#why try and insult something a person has no control over?

[bongsandblushes]

Looking at your blog I can promise that your coworkers know that you’re a misogynist sex freak who has to feel superior to get off and views himself as superior to the women there who would never let you dominant them even if you paid them. (small cock energy that any sub who has self worth can sense from a mile away) your blog is funny though!

Now this gave me a good cackle

Tell me more, I’d love to hear it

[cruel-seduction]

Theodore Nott Headcanons

Warning: This piece contains themes of possessiveness, obsessive behavior, and dark romance undertones. Theodore’s devotion might be overwhelming, intense, and not suited for everyone’s taste. Reader discretion is advised.

(+ Requests are open so if you wanna request something, go ahead)

mdni 18+

Theodore Nott 

6’4 | He’s taller than Mattheo, and yes, he lords it over him (quietly, of course, because Theo is above petty behavior… unless it’s funny).

Lean, but don’t be fooled—this man is cut. He’s that deadly kind of fit where you don’t notice at first because he’s always wearing loose sweaters and looking like a poetry major. But the second the sleeves roll up? Oh. My. God. Veins for DAYS, hands strong enough to snap a wand in half (or your will to argue).

He doesn’t work out. Like, ever. He’s just naturally like this. Probably from lugging around all those dark magic books and the emotional weight of his trauma (we love a man with issues!).

(He could choke you with one hand while quoting Dante and your ghost would thank him. RESPECTFULLY!)

Has that sleepy, “don’t bother me, I’m too cool for this” kind of vibe. Until he’s pissed, and suddenly it’s quiet rage central. A single glare from him could silence an entire Great Hall—and probably has.

His abs? Unfair. They’re there, but in the casual, effortless way that makes you want to cry because why do they look that good without trying? If you’re lucky enough to see him shirtless (bless your soul), you’ll be rethinking your life decisions.

Quidditch player energy without ever actually playing. His thing? Sitting in the stands, sipping black coffee, and judging everyone while looking hot.

"YOU WANNA KNOW IF I’D FOLLOW THEODORE INTO A CURSED FOREST AT MIDNIGHT JUST BECAUSE HE SAID SO??? THE ANSWER IS YES. I’D GO, NO QUESTIONS ASKED."

You think he’s calm and controlled until you see him in a duel, and suddenly he’s throwing hexes like he’s possessed. It’s giving “do-not-poke-the-bear” energy, and it’s hot.

His smirk? Criminal. It’s the kind of smirk that makes you forget how to breathe for a second and then hate yourself because he definitely knows the effect it has on people.

“Mia cara,” he says, and you’re done for. No wand needed. He just obliterated your whole existence.

Theodore Nott | Personality

He’s quiet, but it’s that kind of quiet. The "I could verbally destroy you with a single sentence but choose not to because I have better things to do" kind of quiet.

(WE LOVE A MAN WITH RESTRAINED CHAOS!!! IT’S SO SEXY!!!)

His reputation is split down the middle. People either think he’s the chillest guy in Slytherin or they’re low-key terrified of him. There is no in-between. He doesn’t go out of his way to make people uncomfortable, but if you catch his bad side? RIP to you, my friend.

Very composed most of the time, but don’t mistake that for softness. Theo doesn’t raise his voice; he raises his eyebrow. And somehow, that’s worse.

"You really thought that was a good idea? Cute."

Stone-cold when it comes to confrontations. No yelling, no theatrics—just a quiet menace that makes you wish he’d scream at you instead because this is SO MUCH WORSE.

However, if it’s for his friends? Oh, baby, the gloves come off. Someone messes with Mattheo? He’s done. Someone insults you? They’re not showing up to class tomorrow. He’s terrifyingly efficient when it comes to protecting the people he loves.

Doesn’t talk a lot in fights, but his insults are cutting when they come out. And he does it with a smirk that makes you want to both slap him and kiss him.

"What’s the matter? Spellbook too heavy for you? Or is it just that your brain isn’t working?"

Unlike Mattheo, he doesn’t get in trouble for starting fights. Oh no, Theo’s the one who talks his way out of detention, leaving the professors wondering how they ended up apologizing to him.

Let’s be real, Theo has layers. He’s the kind of guy who looks calm and put together on the outside, but his mind? A mess. Overthinks everything, but you’ll never know it because he’s mastered the art of hiding his emotions. (He’s good at this, but it’s also probably why he sleeps like four hours a night.)

Moody, but in a subtle way. You’ll notice when he’s upset because he’ll get even quieter, or start tapping his fingers on the table. He’s not the type to vent about it—he’ll just say “it’s nothing” while his jaw clenches so hard you swear you hear it crack.

Theo loves order. He’s a perfectionist and gets mildly stressed when things don’t go according to plan. He doesn’t lose his temper, though—he just sighs dramatically and mutters something in Italian like "Per l’amor del cielo..."

(BILINGUAL KINGS ARE UNFAIR. WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE CAN INSULT ME IN TWO LANGUAGES?)

A total academic weapon. Not because he tries super hard, but because he’s just naturally brilliant and does the bare minimum to get top marks. He can explain a spell you’ve been struggling with for days in five seconds flat, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Always looks like he’s in control, but put him in social situations? Total disaster. Theo’s not awkward, but he doesn’t do small talk. Half the time, he just nods politely and hopes whoever’s talking gets the hint.

Has the driest sense of humor. He’ll drop a sarcastic one-liner so deadpan you’re not even sure if he’s joking.

"I think your essay was… bold. Choosing to write it in such a confusing way must’ve been a creative choice."

Drinks coffee like it’s water. Black coffee, of course. None of that sugary stuff, though he secretly loves when you make him try your sweet drink.

Doesn’t like parties but goes because the group makes him. He’s the guy sitting on the couch, watching everyone else make fools of themselves while holding a drink he hasn’t touched. (He’s your ride home because you know he’s always sober enough to apparate responsibly.)

Theodore Nott | Boyfriend

Ah, Theodore Nott, the walking paradox of calculated charm and quiet vulnerability. Having him as your boyfriend is like playing chess against a master—except the stakes are your heart, and he already has you in checkmate before you even realize the game started.

Manipulation, Thy Name is Theo:Theodore isn’t one to beg for your love; oh no, he’s too smooth for that. Instead, he’ll make sure you think choosing him was your idea all along.

He’ll subtly nudge you into needing him.

He anticipates your desires before you even say them aloud:

"Thirsty? I grabbed your favorite drink. Tired? Don’t worry, I already finished that essay you were stressing about."

He’s not loud about his possessiveness, but it’s there. You don’t realize it at first, but suddenly, every other guy who tries to get too close to you is either giving you a wide berth or “just happened” to fail their next exam. Coincidence? With Theo, nothing is a coincidence.

(We love a man who’s low-key terrifying but only in a protective way!)

How He Realized He Was in Love:Theo didn’t believe in love. Love was messy, uncontrollable, and entirely too risky for someone who thrived on precision and control. But then you came along, and everything changed.

It was slow at first. He didn’t notice it happening until one day, you smiled at him across the library, and he felt his carefully constructed walls crack.

And then it hit him.

“Merlin, I’m in love with her.”

Of course, Theo didn’t panic outwardly. No, he spent the next week internally spiraling.

"What does this mean?"

"What if she doesn’t feel the same way?"

"How do I tell her without sounding like an idiot?"

Eventually, he decided that subtlety was overrated. One evening, while you were sitting in his dorm, flipping through one of his books, he just said it.

"I love you."

You froze, unsure if you heard him correctly. He didn’t look away, his intense gaze pinning you in place.

"You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know."

Affection, Theo Style:Theo isn’t flashy or over-the-top, but he’s deeply romantic in his own way.

Words of Praise: He’s a master of compliments that don’t feel like compliments until you think about them later.

"You’re too brilliant for this school, you know that?""How do you manage to look stunning even when you’re furious with me?""You’re the only person who’s ever managed to make me lose focus, mia cara."

Subtle Acts of Service: He’s always doing things for you without making a big deal out of it. Your favorite quill broke? There’s a new one on your desk the next day. You’re stressed about a test? He’ll quiz you until you feel confident (and then reward you with a kiss for every right answer).

The Praise Kink Is Real, Babe:Theo doesn’t just praise you to make you feel good. He needs you to know how much he adores you. Whether it’s your intelligence, your kindness, or just the way you look in his sweater, he’s always quick to remind you of your worth.

"You’re too good for me, you know that?" he murmurs against your ear, his hand resting on your hip. "But don’t think for a second I’ll ever let you go."

(Is it hot in here or is it just Theo?)

The Possessiveness Comes Out in Subtle Ways:

At parties, his hand is always resting somewhere on you—your lower back, your shoulder, your thigh. A quiet signal to everyone else: She’s mine.

If someone flirts with you, he doesn’t cause a scene. Instead, he’ll step in with that dangerously calm demeanor, his words laced with thinly veiled threats.

"I believe you’re in my seat." Translation: Touch her again, and you’ll regret it.

Theodore, the Unexpected Softie:For someone so composed, Theo is surprisingly soft when it’s just the two of you.

He loves curling up with you on the couch, one arm draped over your shoulders while he reads aloud from a book he thinks you’d enjoy.

Sleeps with one hand always touching you—your waist, your hand, your hair. It’s the only time he truly relaxes.

Occasionally whispers “I don’t deserve you” when he thinks you’re asleep.

Having Theo as a boyfriend is a rollercoaster of intensity and tenderness. He’s the type to protect you from the world while also making you feel like you’re the center of his universe. And honestly? We’d ride that roller coaster over and over again.

Theodore Nott | Obsessive Devotion

If Mattheo is chaos in bed, Theodore is calculated destruction. Theo doesn’t rush—no, he takes his time. He knows every move, every word, every touch is designed to drive you absolutely insane.

The Slow Burn King:Theo isn’t just about getting you off; he’s about making you beg. He’s not the type to drag you into the nearest broom closet and go at it like a madman. No, Theo prefers to let the tension build—catching your eye across the library with a smirk, his hand brushing yours during dinner, leaning in close to whisper something sinful in your ear when no one else is looking.

"You’re squirming, mia cara. Tell me, what’s on your mind?"

Possessive but Polished:He loves control—holding you still with a firm grip while his mouth works wonders between your thighs. Theo thrives on the sound of your moans and whimpers, each one a confirmation that you belong to him.

But don’t get it twisted: his possessiveness is refined. He’s not shouting it from the rooftops; instead, he’s branding it into your skin with every kiss, every bite, every low growl of, “Mine.”

(We love a man who can ruin our lives with just one look.)

Praise You Like a Goddess:Theo is the king of praise. He’s not subtle about how much he worships you, and he makes sure you know it.

"You’re so perfect, amore mio. I could stay like this forever, just watching you fall apart for me."

He’ll kiss every inch of your skin like it’s holy ground. He’ll tell you how beautiful you are when you’re flushed, trembling, and completely at his mercy.

And if you praise him back? Game over. Tell him he’s a good boy, and suddenly you’ve unlocked the most obedient, eager-to-please version of Theo. He’ll do anything to hear you say it again.

Control with a Dash of Chaos:Theo’s not loud, but his intensity is deafening. He thrives on being in control, but sometimes he loves to break his own rules. If you push him just enough—maybe tease him in public or drag him into a forbidden situation—he’ll snap in the most delicious way.

"You think you can play games with me? Let me show you how this ends, bella."

Experimentation, but Make It Sophisticated:Theo isn’t one to dive into wild kinks without purpose, but he’s creative when it comes to trying new things.

Silk ties? Check.

Blindfolds? Of course.

Whispering Latin endearments in your ear while he has you completely at his mercy? A standard Tuesday night.

And don’t get me started on the way he uses his fingers—this man could write symphonies with how skillfully he plays your body like an instrument.

Stamina for Days:Don’t let his cool demeanor fool you—Theo can and will go for hours. He has the patience to draw out every moment until you’re gasping and begging for release, and then he’ll do it all over again.

"Oh no, dolcezza. We’re not finished yet. Not until I’ve had my fill of you."

Switch Theo = UNLOCKED:Normally, Theo’s the one in control, but when you take charge? When you straddle his hips, grip his jaw, and order him to behave? He’s putty in your hands.

"Tell me what you want, bella. Anything—it’s yours."

And the best part? He loves it. Watching you take what you want from him, hearing you praise him as he falls apart under your touch—it’s enough to drive him to the brink every single time.

In Private, He’s All Yours:While Theo keeps his emotions tightly guarded in public, behind closed doors, he’s all in. He loves to hold you afterward, running his fingers through your hair and whispering sweet nothings as you both come down from the high.

"You’re everything, you know that? My whole world."

Having Theodore Nott as a lover is like being the muse of a masterpiece—every touch, every word, every moment is designed to make you feel like the most desired person on the planet. And honestly? We’re not complaining

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

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[lordprettyflackotara]

fill the void || fred weasley

SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+

It felt odd in a way, being alone for the first time.

Usually you were surrounded by your fellow Slytherins, the smell of cigarettes and cologne something your nostrils had grown accustomed to. The sound of vicious insults or bitter rants making a nest in your ears. The sight of scowls with liquor in their hands, their knuckles typically bruised and bloody.

But right now, all of that was gone. The air in the courtyard was clean, the breeze blowing past you providing you with the smell of the earth. Your sights were centered on a giant oak tree, as well as the moon that dimly illuminated the area below. It was an odd change, your surroundings being so settled. You couldn’t help but wonder what you would’ve become if you hadn’t been placed in Slytherin. Maybe yellow would’ve suited you better.

It wasn’t that you despised your housemates, even if they were a group of misfit toys. Mattheo protected you, Theo tutored you, Draco was always glued to your side. It wasn’t them that troubled you. It was what wearing the sickening shade of green meant. Submission to the dark lord. Following the ideology of pureblood nonsense. Especially being one of the only prominent girls, there was always the lingering question who’d you marry and reproduce with.

Yuck.

“Am I interrupting?”

You didn’t need to turn around. You’d recognize a Weasley’s voice anywhere. “Unfortunately not,” You admitted. You hated to admit you knew which Weasley twin it was, a lanky Fred Weasley plopping down beside you on the concrete steps. He stretched out his long legs, mere inches separating both of you. “Is there a reason you’re perched out here instead of doing shots with your friends?” Fred asked. How could you explain why? Oh yes, I am having an existential crisis because of the fact my dress is emerald. Want to go inside and split a chocolate frog?

“Where’s your other half? Didnt think you two separated,” You quipped, brushing off his question. Fred took the hint, leaning back on his hands. “Currently snogging Angelina Johnson,” He answered. This caught your attention, your head snapping to look over at him. “The chaser that wiped the floor with Blaise last season?” You asked. Sometimes you forgot how small this dreaded University actually was. Fred nodded, shrugging. “Aggressive on and off the field, just the way George likes em,” He replied.

You snorted. “Ahh yes. Makes sense a Weasley would enjoy being slutted out,” You snickered. It was too easy of a jab. Fred began to man spread, his long legs in your personal bubble. “I wouldn’t be so hasty little serpent. A few of us know how to put a brat in their place,” He smirked. The cocky motherfucker winked, heat dashing across your cheeks. You must be in a different dimension. There’s no bloody way a Weasley made you blush. “You’re cute when you blush,” Fred praised. He couldn’t help but notice how good you looked in the moonlight, the beams highlighting your features.

“Are you complimenting me Weasley?” You questioned. You avoided his gaze, trying to ignore the fact your heart skipped a beat. “Obviously not, i��m flirting with you,” Fred replied, unable to control the smile creeping across his lips. You were just so easy to tease. “What makes you think you can flirt with me?” You asked, turning your head to look over at the ginger. He shrugged, meeting your firey gaze with ease. “Perhaps it’s because we’re in the same boat, sitting out here alone in a bloody courtyard while the yule ball is less than five hundred feet away,” Fred explained. You audibly scoffed. “Weasley’s can’t afford a boat,” You spat.

Fred chuckled at your insult, your venom harmless to him. “Considering you’re out here I think it’s safe to say your boat has sank. Guess we’re on the same island together then,” He replied. You couldn’t help but find his facial expression smug. “Great,” You grumbled. You rested your chin on your knees, contemplating your life decisions. Fred sighed. “Well, if my presence really isn’t that valued i’ll relocate,” He said. He began to rise to his feet, your body doing a one eighty. You didn’t realize your hand was gripping his wrist until it was, desperately holding him in place.

“Sit down Weasley. I-,” You paused, looking up at the ginger. “I’d prefer it if you stayed.”

Fred grinned down at you mischievously, resuming his place beside you. “Figured you’d say that. Just wanted to hear you say it,” He gloated. You slapped his arm. “You’re unbearable. You know that don’t you?” You grumbled. Fred couldn’t help but laugh. Your annoyance was adorable. “You seem to like it,” He replied. You frowned as he stood up in front of you. “Do not,” You argued.

“Do too.”

“Do not!”

Fred extended his hand in front of you. The faint sound of classical music could be heard over the stillness, the wind having faded out. “Care to dance?” He asked. The choice was standing right in front of you, demanding an answer. You could say no and continue moping on the stairs. You could say no and go back inside, all eyes on you once again. Or you could say yes, potentially having a good time with a boy you didn’t belong with. Dancing with a Weasley? Draco would have a field day with this one. But Fred’s hand never looked more appealing than it did in that moment.

Hesitantly you took his hand, allowing him to bring you to your feet. Even in heels he easily towered over you, the ginger not hesitating to bring you close to his chest. “You know you can drop the bad girl act with me, I won’t tell,” Fred said, guiding you back and forth. You were an awkward dancer, despite the endless ballroom dancing classes your parents put you through. “It’s not an act,” You argue. Fred looked down at you, his face painted like he knew you. Like he could see right through your hollow shell.

