#the only answer to that is inherited wealth

[mendellyill]

Sam assuming you are also a nepo baby will never not be funny to me. Like really the only valid reaction to someone with as much main character syndrome as the spacefarer is to assume they're a nepo baby.

[smoketransformer]

Forever Vacation

Vinny was a good looking guy, there was no doubt about that, and he knew it. Hooking up with chicks was easy for him. He partied all the time, which caused his grades to fall behind and he was recently kicked out of college.

This didn’t stop him for going down to Miami though for Spring Break. He was going to be staying with his billionaire uncle who was paying his way through college. Vinny was close to his Uncle Marco; after his parents passed away in an accident during high school, Uncle Marco took Vinny in for a few years. Vinny always figured he would inherit his Uncle Marco’s wealth as he was the closest family member to him. He didn’t need an education when he had Uncle Marco.

Uncle Marco had his personal driver pick up Vinny from the airport.

“Where’s Uncle Marco?” Vinny asked the driver.

“Had a work trip to go to. He’ll be back tomorrow evening,” the driver answered.

After a half hour drive, Vinny arrived at his Uncle’s mansion. It always surprised him the size of the place, and he got to enjoy it all to himself.

Vinny walked in and felt like he was back at home. It smelled of stale cigar smoke, but clean at the same time. His Uncle was a huge cigar aficionado and was almost always seen with one.

He headed to one of the guest bedrooms to unpack his things.

As he was unpacking, he noticed a note on the dresser and began to read:

‘Nephew,

The Dean informed me that you were kicked out. I’m very disappointed in you. I know you think you are here for vacation, but you’ll need to look for work while you are here since you won’t be going back. If you are going to live here, then you are going to be pulling your weight. I worked hard and you need to learn how to as well.

I will be back tomorrow evening. We will discuss your future plans then.

Signed, Uncle Marco

P.S - Stay out of my liquor cabinet and humidor.’

Instead of feeling like he disappointed his uncle, he felt anger. His uncle is retired and gets to enjoy life, but he can’t. Vinny decided he was going to live it up while his Uncle was away.

Marco got his swimsuit on, poured himself a nice glass of scotch and grabbed himself a cigar from his Uncle’s prized stash.

He only had one cigar in his life. His Uncle taught him how to cut and light it on the night of his high school graduation. His Uncle told him it was one of his “cheap” ones since he wouldn’t fully enjoy his special premium ones. Today though, Vinny was going to smoke a real cigar.

The afternoon passed as Vinny laid by the pool with his drink and cigar. Vinny was really enjoying one of his Uncle’s cigars. “I could get use to this,” he thought to himself.

The afternoon turned into the evening. After ordering a pizza and finishing off the bottle of scotch, Vinny passed out in his bed.

The next morning, Vinny felt ill and hungover. He headed to the bathroom to splash his face. When he looked in the mirror, he noticed something different.

“Did I shave last night?” he mumbled to himself. He now sported a short mustache. He was also more tan and noticed he looked a little more fuller. He chalked it up to being outside all day and drinking.

He went back to bed and after a few more hours of rest, he decided to go down to the beach and get some girls’ phone numbers. He put on his swim trunks, which seemed a little tighter, and a button up shirt. He grabbed a few of his Uncle’s cigars and placed them in the front shirt pocket. He felt like he looked like a million bucks; meeting a few hot chicks will be easy.

Vinny walked down to the beach, but it was a little tough. It was hard to catch his breath, but it must have been the heat.

Once he got to the beach, he lit up one of the cigars and smoked it as he laid in the sand.

A couple of college girls, who also were celebrating Spring Break, walked by.

“Looking good ladies,” Vinny called out. The two girls glared at him and said “Creep.”

This was unusual. The ladies never reacted to him that way, but shrugged it off.

As Vinny smoked his cigar, he got up and noticed his button up shirt was uncomfortable, so he unbuttoned it. It felt a lot better. He decided to post a selfie to instagram. When he looked at himself through the front camera, he didn’t even recognize himself. His mustache grew in thicker and larger. He even was thicker and larger. He noticed his gut was also protruding. Something was wrong.

He called an Uber to get back to his Uncle’s place. Vinny was frantic, what was wrong with him. He looked like he aged 20 years. He felt like he aged 20 years.

When the Uber dropped him off, he noticed his Uncle was already home. Naturally, he reached for the other cigar in is pocket, stuck it in his mouth and lit it up. Vinny felt a sense of relief.

He walked in the front door in a hurry but was out of breath. As he tried to catch his breath, he continued to puff on his cigar. Each pull of the smoke seemed to calm him down even more.

“Uncle?” he called out, but his voice was unrecognizable to him. It was deeper and more rough.

“I see you got into my cigars, old man,” Uncle Marco walked into view. Uncle Marco was a large man, with an even larger mustache. His skin was tan and wrinkly, from all his years on the beach and by the pool.

“Old man?” Vinny asked, worried. He still had his cigar in his hand.

“I told you not to, but I guess you don’t have to worry about working now that you are retired,” Uncle Marco tried to reassure his nephew. Uncle Marco approached Vinny and put his hands on his shoulders to turn him around to face a mirror.

The reflection of the two of them looked almost identical. They could have been brothers. Vinny was now an old man with grey hair and a large double chin.

Vinny couldn’t do anything about it. He had aged quickly. His uncle told him that his special cigars had that effect on people and that it couldn’t be undone.

It took Vinny sometime to get use to his new life, but he started to enjoy it. He got to relax out with his Uncle all the time. He needed to smoke as much as him as well, as the couple of cigars he smoked were very addictive. He didn’t care about getting chicks anymore. All he wanted were his cigars and scotch. He and his uncle would smoke 5-6 cigars a day together; they always were smoking.

He was content and happy with his new retired life. He felt that it was the forever vacation he always wanted.

[osakhee]

10th floor, ceo!sungchan x reader

! blowjob, sir kink?

you arrange your shirt nervously, your leg bouncing on the wooden floor. you really need that job. you already went through two interviews, but the company you applied is quite luxurious, and after meeting managers and the head of the human ressources, you were urged to meet the ceo. you heard he was the one actually making decisions for the workers, and he's the last wall between you and that very important job.

even though you know the famous company by name, you never heard of jung sungchan. the young owner inherited everything from his father after his passing, making a huge difference in the harsh business environment due to his age. the company never flourished this well since sungchan's new ceo position. all you could recall from the words of the managers is that he's great at making people fall for him and his traps to make his wealth grow bigger.

your appointment with sungchan is planned in less than 10 minutes. you're early, and now the time seems like it's ticking slowly enough for you to die at least twice on the chair. the corridor that's connected to sungchan's office is quiet and you could only hear your -almost- steady breathing and the faint voice of a man on the other side of the door.

your eyes travel the papers in your hands, the review letters from your past interviews, you read the positive sentences over and over again. you believe in yourself for this job. you almost jump from the chair when you hear the doorknob then the door open. your eyes meet jung sungchan's, and you immediately get what the workers you met meant when they told you the ceo makes all the heads spin.

he's much taller than you expected, an annoyingly pretty face with serious yet soft eyes, a faint smile making him look even sweeter. sungchan steps out of his office and stands in front of you. you immediately get up from the chair.

"i think we have a little interview together, right?"

"yes... sir... i'm here for the job."

"i heard about you, the managers gave me great feedbacks. you're quite a pretty thing."

the words get stuck in your throat, your eyes flutter and sungchan chuckles at your reaction. he opens the door and invites you inside, closing it safely behind you. you stand up awkwardly in the office as sungchan sits down on his luxurious chair and sighs. he shifts himself on the soft material of the chair, and point the seat in front of his desk with his head.

"sit down."

sungchan doesn't need to ask you twice. you sit down and put in front of him the review letters from the different staffs. the silence feels awkward to you, your eyes travel around the room everywhere but in front of you to avoid the ceo's gaze. sungchan is focused on you, massaging his large hands. finally the silence is broken by his voice, and you dare to look at him again. sungchan had opened his tight shirt a little and loosened his tie, and is now looking right at you with a much more serious stare.

"tell me pretty, how much do you need that job?"

you take a moment to think about what to answer. the switch of behavior of the tall man makes you grow more nervous and your face feels hot. you should tell him the truth but won't you sound too desperate?

"answer me when i ask a question."

"i really.... really need that job sir... i have been wanting to work there for so long, i really want it."

"much better when you reply like that. come stand here, pretty."

you take a deep breath and stand up. sungchan's gaze is almost burning you, you can feel it from the tip of your fingers to your chest and face, down your thighs... the ceo sits back in his chair, his legs comfortably parted.

"i think we can help each other out, hm? your pretty face helps me with my problem and i'm sure i can find a nice place for you in the company."

"...excuse me..?"

"don't do that pretty... show some interest in what your boss is asking you..."

sungchan's tone drips like honey into your ears. one of his hand rubs his thigh slowly while he rests his chin on the other one with his gaze so heavy on you. each step you take closer to him make the bulge straining his pants grow larger. sungchan scoffs at your slow moves, his hand rubbing himself over his clothes.

"you know... being such an important person is so much stress... i'm sure you can help out, right? you must do everything i say if you want to work for me, hm."

you slowly drop on your knees in front of him, your hands on his thighs and your face so close to the throbbing bulge. sungchan's smirk grow wider, his hands unbuckling his belt but not opening his pants. he trails his finger down your jaw and hold your chin with the tip of it.

"tell me pretty... want to help the boss out?"

"...yes."

sungchan's smile drops and his voice gets lower.

"yes who?"

"yes sir."

"good."

you nervously let your hands travel sungchan's thighs, earning a low sigh from him. you unbutton his pants, opening it enough to show his strained underwear, the hot bulge twitching under your fingers. you press your palm between sungchan's legs and he groans at your touch, one of his hand finding its place in your hair.

you lick your lips and finally tug on sungchan's underwear slowly, you free his hard cock that stands proudly in front of your face. you caress the veiny length experimentally, and sungchan put his hand around yours to make you hold his dick, making you pump him a little.

he holds the base of his cock with both yours and his hand, he pushes the leaking and red tip on your lips eagerly. you give a lick on the slit as more precum drips on your tongue, and sungchan finally lets go of your hand. he rests himself on his chair, fingers tangled into your hair. when you finally take him into your mouth, a low moan escapes from his throat.

