I have nothing. Whatever you want from me, I can’t give you.”

Reaching out to him, you rubbed your thumb against his skin. He was cold. Again.

“You need to learn how to keep warm,” you said, concerned. “There’s some blankets. Use them.”

Jonathan pulled away, though you could tell he wanted you to keep doing that, because for a brief moment he almost leaned into your touch and warmth. So, you did just that. You gripped his chin and forced him to look at you. He put up a bit of a struggle, but in the end, he relented, and let you caress his skin. Letting your fingers trail up his cheek to his nose, you quickly made your way to his eyelashes, his long, thick eyelashes that fluttered like a black bird’s feathers.

“I did a bit of research on you,” you said. “Just enough to make sure no one would come looking for you right away, to learn your patterns and your habits, or any other important bits of information . . . like the fact that you have a therapist.”

Jonathan looked straight into your eyes. It was almost as if, at the moment, he was more concerned about what you might have read about him than his current predicament. He didn’t want anyone to know his past, his secrets, his weaknesses. It was embarrassing, and you knew that because you read in his file — which took atrociously long to obtain — how ashamed he was of himself, how conscious.

He shoved you away, and you backed off.

“Don’t be mean,” you frowned, hurt. “It was necessary. Watching you through your window wasn’t enough to truly know you. And even now, I’m sure there’s so much I’ve missed. It’ll be nice. As long as you listen and don’t cause trouble, everything will be okay.”

“You’re delusional,” he scowled. “I’ve known enough people like you in my life to understand how you work. Once you’re tired of me, you’ll dump me and get someone new to torment.”

“That’s not true, and you’ll see that,” you protested. It broke you to know that he thought of himself as expendable. “. . . I know you need some time to think. I’ll come down in a few hours with lunch, alright?”

You took his silence as a ‘yes’.

“Good boy.”

+++

A few weeks had passed by. The snow was beginning to melt, turning into a mushy, brown sludge that you had to trudge through every morning to get to work. Admittedly, you were quite busy with your job, but you made as much time as you could for Jonathan. Your doll was in a sour mood the entire time, and after calling you a bitch and a unintelligent, perverted whore — such colorful language — he started begging you to let him go.

I won’t tell anyone. I’ll give you money. Please, I’m begging you. All clearly signs of emotional distress.

It hurt you a lot when Jonathan rejected your affection. More than you thought it would. He should be grateful that you took such an interest in him, but instead he was disgusted. Of course, he would fall for you soon, but it made you wish that he had already done so, and that too on the night you two met.

Wouldn’t it have been romantic? Love at first sight. Did you not deserve something like that? For someone to look into your eyes the way you did his and think, This is the one I want to marry. Again, you knew it would take time, but the wound still cut deep.

He was eating, which was good. One less thing to worry about. But when you checked his wrists to see if the cuffs were still locked you found them red with marks. It worried you a bit, so you applied some cream to them — or at least, tried to, with the way he was struggling and all. You did other things like bathe him, but despite how desperate you were to see his pretty cock, you never went beyond the waistline, and encouraged him to clean himself down there instead. You hoped it established some sense of trust between you two, because at least Jonathan would realize that you would never do anything to make him uncomfortable.

When you were researching Jonathan Crane — before you took him — you learned that he was a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum. A professor at Gotham University first, but either way, it seemed that his heart lied with the sciences. You did a little internet digging and tracked his book orders, then picked something you thought he would like and was sure he hadn’t read yet.

One book on chemistry and its applications on brain science, and another on psychology, a look into real-world examples written by a doctor from the late twentieth century.

Carefully wrapping it up in light blue paper, you tied it with a navy-colored ribbon and made a bow. Your fingers lingered on the box, a little nervous about handing it over to Jonathan, but you walked downstairs with it anyways, opening the basement door and watching with satisfaction as he scurried away once again.

“It’s just a gift,” you laughed, setting it down in front of him. He watched it warily. “I want you to open it. I hope you’ll like it.”

Jonathan’s lower lip quivered, and you had a sudden desire to kiss him. Lips upon lips, heavy and sweet. Sometimes, you felt as though the only way to get close to him — truly close — was to peel off his skin and wrap it around you. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? He would die, which you didn’t want, but to think about it was enough. It was so intimate it made you hot all over.

“Please,” Jonathan muttered. “Please let me go. I’ll do anything.”

You sighed. “I don’t want to hear this again. I’ve been really patient with you. Can’t you just . . . be normal?”

“Normal?”

Oh, dear. He’s about to go into another one of his fits.

“How can you expect me to be normal when you’ve got me locked in chains?” he frowned. Surprisingly enough, he wasn’t getting upset, but rather more submissive. He wasn’t scowling or spitting in your face, but rather his head was downturned and his body language more open. Was this it? Was this the point of breaking?

“I have nothing,” he continued. “No bed to sleep in, no touch . . .”

Touch. Well, he had you, didn’t he?

“You don’t like it when I touch you,” you said.

He looked away, almost embarrassed. This doll of a man had you completely enamored, fooled, like a hopeless soul waiting for the heavens. Anything he did, anything he said, would make you fold in a heartbeat. If he asked you to go get the moon, you would die, frozen in the vastness of space just trying. He could make you do anything, except perhaps let you go, but only because you knew that deep down, he didn’t really want it.

Jonathan didn’t make an effort to come closer to you, and you didn’t either. Despite your devotion, you wanted to see him make the first move. You had waited long enough. All you wanted was to be loved by him, and you knew that he had it in him to show his affection. He just feared you, feared that you would hurt him.

. . . Maybe a few more days. A few more days of waiting until you would take drastic action.

+++

Laying on the couch, you turned on the TV, opening up the Gotham news channel as background noise while you dozed off. There were a few errands to be done, but you decided to put them off until tomorrow as the weather had gotten worse. It wasn’t raining anymore, and the snow was still brown and mushy, but it was freezing, and you made the stupid mistake of leaving your car outside.

After ten minutes of just lazing around, you were abruptly woken up by the ring of your doorbell. With a groan, you got up off the couch and unlocked the door, only for your nerves to jump and a nervous chuckle escape your lips.

“I — well, hi. Can I help you, officer?” you asked, looking the man in front of you up and down. He had wispy brown hair that was covered by a fur hoodie and a kind smile painted on his face. He didn’t look like he meant any harm, but perhaps this was just a facade to get your guard down. For all you knew there could be police officers stationed all around your house. Or were you being too paranoid? Yes. You probably were.

“You can,” he said, voice a little gruff. “My name is Peter Wright, I just wanna ask you a few questions. May I come inside?”

You hesitated. “What's this about?”

Wright chuckled, but didn’t answer. “Do you know a man named Jonathan Crane? You may have just passed him on the street — he had dark hair, glasses, clean-cut . . .”

Your mind ran through all the possibilities. There was absolutely no way this man could know you two even met. You were so careful — so unbelievably careful. Was there something you had overlooked? Something you had missed? Maybe someone saw you with Jonathan and reported it to the police once they realized he was missing.

“. . . No.”

Wright smiled. “No need to be so tense. We just wanna know where he is.”

You smiled, trying to be friendly. “I’m sorry, sir, I have no clue who that is. You probably have the wrong person — ”

“ — yeah, figured,” Wright interrupted, flashing another smile. “He’s been missing for a while. You’re not in trouble, we just have to check every lead.”

“Oh, I understand completely,” you said. “May I ask, why have I become a . . . lead?”

“Just some security footage on a date of interest. You had crossed the street at a bus station.” Wright paused for a moment, seeing if you remembered anything. You did, but you kept your face blank. It was better to pretend. It made you relieved, however. This was nothing serious, and nothing that was your fault. “He wrote it down in one of his journal entries, that’s why we checked.”

“Journal entries?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

“Yes. That’s how all these smart people are like, or so I’ve been told. Methodical, pattern-orientated.”

Was he even supposed to be telling you this? It seemed like this man was more loose-lipped than he first appeared. Perhaps you could pull some information out of him, turn on your charm.

“You know what? Come inside. It’s cold, and I can make you some hot coffee.”

“Really?” Wright raised an eyebrow. “Now you’re getting let me in?”

You gave a playful glare. “I’m not gonna ask again, sir.”

Wright obliged, and for the rest of the evening, he divulged information about the case, a little too flirtatious for your taste, but it got the work done, and by the end of the day, you learned that they had nothing on you, and nothing on this case.

+++

“Jonathan,” you cooed as you entered the basement with a plate of mashed potatoes and steak. You immediately noticed that his knuckles were bloody, and realized what he was trying to do — he must have heard another person upstairs and banged against the concrete walls in the hopes that he would’ve been heard.

What a stupid boy!

“Hold on,” you muttered, annoyed, placing the food down. “I’ll get you some bandages — ”

“ — Can’t you just be here?” Jonathan said shakily, his voice hoarse. “You said you loved me but you never spend time with me, you’re always upstairs . . . I’m going insane.”

Your heart leaped. Finally. Finally! It was happening. He was beginning to see, to truly see the connection you both had. You could envision it already — a wedding, with only an eficator there to make things legitimate, with flowers and a beautiful background, perhaps a sunset or beach, or maybe some mountains — topped with snow. That would be perfect, absolutely wonderful. Oh, you would have to start making the plans now!

“Did I do something wrong?”

“What?” You snapped out of your thoughts. “Oh, no. No, darling. I’m just so excited, I’ve been waiting so long . . . Here, can I hold you?”

Jonathan nodded with a sniffle.

Not wasting a single moment, you wrapped him up in your arms, watching as he delicately snuggled his head in the crook of your neck. The feeling of his hair brushing up against your skin was exhilarating, making you shudder and shake like you were about to lose it. About to lose it and take him right then and there, all romantic like, with nice words and the scent of rose petals . . . Maybe your first time could be in a bath, with lit candles, cleaning each other off. It was —

Hold on. Where was his chain?

Jonathan’s arms were around your waist, but you couldn’t feel the metal. You looked to the hook on the wall and saw that it had broken off, next to it the psychology book you gave to him, heavily dented.

Chasting yourself, you felt Jonathan tighten his grip around your body. You should have checked — you should have checked for the chain like you did every time you came down. What was wrong with you? This one simple mistake could ruin everything . . .

Trying to think as quickly as you could, you looked around the room for the other book, but couldn’t find it anywhere. You had a sedative syringe in your pocket, but you couldn’t get to it without alerting him. Alas, you finally felt something poking you in the side, something sharp like an edge, and within seconds you had been tossed to the floor and hit over the head.

+++

When you finally woke up, your head was reeling. You had a massive headache, and everytime you tried to sit up your vision would go a little dark and you would give up. Before you could try again, you had a hand against your throat. You felt a horrible surge of anger, and in the midst of your emotions, a slight sense of arousal.

“After everything I’ve done for you?” you cried out, voice choked. You could feel a shift in movement, because after Jonathan realized he was hurting you, he loosened his grip, but it still wasn’t enough to get out of his grasp. He probably tried to open the basement door but couldn’t, so waited until you came to give him the passcode. You couldn’t rely on the hope that he wouldn’t hurt you. He was desperate. But so were you.

“Everything you’ve done,” he repeated with a low murmur. “You know how humiliating it is to be trapped in a basement for a month, forced to bathe in front of you because I can’t even be trusted with a flow of water? Have to piss with chains on? I’m a doctor, I shouldn’t have to submit to your delusion.”

“You should and you will!” you screeched, squirming. “You finally have someone to love you, to adore you, someone who would do anything for you, and it’s still not enough. Or you know what? Maybe you like that. Being sad all the time, not having anyone to care for you. Probably used to it, huh? Distant parents, bitch grandmother, no friends, no lovers . . .”

Jonathan tossed you to the floor and pinned you down, his nose close to yours, breathing heavy, eyes a little glossy. Then, without warning, he slapped you. The sting was both painful and pleasurable. The little whimper you let out was more of a light sigh, but you didn’t let that distract you. All you needed to do was reach into your pocket for the syringe, which he clearly hadn’t noticed was there. If you could drug him just a little, you would be able to get your power back, your control.

“I want the code. That’s it.”

“I want a kiss.”

“Fuck you.”

“Just one kiss. A nice, long one.”

Jonathan thought for a moment. His breath tickled your skin. Then, he leaned in, his eyes fluttering shut, and brushed his perfect, pink lips against yours. He was so easily manipulated, so eager. Even when he had all the power, he still fell for your little antic. Or maybe he just wanted an excuse to kiss you.

While he was distracted, you swiftly took the syringe out and stabbed him with it, pushing half the liquid in. He pulled away and gasped, but then his eyes started drooping, and his movements became more wobbly, and he fell into your arms, disorientated and dizzy.

“Mm . . . what did you do?” he asked.

You grabbed his hair, making him wince in pain. “You know, I’ve been trying so hard to be patient, not rushing you, making you feel as safe as possible” You paused. “But sometimes people aren’t grateful for what they have. That’s okay, it happens. You just have to learn. I’ll be patient again, just for you.”

You laid him on his back and started unbuckling his pants belt. He tried to stop you, but his movements were too weak and groggy.

“Don’t — don’t,” he pleaded.

You stopped, but only for the time being. You lifted him up onto his feet and let him lean against you. His feet were dragging a little against the floor, but he managed to walk. He pulled himself away from you when you made it to the top of the stairs but stumbled. He just wasn’t strong enough. You unlocked the passcode.

You led him over to the bathroom on your first floor, where you opened the tub’s tap and let the water flow. Jonathan’s eyelids drooped slightly, but you could see — smell — the fear in them. He knew what you were going to do, and he was helpless to stop it.

Taking off the rest of his belt, you pulled his cock out. White, soft, a little big, but other than that it was perfect, just like every other part of him. You brushed your finger across it, watching the way it twitched in your hands. Unable to stop yourself, you leaned down and gave the head a small kiss, but that was the last bit of kindness Jonathan was going to receive today. In fact, receive for a long while.

You dipped your hand in the tub, which was steadily flowing with water, and gave his cock a hard squeeze, making him whimper in pain. “That’s the closest to lube you’ll get,” you said. “Now come on, don’t fight me. Dip your face in.”

Pushing his head down into the tub wasn’t much of a struggle, but Jonathan wasn’t making it easy. Your doll, your poor doll. He didn’t want to be hurt, but that was what had to happen. And it would keep happening until he finally admitted that he loved you.

When Jonathan’s nose touched the water, he groaned, his head dizzy. It was cold, but by the time he could even register the temperature, his entire head was in, held by your hand as your other stroked his cock. A few air bubbles came up, but you didn’t give in. You wanted him to struggle, you wanted him to be in pain. He was like a fragile mouse caught in a trap. Only you could let him go. Only you had the power to.

After a few more seconds, you lifted his head up, watching with glee as he gasped for air, coughing and sputtering when he could spare it.

“Aw, baby boy. You don’t like that very much, do you?”

He shook his head, opening his mouth to speak, but you didn’t let him. You just shoved him down into the tub again, feeling your body tingle. You swiped your finger over that little hole where you would soon force cum to shoot out of, and pressed down on it hard. Then, you found your way to his balls, slightly pulling at the small hairs there. Pinching and squeezing. His thighs shook, so you slapped them. They were another beautiful part of his body.

You continued pumping, up and down, steadily, then pulled him out. You could feel some pre-cum on your hands . . . even when you were torturing him he couldn’t control his biological reactions.

When he came up for the second time, he begged, “Please — I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . . Mercy, I can’t!”

His hair was wet, sticking to his forehead, and water was running down from his chin to his chest underneath the plain white shirt you had given him. His nipples were perked, probably from all the adrenaline, but you liked to think that it was because he was aroused.

“You can and you will,” you growled. “Take it. Take it!”

+++

When you were finished with him, you took him back down to the basement, his cock hanging limp through the zipper area of his pants, and tossed him to the floor. Noticing one of the books you gifted him on the ground, you picked it up and threw it at him. It hit his leg, and within seconds, he passed out.

You locked the door and left him like that for the next few days. No food, no water, no nothing. Through the camera you could see that he was barely moving. He only got up to use the toilet, but other than that, he was like a slug. It was on the third day that you decided to go down again and nourish him, otherwise he might die, and you didn't want that, not after all this hard work.

ii.

Jonathan Crane was respected throughout the city of Gotham, a known and reputable psychiatrist amongst others in his field, as well as connected with higher elites who often funded his projects, his small passions. Never did he think he would ever end up in someone’s basement, that too the basement of a beauty.

He had gotten into a car accident while pulling out of Akrham’s parking lot. It was a stupid mistake, not even his fault, really. The curb was so narrow and it was difficult to see past the line of trees whether another car was coming or not, and in his rush to get home, he went ahead without thinking and collided with a red Sedan.

No one was injured, but his car was beat up, and after getting it towed, he had to walk all the way to the nearest bus station (which was very far away, as the aslyum was rather secluded). It was cold, and he wasn’t dressed for this weather at all. He tried to take his mind off the temperature by looking at his watch, the tick-tick ticking, but when he finally got there, he found that the bus was not coming at all. It had been fifteen minutes, and nothing was there. The entire street was surprisingly empty for a city as busy as Gotham, with only the occasional patrol car driving past.

