#tw discussion of misogyny

[fushitoru]

tw periods, slight angst surrounding periods and period typical misogyny, misunderstanding, fluff at the end, a lot of suggestiveness LOL. this is post-canon, after bridgerton!gojo and miss itadori get married

a/n you are warned this is not a drabble this is almost a fic (still a bit short tho) but i was too lazy to make a layout for it

you woke beside your husband, bridgerton!gojo, with a peculiar slickness between your thighs and a slight ache in your joints, particularly that of your lower back.

at once, you knew what it was---your courses. you couldn't help but feel a little disappointment; while you and satoru had only wed recently, your...child bearing efforts had been rigorous. however, it had only been about a fortnight since you had become missus gojo, so it would be reasonable to assume a child was to come in due time.

that is to say, becoming with child was not what was troubling you at all---it was the tangent, irony smell of blood between your thighs, and, if you did not take quick action, it would soon stain your marital bed.

but the biggest worry of all: your husband.

unfortunately, you did not know his...stance about the monthly affliction women face. it was true you felt you could discuss anything with him---after a whole season of fighting like fools, you both had shown each other your most vulnerable parts. however, you were not sure how he would react to the blood that was slowly trickling out of you. would he be disgusted? would he want you to sleep on a seperate bed? the both of you shared your marital bed every night, despite the fact that the gojo manor had many other rooms and one that was formally yours, too.

yet it was not his disgust that you feared most. it was his silence---that he would silently hold back his true feelings of disgust to care for you.

you shook your head. you definitely could not stomach making him bear such responsibility. to be safe, you would distance yourself from him for a couple of days.

looking once more at him, you were relieved to see him sleeping peacefully like a babe next to you. in his slumber, he had wrapped his arms across your waist and buried his head in your chest. as carefully as you could, you unwrapped yourself from his arms and waddled miserably towards the door, and outside, until you found nobara.

after you had debriefed her in your formal room (the one where you were supposed to sleep in, but it had gathered dust nonetheless because satoru would not tolerate distance between you two), she sent a pointed look at you. "you are being ridiculous. that man is a lovesick fool when it comes to you."

"i know he adores me, which is precisely why i do not wish to be close to him during my courses," you mutter back, clutching your stomach and sitting uncomfortably on the bed. "what if he stayed silent about his true sentiments---"

before you could finish, a hesitant knock came on the door and came the voice of your husband. "my love, are you inside?" he sounded concerned, and your heart broke; he must have been confused why you were not by his side when he woke.

then, panic welled inside of you, and you quickly stood up, then immediately shrinked in pain. in a shrill voice came your response: "give me some time, dear, to get dressed!"

then came a confused but brief, "all right," and he obediently stayed outside the door, waiting for you. you hurriedly put on proper attire---not before putting a linen cloth over your crotch to temper the bleeding---and opened the door.

there he was: dressed in a white shirt that was clearly shrugged on in a daze, and pants. it was truly a shame you were resolved to avoid him and any intimate engagement; if it weren't so, you would have dragged him back to your bed for a reenactment of last night.

it seemed that this time of the month had amplified your lust; you were gazing intently at his bare chest and stomach and didn't notice how he had been trying to say something. it was only until he grabbed your hand and started walking that you got out of your reverie. "where are we going?"

"to break our fast," he sighed, looking at you with trace of amusement in his eyes. "it seems that you cannot seem to concieve any words of mine without food in your stomach."

heat creeps up your neck, but you stay silent as he leads you into the drawing room. he sits you down next to him on the couch, and you're so overwhelmed with the heat of his presence that you dizzily sit next to him, while he murmurs things to the maid. it's only until you are alone with him that he pulls you close, onto his lap---you panic once more.

you both have been spending your time as newlyweds at each other's sides; in the morning, he ushers everyone else out of the drawing room and pulls you onto his lap to feed you pastries by hand; during the day, the both of you find some way of keeping each other company, whether it be you reading in the library while he conducts his work or him lazing by your side as you play the pianoforte; at night....every unfortunate being in the manor knows what the both of you do at night.

however, if you were to bleed onto him, forget his reaction; you'd probably offer yourself up to the chef to be cooked for dinner.

your hands remain stiff where they hover in the air, unsure whether to wrap around his shoulders or press against his chest and shove him away. but your legs are already tucked awkwardly to one side, your skirts pooling in your lap and the linen cloth beneath them barely hanging on to dignity.

"now, then," he murmurs, voice low and drowsy, still husky with the vestiges of sleep, "would you care to explain why you vanished on me this morning?"

you stiffen slightly, gaze refusing to meet his. his thumb strokes your back through the fabric of your robe.

“i woke early,” you reply, feebly. “i did not wish to disturb your sleep.”

satoru hums, unconvinced yet concerned. “you were limping.”

your breath hitches.

he lifts his head, ocean eyes narrowing with concern as they search yours. “did I hurt you?” he asks, tone suddenly urgent. “was it last night? I—darling, I swear I never intended—”

“no! no, heavens, no,” you interrupt, pressing your hand over his mouth before he can spiral further. “it's not that. I just—” you trail off, heart pounding.

you feel a trickle escape you and remember that you are still situated on his lap. you jump up, to satoru's dismay, and pat down your skirts in a show of fluster. while you do so, you make sure to peek a glance at satoru's---mind you, very expensive---pants, and let out a sigh in relief when you find they are unmarred with any shade of red.

satoru blinks up at you, visibly startled at your sudden escape from his lap. he sits upright, arms slack at his sides, disheveled and blinking like a dog who had just been denied a treat. “darling?” he calls, voice still rough from sleep. “why did you—?”

“i just remembered—i'm meant to be with nobara,” you blurt hastily, smoothing your skirts once more. “she needed… guidance. On a matter of embroidery.”

he tilts his head, clearly skeptical. “embroidery.”

“yes,” you say, far too quickly. “she's quite hopeless with her stitches, you know.”

satoru gives a soft hum. “i see.” he looks at you pointedly, but says no more.

you nod, all nerves, and inch toward the door with forced casualness. “i'll be back before supper,” you promise, though you plan nothing of the sort. “rest, please. you looked dreadfully tired.”

and with that, you flee.

...

the day drags.

you spend an hour in nobara's company, pacing and muttering until she throws a cushion at your head and tells you, in no uncertain terms, that you’re being idiotic. you ignore her.

you then wander the halls of the gojo manor like a ghost, ducking behind tapestries and pillars the moment you hear your husband’s voice approaching.

at one point, you’re certain he sees the edge of your skirts disappearing up the staircase, because you hear a faint, amused, “hm,” followed by very deliberate footsteps that turn away.

it doesn’t help. the ache in your belly has dulled to a throb, your joints heavy and mood sullen. you've gone through more linen cloths than you care to count, and your back feels like it’s being punished by God himself.

but worse still is the shame coiled in your chest.

you miss him. you miss the warmth of his lap, the rasp of his voice when it’s still tinged with sleep. you miss the way he’d drawn heated circles into your back without even realizing it. and you hate—truly, hate—that you’re keeping something from him.

...

by the time night falls and the clock strikes ten, you’re already curled up in your formal room, not even pretending to be useful. you know, instinctively, that he’ll come.

and he does.

the door creaks open gently, as though he’s trying not to startle you. “are you hiding from me again?” satoru asks softly.

you sit up from your curled position on the chaise, wrapped in a thick shawl. you've no more excuses left in you.

he's dressed in his day's clothes, but his shirt is rumpled and a bit unbuttoned. you wish he'd cover up more, for your unscrupulous eyes were devouring the sigh. he looks tired---but not angry. never angry.

still, you look away. “i didn’t mean to avoid you,” you say, voice faint. “truly, i was a bit occupied today.”

"no, you were avoiding me," he says, without heat. "you are hiding something from me."

you nod, the confession a lump in your throat. “i was.”

satoru sighs and crosses the room, kneeling in front of you. “tell me, darling. please.”

you hesitate, and then meet his eyes. "it's my courses."

he blinks. “Your—oh.” realization dawns in an instant. his brows lift. “that's all?”

you flush. "'that's all'? satoru, i bled onto the sheets today. while you were in it---the smell was pungent! then, at breakfast, i thought i would bleed on your trousers, and i've been waddling all day!"

he makes a move to interrupt, but your shrill voice continues, giving him no opening. "and i've heard how it goes!" you cry, but then your voice quiets, now low in mood. "i just did not you know your feelings on the matter. some husbands don't say anything about it but internally do not take kindly to the display. i thought it perhaps to spare you the discomfort. if you wish, you may sleep alone in the marital bed tonight." you laugh but your hands are quivering, your voice equally shaky. "it is due time that i start sleeping in my designated room, regardless."

there's silence, and you refuse to look at him.

you nod to yourself, eyes burning. "so, please do what you are comfortable with, my dear. i will wholly understand and will draw no resentment from your choice, for it is what you wish."

and still, he says nothing.

you do not look up—not when he pushes off the door, not when you hear his footsteps retreating down the hall. the sound of the door clicking shut behind him cleaves clean through you.

you sit for a moment, frozen.

so that was it, then. he had chosen comfort and distance from you.

and that was fine. that was what you had offered him—wasn’t it?

that was what you wanted, you tell yourself. for him to be comfortable. for him to have the space to choose without pressure or obligation. you didn’t want to burden him with your body’s inconvenient truths, didn’t want to tether him to your pain out of guilt or duty.

you had meant it. you had.

still, like a traitor, your throat tightens. you press a palm against your sternum, as if you could quiet the ache blooming there, deep and hollow and foolish.

you should get ready for bed. blow out the candle. crawl beneath the covers and sleep it off—

the door bursts open.

you startle, eyes flying up—and there he is again, storming in not with coldness or distance, but with purpose.

you blink as he steps towards you—not empty-handed, but with a bundle of linens, something wrapped in muslin, and a small ceramic jar tucked beneath one arm. his expression is unreadable as he walks to your chaise.

he crouches before you, silent.

then: he unravels the cloth and reveals a warmed compress, gently pressing it to your lower abdomen with a care that nearly undoes you. his hands are sure, practiced. the pressure soothes more than you can say.

next comes the jar—some ancient concoction for cramping and pain, herbal and bittersweet in scent. he rubs a dab into your wrists, then into your temples, then—when you remain frozen in stunned silence—cups your jaw, brushing a knuckle along your cheek.

“is this allowed?” he murmurs.

you nod, too stunned to speak.

he lets out a slow breath and says, “you absolute goose.”

your lips tremble. “I thought—when you left—”

“i went to the warming stone cupboard, you little fool.” his tone is fond now, teasing, like he can’t bear to let you spiral any further. “you think I’d leave you bleeding and aching and miserable just to have a soft bed to myself?”

you shake your head, and he leans in to press a kiss to your brow.

"i married you, mrs. gojo," he teases, the same way he used to say miss itadori when the both of you were at odds. "do you think i could bear to know nothing about your body with you as my wife? or, heavens forbid, sleep alone in our bed? i knew eventually you would be curled up in my bed, looking cross and adorable while i play nursemaid." he

your eyes brim. "i'm sorry."

“you're forgiven, my love,” he says easily. “on one condition.”

you blink. “What?”

“that you stop hiding from me. i'm your husband. i'd much rather hold you while you’re bleeding than miss you while you’re gone.”

you give a watery laugh. “You make it sound so poetic.”

“i am a romantic at heart.” he stands, then scoops you effortlessly into his arms. “now come. we are going to our bed. i've fluffed the pillows, and you’re going to let me dote on you until you beg me to stop.”

you cling to him, heart light for the first time all day.

[fucktoyfelix]

This is actually a useful thing to understand how to spell out. What exactly is wrong with puritanical attitudes towards sexuality? TW: Discusses body image issues, suicide, STIs, sexual assault etc

1. It fosters fear, disgust and loathing of our bodies. By hiding the human body as soon as we are born, and treating it as an object of inherent shame: THAT creates trauma. Shame is one of the primary sources of trauma, its the fuel and lets trauma burn. Those raised in nudist societies, and children raised in households where nudity is treated in a neutral and non-sexual tend to have a much more positive relationship with their bodies as adults. This makes complete sense when you think about it. Going through puberty not knowing if your body is "normal" terrifies children in ways that stick with them for life. In fact, most cultures outside of the Unites States aren't as strange about non-sexual nudity actually...and are healthier for it. We can't have body positivity as long as we are literally criminalized for having an uncovered body. 2. It creates fear, shame and disgust about sex. Most people have sex at some point in their lives. No one would be here at all without it. Most people have sexual desires which lie outside their control. When people are ashamed of those desires, it leads to self hatred, and depression and anxiety. This shame is just as traumatic as bodily shame. When sex is normalized, and treated with the same candor as any other hobby: it becomes less apt to traumatize people.

3. Puritanical attitudes towards sex limit sex education. When people are too ashamed to talk about sex, people don't learn about pregnancy, stis, or consent. All of these things can and do kill people when they aren't addressed with an open dialogue.

Sexual shame leads to people too ashamed to buy condoms, to talk to their doctor about birth control, to ask their partner to use protection, to get tested...the negative health impacts of sexual puritanism have a massive negative effect on society.

4. Sexual shame leads to poorer communication in relationships. Ohh if I had a dime for every person i knew who ruined their relationship because they felt too guilty to talk to their partner about their sexual feelings...Not just that, but the general body shame that comes with puritanism blocks people from connecting to one another too. Have you ever avoided getting close to someone because you were ashamed of your body? If not, I guarantee you know someone who has.

5. Misogyny! Puritanical sexual believes hold that women are not capable of sexual agency. That only men should initiate sex. That women should only ever want babies and not pleasure from sex. All of this rolls right into the next one:

6. Victim blaming in sexual assault. When women are the gatekeepers of sex, its easy to blame them when they 'fail' to protect their chastity when someone violates their trust. This isn't something that just effects women: as the same attitudes hold that men are not capable of experiencing sexual assault. The lack of education and discussion about sex in a sex-negative world inherently prevent the open dialogues necessary for creating and maintaining consent culture.

7. Suppression and marginalization of the queer community. If we're too ashamed to talk about sex, we'll be too ashamed to talk about sexuality. Puritans can't accept any deviation from gender norms either. Anything other than sex between a cis man and a cis woman for the purpose of making a baby is a deviant kink, a mental illness, and needs to be wiped out. Its important to point out that many queer people hold puritanical values about sex: believing that they can achieve sex negativity and queer liberation at the same time. However, sex negative movements always rise with censorship and discrimination of queer people...because queer people are inherently considered deviant by the vast majority of sex negative "allies". It's very dangerous to forget this.

8. Censorship of art. Who decides what is sexual and what is not? Its easy to agree that sex needs to be hidden...but it never takes long before the definition of what is "sexual" expands. Even women's breasts are considered sexual in the United States. Its so normal for Americans to think of them that way that women can't feed their children in public. Drag queens face violence for reading at libraries. Books get taken off the shelves. Artists are bullied offline.

9. Censorship of scientific exploration. Scientific research into reproductive health, sexual behavior, gender identity and more are often hindered due to the "moral objections" of puritans, delaying progress and understanding. That's just off the top of my head. I think its time for people to take how problematic 'puritanism' is more seriously. As we see fascism rear its ugly head all over the world, we're going to see a lot more talk about 'degenerates'...and we know where that kind of talk leads.

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, implied noncon/dubcon, abuse of power, misogyny, age difference, humiliation, degradation

fem reader

Thinking about the old-fashioned boss in his mid-fifties and the tight new intern.

It started out small, backrubs and head massages—he made you one of his personal assistants on day one. You thought he was just eccentric—you didn’t think the entire office was a complete madhouse. But here you are, only a week later. Dressed in nothing but black heels and a bowtie, sucking his fat cock as he enjoyed the view of the city with a neat glass of scotch between his fingers. His other large hand, heavy with big clunky rings and a massive watch, stays on your head even as his other employees come in to discuss contracts and signatures.

He doesn’t give you the benefit of pretending you aren’t there, speaking freely about you in the most degrading fashion. “She’s a keeper, this one—submissive throat that knows to shut up when the men are talking. A perfect addition to the female staff.”

In board meetings, you’re on his lap with a ballgag. He squeezes your tit and pinches your nipple like it’s a stress ball—cock deep inside your tight cunt, keeping warm and wet. All the other members each bring their own pets—some even walk them in on all fours, using their silk ties as a leash. Sometimes, they switch with each other, but your boss sticks with you. And when they’re all gone, he sprawls you on the glass table and fucks you into a sweaty mess on top of all the important documents.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Kirishima, Enji, Aizawa, AFO ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Nanami, Toji, Kenjaku, Higuruma ♡ AOT – Levi, Erwin, Zeke

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[ricecakesarentcakes]

i keep seeing posts from the “transandrophobia” tag and it’s trans men talking about all the ways that trans women belittle them and their issues and try to silence them when they speak up about mistreatment. And every single time I’m like y’all would have a much easier time talking about this if you just accepted that sex based oppression is real and TW treat you the same way cis men treat cis women. Like there’s already a framework for discussing the behavior of TW towards TM: misogyny.

[callmeherry]

Underlust reimagined

Tw: SA; Drug abuse; Child abuse; Violence; Suicide and attemped suicide; Misogyny and miscarriage. None of the topics will be discussed in detail and it will be needed to read between the lines to see them.

Intended for MATURE AUDIENCES

So, as many may know, Underlust was pretty much a +18 au for drawing nsfw of the characters, which there is nothing wrong exactly, BUT I actually think there was a lot of potential for this au that was just… Not used.

In my reimagined I intend to keep SOME elements but most of the stuff will be rewritten or just full on discarded.

Be mindful of the trigger warnings! I don't intend to go in depth on any of them but there will be mentions.

Anyway! Let 's begin!

Frisk:

Frisk is the protagonist of this story. They are 20 years old and was born with partial blindness, being able to see mostly blurry images when things are farther apart. Frisk grew up in an orphanage as their mom died at birth, their father fleeing once he heard. They were very much isolated from the other kids, mostly just reading alone as it was difficult to play with the others with their poor vision.  That was, until they met Chara. The both of them quickly became friends. Chara always encouraged Frisk to not care that the others didn't want to hang out with them, they are better off without them. It was clear to both that they were soulmates, what kind it didn't matter to them. As long as they were together they were unstoppable… … When Frisk was 17, Chara took their own life. Frisk could never understand why. What happened? How could they not notice? If they noticed, maybe they could have done SOMETHING… But they didn't… They kept living, but the guilty never left them. They left the orphanage at 18, but life just got harder. All they could think about is how they weren't supposed to be doing this alone. So maybe… Would it be better to just follow their partner? Frisk climbed the mountain many said it was the end of any and all hope. And right when their body ached and they found the opening, they let all the weight of their body leave them, falling into the unknown. But instead of meeting their doom, they are saved by a tiny rose named Rosie. He helps them get up and when he learned about their poor sight made worse by the dim light, he latched himself on their shoulder to guide them through the catacombs. And so, our story officially begins. Frisk will start meeting every single one of the cast, and having in mind the guilt that followed them by not being able to save Chara, Frisk will do anything in their power to help them deal with their problems. While maybe, learning to deal with their own demons in the process…

And that's it for our protagonist! I think you guys can already tell the new direction this version of the story would take ^^

So before I tell you guys about the other character, I need to explain to you guys a bit of world building I've thought of!