"j-just like that pretty..."

encouraged by his words, you take him deeper, your tongue swirling around his length and tracing the veins. sungchan gets more noisy, breathy groans coming out of his parted lips. his closed eyes open to look at you when you bob your head and take your time on the head of his cock. more praises fall from his tongue and his fingers tug on your hair to bring you closer.

you cough around his dick. you take him away from your mouth and jerk him off, putting all your attention on his throbbing tip that seems ready to explode any minute. you push your thumb on the slit and coat the head of his cock with the sticky fluid. more impatient to find his place back into your hot mouth, sungchan push on your head until his cock hits your face. you open your lips and let him inside, his tip hitting far into your throat as sungchan tug on your hair a little more harshly.

"fuck... keep going..."

the ceo's hips buck into your mouth pushing him deeper inside. you almost gag around him and hold the base of his dick in your hand, rubbing it quickly while you drag your tongue up and down. the way sungchan's groans grow louder and heavier make you speed up, you look up to meet his half opened eyes. his chest heaves to a fast yet steady rhythm, his unbuttoned shirt showing his glistening chest.

you suck on his tip and you feel sungchan's grip on your hair tighten, his two hands holding your head in place while he pushes his hips into you face. you can feel drool dripping from your chin mixed with his cum that erupts into your throat. you move your head slowly to make sure you don't miss a single drop of his bitter fluid before letting go of his now softening dick.

you lick your lips and you feel sungchan's thumb rub on your chin gently, wiping away the spit that coats your skin. sungchan grabs your cheeks and drag you up until you're close of his face. he meets your lips in a sweet kiss, mixed with the taste of his cum. the ceo releases you from his grip and puts back his clothes, buttoning his pants and tucking his shirt back inside.

"so good to me... you did so well pretty."

you sit back on the other side of the desk and sungchan takes the papers that you dropped in front of him. he quickly go through the praises and good reviews from his workers with a smile, looking at you from behind the letters.

"i guess i have a new coworker. you did such a good job. but i expect much more from you starting from today, understood?"

"yes sir."

sungchan work that gets released before eunseok work sorry.... got inspired by the riize court and someone's request, please enjoy :3 eunseok is next, then wonbin!

[koiiiji]

finishing ur requests? uum no. another idea nobody asked about? yes pls💯💯

wooin x sis!reader (platonic)

author’s note : after last chapter i had this headcanon in my head. i suspect that wooin grew up in toxic household where his parents make him study, locking him up in his room, but boy probably was dreaming about just be free, and once left home. i also suspect his family probably has the same wealth as minu, but his parents way more toxic and controlling. but when he left home he left his part there, the part of his soul.

honesty 1000% in love how some ppl just ignored my closed inbox and keep sent requests🤣🤍🫵🏻 seriously guys, the best!! i will answer all requests, almost all is in process(i mean at least 20-40% already done) but now enjoying my time at home😌💌🔒

warnings : no(?) lil fluff, lil angst, nothing hardcore, prob grammar mistakes(not proofed as all my writings)

༘⋆ wooin is older sibling 100%

༘⋆ when his parents told him he will have a sister, when he was 3 or 4 he was jealous, and whole 9 months he waited for someone who will ruin his life

༘⋆ but instead, when your father brought you and your mum to home from hospital, wooin was confused

༘⋆ he only saw a small girl, no one who could harm him in any way

༘⋆ your first ever smile was for him, or because of him by the way!! and he blushed so so much when your small hand clung to his index finger

༘⋆ so he built a soft spot for you in his heart in two years, because first years you’ve been crying, screaming and sobbing mess, well like all toddlers, while wooin was saying that he was too old to babysit you (bro was like 5-6 years old and crying himself to sleep bc didn’t understand how 10*10 equals 100 and 11*11 didn’t equal 111)

༘⋆ btw you were always silent when he was babysitting you. he chuckled each time when you looked at him with wide open eyes

༘⋆ through his childhood your parents were extremely strict with him, so he partly grateful to you for the fact that you took some attention on yourself and gave him the opportunity to be free from his studies and lectures from your parents for a while

༘⋆ but each year atmosphere in your home becomes more toxic, and when you grow up a little you could remember how wooin was locked in his room to study better, because he didn’t have acceptable marks

༘⋆ but you would always sneak in his room late at night, with your saved from the morning sweets and share some with him

༘⋆ you both favorite was lollipops with lemon favors tho!!

༘⋆ when you were about 13 years old, wooin left the house, he was 17

༘⋆ no need to say that your parents were furious. especially your father. in korea it’s common that son is inherits family business or work, so it’s always been a big scandal over his marks, behavior and look

༘⋆ so when he left, for you it meant that all the attention and rigor of your parents were transferred to you

༘⋆ atter the first couple of months of your brother's absence, he found the strength to meet with you

༘⋆ wooin knew perfectly that parents rage will reflect on you, and honestly he were scared - that you will hate him

༘⋆ when he met you near your school, he froze for few seconds and then hugged you so tight that you thought he was about to break your ribs (you returned him that favor)

༘⋆ you two always were close, wooin was your freshness in a house full of stuffy, stagnant air, while you was his little sunshine of hope and happiness in his dark, locked room

༘⋆ you didn’t have a lot of time after your school, so you just hugged tightly and exchanged phone numbers, so you could stay in touch

༘⋆ few days after you find the way to sneak out of the house to meet with your brother you spend few hours on a bench talking and listening to each other

༘⋆ - how are the relatives? on a scale of one to fucked up, how angry were they?

- fucked up in a cube, you know our dad, he wasn't just furious, from the screams from their room, i think he literally lost his temper

༘⋆ wooin just chuckled sadly and rubbed his neck with the palm of his hand

༘⋆ as the years passed, your nightly meetings continued. sometimes he would catch you after school or another after-school club where your parents had put you

༘⋆ wooin offered you to run away to him several times. by your senior year in school, he was self-supporting, and he even had some white-haired giant working for him, constantly pining after him

༘⋆ somehow you refused, deciding to finish school first and then he promised to help you with either work or university, depends on what you will choose

༘⋆ yes, guys from sabbath know you

༘⋆ yes, heyok once caught you two hugging

*wooin pressed his lips on top of your head, tightly shutting his eyes, frowning a little, he didn’t know when he will see you again, because he knew, in exam session parents won’t let you have a free second*

༘⋆ in first place heyok though you two dating, but then joker explained him how things actually going(my headcanon that they gossip girls, frfr)

༘⋆ since you hanged out with wooin you caught your brother’s manners of jokes

༘⋆ “hey, big bro, does that new red haired guy in your team have a girlfri..”

“don’t you even dare to finish this sentence” he exclaimed indignantly. no way his precious little sis will deal with that motherfucker.

[curtins]

GOO GOO MUCK #1 — jujutsu kaisen x reader choose a storybook to open. aka my mythos take on jujutsu kaisen.

you've turned the page to: CHAPTER I. ITADORI YŪJI go back to the table of contents.

"an unchangeable colour rules over the melancholic: his dwelling is a space the colour of mourning. nothing happens in it. no one intrudes. it is a bare stage where the inert is assisted by the suffering from that inertia. the latter wishes to free the former, but all efforts fail, as theseus would have failed had he been not only himself but also the minotaur; to kill him then, he would have had to kill himself." alejandra pizarnik

prologue. → there was no other ending for this story — none where you did not end up as fodder for the beast in labyrinth, not after the king decreed that you would be the next sacrifice. how ironic that itadori yuuji doesn't seem like a monster at all, just a brilliant boy who was marked for death and sorrow.

pairings. minotaur!yuuji itadori x reader (sfw!)

song inspiration. goo goo muck — the cramps / still monster — enhypen

warnings reader comes from the royal family, has a deadbeat + awful father, mentions of injuries, death, sacrifices, angst and hurt, comfort. mildly ooc yuuji because life has dealt him a rough hand. reader picks their skin and cuticles + mention of bleeding, ambiguous ending, grief. word count. 2.9k!

a/n. y'all know i dont play abt this little guy but omg i was literally scratching my head trying to come up with decent plot. also i'm not entirely faithful to greek mythology my bad 😧 i hate spelling the word 'labyrinth' bc who the fawk came up with all that?

ask/comment/dm to be added to a taglist 🩵

mp3. when the sun goes down, and the moon comes up, i turn into a teenage goo goo muck!

you're not quite sure how long it had been since you were thrown to the rough, cold stone of the maze, where each jagged groove bit into your skin as you traced the contours of your new prison. the walls rose ever so high, swallowing you in an oppressive and towering silence and had it not been for the cold that bit your bones, you might have sobbed.

what was the weight of family, or the worth of blood, when a father could offer his own child to the gods as casually as one might surrender a coin to the tides? you could still feel the rough ghost of his grip on your shoulder, his hand heavy with the ringed wealth that he refused to give up.

all his gold, all his riches, the coffers of a kingdom that was within your rights to inherit, what did it matter in the end — when it was you that he sacrificed? the gods did not care for mercy, was that not why they were gods? but they had demanded, and the king had answered. not with offerings from hoarded treasure, but a child of his own flesh and blood. you, stripped of finery and beaten gold, and left adrift in the maw of stone and shadow.

but now, you laugh, a bitter sound swallowed by the cold air, hoping that your nerves are able to rework themselves into something braver, to allow the maze to drink in your defiance. at this point, you're not quite sure where you'll meet your end, but you've been told the beast waits, a monster of bone and sinew and deific anger, bound to the hunger of the cruel gods.

your eyes have caught the faint outline of something strewn along the path ahead, a line of small and crooked shapes against the stone. brittle sticks left to decay? a morbid curiosity has stirred within you, drawing you closer, as you kneel in thin linen onto the grimy stone.

they are not sticks at all, but fingers. withered and mummified, bent in unnatural shapes as if frozen mid-reach. dark, claw-like nails tip each one, and the skin is shrivelled and taut over bone, in a faded mauve hue. something bruised and ever so ancient.

you just cannot help the sickened gasp that escapes you, lurching back and clutching a hand to your mouth as bitterness rises and makes a home in your throat. the grotesque trail stretches on before you, and you hazard a guess that this rotten path leads into the heart of the labyrinth. a warning, a lure?

but a sound has risen from the depths of the stone around you, a low and rumbling roar that makes the walls tremble, as if the maze itself is struggling to take a breath. the noise grows, and it sends a cold shock through you that drains away every shed of defiance you had clung to.

for a moment, you can scarcely breathe, chest tight with fear. the memory of all you wanted to be, all you dreamed of becoming, hands over you like a whisper, a fragment of hope already out of reach. you think of the things you will never see, the lives you will never touch, and it startles you — how your heart breaks with a quiet desparate longing as you regret the way you lived in this short life. you wanted more than this, even if you did not get a proper death. but you wanted more than to be swallowed up as a nameless sacrifice, your thread picked out of the tapestry of history.

a flicker of thought urges you to raise the torch in your hand, to wield it as some pitiful defense. you imagine the flames as a fragile beacon against the shadows, a last defiant spark in the face of the death that you have been handed. but even the flame trembles, casting erratic shadows, and in the pallid light, you feel the futility of it all.

your strength has failed, and you sink to your knees as a numbness overtakes your body, as you bow your head, pressing your forehead against cold, damp stone.

