#but then if i try to write the traditional way i feel limited too because i can't SHOW you what i'm talking about

[bahablastplz]

Snap: Minho x Reader x Jisung

After your boyfriend decides to punish you by not touching you for two weeks, you take matters into your own hands. There's one way to make him snap, and that is Han Jisung. Content: Smut. That's it. Warnings: Heavy degradation, humiliation, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cum eating, fingering, dom/sub dynamics, choking, complicated feelings WC: 3500

You should have known not to test your boyfriend. 

Your boyfriend Minho is one of the best things that has ever happened to you. He is sweet, kind, forgiving, and so so patient with you. 

Ever since you have been dating, he has done an amazing job to make sure you feel loved, whether that be through smaller gestures like baking food with you or writing notes, or buying you flowers and taking you out on the best dates of your life. He is thoughtful and caring, and you both love each other very much. 

The other great thing about Minho is this other side of the world he has helped you to explore… sexually, that is. He introduced you to the world of doms and subs and your relationship has absolutely thrived on that dynamic. Because for that gentle, loving and caring boyfriend that you get to see during the day… you also get to see the exact opposite. Minho, who will take no bullshit. Minho, who can edge you for hours on end and knows exactly which buttons to push to get you to fall apart for him. Minho, who can wrap his hand around your throat and whisper the filthiest, most vulgar things in your ears to try to get you to submit to him. 

Lee Minho, your boyfriend, is an enigma. Better yet, he is yours.

Which is why you know that you can get away with pushing him to his limits the same way that he pushes you to yours. 

That’s sort of how you got yourself into your current situation. 

 Because, maybe one day you decided to push him, and he might have caught you touching yourself in your bed when you weren’t supposed to. And when he tried to give you your punishment, you had an orgasm without his permission. Fast forward to your new punishment: He hasn’t touched you in two weeks. 

Sometimes, you feel like your boyfriend has turned you into a sex-craved machine. But, who can blame you? It’s not your fault that your boyfriend has a body sculpted by the Gods and an even sexier personality. You swore on your life you would never beg and be desperate for a man. And then came Minho. 

During the past two weeks, you have felt absolutely deprived and horny out of your goddamn mind. He knew it, too. He saw the way that you would squeeze your legs together whenever he sat next to you, the way you would squirm, the way that your eyes would get blown out and your breathing heavy… and he didn’t even have to touch you. It was a mind game, and you were losing badly. 

So, that’s how you came up with your awful idea; push Minho to the breaking point and watch him snap. It was a win/win, really. Not only would your punishment end, but maybe you could get him angry enough to have the rough, hard, toe-curling sex you’ve been craving. You just needed to wait for the right opportunity… and it practically fell into your lap. 

Movie night with Han Jisung. 

Jisung is Minho’s best friend. The two are practically inseparable, bonded with a connection deeper than words could describe. Of course, Jisung was at one point one of your best friends as well, as he was the one that introduced you to your boyfriend in the first place. That’s how you know that the way to get to Minho is through Jisung. 

It started with making dinner, the three of you. It’s a weekly tradition, Friday nights eating homemade dinner and watching cheesy movies. This week is your pick, too. It was almost like all of the pieces of the puzzle were coming together. 

You laugh at Jisung’s jokes. Of course, Minho laughs too, but you make a point to laugh harder than you should, slapping your hand onto his shoulder. “Jisung, you are so funny,” you laugh. “I forgot how funny you are. We should hang out more!” 

That causes the man to let out a shy chuckle, throwing his hand behind his head sheepishly. You look over at your boyfriend and smile at him brightly. 

That night, you make sure to leave lingering touches on Jisung’s body. You reach into the popcorn bowl at the same time as him, grazing his knuckles with your fingers. You swipe a piece of stray hair behind his ear. You even drape your legs across his lap completely during the movie. It always leads to a light laugh from him and a blush that spreads across his cheeks, his eyes flickering to Minho’s for approval. Of course, Minho was never looking at him. 

He was looking at you. 

His eyes bore into yours all night, eyes hard and mouth set into a straight line. You really, truly couldn’t tell what he was thinking. But you make a show of looking at him for a reaction every time and smiling at him with big, bright eyes. 

That night, for your movie choice you made sure to pick the raunchiest, sexiest chick flick that you could find. So of course, when a sex scene started playing you shifted your position. Switching the direction of your body, you put your legs on Minho’s lap and your head on Jisung’s thigh, looking up at him with a bright smile. You admire his bright red cheeks, obviously flushed from the situation at hand. 

“Isn’t this a good movie, Sungie?” You giggle, nustling your head against his thigh. That is the breaking point. 

Minho’s hand reaches across the table, snatching the remote. The TV turns off, causing you and Jisung to turn your heads to look at him. 

“Enough,” he said in a low timbre. 

“What?” you ask innocently. That’s when Minho grabbed the flesh of your thigh hard, kneading the muscle. You gasp when he does so, not expecting the action. His hand trails higher and cups your clothed pussy. 

That was something else… you had put on one of the most revealing outfits you owned, clad with a tight tank-top and miniskirt. This gives Minho easy access to slip his hand right where you need him most. 

“Minho, what are you–” 

“Shhh. If you’re going to act like a needy slut, then you’re going to fucking take it.” Your face goes completely red. While you were expecting him to snap, you thought he was going to drag you to your room and fuck the shit out of you. Not in the living room, while your head rests on Jisung’s lap. 

Your eyes shoot up to Jisung’s, who has been staring at you unabashedly this whole time. When your eyes meet, he clears his throat. 

“Um… I should probably go,” he says, making to stand up. 

“Don’t.” Minho’s voice is sharp, causing you both to freeze. At the same time, he slides your panties to the side and thrusts a finger into your core, causing your body to rock back into Jisung. You let out a loud moan–after weeks, you’re finally getting the contact you’ve been desperately craving. Jisung’s hands make way to your shoulders, holding you in place as he looks at Minho. 

“You’re gonna act like you haven’t been loving my girlfriend touching up on you and flirting with you all night? God, it’s so obvious, Sungie,” he laughs, continuing his ministrations and now thrusting two finger in and out of your sopping core. “She’s been acting like a needy, desperate slut for us, though, so I think we should treat her like one, yeah?” 

Jisung gulps. “We? Minho, I–” 

“You want to fuck her, Sungie? You can fuck her tight cunt, she’ll love it, too. And when you’re done, I’m gonna fuck her harder… I’m gonna fuck her better and fill her up so she knows who her pussy really belongs to.” You moan at his words, squirming around trying to get away from the way his fingers bully into your cunt. 

“Please… Jisung,” you say, looking up at him. “Want you to fuck me, too.” And you truly do. You can see the way your boyfriend is getting off on it, the way that he wants to prove to you that he is better. Somehow you could just tell that he wasn’t bothered in the slightest. 

“Yeah, okay. Fuck,” Jisung breaths. 

“Pull down her shirt,” Minho instructs. Jisung immediately follows his directions, as if in a trance, revealing your bare chest to the two men. “Play with her nipples. Pinch them, she likes that.” The feeling of Jisung’s thumbs pinching and pulling harshly against your nipples has you breathless and moaning, because this person touching you wasn’t your boyfriend. It felt so wrong, but with your boyfriend’s attention still on your leaking pussy and his eyes never leaving yours, it felt so right. 

“Fuck, she’s clenching so tight on my fingers,” Minho tells Jisung. “She likes you playing with her, I can feel her getting close.” 

“Yeah?” Jisung stares down and looks at your face, fucked out, and you look at him fucked out out of your mind. Lips parted and eyes glossy, your eyes didn’t leave his. He looked at you with utter adoration, never stopping his motions on your chest. 

“Min, Min… Cumming, fuck,” you breath. Your boyfriend keeps a steady pace, finger fucking you right through your orgasm. As Jisung slows his pace, rubbing slower on your nipples, he pulls off with a harsh tug. 

You sit up, putting your pressure on your arms as you look at Minho who slowly pulls his fingers out of your cunt. Revealing his fingers, he shows Jisung how soaked his fingers are. 

“Want to taste her sweet cunt?” Minho asks with a devilish smirk. Jisung nods his head with doe eyes. 

Minho reaches past your body and extends his hand to Jisung, offering the boy his two fingers. You watch as Jisung parts his lips, Minho sliding the appendage inside. You clench your thighs together at the loud slurping and soft whimper that this elicits from his mouth, eyes shut as he tastes your release. Minho’s gaze hardens, watching him with predatory eyes. When he pulls his fingers out from his mouth, a long string of saliva connects his fingers to Jisung’s mouth, dripping down onto your bare chest. The action makes both you and Jisung moan softly. 

Minho stands, maneuvering your body to the position he wants you in. He puts you on your hands and knees on the couch, ass up and hanging over the edge for easy access. He pulls your underwear down around your knees but keeps the skirt on, opting to flip it up over your body instead. You feel used like this, shirt bunched down around your waist and panties not even fully off your body yet. 

“Come fuck her pussy,” Minho says to Jisung. He stands up fast, moving behind you to position himself at your entrance. Here he has a full view of your cunt, still soaked and glistening from your release. He lets out a shaky breath and looks at Minho for permission, who stands over you and looks down at you. You look up at him almost pathetically, giving him a weak smile. He smirks at you, practically cooing as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Go on,” he says, his voice suddenly turning sharp as he addresses Jisung. “I’m not going to tell you twice.” 

You don’t see Jisung pull his pants down but you feel him poke at your entrance, his tip leaking as he rubs it up and down your folds. You rock your hips back, desperate for the pressure, and hiss when he finally enters you. As soon as he does, he stills, breathing heavy behind you. 

“Fuck… so tight,” he says, more to Minho than to you. He gives a cat-like smirk and gestures for the boy to continue. And so Jisung starts, slowly rocking his hips into you. He grinds up against your ass each time, a grip bruising right on your hips. 

Minho sits down on the couch now in front of you. Here he can look right into your eyes, his gaze harsher than you had ever seen before. 

“Look at you getting your slutty pussy fucked by my friend,” he coos. It feels condescending, and you tilt your head down to look toward the couch when you feel his fingers underneath your chin. He pulls you up to meet his eyes, fingers pinching your cheeks to part your mouth open for him. “Do you know how long he’s been waiting to fuck you for? It’s almost pathetic. He’s wanted your sweet cunt for so long but he could never have it, could he?” You shake your head at him, and Jisung whines from behind you, increasing his pace. 

As Jisung goes harder and you start approaching your release, you look up at Minho with tears pricking your eyes. 

“Close?” He coos. You nod your head. “You gonna cum on his cock?” 

“Please,” you grunt out. “Please Minho.” 

“Go ahead, then.” And it's not until Minho brings your face to his in a wet, messy kiss that you finally finish. You moan into his mouth and he drinks it up, his tongue pushing against yours and into your mouth. Jisung becomes more vocal as well, whiny moans and heavy breathing as he fucks you through your orgasm. 

Minho pulls you off of his lips harshly, looking at his friend behind you. Jisung looks absolutely wrecked and Minho knows it won’t take long to push him over his edge as well. 

“Is her tight pussy clenching around you good?” He asks. He looks at his friend with a proud smirk. Jisung nods, eyes closed and head thrown back. “As good as you imagined? Wanna tell me how good her pussy feels?” 

“S’good,” he says. “So warm and wet… so tight, fuck…” 

Minho stands, walking over to Jisung. He lifts your skirt higher, revealing your bare ass to Jisung. “Go ahead and paint her ass, if you’re gonna cum,” he tells him. 

And with a few more thrusts and a soft ‘fuck, fuck, fuck,’ he pulls out and covers your ass with him cum. You’re covered in it, as he came a lot, and it starts dripping down your body. Minho scoops some of Jisung’s release with two fingers and brings them to your mouth, your lips automatically parting for him. You lick it off of his fingers, looking at him. You’re floating into a soft subspace and he can see it, utterly and completely submissive for him now. You’re pliant and completely at his command. He looks down at you with dark eyes. 

“My turn,” he says. Him and Jisung switch places, promptly. Jisung stares at you with wide eyes and watches your face, the way that you moan when Minho slips into you easily. 

His pace is brutal from the start, his hips snapping into yours relentlessly, his thighs making a loud wet sound as they slap against the backs of yours. A hand grabs at your hair, yanking you upwards to look at Jisung; he gasps when he sees you, mouth wide open and tears streaming down your face as you let out a sob. It’s too much, the overstimulation, the way Minho’s long cock kisses your cervix at every thrust. And he uses the hand in your hair to control you, pulling you back onto his cock with his strong grip. 

“Fuck…ing… pussy… so… good… for… me…,” Minho enunciates with every snap of his hips. 

You’re babbling at this point, too far gone to form any coherent words. “Min… oh my… fuck,” you say. “Jisung, Sungie…” you cry out at one point, his eyes never leaving yours. Even though he’s no longer participating he still watches intently, his lips parted in a soft ‘o’. 