He was about ready to head to the subway — another long trek — when he saw someone else standing across the street. It was a woman, he could tell from the figure, but she was shrouded in darkness . . . Maybe she was waiting for the bus as well.

“Hey, excuse me, ma’am!” he shouted out, hoping not to startle her. He knew how women could get, all scared and skittish when they were alone. He understood. Crime rates were high, rape and theft were common. Even he was on his guard right now.

“Yes?” the woman answered hesitantly.

“Do you know when the bus will arrive?” Jonathan asked. “I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes — the sign said it would arrive at seven.”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’m waiting for it as well. Do you mind if I cross?”

Jonathan hadn’t expected that, but agreed nonetheless. He found it a bit odd that she was waiting on the other side of the road, but figured that she might have only just arrived. When she crossed, the light of the street lamps hit her face and he was taken aback. She was awfully pretty — beautiful, in fact. She was looking at him with almost dazed eyes, a nervous expression upon her face. He couldn’t tell if she found him attractive, or if she was intimidated by him. Most people were.

They had a short conversation that eventually ended. Jonathan would head down to the subway station, and the woman had opted to call her friend to pick her up. He was a little disappointed. She seemed interesting, and there was no harm in continuing their conversation, but he was also tired and in no mood to convince her to come along with him.

He was about to leave when she asked him for his name. “Jonathan. Dr. Jonathan Crane,” he clarified.

“Jonathan,” she repeated. For a moment, he felt ill at ease. Maybe it was the reminder that he was in the middle of an empty street at night, or the way she looked at him as she repeated his name. He shook it off, he was just being silly.

The woman gave him her name — your name, a nice name. He didn’t know what it was about you, but for the rest of the day you were on his mind. It was enough to make him mention you in his journal, mention with a flow of compliments that ranged from beautiful to almost sinister.

+++

Jonathan had always had a bit of a problem when it came to people. As a child he was ostracized and bullied for his gangly body, and in his adulthood, he had always come off as too unnerving for others. It probably didn’t help that he was arrogant and assuming, too. When it came to lovers, he could get quite obsessive, a problem that broke most of his relationships. Apparently no one liked it when their boyfriends were possessive.

He’d had a few affairs before, but nothing ever serious. He could never find someone he liked enough to marry. On the surface, he semed like the kind of guy that was more interested in his work than anything romantic, but in the end he had been raised with typical values, and as much as he tried to shake it off, he really felt like his path in life was to work, marry, have children, and then die.

When he was a kid his grandmother, Keeny, stressed upon him the importance of finding a good Christian wife. She must be a virgin, submissive, good-natured, and so on. He was sure she had already picked someone from their small town for him, because she was oddly pushy towards this one Church girl who liked to have ribbons in her braids (that was all he really remembered of her). Jonathan wondered what his grandmother thought of him now. Despite all the bad memories associated with her, he still sent letters with money every once in a while. She responded sometimes, mostly with pleas for him to come back, but he never paid them any mind. He was done with her and Georgia.

In his mind, his ideal wife would be an intellectual just like him. Preferably smart, but not as smart as him, who was just as clingy as he was, who understood and could care for him, and who was perhaps a little more on the dominant side. He was always embarrassed with the fact that he liked dominant women, but wasn’t going to let that stop him from finding one, or at least, hoping one would find him.

“So, you’re opening yourself up to new relationships,” his therapist, Dr. Taylor Smith said, an encouraging smile on her face. Jonathan had been with her for years, and while they were strictly professional, Jonathan couldn’t help but be slightly attached to her. It was what happened when someone gave him even the slightest ounce of affection.

“I suppose so,” Jonathan responded, not knowing what else to say.

“If you’re ready for it, I think you should go out and start talking to people,” Smith suggested. “You have a lot of colleagues, you could start there.”

Jonathan frowned. “They’ve stopped asking me to lunches.”

“Because you decline all the time?”

“Probably.”

“Then why don’t you ask them first?”

Jonathan frowned again. “I’d rather not.”

Smith gave a knowing look. “And how do you suppose to meet people, then?”

Jonathan didn’t want to answer. He knew he was being silly, but he just didn’t want to be the one to make the first move. Eventually someone would come along and ask him out, right? He just had to wait a little . . . Perhaps he could loiter around some bookstores or near the lectures he attended so he could meet a woman who was like-minded.

“Look,” Smith said, intertwining her hands. “Before we meet again next week, I want you to have made an effort towards a relationship. Friendship would be a good start.”

“I have friends. Harleen is — fine,” Jonathan relented, after seeing the glare his therapist was giving. “I’ll do that. It’ll be my homework,” he joked, but on the inside he was thoroughly annoyed.

+++

Jonathan’s first idea was to go to a coffee shop. He had been starved for some caffeine and decided that instead of making one at home he could go out and get one. He parked his car in a nearby garage and walked over to a local shop. It had a long line of impatient-looking people, moody, too, at that.

He took his place in line, inhaling the sweet aroma of the atmosphere. A few people were working, typing away at their laptops, while others were with their friends or family or partners. He tried to look as casual as possible, sweeping his hair over his forehead every once in a while, but then he stopped, feeling stupid.

He felt like a kid back in highschool trying to get a girl’s attention. Everyone here was either already with someone or rushing to get out. It was a dumb idea. He’d just get his coffee and leave.

Maybe he could just ask his coworkers at the asylum. They were nice enough, and it would probably do good on his work relationships if he made an effort on them.

When he got to the counter he ordered a small latte and went on his way, but after turning the corner he bumped into someone. They were holding a cup of coffee — from the same cafe he just went to. The cap, which must not have been applied properly, fell to the ground, and all the hot, brown liquid splashed onto both him and . . . and . . . the lady from the bus station?

Jonathan hissed at the burning sensation, but restrained himself from letting out a small scream. A few people stopped and turned to look at them. A few of them in pity, others stifling their giggles, while one man offered to go get some napkins.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” the woman — you — said, grabbing some napkins from the man and wiping your blouse off.

Jonathan glared.

“What is wrong with you?” he sneered, his face contorted in controlled disgust. “Are you stalking me?”

“What? I don’t — look, I’m really sorry, sir,” you fervently apologized, which made Jonathan feel a bit bad. “Here — some napkins — ”

“ — Don’t bother,” Jonathan said, looking down at his suit, though his tone was a bit softer.

There was a moment of silence. Jonathan admired your features for those few moments, and thought back to how he wrote about you in his journal. His cheeks flushed a light pink at the memory. Imagine what would happen if you found out . . .

“Aren’t you going to say sorry, too?”

Jonathan sighed, getting annoyed again. “I’m sorry,” but it was sarcastic.

“I want to hear a genuine apology,” you said, but before Jonathan could say anything, you continued, “That or . . . you buy me another cup of coffee and we go our separate ways.”

Jonathan was caught off guard, but he realized that it was the perfect opportunity to do what he came here for: make a friend. And she was so obviously flirting.

“Alright. But we’ll be quick. I have to change.”

You chuckled. “Okay, okay.”

You both walked back to the coffee shop, standing in line as you looked over the menu. Jonathan wondered what to say.

“It’s quite the coincidence, don’t you think?” he said, feeling sticky as his dress shirt stuck to his skin. “We meet at the bus station, then here . . .”

“What do you mean?” you asked, confused.

Jonathan couldn’t believe that you didn’t remember. “I introduced myself to you. Dr. Jonathan Crane. And you told me your name.”

You thought for a moment, eyes dazed for a few seconds, but when you looked back at him you shook your head. “I-I suppose you look familiar, but I don’t really remember . . . I’m sorry.”

“Oh, that’s alright.”

Eventually, you both got up to the front. You ordered another coffee and Jonathan paid with his card. This time, he made sure your lid was secured on properly. When he got out of the cafe for the second time that day, he felt disappointed that he had to leave you again.

At the bus station he had let you go, and was he about to do the same thing here? No. He would try, shoot his chance. If it didn't work, so what? He would get over it.

“I can walk you back to your car,” Jonathan offered, taking a sip of his coffee, which thankfully he didn’t drop when he bumped into you.

“I don’t want to bother you,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s all the way down the road.”

“I insist,” he said.

You smiled. It was such a sweet smile, Jonathan wished he could igraine the memory into his mind forever.

“What do you do for work?” he asked, trying to make light conversation.

“Real estate,” you responded. “You?”

“I’m a psychiatrist . . .”

He didn’t mention the fact that he worked at Arkham. It was infamous in Gotham, and not that great of a conversation starter. Jonathan didn’t want this to turn into an interview about what it’s like to work there, how the patients were, and so on.

When you and Jonathan reached your car, he felt that odd sense of dread again. He was near a closed-off area behind a shop. It was one of those places that had parking lots for behind a store, and was shaped almost like a square. The shop was closed, and there was only one car in the area — presumably yours.

“Sorry,” you apologized with a laugh after seeing the look on his face. “There was no parking nearby. I’m actually kind of glad you walked me . . . it’s a little scary all by myself.”

“It’s fine. I understand,” Jonathan said with a shrug, ignoring his instincts. He walked you to the car, and before he knew what was happening, he was knocked out.

+++

The chains clinked against the others in the link, the cuffs tugging against Jonathan Crane’s skin, pulled so hard it restricted the blood flow. It was only then he stopped, and let a defeated sigh escape his lips. His head leaned against the wall and his posture slumped. Since he woke up he had been trying to get out of this place — out of this basement, it looked to be. His thoughts flooded his head a million times, and it was impossible for him to produce a semblance of coherent thinking. He begged his brain to stop working, to just be quiet for a moment so he could control his emotions and focus, but it wouldn’t. It left him tired and confused and scared.

What happened to me?

Why am I here?

Was that woman responsible for this? Did she kidnap me? Oh god, she kidnapped me.

What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?

People are going to notice I’m missing. The police will come for me, I’ll be fine.

No they won’t. It’s Gotham, no one will do anything about it.

Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut. Stop it. Stop thinking.

After a while, he got his thoughts to quiet, but before he could be rational, the padlock clicked and the door opened. He backed into a corner — well, as far as his binding would let him, and his suspicions were confirmed.

It was you. You were his captor. His doom.

You placed a bowl of oatmeal in front of him. Cinnamon and honey filled the air. It had little pieces of apple cut up, and even some chocolate chips on the side. It was absolutely heavenly, and Jonathan could feel his mouth water at just the sight of it. He restrained himself, however. He was not that hungry, at least not yet, and he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t poisioned.

“I’m not eating that.”

Frowning, you bent down to his level. “It's not poisoned, you know that.”

Jonathan did know that. He was smart enough to realize that a person wouldn’t go through all the effort of bringing him here, only to poison him.

“Are you in love with me?” he asked next.

“Why do you ask?” you said instead. Avoiding the question.

“You may not be in love with me now, but you will be soon.”

Was it wrong that for a moment Jonathan felt nice? In all his life, he never had someone care for him, but here, someone had gone through the effort of kidnapping him just to be with him. He felt stupid for thinking like that. This wasn’t some story, it was reality, and in reality, you didn’t actually love him. You were obsessed. Obsessed . . . Was he that incapable of being loved that people had to either hate him or obsess over him like an object? Was there no in-between?

There were a few more words exchanged. You brushed your fingers against his skin, and though he pulled away, he couldn’t deny the affection rising within him. No one had ever touched him this gently before, this kindly.

You left, leaving Jonathan alone in the cold, dark room. After a few moments of hesitation, he reached for the bowl, and began eating.

+++

A few weeks had passed by. Jonathan couldn’t tell if the weather outside had begun to turn warm, or if it was still as cold as the last time he saw it. He never knew what time it was unless you came down with food, and even then, he was probably a couple of hours off. As he spent time in that basement, searching for a way out, he felt a sense of desperate hopelessness creep onto him. Would he ever make it out alive?

He couldn’t believe that he was even in this situation. After insulting you and calling you names, he resorted to fervent begging, but even that wasn’t enough to make you let him go. In your delusion you had made his life a misery. He couldn’t keep living in your basement like some sort of pet, forced to bathe in front of you and constantly monitored by cameras.

Maybe Jonathan would have liked you better if you actually gave him a nice room to sleep in. Or if you made something other than acai bowls and fruit smoothies all the time.

He could see it in your eyes that you truly believed you loved him, and it made him feel scared. While he overviewed cases like this and met people with the same mentality to kidnap and stalk, he still didn’t know what to do. In a part of his brain, he thought that maybe you weren’t so bad and that you could have been torturing him right now, but instead was being kind and thoughtful.

You tried to apply cream to his bruised wrists, and you didn’t even scold him for trying to get out of the handcuffs. He made it a difficult process, but it was because he was afraid. He had never been touched like that before. You were making him feel all sorts of things — anger, confusion, fear.

It didn’t help when you brought down a present for him. A book on chemistry, and another on psychology. It was wrapped in a box, which was wrapped in a light-blue color. Why were you so sweet? In all his years, he had never gotten a present as meaningful as this. His heart had wrenched uncomfortably, and he had to remind himself who you were, what type of person you were.

Maybe if he used this book to hit you over the head with, it would knock you out and he could escape. He could use it to break the chains, too. They were hardcover, and th

———

(I stopped writing here.)

The rest of this section was just going to be through Jonathan’s perspective.

iii.

You opened the door hesitantly, a wave of guilt flooding your body. Jonathan lay there on the floor, beaten and bruised, shivering in a corner even though he had a blanket around him. He didn’t smell good, but you expected it to be worse, so you took it as a sign that things could still be salvaged.

———

(I stopped writing here).

Jonathan is passed out, barely able to move. For the next few days, you nurse him back to health. You clean him, feed him, and give him better clothing. He doesn’t fight back. Slowly, he starts to accept his new environment and you upgrade him to a guest bedroom, but you still lock the doors and windows so he can’t escape.

The police officer comes back to flirt. You’re annoyed, but you know you need him for info. The police officer starts to get suspicious, and out of fear he’ll do something, you murder him. The murder is sort of the climax of the story.

After that whole ordeal, Jonathan has been completely conditioned by you, but the ending is open-ended. “The Doll’s Burial” is meant to represent a burial of his true self, replaced by a version you created, or, his actual death. It depends on you — do you get bored of him, is it truly an obsession? Or do you truly love him, and are willing to spend your whole life as his wife?

Tagging in case ya'll are still interested: @shroombloom-rry @madnessandobsession @henrywintersdearestgirl @hllywdwhre @your-nanas-house @ellebelleshelby @Meetmeatyourworst @hanawrites404 @Emimurphy2008

@nela-cutie

@slut4thebroken

@wild-rose-35

@madeinuk

@flwrs4aust

@httpxgray

#Jonathan Crane #Jonathan Crane x reader #Jonathan Crane x y/n #Jonathan Crane x you #the dark knight trilogy #fanfiction #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow x y/n #scarecrow x you #cillian murphy #pinguwrites

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littlemisskookie · 29 days ago

Text

Crocodile Tears: Chapter 3

Crocodile Tears: Index Ship: Stoner!Reader | Stoner!BTS Description: You accidentally eat brownies with aphrodisiacs in them. Even worse one of your asshole friends catch you reading smut to cope, and decides to airdrop your collection of your dirtiest fantasies to the rest of the house. Just your luck. Warnings: Dub-Con, Degradation, Humiliation, Free Use Kink, Dom!Yoongi, Dom!Namjoon, Sub!Reader, Objectification Roleplay, Choking, Slapping, High Sex, Intercourse, Kinkshaming?, Overstimulation, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Oral, Fingering, Exhibition, Stranger visits!!! Who will it be? Edging, Bondage, Blindfolding, Threesome, Cum-play? I mean shit she’s slept with like four dudes at least ya gotta expect it, Really just PWP somehow? They’re all very mean, like, very sadistic, lots of pet names used a lot so if you don’t like that skip, Weed Word Count: 5,433 A/N: I’m very sorry it took this long to update this. But finally I can release what was once an unfinished draft!

Lucky for your shaking legs and exhausted body, Taehyung carried you back to the house from the woods. You didn't even have to ask him, simply accepting the kisses he peppered across your face adoringly. He pulled you up and into his arms, pulling the hoodie back onto you and carrying you back to shelter. You giggled, swinging your legs a little as you wrapped your arms around his neck, giving soft kisses to his neck as a tired thank you. Whether it was for carrying you, fucking you- no, fuck it, both- he seemed to understand. He turned his head to capture your lips once you were back on the porch. He gently put you down on the couch, brushing your hair now that you guys were in better light. "How're you feeling, pretty girl?"

"Wonderful," you replied honestly, a warm buzz going through your body at his words. Something about pretty men calling you pretty as well felt so satisfying. Almost as satisfying as having sex with them.

He kissed you softly, his demeanor so sweet and endearing in comparison to how brutally he had fucked you just moments ago. You couldn't help but lean in further, wanting to deepen the kiss, to feel more of Taehyung. As though hearing your thoughts, Taehyung smiled into the kiss, slightly leaning back and forcing you to follow in desperation. "Careful," he murmured against your lips in warning. "You might get addicted."

To him or to sex, you weren't sure. Again, perhaps both. "I might be already," you whispered back, moaning softly as you feel his tongue pressing against yours sensually. "Could get used to this."

"You can come to me for this anytime, sweet girl," Taehyung grinned assuringly. "I don't think just a taste was enough."