"please..." you murmur, the word a faint breath lost in the maze, a plea without direction or expectation. whether it is mercy you seek, or simply a swift end, you cannot say. but death has never been kind, and it would never hold its hand out to you in a painless way.

but in waiting for a blow to be delivered, your eyes crack open, vision blurred by the shadows that lovingly cling to the labyrinth. each muscle is tense as you struggle to rise from the cold floor that pressed sharply into your smarting knees. but slowly, a shape and a form comes into focus — broad and menacing, a silhouette bathed in the flickering light of your torch.

at first, he seems like a nightmare sprung from the depths of the eldest primordial myths, markings etched across his skin like a map of some forbidden world, as dark ink ripples down his shoulders, down his chest.

you blink, and your gaze adjusts to the strange half-light, and you're bewildered as the black lines begin to fade, dissolving as if they were never truly there. the intensity of his form softens, and you're not sure if the monstrous edge is beginning to fade away, leaving something...unexpected in its place.

the form before you now is young, hardly older than you, with a face that seems almost human in its expressionless calm, yet somehow haunted. your breath catches, air hitching as you take in his features — amber eyes so intensely golden that they seem to glow in the dim light, fixed upon your with a gaze that is neither hostile nor welcoming, nay. just unflinchingly steady. his hair is a soft, choppy pink; like the goddess of the dawn had run her rosy-tipped hands over his head. but he is bare-chested, the lean muscle across his torso gleaming with a faint sheen, and the broad lines of his shoulders and thickened waist speak of one who has been carved for war.

you fight to quell the tremor in your chest, a rising mixture of terror and something else — something you just cannot name. there is no cruelty in his face, nor hatred. but it is a sad emptiness, a blankness, as if he himself is lost and hollow, waiting in this forsaken pit for far longer than you can possibly imagine.

but the soft rumble of his tone pulls you back, "so, you are the next one they sent?" and his voice is coloured by a kind of bitter amusement.

his eyes, that haunting amber, crease slightly at the corners, and you cannot help but notice that despite his demeanour, his face is incredibly expressive when he speaks, with a warmth that softens his gaze, but the sadness remains. a quiet and relentless grief that settles around him like a shadow.

you feel the tremour in your own voice as you stammer, leaning back against your calves, and yet still kneeling. but your head is tilted up to meet his gaze. your heart races, an awful and unsteady ba-bump! but you force yourself to speak.

"i would ask only for mercy," you whisper, "for my only crime was being an obedient child of a harsher master."

for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crosses his face. but the boy scoffs, a bitter sound that is not entirely unkind. he looks away, his mouth twisted into a grim half-smile with no real mirth, and you watch as the puckered scar on the side of his lips crumples.

"if there was any mercy in the world," he replies quietly, "they would have just executed me by now."

you pick at your nails, at the skin that is peeling off your cuticles with a sharp sting, "mercy is as much as a myth as the gods themselves."

"and yet you choose to kneel and ask me for it?"

you've looked down, focusing on the rapidly blooming crimson, "i do not want to die."

the boy does not answer at first. instead, he just stares at you with an intensity that feels as though he's examining you from the inside out. you're not sure if you meet a hint of suspicious flickering behind topaz eyes, as if you are the real danger here.

but you just test your luck, shaky but persistent, "why would execution be a mercy?"

it is no kindness to your nerves that the question hangs in the air like a fragile thread — and his response is a growl that rumbles deep in his chest, primal and sharp. it's shaken you to your core, and in that instant your gaze blurs, with your heart slamming against your ribs as a foggy vision plays before you like a twisted reflection.

you've pushed the beast too far. and for a moment in this haze you see him, this beautiful boy, morph into the very thing you had imagined in the darkness before. a four-armed creature covered in dark markings, his form expanding and distorting into something far more grotesque. would there be savage claws, reaching for your face as you recoil, tearing you into ribbons?

but the moment passes in a breath, and he's still there, slumped against the stone. no monster, just mortal fresh. no, he has not moved to strike, nor to rush at you.

instead he just sinks lower into cold stone, pulling his knees up to his chest, and resting his elbows on them, looking almost defeated. there's a strange heaviness in his posture, as if the weight of something much larger than the maze itself is dragging him down, something wide and unbearable.

"what did they tell you before they tossed you here, alongside me?"

"they told me that i was doing my father a service," you begin, and you wonder if there is a bitter drip that falls from your tongue as you let the words fall from your dry mouth, "and that the gods would award me for my pious duty and sacrifice."

the boy raises a thin brow, a faint flicker of surprise scattering itself over his faint, pale scars, "your father. the king i gather? he sent his only heir down here?"

what a sting. even a monster could understand. even the ones trapped in the dark can understand the greed that drives the hearts of men. you grimace, a fleeting shame twisting in your gut as you nod, but it is no surprise. your father's name had never been one to inspire reverence — only fear, and the hollow hope that the gods would look favourably upon his ritualistic sacrifices. it was hard not to feel small and broken in comparison to the king who stood tall in his halls of marble.

your new companion shakes his head, almost in acrid disbelief, but he continues, "i'm not the beast that they say lives down here," and at your look of disbelief and confusion, he grinds his heel down onto sharp stone, "it's not me."

your gaze drifts over him as he speaks, and your eyes fall on the harsh marks scattered over his chest. some are thin, barely more than pale lines, while others are thick and jagged — carved into him by hands that had no mercy. there's one in particular, a long streak that cuts across his face, something etched there by something far darker than any mortal blade. like patchwork.

there's a curl in your fingers, one that scratches at you. one that tells you to reach out and place your hand on thickened skin, but you tamp it down. he must have noticed the way your eyes linger on him, and for a moment, the corner of his scarred mouth quirks upward. he doesn't seem quite offended...just aware. you shift slightly, folding your legs beneath you, the thin linen shift you wear now soiled with the grime of the stone floors. the dirt clings to the fabric, staining it a muted grey.

"the beast is not me," he says again, and there's a quiet ache in his words, "he just lives within me. that's all."

you frown, trying to make sense of his words. "he?" you echo.

the boy glances at you, his gaze distant for a moment before he continues, as if he's not looking at you, but rather past your head.

"the council said they were going to kill me at first. said it would kill the monster that lives in here -," and he presses a hand harshly at his sternum, fingers splaying against his chest, "thought it would kill him if they just put an axe to my neck. two birds with one stone."

"and then...," and his smile is harsher, rueful, "then the king decided that it would be more useful to keep me down here, extend by sentence a bit. said that i could help them like this. said i could control the beast just enough to save the lives of others."

you curl your lip, and you can't fathom the cruelty of knowing your body is a prison. that your blood, bones and sinew is being used as the bars of an enclosure. such was your father's consistent cruelty.

"i am sorry that you suffered at the king's hands."

he doesn't look up at you at first. instead, his gaze drifts to your hands, where you've ripped at the edges of your cuticles, leaving faint scars that are prone to be reopened. your fingers tremble as you shove your hands into the folds of linen, hiding the fresher, red wounds.

his voice is low, but not unkind — with his eyes lingering on your hands, "i could say the same for you."

you almost smile, feeling as though a distant thunderclap has unsettled you and shaken you.

"what's your name?"

he doesn't answer immediately, the silence stretching just enough to make you wonder if he'll speak at all. but finally, his voice emerges, laced with a faint warmth, "itadori yuuji." now his eyes flicker to you, and after a beat, he adds, almost with a touch of irony, "your highness."

the title sounds wrong here, in the dark deeps, in the hollow of this wretched place, yuuji's home. you laugh, though you're certain the sound is thinned, "i'm sorry we met under these circumstances," you say, words slipping out before you can stop them. but you are sincere — and you wonder, briefly, what it would have been like to meet him in another life or another world.

yuuji laughs softly at that, and you catch the faintest glimpse of a smile, wan but genuine. it's a tragedy, you think, at how you cannot help but marvel at the way the torchlight catches onto his beautiful silhouette, illuminating small crescent marks that lay under his eyes.

"i am too," he says, and you wonder foolishly if he, too, regrets the way he lived. the strange fate that has brought you both to this moment.

your smile drops suddenly, "i will die down here, won't i?" the question slips from your lips, softer and more naive in a way that doesn't belong in the air of this place.

yuuji frowns, the furrow of his brow deepening, and his eyes darken — is there pity in his eyes? or something else that you cannot place?

"you don't have to."

you don't believe him, not truly. you know the customs of this sacrifice. the king's laws, and the will of the gods — they all point to the same conclusion. you know this, for all of yuuji's apparent mercy cannot hold back a four-armed beast when it catches the iron scent of blood in the air.

"and when the guards come with the next prisoner?" you ask.

yuuji doesn't look at you immediately. instead, he draws faint and absent patterns in the dust with the tips of his fingers.

"the guards will never be able to report back to your father then. maybe sukuna can be of some use, for once."

you frown, a thousand questions racing in your mind — about the finality of his tone or the underlying oath of blood being spilt. but the one that rises to the surface is the unfamiliar name, "sukuna?"

yuuji shifts slightly, his posture loosening, as if he's trying to make himself more comfortable in the cramped space between you. your gaze catches on his slender fingers tracing lines in the dust.

"the beast within me. gojo said he was my uncle too, apparently."

"gojo?"

yuuji's face darkens, "he was my - " he ends his sentence abruptly, as if he has not the heart to bite the last words out.

you stare at him, bewildered, your mind struggling to process the connection he’s just made so casually, as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world. what cruel fate.

he catches your expression and laughs softly, a sound that is more bitter than it is light.

"long story," he adds, as if that explanation is enough, his eyes glinting with something unreadable as he leans back slightly, his attention slipping into the distance.