“What are you calling his name for?” Minho taunts. “I’m the one fucking this cunt, not him. Are you so braindead that you don’t know who’s cock you’re calling out for?” 

“No… Min,” you answer. 

“Good, I’m gonna cum in this greedy pussy,” he says. “Only I can fill you up. Only I can breed your filthy cunt,” he says. “Say… fuck, say my name when you cum on my cock, baby.” 

And you do, because your release comes out of nowhere. With a loud cry you’re calling, no, screaming his name, clenching around him impossibly tight. Your orgasm seems to last forever, and you know he can feel the way you’re spasming around him with every thrust. 

When his hand snakes around and grabs the front of your throat, you know he’s close. His hand squeezes tight and you feel dizzy and light-headed, but this floaty feeling has you rolling your eyes to the back of your head in pleasure. 

Minho must be completely gone now, no longer spewing filthy words. He doesn’t say anything as he finally cums inside, grabbing your hips so tight that it’s sure to leave a mark. He stills against you and you can feel his hot release flood you, his cock twitching as he grinds impossibly deeper into your ass, as if he were trying to get his cum as far into you as he can, as if he were trying to mark you as his. 

When he releases his grip on you your body slumps onto the couch. Suddenly you’re weak all over and your body feels limp, vision starting to blur as you look up at Jisung. You notice a large wet stain on his pants, and you realize he must’ve cum again, simply from watching you get fucked within an inch of your life. You let out a soft chuckle and reach for his hand, your fingers weakly intertwining with his and giving him a soft squeeze. 

Arms are scooping you up in an instant, and you open your eyes to see your boyfriend carrying you in his arms, bridal style. 

“I’m going to get her into the bath,” he tells Jisung. 

“Okay. I should… I’m probably going to leave,” he says, voice riddled with uncertainty. 

“You don’t have to,” he replies. You can hear the softness in his tone, the fondness for his best friend coming through in his words. “You don’t have to,” he repeats. 

And though he’s no longer using that domineering tone that had you and Jisung submitting to him in an instant, Jisung still listens to his words. You shoot Jisung a shy smile and wave your fingers at him as you’re carried off into the bathroom. 

Minho is ever the attentive lover, humming as he sits next to you beside the tub. He scrubs your skin gently, rubbing soothing circles into your sore muscles. He pays careful attention when shampooing your hair, making sure not to get any of the soap into your eyes. Your boyfriend Minho is one of the best things that has ever happened to you. He is sweet, kind, forgiving, and so so patient with you. In this moment you’re reminded of that fact, and you feel a twinge of guilt when you’re reminded of the way you acted earlier. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. It’s the first words you’ve spoken since after you had sex. They’re barely loud enough to hear, but you know your words haven’t fallen upon deaf ears when he lets out a soft sigh. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, love,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry for dragging out your punishment for too long. I know you were trying to rile me up and get on my nerves… and it worked. Not for the reason that I thought though. I thought that… I thought that Jisung touching you would make me mad, but the more I thought about it… fuck, the thought of sharing with him what’s mine, to show him ‘this is my beautiful girlfriend that makes me feel so good…’ It was so hot, baby. And I wanted him to touch you. I wanted him to make you feel good, too. He looked so fucked out, and I liked that it was us that made him feel like that, y’know?” 

You smile softly at him. “Min, can I ask you a question?” 

He hums in response. 

“Do you… have feelings for him?” He doesn’t meet your eye, and that’s all the answer that you need. You know that outloud, at least right now, he could never truly admit it, but he didn’t have to. “It’s okay,” you reassure. “Nobody’s faulting you if you do. We don’t have to talk about it right now, okay?” 

Minho wraps you in a towel and dries your skin. His eyes are full of adoration for you. Before you walk into your bedroom, his lips meet yours in a soft kiss. 

That night, the three of you fall asleep in your bed. There’s no discussion to be had about how this complicates your relationship. There’s no words exchanged, there’s no awkward eye contact, and there are no bad thoughts that cloud your mind as you drift to sleep. You listen to Jisung’s soft snoring and the pitter patter of Minho’s heartbeat. You fall asleep warm, intertwined with many limbs, and with a soft smile on your face.  *** Part 2/4 of the threesome series ;) Hope y'all enjoyed Masterlist Recs

Taglist: @lolareadsimagines / let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this series

#skz #skz smut #skz x reader #skz x you #stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #lee know x you #lee know #lee know smut #lee know x reader #han jisung smut #han jisung x reader #han x reader #han smut #han jisung #minsung #minsung x reader #minsung smut #minsung fanfic #kpop x reader #kpop #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #lee minho #minho #skz minho #stray kids minho

[messycunt]

So.. I just red your Hucow Collection on Ao3 and that alternate AU where MC is the Breeding Cow had me well.. Listening? Reading? Blushing, Screaming? Ahem. No because imagine Cow Hybrid! MC as the farms breeding Cow🗣

All the Bulls fawn over her and just want to breed her silly. Of course, crowley would make immense Profit from having his bulls mate with such a pretty little cow! Or the rivalry that would blossom between the boys! Oh and not to forget MC's best selling Milk! It just tastes so sweet that everyone wants some💕

Just wanted to share that thought with you! (feel frew to write about it)

May i take the place/role of 🎀 - Anon if it isnt taken already?<3

Eat enough and stay hydrated Lovely💋

WELCOME BOW ANON I whipped this up in like 15 mins just throwing stuff out there 

characters: Cater, Trey, Ace, Deuce, Crowly, Vil, Rook, Epel, Riddle, Idia, Kalim, Malleus, Lilia 

cw: hybrids(hucows), lactation, breeding kink, exhibitionism, three/foursome, double penetration in one hole, dumbification, afab reader

so so much can come of this like just go along w me here kay?

Ace and Deuce being too impatient to take turns with you like usual but too horny to bother properly fighting so they resort to trying to shove themselves into your dripping hole at the same time. Stretching you almost to your limit but it's ok because you'll endure it for them right?

Cater and Trey share you often as well but not in the way you'd think, usually their "shared quality time" with you involves Trey doing all the actual pussy pounding and Cater off to the side or in a corner somewhere(taking a few pics and vids for later) at his own personal insistence. He'd rather enjoy the view and Trey knows how to get you worked up better anyways in his own words.

Riddle's favorite thing about you is your breasts, especially drinking from them. It's warm and comforting and he enjoys cuddling up close to your chest and suckling from you after sex more than he does the sex itself. He would die before he would admit that to you tho.

You didn't think Crowley would let the boys have all the fun without having his own fill from time to time did you? Sure he keeps you all more than taken care of and well fed out of the goodness of his heart but it gets so tiring and stressful sometimes. Surely you wouldn't mind keeping him "company" under his desks while he works would you?

Kalim thinks you're adorable! Your eyes are so pretty and your ears are so cute and soft to the touch, well his are too but yours are special cus they're yours! He just loves touching and licking and kissing you all over.

The Pome trio oh boy. Whether it's making out with Epel as he desperately gripes at your body while you're both pounded by Rook and Vil respectively or innocently taking Rook and Vil up on their offer to service you with a full body oil massage they've always got something that they thoroughly planned beforehand ready for you.

Idia's intense infatuation[read obsession] with you is more than enough to have him act out of character from time to time. He is unexpectedly blunt with you about all the almost grossly kinky things he'd like to do with you, or what he'd have you do to him in most cases. Unsurprisingly tho he loses most of his tack in the moment, poor boy gets so deliriously pussy drunk you'd think he's the one getting their guts rearranged.

Malleus is rather possessive, shocker I know. It would be delusional of him to think he could have you to himself in the traditional sense but he at very least likes to have you to himself in the heat of the moment so sharing you is completely off the table… with one exception. Lilia finds the love Malleus has for you cute and has inclined himself to join in on your endeavors once or twice. Bringing his hands to your chest from behind you to pinch and pull at your leaking nipples while you ride Malleus like your life depends on it. Whispering cheeky things into your ear before locking eyes with the large black pelted bull and urging him to pump you full of his seed and impregnate you with his calf. 

more

#ask! #afab reader #req! #hybrid au! #twst trey x reader #cater x reader #riddle x reader #ace x reader #deuce x reader #twst #twst smut #smut #twst x reader smut #twisted wonderland smut #malleus x reader #malleus #malleus x mc #malleus smut #vil x reader #crowley x reader #epel x reader #rook hunt x reader #idia x reader #kalim x reader #twst lilia #lilia vanrouge #lilia x reader #-🎀 #wrk!

[sleepingdeath-light]

relationship hcs ; vox

requested by ; mezzanottespazzatura (13/02/24)

fandom(s) ; hazbin hotel

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; vox

outline ; “Would it be possible to get some relationship hcs for Vox? Smut is optional, I just need more content with this man and I can't wait for season 2 hhhhhhhhh-”

note ; this may be a smidge shaky as i’ve never written for him before but this was fun to write either way so i hope you all enjoy it ^^

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

though his busy schedule keeps him from being as physically attentive as he might prefer to be with you, vox does his best to make it up to you as best he can — granted this usually just means him attempting to buy your favour and forgiveness through lavish gifts and dates, but its the thought that counts… right?

this habit of his means that, over the course of your relationship with vox, you manage to acquire quite the extensive collection of lavish gifts — including, but not limited to: a wardrobe of clothes from hell’s top designers and brands that’s so large that it takes up several rooms in your shared penthouse (including all of the shoes and accessories to match each outfit), all of the latest voxtech devices and services at arm’s reach no matter where you may go, whole rooms dedicated to your interests (no matter how niche) including items that you thought were impossible to get ahold of in hell, the best skin and hair care items that money can buy (and that are suited to your exact preferences and needs), a veritable army of robots dedicated to tending to your every whim and need (kitty also gets lent to you by val on occasion but vox prefers that you use the bots he had made specifically for you), and so on…

unless he’s in a very intense argument with one of the other vees or locked into a meeting with other overlords or potential investors that requires his full attention, vox always has an eye on you — watching you through your television, your phone, the security cameras in your home, and every single device you walk past throughout your day

he claims it’s for you your own safety — after all, he’s been very public about your relationship and there are plenty of sinners that would gladly kill or kidnap you just to mess with his head and try and take over his territory — but really it’s because he’s a deeply insecure man that is both terrified of losing you to someone better than him, and extremely quick to anger if he sees anyone getting too close, too friendly, with you for his liking

in other words: your boyfriend is jealous as hell and, try as he might to hide it behind his usual facade of complete control and perfection, it’s extremely obvious to you and everyone else who has known him for more than ten minutes

as mentioned before, vox makes no attempt to hide your relationship from the public and very loudly and proudly claims you as his partner wherever and whenever he can — this partially to maintain his public persona of the likeable and respectable business mogul (hence why a lot of your dates involve frequenting spots where reporters tend to hang out so that he can show off just how much of a doting gentleman he is) but it’s also his own way of marking his territory and letting any potential suitors of yours know that you’re already very happily taken and that they have no chance of taking you from him

when it comes to pet names, he tends to default to either just calling you your name (or a shortened version thereof) or something more traditional like ‘honey’, ‘darling’, or ‘sweetie’ if he’s feeling particularly sentimental — likewise he prefers to be called his name or something similarly traditional by you in public (but the moment the two of you are alone he does tend to soften up quite a bit and will respond to anything you want to call him, so long as it’s said with the intention of being affectionate)

after a long day of work, or attending to val’s tantrums whenever they occur and knock his schedule out of wack, vox loves nothing more than being able to come home and rant to you about it all — cussing out everyone who has ever wronged him, no matter how small the offence, whilst you nod along encouragingly and rub his shoulders and urge him to sit down for a moment before he paces a hole into the carpet is, oddly enough, kinda therapeutic for him and it becomes something of a routine for you two

he thrives on praise and affirmation and loves it when you wrap your arms around him, play with the hem of his jacket, and tell him how amazing he is at everything he does in life: the perfect boyfriend, the best entertainer in all of hell, one of the most powerful overlords in the pride ring (bonus points here if you shit talk alastor and emphasise how much better at everything vox is), a man worthy of being praised and feared, and the list goes on — he’ll reward you in kind once you’re finished, of course, but he’s more than happy to push back his next meeting by a half hour or so if it means getting to bask in your adoration and praise for a little while

he texts you periodically throughout the day — usually when there’s a lull in his work, when he’s bored during a meeting, or if someone has just done something so exceptionally stupid that he needs to tell someone and you’re the only one that will understand — and for as much as he goes on about being super busy all of the time, he always responds to your texts within a minute or so of them being sent

you’re the person whose input and opinions he trusts the most out of anyone else in the pride ring: you’re the person who he bounces his latest ideas off when he’s just at the planning stage and something isn’t quite clicking, you’re the one he rants to about his frustrations with alastor and the other vees because he knows that you’ll always listen to him and help him calm down before he causes another blackout, you’re the first person he shows a new upgrade or outfit to because he always wants to look and feel his best for you, etc., etc.

you’re one of the few people that gets to see vox both at his best as a talented and capable overlord, and at his very worst when he’s on the brink of tears and one wrong word away from plunging the entirety of pentagram city into a blackout — you’re there to stand proudly beside him as the loving and supportive spouse to his confident and inventive businessman, and you’re also there to console and reassure him as he frets about alastor’s return and what that means for the empire he’s built in his absence

he’s not the most physically affectionate person in the world, but he can appreciate the basics: having you curled up on his lap when he’s working at his desk (or resting his head on your lap when you’re at home and you’re listening to him talk about something or another), kissing you before he leaves for work (or having you peck his screen whenever you visit him at the office), and resting a clawed hand on the small of your back or on your waist as you’re walking around or just standing side by side

#sleepingdeath #gender neutral reader #fluff #fluff hcs #hazbin hotel fluff #vox fluff #vox x reader #hazbin hotel x reader

[darling-i-read-it]

Harrington's Sister

Billy Hargrove x Harrington!fem!reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: fighting (blood, stitching), reader and billy sneaking around and making out lol, lots of smoking, drinking, parties, lots of drunk characters running around 

Author’s Note: If you recognize this one you probably read ‘Harrington’ in 2020! This is the updated version of that and also the longest thing I’ve posted on this blog too date! What can I say, my love for Billy possesses me and takes over. 