World building:

The year is 20xx. Monsters have been trapped for thousands of years and hope has been glowing dimmer as time goes on. As so the children have been getting each passing day more and more rare. The king and the council would do their best to guide the kingdom, but after the death of the king's newborn he has fallen deep into a depression, being unable to actually make any calls. Leaving all the power to the council to call all the shots. The council, however, didn't quite have the people's best interest. Problems kept arising and each time with less and less answers. The council knew that if they wanted to stay with the power, they needed the population to focus on something else.  And what better than a common enemy? They hit the most sensitive spot of the monsters, the lack of children. The biggest mystery they had without an answer, well, up until now. The council created a false answer, faking studies and data thanks to one of the members who happened to be the royal scientist, saying that the reason the monsters had such a low birth rate was because of monsters borns from two same gendered parents.  They said, each time a monster was born from two monsters of the same gender, the offspring had a lower chance of giving birth. And generation and generation of this, piling up. The monsters got where they are now. The population was horrified, the lie was set. The council watched as they created an enemy the population could hate, and it wasn't them. Same gender pairs were fine just as long it was a fling, but couples were frown upon. The monsters already have such a lack of children! How could you have a partner with the same gender as you? Are you trying to have an offspring with even less of a chance of having future babies?? The underground kept growing and expanding, everything got more and more expensive and the monsters suffered.  Everyday, madness and corruption invaded their souls, making them just a spitting image of the ones once were their enemies. Each day, they got more human.

Now that you all understand the world they live in, we can go over the rest of the characters ^^

Toriel:

Toriel, the queen of the underground. She once was one of the fiercest warriors known, not because of her attacks but because of the way she inspired all monsters. That was, until she gave birth to her kid, only for them to turn to dust in her arms. She felt like she failed everyone, not only her family, but her kingdom as well. She failed to give them an heir. She failed to give them hope of a future. The queen left the castle, too ashamed and hurt to continue with such responsibility. She moved to the ruins and opened a humble abode, where she would teach other mothers how to take care of their children. Helping them keep the most precious thing she lost. When Frisk meets her, their goal will be to help her understand that she is more than this horrible loss, and even though being a mother is amazing, she is still first and foremost a person. A person who also deserves love. Once they understand each other, Toriel explains to Frisk the rules of the world and gives them a striped shirt.  Most monsters don't know what a human is but all monsters know that someone wearing a striped shirt is a kid. And children are extremely precious to all monsters. So Toriel hopes this will keep them safe.

Undyne:

Undyne is a soldier from the royal guard, she has been training to get in since she was little once she heard the horrible stories she heard about the war, wanting to make a difference. Unfortunately for her, the task was difficult. No matter how much she worked, how much effort she put into being better, her peers looked down at her. And now, a random skeleton comes from Snowding and suddenly he's the “talented prodigy” and the next big promise to make it to captain of the royal guard? Fuck no. So she works even harder than before, she needs to be the toughest soldier from the royal guard. She has to not show any defect. But that is difficult when on top of everything, she found herself taking a liking to the short yellow lizard who happens to be the royal scientist… She knows how frowned that would be. So she pushes these feelings aside… When Frisk meets her, they will help her see that she shouldn't hide any part of her because of others. That her feelings and not being strong all the time is what makes her… Her… Undyne will finally find someone she can open up to, be honest about her frustration and fears and not get judged because of it. A friend…

Alphys:

Alphys became the royal scientist a long time after the other one pretty much disappeared. No one knows what happened to him, he just never showed up again and it's as if no one wants to talk about him anymore. Either way, the position was open, and it stayed open for many years, only having a few occupants who didn't last long. Well, Alphys got the job!  And she thinks she knows why no one wants to stay, as it is a lot of responsibility and a small pay grade… Which is odd… As she is pretty sure the previous scientist was well off… Anyway, the important thing is that SHE wasn't. It wasn't bad in any way, it was actually ok… But she felt small, not really appreciated monetarily nor socially. That is, until she received a proposition from a raggedy cat who also wanted a better life. He explained that they could team up, as the medicine Alphys can produce would be very appropriated by other kinds of people. Alphys knew it was wrong. And she refused, at first at least… Soon temptation became too much to avoid. Oh how she wished she had enough money for this nice shirt, oh how she wished she could have one of those fancy cars, oh how she wished she could go to this five star restaurant… “Just one time” She said. And then she wouldn't sell anything else. One time… Two times… Three times… She lost count by now. The guilt slowly faded away as she just got a nicer life. Yeah, she still hid it was her, the producer of the biggest dealer in hometown but she didn't care. She felt like she was finally doing something big! That is, until the numbers of deaths by overdose slowly start to rise among monsters. At first, she tried to ignore it. But as the numbers started to rise she just couldn't deny it anymore. It was her fault. She caused this. She IS causing it. And as much as she wanted to stop she just… Can't. She is just in too deep now, she can't stop. Yet she cries every night, telling herself how much of a bad person she is. This is all her fault. She hurts people.  When Frisk meets her, they will help her see that there is still hope for her. That even though she did a bad thing she can still change! She can be a good person, if she just tries…  They believe in her, maybe she can believe in herself, too…

Mettaton:

Mettaton’s story is pretty much the same as the canon Underlust. The hopeful ghost meets the royal scientist in the dump one day and she promises him a body. Mettaton becomes a star among monsters. But with light, darkness surrounds…  The star was desired by those who watched him, but desire can become dangerous. A poison of entitlement and arrogance. So they took what they believed was their right. They broke the star… Mettaton was never the same after that. He asked Alphys to make his robot body less revealing, he hid himself from everyone, he could never look at himself in the mirror again. He knew what people said about him. How it was his fault that happened. That he was the one that showed himself and made them desire, and some days… He thought that they were right… Mettaton did his best to continue his show, to continue his dream. But was it really worth it? Sometimes he thought that wasn't the case… So every time he received those flowers, those cards, he cried. Hugging them close to his chest. Frisk knew from their skeleton friend the robot's story, and encouraged him to meet Mettaton. It was a slow process, a scary one, even. Mettaton was already so hurt, it was hard to believe the two of them were genuine. But Frisk helped him see that there were still good people in this underground. People that care about him. So he does his best to still have hope, him and the skeleton start hanging out more and more and even form a kind of partnership. It is still scary… Mettaton isn't sure if it will ever not be… But he has hope things will get better.

Papyrus & Sans:

The two brothers were sons of the previous royal scientist, W.D. Gaster. They were the result of an experiment to try and make children, unfortunately, Gaster deemed the experiment as too unstable and simply not worth the trouble. Either way, Sans and his younger brother were born from that. Any good parent would never say they have a favorite child, Gaster however, is not a good parent. He made it clear how much he believed his older son to be a failure, all stats measured as one… Now, Papyrus… Gaster had big dreams for Papyrus. It soon became obvious that the scientist would pour all his expectations and hopes into Papyrus while the older brother got all his frustrations and regrets. Papyrus was quickly put in training to become a royal guard, having taken special care so he would grow up to be a strong monster. And the younger brother took that to heart even after their father was gone. He trained and did his best, and suddenly everyone was counting on him. Even his brother. Sans more than anyone encouraged Papyrus, saying how it was obvious he would be the one to become leader of the royal guard.  But Papyrus never wanted that… He never got the chance to choose what he wanted to be. His father was the one that told him he would be a soldier and then his brother encouraged him. And Papyrus just doesn't have the heart to tell his brother the truth… And even if he did… He still knows that being a soldier is the best way he can guarantee his brother is safe… To compensate for when they were children… And Papyrus couldn't protect him. Sans was very different when he was a kid, it is to be expected when one suffers so much on the hand of the one that was supposed to protect him. Yet despite everything he would smile at his brother and tell him everything would be ok. Papyrus remembers his brother looking at the clock and noticing the time. He was late… That was never good. He remembers Sans taking his hand and guiding him to his bedroom, helping Papyrus set into his bed, telling the younger one a bedtime story. He remembers both of them tense and scared. Sans patted his head, clinking their skulls together in a good night kiss. He remembers his brother pleading with Papyrus to promise to only open the door when Sans comes to get him. Papyrus promises, like he does every night. And he knows he will regret it in the morning. Sans smiles, getting up and walking towards the door, closing it behind him and locking it up. The key being slided from under the door so only Papyrus can get it… … He wishes he didn't remember the sounds every time he goes to bed…  So Papyrus protects his brother. He trains. He gets stronger. And one day, he will make up to him, he will be able to tell him he is sorry for everything… Sans was very different when he was a kid. Quiet, weak, always wearing hoodies. He needed to, his father demanded him to hide the marks of hits he himself left on his bones. Sans always thought it would be easier to just not hit him but oh well…  No matter what he did, it seemed like nothing was enough. And he never told anyone. Because he was scared. Every goddamn night he came late Sans just wished he didn't come home at all… It was never the case though…

Some nights he just got yelled at, while others… He is broken down to his core, left alone to pick up the pieces… He could never understand how his own father could do such things, but as he himself said, Sans was just property. He was just meant for that. To be used and someday he will be discarted… One day, he got too scared as he heard the door open. The thought of the many hands, digging, staining his bones. He just couldn't. So he ran to his only friend. But the next day, he knew he had messed up, he had left Papyrus alone with him. So he went back, and for the first time, his father welcomed him with warmth in his voice. “I knew you would be back…” He whispered in his ear. … Next time Papyrus wasn't home. Sans paid the price for what he did… But this time, it was too much for him to handle when he came back to his own body. He broke down in front of a teacher, told her everything. He wished he didn't. Gaster took him to the lab one day, told he had found out, and told Sans… His teacher's dust was in his hands.  And now, he would join her. When Sans felt his neck vertebrates being squeezed and twisted, close to snapping. He snapped instead. The next thing he remembers is the door opening, the king Asgore looking at his crying form and a pile of dust in front of him. So, Sans decided to live his life differently when he grew up. He wore whatever he wanted, he was loud, flirted. He wanted to be perceived, he knew the way he acted made him desirable, enough to make people of the bar he attended to make a bet to see whoever could “score him”. And he just didn't. Care. Because now, he was strong enough to be able to deny them, and to hurt them if he wanted. Everytime he told someone off it was… Cathartic… He doesn't care that he's putting himself in dangerous situations on purpose. He doesn't care about the names people gave him.  He would continue partying and drinking and taking as many pills as it takes to maybe, just maybe the voices in his ear telling him that his father was right about him will finally shut up. Well, whenever Frisk comes around, they will help Papyrus to be true to himself, help him see that as honorable and genuine his reasons are, he can't allow himself to suffer just for the sake of others. He is stronger when he is happy with himself, not when he is miserable. While with Sans… Well, he is just not ready to start any healing process, and Frisk doesn't push him. But he does appreciate them helping his brother, thanking them to help him see how much strain Papyrus was putting on himself.

Grillby:

Grillby is the owner of a very famous club in Snowding. He spent his whole life watching people around him destroy themselves and just not listening to him when he tried to help. And things just get worse when he develops feelings for his favorite patreon and best friend. He does his best to protect him, but he knows he can't. Grillby never fully committed, he was never fully truthful with himself.  The fire elemental would put on a mask, showing everyone how sturdy and capable he was, but he knows it isn't true. But he also feels he is incapable of doing anything. How could just one monster change anything in this world? It's impossible. So he just sits back from behind the bar, watching and never interacting. Frisk however, helps him see that is not true, yes, one monster can't change the world, but he doesn't need to. If he is able to change a single thing, as small as it is, it will all be worth it.

Asgore:

The king consumed by grief and guilt. He is unable to rule, unable to do anything. That is, until he found that small skeleton, shaking and scared. Once the king found out the horrible things his previous scientist did he was enraged. After a long time he finally made all remember why he was the king. W.D. Gaster is to be forgotten. His name erased from their history, left to rot on his insignificance. Obviously, the other members of the council didn't understand, they questioned him, where even was the scientist anyway? But the king was firm. And soon, they learned not to question. Asgore adopted the young skeleton, together with his younger brother. He did his best to accommodate them despite everything. Even if he felt inadequate to be any kind of father figure…  It was a hard process, both kids were fragile, especially the older one, but he did his best. And they both grew up. Once they were old enough to leave, they did. They still call him from time to time, his older one visiting him frequently thanks to his “shortcuts”, and he couldn't love them more… But he knew deep down they weren't really his kids… His kid died at birth… Asgore he… The skeletons didn't come from his soul… They are not truly his, and he could never truly be their father... Right? And now, after everything, they have word that a human has fallen into the underground. The council want to use their soul so king Asgore could have an actual heir. A being half human and half monster, the most powerful being that has ever been seen, perhaps strong enough to break the barrier keeping them underground. And the king is conflicted, he is supposed to do what is best for his people, and a monarch would bring hope to his citizens… But he doesn't want to take the human's soul… He is lost. He is alone. He is hopeless. And he just doesn't know what to do…

The end:

When it is time to face the king, Frisk and Rosie go on their own, ready for whatever the king decides is the right thing. When they arrive, they talk. The king offers them tea and brings them to the garden of roses, telling both about his late child.  Frisk also tells him about their late friend, being empathetic with the king's pain. They explain that they were ready for it to be over, but it wasn't. They were here, and if their life could serve for something, they would like to be for something good like bringing hope for the people, and if that was the case, they would happily die… But at this point, Toriel; Papyrus; Mettaton; Undyne and Alphys arrive. They confront the king and the human, explaining how important they were for them, and how much Frisk helped them be true to themselves. Telling both how much more important the human's life is than what they give themselves credit for. The king was conflicted still, but at this point Sans arrives. He tells Asgore how the human managed to give hope for someone who didn't want it. And he asks his father to please, don't listen to the council. Spare the human's life. With that, Asgore decides it. Frisk life is too valuable to be lost by a foolish dream. 

Everyone is happy, hugging the human and singing them praises. But at this point, the members of the council arrive, they tell the king they knew he would disappoint them. The guards move, circling the group. Asgore and Toriel attempt to call them off but they don't listen. They belong to the council for some time now. The whole group is captured and tossed into the dungeon, just until the council decides what to do with the human soul.  But, Rosie the rose finally lets go of Frisk's arm, promising he would get help. He slips between the cracks of the stone walls, his soul full of the hope the others had for him. And when the council returns, ready to take Frisk's soul, the castle is invaded. Led by Rosie, all the other monsters the human helped came to everyone's rescue.  They managed to overthrow the council, freeing the captured monsters and human. The king and queen made a formal speech, thanking Frisk for their kindness and for giving them all hope.  Weeks after. Life still wasn't perfect, but it was a little better. Monster were happier and now with the queen back, life conditions were better. Alphys working on another way to break the barrier when she and Undyne find out they are carrying a souling. Of course, it felt obvious now. Monsters souls are made from hope, so when the parents had so little hope to give, they were unable to create a child… But having the answer for it didn't mean it would be able to be fixed out of nowhere, but it was a start. A start of something new. Something beautiful.  Frisk knew it. And they would do their best to help everyone along the way, and everyone would be there to help them. They can't help but smile, maybe Chara would be proud of them… Either way, no matter how hard it would be, they had hope. Things will get better.

Comments and Funfacts:

I imagine Papyrus and Mettaton’s relationship on this reimagine to be queerplatonic! Papyrus being aroace

My main goal with Mettaton and Sans’s storyline is so that they would parallel each other, of how that kind of trauma could make the victim respond and the difference between healthy and unhealthy coping mechanisms (Having a support system vs abusing narcotic substances)

Where Frisk fell, there would be many tombs from other humans, and the only reason they survived was because Rosie healed them

Toriel and Asgore were never really in love, they had a lot of care for each other but not in a romantic sense, so when Toriel returns to be the queen they are also platonic 

Alphys was Sans's dealer and they would get into an argument later in the story when she cuts him off

And I think that's it! This was a lot so thank you if you read this far! ^^ If you have any questions please feel free to ask them and I'll do my best to answer them! 

[darkst4lker]

taste. // thranduil

thranduil oropherion x fem!reader

plot: two weeks and a half ago, thranduil and (y/n) had a messy break up. now, he appears at your friend arwen's birthday party with his ex girlfriend by his side and you decide that if he wants to play that game, you would play it too.

tw: (mdni) modern!au, it's mainly lovers to enemies to lovers but there will be mentions of smut, angst, thranduil behaves like an asshole, misogyny, use of drugs and and alcohol, good ending (?, i changed a lot of things from the lore!!, everyone is like 20-27 here but legolas wasn't even born yet here. YES there's a moment where starts playing lover you should've come over by jeff buckley!!. low caps on purpose.

notes: english is NOT my first language. i'm sorry if there's any mistake. also this is the first time i publish something i write here!!

“(y/n)” tauriel spoke. you and her were helping arwen to decorate her house for her birthday party that same night, yet you were visibly sad for your break up with thranduil. “(y/n), are you okay?”

you weren't okay.

it was the middle of winter. arwen's living room was one of the most comfortables and warm places on earth, in fact all of her house was like that. it was one of the places where you felt more safe than anywhere in the world but today her house felt deadly cold to you.

maybe the problem wasn't arwen's home itself but the fact that your soul was freezing since the day thranduil's deadly words stabbed your heart like a poisoned knife.

“i don't love you anymore, (y/n).”

fucker. you had spent two years together.

in fact, you and thranduil never fought, never argued, never insulted each other while you were together. yet, the day he left you like that, completely out of the blue, you insulted him so much he probably thought that all his family line would be cursed forever.

he said horrible things too, it wasn't just you. but you may had gone too far when you threw an antique vase that belonged to his family for years through the window of his apartment.

in your defense, he was the last person you thought that would leave you.

of course arwen's house felt cold, the whole world felt cold actually. how could anything feel good in this earth when you weren't in thranduil's arms?

you took a deep breath.

it took you a moment to answer to tauriel's question because the vestiges of the last discussion you had with thranduil were fresh in your mind like if it had happened a second ago. you tried to dismiss the storm of memories flooding your mind and you looked at tauriel.

“yeah, im sorry i went blank for a minute.” you answered while hanging up some balloons in the wall. you tried to fake a smile but your tired eyes revealed your sorrows.

“that's it. im tired of seeing her like this, im going to kill him” aragorn said, leaving his spot next to arwen in the kitchen where they were preparing all the food for the party to get his coat, but arwen stopped him right away.

“stop, you're not helping her. we need to stay here by her side.” arwen came out of the kitchen, after aragorn. her calm voice sent chills down your spine.

aragorn crossed his arms and left his coat alone while he sat in a chair facing you.

you sat on the sofa and arwen sat besides you. the decorations were ready and now you didn't had anything else to distract you from the heartbreak im your chest.

“everything is going to be okay, sweetie. i'm sorry you'll have to see him tonight, bard insisted a lot for me to invite him.” arwen words comforted you and then she hugged you softly. aragorn looked annoyed while he leant against the wall and tauriel stood beside him. “sooner or later he will realize what he's missing.”

“better be sooner because i can't believe he hurted (y/n) like this when a month ago he was talking about fucking marrying her.” aragorn said clearly angry. “i know he's my friend and all but... i can't believe that he really did that.”

“well love can be like that sometimes, i guess.” you answered, trying to keep yourself together. “it comes and it goes.”

“yeah right, but is never just like that (y/n).” tauriel voice was calm but she did seem irritated. “i don't understand why on earth he would do that. it doesn't even makes sense.”

