#telling children abuse is normal and good for them

[minyards-pipedream]

Cunt or Cryptid?

Welcome to the post where I tell you which of the Foxes serve Cunt and which are just Cryptids.

(The term cryptid is being used because it sounds cute with the title. This post may also contain things that are considered to be on the side of folklore.)

Dan Wilds

Cunt, obviously. She is their fearless leader and not afraid to absolutely annihilate a man’s chances of fathering children with her heels.

Kevin Day

Cunty Cryptid. He’s giving Loch Ness Monster. Everyone knows him, everyone wants to see him, but he knows what he’s good at and stays in his lane. I also think Kevin would enjoy that Nessie has such a long history behind her - the first recorded sighting being written in a biography from the 7th Century.

Andrew Minyard

Now don’t lose me here but CUNT. This is wholly an Autistic Gay Man and he knows what he’s doing to get people wrapped around his fucking finger. He may be the fearless leader of the monsters, but the only monster he’s serving is-

Matt Boyd

Cunt, but Cryptid-adjacent. He obviously serves in both his attitude and choice of girlfriend. However, he is a certified cryptid wrangler as seen with his relationship with both Neil and Seth. He is very close to making the transition from Deer to Not Deer. (A cryptid we will very much be covering later.)

Aaron Minyard

Cryptid. I would make a point about how he’s a collegiate athlete and pre-med student that parties almost every weekend and still manages to hold down a secret girlfriend, buttttt - let’s talk Banshees. Banshees are seen as an omen of death, their wailing cries foretelling of death to come. Aaron Minyard’s actions and words directly lead to the deaths of both Tilda Minyard (he was the one desperate to connect with Andrew and the abuse he received was the reason Andrew killed their mother) and Drake (see above, so they all go to visit, we know Aaron kills Drake). BUT what we don’t talk about is that Andrew went to college FOR Aaron to become a doctor, which means Aaron’s wishes were why Andrew eventually came to pick up his two strays. Neil gets caught by his father’s people because he stays at Palmetto with Andrew’s promise. Stuart and his men kill Nathan and his people saving Neil. Butterfly effect - Aaron also got *all* of those people killed. Banshee. Rant over lol.

Seth Gordon

Serving a secret third option : Corpse

Allison Reynolds

Cunt. She invented Cunt.

Nicky Hemmick

Cryptid. Huan Cat. Chinese folklore states that they’d be kept around the house to ward off evil spirits - like how Nicky came home to protect the twins from his parents. To give them a home where they’d be safe and loved. Huan Cats are also known for their mimicry, which reminds me of how Nicky can slot in with either the monsters or the rest of the team depending on need.

Renee Walker

Cryptid, Renee is our lovely Not Deer. Not Deer are said to appear like normal deer until you get a little closer, and look a little harder. They move differently, limbs appearing to be double jointed, and their faces and antlers contorted - which I think is a great way to allude to Renee’s inner demons that she’s working to grow past. Not Deer are also said to be entirely unafraid of humans, often approaching them when they’re alone and in the dark. This harkens to her relationship she cultivated with Andrew. She may appear normal at first, but upon further inspection, she may have more in common with the monsters than most.

Neil Josten

Cryptid, obviously. I’d like to give him Fresno Nightcrawler. He gives off their strange little man vibes, and no one can quite decide who he is or what they are. (Aliens? A pair of pants blowing on a loose clothes line? A new species of armless primate? It’s giving Alex? Stefan? Chris?) They’ve also been sighted all over the world, often running away from people. (Fresno, Yosemite, Poland.) And for these reasons, Neil Josten is being assigned as a creepy lil’ dude.

[furiousgoldfish]

I think one of the things that crush your trust in humanity, is how much you paid for all of the trust you had in the first part of your life. When you're a child, you are born with that base level of trust that you're here because you're wanted, and that people around you are going to take care of you, and they love you. This trust was put in our instinct, it's a part of how human population is sustained, for young of the species to be taken care of, fed, sheltered and protected by adults, until they become independent.

From there on we're encouraged to trust that things we don't understand yet, we'll understand later, and that everything that's done to us, is done for our benefit. Like when something is forbidden, when someone yells at you, when you're told 'no', when you're being physically restrained and hurt – you're told it's all for your good, you just don't understand it yet, but this is how it has to be. You're told that people with authority know what they're doing and they're doing it for you. You're told that it's good for you to be shamed and made to feel guilty, it will make you a better person. It's good for you to grow numb to being yelled and screamed at, it will make you stronger. It's good for you to be left out, neglected, ignored, told that 'nobody cares', it's good for you to be forced to resolve all of emotional and physical problems on your own, it's good that you get even harder version of your parents childhood, it's good that you're forced to do the emotional and physical work of adults and take care of them as if they're children. It will do you good if you take on the stress of worrying about survival, work, future, on top of school and stressful social life and mediating the peace in the home. It's good for 'everyone' that you keep quiet about the worst things that have ever happened to you, it's necessary for you to keep the family secrets, to never complain, to feel worthless, to feel like you have no place in the world, it's to keep you from being entitled, selfish, spoiled brat. You believe that because it's what you've been told by people who you have to rely on for survival, people you trust have your best interests at heart.

And not only nobody denies this, but people outside your family regularly defend this mantra if you ever question it. If you try to say something about your parents threatening or hurting you, you'll regularly hear how they're doing it with good intentions, or just don't know better, but are doing it out of love and because they believe it's the best for you. Because all parents have their child's best interest at heart, right? All parents just want what's best for their child.

Once it turns out that none of this was true, and the one who pays the price is you alone, it's devastating. Everything you've been told was done 'in your best interest' ends up causing you severe ptsd and attachment issues, sometime even chronic exhaustion and pain, and limits what you can do with your life. Every time someone defended your parents to you, they were enabling abuse and convincing you it was normal. Every time you trusted that things were done for a good reason, for a good cause, and for you own benefit, it turned out those reasons were just self-serving, sadistic, entitled, selfish, violent and self-gratifying urges of your parents that they had no business taking out on you, and instead of benefits, the price for it is that you virtually had no parents, had to take care of yourself from the start, and are now unable to see worth in yourself, or feel normal around other people because you've been brainwashed to believe you're either to be exploited or worthless.

How would a person get over that? That not only your caretakers lied to you and abused you, but the rest of the world collaborated and defended what they did to you? That you have to live with this forever, with the knowledge that everything was a lie, told to you just to keep you in abuse and stop you from resisting it? When you were a child and couldn't have done anything anyway?

It's normal to be severely conscious that every word you're being told is done for someone's benefit, and that someone might not have good intentions. It's normal to analyze people to see what kind of damage they could be capable of doing to you, if they could have their own way. It's normal to be afraid and not reassured when people say that bad things won't happen, because they kept saying nothing bad was happening even when you were tortured and traumatized. It's normal to be stressed and scared and constantly trying to figure out how to avoid getting hurt again because you barely survived this mess and you can't be in that situation again, not on the account of your own naivety. It's normal to doubt anyone in authority, anyone with power over you, because they might not have your best interests at heart, because nobody ever did before this, regardless of what they said or promised. You're trying to stay safe and completely losing your trust in anyone who put you in danger before is reasonable and logical. The problem is that it was everyone who did that to you.

[psychoticallytrans]

There's this idea, fairly common in society, that mental illness is for teens and up. Children are happy little creatures, generally, right? Sometimes they're abused and the trauma can make them mentally ill, but that's not common.

There are two fundamental problems with this attitude. One, it's incorrect to assume that trauma is the only reason a young kid can be mentally ill. Two, trauma is more common than people think. I'll be covering the first problem in this post through the lens of my particular experience.

Where I live, you can be diagnosed with bipolar disorder at 18 years old. You cannot be diagnosed with bipolar disorder as a minor. This poses a problem because my age of onset was in first grade, roughly six years old. Because of the fact that I was very young and new to the world, this was also the age of my first suicide attempt. Thinking I wouldn't be able to pass a spelling test genuinely felt like something worth trying to die over. So, I ate some hemlock, since I'd read about Socrates being killed with it. Luckily, I ate western hemlock, an unrelated species, and just felt kind of sick.

I'm not recounting that for fun or pity. I'm recounting it because children with mental illness are in genuine danger because they have little to no experience with managing their emotions, have little to no concept of the idea that their life can change and improve, and are dismissed by adults. I told a teacher that the test made me want to die, though not that I'd attempted to, and it was brushed off as little kid hyperbole. If I had used a method that was effective rather than one I thought would be, I would have been dead at six years old.

I would not receive medication that worked even a bit for another two years. I would not receive treatment for bipolar disorder specifically for ten years, and that required my PCP fudging the reason for the medication because she was afraid I would die if she didn't, and diagnosis was still two years off at minimum. I received a formal diagnosis at age 19, thirteen years after onset.

But surely that's uncommon, right? This story is a huge edge case, right? I actually have no idea, because age of onset and age of diagnosis are massively conflated for most disabilities. Policies like the one in my area that restricted bipolar diagnoses by age can artificially raise the age of "onset", in my case by thirteen years. The general idea that children are somehow immune to mental illness can also delay diagnosis by several years, perpetuating the idea that young children can't be mentally ill. The data on when people start experiencing mental illness is inherently skewed upwards, and I frankly don't have a good estimate on how bad that skew is. If anyone does have that data, please chime in.

Listen to children. If they're saying they're sad all the time, that they don't care about anything, that they don't see a future for themselves, those are signs of depressive symptoms. If they say that tests make them feel sick, that they can't do anything because they're scared, that they can't breathe and freeze up, those are signs of anxious symptoms. Many children talk about imaginary things, and that's just fine, but slip in a question or two about them to make sure that the kid is just playing, and not experiencing psychosis.

Children are new to the world and vulnerable, and they don't know what's normal and what isn't. They need people who are more experienced watching out for problems they might be having, and listening when they talk about having problems. If you can, try to be the person who perceives them, and tells them that things can be better.

[frudoo]

I’m so soft for Simon today y’all.

Warnings: Slight angst—lots of crying. Hurt/comfort. Brief mentions of abuse but nothing specific. Overuse of italics lmaooo. Fem!Reader. Simon is sad :(

“Love?”

Simon’s been quiet ever since the two of you left the Garricks’ house. Kyle’s wife had cooked a lovely dinner, and afterwards everybody moved to chat in the living room. Your friends’ kiddos had been climbing over you and loving on you all night, jumping in your lap or begging you to play games with them. That’s when you noticed your husband’s frown—you had just assumed his social battery had run out, but looking back now, none of the signs were there. No short temper, no irritability, no desperate glances over to you trying to convey that he was ready to leave. Now, as you both lay in bed, he speaks for the first time in what feels like hours.

“Yeah, Si? Everything okay?”

He sucks in a deep breath, and you frown. Your husband has never been one to hold his tongue. It makes your heart pound with worry as you reach over to turn your bedside lamp on. Before you get the chance to turn and face him, he wraps his burly arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. You gently raise your hand to scratch the back of his head, fingernails grazing his scalp.

“D’you ever regret marryin’ me?” His voice is so small, carrying the weight of uncertainty and the fear that you’ll tell him exactly what he’s expecting to hear, to break him further.

Your fingers stall their movements and you forget how to breathe all of a sudden. Simon’s breath is labored against your neck, too hot to be normal, too wet to be anything other than the telltale sign of him about to break down. It’s a rarity that he cries, but when he does, it’s the most excruciating thing you can imagine. You can feel his pain like it’s your own. The second his first teardrop falls onto your skin, you finally turn to look at him.

His deep brown eyes are far too glossy for your liking, long blond lashes clumped together by morsels of liquid lies his brain forces him to believe.

“Never,” you frown, rubbing the tip of your thumb over the cleft separating his top lip. “Oh, sugar, what’s brought this on?”

“Y’deserve better than me,” his voice breaks mid-sentence, raspy and raw. “Someone who can- who can make y’happy. Give y’things tha’ I can’t.”

You lean forward to nuzzle your nose against his, gently locking lips with him in a short, tender kiss. You sigh into his mouth, uncaring of the snot and spittle that runs down his face. You’re just about there with him.

“You do make me happy, Simon Riley,” the whispered promise gently whisks across his face like an autumn breeze, refreshing yet not enough to calm his racing brain. “You’ve given me everything I could ask for and more.”

“No. You’ve… you’ve had t’make too many sacrifices f’me, and I don’t deserve tha’. I fucked y’over, and- and stomped on your dreams.”

“Simon, you haven’t-”

“You’d make such a good mum.”

Your mouth snaps shut, teeth grinding together from the sudden motion. Motherhood is a soft spot for you, and he knows it. When Simon first brought up the idea of marriage, he had made it clear that he didn’t want kids—too much risk of him ending up like his father, he explained. It broke your heart, but the thought of living a life where he wasn’t yours hurt far worse. In favor of being his wife, you pushed away the desire to have children, counting on being an auntie or something equivalent to your friends’ little ones.

You bite your lip, trying to blink back tears. He’s just saying this out of hurt.

“Seein’ y’with Gaz’s kids jus’...” Simon trails off, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. “You’re so sweet with ‘em. Fuckin’- you- you’re perfection, lovie, and you’re settlin’ for a monster like me.”

The tears don’t cease this time. A weak sob rips from your throat, and you dig your nails into his bicep to make him listen.

“You are not a monster. Y-you’re the love of my life,” your lip quivers, hurt evident in your tone. “I married you because I love you, Simon. Because I see what’s beneath the surface. You’re gentle, you’re caring—Si, you’re beautiful. You’re a good person, even if you can’t see it. I see it.”

“I wanna see it,” he murmurs, swallowing hard. “Wanna be better f’you.”

You shake your head softly, a sad smile stretching your lips as you wipe your tears. Pressing your forehead against his, you intertwine fingers with him.

“You’d make an amazing dad.”

It’s Simon’s turn to tense up, squeezing your hand a little tighter but not near enough to hurt—it just proves to you further what a sweet person he can be, that he is underneath his Ghost persona. You’ve never met Ghost, Simon absolutely refuses to let you see the side of him that the rest of the world does, but you know in your bones that even he wouldn’t hurt a hair on your head.

“Love, no, I-I can’t- no. I couldn’t live w’myself if… if I-”

“The fact that you’re so afraid of doing anything wrong is what makes me certain you’d be incredible,” you interrupt, pulling back to look at him sternly, although the fondness that hides in your eyes softens the blow.