“Sure it isn’t. And i’m not the best prankster in Hogwarts,” He quipped. You slowly spun you around, giving you time to catch up as you almost tripped in your heels. “You’ve really got quite an ego, don’t you Weasley?” You asked. Fred grinned as he pulled you back close to him. “Thats a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?” He asked. You glared up at him. “I think not,” You argued. Even though your words were laced with venom, you couldn’t deny how much you enjoyed his touch.

So gentle but so assertive, guiding you. Your mind strayed away, imagining him guiding you a different way. Guiding you to take his cock, to ride him until the sun came up. “Hey? Are you listening little serpent?” Fred asked, his voice coming back into frame. You blinked a few times, trying to regain your composure. “Sorry, what?” You asked. Fred slowly guided the dance to a stop, the song ending. You couldn’t help but wish it’d last forever. “I was asking what you’re thinking about,” He said.

You could feel yourself turning red, your filthy thoughts flooding to the forefront of your mind. You felt tongue tied, unable to confess your dirty fantasies. “Ohh, I see,” Fred said. You couldn’t bear to look at him in the eye, embarrassed enough to be in this position. You felt his slender fingers slide under your chin, guiding you to look up at him. You allowed him to guide you, his eyes boring into yours. You liked that, allowing him to guide you. Even if he was supposed to be bad for you, his touch put you on cloud nine.

“Do you like that? When I guide you? Take control?” Fred asked, his voice dropping an octave lower than before. You could’ve dropped to your knees in an instant. “Maybe I do,” You replied, not wanting to cave, not just yet. Fred leaned down further, pressing his lips against yours. His lips were warmer than you thought they’d be, filling the void inside of you. The void that craved approval and validation. His lips provided all of that and more. He guided you towards the giant oak tree, pinning you against it.

The sharp bark scraped at your back, a groan escaping your lips as Fred’s refused to stray from yours. You raked your hands throw his hair, pulling at the roots roughly. Fred whined into your mouth, smirking as he pulled away. “Cute,” He murmured. His eyes flickered behind you, ensuring no one was around. “As much as i’d love to make you squirm, we can’t do much here,” He whispered. You pulled him back to your lips, sliding your tongue into his mouth. You couldn’t get enough, your body craving him.

“That eager, are we?” Fred asked, pulling you back in for another kiss. You gently bit his bottom lip, pulling it towards you. “Fuck me, at the very least Weasley,” You ordered weakly, your body betraying the attempt at dominance you were spewing. Fred grinned mischievously. “Turn around for me pretty girl,” He purred. You did as asked, his large hands pushing you against the tree. You could hear the clinking of his belt, your core throbbing in anticipation.

His large hands pushed up your dress, pulling your panties to the slide. “You’re lucky we’re in the courtyard, otherwise i’d make you beg and scream for me to fuck you,” Fred purred. You felt his tip brush up and down your folds, a moan escaping your lips. One of Fred’s hands flew to your mouth. “Gotta keep quiet little serpent. Dont want anyone to hear you being a whore for a Weasley, do you?” He taunted. He pushed himself inside of you slowly, your body feeling like it may split in two.

“You’re fuckin soaked for me,” Fred mused, placing a sloppy kiss against your shoulder. Your moans were muffled by his hand, your walls struggling to accommodate his size. “I’m bigger than Malfoy aren’t I?” He asked teasingly as he bottomed out inside of you. You grabbed onto his wrist, yanking it away from your mouth. “In your dreams Weasley,” You spat, whimpering as he bucked his hips ever so slightly. Fred began to suck at the side of your neck, harsh enough to leave a hickey. “Dont leave marks on me,” You argued, moaning as he began to thrust into you. Fred released your neck with a pop, satisfied as the skin began to turn purple.

“Whys that? Afraid your boy toys will find out you’ve let me in between your legs?” Fred asked, beginning to pick up the pace. His pace was brutal, his hand flying back over your mouth to muffle your sinful noises. “When they ask tell them. Tell them how I ruined you. How a Gryffindor made you cum in a courtyard like a dog in heat,” Fred huffed. He continued to viciously snap his hips into yours, his cock abusing your g spot with each thrust. You moaned his name into his hand, gripping one of his wrist and the tree for support.

“You’re so fucking tight, so perfect,” Fred groaned into your neck, his breath hot against your skin. He removed his hand from your mouth, his hands taking their rightful place on your hips. “I’m going to make you cum on my cock. You understand me? You’re going make a mess for me,” Fred ordered. His orders were hypnotizing, your legs beginning to shake as he held onto the fabric of your dress. You could feel the knot inside of you tighten, a familiar feeling coming.

“Please make me cum Freddie, fucking please,” You pleaded, your orgasm coming faster than you’d like to admit. Fred chuckled, fucking you mercilessly against the tree. “There she is, there’s my sweet whore. Go on, cum for me,” He panted. You squeezed his wrist tightly as you came, euphoria washing over you as you came on his shaft. Your legs trembled, threatening to give out on you at any moment. You felt Fred’s hips stutter, the ginger pulling out of you.

He guided you onto the ground, your bare knees hitting the dirt below. You stuck out your tongue, allowing Fred to cum inside of your mouth. “Holy shit,” Fred moaned, watching as you swallowed every last top. You both sat there for a moment, your highs subsiding as you soaked in what you had just done.

“Hey y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“You wanna grab a butterbeer sometime?”

“Shut up Weasley.”

[ozzgin]

Its been 6 months😭😭 pleaasseeee make a part 2 of the android x human story im beggingggg😭

-H❤️

Yandere! Android x Reader (II)

Featuring your assigned android partner who is not as devoid of humanity as you originally thought.

Content: female reader, AI yandere, mildly NSFW, based on Caves of Steel

[Part 1] | [More original works]

The case had been solved.

Not only that, but you'd managed to prove that human officers were just as efficient as their robot counterparts. The Commissioner was beyond ecstatic, pacing back and forth in his office and finding new ways to praise your detective skills.

"That'll show those Spacers. They think some glorified tin box can match our skill?"

You frowned at his words and glanced to your side, where the android was sitting. He observed the Commissioner with the same polite smile, no hint of disagreement on his features. Was he not insulted? You questioned him once the formal meeting had finished.

"I have no reason to be offended, (Y/N). It is a personal opinion, and thus I have no control over it."

"So you don't mind people disliking robots to such an extent?"

He pondered your statement.

"I would certainly be upset if it was you who harbored the disdain. The beliefs of other humans hold no meaning to me otherwise."

You couldn't tell if he said it out of politeness, or if he actually meant it. Most likely the former, in order to part on good terms. After all, your partnership has reached its completion. He'd return to the Spacer Colony with his report on human customs, and you'd go back to your regular job.

Except he never left. Days later, he was still sipping on his morning coffee, lounging at your table. You fiddled with your cup in contemplation. Was there anything else left to do?

"When are you leaving, actually?"

The pale man raised his eyebrows in mild surprise.

"Is my presence here of such significant disturbance?"

"What? No!" you swiftly exclaimed, stumbling on your words. His lips widened in yet another cheeky grin. He was teasing you again.

"My assignment on Earth is done, thus I should have returned to the Colony already. That's what you're wondering about, yes? I am awaiting a response from my superiors."

"Whether you can go back?"

"No, whether my transfer has been accepted. I have applied to be your permanent partner."

You could feel your cheeks burning with heat. Was it that obvious to the synthetic that you enjoyed his company? Then again, he wouldn't have gone through such motions just for your sake.

"Why did you..." you probed sheepishly. There was no logical reason for him to keep working in a poorer, less advanced environment.

"Because I want to continue spending time with you."

Nonsense. An artificial being wouldn't make its decision based on such mundane, emotional reasons.

"I don't believe you."

"I understand. It is a faulty answer to come out of a machine. Though unlike common AI assistants, we have been invested with the capacity to develop likes and dislikes. Interests. Wants. It helps with variety and individualization."

"And you want to stay here? If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you have a crush on me or something", you attempted to joke.

A few moments of uncomfortable silence. Had you gone too far with your humor? Was it too cliché of a sentence? You turned away, tucking some strands of hair behind your ear. You just had to be witty, huh?

"I'm afraid I do not know what to tell you, (Y/N)."

"You don't need to say anything, it was a poor choice of-"

"Many social aspects have been implemented into my behavioral network. Workplace rapport, friendships, intimate relationships. What seems to be lacking is the transition from one to another. I know how to act as a romantic partner, but how does one achieve such a title in the first place?"

You gazed at him, incredulous. What was he trying to say?

"I am trying to convey that I am indeed infatuated with you. Which, then, makes my initial explanation dishonest: while I do appreciate our fruitful work cooperation, it is not a main reason for my decision. I hope this clears up any misunderstandings."

You'd never been a romantic. You sometimes flipped through sample pages of contemporary romance books at stores and community centers, but they always felt forcefully cheesy. Predictable. Consequently, you never had any grand dreams of passionate confessions under the rain.

On the other hand, you also didn't expect to be asked out in such a mechanical, calculated manner. Or that a machine would be the suitor. Yet there was something charming about his approach. For the first time since meeting him at the border, you saw him struggle. There was something human-like in his uncertainty.

You stood up from the table, and walked towards the android. Then, you placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, expressing the mutual feeling and understanding.

His eyes bore an eerie glint to them. It was most kind of you to offer a common ground, but he knew better. The affections you held for him were, with utmost certainty, a mere fraction of whatever overwhelmed him from the moment he encountered you. Limerence, obsession, compulsion, there were many definitions that aptly described his otherwise unexplainable desires towards you. Even more unexplainable was the fact they'd evolved from a blank slate, a programmed agent with no previous knowledge on feelings or humans.

You noticed his hesitation.

"Is there anything else troubling you presently?" you nudged.

Nothing of immediate urgency. Well, not for you, at least. The android remained thoughtful. What were the variables which needed to be met in order to initiate a sexual encounter? Would it have been inappropriate for him to suggest intercourse straight after this conversation? To him, it was a natural escalation he'd considered many times in the past. To you, it could've come as a sudden, crass, and hurried proposal.

He reached for your wrist and discreetly pressed a thumb against your skin. Judging from your resting heart rate, facial expression, and localized temperature, there was a fair chance you wouldn't reject his advances. Once the statistical risk had been assessed, he pulled you in for a kiss.

"Would it be possible to continue this in your bedroom?" he inquired, standing up.

"Alright, just don't...ask for approval for every single step" you retorted. You'd rather not become a narrator of your own pounding.

You open your eyes with a squint, greeted by unexpected natural light flooding your bedroom. Someone must’ve lifted the hologram blinds.

“My apologies, I hadn’t considered the discomfort it would cause you. My Spacer colony uses artificial lightning, though I am becoming rather fond of the natural sun rays here.”

Your android partner is meticulously preparing his outfit for the day. Judging by the stark nakedness and the glistening skin, you suppose he’s had a shower while you were still sleeping. You involuntarily furrow your brows and blush at the sight. He notices your embarrassment. 

“A most surprising reaction. You have seen the very same genital organ…”, he says as he quickly checks his wristwatch, “...precisely eight hours and forty-five minutes ago.”

“It’s just…most people get dressed once they start doing other things. I also wear a towel for coverage when I come out of the shower.”

He processes your words.

“Hmmm. Illogical, but it explains your reaction.”

You stand up and stretch with a prolonged yawn. Suddenly, a revelation hits you: your mind flashes with images of the android fondling your body, your ears ring with the shameless moans you’ve let out throughout the night. Your face turns pale.

“Listen, when is your next functional inspection?” you ask, without waiting for the synthetic to answer. “Will they, uh…will they have access to all of your memories?”

You know that the android permanently records all data and saves it into a memory unit. It’s a pointless fear, of course. The Spacers couldn’t care less about irrelevant details. If the intended tasks are fulfilled, what happens on the side is out of their concern. Yet you don’t exactly appreciate the possibility of your personal deeds airing like this, before the eyes of multiple engineers. 

“You may rest assured, whatever involves your privacy will not be included in the examination.”

“Do you get to decide what is checked and what isn’t?”

“No, most data is sampled randomly.”

You stare at him, confused.

“Then how-”

“It is not common practice, nor encouraged by our code of ethics. I can, however, choose which information is available to begin with.”

“What? I thought you’re fully controlled by whoever created you. If they so desired, couldn’t they open you up and take whatever they require?”

The robot smiles at your assumption and takes a few steps towards you.

“Once an android model is finished, one can no longer modify the processor. Not without compromising everything else with it. It is not a device to be deconstructed, (Y/N).” He taps his temple, then continues: “I am a biocomputer. While most of my parts are mechanical, my processor is a cortical organoid developed in a laboratory. A human brain, if you will.”

Somehow, the discovery fills you with dread. A living organ, encapsulated within a machine. What does that say about consciousness? About self-awareness? The Spacers didn't just tinker with metal scraps and smart computers. They artificially birthed life.

You were always under the impression that your robot companion is closer to the computer you have on your desk. Billions of lines of code within a black box, which then lead to spontaneous, novel interactions with the outside world. To think that at the very core of his functions lies a clump of living cells...

Perhaps you weren't so different, after all. The line between machines and humans is suddenly blurred.

[cherrybomb107]

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: forgiveness, or the way it’s often presented, is harmful. That’s one more gripe I have with season two. The way it frames “forgiveness”(the idea that you are obligated to forgive someone lest you be “just as bad as they are” is problematic.)

Because for one, having Jinx apologize for killing Caitlyn’s mom and vow to stop the “cycle of violence” doesn’t make any sense. One, that’s just not something Jinx would ever say. Two, the idea that Jinx killing some Councilors is anywhere near the same thing as Caitlyn becoming a dictator is laughable at best, and insulting to my intelligence at worst. Three, Caitlyn never apologizes or faces any meaningful consequences for her actions! Losing an eye was nothing! She should’ve lost a hand at least and we should’ve seen her reflect on her actions and pledge to do better for Zaun!!! Not just fuck off and ride off into the sunset after everything she did! And lastly, the “cycle of violence” literally isn’t a cycle, it’s just one city oppressing the other for centuries and the other city deciding to fight back! This “cycle” doesn’t begin and end with Jinx and her attack on the Council, so framing it like Jinx is the one who has to take sole responsibility for fixing everything is nonsense.

“But Arcane was never about heroes and villains, everything is morally gray!” You sound dumb. This is obviously a story with overt themes of oppression and revolution. I’m not here to critique morality, I’m here to critique its framing. Why are certain characters “justified” in their heinous actions but others don’t get that luxury? That’s what I’m talking about. Moving on, the problem with “forgiveness” implies that it’s necessary, and the way people conflate forgiveness with letting someone have access to you after everything they did is the problem. You don’t have to forgive someone if you don’t want to. That doesn’t make you “bitter” nor does it mean you’re “holding a grudge”. There is a difference between forgiving someone and just removing yourself from the situation and becoming detached, imo. That’s what should’ve been done with Caitlyn and Jinx. No one in Zaun should’ve been shown dying for their oppressors because “teamwork” nor should Sevika have been shoved on the Council to push this idea of “unity”. Why would Sevika, a Zaunite who has never had and never will have any love for Piltover, be forced to cozy up with the Council? Why is the onus on her, as an oppressed person, to make nice with her oppressors? Why does the institution of Piltover, and people like Caitlyn who uphold that institution and wreak havoc on the underclass of Zaun, never have to answer for their crimes?

Answer: Because they(the writers) want to convince us that Jinx and Caitlyn, and by extension, Piltover and Zaun are “just as bad” as each other, and that both sides need to work together to heal. Only problem with that is, the Piltover/Zaun conflict was not presented that way in season one. I’m sure the writers want us to think it’s one city vs another, when that’s not the case at all. In reality, it’s one city OVER the other, and now they’re trying to convince us “both sides are bad”. While it’s true that there ARE problems on both sides, the problems in Zaun literally wouldn’t be problems if Piltover wasn’t an oppressive institution. Why were the chem barons able to amass power? Because the systems Piltover set up left Zaun behind and allowed power hungry people like Finn, Margo, Chross, and Smeech seize their opportunities for control. Why is there so much crime in Zaun? Again, because of Piltover. The class disparity that Piltover set up means the economic divide between the two cities is a chasm that grows wider and wider every day. People are forced to steal to eat. They join gangs out of necessity, not because they have to. Why did Jinx kill all those enforcers?

That shouldn’t be the question. The real question is: Why does “Jinx”(as in, the persona Powder adopted to feel strong) even exist? Answer, once again, because of Piltover! Jinx is an oppressed person with severe mental health and self esteem issues that have been exacerbated as a result of the crooked system of Piltover. She saw her parents get killed by enforcers(militarized police force that carries out the will of the powers that be and is responsible for harassing, brutalizing, and over policing Zaun) right in front of her before she was even in the double digits. She was then adopted by Vander, but she had to struggle her whole life. Zaun doesn’t even have air to BREATHE unless Piltover decides they deserve it. And thanks to Caitlyn, we get to see how even THAT gets weaponized when Zaun steps out of line. So if they don’t have access to clean air, it’s safe to say that they also don’t have access to the same quality food, water, shelter, clothing, economic, educational, or medical services that Piltovans do, just by virtue of living in Zaun. So you take a severely mentally ill little girl, systematically oppress her, and then clutch your pearls when she becomes violent and lashes out? Label her a “psycho” and a “monster” for killing cops, gang members, and politicians while Caitlyn gets a happily ever after after everything she did? I thought “both sides” were “just as bad”. So why is Jinx the only one who meaningfully suffers? Why does Zaun as a whole always have to pay the price?