Disclaimer: While this is set during season 2, I don’t condone Billy’s actions in that season in the slightest. He’s an asshole and racist and has done inexcusable things. Whenever I write for him I am writing for a version of him that could’ve been better had the world around him been expanded more! 

Original Request: by anon, hello! I love all of your recent content and I was wondering if you could write a billy hargrove x harrington!reader? something like they’re in a make out session and they get caught? or literally anything if you’re not comfortable with that. thank you x

(not my gif)

You leaned against Steve’s car, looking down at your wristwatch. He was late. Again. You had homework to do and the longer he took the longer you would be up working. You weren’t willing to pull an all-nighter before the test you had tomorrow in first period. 

You looked around the bustling crowd of people for your older brother. He was only older by 10 months. The Harrington’s ‘two kids and done’ rule was over within two years, which prompted you and Steve to be so close in age. 

You pushed yourself off the side of his car and wondered if Nancy had left yet. She was probably with Steve if she hadn’t. You might be able to find him, or at least get a ride from her. You had a grueling ethics essay that needed your attention and you knew that if the motivation went away you wouldn’t be able to retain it soon enough to get it done. 

You started to look through the parking lot, filled with high schoolers who couldn’t drive for the life of them, for Nancy’s car. You didn’t dare enter the roadways with everyone leaving. You slithered between some parked cars and ran right into Billy Hargrove who was opening up the driver's door to his camaro. 

“Woah there,” he said out of reflex, holding his hands to stop your momentum. Your breath hitched from the distraction. You were surprised to see him still around. Usually he was the first out of the parking lot, his car screeching as it made sharp turns. 

“Sorry,” you breathed out. You tried to go around him but his car door was still in the way. 

“Have you seen Max?” he asked. He knew you were often around his sister, or at least Steve was. 

“No. Have you seen Steve?” 

“No,” he grumbled. He looked above your head. You weren’t sure if he was looking for his sister or your brother but you didn’t move out of his way. “I’m supposed to take her to the arcade.” He wasn’t sure why he was telling you this. Perhaps it was because you were so off limits that he couldn’t help but be fond of you. Maybe it was because you were the only person in front of him who could listen. It was probably because you were in similar predicaments. 

“Yeah well I have to do homework and Steve has the car keys,” you responded. He met your eyes. “If you see him will you yell at him?” 

“I always do sweetheart.” You pursed your lips and pushed past him, trying to ignore the heat rising to your face. Billy Hargrove was the worst kind of guy. Steve hated him and you didn’t blame him. He was an asshole to everyone around him and a delinquent in the most traditional form. 

But you couldn’t help but feel some sort of attraction towards him. It was likely rooted in the hatred Steve had for him, the natural urge to defy your older brother. You avoided him as best you could because you knew you wouldn’t be able to resist him for longer than you could stand him. 

You saw Steve standing beside Nancy’s car and you ran up to him, shaking off the small interaction for nothing more than it was. Small. 

-

Billy wouldn’t say he went out of his way to see you but he did park right next to Steve’s car for a reason. When you approached it at the end of the school day he was already there, waiting, a cigarette dancing between his fingers. 

“Where’s Harrington?” Billy questioned. You went to open the passenger door to ignore this conversation but of course it was locked. 

“I’m Harrington,” you argued. You turned around. There was no getting out of this one. 

“Steve,” he corrected. He gestured with his two fingers back at the school. “Caught up with Wheeler again?” “Getting things from his locker. At least told me he would be longer today.” Billy pushed himself off the side of his car gently, not wanting to leave any kind of scruff on it. You were so close just by the sheer nature of the car’s being parked beside each other. You swallowed hard. 

“Max skipped today,” he said, voice low. “I could take you back if you don’t wanna wait.”

“Now why would you do that?” you questioned. You crossed your arms defensively. You hoped that putting some more space between you two would make it easier to deny him. 

“Out of the kindness of my heart.”

“You have a heart?”

“You’re welcome to come check for a pulse.” You narrowed your eyes at him, a sly smile playing on your face. You were close enough to touch him and though you knew you shouldn’t, you wanted to make him think you were bolder than you were. You put your hand flat on his chest. He had his red shirt half unbuttoned. You were touching his skin with your fingers spread out. You made a face like you were thinking, contemplating the heart within him. 

“Feels faint. You should get that checked out Hargrove.” He was looking at you with eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite place. Lust? Adoration? Thrill? 

“You probably got a better grade in bio than I did. I’ll take your word for it.” You looked behind him, trying to find Steve among the crowd of dissipating students. “What harm will it do?” he asked, like he could read your mind. 

You met his eyes again. 

“You got a piece of paper?” 

He went and shuffled through his dashboard for something to write on. He found a napkin and you pulled a pen out of your bag. 

Found another ride

Sister

You put the napkin underneath the windshield wipers. Then you got in the passenger seat of Billy Hargrove’s car. You could smell the cologne he wore everyday, like he had spilled it on the carpet and it never came out. When he started the car music erupted from the speakers, Van Halen you were fairly sure. He pulled out of the parking spot, almost hitting someone, and then screeched through the lot to the exit. 

You tried to hide the thrill in your chest. You shouldn’t be this excited to be in his car, to be on the other end of watching him leave the school. You were victim to something every other girl in the near vicinity was - feeling a pull towards the bad boy. You wanted to be better or at least be different but he had this routine locked down. He knew exactly what he was doing when he turned the music down to look at you. You wondered if the eyes he was making were part of his line, to reel you in. 

“Which way am I turning?” he questioned, lowly. You pointed up towards the next street. 

“Right. Then the second left.” He nodded. He took the turn too sharply. Despite his recklessness, you felt safe in the car with him. It’s like his own belief that he was invincible had worn off on you. “Thank you for taking me.” You had no real need to be home sooner. You would’ve been fine waiting for Steve. But you found you were better now that you were with Billy. 

“No problem sweetheart.” 

You drove in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes. You were surprised to find him not throwing out line after line. Maybe this was his thing. Make you want him more than he wanted you so that giving in felt like his choice. He had the music turned up more, tapping on the steering wheel. 

“Right up here.” There was an ease in the air that was only encouraged by the slight summer air from the windows. Billy rolled his down a bit to get the airflow. The sunrays were burning up your thighs. You squirmed, trying to get them out of the direct light. “That house.” 

You knew the drive was gonna be short but you still found yourself wishing you had led him elsewhere. Some sort of long route to have a reason to stay with him. He pulled up in front of your house, looking up at it. 

You followed his gaze, trying to see it how he would. 

There was a gentle silence. 

“You wanna go get something to ea-”

“Yes,” you finished. You had seen that charming smile on his face, one that he gave when he knew he got what he wanted. He reached in front of you and grabbed a cigarette pack out of the front compartment. He pushed one out with his finger and placed it between his teeth. 

“You know your brother probably wouldn’t want you in my car.”

“I think I’m a big girl who can make decisions for herself. Don’t you?” The smile grew, all teeth. He had raised his eyebrow slightly, like he was assessing the situation and knew how it would end. 

“Let’s get something to eat.”

He had never turned off the car. He pushed down on the gas. 

-

Something about Billy was so easy. The foundation of your relationship had been built on secrecy, which made it so alluring. Maybe the two of you were just destined to continue some sort of doomed circle of attraction. Whatever the reason, you weren’t about to let go. 

Billy and you stuck to sneaking around after school, ignoring each other during it. You would often pretend to have a study group, which was believable. You would also make up some story about sleeping over at a friends, which was less so, but you saved that for special occasions. 

Sneaking around with Billy was the most scandalous thing you had done. You were willing to bet it wasn’t the most scandalous thing he had done. But for some reason he stuck around, never giving you a hint of wanting to be somewhere else. 

The inside of the Camaro had become a comfort. You started to know the grooves of the car, the way the passenger door stuck or the dim lighting of the overhead bulbs. 

You pushed the rearview mirror back so that you could see your face. You fixed your hair, messy from an afternoon well spent. Billy snuck a hand onto your thigh. You eyed him evenly.

“Down boy,” you whispered.

He scoffed, his tongue coming out in his smile. He removed his hand obediently but not after a pat. You adjusted the seat you were in so it wasn’t reclining anymore. You looked back at yourself in the mirror, surprised to see you were grinning. It was like you couldn’t help it. 

You glanced out the window out of habit. You were parked on the side of a highway ten miles outside of Hawkins. You knew there were almost no chances of Steve finding you out here, but the adrenaline of the almost kept you looking. 

“Harrington isn’t gonna find us out here. Relax princess.” You gave him a narrow look. “Steve isn’t gonna find us out here.” You nodded once and relaxed back into your seat. He placed a toothpick between his teeth. 

“You never know. He likes to be spontaneous.” 

Billy was so used to sneaking around. Usually it was with girls he didn’t want to be seen with. It was rooted in selfish reasons, almost every time. Almost. He found that sneaking around with you was more exhilarating. Was it because of Steve or had Billy Hargrove actually found himself in love? 

The mere thought made him want to pull away from the situation but he stayed, too stubborn to fight even himself. 

“Would it be so bad if he caught us?” Billy asked. You placed your elbow on the dash between you, holding your chin in your hand. 

“He’d kill you,” you whispered. He looked up at you, the smile on his face creeping wider. 

“I’d like to see him try,” he whispered back, a surprising amount of sincerity in his voice. 

-

“You sure you don’t need a ride today?” Steve was following close behind you. You were weaving through the crowd of rushing students. 

“I’m sure. Thank you though.” If you weren’t so wound up in the heat of the relationship you might’ve still had Steve take you back a couple times a week. Most of the time you were skipping the last period with Billy or you had him taking you home before Steve ever left the school. 

It had been almost a month that you and Billy had been sneaking around. Nancy wasn’t really cutting it anymore, in the way of excuses. She was your friend but she was also your brothers girlfriend so you couldn’t exactly confide in her where you were spending all of your hopeless afternoons. 

You emerged into the parking lot. You both stopped. 

“Where are you going today?”

“Study group.”

“For which class?”

“Chemistry.” He narrowed his eyes on you.

“With who?” 

“Steve I don’t appreciate this line of questioning.” He searched your face for a weakness. You had none. “Tell mom I’ll be back before dinner.” You could tell he wanted to argue but had nothing to back himself up with. “Goodbye Steve.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You wound me. Goodbye Steve.” 

“Are you still going to the party tonight at Thompsons?” 

“Yeah. I’ll be back in plenty of time for that,” you promised. He nodded once, suspiciously. 

He started to back up and ran right into someone. With his flurry of apologies you were able to sneak away. You walked around the back of the school, searching in your bag for the cigarette you had stolen from Billy that morning. You found it after a moment. You fought with your lighter for a moment before placing it between your lips and landing between buildings next to the racetrack. 

Billy was already there. 

“Where’d you get that?” he asked, gesturing to your lips. You took it between your fingers to leave a chaste kiss on his mouth. 

“Found it in my boyfriend's car.” 

“Shouldn’t be dating a guy that smokes. Bad for you,” he hummed, taking it from you. “How was your day sweetheart?” You shrugged. 

“I’m skipping PE next time. I’d rather be caught dead than in that locker room again.”

“You girls have it easy. You can feign a broken nail.”

“Don’t be a douche.” You took your cigarette back. “You act like you ever come to PE.”

“Basketball counts towards my PE elective,” he promised. “I spend plenty of time in the locker rooms.” You raised an eyebrow. 

“Slightly suggestive Hargrove. What are you doing in the locker room that long?” He rolled his eyes. 