“it doesn't matter if it makes sense or not, guys.” you were clearly about to cry but you held it. “what is done is done and we can't go back in time, and neither can thranduil. i will survive this shit.” everyone tried to smile at you while you spoke but you didn't sounded as convinced as you wanted.

yet, you were true. you couldn't go back in time and in fact, the hours passed swiftly and now the night welcomed the birthday party everyone was waiting for.

you got showered and prepared directly in arwen's home. you had brought your outfit and now your body was inside a stunning and tight scarlet dress.

the black heels that you were in made your outfit more mysterious and in your neck there was a lovely silver necklace with a ruby pendant that arwen had let you borrow for the night.

with a little bit of perfume and red lipstick on, you left arwen's room and joined tauriel's side on the party. there wasn't much people yet, a couple university friends from years ago, the boy tauriel always spoke about: kili and his brother fili, gimli, aragorn of course and like five more people.

it wasn't full yet but arwen's home was quite big so the amount of people wasn't going to be a problem.

thranduil by the other hand, he surely was going to be one.

tauriel and you talked for a while, spending time together before she went to dance with her almost-boyfriend, kili.

you really liked kili for your friend, he seemed like a sweet guy. you really hoped they would end up being together and you wished in the deepest places of your heart that he didn't ended up breaking your friend heart.

like certain person did to you.

you drank a little from the bottle of wine aragorn gave you before rushing to dance with arwen and more people started to appear.

the fear of seeing thranduil that night was disappearing by every sip you gave to the wine and soon you even thought that maybe he wasn't even going to come.

a couple hours later, the house was full of people everywhere, it was 11pm, the party had just started hours ago and when you thought you were free from certain blonde, you saw probably the worst thing you could see with alcohol in your system.

thranduil entered the party with a beautiful blonde girl by his side. they both had their hands enterwined and the girl was giggling while they talked. you instantly felt a rush of rage invade your whole body to the point you believed that your brain was on the verge of exploding.

thranduil had a formal black shirt, leaving two buttons unbottoned and revealing his neck, a little sigh escaped from your lips at the heavenlt sight.

and there it was her.

she looked like a goddes pulled out from a fairytale, making your insecurities corrode your guts like a sickness. the tears threatened to fall off your eyes as you watched their entrance from the another side of the room, and the worst was that you recognized her from old pictures thranduil had in his house. that was his ex girlfriend, now actual (you supposed).

when you thought the horror was over, thranduil looked at you from the distance like if he had some kind of radar attached to him that warned him about everytime you looked at his direction.

his ocean blue eyes met yours. it felt like a boat crashing in the middle of a sea infested with mermaids.

his stare was as intoxicating and addictive as always were. the feelings accumulated in your throat like stones and you got scared for a moment before breaking eye contact with him. it lasted just a second, but it felt like a lifetime passed while your eyes met his.

then you quickly took a sip of your bottle of wine, trying to not give him the pleasure of seeing you rush to the bathroom to cry. for what it felt like hours, you had to see him dance with his new girl and you imagined that you were the one dancing with him, kissing him, touching him.

it was unbelieveable. he literally had replaced you.

how could he? why would he?

those questions pierced your heart like swords, like his words did days ago.

“it was just a pause, a distraction. i needed someone to heal what my past relatonship had broken in me and i already did. you served me well and i will always be grateful.”

you 'served him well'? really? what the fuck does he thinks he is? a king?

his words had melted in your ears like a rotten peach. the sweetness of his low voice mixed with a hint of gall flooding every sentence he said.

you understood now what he meant when he said he healed.

by the other hand, thranduil was breathing heavily.

his hands were on his new girlfriend's waist and sometimes he planted soft kisses on her face. yet, he couldn't fully enjoy anything of it. thranduil regretted all his actions, and much more, how he couldn't save your relationship.

he felt like an idiot. all of his thoughts were on you, every kiss he gave her, every look, every loving gesture, he desired it all went to you instead.

thranduil was deeply conflicted, though. even if he knew how wrong he were when you two broke up, he also was quite offended with the things you said.

it felt like a torture, probably the most horrible one on earth and the weight of his actions were killing him more slowly that he would ever wanted to.

thranduil didn't told you his real motives for leaving you, he thought it would only make it worse for both of you. but after leaving, all of his actions felt meaningless now that he didn't had you.

he was proud, and stubborn though. and watching how you left your seat in wich you were obviously staring at him to sit next to bard made his heart ache terribly.

in your mind, bard seemed like an obvious solution: he was hot, he was your friend and long before you started going out with thranduil he and you had spent a couple of nights together. bard obviously recieved your presence with open arms.

"(y/n), sweetheart." bard calm voice welcomed you as you approached the couch where he was drinking a beer. you noticed he had a blunt on the other hand. "you look beautiful as always."

"hi, bard. long time no-see" you took the seat next to him, everyone were dancing and the fact that he was also a very close friend of thranduil made the whole idea of making out with him so much better.

there was a brief moment of silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. the music was peaceful now, tempting every couple to slow dance.

"do yo want some?" he offered you the pot, and you took it while nodding.

as you smoke, bard looks at you with his classic lovely and reassuring smile, only this time he seemed quite drunk and clearly high.

you were a little drunk yourself too.

"i think i needed that, thank you." you give him back the blunt, and he leaves it in the ashtray. after, he looks at you with curiousity.

"are you-" he started to say but you interrupt him.

"yes i am in fact okay, thank you for asking though." the question had you completely exhausted. you rolled your eyes and stared at him right at his, starting to feel the mix of pot and the alcohol making you a little dizzy. "i came to see if we could make out for a while, i don't care if it's your fault he is here, i don't care about him, i don't care about anything. please, help me forget everything for a second like in the old times. please." your voice sounded a little desperate but the truth it was that you were.

the pain in your heart was begging and pleading to be released, to be cured even if it was for a brief moment. it felt like a bomb ticking on your chest that could explode at any moment and bard seemed to notice it.

a soft smile appeared on his face as he spoke. "you do seem to care, sweetie." the nickname made your heart ache a little, all his nicknames did. thranduil used to call you loving names all the time but the last time you two spoke he called you plainly by your name.

you asked yourself if he also was calling her those sweet names too.

your mouth opened to answer bard but the words didn't came out as the heart ache was ripping apart your body from the insides. bard saw your change of expression, knowing you needed help to get the words out of your chest. you did care after all.

bard puffed, trying not to sound melancholic and grabbed your hand softly. “im sorry, love. i know why you're asking me this and you can be sure i understand it, but thranduil made me promise i wouldn't touch you and i don't want to be in the middle of this break up.” as always, he was a pacifist. bard put his hand on your shoulder and pulled you into a hug. your sight started to get blurry from tears. “it will pass.”

his words echoed in your mind calming every part of you like a balm.

“it will pass.”

you spent what it felt like hours in bard's arms, cying silently. he held you, proving that even if he was thranduil's friend, he was still your friend also. it was a beautiful gesture, and made your soul heal for a while.

yet, an specific sentence of his words lingered in your mind leaving a poison trail on your thoughts: “thranduil made me promise i wouldn't touch you.” why on earth thranduil would care if you fucked bard? what was his problem?

after a moment, you broke the hug and faced bard a little bit ashamed by the way you tried to approach him at first and how you broke down instantly at him reading your feelings like a book. after wiping your tears, you looked at him. your face was swollen from crying but your expression tried to remain calm.

“im sorry i tried to-...” you started, but he cutted you off.

“it doesn't matter, love. it's okay.” bard said, giving you a reassuring stroke on your hand.

a sigh escaped from your lips and then you felt hungry, as you hadn't eat anything in the whole night.

“i will go to the kitchen to get something to eat, i'll be back in a sec.” your voice was trembling at every word but bard smiled at you and nodded, giving you a soft pat on the head before you stood up.

he surely knew how to treat a heartbroken person.

the way to the kitchen was silent, at least for you. the music was still loud but your head was even louder.

your hands placed themselves on the refrigerator door and the familiar soft cold wind welcomed you.

arwen never cared if you took food from her fridge, so you guessed that she probably wouldn't mind if you took an apple. then you closed it, not wanting to be tempted to eat something more and empty the whole refrigerator, leaving your friend having to buy more things tomorrow.

as you ate the apple you remembered how thranduil had cooked you an apple cake one time. it was probably one of the few times he ever baked anything sweet yet the cake resulted to be absolutely perfect.

then you cursed yourself, if you wanted to forget why did he keep coming back in every single little thing you did?

it was like every detail of him was craved deeply onto your heart with no intention of leaving you soon and it hurted more than you could stand.

“you must be (y/n)” a sweet voice called you from behind, and when you turned you saw her.

it was probably one of the most beautiful women you'd ever seen. blue eyes, blonde hair and soft lips.

you fully understood why thranduil would ever leave you for her. she was surely beautiful like if she were some kind of angel.

“yes, i am.” the words left your mouth with shyness. she had a smirk on her face, and looked at you while your teeth catched another bite from the apple.

“it's surely nice to meet you.” she answered, but her voice was almost cynical. there was a weird tone of passive aggressiveness behind it but you were probably too high to catch up.

then it became so obvious you couldn't avoid it.

“thran spoke a lot about you.” she continued, getting closer to you. “but i'm sure that he will soon stop.” then she walked some more steps to your direction and you placed the apple on the counter, swallowing hard.

you didn't realized that you probably had a sad look on your face until she spoke again.

“oh, don't put on that face.” she said, chuckling. there was a mocking subtone on her words. “thran will forget you quickly.” her words felt like a sting through your chest. “you surely don't seem as beautiful nor interesting as everyone said, and i will clearly erase you from his heart.”

you were about to answer, but then you saw thranduil appear behind her like if he were searching for her, and it was too much for you to handle. it was too humilliating to see him watching how his girlfriend completely destroyed you.

your steps were fast as you left the kitchen clearly at the verge of tears. the bathroom was the first door you saw as you almost ran out of the room.

the door felt heavy against your hands but it was nothing you couldn't handle. the first instinct you had was sit on the floor, knees against your chest and finally letting it all out.

you didn't cared if anyone heard you. the heartbreak was a weight in your chest that you needed to purge the fastest way possible, even if thranduil mocked you with his girlfriend outside, even of everyone only felt pity for you, even if the world ended tomorrow.

the pain needed to come out.

and as you finally gave yourself permission to cry, the bathroom door started to open.

you almost didn't noticed, as the sounds were minimum but what you did noticed was the cologne thranduil always wore.

your stare didn't raised to face him, and he closed the door.

“what on earth are you doing?” his voice sounded like a dagger through your heart, and then you looked at him from the ground.

“i didn't asked you to come here.” your answer was harsh. “you're clearly having a lot of fun with all of this.”

“i don't care about what you think, (y/n).” you felt like your name was cursed on his lips. thranduil's voice was serious. “i asked you a question.”

you got angry instantly. how dared he to even ask something like that?

as you stood up to face him properly, your face swollen from tears and by looking him in the eyes you noticed he was probably high too. yet the weed nor the alcohol were clouding his senses that much.

his eyes were like an ocean, and you were drowning in it. quickly and deeply.

“i don't know what on earth do you want me to answer. i literally don't know.” you said, clearly irritated with his attitude and your voice trembling with fury. “what the fuck do you want me to say?”

“don't talk to me like that” he answered harshly. memories of your last fight came to you like a storm. “i asked you why are you crying in the bathroom like a pathetic little girl” thranduil said. “you were clearly capable of defending yourself two weeks ago”

instantly, you understood he was talking about the fight.

“and you were the same imbecile you're being now.” the answered came from your lips almost drowning you in venom and thranduil's expression became more cold than before if that was even possible. “it didn't occur to you, that maybe and just maybe, i don't want to fight for a man like you in the middle of my friend birthday party?”

“a man like me?” he sounded almost offended, and took a step closer to you, his head over yours and his serious eyes looking down at you. “you were dying for a man like me not even a month ago”

and you were still dying for him.

as thranduil was much taller than you, after the break up you discovered that arguing with him was one of the most intimidating things you'd ever done.

yet you faced him with bravery, not letting him ruin the last pieces you had from your broken heart.

“well i don't want to anymore.” you said and he got more closer, his chest almost touching yours.

“and what kind of man do you want then? you want a man like bard?” thranduil asked and he sounded annoyed, his face was stoic but the subtone of his words betrayed his feelings.

he sounded jealous, and he clearly was.

“and what is your problem if i do?” you bited back, pushing his buttons. “maybe he'll treat me way much better than you, in fact, i'm pretty sure he wouldn't replace or use me « to heal » in the first place.” you avoided his eyes while you spoke, not wanting your look to give away the fact that you didn't wanted to be with anyone else than thranduil.

thranduil let out an irritated puff, then his hand went straight to your face, grabbing it tightly, forcing you to look at him.

“then go date him, (y/n).” he said, his voice becoming rough. “that's really what you want?” thranduil asked.

you didn't answered, as you became nervous. yet your hands went to his chest, trying to push him out but it was useless.

thranduil was visibly angry and an irritated chuckle left his lips.

“but i don't think you want that, do you love?” he said, not really expecting you to say anything, cause he already knew the answer. “actually, if i remember correctly, less than a month ago you were in my bed whimpering for me.”

thranduil calling you « love » again made your heart skip a beat as the rest of his words burned your skin like a wildfire.

“why are you throwing a tantrum, thranduil?” you asked, annoyed. he was completely delusional if he thought you wouldn't fire back. “isn't your new girlfriend enough for you that you have to come looking for me like a little puppy?” every word you said felt like if you were digging your own grave, but you didn't cared at all. thranduil's grip on your face became harder.

the next thing that happened was probably the last thing you expected.

thranduil kissed you fiercely, like a unleashed beast. it was agressive, but you played along.

it was like drinking from an oasis in the middle of the dessert, and you answered him with the same obsessive hunger. you broke the kiss briefly to push him almost violently against the bathroom door, and then you were the one to attack his mouth to shut him up before he could say anything.

a slow song started to sound loudly in the house, making the contact more passionate.

« maybe i'm too young, to keep good love from going wrong »

thranduil went from kissing you like an animal to kiss you tenderly, his hand releasing your face to caress your head. he subtely guided you to the floor, where he sat with his back against the door and you placed yourself in his lap, straddling him.

minutes passed, his lips tasted like if you were drinking napalm making your loins burn, and your blood rushed quickly to your cheeks. both of his hands placed themselves on your hips, pulling you closer as his tongue asked you permission to enter your mouth.

« so 'll wait for you, love, and I'll burn. will I ever see your sweet return? »

you open your mouth and let him do as he please, and thranduil takes the opportunity, introducing his tongue. then, the kiss abandoned its sweet nature to become an agressive fight between the both of you, again. your hands move to his hair, making it messy.

thranduil wastes no time and one of his hands moves to your neck, making a little bit of pressure, while kissing you.

the kiss is broken up by the need to take a little bit of air, and you both look at eachother in the eyes, his hand not leaving its place.

« it's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter »

“i hate you” you say agitated, your lips swollen from the past interaction.

he chuckled, breathing heavily. “i hate you too.”

« it's never over, she is the tear that hangs inside my soul forever »

and then he pulled you to kiss you again, roughly. his left hand went under your dress, caressing your thigh and the other made presure on your neck and made you sigh in between the kiss. thranduil smiled as you kept kissing eachother hungrily, now moving his hand closer to the sweet spot between your legs.

you made sure to kiss him hard, and bited his lip with delicacy as he moved your underwear to the side, thinking that if you were lucky, his girlfriend would taste you too when she kissed him.

thranduil touched you freely, like he still loved you. you whined against his mouth, and he broke the kiss.

“you still want to go out with bard?” he asked, releasing your neck to make you look at him by grabbing your chin. his other hand was between your legs, playing with you and making you sigh again.

« lover, you should've come over, 'cause it's not too late »

there was a brief silence as you tried to hold yourself together to give him an answer.

“n-no.” you said. “do you love her?” the sudden question came from your lips in an agitated whimper as you looked him in the eyes. for some reason you felt he almost rewarded you by moving his hand faster against you, making you gasp.

“no.” thranduil finally asnwered only for you to kiss him again. you grabbed both sides of his face, and his right hand caressed your hair softly.

and then your little make out session was terribly interrupted by loud and violent knocks on the door. you both stood up quickly, like children being caught doing a mischief.

he made you a sign to keep quiet and spoke.

“yes?” thranduil said, calmly.

“babe, is that you?” you rolled your eyes at the sound of his girlfriend's voice. thranduil noticed and a little mischievous smile appeared on his lips.

“yes, it's me. give me five minutes.” he answered, his voice was too calm for the events that unfolded just moments before.

thranduil then pressed you against the wall, next to the door so the door could cover your presence while he went out. you wondered if his new girlfriend was really that stupid to not notice her, but you quickly thought that if thranduil was doing this he probably believed too that she was indeed stupid.

you admired how he always knew how to manage all the situations, but something in your chest ached when he gave you another kiss before whispering a soft « i love you » and opening the door, leaving you shocked.

he loved you. thranduil really loved you.

“im here, love.” thranduil said to her, covering your presence with the door and showing his girlfriend that no one was in the bathroom with him. at least to her eyes.

“the party is ending, thran. we should go.” she said. oh you loathed her, and a part of you hated thranduil for leaving you for her. you wanted him to say no, to stay with you, but he didn't.

“okay. let's go.” he answered, and exited the bathroom, leaving you alone but forgetting to turn off the light.

you walked to the mirror, saw your messy make up, the frustrated look on your face after being interrupted and your lips subtly swollen from the kisses and you laughed.

you fucking laughed.

you laughed because, no matter what she could say or do to compete with you, you've already won. he didn't loved her, he was yours. and you hoped; no, you knew, that everytime she kissed him, she would have to taste you too.

and to think you didn't intended to fight over him on the first place, but now the game was on.

I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKED THIS!! it was super hard for me to finish this, and i plan to do a part 2 so stay tuned <3

[deztroy-teh-brain]

CURIOSITY KILLED THE RAT STAGNATION KILLED THE BRAIN

Deztroy_The_Brain is an 18+ webdiary meant to archive the ramblings of a guy who's spent too much time online and stumbled upon something no one was meant to see

Created by local freakazoid: @probably-a-plant-thing

THE LIST (tws)

Misogyny

Violent Topics

True Crime

Homophobic Slurs

Midass movie opinions

Discussions of SA

White Guy Cooking

Discussions of Stalking

Ableist Slurs

Child Grooming

[genderkoolaid]

Intro to Anti-transmasculinity (ATM)

(also ft. an about me section)

Defining ATM:

Anti-transmasculinity refers to the systematic oppression of transmasculinity. “Transmasculinity” refers to the concept of people seen as female having a masculine or manly gender or gender expression*. Other terms used for this are transandrophobia, transmisandry, and transmascphobia.

In 1963, feminist Betty Freidan described misogyny as “the problem with no name,” illustrating how at the time, women’s language to understand, describe and communicate their oppression was underdeveloped. Anti-transmasculinity has been, similarly, a problem with no name; transmasculine people have not had the language or framework to understand, describe, and communicate our oppression. Transmasculinity suffers from erasure, often called “invisibility”. This does not protect transmasculine people from violence; it silences us to prevent us from speaking out against, or realizing, the violence done to us. It alienates us from our history, our brothers, siblings and sisters, and ourselves, by preventing transmasculinity from being seen, heard, discussed, or considered. For more posts of mine and others that help expand on the theory of anti-transmasculinity, see my #theory tag.

*This is not my definition of transmasculinity as an identity. This definition is for the form of transness targeted by transphobia, which is based around the idea of "female/woman trying to be male/a men." My definition of transmasculinity as an identity is any form of masculinity or manhood that is trans* in nature, regardless of presentation or assigned sex. I make this distinction because a GNC man assigned male could see his manhood as trans, but be targeted by transphobia based around the idea of a man trying to be a woman.