You sputtered at that, eyes wide. "You consider that just a taste?"

Taehyung's devious smirk only deepened, confirming his words. From the corner of your eye you spot your discarded underwear being taken by Taehyung. You're suddenly embarrassingly aware of how naked you feel underneath just the oversized hoodie. You reached out towards Taehyung, but he calmly grabs your wrist to stop you. "Nah," he said smugly, grinning at your pathetic expression. "Want you to squirm all day with my cum inside of you- let the next guy find it. Besides, it means you've got to come see me again to get it back."

You guffawed at him in disbelief, shaking your head and reaching for the bong from earlier. Unfortunately, most of the bowl was already spent, and you were only able to get in perhaps three hits with Taehyung before it was dead.

"You want more?" Taehyung questioned.

"More what?" You question suspiciously. You were beginning to question if Taehyung had also eaten one of the sex brownies to keep up with your increased libido.

He laughed at that. "Weed. Go up to Namjoon's, I think he's got a bunch of his good shit in his room. He won't mind if it's you."

You felt a bit more confident about that. At worst you were going to run into Namjoon, and knowing him, he hasn't touched his phone all day. Namjoon was the type to go on about how phones were rotting people's attention spans and ruining connection- which is true, you feel as though you're an overgrown iPad kid at times- and so tries to spend as little time on it as possible. Most of the time he was on Do Not Disturb and would only bother to check a message if the person decides to notify him already. He was also notorious for being bad at responding. There was no way he was one of the people who had been dropped your secret blog. Though, with how the boys are reacting, you're not sure you'd mind.

Knowing him, he was probably lounging on one of his sofa chairs in his room and smoking. Namjoon was a big reason you guys had so much weed to spare today, as one of his hobbies was growing plants, of all kinds. His most impressive had ended up being over six feet wide alone, his green thumb proving to be one your entire group could deeply appreciate. Namjoon doubled as a dealer for many of you, though you of course got the biggest discount. No one gave you shit for it- except Jimin.

Lucky for you, you didn't run into anyone on your way up to Namjoon's room, and true to theory he was sitting in his chair, reading a book and smoking out of a pipe. It was one of those old-timey fashioned ones, a gift you specifically had given him as a joke. Truth be told, it suited him.

He looked up at you with an unsuspecting and innocent smile, giving you a breath of relief. He didn't know.

"Y/N, what's up?" Namjoon questioned unassumingly, his voice deep and raspy from smoking. Super sexy.

"Not much." Just praying you can't smell the cum I'm trying not to let dribble down my thighs. You motion to the pipe in his hand, a grin plastered on your face.. "Can I hit?"

"Of course," he responded, passing it over. Hopefully he didn't mean it for just the weed.

You gratefully took the pipe, lighting it and inhaling the smoke. God, Namjoon looked so good, with his meaty thighs spread before you like a platter. Before you knew it, dirty thoughts raced through your head as your gaze locked with the little amount of his thighs the shorts revealed. You were akin to a Victorian man seeing a woman's ankle for the first time, despite the fact that you had been fucked two ways to Sunday by two men already.

But... what will one more hurt? Who could resist sexy, charming, intellectual Kim Namjoon? He was so respectful and sweet, how could you not just suck his dick?

(How long did these fucking brownies last???)

You tried to recall your experiences with drugs before. Before your tolerance for weed had become as exceptional as it is now, you could still feel high through a "high hangover", as you and your friends called it, until the day after. When you did mushrooms it lasted for about six hours, and you couldn't sleep during the entirety of it. You wondered if the brownies would work the same way. Maybe it was the brownies dosage or your own insatiable need that left you restless for more.

"Whatcha reading?" you inquired, sitting down in the sofa chair next to his. You guys were only perhaps a foot apart, now, and when you crossed your legs and bounced your foot you could tap against him. The energy Taehyung had fucked out of you seemed to be returning.

"One of my philosophy books," he answered, taking the pipe from you to take another hit. "It's not the type you'd like."

"Mm, that's true, I'm more of a fantasy type of girl," you say. Your favorite books to read were romances in faraway lands filled with mythical beings- who you could fuck, of course. You let your foot run lightly over Namjoon's shin, hoping he'll catch on to your flirtation through the double entendre. Surely a smarty pants like him would get it.

"Are you?" Namjoon asked. "What are you into specifically?"

Just as you opened your mouth to reply, the door swung open to reveal none other than Min Yoongi.

Unlike Namjoon, the look on his face when his gaze met yours did not read as friendly and oblivious. No, instead his eyes darkened and a small smirk formed on his face as he made a beeline to the two of you. You tensed, adrenaline rushing through you as though you had been caught in the act. Your heart raced and your mind wandered in absolute panic. In a sense you were caught in the act- you probably would've jumped Namjoon's bones if he gave you an opportunity. Yoongi's smile was so similar to the one Jungkook and Taehyung had worn right before devouring you. Excited, cruel, the smile of one who already won but wanted to rub it into someone's face. Sadistic.

He knows.

"There you are, Y/N," Yoongi said with uncharacteristic cheer as he approached you. You gulped as you looked up at him, too nervous to get up from your seat. "What've you been up to?"

"O-Oh, I..." You had been so confident just second before, but now you were a stammering mess. You had lost the power play, and now you were already puddy in Yoongi's hands, and he knew it too. "I was outside."

"Is that so? That explains it. I've been looking all over for you." He slyly turned towards Namjoon. "Hey, Joon, have you seen it yet?"

You felt all the blood rush to your cheeks in embarrassment. You sat up straight to stop him, but Yoongi was too quick, lightly shoving you back at the shoulder to your seat. "No you're not, you're going to sit down and stay put."

There was no room for argument with his tone, and you almost helplessly watched as Yoongi handed Namjoon the incriminating evidence of your true nature. You looked away, not wanting to meet their accusatory stares, the humiliation causing you to squirm in your seat. You were cruelly reminded of the cum that Taehyung made you keep inside, and you realized his wishes about the next man finding his "present" may in fact come true.

"Is this yours?" Namjoon asked, and you feel shame overcome you as he directs his attention to you. There was that deep, sexy, post-smoking rasp that was now being used against you. You felt his gaze boring into the side of your head, urging you to meet his intense gaze. "Y/N?"

"Yes," you meekly answered. "It's mine."

Yoongi laughed, the snicker only further adding to your humiliation. "She airdropped this earlier. I've been scrolling through it- she's got more porn stored on her phone than a teenage boy. This must span years."

"It was-" You shot your gaze up at his, eyes wide. His eyes locked with yours, and he only smiled wider at your expression, further urging on Namjoon to explore your little blog of fantasies.

"Just look at all this degrading shit she's into, Joon. Can you believe she's into this freaky shit?" Yoongi interrupted, scrolling through the array of fanfictions you had stored on the page.

"Yoongi!" you whined almost patronizingly, immediately being cut off by Yoongi's sharp glare.

"No, no, don't you go acting so innocent. I've seen the depraved shit you've got on there. You're really into some dark shit, huh? You just want to be used like a toy, is that it?" He hooked his finger under your chin and forced you to lock your gaze with his. "Want us to do it for you?"

Your mouth suddenly went dry, leaving your mouth gaping open in surprise. Namjoon was looking at you too. He undoubtedly noticed the word us being included.

"Yes," you answered without doubt.

Yoongi and Namjoon exchanged glances, and you saw the flicker of arousal in Namjoon's eyes at your agreement. Yoongi's finger under your chin was replaced with a firm grip on your throat, and soon your back was met with the plush decorative pillows of Namjoon's neatly made bed.

"Oh, what's this?"

You yelped as your legs were spread apart, the hem of the hoodie being lifted to expose your pussy to the two men who were now before you. Namjoon pried your legs apart with firm hands, keeping them flat on the mattress to ensure you couldn't hide from them. Yoongi reached out to gingerly touch your glistening folds, thumb passing over your clit with a jolt of your hips and down to your hole, smearing the white cum Taehyung had left behind. "Seems like we weren't the first ones to have found out. Tell me, who did you let use you?"

You bit your lip in hesitation, embarrassed to admit you've already fucked Tae and Jungkook. To Yoongi this just won't do it seemed, as he laid a harsh smack down on your pussy. You whimpered, your hips jumping up, only for Namjoon to pin them back down and force your legs open again. "Best to answer him, sweetheart," Namjoon said, his gaze never leaving your cunt. It was as though he were mesmerized.

"Jungkook and Taehyung," you admitted, getting another smack from Yoongi. Perhaps this time it was in reward.

"Together?" Yoongi questioned.

You shook your head. "Separately."

Yoongi's fingers ran through your folds, gently rubbing you as he watched you get wetter under his touch. He whistled lowly. "And you still can't get enough. You've been a good toy then, haven't you? Slutting yourself out to all of us. Wanna be a good toy for me and Joonie?"

You nodded desperately, quivering in sensitivity as Yoongi smeared Taehyung's cum all over your lower lips, circling on your clit with just the right amount of pressure. "Yes! I'll be good, I swear."

"Take off your hoodie, baby," Namjoon said, assisting you and pulling it off. It was the only piece of clothing you had on, so now you were left naked before them, hickeys exposed to their wandering eyes. "Mm, you must really like it rough, huh? You liked being used tonight?"

"So much," you admitted, sighing with glee as Namjoon leans in to softly kiss you, swallowing your moans as Yoongi presses his digits hard against you, watching you squirm at the overstimulation.

"How much are you planning to get fucked tonight, Y/N?" Yoongi questioned, enjoying the way you would flush with embarrassment. "Surely even a slut like you has her limits."

You broke away from Namjoon's lips, panting softly as you keen your core closer to Yoongi's fingers. "No, not enough. I need more."

"Yeah? Need what, toy?"

"Your fingers, your tongue, your cock, both of you! Need you to fuck me with them," you babbled, wanting Yoongi's fingers to penetrate you so badly. He was so close and yet kept choosing to tease you, sometimes circling around your hole or right over to collect the slick.

"Such a greedy toy, wanting me to touch this nasty pussy." Yoongi's voice feigned disgust, but much to your delight he slipped a finger in. "Fuck, look how much is coming out already. Taehyung really made you his little cumdump, didn't he? Want me and Joonie to fuck it out of you?"

You whimpered in confirmation, but that didn't seem to be enough for Yoongi. He added another finger, curling his fingers and moving his digits up to harshly slam against your g-spot repeatedly. Heat rose to your cheeks as he quickly got you worked up. "Ask him nicely. He's doing you a favor."

Your glassy eyes turned towards Namjoon, your lower lip quivering as you felt Yoongi bring you closer to the edge. "J-Joonie, will you p-please fuck me?"

He smiled warmly at that, giving a small kiss to your temple. "Of course, baby."

The warm fuzzy feeling in your chest is only allowed to remain for a moment before Yoongi grabbed your jaw and forced you to face him. "Now," he said, voice low and sinister. "Beg me."

You swallowed in anticipation, your voice shaky. "Please, please, please fuck me, Yoongi?"

He spit on your pussy with something that seemed like contempt. "Not good enough."

Your thighs quaked in response to his movements, your eyes rolling back as you tried to ignore the building pressure in your abdomen. "I'll be such a good toy, I promise! Please use me- oh fuck!"

In the midst of your tangent Namjoon's sneaky hand trailed down your body to circle around your clit, smearing the combination of Yoongi's saliva and your wetness. That along with his teeth nipping along the shell of your ear, and you were a goner, your walls spasming around Yoongi's punishing digits. You moaned unabashedly, your back arching until you cringed from over sensitivity. You weakly pushed their hands away from your core, desperately trying to catch your breath.

Yoongi stared at you with an accomplished expression, licking his fingers to savor the reward. "I don't recall either of us giving you permission to cum. So much for being a good toy."

He swatted at your swollen folds, causing your hips to jerk up in response. "I'm sorry!" you apologized eagerly, still overly sensitive. In reward he ran his fingers over your folds, gently caressing you.

You reached down to touch him, to which he moved your hand away. "Didn't give you permission to touch me, either."

"Didn't think you were going to be such a bad girl," Namjoon crooned in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Seems like we've got a bit of a brat on our hands."

"Really pathetic that you came so easily, y'know," Yoongi taunted, now using his thumb to draw circles into your clit. "Makes me wonder how fast you'll cum on my tongue next."

He reached under your thighs to flip you on your back, with your hips raised up and knees pressed up to your chest, his hands firmly hooked under your knees. You're not given much time to interject, as soon enough Yoongi's entire mouth is enveloping your pussy. He gave tender kisses to your clit and folds, peppering a few to your inner thigh too. His tongue licked against you, going harder as he felt your thighs tense under his grip. You wanted so badly to reach down to touch him, and at the feeling of his tongue eagerly lapping at your cunt, you couldn't help it.

You regretted it the very moment you felt your hand tangle through the strands of his hair. Immediately the pleasurable feeling of his mouth on you ceased, and he's harshly slapping his hand against your pussy. "Are you fucking stupid, what did I just tell you?" He delivered a slap to your face, and Namjoon immediately reaches down to force you to turn back to Yoongi, unable to escape his angry stare. "Hold her wrists, Namjoon."

Namjoon obliged, gathering your wrists into his hand above your head, pinning them firmly against him. Yoongi immediately proceeded to return to eating you out, humming against your pussy and devouring you entirely. Your fingers curled, and you tugged against Namjoon's restraint on you. He didn't budge, though, only smirking as he saw you weakly attempt to pull your two hands out of his singular one.

Your legs clamped around Yoongi's head as you felt your second orgasm with them come embarrassingly fast. Namjoon was quick to pin one of your legs to the mattress to prevent your escape from Yoongi's tongue. "You're just determined to be a bad girl, huh?" Namjoon scoffed, shaking your head. "And we're over here being so nice to you."

Yoongi raised his head, the shine of your wetness smeared across the lower half of his face. "Seems like the toy still needs to be broken in. You got any ties in the closet, Joon?"

"Yeah, plenty. I have one that would make a good blindfold, too."

"Perfect."

Before you knew it, you were being manhandled to be tied spread eagle, one tie holding each of your limbs to one of Namjoon's four bedposts. You were robbed of your sight despite your promises of obedience, but Namjoon and Yoongi seemed to have had enough of your misbehavior. Suddenly you were impossibly more sensitive, two sets of hands roaming across your vulnerable and exposed body. You didn't know who was pinching your nipple or biting your inner thigh, and all you could do was moan and squirm. Nothing you said was going to deter them now, and based on your decision not to safe word with what Namjoon whispered to you earlier as you were being tied, they could infer you were enjoying it just as much as they were.

Someone's fingers were petting against your wet folds, smearing the wetness around your lower lips as though to get you messy as possible. Another hand had pressed down on your tongue for you to suck on, cutting off your moans for you to focus on the sounds and sensations.

Your eyes picked up on the distinct sound of footsteps nearing, and unable to warn the guys, you heard the man enter the room.

A low whistle filled the room.

"Want a closer look?" You heard Yoongi offer.

The footsteps neared closer to the bed. You shook, embarrassed that you were completely exposed to who knows who. There were only five options, and each possibility was just as anxiety-inducing as the next.

"Go ahead, she loves it," Namjoon said.

You gasped as you felt the feeling of your pussy being spread open on display by two thumbs, exposing you to the rest of the room.

"She really is wet," the newcomer said in a low chuckle. You try to tune in and listen to his voice, but with your foggy brain and almost hypnotized trance, it was hard for you to place the voice. "Has she been good?"

"Not at all." You felt a harsh smack against your mound, causing you to jolt and whine. Yoongi continued berating you. "Don't listen to her when she promises she'll be good- her mouth would be put to better use just sucking cock."

"Why am I not surprised," the newcomer sighed, as though disappointed. You couldn't help but have your cunt twitch under what felt like his patronizing stare.

"Had to tie her down just to get her to behave," Namjoon included. His voice came across as a patronizing teacher, as though he were being forced to discipline you. "After two orgasms and she's still bratty."

"Someone's gotta fix that," the stranger agreed, finally letting go of your spread pussy lips, leaving you untouched for the first time since Yoongi pounced earlier.

"Yeah. Wanna help?"

"I can help for a minute, sure."

You never dreamed you would've been able to experience six hands roaming over your body, but it was now your reality. You were overwhelmed in the most amazing way, helpless to their whims as you tugged against your restraints. One hand is pressing into your neck, choking you. Another has two fingers buried deep into you, curling up into you in tandem with the other hand cruelly pinching at your clit. Your nipples were being bitten, tugged, and roughly abused by the men using your body. At this moment you truly were just a toy for their amusement.

Yoongi laughed as he saw your eyes cross slightly, your orgasm approaching. By now he could recognize the signs. "Do you even know whose fingers are inside of you right now, Y/N? God, you really are a slut."

Your cheeks flushed under his words, whimpering as you felt your climax sneak up on you along with the shame. You didn't even know who was inside of you right now, as it could be any of the three men, one of which you still had yet to see! That only narrowed it down to... any of the seven men in the house! You wanted so badly for him to speak again so you could pick up on any clues of who he was.

"Tell you what, if you can guess correctly, maybe we'll let you cum on our cocks when we actually fuck you," Yoongi bargains.