Lack of commitment. “Terrorist” is a loaded word that’s been weaponized against marginalized people for ages now. It’s another one to add to the list: angry, crazy, mad, belligerent, monster, savage, animal, etc. All these dehumanizing words are leveled at folks who get tired of taking shit lying down. I’ve never thought that Jinx was a “monster” for killing cops, Councilors, or politicians. Never will. But the show clearly WANTS me to, as well as simultaneously wanting to see Caitlyn’s actions a certain way. I’ve already made a post about why comparing or trying to equalize Caitlyn’s actions and Jinx’s actions is disingenuous and intellectually dishonest imo. Think of it like a bully vs bullied type of thing. There’s this kid and his asshole friends who gets to bully you for weeks, months, or even years and face no repercussions. Then, one day you get fed up, and start fighting back. Whether that be with words, feet, fists, or what have you. If you go down, you go down swinging. When the dust settles, BOTH of y’all are getting disciplined(detention, suspended, expelled, not allowed to go on trips, etc) for “fighting”. And there’s a very good chance one of you will be punished much more harshly than the other. Even though you started fighting back. BACK being the operative word. Every single time this kid pushed, hit, kicked, punched, started rumors about, and isolated you, nothing was done. The one time you start fighting BACK, both of y’all get in trouble because the school has a “zero tolerance policy”.

But you know that’s not true. It can’t be. You’ve been telling the teachers, guidance counselors, and vice principal about what’s been going on. But nothing was done about it. Or if it was, you were the one who was told to move seats. Or switch to a different classroom. Or just ignore them. Or “maybe they’re lashing out cause they have problems going on at home.” It was nothing but excuses when you were getting pushed around. Now when you fight back it’s a problem. Now take that metaphor and apply it to Caitlyn and Jinx. Caitlyn is like that fat rich asshole with parents on the PTA who make hefty donations to the school. Jinx is like the scrawny little nobody who has no one to stick up for them. Piltover is the school system. Caitlyn’s privilege isolated her from any meaningful consequences, while Jinx’s lack of privilege guaranteed she’d face hefty consequences, much more than Caitlyn ever would.

Jinx has lost: her birth parents as a result of state sanctioned violence, her adoptive brothers, her sister, her best friend, her adoptive father, Silco, her sister again, her adoptive father again, her new friend, her sense of self, her life(possibly) and she has to deal with being an oppressed person who struggles with mental health issues on top of all that. Caitlyn has lost: her mother, and her eye. That’s it. She’s never forced to give anything up. She never had to reckon with the reality of what it means to be not just a Piltie, but a Kiramman, and a dictator on top of that. We never see her be genuinely remorseful about her horrible actions in Zaun. Nor does she try to apologize to the people in Zaun or meaningfully make amends. No, Caitlyn gets to live in that big shiny house of hers with her father and girlfriend and the months she spent co-signing martial law will never be addressed. To bring it back to the bully vs bullied comparison, this means that Jinx would have been expelled for fighting back, while Caitlyn gets ISS(in school suspension). “Both sides are bad” yeah well you clearly believe one side is worse! And it’s not the correct one!

Piltover is an oppressive, classist, ableist, and brutal institution. Caitlyn was the head of this institution for months after she experienced a fraction of what Zaunites have experienced for centuries. At the end of the day, Caitlyn’s actions were brushed aside and she got her happy ending, though it wasn’t deserved whatsoever. Meanwhile Jinx, Sevika, Ekko, Isha, countless other Zaunites, and Zaun as a whole did nothing but suffer their whole lives and now they have nothing to show for it. “Both sides are bad” but the bad that the institution is responsible for is never called out, while the bad that the oppressed people did is blown out of proportion and they are severely punished for it.

And yes, I know I’m talking about a mainstream television show with white/non black people in the writers room. I knew I was never gonna get the pro revolution story I wanted to see, and I’ve made peace with that. But, if they wanted to have a “both sides” narrative so bad, then they should’ve stuck with it. BOTH SIDES should have equally suffered and had to reckon with their wrongdoings. The responsibility for doing so shouldn’t have solely been on the shoulders of the minority group. THAT’S the crux of the issue. I was always gonna think “forgiveness” was the coward’s way out. But they never show Piltover apologizing. Only Zaun does, and that’s not right.

[biceratops7]

I’m gonna SCREAM-

We’ve already established as a fandom that Metatron could teach a masterclass on gas lighting, but I wanna talk about how he specifically validates the things Aziraphale cares for while simultaneously devaluing them under the surface.

First off, this moment?

Tells us everything we need to know. It sets the scene for exactly the games Metatron is playing. He makes Muriel feel important while openly insulting them (flat out calling them stupid), aka seamlessly reinforcing the idea that they’re less than to both them and anyone else in the room. He knows he can get away with this easily, he knows that Muriel, lonely, overlooked little Muriel, will be completely distracted by the fact that someone so important is taking an interest in them.

This is already horribly clever, but then later on you realize it’s doing even MORE heavy lifting when he appoints Muriel to run the bookshop. “See? What’s important to you is what’s important to me! I’ve graciously taken the time to ensure your beloved shop is looked after by Muriel. You know, the dim one!” …let’s suffice it to say he’s ensnared too birds with one net for this one, and that a pattern is already starting to arise.

So when Metatron says Gabriel came to Aziraphale because he’s a “natural leader” and “doesn’t just tell people what they wanna hear”? Yah he’s full of shit. Aziraphale struggles with his sense of purpose when he doesn’t have someone or something guiding him, and for thousands of years he’s been terrified of sharing his true feelings and opinions to 90% of people he’s known. Completely just trying to butter him up. Wanna know the real reason Gabriel seeks asylum with Aziraphale?

Exactly this. Gabriel just says so point blank. It’s not because Aziraphale is this person for him, it’s because despite knowing nothing, he has this instinct that Aziraphale is the only one who can possibly understand why Gabriel did what he did. He is, I mean as far as we know, the only other angel who has fallen in love. (In general, let alone with a demon.)

But nope, can’t have that. We can throw the promise of restoring Crowley in the mix to sweeten the pot, but we can’t acknowledge why he’d want that so badly in the first place. So now it’s cause they work so well together. We can praise the angel for the fallen archangel Gabriel himself coming to him protection and guidance, give him a gold star. But we couldn’t DARE imply that it was by virtue of Aziraphale’s courage to choose earthly love over heavenly. How Gabriel didn’t need a leader, but a friend who’s truly known the joys of adoring that “particular person” and the pain of needing to hide it.

Cause then Aziraphale would start getting crazy ideas, like that his silly little human feelings have a great deal of worth. That they have the power to inspire, form cracks in the institution, fundamentally weaken what has controlled and harmed him. We wouldn’t want him to know the true value of the cards he holds when he has the ace in a match against you, now would we? After all…

Metatron uses this ingeniously sinister tactic of taking away Aziraphale’s choice while giving the illusion that he’s actually opening up doors. Notice how he tells Aziraphale he would have the authority to do something as extraordinary as turn a demon into an angel, yet he never once puts the much simpler alternative of just working with a demon on the table? The sleight of hand here is that he’s being offered the opportunity to freely be with Crowley… but he’s already freely with him as is, no bargain to be made. In fact he fought to be. Metatron disappears this accomplishment right before our eyes, while seamlessly maintaining the illusion to Aziraphale that he (Zira) is in control.

He sets Aziraphale up for failure by only providing the option he knows Crowley will not only decline but be deeply hurt by. It’s all so cleverly planned. Once this plays out exactly how he wants, he delivers the finishing blow by diminishing Crowley and his “damned fool questions”. Suddenly doing a complete 180 and emphasizing how foolish and troublesome he is. Metatron was offering Crowley by Aziraphale’s side as The Carrot. Now he’s telling Aziraphale it was stupid of him to want The Carrot, un-heavenly.

Aziraphale’s life, love, happiness, it’s all not only a massive inconvenience for Metatron but a liability. He has successfully taken a weapon from Aziraphale’s hands he didn’t even know he had. Metatron sees the writing on the wall, and he wants it contained.

[totheankles]

never quite free | shouei barou

⋆˙⟡♡ wc: 3.9k

⋆˙⟡♡ tags: gn reader, childhood friends, so much pining, barou is a softie for his person, barou-centric, reader is drunk, one (1) instance of vomit

⋆˙⟡♡ a/n: i love when mean, loud characters are softies for their person. so i wrote 3.9k words about it with the mean, loud man that has been haunting my every thought. enjoy!

at the wise age of seven, after just witnessing you punch a boy in the face for insulting your sidewalk chalk art, shouei barou made you a promise: he will always be there for you. he swore that day, crossed his heart and hoped he’d die if he ever failed you (far too serious for a seven year old, but he has always taken his promises very seriously), he will drop everything to help you.

“but why?” you had asked, and grabbed your chalk to resume your drawing.

he crouched down next to you to get a better look at what you had done so far, red eyes tracing over the rainbow you were trying to perfect. “you’re too pretty to be punching anyone.”

and, to seven year old shouei’s credit, he’s consistently kept his promise over the years. even after your parent’s split and you were allowed to be neighbors every other weekend. even after high school finally separated you two and he could only walk you halfway to campus before your routes diverged (he would always carry your bags for you until that point). even during the blue lock program when talking to you was a privilege he had to earn rather than something he did every single day. and now, as a professional athlete with an obnoxiously busy schedule, shouei is always there for you, sponge and wet wipe in hand, ready to clean whatever mess you’ve inevitably made.

which is why, at two o’clock in the morning, after too many drinks at a bar you’ve never been inside of before, it feels like second nature to call him.

alongside with keeping his promises, shouei also keeps a very strict routine. so when his cell phone starts trilling at an ungodly hour, his first instinct is to curse out whoever thinks it’s a bright idea to disrupt his sleep during his off-season. but once the cobwebs of sleep clear from his brain, he realizes there’s only one person who can bypass the do not disturb mode on his phone: you. he’s swiping his thumb across the screen in a heartbeat.

there’s a thump of some sort of bass music in the background of the call, several different conversations muddled together to create a white noise effect, and then your voice breaks through it all, a bit slurred but still carrying a familiar soft quality to it.

“shou-kun,” you breathe into the line, and shouei is up and putting pants on.

“where are you?” his voice isn’t unkind, but the gruffness of sleep is still thick and causes him to sound more irritated than he actually is.

you give him the name of the bar you’ve found yourself in, and shouei is punching in the address on his phone’s gps as he’s sliding a shirt over his torso.

“stay on the phone with me?” you ask, and he can hear the pout on your lips.

he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. “yeah, sure, but go somewhere quieter. loud as shit and i’m still waking up.”

you sound a bit more sober as you reply, “‘m sorry, shou-kun. i can ask someone—”

“don’t be. i’m getting my shoes on. keep talking to me.”

it takes every ounce of self control to obey the traffic laws on his drive to the bar. logically, he knows you’re okay. you’re babbling on about the intricacies of a sourdough starter (“is it even worth all of that effort?” “i’ll make you a loaf and then you can tell me if it is.”), and sipping on some water (bottled of course, and he made you watch the bartender hand it to you). you seem to be your usual, bubbly self, even if you’re refusing to tell him why you’re out so late to begin with. but still… his overprotective streak has been going strong for nearly two decades, and he won’t feel satisfied until you’re in the passenger seat of his car, buckled in and safe.

the bar is as sleazy as it sounded over the phone—drunk people hanging around outside smoking, the thump of the base-heavy music rattling outside, flashes of lights streaming through the frosted windows. definitely not your typical scene. but then again, this entire night isn’t very typical for you. you have never been one to drink excessively, let alone at bar you’ve never been to before, so to have to navigate through an intoxicated crowd to find you is something shouei doesn’t have much experience in. a few faces flicker with blurry recognition, and shouei ducks out of their line of sight before a conversation he really doesn’t feel like having begins.

shouei’s irritation level does significantly decrease when he finally spots you sitting at a table all by yourself, water bottle halfway emptied, your brow furrowed in a way that lets him know your thoughts are heavy. the outfit you’re wearing suggests you had intentions of someone seeing you in it, rather than sulking at a bar surrounded by strangers too drunk to recognize their own reflection. acidic jealously churns shouei’s stomach, ugly green and caustic and deadly to nearby organs. he tries his best to ignore it. now isn’t the time for his ego. his top priority is getting you out of this sorry excuse of a bar and to safety.

the way your eyes light up upon seeing him make his guts churn even more for an entirely different reason.

“shou-kun.” you breathe out his name like a sigh of relief, like even just saying it brings you comfort. this time, his heart flutters, and it irritates him even more.

your name rolls off his tongue gruffly, and he’s reaching over to pull you near him. “what are you doing here?” he asks over the loud music as he acts as a shield through the crowd of intoxicated partygoers. “do you know what time it is?”

your hand reflexively wraps around his, and it’s almost like you’re kids again—shouei acting as your personal bodyguard as you allow him to pull you along through anything. he’s always been so good at protecting you. two decades later, and his promise is still in tact. shouei might be the most stable thing in your life, and that thought alone has tears springing up to your eyes. you continue on, gaze glued to your intertwined hands and how shouei holds yours as if it’s something precious to him, as if it’s worth the patience he’s always showing you.

the night air is crisp and fresh compared to the damp, alcohol-soaked air of the club, and it helps sober you up enough to realize you’re more than likely going to vomit tonight. wonderful.

shouei gets you buckled into the passenger seat of his car, ruby gaze scanning your body to make sure you’re fastened up to par with his impossible standards, fingers fiddling with the seatbelt.

you put your hand over his, and when his eyes flicker up to meet yours, the heaviness of them nearly knock the wind out of you. “shou-kun, i’m all buckled in. can we go home now?” your voice is barely above a whisper, and that only makes his brow furrow. he shuts the passenger door and makes his way over to the driver’s side nonetheless, and begins the drive back to his apartment.

home for him is different from home for you. home for him is a humble two-bedroom apartment located downtown, one room dedicated to workout equipment to keep him in shape during his off season without the hassle of a public gym, the other room is master bedroom that no one but him have really laid eyes on. and for you, home is shouei, and not the four-bedroom house you found on craig’s list filled with strangers.

which is why he knows to drive to his apartment with no questions asked. like hell he’s going to trust your housemates to take care of you.

“what were you doing there?” he asks after the silence between you two stretches on for too long.

you’re resting your forehead against the cool window glass to help ease the throbbing behind your eyes. “date blew me off, so i went to the nearest bar.”

he knew it. taut skin stretches over his knuckles as his grip on the steering wheel tightens. “yeah, well, they’re a fucking idiot for ditching you. and you’re an idiot for getting so drunk without anyone there with you.”

“‘m sorry.”

“you’re gonna be more sorry tomorrow when you wake up with a killer hangover.”

the rest of the car ride is quiet, save for the music you decide to flip on to drown out your self-loathing thoughts. shouei isn’t much of a music person, but he is thankful for gorillaz for keeping his mind too busy to think about what sort of person you were dressed up for. it must still be on your playlist. you’re the only person who really gets in his car, after all, save for his sisters whenever they need a ride from him. but even they don’t get radio privileges. that’s saved solely for you.

while 2d goes on singing about rhinestone eyes, you watch the way the street lights flicker over shouei’s face. his hair is down, a rare sight but a welcomed one, and the bags under his eyes are more prominent than usual, indicating he really did fly out of bed to come swooping you away like some knight in jeans and a turtleneck sweater. his jaw ticks, and you wish you could kiss it.

“you okay?” he asks you, pulls you out of your drunken-trance.

you hum a response, and press your forehead against the glass once again, eyes closed but the image of kissing shouei’s jaw still plays behind them.

the car comes to a gentle stop before you can doze off, and shouei is climbing out of the driver seat to open your door and help you out. he’s careful to tap on the glass to rouse you, and when you slowly blink your eyes open to look up at him, his lungs seizes in his chest and his feet are glued to the cement. though you’re very obviously drunk, unbridled trust and love is written openly all over your face in a way that makes the world feels a little wobbly. your eyes are still on him as you unbuckle yourself, and shouei thinks his heart might just explode in between his ribs, the ribbons of it hanging off of the latter on bones and fluttering down to his intestines. he moves out of your way to allow you to open the car door, but he’s quick to grab your elbow to stabilize you as you sway a bit.

“i’ve got you,” he murmurs, and your smile is nothing short of a sun. he fears he may go blind if he isn’t careful. he isn’t sure if he cares, since he’s always wanted your smile to be the last thing he sees anyway.

when walking proves to be a difficult task for you, shouei scoops you up bridal style, and it’s unfair how natural it all feels to him. taking care of you, muttering words of encouragement, feeling you tucked under his chin and curled into his chest, all while you’re dressed to meet someone else. someone that was probably easier to digest than shouei, less egotistical, home often enough to establish a day-to-day routine with you. someone that you don’t have to warn your other friends about preemptively.

shouei has never worried about what other people think of him, can’t find it in himself to feel insecure. a king doesn’t bother himself with a peasant’s thoughts. he does, however, worry about where he fits in your life now that he’s a pro athlete and you’re still trying to find your footing. no one can ever replace him, he knows this. there will always be a spot for shouei in your life. how big that spot is, is what sometimes keeps him up at night, especially now that’s he’s recently come to terms with the fact that he’s in love with you. has been for the last two decades.

light snores leave your mouth as shouei places you down on his bed, trash can set up for when you inevitably vomit, and he’s just beginning to take off your shoes when you begin to stir again.

“go back to sleep,” he gently commands. “you’re going to feel awful in the morning.”

you pout at him. “room’s spinning.”

“i know. that’s why there’s a garbage can next to you.”

“oh thank god—”

and before he can get your other shoe off, you’re leaning over the side of the bed and emptying the contents of your stomach into the bin. shouei moves to rub your back soothingly, nose scrunched as you retch. once your head pops back up, shouei rearranges the pillows and blankets so you’re tucked in snugly, careful to not move you around too much and risk upsetting your stomach again. he stops when he feels your hand resting on his cheek.

“you’re a good man, shou-kun,” you state with a dopey smile on your face. “always taking care of me. even when i probably don’t deserve it.”

“don’t start that self-pity bullshit now,” he replies gruffly, but his eyes a soft pools of ruby. he’s always been soft for you. always will be. “i made you a promise, didn’t i?”