Who can be affected by ATM?:

Anyone can suffer from anti-transmasculinity, regardless of gender, sex or sexuality. Anti-transmasculine violence targets perceived transmasculinity, which means anyone perceived as transmasculine can be victimized. That is not the extent of how people are affected, though; people who perceive themselves to be transmasculine, consciously or unconsciously, or who have traits associated with transmasculinity can also be affected by witnessing anti-transmasculinity.

(TW: transphobic murder)

People who are associated with transmasculinity (such as partners, friends, and family of transmasculine people) can also be affected, not just through emotional pain but targeted for physical violence. As an example, Italian cis woman Maria Paola Gaglione was murdered by her brother to "teach her a lesson" after she got engaged to a trans man.

Who can be anti-transmasculine?:

Anyone can be anti-transmasculine, regardless of gender, sex, or sexuality. It is a systemic way of thinking that is spread throughout society and culture, and reproduces itself constantly in people's thoughts and actions.

Who benefits from anti-transmasculinity?:

In the grand scheme of things, everyone suffers from the restrictive nature of transphobia. However, in general, only cisgender, gender-conforming people systematically benefit from anti-transmasculinity. Other trans* people do not; trans* people do not systematically benefit from each other’s oppression.

* *trans is a way of writing “trans” that emphasizes it as a broad umbrella term inclusive of everyone who trangresses gender and sex norms

Is ATM caused by “misandry”?

In transunity theory, “misandry” is used to refer to the way that gender roles around manhood/masculinity are weaponized to harm marginalized people, (in this case) specifically trans* people; trans* people are viewed as having the worst traits of both masculinity and femininity, as well as the inherent negativity associated with androgyny. In this sense, anti-transmasculinity does involve misandry, as do anti-transfeminity* and exorsexism**. However, all of these also involve misogyny and misandrogyny***. Which one of these is more dominant varies between types of transphobia, as well as the individuals doing the violence and the ones experiencing it.

To quote this article, "Misandry [...] can never reliably be prevented from collapsing into transphobia."

*i use anti-transfemininity (ATF) as a companion to anti-transmasculinity, as an alternative to “transmisogyny.” This is because, as I explain, my philosophy on transphobia is that all transphobias are inherently misogynistic and all trans* people experience the intersection of misogyny. Additionally, transunity theory frames transphobia as being the intersection of many forms of gendered bigotry, so using the “anti-” terms lets me talk about these transphobias without having to specify it by only one kind (like -misogyny or -androphobia)

** exorsexism refers to oppression of people who violate the gender or sex binaries; it includes intersexism, but also oppression against non-binary people.

*** misandrogyny is the hatred of/bigotry against androgyny, a companion to misogyny and misandry. “androgyny” here refers to anything outside the exclusive male/female binary; examples of misandrogyny are violence done when someone cannot tell someone’s gender/sex, and the idea of nonbinary and genderqueer language as immature, annoying, and pointless, while binary language is considered mature, normal, and useful.

Evidence of ATM:

I have the tags #examples of transandrophobia and #experiences with transandrophobia; the first is posts showing transandrophobia in action, and the second is people describing the transandrophobia they have experienced or witnessed.

I also keep the Archive of Violence Against Trans*masculine People, which keeps a record of events of anti-transmasculine violence. This includes murder, rape, abuse, physical assault, harassment, and the suicides of transmasculine people. Also on this archive is a list of academic research & writing related to anti-transmasculinity; the studies provide more objective evidence of the systemic oppression transmasculine people face, and analyses which can help with understanding how anti-transmasculinity works.

You can also look at @transandrophobia-archive which collects examples of anti-transmasculine Tumblr posts.

Info on Me:

I’m genderqueer, transsexual, and a transvestite; I am a man and a woman and neither (all of which affect each other), and identify with both transmasc, transfem, and transother. I’m also aromantic + greysexual. My sexuality is everything everywhere all at once.

Originally this blog was just made for me to process and deal with my own internalized anti-transmasculinity, but then people liked what I wrote and now its a place where I talk about queer issues & related things I find important.

I’m multiply disabled (both physically and mentally) and I struggle with answering asks; if I don’t answer you for a while feel free to just send your ask again, I will not mind. Also feel free to ask me to explain anything in plain language if you have difficulty understanding something. I don’t mind educating people or helping people find resources, as long as you are respectful and are in good faith and all that.

I am going into philosophy and sociology with a focus on religion, and run @transtheology where I collect posts on trans-affirming spirituality and religion. If you have any questions or want advice related to transness and spirituality/religion (or madness & spirituality/religion) I’d love to help you the best I can.

If you would like to support me, here’s my kofi

Further Resources:

""Transandrophobia" Primer" by nothorses

"As a transfem, what's your insight on the way transmascs are treated when talking about their experiences?" by cipheramnesia

"This is just your regular free-of-charge reminder that when people argue that transandrophobia does not exist, or that its not important enough to talk about, they are explicitly saying they don't care about sexual assault victims or victims of suicide (among other things)" by nothorses

"Transandrophobia Posts Masterpost- 2022" by transgentlemanluke

Pinned post with links to discussions about transandrophobia, baeddelism, and other issues by nothorses

"What is transandophobia actually?" by transmasc-pirate, with additions by doberbutts and psychoticallytrans

"Transandrophobic Fundamentals and the Intersections of Trans Masc Marginalization" by none-gender-left-man

"Hello, I apologise if you've already received questions like this, but can you explain why you would say that transmisandry/androphobia is distinct from misogyny?" by transfaguette

"I Am A Transwoman. I Am In The Closet. I Am Not Coming Out." by Jennifer Coates

This conversation between doberbutts and folly-of-alexandria

Transandrophobia Explained carrd, by myself

Transmisogyny is not the intersection of transphobia and misogyny by luckyladylily

This post on misogyny, misandry, and transandrophobia by thorne1345

"tumblr can make fun of Blizzard’s Oppression Calculator all they want, that’s exactly how people act with discourse poisoned queer discussions" by cardentist

Invisible Men: FTMs and Homelessness in Toronto by the FTM Safer Shelter Project Research Team

On Hating Men (And Becoming One) by Noah Zazanis

There is a hidden epidemic of violence against transmasculine people by Orion Rodriguez

“Irl we just kiss”: ‘transmasc vs transfem’ discourse & reactionary ‘boys vs girls’ politics in trans spaces by S.L Void

Making Sense Out of the Murders of Trans Men by Mitch Kellaway

Collateral Damage: mathematical odds & the sum of survival. by S.L Void

Op-ed: Trans Men Experience Far More Violence Than Most People Assume by Loree Cook-Daniels

How the Criminalization of Testosterone Attacks Gender Variant People by Adryan Corcione

A Tale of a Trans Man in Pakistan by Ikra Javed

Not transmasc invisibility, but erasure: intricacies of transmasc invisibility, and the fallacies of strictly gendered transphobia by S.L Void

Girlboy Boygirl Blues: antitransmasculinity as a denial of individual history & more by S.L Void

The r/transandrophobia subreddit

[maybe-the-problem]

Hiya! This is a blog dedicated to all of my fun little desires and fantasies. My name doesn't matter, so you can call me whatever you like (I respond well to baby, baby girl, and slut🤭). I'm a nineteen year old virgin exploring her naughty side.

Most of my content is dedicated to dom/sub relationships. Tw for rape (entirely fantasy) and cnc as two of my main kinks! I do not support rape or similar actions in real life, and cnc and other bdsm practices should be well discussed and consensual.

I do have rules and expectations on my page to make sure both myself and you are respected and respectful! Read them before interracting!⬇️

- Minors do not interact please! I know I'm only nineteen, but this is still ADULT content so you will be blocked🥰

- I am a sub. I am not your sub, and I do not want to be your sub. I'm not looking for a partner on tumblr.com.

- I only answer dm's from blogs I follow, sorry! If you think I'd really want to talk to you, send me an ask and I'll follow you if I'm interested!

- If you send pictures without asking me I will BLOCK you! I'm not always comfortable receiving photos, and consent is important! This also applies to sexually explicit posts that aren't my own, unless we're mutuals!

- Once again, I am producing this content for fun and you are not entitled to my attention! I like to play sometimes, but spamming my dms is not the way to get my attention!

- I AM ONLY ON TUMBLR! I will not answer asks or dms asking me for smapchat, session, discord, telegram, Twitter, or anything else! Do not push this boundary!

- This is a safe space, where I do not appreciate negative behavior such as racism, homophobia, transphobia, or kink-shaming (unless such kinks involve the exploitation of minors or to similar effect!)

- Age play is one of my hard limits, especially extreme age play! Dd/lg and age regression are not strictly included in this, but it is not one of my main interests. It is my belief that littlespace is best practiced outside of a sexual context, but that is simply my own opinion and should not affect you if your beliefs are different!

- Hard limits: race play, gender play, gore, scat, anal without previous discussion, necro, vomit.

- A list if some of my interests if you want a taste: General bdsm, non-sexual bdsm, impact play, misogyny kink, patriarchy kink, rape fantasy, humiliation, public humiliation, degradation, free use, dacryphilia, and dumbification.

This is a fantasy blog! Consent is key and important in all sexual and romantic relationships! Healthy communication is necessary for healthy bdsm! I love you guys!

Pictures: #maybespics

SFW: #maybesfw

[prkleenwitchtrials]

ok got back into mouthwashing so you all need to hear my thought rn

tw for discussions of SA & sexism

I feel like both sides of the If Swansea Knew Debate kinda miss the point

like yeah character wise I think he has enough common sense to be outraged about SA, or atleast a traditional enough view on masculinity to feel something protective towards a hurt woman

but that is not the point

swansea is a grown man, who understands that jimmy is untrustworthy and shady, and that the company he works for is negligent, and will not protect its employees. i'd also argue he knows jimmy's a misogynist. ik that that's a bit of a jump, i just have a hard time believing two men work together for any amount time and just. don't notice how the other one talks (that's if misogyny is even a thing in the game beyond subtext, idk how close the world is to ours, and also haven't watched a playthrough in a while)

the poing isn't If Swansea Had Known, it's that he knew enough. swansea knew jimmy's not to be trusted, shpuln't have ever been on the ship, not safe to be left alone with a woman. he knows. but he cares just enough to complain and talk shit, but not to make an actual complaint, not to try to talk to curly, and not to look out for anya

swansea's not a badass feminist who'd beat a sexist to death, but he's not an old dick who thinks women lose value after SA either. he's someone who knows better, but cannot bring himself to care enough to do something about it, but also someone who's privileged enough to not have to care, in this case being a man is enough

[gonehuman99]

Like Old Times

Yandere Rhett Abbott x reader (1800 words)

Tw: Noncon

Warning: Dark Rhett Abbott, noncon, slight misogyny, power imbalance

Summary: Rhett wants to continue a past relationship without the reader's opinion

You wrapped yourself in a thick coat as you sat on the rock. The surface was hard against your rear. The fire in front of you was roaring. But you were glad to focus on that because, at that moment, you were sitting right next to Rhett.

Your family and his were similar in some ways. His father was a bull rider, and yours was too. His family had land, and yours did as well. The only difference was that your family's land was in another state. Your father and his father used to compete against each other at the rodeo, but over time, that competitiveness blossomed into a friendship that lasted for decades. Every once in a while, your father tried to reconnect their friendship, which is why you were here.

Your father was a traditionalist, and you could be childish and naive. Your family held their values dearly, including not allowing an unwed daughter to leave the house. Yes, it was the 21st century, but this was your family and community. You didn't complain too much, though, at least not out loud—after all, that was just how you were raised.

So here you were with him. Alone. Your father made you come. Being the only daughter sometimes came with strange responsibilities, like helping Rhett mend a fence on the outskirts of his ranch. Your father volunteered you, saying he didn't want your family to appear as freeloaders. You and Rhett drove together to one side while your brother and Perry drove alone to the other side to mend the fence.

There you two were then. You both decided to take a break after that when the sun started falling. There was a quietness between you two. Even though you barely saw each other, it wasn't awkward. But you both had history. It was small. You two were of similar age, and when you were younger, you decided to be each other's first, second, and third. It was not romantic, just practice. Something to pass the time, not like there was anything else to do.

His hand draws close to your thigh. You hold your breath. You told yourself that he wasn't doing this on purpose. I mean, what you both had was in the past. There was nothing new to this.

It's not like you hated him. You just drifted away. You moved with your father, and he stayed behind. You focused on taking care of the house, like cooking and cleaning, while he focused much of his attention on riding in the rodeo.

You can feel the warmth of his hand, and you want to move away from him. Even though you weren't the host of this place and they invited your family, you still feel the need to compromise; you don't want your family to be discussed negatively. Being a woman means being a representation of the world. There may have been a time when you truly wanted to stray from this ideology, but you have long since passed that point. You wouldn't know what to do with your life.

"So," you let out a shaky breath, "what you've been up to?" you say, trying to break the silence.

You can barely see his face, but you notice the slight shift in his body. A small shift in his position, but not enough of a change for him to move. He grabs a stick next to him, moves a piece of wood, and drops it in the fire. It doesn't make much of a difference in the fire.

He clears his throat. "Nothing much. Just worried about Perry, you know how it goes." You nod. You knew better than to keep prying.

"Say it's been a while since it was like this…" he shakes his head slightly. You know, being alone. We haven't done this in a while. I was surprised you'd go along with it," he says.

"Yeah, well, I like being around you, I wouldn't have come if I didn't," you said.

"Yeah," he leans back. You think he's about to move, but he moves closer. "Kinda makes me think about the other times we were alone… like the old times."

You huddle your legs together and look at him. He fixes his gaze on yours. There's a look in them. The night is dark, but there's electricity in the slight blue you can see from the fire. No, it couldn't be? Was he thinking about… about what you both used to do? This wasn't something you planned after all; it was long ago.

You bite your lip and try to focus on the whip of the fire in front of you. You feel a hand on your face as stray hair is moved from your face. You resist the urge to move away. You can feel a warm breeze next to your face. You don't want to look.

He leans in more. "We used to have a real connection." You feel a hand on the back of your neck. You hold your breath and will yourself not to move a muscle. Even if you did want to move, you know you couldn't.

A kiss on your cheek just below your ear. It's soft, and you think he's asking for permission. You know he isn't. Otherwise, this would have happened in the first place. Was it your fault?. You bet it was. Why on earth did you agree to stay with him? Alone with him and at this late at night.

The fire crackles. " You remember how we were? We could be like that again." His voice is soft, not like the usual gruffness. He's trying to convince you that you want this—you're sure of that.

You nod. A lump forms in your throat. You want to tell him to back off and leave you alone. The hand on the back of your neck moves to your waist, pulling you in even closer to him.

You feel your face being pulled into his direction as he pulls you into a kiss. His lips are firm against yours. This is happening way too quickly for you. You lay a hand against his shoulder. He doesn't notice, or maybe he doesn't care.

"Rhett, stop," you finally whisper, but he's already grabbing your clothes and moving you down to the ground. He's not aggressive, but he's not gentle either. You feel like one of his bulls.

His weight presses down on you. You can't believe this is happening. You want to scream, but you swallow it down. Even if you did scream, would anyone hear you out here alone?

One of his legs goes into the middle of your legs. He kisses you slowly. You move your face to the side, looking at the fire beside you. His hand comes to your chin, pulling you back in.

He slipped another leg in between yours, spreading you out. You wiggle underneath him. "Rhett," you let out; he thinks you're moaning. Your hands go to his shoulders. You try to push against them.

You hear him unbuckle his belt quickly, and you grimace in fear. You know you need to stop him, but although you want to, the idea of yelling makes you feel embarrassed. You realize you shouldn't be, but you struggle to be expressive.

Kneeling back up, he takes himself out, and he's semi-hard. He pumps himself a few times slowly. You try to focus on the stars up ahead of you. Your heart is racing so much that you feel a tremor. He pulls at your pants. Reluctantly, you lift yourself, and he slides your jeans down. You gasp when you feel his hand reach down. You grab his hand, trying to stop him. "Come on, you need to get wet," you can hear the smirk in his voice. He pulls his hand away from yours and proceeds to rub your nub. You can't deny that you don't like it. Your breathing picks up. His face goes to your lips again, more feverish in his approach, the sound of wet lips and growing wetness between your lips making you wetter. Finally, you feel the tip of his prod at your entrance. Rubbing himself between your folds. You lie there and let it happen. He gasps when he slides himself in. You gasp out, too, feeling the pressure and fullness in yourself.

You try to disconnect yourself from the feeling. Try to focus on your breathing, though it grows rough.

He leaves himself in you. You're getting used to the size. He pulls out slightly and pushes back in. He does this a few times, each time faster. Grunting, he alternates between slamming and rolling his hips.

"You always liked this." his voice is hoarse. Is he trying to convince you or himself? Does he think things will return to how they were when things were simple in your youth?

His hand goes back down, determined to have you finish. You let him this time. You claw at his back not because you enjoyed it but rather as a way to make him feel pain. You can tell he enjoys it, a moan leaving him between your wet lips. You hold onto him, and a building feeling is in you—a sensation you want to release. You feel yourself grip as you arch your back on the dirt ground. His hips slow, and he grunts in your ear. Your eyes widen and slowly go back to size when you realize that you're on birth control. It wasn't for a situation like this. It was to clear your face. A pained feeling of disrespect enters you. He didn't even ask.

He lies there, not pulling out. A softened member still in you. He brushes your hair from your face. "I knew we were still like this," he mutters. You stay silent as he finally pulls out. You're disgusted at the sound.

You lie there as Rhett puts his pants back on. He grabs the blanket you covered yourself with, and he cleans you. You should find it comforting, but his touch is awful. He then moved to pull your jeans back on with a casualness. "There," he murmurs. He whispers something in your ear, but you can't hear him. You get up and touch the back of your head, small clumps of dirt in your messy hair.

"We could do like old times," you nod, the feeling of lying to him in your chest. You just wanted to be left alone. You didn't like the drama of voicing your opinion.

The walk back to the truck is a blur. Your body is heavy. You stare out the window, the landscape becoming a meaningless smear. You see Rhett hand land causally on the gearshift, and you tense. The memory of his hand between your thighs makes your stomach turn, and you swallow it down.

As the drive continued and the truck's headlights pierced through the dark landscape, you realized that something within you had changed, and you felt a sense of relief at the thought of returning to your family and familiar constraints.

[transandrophobia-support]

(want the accessible version of this post? click → here ←)

Hello, dear friends <3

Welcome to transandrophobia-support. This blog is (currently) run by two mods, mod 💿, and mod 🛼. **

**more info about the mods below the cut

This is a safe space for you to talk about your experiences, vent, and spread positivity about transmasculinity/transandrophobia. You can do this by either sending an ask on/off anon (up to you), or submitting a post. You can also to tag us in anything transandrophobia/transmasculinity related.