“We’re even now.” You nodded once. He approached you and you slung your hands over his shoulders. Smoke emerged from behind him, trailing from the cig. He leaned forward and kissed you. You were addicted to kissing him. He permanently tasted like beer and bad decisions. You wondered lazily if the nicotine on his lips added to your dependency. “You comin to the party tonight?”

“Yup,” you promised. You hadn’t gotten to see Billy break Steve’s keg record in person yet and the sheer idea of it got you excited. When he kissed you again he was smiling. His hands wandered from your hips at the sound of your moan against his lips. 

“I just need to grab something from the locker room.” 

Your eyes shot straight open at the sound of a familiar voice coming down the alley. You pushed Billy off of you, leaving you against the wall heaving, a cigarette still burning between your fingers. 

Steve was at the end of the alley, Nancy trailing behind him. She had a firm grip on her bookbag and at the sight of you her jaw set. You could barely even look at Steve but for the sake of everyone, you met his eyes. His eyes fueled immediately with anger. 

“What the fuck are you doing here with my sister Hargrove?” he demanded. Billy was looking ridiculously guilty, the red from your kisses still on his face. 

“I think you know what I was doing here with your sister Harrington.” 

Steve stomped forward in anger, eager to put his fists to use. You rushed between them, putting your hand against Billy’s chest and facing Steve. 

“Steve, calm down.” 

“Is this where you’ve been going every afternoon? You haven’t been studying at all. You’ve been with Billy Hargrove?” A defeated look went over your face. Steve shook his head in betrayal. “Why would you lie to me?” 

“Because I knew you’d react like this!” 

“Because you were making out with Billy Hargrove!” he repeated. 

“I can make my own decisions!” “Clearly not good ones!” Nancy grabbed Steve’s arm, pulling him gently backwards. He didn’t shake her off. 

“Let it go Harrington,” Billy said. Steve lurched forward and Billy walked in front of you, blocking you. You grabbed his shoulder, pulling him backwards. 

“Alright alright,” you muttered. “You need to go cool off Steve.” 

“She’s right,” Nancy said. She looked at Steve with an even gaze. 

“I’ll see you at the party?” you questioned, eager to have this confrontation end. Steve had a hard look on his face, clearly not wanting to exit this conversation. He didn’t answer which was an answer. You’d see him at the party. Steve kept his gaze on Billy until Nancy forced him to turn around. 

The tension dissipated when he left. 

“Jesus,” you muttered. 

“Told you it wouldn’t be that bad.” You hit his shoulder, rolling your eyes. He scoffed, feigning hurt. He threw an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him by bending his elbow towards your neck. “I get you for a couple more hours then?”

“Seems like it,” you said optimistically. 

“Let’s go get ready for that party then, hm sweetheart?” 

-

You had been to parties before but you only ever went with Steve. You would usually lose him right after you arrived but end up having to drive him home before midnight. He always swore not to get drunk which absolutely meant he was sure to. 

Going with Billy was different. He took you back to his place, somewhere you had never been before. He had you climb in through the window of his room, laughing as he hoisted you up. You threw clothes at him, knowing you weren’t about to wear your school clothes out. He had nothing in the way of girl clothes but helped you sneak into his step moms room when she and his dad went out. 

“Your mom only has mom clothes,” you said, going through her coat hangers. 

“Step-mom,” he corrected. He was looking in the mirror of her vanity, adjusting his hair. You reached into the back, something that felt like it hadn’t been touched since they moved in. You pulled out a dress, though you weren’t sure it was gonna fit. You hummed, wondering if you could find a pair of scissors to make it work. He came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He put his head on your shoulder. 

“What about this one?” you asked, holding the fabric in your hands. “I could make it a crop top or maybe a short dress. Some sort of jacket…” you hummed in consideration. 

“Whatever you want. I’m sure she won’t miss it.”

He grabbed you some scissors and you made it your own, satisfied that you were able to go out in it. Then you were back in his car, the music far too loud, and the night air coming in through the cracked windows. By the time you arrived at the Thompsons residence the party had already started. You could hear the music from the car and could see the half drunk people loitering around the deck. Billy got out of the car, surveying the area, and was immediately noticed by one of the basketball players you didn’t recognize. 

You followed him inside, his hand remaining in yours as he dragged you along through the crowd. You kept crashing into people but he kept your hands together, dependent on your touch. You emerged near the punch bowl that was almost certainly not punch. 

“We should’ve pregamed,” you muttered. The smile that came over his face was mischievous and alluring. He had opted only to wear his black leather jacket to the party, not bothering with a shirt underneath. The amount of people there required you to be so close you were almost touching, not that you minded. 

“I’ll drink enough to say we did,” he promised. He leaned over, giving you a sloppy kiss that tasted like whatever was in this punch. You hummed, melting into his touch. He held you up with a hand on your hip. 

When he pulled away he was already dragging you outside. You emerged through the sliding glass doors. You were surprised at the burst of cold air, despite the fact that there were maybe more people out there than there had been inside. It was like the entire senior class was here. 

“Hey Hargrove!” one of the basketball players called. You thought maybe his name was Travis but you weren't sure enough to call out to him. You knew it started with a T. “We’ve been saving this one for you!” Travis slapped the metal keg on the ground. You scoffed, looking at it in dismay. You would have one hell of a headache in the morning after that. Billy whistled at the sight of it. He let go of your hand and you couldn’t hear his voice over the people trying to talk to him. You crossed your arms, watching with curious eyes as someone made the deliberation on who would get to lift him up over it. 

You shook your head in amazement. Billy looked back at you, a reckless smile on his face. You raised your eyebrows at his gaze. He gestured to the keg. 

“Show me how it’s done!” you called. The smile on his face grew. The cockiness of it edged at the lines of his lips. He looked ridiculously good. 

He let two people lift him over it. 

You had practically forgotten about Steve. It seemed like he was a whole other universe of issues. Right now it was just you and Billy and the hundred other seniors that were around. There were not many thoughts going through your head as you watched Billy, the pull towards him suddenly undeniable. 

“Where’d you get that outfit?” 

Steve broke your thoughts. You turned to find him standing beside you. You hadn’t even noticed him approaching.

“None of your business.”

“Mom’s pissed. She made you dinner.”

“Don’t act like you don’t skip dinner all the time.” Your voice would’ve been a mutter had it not been so loud. People had started chanting, counting down, screaming Billy’s name. 

“You’re making a mistake!” Steve called over everyone. “He’s not a good guy!” 

“Some could say you aren’t either!” 

It was a slightly low blow, making him think about the things he had said and done just last year. 

“He won’t change!” Steve argued. 

They put Billy down, cheering followed. 

“Keg King prevails!” someone yelled, slapping him on the back. Billy wiped his face aggressively, yelling along with them. He turned around, completely blind to Steve, and kissed you as hard as could. You could still taste the beer on his lips, his breath aching of it. The cheering continued, only intensified at the kiss. 

You could’ve sat there forever if Steve hadn’t pulled him off you by the shoulder. 

Billy, hyped on adrenaline, turned to face your brother. He still had a hand on you but quickly let go when he noticed who had pulled him away. He puffed his chest. 

“You gonna tell me to stay away from your sister Harrington?” 

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m gonna tell you.” You became aware that most people were watching this unfold. Their eyes hadn’t left Billy. He seemed to do one entertaining thing after the next. 

“Why don’t you make me?” 

“Okay guys-” you started but was cut off by Steve throwing a punch. You gasped, not expecting actual violence to ensue. Billy, always eager to use his fists, didn’t hesitate to fight back. He pushed Steve against the sliding glass door, shattering it. Your eyes went wide, unsure how to even handle this. 

People were cheering and groaning on Steve’s behalf. 

Steve scrambled up, throwing his whole body at Billy. 

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” you muttered. You rushed to follow them as they took the fight in the house. You hadn’t been here for ten minutes before you were sure the police would be called. 

Billy staggered, throwing a punch that missed. Steve grabbed a lamp off the counter and hit him with it. 

“Okay! Okay that’s enough!” You pushed through the people, trying to get in between them. Before you could Billy hit Steve with a china plate that was on display in the corner of the room. You winced, watching your brother crumble against the kitchen counter. You threw yourself between them, pushing Billy back. He had a crazed adrenaline pumping look in his eyes. 

You shoved him back, gently and then turned back to Steve who was struggling to stand. You found Nancy in the crowd, who heard the commotion. She was drunk, you could tell in her eyes, but not enough to not understand what was going on. She helped you help Steve up. 

“It’s time to go home,” you said, evenly. Nancy wasn’t sober enough to drive. “I’ll call you a cab or something.” 

“I’ll make him wait outside and think about his actions,” Nancy muttered. The event cleared her head quickly. “I’ve got it.” 

“No, no, you don’t get to leave here with him. He’s not good for you!” Steve exclaimed. 

“Steve, I can make my own decisions!” You turned to Nancy. “You got him?” She nodded, swallowing hard. He had a cut down his forehead but it looks superficial. Plus, if anyone was capable, it was Nancy Wheeler. 

“But-” Steve started.

“You can’t protect me forever,” you said, cutting him off. He met your eyes and pursed his lips. “Go home.” 

“You too.” 

He followed Nancy out. When you turned around Billy was breathing hard. He was being spoken to in all directions. You turned back to him and noticed that the lamp had gotten the side of his head good. His hair was starting to turn red on the left side of his head. 

You were going to speak when you heard someone scream. 

“Police!” 

You breathed out sharply. You weren’t prepared for this much excitement. You grabbed Billy’s arm who in turn, led you out the back. Everyone was running and you could barely see him in the dark with his black leather jacket on. He jumped the neighbors fence without a second thought. You followed close behind until you returned back to the car where you had come from. You had parked down the street a bit, which ended up being your saving grace in the night. You could see the police lights back at the house, not even a block away. 

Billy unlocked the car. 

“You are not driving,” you exclaimed, voice sharp. 

“I’m fine,” he responded, voice rushed. 

“You are the opposite of fine,” you grumbled, grabbing the keys from him. “Passenger seat.” He didn’t move. “Now!” You weren’t sure if it was the pain or the alcohol but he listened to you. He got into the passenger seat of the camaro. You started the car, cursing gently as it revved. You backed up and pulled away in the opposite direction from the Thompsons.

The music turned on naturally but it was a silent rumble to the heavy breathing you both were exhaling. 

It took five minutes for either of you to speak. 

“We need to get your head looked at,” you said, now that you were able to see and think straight. He nodded. 

“I’ve got a first aid kit in the back.” 

“Why do you have a first aid kit in the back?” 

“You’d be surprised how often this happens.”

“You used to stitching yourself up?” “I find bandaids work just fine.” You rolled your eyes. You didn’t want to go back to your house, knowing it’s likely where Nancy took Steve. You hoped they had made it home safe and weren’t victims of the police raid. You didn’t want to take Billy back to his place, knowing you had stolen his step moms shirt and unsure how they would react to finding him like this. 

You pulled over onto the side of the highway. It was only 10. It wasn’t completely deserted but the traffic had eased enough for you to be comfortable pulling aside. You climbed into the backseat, rummaging around his jackets. You found the first aid kit and then returned to the driver's seat. Billy was breathing evenly. You found a ghost of a smile on his face. 

You opened up the kit and placed it on your lap before looking back up at him. 

“Stay still,” you muttered. He did as he was told. You moved his hair aside to find the actual wound. He was bleeding from his noise from a punch but that didn’t look broken, just bruised. It was the open wound that worried you. You seethed. It didn’t look deep but it didn’t look good. 

“You good sweetheart?” You rolled your eyes. 

“Yeah I’m fine.” You looked down at the kit and grabbed some wet wipes, trying to clear the blood away. He winced. 

“How are you doin sweetheart?” you teased. He scoffed. 

“I’m alright,” he promised. You worked in silence for a moment. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” 

“Yes I did. He wanted a fight. He got one.” You couldn’t deny the truth in his statement. Steve would’ve fought him eventually. “And I won.” He turned his head to meet your eyes. “I get to keep you.” You flushed, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“What makes you think I wanna keep you? Now that we aren’t sneaking around anymore?” 

“You're covered in my blood,” he muttered. Your hands were stained with it. You hadn’t even noticed.

“Point taken.” You cleared your throat. “It doesn’t need stitches. You got lucky.”

“Can’t say the same for Steve.” You suddenly thought of the sound of the plates hitting Steve’s head. You winced on his behalf. He adjusted himself. “I need a shower.”

“You want me to take you home?” 

“No. Don’t wanna face my dad quite yet.”

“Well we can’t go back to my house. Steve is almost surely there.” 

“Then we’ll stay here till we know my dad’s asleep,” he muttered. You nodded and eased in your chair. There was a beat of silence. 

“No one’s ever done anything like that for me before Hargrove.” 

“I like being the first,” he muttered. His hair was fucked up and he had dried blood on his face and bags under his eyes but you had never been more attracted to him. 