“yeah, when we were seven.”

“and that hasn’t changed. i’m still here.”

your thumb moves from the apple of his cheek to his bottom lip, languidly tracing it, tugging it down to see the teeth that he takes such good care of despite how much his career threatens to knock them out, rows of ivory encased by pretty pink gums. and shouei allows you to, ruby gaze boring into you, trying to gauge where the boundary line is and how solid it is. he would never, ever take advantage of anyone in this state, especially not you, but he does wonder if alcohol has made you uncover some dormant feelings. if you’re thinking about kissing him the very same way he’s been thinking about kissing you ever since your second year of middle school when he watched you punch a boy for calling him a jerk. only shouei would find such an act of violence romantic. everything between you two started with a punch, after all.

“‘s not fair,” you pout, thumb resting on the corner of his mouth.

“what isn’t?”

you purse your lips, as if trying to find the right words. “you’re so pretty. when did you get so pretty?”

he rolls his eyes. “i look the same as i always have. just taller.”

“mm, no.” your other hand comes up to brush his hair back, and his lungs swell until they’re pressing against his ribs. “you’re pretty, shou-kun. and kind. and sweet. and stubborn. and ambitious. and hardworking. so why?”

“why what?”

“why aren’t you with anyone?” when your eyes fall back down to his, shouei feels his chest crack, his heart flayed open and put on display, a pathetic art piece dedicated to you. the world tilts on its axis, and shouei barou has never felt more exposed than he does now under your drunken gaze and steady hands.

he finds his voice long enough to reply, “i don’t care about dating. too much drama and no one knows what they want.”

“do you know what you want?”

you. the answer is on the tip of his tongue, burning a hole through the muscle and burying itself in his enamel, where it will get swallowed down along with the lump in his throat. this isn’t the time to go around confessing, not when you’re drunk and still wearing clothes you put on for someone else. gently, he takes your hands off of him and lowers your body down against the mattress again, and he thinks he feels his heart crumble a little.

“i want you to get some sleep. it’s late as hell, and you have a hangover to prep for.”

and before you can protest, he makes a break for the kitchen to get a glass of water and some tylenol for you. it’s easier to breathe out here where he doesn’t have to choke on long overdue confessions and your perfume. where you aren’t looking at him as if you know just how stupidly in love he is with you. god, he really is pathetic for you. his skin is still warm from where your hands were and all he can think about is how much he wishes you were sober so he wouldn’t feel so guilty for wanting to kiss you.

“the glass is overflowing.”

he nearly jumps out of his own skin at your voice, and whips around to see you standing barefoot in his kitchen, one of his shirts draped over your frame, a pair of his boxers low on your hips. it’s unfair how much better you look in his clothes than your own. hell, you look better than he does in his own clothes. un-fucking-fair.

“what the hell are you doing out of bed?” he barks as he turns the sink off, flustered and unsure of himself. a deadly combination for a man of his caliber. “and when did you change?”

“you were taking forever,” you whine, and tug at the hem of his shirt to pull it further down your thighs. “got bored waiting for you.”

with the water and tylenol in hand, he ushers you back to his room and gets you tucked back in. “you should be asleep. c’mon, it’s late. take these when you wake up and puke in the bin if you need to. i’ll take care of it in the morning.”

but before he can leave his room to sleep on the couch, you’re fisting the back of his shirt and rooting him in place. he waits, as he always does. as he always will. for you.

“sleep with me?” you ask, and chuckle when you feel his breath hitch. “not like that, pervert. like we used to. when we were kids.”

“i’m not a pervert,” he grumbles as he turns around to face you. you’re looking up at him, earnest and hopeful, and he feels his resolve crumble. “let me change into pajamas first.” the smile you flash at him is enough to reaffirm his belief that everything ounce of his yearning and pining is worth it if you just keep smiling at him like that.

once he emerges from the bathroom in his pajamas, you open your arms up to him, bottom lip jutting out in a way that makes him want to bite it. he crawls in bed next to you instead, teeth tucked firmly behind his lips, and you wrap yourself around him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

cuddling with you now is different than when you were kids. for one, he wasn’t pathetically in love with you back then. and two, there’s an undertone to it, a slow lulling of temptation, an unspoken promise that things could always be like this if maybe you returned his feelings. the payoff might be worth the risk. but could he really put the friendship he’s cherished for two decades on the line for his own selfish desires of having you as a partner? it’s the same haunting thought-loop he’s been in for the better part of nine years, and though he isn’t one to dwell or drown in self-pity, you’re the one thing he doesn’t want to risk. and so he lays in bed next to you, your body curled around his, wondering if spending the rest of his life pining for you is a privilege or a curse.

“why didn’t you kiss me?”

your question breaks the silence between you two into a million tiny slivers, each one stabbing at his heart and lungs, lacerating them to bloody ribbons. he doesn’t dare turn to face you, doesn’t want to see what sort of expression is on your face. he’s never been a coward before, but he’s also never been in love before, and they don’t seem to be mutually exclusive things.

finally, he finds his voice buried somewhere under the gore of sliced up potential. “you’re drunk.” it’s barely above a whisper. it’s all he’ll allow himself for now.

“so? i saw that look in your eyes, shouei barou.” he feels you shift behind him, feels your breath fan across the shell of his ear as you tuck your chin next to his shoulder. “you wanted to kiss me.”

it’s a hefty accusation, one heavy with the painful truth that he’s been wanting to kiss you for far longer than just tonight. he turns his head so he can look at you out of the corner of his eye, and is shocked to see you pouting as if you’re disappointed. disappointed that he didn’t kiss you. disappointed he took the chivalrous route rather than the selfish one. two decades later, and you still surprise him.

“so what if i did?” he asks, turning his face back so his gaze is to his plain wall and not the pout on your face. there’s no use in denying it. you’re going to find out one way or another. “i’m not kissing you while you’re drunk. ‘s not right. you deserve better than that.”

“will you kiss me when i’m sober tomorrow?” the hope in your voice is thick, causes him to feel giddy in a way that’s borderline irritating.

“if you want me to, then sure.”

you hum and bury your face in between his shoulder blades, and he melts a little in your arms. “i’ll want you to.”

“how are you so confident?” he huffs and adjusts his body so it’s easier for you to wrap yourself around him. you respond by throwing a leg over his waist, and everything is alright in the world for a moment. “you’re drunk out of your mind.”

you scoot closer to him. “because i’ve been wanting you to kiss me for a long time.”

the confession has his heart seizing in his chest. and though a part of him is screaming at him to not take your intoxicated words seriously, a caged sort of optimism roots itself in his bones, blooms between his joints. he turns his body so your head is tucked under this chest, leg still wrapped around his waist, and his nose is buried in your hair, the smell of your shampoo infiltrating his lungs until it’s all he can think about. he’s okay with this, he thinks. he wants this, in a very selfish way. it might be worth the risk.

“we’ll see how you feel when you’re hungover as all hell,” is what he says instead.

“i think it’ll make me want you to kiss me more,” you giggle against his chest. “my knight in shining armor. always making everything better.”

his fingers find your hair as they often do when you’re snuggled into each other like this, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat. your knight in shining armor. it’s cheesy in a way that’s almost endearing, most certainly because it’s you and almost everything about you is endearing to him. it’s a role he’s proudly filled for the last two decades, and will continue to fill as long as you need him to.

“goodnight, shou-kun,” you murmur. “thank you for taking care of me tonight.”

he hums his reply and pulls you a little closer to him.

because he’ll always keep his promise. always.

[hxney-lemcn]

Worst to best characters to be friends with if you have anxiety

this is all based off of me and my personal anxiety. Obvi other people are anxious about different things and on different levels (not to mention my biases towards characters).

WORST

Kalim: sorry. As much as I love him I don’t think I could handle it. It’s not just the parties, it’s like…everything. My anxiety stems from a fear of not being in control (haha) so the fact that he’s so carefree would actually kill me.

Floyd: I like him a lot too but he’s a nightmare. I’d be so scared around him 😭 I wouldn’t want to accidentally set him off so I’d always be on edge and once again, his carefree ‘let’s skip class’ nature would kill me.

Rook: he’s scary. Like honestly. If this was real life and he was actually following me I would actually be in a constant panic. No thanks. And when he’s dramatic it brings more attention on him and you by default for being by him so no thanks.

Lilia: I could not handle him. I don’t think our humor would match and I’d get very awkward. Not to mention how outgoing he is, sorry it’s a bit much for me.

Sebek: he’s constantly screaming about his waka-sama. Do you know how embarrassing that would be? To not only be yelled at but by a fanboy?? I think I’d just wither on the spot. I can’t handle all those eyes on me.

Leona: so he’s actually kind of high, but that’s cus he’s so mean if he doesn’t know you 😭 I think I’d actually cry cus I’d feel so anxious if he were to say something to me. I swear I’m not sensitive Leona just kinda doesn’t hold back and I can’t handle all that.

Vil: Gah he’s one of my favs but he’d intimidate me so badly. I’d be so quiet around him hoping he doesn’t notice my existence 😭 I couldn’t handle his criticism either, I do not have the right mindset for that (it would get me stressed so quickly).

Cater: another fav, but sadly, I’d be easily embarrassed if he filmed himself in public. Or if he tried to post stuff of me cus like…he’s got a good amount of followers. Yeah no thanks. I don’t like being perceived. But his bubbly personality would help me calm down.

Azul: idk how to explain this one. Like he pretends to be this nice guy but then swindles you. He’d be on my watch list which means I’ll be more on guard around him. I’d probably just avoid him if anything.

Ruggie: idk, he’s the character I understand the least, so I’d probs just be awkward around him. His humor is different than mine so I would do that awkward laugh and it’s just not a good scenario. No thanks.

Epel: he keeps trying to fight people. No way is that good for my heart 😭 I’d be so embarrassed trying to pretend like I don’t know him 💀

Jade: he’d intimidate me a lot at first, but then we could talk about mushrooms and marine life and I think we could be chill. I can have a more morbid sense of humor so his ‘threats’ (I don’t think he’s actually lethally poisoned anyone) would seem more like jokes to me.

Ace: so he literally insults Yuu right off the bat. He’d probs do the same to me. So yeah, not a fan. Make me feel like shit. But once your friends it’s better, but all the shit he gets into…not my style. (He would be a good friend tho, maybe just a bit dense about anxiety stuff and accidentally say something really mean/condescending)

Jamil: love this guy, but he would scare me at first (ok tbf any person I don’t know scares me…). Like he’s got this responsible aura and I wouldn’t wanna mess him up and he’d probs be a bit cold shouldered. But I think we would get along over time, and he’d be considerate of me so he’s closer to the middle.

Jack: don’t get me wrong, dude is super nice and has a kind heart (reason why he’s closer to the best), but he’s a total tsundere. The quietness and the whole ‘but it’s not cus I like you’ thing would just make me feel awkward.

Idia: ik, surprising he isn’t the best with all the stuff I’ve been writing about him, but let’s be honest. First meeting and neither of us are talking. And it will probs be like that for a while, so he’s a bit high on my list. Ofc once you get to know each other it’s a lot better cus y’all can be emotional support buddies but yeah.

Deuce: bro has a homey vibe. He’s a bit dense and used to be a delinquent, but if I’m meeting him at NRC then I think we’d get along well. He’s a sweetheart and that would make me like him quickly and not be so anxious lol

Riddle: ok so he’s so close to the best BECAUSE!!! My anxiety about not having control? He 100% relates and we’d probably bond over it 😭 plus I love having rules to follow so I know I’m not doing anything wrong…yeah I relate to Riddle a bit too much (just on a much, much lower level. It’s not that bad I swear)

Malleus: why is he so close to best? Well…he is really warm when he first meets Yuu. I think that he is a bit intimidating, but his personality would quickly win me over and make me feel safe with him.

Ortho: hello? The sweetest person at NRC? Need I say more?

Silver: literally the chillest man alive. AND he has animals following him? Say less. Not to mention how nice he’d be if you told him you were anxious. He’d always look out for you and try to find a solution.

Trey: wow. Ngl, I’m not a huge fan of him (nothing wrong with him he just never caught my eye), but even I gotta admit Trey is probably one of the most level headed there is. He handled Riddle really well (for a teen) and ik he’d be a really good person to be friends with. Def a guy you want in your corner if crowds get to be too much.

BEST

Leave a comment about who you think would be best or worst. Just pls don’t start fighting 😭

[dmitriene]

𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗦 𝗔𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗢𝗡 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗕𝗥𝗔𝗧𝗧𝗬 𝗚𝗙.

❝𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧❞ 𝘣𝘧 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺 𝘹 𝘨𝘧 𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ❝𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗦❞ 𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘛, 𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞, 𝘚𝘔𝘜𝘛 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘵, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳, 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱, 𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯, 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴, 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳, 𝘭𝘪𝘭 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯, 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘺, 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘴, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘦, 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘮 𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦

❝𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘❞ 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵, 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘭

 ✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

simon is used to the arrogant behavior around him, one way or another, serving as a lieutenant in the army gives not only its advantages, but also its disadvantages, such as meeting or trying to re educate those who were too sharp tongued.

therefore, he really didn’t like it when his brains were fucked, draining his patience with insulting or infuriating behavior — as if everyone owed this person, and simon doesn’t like being owed to someone, doesn’t like being pissed off, and doesn’t really like engage in re education, but it seems with you it takes on new colors.

of course, you know how tired he constantly returns home from missions, if he gived days off, he returns to the comfort of your warm home absolutely exhausted and sleeps almost all the time, no matter how bad it is for him at the military base — at home, on your common comfortable bed, he sleeps like a bear, allowing his muscles to rest and relax.

and you never speak out against this, you know how hard it is for him and you are glad to give him such a necessary break, for which he really values you as his girlfriend, but something lately has made you behave differently, completely change your mindset, and behave, to put it mildly, selfishly?

you’re a really good girl, you let him rest, you take care of him, you cherish him — but he seems to pay less and less attention to you every time, constantly tired, constantly sleeping, and you so badly want him to calm the pulsation between your legs, give you a little more attention and, preferably, action, you miss long kisses which very often led to completely animal sex, but he wants to rest!

you can't think only about your own pleasure, but that still doesn't stop the insolent side from slowly taking control of your thoughts, words and actions — prompting you to whine resentfully about that «sii, you barely pay attention to me!!», constantly cling to him while he sleeps and forcing him over and over again tiredly mutter and growl into the pillow that «jus' couple of more minutes, love, and i'll take care of u — hhhrh..» before falling back to sleep with a tired and deep snore, so you huff and go with the last option in your head.

silent treatment, or, if it’s simpler, attracting maximum attention to yourself simply because you won’t say a word to him, because he didn’t deserve it, he neglected you, didn’t listen at all, so it’s not surprising that you’ll be offended, right?

only he was not at all ready for this, remembering your dialogues during his sleep vaguely, and persistently trying to find out why you are silent to any of his questions, and sometimes even snort and scowl like a puppy, and in a normal situation this would not cause him more than amusement, but not now, now he was worried about why the hell you were behaving so impudently, from his point of view.

he doesn’t suspect anything and you don’t tell him until the realization hits him at the moment when he went to buy groceries according to the list on the fridge and returned with a couple of large bags, asking for your help in sorting them out and putting them on the shelves, as usual you are busy arranging the products as conveniently as possible for yourself, but his only request for a long time received only one simple answer that he considers as to fuck off — «yeah, five more minutes and i'll help»

then he remembered that he had answered you in the same way, and like a loving boyfriend who really felt guilty, he hurried to apologize, oh, he really apologized sweetly, he said that he was sorry, that this wouldn’t happen again and he was sorry, he was just tired, he also a human!! but did it cause any reaction in you?

the answer is — no, you played your role to the end, so to all his «i'm so sorry, lovie, i fucked up, never gonna do this again, you know i love ya» you huffed and rolled your eyes, saying with slight hostility in the tone of your rather rude voice — «mhm, yea, k'»

and it drove him crazy.

naturally, he tried to smooth things over by talking to you softly, cooing and apologizing by buying your favorite snacks, things you've wanted for a long time, but never in the way you really wanted, although he kissed your cheek, smoothing the curve of your waist, but you were turning your nose up at him, and in the end, he got tired of it, so why not finally show you that you've gone too far?

in its own way, a heavy, wide palm presses on the bottom of your back to press you into the mattress even harder and force your back to arch in an even more perfect arc, lifting your rounded butt as much as your aching knees would allow, allowing simon to see perfectly how his meaty cock enters and exits yours absolutely wet cunt, the bulbous head slams and scratches with sweeping thrusts against all your spongy spots, aiming at your cervix to hit it deeper and deeper.

your body doesn’t particularly fidget forward, rather slams into the mattress due to the fact that one of his palms is enough to keep you in place, allowing him to hold you as it’s convenient for him to push one at a time into your tight warmth, your folds clinging to the thick length of his cock in absolute desperateness, enjoying every minute of your, roughly speaking, punishment, especially considering your hands tied with a belt, dangling on the curve of your back.

simon tied them when he came into the room at the very beginning, you accepted him when he crawled onto your bed for the first time in a long time with a smile, thinking that it was enough to torment him, and glad that he came to you, gently covering your face and lips with honeyed kisses, stroking your body and forcing your pussy within the confines of your clothes to throb, especially when his wide fingers reached to pull the belt off his pants, exactly until it was on your wrists.