Your mouth dropped open, trying so hard to place whose nimble digits were currently driving you crazy. It doesn't feel like how Taehyung or Jungkook had done it earlier. It could be Namjoon. Then again, maybe Yoongi was changing his technique to throw you off. Every man here seemed especially keen on having you make a fool of yourself. It felt as though the answer was on the tip of your tongue, but with the oncoming orgasm and the multitude of sensations you were feeling from the pairs of hands on you, you were unable to answer.

"I-I-" you stammered.

"Any guesses?" Yoongi further prodded. "No?"

If they could see your eyes under your blindfold, they'd see your eyes watering. "I don't know," you sniffled, admitting defeat.

Yoongi clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Slut," he chastised. "You're about to cum on some stranger's fingers like some common toy."

The stranger let out a harsh laugh. "Pathetic," he hissed.

At that moment you felt your biggest orgasm yet wash over you, the answer to your question immediately consuming your senses as you figured out who it was. The hands pinned you down to the mattress as you rode out your orgasm, shaking in their hold.

One hand was petting your hair softly in reward- no doubt Namjoon. He was pulling off your blindfold, letting you see the three men on the bed with you. You were met with a blurry sight, the light making you squint your eyes as you tried to open them. You were met with the dark and lustful gazes of Yoongi, Namjoon, and the one who had started this whole mess.

Jimin smirked, finally pulling his fingers out of your pussy, admiring the soaked and glistening digits. "Seems like you've been awfully busy, huh, Y/N? Having fun?"

You instinctively tugged onto your restraints, your struggle causing the man to laugh at you. He buried his fingers in your mouth, three digits pressing against your tongue to make you taste yourself. He forced you to nod, his eyes locked with yours.

"You're fucking loving this, huh? Like the attention?" You were allowed a gasp of air, panting as you stared into Jimin's eyes. He grins at your expression, the lust still apparent. "Always knew that was what you were really a slut for."

He pulled away to your surprise, adjusting his clothes as he walked towards the door. "You guys have your fun with her. Don't let her cum again though- I doubt she's actually listened."

With that he left the room, leaving you to your fate with the two other men before you.

Yoongi snickered, staring back at where Jimin left. "He really gets under your skin, huh? You look more flushed than ever." He sticks his thumb in your mouth, letting you suck. "Thought you two didn't get along. Why's this pussy so wet then, hm?"

"This is a-all his fault," you stammered when he pulled his thumb out.

"We should thank him then," Yoongi chuckled. "Might I suggest a tray of brownies?"

"He did say to not let her cum," Namjoon reminded him. His fingers wander to your glistening pussy, lightly brushing over your folds, seeing you twitch in sensitivity. "She has been pretty bratty, too."

"Mm, can you take your punishment then like a big girl and not cum when we use you? Toys don't cum, y'know," Yoongi purrs in your ear. "Gonna make it up to us for being a bad girl?"

"Bu- Oh!" You wince and gasp in surprise as Namjoon delivers a swat to your pussy.

He tsked with derision. "You should be grateful we're even using you. We've made you cum so much already, and you're still a brat."

"He's right." Yoongi grabbed your jaw to face you to him, your noses just centimeters apart. "Are you finally gonna be good, cutie?"

He nodded your head in his grasp for you, his fingers digging into your cheeks to make your lips pucker. "I'll be good," you responded, the words coming out funny.

"Good toy." He gave you a peck on the cheek, giving Namjoon a nod.

Namjoon let his fingers wander over your sex once again, inserting a few digits to prepare you before he started rubbing the head at your entrance. He slid it up and down, rubbing your slick all over both of you, teasing you. You let out a hiss of impatience, earning a small smack to the cheek from Yoongi. Namjoon took the hint, slowly pushing himself into you until he was buried at the hilt.

Controversial take: the first full slide in is always the most satisfying. Something about the sudden sensation of being full, really being joined, felt so perfect. It was like the first sip of a can of Coke. It's debatable which is better, though.

Namjoon started pumping into you, your body swaying with his rhythm. You tried not to think about how Namjoon's well endowed appendage was hitting that particular part of you easily. You also ignored the now familiar pressure in your gut. You also chose to ignore Yoongi's now curious fingers, his twisting and tugging at your nipples only adding to your pleasure.

"You feel so good," Namjoon rasped, his breathing uneven as he kept shoving his cock into you at full speed. "Fuck, knew you would."

"Perfect toy," Yoongi added, praising you. "Being so good for us."

"Gonna let me cum in you, Y/N?" Namjoon requested, his sweat beginning to drop down on you in droplets. "Be a good toy, yeah?"

"Mhm," you nodded eagerly, grabbing onto Yoongi as you dug your nails in, trying not to meet your climax with Namjoon's pelvis continuously grinding against your clit. "Cum in me, need it!"

Namjoon's pelvis was suddenly glued to yours, his cockhead pressing right against that sweet spot of yours as it twitched inside of you, suddenly filling out. He moaned, hunching forward near you, connecting your lips in a deep kiss as he emptied himself inside of you. "Fuckkk," he moaned against your lips, fingers curling into your hair, a tight fist formed as he finished. "So good."

"Quit hogging her." Yoongi quickly shoved Namjoon off of you after a few moments, hand smearing the cum that was now dribbling out of you back on you. "Shit, you want it so bad, huh?" He noticed how you keen at his touches. "Think you can take a little more? You slutty enough for it?"

You nodded, hips bucking as you yanked at your restraints. "Yeah, I can take it. Wanna be a good toy for you two."

"Mmm, you're so cute," Yoongi smiled, pressing into you all at once with no fanfare. You gasp at that amazing feeling of being full once again, and grind your hips up, trying to feel him move inside of you.

"Please," you begged, a pout on your lips. "Use me."

A laugh of amusement escaped his lips. "No need to plead for it, sweetie. I'll give it to you."

He angled his hips a bit and starts thrusting into you, aiming precisely. On top of that, his hand reached up to your neck, giving you that intoxicating feeling of being chocked. The blood rush and endorphins flowing through you were bringing you dangerously close to climax, but you try to distract yourself. You bit down on your lip and closed your eyes, trying not to let them cross and have your mind melt into utter bliss.

“Such a good slut, should’ve asked for this cock earlier,” Yoongi panted, sweat forming at his temples. “Would’ve given it to you any time, actually.”

You just about fluster at the compliment, tugging at all of the restraints as though to escape his dirty compliment. You felt the same way about all of them, actually.

Yoongi saw how hard you tried. "Maybe we'll let her cum one more time..."

"Thought rules were rules?" Namjoon questioned. Yoongi may have initially came off as the most sadistic at first, but it was Namjoon you really had to watch out for. He was the more twisted of the two. "Let her learn a lesson."

"Yeah, but she's so cute, just look at her," Yoongi commented. You can't help but grin at that, and decidedly so, Namjoon's hand is coming up to your clit to rub at you and help you finish. Something about that just added to it, as though he couldn't help but agree that you were just too pretty to say no to. And hey, free orgasm, who are you to turn it down.

Before you knew it, and with both of their permission, you were finishing. You were so caught up in it, especially after the somewhat brief edging curtesy of Namjoon and Jimin, you didn't even noticing Yoongi finishing as well. His moaned out as he drained every drop into you, pulling out with a satisfied expression on his face. He looked at yours, so dumbed out and breathless, as though you were finally satisfied.

The first thought that came to your head though as they untied you, (+ massaged your sore muscles, and showered you in kisses,) was that maybe you weren't just yet...

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cosmic-ghost-hermit · 5 months ago

Text

What is your hidden talent?

Hey, everyone! It would be super helpful if yall donated to my CashApp. I want to do this kind of work full-time. I have been told by people I read for that I am meant to do tarot reading. I am inclined to believe them because fr it has been so fun for me to see how much it helps yall. Way more fun than any retail/food industry job I've had. I feel like I am actually doing something substantial with my time. If yall want me to be able to continue to do this daily it would be so awesome if yall donated. Thank you guys in advance!

Donate to my CashApp Here

The decks I am using today are The Tarot of the Divine, Believe in You Own Magic Oracle and The Healing Waters Oracle. Take everything that resonates and leave the rest behind but always be open to new experiences.

___________

PILE ONE

Astrology: Leo, Virgo, Scorpio

Song: I Set Fire To The Rain by Adele

Vibes: Teal, green, yellow/gold, shear white cloth, smelling smoke, burning house, swimming, mixed drinks, hot chocolate, braided hair, locked doors, house plants, deep skin tone, 888, shells, feathers, crayons, colored hair, ares

Cards: 2 of Wands, 9 of Cups, 5 of Wands, Mural, Gold, Cleansing, Into the Unknown

Welcome in, pile 1! You have two hidden talents. One that you use rather regularly but unknowingly and the other you have yet to unlock. The energy I am getting from the cards makes me think the two talents are intertwined. ALSO Trigger Warning for abuse in this reading. It is VERY HEAVY. Do not read if you do not think you are ready.

The first hidden talent is starting new from the ground up. I know to you it might not sound that interesting. You have no idea how hard it can be to start new things for others. Starting from the ground up is scary and intimidating. Organizing the chaos in your mind and project that chaos clearly into reality. I see you are probably an artist of some kind. You might paint, make clay sculptures, or hand-make intricate jewelry of some kind. I see you learned to hone this ability because of a karmic relationship. They made you feel adored and cherished until you were in their grasp. When you were trapped with them, they turned on you. It's giving love bombing. This person literally blew up on you over the smallest things. I see a shattered tea/coffee cup. You stayed with them for a long time even though you knew what they were doing was wrong. You had to completely shred the life you had with them. You had to start your life from scratch. Which is why you are so used to the idea of starting with nothing and building up. The pain that you felt from that past connection still hurts you to this day. You probably have PTSD from the situation you were in. I am so sorry you had to go through all that. You didn't deserve to be treated like that.

The second hidden talent is transmutation. I see that the reason you haven't unlocked it yet is because you fear change. What happened to you in that shitty relationship makes it way easier for you to start over than to change the situation. You are scared to see things to the end. I see that this fear reveals itself in your artwork. You probably have many unfinished projects because you view yourself as incapable of seeing them through. Which by the way isn't true you are so capable of anything you want to do. Heal the hurt part of you that thinks you are incapable. Your ex was the one who instilled that in you. Don't let that motherfucker get you down. Especially if they aren't in your life anymore. Don't let them have that power over you, love. You deserve to feel good. Face your fear of them being right. You and I both know they aren't. When you do unlock this ability you will be able to transmute all the pain that asshole put you through into beautiful art. You will be able to finish all of those unfinished projects. You will be able to find true love within yourself. You will find that you were never broken like that bitch said you were. You were always lovely, sweet, and accommodating. You were always creating love everywhere you went.

_______

PILE TWO

Astrology: Sagittarius, Gemini, Pisces

Song: I Love Rock n Roll by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

Vibes: Navy Blue, white, peach, deer, horses, libraries, books, coffee, hot springs, scones, pillow forts, maxi-skirts, cowboys, mermaids, 333, wine, fine dining, tall trees, athena, artemis

Cards: The Hermit, 3 of Wands, Knight of Swords, Nostalgia, Stars, Water Codes, The Healing Lagoon

Hello, pile 2! You have one secret power but trust me it's a good one. You have the ability to pull information out of thin air. You are crazy smart. People might not think it when they look at you because you try not to flaunt it too wildly. You prefer to stay under the radar when it comes to intellect. This makes people underestimate you. I feel that some of yall reading like this for various reasons but others really fucking hate it. You have some insecurity around this skill. That's why you don't think it is a good skill tbh. You think a lot on the go even while in conversation which makes people see you as kind of ditzy. Even so, you absolutely obliterate at trivia night. Your friends come to you first when they need obscure information. You might have been a really lonely kid and spent a lot of your time reading away the time. For a big chunk of your childhood you found your companionship in novels. You may have been bullied for this. Don't let those people's words get you down. Honestly, they were just jealous of your intelligence. The friends you have now love to hear you infodump about your favorite books. They love to hear everything you know about sea creatures and astrology/astronomy. They ask questions not to mock you but because they genuinely are interested in what you have to say. You are magnificent. Your mind is unparalleled. How people perceive you has nothing to do with what is actually happening in your mind. It is just their projections of themselves onto you. Ignore them lmao. <3

________

PILE THREE

Astrology: Cancer, Taurus, Libra

Song: Stay by Zedd

Vibes: All shades of blue, creeks, hanging flowers, 9999, faires, watermelon, paint-brush, rabbits, bird chips, car horn, pearls, lily pads, walking in the rain, lanterns, puppies, beaches, zues

Cards: Queen of Cups, Page of Cups, Ace of Wands, 9 of Pentacles, Raindrops, Stagnant Waters, Light House

My dear pile 3, welcome to your reading. You have a hidden ability that I feel is only hidden from you. Everyone else seems to know this about you. You have the power of hospitality and refuge. You are a safe place for everyone you know to come to if they need it. You are the type of person to tell everyone you know if they need a place to stay for any reason, all they gotta do is ask. You have a motherly energy about you, even if you aren't a woman. You always have emergency snacks for occasions like that. You host parties and everyone always leaves feeling 10 times better than when they arrived. You are the friend that lends a hand when needed. You the kind of person to have a shoulder ready for anyone to lean on, even if you don't know them well. The most beautiful thing about this is that these actions are never self-sacrificing. You have an abundance of all that you need so you can be generous constantly to those in need. I see you resting when necessary and listening to your body. I see you volunteering in your community. I think recently you helped clean up a beach or something. Maybe you organized it? Your energy is so soothing. You are just amazing, my friend. Absolutely the softest heart on earth. I also see you might foster animals! You take in rescue animals and nurse them back to health until they can find a forever home. ;n; You are the definition of an earth angel. Please see how amazing you are and how big your heart is. I wanna be your friend so bad from hearing all of this. Never stop being this beautiful of a soul, my dear. You are perfect.

_________

PILE FOUR

Astrology: Aries, Capricorn, Aquarius

Song: Black Girl Magic by Londrelle

Vibes: Cyan, yellow, rusty red, iridescent, sake, 4c hair, magic, spell casting, curse breaking, singing, tea, pottery, steam-train, festivals, celebration, 963, small forests, mercury/hermes, lambs, Oshun

Cards: The Star, Ace of Cups, 2 of Cups, 6 of Swords, 7 of Wands, Tower, Spaceship, Thank You

PILE 4, WOW. Welcome. Your energy is just sooo woah. You are so indescribable. All that you have been through. Everything you have seen. All I can say is, wow. Your secret power is balance. It is a well-earned hidden ability. You have been through so much to gain the skills that I see in this reading. You have traveled so far. When I first looked at the reading I could not pin down exactly what skill you had because you are just so good at EVERYTHING. I legitimately out loud said, "Everything??? Everything." You know how to take care of yourself. You are an excellent lover. If you are a parent you are good at that too. You are chasing your dreams. I see you performing as a singer or a musician and your talent stuns everyone in the room. You are the best manifester in a 20 miles radius. You are a witch for sure. You have worked so hard on breaking karmic familial curses and you succeeded. You succeeded far past your soul's initial expectations. You are everything, my love. Like literally everything. Then it hit me. You are a tightrope walker. You are balancing everything perfectly. Have you ever heard of Rock Cairns? They are stacks of rocks that hikers add to as they pass by on park trails. You have turned your life into something like that. You have perfectly balanced every stone you passed in your life in a pile and you manage it all on your own. First off, I want to tell you what a good job you are doing. What a good job you have been doing since you were born. Second thing, PLEASE REST WHEN YOU NEED IT OHMYGODS. You don't need me to tell you that though. You are probably smoking a joint right fucking now while reading this or you just got done doing that. No notes, baby. You got this. I just think Spirit wanted to remind you of your magnificence.

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crepesuzette2023 · 9 months ago

Note

Hi, I would love recs for mclennon fics dripping in sexual tension, like six hours in August by stonedlennon. It doesn't need to have explicit sexual content. Thank you!

Thank you so, so much for this ask—this is a category of fiction I personally enjoy *a lot* (imagine Paul's "I slept with John..." pronunciation).

Here are some favorites that came to my mind. Some have sex on the page, others do not; I remember all of these as having excellent Tension™. I hope you find something you like here! Young J/P:

Streets of Your Town (@with-eyes-closed): Sensual. The upheaval in young Paul's mind as he falls in love with music and John, without putting a name to it. As of yet unfinished, but it's so good I rec it anyway, because it's...[read to find out, take a fan]

All I Know Since Yesterday (RedheadAmongWolves): Paul and John's first kiss at Paul's, after long, sweet hours of trembling fear/excitement. Paul POV.

The Way Things Sometimes Are (@paisanas): Young John is troubled and pining for Paul. Paul is mesmerizing through his eyes.

now and then (there's a fool such as I) (@stonedlennon): The Nerk Twins take the bus to Caversham and share a bed. You can smell the summer grass and the sweaty leathers...

(Ain't no cure for the) summertime blues (orphan_account): John and Paul alone on a hot summer day.

The Photograph (thinkpink20): John finds a Photograph Mike took of Paul and notices...things.