“Poor Tammy Thompson. She’s got a broken backdoor, the police and broken lamps,” you whispered. You hadn’t realized your voice had gone down but it felt appropriate for the vibe of the moment. 

“Shouldn’t have had kegs there,” he shrugged. You smiled. 

“Fair.” You saw his eyes drooping in exhaustion. You held your chin in your hand. He had rested his head against the back of his seat. “I think I wanna keep you,” you whispered. He smiled weakly. 

“Good to hear.” You leaned forward, kissing him chastley, to which he responded easily. You placed your hand gently on his cheek, trailing down his skin. He shuddered against your touch. 

You rested your forehead against his. 

You met each other's eyes and a guilty smile played on his lips.

“What?” you whispered, giggling. 

“Nothing,” he promised. “Nothing.” 

Billy Hargrove had fallen in love. But he had no intention of telling you that. Not quite yet.

#billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagines #billy hargrove x harrington!reader #billy hargrove x fem!reader #stranger things imagines #stranger things fanfiction

[dresshistorynerd]

Favorite Historical Architectural Styles

Since I've done my favorite historical fashions, I thought it would be fun to do historical architectural styles too. I want to write more about architecture too, but I've started thinking should I do a separate blog for architecture and architectural history or should I just do it all here? I think it would be better in a way that I wouldn't have to worry if anything I want to write is too far from the actual topic of the blog, but then again, there is a lot of overlap, especially when it comes to Arts and Crafts movement (which I'm currently writing my thesis about and which I definitely will talk a lot about), and also I would have to manage yet another blog.

Anyway, I'll again do this from oldest to newest. I will limit myself to western styles (except when we get to Modernism all styles are very international), even though there's a lot of non-western styles I enjoy, but it's what I know most about.

Perpendicular Gothic

I love Gothic architecture in general and the several first entries will be my favorite sub-styles of it. I love the the way Gothic Cathedrals try and so often succeed to feel like forests. I love how the structural elements are used to create the aesthetic. I love the organic visual elements. I love that it's such a unique style in Western architecture. And I love the amazing craftsmanship that went into it.

I'm particularly a fan of English Gothic because of it's insanely beautiful and complex ribbed vaults. From English Gothic my favorite though is the Perpendicular style, which was basically the English late Gothic. It's characteristics can be seen in the second pic. It has the stretched arch and the very flowing and organic traceries. I do include here the rest of English Gothic too, since even though the Perpendicular style is my favorite of them, all if it is still one of my Gothic favorites.

German Late Gothic

As it's becoming clear I love Late Gothic architecture in general the most, and in the geographical axis I also love German Gothic. Early and High Gothic were mainly divided into French and English styles and the French style dominated in the continent, just being altered a little to the local building traditions outside of France, but during late Gothic it diverged much more strongly into different styles.

German Gothic also has beautiful complex faulting (though less insane than English) and it also has that same pursuit of massive height French Gothic has. Those combined with that Late Gothic's more streamlined flowing and organic aesthetic, some of the German Late Gothic cathedrals really sell that feeling of standing in a forest.

Finnish "Gothic"

I have a soft spot for the Finnish Medieval stone churches, which are not nearly as sophisticated or detailed as the other European counterparts, but still made with beautiful craftsmanship and they have some cool own features. It's very far from the European Gothic traditions, as you can see, but that's still the influence, hence Gothic in scare quotes. I love the simple outward appearance with the exposed thick stone walls, the details of the gable that worked as the calling card for the building master and the very steep roof. Like everywhere at the time, the roof in these has wooden structure, which is frankly super cool. It was not a simple engineering problem to make a roof that steep and massive at the time, but the structure works so well there's 600 year old roofs with the original logs still working perfectly well. I also really love the original medieval murals in them, which were painted over during the Reformation (you can't have color in a Lutheran church damn it), but thankfully some of them have been restored from under the paint.

Finnish "Renaissance" Log Churches

Renaissance also didn't land in Finland similarly as it did rest of the Europe. When Renaissance was going on in Europe, they still were building those "Gothic" churches here. These log churches were based on Scandinavian version of the Renaissance church, but they didn't really look like Renaissance churches, and were kinda it's own thing continuing a lot of the aesthetics from those Gothic churches. This is a highly specific style, but I just think they are so cool and pretty? Like they really made a CUPOLA out of log.

Arts and Crafts Movement

Arts and Crafts Movement didn't have exactly a style, rather a design philosophy that was more important than specific style. There's of course a lot of stylistic similarities in the works of the different members of the Movement, because they had overlapping sources of inspiration and were influenced by each other, so we can think of it as a style. I could, have and will talk about them for hours, but briefly now: It was a moment in latter half of the 19th century and early 20th century and their goals were reviving craftsmanship skills and professions, socialism, opposing industrialism and abolishing the hierarchy between fine arts and applied arts. They were very much influenced by Medievalism and Gothic art and architecture, though unlike Gothic Revivalist, they took more from the guiding principles than the aesthetics. They basically started Modernism and lay ground to all the Modernist architecture's main principles, like form follows function.

Art Nouveau

Art Nouveau was directly influenced by the Arts and Crafts Movement and was the first mainstream Modernist style. I especially love the more toned down Finnish Art Nouveau, or Jugend as it's called here, but I do love the style more broadly too. I'm not that into those almost Baroque style versions of it though, with barely any straight lines. I love the round doors, the stylized floral patterns and the use of light.

Organic architecture

This has to be my favorite modernist/post-modernist (?) style. It's direct successor of Arts and Crafts movement and it's also more of a design principle than a unified style. There is some stylistic similarities, but it is stylistically very diverse philosophy. It was most prominent during the 20th century, but it always stayed in the sidelines, though there are still architects who might be considered practicing organic architecture. Organic architecture is all about living in harmony with nature, taking inspiration from it, designing the building to fit the building spot and the surroundings, extra care taken in to preserve the nature already there, and using local natural materials when possible. My favorite architects are Raili and Reima Pietilä, who were most prominent organic architects in Finland. (I almost moved into apartment designed by them, but it was in pretty bad condition, so it wouldn't have unfortunately been worth the price.)

Brutalism

I know it's not for everyone and it's not easy to make it work but when it works, it really does. It was born in 1950s during the reconstruction era. Brutalism is not just concrete though. The point is to show the raw materials and the structural elements. Technically a lot of Gothic and Arts and Crafts architecture is then brutalist. Timber frame architecture? Also brutalist. I'm only half joking, of course the style itself is also very bare and, well, brutal, but I love it for the same reasons. I really love bare textures of materials and exposing the materials of the structural elements. And I do actually really like the texture of concrete. Though I will say concrete is destroying our world and we should use it as little as possible. But we should also protect old buildings and keep using them rather than built new ones, so I feel fine admiring the old brutalist buildings. The best brutalist buildings combine materials very intentionally and make works of art with the light.

Bonus - Favorite contemporary architecture: Traditional methods

As we're living in the post-modern times, there's not really unified and specifiable styles or architectural ideologies anymore. They all kinda flow into each other and architects don't organize themselves into clear groups based on style and design philosophy. So it's hard to put into words the style I like in contemporary architecture. There's been growing interest in studying traditional structures and methods, learn from their sustainability and incorporate them into contemporary architecture. They are techniques that have been developed through trial and error on the span of centuries, so we really don't have to reinvent the wheel here. Traditional methods of a given area have also been developed for that area and it's climate, from the materials available there, so they also push us to use local materials. Typically these traditional structures are very simple, often made from solid material, which makes them easier to built without construction error (a huge problem in modern structures), and easier to fix and maintain, when inevitably there is issues. Also they are beautiful, definitely more so that steel and glass. I love solid brick structures, log structures, timber frames, natural stone, rammed earth and all of them, especially when these beautiful materials are left bare.

#architecture #architectural history #historical architecture #history #art history #modern architecture #gothic architecture #brutalism #arts and crafts movement #art nouveau

[ddollfface]

Can I please request a Yandere Hanayama Kaoru head canon?

𝐀 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

𝙆𝙖𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙃𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙮𝙖𝙢𝙖 𝙔𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣

Warnings; reader is afab/described a girl, yandere behaviors, stalking, I talk a lot, lots of ramblings, probably doesn't make any sense, bad writing, more stalking, Tumblr is trying to silence me, ngl Hanayama is growing on me... If I missed anything, then please let me know ♡ Bro, I'm so sorry that this is super rushed, seeing as I hit the word limit??? I'm super confused because I barely wrote anything, but whatever. A lot of my headcanons are based around @yandere-writer-momo. Also, sorry for being offline for so long lol, kinda forgot I had Tumblr ngl :/

Okay, to start this off, I think that realistically, it'd be very, very, very hard to get Hanayama's attention. He's shown to be stoic and stone-faced, only showing respect and warmth toward specific people (Baki and Shiba included). And I think it's important to mention that the people he does respect is due to their fighting spirit and/or strength, that or they were there during his childhood (like Kizaki and his mama).

And that's just for him to show basic affection toward them, not even accounting for being loving. For you to catch his attention, I think that you'd have to be either a really strong fighter (meaning having impressive skills of some sort) or have a strong will, either one will work. (Though, a lot of the time, both go hand-in-hand).

When I say a strong will, I don't mean you get up after being punched over and over, instead, it can just be standing up for others. Similar to Katsumi, I can see Hanayama being attracted to a person who's selfless, in the sense that they're brave. Someone who's willing to push through their fear and do it, whatever it is. Now, that catches his attention.

There's a never-ending list of cowards who'll run with their tails between their legs at the sight of discomfort, willing to abandon everything just for their own gain, and Hanayama encounters these men all the time. Let's just say that it gets boring, annoying even. So when you see someone who's spitfire, ready to jump into danger for themselves or others. Now, that's impressive.

Whether or not they can actually carry through doesn't matter too much, it's the fact that they got back up, not letting their dignity lay to rest. Personally, I find that Hanayama would be far more interested in someone who's genuinely acting selfless in this way, acting from the heart.

Going more into his childhood, I think this type is rooted in Hanayma's relationship with his mother. Though I haven't read the manga, from the wiki, I've gained that he was close to his mother, loving her very much. We don't know much about her. Hell, we don't even know her name, but we do know that she was kind.

That's the only information we're given, but even from that, I can make an analysis. From this, I know that Hanayama was likely a Mama's boy, though still being trained to be a Yakuta. I don't mean Mama's boy in the traditional sense, I mean it in the way that she was his peace, his way out of the Yukuta world, his destiny. Being raised in a gangster lifestyle isn't easy, nor is it soft, so just imagine the damage that type of environment can put on a child's brain?

Horrible, huh? So I like to think that Hanayama's mama, before she passed, was far softer to him, giving him some sense of security. this is possibly why he felt such sorrow after she passed, discarding the natural pain we feel when our mama dies (seeing as there's a primal connection we have with our mama, but that doesn't matter too much at the moment).

Hanayama is a very monotone kind of guy, who, I imagine, doesn't like people with some type of alternate motive. Like, y'know how politicians or businessmen talk? Like they're hiding something from you? Yeah, Hanayama loathes those kinds of people, especially if they're trying to pursue him. I belive that he wants someone who'll keep his life steady; be his calm, if you will.

He wants someone who will be upfront, express themselves clearly, and won't keep what they're thinking from you. To him, this is a breath of fresh air. Hanayama is constantly surrounded by lackeys trying to kiss up to him, speaking with a hidden motive (which isn't really hidden in retrospect). If they're not trying to appease them, then they're quacking in their boots, ready to piss themselves.

But you're not like that, no, not at all. You're different. Hanayama can tell, you aren't some coward, instead, you're someone to respect. He can imagine you sitting next to him, all pretty as a Yakuza's wife. Yeah, he likes the sound of that. Well, the only problem is that you don't know who he is, not yet at least.

I imagine that you wouldn't know who Hanayama is, at first, seeing as he never spoke to you. He likely witnessed you acting selfless in some type of way, expressing your kindness by helping a grandma get across the street, something like that.

You didn't notice him, but he sure noticed you. At first, it wasn't anything too special. Hanayama just found you interesting, wanting to see what you'd do next, so he had one or two of his men keep a tab on you--nothing serious. It continues like that for quite a while, and Hanayama learns more and more about you. He knows that you like to sing when you cook, tapping your feet to the beat, and swaying side-to-side. It's cute, he thinks. And Hanayama feels closer to you, as if you know each other, like you're friends.

But then one of his men reports that you're not at home, not following your usual schedule. Instead, you were at some dingy cafe, drinking crappy coffee with another man, some slumbag who looked like he hadn't showered in a hot second. For some reason, which Hanayama doesn't know, he gets ticked off.

Someone as sweet, kind, and damn pretty as you shouldn't associate with someone like him, someone so gross.