“Wha’ if I end up hurtin’ ‘em? Get mad at ‘em and- and I hurt m’own child,” he gasps softly, nervously rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“Bullshit. You would never. Si, you couldn’t even bring yourself to kill the moles in our yard, and you expect me to believe that you could lay a hand on a—your child?” You scoff, cupping his scarred face in your hands and moving to straddle him.

“Lovie, m’not a good man,” he frowns, leaning into the soft warmth of your palms. “Got m’father’s DNA-”

“Stop that. You are nothing like that man. I don’t give a fuck what it is you do out on the field, but you have never once brought it into our home,” you huff, hands shaking slightly. “You know the difference between your enemies and your family even on your worst days. That’s more than you could say for your father.”

Your skin is tacky with his tears that continue to fall even when he’s rendered silent. Gently, you redirect his arms so that they wrap around your waist, warm and sturdy.

“I know you’re scared,” you whisper, tenderly rubbing his temples with your thumbs. “But have I ever lied to you?”

“Never,” Simon admits quietly, sniffling.

“Then believe me when I tell you I’m not lying now. You’re a good man, Simon Riley—to me, to your friends, and you will be to our kids. I swear it.”

He’s stubbornly avoiding your gaze, and you can tell he’s genuinely thinking about it. Gently, you press a kiss to the tip of his crooked nose.

“Let’s go to bed, hm? Sleep on it, baby,” you suggest, nuzzling your face into his neck.

You feel him nod and pull you down so that you’re laying on top of him—a comforting blanket of love that he needs you to remind him he deserves. He reaches over to turn your bedside lamp back off again, reveling in the cool darkness that engulfs the two of you.

“I love you,” he mutters, tracing random patterns along your back with his calloused fingertips.

“I love you more, big guy.”

[divinerapturesys]

Welcome to my Ted Talk about AsPD, or Antisocial Personality Disorder, which the internet likes to coin as sociopath 👌🏻 if you don’t like long infodumps about stigmatized mental disorders from someone who is diagnosed, move on.

Quick toxic rundown: People with AsPD are generally characterized as emotionless, violent, manipulative abusers who kill animals and like to make other people their bitches. The biggest pet peeve we have is the emotionless, sadistic and abusive generalization.

Personally, we are highly neurotic, with highs and lows of: depression, frantic drive, self abuse tactics, chronic fear, lapses of rejection, overwhelming over-analyzation, grey area thinking, false goods and false bads, ultimatums, obsessive compulsive behavior, harsh self demands, and irritability.

AsPD is a disorder that is caused primarily (according to current research) by trauma and abuse in childhood; most notably being emotional neglect and absent caregivers that cause a child to have emotional shutdowns and repression episodes in an attempt to self soothe. Primary caregivers who do not bond with their children are also a factor. Children learn how to behave from those around them. If a primary caregiver is emotionally distant and unavailable, children will learn that is normal behavior and that’s how people are. If a primary caregiver does not provide empathy and sympathy during moments of distress and fear, children will learn that aloofness and disregard of others feelings is normal behavior. If a primary caregiver does not keep a child safe, children will learn that they should not prioritize their own safety or the safety of others. You can find my follow up post regarding this here.

Neglected and abused children often act out trying to get attention and help, often acting out in bad ways because they lack the ability to articulate what they’re feeling and what is happening to them. The pipeline for AsPD typically is: Oppositional Defiance Disorder as a child, Conduct Disorder as a teen, AsPD as an adult. There are a lot of warning signs cueing that AsPD is becoming a risk for development, but often kids do not have a support system to help negate it as it’s their support system that is usually a factor in its creation.

Being AsPD is like being an emotional La Croix 70% of the time. If you’re depressed, then it’s like someone in the other room has depression and is telling you about it. The other 30% of the time, if you’re depressed, your brain doesn’t understand how to handle it so it’s an ultimatum between doing something drastic to remove the Trigger or ignoring and dissociating for days on end.

People with AsPD are very good at ignoring things. Honestly it’s problematic as fuck but it’s not hard to ignore major issues when you just, don’t care. It’s not in the terms of being cruel or making ourselves not care, but the fact that finding the emotional willpower is so far out of our feasible reach we don’t do it. This causes us to piss people off because we don’t have the capacity to care as much as they want us to, even if we can and do to an extent.

Think of it this way: empathy/sympathy is a deep tub of water that everyone has. They can easily fill their measuring cup for the needed amount of empathy without any issues and it’s easy for them. People with AsPD don’t have a tub of water. We have shallow skillet. When we try to dip our cup to fill it, we can’t, it always comes up short and it is difficult to get any water in it as there is no room for the cup to dive. Our ability to care is limited because we do not have the same emotional resources everyone else does.

❌ False Positives & False Negatives ❌

I operate on what I’ve learned are called false positives and false negatives. These are things that are trained into the brain from an early age based off of childhood trauma and other factors. False positives are a distorted version of why we do something to help ourself and for our own good, meanwhile a false negative is something we do because it’s a threat, or based out of fear.

❌ Some of my false positives:

- It is good to be afraid of nothing

- It is good to adapt to someone’s personality if they are stronger than you

- It is good to isolate yourself

- It is good to be a silver tongue because you can get into any place you want

- It is good to become a social chameleon and shape yourself to whatever those around you need/want most, because then you have no chance of being abandoned

❌ Some of my false negatives, which can explain the false positives as well as core beliefs:

- it is bad to be afraid, if I am afraid then I am vulnerable and it can be used against me

- It is bad to be emotional or show concern for others emotions because they do not care for mine

- It is bad to be able to be exploited, because I believe it is everywhere

- It is bad to allow myself to be bored, because boredom begets bad thoughts and no one can or wants to help me when I spiral

- It is bad to not shape yourself to the social circle, because people quickly grow tired of those who do not match them perfectly and being discarded means I failed

My core beliefs can be viewed as the root for the false positives and negatives, because they are based on the core of trauma, abuse and neglect. They come from patterns and instances that make someone with AsPD become the opposite of what they experienced:

- eat or be eaten

- If I don’t show that my bite is worse than my bark, I will be taken advantage of and I must remain on top because the ones on top are safe

- I must look out for myself because nobody will do it for me

- It doesn’t matter what happens to me, therefore it doesn’t matter what people think of me

- If I cannot do something well, then I should not do it at all

- If you are dependent on others for emotional and mental well being, you are weak, therefore I must isolate myself to avoid becoming codependent and a burden and useless

- If I can handle the stress of a situation better than everyone else, therefore I will keep the problem (financial, emotional, mental, etc) to myself to reduce chances of being abandoned due to failure of perfection

People with AsPD are hard to get along with. We often:

- are always anticipating a fight

- lack respect for authority

- ignore social structures to an extent

- tendency to lie if it’ll lessen punishment or if we feel the lie is more acceptable than our actions

- limit social support because it’s wrong to be dependent on others

- have an inflated view of our own importance — which turns into a self ridicule for believing someome like me could be found important to others —

- can be rude and inconsiderate of others feelings somewhat unintentionally

- are unable to read the correct social cues in relation to empathy towards people and animals

- am constantly confused by others dependence upon empathy and inability to make desicions from logic based standpoints

We can’t speak for everyone who has AsPD, nor are we saying that no one with AsPD is capable of being a murderer/abuser etc. but we are saying that y’all need to stop automatically classifying someone as a certain “type” as soon as you know about their disorder.

One last thing I do want to point out is that it is not uncommon for people with AsPD to derive some sort of enjoyment in causing harm, doing something illegal, hurting someone or animals, etc. This entirely stems from lack of environmental control as a child. Being able to control what happens to others or being able to control the things you say or do that hurts someone else is a hefty high to get addicted to; it soothes the underlying itch of not being able to control your own trauma and abuse, so in turn you push these behaviors onto others and enjoy it because it gives you a sense of power and control. Some people with AsPD do genuinely love hurting others, and some enjoy hurting others when they believe it’s deserved or their ire has been stoked. Some enjoy causing pain to those they think deserve it, and others don’t care who they hurt as long as they feel like they’re in control of the situation.

Hope this have some insight into AsPD 🤙🏻 if y’all have any questions, shoot.

[pruneunfair]

Tropes in manhwa are awful yet people still defend them

I'm in a bad mood right now so what better way to release all that pent up anger by ranting on what can ruin a good story.

1: Slavery being inserted only for cheap plot and slaves being demonized as obsessive/greedy monsters for "not knowing their place"

Theres nothing wrong with wanting to insert slavery in your story AS LONG as it's not just cheap plot to make your MC look "better" by buying from a single to all of the slaves because let me tell you this: there is no such thing as a good slave owner, you cannot morally own another human being. A lot of manhwa like to have slavery be a part of their plot completely ignoring that just because the MC goes "wow this is terrible" doesn't make them a good person after they buy a slave.

Remarried empress does this with its villian Rashta by pushing the notion that she's being greedy for not wanting to stay in poverty so Navier won't suffer because apparently a slave wanting what the silver spoon mouthed nobles were born into is so terrible not to mention they justify slave owners and slavery in general as a punishment for criminals (neglecting the fact that children can be sold by their parents)

The villainess has fun again justifies a child slave being bought by the lead and he becomes an obsessive shouta love interest, fans continously justify by using the ancient lolicon excuse "he may look young but he's actually 99182823 years old!"

In divorcing my tyrant husband, Robelia buys 30 slaves and the only 2 that consistently show up have no other personality other then "we love you FL we will worship you till the end of time!"

There's a damn manhwa out there literally called the order of slave breeding and even when a story tries to do this correctly such as VADTD with Penelope being portrayed as a bad person for what she did to Eckles, fans have been so deluded by the idea that FL's buying slaves is "girlboss" that they think Eckles should be grateful to be Penelopes "pet"

2: ML's murdering innocent people after one guy hurts the FL

I already made a specific post about it before and I'll say it again: all this does is make your male lead/father figure look like a horrific monster. While you could say it's because its a medieval kingdom (objectively that is true that they would do this) manhwa and OI is the same place where despite in those times taking a mistress was considered normal they still view it as cheating and "how could you pick that slut when you have such a perfect wife!? 🤬" in most stories. So yes, modern morality is still inserted within these tropes. While I can get it's a way to show that the man in questions loves the FL so much he's willing to go to such lengths to protect her I think just mutilating the guy that actually did the sin would be enough because try imagining yourself as a faithful servant who was amazing at your job getting brutally slaughtered by the Emperor because your boss attacked his daughter or lover.

Into the light once again does this with Aishas dad murdering all the relatives and close friends of a count that tried to kill Ysis and Aisha, Aisha doesn't seem to care despite being in a situation where she was wrongfully executed in her past life.

Remarried empress does this too. After Navier is nearly killed by Krista's brother, Heinrey tortures and kills the dad and slaughters the servants of the zemensias. I can't remember if he also murdered the remaining family members but I wouldn't put it past him.

3: protagonist centered morality

Protagonist centered morality is the biggest indicator that a piece of media is dealing with a mary sue FL. Whatever the protagonist says is right is immediately morally correct. This is actually used to justify the last 2 examples with "it was for the FL!" Things like slavery, murder, workplace abuse, union busting, pedophilia, and being a POS to your loved ones are all justified if the protagonist finds a cheap way to justify it and you HAVE to agree with her because her backstory is very tragic 🥺. Protagonist centered morality also ruins the chance for good characters since the FL herself never has to grow as a person so she stays the same exact thing as she was just with more enablers and random characters will be treated as villains even if they aren't actually wrong about being suspicious of the Protagonist or calling out her behavior. It twists the narrative in such incomprehensible ways that you don't even know what your reading anymore. I can't even list all of the manhwas that do this given how many there actually are so I'll just list some that are at least self aware there Protagonist is awful/morally grey or isn't even a bad person but they still have flaws that can be pointed out

Villains are destined to die

My in laws are obsessed with me

Not sew wicked step mom

Depths of malice

The villainess turns the hourglass

Beware of the villainess.

4: villains being dumbed down to make the lead look smarter

This is unfortunately another common staple often used as a quick way to make the FL look smart and witty but is that really hard to look smarter when everyone else around you is an idiot? Not only does the FL not have to put in actual effort to best her enemies but you just start to pity the villain for basically being a punching bag. Dimwitted villains aren't always bad in fact they can be some of those most entertaining characters no matter much they lose but that only works when they are meant to be seen as a goofy character that your not supposed to take seriously. Villains that are written as extremely childish and stupid but your still supposed to treat them as serious antagonists on the other hand are just annoying since you wonder how the protagonist even got killed by them in the first life if they're so stupid.

Isabella de Mare while admitly having a good reason for being dumbed down (she's a teenager in the 2nd life so it's reasonable she wouldnt be as smart as her adult counterpart) is still a joke of a villainess who keeps flipping back and fourth from a snot nosed whiny brat to a mastermind only at convenient opportunities when the plot needs conflict.

Mielle from the villainess turns the hourglass was first portrayed as extremely conniving as she arranged for Arias downfall in the shadows but in the second life she fails at every scheme she has even though she has Emma and Isis to help her out.

Ragibach is a literal demon possessing the body of another woman with the goal of setting demons loose on the word to start another human vs demon war and she succeeded in that the first time, the devastation was all there so clearly she has to be a formidable antagonist right? Well no, she's another case of being dumbed down further and further so Keira can succeed and while they do understand some plot holes such as Ludwig not trusting her as much in the second life it doesn't change the drastic character change from evil genius to bumbling idiot.

In short: dumbing down your villains so your lead can look smarter is essentially going to give the equivalent of a hydrogen bomb vs a coughing baby.

5: feminine women being demonized as basic "other girls" sluts

Okay this one isn't nearly as terrible as the others on this list because we all love the good old "a demon makes itself look beautiful to deceive humans" kind of villain, in fact as you probably know by me by now, white lotuses are my favorite kinds of character and even in media outside of manhwa I always find myself drawn to angelic villains but it seems like this is less of that and more of "Oh those are all the other girls who just want a man to save them, look at how much better my badass rich boss babe is for working for herself while taking all of their men at the time 😎" in manhwa. As soon as a traditionally feminine girl shows up, comments are already calling her a two faced bitch and half the time protagonist is already skeptical of her. This is the opposite of what being a feminist really is, a real feminist wouldn't be putting down other women just because they dress with more pink with bows and skirts and while I do think for most manhwa this is unintentional I do wish that we could have more characters like Psyche, Helena, Athy, and Jennette that prove that being overly feminine doesn't make you a backpedal on feminism. This doesn't make the badass or sexy fl's bad either, it just means they can co-exist.