Hamburg:

ageless children, animal sweat (eyeball2eyeball): Read this story to spend time in John's throbbing, unhinged Hamburg mind. No sex on the page, and yet. It's *everywhere*. For such a short story, it takes up a lot of room in my brain. The Paul in this story is one of my favorite Pauls.

Sinful City (thinkpink20). Days and Nights in Hamburg. Paul needs John, and stops questioning things.

In Margaret Asher's music room:

Tell You Something (@louiselux). Lennon and McCartney write "I Want to Hold Your Hand." The tension rises.

In or near Paul's Geodesic Dome:

shotgunning (@pauls1967moustache): John and Paul languidly try something new...

Chrysalis (cloudy_blue): Tension in 1967. Hypnotic and stylish, I love it.

Stop all the Clocks (@javelinbk): After Brian's death, John and Paul retreat to Scotland. Grief and awakening ensue...slowly and sweetly.

Greece:

Way Up Top (@boshemians). Snapshots of J/P desire and spiraling doubts, contained in the Beatles' trip to Greece to buy an island.

Nineteen Sixty-Eight:

Outro (bakerstreetafternoon). From the Summary: 'Had it been this tension that had kept them together? Had it always?'

Bad Luck to Talk (7intheevening): Paul chats with JohnandYoko at a party and follows them home for a cup of tea. What hurts more exquisitly than pining? Unacknowledged pining.

John I'm Only Dancing (@skylikeaflame): Amidst the insanity of the Mad Day Out, desire erupts relentlessly.

The 70's as they should have been:

Down on the Farm (RosalindBeatrice): Incredibly hot and realistic (and funny in just right amounts!). John visits Paul in Nashville; Paul shows off Wings and the family, John stays the night. Dot dot dot.

I can only speak my mind (@paisanas): John's diaries are leaked to the press and printed; Paul reads them. What follows is the sexual awakening of James Paul McCartney as he reads of John's feelings for him. First rate pining, past and present.

I still miss someone/ I know that I miss you, but I don't know where I stand/ close the door lightly when you go (RosalindBeatrice): John and Paul meet in 1976. There is a spark. Few and far between meetings follow.

The Other Eighties (John lives and experiences sexual tension with Paul):

and when broken bodies are washed ashore (who am i to ask for more) (wardo wedidit): John divorces Yoko and visits Paul in Scotland. Soul searching and relationship mending.

The Birthday Party (@merseydreams): John and Paul meet at Ringo's Birthday Party. There is only one bed.

Tension through the Years:

Smoke Gets in Your Eyes (@savageandwise). John is turned on by Paul smoking. 1958—1969.

#asks #fic recs #tension fic recs #mclennon #mclennon fanfiction #mclennon fic #tension #pining #slow burn #all the good things #beatles fanfiction

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abbysimsfun · 13 days ago

Text

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 87 (Ghost Night at the Salty Paws Saloon)

Though rare for bars to welcome ghosts with discounted prices, the Salty Paws Saloon in Fisherman's Wharf wanted to embrace any form of sim who dared spend simoleons at their middling establishment.

Their new Ghost Night was an experiment promoted in the Ambrosia Society's final newsletter, and Heather and Conrad had come on a mission of their own.

"You really think it's possible the man you met outside the historical museum could be here?" wondered Heather. "At Ghost Night?"

Conrad shrugged. "I haven't seen or heard trace of him since that night, and without his name I don't know how to find him. Besides, you're the one who suggested he might be a ghost."

"Yeah, but I was kidding."

Brindleton Bay had little in the way of nightlife. The Calico Lounge and Yacht Club down the road was where higher society danced and socialized, but spending the night surrounded by ghosts in a dive bar was just fine for Heather and Conrad.

In the early days of their relationship, when Ash was still a baby, they'd come here after watching seals at the pier. They'd share a basket of fries and maybe watch a sportsball game or two on the big screen. It was even where Ash learned to pull himself up to stand, and would always be a sentimental place for them.

Now with busy careers, two kids, and the added stress Conrad tried to keep to himself, it had been too long since they'd been out together. Considering their laid-back dating style, it was unsurprising they'd chosen such an untraditional night out.

Conrad pulled out his phone so they could mug for a selfie. "After everything we've seen with the Ambrosia Society newsletters, are you not just a little curious?"

"Of course I am. I want you to find an answer to at least one mystery taking up space in your mind. You're so stressed lately with work, the kids, and now with George Brindleton, closing the book on something would be good. And I want to help you, like always. It's just...What are you going to do if you find out the old man is a ghost?"

"Find out what he wants, I guess? His unfinished business."

They were both a little hungry, but the food at the Salty Paw was usually terrible, so they settled for sharing a bowl of chips from seats at the bar. The place filled first with human patrons, but as the night wore on, several ethereal beings floated into the pub.

One took a seat at the empty barstool to Heather's right. He gave them both respectful nods, and they returned the polite greeting, unsure what to say next. What sort of small talk were you supposed to make with a ghost?

But this man took an immediate interest in Heather, taking care of the small talk on his own. "Good evening, miss. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My friends call me Felix Psyded, Esquire. Lawyer, entrepreneur, and founder of the University of Britechester."

Conrad smirked. "They call you all that? I think I remember reading urban legends about you when I was in college."

"I've read them. None are true. I haven't stayed haunting the halls of my own university. I've been trying to visit as many places as I could."

"As a ghost?"

Felix turned up his nose at Conrad's surprise. "And what do your friends call you?"

"My friends call me Conrad. Pretty much everyone else calls me Sargent Gordon."

"Well, Sargent, what brings you out to pay full price for drinks on a night for sims in my predicament? Are you here to remember lost souls in the spirit of the day? Maybe a war hero?"

"My fiancee, Heather, and I are on a date tonight."

"And we're looking for someone. He might be a ghost. If he is...maybe you know him?"

The ethereal lawyer nodded warmly. "Miss Heather, I've been a ghost for many years and I've met many like me. What's his name?"

"That's the thing, we don't know it. He said he's lived in Brindleton Bay all his life, came out of the museum and offered to show Conrad around the lighthouse after hours."

"It's hard to get far without a name, and I haven't spent that much time here over the years. What does he look like?"

"Well, he's not...translucent," said Conrad. "He's elderly, tanned skin, wavy hair, mustache...I met him once outside the historical museum but I haven't seen him since. I haven't been able to get out to Deadgrass Isle much lately, either, but no one at the museum knows him, and I'm starting to think if he's not a ghost, I imagined him completely."

Felix sniffed. "Sounds very generic. Maybe it is all in your head."

"Forget it. I don't see him here, anyway."

"I'm not saying I couldn't help you. I've become a bit of a ghost historian in the many, many years since I expired."

"Why haven't you crossed over?" asked Heather. "Do you have unfinished business?"

"I most certainly do! Today is the anniversary of my death - I died all the way back in 1915, before this day was even known as Remembrance Day. And I came here to drink myself into a stupor so I can forget how I died far too soon."

"Your unfinished business is to just drink your pain away every year?"

"No, Sargent. I pine for the life I could have lived! I had just opened the University of Britechester with a ribbon-cutting ceremony and the linguistics professor told a very good joke. I laughed harder than I intended. You might say I became hysterical - very unbecoming in my day - and the next thing I knew, the Grim Reaper himself was offering to help me cross over. I told him thank you, but no thank you. Even if I couldn't live as a human, I wasn't going anywhere."

"That's a terrible reason to die, because something was funny," said Heather, as she and Conrad both took a drink of their cream colas in perfect sync. But Conrad finished his in a single gulp, and Heather noticed.

Felix sighed. "That's not even the saddest part. When I died, I lost my love. She remarried another man and had a family and all but forgot me, while I spent her years on earth unable to move on. She's spending her afterlife with her husband, and I can't say I blame her..."

"That's rough," acknowledged Conrad. "I'm sorry."

"I would be willing to keep helping you, if you can point me in the direction of someone who's here for the Ambrosia Society. I've heard the Watcher's put an end to emotional deaths, and I can laugh as hard as I like without keeling over a second time! I was hoping to finally meet someone who can make ambrosia."

Heather smiled. "I could do that. I've learned how! I haven't made it yet, but we have the ingredients. We took the society up on their challenge for our own reasons, but we could always get more ingredients later. Will you help us figure out the identity of the old man at the museum if I make you some ambrosia?"

"I would be honoured to help you, Miss Heather. Though I do have one more imposition to place on you. Would you allow me to stay in your home tonight? Brindleton Bay has little in the way of empty rooms, and I would only ask for a humble sofa to rest."

Conrad wavered. His phone beeped and he checked the call display, cringing when he recognized the San Myshuno area code in the unlisted number.

"Is that work?" asked Heather. "Do you need to answer that?"

Ximena had finally returned the call he'd placed yesterday in frustration, but she'd waited until the evening, when he was more likely to be with his family. He put the phone back in his pocket. Ximena would have to wait, and Rafa, too. Wherever he was.

"It's not work. It's an unlisted number, probably just spam." He turned to their new ghostly acquaintance with a frown. "Listen, we've got kids at home, Mr. Psyded."

"Esquire. Felix Psyded, Esquire," complained the apparition. "And I'm very good with children. I'd like to have one or two of my own someday, should I get to live again."

Heather and Conrad stood to speak quietly. "Ash and Lavender will both be in bed by the time we get home," she reasoned.

"And when the kids wake up in the morning?"

"Maybe...maybe meeting a real ghost is how I can start talking to Ash about life and death. He's so smart - too smart for his own good sometimes, I think. But if he learns about ambrosia and death flowers now, maybe one day if he ever hears about the curse, it'll all be easier to talk about."

Felix poked his head in with interest. "Who's curse?"

Conrad snapped his head back. "Just a minute, Felix Psyded, Esquire."

"You're not having a very good night. Are you, Sargent?"

"I did notice you kept giving moon eyes to my fiancee."

"Both of you, stop! We'd be happy to have you over tonight, Mr. Psyded. Esquire. But please don't get off on the wrong foot with Conrad or come home and scare our kids."

"You have my word, I won't possess a single piece of furniture!"

They spent a few more hours meeting several ghosts who made their way to the bar for cheap drinks, hoping against hope that the man from the museum might eventually turn up. But after midnight, they gave up waiting and settled their tab, bringing a giggling Felix with them.

"I'm so excited, I'm vibrating. Can you hear me?"

But Heather and Conrad were quieter. She knew something was bothering him, and she wanted to know what it was. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: I didn't initially set out to schedule this post on Remembrance Day. This is just where the last week of Reaper Rewards stuff fit in my existing storyline, but how fitting, in a way. 🌺

NOTE 2: On one hand, Conrad should be romancing her extra hard considering he's lying, but if he tries over-romancing unflirty Heather she'll know something's up even more strongly. So they get a dive bar date night to fulfill the last tasks of the Reaper Rewards challenge.

#sims 4 #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 screenshots #sims 4 legacy #sims in bloom #ts4 #ts4 gameplay #ts4 legacy #ts4 screenshots #sims 4 story #ts4 story #legacy challenge #sims legacy #ts4 legacy challenge #gen 2 #brindleton bay #reapers rewards #felix psyded

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anghraine · 4 months ago

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Hi! Can you explain what really the power of foresight was with Faramir? I read the books earlier this year and I don't really quite understand it. He could predict the future? Like he would see it in his dreams? But how did he found out from Gollum that he was taking frodo and sam to cirith ungol and that he had committed murder before?

No problem, it's one of my favorite topics!

The concise explanation: I think Faramir's foresight/aftersight in terms of visions is a largely separate "power" from his ability to bring his strength of mind and will to bear on other people and animals, and to resist outside influence. The visions seem more a matter of broad sensitivity, something Faramir doesn't appear to have much if any control over. The second power is (in our terms) essentially a form of direct telepathy, limited in some ways but still very powerful, and I think this second ability is what Faramir is using with Gollum.

The really long version:

In my opinion, Faramir (or Denethor, Aragorn, etc) doesn't necessarily read thoughts like a book, particularly not with a mind as resistant as Gollum's. Faramir describes Gollum's mind in particular as dark and closed, it seems unusually so—

"There are locked doors and closed windows in your mind, and dark rooms behind them," said Faramir.

Still, Gollum is unable to entirely block Faramir's abilities. In LOTR, it does not seem that Gollum can fully block powerful mental abilities such as Faramir's, though his toughness and hostility does limit what Faramir can see. (Unfinished Tales, incidentally, suggests iirc that Denethor's combination of "great mental powers" and his right to use the Anor-stone allowed him to telepathically get the better of Saruman through their palantíri, a similar but greater feat.) I imagine that this is roughly similar to, but scaled down from, Galadriel's telepathic inquiries of even someone as reluctant to have her in his mind as Boromir, given that Faramir is able to still see some things in Gollum's mind, if with more difficulty than usual.

(WRT Boromir ... ngl, if I was the human buffer between Denethor and Faramir, I would also not be thrilled about sudden telepathic intrusions from basically anyone, much less someone I had little reason to trust.)

Disclaimer: a few years after LOTR's publication, Tolkien tried to systematize how this vague mystical telepathy stuff really works. One idea he had among many, iirc, was that no unwilling person's mind could be "read" the ways that Gollum's is throughout LOTR. IMO that can't really be reconciled w/ numerous significant interactions in LOTR where resistance to mental intrusion or domination is clearly variable between individuals and affected by personal qualities like strength of will, basic resilience, the effort put into opposition, supernatural powers, etc. And these attempts at resistance are unsuccessful or only partially successful on many occasions in LOTR (the Mouth of Sauron, for one example, is a Númenórean sorcerer in the book who can't really contend with Aragorn on a telepathic level). So I, personally, tend to avoid using the terminology and rationales from that later systematized explanation when discussing LOTR. And in general, I think Tolkien's later attempts to convert the mystical, mysterious wonder of Middle-earth into something more "hard magic" or even scientific was a failed idea on a par with Teleporno. Others differ!

In any case, when Gollum "unwillingly" looks at Faramir while being questioned, the creepy light drains from his eyes and he shrinks back while Faramir concludes he's being honest on that specific occasion. Gollum experiences physical pain when he does try to lie to Faramir—

"It is called Cirith Ungol." Gollum hissed sharply and began muttering to himself. "Is not that its name?" said Faramir turning to him. "No!" said Gollum, and then he squealed, as if something had stabbed him.

I don't think this is a deliberate punishment from Faramir—that wouldn't be like him at all—and I don't think it's the Ring, but simply a natural consequence of what Faramir is. Later, Gandalf says of Faramir's father:

"He can perceive, if he bends his will thither, much of what is passing in the minds of men ... It is difficult to deceive him, and dangerous to try."

So, IMO, Faramir's quick realization that Gollum is a murderer doesn't come from any vision of the future or past involving Gollum—that is, it's not a deduction from some event he's seen. Faramir does not literally foresee Gollum's trick at Cirith Ungol. His warning would be more specific in that case, I think. What he sees seems to be less detailed but more direct and, well, mystical. Faramir likely doesn't know who exactly Gollum murdered or why or what any of the circumstances were. Rather, Gollum's murderousness and malice are visible conditions of his soul to Faramir's sight. Faramir doesn't foresee the particulars of Gollum's betrayal—but he can see in Gollum's mind that he is keeping something back. Faramir says of Gollum:

"I do not think you are holden to go to Cirith Ungol, of which he has told you less than he knows. That much I perceived clearly in his mind."

Meanwhile, in a letter written shortly before the publication of LOTR, Tolkien said of Faramir's ancestors:

They became thus in appearance, and even in powers of mind, hardly distinguishable from the Elves

So these abilities aren't that strange in that context. Faramir by chance (or "chance") is, like his father, almost purely an ancient Númenórean type despite living millennia after the destruction of Númenor (that destruction is the main reason "Númenóreanness" is fading throughout the age Faramir lives in). Even less ultra-Númenórean members of Denethor's family are still consistently inheriting characteristics from their distant ancestor Elros, Elrond's brother, while Faramir and Denethor independently strike Sam and Pippin as peculiarly akin to Gandalf, a literal Maia like their ancestress Melian:

“Ah well, sir,” said Sam, “you [Faramir] said my master had an elvish air; and that was good and true. But I can say this: you have an air too, sir, that reminds me of, of—well, Gandalf, of wizards.”

He [Denethor] turned his dark eyes on Gandalf, and now Pippin saw a likeness between the two, and he felt the strain between them, almost as if he saw a line of smouldering fire drawn from eye to eye, that might suddenly burst into flame.

Meanwhile, Faramir's mother's family is believed to be part Elvish, a belief immediately confirmed when Legolas meets Faramir's maternal uncle:

At length they came to the Prince Imrahil, and Legolas looked at him and bowed low; for he saw that here indeed was one who had elven-blood in his veins. "Hail, lord!" he [Legolas] said. "It is long since the people of Nimrodel left the woodlands of Lórien, and yet still one may see that not all sailed from Amroth’s haven west over water."

In addition to that, Faramir's men believe he's under some specific personal blessing or charm as well as the Númenórean/Elvish/Maia throwback qualities. It's also mentioned by different groups of soldiers that Faramir can exercise some power of command over animals as well as people. Beregond describes Faramir getting his horse to run towards five Nazgûl in real time:

"They will make the Gate. No! the horses are running mad. Look! the men are thrown; they are running on foot. No, one is still up, but he rides back to the others. That will be the Captain [Faramir]: he can master both beasts and men."