He doesn't do anything, no, no yet. It'd be too brash, and too stupid. And Hanayama isn't stupid. No, Hanayama can keep himself composed, now knowing that he needs to get your attention. Afterall, he can't have you running around with other men, not when he's right here! Well... you don't know that, yet.

Few weeks pass, and you've completely forgotten the trashy date you had gone on, but Hanayama hasn't. You begin to notice new outfits appearing in your closet, clothing you certainly didn't have previously. They're far too expensive, too revealing for you to own.

You'll be confused, especially when these dresses, heels, and coats are no longer just appearing, but instead, being presented. Now, instead of being hung up or nicely folded in your closet, they're being laid out on your bed, accompanied by a pretty, black leather box with silk insides. A little note is stuck on top of the shimmering dress, causing you to gulp, looking around as a shiver racks through your body.

Who the hell is buying you a dress? (though, it looks far more like lingerie, seeing as you'd never be able to wear it out in public). You don't know, but you can't help but feel the heat rise to your cheeks as you lift the velvet cloth, feeling the lace slip through your fingers. Once you tried it on, listen, you couldn't help but feel curious, you gawked at how it fit you like a glove, hugging your curves, and accentuating your hips and bust.

It's fucking creepy, that's all you can think, but it gets worse, way worse. Throughout the weeks, you notice more and more gifts show up at your doorstep. The dresses get severely revealing, much to your discomfort. So do the notes. They get too detailed and too accurate to your day-to-day. By now, it's clear that you have a stalker, a rich one at that.

I'd have to say that this is the worst part of being with Hanayama: the courting. It's hella weird! You'll never feel alone, always having someone watching you, mostly Hanayama. He doesn't have his lackeys watching you anymore, seeing as he's far too jealous for that. He doesn't want someone as low at them to see you in such an innocent, vulnerable state. No, that's only for him to see.

Don't be surprised when he shows up at your door, your last hookup's head in hand and a bundle of roses in the other. After all, it's time for you to come home, no?

#tumblr is silencing me #bro wtf #x reader #obsessive love #lovesick #bad writing #yandere male #baki the grappler #baki dou #baki son of ogre #baki x reader #baki hanma #hanayama kaoru x reader #hanayama kaoru #baki hanayama #hanayama x reader #kaoru hanayama #baki headcanons #yandere baki the grappler #yandere kaoru hanayam #yandere hanayama kaoru

[thewulf]

Sunflowers and Second Chances || Darrel "Darry" Curtis

Summary: Request - Can you do a Darry x Winston sister reader? Maybe she's Dallas's twin or like a year younger and he's just super protective over her. I was thinking maybe the two of them show up for a bonfire at the park with some greasers and reader forgets her jacket. She's shivering by the fire and Darry (ever the gentleman) gives her his jacket.... Read Rest Here

A/N: Def went overboard but mannnn do i LOVE writing for The Outsiders. This will NEVERR be a dead fandom for as long as I am alive hahaha. please keep sending these my way! I'd love to try a Sodapop or even Ponyboy :) Enjoy!

Pairing: Darrel "Darry" Curtis x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.5k +

TW: General The Outsiders

It wasn’t that cold when you and Dallas left your shared apartment for the evening. After nagging and bothering you for what felt like hours Dallas had finally won, he was getting you to go to the annual start of summer bonfire. A tried-and-true greaser tradition. It wasn’t really your scene, most of the time. But at the mention that Darrel Curtis was going to be there you’d changed your tune rather quickly. Dallas knew of your little crush on the eldest Curtis brother. Because of course he did. He wasn’t dumb. Quite the opposite really. He caught your longing glances for Darry pretty early on. Your cute crush only got slightly concerning for Dally when he started noticing Darry throwing the same looks your way.

Dallas might’ve used Darry as the excuse to get you out of the house. See, Dallas had never taken school seriously, but you always have. He was worried you were spending far too much of your limited time studying or doing homework instead of being an actual teenager.

As you and Dallas strolled through the dimly lit streets toward the outskirts of town where the bonfire was blazing, you couldn't shake the feeling of nervous excitement that ripped through your body. Dallas, your favorite charismatic troublemaker, seemed to sense your nerves and threw an arm around your shoulder, giving you a rough but reassuring squeeze.

"So, kid sister, what's got you all wound up tonight, huh?" Dallas smirked. His eyes gleaming mischievously in the faint glow of the streetlights.

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Nothing, just looking forward to hanging out with the guys, I guess. Haven’t seen them in a while is all."

Dallas shot you a knowing look, his eyebrows raised in amusement. "Uh-huh, the guys sure thing. Are you sure it’s not one guy? Don't think I haven't noticed those puppy-dog eyes you've been throwing at Darry lately." He had a habit of calling you out on your bullshit, even if it made you uncomfortable.

Your cheeks flushed at that comment. You stuttered in protest, but Dallas just laughed, his voice rumbling with amusement. "Relax, kid, ain't no crime in having a crush. But who knows, maybe tonight's the night you finally make a move." He winked knowing that was a load of crap. You’d never make a move on Darry, wouldn’t even dream of it. In his eyes you were Dallas’ baby sister. He could never see you like that.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't deny the flutter of excitement that bubbled in your chest at the mere thought of it. Darrel Curtis was everything you found attractive in a man - strong, dependable, and with a heart of gold hidden beneath his tough exterior. The idea that he might feel even a fraction of what you felt for him sent your pulse racing. But you knew better, knew better than to get your hopes up.

The two of you approached the bonfire, the familiar sight of your friends greeted you. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and the sound of laughter, with the occasional burst of music from someone's battered radio. It felt like home. You and Dallas had finally found it after years of moving and running.

Dallas led you through the throngs of people, his boisterous laughter mingling with the chatter of the others. Until you finally caught sight of Darry standing by himself next to the fire. His gaze was fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart skip a few beats. You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling acutely aware of every movement, every breath. Dallas nudged you playfully with his elbow, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he gave you a not-so-subtle wink before sauntering off to join the other greasers.

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you squared your shoulders and made your way over to where Darry stood, his eyes never leaving yours. And as you drew closer, the crackle of the fire seemed to fade away, leaving only the pounding of your heart echoing in your ears, “Hi.” You smiled up at him once you got within ear shot.

He smiled right back at you. His annoyed face melted away once you got close. “Didn’t think we’d see you tonight. What a treat.” He smirked loving the little game the two of you shared when it was just the two of you. He wasn’t sure when it happened, but he had developed a not so innocent crush on you. Dallas Winston’s little sister. Probably the worst girl to have a crush on. But how could he not? You stepped up and helped him in ways he could’ve never imagined after his parents passed. You pulled Pony and Soda along right with you instead of letting them drown in grief. You were an angel. His angel.

Despite the lively atmosphere, you couldn’t shake off the chill that seeped into your bones. You cursed yourself for forgetting your jacket, but with the comforting heat of the fire so close, you hadn't noticed the cold until now. Darry glanced down at you once you were standing next to him, sensing your discomfort. "Are ya’ cold, Y/N?"

You nodded, teeth chattering slightly. "Yeah, just a bit."

Without a word, Darry shrugged off the leather jacket he had on. "Here," he said, draping it over your shoulders. "You shouldn't be freezing out here." While it fit him it was about three sizes too large for you. Not that you minded.

You blinked in surprise as Darry's jacket enveloped you, radiating warmth and carrying his distinct scent. Grateful, you offered him a small smile. "Thanks, Darry."

He nodded, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Anytime, Y/N. Don't want you catching a cold."

As the night wore on, you huddled closer to the fire, Darry's jacket shielding you from the biting cold. Despite the flames eventually dying down and the group dispersing, the memory of Darry's protective gesture lingered, a comforting presence in the darkness of the night.

In the dim light, you caught Darry's eye and offered him a silent expression of gratitude. He returned it with a nod, silently promising to always look out for you. Feeling a warmth not just from the jacket but also from his concern, you find yourself drawn to him. "Thanks again, Darry. Dallas rushed me out of the apartment. You know I’m not usually so forgetful." you say softly, your voice carrying a hint of flirtation you can't quite suppress.

Darry's lips quirk up in a half-smile, his eyes holding a glint of amusement. "No problem, Y/N," he replies, his voice low and gravelly. "I’m sure it’s not easy being Dally’s sister."

You chuckle at his teasing tone, enjoying the banter that flowed so effortless between the two of you. "You could say that again. Guess I owe you one though," you say playfully, nudging him with your elbow.

Darry's smile widens, and he leans in a little closer, the warmth of his presence sending a shiver down your spine for an entirely different reason. "Oh, I'll be sure to collect on that debt," he murmurs, his gaze intense yet tender.

Your heart nearly stops at his words, and you find yourself blushing despite the chill in the air. Maybe forgetting your jacket wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Just as you're about to respond to Darry's playful banter, a familiar voice interrupted you from behind. "Well, well, what do we have here? Little sis all blushy-cheeked and heart eyes on our very own Darrel Curtis?" Dallas's voice carries a teasing edge, his smirk evident even in the dim light. He knew how much you not so secretly liked the oldest Curtis brother. You may not have said anything to him, but it was evident in the way you looked at him. Dallas knew eyes couldn’t hide much. That’s how he also knew the oldest Curtis brother felt the same about you. So, he did what any older brother would do, tease the shit out of the both of you.

You turn to see Dallas walking over, his usual cocky demeanor in full force. But something about the way he looks at you, a mixture of amusement and something else you can't quite place, makes you more nervous than ever. Darry stiffens slightly beside you, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. His jaw clenches, and you notice a subtle tension in his shoulders.

"Easy there, Darry," Dallas continues, his grin widening. "I'm just messing with my kid sister. No need to get all uptight Curtis." He had a full-on grin now not realizing the damage he was causing between the blooming relationship that had yet to begin.

You shoot Dallas a playful glare, hoping to diffuse the situation. "Ignore him, Darry. He's just being annoying, as usual." You turned back to the man standing beside you, closer than you remember from just moments ago.

But Darry's gaze remains fixed on Dallas, a silent warning in his eyes. "Nothing’s happened Dallas.” The joyful tone in his voice from moments ago had vanished sending you into a minor panic as the two most important men in your life stood there staring at each other.

Dallas raises his hands in mock surrender, his smirk faltering ever so slightly. "Alright, alright, no need to get all serious," he says, taking a step back. "I'll leave you two alone. Doing whatever you were doing.”

As Dallas walks away, you feel a pang of disappointment wash over you knowing that something was suddenly amiss. You glance at Darry, hoping to see his usual warmth and playfulness, but instead, you find him distant, his gaze fixed on the ground. He was thinking and thinking hard at that.

"Hey, everything okay?" you ask, reaching out to touch his arm.

When he pulled away from you sharply you tried to hide the disappointment evident in your gaze on him. Darry looks up, his expression guarded. "I’m sorry. I just... I can't do this. Not with Dallas being your brother," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart sank as Darry's words hit you like a punch to the gut. You had hoped that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something more between the two of you. But now, faced with his rejection, you felt a wave of embarrassment and hurt wash over you. You tried to hide the sting of tears threatening to spill from your eyes, forcing a weak smile as you withdrew his jacket from your shoulders. "I understand," you replied softly, trying to keep your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. "It's okay, Darry. I-I didn't mean to make things awkward." You handed him the too big leather jacket back. You didn’t miss the disappointed look in his eyes as he took it back from you.

But before Darry could respond, you turned on your heel and began to walk away, the weight of his rejection heavy on your shoulders. You could feel the eyes of the other greasers on you as you made your way through the crowd, their whispers echoing in your ears like a cruel reminder of your own vulnerability.  You were halfway down the street when you felt a hand on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. Startled, you turned to find Dallas standing there, his expression unusually serious. "Y/N, wait," he said, his voice soft yet urgent. "What happened back there?"

You tried to brush off his concern, plastering on a fake smile. "It's nothing, Dallas. Just a misunderstanding, that's all."

But Dallas wasn't buying it, his gaze piercing through your facade. "Bullshit," he said bluntly. "I saw the way Darry was looking at you. And I saw the way you looked at him." He grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

You felt the tears welling up in your eyes once again, unable to hold them back any longer. The floodgates opened, and all the pent-up emotions came pouring out, overwhelming you with their intensity. Dallas's grip on your arm softened, his expression shifting from skepticism to concern as he watched the tears stream down your cheeks.

"Y/N, what's wrong?" he asked gently, his voice laced with worry. “What happened?"

You took a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself enough to speak. "It's Darry," you confessed, your voice trembling with emotion. "He doesn’t want me because... because he's worried about what you'll think or something."

Dallas's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, his grip on your arm tightening ever so slightly. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

You swallowed hard, mustering the courage to explain. "I don’t know. It was fine then it wasn’t," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "You were teasing us, and he... he thinks you don't approve. I don’t know Dallas he didn’t give me a reason. Just said he couldn’t do it."

Dallas's eyes widened in realization, a mixture of guilt and frustration flashing across his features. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair in agitation. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I was just messing around, you know?"