An angelic villain should be treated as evil for being a well calculated schemer, not because they have a light colored color scheme

6: toxic relationships being romanticized as good

You know for a large community that claims to be about girl code a good chunk sure likes to look the other way when it comes to toxic relationships as long as the abuser is "hot" and theres always the terrible excuse such as "he has trauma!" Or "he doesn't know how to show his love normally!" No just no we aren't doing that here. Cry or better yet beg has this problem with not only the narrative claiming that Matthias graping Layla is okay because she actually loves him and doesn't know it but a large part of the fanbase also defends it, the same goes with try begging, a manhwa written by Solche who also wrote cry or better yet beg and once again despite Leon being an abuser everyone's ready to justify his actions because he's just a soft little boy who ends up falling in love with Grace awww 😍 (what the hell?) Everyones all about not justifying abusers because they had a sad past until it's the "sexy" male leads with daddy issues.

7: maid slapping

This shit isn't asserting your dominance as a boss bitch it's just work place abuse. This trope has gotten so out of hand of being justified by narratives and readers that there is an entire webtoon called this isekai maid is forming a union that's all about criticizing twisted manhwa tropes that get brushed off with maid absuer being at the biggest one. It's funny because a lot of people complain that Isekai maid union villainizes the nobles too much but they never ask the same questions when a OI is demonizing maids as greedy and lazy in order to deserve a beating. This doesn't just stop at hands either it can escalate to threats of mutilation just to assert dominice which is absolutely sick. Most of the time these leads used to be office workers or terminally ill patients, they know how terrible it is to be treated like garbage by their superiors yet they continue to absue every maid who isn't getting on their knees for them. Most maids in real history would not mistreat a noble even if they were the most hated in the house and even if they did they'd be fired without a letter of recommendation so why can't the FL's just fire the rude maid if they care about dignity so much because I'm pretty sure getting violent with a maid isn't very dignified either.

8: disgusting age gaps

Very similar to #6 but in this case while the ML/FL isn't a cruel monster to their partner it doesn't change the fact that grooming and pedophilia is still a crime worthy of life in prison. You'd think "oh no way, this can't be justified can it?" You'd be wrong. Now I belong to house of Castillo thankfully has a larger fanbase of people who think that a relationship between a girl who got groomed by her knight is bad but in cases like into the light once again a lot of people like to say "Well Aisha is technically 28 so it's fine!" When it really isn't since Aisha is still mentally 14. Taming my ex husbands mad dog is another one that does this with Reinhardt grooming a 16 year old boy and its apparently meant to be "cute".

9: claiming a character as unattractive yet giving them a perfect body and appreance

I just think this is a major cop-out since there's time where they want to make a realistic story yet also wanting a fantasy fufilment. I don't think its a coincidence that the only woman in tears of a withered flower that yout supposed to support is a Victoria's secret model body type. Even though she's meant to be an overworked exhausted 33 year old woman being mocked for losing her beauty she sure as hell isn't drawn that way, the only other women around hae soo are all women with smaller boob's and in general more common body types that are either classed as stupid or jealous that Hae soo is so beautiful that all the attractive men want her

how about we don't pit all the women against each other for once? And let's especially not villainize other women because their jealous they could never be have large boob's and tiny arms+waist at the same time?

10: the commoner protagonist actually being a noble rich person all along

Look I know most of us had loved those "the hated child is the lost princess" GLMM but we need to drop it because it's kinda disappointing that the nobody who had to work their way to the top is actually a secret magical princess who had royal blood in them all along. While I did think the villainess turns the hourglass was a pretty decent read I was super disappointed finding out that Aria was of noble descent all along. I liked seeing a commoner protagonist for once and it really felt like it was critiquing the idea that all commoners and poor people who want nice things like the nobility are greedy animals. Something similar can also happen with certain saintess manhwas that decide to twist itself into "the villainess was the true saintess all along!" And I'm just sitting here thinking "well there goes the hope that you didn't need the super duper rare power to be a strong character"

I feel way better now after writing all this.

[mint-8]

Platonic Yandere Grandparent x GN! Reader

- Yandere Grandparent whose life was monochrome and seamlessly endless. Waking up every day for the same routine, work, eat and sleep. Some socializing here and there and spending time with their family, but not feeling any sort of true happiness or enjoyment from it.

- Yandere Grandparent who simply followed what school, their parents and peers told them. Study, get a good job, marry and have a child or two.

- Yandere Grandparent who might not have been the best parental figure to their own kids, perhaps abusive? Negligent? Absent? What about their spouse? Perhaps leaving them all the housework, childcare or money making?

- They weren’t even that interested when their children married. Not really caring at that point of their lives either, just waiting for the inevitable death to come to them and, perhaps then, it would be more entertaining.

- Yandere Grandparent whose life was finally given color and light the moment their eyes landed on you, their first grandchild. They weren’t excited when they got the news, just curious. What a pay off it was to endure the nagging of their spouse and the annoying traffic to find little, chubby adorable you in their offspring’s arms.

- Yandere Grandparent who truly smiles for the first time when your eyes open and you smile at them! Their eyes watering a bit when they get to hold you for the first time, and refusing to let go when you hold one of their fingers in your soft baby hand.

- Yandere Grandparent who felt love for the first time ever and who promised that they’ll look after you, in this life and the many new ones to come.

- Yandere Grandparent who visits practically every day to visit their little niece and spoil them with affections. From treats to toys to cute clothes, they would happily spent all their savings to give you a smile.

- Yandere Grandparent who insists to their children to continue to go out for some dates with their partner! You two are so young after all! And don’t you worry about their little niece, for Yandere Grandparent will happily look after them! It doesn’t matter what their own spouse says, their opinion is irrelevant to them and they will have no problem ignoring them if necessary.

- Yandere Grandparent who secretly wishes their kids turn out to be abusive so they can be your legal guardian and keep you all for themselves! Oh, and their spouse too, of course. As long as they aren’t too much of a pain.

- Yandere Grandparent who is so, so, so happy that whatever higher deity out there gifted them a living proof that happiness is real and that they can actually love like a normal person. Well, their definition of normal, of course.

- Yandere Grandparent who is overbearing and it’s pretty much involved in every single thing you do. They attend every recital, show, competition and event that you might be involved in! Always bringing their special camera for their special album of memories of you and with your favorite drinks and snacks on their bag as a little treat.

- Yandere Grandparent who offers a heavy amount of financial support to your parents so that you can go to the best schools or have the best tutors available. They don’t want you to suffer in this horrible world like they did! So let Gran-Gran decide the best and easiest path of success for you! They know what they are doing.

- Yandere Grandparent who tells you so many stories about their lives and gives you the best advice they can offer, as well as 100% support in whatever thing you want to do or are interested in! That includes siding with you in every possible argument between you and your parents.

- Yandere Grandparent who knows that they will definitely die before you, but are willing to prolong that due date the most they can. And who will leave their entire inheritance to you, so you’ll have a happier life.

- Yandere Grandparent who, at their last moments, smiles at you while holding your hand and muttering a final “I love you, sweetie…” before peacefully dying.

- Yandere Grandparent whose soul will continue to protect you even in the afterlife, for even death itself will never be able to break the bond of love they always had for their adorable niece.

[fairyysoup]

it will come back

part two

a.k.a. sever the blight (eddie's version)

pairing(s): werewolf!eddie munson x fem!milkmaid!reader

summary: As May Day approaches, you find yourself running into Eddie, and succumbing to his charms, more and more.

cw: smut, heavy petting, fingering, frottage, denied orgasm, public sex, getting caught, alcohol consumption (both eddie and reader), a bit of humiliation, teasing, tons of flirting, eddie munson's Big Meaty Claws, jealousy (by reader), eddie being a flirtatious shit all around, slight enemies to lovers beat here, some kind of historical fantasy period, fairytale au, descriptions of scars, mentions of abuse, reader is a servant to an abusive master

a/n: Happy May! I wrote this in a complete stupor and woke up and it was almost 8.0k words, so there will be a part three. I also wanted to get this done yesterday, but that's not how the cookie crumbles. Alas.

The lyrics that Eddie sings in this are from a traditional English folk song, commonly called "As I Walked Through the Meadow." There are variations on the lyrics, but this is the version I used here.

MY WORKS ARE ALL 18+ MINORS DNI

The man from the creek is being thrown out of the tavern in the center of town.

You know because you’ve been watching since he went inside. Except, if anyone were to ask, you’d say you’re simply watching the ripples on the mud puddles on the dirt road in front of the building. They’re fascinating, you’d insist. They say you can see your future in them.

You’d noticed him going in as you were stepping out of the haberdashers. You knew it was him from the wine red of his blouse– it’s a rich color, like you’ve never seen on a garment worn by anyone in town, and certainly not by someone claiming to come from the woods. The last time you saw him, nearly a month ago now, you forgot to ask him where he got something so richly woven and colored, in such seemingly good repair. You contented yourself with a single lie: you didn’t want to know. 

You also figured that you would likely never see him again. That this so-called Eddie Munson was probably better off disappearing back into the woods and staying there. You’d never seen him in town before, and you certainly didn’t expect to see him there any time soon. He doesn’t exactly fit in with the rest of the townsfolk; people who work the land, who own it, who sow it. His rich red wine doesn’t fit into the bland suedes and dull grays of your neighbors. 

No– no, with his wild, curly hair and bright, rosy cheeks, he definitely doesn’t look like anyone who belongs in Havensfield. He belongs in a storybook. He belongs in a fairytale you tell to little children, to send them to sleep with something larger than life in their minds. Just like you haven’t been able to sleep a wink without thinking about him and his troublesome smile and sparkling eyes first. 

It’s as if he has you under some sort of spell, unable to move on but remaining steadfastly in place with your mind only revolving around him. You figured it was probably best to spend the coin he gave you and get it out of your system, so maybe you can get rid of the one physical thing that reminded you of his existence.

But here he is, in the flesh and very alive, and being tossed into the mud puddle you had been gazing into, spraying droplets of dirty water off in every direction. A cacophony of laughter rings out from the open door of the tavern– a barkeep angrily wipes his hands on his apron, snarls something at Eddie, and disappears back into the building, the door slamming shut behind him.

The town has erected a maypole in the square for the May Day celebration in just a few days. The marketplace is normally hectic during the festival. Shopkeepers will set up their stalls, the place will be decorated with garlands of flowers, and for days at a stretch one can hardly get their errands done for the amount of chaos going on in the place. That’s why you did your shopping today, rather than waiting for the festivities to begin.

You didn’t expect this.

You haven’t moved from your spot in front of the haberdasher’s. You don’t know if you should– you look this way and that, wondering if anyone is going to approach him, or if everyone else instinctively gives him a wide berth. The people on the street continue about their business like they haven’t seen him, like he isn’t there. You wonder if it’s some unseen force of nature that keeps them away. Does some magic spell exist to make him undetectable to anyone but you? Or are you just the only one stupid enough to get close?

He just sort of lays there in the mud, staring up at the sky. You assume he’s drunk. Why else would he have been thrown out of the tavern? Drinking them dry, getting unruly, starting fights… Yes, you should go on about your business. 

Your hand fists in your skirt, the color of barleycorn. Such a drab color when compared to his deep red, like the flow of blood from a wound. Just as you had feared, it draws you in like a moth to a flame. You lift your skirts and step carefully across the muddy town square, until your feet toe the edge of the puddle he lays in. 

“Do you… need help?” you ask when you peer down at him. From this angle, his eyelashes fan across his cheekbones in long arches, fluttering like fairy wings. 

“My Lovely Lady of the Creek!” He croons wistfully up at you when you pass into his field of vision. “We must stop meeting this way.” 

“Which way is that?”

“With me on my back in a bunch of water.” He smiles at you treacherously, in that way he does. Like he’s privy to a joke that you’re completely unaware of.

“Well, are you just going to lay there like a dead man in the road? Or would you like help?” Your hands are on your hips, the small basket for your purchases wiggling precariously on your wrist. 

“You really should be more discerning about who you offer to help,” he lectures as he heaves himself up to sit. Muddy water sloshes up towards your shoes, and you scamper back before they can get wet. “Lest I begin to get the wrong impression.” 

“I don’t recall ever offering you help before,” you point out. 

“Right,” Eddie says after a moment, his eyes sweeping along the road. He looks unsure, as if he doesn’t know what to ask for, if he wants anything at all. “You… could help me over to the well?” 

Your eyes follow his to the well in the center of the square. You shrug, and then brandish your hand at him. 

Eddie looks at it thoughtfully for a moment before placing his hand into yours. His hand engulfs yours in warmth, his long fingers stretching up and around your wrist. A flush bursts beneath your skin from where his touch hits, spreading up your arm and into your chest.

You’re going to catch fire, you’re sure of it.

Instead, you just help him to his feet, trying not to slip in the mud, yourself. Eddie staggers, sways back towards the porch of the tavern. You lunge forward to catch him before he can fall over again, and you snatch him around the waist without much thought. His arm plops down onto your shoulder, and your basket bats against his hip, the contents shifting inside.

You’re so close now. He smells like pine and whiskey, and his body is warm. So warm that you’re surprised he isn’t sick in bed. 

“How much did you drink?” you ask him, your voice choked as you heave him towards the well. You don’t want to think about his body pressed against yours, his arm hot around your shoulders. He’s looking down at you with an impassioned gaze that you don’t want to match. You fear that if you look up into his face, you will. 

“No more than usual,” he murmurs. His hand reaches out and grabs the stone ring of the well once you get him to it. He kneels on the step of it, starting to look a little green in the face. 

“You smell like the tavern floor,” you tell him frankly, raising your hand to push his hair away from his face. 

“Well, I was just laying in a bunch of piss and shit, so.” Eddie raises his head and gazes up at you, wide-eyed, when you press your hand to his forehead. 

“And you’re much too hot,” you assess, watching his eyes flutter at your appraisal. “Don’t you dare get sick in the well. I have to drink out of that.”

“I need water,” he grumbles, and pulls away from your hand. He tries to stand, and fails.

“Stay,” you tell him firmly, planting a hand on his shoulder. Eddie pouts, watching as you place your basket beside him and step up to the well to fetch him the bucket yourself. 

Like a child who’s just been given a present, Eddie’s eyes fall to your basket. “What’s this?”