Then, during the later retreat of Faramir's men across the Pelennor:

At last, less than a mile from the City, a more ordered mass of men came into view, marching not running, still holding together. The watchers held their breath. "Faramir must be there," they said. "He can govern man and beast."

Tolkien said of the ancient Númenóreans:

But nearly all women could ride horses, treating them honourably, and housing them more nobly than any other of their domestic animals. The stables of a great man were often as large and as fair to look upon as his own house. Both men and women rode horses for pleasure … and in ceremony of state both men and women of rank, even queens, would ride, on horseback amid their escorts or retinues … The Númenóreans trained their horses to hear and understand calls (by voice or whistling) from great distances; and also, where there was great love between men or women and their favorite steeds, they could (or so it is said in ancient tales) summon them at need by their thought alone. So it was also with their dogs.

Likely the same Númenórean abilities were used for evil by Queen Berúthiel against her cats. In an interview with Daphne Castell, Tolkien said:

She [Berúthiel] was one of these people who loathe cats, but cats will jump on them and follow them about—you know how sometimes they pursue people who hate them? I have a friend like that. I’m afraid she took to torturing them for amusement, but she kept some and used them—trained them to go on evil errands by night, to spy on her enemies or terrify them.

The more formal version of the Berúthiel lore recurs in Unfinished Tales:

She had nine black cats and one white, her slaves, with whom she conversed, or read their memories, setting them to discover all the dark secrets of Gondor, so that she knew those things "that men wish most to keep hidden," setting the white cat to spy upon the black, and tormenting them.

Faramir, by contrast, has a strong aversion to harming/killing animals for any reason other than genuine need, but apparently quite similar basic abilities. He typically uses these abilities to try to compassionately understand other people or gather necessary information, rather than for domination or provoking fear. Even so, Faramir does seem to use his mental powers pretty much all the time with no attempt to conceal what he's doing—he says some pretty outlandish things to Frodo and Sam as if they're very ordinary, but it doesn't seem that most people he knows can do all these things. This stuff is ordinary to him because it flows out of his fundamental being, not because it's common.

It's not clear how much fine control he has, interestingly. This is more headcanon perhaps, but I don't feel like it's completely under his control, even while it's much more controlled than things like Faramir's vision of Boromir's funeral boat, his frequent, repeated dreams of Númenor's destruction, the Ring riddle dream he received multiple times, or even his suspiciously specific "guess" of what passed between Galadriel and Boromir in Lothlórien. Yet his more everyday mental powers do seem to involve some measure of deliberate effort in a lot of the instances we see, given the differing degrees of difficulty and strain we see with the powers he and Denethor exhibit more frequently and consistently.

This is is also interesting wrt Éowyn, because Tolkien describes Faramir's perception of her as "clear sight" (which I suspect is just Tolkien's preferred parlance for "clairvoyance"). Faramir perceives a lot more of what's going on with Éowyn than I think he had materially observable evidence for—but does not see everything that's going on with her by any means. He seems to understand basically everything about her feelings for Aragorn, more than Éowyn herself does, but does not know if she loves him [Faramir].

I'm guessing that it's more difficult to "see" this way when it's directly personal (one of the tragedies of his and Denethor's relationship is that their shared mental powers do not enable either to realize how much they love each other). But it also doesn't seem like he's trying to overcome Éowyn's mental resistance the way he was with Gollum, and possibly Frodo and Sam—he does handle it a bit differently when it's not a matter of critical military urgency. With Éowyn, he sees what his abilities make clear to him, is interested enough to seek out Merry (and also perceive more than Merry says, because Faramir has never been a normal person one day in his life) but doesn't seem to really push either of them.

So I tend to imagine that with someone like Faramir, Denethor, Aragorn etc, we're usually seeing a relatively passive, natural form of low-grade telepathy that simply derives from their fundamental nature and personalities (as we see in Faramir with Éowyn, possibly Faramir with Aragorn). That can be kicked up to more powerful, forceful telepathy via active exertion of the will (as described by Gandalf wrt Denethor's ability to "bend[] his will thither" to see what passes in others' minds, and seen with Faramir vs Gollum, Aragorn vs the Mouth of Sauron, more subtly Faramir vs Denethor). At a high point of strain this can be done very aggressively or defensively (Denethor vs Gandalf, Denethor vs Saruman, Denethor vs Sauron seriously is there a Maia that man won't fight, Faramir vs the Black Breath given his completely unique symptoms that Aragorn attributes to his "staunch will", possibly Aragorn vs the Black Breath in a healing capacity...).

Anyway, I hope these massive walls of text are helpful or interesting! Thanks for the ask :)

#honestly hilarious that first age men straight-up lie to the fëanorians and nobody has any idea #gollum says a one-word falsehood to faramir and starts screaming. some people are just made different i guess #(more seriously i think these abilities are so different between lotr and the silm because of narrative structure and functions #faramir and denethor aren't insignificant but are placed in such a way that their abilities support lotr's structural integrity #rather than breaking the logic of the story the way really-good-at-telepathy fëanorians would #...hence the awkwardness of finding something for galadriel and celeborn to be doing lmao. the real problem children of tolkien lore!#aragorn /is/ central enough to cause problems but his abilities are less specifically focused on telepathy so it works #i bet random citizens of pelargir felt that berúthiel's very faramir-ish abilities were absolutely OP though #...justice for gondorian cats honestly. i know tolkien was weird about feline life but i choose to believe faramir is a friend to cats)#anghraine babbles #legendarium blogging #legendarium fanwank #anon replies #respuestas #faramir #jewel of the seashore #húrinionath #denethor #sméagol #lord of the rings #jrr tolkien #anghraine's meta #long post #the letters of jrr tolkien #nature of middle earth #berúthiel #anghraine's headcanons #éowyn

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gretavanmoon · 4 months ago

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an omnipresent force•

hey friends, so in recent days I've realized that Tumblr is nothing but an open place to dump our wild, running thoughts, right? a place to express our art and let creativity flow in its rawest form, whether or not the work is unfinished or tied up with a big red bow. my docs is littered with unfinished ideas and half-written junk, and they're just sitting there. why? they're collecting dust, and I don't like dust.

ive consulted with my nearest and dearests on if this thought process is wack or not, and they don't think it's TOO wack, I hope. but anyways, here's a little preview of something I started a long time ago. It's got a couple chapters complete, a couple outlined, but it has no end in sight. and I don't really care. I wanna share it, because I love it, and completing multi-book works is a feat I'm familiar with from writing the Vigilance & Valor worlds, and without @gretavangroupie encouraging me to write like the wind, those things would STILL be sitting in our docs COLLECTING DUST (with absolutely no fault to her stamina, but by fault of mine lol)

so I'm gonna post this, it's messy and unfinished and kind of unedited, because who cares? we read for indulgence and escapism, and we write for the same reasons.

maybe I'll finish this one day, maybe I won't. nevertheless, enjoy it my loves ;)

also ily so much @builtbybrokenbells & @farfromthehomelands for the encouragements

Warnings: Mentions of Death & Dying, Pain, Loss, Crying

•

“Do you remember it, Y/N? Do you? Are all of your memories still alive? Do not ever let your mind be one to settle, my love. You know that. That is essential.”

His voice is strangled and pained as he tries to speak quietly in the shadows that have fallen across the large room, pushing his words out with haste as his eyes scan behind me. Waiting, anticipating someone to come unnoticed into the room with us. I take sight of his rigid and shaking body laid out across the cot, the white sheet wrapped around his freezing self.

"What did they give you, Paps? What did they drop into your eyes?" I beg. His pupils are dilated and the whites of them are now a deep red, swollen and blotchy as he struggles to focus in on me.

"My memories, my love... they've tried to take them. But the rash, it's taking me faster..." he moans.

His calloused hands desperately grab at mine, the beds of his fingernails torn and caked with dirt. “Promise me you’ll never forget… the things we thought we’d have forever are long gone, now, and we’re never getting them back. Keep your memories, Y/N, think about everything that you can, often. Speak them, share them- but only when you know you’re surrounded by those you can trust. Otherwise, keep them within yourself, and use them to keep going. Keep pushing through to the next sunrise…” His wrinkled and bruised palm then rests gently across my chest as it heaves with sorrow and exhaustion. I can’t stop this… There’s nothing more I can do for him…

“I won’t, I won’t ever forget…” My promise feels futile in the moment as I croak the words out, but I know that I will take charge of myself and bring it to fruition when the time is right. When I don’t feel as though I’m going to drown in my own tears as they feel like puddles around me. When my chest isn’t weighed down with the guilt of leaving him behind without a proper burial. When my body isn’t begging me to run as fast as I can.

I squeeze his hand.

“We’ve never seen times this dark, my love, and I fear that you will be the one to see them even darker. But don’t fret, darkness is only the absence of light. And where there is light, there is love. Never let yourself forget.” A quick and tight smile ghosts my lips as I remember his favorite song. “The photos, the books, the songs… sing them all the time. Keep the melodies alive, and don’t ever let yourself forget the words.”

His fingers drift down the line of ink that paints my forearm, each tattoo a memory of times that we will never get back, sounds that we will never hear again unless we sing them out loud, hoping that our memories serve us right. His sullen eyes snap to me again as we both hear a crash in the room behind us. I rip my sleeve back down to cover my arm. Nothing to show my identity.

My body urges itself to prepare to run, and though he knows that I must, he pulls me back down to speak to me again, his voice still hushed and dry as his body wracks with pain.

“Remember when you were a child, no bigger than a grasshopper, and I’d sit you on my knee, teaching you how to put the needle on the record so you’d always have the ability? And how we’d sing the songs together, and I’d play the melodies on the piano… you’d dance, oh my love, you’d dance!”

“I remember, of course I do!” I cry through a weakened smile, the memory of standing on his feet as he twirled me across the firelit living room now feeling like it was a thousand years ago.

“Never cease your movements, my sweet.” His eyes scan behind us again, his weak hands squeezing mine in return. “Move until your muscles are sore, move until your feet are tough and hardened. Keep your body in good health, because in turn your mind will act along with it. Remember the trees, remember the clouds. The grass, the streams, the way the air smells before a rain, keep it all…memorize it. Categorize, record, and repeat. Your grandmother’s recipes, they’re still in the book. Her plant descriptions, her foraging tools, her gardening plans… study them, Y/N. Memorize. I’ve taught you well, we all have, you must seek and find what’s on the other side of this, my love. You’re prepared, it’s up to you. Find your clan, sweetheart. This isn’t the end. Many have forgotten what the emotion feels like, by now. But you know what love is. Track it down, and hold onto it with everything you’ve got left. Do you hear me? Love, honey. There are more of us. The good ones, they're still left. Find them. Find them!”

I nod harshly as the noise behind us crashes again, likely pulling down my makeshift barrier of tables and chairs. His breathing is weakened, and his chest rattles with a sound no man should ever make.

“They can take our things, but they can’t take our memories. Ever.” He taps the side of his temple with one finger. He knows just as well as I do that they can take our memories, and they have. They've already begun to take his. But his immunity to their drugs and schemes still proves itself strong, just like mine does.

“Share them, please… pass them along, and remember the memories that others share with you, too. You’ve always had the biggest heart of all of us, don’t try and argue with me. You’ve got more wit in your little finger than we all had from our heads to our toes. And any of us would have willingly admitted that, my sweet. Go- get out of here, while you still can. Remember my words, my love. Our history can’t be unwritten if you keep it here, in your heart.” His frail, bruised fingers tap my chest again as if to remind me where my heart sits, still beating with strength as his struggles to pump his blood supply. “Run, love, go! And don’t even think about turning back for me. I’ll have taken my last breath before you even cross the threshold.

I love you, you love me.”

As I bring his hands up to my trembling lips, I feel the coldness of them like I’ve never felt before, as if they had been sitting in a bowl of ice water. The sound behind me crashes again, this time louder, and I know they are getting closer to us, now. I kiss his digits and smooth his silver hair back, whispering out a choked ‘I love you back’ before I turn and let my feet carry me toward the light peeking from under the towering double metal doors.

I hear his voice in the distance, crackled but still just as powerful as the man that made it.

“Remember, your memories are your own. Go and find the good ones, Y/N! Find them!"

•

Taglist:

@gretavangroupie @britney-gvf @sacredstarcatcher @wetkleenex-gvf @farfromthehomelands @takenbythemadness @writingcold @builtbybrokenbells @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @fleet-of-fiction @milkgemini @gvfpal @ageofcj@dancingcarbon @highway-tuna @stardustjake @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @gvfmarge @gracev0609 @myleftsock @literal-dead-leaf @peaceloveunitygvf @ageofbajabule @slut4lando @jordie-gvf @sadiechar @tinydancer40 @rosabellagvf @capnjaket @lyndz2names @thetroublegetssoloud71 @gretavanomens @spark-my-nature @josh-iamyour-mama @anythingforjtk @alwaysonthemend @danieljlmwagner @klarxtr @fortunatelytinybasement @demonrat444 @gretavansara @watchingover-hypegirl @hippievanfleet @digitalnomadz @raviolilegs @lipstickitty @hippievanfleet @klarxtr @strange-whorizons @do-it-jakey-baby @myownparadise96 @gvf-luna @starshine-wagner @cassiesgreta @joopsandjangs @whimsiliz @kiszkas-canvas @whimsiliz @joopsandjangs @broken0mens @scoreofinfantryvines @whereiskeara @do-it-jakey-baby @miravanfleet @heckingfrick @kiszka-canvas @whimsiliz @joopsandjangs @broken0mens @scoreofinfantryvines @whereiskeara @do-it-jakey-baby @miravanfleet @heckingfrick @jenniferkiszka

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f-oighear · 7 months ago

Text

The Big Black Clover Fanfic Recommendation Post

I've been talking about making that post since forever and I think I've finally finished compiling them!

So. Grab a notepad. Take out your TBR list. Get ready to bookmark or mark for later. And let's go.

I guess I should start with a few disclaimers 🫡

I haven't read every fic out there and there are notably a few fics I know I'm going to love but haven't started yet. I think I'll update the post regularly.

The fics on this post are fics I enjoyed and remember having read. considering how many things I forget on a daily basis, it means a lot.

I have my favorite characters, tropes, and themes and this will definitely show.

I'm attempting to organize the fics in categories but ofc some shippy fics also have feels or are angsty or are fluffy, same for the AUs... An attempt is made to organize them based on the vibes I remember (I’ve read some of those literal years ago).

If you're in this post and you think I've put your fic in the wrong category: don't hesitate to reach out!

For the shippy fics, I have my favorite ships but I'm a multishipper sooooo there's that.

I'm recommending oneshots, multichaptered fics, entire AUs, series and fics that are unfinished and probably never will be. Do keep that in mind if you don't like reading abandoned works (you'll be missing out but I can understand).

Let's start! It'll be a long one.

General/Feels/Character studies

💜 Threads, Solarwitchwrites

Vanessa is a stitch witch. She is the best stitch witch of her generation, possibly in an age. But she has one power she doesn’t brag about: she can see the threads of fate that bind destined souls together. It’s rarely been useful, often it’s painful; but sometimes she gets to watch something amazing unfold.

💜 A World Without You, Acacia_May

Vanessa grows concerned for Finral when he begins to act tense and distant after they return from the Forest of Witches. In her attempts to comfort him, however, she may find some comfort of her own.

💜 Teammates, Cour104

Still adjusting to her newfound freedom after escaping from her cage and the Witch Queen, Vanessa has a nightmare. Finral is there to help her through it and remind her that she's no longer alone.

💜 You're Not Alone, IAmStoryteller

For Noelle, there has always been one person in her corner. For Mimosa, there has always been one person that made her want to be better. Noelle Silva and Mimosa Vermillion are cousins, but they are also each other’s greatest support.

💜 It Used To Be So Simple (Once Upon A Time), WildFlowerWoods

A collection of short stories about the childhoods of various Black Bulls, among other things, containing my own headcanons.

💜 fated, orphaned

Some Magic Knights are bonded by something stronger than just kinship. (Charlotte x Yami, Asta x Noelle, Nozel x Vanessa)

💜 Think about it (series), thoughtfullyrainynightmare

This is a collection of short drabbles that exist to give insight to the canon characters presented in Black Clover from my personal perspective. This is about how I see them

AUs

🩷 Black Bulls Pirate AU, Firefutte

An infamous pirate crew sails across the sea's waves. Many rumours and stories exists of this crew. Always one thing they all have in common and that's the tale describing them as chaotic, lawless and crazy hooligans in dire need of mercy from the gods. In reality they're simply living as them, chaotic, lawless and crazy hooligans they may be, but this ship's crew have found a family amongst each other in a world that denied them such comfort for years. And they would have it no other way if you asked them, such is the reality of The Black Bull.

🩷 Mimosa & Noelle Ideale AU, IAmStoryteller

Seven-year-old Noelle and Mimosa run away from home while traveling with their grandparents. Meanwhile, 16-year-old Zora is trying his very best to be a Super-Wizard and takedown corrupt Magic Knights. But one day he runs into two little girls who clearly are nobility, but also who need help. This changes everything.