You nodded, feeling a pang of sympathy for Dallas's distress. "I know, Dallas," you said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "But sometimes things don't turn out the way we expect them to."

Dallas's shoulders sagged as he let out a heavy sigh, his usual cocky demeanor replaced by an air of vulnerability. "I'm sorry, Y/N," he said sincerely, his voice thick with remorse. "I never meant to hurt you or Darry. You know that, right?"

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat as you fought to hold back the tears threatening to keep spilling from your eyes. "I know, Dal," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.

Without hesitation, Dallas pulled you into a comforting brotherly hug, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. You felt a sense of warmth and security wash over you, knowing that no matter what happened, you had Dallas by your side, always ready to support you through thick and thin.As you leaned into his embrace, Dallas's protective instincts kicked in, his mind buzzing with thoughts of how to fix the situation. But before he could voice his intentions, you pulled away slightly, a pleading look in your eyes.

"Dallas, please," you said softly, your voice tinged with embarrassment. "Don't do anything rash. I don't want things to get any more complicated than they already are."

Dallas's expression softened as he registered your plea, his gaze filled with concern. "I just can't stand the thought of Darry hurting you like this," he admitted, his voice laced with frustration. "He's being so damn thick-headed, and it makes me want to sock him one right in the jaw."

You shook your head, a firmness in your voice. "No, Dallas, no fighting with your brothers," you insisted, your tone leaving no room for argument. "We'll figure this out without anyone throwing punches. Let's just leave it be for now, okay? I don't want anything to happen when everyone is emotional."

Dallas hesitated, his jaw tense with the effort of restraining himself. But as he looked into your eyes, seeing the conviction in them, he relented. "Alright, Y/N," he conceded, his voice quieter now, but still edged with frustration. "We'll do it your way. But I swear, if he keeps hurting you, I won't be able to hold back."

You gave him a grateful smile, appreciating his loyalty but relieved that he agreed to your terms. "Thank you, Dallas," you said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "For respecting my wishes."

Dallas nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Always, kid," he replied, his voice softening with affection. "Now, let's go inside and take a breather. We'll figure out our next move when we're all thinking straight."

As you followed Dallas into the apartment, a sense of relief washed over you, grateful for his support and understanding. Exhaustion weighed heavily on your shoulders, and you couldn't fight the urge to collapse onto the couch, the events of the evening catching up with you all at once.

Dallas lingered nearby for a moment, watching over you with a protective gaze. He hesitated, torn between staying by your side and his burning desire to confront Darry. Eventually, with a heavy sigh, he made his decision.

Quietly, Dallas slipped out of the apartment once you were fast asleep on the couch, leaving you to rest, and made his way towards the Curtis house. Determination fueled his steps as he navigated the dimly lit streets, his mind focused on one goal: to talk some sense into Darry.

When he finally reached the Curtis house, he didn't bother with niceties. Instead, he pounded on the door with a forceful urgency, his knuckles rapping against the wood in a demanding rhythm. Soda was the one to answer the door, his expression shifting from surprise to concern as he took in Dallas's agitated demeanor. "Dallas? What's going on, man?"

But Dallas didn't waste any time with explanations. Without a word, he brushed past Soda, his eyes scanning the living room in search of Darry. He didn't care about being polite or waiting for an invitation. All he cared about was finding the one who made his sister cry. Soda called after him, his voice tinged with confusion and concern, but Dallas paid him no mind. His focus was singular, his determination unwavering as he sought out Darry, ready to have a long-overdue conversation that would hopefully set things right.

Dallas's footsteps echoed loudly as he made his way towards the backyard, his heart pounding with a mixture of anger and concern. He found Darry leaning against the wall, a cigarette dangling from his lips, while Ponyboy sat nearby, a troubled expression on his face. Without preamble, Dallas stormed over to Darry, his eyes blazing with intensity. "What the hell is wrong with you, Darry?" he demanded, his voice thick with emotion. "You made my sister cry, and for what? Because you're too damn stubborn to see what's right in front of you?"

Darry looked up, startled by Dallas's sudden outburst. "Dallas, what are you talking about?" he asked, confusion evident in his tone.

Ponyboy, sensing the tension in the air, glanced nervously between his older brother and what felt like his second one. "Guys, what's going on?" he asked tentatively, his brow furrowing with concern.

"What's going on is that Darry's being a complete idiot," Dallas snapped, his frustration boiling over. "He's too blind to see that Y/N cares about him, and he's pushing her away because of it."

Darry's expression softened, his defenses crumbling under Dallas's relentless barrage. "Dallas, it's not that simple," he protested weakly, but Dallas wasn't having any of it.

"Not that simple?" Dallas echoed incredulously, his voice rising with every word. "You think you're doing her a favor by pushing her away? You're just hurting her, Darry. And you're too damn stubborn to see it."

Ponyboy watched the exchange in silence, his eyes darting between the two brothers with a mixture of concern and apprehension. He knew better than to intervene when Dallas was in one of his moods. Finally, Darry let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I didn't mean to hurt her, Dallas," he admitted quietly, his voice tinged with regret. "I just... I don't know how to do this. I'm not good at this stuff."

Soda, who had been observing from the doorway, stepped forward with a smirk playing on his lips. "You got that right, Darry," he interjected, his tone teasing. "You're allergic to pretty girls."

Ponyboy couldn't help but chuckle at Soda's remark, a small smile breaking through the tension that hung in the air. Darry sighed, shaking his head at Soda's comment, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Thanks for the reminder, Soda," he said wryly, his voice tinged with self-deprecation. "But I guess I'll just have to figure it out."

Dallas leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, a smirk playing on his lips as he listened to Ponyboy's words. "Yeah, she's got a heart of literal gold, man," he chimed in, nodding in agreement. "I've seen it. She's too kind for this world sometimes."

Ponyboy nodded fervently, his eyes reflecting admiration. "Absolutely. Remember that time when she stood up for Johnny when those guys were picking on him? She didn't even hesitate. Just marched right over there and gave them a piece of her mind."

Soda grinned, his eyes sparkling with fondness. "And she's always nice to everyone, even those stuck-up Socs who don't deserve it," he added, his voice full of admiration.

Darry sighed, running a hand through his hair. He couldn't help but smile at his brothers' words, despite himself. "Yeah, she's something else, that's for sure," he mused, a hint of pride creeping into his tone. "But sometimes, I worry she's too good for her own good."

The room fell into a thoughtful silence for a moment before Soda broke it with a chuckle. "Well, Darry, you might just have to deal with it," he teased, nudging his brother playfully. "After all, love's got its own way of figuring things out."

Darry rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress the small smile that tugged at his lips. "Yeah, you're right Soda," he conceded, his gaze drifting off into the distance as he thought about you. "I just hope I can keep up."

The brothers shared a knowing look, a silent understanding passing between them as they contemplated the impact you had made on their lives. Dallas leaned forward, his expression turning serious. "You know, Darry, you gotta give yourself some credit too," he said, his voice carrying a rare sincerity. "She sees something in you, man. She wouldn't stick around if she didn't believe in you."

Darry shifted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I know, Dallas, but... I've messed up so many times," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "I've let her down more times than I can count."

Ponyboy reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Darry's shoulder. "Hey, we all make mistakes," he said softly, his eyes filled with empathy. "But what matters is how you learn from them."

Soda nodded in agreement, his expression serious. "You gotta show her, Darry," he chimed in, his voice firm. "You gotta show her that you're willing to do whatever it takes to make things right."

Darry sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I know, I know," he muttered, his voice heavy with guilt. "I just... I don't know if I'm capable of being the person she deserves."

Dallas shook his head, his eyes locking with Darry's. "You are, man," he insisted, his tone unwavering. "But you gotta start believing it yourself. You gotta start believing that you're worthy of her love."

The room fell into a contemplative silence as Darry let Dallas' words sink in. And as he sat there, surrounded by his brothers, he couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope stirring deep within him. Maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to make things right with you. Maybe there was still a chance for them after all.

Dallas let out a gruff laugh, a hint of his usual tough demeanor creeping back into his expression. "Alright, enough of this mushy crap," he declared, straightening up and running a hand through his hair. "I swear to God, if this gets back to her or you say some soft shit, I'll kick all your asses."

Ponyboy chuckled nervously, shooting a glance at Soda and Darry. "Got it, Dallas," he replied, trying to suppress a grin.

Soda raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, no worries, man," he said with a smirk. "Our lips are sealed."

Darry nodded in agreement, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Thanks, Dallas," he said sincerely, his eyes reflecting gratitude.

Dallas gave them all a nod before pushing himself off the wall. "Alright, I’m out out of here before I start feeling like I need to hug it out or something," he quipped, striding towards the door with his usual gate. He hoped you had stayed sleeping on the couch as he made his way back to your shared apartment.

The next day, Darry found himself restless, pacing back and forth in his room as he wrestled with his overwhelming sense of guilt. Every step he took felt heavy, burdened by the weight of regret that had settled like a stone in his chest. He knew he had hurt you deeply, and the thought churned his stomach with unease. Despite his usual stoic demeanor, Darry couldn't shake off the nervous fluttering in his chest as he clutched the bouquet of flowers tightly in his hand.

Darry found himself seized by a sudden determination to make things right with you. He knew that a simple apology wouldn't be enough – he needed to show her just how much she meant to him. And that's when he remembered the little details about her that he cherished.

With a sense of purpose driving him forward, Darry made his way to a nearby flower shop. The bustling streets seemed to blur around him as he searched for the perfect bouquet, his mind focused solely on one thing: your beautiful smile that brightened his day. He rifled through the colorful array of blooms, his heart racing with anticipation as he sought out the flowers that would convey his heartfelt apology and adoration.

And then, amidst the vibrant sea of petals, he found them – sunflowers. They stood tall and proud, their golden faces turned towards the sun, just like Y/N's radiant spirit. Darry's heart swelled with certainty as he reached out to carefully select the most beautiful blooms, knowing that they would bring a ray of sunshine to your day.

But as he stood at the checkout counter, a sudden doubt crept into his mind. How did he know that sunflowers were her favorite? Had she ever mentioned it to him before, in passing? Or was it just a gut feeling, a subconscious knowledge born from the countless hours they had spent together? For a moment, Darry hesitated, his brow furrowing in uncertainty. But then he remembered the way your eyes had lit up the last time you had passed a house that was growing them, how you had exclaimed with delight at the sight. And in that moment, he knew – sunflowers were your favorite, and he was determined to make sure you knew just how much you meant to him.

As he made his way to your apartment, each footfall echoed with the rhythm of his racing heart. The short journey felt like an eternity, his mind filled with worry and doubt. What if you were still upset with him? What if you didn't want to see him? The uncertainty gnawed at him, threatening to consume him with fear. He couldn't bear the thought of facing your disappointment, knowing that he was the cause of your pain.

With trembling hands, Darry finally reached your doorstep. He took a moment to steady his nerves, drawing in a deep breath to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him. But no amount of preparation could ease the knot of anxiety tightening in his chest as he raised his hand to knock on the door. Each rap of his knuckles felt like a thunderclap, reverberating through the silence of the neighborhood, and echoing the tumultuous turmoil in his own heart.

For a fleeting moment, Darry hesitated, his hand hovering uncertainly in the air. He couldn't help but worry that you would be furious with him, that you would turn him away without a second thought. The thought made his pulse quicken with apprehension, his palms growing slick with sweat as he grappled with his fear of rejection. But deep down, he knew he couldn't let his fear hold him back. He had to face you, to confront the consequences of his actions and make amends for the pain he had caused. With a silent prayer on his lips, Darry squared his shoulders and knocked once more, steeling himself for whatever lay ahead.

As the door swung open, revealing your surprised expression, Darry felt his heart almost stop. He could see the shock flicker across your features as you took in the sight of him standing there, a bouquet of sunflowers clutched tightly in his hand. But then, to his relief, your expression softened, your eyes lighting up with warmth and affection.

"Darry?" Your voice was soft, filled with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "What are you doing here?"

Darry swallowed hard. His throat suddenly dry. He extended the bouquet towards her, his hand trembling ever so slightly. "For you," he managed to choke out, his voice barely above a whisper.

A smile spread across your face, brightening his mood with its warmth. "These are my favorite! How did you know?" you exclaimed, your eyes sparkling with delight as you reached out to accept the flowers. You pushed the door open letting him in as your searched for a vase for your sunflowers.

Darry felt a weightlifting off his shoulders at your reaction, a sense of relief flooding through him. Maybe he hadn't completely messed things up after all. "Just a lucky guess," he replied with a shy grin, though deep down, he knew it was more than just luck. He had been paying attention, learning the little things that made you happy, and he was determined to make it up to her.

Darry watched as your smile grew wider, and he couldn't help but feel a rush of happiness seeing you so pleased with the flowers. "I'm glad you like them," he said, his voice soft with sincerity.