“My shopping,” you grunt with the effort of cranking the wheel to lift the bucket from the well. 

“Ooh– stockings?” 

You turn to glance at him, and see that he’s lifted the cloth from the basket to peek at the contents inside. He’s pinching your new stockings between his two fingers, pulling them out with a gleeful expression on his face.

You could kill him. “Put those back,” you hiss, letting go of the handle of the wheel. The crank spins backward, and down in the well, the bucket hits the water again with a loud, wet splash.

“Silk stockings, no less,” Eddie continues, ducking away from your swiping hand as he begins running the smooth hosiery over his knuckles. He seems to have gotten his second wind– no longer staggering, nor looking green in the face, he scampers around the well while you chase him. “Now how could a milkmaid afford such finery? It couldn’t be… no, I shant say–” 

“Give it to me now,” you snarl at him, rounding the well after him. You hadn’t wanted him to see them– hadn’t wanted anyone to see them. It’s not something that you could have gotten yourself, on your own pay. The Master or Mistress would assume that you’d stolen the money, and punish you for it. Obviously, any stranger seeing them would be improper.

And Eddie… Well, he knows exactly how you got your hands on them.

“Could it be… a silver coin?” He giggles like an impish little sprite, his feet working faster than his mind. “Given to you by a handsome, charming, mysterious stranger?” 

Eddie turns to look at you, holding the silken fabric up to his cheek to feel its softness. The sight of the gesture, him pressing his cheek against your undergarment, makes you see red. 

“You little demon–” You lunge for him, but he jerks away, barrel rolling across the opening of the well somehow without managing to fall in. He lands on the other side with a noisy plop, laughing hysterically, and you continue rounding the well to get to him. “Your hair is unsightly and you smell like dirt and you’re as vain as you are vexing and I would rather try to climb the maypole than call you charming!” 

“Well, you’re correct on most accounts,” he tells you, still trying to slow his laughter. Eddie lifts the cloth on your basket, still containing a bread roll and a new wooden comb, and begins carefully folding the silk stockings into a neat bundle. He tucks them back into the basket primly, while continuing, “But I would love to see you try to climb a maypole. Mine has been known to be good for such uses–”

“You’re despicable.” You snatch the basket away from him and step away from the well, turning your back to him without a goodbye. 

“Maybe so,” Eddie replies from behind you. “But you’re still curious, aren’t you?”

You stop. You shouldn’t, but you do, and you know it’s a mistake the minute you turn and see him already standing, not swaying in the slightest, and beginning to crank the wheel of the well to fetch his own water. 

With a scowl, you watch his arm work the wheel until the bucket rears up over the lip of the well, and he lifts it onto the edge. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, like he expected you to have walked away, and he smirks. “Ohhhh, she’s curious. You know what they say about curiosity.” 

Your skin prickles as you’re uncomfortably reminded of your last meeting with Eddie. “You’re much too fond of your idioms.”

“They’re idioms for a reason,” he replies frankly. With the water bucket steady on the edge of the well, he pinchest the front of his blouse and begins untucking the tails from his trousers. 

“What are you doing?” you snap, appalled, as he lifts the hem of his blouse to expose his belly.

He pauses, looking at you dubiously. “I have to wash my shirt.”

You bluster, “In front of the whole town?”

“Who’s looking?”

Who, indeed? You finally think to take in your surroundings, and you notice that the town square has cleared since Eddie was thrown out of the tavern. Aside from the occasional passerby, no one is lingering, and certainly no one is watching Eddie as he peels the muddy fabric from his skin. 

“You’re the only person in this town who deigns to speak to me. I thank you for that,” Eddie says, not unkindly. “But you should know that it makes you a rose among thorns. That isn’t necessarily a good thing.”

“How is that not a good thing?” you ask, feeling his eyes rake over you just before he pulls his shirt over his head. You see a flash of pale skin, and avert your eyes so swiftly it nearly makes you dizzy.

“Roses tend to be picked,” he tells you simply, as if it’s obvious. “Careful who you show your colors to.”

Your face heats against your will, while your eyes remain locked on the building across the way and not on him. At least, not until your curiosity wins out, and you steal a glance at him. 

Eddie dunks his dirty blouse in the bucket, splashing water down onto the stone step at the base of the well. The muscles of his arms flex with the work, and his hair spills over pale shoulders, rosy at the collarbones. He has pictures drawn on his skin with black ink– mythical creatures you learned about as a child, which denote power and magic. Surrounding the images on his skin are scars, old enough that they’ve gone pale, but their raised appearance indicates that he’s seen his fair share of danger. Hair trails down his chest and to  the curve of his stomach, then disappears beneath the line of his trousers. Your eyes trace the trail of it, lingering on his waistband as you wonder how far down it goes. 

He must feel your eyes on him, because he glances up at you. You immediately rip your eyes away, but it’s too late. He’s already seen you looking– seen you staring. 

Eddie grins, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “If it pleases you to look, then look.”

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t looking,” you say, with more than a hint of pride, turning your nose up a bit for good measure. 

“Of course,” Eddie muses, a wicked smirk still on his face. “And neither was I.” 

He meets your eye with a heated gaze that makes goosebumps break out across your skin. His eyes are two black coals, burning at you from just a few feet away. They slowly move up and down your body, until he sets his jaw and turns back to the bucket. He lifts the red blouse from the water and wrings it out, casting droplets of water down his forearms.

You watch them travel along his pale skin, your eyes tracing the blue veins and sinewy muscles of his arms. And that’s when you notice it– the cloth tied around his wrist.

It’s pale pink. It has a slight brocade pattern to the weave. It’s one that your Mistress had no use of, and when she decided she didn’t want the cloth for anything, you took and dyed it yourself with rose petals, and turned it into a blanket for your bed.

It’s the same cloth that you tied to the injured leg of the wolf in your dream, all those weeks ago. But it wasn’t a dream, or it couldn’t have been– the end of that very same pink blanket is still frayed from the tear of the fabric.

“Where did you get that?” you ask him sharply, marching forward. He startles, drawing back just a bit, his eyes glancing you up and down in alarm.

“Get what?” he says coolly, though his manner doesn’t reflect his tone. He’s backing away from you, holding up his hands like you mean to attack.

“This.” Far too bold for your own good, you snatch his wrist in your hand. Eddie gazes down his nose at you as you yank his wrist up near your face, twisting until the pink brocade glints in the overcast light of late April. “Where did you get this cloth?” 

“In the woods,” he says simply. 

“This is from my bed,” you hiss at him, your eyes narrowing as your hand tightens on his arm. Beneath his overheated skin, his pulse pounds against your fingers. You feel it like the beating of a thousand drums. “I don’t believe you. Where did you get it?” 

“I told you,” Eddie repeats slowly. “I found it hanging from a tree. Thought it was pretty, so I kept it.” His face betrays no emotion now, almost strategically so. Where alarm once was, there is nothing. No hint of hesitance, or mischief, or cunning. Just a blank slate that you have no way of reading. 

Your eyes flick between his face and his arm, trying to connect the dots. That’s when you notice the mark as well– among the otherwise pale, older scars that riddle his torso and arms is a long, jagged gash on his bicep. It arcs across his skin and appears to have been from a deep wound. It’s raised over and scarred, but still bright in color. New.

You’re wondering if your mind is playing tricks on you. It’s improbable that the scar on his arm is the one you patched on the wolf a month ago. You refuse to believe such things; you don’t believe in wolf-men, in fairytales, in silly superstitions.

You release his arm. You still don’t believe him– not when he so quickly went from being startled, to suddenly showing no emotion at all. You don’t trust him in the slightest. It seems to you like he’s hiding something, but you don’t know what. You don’t believe he’s anything other than a man. You can’t honestly say that you believe he’s evil, or that he means you harm, but you still wouldn’t lay your life down to fend for his honor.

And that cloth. You would bet your life that the fabric wrapped around his wrist came from your bed, dyed by your own hand, tied around the wounded leg of a wolf on the last full moon. But you can’t dispute that what he says is true. So you step back, and you fix him with a steely-eyed gaze that you know would make even the roughest of men shake in their boots.

“Good day, Mr. Munson,” you say, and he looks surprised that you even remembered his name. “I hope that I never see you again.”

“Making a wish like that is unwise,” he replies mildly, turning back to the bucket that he has perched on the rim of the well. “Unless you have a coin to toss in the well for it. Silver, maybe?” 

Your cheeks burn hot, and you turn away from him. He infuriates you so much. You can’t recall a time when a man affected you so badly. 

“Right. Because you spent it,” he observes, taking your silence as a quiet relent. “I’ll sleep well knowing that my coin was spent on a pair of beautiful stockings. Excellent craftsmanship, by the way. The weave is immaculate. Feels like spun gold.”

“Go to Hell,” you mutter, finally turning away from him, for good this time. 

“As long as I know you’ll think of me when you wear them,” he tells you as you walk away, “I’ll die a happy man.”

You pause. For a moment, you think of turning back to him, telling him to shove that exact thought down his stupidly pretty gullet. But you don’t. Thankfully, you have the reserve and the self respect to set your shoulders and leave him there, rinsing his soiled blouse there on the edge of the well.

You still didn’t ask him how he got a blouse so fine. You doubt that he would tell you the truth even if you did. All you know is that he stays with you, haunting you, rolling through your mind the way he rolled across the mouth of the well, until your hand lands on the gate to your Master’s property.

You can’t afford to have him occupying your thoughts. You can’t afford to be so distracted– you don’t even want to think about what may happen if the Master learns that you’re on your way to being smitten with someone. Someone young and beautiful and, from what you can tell, not running a farm with indentured servants on it.

And when exactly did you go from wanting him to disappear into the woods, to being smitten with him?

On May Eve, you get just enough of your chores done for the Mistress to not find any excuse for you not to attend the festivities. With your hands tight on a woven basket, you set off with a group of young milkmaids from down the lane, bearing torches, to collect flowers from the meadows and woods. 

Bringing in the May is one of your favorite customs, mostly because it’s practiced by the young people of the town. You don’t have to worry about being watched by the town elders. There’s an air of being chosen by someone; the more popular girls in town get flowers laid on their doorsteps in abundance. You’ve never been left flowers, but each year you hold out hope that someone, anyone, will leave them for you. A gesture– you’re wanted. 

There’s music in the air. Groups of young men and women laugh and dance, and the meadows are dotted with the little blooms of fire at the ends of torches as flowers are gathered. You’ve already indulged in a certain amount of floral spring wine and honey cakes, lulling you into a sweetly tipsy, giggly mood. There’s magic in the air– you can taste it in the humidity, the moonshine, the salt of sweat and earth.

“There aren’t enough flowers in the meadow this year,” one of the girls in your group complains, tromping through the high grass. 

“This isn’t the only meadow in Havensfield, Victoria,” says another. 

“I’ve seen more growing by the trees,” you offer, holding out your basket for one girl to toss a few measly primrose blooms in.

The other girls stop. You look around in the low torchlight at the appalled expressions on their faces. 

“You can’t just… go into the woods,” the one named Victoria objects. “There’s… there’s fairies. And wolf-men.” 

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes while the other girls balk. “You can’t honestly tell me that you believe those old wive’s tales. You know the elders only tell those stories to keep us from going into the woods to fuck.” 

A few snickers rise up with the smoke from the torch. “It’s true, I saw Katherine Plack sneaking through the woods with Scotty Raker two nights ago,” says a short girl beside Victoria, nodding sagely.

“And what were you doing in the woods, Hyacinth?” the girl holding the torch says, slugging Hyacinth on the shoulder. 

The girls dissolve into laughter, while you suck on your lower lip and gaze toward the trees. It can’t be that dangerous, if Eddie claims to come from in there… somewhere. You imagine a cozy little cottage in the woods with a well beside it, tucked away, hidden from town. You imagine him chopping the wood to make it, himself. You imagine his lean frame and strong hands holding an ax, the drawings on his skin highlighted in the filtered sun through the trees as he swings the blade–

“I’m going to go see,” you announce abruptly, your voice nearly cracking. You’re nodding to yourself, looking like an idiot while you fumble to pick the basket up and set it on your hip. “Yep. That’s what I'm going to do. You all can stay here if you want.” 

“But, there’s no light,” Victoria insists, pulling her hair back away from her face with a condescending expression.

“Moon’s almost full, I can see just fine,” you snap back. Honestly, what does it matter to her if you go into the woods? “I’ll be back.”

Hyacinth calls something about “girding your loins” after you, but you’re too far away to really pay it any mind. The grass grows taller by the trees, and you hop over the creek into a wide bed of bright yellow marigolds. They wiggle in the slight spring breeze, lit with just enough moonshine for their color to show even in the dark.

“Beat that, Victoria,” you mumble as you set the basket on the ground. Methodically, you begin picking them, choosing the biggest blooms, the ones with the most immaculate petals. You’ll decorate your small cabin with them, and fashion garlands for the town square with the rest. 

As you wander over to another bed to collect some more blooms, you hear singing, following the tune being played by the pan flute across the meadow. It’s an old folk song that most of the people in town would know, and you hum along mindlessly as you pick the flowers at your knees. 

“As I was a-walking to take the fresh air, The flowers all blooming and gay, I heard a young damsel so sweetly a-singing, Her cheeks like the flowers in May.” 

It’s a young man’s voice, coming from somewhere in the trees, low and rich, and quiet enough that you don’t think it’s meant to be heard by anyone else across the meadow. Tipsy, you smile to yourself, not thinking to look for the source of the voice, but just appreciating the sound as it travels on the breeze.

“Said I, ‘Pretty maiden, and how came you here, In the meadows this morning, so soon?’ The maid she replied, ‘Why, to gather some May, For the trees they are all in full bloom.’”

As your fingers stroke along soft flower petals, humming along under your breath, you glance over your shoulder towards the meadow, where flaming torches dance like woodland spirits in the night. Laughter follows the music and the raucous cheering of the other groups of May-goers, dancing and collecting their own greenery and flowers.

The rich, velvety voice filters through the trees, ever quieter, but even closer than before. You look up just in time to see the source of the voice move just beyond the treeline, and then he appears, leaning against the trunk of a great pine, close enough that you can see the deep wine red of his blouse, and the wicked smirk on his lips.

“I said, ‘Pretty maiden, shall I go with you Through the meadows to gather some May?’ ‘Oh no, sir,’ she said, ‘I would rather refuse, For I fear you would lead me astray.’”