"seems like you have a lot of those," you offer heartedly, but it darkens your heart. you do not see a boy capable of great violence in front of you. in another life, itadori yuuji would have lived a happier life — surrounded by those that he loved. but when the beast, sukuna, is unleashed, who will stand between you and the creature to protect you? how haunting, for the last face you believe you will ever see is the first face that you think you've ever loved.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

i don't remember in which book, but there is an episode where Narcissa takes Draco away from a clothing store (Madame Malkin, I think) because they cater to muggleborns. i understand it was a political statement...

but with that in mind, question is: how far is pureblood bigotry actually goes?

are there shops exclusively for purebloods and we just don't know about them bc harry didn't go there, or were they decades ago... do purebloods buy products invented by blood traitors like the Potters and Weasleys? after all, they are good quality, but it is not good to give money to dirt yk. at the same time, most shops probably fall away from public bigotry bc even if they are run by purebloods who believe in pureblood supremacy, they will still serve everyone, because money in the first place.

this is an interesting topic for research, in my opinion, and very comparable to reality

Like, my immediate answer was: Very far.

I mean, once the most blood purists of their society gain control of the ministry they are literally rounding up muggleborns to be sent to Azkaban.

That being said, casual blood purity, like you mention, seems to not go as deep as Narcissa would like you to believe. Like, we see Draco using Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder in book 6, which was invented and only sold by Fred and George. I think, like with a lot of irl bigotry, it's a lot of performance.

Like, blood purists would talk a lot about not buying from filth and mudbloods, but if a blood traitor has a good idea or a good product — they don't put their money where their mouth is. They'd buy from blood traitors and muggleborns if it's the better product. They do copy ideas from the muggles. Like, I'm sure blood purists who have access to the Floo ridicule the concept of the Hogwarts Express and the Knight Bus, thinking of them as filthy muggle inventions; but I'm certain they were all too glad to bring indoor plumbing into Hogwarts and their mansions because it's an invention they liked.

We also see a dark pureblood store like Borgins & Burkes hire filthy, poor, orphan Tom Riddle. He was good at his job, he probably wasn't paid a lot, and so it didn't matter his blood purist employers/customers thought he was a mudblood and filth if he was good at what he did. They'd hire, buy and sell to muggleborns and blood traitors if there is money on the line.

We see this attitude with Slughorn as well. He's surprised by Hermione and Lily being muggleborns and exceptional witches and potion makers because he doesn't expect it (the bigotry of low expectations, which we also see irl). But, he does invite them into the Slug Club and he expects them to then be able to get into positions they usually can't because he basically vetted them as 'talented filth'. They're okay and good to hire by purebloods because they're good at what they do. Now, I don't think Slughorn is a bad person, and he's actually doing a very useful service for talented muggleborns in the bigoted society they live in by opening doors for them, but I digress.

I think it's telling that an ancestral house of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, the "always pure", is a muggle house. Grimmauld Place is a house built by muggles, for muggles, that the Blacks decided to have as their own. They have muggle plumbing, muggle baths, muggle toilets, and muggle wallpaper, and they like it. but if you asked them, they'd call their house a "wizarding home", even if every brick was put in its place by muggles without a drop of magic.

We are told by Pottermore a good chunk of the Malfoys' inherited wealth is muggle. Their manor is also, most likely, muggle-built. They live their pureblood lifestyle, thinking themselves oh so much better than blood traitors when the food on their table was put there by muggle money. That the reason they can act the way they do, that they have more money than the Weasleys — is because their ancestors made business deals with muggles. And they know it but choose to pretend to have forgotten.

The point is, yes, blood purists would talk all day about how they want no filth in their house and how everything muggle is lesser, but when muggles/muggleborns/blood traitors have something good going, when they have a good product or are themselves talented, they'd be blind to their filthy blood for the sake of money/good idea. They'd tell themselves whatever lies they needed to tell themselves to believe they weren't blood traitors for installing a toilet. That they're not supporting muggle ideas by living off of muggle instructors.

They're bigoted hypocrites is what I'm saying.

[starsfic]

The Deer Prince

Summary:

Prince Qi Xiaotian finds a beautiful scarlet deer on Flower Fruit Mountain while Prince Red of the Demon Bull Clan goes missing.

Once upon a time, there were two kingdoms.

One was the Demon Bull Kingdom, ruled by the Demon Bull King and his beautiful wife, Princess Iron Fan. DBK had inherited a small kingdom and turned it into a vast empire, sending more and more soldiers out to take more and more land and even more wealth. Often, he himself led the charge, swinging his mighty battle axe to cut his enemies down. She, with her own fierce strength and power over the wind, was left to defend their capital as well as their most prized possession- their son, Red Boy. They wished to rule over the world, as well as give their son everything he ever wanted.

The other was Mount Huaguo, also known as Flower Fruit Mountain, ruled by the legendary Monkey King Sun Wukong. Sun Wukong had started as nothing more than a simple monkey, born from stone. However, through learning and cultivating his magic, as well as some stealing, Sun Wukong had become immortal, powerful beyond anyone’s wildest expectations, and his desire for more was frightening. His fear of death was more frightening. Slowly, though, thanks to a pilgrimage he had to take with a band of loyal friends, his desire for more power faded. It came to an end when he discovered that, in his absence, the mountain had produced another little monkey. Sun Wukong took the little one in as his child, dubbing them Qi Xiaotian, and his worries about death faded.

In the beginning, Sun Wukong and the Demon Bull King were good friends, sworn brothers in arms, and even lovers for a short while. However, a distance grew between them. It did not help that, in all his conquests, the empire that DBK had built was starting to fall apart.

Years of war had left his army exhausted and his treasury running close to empty. Slowly, battles began to be lost, and DBK found himself pushed back more and more, pressure growing when the edges of his empire took advantage of the distance revolted. Princess Iron Fan found herself having to deal with riots as taxes on the people increased. In all of this, Red Boy grew into a young man proud of his heritage but frustrated by his parents’ refusal to let him help. His only method of aid was building robotic soldiers and servants for his parents, a staff, and an army that would never tire.

Eventually, DBK swallowed his pride. He took Red Son with him to Flower Fruit Mountain to ask Sun Wukong for help. Over the years, Qi Xiaotian had grown, turning into a lovely and powerful young man. Surely, DBK reasoned, a marriage between the two would be beneficial to their kingdoms, with the wealth of the mountain and Red Son’s knowledge. Sun Wukong had tried to reach out to repair their brotherhood, after all.

Much to their shock- DBK, Red Son, and even Qi Xiaotian watching the meeting in secret- Sun Wukong refused. Qi Xiaotian was the most precious thing to him, after all, and he did not want his son to live on the edge of poverty, much less in civil war. Stunned and angry, Red Son decided to find another way to fix his family’s fortune…

“So he said no, just like that?”

“Just like that! And I can get why, but it’s…” Qi Xiaotian sighed, staring up at the blue sky. “I don’t know.”

A head rested next to his. “What did you think of the prince?” Long Xiaojiao asked. She had been Qi Xiaotian’s best friend since they came out of the egg. She knew him best.

“He was…really handsome,” Xiaotian admitted, face growing warm at the memory. Prince Red had hair like fire, scarlet embers glowing in the warm sunlight. Like his father, he was a bull, smaller and shorter but still visibly strong. Xiaotian, watching from the window, had been immensely drawn to the sight of him. His first thought had honestly been I wonder if he could pick me up. He was willing to bet the answer was yes, since he was smaller than him. “He had big biceps.”

“Ah, yes, biceps,” Xiaojiao said, nodding. “You and your fascination with them.” Xiaotian flicked his tail against her head. She didn’t understand it, but he didn’t get her fascination with long legs, so they were equal. “So, did he say anything?”

“I think he brought some of his inventions to show what he could provide, but he didn’t get very far down the list.” It was enough to show that he was smart, way smarter than Xiaotian could say for himself. “He did have a nice voice.” And very nice horns-

"Um, your Highness?"

His thoughts about the horns stopped. "Yes?" Xiaotian sat up at the sight of the nervous-looking servant, one wearing a massive shiner. "What happened?!"

"Well, there's a strange animal acting strange, and some of us tried to catch it to see if it was alright." Made sense, his father protected all of Flower Fruit Mountain, including the animals. Any signs of disease were quickly caught and treated. "But it's lashing out, and your father and the generals are in a meeting. It's in your private grotto, and we were hoping you could-"

"I'm already on my way," Xiaotian scrambled to his feet, reaching a hand back to help Xiaojiao. "Show us this animal."

The servant wasted no time in leading them out of the garden and down the path, splitting away from the main path down a small side path. As they rushed down it, Xiaotian could hear cries and yells.

"What kind of deer is this?!"

"Run for your life!"

"Duck!"

"AH!"

The servant shoved some bushes aside, revealing one of his private groves, and Xiaotian felt himself come to a stop at the scene.

First, there were several monkeys, all nursing cuts and bruises. One even had an arm twisted the wrong way. Not all of them wore servants' or guards' uniforms. Some wore simple clothes. Baskets of fruit had been scattered around in the chaos, peaches smashed beyond recognition.

And there was the deer.

It was unlike any buck Xiaotian had seen before. For one thing, its horns were strangely thick, to the point that it had to be hurting the poor thing despite its large size. Another thing was that its eyes were strangely intelligent, fiercely flashing as it kicked and bucked. And, the last thing, its fur was a deep scarlet red, not unlike the hair of the prince who had recently come to visit.

Xiaotian shook his head. He couldn't get distracted by thoughts of Prince Red, not now. Instead, he rushed forward, coming between the buck and a servant. "STAND DOWN!" he yelled to the guards, forcing them to lower their weapons.

The buck came to a stop.

Xiaotian blinked and slowly held up his hands, showing that he had no weapons. He and his father shared the staff that could move mountains, and it was currently with Sun Wukong in his meeting. "It's okay," he said to the deer, keepng his voice soft and pleasant. "It's okay. We don't want to hurt you. We just want to make sure you're okay." He raised a hand up, dropping his eyes to the scarlet coat.

Slowly, he felt the deer lean forward until the softness of its forehead pressed against his palm. Xiaotian allowed his other hand to move forward, gently running his hand over the coat, feeling a happy laugh escape him at the feeling. He had never been able to pet a deer, despite the lovely deer that frolicked on the mountain.

He pulled his hands away once he felt the deer relax. Xiaotian carefully raised his hands to his head and pulled off the scarlet ribbon that tied his hair back. "Xiaojiao," he called to his best friend. He hear the rasp of her jade sword settling back into its sheath. "Can you run to the stables and ask them to prepare a stable for my little friend here?"

"Uh, sure. Do you want me to get the vet too?"