Rules

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whispers of summer fervor || aegon ii targaryen

Aegon II Targaryen/TargaryenF!Reader summary: Fire and Blood—you were etched out of those great words. Born covered in a veil of maroon with the stench of death. A hollow child with sunken eyes kissed by the very fire that gave your family their power. When the dragon egg in your crib never hatched you were thrown into the dragon’s den. Ignited by a dragon who was not yours to claim, your skin holding the memories of your failure. The Cursed Targaryen Princess—without a mother, without a dragon, and maimed. Your misfortunes were a stain upon the tapestry of the Targaryen legacy.  or Being the disgraced child of King Viserys and abandoned by your eldest sister pushes you into the arms of her opposition, leading to your support of Aegon’s claim.  wc: 5.1k tw: slight ooc aegon, angst, rhaenyra is usurped, rhaenyra slander, daddy issues, mommy issues, viserys is a shity dad, burn scars, reader is born from aemma but skintone & physical features are never discussed, canon divergence, incest cause yknow targaryens, bastard slander, hints of misogyny

a/n: i usually write (or try to) a reader who is neutral to the whole blacks vs green, but not today! rhaenyra is the rightful heir—always—but for the sake of this fic she is not. also i’ve been neglecting completing my uni assignments to finish this lol, enjoy!!! p.s. not proofread

☆━━━━☆━━━━☆

Fire and Blood—the words of your House. 

Fire and Blood—a warning to those who would ever think of opposing the Targaryen dynasty. 

Fire and Blood—a declaration of war met with threats disguised as promises. 

You were etched out of those great words. Born covered in a veil of maroon with the stench of death. A hollow child with sunken eyes kissed by the very fire that gave your family their power. When the dragon egg in your crib never hatched you were thrown into the dragon’s den. Ignited by a dragon who was not yours to claim, your skin holding the memories of your failure. The Cursed Targaryen Princess—without a mother, without a dragon, and maimed.  Your misfortunes were a stain upon the tapestry of the Targaryen legacy. 

A fate you were lucky enough to not shoulder alone, Aegon like you was born of your mothers blood. Born out of a desperate need to uphold old customs and beliefs. While his birth was celebrated it also split the Realm, whispers of his right as future king followed him throughout his life. The notions of king left heavy expectations for him to shoulder, expectations he never met, always falling short in one way or another. Resulting in his feverish drinking and promiscuity.

You are both young when you realize the shortcomings of your livelihoods. The drop in your father’s voice whenever he spoke of you. The frigid overcast that glazed over his eyes when his eyes set on you. The blatant favoritism he showed towards your much older sister—the tenderness in his eyes was a warmth you had never felt. His disdain leaked into your interactions; an uncomfortable shadow fell upon his brow whenever you were in his presence. As if your very being pained him, and how could it not? You were the walking reminder of his wife’s death, of his failure as not just a husband but a King. 

Aegon knows the resentment his mother harbors towards him despite her denial. Her first born conceived of a loveless marriage. She had been a girl and made a monarch overnight and some months later a mother. She was robbed of her girlhood and tied to the crown forever and Aegon had been the first nail in her coffin. Aegon represented every sacrifice she had made and his constant rebellion felt like an insult to everything Alicent lost. 

You understood one another, in ways many could not. Cut from the same cloth amalgamations of Targaryen indulgence, stubbornness, and passion. The least favored children of the King and Queen, bonded over neglect and resentment.

Years forged your attachment into blind fidelity, a sickly devotion that was rooted in your hearts like oaths. The world hardly existed outside the two of you and it didn’t stop for anyone without the Targaryen name. While many believed there were no exceptions to your coterie, they would find themselves proven wrong. For nearest and dearest to you was Helaena and Aemond, both as intertwined with one another as you and Aegon. 

Though the four of you were close none of you shared an inkling of a relationship with your eldest sister. Rhaenyra had left for Dragonstone and never turned back, no word or ravens ever arrived in her stead. 

When she had resided in the Keep she made no effort to hide her aversion towards you. She was a specter in your memory and marked as a heathen by the Queen. The Queen marked Rhaenyra a great many things and left a bitter child you swallowed her words like water.

It came to no surprise to anyone when the Queen announced that Vaemond Velaryon was bringing into question the validity of your nephew’s claim to Driftmark. After all Rhaenyra had done a very poor job of hiding her indiscretions. 

━━☆━━

On the day of the trial you sit in front of the hearth dreading the affair that was to come. As the hours passed you prepared to become a part of the circus, another spectacle for the Lord and Ladies of the Kingdom to gawk at. Prying eyes were always trying to glimpse at your injury, trying to validate the whispers of gossip they had heard. They were children and you, a parable came to life—a reminder of how cruel the Gods could be. The Cursed Targaryen Princess who could not hatch or claim a dragon. A clear demonstration that even the Targaryens were exempt from their own fire. 

Eyes followed you even when not a single body was around. They haunted you mercilessly. The constant feeling never allows you to inhabit your body comfortably. It was the reason many of your dresses had been tailored towards your lesions. Tailored towards the concealment of the damaged  skin of your shoulder and upper arm. 

Your dresses always had long sleeves even during the hot summers. The scars that could not be hidden with fabric were hidden by your hair. Never was your hair tied up or styled in extravagant fashion. It was only ever neatly placed out of your face in a simple manner. 

With the sound of your chambers doors opening you surface from thought. Aegon steps into view, freshly bathed with his hair combed and wearing an exasperated look. 

“The Keep is a mess” he says slumping down next to you. He throws his head back leaning uncomfortably on the divan 

“Your sisters arrival warrants pageantry” 

“Your sister” he clarifies 

You scoff, Rhaenyra had not been your sister in years. She had always tried to marry you off to a Lannister or whatever Lord presented himself as willing. She thought you incompetent and arrogant, endowments she believed were smears of her mothers memory. 

She was one to cast judgment, you’re sure Aemma would not have been keen on having illegitimate grandsons. What was the saying of House Arryn… As High as Honor. Bastards were anything but. 

“Has she not summoned you?” he looks at you curiously

“She has,” you respond boredly. A servant had entered your chambers the day prior, her head tilted towards the floor as she spoke. Her timidness struck you as odd and instantly you knew she was one of Rhaenyra’s. With a smile you sent her back to her mistress, refusing to tangle yourself in her web.

Aegon smirks, “She is to be Queen and you deny her” 

“She pedals falsehoods and you forget she is not Queen yet”

He laughs shifting in his seat, his eyes never leaving you. While you hated being watched, Aegon's gaze was different. He was never trying to pry you open or overzealous with morbid curiosity. He always regarded you with esteemed affection and tenderness. 

After a long pause you say, “Is there something on my face?”

His stare doesn’t waiver and he doesn’t respond. It is rare when he forgets how bewitching you could be but when it strikes him, he is at a loss for words—overwhelmed by the realization. His eyes shine with novelty as if it is the first time he has ever laid eyes on you. As if you were the grand encompass of the ocean and he was ready to dive in.

You utter his name and he’s awoken from the spell he had been under. 

He stands offering his hand, “We should take our leave now”

“You’ve never been one for punctuality” you tease and he smiles

“No, but I have been informed to behave. To present an image of regalness and grace” a laugh escapes his lips, “As if I am Aemond”

Now you laugh taking his hand, “He is much more regal than you” 

Aegon clutches his chest just over his heart, feigning hurt, “You injure me”

With your arms laced together you set off to find Aemond and Helaena. It would have been improper for Aegon to enter without his wife and for you to show up in the arms of a married man—regardless if he was your brother. It was a rule the four of you rarely followed but today was not the day to deter away from customs. 

Helaena is the first to spot you in the halls, Aemond is with her. A bright smile displayed on her face as she said your name. You can’t help but admire her, always effortlessly beautiful and far more intelligent than anyone gave her credit for. The picture of what women of your house were to be, beautiful, intelligent, and dragon riders. Everything you were not and though she did not hatch an egg she had claimed Dreamfyre. You should have been mad with envy but no such ill feeling ever came.

You loved her, perhaps no envy was born due to your ever present feeling of having to protect her. Of shielding her from the claws that embedded themselves into Keep. Destroying any sight of light or innocence. Fearing she would be treated like you had been. 

You depart from Aegon to greet Helaena with a kiss on the cheek. Moving towards Aemond to do the same, he greets you with a compliment before extending his arm for you to take. 

“Always so chivalrous” you say loud enough for Aegon to hear

━━☆━━

The hearing had gone to shit. Your father made a surprising appearance, Vaemond had died, Lucerys was still heir to Driftmark, and everything was as it had been the day before. 

You stand beside Aegon and Aemond in the dining hall, the room is lit by candle light as chatter fills the air. 

“What a waste of time” Aegon huffs

“Dinner or the hearing?” 

“Both. Lucerys is still heir and Daemon suffers no consequences.”

Aemond chimes in, “Their breaths are an insult to everything we stand for”

You nod about to speak when the sound of the wooden door opening announces the arrival of the King. Quickly everyone settles to stand before their seats, seating only after the King is seated. 

Your father greets everyone with a hoarse voice. He wears a golden mask on the rotten side of his face and he breathes as though it pains him. 

“Prayer before we begin?” The Queen asks and he nods 

Instantly your head is bowed, your hands are in your lap, and your eyes are closed. Prayer had become a daily ritual before dinner and it was always led by the Queen. 

Before the prayer is over you feel the sensation of eyes on your skin. You think it to be one of your nephews but when the prayer is over you see it is Rhaenyra. 

Her eyes are casted with an emotion you cannot read and they soon drop to your shoulder. Eyeing the scars that edged just above your shoulder and the base of your neck. 

Feeling the scrutiny of her gaze, your hands find your hair moving it to disrupt her viewing. You had been judged by the vultures of the Seven Kingdoms, you would not allow Rhaenyra to do the same. 

The expression on your face is clear, Rhaenyra has gotten to you. 

Aegon notices your discomfort, notices how your hair now falls over your chest, and how your eyes are focused on the empty plate before you. Instantly he knows someone is to blame. He first assumes it to be Daemon, his uncle was crude and unceremonious. Having little regard for the people around him, not bothering with niceties. 

But when he sees Rhaenyra attentively watching you—casting judgment—he knows it was her. Aegon almost laughs at her hypocrisy, as if she out of anyone had any right to look down upon others. 

If his sister wanted something to look at, then he as a gracious brother would oblige in the only way he knew how, by causing a scene. The one thing Aegon was adept at was getting under people's skin, poking and prodding until they burst. 

He leans towards Jacaerys spewing his obnoxious rambling. When his nephew bites back Aegon leans back in his chair reveling in the beginning of his antics. 

The sound of wood scraping against stone makes you cringe, your father is standing removing his mask displaying the rot that has taken over the left side of his face. Eye’s are averted at the bare sight of the King’s face, but you are accustomed to seeing rotten skin. His teeth can be seen through his cheek, the muscle stretching and contracting as he speaks—it's a morbid sight. 

He speaks of reconciliation and forgiveness but you pay him no mind. Besides you, Aemond keeps his eyes forward, Helaena has her eyes on the wooden table, and Aegon’s jaw is tight as he stares at his wine cup. 

You spent the next couple of moments with your head in the clouds. Surfacing from thought when Rhaenyra toasts to the Queen, thanking her for looking after the King. You’re surprised when the Queen follows after, her kind words confound you. But you have no time to think them over as Aegon stands from his seat. Stepping between Jacaerys and Baela pouring wine into his cup.

Aemond looks suspiciously towards you but you had no answers to give him. When his eye leaves you the table shakes and Jacaerys stands as Aegon sits. With furrowed brows you look at Aegon who sips on his wine with ease. 

The room falls silent and Aegon is reviling in the tension, trying not to smile triumphantly as he uses his cup as a shield. 

The tension in the room grows thicker when Aemond stands. He’s looking at Jacaerys with the marksmanship of a hunter who had spotted their prey. 

Eyes shift and concern is painted on the faces of almost everyone. 

Jacaerys playfully hits his uncle on the shoulder, raising his cup as he smiles at Aemond, “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth” Jacaerys pauses looking between his uncles, “And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles”

Across the table you see the snarky smiles of Jacaerys’ betrothed and Lucerys. Their smugness lights a flame in the furnace of your heart. You have half a mind to stand with Aemond, to show that their disrespect would not be tolerated. 

“To you as well,” Aegon says 

When Aemond sits you lean towards him, “Fucking miscreants”

“Vermin” he responds as Helaena stands. 

She smiles excitedly holding her cup of wine, “I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon” she turns to them, “It isn’t so bad. Mostly he just ignores you, except sometimes when he’s drunk” she smiles

You let out a small laugh at her words. Aegon was rather whinny when drunk, he became a rambling needy mess who desperately wanted attention. And you were always there to give it to him in any shape or form that he needed it in. 

Smiling, you raise your cup towards Helaena, “Hear, Hear”. The scarlet wine falls down your throat with ease and your moment of enjoyment is shortly ruined by an approaching Jacaerys. 

His eyes are set on Helaena as he extends his hand asking her to dance. To your dismay she takes his hand without hesitation. You’re staring daggers at the Prince, indignation replaces the taste of wine in your mouth. Helaena was far too kind for the world. 

Aegon’s eyes catch yours before he looks at Jacaerys dancing with his wife, disbelief and annoyance clear in his face. 

In one swift motion you move to stand beside Aegon, “The apple does not fall from the tree” you glare at the hazel haired prince, expecting a response from Aegon but you get none. Confused, you turn towards Aegon only to find him gazing across the table. He’s quiet as he sips from the cup in his hand watching Rhaenyra laugh and talk with their father. Viserys is smiling and coughing through his laughter and it is the most alive he has been in years. 

“She arrives and suddenly he can will himself to walk and attend supper” he says only for you to hear 

You look up towards the sight of his words—your father and Rhaenyra and you understand. His jab was not said out of anger but out of a feeling of lacking. All the traits and characteristics Rhaenyra had that he did not, the love of their father she had that he did not. 

“You’re jealous” 

He turns towards you, “Are you not?”

“No”, you lie

“She’s father’s favorite”, he’s looking up at you through his lashes, “I’m the son he killed for and it is not enough”

You avert your gaze, his words struck like an arrow. A part of you had always felt responsible for the birth of Aegon. At fault for the death of your mother, the death of your brother, and the birth of Aegon. If you had not been a butcher, if you had been a boy his burden would be yours.

“You didn’t kill anyone Aegon” you sip wine solemnly, your posture falters, and your head is half hung. 

Aegon notices your somber spirit and his eyes soften realizing the error in his words, “I’m sorry, I meant no offense”

“I know”, is all you say returning to your seat

As the night passes you eat and make conversation with Aemond. For most of the night his eye is set on the dancing prince and princess. Occasionally when he looks at you his lips pull upwards in a smile.

After your father retires for the night, servants enter with more food. A cooked pig is laid out before you and before you can think Aemond’s fist hits the table as he stands. 

“Final tribute” 

All eyes fall on Aemond and the room goes quiet.

“To the health of my nephews. Jace…Luke and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…” he pauses and it is as if all the air in the room has been cast out, “strong”

Your eyes widen in shock as the Queen pleads with Aemond. 

“Come let us drain our cups to these three…strong boys”

“I dare you to say that again” 

Aemond turns towards Jacaerys, “Why? ‘Twas only a compliment”, they both walk towards one another, “Do you not think yourself strong?”

Lucerys rises from his seat as Jacaerys strikes Aemond, Aegon is not far behind grabbing his nephew and slamming him against the table. 

Bolting upwards you grab Helaena pulling her away from the chaos. She grips your hand tightly frightened by the scene. 

“Are you alright?” you ask

She nods, “Yes but Aemond” her hand points at the exiting prince. Understanding, you pull Helaena, following Aemond. 

Once you’re in the halls you follow the sounds of Aemond’s steps, Helaena runs towards him. She latches onto the side of his arm soothing the riled prince. You’re about to do the same when laughter echoes from beyond the hallway—Aegon. 

Grabbing the side of your dresses you hold it up allowing yourself quicker movements. With your approach the shadow of Aegon grows smaller and his laughter grows louder. 

You say his name as you grab his arm. When he lays his eyes on you they widen excitedly, your name falls from his lips, “You are a vision. Have I told you that? Come, come, let us retreat into our burrow”. He gives you no time to respond as he throws an arm around you and leads you away. 

The burrow was a small unfinished room at the far end of the Keep that had been hidden by a suit of armor; it had been discovered by Aegon when he was ten and two. Immediately he ran to inform you about it, dragging you into the room. It is not large like either of your chambers but it’s spacious enough that both of you can move without bumping into one another. Rugs and sheets hung throughout the floor and walls hiding the decaying walls. Bottles of wine littered the room, both empty and full. 

Aegon is drunkenly rambling, as you make sure there is no one around to see you gently push past the suit, “”Twas only a compliment” he mimics Aemond’s voice. 

Sitting near the corner of the room you grab a bottle and Aegon moves towards you. He rests his head against your lap spilling wine into your dress, not that you cared. He’s laughing recalling the events of the night.

With a laugh you respond, “Jacaerys’ stance was laughable, he looked like a child throwing a tantrum” 

“He is to be King”, his laugh dies as the sentence leaves his lips, “He is to be King” 

You both grow quiet, the words weigh heavy over the both of you. The realities of a future that is so close to becoming reality. If you were believed to be a stain on the Targaryen legacy, Rhaenyra's children were desecrations to the Targaryen dynasty.

“Perhaps your mother is right,” you sip from the bottle of wine not fully thinking about the words as you speak, “Perhaps you should be King”

Aegon half laughs, pushing himself into a sitting position, “You speak of treachery” 

“Your mother says—”

“My mother is crazed on a notion that we will be slain” 

You wish you could believe him, but the image of your sister's husband swinging his sword without mercy does not leave your mind. How easy it would be for Rhaenyra to rid herself of you once she is Queen; there were fates far worse than death. 

“Enough talk of foreboding futures. Let us drink ourselves blind” 

“Hear! Hear!” you eagerly agree

True to Aegon’s words you both drink until your visions are blurred and the room spins. You both dance and drink carelessly, laughing as though the events of the night had no effect on you. It comes as no surprise when Aegon leans towards you and presses his lip on yours. The kiss is sloppy and full of hunger, your teeth clash and tongues swipe over one another. There’s a desperation in his hands—in the way he holds your face obstructing any movement. In the heat of passion you bite his bottom lip earning a yelp from Aegon. 

He pulls away with a smile, “Ow”

Your hand rest on his chest playfully, “Don’t be a child, I didn’t draw blood” 

The rest of the night blurs into a giant mirage of jubilation. 

━━☆━━

As the sun rose you wake with a yawn, your body aching from the uncomfortable position it had been in all night. Your head had been on Aegon’s lap and his arm had been thrown over your body. Maneuvering from his embrace you press your back firmly on the brick wall, your head throbbing feeling as though it had been repeatedly bashed.

The sun’s rays kiss your cheeks, it's warm and gentle and for a brief moment the world around you falls into obscurity. Nothing else matters beside the sun’s golden touch and the beating of your own heart. 

The body besides you grumbles and your moment of serenity shatters as Aegon slowly stirs into consciousness. You’re brought back into the arms of reality.

“Wine,” he says, “More wine”

You don’t waste your breath, instead you make your way to your chambers. Stumbling the first few steps out of the room. Peeking your head out of the door way you make sure there is no one around before exiting. 

Walking down the corridors there is an air of urgency within the Keep. There were twice as many Knights as you were accustomed to seeing and servants hurried into the direction of the Great Hall. Regardless you carry on, not bothering to greet any of the people who greeted or called after you. 

Approaching the hallway to your chambers you’re unexpectedly faced with the sight of your wooden doors wide open. Stepping closer you see three figures standing at the center of your room; Aemond, Ser Criston, and the Queen.

Puzzlement rests on your brow, what had transpired in the hours you and Aegon had disappeared. As you continue your approach you can see the faces of your visitors all displaying an array of emotions.