You could swear that Eddie’s eyes glow nearly red at you in the moonlight, his teeth sharper than you’ve ever seen them as he grins at you. The lace at his collar is untied, disheveled, falling open to reveal one of the inked pictures on his skin and his dark chest hair. 

“Climb any maypoles today, princess?” he asks you after a moment of your staring at him, like you’ve seen a ghost.

The question sets your skin aflame. You sit back on your heels, giving him a caustic expression, despite the way your heart flutters at the sight of him. It’s the eve of May, your lurid mind thinks, tracing his outline among the trees. Anything could happen. 

“I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again, Mr. Munson,” you retort, imagining that he won’t be affected by your words in the slightest.

He isn’t. “Ah-ah, you said you hoped that you wouldn’t. But you didn’t toss a coin in the well, therefore, your wish was never going to be granted. Rules of nature, sweetheart.” He wags a finger at you. “And enough with that ‘Mr. Munson’ business. You remember my name, don’t you?” 

“Eddie,” you say quietly, not sure why you feel so shy when you do. Probably because, up until now, you’ve been firm in your false belief that you’d never give him the time of day. It seems it all depends on whether or not you’ve seen him shirtless, first.

“Good girl. I knew you were paying attention.” Eddie smirks at you then, sowing the seeds of your detriment right there. He stands poised, and then bows low as he says, “So, pretty maiden, shall I go with you through the meadows to gather some May?”

You consider quoting the song right back to him, but you figure that it’s probably what he expects you to do. So instead, you sigh and shrug your shoulder at him. “As long as you promise not to crush them in your big meaty hands.” 

Eddie’s mouth drops open in shock, an impressed smile curling his mouth up at the corners. He barks a laugh. “That’s not how the song goes.” 

“Well, the song ends with them kissing and then getting married in the morning,” you point out, with a roll of your eyes. “So, forgive me for not adhering to the lyrics.”

“Also, my hands are not meaty.” He smirks at you ruefully, his face half bathed in moonlight. He leans towards you, “I’ll tell you what is, though–”

“If you’re about to mention your maypole again, I’m leaving,” you snap, glaring at him in the dark. He snickers, but says nothing, instead preferring to start gathering marigolds. “Just how did you manage to find me again, anyways? There are hundreds of people wandering the meadows tonight. How is it that you keep managing to run into me and no one else?”

“Oh, I can sniff you out in a heartbeat, princess. It’s one of my many talents.” The flowers are dwarfed by his hands– his long fingers pinch the stems delicately, offset by the size of the silver rings he wears on them. You admire them, watching them glint in the moonlight, the tendons in his wrist flexing and his skin pulling tight over veins and knuckles. The heavy metal clicks as he works. You’re about to comment on them, when you watch what said fingers are doing with the flowers.

He takes one, and loops the stem around another, creating a loose knot that lets the tails sit alongside each other. He repeats the process slowly, building a chain of bright marigold blooms, while he hums idly and shoots you a heavy look from beneath his lashes. “Ah. So you’re not afraid to look, now. That’s good to know.” 

You tear your eyes away. The tips of your ears burn with embarrassment at having been caught staring, yet again. “Have you any shame?” 

“Not a hair of it.” 

Eddie holds up a finished crown of flowers, grinning at you. He places the circlet of blooms on your head, and as he draws back, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

“And I crowned her my Queen of sweet May,” he sings at you, more of a coo than truly carrying a tune. “The most beautiful one in all the land, of course.”

“From princess to queen,” you muse, trying not to show how quickly your heart is melting. “I’m sure you must think that endears you to me.”

“I’d like to think so,” Eddie admits, leaning ever closer to you. You can see the reflection of the moon in his eyes, glinting vaguely red– you can smell honeyed wine on his breath. His voice drops even lower in register, until it’s just barely above a whisper. “I hope so. Tell me I’m wrong, sweetheart.” 

“I think,” you murmur just as quietly, letting your eyes drop indulgently to his parted lips. They’re so plush and inviting, they’re right there. You need only let yourself bend an inch and you could kiss him. You breathe in, “I think…”

Your hand falls softly to the basket of flowers beside you.

“I think your hands are egregiously meaty.”

You lift a handful of marigolds and smash them into his mouth, making him splutter and fall backwards. You cackle, flinging yourself in the opposite direction, scrambling up to run away. You swear you got some of them in his mouth; you can hear him coughing and spitting them at the same time as he laughs.

“I’ll get you for that!” You can hear him leaping up to chase you, and the prospect makes your heart pound in your chest, your blood rushing hot beneath your skin. You’re sure that it will be easy for him to catch you– you’re hoping for it, really.

You duck between the pines and into the trees. “Come sniff me out then, if you must!” 

You hear his laugh from behind you, almost sounding dark and menacing. Your hair stands on end, but your feet carry you through the trees, running even though you feel as though you’ve been struck by lightning. 

His feet pound the earth behind you, his laughter dancing on the breeze and combining with the music from the meadow. Beyond the trees, your contemporaries dance and make merry with the coming of summer. Here, in the woods, you run from some indeterminate end– one that you have an inkling of, like the barest traces of a memory, but you can’t quite make it out yet. 

Eddie’s hands snatch you by the waist, and you yelp. Heat bursts beneath your skin where he touches you through your bodice, whirling you around until your back hits the trunk of a tree. 

Your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding, chest heaving. Eddie is so close, and the air around you buzzes with energy and magic, as if the very trees themselves were singing. 

“You little minx,” Eddie muses, his voice rumbling low like thunder. “Just need me to chase you, is that it?” His eyes truly do shine red, you don’t think you’re imagining it– each time they catch the light of the moon, or a torch burning far off in the meadow, you see a glimpse of that subtle iridescent red of a forest creature in the dark glinting back at you. 

“I think you’re a spirit,” you whisper, the words light and airy in your throat as you try to regain your breath. “I think you’re one of the Fey. You can’t be real.”

Eddie has you caged in against the tree– one hand on the trunk beside your head, one on your hip. You don’t want to be anywhere else. “Oh, I’m very real, sweetheart. Shall I show you how much?”

His forefinger traces the line of your cheekbone, down the side of your face, to your jaw. You want it bad. You want him and anything he’ll give you– throw you to the ground, take you as prey, the lot of it. You won’t be married in the morning, but tonight all things are possible. 

You turn your face and drag your lips across his knuckles, half-gone in your desire. You barely even register the look on his face; eyes wide, lips parted in awe, like he’s never seen anything like you before. Like you confound him as much as he confounds you. A match made in heaven. 

Eddie catches your jaw in his fingertips, holding you like you’re made of glass, and he crashes down into you. He tastes of cherry wine, as rich and deep as the color of his blouse, which you fist in your hand to tug him closer. 

“Please,” you whisper against his lips. It falls like a sigh into his mouth, and his hand tightens on your hip momentarily before gathering your skirts. The fabric flutters as he pulls at them, tugging them up just enough to disappear beneath the hem. 

Your breath quickens. His hand makes contact with your thigh and you think, Oh fuck, this is really happening. 

Eddie’s finger’s pause on the breadth of your thigh, just above your knee. His forefinger strokes downward, passing over your garter strip and feeling the weave of the silk before he cracks a self-satisfied smirk at you. 

“Nice stockings. Get them recently?”

Your eyes narrow with false gravity, your nose scrunching. “I’ll kill you.”

His smirk stretches into a grin, and he scoffs a little laugh that flutters across your lips. It feels like a kiss. “Dying between the legs of my beautiful Queen of May sounds like a good way to go, actually.”

His hand drags hotly up your outer thigh, and the touch nearly burns you to your core. Eddie’s thumb presses against the skin just at the juncture of your leg, and you press your lips together to bite back a moan from coming out. Everything between your legs is tense, and pulsing, and turning feverish the longer he just pets at your skin and tugs your leg up to rest against his hip. 

His fingertips dig into the curve of your ass and the moan escapes you; high pitched, needy, embarrassing. You’re hot all over and you feel like you might die if he doesn’t touch you– you have a mind to tell him so, too, when Eddie dips his head and bites at your earlobe. 

He dips his finger between your folds, tracing one forefinger up the seam of your cunt, and you swear you could nearly scream. Flesh that is too hot and too sensitive bursts alive with feeling. His finger is drenched, your legs shake just from one touch. Is this what it always feels like?

“Oh, baby,” he coos as you whimper into his neck. His lips move slowly along your skin. Each move of his finger, just teasing you gently, dragging so slowly over your clit that your back arches and you keen long and high. “That’s it. This is what you needed, isn’t it?” 

You let out a pitiful squeak, nodding your head like you may explode rather than answer. He strokes you firmly and then gently, watching your face, studying your expressions. It’s so much and it’s not enough, not nearly enough to settle the throbbing in your core. 

“Please…” It’s the only thing you can come up with, the word bubbling up out of your throat before you can make it make sense. “Please.”

“‘Please’ what?” Eddie tilts his head. His pale skin nearly glows in the moonlight, the red in his eyes shining for a split second. “Please… here?”

His finger circles your entrance, prodding but never quite dipping in all the way. It’s just enough to make you see stars, just enough to turn you nearly insane. 

“Oh my God,” you cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders and gripping at his neck. 

Eddie hums, letting you feel the gentle touch for a few more seconds before it’s gone. You could cry. There are tears in your eyes– you could sob, throw a tantrum. You don’t think it would make him change his mind either way.

“My hands are too big, though, aren’t they?” Eddie shakes his head, mirroring your pout in a condescending manner that makes you want to smack him. Then he cracks a smirk, and you know he’s just being mean. “Mhm. Big and meaty. Too much for a sweet little thing like you. I wouldn’t want to break–”

You snatch his wrist through your skirts and bring his hand back between your legs. No preamble, no begging– this time he hisses, and you sigh with relief as you grind down onto not just his fingers, but his entire hand. 

“You’re not disappearing on me this time, Munson,” you nearly growl at him. Your tongue lavishes his skin, his long neck providing just the right amount of area for you to indulge in. 

“I would have stayed,” he gasps out when your teeth find a particularly tender spot under his jaw. “I’d have stayed if I knew you wanted me to.”

“I want you to,” you say, and you wonder if you’ll regret it in the morning. But the morning seems so far away right now, and his hand feels so good between your legs, and you don’t quite understand how you could regret anything that makes him look at you like that.

“Don’t– You can’t talk to me like that,” he whispers, and his eyes shine like rubies in the night as he gazes at you in awe. “You should know better than that.”

You do know better. But still, you tell him, “Stay,” and it’s like a dam has been broken. You know that you’ll never get rid of him now, and you don’t really want to. You want him to make a home in your chest, right against your heart. You want him to always touch you like this. You want him to always look at you with that same reverent gaze, like he’s just looked upon divinity.

Eddie crowds between your legs and his hand leaves you, but his thigh remains in its place. His leg presses tight to your core, the rough fabric of his trousers not nearly as warm as the touch of his hand, but just as erotic. You rock forward mindlessly against his thigh as he takes your face in his hands– one wet with your arousal– and kisses you breathless. His lips move over yours softly, and then passionately, until you take all that passion and feed it back into him twice over.

You lose track of time. The stroke of his tongue against yours, your hands in his hair, his firm thigh between your legs, all brings you to the edge of oblivion. You squirm against him and he chuckles against your lips. He knows what you want. He’ll give it to you, you know it, you know that he will–

And then a twig snaps. Someone calls your name just through the trees, and then, fucking Victoria breaks through the bushes just in time to see you jump and squeal, having to clutch at Eddie’s shoulders to keep from falling over when he spins around to see who intruded on your precious moment.

“OH! I’m so sorry– I thought–” Victoria fiddles with a long lock of her hair, twisting it idly before tossing it over her shoulder. You’re sure you look disheveled, with Eddie’s crown of marigolds slowly unweaving itself in your hair. It’s obvious to her what you’d been doing– Her eyes rake up and down Eddie’s frame, standing halfway in front of you like a shield, his chest heaving, a dark spot on his trousers where his thigh had been pressed between your legs. “Well, you said you were going to be back, and we thought you’d gone missing…”

“I was in the middle of doing something,” you tell her bluntly.

“Understatement,” Eddie mutters under his breath, and you knock your elbow against his back.

You ignore him. “I thought you didn’t want to go into the woods?”

“Well, that was before we thought you… disappeared.” Victoria looks from you to Eddie. “Who’s this?”

“Something.” Eddie grins at her, sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight breaking through the trees. “Sorry I stole her away from you. We were actually just having a fascinating conversation about when it’s appropriate to disappear– you could join us if you want?” 

Eddie glances over his shoulder at you, and smirks a bit at the expression of complete and utter envy on your face. You don’t want anyone to join. You don’t want to share him. You want him all to yourself. You want to grow on him like ivy until no one can see him but you. You want to hold him close to your chest and keep him there for eternity, and then some. 

“Oh, no, I–” Victoria blushes. She half-turns, like she wants to run away from the conversation entirely. “I just wanted to let you know that we’ve collected all the flowers we need, so… we’re going back to town. You can stay… if you want.”

You want to throw a fit.

She ducks back into the bushes quickly. Eddie is quiet for a moment, listening to her footsteps through the grass, before he turns to you. 

“You were jealous,” he teases, leaning towards you with that stupid self-aggrandizing grin.

Your face grows hot with anger and embarrassment. “You did that on purpose.” You shove him bodily, so that he stumbles a bit to the side, and he snickers. “I can’t believe you. She could have said yes to that.”

“Nah, she was too bashful. I knew she wasn’t gonna take me up on the offer. She wandered into something she wasn’t ready for.” Eddie leans up against a tree, smiling at you with a more resigned expression now. He looks you over, like he wants to burn the image of your kiss-bitten lips and rumpled dress into his memory. After a moment, he meets your eye again. “You should go. Get some sleep before the festival tomorrow.”

“But I–” You flounder. You just made so much progress, and now you’re just back where you began. You shouldn’t be proud about it now– not after he nearly took you to pieces with a single touch. Not when you can still feel the sharp edge of an orgasm pressing at your core, wanting to force its way out but with no way to get there now, and every look at him makes it press that much harder. “You know what– I don’t even know what I expected.” 

You march off towards the tree line. You have to find your fucking flower basket. You have to go and make garlands and slap together some bouquets for the festival tomorrow. You have to pretend like you aren’t dying inside from the disappointment.