"That'll be great!" Xiaotian was more focused on gently wrapping the ribbon around the buck's neck, making a leash out of his ribbon. He expected the deer to kick and bite, but it remained still, excluding a small, impatient stomp. Once it was done, he had a leashed deer who gently followed behind him.

He left his grove silent, his subjects gaping after him.

The stables had a small stall set up by the time Xiaotian arrived. The deer looked a little nervous as they stepped inside, and Xiaotian couldn't blame him. The stables were full of horses- at least three were stolen from Heaven when Sun Wukong served as the bimawen, while the other five were either gifts or horses that the Monkey King had wrangled himself. Second to the monkeys, these were Sun Wukong's favorite creatures, and he made sure they were well-kept. "Uh, here, my prince," the stable master said, leading Xiaotian to the stall at the end.

Sweet new hay had been set up, with a trough full of grass and a small thing of salt. Xiaotian settled into the hay and the deer followed, sweetly settling next to him and setting his head in his lap. "Wow!" Xiaojiao said from the doorway. "He's nothing like before. What did you do?"

“I don’t know,” Xiaotian admitted. He paused his pets, and the deer butted his hand, forcing him to start the gentle movements again. “I just told him to stop, and he did.” He turned his smile to the deer. “You’re just a scared little sweetie, aren’t you?” he cooed.

It might’ve been his imagination, but the deer seemed to roll its eyes.

-_-

Xiaotian loved his new pet.

As it turned out, the deer was not sweet. The stable master had made the mistake of trying to feed him, still amazed by its appearance, and the deer had bit him. Any stable boys were promptly kicked and bit until Xiaotian had arrived. At the very sound of his voice, the deer had calmed.

So, it was agreed. Xiaotian was the only one allowed to approach the deer. He didn’t mind. The buck was nice to him, even though he felt sassy to the point of brattiness sometimes. Still, he allowed him to brush out his fur, feed him, and take him out on walks. (He had tried to take some of his father’s horses out, but the deer had stomped its foot until the stable master took the reins. Xiaojiao had tried to join, but one attempted kick from the deer was enough.) Xiaotian had found a lovely meadow next to a waterfall, and there he grazed the deer.

Out there, alone with nothing but the deer and his thoughts, Xiaotian found himself talking to the deer. 

At first, it was nothing but notes on drawing his new pet. “You’re so energetic!” he said, scratching the deer’s head. “You’re giving me lots of practice for dynamic poses.” For the next few minutes, it felt like the deer was posing, allowing him to scrawl out the weird horns (the vet had no explanation for the horns) and the buck’s large chest.

Slowly, though, more thoughts came out. Some were just kingdom gossip that his father told him during dinner. Some were his own thoughts, mostly around his rejected engagement. “I wished I could’ve drawn him,” he admitted as the buck rested against him. “He was beautiful. Not like you-” The deer snorted with a vain little flick of his head. “Definitely not like you. You don’t have his eyes.”

Those amber eyes had seared into his skin, matching the warmth of the flames he so easily wielded. Xiaotian could imagine those amber eyes staring into his own, studying him with every inch. He sighed, shutting the book. “But, hey, at least I have you.”

It might’ve been his imagination again, but the buck looked sad.

That night, at dinner, his baba seemed… weird. Uneasy. He picked more at his food than ate it, and considering his appetite, Xiaotian had to ask. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Oh, well…” Sun Wukong looked around as if expecting to see someone eavesdropping. Most of the monkeys were in the dining hall, eating their food or talking with each other, the din rendering any attempts at eavesdropping moot. “Red Son is getting married.”

Xiaotian’s heart did a weird thing, a mix between a squeeze and an ache. “Really,” he said, trying to sound calm. “Who to?”

“Some noblewoman named Ivory Lady. The issue is that Red disappeared the day after I rejected his courtship of you,” Wukong stared at his bowl, his brows furrowed tight. “Apparently, he went on a quest for some way to reverse his family’s fortune. And then suddenly, he appeared out of nowhere with this random older woman?” Wukong picked up a slice of peach and bit into it almost savagely. “Maybe it’s just me…” He didn’t explain why he was concerned.

Xiaotian’s heart was busy doing that weird ache-squeeze.

He found himself not touching his dinner either, excusing himself as soon as he could. Xiaojiao was back home, visiting her great-uncle, so he found himself stumbling to the stable.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. DBK had been desperate to set Red up with a good match. And with things as poor as they were in the bull clan, Red would, of course, go looking for a match of his own. He just hadn’t expected it so soon, barely a month after his baba’s rejection.

The deer looked up with a mouth full of sweet cud as Xiaotian stumbled in, collapsing to his knees. The deer wasted no time snuggling up, looking up at him with those big dark eyes. It took a drop of water landing on the red fur to realize tears were rolling down his cheeks.

“I mean…of course, he would just try again with someone else…” Xiaotian sniffled, letting the tears roll down. “I wasn’t anyone special to him. We barely…barely knew each other…” Gods, he was crying over a guy he had only seen up close once. “I’m being ridiculous…”

The deer rose up, nuzzling his face. Xiaotian couldn’t help but laugh at the sweetness of the gesture.

“Yeah, I’m being stupid. Who cares if Red is getting married?” The deer’s eyes went wide. “I mean, I have plenty of opportunities- Where are you going?” The deer had stood up, looking around frantically. “Wait, hang on-” Before he could grab the collar, the deer had somehow managed to jump over the stall door. It wasn’t a full jump, leaving the deer struggling on its stomach on top of the door. In front of Xiaotian’s horrified gaze, the deer somehow managed to shimmy to the other side.

The moment he got his feet under him, the buck took off at a run.

Xiaotian scrambled past him, following the deer as fast as he could. Several screams and cries, like the first time he had been called to handle the deer, led him to the stone manor. The doors had been thrown open, and several monkeys were huddling around, clearly terrified. Xiaotian wished he could stop and comfort them, but he had to get his pet.

He finally caught up at the doors to the throne room, reaching in time to see the deer throw his head, throwing the doors open. Sun Wukong, talking with his marshals and generals, looked up, startled.

"WAIT!"

Xiaotian threw himself forward. It was the stupidest idea, but he had to try. He buried his fingers in the soft fur he had just been petting a few minutes ago and yanked down. The deer went stumbling head over heels, coming to a stop in front of Wukong.

"Sorry, baba!" Xiaotian said, desperately trying to keep the deer from moving. He hadn't bucked him off yet, which was a blessing. "He just started to freak out, I don't know what's wrong-"

"Red?"

"Huh?" Xiaotian looked up, realizing his father's eyes were glowing gold. On a guess, he looked down and allowed his gold vision to activate. (He honestly kept forgetting he had that.)

The next second he was scrambling off.

Instead of a deer, a bull demon was hunched on the floor. Those warm amber eyes, that scarlet fur...Prince Red stared up at him desperately. "...I've been keeping a prince in the stables," he managed out. There were several other issues, but that was the first he was focusing on.

Wukong's brows furrowed together. "Well, if he was in the stables, who's the Red getting married?" he asked. Red's face scrunched up in a furious look and if Xiaotian wasn't so embarrassed, he would be swooning.

“I have no idea.”

-_-

"I OBJECT!"

The wedding- sparsely but lovingly decorated- fell silent. Xiaotian's face burned, but he ignored it, focused on the couple mid-bow. The bride appeared to be an older but still beautiful woman, her features full of icy beauty. The groom was Red Son, prince of the Demon Bull King.

At least, he appeared to be.

"What is going on here?!" The Demon Bull King bellowed. He rose up, eyes narrowing on Xiaotian and his father. "Sun Wukong! You dare to interrupt! You already snubbed my son-"

"Yes, but I'm here on behalf of your son." It had taken a lot of work to figure out how to get Red here, but he trotted in, allowing Xiaotian to bury his fingers in his fur. "What appeared to be a simple but extraordinary deer caught the eye of my son. I looked upon him with my vision of truth." His voice rolled through the hall. "Do you want to know what I saw?"

Silence fell as everyone turned to stare at the frozen couple. The man pretending to be the prince was sweating while the bride just looked annoyed, especially when there was an awkward "Uh..."

'Red' squeaked as he went poof, revealing a scrawny man with big glasses and blue hair. The entire hall went silent. The woman, Ivory Lady or whatever, yanked her hands away with a disgusted noise. "I can see destiny refuses to let me walk this path," she sighed.

Red lunged forward, antlers clearly ready to gore, and she disappeared in a flash of cold blue. The man yelped, jumping off the stage just in time to avoid being gored. Two guards were immediately at his side, yanking him off his feet and away despite his protests.

The hall fell silent as people awkwardly, without much of a word, got up and shuffled out after the false groom. DBK didn't seem to care, rushing over to help Red get his antlers out of the wall. Princess Iron Fan trailed behind, looking surprisingly calm.

"How do we fix him?!" DBK demanded, hugging Red as best as he could. "I need my son back!"

"Well...uh, I don't know, we just found him like this...!"

As the argument continued to grow, Xiaotian slipped over to Red. The transformed prince nuzzled against his face. He sighed, scratching him in that spot he liked. “It's okay, Red,” No, it wasn't okay, but Xiaotian had to believe this could be fixed. “We’ll find a way. I promise.” He leaned forward and kissed Red right between his horns, sealing his promise.

Poof.

Xiaotian blinked at the sudden smoke, feeling heat crawl up his face. Instead of a soft deer, he was face to face with muscle. He dared to look up, feeling the heat grow even hotter as his legs went weak.

Red blinked, and suddenly, his hands were around his waist, keeping him steady. Xiaotian stared at him, wide-eyed, and that heat was just growing worse as Red grinned before his feet left off the ground as the taller prince scooped him up fully in his arms as he spun, holding him tight.

He had never been so thankful for being picked up.

"Thank you," Red said, his voice low before he moved forward. The kiss was soft and pleasant, sending an electric shock up Xiaotian's spine. He pulled away, and Xiaotian wasted no time, grabbing Red's collar and hauling him close for another kiss.

At least, he tried.

"Okay, okay, make som room for Buddha!" His father shoved their faces apart, looking like he had just come to the realization that Xiaotian and Red had technically been alone for weeks. "Red has some explaining to do."

"What happened?" DBK was the first to ask, which was reasonable. "Where did you go?! Your mother and I were so worried!"

Red managed a cough. "I went to the neighboring kingdom," he said. "I heard that the king there was interested in servants that never tired." He gestured. "I was hoping that we could arrange a deal, since we've made a way to mass-produce the bull clones." Those must've been the never-tiring servants he had created. "She...I met her first. She was his advisor, but she wanted the bull clones to serve her. I refused, because I didn't trust her."