— «gonna teach you a lesson, brat» the only words that you received, and which made you frown until about the moment you were completely naked in front of him, unlike him, still in a t-shirt and with only his pants and boxers pulled down slightly to free his cock, it really was looks like a punishment, from his actions to his appearance.

usually warm brown eyes now reflected only lust and coldness, it’s amazing how quickly he can change emotions, but you can’t focus on absolutely anything when his cock rubs between your folds and touches your slit with its thick head, making you arch and straighten without being able to twitch somehow, falling victim under his ministrations when he teases either you, or more himself, twisting his arousal to the maximum, to low chest growls.

his very endless sliding of his dick between your wet folds, already sticky from his precum, makes you dizzy, and your tongue is heavy within your mouth, not having the strength to squeeze out a word because of which the only thing you do is moan and whine protractedly, almost suffocating when he finally directs his shaft into your sopping, clenching cunt, and you accept him more than willingly, inch by inch.

so you find yourself in this moment when he over and over again, pump after pump, abuses your leaking cunt with his huge dick and merciless thrusts, he moves as if it’s more about his pleasure, not paying attention to your throbbing clit which he usually rubs with his thumb, now it’s all about your punishment — from the moment when he turned you over on your chest, allowing you to satisfy yourself when your hard nipples and no less hard from arousal clit rubbed against the sheets.

his hips and balls slaps against the swell of your ass and the puffy lips of your pussy, the movements are brutal and precise, you feel every vein on his cock and the way he rubs against all your right places, enjoying your tightness and the way he stretches you, forcing your walls to pulsate, and folds grip his shaft without intending to let him out of you until he fills you with his potent release.

you suddenly feel a weight lift off your back, but you don't have time to register anything further when one of his hands squeezes and tugs at the belt around your wrists, beginning to pull it towards him and directing your movements towards him, causing your ass to slap loudly against his thighs as he pushes all the way in with each thrust, the calloused fingers on his other free hand squeeze your left hip, allowing him to take control of your movements as you tighten even tighter with even rougher and faster thrusts, becoming even wetter and pulsating with the impending release.

an orgasm creeping up with tension in your lower abdomen and heat all over your body causes you only inaudible whines and mewls, you want to cum, really, he slams into your cervix with his slightly curled tip and makes your legs twitch under you from the buckling of your knees, but you don’t know that he will not give you a drop of pleasure, working only for his own satisfaction, when you babble through a heavy tongue and practically sobs — «cum, wanna cum, si, si — hhmnngh! pleaseee!»

he only grumbles in response, indicating your words with a fleeting sound, but still does nothing except squeeze your hip tighter, pressing his fingers into the plush skin, and pull the belt further, with a slight tug lifting your torso from the sheet and thus making you hang in the air, moaning and screaming into the air as he makes a few more thrusts, suddenly changing the pace, and you feel the sparks slowly dissapear completely with the heaviness from the coil in your stomach atlogether.

simon just slightly rocks his hips to bring himself to orgasm, not you, bumping into you with measured pumps before his cock throbs in the confisness of your pulsing and slobbering cunt, he growls, moaning with a sigh, staining your walls with his milky cum and making you to shudder, groaning displeasedly and openly whimpering, but he only drives deeper, thrusting slowly and feeling how wet and sloppy you are, slick flows down the inside of your thighs, your legs are shaking from frustration and denied orgasm, when he gradually easing out, looking at the mess in your hole and on his dick.

he's drenched down to his trimmed pubic hair, there's a white ring at the base of his cock and he's all sticky from your slick and his cum, when you didn't get any release, and even rubbing on the sheets didn't help, he lets go of your body, lets it go completely limp on the sheets as globes of cum flow out of your clenching hole, and simon himself reaches out to free your wrists from the belt, it was not very tight, but it left marks after the fristion that his fingers smoothed in circles, while you were shaking.

there's nothing left of your old attitude, you're fully fucked and nothing more than a limp mass of limbs, his potent seed leaking out of you onto the sheets and staining your swollen pussy lips while you feel the urge to cry as you feel the mattress straighten, indicating that simon has stood up, before a stomp is heard and after a while a towel wipes you, causing your body to break out in goosebumps and shiver, and you realize that this is really all, squeezing out a hurried, dissatisfied whine — «si.. simon, no, please, need.. need t'cum»

he tilts his head to the side, looks you over before shaking his head, a movement that you catch in your peripheral vision as he continues to wipe you clean, running over your sticky, wet folds that kept clenching in response to his touch, you still want, you still need to feel this sweet pleasure spreading through your body, but there is only one answer, and it is firm, full of contentment and a small warning, perhaps a command, and this is simon’s answer — «only when you'll gonna start to behave, love»

seems like you should have behaved better, didn't you? ‹𝟹

[marshmellin]

He Always Gives You One (1) ☝️

Explicit content under the cut. Rated S for Smut, 6.3K words, Gil-galad x unnamed woman, 2nd person POV, no use of y/n or female's name, bratting and spanking

You jutted your chin out and took in a large breath, leaning forward so your breasts pushed against the solid muscle of his chest. “Are you unable to come up with ideas on your own, High King? Do you not have a plan? You have had me dressed and dragged to your quarters hours before a ridiculous, boring formal dinner party and you do not yet know what you wish to do with me during that time?”

Oh, that one was risky, but you let it linger.

Tags: Truly porn without plot, bratting and brat taming kink with Gil-galad as a soft!Dom. Includes elements of playfully saying "no," or being 'mouthy' with Gil-galad, but consent is clear and behavior is consistent with typical light bratting. Includes fingering, light spanking, and giving minor commands to the woman. No beta, we die like Valendil (forgive me for that last tag)

Note: I meant for this to be like...600 words of soft!Dom Gilgadaddy headcanons and here the fuck we are. Not a bad place to wind up, honestly. If you enjoy this, check out ✨The Director's Cut✨ masterlist with quick links to all my TROP/LOTR content and AO3 profile.

Again: explicit content under the cut. Mind the tags.

//

Despite being the king of the largest realm — Elven or otherwise — in Middle Earth, Gil-galad often finds himself not being listened to. Whether it's pushback from his commanders or his advisors or the other rulers and realms around him, he spends most of his days compromising with others. Negotiating something necessary and  important into something almost-but-not-quite-what-he-wanted. 

Gil-galad finds this extremely frustrating.

He is also mired in a constant cycle of pleasantries and curtsies and polite gestures he is required to make on a near-daily basis as High King, regardless of how he feels or whom he would prefer to spend time with or if he would simply like a break from the constant churning demands of what is proper here and what is an insult there.  

Gil-galad finds this extremely frustrating as well. 

Which is why he has taken so much pleasure in his relationship with you. 

Because Gil-galad also finds you to be very, very, very frustrating. You also do not listen to him. You also angle for him to concede compromises in ways that you should not ask for. You also wheedle and argue and push back against his wishes and commands and requests. You ignore what he is and the power he wields as a king. Intentionally. Every time. 

Yet with you — unlike all the other duties Gil-galad must attend to, and all the other compromises Gil-galad must make, and all the other concessions Gil-galad must agree to — he chooses to call for you instead. To focus on you. To talk you down. To make you sing for him. 

To tame you. 

Every time. 

And every time he controls the way he spends his evenings with you, gently chides you to follow his wishes, plainly tells you to stop fighting and give in as he discovers new ways to make you come apart… you both win. 

It’s a game you play very willingly. 

So when he sent a note that requested you come join him in his chambers, you scribbled back a hasty, impertinent, “Why? Try harder, Ereinion, I am bored,” and made the courier complete his circuit back to Gil-galad for the sixth time that day. 

When Gil-galad told you over breakfast that he would very much enjoy your company at a formal dinner that evening, you told him no and challenged him to make you go. You said you did not want to. That you will never want to. You said he can not make you, that you won’t do it. That he did not decide. 

Gil-galad raised an eyebrow and warned you once — he always gives you one (1) — his voice low and rumbling in his chest. “I am pleased to hear that you will attend with me.”

You raised an eyebrow and shook your head firmly, resisting the urge to stick your tongue out at him. “You heard no such thing from me.”

“I do not suggest you test my resolve on this request, clever one.”

You decided instantly that you will, in fact, test his resolve on that request. So when the evening came, you sat rigidly at the end of your bed in your own chambers, fully dressed from head to toe for a formal (and boring) dinner event. You had prepared hours early and you had been ready to go to him at least an hour ago. But you intentionally had not joined him in his rooms at the time he requested. 

The time he requested so that you could spend time together before you attended this boring dinner. 

You knew he would not allow you to ignore him for long. The thought made your thighs clench. 

Gil-galad sent exactly one (1) courier with exactly one (1) note. In the king’s own very neat, precise handwriting: “I wish to see you before dinner. My request requires no further discussion, and therefore the courier will not return with a message for me, no matter how often you ask it of him. Come to me now.”

That tempted you — he knew it would, because that is why he wrote it — and you immediately asked the courier if he would take a note to Gil-galad in return. The elf looked half-frightened and backed his way out of the room, shaking his head and muttering something about troop reports. You watched him spin to the left and march quickly toward Gil-galad’s chambers. 

Reports, indeed. 

When the two guards came to your quarters exactly five (5) minutes later, they found you at your self-appointed place at the end of the bed, sitting with your hands on your lap. Fully dressed with nowhere to go. They asked for you to follow, saying High King Gil-galad urgently requested your presence, if you would not mind following them to his quarters. 

They asked politely, but the set of their jaws suggest it was not a request from Gil-galad, but a command. 

You acquiesce for the first — and you know not the last — time this night. 

When you arrive, Gil-galad opened the door and waved away the guards before guiding you into the room by the arm. He was very gentle. He was very quiet. And for a moment he gazed down at you with a mild look of disapproval etched on his handsome face. He even tsked gently as he brought his hand up to cup your chin, nudging you to look at him and meet his gaze. 

You very pointedly rolled your eyes. 

“Did you lose track of time after receiving my message?” he asked slowly, his voice dangerously low. “You did not come to me when I called for you.”

A warrior and a gentleman, you think wryly. He is giving you room to apologize. To blame your petulance on a mistake or confusion. 

Gil-galad always gives you one. 

“No, I did not lose track of anything, Ereinion,” you said casually, pulling yourself from his hand — that took more willpower than you wanted it to for so early in the evening. You strolled past him toward the large windows facing west. “I’ve decided to make you make me. It will give you something to do with your day. You seem to have too much free time and nothing to do with it.” You leaned against his desk, your hands propping you up, fingers curling around the edge. 

Gil-galad tilted his head, the spark in his eyes at your combative attitude the only sign that confirmed he very, very much would like you to be an absolute brat right now. You’re happy to oblige him. 

“‘Make me make you,’” he repeated softly, taking slow, determined steps toward you. Gil-galad’s frown deepened. “Tell me, clever one,” he commanded softly. “How did you expect me to make you obey?”

Obey was a word he knew excited you very, very much. And it was also a trap. There was never a time this question was not a trap. Sneaky, handsome bastard. 

If you told him what you were thinking — all the wonderful, exciting ways he could “punish” you for being mouthy and make you obey him...he would know you want it. It would not be a punishment if you wanted it. And therefore, he might not give it to you. He would hold back. To teach you not to be mouthy again. 

But… if you told him honestly how much you want him to show you he is in command here, how much you’re being mouthy simply because you want his full focus, then he may decide to give you what he already knows you want. To teach you that he will always take care of you despite how mouthy you get. 

Gil-galad had done both to you before in equal measure. He had shown you, quite thoroughly, that both routes had merits.

Trap.

Gil-galad took another step forward, pinning you to the desk as he loomed over you, hands clasped behind his back. If you both breathed in at the same time, your breasts would brush his chest. Or, at least, against the eight layers of fabric on his chest. His voice was still low, and his motions unhurried. Unconcerned. A patient man dealing with an unruly woman in his spare time between managing a kingdom and a war. 

“Tell me,” Gil-galad commanded again. Not a note of impatience in him, despite the tone of authority. “I remain confused. How did you expect me to make you, a grown woman, obey me? You must have had some semblance of an expectation, certainly, since you seem so eager to test the limits of my patience. What did you hope I would do to you today if you did not obey me?”

You had always had a push and pull with Gil-galad when you played like this. And you could tell that tonight he needed to control more than you needed to be controlled.

You jutted your chin out and took in a large breath, leaning forward so your breasts pushed against the solid muscle of his chest. “Are you unable to come up with ideas on your own, High King? Do you not have a plan? You have had me dressed and dragged to your quarters hours before a ridiculous, boring formal dinner party and you do not yet know what you wish to do with me during that time?” 

Oh, that one was risky, but you let it linger.

His face was still smooth as he nodded, absorbing your words as though listening to an ambassador or advisor. Weighing them carefully. You cocked an eyebrow at him as if to say, “well?” 

And then his demeanor flipped and he acted as though he had just described lightning to you and you had never seen it before. “Ah-ha, I see. You have not yet accepted how this evening will proceed for you and you think you can sway me by being irritable. Unfortunate, but not wholly unexpected.” He took two large steps back — you bit back a sigh at the loss of warmth — and turned toward the very large chair in the corner of his study. “You will behave and listen to me tonight, or I will make you.”

He paused and his head cocked, evaluating you. “And we will start now. Will you follow reasonably, or will you force me to direct you through each step as though you are a living doll?”

Not an unattractive prospect. You filed that away for later. 

“Oh, fear not, High King, I would not have you waste your strength on that.” You push yourself off the desk toward him and follow. He sits down very gracefully, layers and layers and layers of gold fabric billowing around him, amusement at your — tired, stale, familiar, intentional, irrational, minor — insults. You stand in front of him, your face expectant. “And?” you ask sarcastically. 

“Please kneel,” he offered gently, as if suggesting you have tea with him. 

You snorted. “Why?” 

“Because I have asked you to.”

“Not enough of a reason. Don’t care if you asked. Don’t care what you want. I am bored and find I would prefer to return to my rooms, if there is nothing else?” You crossed your arms defiantly. Or you hoped defiantly. Your nipples were already stiff peaks, pushing through the purposefully sheer fabric of the dress you chose. 

You could talk a big game at the start, but…

He paused, evaluating you. “If you behave for me today, I will give you a gift. If you do not– ”

That got your interest immediately. “What gift?”

He leaned back into this chair — this throne in his study — you always used. Your eyes flicked down and you saw how hard he was growing under his robe. You licked your lips, slowly, just staring at his cock as though it might hold the answer to that incredibly important question. 

It did. 

“Observant, clever one, even if a tad unfocused. Perhaps you would prefer to sit on my lap instead of kneeling?” Gil-galad paused. “That is the first gift I will give you tonight. You can choose.”

You paused and just stared at him. You could see the outline of his cock under the one (1) layer of clothing left on his lap. Your thoughts were starting to turn syrupy. He was going to take you apart and put you back together tonight. The tone in his voice promised he would. 

And then you were going to have to eat salad and make small talk with ambassadors immediately after he was done with it. 

That made your thoughts even less coherent. Heat coiled in your stomach and you felt a damp trail of wetness start to run down your leg. Assuming he let you both finish before this ridiculous dinner and did not make you wait…

No, he was softer than that. Gil-galad always gives you one. 

He tsked again, dipping his head to meet your eyes, pulling you back to this moment. To him. To his focus. “Which. do. you. choose.” he asked more insistently, allowing impatience to creep into his voice. “If you do not choose, I will choose for you.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. Your lap, I guess. That will at least stop you from looming over me as if your height is a bragging point. It is not, by the way.”

Gil-galad smiled softly and simply pointed at his lap, inviting you up. 

You clambered over toward him and hiked up the miles of skirts you wore, flashing him outright and intentionally as you brought the fabric up to your waist. You noticed the small — and extremely interested — change in his face when he noticed you had chosen to go bare under your dress for dinner this evening. 

He accidentally showed you he was eager. So you decided to move slowly. 

Annoyingly slowly. 

You were obeying him. He could not say you did not obey him. But you were not doing it in the way he wanted.

Gil-galad arched an eyebrow at you as you moved slowly, skirts gathered high and legs free as you inched towards him. You took your time to plant your knees on the chair, to move up, to shimmy closer to him — all incredibly unhurried. All incredibly half-naked 

He wanted you in his lap. You wanted you in his lap. So you must make it difficult for you both. That was the point. 

You made sure to scoop up your skirts several times, soft fabric hitting him gently in the face as you gathered it in your arms and settled against him. You did it again and a third time before he emitted a low warning sound from deep in his chest.  

So you lightly rustled your skirts in his face one more time. To test him. He reached for your wrists and gently but firmly lowered your hands, making you let go of the fabric and pulling your wrists to your sides. “Do not do that again,” Gil-galad said firmly. “Behave yourself and sit properly, or I will make you.”

Your legs finally bracketed his thighs and you faced him, on your knees above his lap. You knew you were ruining his robe right now because you were so wet you were dripping down your leg. His fault, really, for wearing golden embroidered fabric when he brought you here to f–

“I said sit,” Gil-galad chided, gently this time, his hands sliding up your thighs to settle on your hips. “You are an uncommonly smart woman, and yet I find myself surprised at how often you fail to follow very clear and simple directions when we are together. Why is that?” 

After a long moment of staring at him, he took the choice from you, pressing you down off your knees so you were in full contact with his lap. His length notched against you with his robe now the only thing between you. If you squirmed right, you could get that fabric to move…

He rocked you against himself once. Twice. Three times. You couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped you, so you stretched into it, moaning louder and grinding down on his lap.  

Yep. That robe was ruined.

Gil-galad stilled and gently cupped your chin again, forcing your eyes to meet his, his other hand pinning you against his lap. You experimentally tried to rock your hips anyway, but he held you in place with one hand grabbing your hip so you could not grind against him— removing that rutting sensation from you. Limiting your options. 

One handed. Yes, ellons were generally stronger than elleths, but this was ridiculous now, Ereninion, seriously. 

You whimpered in protest. “I am not a plaything,” you managed to say convincingly, despite the deep, gnawing ache between your legs and your head chanting at you let him play with you let him play with you let him let him. “And I’m tired of you thinking I am.”

Gil-galad sighed and let his hand drop from your face. “That is not my question.”

“A pity, for it is the only answer I will give you,” you shoot back.