“Your Grace,” Ser Criston states as you walk through the threshold, “The Princess”

The Queen turns towards you instantly, wasting no time in embracing you, “Oh sweet girl” 

Her embrace wasn’t foreign but the sudden action confuses you further. 

“Where have you been? Where is Aegon?” she pulls away but keeps her hands on your arms

You looked towards Aemond trying to find any answers on his face but there were none. 

“I’ve just left Aegon. Has something happened?” 

“Where is he?” The Queen’s grip on your arm tightens. Desperation is in her eyes and it frightens you, enough that you decided to keep Aegon's whereabouts to yourself for the time being.

“We snuck out of the Keep last night. Upon returning to the castle Aegon left my side” 

She turns towards her sworn Knight an unsaid order ushering him quickly from your chambers, Aemond follows suit. 

When they’re gone you repeat your question, “Has something happened?”

“Your father is dead, he died in his sleep”

Her voice was grave and her words echo in your mind but you can’t decipher them. It’s as if you have lost the ability to comprehend the common tongue. 

A moment passes and you realize what your step mother had said. Silently you wait for grief but it never arrives, there is no sadness in your heart, no invading sorrow. Your father is dead and you shed no tears for his memory. 

“I–I need a moment,” you pull away but before you can leave the Queen pulls you towards her. Her hand is under your chin lifting your head just enough to meet her gaze.

Her eyes are round and full of distress, “You know where Aegon is, I beg of you, bring him to me. It was the King’s dying wish. Do not let my father get his hands on him first”

You nod and hurriedly walk out of your chambers, returning to your burrow. The throbbing in your head returns but you try to disregard the discomfort, there were far more pressing matters. 

The closer you got towards Aegon the faster your move, breaths of air forcibly escape as enter through the hidden door. You thank the Gods when you see Aegon in the same position he had been when you left. You rush to his side, dropping to your knees shaking him.

“Aegon, Aegon. Wake up, Wake up”

He groans and his speech is slurs. Letting his arms go, he slouches into a half sitting position half laying. His eyes flutter open for a moment and your name falls from his lips. 

“‘Tis me,” you cup the cheeks of his face almost painfully. He tries to move away from you but you do not yield, “Aegon, father is dead”

You watch your words register in his mind. He blinks his eyes open and takes a breath, pushing you aside. 

“Your jest are not appreciated, my head is murderous” 

“It is no jest, the King died in his sleep” 

Like you had with the Queen, Aegon takes a moment, his eyes are wide looking through you making sense of your words. 

“Father is dead” he repeats. His hand passes through his hair, a look of distress clear on his sunken face

“Yes and your mother and grand feather are searching for you”

“For me? What could they want—”

Realization hits you both like a strong gust of wind, knocking all the air out of the room. The line of succession crosses your mind for the first time. You had thought nothing of the Queen’s words about your fathers dying wish but you understood them now. Of course, the Keep was in disarray because the Hand was trying to sit Aegon on the throne before news of the King’s death spread.

“They mean to crown you” 

Crowning Aegon would be treason and all those who participated would be punished with death. The idea does not frighten you as much as the idea of Rhaenyra on the throne. You’d surely be sent away, sold off to be the pretty little Targaryen wife of Lord who’d defile you. And the realm would fall to pieces with a spiteful malicious woman at its helm. 

Aegon looks at you horrified, “No. They can’t. I am not heir”

“That does not matter, it was the King’s dying wish to have you succeed him”

“On whose word?”

“Your mother’s”

Aegon scoffs, “She is crazed, fuelled by her hatred for Rhaenyra”

“You may think her crazed, but your mother is a woman of the Gods, she would not lie about a matter of this caliber”

He opens his mouth to speak but closes it quickly. His back is against the wall, he looks disheveled, dirty, and disarranged. Tears swell in his eyes and he swipes them away with his sleeve. 

“A dying wish he had years to fulfill” 

“I know not the whims of old Kings, but I know regret. It is clear in the words he spoke to your mother that he wanted you on the throne, his first born son” 

“What kind of brother would I be to take the throne from Rhaenyra?” 

“By the law of Gods and Men the throne is yours. You cannot steal what is rightfully yours” 

“I do not want the throne” he argues 

“Aegon” you plead 

“No! I will not take it,” swiftly his hand grab yours, “Let us climb on board a ship escape to Essos or on dragonback—”

You interrupt his crazed thoughts squeezing his hands, “Listen, Rhaenyra only cares for her own, she has never cared for us. If you let her ascend the throne what will come of your mother? Of Aemond? Of Helaena and your children? ” you pause, “Of me? She sees my existence as blasphemous and yours as opposition. If we leave we are leaving those we love to die. Ascend the throne Aegon, protect us” 

Silence encompassed the room, Aegon ran his eyes over your face searching for answers, trying to understand what was being asked of him and if he could undertake such a task. You return his gaze with soft eyes and gentle hands. 

He had never thought himself a leader let alone a King. He did not want the pressures and responsibilities of leading an entire land. Aegon would no longer be able to hide under his title of prince, as King. He would have to be the picture of Targaryen greatness and regalness—heavy is the head that wears the crown. He wants to laugh at the notion but his chest is heavy with your words. 

“Do you understand?” there’s a desperate edge in your voice and he doesn’t respond, “Aegon, do you understand?”

“Yes,” he nods

[txttletale]

not the same anon but ive often seen transfems complain that transmascs will “refuse to let go of femininity” and “misgender ourselves” when we talk about how being treated as girls/women during our entire lives affects us materially and also psychologically. ive never understood that. where do you stand on that? Important clarifications: 1) i dont believe trans women, closeted or otherwise, pre or post transition, have male privilege. i dont believe the upbringing “discourse” is a zero-sum game (where if being raised female means tm experience misogyny, being raised male means tw have male privilege). 2) i dont believe in transandrophobia in any shape or form, I believe trans men suffer bc of misogyny and transphobia, and trans women bc of the same + transmisogyny. 3) im not trying to gotcha you or pick a fight i mean this entirely neutrally. im ready to accept that im wrong i simply want to understand why.

yea i mean, like -- obviously this is a subject that's really easy to bad-faith on either side but i think you're approaching in good faith so i'm going to answer in turn: i don't think any (serious) transfeminists begrudge that trans men have a lifetime experience of suffering directly from misogyny or that they discuss these things. i think there are obvious common experiences and solidarity to be found in these common experiences!

the times where i often see the argument that transmascs are 'misgendering themselves' is when they weaponize transmisogyny by self-infantilizing to paint an interaction they had or disagreement with a transfem as the transfem being 'predatory', 'threatening', etc -- transmisogynist trans men will very often do this, implicitly misgendering themselves by invoking the transmisogynistic spectre of the Big Scary Autogynophile sexually threatening the Poor Innocent Wombyn.

secondly, transmisogynistic transmascs will absolutely weaponize their own misogynistic trauma in disagreements with trans women -- it's not uncommon on this website for trans women trying to discuss transmisogyny to be met with paragraphs of transmisogynistic transmascs graphically describing their own experiences with sexual assault and violence, which again plays into the exact same stereotypes to the advantage of the transmasc in the situation.

similarly, transmisogynistic transmascs will also use language that groups them with cis women in an implicitly self-misgendering way for the sake of being transmisogynistic and excluding trans women. the most infamous version of this is the phrase 'women and AFABs' which gets tossed around quite often in so-called 'queer spaces', but there are also accusations of a universal 'male socialization' (used to paint trans women as aggressive, entitled, dangerous, etc, while trans men are harmless, demure, talked over by loud scary trans women, etc).

so tldr: i don't think any serious transfeminist begrudges trans men for talking about how misogyny has shaped their lives. when accusations of 'self-misgendering' come in is when (certain) trans men align themselves politically with transphobic cis women over trans women and use their own history with misogyny as a cudgel against trans women, or purposefully twist self-misgendering transmisogynistic narratives against trans women for their own personal advantage.

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Kyojuro Rengoku General Profile

Yandere! Kyojuro Rengoku x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, violence, he breaks your fingers, Kyo feeds you bird-style and it's pretty gross and gnarly, delusions/detachment from reality, Stockholm Syndrome, masturbation, slight misogyny/traditional gender roles, forced motherhood, allusions to non-con, you and Kyo share a toothbrush ugh, lots of references to death, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 11K

DARLING PROFILE:

Caring 

Similarly to most other Hashira, Kyojuro is greatly attracted to honest, genuine kindness.

His world is so full of hatred, death, and pain, and having a darling who is softer, sweeter, more empathetic makes his heart swell.

(And, occasionally, other things will swell when he sees his darling smiling or complimenting or speaking with children - but Kyojuro pays it no mind. So you shouldn’t, either.)

There’s just something so alluring about a darling who genuinely cares for the people around them - he himself is quite positive, if not blunt, and a darling who can match his philosophy of protecting and caring for those who need it would be a perfect match.

He likes the idea of a darling who has the best intentions of others’ at heart; it’s refreshing to see and interact with someone who is so pure and wonderfully kind, because while his fellow slayers are certainly committed to a good cause, his darling is different.

They’re naturally sweet, utterly unaware of the horrors of this world and yet still striving to make others smile, still trying to help undo any wrongs those around them have experienced.

This aspect of his darling is one of the first things he notices about them, and while he’s not a selfish man by any means, he’ll grow to absolutely love when this caring nature is directed at him, particular after long, difficult missions where he’s both physically and emotionally exhausted, only desiring to hold something soft and sweet and warm.

Coincidentally, something exactly like his darling.

Passionate

The specific passion itself is inconsequential – it doesn’t matter what his darling loves, as long as they love something.

He himself is driven by internal motivation and a righteousness to help others, and while his darling doesn’t need to be quite this serious, he likes the idea of them having goals and aspirations.

The most likely way this manifests itself within his darling is through a creative platform – art, music, culinary arts, writing, or any sort of activity in which his darling can express themselves.

He likes that his darling has something they truly enjoy, and he’s the type to want to learn about and indulge in his darling’s passion.

He’ll eagerly listen to everything they have to say, absorbing the information with wide, glittering eyes and a smile, trying so very hard to listen to their words but getting repeatedly distracted by how utterly adorable they look when they’re concentrating.

He can’t stop admiring the way they look when they’re discussing their passion, how happy they become, radiating a sort of joy and glow that only makes him fall harder and deeper, his obsession solidifying with every smile they give him.

And he’ll fully foster this passion of theirs – he’s got access to any resources his darling can dream of, easily providing them and enjoying the way their face lights up, how they become so grateful.

His only caveat is that he has to watch them as they work at their passion, getting a front row seat to watch them enjoy themselves, his bright eyes fixed on them the entire time because god, how are they so utterly perfect?

It’s endearing to Kyojuro because in his mind, his darling looks at him that way, too, with a smile and undying love.

Ambitious

Now, his darling doesn’t need to be ambitious in the sense that they take huge risks, or even that they have high expectations and goals for themselves.

It can manifest this way, sure, but the main core of why he finds this personality trait attractive is because it shows drive.

He likes a darling who has a strong sense of self; he doesn’t want to change his beloved in any way; he wants to be their pillar of support, to offer unwavering help and encouragement for whatever pursuits they’re chasing after, no matter how big or small.

He thinks it’s a wonderful thing to have dreams for the future, just as he does – he dreams of Senjuro once again having a happy family (one he hopes his darling will help provide), and of all demons being eradicated so that the world can live peacefully.

He’ll cherish and respect any dreams his darling possesses, but only if they don’t interfere with what he believes should happen.

He prioritizes his relationship with his darling above many things, and this includes what his darling wants most.

He will be expecting them to dutifully become his loving partner and wife, to bear his children and help him raise them, to be a guiding, loving hand to teach them morality, charity, and all sorts of other things that his darling hardly believes he possesses.

So while he’ll likely crush the ambitions his darling possesses, the mere fact that they have ambitions is attractive to him.

Talkative

It’s not that Kyojuro can’t fall for a quieter darling, but rather that he wants someone who will match his chattiness.

He’s naturally quite loud, truly a boisterous man who loves to interact with others.

He’s constantly peppering his darling with questions, his voice a steady flow as he just talks and talks and talks, throwing compliments and them alongside grandiose declarations of love, all intermixed with small talk about the weather or the flowers on the sides of the village pathways, or even about the pretty birds flying in the sky.

He just likes interacting with his darling, and he needs someone that is willing to return his eagerness to talk.

He likes the way his darling’s attention stays on him when he’s speaking to them; how their eyes stay fixed on his form, how they nod along to his words, how they laugh at his outlandish, unbelievable claims and logic, how they just simply acknowledge him, making him feel comfortable and seen and wanted.

Kyojuro will want to spend hours talking with his darling, and he needs someone who can match this energy. He needs a darling who can pepper him with their own questions, who can keep the conversation flowing and keep the interaction alive.

Besides, Kyojuro has this unwavering, unsatiable curiosity for his beloved, one that can only be partially quelled when his darling is revealing more and more about themselves.

And he’ll eagerly listen, mentally storing away each new piece of information, remembering absolutely everything because everything about his darling is important, something that must be remembered and cherished and worshipped.

They’re just perfect, and if they’re naturally chatty, it only furthers his obsession. 

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Delusional 

Generally speaking, from the moment that Kyojuro’s feelings for you fully form, he’s absolutely, utterly under the impression that every emotion, desire and draw he feels towards you is returned fully. He honestly believes that you’re just as in love as he is, that the connection he’s so acutely aware of between the both of you is mutual, that you’re just as desperate and eager to be his partner, his lover, his wife and the woman he’ll spend the rest of his life with. 

He doesn’t have any real romantic experience - he’s been attracted to women before, sure, but he’s never courted someone before you simply because when he courts, he intends to wed. 

And as a result, his only real reference for romance is his own parents’ relationship. And while it was loving, beautiful, healthy while his mother was still alive, time and his changing father have left Kyojuro with a bit of a warped view of love. 

And this is where his delusions stem from - he’s confident, desperate for you to return the passionate feelings he holds for you, and he manages to convince himself of your growing love for him every day. 

He’s so sure, in fact, that even as his obsession with you forms (slowly, as he’s a bit picky about partners and can be a bit oblivious even towards his own feelings), so do the beginnings of his detachment from reality. As he slowly begins realizing that he enjoys being in your presence more than most other people, your smiles and greetings of oh hello Rengoku, I didn’t know you’d be here will seem more and more like you expressing your glee at having him by your side rather than a simple, platonic welcome. 

As he realizes that hearing you laugh makes his palms sweat and his heart race, he begins thinking your laugh is really for him, that your chuckles are stronger when they’re directed at him than compared to others. 

He’s imagining your pretty face lighting up with that radiant smile behind closed eyes when he’s falling asleep at night, and slowly he begins concluding that your every quirk of the lip towards him must mean that you’re happy with him, that his presence alone fills you with a sort of joy that you simply can’t hide. 

(And, perhaps you know that it’s you that fills his thoughts at night – maybe you’re purposefully plaguing his thoughts, trying to tell him something - perhaps you want him to think of you and your lovely mouth, the way your lips look when you say his name, how your tongue flicks out to wet them just so…) 

It’s mostly innocent in the beginning; his delusions manifest more as simply misreading the signals you send him, honest mistakes that aren’t too uncommon – but, as the relationship (or, at least the one Kyojuro is trying so very hard cultivate) progresses, these slips in judgment become more and more profound, more and more difficult to ignore. 

When he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest as he inhales deeply and enthusiastically greets you in a voice just a bit too breathy for your liking, Kyojuro sees your discreet attempts at ending the far-too-long hug as you merely trying to get comfortable. 

Surely you just want to feel more of his body against your own, or want him to be closer so that there’s nothing separating you from him, from the love he’s oh so willing to give you. 

When you bite your lip and avert your gaze as you politely ask him to stop staring at you so much and following you home, Kyojuro will simply smile, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving you a firm don’t worry, I don’t mind protecting you! It’s my place as a Hashira, after all, so don’t needlessly fret! 

He honestly doesn’t understand why you’re not as happy as he is, and frankly he can’t even really fathom the idea that you aren’t happy – how can he, when he’s been searching for so many years for a partner to love and spoil? 

How can he, when your body just seems to perfectly fit against his own, your voice like honey and your name a drug as it slips from his lips? 

How can he, when he’s seen his father so harshly decline, when the memory of his mother is still so fresh, when he wants so badly to build a family of his own, to give Senjuro another family to call his?

How can he, when you become the sole reason he begins valuing his own life during missions, not being as reckless because he needs to come home to you - you need your lover and husband, of course.

(In more ways than one - who will protect you? Provide for you? Pleasure you?) 

Kyojuro honestly latches onto you, his every thought and emotion revolving around you you you, to the point where even once he’s locked you away, deep inside the Rengoku residence with your shared bed and lovely, expensive new kimonos neatly folded in stacks upon stacks (all in shades of reds and golds, of course, to signify your status with him), he still won’t recognize that you’re always crying because you’re scared. 

He won’t realizethat you flinch when he touches you because you don’t want him anywhere near you. 

He won’t connect the dots that you spend each and every night curled up in a ball weeping because you just want to go home, please Kyojuro, please… 

Try as he may, he just can’t fathom that you aren’t as madly, desperately in love – so don’t bother, really, because it’s much more hassle than it’s worth, and in the end he’ll get what he wants. He always will get what he wants, so why don’t you just give in? 

He’ll never let you go, never believe any of your pleas to be freed from him, so why don’t you just accept his love? 

Protective 

Honestly, your personal combat abilities are irrelevant - in Kyojuro’s mind, you’re weak. Defenseless. Laughably unable to keep yourself safe and out of trouble - incapable, even, though it sounds a bit harsh.

He believes that you’re too fragile and sweet and wonderful to be anywhere near a demon, a human with bad intentions, or anything of the sort.

Your strengths lie not in battle, but in your charm and beauty - you’re so sweet, your words melting him like butter and leaving him as putty in your hands, his heart doing backflips in his chest as his fingers twitch to do anything and everything just to keep you smiling.

Your talents lie in the way you effortlessly intrigue him; your words ensnaring his attention no matter the topic, your touch sending electricity up his spine, even your most mundane actions making him stop and stare because every little thing you do is important.

You simply aren’t made for the battlefield, or for confrontation in general - he’s sure of it, and he’s arguably the most trustworthy source of judgment you could find. He’s a seasoned Hashira, seen more death than you can imagine, slaughtered more demons than you can count, so could he really be wrong in his assessment of your abilities?

He sees you as a bit of a baby, in all honesty, because while he’s more than aware of your womanly charms (the not so subtle way his eyes rake over your figure when he forces you to bathe with him is enough to convince you of that, if the way his hands ghost over the bulge of his trousers when you speak to him wasn’t enough), he still can’t shake the paranoia that you’ll one day be hurt.

He’s terrified that you can’t really take care of yourself as well as he can. And frankly, the paranoia isn’t unfounded – it’s difficult to fault him for his overprotectiveness when you think of his past, how often he sees death, and how often he’s the cause of it.

He’s too accustomed to seeing others’ lives lost, and he absolutely refuses to allow you the same fate, so long as he’s breathing and has enough finger strength to grip his sword and send air rushing through his lungs.

He’s determined to a disturbing degree to keep you safe; with every demon he decapitates, internally he’s sighing in relief because that’s one less monster that could potentially sink their claws into you - every demon dead is a step towards keeping you safe, healthy, alive, his.