🩷 Black Bulls Steampunk AU, IAmStoryteller

The Black Bulls Crew is about to officially retire from being sky pirates. After years of working together and becoming a family, they agree that it’s time for one last hurrah to prove that they are the best of the best, especially after they heard about a map for the infamous treasure of Elf King.

🩷 New World, Bulls99

Following a second devastating defeat to Vanica, Noelle expects to die peacefully - painfully, but peacefully. Instead she wakes up in a world where everything seems upside down. But how much is really different?

Romance

❤️ Ubi Amor, Ibi Dolor, Supernaturalgrant

“He’s dumb as fuck.” She asserts bluntly. It surprises an honest laugh out of Nozel, which seems to amuse her slightly. “You know that, right?” “I can’t force him to be with me, Mereoleona. Even I am not that high-reaching.” He tells her honestly. Or- Fuegoleon and Nozel break up when Nozel is promoted to the Silver Eagles captain, neither of them really knows why. (Fuegoleon x Nozel)

❤️ Running Out of Time, IAmStoryteller

On the day that elves reincarnated and Zagred the Word-Devil nearly gained a physical body, something went wrong—Zora Ideale and Kirsch Vermillion wind up in a time loop. They have to relive the horrible, long day over and over again, while reluctantly working together to figure out why. (Zora x Kirsch)

❤️ The Clover Kingdom in Chaos: A Dire Tale, Mamavino

Over a month after defeating Lucius Zogratis, new troubles lie ahead. When Sol comes knocking on Yami's door in a panic because Charlotte is missing, he acts indifferent at first. But what happened after their tea-drinking date? And is it true that she has been trapped by a curse again? Yami puts every effort into finding out what happened and sets out to find Charlotte. Noelle Silva falls into a strange sleep. Rouge, Vanessa's cat, is now attached to young Silva's life. Nozel insists on having his sister in the palace. But that also means opening the doors to the Black Bulls. This will certainly provide some challenges. In addition, all the spirits are falling ill, and everyone seems to be in a total panic. Mereoleona, Asta and a small team sets out to seek out the cause and solution to all this. Is it all connected? In the library they will find help, or is it an enemy After all? (Charlotte x Yami, Nozel x Vanessa, Mereoleona x OC, Fuegoleon x OC)

❤️ Night of Vows, Vilandel

She kissed him again, more deeply this time, smiling as she felt him giving in to the kiss. As they parted, she poked his cheek and said with a smirk, “Consider this a vow I just made.” (Nozel x Vanessa)

❤️ wildest dreams (because falling's not the problem), IAmStoryteller

Yuno/Langris/Mimosa series (Yuno x Langris x Mimosa)

❤️ This Was A Mistake, JaylinnW

“You really think this will be a restful break,” the larger man grinned. “You are in for a surprise. You will not be getting much time to relax,” William opened his mouth but Yami stopped him. “I’m not talking about that, Goldie Guts.” He paused, smirking. “Well not only that. I’m talking about the fact that we brought all our idiots with us. I know my bulls- shit’s gonna hit the roof.” “It won’t be that bad I’m sure,” William moved away from his boyfriend to get up from the bed. (William x Yami, minor Nozel x Vanessa)

❤️ Masquerade, IAmStoryteller

The Masquerade Ball hadn't happened in many years in Clover, but that changes when Julius Novachrono decides that it's high time to bring back some old traditions. (Asta x Yuno, Nozel x Vanessa, Finral x Leopold, Magna x Nebra, Fragil x Luck, Zora x Kirsch, Letoile x Gordon, Gauche x Grey, Rill x Charmy)

❤️ Green, Pink, and Grayscale, juviin

Soulmates are a thing of the past, or at least, they should be. So why does the youngest child of the royal Silva family see no colors? (Asta x Noelle)

❤️ Now All My Dreams are Melting on the Asphalt in the Heat, IAmStoryteller

Vanessa Enoteca, the lead singer and guitarist of the Punk band Arresting Dark Weave, is asked by her mentor/friend/first love Yami Sukehiro, the lead guitarist of The Black Bulls, to compose songs for his and Charlotte Roselei’s wedding. Except, she has got to work with Charlotte’s friend Nozel Silva, the First Seat Cello Player of the Clover Kingdom Baroque Orchestra, who just so happens to a composer. Can Vanessa and Nozel create some amazing songs for the Yami/Charlotte wedding in time? Or will it go up in smoke? (Nozel x Vanessa)

❤️ MUSIC CONNECTS ALL, UNLESS IT'S OFF BEAT, orphaned

In Noelle's defense, it was all Kahono's fault. Noelle so happens to be listening to Kahono's rant before she gets into this entire complicated situation that had just happened, (fuck fate, by the way), and now she had dug a hole too deep to get out of. Who the hell was Tchaikovsky, what the hell was a quarter note, and why are there eighty–eight keys on a piano? To think it just started with a simple walk on the beach. (Kahono x Noelle)

❤️ Children of the Future, LightNova

When Yami and Charlotte had been summoned to see the Wizard king they had not been expecting to find out they had a 19 year old daughter from the future! Nor had they been expecting even more children from the future to appear in their world shortly after her. Just what was going on, and who was sending them here and why? (Charlotte x Yami, Finral x Vanessa, Zora x Nebra, Gauche x Grey, Fuegoleon x OC, William x OC, Julius x OC, Yuno x OC, Asta x Noelle)

❤️ I'll Be Home for Christmas, HotaruGFC (JaclynGFC)

Charlotte gets an invitation to a wedding, and she can't go alone. (Charlotte x Yami)

❤️ Oh What Am I Supposed to Do Without You?, Supernaturalgrant

“Mercury poisoning.” The silence that follows Owen's statement is deafening. The occupants of the room share looks of utter confusion. “That’s like saying Fuegoleon has third-degree burns from that cool ass fire arm situation he has going on.” Yami’s the first to break it. Or: Nozel is diagnosed with mercury poisoning and forced to give his magic up until the can find a cure. Chaos ensues. (Fuegoleon x Nozel)

❤️ Paper Hearts, KaLolasFantasyWorld

Helena Drazel is a twenty five year old Royal from Diamond Kingdom. She's a charming and cheerful woman, ready to leave the sheltered embrace of her family's estate. Her mother previously a Clover citizen and an old friend of late Acier Silva, gets her daughter an invitation to study healing magic in the Capital. Because of that friendship Helena is placed under the care of Royal House of Silva. However the siblings, especially the eldest Nozel, are not so fond of her at the beginning. (Nozel x OC)

❤️ Boys will be Embarrassing, loafingdragon, subtleassiduities

A series of stories documenting Fuegoleon and Nozel's totally-not-gay-completely-serious very-manly escapades over the years. (Fuegoleon x Nozel)

❤️ Damn Eyes, musicalinny

The first time their eyes met he doesn't notice that he actually gave a damn. (Zora x Nebra)

❤️ (Not) At first sight, BBRosenfeld

Finesse is bethrothed to the son of the Vaude family, and she doesn't really mind. However, she was not expecting how much he'd grow on her. (Finral x Finesse)

❤️ Picking flowers, KaLolasFantasyWorld

“Flowers carry meaning and some people are connected by them. It is said that a specific kind would grow around them and point towards the person they are meant to be with.” “Destiny?” Charlotte held her breath. “Maybe there is a person who sees blue roses sprouting wherever they go,” the woman smirked. (Yami x Charlotte, Asta x Noelle, Zora x Nebra, Nozel x OC)

Fluffy, Funny, Fix-it

💚 Flower Crowns, Angeliccharizard

During an off day, Asta decides it's a great idea to bring a devil to a church

💚 Owen vs The Black Bulls, WildflowerWoods

Owen has seen a lot in his time as a doctor in the magic knights infirmary, even more since his promotion to head of the royal infirmary, overseeing both the magic knights and ordinary patients. he has dealt with his fair share of stubborn visitors, people hiding injuries and patients trying to escape out the window—Lord Julius himself was a common offender for the last of those—but even treating Mereoleona Vermillion's self-inflicted burns was better than the Black Bulls. There was nothing that could have prepared Owen for the Black Bulls.

💚 Why Asta (and Liebe) are Banned From the Kitchen, Bluemeanies

After Yami's katana becomes Demon Slicer and joins Asta's grimoire, Asta and Liebe start looking for other things that could be good anti-magic weapons. Liebe might be taking the concept a little too far.

💚 Early Black Bulls (series), Acacia_May

Early Black Bulls Days

💚 An Impossible Decision, MysticalShizz

Mereoleona’s head pops into view, first taking in you, then turning to observe the small girl perched on your hip. Her look of confusion slowly morphs into disbelief, then into incredulity. “Did … Darling. Did you steal the Silva’s youngest child?” Fix-It fic where Mereoleona and spouse reader adopt Noelle.

💚 Ghosts, IAmStoryteller

Julius has a bit of a secret. He can see ghosts of his dear departed friends.

💚 Doggy Days, Undefeated_Lionmess

Yami sends Vanessa, Finral, and Charmy to explore a dungeon. Only two of them come back still human. Finral supposes he’s had worse days.

💚 That One Time When Julius Was Late, wintermelon_soldier

"We're late... again," Marx said with a worried expression. "Don't worry, Marx. I'm sure everything is just f-" The Magic Emperor pushed both doors open hoping to greet the Captains only to be welcomed by a vast wasteland. The conference room where it once stood is replaced by a large, empty landmass with no trees or building in sight. "W-what in the world is happening?" Marx cried at his mentor.

💚 The Vice-Captains of the Magic Knights (series), IAmStoryteller

The Vice-Captains of the Magic Knights series

💚 Teenagers, Kaitouahiru

Yami was going to talk to Julius about the recruitable age of Magic Knights. Make no mistake, Yami did not care that fifteen year olds were being put in dangerous or life threatening situations. He didn’t care that they could be drafted to go to war if the situation called for it. He cared that almost none of these brats knew how to do basic home skills.

💚 faith bleeds through the cracks, TellNearaToWrite

Yami knew three things. First, that being a squad captain was shaping up to be a lot like fatherhood, and second, he was definitely not cut out for that shit. Third. Well. Julius had a lot to answer for, that was for sure. The least he could do was help a bit.

Angst!

🧡 Geranium, Azuvist

The flowers in Yami's lungs never really stopped growing. (Yami x William)

🧡 Black Clover: The Blood of Fate, ChanceQueen

In a dark alternate universe of the clover kingdom, there is one question that no one ever wanted to ask, let alone know the answer to. A question that wraps its claws around you, ripping scars that cannot be seen and will never heal. What if Vanessa had never manifested the red thread of fate?

🧡 Megicula's Curse by MaryJoeycoco

After everything, the Black Bulls thought they were safe. They thought Noelle took care of the devil Megicula. They soon realize how wrong they were. Now it's up to Asta to save her but he soon realizes how his feelings change about Noelle through the nightmare land. (Asta x Noelle)

🧡 Lumiereward by Cyrooo

Nero misses home. (Always).

The Silva Fics™

Yes, they get their own category. It's the birb siblings. They deserve it.

💙 Artifice, subtleassiduities

When a retrieval mission traps Nozel with a dangerous and powerful artifact, Nebra and Solid struggle to find help before time runs out for him. But their attempts are thwarted by a widespread, rapidly progressing phenomenon: Everybody in the Clover Kingdom is forgetting about Nozel Silva. Their only choice is to depend on one another-- and Noelle, the only other person who can hold onto a memory of their dear brother. Their rescue mission forces them to face their own memories, twisted against them in ways they may not be able to overcome.

💙 Casa Silva, Mouxe (SPANISH)

Conjunto de historias que comenzo para mostrar la relacion de Acier Silva con sus hijos durante la infancia pero termino convirtiendose en relatos de la relacion de los hermanos silva.

💙 Lay Beside Me, Under Wicked Sky, Avacelt

Noelle leaves, and the chips fall where they do. [Silva family!fic, post-canon]

💙 The Boy Who Played with Water, BeamMeUpCas

Nozel only becomes aware of the extreme lengths his siblings were going to torment their youngest when Nebra, of all people, appears sweaty and disheveled in his office, stuttering and stammering about how Solid has Noelle trapped in a water bubble in the rose garden and she isn't moving Or: Solid nearly drowns Noelle. Nozel flips his shit and becomes the halfway decent big brother he was meant to be.

💙 My Father Told Me (series), succulentsunrise

My Father Told Me is a series, which attempts to understand the effects that the Silva parents must have had on their children, and how the age gaps and personalities between the children themselves affected their relationships.

💙 Make an Effort, IAmStoryteller

Solid isn’t very nice or kind or gentle. He knows this, but when he is hit with the realization that Nozel and Nebra might not know that he loves them, he sets out to show his love and appreciation for his two older siblings. And maybe, extend an olive brand or two…

💙 What Yami Saw by BeamMeUpCas

Nozel needs a favor. Yami will maybe not hold it over his head for all eternity but he'll take great delight in letting Nozel think he will.

#black clover #fic rec #massive post

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kravchikfreak · 9 days ago

Note

I'm sorry if this ask is coming out of nowhere, but I have been looking for posts that talk about how S2 has declined in quality and there have been virtually NONE. Even tags like 'arcane critical' or 'anti arcane' don't show up even though I know there are posts that are tagged with them. I'm losing my mind. Has nobody else noticed this downgrade? The ideas could have been good, but they were not executed well and the whole thing reads like they wrote it really quickly without any real editing and then rushed to get it out. It feels hollow, like we're seeing a botched or unfinished version of what it was supposed to be. What kind of random ass shit is it that an enforcer comes up to Vi and says, "cait said good things about you," and Vi is just like wow you're right, I'm sold! Even though she already knows Cait has a high opinion of her and that wasn't the issue in the first place! Also who was that random homeless man? Why am I supposed to care about these people? Fans get defensive about the pacing and argue that s1 did a lot in a minimal amount of time too, but I don't think they realize that pacing has to do with making something feel organic. Vi's heel turn into becoming an enforcer was not organic. Viktor's two second goodbye was not organic. Both of these things could have made sense if they'd given these moments even just a little more effort or care. There were so many unnecessary scenes that could have been cut out to give more time to things that desperately needed it (like caitlyn's sad wordless montage about her mom. Why did it drag out so long? Her grief is apparent in every other scene. We did not need an entire abstract slideshow of her making various sad expressions.) There's also the animation. The animation is leagues above a regularly animated show, but if you look closely it is actually not as good as s1. There is less detail, the lighting of the background doesn't always match the characters, and there are moments where the lips don't always sync with their voices. These are minor things that I wouldn't usually care about, but for a multi-million dollar show like Arcane? Riot games recently laid off a whole slew of its creative team, too, and I wonder if they've been making similar cuts before that. It would certainly explain the drop in quality. I wouldn't put it past corporate greed to nerf one of the most groundbreaking animated shows in modern media if they thought they could profit more by cutting corners.

I'm sorry to ramble in your inbox as a random stranger, but it boggles my mind that there are so few people mentioning s2's flaws (not including rage bait, which is annoying because it only delegitamizes real criticisms and discussions.) I feel like I'm screaming in the void like is nobody else seeing this shit??

well hello there! first of all, "arcane critical" is what i was looking for when i was writing that post. gonna put it in tags now before i forget

secondly, i love asks! so no need to apologize. thirdly it's a bummer you went under anonym, i don't believe you get notifs for your anonymous asks, so unless you actually hang out on my blog regularly there's a chance you won't see me appreciating your thoughts and agreeing with you (expect for the animation part, cause for me it was great, i have no questions on that regard. but for each their own. i'm a big fun of the dragon prince first season's animation and still sad they get rid of their 13fps style, so...)

anyway, i got bored at the beginning of my rumbling that time and didn't get into some deep analysis but yes, the first season also had events to go fast and forward, but at the same time they made sense. it wasn't rush or dragged, every scene had a meaning and weight

YES to the burial scene. like i get it, it was drawn pretty and it was sad and grey for cait but my god how many hours can we watch vi going away from 317 different angles? i was actually shocked to see her at cait's, cause after 10 minutes of her hiding in the crowd and leaving before cait saw her i was legit sure the show tried to tell us they broke up for now and won't see each other for a while

and it all feels so odd, as if on the one hand writers had too little allowed episodes to work with their ideas, like they came up with all these important story points but had no more screen time to add actual story development between the points, cause the season is like 10 episodes too short to fit a full coherent story. but on the other hand they have too much unused screen time, like they wrote only 5 episodes but they had to make 9 so now we will just fill the equivalent of 4 episodes of free time with mute repetitive long scenes

who the fuck is that mute lizard cop? is he actually mute? or there were no budget on one more voice actor? what's his problem? why he always looks like he's mad at everyone? should i even care he's always displeased? does he even matter? if no, why he has so much screen time and close-up shots? if yes, why he has no meaning or story or character or name? i swear to god, in the first season that one future-junkie dude had more of a meaning and weight in his two minutes scene than these lizard cop and the new jinx's sister during two episodes

and it all would've been fine, really, if it was the first season, or one of these already bad shows that you don't really expect much of. but arcane was a masterpiece, and also we've been waiting for it for three years. so it's the feeling that we know how GOOD it can be, and the feeling that it just chose not to

w....wait... what if they also tried to do great? and failed to do good in the process

or maybe, as you said, just some internal kitchen shit. i never actually follow media creation stuff and staff so maybe that's just it. still not make it all better for me as a viewer who was too excited to learn at 1 am that the act dropped and stayed up until 7am to make sure to watch it before getting to sleep

HEY THANK YOU for giving me opportunity to rumble about it again

#arcane critical #this is the tag for asks #anti arcane #just for a good measure #i'm still very pro-arcane i'm just sad

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sixth-light · 9 months ago

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I've been thinking a lot lately* about how artistic works are so intimately products of their moment and in conversation with it, and how easy this is to overlook both in terms of discussing a work and in terms of anticipating or considering new additions to an older work.