“Princess.” You turn to him. He isn’t smiling anymore, he just looks disappointed as well. He glances up at the moon, and then back to you. “It’s a full moon tomorrow. Best not to go near the woods, okay?”

“Don’t tell me you believe in those stupid wolf-man stories, too,” you snap, beyond aggravated.

“Just promise me,” Eddie bites back, his eyes shining dangerously in the moonlight. “Promise me that you’ll stay in town. Don’t come near the woods. Drink, be merry, have a good time.”

“And you?” You feel a bit humiliated and desperate, vying for his time and attention– but you want it. You want it, you want him, more than anything, but you have a feeling you won’t be getting what you want, yet again. “What about you?” 

“I’ll find you,” he says firmly, and then lowers his eyes. Softly, he amends, “I’ll always come back to you.”

[youraverageaemondsimp]

DILF!Aemond Targaryern, DILF!Aegon ii Targaryen x Reader (Separate) // HEADCANONS/DRABBLE.

WARNINGS: slight smut, mdni, afab!reader, age gap, breeding kink (aemond), p in v sex (aemond), unprotected sex (aemond), cunnilingus (aegon), oral f receiving (aegon), + not proof read.

(this is technically not a full blown hcs but neither is it a full drabble, so that's why I added both in the title)

WC: 1.3k total (aemond + aegon parts)

Aemond Targaryen !!

You knew that you definitely needed an older guy after your immature and toxic break up with the guy around your age, who treated you with almost no value.

But what you didn't expect was to catch the eye of your dad's boss during an event you had attended with him, he was in his early thirties with 2 children with his former divorced wife, Floris Baratheon.

Your relationship began quite formally at first, with him being a complete gentleman, asking you about your educational background, what job you were doing and he had asked for your number ‘just in case’ you need a job if you lose the current one, it felt more like a job offer than a normal conversation.

Until he began to text you good mornings, ask you about your day — at first he would do just that, and leave a smiley emoji after your response, but as time passed on, and you felt more comfortable around each other, he began to share a few personal things.

He had opened up about his divorce with his wife, how it affected him and the kids, — oh the kids, he would share pictures of them when he would be the one spending time with him, he had told you that he was fighting for full custody since Floris was basically neglecting them when they're spending time with her, and you wished him luck.

Soon you both begin to meet up, go on dates, he was stoic, with no expression on his face so it was hard to read through him, but eventually you'd learn to decipher his micro expressions.

You couldn't ignore the way he made you feel anymore, and you made it official, your dad was shocked and angry thinking Aemond had abused his power to get to you but once you explained everything, he calmed down.

You moved out of your apartment into his house, he had given you heads up about the kids that they're hard to handle and dont welcome strangers that easily, but you had told him that you'll manage everything.

And eventually you got along with the kids, and everything in life seemed to be moving fast from there onwards, Aemond got full custody of the kids after proving the neglect they were facing from the mother's side. Which you congratulate him about.

He would often stare at you when you'd play with the kids, he couldn't help but have the thought of your stomach swollen with his child, he'd eventually confess to you about it during your intimate moments.

“Oh fuck— yes right there!” You throw your head back against the pillows as Aemond thrusts into at full force, his desperate hands grabbing any flesh he could find, giving it a tight squeeze. You moaned as you peaked, as his tip repeatedly hit your sweet spot.

“I'm coming.” He grunts, “Jeez— I want to finish inside you so bad, watch you grow round with my child– fuck— I can only imagine the sight.” His words made you feel warm on the inside, and when he went to pull out, you locked your legs around his waist, to which he was surprised by, “Do it inside me then.” You say seductively and he immediately begins to thrust rapidly, he finishes inside you with a moan, painting your walls white before he pulls out, watching intently as his seed drips out of your cunt.

“Mhm, I think Aerys and Rhaegal would love to have a little sister.” He says as he plops down next to you, pulling you into his arms, “I think they would.” You reaffirm, rubbing your thighs together, feeling even more turned on as his seed sticks to your thighs.

“We should definitely make sure it takes.” You tell him, implying at a second round and he smirks knowingly.

Aegon ii Targaryen !!

You met him in a club you went to when you tried to destress because of your exams. He immediately took a liking to you, at first you had guessed that he'd be around your age, so imagine your surprise when you found out that he was in his mid thirties.

He laughed when you told him about it, he was extremely outgoing, in fact, too outgoing and so much of an extrovert.

You both immediately clicked, enjoying each other's company and finally exchanged numbers. He had drunk too much and eventually overshared everything about how his wife passed away in childbirth, leaving him with a child who he is working hard to raise.

“I try my best to raise him, but it gets too tiring. You know, I had hired a nanny, but I wish I could just quit my job and spend more time with him.” He shares, “Where do you work?” You ask curiously, “Hightower Co.” and your eyes widen at that, “Isn't that a really difficult place to get into? Their employee selection rate is super low, and I heard their manager is quite picky.” you shrug and he chuckles, “Well I guess I am indeed picky sometimes.”

“what.”

You apologised immediately after feeling embarrassed, he had revealed that his grandfather owns the company and basically wants his family members to run and manage it, though it screams nepotism, most of the hightowers and their extended family are extremely good at their ages, there were only a few select non-family members that were able to make to a non-basic worker status.

Things ended awkwardly after that, but nonetheless, you both communicated with each other from time to time, he would send you cute pictures and videos of himself and his son doing random stuff, or just bonding which warmed your heart.

After a month of talking, you both decide to get into a relationship, you knew it was quick, but you couldn't help it when you got along so well, he would often bring his child on the dates with you, which you didn't mind, but rather had more fun cause this would allow you to go non-romantic dates which are rather comforting.

If there was one thing which you didn't expect of Aegon ; was his sexual appetite, which he had a lot of, you were surprised by how much stamina he has, and how he's willing to go more than 3 rounds at a time, it sometimes exhausted you because you'd be too overstimulated to even continue.

You still remember how he had fingered you whilst at the family dinner under the table while maintaining a conversation with his grandfather, you tried so hard to not make a noise. He eventually finished what he started in his bedroom.

His favourite thing to do is eat you out, he loves the expressions and noises you make and how messy it would be afterwards.

“Aegon— ahh— hmm pls–” You blabber out incoherent noises whilst you grip his hair, pushing his face further into your cunt which he takes in obediently, lapping his tongue up and down and suckling on your clit as if his life depended on it.

The whimpers and noises you let out only motivated him further to continue his ministrations, he dipped down further while his tongue pushes past the folds of your cunt before entering it, the angle caused his nose to be pressed into your clit, nudging against it while Aegon greedily ate you out.

He pushed his tongue in and out before he licked a long strip up to your clit and once again, latched himself onto it, you moaned when you felt his teeth slightly graze against it.

He sucked on your clit which caused you to peak while holding his face tightly against your cunt, your vision went white at the intensity of the orgasm and your body trembled as you calmed down.

Yet Aegon did not stop, you pulled his hair in an effort to pull away, but he grabbed your hand and held it away while he continued to devour you, you whimpered as the overstimulation hit you, trying to wriggle away from his face yet he still didn't budge and continued sucking, nibbling and biting your clit.

After all, he had no intentions of stopping until you were a mess.

[asters-galaxy]

About the SFW vs NSFW situation that's going on right now.

I know I'm not active much nowadays and I already commented on one of the posts involved, but if you'll allow me to get on my soapbox for a bit:

I'd like to explain mine and a lot of other people's stance on this, personally, as someone who has:

Enjoyed tickling and fantasized about it since about the age of 5

Enjoys it currently in both SFW and NSFW contexts

Does not allow minors on their blog

Is currently in school and studying psychology

Recently gave a presentation and is writing a paper about how kinks and trauma correlate

From how I've looked into this situation thus far, I see that another person made the very wild generalization that all people who enjoy tickling enjoy it as a sexual kink. I want to make it known to anyone who is reading this that this claim is not true.

(Important note: DO NOT HARASS THIS PERSON. IF YOU HARASS THIS PERSON, YOU ARE PART OF THE PROBLEM AND YOU ARE BULLIES. I DO NOT TOLERATE BULLIES ON THIS BLOG.)

Tickling is a sensory activity. It is a bonding thing that occurs in the animal kingdom (not just humans) often between familial connections and friendships. This is the norm in the human world; parents lovingly tickle their children, siblings and friends get into tickle fights, partners tickle each other -- it's a normal thing. These activities are not inherently sexual. When my parents tickled me and my brother when we were little, that was not sexual abuse or incest. When a classmate of mine was gang-tickled in the back of the classroom, his friends weren't suspended for sexual behavior in a school setting. Everyone in both of those situations were enjoying what was going on, but nobody was aroused. That shouldn't have to be said.

An important note on this, however, is that sexual abuse can happen this way -- it's not the only way, nor is it an inherent quality of the activity, but it does happen. I just wanted to preface that, because if someone touching you makes you uncomfortable in any way, you have a right to tell them to stop and to get angry if they don't.

The important thing when it comes to determining whether a scenario is kinky or not is based on consent and any potential arousal involved. For example, take the concept of a foot kink. Say a person asks for a foot massage. Just because foot kinks exist doesn't mean that person has a foot kink. And, even if they do, it depends on why they ask: are they asking because they want foreplay, or are they asking because they had a hard day at work and their feet are sore? It's similar with tickling -- I enjoy it in both contexts, so I can be aroused by it; however, this doesn't happen if I ask for it or otherwise seek it out because I'm looking for comfort. My partner will tickle me in more sexually intimate situations, but he will also do so if I've been having a bad day or if he wants to be playful with me, and it does not immediately or always arouse me -- only in the right and comfortable context.

Let's look at the sensory-seeking side. A lot of people in the SFW tickling community are diagnosed with or believe they have ADHD, autism, or both. I do as well. Looking at the science behind it, it makes sense: ADHD and autism are both disorders that alter the way that someone perceives physical sensory input. Given that tickling is an inherently innocent bonding activity that is playful and involves (hopefully) consensual sensory, it makes sense that a fixation could/would form and sensory-seeking behaviors would occur. This is a good explanation for anyone who was seeking tickling in some way as a child but has never/didn't at the time feel sexual about it.

And as far as sexual interest does go: kinks often form as a coping mechanism, and yes, they CAN be non-sexual or occur in non-sexual manners. So, again, tickling is not always a sexual thing for people.

Now to get into the nitty-gritty of the claims this person was making and their personal input:

This person claimed that if you cannot/do not want to show your tickling fixation to your friends, boss, and family, then it means it's kinky and that's why you're embarassed.

First of all, I wouldn't show any fanart or fanfiction to my boss, dickass. You think I'm giving them ammo that easily? HELL NO.

For my family, I don't feel comfortable doing that because I have a long history of my personal technology privacy being invaded. I also don't want them following me, same way I don't want them following my main Tumblr account.

But as far as friends go, I have shown my fanfiction to my partner and one of my friends (another person I know IRL found my blog after that); I am slowly working my way up to being comfortable enough to show other people I am close to. I keep it under wraps for a lot of reasons:

I hold myself very seriously and elegantly IRL and this entire blog juxtaposes that

A lot of my highschool life involved drama and tension, and I am very lucky that there were certain people I refrained from showing

I was also a victim of bullying as the "weird kid" and one of the only openly queer people in my grade, and I didn't want any ammo to be given to the people harassing me

And, perhaps most importantly,

It gets commonly mistaken as ALWAYS a fetish online, and people who don't understand that harass the creators of tickling art and fanfiction; I can handle that online by blocking as I please, but IRL?

We've all seen people talk about hating tickling, how "it's abuse, actually," how our community (fetish or not) is "gross" and "weird" and full of creeps. Think about the tickle Picrew's creator (a minor!) getting harassed on Twitter, which spread to them trying to bully SFW creators on Tumblr. Think about people cringing over tickle scenes. Think about the way that otomiyaa's writing breached containment and prompted negative comments. Almost all of us have seen this harassment happen or experienced it ourselves -- why put ourselves in that situation with IRL people, where it can be even more damaging to hear?

Moving on:

This creator also stated that any tickling blogs that talk to minors are either pedophiles or fostering a "safe space" for them to breed; they doubled down on this by saying that they were groomed, and that this community (again generalizing to everyone) let it happen by turning a blind eye

They then were called many things, including a pedophile, by harassers

Listen. I don't allow minors on this blog. But that's not because this is a tickling blog. It's because I don't like talking to children (this includes IRL, by the way) because it personally weirds me out; I have no reason to talk to them.

But the MAIN reason is because I have a history of minors pushing my boundaries -- not the other way around -- which gave me a sour relationship with this blog and my writing. That's why I haven't posted a fic in years. However, if a minor comes to this blog, I am not going to immediately groom them -- that's not how that works. And if a minor comes to this blog looking for help, I will help them.

Additionally, generalizing every SFW adult in this community as a pedophile because you didn't receive help when you needed it most is not a healthy way to cope with trauma. I am sorry that it happened, but I was either not in the community or a minor when it happened; that does not make me a bystander now just because I'm a SFW adult here. This goes for everyone who was not there or could not have done something at the time.

One groomer also does not mean that every adult here is/could be one. That is a horrific generalization to make. If that were the right generalization, then that would mean that every adult ever with any kink should never, EVER talk to children or they're a pedo. Do you see how misaligned that is?

I don't agree with the people who were harassing this blogger, including on the pedophile claim. I do have to say, though, that the horror and disgust that this person likely felt at being called that is exactly what they just put a lot of people through. It also does not negate the valid criticisms of those who respectfully spoke up. Something to dwell on.

Bottom line is -- and I don't say this to be demeaning -- that this person could genuinely benefit from some introspection, a break from the kink community, or both. It is not okay to label an entire SFW community as pedos because you were groomed by one person. It is not okay to generalize every person who likes tickling as a kinkster just because you are. Don't make sweeping generalizations. Period.

For anyone who felt hurt and confused by the claims this person made, please know that you are not alone (I was dealing with the same thing because of a different artist a while back); please also know that you don't have to label yourself as anything that you don't want to. As long as you aren't hurting anyone, you are valid and welcome here.

[furiousgoldfish]

When you're a kid going trough a scary, non-understandable traumatic experience, your child mind contextualizes it in a way that doesn't seem that scary. Like we don't tell small children when their relatives are dead, they're just traveling; it's easier for a child's mind to comprehend that someone is just gone for a while, and will be back.