He’s patronizing in an odd way, because while he doubts your capabilities, he doesn’t treat you like you’re a child. He’s just hovering, always, with his eyes glued to you and that same unnerving, wide smile on his lips that never seems to go away when you’re around him.

His gaze is wide and excited as he sees how you bring the bowl of soup to your lips to sip, the intensity of the way he watches making your hands tremble and a bit of the hot soup spill down to your chest.

He’ll let you feed yourself - for now - but as soon as you flinch, the heat and wetness making you cringe as you get up to clean yourself, he’s on you – a flash of yellow and red as he tut-tuts and uses the sleeve of his haori to wipe up the mess, a thumb against your lip and his face much too close to yours as he tells you to be careful, don’t hurt yourself, my flame.

He’s not letting you touch anything with sharp edges, for fear that you’ll trip and cut yourself, nor does he allow you permission to speak to anyone new that he hasn’t already extensively vetted in his own way.

(This comprises mostly of just simply observing someone, and the moment he sees something even slightly unfavorable - like a snarky comment or even having their hair be messy - he’s deciding that they’re not good enough to interact with you - you’re better than them, and speaking with them would only taint you, bringing you down from the pedestal he places you on.)

 He’s controlling, not allowing anyone into your life that isn’t himself, to the point that he’ll simply show up the second another man or woman begins speaking with you, a strong arm around your waist with fingers digging in much harsher than they should, that familiar smile tight on his lips.

He’s terrified that he’ll one day lose you, and in a lot of ways keeping you safe is his own way of living up to the expectations of his mother.

You’re weak, so damn weak, and you need someone to care for you, to be there for you and take care of you in your time of need, and Kyojuro is more than happy to take on the role, to take responsibility of your life and safety.

It’s a bit overwhelming, how he’s always offering to do tasks for you, interrupting you halfway through to take over with that broad grin of his, that laugh and a rambunctious what kind of lover would I be if I didn’t carry your groceries for you making it difficult to stop him.

And really, eventually you’ll get to the point of relenting and letting him to do as he pleases, because as much as the man may intimidate you, scare you or disturb you, there’s just something about his desperation to please you that’ll get you feeling oddly flattered, flustered simply because of the lengths he’s willing to go.

Because really, while it may scare you how his hand always seems to find a place at your hip, don’t all the stories and movies have chivalrous male leads helping guide the girl through crowded areas, a steady hand to help keep them grounded, just as Kyojuro does?

Sure, it’s weird how he knows the order from every restaurant in town that you like, how he’s always able to show up at just the right time with a steaming bowl of udon or whatever you’re feeling, but doesn’t it feel nice to be cared for, that he thought of you and made the stop to buy you something?

It may be disturbing how he gulps and smiles wider every time he sees you bend over, but isn’t it flattering to know that he finds your body attractive?

He won’t allow you to place a finger on anything or anyone that could hurt you, so you’d better get used to the life of a pampered housewife – because while it will take him a long while to allow you to cook with any sort of heat, there’s something oddly therapeutic about being your big, strong partner that provides for you, while you keep his bed and heart warm, all with that natural charm he finds so alluring. 

Clingy

Because Kyojuro’s perceptions of your relationship aren’t exactly realistic, he’ll come off as extremely, extremely needy to you. But it’s in a strange way – he’s not constantly clinging onto you, needing your reassurance and needing your eyes to stay focused entirely on him.

(He certainly won’t discourage this kind of behavior, of course, but he isn’t that outwardly desperate, and he isn’t the type to physically grasp your chin to keep you looking at him. He’ll perhaps grasp your hand or your waist to keep you at his hip, but he’s not quite that blatant.)

Instead, his clinginess manifests in how he’s simply always around you.

His presence will become a constant in your life – you’d be hard pressed to not see those familiar blond and red locks in your peripheral, or to hear that booming voice ringing in your ears. It would be difficult to find yourself in a public situation where Kyojuro isn’t standing diligently at your side, that blinding smile spread across his face, turning just a bit softer and a bit more earnest when it’s aimed at you.

Really, he simply hates being away from you. Not having you within his sight makes him nervous, anxiety itching at his stomach because where are you?

It’s not possessiveness, not a paranoia that you could be talking to other men, but rather an honest, genuine, horrible fear that you could be hurt, that someone could’ve taken you and injured you and touched you and possibly even have killed you.

And frankly, the fear isn’t too unfounded – you’ll understand why he's always rushing to you, literally running to catch up with you when you wander away from him, a steady hand pressing into your back as he pulls you into a hug, the faint smell of woodsmoke and musk filling your nose as the hard planes of his chest press against you.

It’s understandable, so you won’t really wonder why he’s always insisting on accompanying you every free moment he has, his presence acting as your shadow but much, much louder. It might make you uncomfortable, sure, because having someone always by your side is a little disorienting and overwhelming at times, but you’ll tolerate it – how can you tell Kyojuro no, anyway?

He’s so radiant when he’s giving you that smile, his eyes sparkling and his hands soft and gentle as he grasps onto yours, telling you that he’s so excited, we must try the new ramen shop down the street! I’ll order your favorite, you needn’t remind me what it is! I think we should share one, and perhaps a second or third…

(It’s probably not worth mentioning to him that you never even told him what your favorite is, he just seemed to know it, a fact that initially unnerved you, but you’ve found that guessing what you’ll like seems to be a talent of his. It’s not, of course, because he’s spent hours talking with any family members or friends of yours to learn every possible scrap of information about you that he can, introducing himself as your fiancé and charming them enough to get even the most sensitive secrets out of them, including your menstrual patterns, your bathing routine, even your temperament as a child because he’s convinced it will give him insight into the temperaments of your future – and inevitable – children together.)

You’ll disregard his penchant for always staying by your side in the beginning, but as time progresses it’ll become more difficult to let his behavior roll off your back.

Accompanying you to the market is fine, but you’ll bite your lip and find the courage to speak up when he ends up straying a good five feet behind you, his bright eyes burning holes into the back of your head as he keeps pace with you.

(When you turn around to ask him why he’s not walking with you, but rather trailing behind you like some sort of stalker, he’ll just laugh and tell you in that familiar, boisterous voice that he can protect you better this way! Besides, the view from this angle is excellent! Dissecting that last comment will only make you more uncomfortable, so you simply nod and keep walking, picking up your pace and desperately wishes you’d be arriving sooner.)

Him wanting to meet all your friends and acquaintances is fine, but when he’s pushing his way into the conversation and snaking an arm around your waist, you’ll feel just as awkward as your companions, disturbed by the casual manner with which Kyojuro handles you.

(This almost always leads to the assumption that the two of you are together, which you’ll frantically shake your head to, spouting some nonsense about being just friends that makes Kyojuro’s brows cock inwards, sending a glance at you with quizzical eyes. Just friends? You are certainly friends, but you’re more than that – friends don’t daydream about each other, and friends certainly don’t spend nights with ragged breaths, bucking hips, and the other’s name slipping from their lips like a prayer.)

He’s just a lot, and while you knew this from the beginning, time will only increase his behavior, pushing him more and more into spending time with you, into writing you letters while he’s away on a mission (they’re mostly detailing how much he misses you, telling you of each object and person that reminded him of you, and while it would be sweet, the sheer volume and frequency of these letters will make you loathed to open them), even into pushing past your boundaries and being much, much too familiar with you.

(You’ll bid him goodnight after he’s walked you home from the meal he insisted you share, but he doesn’t seem to get the hint and instead waltzes straight into your modest home, settling himself at your tableside and beaming at you, telling you to join me, my flame, I wish to hear about your deepest desires! He won’t insist on staying the night, as that would be too inappropriate for a not yet married couple – which he seems to be insinuating the two of you are – and will eventually take his leave, but not before gently grabbing your hand and pressing a kiss against your knuckles that’s much, much too wet, and far too long.)

His clinginess can be suffocating, of course, but once you’re stuck with him, forced to live in the Rengoku estate and call him your husband?

Well, if you thought he was needy before, it’s nothing compared to the way he treats you then – constantly wandering hands (concentrated mostly at your waist, hips, and squeezing your thighs), compliments that toe the line between heartfelt and disturbing (you are so very beautiful, particularly when you’re asleep – did you know that you smell a certain way when you’re unconscious? It’s sweet, like ripe fruit; I wish to smell it at all times), and those eyes always, always focused on you.

Every free moment he has goes into attending to you, whether you want it or not, so don’t even bother trying to get some distance from the Flame Pillar.

He will invade your space and he will not be regretful, his delusions most often barring him from even realizing that you’re uncomfortable.  

He’s simply a man who ardently admires and desires you, and at the end of the day, you can’t even really blame him. Because, as they say, love makes one do crazy things, and he’s certainly, certainly in love with you.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

When it comes to jealousy, Kyojuro is surprisingly relatively unaffected, all things considered.

He’s not someone who’s biting at your heels the moment another man spares you a glance, and while he obviously doesn’t like the way other men interact with you, he’s not nearly as suffocating regarding his possessiveness as some of his fellow Hashira.

He tends to give others the benefit of the doubt, and while he’s still very protective over you and would immediately step in if another man posed a threat to your safety or comfort, he doesn’t automatically assume that any man who interacts with you has nefarious intent.

And so, he doesn’t immediately grow jealous and snarl at any man stupid enough to come within a few feet of you – he’s not as depraved, at least in that sense.

(In others, absolutely, but if Kyojuro has one redeeming quality, it’s his judgement of character.)

However, this isn’t because of some moral high ground the Pillar possesses, or a firm sense of lucidity – in fact, it’s quite the opposite, as his delusions drive most of his indifference regarding other men giving you attention.

He’s so, so confident in the idea that you’re meant for one another that he honestly doesn’t even register that you could interested in another man, that you could be stolen away from him willingly, that you could fall in love with anyone but the Flame Hashira himself.

He just doesn’t get it, and so he isn’t as suffocating as he could be in these situations – no, not by a long shot, something you’re admittedly equal parts lucky and unlucky for.

Because really, while you won’t have to deal with the isolation that comes with extreme levels of possessiveness, being Kyojuro’s darling is certainly not an easy ride – how can it be, when he’s so blatantly unaware of the signs in front of him that a man is coming on to you, that he’s smiling and flirting with you and reaching out to brush the hair away from your eyes while you bashfully grin and laugh at his lame jokes?

How can you not be unsettled with the way he’s so unaffected, always spouting nonsense about how in love you two are, how perfect of a match you are, how no man would ever dare take you away from me – how could anyone break such a real bond of love?

It’s disturbing, and as time passes slowly you’ll come to realize that while he won’t drag you kicking and screaming away from another man trying to get more than familiar with you, the alternative of watching him broadcast what he perceives to be your ‘relationship’ to every stranger who makes eye contact with you will get old very quickly, the feeling of him almost trying to show you off making your skin crawl and a cold sweat break out over your hairline.

Kyojuro isn’t subtle, not in the least, which is why the minute another man approaches you, you should be ready – the embarrassment will be thick, as will the discomfort of everyone involved (except the Hashira himself, of course).

So you might as well stop trying to converse with other people – after all, Kyojuro has no problem acting on his intuition, so won’t you just not give him a reason to be so extravagant? 

The moment the man in the small market stall shoots you a shy smile and approaches you, there’s already a sinking feeling settling in your gut, the knowledge that your self-proclaimed ‘lover’ is only a few stalls down making you bite your lip in anxiety.

He’s polite, by all accounts – full lips a pleasant pink color ask you about your opinion on the newest shipment of melons, the fruit laid out in front of you in a pleasing display. There’s a respectful distance of a few feet between your bodies, and his voice is soft, calming, the complete opposite of the boisterous, loud slayer you’ve come to be so close with. It’s refreshing, and you shoot him a smile as well as you point to a certain melon on the display.

This one looks ripe – you can tell, you know, by the markings on the fruit. The more yellow spots, the better the texture will be.

The man’s still looking at you, but his gaze shifts to the fruit as he nods in agreement. He laughs a bit, then reaches out to pick up the melon. I’ll trust your advice, then.

 The interaction is somewhat short, sweet and innocent, and though you get the feeling that the man finds you attractive (the light blush on his cheeks tells you as much), you don’t feel particularly uncomfortable.

But all too soon the peace of the moment is ending, and a familiar call of your name has your spine stiffening, your throat bobbing as you heavily swallow. The call comes again, and all too soon there’s an unfortunately familiar hand settling on your waist, Kyojuro’s muscular arm wrapping around your body and pulling you flush against his side.

Being so close in public would normally embarrass you, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when you know what’s coming.

My flame, who is this? A friend of yours? Kyojuro asks, and before you can open your mouth to answer, the stranger does.

Oh, um, I’m Takeru.

He’s visibly uncomfortable, and as you try to subtly squirm out of the slayer’s grasp, Kyojuro’s smile only widens.

He nods his head lightly, his smile growing even brighter. A pleasure to meet you, Takeru! I am Kyojuro Rengoku, thank you for helping keep her safe at this busy market place!

The man – Takeru – shifts awkwardly, unsure how to respond to such a strange comment, but it doesn’t seem to stop your unwanted companion.

You see, she has such a habit of wandering away in crowded places, and it makes it hard to keep an eye on her! You’d be amazed at how often I’ve seen her trip and fall in places like these!

 He laughs at that, and you feel a new kind of embarrassment eat away at you. Does he really need to be sharing all this information?

Yes, it’s very crowded, Takeru agrees, and you silently send him a pleading look. He blinks at you, discomfort clearly swimming in the black depths of his dark eyes, and internally you beg Kyojuro to just drag you both away from the stranger.

She can be so forgetful, but that’s the wonderful thing about love! Despite her clumsiness, she is still graceful and elegant to me, and that’s a sign of true love, wouldn’t you agree?

Takeru nods, hesitantly, and you grit your teeth.

Kyojuro sighs dreamily from beside you, squeezing you even tighter against his side. And I do love her, of course! She is my soulmate, the future mother of my children, and every time I gaze at her, my devotion only grows deeper!

You’re visibly embarrassed now, trying to cover your face and desperately willing the interaction to just be over, but Kyojuro doesn’t seem to hear your silent prayers.

He grabs your wrist gently, his lips pressing kisses against the inside of your wrist, and immediately you’re eyes grow wide. Surely he wouldn’t, not in a public setting –

He cuts your thoughts off with a press of his lips against yours, the groan that he releases against you making you shiver in anything but pleasure. Your eyes are still open, and you see Takeru staring with a dropped jaw, evidently shocked at Kyojuro’s blatant display of affection.

Your brows furrow, and as he slips his tongue past your lips, you find yourself only able to focus on the way Kyojuro is growing louder, his groans getting more pronounced as the kiss grows hungrier, more desperate, feeling less like a tender, heartfelt sign of love.

After a good two minutes he finally pulls away, your lips feeling sticky and wet from his saliva. He stares down at you with heady eyes, his tongue licking his lips as he whispers your name under his breath.

You go to say his name, to ask him if you can just leave the market, but he cuts you off with a laugh.

Oh my flame, where did Takeru go? We must have scared him off with our display of passion! My sincere hopes that he’ll one day find a love like ours.

You very much don’t wish that, but as Kyojuro grasps your hand and guides you to the edge of the market place, passing through the spot Takeru had departed from during your sudden and overtly steamy kiss, you’ll find yourself sighing.

The blatant act of romance was unwarranted and unwanted, of course, but somehow your lips are tingling, your heart racing in shamefulness and something else – something that grows stronger and Kyojuro turns to look back at you, a grin stretching across his lips, his cheeks tinted pink as he gazes at you.

It’s wrong and you’ll hate it, every part of you screaming to not be fooled by the boyish look he’s giving you; he’s a slayer, a grown man who very clearly doesn’t understand that you are not future spouses, that you are not in love.

You’ll hate yourself for it, but even as he leads you back to your home, guiding you and not letting your hand go the whole way (even though you you’re very familiar with the route and don’t need his navigational help), you’ll find yourself almost, almost wishing he’d kiss you again – just not in front of a stranger this time.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Because he’s on the more delusional side, Kyojuro’s view of your relationship is warped.

He’s already eager in the context of romantic relationships, but in yours, specifically, he’s rushing through all the steps, too excited to get that gold ring on your finger and his last name replacing yours to really take his time with you.

And this becomes problematic particularly because you will have no idea, at least at first, that the Flame Hashira believes you’re courting one another, that it’s simply a matter of time before you’re keeping his bed warm and nursing his children.

And because of this quick timeline of your relationship, Kyojuro is actually quite quick to propose living together. Of course, it’s a bit taboo to be living under the same roof before you’re wed, but he’s willing to bend the traditional rules a bit if you put up any sort of opposition.

If you decline his blatant requests to live with him, he won’t relent. Initially, he’ll bluntly ask you in the middle of a shared meal if you’d like to move your belongings into the Rengoku mansion - I can have a few servants come to assist in the moving process, if you’d like, and of course I’ll be there to help carry anything heavy!

When you stare at him like he’s grown two heads, he’ll be a little confused, and curiously asks you why you seem to be shocked.

When you honestly respond, at a loss as to why he’s asking you to live with him when you’re very, very firmly just friends, Kyojuro will only laugh in response, his hand coming down to slap his knee because oh, you’re so funny, you sweet, coy little thing.

He’ll drop the subject that day, moving on to ask you about your thoughts about the weather or your favorite color or anything at all, greedy to hear your voice and bask in your attention.

But the next day, when he suddenly pops out of nowhere and accompanies you on your walk into town to buy a few necessities, the question is prompted once more.

I only have two separate futons, but I’m sure we could push them together! Similarly, I only have two blankets, but I’m sure my body heat will keep you warm!

You’ll be confused, giving yourself just a hair more distance between your bodies (he’d gotten very close without you noticing), throwing him a glance and worryingly asking what are you talking about?

He’s so nonchalant when he answers our sleeping arrangements, of course that it makes you wonder if you’ve missed something, if you’re somehow not in the loop because when the fuck did you agree to sleep in the same room as him, much less in such a position where you could feel his body heat?

You’ll negate his questions and try to change the topic once more, but Kyojuro is relentless - everyday there will be a new question of when you’ll inevitably be living together, and with every day he gets more and more restless to finally have you in his arms as he sleeps, to come home to you after long missions, to relish in the sight of you peacefully reading or crafting in the morning sun, wearing his clothing and smelling like him.

He’s a patient man, yes, but even Kyojuro has his limits - and he finally reaches this limit when one day he can’t seem to find you anywhere.

It’s like you’ve disappeared off the face of the Earth - he’d wanted to spend some time with you (really, he’d just finished his allotted training for the day and had been idly daydreaming about holding your hand the whole time, and was now in desperate need of finding you to intertwine your fingers with his), but your home was empty and none of your neighbors seemed to remember seeing you leave.

Immediately worry is eating away at him, because his sole job as your future lover and husband is to keep tabs on you and protect you, and he’d been too busy focusing on himself and getting stronger to fulfill his duty.

He searches for you in all the common spots he knows you visit, and with each empty location his desperation gets a bit more extreme, his panic slowly engulfing him because where the fuck could you be?

Eventually he’s sprinting around the general area you reside in, running mile after mile as his smile slips away and his entire body grows sweaty, his heart racing and even a few tears threatening to well in his eyes because he can’t stomach the thought that you’ve been hurt somehow, that someone has stolen you, that you’re simply gone.

It’s not until the evening that he eventually stumbles upon you, your pretty kimono stained with a bit of dirt as the bottom hem and your shoulders a bit slumped from the heavy bag slung over them, your limbs aching from the long journey it’d taken to visit a friend a few villages over.