Tsking loudly, he shook his head.” Unfortunately, your attitude continues to leave us with fewer and fewer options for this evening,” he murmured. Broad hands slid up your sides, splaying against your back as he gently pulled you closer. 

“You claim I act as though I own you as one would a toy…” he paused as if in thought, fingers tapping against you gently. He rolled his hips up to meet your core again and you shuddered. “That I treat you as a plaything? I would disagree strongly with that assertion.” He pulled you closer to finally, finally kiss you deeply, nipping at your bottom lip, pressing you into his chest.

“A plaything?” Gil-galad echoed again, now trailing kisses down your neck. You willed yourself silent because if you moaned now, he would stop on principle. 

Gil-galad pretended to consider something intently as he played with the collar of your decidedly not-quite-opaque gown. He ghosted the back of his hands across your breasts and you nearly flushed with embarrassment at how needy your body was by now without it consulting you. 

Self-traitor, you thought as he cupped your breasts, one in each hand, and murmured appreciatively. His thumbs flicked over your nipples. 

“I understand the problem now. You view plaything as a negative term. I assure you it is not. Perhaps I have not played enough with you lately?” Gil-galad tugged on your nipples now, just this shy of too much, and your eyes fluttered shut. He tugged again hard enough to bring you forward and you rutted against his lap. The heat was building very quickly now and he hadn’t even…. 

“Do you feel you have not been properly played with?” 

You give a sullen sound of agreement and begin squirm as he continued playing with your nipples and giving you absolutely no other stimulation.

“Tell me.” He pinched again sharply before his fingers smoothed out as though brushing away the bite of it. 

“I don’t want to say it.”

“You do not have to, of course. But if you do not, we will not continue.” A harmless threat, as his hands had not stilled and he was roving over your abdomen.

“I feel neglected.” A gush of wetness between your legs as you swallowed thickly, reminding yourself not to end it too soon. 

Gil-galad growled and reached between your bodies to cup you over the skirt, his fingers pressing against you. The fabric was almost too rough against your clit and you gasped, your hands flying to his chest to brace against him. He pressed against you again, pushing a knuckle closer to your clit and sighed, looking down. “So wet you’ve soaked through your dress, but yet you are arguing for the sake of it. Tell me what you want properly or you will not get it,” he ended simply.

You rutted against him again, finding your voice, determined to draw it out. You huffed at him. “Fine. I do not feel played with enough lately. I feel neglected and you have not made time for me.” You started rutting against him out of rhythm. Mercifully, he let you, hands still settling around your hips but no longer forcing you not to move. He started rocking his hips again up to you and you moaned. He stilled immediately. 

Caught. 

“And yet, despite acknowledging you very much wish to be treated as a plaything, as a toy I spend my time to play with, you seem to think you are in charge of this evening. Mm.” The whine you made this time was not an act. “I find your attitude is in dire need of adjustment. Do you agree?”

You challenged him, fire in your eyes because you wanted to tussle with him but still lose. You were also incredibly eager to have his fingers inside you and if you pushed him hard enough he’d take you there faster. 

“I hate repeating myself, but—”

Gil-galad cut you off. “Do you agree you need to adjust your attitude tonight, yes or no?”

You met his question with silence. 

Sharp brown eyes considered you. He rocked his knuckle against your clit through the fabric of your dress again, keeping you aching and focused. 

“Answer me.”

The ache was spreading and your legs felt like jelly in his lap. That thin piece of gold brocade had already been moved aside, and you weren’t sure if you did it or he did it, but you straddled his bare cock now. Valar forgive you, but you ached and you knew a way out. 

It was to not answer him. Yet again. You had now failed to answer him correctly three (3) times in a row. 

Gil-galad sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Punishment. Choose one or I will.”

A brave face. More silence. 

Four times – especially when you were this wet – was unprecedented. But you had just done it anyway. You wanted to get there faster and you could tell he did too. 

Gil-galad tsked again, ever patient but irritated. “I did warn you what would happen if you did not listen. And you did not listen.” He could not hide that his cock twitched under you.

Your thoughts felt syrupy again as he gripped your thighs and started rocking you against his length, skin against skin covered in a truly embarrassing amount of your slick. The head of his cock brushing you open. He lifted you up and for a brief, blissful moment you thought he would sink into you, bury himself so deep you could feel it in your chest. 

But no, he would not take you as a “punishment.” 

Smoothly he lifted you up and flipped you so you were sprawled face down and sideways across his lap. 

It seemed he was in the mood to give you the one thing you craved the most, the one he knew made you feel both played with and tended to, without even really asking for it. The one that would finally shut. you. up. You absolutely must not look eager. You froze your limbs — Gil-galad would notice if you were too greedy too fast. You would wait for him. 

Sternly, he began arranging you across his lap as though you weighed nothing. He grabbed your chin, still gentle but his hand had snatched out fast, forcing you to look at him. “You will count as we go. If you lose your place, we will start again. And again. And again. Until I am convinced you are listening to what I say to you.”

His hands explored you now, followed the curve of your ass down to the back of your thighs. One warm, splayed hand rested at the nape of your neck, now pushing your face toward the floor as you half-hung off his lap. You clenched your thighs together and squirmed. 

“Tell me what you heard me say.”

You swallowed again. He started pulling your skirts up, pooling the extra fabric at your waist, his other hand never leaving the nape of your neck. 

“I will not repeat it,” he said firmly, hand now cupping your bare ass, stroking down to your legs like he was petting an animal. “The longer you fight me, the longer you wait. I will finish tonight. Are you so confident I will let you?”

A shuddering breath. “I will count. If I miss, I start again.” You were buckling softly against him, squirming under his grip on both ends of you. 

“A reminder to count politely,” he said softly. “And the current count is ten.”

You cannot stop yourself. “Ten!” you whined. 

“And now it is fifteen,” he said with a frown. “Shall we begin or will you continue to add to your count? Choose carefully, knowing this is not how I hoped we would spend this evening.”

A long pause. The idea of fifteen made you moan, but more importantly, it made you behave. He was giving you what you wanted. You would do the same in return. You ached. Whatever he wanted. 

“Yes, High King. Is there…anything else you would have me do? Beside keep count?”

Gil-galad murmured appreciatively. “I love how hard you try for me, clever one. So good for me once you understand. Call me what you wish — with respect,” he added, a small tug at the nape of your neck. “Request whatever will sate you, but do not demand and do not expect anything from me. Do you understand?”

You answered quickly now as his hand continued to softly ghost over your naked ass, making your skin break out in goosebumps. Your bad behavior got you where you wished most to be. And so now you would be repentant. “Yes, High King.”

His hand lifted off your lower back — you noticed he kept his hand on your neck yesyesyesyes — and he readjusted you so more of your ass was hanging off his leg. You felt his hard cock pressing into your stomach underneath you. He gently rutted up, hips rolling to see if this was where he wanted you.

Gil-galad seemed satisfied. With one more sweep, he ensured your skirts would not fall in his way. Thick fingers pulled and pressed against you, nudging your legs apart. You were already on your toes to keep your balance against him. Now you felt very exposed, cool air fanning against the wet heat of you. 

The first crack was loud and he had not warned you that he would start. The force from it rocked you both forward and down, pressing your ribs against his cock and you heard him bite back a groan. 

The sting on your ass was just right, and he rubbed gently after, soothing away the bite of it. Heat coiled tighter in you and you bucked again. You’d come apart riding his thighs sideways at this rate. 

And it was here that you realized you had been quiet for too long. 

“On—“

“Too late. But do not fret, clever girl. We will start again. Tell me when you are ready to pay attention to me.”

Your eyes closed again and you breathed heavily through your nose. You needed to come down. He had noticed it. He was giving you the chance to decide. 

The heat ebbed, just a moment. One more moment, and then: “Yes, High King. I am ready. Please.”

“Begin counting,” he said again, warning you this time before his hand came down. 

“One, High King.” You thought the panted please that escaped you had been quiet, but Elven hearing was keen.

“Please ‘what’?”

The sound got caught in your throat as he spanked you again, on the other cheek this time, still rubbing away the sting of it. 

“T-two, High King. Please.” You were wanton now, grinding against his lap, bucking and raising your ass in the air begging for contact. Any any any contact he would give you.

“Please, what?”

“Use your ha—“ He spanked you again, aiming for the high part of your thigh. He did not smooth away the pain this time but gripped your flesh, holding you in place.

“Three, High King, please hands your please hands yes.” You weren’t making full sentences.

Hands. Use them. Touch me. What was the count? 

Gil-galad did not strike your ass this time, but gently tapped against you, cupping you in his hand and pushing against you, his fingers brushing against your clit. You let yourself moan at that. Pressure. Thank the Valar. You bit back another moan, and made your limbs still again. 

“Does that count, High King? I wish to keep count correctly for you.” You rocked back against his hand. “I will do it so well for you if you tell me, please.”

He chuckled. His fingers swirled in your slick, coating him and easing the way for him to sink one finger into you, all the way down to his knuckle. The ring he wore was cold and made you flinch. You were so wet that one finger just felt silky instead of filling, but you were happy to be touched at all. 

“Mm, I feel generous tonight, clever one. You do seem truly repentant for your behavior earlier. Are you?” he asked softly, twisting his finger inside you. 

“Yes, High King.” You tried to rock back on his hand. You were rutting like an animal and the only reason you had not fallen off of him was the counterweight of his hand on your neck, pressing you down in the other direction while you greedily thrust into thin air. 

“Good girl. Then you may count it.”

Was it four or five? Nothing mattered as long as he kept twisting his finger. That cold ring. Five?

“Ah and now you are so cockdrunk you lost count. I will help. It is four.”

“Fou—fuhhhh.”

He added another finger without warning. Your eyes rolled back and you inhaled sharply. 

“Five, High King. Could I please have more of your time this week? I was wrong to be so rude. Let me make it ri—“ 

He pulled his fingers out and smacked your ass again, just as hard as the first time, and did the same soothing motion with his hand. You could feel your own slick now, cooling against your skin, transferred from his fingers. His hand slid down your ass again, so soft, until he came to your core again. He slid a hand between your legs and flicked a lazy finger over your clit. You jumped in his hands and moaned again. 

“Focus,” he reminded you softly. “What is the count?”

Your brow furrowed. “S-six, High King. Let me.” Six? Six. You rocked against him again and you could feel how heavy his cock felt underneath you. He was holding back quite a bit to give you this.

“Mmm,” he murmured. “Let you what? You are not speaking in full sentences, I’m afraid. I do not follow you.” He smacked your ass again, overlapping with one of the others, and you fought to lift your head from the sting and pleasure of it. His hand kept your neck down and he moved his hand from your ass quickly, leaving you to sting and squirm. 

“Seven. High King, let me taste you?”

He spanked you again, softer this time, and spent longer kneading your flesh after. “Clever one,” he said firmly, hand pressing on your upper back now. “Be more clever. What do you want?”

“Eight, High King,” you said crisply, demanding yourself to focus, refusing now to be distracted. He would start over if you didn’t focus. “Let me suck your cock, please.” 

You felt him twitch under you. He paused for a moment, brown eyes searching your face after he had once again grabbed your chin. He was considering it. You might be able to talk him into it. 

You started babbling. What was happening was not happening fast enough and all the thoughts in your brain had turned to liquid. “Or you can take me however you wish or I will get on all fours or—“

“After ten,” he promised, fingers grazing softly against your face. “Will you take two more for me? I will lower your punishment to ten if you promise to listen. And promise that you will not ignore my summons again.”

You nodded eagerly, yes yes to whatever he wanted. He had broken you now, and quickly, too, compared to your regular play —  and the look in his eyes told him he knew it. He looked victorious. 

You were unprepared, then, for the next sharp crack hitting your ass. He put just the right amount of heft in this one that your body rocked back and forth for a moment after. 

“Nine.” It came out as a moan. 

He chuckled. “And we’ve already dropped my title. Impertinent.”

Before you could answer, his thick fingers found you again, filling you with a delicious stretch. He curled his fingers down and your legs started jumping against his hand. You are not in control of that motion. It is all of it too much and not enough and your body does not know which sensation to chase first. 

“Ten,” you whispered, so close now to your own crest. You were on a knife’s edge and it took a lot of focus to not simply orgasm now and deal with whatever irritation it caused in him later. 

He truly did always give you one more chance than he should. 

“Was that ten?” Gil-galad asked teasingly. “How time flies,” he smiled. “I suppose we will count that as ten.” 

His fingers kept working inside you, pulling you higher. His other hand setted in the small of your lower back, allowing him to guide you back against his fingers while your body still pressed against his cock. “Would you like to come? You have done so well. I will take care of you, if you wish. I will let you come once for me.” 

“Yes, yes, please, yes,” you managed to chant out. So close. You fought between snapping your legs closed and just falling forward to raise your ass in the air and let him take you from behind while you were on the floor. 

Instead he slid his other hand under you, pressing against you from below, as his fingers stroked firmly. Your hips jerked again – the pads of his fingers were just this side of too rough – and suddenly the ache inside you twisted and came apart. You started to bite against his leg to muffle your sounds, but he made a warning growl in his chest, so you let yourself cry out as you came in white hot waves, rocking, pinned between his hands. 

You panted, chest heaving as you turned into jelly in his lap, your arms and legs limp. If not for him pinning you up, you would have slid to the floor.

Your thoughts were still a syrupy jumble, but you felt satisfied. You knew the night was not over, but at least he let you have one ☝️. 

At least he gave you the joy of that, before the salad plates and dinner conversation with men and women you do not care to meet.

After your breathing returned to normal, he lifted you out of his lap and set you on your feet, rising smoothly to stand next to you. Your legs were not quite up to the task of holding your weight, so he held you closely. “Go to the bedroom,” he said softly as he adjusted your dress over your shoulders. “We will continue there. That was the first of many gifts I will give you tonight if you heed me.”

Your brow creased. Thoughts were still coming slowly, but both of you should not have time for that. Especially since you both needed to dress again – his robe was still ruined. And yours was, too, now. “Dinner,” you said, confusion in your tone. You had not exactly looked at a clock while he was fingering you but surely…“Don’t we have to go to a formal dinner, Erienion? I do not want to go. That is what started this.”

Gil-galad laughed richly. “Any dinner with a king is a formal dinner. We have nowhere to be tonight but with each other.” His arms slid around your waist and you could feel how hard he still was against your thigh. 

You blinked up at him and he smiled back. “Really? No formal dinner?”

His sharp brown eyes flicked over your face and he sighed, pulling back from you slightly to point toward the bed. “No formal dinner. And this is why it is always much easier if you simply listen to me and come to me when I call you…You would be made aware of these facts much earlier if you were less petulant.”

So you had all night together. He planned that from the start.

Sneaky. Handsome. Bastard.

You cocked an eyebrow at him and stopped moving. Gil-galad tugged on your wrist one (1) time. “The bed, melethnín,” he rumbled gently.

You say it before you can stop yourself.

“No. Make me.”

// Author's Notes: "elleth" and "ellon" are just elven terms for females and males. The last name he calls her, melethnín, means "my love." I think. If it doesn't, don't come for me, it's what I mean to say and you get the vibe. Clearly accurate Quenya translations were not -- not -- the point of this.

//

If you enjoy this, check out ✨The Director's Cut✨ masterlist with quick links to all my TROP/LOTR content and AO3 profile.

[redstarwriting]

the clash | vii. i wanna be sedated

hobie brown x goth!reader

word count: 2k

genre: enemies to lovers

warnings: language, insults, you(?) hating hobie, anxious hobie, panic attacks, mentions of death, threat of main character death, giving blood, negative self-talk, ANGST

a/n: another short one, but that’s because it’s about to get intense. there’s a possibility the series may be ending within the next two chapters, but we shall see what happens! please enjoy this one, and i promise it won’t be all angst the rest of the time lmao there will be a pay off, next chapter should be LONG and give a smidge of happiness

previous chapter: vi. (with someone you shouldn’t’ve)

now reading: vii. i wanna be sedated

next chapter: viii. love you to death

───────────────────────────────────

Hobie stares at Miguel. He can see his lips moving, but he can’t hear what he’s saying. All he can hear is his heartbeat and the blood rushing to his head. Kill? This other version of him was meant to kill you. Does that mean he’s going to kill you now that he killed him? No. No that can’t happen. He won’t let it happen.

“HOBIE!”

Hobie realizes he’s gripping the desk in front of him. His eyes are wide, and his heart is beating faster than he has ever felt it beat before. He clenches and unclenches his jaw, swallowing nothing. His throat is dry. Miguel hesitantly places a hand on his shoulder. “Hobie, can you hear me?” He nods, staring ahead of him at his hands. “I think I might know what you’re thinking. You won’t kill them. You aren’t going to take the place of Hobart on their world,” he assures him, and Hobie tries to control his shaky breathing. “You have to calm down,” Miguel says in probably the gentlest voice Hobie has ever heard from him. He forgets he’s a dad sometimes. And that he also has gone through some shit. He nods again, trying to take in what Miguel just said. He accidentally snaps two pieces off the desk with how hard he’s gripping it. He closes his eyes and takes a breath. “You were trainin’ ‘em to stop him.”

Miguel nods. “I was.”

“Does that mean I can still save ‘em?” Hobie looks at him, and Miguel sighs. “Maybe… but–”

“But what?” Hobie frantically asks, and Miguel frowns. “The Venom symbiote was supposed to take over as the Spider-Person for their world as Hobie Brown… if we defeat Venom…”

“Please don’t tell me…” Hobie whispers, and Miguel nods. “There is a 100% chance their world will collapse. It’s the final canon even in (Y/n)’s story.”

“No…” Hobie shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “No, there has to be a way! We can do somethin’!”