"And she turned you into a deer," Xiaotian said, slotting the pieces together. "She must've figured marrying at least someone who claimed to be you was the best way to get her soldiers."

Wukong sighed. "Well, glad we could get that solved. C'mon, Xiaotian-"

"Nope." Red started walking in the other direction, still holding him close. Xiaotian couldn't, wouldn't protest. "I made a promise to myself that I would keep him, so..."

"Wait, HANG ON-!"

Red broke into a run, leaving Wukong to scramble after him. Xiaotian didn't protest, snuggling close.

He would miss his deer. But he was happy to have his prince.

[steviestits]

In The Family Way - Part 2.1

Written for an anon prompt, which can be read in its entirety on this fic's masterpost.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Background Argyle/Jonathan Rating: T (E in later chapters, the part after this one to be precise) Summary: The Munson family has never had the typical values that most modern Americans have as they find thrill in all that's mysterious and spooky. Steve Harrington, a black widow omega, hadn't known this when he mated with the family's eldest alpha, Eddie, and thought that he'd be another easy mark that he could kill to inherit the millions that Eddie owned. However, not only do all his murder attempts fail, but Eddie actually enjoys them! And to make matters worse, the alpha wants to try for a pup! Steve has to find a way to off Eddie for good, before he gets pregnant and maybe actually falls for the death-crazed alpha. (Addams Family Values au set in the Omegaverse after the events of the movie with Steve as Debbie and Eddie as Fester) Trigger Warning: Attempted Murder as a love language, Mpreg

(Link to previous part)

The first time Steve saw Eddie Munson was on the cover of Forbes magazine, covering the bout of amnesia he had before he regained his memories and his wealth returned. It was a dry article about a riches to rags back to riches again, but Steve did gleam two important pieces of information after reading the piece. The first was that Eddie Munson was as rich as an alpha could get, even richer than Steve’s two previous inconsiderate (and very dead) mates. Then the second was that Eddie was a complete idiot who answered every question in a strange, off-putting manner that made Steve certain that he’d never been with an omega, as one would run in the other direction the moment he opened his mouth. In other words, Eddie was desperate for a gentle touch, making him an easy mark.

Steve decided to play the role of affectionate caregiver after a few weeks of doing research and learning that the Munsons were having trouble keeping a nanny. From the moment he showed up on their doorstep, the obviously virgin alpha was putty in Steve’s hand. All Steve had to do was bat his eyes in the right way to have Eddie falling all over himself with an eagerness to please that Steve would’ve found cute if he actually cared about that sort of thing.

Everything had been going to plan. Sure, the children had caught onto his fake interest in the eldest alpha of their pack, but his position as nanny gave him an extra amount of leverage, allowing him to convince Argyle and Jonathan that the two wanted to go to summer camp. It had worked perfectly, and the kids were whisked away almost the next day, but even without them, Steve hadn’t foreseen what would happen on their honeymoon.

Eddie was apparently in destructible! Steve had planned to electrocute him in the tub of their suite to make it seem like an accident, only the bastard survived. No, not just survived, the fucker enjoyed it! He even thanked Steve for trying to make the vacation more fun for him, as if Steve hadn’t obviously tried to murder him by dropping a whole stereo into the water with him!

It only got worse from there. Every murder attempt failed and was met with enthusiastic praise from the alpha, who thought Steve was spoiling him. The more Steve tried, the more it became clear that he’d clearly made a mistake in thinking that he could simply do away with his mate like he did with his two previous ones. He thought to try to do away with the whole family. Surely, he’d be able to kill one of them if he tried to get them all at once, but they only welcomed Steve as a fellow Munson when his attempt ultimately failed, as well.

That didn’t mean Steve was going to give up, though. He wasn’t a quitter. Every day, he went up to the attic to try to think of new and inventive ways to murder the alpha and claim the Munson fortune for his own. He tried every combination of poisons he could find and caused accident after accident, even going so far as to try to stab Eddie in order to pass it off as a mugging gone wrong, only he still survived!

Even now, Steve had cut Eddie’s breaks before the alpha had gone out to visit his brother, but he returned in one piece, despite running into a lamppost on the way back. It was getting to the point where Steve thought that maybe he shouldn’t make it look like an accident. Maybe he’d just chop the bastard into tiny pieces then bury him under concrete after constructing a new swimming pool and guest house in the backyard.

Though, that would have to wait, as Steve was currently relaxing in bed, winding down for the day after another string of failures. He was reading his favorite fashion magazine and had just turned the page to check up on the latest fashion trends when a squeaking caught his attention. Steve glanced up to see that Eddie had opened the door to the bedroom and was nervously making his way inside, wringing his hands.

Whatever the alpha had to say, Steve didn’t care. He returned his attention to his magazine, which usually signaled to the other that he wasn’t in the mood to talk. Eddie didn’t leave, however, he continued to stand in the doorway of the omega’s private bedroom, so Steve decided to ignore him, hoping that Eddie would get the message to go away on his own.

“My love,” Eddie called. “My beloved mate. I don’t mean to bother you, my sweet pet, but I was hoping that I could ask you something.”

“I’m a little busy,” Steve replied with a scowl.

Steve continued to read the article that declared that pastels were last season. Obviously, the writer didn’t know what they were talking about, and Steve didn’t know how the editor could allow such blatant lies to be published. It was clear that neither were qualified to be employed at such a prestigious fashion magazine. He doubted the two would be fired if he called, but he figured he could do the firing himself with a well-placed car bomb.

“I know, sweetheart. That’s why it won’t take a moment of your time.”

Steve glanced up reluctantly from his magazine. “Spit it out then.”

“I was wondering if I could pleasure you this evening. I’ve been practicing. I swear I’ve gotten better. It won’t be a repeat of our honeymoon, I promise.”

Raising an eyebrow, Steve stared at his mate curiously before he said, “Fine, knock yourself out.” Then he went back to reading his magazine. He remembered their honeymoon very clearly as the virgin alpha had no idea what to do with a young omega like himself, so Steve ended up doing most of the work that night. Steve honestly didn’t believe that Eddie had improved, but he figured that he’d fulfill his marital duties if it allowed him to finally finish reading.

Part 1.2 ~ Masterpost ~ Part 2.2

[blues824]

Can I please request izuru Kamukura with a female Kalim Al-Asim reader.

🌞Her being a happy ball of sunshine that loves her s/o and likes to spoil him with gifts and loves hugging him and him finding her amusing but is protective of her.

🖤Izuru finding it amusing how different they are from each other he gets bored easily and doesn't like people and he doesn't feel emotions but his s/o loves people gets doesn't get bored easily and always show emotions.

🌞Him reacting to her food always needs to be checked for poison and her needing to be careful for kidnappers but now she has izuru and he can also protect her.

🖤Her inteduseing him to her family and realising that her inter family is like her and they are very accepting of him her mother shipping them so hard that she asks when they will marry.

🌞Her meeting him in school and bringing him food from her home country and feeding him and him just going with the flow.

🖤How would classmates react to this pair the ball of sunshine whith her dead serious goth bf .

Does this mean that I am going to open requests for Danganronpa when I finish with my current requests? Maybe. I’m just going through the anime and the game playthroughs.

Izuru Kamukura

He thought you deserved the title of The Ultimate Hope, if we were talking about it quite literally. You were painfully optimistic, as well as very naive, and he felt an urge to protect your rays of pure sunshine. He just watched as you put a charm bracelet upon his wrist, with little charms of yours and his initials with a bunch of little hearts. Your heart was filled with hope… a dangerous thing within Hope’s Peak Academy.

You were a very spontaneous person as well. He couldn’t predict what you would do next, be it present him with something or give him a hug, a kiss, hold a spoon of a food your personal chef cooked for you to his lips, etc. You’ve even once shoved crackers into his mouth because you were a bit too excited about sharing a meal with each other.

If we’re being honest, he doesn’t even trust the staff members your family hired for you. He will gladly become your taste-tester as well as your bodyguard because of his distrust in those surrounding you. You were a person of great influence and of great interest because of your family’s wealth that you were set to inherit. You were the one person who made him feel joy, so he would be damned before he let anything happen to you.

Speaking of your family, when you introduced him to them, he wasn’t too surprised that you had so many siblings. The only thing that did surprise him was the amount of times your siblings and even your mother asked about the wedding. You were flustered as well, but what Izuru did in response was the cherry on top; he said that he would ask you to marry him some time after you graduated, and your family members seemed satisfied with that answer. You couldn’t believe what he just said, but you had to admit that you were excited for it.

Whenever you both had lunch together, you would feed each other a bit of your meals. He just went with it, and it became routine. He’s the type of person to take a napkin and clean up the side of your face when you make a mess, calling you childish (affectionately) and telling you to eat over the container in case some of it spills.

All of your classmates are so shocked when he walks into the classroom with you on his back, and you are cheering out loud with him looking like a grumpy cat who got woken up. However, once he puts you down, you press a big kiss on his cheek before going off to your usual group of friends while he lingered close by, remaining vigilant.

[trans-girl-nausicaa]

i saw a post about “what if your family was descended from a benevolent immortal” and of course my mind immediately jumped to “what about the inverse of that”

i think that if there was a family that was descended from an immortal ancestor there are a number of very likely and severe problems that could likely arise from having a matriarch/patriarch who has had XXXX years to amass financial/political/social/religious power (though more importantly than what is “realistic” i think it would be interesting to explore this as a metaphor for generational trauma)

problems such as

they impose their extremely regressive social values on several generations of their descendants. even if their social norms are “good” by the standards of “their time” (people generally don’t change their cultural values very much after they reach adulthood!) their influence on their descendants would engender an inherent alienation between their family & the rest of society.

they are abusive & traumatize several generations of their descendants (how horrible would it be if the abuser literally outlives all of their victims and bullies everyone into silence? there are many cases of families where people can only address their shared trauma once the abusive matriarch/patriarch finally kicks the bucket and if that could literally never happen, it would be a terrible situation)

they become a religious leader (much easier when you literally have a power that is either supernatural or looks supernatural) and traumatize several generations of their followers (and their descendants who would also be inducted into their religious order)

they become a political figure (even a minor political figure or political activist can have a lot of influence over a long enough time-scale if they are truly dedicated)

they get rich (truly there are 999 ways this is bad but i will only state one) and they literally never retire or die so none of their descendants can inherit the wealth and decide how to spend money themselves and instead there are generations of failsons/faildaughters clinging on like remoras to an immensely powerful tycoon who just keeps getting wealthier and more influential

they did something really horrible in their past and all of their descendants have to have the shadow cast on them of having grown up with this horrible person as a close relative who is also inherently historically notable because they are fucking immortal. “yeah that’s my uncle he fought for the confederates in the american civil war.”

all of this is compounded even more if their particular type of immortality allows them to be fertile as long as they live. some cis men remain technically fertile until they die. i’ve heard of men in their 90’s fathering kids. & if that guy never dies he may end up with genghis khan numbers of kids.

i don’t have an answer for this one but how is the criminal justice system supposed to handle someone who literally does not give a fuck about how many years you imprison them for (so long as it falls short of a life sentence) (many countries actually do not allow life sentences or the death penalty)

Anyway if even one of these scenarios was true & it was your ancestor who was an immortal asshole you might actually be grateful for someone to come along and Belmont that fucker

[maggiec70]

Why did Louise Lannes devalue her husband so much? Almost like she had always hated him.