He happens to run by you along the path, and immediately he’s stopping and staring, his chest visibly heaving, his eyes wide and vulnerable as he blinks, pinching himself to make sure this is real, that you’re really standing in front of him, that you haven’t been devoured like he’d been imagining.

But all too soon he’s rushing forward, the wind knocked out of your lungs as he tackles you to the ground, clutching you against his chest as he bombards you with questions, slurred and rushed as he asks if you’re okay, are you hurt? Where were you? Why didn’t you tell me you’d be gone today? Did you speak to anyone? Did anyone touch you? Were you scared without me?

He’s speaking so quickly and loudly into your ear that you can’t even get a response in, his voice slightly uneven and betraying the influx of emotion swimming through his chest. He’ll pull back to gaze at you, thumbs brushing over your cheek, before smiling softly and pressing a soft, long kiss to your forehead, whispering to you that you’ll be safe now, my love, forever.

Then it all goes black, and you wake up dressed in a much too nice kimono, sleeping in an ornate room in a futon you don’t recognize, familiar eyes trained on your form as his seated figure watches you slowly wake up beside him. 

As a captor, Kyojuro is mostly just suffocating.

Because he still heavily believes in the delusions he’s been nursing since the beginning of his infatuation with you, he doesn’t see anything wrong with what he’s done. He doesn’t see his relocation of you as kidnapping, nor does he understand why you seem so unhappy to be with him.

It was inevitable that you’d be sharing the same home and bed, didn’t you know?

Why do you seem so surprised when he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you flush against his body, spooning you and sighing your name into your ear with just a bit too much reverence?

Why are you flinching away from him when he pulls you close for a kiss, his calloused fingers gently grasping your chin as he whispers between wet, loud kisses that he loves you, that he’s more in love with you than you could possibly imagine, my flame, you are my light in eternal darkness.

He’s sappy and too much and always hovering around you, his presence smothering you in every sense of the word. He’s clingy and needy, always wanting to be watching you and simply observe you, because even though he now spends nearly every hour of every day he has off in your presence, everything you do is still special to him, interesting and wonderful and important, and he has no sense of boundaries.

He will be standing close to you, practically breathing down your neck. He will ask you all sorts of personal questions, ranging from things like your greatest fears and most embarrassing moments to your menstrual cycle and which spots feel best when you’re touching yourself to the thought of him.

(He assumes you must pleasure yourself while thinking of him, because he does, too, religiously, every night, your pretty face and voice and body at the forefront of his thoughts as he paints his fist white over and over and over.)

He doesn’t see any reason why there should be any sort of barriers between the two of you, because you’re soulmates - made for one another, destined to spend your lives together, your fates irrefutably intertwined and brought together by the unyielding, passionate love you possess for one another.

And, unfortunately, this lack of barriers manifests itself in some pretty undesirable ways - you’ll be sharing one singular toothbrush, for example, Kyojuro insisting that it’s romantic and sweet and becoming of a young couple to share everything with one another, even their saliva.

He’s having the two of you share undergarments; they’re all made of soft, smooth cloth, in a variety of neutral colors that he’ll wear for the day, then shuffle up your legs the next day, smiling and licking his lips because the fabric that spent all day pressed up against him is now pressed up against you.

(And, on days where you’re particularly unlucky, sometimes Kyojuro lets his thoughts run a bit wild once he’s wearing them, his eyes fluttering closed as he imagines you and subtly ruts against his palm as he waits for nightfall in the small village his next mission is in, the time passing slowly until he’s gasping your name and staining the undergarment with wet warmth, already giddy and excited to have you wear them tomorrow, unwashed.)

He’ll even sometimes share food - and not in a sweet, romantic way, but rather in a raw, connected way; he’ll take a bit of food and chew it, then press his lips against yours and push it into your mouth, encouraging you to chew as well, before eventually kissing you once more and swallowing it all himself, his grin nearly blinding because now he’s eaten both the meal and you, or at least a bit of your spit.

He’s just weird, and while he’s constantly showering you in compliments and spoiling you with anything and everything under the sun, it’ll be hard to adjust to this new, strange lifestyle simply because he doesn’t really allow you time to adjust.

He’s expecting everything to be sunshine and roses from the moment you wake up as a freshly kidnapped darling, his expectations high that you’ll be pliant and willing and happy to learn that you’re finally, finally together.

And while it takes a lot of disobedience from you to snap him out of his rose colored view of you, Kyojuro is doing everything in his power to make sure that your relationship is perfect, that he’s taking good care of you and loving you as he should.

Which leads to another important aspect of being his darling - he doesn’t see women is inferior in any way (Shinobu and Mitsuri alone have dispelled that image), but he likes the idea of you being his housewife, fulfilling traditionally feminine duties.

He likes the idea of you taking care of the home, making sure dinner is cooked and served for him in the evening (he’ll often send a crow your way when he’s heading home after missions, just so that you can prepare for his arrival - normally, this means a meal and very little clothing adorning your frame, so that he can feast on your delicious food and then your delicious body), and attending to his every need as he does you.

He likes the idea of you keeping the mansion clean and eagerly awaiting his return home when he’s away, your devotion to him keeping you motivated to make sure everything is perfectly in order for him.

He’s trying for children very, very early on, his thrusts slow, deep and meaningful as he kisses you and promises that this will finally be the load that takes, because the mere idea of you swollen with his child and needing his help to do things even as simple as sitting down makes him giddy and unbearably excited.

And he doesn’t want just one child - oh no, he wants many, as many as you’re willing to give him.

He wants the perfect family with you, and as your captor, he won’t try to hide this wish. You will be made aware that he wants you to dote on him, that he wants you to spread your legs and conceive his child, that he wants you you you.

(He’s discussing potential names with you within the first week of having kidnapped you, his fingers idly tracing over your stomach as he tells you that the first born must be named Shinjuro, then perhaps we’ll have a daughter, and she can be named Hana! But we must also have some named Takeru, Ucharo, Nakagome, Watabe, and of course Shigeru! And after that, if you have any names in mind, we can surely name the following children them!)

 Kyojuro isn’t necessarily bad, per se, as he does genuinely spoil you and give you all the time and attention and physical affection he can, but you’ll feel weighed down, crushed, drowning in the way he always seems to take and take from you.

But eventually, you will grow dependent on him - how can you not? He’s still so sweet with all the compliments he gives you (a little deranged, perhaps, but the sentiment is there), the reverence in his eyes when he gazes at you, the gentleness and eagerness in his touch when he has his hands on you.

He’s complicated, yes, but life with him will be so very simple - just bend to his whims, and perhaps you’ll even enjoy the way he hugs you so tightly it nearly hurts, or how he limits the number of servants who are allowed to speak with you - he just loves you, and is it so wrong to enjoy being loved?

PUNISHMENTS:

As his darling, you’re somewhat lucky that Kyojuro is as delusional as he is, if only because it keeps him mostly blind to any misbehavior and attitude you can throw at him.

Of course, he has his limits, but in general he’s able to write off any snarky comments of yours or slight attempts to put distance between the two of you as you simply you trying to be funny, barking out a laugh and moving even closer to you, pressing into your space even more, making sure there’s not an inch of space between your bodies.

Or, sometimes, he interprets your very blatant rebellions against him as you simply trying to test his resolve – he thinks you’re trying to force him into showing just how deeply he loves you, as if you’re testing just how strong his feelings for you are.

And while he finds this just the slightest bit offensive (you’re doubting his love for you – his passion for you; can you not tell that his heart beats only for you? Can you not see that alongside his duty to the Corp, you’re the reason he breaths, the reason he wakes up in the morning, the reason he’s alive?), it mostly serves as motivation for him to love you harder, to become more expressive with his feelings.

It pushes him to hug you tighter, his fingers nearly leaving bruises with the strength of his grip around you, the hugs going much longer and getting more intimate, if the brush of something big and hard against your thigh is any indication.

It pushes him to compliment you more, the words falling from his lips with such conviction that it’ll almost make you flustered, if the content wasn’t so unnerving.

(There’s lots of you are so beautiful, my flame, but there’s also a lot of you look so peaceful in your sleep, it makes me want to lock you away forever and keep you mine and deep inhales followed by your scent sets me on fire, my love, you don’t know what you do to me.)

He views most of your rebellions as simply you trying to catch his attention, perhaps being a sign that you feel you’re being neglected by all the missions he must leave you and attend to.

And frankly, Kyojuro doesn’t blame you – he wishes he could give you more attention too, because although he feels his job is wildly fulfilling and the morally correct thing to do, a more selfish part of his heart yearns to spend his days with you in his hands instead of his sword, your body curled up against his while he keeps you warm and tells you how deeply he loves you.

And because of all the different avenues he employs to simply disregard any negative behavior from you, punishments with Kyojuro are extremely rare. It takes quite a bit to push him into reality for even a brief moment, to force him to come face to face with the fact that you aren’t happy and that you don’t love him.

He only has a few triggers that can be powerful enough to force him into this mindset – you harming yourself, and you attempting to escape.

When you injure yourself, it’s difficult to rationalize why you would have done that, but he’s normally able to scold you (with condescending words and tone, that same smile stretched across his lips), telling you to be more careful and let me prepare your bath next time, all burns from hot water must be avoided in the future! But you trying to escape is not so easy to twist into a pleasing fantasy of his.

It’s much harder to understand why you’re ceaselessly trying to break open the windows of the estate, to the point where your knuckles bleed and your elbows bruise. It’s harder to understand why you try to work at the lock keeping the main doors sealed, your poor fingernails splitting and aching from all the tugging and pulling.

He’s not sure why you’re going through so much trouble – surely there must be easier ways to get his attention. Surely there must be less painful and pitiful methods to get him fawning over you and proving his dedication to you – so why aren’t you taking them? Why are you choosing this difficult path, one that makes him apprehensive to leave you alone for more than thirty seconds?

(Not that that’s the only reason he’s hesitant to leave you alone – his clinginess and desire for your physical touch is the bulk majority – but it’s still a major player.)

And when he asks you, with his arms wrapped around your abdomen, your own arms flailing and your legs kicking at anything you can reach, your answer will have him pausing for a moment, an unwelcome feeling of reality washing back over him.

Because I hate being here, I want to go home! Please, let me go home!

His spine goes straight at that, his eyes widening ever so slightly, your punches and kicks to his shoulders and thighs doing nothing to faze him. You want… to go home? But aren’t you already home, by his side?

His grip tightens on you, a sort of displeased hum ringing in your ears. He’s carrying you away from the front doors and down the convoluted hallways of the estate, his grip on you never weakening.

Your words repeat over and over in his head, each replay confusing him more and more. You aren’t happy being here? With him? He bites his lip, bright eyes glancing down at you in his arms, with big tears slipping down your cheeks and your shoulders shaking with poorly concealed sobs.

This doesn’t seem like an attempt at gaining his attention – why would you go through such lengths? In all his time of falling in love with you, he’s never known you to be such a good actor.

Your tears look real, as does the sound of your voice when you whisper his name and weakly pound your fist against his chest, begging him to let me go home, I can’t be here any longer, I can’t stand it!

He sets you down onto the bed of the bedroom he’s brought you into – the bedroom where he forces you to sleep beside him, your nightclothes sticking to your skin with the heat that radiates from his body and the sheer proximity his forced cuddling creates.

He’ll watch as you scramble away from him, curling your knees to your chest and looking up at him with such raw, pained eyes, and for a moment it makes Kyojuro’s heart clench, genuine regret rushing through him.

Has he made you this upset? Is he the reason for your anguish? It makes something heavy and uncomfortable settle into his chest, and it’s that driving force that pushes him to come closer to you, matching your every scoot away from him with a step towards you.

Eventually your back hits the wall and he kneels before you, his face mere inches from your own.

Tell me, my flame, why are you so displeased?

 His question makes you gulp, but before you can stop yourself your mouth is already moving, every repressed thought and emotion you’ve felt the last few weeks you’ve been stuck with him finally coming to light.

Because you’re a monster! You’ve kidnapped me and forced me into being your wife, and you have the audacity to ask me why I’m upset? I can’t stay with you, Kyojuro, not here, not anywhere! We aren’t in love – you’re mistaken, I don’t love you and whatever this is, it’s not love, so don’t tell me you love me! Please, just let me return to my home and family, I beg of you.

You cut yourself off with a small sob, and as your eyes flutter closed for a brief moment, your blood runs cold when they reopen.

You’ve never seen Kyojuro look like this – gone is that familiar grin of his, instead replaced with a harsh, straight, tight lipped expression. His eyes no longer hold any of the warmth and adoration he normally gazes at you with – rather, they seem unbearably cold, the heavy weight of his stare making you shrink in on yourself despite your rather brave speech. And something about his presence feels much larger than you’ve ever experienced it – it’s in this moment that you realize just how defined and huge the muscles he’s sporting across his upper and lower body are, the man before you holding more strength in his pinky finger than you in all of your body.

It’s crushing, the sick, horrible feeling that something is terribly wrong making your every hair stand on end, your breath ragged as you wait for his next move. Kyojuro nods slowly, his expression not changing.

I see.

You bite your lip, anxiety making a pit form in your stomach.

You need to be reminded of what’s important, my flame. You’ve become misguided – but don’t fret, I will help guide you back to the path. This will hurt, but with time you’ll understand my actions and perhaps even thank me for them.

His words have red flags raising immediately in your mind, but before you can really even process your own questions, his hand is shooting out grasping on of yours, fingers pressing against the pad of your index finger and pushing pushing pushing –

There’s a sickening crunch noise that fills your ears, and everything feels numb for a moment before white-hot, acute agony rushes through you, your finger already swelling and throbbing from the broken bone now within it.

Kyojuro watches as you sob harder, your eyes red and puffy as you look at him, your gaze weak and, quite frankly, pitiful. He only takes a deep breath, his Adam’s apple bobbing, before moving to the next finger, a matching crunch sound only making you cry harder.

Eventually, each finger on your left hand is broken, his hands already moving to start on your right. He’s quick about each break, not letting the pain linger any longer than absolutely necessary, but it doesn’t matter.

By the time he finishes with your right thumb, you’re nearly numb from the pain, your tears having run dry as you shake and jerk with every hiccup and sob that wracks your frame. The sight hurts Kyojuro, truly – and he’ll tell you as much.

Shh, oh my flame, don’t cry – I know it hurts terribly, but so does my heart. Do you see now? Do you see that I love you? I’m showing you that our love is real and pure – I will nurse you back to your proper health. I will be your hands when you cannot touch, and I will stay at your bedside every free moment to keep you company and ensure a quick recovery. Do you understand now? This is your home – no one can care for you in the way that I can.

His voice is soft, with a certain condescending lilt to it that only makes you dumbly nod, the pain still rendering you numb to your surroundings. And as Kyojuro carefully picks you up once more, moving you to your shared futon and gently tucking you under the covers, he’ll quickly gather some small sticks and medical gauze, wrapping each finger and cooing at you all the while.

And as he places a kiss onto each finger tip once its wrappings are complete, you’ll find yourself considering his words.

The conviction to individually break each finger of your lover is certainly no joke – perhaps he could be correct? Is this love?

Is the way he'll carefully feed you your meals as your wounds heal a sign of his truly undying feelings for you?

Is the way he bathes you (with wandering hands and stuttered breaths) a sign that he does truly care for you?

Is the way he helps you use the restroom without the use of your own hands a sign that he’ll truly stand by your side through darkness and light?

Your brain screams no, every ounce of your independence fighting the stream of questions, but some part of you finds comfort in the notion, in believing Kyojuro when he says that he loves you.

And as the days pass and your injuries slowly heal, your captor’s constant presence by your side helping to keep you clean, healthy and well fed, you’ll find that part of you growing louder and louder, drowning out your mind.

Because really, does it even matter? Kyojuro Rengoku is a man of dedication and unwavering devotion – and if he wants you to love him, isn’t it only a matter of time before he succeeds?

After all, who are you to stand your ground in the face of someone like him?

OVERALL DANGER:

 6/10

Kyojuro isn’t necessarily dangerous, or at least in the sense of being a threat to your life. He’s clingy and needy and out of touch with reality, of course, but he doesn’t enjoy the notion of hurting you. He’s willing to, if it’s his only choice, but you’ll never need to worry that any hidden sadistic tendencies of his will emerge. He’ll never suddenly develop the desire to see you cry, nor will he suddenly discard you should his feelings dissipate.

Once his infatuation begins, Kyojuro is committed to making sure that you stay healthy, happy, and – most importantly – by his side.

He’s convinced that he’s the one that can make you happy, that he can give you the most perfect, loving future, filled with laughter, kisses, stolen touches and even a few children with bright yellow and red hair running around the estate.

He’s convinced that he can make you happy, that he already does make you happy, and it will be extremely difficult to snap him out of this fantasy he’s created for the two of you.

He’s an influential man with extreme importance, and you’d be extremely hard pressed to find anyone who would even believe you if you were to somehow escape him, if you were to somehow catch on to his nefarious intentions before he’s stolen you away.

It’s the combination of being surrounded by death, and a yearning to be happy and build a loving family that pushes him to pursue you, developing a future with you feeling so fucking important that he simply can’t resist the drive to court you, to wed you, to see your gorgeous smile and the pretty golden ring with flames engraved on it around your finger.

He’s simply a man in love, and if that love means his hands on your body, pulling you closer and closer and closer until you can hardly breath, so be it.

It’s only natural for something as powerful as love to create such a strong devotion, and isn’t it oddly romantic, in a way? To know that someone as powerful, important and revered as Kyojuro is in love with little old you?

Doesn’t it make you feel good to know you have the Flame Pillar wrapped around your finger, that he’d get on his knees for you at just the merest flutter of your lashes?

He’s truly in love, so embrace it with open arms – he sure is, and things will be much, much better for you the sooner you accept the love he’s so frantically delivering to you.

[doberbutts]

Tw: sa and racial violence.

I think one of the things that gets overlooked about black men is the sexual violence. This isn’t to say that any woman doesn’t experience this on the day to day, but I was an adult before I heard people talk about how fucked up it is to frame black slaves and servants as having affairs with the slave master or employer. There are so many movies that have a sort of misogyny to them where they make white women out to be a sort of victim when they aren’t.

Idk. It’s not like there aren’t real life examples of black men loving the white women that payed them or owned them, but it’s really fucked up how this narrative plays out.

Oh, yes, and as I've been saying it's absolutely buckwild to me that any and all discussion I've seen about sexual violence perpetrated against black men has exclusively been the discussion of black politics between fellow black people, and usually the work of black feminists.

[insert my favorite reaction image of "bell hooks we're really in it now" that I stole from @ftmtftm ]

Unfortunately it's also rampantly overlooked against black women too- as I said on my oldest and biggest post on this topic, every single one of my black family members has experienced some form of sexual violence except maybe some of those from my generation and their kids. I have to say some because I already know that number is only able to be counted on a single hand. Men and women. Some perpetrated by men. Some perpetrated by women. Some by other black people. Some by nonblack people. But all of them.

I'm the only one out of my siblings that hasn't, and only because I'm not counting a couple incidents because I don't think they're nearly as bad as what my sisters experienced. Even for me... some men, some women. For me, though, entirely nonblack.

Black people remain the most visible - hypervisible, even- racial minority in this country and yet continue to have their stories erased and forcibly made invisible by society at large, who even when forced to look at it still manage to find a way to handwave it into nothing.