The first is important because so many judgements that can be made about a work are only meaningful when you know what their context was. What readers need or want to see, particularly in terms of representation, is hugely mediated by what else is available to them at the time. Yeah this is about stuff like "Rocky Horror was progressive when it was created" but also it's about stuff like "the John Carter movie bombed because it was regarded as derivative", when in fact the source material originated a bunch of the 'derivative' scenes and tropes that were then used by better-known movies before a John Carter movie ever got made.

The second is important because...even if you come back to a work, as a creator, you can only make new parts of it as the person you are now, in conversation with the world and genre as it is now, not as it was when you started. Taking a mildly-infamous-among-fantasy-fans example, Melanie Rawn's unfinished Ambrai trilogy; she's often said that she can't finish it because her life has moved on and...as sad as I am it was never finished, I think that's probably smart! She could write a third book one day, maybe, but it never could or would be the third book she would have written in the 1990s. And even if she did manage that somehow, the genre has moved on in such a way that it would feel weird and probably quite offputting to read a book doing with gender and feminism what the Ambrai books were doing in the '90s, because they are/were inherently in conversation with an era of fantasy that is now past.

All of which is to say that:

as a reader (or watcher) I think it's good to hold in mind, when engaging with a work from a time and/or place unfamiliar to you, the extent of what you don't know about the context of the work

as a creator, I think it's good to be very realistic about what you're going to actually achieve when you are making something over a long time period or coming back to something you left unfinished. You can totally do that! It can be incredibly rewarding! But the thing you make now is not the thing you would have made then, probably not even the thing you imagined you were going to make then, and that's just the nature of art.

*The reason I have been thinking about this is partly books I have been reading (Mara of the Acoma, you are my blorbo) and partly a very fun podcast I have been listening to which has re-read The Ruins of Ambrai and done a lot of discussion about its context, finishing up with a great interview with Kate Elliott about writing fantasy in the '90s (and writing it now, as she is still writing great but different books!). Anyway go listen to the Hot Nuance Book Club, it's a good time.

#meta #writing #fandom #melanie rawn

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dr3amlab · 1 year ago

Text

7. wicked games

SUMMARY. Y/N Gorgon and Draco Malfoy have a long history of mutual hatred. You see, the two of them have been pulling pranks on each other since their 1st year at Hogwarts, to the dismay of their close friends and supervisors. However, after a prank left Y/N completely out of her mind, she decides that she'll pull her cruelest prank yet on Draco by pretending to be his secret admirer.

PAIRING. Draco Malfoy x reader

GENRE. series, enemies to lovers, rival, comedy (?)

WORD COUNT. 2956 words.

AUTHOR’S NOTE. i feel like this is rushed :/ I didn't have anymore inspo for the story, but i didn't want to leave the story unfinished. I hope you like it :3 NOT PROOF READ AND I MAY CORRECT IT.

PARTS. 1 2 3 4 5 6

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VII. STAR-CROSSED LOVERS.

"Out of all the people in this school, she decided to go with Potter?" Draco chuckled to himself like a madman, "what's wrong with him? he's been like that for the entire afternoon," Theodore whispered to Blaise, "man, I don't know! I think he's broken or something," Blaise replied. Swiftly, the latter grabbed a pillow from one of the common room's couch to throw it on his friend in order to get his attention.

“Dray, what’s wrong with you? You look like a maniac!” Theodore exclaimed as soon as he and Blaise got their friend’s attention, “what’s wrong with me? More like what’s wrong with Gorgon!” Draco’s friends sighed as they didn’t could probably recite from memory every word that was going to come out of Draco’s mouth. Can you blame them? Who would want to hear their friend have a ted talk about someone they allegedly hate?

Theodore and Blaise have known from the moment you and Draco met that he liked you. They saw how you picked his interest and how he would always put so much thought and effort on the prank he did to get back at you. His friends knew that if draco didn't actually like you, he wouldn't even acknowledge your existence.

Blaise scratches the left side of his nose, which is a gesture he always does when he’s annoyed, “what did she do?” he sighed, not even bothered to hide how much he didn’t want to listen to his rant about you. Theodore on the other side, already took a seat on one of the many sofas of the common room. Well, ‘taking a seat’ isn’t the most appropriate wording to describe the way he took a sit : the boy was literally sprawled on the couch. He knew he had to get comfortable because Draco’s rant was about to be unnecessarily long, and, most importantly, he knew that he was going to end up in morpheus' arms.

“This morning, i was going to class, and I—" draco started his rant, "I don't got time for the entire story, just make it short," Theodore intervened earning a glare from Draco, "Basically, I thought Y/N was going to ask me to the ball, turns out she just wanted to ask me to get my 'fangirls' away from her. And the worst, is that she's actually going with Potter!" Theodore and Blaise shared a funny look which didn't go unnoticed by Draco who frowned his eyebrows, "Did I say something wrong?" He asked confusedly which made both of his friends burst into laughter, "ain't no way," Theodore laughed, "you're actually, jealous?" This sentence alone made Blaise and Theodore laugh like hyenas, "Yeah! Aren't you the one that once said, and i quote, 'if I ever feel any other feelings for Y/N other than hate, check me in a psych ward'?" Blaise said as he tried to get his breath back from laughing too much, "yeah!", theodore laughed, "which psych ward do you choose?"

"Is your head empty? Or did you lose the plot?" Draco said defensively, not wanting to admit that he had caught feelings for you. But Draco was not stupid : he knew that his friends caught on, and him denying his feelings for you was, perhapsn only a matter of pride. "I'm not jealous! Can't you guys see that both of my enemies are literally forming an alliance? I know Y/N just did this to piss me off, For Merlin's sake, she knows how I feel about potter"

The look of despair, or maybe even pity, was so prominent in Theodore's and Blaise's eyes. So instead of making Draco get back to his senses and admit his feelings for you, they decided to try another approach, "I mean, what if she actually likes him?" Blaise said while shrugging his shoulders to which draco frowned, "True, like look at him! Isn't he the chosen one or something? If I didn't know better, I'd also totally be in love with him." Theodore agreed.

A silence took over the room, the boys were looking at each other awkwardly due to Theodore’s unnecessary comment, "Oh, boy! look at the time! We need to go back to class," Blaise said as he looked at his watch, "All we're saying is that you make your move before Harry Pottah snatches your girl," Theodore suggested as he got up from the couch he was sprawled on, and Blaise nodded his head in agreement as he squeezed Draco's shoulder.

The boys left Draco all alone with his thoughts. Draco was beyond annoyed. He knew you liked him, he caught on with all the clues : The letters, the amortentia and you implicitly admitted it by being speechless to his question. And yet, you were going to the ball with Potter ? That's where he drew the line. He sure hoped that you were playing a stupid prank on him, and if you didn't, things were going to get ugly. Malfoy didn't know how, but he was going to put an end to all these wicked games.

Draco poked his tongue inside his cheek, "Really, Potter?" he grumbled for the nth time on this day as he grabbed his backpack harshly.

"Really, potter?" Athena said as you dragged her by the arm in the hallway, earning curious looks from the other students. "Please, please! stop repeating this," you pleaded, almost ready to get down on your knees to beg her to put an end to your suffering.

"But, why Y/N? You make me so tired!" Athena huffed, "everything was going so smoothly, I could almost picture myself at you and draco's wedding. But, noooo! you had to add Potter to the equation." she said, "Wedding? You are so sick Athena,” you said as you pretended to gag, “besides, is not like i had a choice. Potter was the first one to go through that door ! Do you really think i’d choose him on purpose?” you asked doubting that your friend even knew you well.

“you had a choice to not imply that you had a date to the ball!” Athena exclaimed. You didnt know how to answer her because she had a point : Maybe, just maybe, if you didn’t say that you were going with Potter to the ball, this whole saga between you and Draco actually would’ve been over. You sighed as you knew that you made whatever situation was going on between you and Draco even longer.

“Harry’s coming towards us. Act natural,” Athena whispered, "shit, I forgot that he'll want some clarifications," you said as you drew a big smile on your face.

You felt someone tap on your shoulder, "Y/N," you recognized Harry's voice, "oh, hey Potter! what are you doing here?" you asked as soon as you made eye contact with him, "What am I doing here? in school?" he said confused, "oh, c'mon! you know what I meant, Harry," you playfully slapped his shoulder, "Uh, yeah, right." He scratched the back of his head.

"Look, I understand you have some feud going on with Draco for quite some time right now," he started, "and I really do not want to get involved in it. I mean, you understand, right? You know that Draco and I aren't exactly the best of friends," he continued as you knew damn well what the end of his sentence will sound like, "Obviously, I'm afraid I won't be able to go to the ball with you Y/N. Plus, there's already someone I'd like to go with," he said while avoiding any kind of eye-contact with you.

You put your hand on his biceps gently, "I get it, Harry ! don't worry about that. I was wrong to involve you in the first place," you smiled, "anywho, who's the lucky girl?" you asked noticing a faint hint of blush on the boy's cheek. Harry looked reluctant to say the name of the person that had the key to his heart ; he opened and closed his mouth, almost resembling a goldfish. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me,” you smiled, “besides, i’ll wait for the ball to see who’s the lucky one,” you added. Harry bid you and Athena goodbye and walked rather quickly, almost running, from you guys.

You wondered what made him want to run away from you guys. Was it something you said ? Did you prey too much on his private life ?

Turns out, it was neither. All you had to do was to turn around to see the answer of your question. “Jeez! Where the fuck do you keep popping from, Malfoy?” You put your hand on your heart as an attempt to try to calm its hectic heartbeats.

Draco frowned at you, "what were you talking about just now?" it was now your turn to frown, "why do you care?," you replied. For a second, Malfoy's frowned turned into surprise but he regained his composure, "I don't care! Matter of fact, I could care less about you and that prick were talking about!" He pointed to the door behind you, "I'm just trying to get to that room and you're blocking the way, move!" You looked behind you, only to find you were standing in front of the girls' bathroom.

"You're turning to go to the...girl's bathroom?" You asked and on draco's cheeks, a faint hint of red appeared, "yeah? besides, it's none of your business!" Draco got defensive and you chuckled in a way that made Malfoy's heart skip a beat, "Sure, weirdo," you replied, "i'll leave you tend to your," you stopped your sentence, "business".

The ink was slowly drying under Draco's gaze. To make the process a little faster, Malfoy was blowing on the paper.

You see, the boy had a plan : As the ball was approaching, Draco was still persuaded that you were going with Harry. Therefore, Malfoy had to act quick to change your mind. And so, his last resort was to write you a note in hope that it would make you change your mind.

As the ink finally dried on the paper, and Draco's decision was made, the latter read the note for the nth time :

"Meet me tonight at 10 pm sharp in the astronomy tower. D.M."

His heart was pounding loudly in his chest, he could even hear his heartbeat in his ears if he were to hold his breath. Since when did you have this effect on him? You made him feel so giddy that it was ridiculous. He had never met someone like you, and he doesn't think he'll ever be able to have such an encounter as you were so unique.

Gathering all of his courage, he grabbed one of his signature black envelopes, put the piece of paper in it and sealed it with green wax.

"Let's hope for the best," he mumbled to himself as he placed the enveloped that contained all of his courage written in a single sentence on the corner of his desk.

He planned to give you the note tomorrow morning, so, needless to say, this was going to be a sleepless night for draco.

To say that today was the best day you've experienced so far would be a stretch, yet, this was how you truly felt. Maybe it was the fact that you didn't run out of hot water while you were taking your daily morning shower, how you managed to do your hair without ending up in tears of frustration or because they served your favorite for breakfast in the cafeteria : Anywho, today is the best day ever and you're not letting anyone ruin it for you. I mean, even your breakfast was tastier than usual.

As you were savoring your breakfast, a black envelope fell gently on the side of your plate. You looked at it curiously, you didn’t expect to receive any mail today. Placing your cutlery on the table, you grabbed the envelope and something caught your attention : The green seal.

“Is this from Draco?” you whispered to yourself, and as you brought your hand to the black envelope to carefully break the seal, you couldn't help to wonder why he would send you a letter.

As you took out the piece of paper that was contained In the envelope to read it, you felt someone mumble in your right ear, "Meet me tonight at 10 pm sharp in the astronomy tower, signed D.M." Of course, you had recognized that voice : it was Athena, "Hey! Don't read that! it's personal," you exclaimed as you brought the paper close to your chest, "D.M.?!" Athena said, "As in 'Draco Malfoy?'" she half-screamed with a mouthful of pancakes in her mouth and eyes wide as saucers.

"I think so," you said as you examined the letter over and over and over again. "Are you going? Please tell me that you're going," she pleaded, "I don't know," you shrugged your shoulders, "I need to think about it," you said, "Well, you better think fast!"

By noon, you already decided that you were going to face Draco and finally bury the hatchet with him.

And by midnight, after successfully avoiding Flich, you made your way up to the top of the astronomy tower. After climbing the entirety of the steps, you saw the one who stole your heart : there he was, in all his glory, facing the stars as he patiently waited for you to come. The silence of the starry night was broken by the sound of his suave voice, "did you have fun playing with my feelings?", he started, "was it entertaining to you, Gorgon?" He turned around to look in your eyes.

You frowned your eyebrows, "chill, Draco! It was just a prank. Didn't we already talk about this?", you told him as you watch his face turn into a frown, "I'm not talking about the letters, Y/N," his grey eyes starred straight at yours, and you felt intimidated in this moment, "What are you talking about then?" you managed to say without stuttering.

"I'm talking about the fact that I was truly convinced you liked me after you had smelled the amortentia that day, but there you go, asking Potter to go with you to the ball as if you don't even feel a thing for me." You could swear you heard his usual monotone voice break a little, "Do you still love me, Y/N?" he asked with a sincere look in his eyes.

There was no need to hide it anymore, you did have feelings for Draco and he undoubtedly knew it. However you couldn't find the strength in yourself to say it loud and clear because, well, you will still in denial : it felt like the moment you would say those three words to him, it would only confirm to you that you have feeling for him.

"Why does it matter, Draco?" you said desperately, "Do you love me, Y/N?" he repeated, but this time, it seemed like he demanded you to say it. "Why do you care?" you sighed.

"Because," he looked away from you, "Because I'm in love with you, Y/N!" he exclaimed, and you were taken aback.

Draco took three steps towards you, as an attempt to make the distance between you two a little less far, for all he wanted was to feel closer to you, "It's you. it has always been you, Y/N. Since the moment i laid my eyes on you, I knew that we were meant to be together." Draco felt nervous: he had the impression that his voice was shaking, his hands were getting sweaty, and he had no doubt that it was all because of you.

"it was not love at first sight, so don't get on your high horses," Draco laughed, "I just knew that I was gonna end up falling in love with you eventually, no matter how hard I tried to stop myself. I hated it that you had this power over me."

This couldn't be true. How did Draco go from hating the fact that he had to share the same oxygen as you to acting as if he wanted to be the air you breathe?

"Is this a joke?" you half-laughed, "you're pulling a joke on me right, Draco? You don’t love me, draco. Trust me." you looked away from him, but his index and thumb found their way to your chin to gently make you look at him again, "Who are you to think that you know my heart better than I do?" Draco asked you.

You searched his eyes for the usual sparkle of malice that he would have when he used to pull those pranks on you, but there was nothing but sincerity in his eyes. And so, you gathered your courage to speak up, "Do you really love me, Draco?" your words came out in a whisper as you felt like a helpless child under his gaze. You felt your heart beat faster, "Because I do love you. I really do," you confessed.

"I love you, Y/N," Draco started as he held your face in his hands, "I’ll love you in every universe," he kissed your left cheek, "I’ll love you in this life and the next," he kissed your right cheek, "I’ll love you for a thousand lifetimes." He brought his lips to yours.

After a passionate kiss, Draco pulled away to look at you, “Merlin, you’re so pretty,” he said, breathless. As you looked into his eyes, you could see the entire galaxy in them from how much they sparkled, “so, is it over?” you asked, “What?” he questioned you, “the wicked games,” you affirmed to which he just smiled sheepishly at you.

“On one condition,” he started, “will I get to be your boyfriend?” Draco’s hands held yours as the question rolled out of his mouth, “i’ll think about it,” you smiled before putting your lips on his again.

We all have memories we’ll never forget. Those memories bear an impact on us, an impact so big that they are engraved in the back of our brains forever. For instance, you remember the first time you ate a chocolate frog, the first time you watched the snow fall from your bedroom’s window, your first encounter with Draco Malfoy, and the day you first felt Draco's lips on yours.

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