Louise didn't hate or even dislike Jean-Boy; she liked what he could--and did--provide her: wealth, social status, and children, although I suspect she would have much preferred to have the stork bring the kids to her instead of the usual method of obtaining children. She erased every trace of her husband that she could manage and thus began the family custom of distancing themselves from their illustrious ancestor. The reasons were simple: she was protecting what she had and what she intended to control herself, with her father's help or that of her close male relatives. The claim brought in 1809 and then again in 1814 by Jean-Claude Lannes for his portion of his father's estate opened up a whole host of serious for the Lovely Louise. First was the very real probability that Jean-Claude's claim was real because no one could prove he was not the marshal's son; Jean-Boy divorced his first wife, Polette, in 1800, but didn't declare Jean-Claude a bastard, a necessary legal step if he meant to disinherit the boy forever. Second, when Jean-Claude's claim was refiled in 1814 when Napoleon was safely out of the picture, or so Louise and her lawyers thought, the legal discrepancies of the divorce, as well as Jean-Claude's standing to bring the claim, were highlighted. Worse, combined with the questions that Jean-Claude's attorney raised regarding the legal inconsistencies of Jean-Boy's and Louise's civil wedding in September 1800, Louise was forced to realize that she and her children could not just be forced to allow Jean-Claude to inherit the title but also she and her five children could lose everything.

The sudden and quite inexplicable death of Jean-Claude in 1817 was the only thing that prevented a potentially awful scenario. The question of whether Louise had a hand in that remains open. It's entirely possible and certainly in keeping with her character since 1809, adding a layer of intrigue to her story. Thus, Louise wanted nothing tangible to remain after Jean-Boy's death; she was interested in hard cash that could be hidden in various ways and protected for her children. So she sold every house and every piece of property she could find, including the old bishop's palace in Lectoure that Jean-Boy bought in 1797 and stayed in every time he came home. Louise and her oldest son, Napoleon-August, the second duke, came to town in 1818 when she spent an hour handing the property over to the town. She never returned and didn't allow her children to visit. Only the third duke, Charles, the one who wrote a little biography of his grandfather, ever came to Lectoure. It's crucial to understand that Louise's actions were not mere whims, but strategic moves to maintain control over the ducal fortune. Her decisions were aimed at distancing herself and her children from Jean-Boy, thereby preventing any further 'unfortunate events' that could challenge her rights. I hope this rather lengthy explanation answers your question. There's a lot more where this came from.

[cadere-art]

What’s one food/drink in your world that sounds amazing

Do they have any musical instruments, if so is it based off of any really world stuff?

Tahen cultures have all sorts of taboo around fire. This is taken to an extreme in Ranai, where open fires are completely forbidden and one must own a special permit to tend a cooking fire. As a result, Ranai cuisine is renowned for it's wealth of raw, pickled, and otherwise marinated foods. Bcause Ranai's territory is an archipelago where fish and seafood is the main source of protein, makwa, acid-cooked fish akin to our world's ceviche, is a staple. Real-life ceviche being delicious, it is only logical that fictional ceviche would also be*.

Bird-fish makwa is an ancient traditional meal of the archipelago. It has three main ingredients: gruel of uciwici, an oat-like, distinctively purple grain rich in anthocyanins, dried and salted kelp, and shrimp and crustacean meat marinated in sumac vinegar. Eggs, herbs, and tart fruits are sometimes added as toppings. Bird-fish makwa most salient tastes are tartness from the sumac vinegar with salt and umami from the seafood and kelp, on a base note of mild and nutty sweetness reminiscient of brown rice from the mashed uciwici. The name of this recipe is a mistranslation of the meal's name from Wetki to Ranaite Tahen.

Jimeleu makwa is a classic ceviche which puportedly originates from the town of Jimeleu, where the soils and climate are conducive to the growth of citrus trees. Jimeleu ceviche consists of diced white fish acid-cooked in lime juice with horseradish, white beans, and cold-cooked uciwici grains. The marinade is usually clear, with a green tinge from the lime and horseradish. Common variants add cold fish broth or cream of green peas to water the ceviche into a soup. Jimeleu makwa is sour and spicy, and variants with cream of green peas have a distinctive sweetness.

Cici-Uli makwa is reminiscient of tataki or carpaccio. A large, white-meat fish is cut into filets which are marinated in a mixture of sumac vinegar, oil, and seasonings (including, but not limited to, salt, horseradish, and tart fruits akin to pincherries). The marinated filet is then cut into very thin slices and served with crunchy seeds and sliced sweet onion. Only the external edge of the fish has cooked: the main flavor of Cici-Uli makwa is that of the raw fish itself. This type of makwa requires very fresh fish.

*Note that I have not tried to make these The Most Palatable Possible - especially the first one!

---

The answer to the second question is a bit less interesting. In short: yes, they do have music instruments! However, I am profoundly not musically inclined and this (as well as sports) is a thing where I show my biases as an individual: I have done roughly 0 musical worldbuilding, and it is unlikely that I will ever do more than the bare minimum (when I remember that the world should, to feel alive, have some music). About Ranaites, I can say that they have a variety of instruments, especially winds and percussions. Bamboo is an important material for their woodwinds and percussion instruments. A large shell is used as a traditional wind instrument. I imagine they have some sort of relatively simple string instrument, and a slightly more complex one with better acoustic imported by members of the Oumdashen diaspora. Ranaites have inherited a taste for passive music such as windchimes from the archipelago's original inhabitants, the Wetki. Shell windchimes are a popular fixture of gardens throughout the archipelago.

[wormsngods]

The Gospels tell us that a rich young man who observed the Laws of Moses came to Jesus. Jesus told him to "You lack one thing: go, sell all that you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me." [Mk 10:21] This passage always seemed to be to be extremely burdensome. However today I was thinking about the volumes upon volumes of medical textbooks I have memorised and how the people calling all the shots in our country or those living in the exorbitantly wealthy mansions that line the roads seem to have done little else besides being born to rich parents, denied their sisters inheritance, evaded taxes and taken advantage of exploitative systems. I know this seems like a "grapes are sour" type excuse and a cope for not working as hard as them but I am still looking for the self made man who did not lie, cheat and steal his way to the top. I look at my professors and the doctors in our hospital and at the end of the day they have to grovel before uneducated men who simply inherited their positions of power from their dad and grew their business by scamming and underhanded tactics.

Back to my point, It seems as if in this passage, Jesus was not burdening the young man but asking him to pick a side. You can either take up your cross and follow the path of Jesus or you can run after worldly riches.

Anyone you tries to run after both will gain neither.

And there are some who worship Allah on the verge ˹of faith˺: if they are blessed with something good, they are content with it; but if they are afflicted with a trial, they relapse ˹into disbelief˺,1 losing this world and the Hereafter. That is ˹truly˺ the clearest loss. [Q22:11]

The only cure to me viewing my (very cozy) circumstances as detestable and resenting the corrupt and powerful for having what they have is to pick a side. I do not have to sympathise with the rich nor do I have to resent them. It is easy for rich and famous people like Jim Carrey to turn around and say that money and fame are not the answer but it is significantly harder to not pursue or desire these two in the first place. To live a life where I am doing what I do, not to gain wealth or power, but because it is what God has decreed for me and is my means to earn a livelihood enough to put a roof over my head, food on the plate and clothes on my back.

If this is cause enough for people to deny me their company, love and good regard then that too is God's decree and we must accept that with patience and maybe he will reward us with something better than the worldly mansions and cars and fame that we so value. Would it not be better to be loved by your Creator than to be loved by humans? I accept His decree and place my hope in His mercy.

[incorrectmahabharatquotes]

History denial (yes we were definitely colonized by the Muslim invaders who broke and looted our temples and forcefully converted and massacred many of our people, taking our temples back is a decolonization movement as pointed out by that other anon). Then Kashmir is an integral part of India denial... how can you even say that.

I'm myself a Hindu and a queer, and reading your views came as an unpleasant surprise. Please go do some reading, and educate yourself about how reclaiming temples isn't about hating other communities. Muslims and other minorities can and have been living in peace with Hindus for centuries. What the invaders did was wrong, and acknowledging that doesn't make Hindus Muslim haters.

You answered that other anon with no reasoning, just that whatever happened, happened before your time. All vibes no research or learning.

Unfollowing. I can make Mahabharat quotes myself.

Tipu Sultan famously destroyed temples as well as donated heavily to temples.

You tell me what to think of that.

Temples have been the site of politics since time immemorial. They were the storehouses of public engagement. And that's why they were attacked. And if we draw this logic to today: Religion is in itself politics. You cannot seperate your celebration of the Ram temple from what it really signifies: The destruction of what is presumed to be a mark of colonization.

Agreed, Muslim rulers did demolish temples. But you take one look at the bulldozer politics of today and tell me: Who is being held accountable here? Are the poor Pasmanda and lower caste muslims, who barely have enough space for themselves to live the descendants of Mahmud of Ghazni? Did they inherit the wealth of whatever was looted from the Somnath temple?

Also tell me one thing: why did the Supreme court not conclude on whether there was a temple structure under the mosque, and still give the go signal? Why was the government assigned priest murdered for stating that the Ram Mandir was purely political? Why were there many 'Ram Janmabhoomi' sites before the Babri Masjid issue? And this is not ancient history, dear anon, this was hardly a generation back.

All I ask of you is to engage critically with the world around you. Yes, celebrate Ram within your house, Mod S and I will not break into your house and laugh at you. But take one look around you as to how your celebrations are actually built on others' misery.