When you're a small child living in abuse, not only does it seem normal to you, but your brain will find a way to put it into context that you can understand and live with. Your worst experiences of abuse might be foggy, forgotten, blocked off, or seem like it was a dream; not something you need to worry about or be wary of. Your parent, who violently attacks you, calls you names, turns on you and at times feels very dangerous and hateful, that's not their real self! They just 'turn' into this other person, and the times when they do that just need to be not taken seriously, you firmly believe that their true self is safe, okay to be around, necessary to love and understand at all costs, and not someone to be afraid of. You might want to keep all the bad memories away whenever things are good, so you'd be able to enjoy the moment when it feels normal, non-scary, so whenever they're not aggressive and scary, it feels like they never were in the first place. You feel like those times are made up, unreal, something your mind refuses to linger on.

Sometimes this defense turns against you. It can turn an experience out of your control, into something you could have potentially controlled if only you did things differently. If you never made a mistake, never broke anything, never said or did that one thing that set the abuse off - it wouldn't have happened. And so you have to focus on what you're doing wrong in order to 'prevent' future events of abuse. It ultimately plays into the idea that the abuse is 'your fault', and invokes deep feelings of guilt and shame; you end up feeling like you're the one causing yourself all that damage.

Abusers know this child mind defense, and fully expect to get away with anything they've done, by insisting the child imagined or dreamed it, and it didn't really happen. They know the event was traumatic for the child and makes them look bad, so their best luck is to convince the child it really was just made up, and to never recall it or show any consequence of it. They even go as far as trying to convince, now adult child, that the parent's own actions of abuse, were the child's fault. Something an adult can tell right away is not true, because you can now connect a cause and consequence, and you know a child is incapable of controlling adults in any way. But being told something as despicable as that will cast doubt and deep emotional damage.

Every time such experience is suspended and blocked off, the child loses a bit of their vitality, energy, health, trust, feeling of safety, feeling of connection. When these experiences accumulate, eventually the child might experience dissociation, or a full amnesia, not even being aware that anything more is happening, because they cannot handle even one more event of abuse. And these experiences won't stay suspended forever; soon they'll cause the development of anxiety, depression, ptsd, cptsd, and other related disorders. And eventually the truths can no longer stay hidden, the child will remember and struggle to add new context, to realize what exactly happen, because now they have a chance of knowing the truth and surviving it.

If someone attempts to make you feel like something they did to you as a child, was your fault, this is what they're trying to push you into. They'd prefer you never being able to put your life and experiences into context, never be able to recover from keeping trauma inside, just so they wouldn't have to look at what they've done to you and take accountability. If someone is telling you that the events you remember are made up, imagined, a dream, something you shouldn't think and talk about - but it's only like that when you're remembering abuse, they're trying to use your own defenses you had as a child against you. You needed to believe it back then in order to survive it, but you need to correctly contextualize it now, if you ever hope to feel okay again.

You can trust in your own mind, and your own defenses to get you trough this. You are not wrong in looking back and seeing things a different way. You are right say 'that was fucked up'. They shouldn't have done that to me and they know that.

[allastoredeer]

Controversial opinion but I think Lucifer gets babied too much by the fandom. Like I get that he has mental health issues but seeing all this fanmedia of women and men of color nannying this white-adjacent man who has been shown to be an incompetent and absent husband, father and leader. Just. Grinds my gears.

Not saying I hate Lucifer but... when people frame past radiostatic with current radioapple as a huge upgrade, it reeks of a woman leaving her abusive ex for a neglectful husband. While I'm glad Lucifer is a step up from Adam, I need to see actual improvements if I don't want to get the ick.

Agreed.

I massively agree.

Lucifer gets babied a lot. And like you said, yes, he has mental health issues and that's valid, but a lot of the time, it feels like his mental health issues become a scapegoat for his flaws and bad behavior.

Depression is a legit reason for Lucifer to struggle to maintain relationships and reach out to those he cares about. As someone who has suffered from depression, I understand pulling away from people, feeling like you need a reason to reach out to someone, having a negative opinion of oneself, getting overwhelmed with anxiety, even ignoring other people's attempts at reaching out to me because it's just...too hard and it's too much and you're stuck in this cycle that you can't break out of.

HOWEVER

Lucifer's depression doesn't take away from the fact that he's neglected Charlie as a parent. It doesn't negate the fact that he has acted condescendingly towards her and her ambitions. It doesn't counteract the fact that Charlie felt uncomfortable and awkward for a majority of their interactions in "Dad Beat Dad."

I sympathize with Lucifer having depression, but unfortunately, mental illness doesn't just effect you, it also effects the people around you, and i can't fault Charlie for her feelings too.

Because at the end of the day, Lucifer is Charlie's father.

Charlie is his child.

And as a parent, he has responsibilities. Ones that he failed to meet, which would have an effect on Charlie as children are meant to rely on their parents.

It's very telling that Charlie calls Lilith (who's been MIA for 7 years) more than she calls Lucifer (who's probably just a few Circles away). And no, I don't think this is because Lilith kept them separated and all that bullshit. I think Lucifer 100% had a hand in his and Charlie's estranged relationship and I hate it when he's passed off as nothing but a victim in all of it.

I hate it when he's boiled down to sad depressed man who's done nothing wrong. He has done plenty wrong.

And that's okay.

Because that's what makes his character good. He is multi-faceted. He is flawed. You can be depressed and still treat the people around you bad. I don't think Lucifer ever meant to be an absent parent, he obviously loves Charlie with all his heart, but that doesn't mean Charlie wasn't affected by his actions.

She very obviously was. Charlie is one of the most positive people in the show (to an extent that it becomes one of her flaws too), but the minute she called Lucifer it was a complete flip of how we normally see her. She was immediately annoyed. Her patience was already wire-thin. She was close to snapping so many times.

And I can see why. He only calls when he's bored/wants/needs something. He forgot about where she was and what she was doing despite her already telling him. He told her that he'd do anything to help her, and then said "no" the minute she asked.

Also, let's not forget how he answered the phone in the first place.

"Heeey, bitch!"

And look, it was funny. I laughed too. I still think it's funny.

But, imagine you called your dad for the first time in years (a dad you have a very strained relationship with) and the first thing you hear is a peppy, "Heeeeey, bitch!"

Like??? I can't blame Charlie for being annoyed as all hell, okay? I get the sense that she's been putting up with this bullshit for a VERY long time ad she's lost all patience for it. She's done. She's sick of it. She's been disappointed one too many times.

Also, yes, it's not just that Lucifer has been an absent father but he's been a neglectful ruler too. I wouldn't be surprised if Pentagram City has as much respect for him as they do for Charlie. I mean

HE SIGNED OFF ON THE EXTERMINATIONS

Lucifer gave the go-ahead for a yearly genocide of the people he rules over. Can we get some repercussions for that? Do you know how many people lost their friends? Family? Lovers? Vaggie literally spared a child--a CHILD. And I doubt that was the first kid ever confronted by an Exorcist.

Imagine that Cherri died during an Extermination and here we have Angel Dust meeting the person who stepped aside and let it happen. Do you think he wouldn't be mad?

Imagine Carmilla did lose her daughters during that Extermination. Do you really think she'd meet Lucifer and feel nothing but anger and contempt?

Personally, I think Lucifer agreeing to the Exterminations is what fractured his and Charlie's relationship. Like, fully fractured it. That was the last nail in the coffin.

And honestly, I WANT Lucifer to see the consequences of the Exterminations. I want him to have repercussions because that was an INCREDIBLY SHITTY THING TO DO. I imagine he didn't think there was any other option, but we also know that he didn't hold the sinners in high regard anyway. He had the lowest of low opinions of them. I doubt it took much convincing for him to agree.

Lucifer is the oldest being in the Pride Ring--he may be the oldest being in Hell. He's the most powerful person there. He is the embodiment of Pride. And he ACTS LIKE IT IN THE SHOW.

He has acted that way towards Charlie too. He didn't go to her hotel with an open mind. He wasn't actually listening to her plan or taking it into consideration. He played stupid when she asked him what he thought about it. And when the hotel was under attack, instead of stopping it (which he could easily done with a snap of his fingers), he was smirking and acting self-satisfied as he gloated about being "right" about Sinners.

And if you think I'm exaggerating then go rewatch that entire scene.

Look at him

He is acting so smug and he is rubbing it in Charlie's face.

LOOK AT CHARLIE! She is in distress. She is angry. And she is hurting. Her hotel is falling to pieces around her, her friends are in danger, and the whole time she had her dad gloating in her ear about why her dream is, essentially, a waste of time.

And the only thing that snapped him out of it was Charlie asking why Alastor (the one actually protecting the hotel) has more faith in her than her own father. It took Charlie bringing up Alastor again for Lucifer to knock his shit off.

Look at how hurt and closed off Charlie is in the last screenshot. I can't imagine that this is the first time Lucifer has acted towards her in this way. Do I think Lucifer meant to hurt Charlie?

No.

But did he?

Hell-to-the-fucking-YES!

Lucifer is an asshole. He acted like an asshole towards Alastor. He's acted like an asshole towards Charlie. And he kind of acted like an asshole towards the rest of the Hazbin crew considering he didn't exchange a single line of dialogue with them. They introduced themselves to him and that was it. Lucifer spent the rest of the time dissing on Alastor and talking exclusively to Charlie and Vaggie.

Lucifer suffers from depression, yes, but that doesn't take away that he is as much of an asshole as any other character in the show. And I hate that being stripped away and getting turned into this sad, babied little man who's awkward and shy and everyone else is just being mean to him. It's so dull and it's such a disservice to his character.

I don't want sweet, shy little UwU Lucifer that needs to be coddled.

I want mean, condescending, ass-hole Lucifer who reaps the consequences of his actions and grows from them.

[askdiscordwhooves]

This update was drawn by me, @jitterbugjive

I want to address one thing that I KNOW some people are going to complain about because they've already complained about if it would happen, and that’s The Doctor and Derpy getting together in the end. I understand the concerns. This is in no way meant to say ‘your abusers will eventually change for the better if you just say the right things to them’. This isn’t that kind of story. These are special circumstances that DO NOT EXIST in real life where the abuser was under MAGICAL mind control. That’s not who he actually is and when he’s himself he’s not remotely an abuser. He is safe from having a relapse, the curse is gone and over with because the core Discord was killed while the fragment left over in their universe has been reformed.

 Real abusers are not under any kind of puppetry or mind control when they do what they do, and no not even getting drunk counts as this because when someone is an abusive drunk they’re still choosing to get drunk when they are well aware of what they do when under the influence. If The Doctor did any of this abuse on his own terms, I wouldn’t have let them get back together. I’m an abuse survivor, I know better than that. When you try to compare completely fantasy scenarios that can’t happen in real life to.. Well, real life, you’re kind of reaching at straws at that point. Besides, this relationship wasn’t automatically better just because he returned to normal. Both of them suffered damage and trauma and both needed to navigate around it to be able to trust one another again. If there’s any kind of comparison to make, it’d be more like a loved one suffering a psychotic episode and doing horrible things they’d never do in their right mind. And some people are able to understand and forgive, while others are not. The pain of having a psychotic episode and saying and doing things that hurt people is really hard to overcome, it’s hard to trust yourself and it can be hard to make amends. But a psychotic episode does not dictate who a person is. It just doesn’t. And that’s the closest thing to reality this story is. I tried to handle this as best I could, because in my line of work recovery is the most important thing and I understand that someone coming out of a bad episode needs support and compassion (Unless they’re a terrible person in general) and there have been extreme cases where perfectly good people end up going as far as murder- even murdering their own children, but their loved ones are able to reason that they were sick and they are going to suffer great pain upon realizing what they’d done, and they are going to seek help. Maybe you wouldn’t be able to forgive someone who did terrible things in a psychotic state, and that’s within your right, but it doesn’t mean people who can forgive are any less valid. Listen, if a husband can be capable of not blaming his wife for killing their kids in a psychotic state (a very real event that happened rather recently, simply google “wife psychosis news killed children husband forgives” and you’ll find it), it's perfectly reasonable that someone can forgive someone who was under magical mind control.

If you are in a physically abusive relationship, you need to get out of it. The likelihood of this person changing for the better is extremely low, and you can’t cling to the idea of the rare few people who manage to work through these kind of things. Those are very special circumstances and in my opinion if there’s a relapse into violence after making genuine efforts to change, that should be the end of it once and for all. It shouldn’t be happening to begin with, it should not be tolerated. You matter, you deserve to be treated with kindness and compassion. Never let anyone tell you or make you feel otherwise. Please take care of yourselves, and DO NOT use this story as a basis for how to manage your own relationships, no matter how much you might think you see yourselves in it. This is fiction, and the scenarios in this story do not happen in real life. If you can’t discern reality from fiction, that is all on you, not me.

[svgvru]

. . . home, the place where i can go, to take this off my shoulders . . .

𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔. after he had left, you never expected him to retun to you. after all, his words remained in your head: "we aren't good together." at this point, you've come to the conclusion he said that to keep you away from him. to spare you from his actions. and yet . . .

a series of knocks sound on your doornin the dead of night. your eyes scan the '𝟷𝟸:𝟸𝟷' on your phone, sitting up in confusion as to who could be visiting you at a time like this. your feed pad on the wooden floors, surprising flooding your face at the sight when you open the door. there he was, as if he had never left—suguru geto. accept, there were two others. two little girls, sisters you assume, one with brown hair was hiding behind his legs—the other with blonde hair was curled in his arms. you wondered why he has children. much less, children who should be asleep at this time. "i need help."

he so desperately came to you, needing help with taking care of children, knowing you had experience with your siblings. two children at that. you should've shut the door and told him 'no.' but those adorable little faces made you step to side and let him in.

the little girls were small, and they most definitely had clothes that needed to be replaced. although, it was twelve in the morning, you couldn't go shopping. so cooked up something quick, handing them bowls of food that would fulfil them, promising to go visit your mother's and grab some of your sister's old clothes. "i thought "we didn't work," that you were leaving me," you mumble, hands scrubbing the dirty dishes—the two little girls were curled on the couch of your living room.