“Hobie…” Miguel starts, but Hobie turns his head towards him, suddenly angry. Ready to fight. “And you were just gonna let this bloody shit happen?! You care so fuckin’ much about the fuckin’ canon that–”

“HOBIE. No! I wasn’t going to let it happen. Why do you think I put so much time and effort into helping them?! I’ve been trying to fix it!” Miguel yells, “I know you might find it hard to believe but I’m not a fan of an evil symbiote taking over the world of someone I’ve been mentoring for the past month.” Hobie looks down again. “What if they just… stayed with me? In my world?” “Hobie, if their world disappears, they disappear,” Miguel explains and Hobie shakes his head. “No. Find out a way to make ‘em stay! You can do that! You have tech and all the shit to do it! We can save ‘em!” Hobie is screaming at this point, and Miguel stares at him for a moment. He sighs, rubbing his face, distressed. “There… might actually be a way,” he says. Hobie nearly falls to his knees. “How?”

“I’ve been developing something to change the genetic code of someone, making them appear like they belong in another universe. My thought process behind it is if Miles did it with the spider from Earth-42, we can do it here as well,” he explains, typing something into his computer. Hobie watches the screens. He reads everything happening in front of him, but it’s a little hard at this particular moment as it feels like everything is kind of crashing down around him. He is able to get some basic information on how Miguel would do this, though. “We’d just need somethin’ from my world, then?” he asks, and Miguel nods. “Yes… but unfortunately the process can be… painful.”

“How painful?” Hobie asks, and Miguel glances at him. “Are you willing to do anything to save them?”

“Yes!” Hobie says, and Miguel nods. “We tested it on inanimate objects until we were sure it would work, then we tested it on animals. And while it always turns out fine in the end… the process is difficult to watch. Their molecules will be rearranged and changed, tearing them apart and piecing them back together. Can you sit by and watch that happen to them?” Miguel asks, and Hobie gulps. “I can try…”

Miguel holds up a smaller device, showing it to Hobie. “What you do is you take anything from your universe, inanimate, and put it in here. I’ll also need a blood sample from you.” Hobie then notices that he’s still gripping the pieces of the desk in his hands. He opens his hands, and the remains of the desk fall out of them and onto the floor. Miguel hands the device over, and Hobie holds it, tossing it back and forth in his hands. “What do I do with this?” “I just told you,” Miguel says, glancing at him. Hobie stares at the little device in his hands. Right. He did just tell him. He hasn’t felt this scatterbrained in a long time. He takes off one of his pins from his vest, sticking it inside. It whirs and shuts tightly. Miguel takes it back from him and nods. “This should work perfectly. Now, I need some blood from you. We’ll perform a blood transfusion with the blood from your world to stabilize them as the genetic splicing takes place, luckily with the technology we have here on Earth-2099, the transfusion should take no longer than 3 minutes,” Miguel explains, as he begins walking toward his lab. Hobie follows him, quieter than he’s ever been in his entire life. Miguel glances back at him. “Are you okay to give some blood?”

“Yeah. Should be nothin’,” he mumbles and Miguel nods.

Miguel motions him to sit in a chair so he could get some blood from him. He sits. “You know, this is the first time you’ve done what I’ve said without fighting me on it,” Miguel says as machines start up, preparing Hobie’s arm for blood extraction. Hobie scoffs. “Come off it, mate,” he mumbles and Miguel shrugs. “I’m just saying.”

“I’m still Spider-Man. I can be responsible or whatever,” Hobie says as the machine takes some of his blood. “Mhm. Apparently, you can,” Miguel says, and he looks at him. “So, you like them, huh?”

“What?”

“(Y/n)? You actually ended up liking them?” Miguel asks again, and Hobie shrugs one shoulder slightly. “Guess so,” Hobie mumbles, and Miguel shakes his head. “The blood extraction should be done soon. How are you feeling?”

“Bloody brilliant,” he mumbles, and then sees Miguel’s face. “Buck up, bloke. I’m fine,” he answers and Miguel nods. “I’ll get everything ready. Bring them here, and we’ll figure out the rest. If it’s the worst case scenario, let me know. I’ll send back-up.”

Hobie stands, giving Miguel a nod, and walks out of the lab. The blood extraction did make him a little light-headed, but he doesn’t have the time to sit around and wait to feel better. He’s lost in his thoughts. He let his anger get the best of him, and in doing so, put you in danger. That was the last thing he wanted. He wanted to protect you and getting that asshole out of the way was the best way to do it. He thought it was the best way, at least. But it turns out that that asshole was him. And now you’re in even more danger than you were before. If that symbiote bonds with you… He doesn’t wanna think about it. Symbiotes can fuck up a host. He’s seen it happen. He doesn’t want you to have to go through any of that. And to top it all off, Miguel was saying how dangerous this symbiote is. Does that mean if it bonds with you, it’ll kill you? And is it like his symbiotes where noises drive it crazy? How did he fuck up this bad? 

He's torn out of his thoughts by a familiar voice. “Hobie! Hey!” Gwen yells, landing next to him. “Alright?”

“I’m good. You should have seen it, Miles, Pav, and I took down Doc Ock after he escaped from prison, it was crazy. We could have used you and (Y/n),” she starts rambling off and he just listens. “Sounds great,” he mumbles, and she raises an eyebrow at him. “You okay? You seem a little… down.”

“’m fine,” he mumbles, and she doesn’t believe him, but she knows he’ll talk about it when he’s ready. Miles and Pavitr appear shortly after, talking to each other about how they did a move together that was ‘so cool!’ and how they need to show Hobie it as soon as they can. “Right, great talkin’ to you all, but I have to go visit (Y/n),” Hobie says, fiddling with his watch to open a portal to your world. “Oh, are you guys on speaking terms again? About damn time,” Miles says, and Pav leaps up and down with a little clap. “Have the two of you accepted your feelings for each other yet?” Pav asks, and Hobie just glances at him, not saying anything. Usually, he would tell him to piss off. But he’s not about to do that when he did realize his feelings for you. So he just stays quiet.

The three of them look at each other with wide eyes as Hobie steps through the portal and into your world without a word.

As soon as he’s back, the air feels a little… different. Maybe it’s just him coming to terms with what he’s done, though. He’s unsure how much time has passed since he left, but a quick glance at the grandfather clock in the corner of your room tells him he’s been gone about three hours or so. He hears a soft meow and looks to see Shadow peeking out from behind a small crack between the wall and your fridge. “Hey, Shadow,” he says, crouching down and holding his hand out. Shadow cautiously approaches him, sniffing his fingers before walking into his hand. He pets him and looks around. “(Y/n)!” he calls your name but gets no response. Strange.

He hears another meow and looks down at Shadow who is staring at your balcony doors. The curtains have been pulled over them, but he can see that one is open from the wind blowing the curtain inside. He sees the silhouette of someone on your balcony, but if it was you, you would have been saying something to him by now.

He gets a bad feeling.

He slowly stands, and Gwen, Miles, and Pavitr end up coming through the portal. “Shh,” Hobie says, holding up his hand and pulling his mask over his face. The three of them glance at each other as they realize something is wrong, too. Hobie slowly walks toward your balcony doors, pushing the curtain out of the way and seeing your form facing out towards the city. You seem to be in your suit, as you’re shrouded in black from head to toe. But it looks like a new suit. Pav, Miles, and Gwen follow him, on edge the whole time. He stares at you for a moment, but you stay still.

“(Y/n)?” he says your name, and he sees your head tilt slightly, signifying you heard him. “Is that… you…?” he asks. You turn slowly. His eyes widen and his heart drops. He was too late. He sees a toothy grin spread across what was supposed to be your mask and clenches his fists as he hears Venom laugh. “(Y/n) can’t come to the phone right now,” Venom says, their otherworldly voice causing the four spiders to prepare for the worst. “But I would like to thank you, Hobie Brown, for freeing me of my constraints.”

Hobie has a flashback to his fight with himself. “The glass…” he mutters, and Venom lets out a laugh. He feels the world close in on him. His hands shake. He was too late. You were already taken over by Venom. As if reading his thoughts, Venom smiles at him, muttering the words that make his heart stop.

“You led me to them.”

───────────────────────────────

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[puck-luck]

May I please request for 1 of Clubs with Trevor Zegras, my sweet Andy? You already know I had to pick my sweet Trevor

Requested by Miss Brynn (@sweetestdesire) <3 xo hope you enjoy

Warnings: dumbification, choking mentioned, angry Trevor, unprotected p in v, MEAN Trevor, degredation, name-calling, mentions of praise ofc bc i love to mix the two <3 WC: 1,026

When Trevor is angry, he stays angry as long as he can. He’s wont to hold a grudge and to come home stewing, especially after a game where he lost or where he felt he didn’t perform well enough. Fortunately, after so much time spent together, and very compatible sexual habits, you know exactly how to react to his bad moods.

It was a surprise the first time it happened– Trevor had been close to coming, his hips pumping into yours at an unreal and unrelenting pace. His hand was squeezing your throat in the way you’d always loved and begged for. You were lightheaded, eyes rolling back just a bit, and Trevor was taken with the look on your face. 

“Fuck,” he cursed. “You like it when I fuck you stupid, baby?” 

And God, you do. You love it when Trevor gets rough and takes control, barking out orders and then doing it himself when your mind takes just a little too long to process what’s going on. After the first time he mentioned it, it became a regular trope in your escapades: Trevor doing everything he can to render your head empty, then gloating about it. 

Which is how you got here today. Trevor got into a few verbal spats with a guy on the other team, which eventually culminated in a brawl in the third period that left Trevor’s feathers ruffled. He came home stewing, mumbling about this guy who had it personally out for him from the get-go and he doesn’t know why. You were in the crowd at the game, so you saw something similar and you didn’t know why either, until one of your more hockey-friendly friends texted you and said that Trevor’s enemy had played for the Ducks one upon a time. You didn’t know if they ever overlapped– and it turned out that their careers didn’t. So the anger and resentment didn’t make much sense to you, even at the end of the night. 

What did make sense to you was that you were in for a long night. You shouldn’t have felt as excited as you did. You shouldn’t feel as excited as you do.

You’re in the midst of it now. Trevor has you bent over the kitchen counter– you couldn’t even make it to the bedroom. He’s fucking into you from behind and the skin of your behind is warm from the number of times that Trevor’s palm has made contact with it. His slaps are harsh and mean, even. He knows your boundaries, so he’s not pushing past them. His frustration has always been welcome in this way– while his cock is inside you, or when it’s about to be. 

“Put your leg up,” Trevor commands. 

You’re already on your tiptoes, trying to find leverage against the counter. Your mind is delaying like you’re listening to a different language that you don’t quite understand. After a minute, you lift your leg and try to hook it along the counter. The surface is slippery, so your leg falls and you have to try again. 

Trevor helps, just a tad. His strong hand goes to the back of your thigh, pressing your leg into the hard edge of the marble. There’s no give and it’s digging into your skin, likely leaving a mark, but you don’t care. The new angle has your vision turning spotty from pleasure.

“Pathetic,” Trevor spits out, although the insult sounds much more like praise in your deluded mind. “Look at you. You can’t even do what I ask without help.”

You moan his name wantonly, acknowledging his words with the sound. 

It’s too quick of a response for Trevor– he hasn’t rendered you dumb enough. He wants your mind to lag for even longer, so he delivers another smack to the globes of your ass before bringing his hand to the back of your head. He pushes your head until your cheek is flush against the cool tile, the sensations competing in your mind and confusing you further. All the while, Trevor is working his hips faster and harder. His cock plunges into your heat with lewd noises and brutal meetings of your g-spot and his tip. 

“Shut up,” Trevor growls. “The only thing I want to hear out of you are screams, baby. I’m going to fuck every last thought out of this pretty little head. I’m going to make you come so hard that you can’t even fucking speak.”

He pushes your head once more before pulling back and securing his hold on your waist, able to keep you in place to better meet his thrusts. He bends at the waist enough for his lips to meet the curve of your shoulder. He kisses in a moment of sweetness before he mouths over your skin, scraping his teeth along and biting down as you try to push yourself up and lean into his touch. He’s going to leave a mark, and better yet, you want him to.

“Fucking cock-dumb,” he mutters after he unclenches his jaw. He lathers his tongue over the bite, then stands so that he can use his whole force to fuck into you. You’re close and he shows no signs of stopping. 

You know that even when you come, he’ll keep going until you’re releasing over him again and again. It’s lucky– you’re able to clean the tile floor much faster than your bedsheets. In fact, just when you think you’re done, Trevor will probably fuck you senseless again, on your hands and knees on the kitchen floor. But that’s all still to come– for now, there’s a sting in your shoulder and burning heat across your ass. There are still some words floating around in your brain, but they slowly, slowly, slowly evaporate into atomic-sized particles. There was something here, once… before Trevor started fucking you. It’s hard to remember what. You’re all consumed by the boy behind you, with his biting words and lethal thrusts. It’s only once he’s said that you’re good, his good girl, that you understand that you’ve come underneath him for the first time and soon, you will again.

[thecoolerliauditore]

see cus so much of bdubs communication is based off of him giving the other person room to push back or react. it's why he bounces so well off of tango for example because tango is really happy to make snarky remarks that bdubs can set up.

but scott has this kinda polite coworker air about him like 90% of the time so I can't help but feel like in the case of a bdubs/scott team up if they do talk it would be something like. bdubs going "youghhhh awhh you little rascal you're hiding the entire worlds supply of sugar cane down here!!!!!" and scott would be like "well that's so that no one else can have tnt later :)" and the conversation just dies.

the best case scenario. For ME. Is if their personalities really just hardcore clash like bdubs treats scott pretty much like how he did during SL and scott just. doesn't match his energy and bdubs ofc sneaks off to go see etho like he always does and scotts like okayy bye ^^ but as soon as he's alone he's like fuckkk bdubs doesn't care about me he's gonna leave me i need some sort of backup plan cleo cleo are you home cleo can we be friends again 🥺🥺and because this is my universe and I make the rules cleo's kinda dismissive of scotts concerns cus oh you know bdubs is just. like that. and scott's like oh okay awesome awesome this doesn't worry me anymore! (it worries him)

and scott's like bdubs pleaseeee can you not antagonize people you're making us enemies!! and bdubs sees this as an opportunity to do his over-the-top confident schtick to try and lure scott into insulting him so he says some shit like "yeah well they can't get past me!! im invincible im im a MACHINE scott" and scott's like hahaha okay!! (gonna kms)

at some point scott tries to wrestle some inkling of control back and he's like bdubs. bdubs look me in the eyes bdubs etho has never done anything good for you he's taking advantage of you he's always taken advantage of you. and in listing the ways etho is Evil and Bad he has to kinda confront facts about himself that make him want to walk into the ocean. bdubs still isn't taking him totally seriously but HOW DARE he insult etho so he starts doing his whole fake-rage thing and scott is like well he-- well-- nevermind. and storms off like an angry toddler.

then bdubs decides fuck it there's something deeply wrong with this kid so he's like hey. hey etho scott says you're BAD. and ethos like uhh okay. and bdubs is like you're a BAD MAN ethoslab you have done BAD THINGS i need to DUEL YOU AT DAWN. and ethos like uhhh okay 😥 and scott has to referee their "duel" which is just like. them hitting eachother with wooden swords but they both have to spamclick cus. mindcrack nostalgia or whatever. and at the end bdubs is like okay i fought him scott are you happy i beat him up for his crimes. and scott's like okay awesome can you kill me now it's episode 4 but ican't take this anymore

[tinkerbellaglowstone]

I am so SICK of people mischaracterizing Ted

I always see people defend Ellen or Gorrister or really any of them. (Please understand I, myself, also constantly defend Ellen) but never do I see Ted. I even see some people comparing him to Jimmy? That’s way too far. It’s always people bashing and writing him off as some asshole who didn’t gaf about anyone

That’s so so wrong.

Ted is literally driven to insanity. Can you imagine constantly being on edge? In a state of panic? Convinced the only people around you are out to get you? It’s gotta be exhausting. 109 years of physical and mental torture. He’s a paranoid and a schizophrenic. He talks about angels singing ‘Go Down Moses’ and bringing Ellen and I think Nimdok back. That did not happen. AM is filling his head with religious imagery to make Ted to see him as some all divine, all powerful God like being. And he is. And it works. Ted sees AM as a masculine deity. I’ve noticed in the book he says Gorrister hits Ellen while only she cries for Benny. While in the radio drama, they are all worried over Benny and Ted actually freaks out and tells them to get back, that it was too late. It’s like he believes they have no control whatsoever. ‘whatever AM gives we just have to take it’ or around the lines of that. 

He’s mental. He cannot help that. So of course you’re a jerk to everyone. I’m sure AM also fills his head with lies about the others as well. I mean why wouldn’t he? He doesn’t want them to work together and thrive, he wants them to break each other and suffer. 