Oh, and by the way: if we as a nation were really decolonising.......why are massive corporations kicking Adivasis of their lands in Aarey, Hasdeo (where our dear Adani is trying to 'develop' coal mines), Gadchiroli, and many many many many places where displacement happens through casteist Panchayat meetings which are held under the supervision of the State (which are not done in the presence of the people actually affected by such projects).

In my head it means one thing: The Ram Mandir is only a carrot waved in front of us to distract us from the real State Violence that goes on. And personally, I think that's a very disrespectful way of using a god. Its actually.....saddening.

Thank you for protecting your peace and unfollowing us, though! I wish you farewell on your internet journey

-Mod G

---------

Hello, Anon-Who-Is Unfollowing-And-Have-Decided-to-Announce-Your-Departure-Because-You-Wanted-Our-Attention,

Well, you have my attention. But it seems like I don't have yours because you have somehow managed to only read one paragraph selectively and completely gloss over everything else.

If you had read what I said clearly, you would have clearly seen the part where I said that the political majority CANNOT claim reclamation because YOU ARE NOT OPPRESSED. YOU HAVE ALL THE POWER. Do you understand this? Or has any hint of nuance completely managed to escape you? YOU, AS A SELF-PROFESSED HINDU, ARE NOT BEING OPPRESSED FOR YOUR HINDU IDENTITY IN THIS COUNTRY. YOU IN NO WAY ARE EVEN A LITTLE BIT HARMED BY A TEMPLE BEING DESTROYED CENTURIES AGO.

You want to talk about decolonisation? Let's talk about how the term "Hindu" that you're so proud of is actually a very recent term and is actually only a thing because the European colonisers just wanted an easy religious box to put us all in. If you're really so gung-ho about decolonisation, please decolonize yourself fully and throw away this term too. While we're at it, let's also examine why your decolonisation efforts are so selective?

"I'm myself a Hindu and a queer". I notice you conveniently skipped over the "dalit" part of my identity that actually might have led to a massive difference in lived experience in this country. I also talked about reparation to the "lower" castes. You skipped that too.

What the invaders did was wrong, and what you're doing is wrong too. Their wrongs don't mean that you are automatically right.

I gave you all my reasoning, told you everything. You skimmed through them and paid attention to the only part that you wanted to focus on.

Thank you for unfollowing, I hope you have a good day.

-Mod S

[pluto01doesart]

5 Reasons Why Tsukasa Doumyoji is Twisted To Begin With... (Sorta)

HIS UPBRINGING:

This crazy dude grew up in a lonely environment, despite having everything he ever wanted handed to him on a silver platter most of his life. he felt neglected, abandoned, from a young age. Even if he had his sister around, his parents hardly ever talk to him unless it's BUSINESS RELATED.

At least he has the F4, but even so he developed all types of issues growing up...because of Tsubaki's beating and lack of right experience in disciplines and authority, (manga mainly.)

He was mostly influenced by the high and mighty people of the rich society, given that he comes from a billionaire family. He used the power of his own wealth and money, even wrongly methods to achieve his somewhat toxic goals. He's abusive most of the time only because he was judged by his intimidating looks and being also part of the F4.

HIS MOTHER:

He's like another clone of her but compared to him she's way worse and bitchier. Her ways sometimes could've also had the possibility of influencing him growing up. But that wasn't it, his case turned out much more different thanks to this gal.

A Boy With A Wounded Heart Who Wants Nothing But To Be Loved.

He came to learn eventually that not everything can be bought or obtained the way you wanted it to, his character development is STILL INSANE TO ME!

HIS SIMPLE MINDEDNESS:

In a way, it was the case when it came to his actions. He was rather pushy and forceful because he was so desperate for love and care from those around him, he just didn't express himself quite well because he was so closed off as a child which is a reason he became inhumane at times, he needed someone that could tolerate his personality and yet correct the error of his ways no matter how far they went.

Since he thought that he could always get what he wanted with power, money and shit...he had to learn the hard way that humans from middle-class families aren't tools just because you act above them and ya always gotta be on top.

HIS SELF PRIDE AND ARROGANCE:

A person like him doesn't take a no for an answer or something he inherited from his old hag, however that's part of his personality as long as it's friendly and amusing- but when it's used for reasons like revenge and paybacks In a despicable way then it's super toxic. He's too blind to actually take action of his responsibilities and everything and needs someone to rebuke him like 24/7 because he's that naive, innocent and ignorant

His character was ORIGINALLY SUPPOSED TO BE FLAWED AND A TOTAL RED FLAG!! That's how character development happened. Without this shit the story would not have any starting points, however that does not excuse how abusive he was! In both the anime and manga that's why I personally tended to avoid watching the anime.

Still as a person who usually doesn't prefer live action over anime j or k even c dramas, I would personally still choose the homeland of this Shojo which is Japan.

Hating his guts at first I wanted to see the outcome of his evolution throughout their crazy journey together from enemies to friends then lovers. But for the past two years my obsessions with all the versions haven't really died down.

Their variety of personality in the F4 group is ceaseless. My personal fav is Akira the same one who holds the group together, to me he's way more underrated than the other two.

Also Jun actually portrayed the character beautifully I don't think anyone else could've done it like he did!!

[jamethinks]

Damian and the Forgers (1)

For the past week or so i keep seeing people say that Damian should have lunch/dinner with the Forgers due to the previous chapter (106) where he had an exciting and engaging dinner with his family. I have been so deeply confused about this whole idea as i fail to see how it would be beneficial to Damian or what could theoretically be gained from an evening with the Forgers. After much thought I think I have a somewhat coherent thought to explain why this idea sucks to me.

Firstly, we have to answer 2 important questions: What is Damian's relationship with his father/family; and what impact does this have on his character?

Going forward we will be taking a "The curtains are blue because the character is depressed." approach. some details may seem irrelevant but i don't care.

Q1. What is Damian's relationship w/ his Father/family?

Obviously a very strained one with subtle hints towards emotional abuse. Donovan manages his family with an iron fist, keeping them all equally invested in happiness but in distinct ways. Like any good dictator he promotes individualism and strives to create a divide between his family, ensuring they all have a different version of him in their heads so they can never fully relate with one another.

One important thing to note about Damian is his title. He is the scion to the Desmond estate, not the heir. An heir is the person who is set to inherit their family's wealth while a scion is merely a descendant of nobility. Essentially, Damian has no claim in his family only a title to uphold. This creates a sense of inadequacy in him. Donovan's approach for handling Damian is through neglect, ignoring and avoiding him further enable this sense of inadequacy.

He doesn't spend much time with son and is seemingly completely unaware of what his son has going on. Chapter 38 we see the two of the having a conversation (?) and there are a lot of important details throughout*. When Damian is upset that his father seemingly did not care about Anya attacking him, Donovan responds by sighing, expressing irritation. Immediately, Damian goes quiet. Later, Donovan remarks on how he sees everyone as an opp even his own children. Lastly, when Damian shares his achievements at the end his father his father congrats him and tells him to continue to not "besmirch" the family name**. He's also dismissive of his decision to see his son, reducing it to simply a whim***.

In this rather brief interaction, Donovan is able to re-establish his position as Damian's father and also drill and important message into his head. He has to work for his father's approval. It is a privilege, one he is yet to earn.

Q2. What impact does this have on Damian as a character?

In short, he's desperate. He is a child and understandably craves his father's attention and affection*. As a result Damian spends his life seeking that love that any human would want and he does so by doing things he believes will make his father happy and satisfied.

Damian idolizes his father. He has said on multiple occasions he wants to be a politician like his father. For the career thing he wrote a piece extensively praising his father**. He also wanted to make a griffin for the craft project to honour his family name and father. He was worried he father would view him as weak for crying after the bus hijacking. He is immediately filled with glee at the slightest hint of a compliment from his father. He has dedicated his life and identity to his father (well he's six so idk).

One way that Donovan has taught his son to seek his approval (directly or indirectly) is through his interactions with Demetrius. By attending the imperial scholar mixer, and rewarding Demetrius with his presence, he tells Damian that this is a way to earn his attention. Whether or not Demetrius actually wants his father there is irrelevant***, it's what Damian wants and by denying it to him he ensure Damian constantly at his whim. It also creates a foundation for future resentment he can exploit later on.

From here we get Damian's main goal and fundamental belief. That if he becomes an imperial scholar he will be someone worthy of his father's love (represented through his occasional presence). Damian believes that he has to work for it and it's absence is not a fault in his father but a fault in himself. He is the problem. He has not given his father a good enough reason to love and trust him. Through his limited world view he has concluded that his father's love (or at least an avenue to it) can be forged through becoming an imperial scholar like his brother.

None of this is true but that's a fact he will have to accept as an adult but until then his father has him where he needs him. Desperate and submissive.

I will have to make a part 2 this is too long bruh.

Notes: wink

q1

* prior to their meeting, Damian is seen having a phone call with his brother. In that moment, Demetrius says he can't promise anything. This leads me to theorize there may have been cases where one or the other attempted to organize a meeting with him and he didn't show up. the good ole leaving your kid all dolled up on the side of the road wait for you to take them on a trip. wickedness

** the exact line is "continue striving not to besmirch the Desmond name". the choice of word here is interesting. As opposed to something more positive like uphold or meet or maintain, he said besmirch. he's not telling him to do well but rather to not embarrass him or tarnish the family name. he doesn't see what Damian has done as an achieve but simply him not making things worse. a subtle reminder that he hasn't done anything special.

*** i do believe he showed up on purpose. it was more or less a way of resetting Damian. he stays away for too long eventually Damian will lose interest and the plan will fail. By showing up, briefly, he reinvigorates a sense of hope in Damian, remotivating him and setting back the clock until the next time he has to show up again.

q2

*by preventing his mother or brother to give him that affection he able to isolate Damian. Damian specifically craves his fahter's attention as he is the patriarch of the family and in theory with his approval he will have everyone's

** it should be noted that his father was not aware of this piece. which shows he is not actually engaged with what his son is doing. he's also likely not aware of his other achievements. however, this was during the conversation with Loid where he seemed rather on edge on more focused on examining Loid so it's unclear why he said that or how truthful it was.

*** like i said before, each member is given different versions of Donovan which makes them experience each interaction differently. that's not to say Demetrius doesn't what his father there but rather we dont know how he feels about his father's presence as we never see the relationship they have. the effectiveness of this is reflected in the chapter where the two boys met and Damian mentioned his father which quickly turned Demetrius' mood sour. How Demetrius experience's his father dictates how he views his brother, this results in the distance between them.