"im sorry," suguru whispers back, leaning agsinst the counter. "i thought that would make it easier . . . i— i'm set in my ideas, you can't change me. so if you want to kick—"

"those two little girls over there," you start, glancing at them. "nanako and mimiko, they need care. and you can't go in blind taking care of them. they're the reason i'm helping you . . . " suguru looks a bit shocked at your words, his lips part as if to say something, but he doesn't go through with it. instead, he smiles softly. "thank you . . . "

ever since then, you've helped him. turning a blind eye to his crime in exchange for helping with nanako and mimiko. as promsied, you took some of your sister's old clothes, giving the kids baths and fresh clothes. since then, suguru and you have gotten closer again. despite your distaste towards his ideals, you will forever continue to love him. watching him become a girl dad didn't help.

your days consisted of teaching suguru how to cook, because he burned everything he touched. helping get the kids into school, and asisting them with their homework. taking them to places and trips suguru couldn't—because he was a fugutive. giving nanako and mimiko the love and care they deserved after the trauma and abuse the village had given them. yes, the two of you got weird looks at times, being two men taking two little girls shopping, but regardless—the two of you were their dads. and you were always there for suguru, helping him with their milestones.

when they first learned to ride their bikes, there you were helping suguru teach them. surprisingly, mimiko was a much faster learner than nanako. you could say nanako was a bit of a late bloomer, she couldn't pick it up quite as fast as her sister. the poor girl cried at one point! however, she eventually got it with help of mimiko, you, and suguru.

and oh—the catastrophe that occured occured when the two of them happened to get their periods at the same time . . .

suguru ran—to you, dashed to you. his panicking, caused the kid to panic, and then you panicked for a moment before figuring out what was wrong. a sigh left your lips. "calm down, suguru . . . " you calmly told the girls to calm down, telling them it was normal. you took the risk and called shoko, telling her they were "your neices." she knew damn well you were lying, but regardless, she helped the girls. now you keep a bin of pads and hygiene products in the cabinet of your bathroom for the girls when they come over.

lets not start with the middle school crushes. you'd pick them up from school, suguru patiently waiting in the car . . . and a little boy would run up to nanako to say goodbye. as you got mimiko in the car, the two kids had a faint blush on their cheeks. you saw suguru's twitching eye in your peripheral. a sigh left your lips. "suguru, would you calm down. they're kids . . . " suguru grumbles, "i don't care. he needs to get away from my little girl!" you roll your eyes and call nanako to the car, the two kids parting. during the rest the car ride suguru was fuming.

every step of the way, you and suguru were taking care of them. nanako and mimiko had even started calling you "dad." mimiko started it first. it caused more pain in your heart when you realized the situation you were in.

suguru had declared war. your his two girls were standing behind him, refusing to look at you—perhaps out of shame?

you couldn't allow it. you couldn't allow the deaths of thousands at the cause of suguru, but you couldn't allow him to do either. it was such a great thing you were friends with satoru, and a special grade. it was a hassle to convince the higher-ups, yes. but the combination of yours and satoru's influence and power was enough of to convince them. if only you could convince suguru.

he wasn't afraid of you, he never was. holding things over his head was nearly impossible, but it was just that—nearly impossible.

his girls were now accomplices of his crimes. his family was in danger along with his life. he wasn't able to defeat yuuta, his goal would never be accomplished, even after everything he has given up. "please, suguru. it's enough, you've done enough." tears prick at your eyes at the sight of him, an arm missing and a bloodied face as he was slumped against the wall. if only you could convince. "the girls . . . " if suguru would just agree. "please . . . "

please. "okay . . . " he'd never admit it. but he loved those girls more than anything. he'd give up his life for them, he'd kill again and again for them. perhaps he had found what it truly meant to be a parent. "okay . . . "

this must be a dream. but if so, it's a good dream. shoko's reversed cursed technique had given him his arm back. he was healthy, he was here. no, his crimes couldn't be forgiven so easily. but suguru geto was back in your arms. him along with the now teenage girls, nanako and mimiko. the children you'd never admit you've always wanted with him.

ah, peace at last.

[awkward-tension-art]

Papà

Inspired by this post. Wanted fluff. Wrote fluff.

cw: Dad Lucanis, OC children, mentions of fem!Rook, brief mentions of pregnancy, blood and knives mentioned (not in a threatening way), Lucanis being soft, Spite being...Spite, brief mentions of Caterina's abuse

Enjoy!

Lucanis Dellamorte. 

Antivan Crow. First Talon. Demon of Vyrantium. 

Many names. Many titles. But there were really only two that mattered to him. 

Husband and…

“Papà! Papà!” 

He turned from his desk, eyes wide at the small voice of his son. The poor boy sounded panicked as he rushed into the assassins office.

“Matteo,” Lucanis knelt, wrapping his arms around the small 9-year-old. He kept his voice level, afraid to cause any more undue stress to his son, “What’s wrong?” 

“I-it’s Julietta…” Matteo sniffled, “She got hurt…” 

Hurt? How bad? 

Who. hurt. Julietta? 

“Take me to her,” he stood, heart racing. 

Spite was agitated almost instantly. The demon had become a sworn protector for Lucanis’ children now. The day of Matteo’s birth, the very nature of Spite had changed. Shifted to one more…loving. It became even more clear when Julietta was brought into the world.

Yet, with no true word to describe the shift, Spite will always be Spite. 

If she’s hurt. I will kill. 

Me too.

He was the First Talon. Thoughts of a rival house harming his children went through his mind. They killed his family years ago, and here they were, threatening House Dellamorte again.

Matteo was quick. Quicker than he was at his age. And more clever. With talented ease, the boy leapt over a gap between two roofs. Already he was showing signs of becoming a great crow. 

They returned home. To the manor. Lucanis had his hackles raised as they approached. 

Was our home infiltrated? Where are the guards? The servants? 

Kill. Them. 

One hand drifted to a hidden dagger at his side while he analyzed their surroundings. All staff accounted for. Everyone he recognized.

Was there a traitor among the staff? An opening in their schedule for an infiltrator to slip inside? Was his wife now in danger? She was on a contract right now, but was she alone? If Julietta was hurt, would she or Matteo be next? Countless questions ran through his mind as Matteo and him rushed up the stairs. 

The duo stopped in front of Julietta’s bedroom door. The fine wood was carved with flowers and birds, decorated with silver. Behind it, was the sound of sniffling.

“Julietta!” Matteo knocked on the door, “I got Papà!”

Without another word, the door lock clicked open. 

Good. She knows to keep her door locked.

Lucanis pushed the door open quickly, stepping into his daughter's bedroom. Immediately he scanned the area, trying to find any danger. Any potential threats.

Instead, her bedroom looked clean. Normal. But Julietta, had tears in her brow eyes, sniffling and holding her hand. 

Blood.

It marked her palm and her clothes. Behind her was a set of his own daggers. Two of them were cast aside with a cleaning rag, while another was stained with her blood.

“I-I’m sorry Papà…” Julietta murmured, voice thick with emotion, “I-I wanted to be nice and clean them…” 

Ah. 

Relief flooded his body. Spite calmed instantly. No danger. No threat. Just a little accident.

“Julietta…” The First Talon knelt in front of his 7 year-old-daughter, “you know better than to touch Papà’s knives when he isn’t around.” 

“I know…” she hiccuped, “I wanted to surprise you…” 

His heart twisted. He held out his palm and motioned to see the injury. She presented her bloodied hand quickly. 

It was a sizable cut across her palm and thumb. Not a lethal gash by any means but big enough to startle her. And with the amount of blood, she probably panicked and cried to her brother.

Oh, how he remembered nicking himself on weapons when he was younger. Or the many times he burned himself helping the servants cook. He wasn’t so coordinated when he was her age.

Her next words broke his heart further. 

“D-don’t tell grandmama…” 

She judges every little mistake, doesn’t she?

She is angry. Old. 

Shush, Spite. She is set in her ways. 

Hurt Illario. And will hurt Julietta. 

…Never good enough in Caterina’s critical eyes… 

There was a surge of overprotectiveness in his chest, “Matteo, close the door and finish your studies. I’ll take care of your sister.” 

His son nodded and did as told, leaving father and daughter alone. 

Lucanis rummaged through a pack on his hip for a clean cloth. He pulled out a white handkerchief and quickly wrapped her palm, “Sana, sana, colita de rana.” he soothed, using words he remembered his own parents using when he was hurt.

She winced, “it hurts…” Julietta whimpered. 

“I know, mi pequeña Julietta.” The Crow responded quietly, “but it’ll get better, in time.” He placed a loving kiss on her bandaged palm, “Learn from this. Don’t handle knives without proper training.” 

“I-I’m sorry Papà…” she hiccuped, “I-I just wanted to be nice and clean them…”

“I know, amore.” He reached up and brushed some of her dark hair from her face, “Thank you for the thought. But my daggers are sharp, they are made to hurt targets.” 

Julietta nodded, holding her injured hand. After a second she practically threw herself at him in a hug. He, of course, wrapped his arms around her.

“I love you, Papà.” She whispered, “I want to do something nice for you.” 

Lucanis laughed softly, “You don’t need to, amore,” he pet the back of her head, “You do so much for me without even realizing it.” 

“More than Metteo?” 

He stifled another laugh. Sibling rivalry for their fathers love already? 

“Equal amounts.” The assassin tried to squash such competition quickly, “you’re different from your brother. The both of you are unique. And I love both of you.”

“Will you love the baby in mommy's tummy?” 

What?

What? 

“What?” 

“Auntie Teia said something to uncle Viago. Mommy has a baby in her tummy.” Julietta responded, easily. She clearly didn’t understand the gravity of her innocent words, “a sibling. My sibling.” 

We are having words when you get back, Rook!

Agreed.

Lucanis cleared his throat, “Yes. Your sibling. You’ll be a big sister.” 

“Can they call you Papà too?”

Love swelled in his heart, “Yes. I want them to call me Papà. Just like you and Matteo do.”

“I’ll tell them that when they get out of mommy's tummy.” Julietta responded. 

Good. Like being called papà.

I agree.

[xviiperr]

Yandere Platonic Enforcer: Part Two!

Summary: The man, still with no name, tries to help you adapt to your new home.

TW: Abuse, (to you) kidnapping, yandere behavior, captive reader, trauma (from being taken from your home & forced somewhere else).

He had done well to settle you in. Given your size, the man had to scrounge around Piltover's dressing stores to find the perfect clothing suited to your likeness. In all honesty, it was a frustrating and almost degrading task. The only way he was able to get through such a time-consuming job was the hope all his efforts would reward him with you calling him "Father."

The man felt out of place in the clothing stores, especially when he was not wearing his uniform. Clad in a white shirt with a button-up brown vest, gently matching pants alongside the vest and well-made dress shoes, the man looked normal. In fact, those who had seen him without his mask before noticed a spark of life behind his gaze. He soon found himself noticed by his fellow enforcers— the man was equally bewildered as he was dismissive.

He found the only use for speaking with his fellow enforcers off-duty was their surprisingly helpful advice in purchasing children's clothing. The answer he began to give became a regular reply to all the bombarding questions: he had adopted a child and the child needed new clothes since they outgrew all of their previous items. The man smartly left out the part where he choked you; he had a fondness for turtlenecks now.

After hours of his day taken away shopping, the man returned home, where he locked you in the bathroom in order for you to adjust to your surroundings. The man had vague experience— a cat he had a long time ago grew to love him after he introduced it slowly to his home by keeping it in the bathroom first. The only difference between you and the cat was the cat remained in the room while you bolted at the first chance you got.

He barely caught you in time, hooking his arm around your torso, trapping your arms. Your legs kicked harshly against his thighs— that would leave a nasty bruise later. He shushed you, forcing your head into his shoulder; the man wasn't surprised when you bit him. It took every fiber of his being to not slam you against the floor and punch you in the face— what kind of Father would he be?

Fathers are kind, fathers are loving, fathers care for their kids unconditionally. All you were doing was establishing some of your own conditions, of which he would fix later to his liking. For now, he needed to calm you down. “Calm down," he directed, voice soft as a feather. A one-off command was as he gave before squeezing you tighter and hushing you even more. He wanted you to be obedient and finish whatever feelings you had.

The man could tell that this affair would take a while. He could feel his arms starting to tire, ever so slightly. “I'm not going to hurt you,” he promised this, even though he heavily considered it a flash ago. To be a good father was to be patient and willing to care for a little scrap that behaved itself like a wild animal. He noticed a brief change in your demeanor— pausing your violent kicks for just a second— then you kicked one last very harshly. A grunt was his reply, it did hurt him more.

Finally, you were ready to listen. Held firmly against his chest, the man reached for the door and closed it, trapping you and him in the bathroom. He set you down, swift to block you from any attempt of reaching for the handle. Any attempts on your part were quickly thwarted. But, something did pique your interest, if only suspicion. What was stowed behind his back? Why did he have to use one arm to keep you back?

You got your answer when he revealed a stack of clothes, new and freshly washed. He set them on the bathroom vanity, glancing at your skeptical gaze. You could see his usual blank expression twitch, the right side of his mouth twirling into a half-smile. You felt fear. What was he going to do now? His hand, the one that set the clothes down, rested on top of the pile. It slowly lifted and hovered towards you.

Ducking out of the way, you avoided him first. He scoffed, frustrated. He reached again, this time, getting down on a knee. Contorting his face into a sad, yet, hopeful expression, the man urged you to trust him based only on his expressions. You weren't sure whether to trust him or not, after all, he did choke you before. He sighed, heavily, and retracted his hand. That made you feel much better, only for a short while— now you worried if he would lunge at you. He didn't.

Strange, you were expecting to be attacked. The man reached up towards the countertop, taking the clothes into his hands and outstretched them towards you, displaying what he had bought. His head tilted towards the side and he offered a small, vague smile. It soon returned to that blank expression you came to recognize as normal. “ These are for you,” he said. “Look at them, please.” He was trying his hardest to not drag you forward and make you look closely.v

When faced with reality, you realized that the outfit you were wearing currently, was fraying. It was thin and very muddy. It did upset you. Maybe you should try some new clothes. “If you,” you see his yellow eyes flicker, flashing downward. “If you try them on, I'll let you out of the bathroom.” You could tell he didn't like the idea at all. But, you could also see he was genuine. You could find a way to escape, good. “You can shower later, if you'd like.” His gaze returned, looking at you quietly.

He knew if he forced you to shower and then expected you to change clothes, all the "trust" he built with you would be shattered. He had to be patient. He is your Father, the one who provides for you. And fathers are kind, nurturing and above all, loving. You just weren't ready to see that yet. That's okay, he reminds himself, you'll learn to love him eventually. You are his kid. And he loves you very much.