In the radio drama as well, Ted and Ellen have a one on one. After a freak out from seeing whatever he thought he saw and running away for god knows how long (notice how he can’t keep time. I’m sure the others can’t as well but often he says maybe days, months, years) he’s scared and upset. Maybe they were just laughing out of confusion or fear or because it wasn’t them in his shoes but to him that is laughter enjoying his pain, the same way AM later laughs after stabbing him and expressing his hatred. He insults them all but I mean listen to what he says. Benny has been extremely altered. Gorrister has been stripped of personality, Nimdok is a mystery case of disappearances and Ellen sleeps with the others (which personally, and this is my belief, I think she only ever sleeps with Ted to keep his peace of mind. Plus we only hear this from Ted himself, and he’s already insecure saying Benny isn’t gay anymore and he’s got a huge wiener which is also false. I’ve seen some fan theories about this and I actually like them. And also Benny can’t consent to any of that and I’m sure Gorrister misses his wife, I’ve never played the video game sorry if I’m mistaken I just know Gorrister had a wife, But that’s just my interpretation) and overall Ted just seems like a huge dick. No wonder after all his paranoia would he think he’s got the good end of the deal. When in reality, he really really doesn’t. At least everyone understands their situation to an extant, minus Benny, Ted doesn’t. Ted is constantly walking on eggshells. Or he thinks he is. Then after it clicks and he breaks down. And again in the radio drama, in the rat (or was it bat) cave, he tells Benny ‘we don’t do that, we’re not animals, we’re human beings!’ He is desperately trying to hold onto his humanity (which, doesn’t work out clearly as he’s a slug) and somewhat a grip on reality. That he is still human even if this isn’t humane. He’s desperate. He’s alone even when surrounded by people. He’s constantly filled with thoughts and honestly I’d call it grooming (grooming: the practice of preparing or training someone for a particular purpose or activity.) from AM. In the video game AM tells Ted he’s his favorite. At the end of the day hes scared like all of them are. And he can’t keep himself together. He has lost himself completely. Broken down and reshaped. He mentions how AM has made his mind a chalkboard or something like that. He also suffers physically too. In the game, when he stands in his cage with the lazors CLEARLY only aiming for his eyes. He can’t even see that. He still stands there in agony when all he needs to do is duck down. He misses the bigger picture. Ted is so lost, so paranoid so delusional and mental he can barely see it himself. Is he a good guy? No. Is he a bad guy of the story? Absolutely not.

ALSOOO Jimmy killed everyone out of selfishness (yes every single death and event is all his fault I hate him I’m so glad he killed himself). Ted, who was finally given a clear head for once, saved them. It was him or Ellen and he chose to get her out of that hell scape. (Which I like to point how how he said he tried/wanted to bury them, meaning he had at least a small amount of time to kill himself. Which he couldn’t, also a fan theory I’ve seen.) Ted sacrificed himself to help everyone. The complete opposite of what Jimmy did. He is HAPPY he pissed AM off by killing them. Even if AM has won he still knows he has the upper hand. How in the hell in his situation can you think YOU have the advantage? In the radio drama as well, the way he says ‘He altered me’ (or along the lines) I saw a comment saying he sounds violated. Which he has been. I love Ted, I really do. I appreciate his character so much because he’s often so overlooked and just known as the unreliable narrator. He’s unreliable for a reason, not because he’s selfish and wants the story his way, but because that’s how he sees things. (also idk if it’s true it’s this pdf file I found talking about all of them and it talks abt Ted at 19 and like older women. I can’t remember what it says but like, 19? 19 is young, still a boy.)

Yes, I do acknowledge he is a huge dick to everyone. But he’s also in a bad terrible situation. And even if you hate him, I think he definitely makes up for it all at the very end. 

[dimplyowl]

Today I want to talk about intentions. A while ago I made a post about why Izzy's toxic masculinity and internalized homophobia doesn't give him a free pass to treat other people like shit and then not try to atone for that. A lot of the Izzy apologists I see seem to be of that opinion: that because we take into consideration Ed's past trauma when thinking how his actions have hurt the people we care about, we should give Izzy the same grace.

Well, I don't actually think we should, and I'm going to tell you why.

First, though, I want to say that this isn't about attacking people who enjoy characters who are pieces of shit. Please, by all means, enjoy your grubby little shitstain characters (I absolutely have some of my own that I love). This is about discussing why it's problematic to twist the canonical narrative to label Ed as abusive and Izzy as a victim.

And, in my opinion, it comes down to intentions.

"But dimplyowl," you say, "someone's intentions don't matter when the result is harmful to the people around them!" And I think, to a point, yes, that's true. People who hurt others through careless or reckless behavior need to bear the responsibility of their actions and own up to it (something that imo Izzy does not do). But I think there's also a distinction that needs to be made between people who hurt and control others because they take pleasure in feeling powerful over them, and those who don't.

If we take a look at Izzy's actions in season one and compare them to Ed's actions in season two, in my personal opinion, it becomes clear that one of these men is someone who has repeatedly taken pleasure in mistreating the people around him, both insubordinates and people that he claims to "have love for." And that man isn't the dread pyrate Blackbeard.

Does Ed enact violence on other people? Yes. Does he "love a good maim?" Also yes. Does he enjoy hurting people? Mm, debatable. The thing about Ed is that he has a complicated relationship with violence. To him, it's a tool to be utilized when necessary. I think he certainly gets a sense of vindictive pleasure when instructing Fang to skin the French captain or when the people at the French party descend into chaos and set themselves on fire. But, importantly, it's because those are people who wronged him. Those are people who hurt him, who dug at his race and his background and took pleasure in using those things to hurt him.

But Ed doesn't enjoy violence for violence's sake. There's always a reason, whether it's in reaction to being insulted, belittled, or threatened, or whether it's because it's literally just in the job description, he has a reason.

In season two, his reason for mistreating the crew is that he's trying to provoke them into mutinying on him. And, like, honestly, he does a pretty shitty job of it. Up until we rejoin them, his big crime is overworking them. The crew is tired emotionally and physically, but for the most part they're unharmed. They lost Ivan on a raid, but any one of them could die on a raid at any time, because it's literally just a hazard of the job. Not a single one of them is even considering mutiny at this point.

Ed hits his breaking point when Izzy suggests that they try and "talk it through," and imo completely understandably. It's his fault that the morale on the ship is low, is it? It's his fault because he was sad and heartbroken and vulnerable? It's his fault because he was healing in his own way, but that wasn't acceptable to Izzy at the time, but now because the ship isn't fun for Izzy anymore, because Izzy is on the verge of losing his position of power as Blackbeard's first mate, now is when Izzy decides that maybe talking it through might actually be helpful? Yeah, if I were Ed, I would fucking shoot him too.

But not once do we get any evidence that Ed is taking any pleasure in wearing down the crew. When he hits his breaking point, he is very clearly not having a good time. He realizes that if he wants this to end, he needs to up the ante. He hands Izzy a loaded gun and offers himself up as an easy target. Izzy laughs at his suicidal boss, friend, someone that he "has love for", and tells him to do it himself. He prolongs Ed's suffering. He puts the crew in even more danger. And even as Ed is trying to make the crew kill him, he doesn't touch them. By this point, we've seen this crew turn to mutiny twice, once because of Stede's ineptitude and once because of Izzy's abuse when he took over as captain. It shouldn't take much to get them to act, and yet it takes Ed threatening to get them all killed in a storm for them to finally act. Because up until that point, he's been unstable, he's been clearly going through a crisis, but he hasn't hurt them, he hasn't been abusive. He's clearly not enjoying any of this, he's going through some shit, he's hurting, and they love him, and until their lives are imminent danger, they're discussing how to help him.

If Ed wanted to hurt them, if he wanted to push them into mutiny sooner, there are so many things he could have done to terrorize them. Instead until the point he decides he can't live anymore, his only hope is that either he'll get killed in a raid, or he'll overwork them enough that they'll kill him themselves. This is not about abusing his crew, this is about abusing himself.

In contrast, when we look at Izzy's behavior throughout season one, we see someone who very clearly enjoys his position of power over other people, and who gets pleasure out of abusing that power. In 1x2, he sows distrust and uncertainty in Ivan and Fang about Ed's decision-making, telling them that he's half-mad, keeping Ed separate from the crew, and discouraging any questions by asserting himself physically over Fang. (He then claims in 1x4 to have reassured the crew when they've doubted Ed's leadership, when in fact he seems to be the cause of that doubt). In 1x3 he blatantly lies to Ed about having "explicitly" (his word) told Stede that "Blackbeard wants a word with him." He is practically gleeful when he passes on Stede's message to go suck eggs in hell, clearly expecting that to get a rise out of Ed, certainly to get him to drop his fascination with the Gentleman Pirate, and probably intending for Ed to attack Stede himself for disrespecting him.

In 1x4, he flip flops between caring that some of their crew died while fighting the Spanish to get Stede and his crew, and telling Ivan and Fang to kill anyone who refuses to fight the Spanish. Intending to fight the Spanish warships that have caught up with him is absolutely going to get everyone slaughtered, when there are other options. Ed actually advises anyone who can to leave, knowing that that's their only chance for survival, and similarly he tells the Revenge crew to surrender when cornered by the British. In 1x4, he clearly considers every death that would occur to be his responsibility when he tells Stede that being Blackbeard means that everyone's going to die, and it's going to be all his fault. Who's the one who actually cares about what happens to his crew here?

In 1x5 Izzy attempts to exert control over Lucius and punish him for, apparently, not working on his day off? Never mind that there are two other people in that room who are slacking off. Izzy targets Lucius, who is an effeminate unapologetically gay man, who Izzy clearly believes will be an easy target. He attempts to mock his sexuality (which actually winds up being more telling on himself), decides that it's his right to tell someone else's crew what to do at all, and attempts to use Lucius as an example to show the rest of Stede's crew that their "days of doing fuck-all are over", but then doesn't give jobs to the rest of the crew? He catches one of his own crew members fucking off with Lucius, and from what we can extrapolate, decides to only punish Lucius, because clearly Lucius as the "seductress" is to blame. He threatens to blackmail Lucius into obeying him, is visibly enjoying threatening him and manipulating him, and leaves like a pissy toddler when he doesn't get his way. And by "get his way", I mean successfully gains control over someone through threats and manipulation.

In 1x6, he once again decides that an effeminate gay man needs to be punished for his existence, but this time it's Stede he sets his sights on. He decides that he needs to take action only after hearing Ivan say that he's never seen Ed so open and available. Izzy can't have that, because he needs Ed to be dependent on Izzy, so that Izzy can continue to isolate Ed from the rest of the crew, can remain the only source of contact between Ed and the crew, and thereby easily control and manipulate both parties. He pressures Ed into finally acting on what he said he would do, belittling Stede and Ed's connection to Stede by referring to Stede as Ed's pet. (It is not an accidental choice that the writers will later have another antagonist refer to Stede as Ed's pet; it's deliberate mirroring to Izzy as an antagonist). He uses Stede's ego to manipulate him into insisting on putting on the fuckery so that they can get rid of Stede today--almost as if he knows that putting immediate pressure on Ed to act won't give him time to reconsider, to rethink, to back out, to maybe consider why Izzy is so adamant about this--and then uses Stede and Ed's relationship to further manipulate Stede into doubling down on doing the fuckery when he's doubting himself. And doing it in possibly the creepiest way possible?? Stede literally puts up a physical barrier between them, and Izzy pushes against that, actually literally pushes up against the curtain to push against the boundary that Stede has put up.

And then when it's clear Ed isn't going to kill Stede, Izzy decides that he's going to take that decision out of Ed's hands. He decides he knows better than Ed what's best for him, places more value in his own decisions than Ed's, essentially mutinies on Ed by disobeying him, and on Stede by challenging him to a duel. He clearly believes he's going to win, and easily, in the process forcing someone he again claims to "have love for" to watch as he destroys the only thing that's brought hope and life and light and enjoyment back into Ed's life. He's embarrassingly easily goaded into losing his temper, relishes the moment he thinks he's won, the moment he stabs Stede, loses his temper again when his sword is stuck. Canyonites love to talk about Ed having anger problems, but this episode clearly demonstrates who actually has the anger problem. He looks to Ed when he realizes he's lost, as if Ed is going to forgive him, let him stay, when he just tried to kill Ed's friend and (only in Izzy's mind at that point) lover.

Izzy then turns to the fucking cops to turn Stede in. He reinforces his belief that Ed isn't capable of making his own decisions when he refers to Stede as having "done something" to Ed's brain, as if Ed is a weak-willed, easily manipulated child. He sends Jack in because he knows that Jack will put a wedge between Ed and Stede, and hopefully to get Ed out of there before the navy shows up. He apparently doesn't consider the fact that Ed is the most wanted pirate in the world, and if Jack doesn't succeed, will be in life-threatening danger. But maybe he doesn't care about that, considering what he tells Ed later.

He arranges for Ed to be put into his custody. Like, I shouldn't have to say anything about that, because it's fucking disgusting. Like Ed is property to be handed over to Izzy. He tries to convince Ed that Stede's execution is actually a kindness, despite knowing what it will do to Ed. When that fails, he tries to convince Ed not to take the Act and sign the contract, but...isn't that what Izzy himself just did?

In 1x9 we get more of his control and manipulation over the crew. Taking away a week of Wee John's rations for making a comment about Izzy's terrible name for his ship, as he is actively eating in front of him. Making Ivan and Fang serve him, telling them his food needs more salt, and then not even eating more of it when they salt it? Fucking gross. That move is all about control.

And then 1x10, which I shouldn't even have to talk about, but the fucking horrible way he treats Ed apparently is still something that goes over some peoples' heads. Once again keeping him secluded from the crew, refusing to give them answers about what's going on, keeping them busy by literally spitting on their clean deck, when he could have just dumped the coffee out on it. Watching Ed grieve and bond with the crew, once again deciding for Ed that he knows what's best for him, interrupting his grieving process, telling him that what he's become is worse than death. Threatening him that if he doesn't return to the very specific image that Izzy says Blackbeard is, that Izzy will kill him. Later on his deathbed apology admitting that he knew that being Blackbeard was harmful to Ed, but that he kept pressing because Izzy needed him, needed Blackbeard in order to feel powerful, to keep the level of respect and fear that other people had for him.

All of this paints a picture of a person who enjoys feeling powerful, who enjoys using that power to hurt and abuse and control the people around him, who will do anything, even at the detriment of someone that he has "love for", to keep that power for himself. A person who takes pleasure in hurting people, physically and emotionally.

I see a lot of people trying to say that what Ed did was worse than what Izzy did. I personally don't think it was, when you add up the consistent way that Izzy mistreats every person around him. But I think that what's even more important in this discussion are the intentions behind the hurt.

Ed did everything he could not to harm his crew until it became evident that the only way he could be successful in getting them to kill him would be by giving them a very present, very real threat. And even then, the way he went about doing it was very distant. Making Jim and Archie fight each other. Sailing directly into a storm. Damaging the ship to make an already dangerous situation even more dangerous.

Izzy repeatedly enjoyed exerting his control and physical and emotional violence on other people. He displayed a pattern of believing himself to be the only person capable of making the right choices, of removing the agency from the people around him, specifically of removing Ed, a person of color's, agency. He hurt every single person around him, all for his own benefit, for his own gain.

Maybe it comes down to value systems, maybe intentions behind someone's behavior really don't matter to you, but I know that I am much more forgiving of someone who hurt me as a byproduct of hurting themselves than I am someone who knowingly, repeatedly hurts people because they enjoy it.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

If killer had the chance do you think he'd kill nightmare / torture or would he just leave? Though it would probaly depend on the stage right

I think he fantasizes about revenge, about all the things he wants to do to Nightmare. He may even act out these fantasies on others instead, back when he was trapped under Nightmare. I think he ruminates over it a lot under Nightmare. I think he’d enjoy seeing Nightmare in pain and suffering, especially if it was because of something he did or said. Possibly even if it’s only on his behalf even.

But I also think he’s too scared of Nightmare. He sweats when Nightmare even touches him. He sweats when talking about or thinking about him. He doesn’t like when his attention is on him. He doesn’t seriously consider the possibility he could ever do anything to escape or win or fight back against Nightmare physically.

He doesn’t even try to resist when Nightmare chokes him unconscious. He just focuses on trying to heal Nightmare’s bruised ego, and explain what he meant. He doesn’t even bother trying to say that his words of advice wasn’t him trying to insult Nightmare, or imply that he thought nm was weak.

He’s not aware of his fear or able to completely understand or process his fear in Stage 2, which is also in large part why he finds it difficult to understand why he says or does certain things in relation to Nightmare.

In Stage 2 he doesn’t much believe he feels anything at all—detached from the emotions behind his revenge fantasies, detached from the emotions of his kidnapping (if he’s even completely 100% sure that it was real), detached from the emotions of his torture and punishments and the pain inflicted on him as soon as it’s passed—often back to the state of derealization towards his own memories, emotions, and experiences if there’s no evidence left behind.

(Probably one reason he may be apprehensive about the idea of healing physical wounds and scars or trying to ease any of the body’s pain. He sees the benefits and can’t afford to be disabled physically and deemed useless and discarded of, but the pain and injuries and scars are the only things his mind has to reliably latch on to. Something that was real.)

I think his fear of Nightmare would only heighten after his escape. He misses the familiarity Nightmare brings, but he also fears him. Even if he’s not aware of it in Stage 2, he’s likely to do and say things now that he’s free as a result of his fears and be unable to fully comprehend or understand why.

(For example, bringing back the idea of Killer being interested in the possibility of Color absorbing his soul.

He may reason this away as scientific curiosity, or a desire to understand Color more and try to connect, or even a desire to control. All can be correct, but what can also be correct is that he’s scared—that when he’s in Stage 1, he’s scared and terrified. And he’s looking for something that makes him feel safe from the person who makes him feel safe, even if he’s not able to process that given the Stage he’s in.

If killer associates power and strength and control with safety, that’s color. He just wields his power differently than the human and nightmare did, differently than killer has or would.

Color wields with kindness and integrity and justice and patience, something that still appeals to a part of killer. Even if he often has a hard time understanding or trusting it in the beginning, and likely still from others.)

I think Killer would love to have revenge. Likely ruminates and thinks about it often, possibly even draws or writes or talks about it with Color sometimes. But i think he’s far too afraid to do anything about that—and that fact also holds him back.

He doesn’t think he’s truly free from Nightmare, not really. He doesn’t think he’s strong enough deep down, he doesn’t think he’s “won” the game between them, doesn’t think he’s earned his freedom—not until he wins.

He probably thinks his escape with Color is a new game or a test, maybe a dream at some points, even if a lovely one—for a long while. Often just waiting for the facade to fall around him, or the shoe to drop, or some new entity stepping in to seize control over him if he starts to believe that it’s finally, truly over. Most days he just clings to the idea that Color is at least real, and that has to be enough.

It has to.