You wrapped your arms around him in a spontaneous hug, and Darry felt his heart swell with warmth at the gesture. "Thank you, Darry," you whispered, your voice filled with genuine gratitude.

The embrace felt like a balm to Darry's soul, soothing the lingering doubts and fears that had plagued him since last night. But as he held you close, he knew there was still something he needed to address, something he couldn't ignore any longer.

"I need to apologize, Y/N," Darry began, his voice tinged with regret. "I was a jerk last night at the bonfire. I shouldn't have dismissed you like that."

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a furrowed brow. "Darry, it's okay," you reassured him, though there was a hint of hurt in your eyes.

But Darry shook his head, his gaze earnest. "No, it's not okay," he insisted, his voice firm. "You deserved better than that, and I'm sorry for treating you like you didn't matter."

Your expression softened as you listened to Darry's heartfelt apology, and a sense of understanding washed over you. "I forgive you, Darry," you replied, reaching out to gently caress his cheek. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me."

Darry felt a wave of relief wash over him at your forgiveness, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to make it up to you somehow, to show you just how much you meant to him. As he looked into your eyes, he could see the depth of your care and affection reflected back at him, and it filled him with a sense of gratitude. He realized in that moment just how lucky he was to have you in his life.

A mischievous glint sparked in Darry's eyes as he felt a surge of confidence coursing through him. "You know, since we're both feeling so forgiving and all," he began, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, "how about I make it up to you by taking you on a proper date?"

Your eyes widened in surprise at his suggestion, a smile spreading across your face. "A date?" you echoed, a hint of excitement in your voice.

Darry nodded, his grin widening. "Yeah, a date," he confirmed, his tone filled with determination. "How about we go to that fancy restaurant downtown? The one with the candlelit tables and that amazing carbonara dish you love. I know it's your favorite."

A delighted laugh bubbled up from your lips at his suggestion, and Darry felt a surge of pride knowing that he had guessed right. "You remembered," you said, your voice filled with warmth.

Darry shrugged nonchalantly, though his heart swelled with satisfaction at your reaction. "Of course, I remembered," he replied with a wink, his flirtatious side coming out to play. "I pay attention to the important stuff. You're the important stuff."

And as you laughed and agreed to the date, Darry couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement building within him. Maybe this was the start of something new, something wonderful – a chance to show you just how much you meant to him, and to make up for his past mistakes with little moments like these.

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[thecherrytarot]

𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 :

pile 1 → pile 2 → pile 3

pick the pile that you feel the most drawn to and please remember that this a general reading so take whatever resonates!! make sure to check out my other works!

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏:

your future self wants to tell you, "the storm is over. we survived and now you just have to be strong enough to take that responsibility and move forward because now you have nowhere to go but up. there may be times when you don't feel so sure of the path that you are taking but trust yourself and learn to take authority over your actions and decisions. dealing with the aftermath will be hard but I trust you, I trust myself that we will be able to make it."

The 'storm' whatever it was for you  (getting a strong message of leaving a toxic family/ relationship) has left you with some trauma but your future self wants you to tell that it's gone and the sun is shining again. Some of you, you may have felt trapped in a certain situation and it was draining you, you didn't have any control over your decisions. You are advised to set certain firm boundaries because only then do you feel secure. Also, speak up for yourself because when you don't, you are giving others a sign that tells them they can take control of your life and its direction. there is no need to crumble away, things will change when you bring the change.

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐:

your future self wants to tell that, "notice any recurring signs or symbols you are receiving and be aware. don't be foolish and listen to your gut instinct. don't waste your time and focus on your goals. bring structure and meaning into your goals and dreams. stop living in your head so much and go out and understand how the world works around you and beyond that. soon it will be time for you to be an adult so practice some discipline for yourself, stop with the procrastination, and don't spend too much money, especially on the things that aren't even needed just because it looks pretty doesn't mean that we have to get it, eat properly and be healthy, study and work hard, we'll see each other after the doom and gloom is gone."

Some of you might be in university or starting university or feel like the path to new beginnings is blocked for you. You might have trouble seeing the world with "fresh eyes". I keep getting this energy that the majority of the people that selected this are teens or in their early 20s trying to find a new mature way of looking at life (moving out to go to college or something and learning to live on your own) but feeling like they are somehow failing. Don't worry your future self wants to tell you that the answers will be found within you and the Universe is providing you with clues in the form of recurring signs. You might have to broaden your horizon and move towards your dreams. When I was writing the message it felt like the experienced version (your future self) was giving the inexperienced version (your current self) a long overdue reality check (very earth sign energy, Capricorn, Taurus, and Virgo). They want you to have some discipline in your life so that it will be easy for you to take responsibility and find your strengths and limitations.

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑:

your future self wants to tell you that "put your creativity into your work. don't be afraid and no you are not an 'imposter' anyone can be creative. Do them because you want them with happiness and affection, and don't let materialism and capitalism ruin your art that represents your attitude and approach when you look at things. this passive energy will not help us so have the courage and we'll be able to go through this rough period that you are currently in. step out of the shadow and come back into the light. Everything is going to be okay."

many of you could be struggling financially (bills, debts etc) and you might be afraid that you might face bankruptcy. You may have gone and followed your passion as your profession and now you may feel like maybe going for a traditional 9 - 5 would have been better for you and for some of you, you are afraid that something like this will happen to you. you may often question yourself "Why is this happening to me?". Your future self is here to tell you that you will be going through a personal transformation no matter how much you try to avoid and deny it. After this, worries will slowly start to fade away. There is hope and even though you might feel like there isn't any right now don't need to worry, the Universe will make all things grow with the power of gentle patience, at the right time. Do not fear what is changing right now.

Take care and have a nice day!!

#free tarot reading #pac tarot #pac reading #general tarot reading #tarot reading #pick a card reading #pick a pile tarot #tarot

[mourninglamby]

what were ur fav dsmp arcs and characters im wondering 👀

this is a question ive always had a weird reaction to lol. but for the sake of ease ill say exile arc and pogtopia.

i like stories about darker topics that usually pertain to my trauma or that have something to say philosophically. that Tell me something New. ethel cain's preachers daughter and revolutionary girl utena would be some examples of the type of media i moved onto after dsmp.

this is why i would get so angry when theyd prove to the audience that they werent trying to Say anything. but at the same time its complicated and i think the story was told by the actors epistemologically. they had their limits when it came to being conscience of their rhetoric. And I'm not calling them stupid; theyre just normal people who dont think about social commentary a lot.

this story is rly uncomfortable to examine under a microscope or in a bubble, especially considering the allegations against that lying narcissistic sack of pus dream that are still being debated right now. but i think that's what makes me like these arcs even more. maybe like is the wrong word... i am fascinated.

despite what ex fans or dream stans might propagate, exile arc was about abuse. so was the ravine to some extent. it also included characters struggling with ptsd, and very odd yet scarily realistic protrayals of suicidal ideation (sometimes sans trigger warnings until midway through streams or NONE AT ALL ON MAIN CHANNEL VODS). these were handled in a way i doubt any media will ever replicate, and it's not for it's quality of writing, but for how interwoven the people are to their characters. parasocialism probably plays into this quite a bit, but i digress.

i feel like these arcs (let alone the overarching narrative) escape traditional categorization. the only genre i could ascribe it to is theatrical realism for its dialogue and subject matter. but thats wrong too because the events in the story are supposed to be literal, like the three life system and communicators, while simultaneously in Real Life being more.. metaphorical? its hard to explain. it really is a puzzle.

im not very smart, im an art school dropout with years of unresolved issues im still struggling with. but i feel very strongly about this subject. id love to hear what other ppl think about their "favorite" arcs.

Edit : I meant to touch on characters too but I sorta combined that with my discussion of the arcs. So yeah Tommy and wilbur are my fav characters. Short answer.

#ill include other citations later on but it's all my own independent thoughts right now since so many people #are still afraid to post abt this shit #which i get. dream fans are fucking crazy #but so is criticism of any kind in this fandom space #i want to have discussions because if id had them when i was into dsmp iwould not have been so scared #all the time #suicide cw #abuse cw #cw dsmp

[cinnamonest]

I have one minute left of Monday as of writing this intro, but I have not had a Momcon Monday in ages (which is criminal) and "what if the Kamisato father still died but Kamisato Mama never died" thoughts have parasitically wormed their way into my brain and taken hold, therefore I cannot be held legally responsible for the degeneracy of this post.

After what I learned in a Japanese history class I took in college, I imagine Inazuma to have a similarly very incestuous history >:) Also obvious canon divergence, this kinda ignores the canon Kayo

-----------------------------

For any Inazuman family, the firstborn son is the pride of the household. It's sort of a traditional value, that great attention, care, and importance is placed on said firstborn son. While this may be very beneficial in some ways (other children in Inazuman families often resent their firstborn brother, feeling he gets more attention and priority than them), this advantage is greatly counterbalanced by the sheer amount of stress, responsibility, and expectations placed on the son.

Having only two children is an abnormality, as noble families tend to be fairly large (albeit smaller than they were in some eras of the past). And only one son, even rarer. It places the utmost stress on your son, to an extent you feel a bit of guilt -- perhaps you should have had another boy just to alleviate some of his burdens?

Regardless, you try to be there in the ways he needs you to be, to be a source of comfort and a shoulder to lean on. That, too, would be perhaps a bit frowned upon in Inazuman nobility culture... it tends to be a rather uptight and strict culture on such things, and Teyvatan nobility in particular often encourages pushing children to their limits, hardening them, but you can't bring yourself to be too harsh. People still tell you not to make him turn out to be weak or soft.

Even so, that turns out to not be the case at all.  As Ayato grows, he is no exception to the standard – capable in every matter, intelligent, strong, skilled in combat and wit alike. You couldn't be more proud. You make sure to tell him so, and everyone you know, for that matter. People frequently say similar things to you, I wish my kids were that well-behaved, if only my son cared about his studies like yours... on and on it goes, and in truth, it does make you feel that much more proud. He's wonderful in his behavior towards you as well, always so pleasant and thoughtful, going out of his way to check on you, get gifts for you, include you in his life. He even speaks highly of you to others, especially when praised -- ah, but I would never have done so well without my mother there to encourage me.

But life can drastically change overnight, and it does.

Death, particularly of the head of a household, is a particularly volatile, uneasy time. He’s incredibly stoic throughout, and takes charge of things very quickly. That, too, is something you're quite proud of, how quickly he adapts and takes over, and the efficiency with which he does, far surpassing what would be expected of someone his age.

Things are a bit awkward at first, though, because he replaces the role of your husband, while you remain in the same role as always, right beside the head of the house, which is now him. It just feels a bit strange, looking to him as and having many of the same partnered functions as you once did to your husband. For example, you are expected to remain side-by-side for all important affairs and meetings being held at the estate.

You don't contribute very much, merely supposed to sit there quiet and demure unless addressed or during the more casual socialization that occurs after important affairs are dealt with, but it would be socially embarrassing for someone of his status to appear in front of guests alone, as having either a wife or other matriarch of the household present is the expected standard. Still, although you know it's your responsibility, it just feels... strange.

Soon, however, it starts to feel something different entirely, due to your son's unexpected behaviors - humiliating.

It catches you off-guard, at first. You would never expect it from him, who has always praised you, held you in some degree of reverence and respect, always done as you asked.

It quickly seems to change, though. As he begins to take his father's place in dealing with other significant figures in local politics, he talks about you in front of others in a way that makes you feel degraded, as if you were an animal incapable of understanding he's even talking about you. You voice concern over what seems to be a disadvantageous decision being made with a major political power, trying to interject in a way that is as appropriately as you can manage, seeing as you're not supposed to talk much, but you can't let it go unaddressed... but your son just waves his hand dismissively, smiling.

Ah, you'll have to forgive my mother. She has a tendency to upset herself over trivial matters. He finishes with a chuckle, rests his hand on the top of your head for a moment.

He also gives you subtle warnings and guidances regarding your own words. The custom in your culture is for you and your guests to sit on opposite sides of a table low to the floor, with the head of the household -- now your son -- and the matriarch of the household (that's you, and would be your daughter if you were to pass) sits right beside him. This is an opportune way for him to be sure you don't say anything he would prefer you not to. You'll just be talking as usual, when you get a sudden firm squeeze to your thigh. Telling you that, for whatever reason, whatever you were saying has been deemed not acceptable, or perhaps that you simply are talking too much when your role is more to sit there and smile.

You give your son the benefit of the doubt. You rationalize it. He's young and all of this is so new to him, he probably wants to prove himself and take initiative over the social atmosphere, and would feel embarrassed if you were to to guide the meetings... he wants to feel capable and in charge. You taking over would be belittling to him, he would feel like you're treating him like a child, and you can understand that. That's a good thing that he's being so responsible, isn't it?

Besides, it's not like his behaviors towards you outside of the meetings have changed... until they do, in fact, begin to.

It starts with you taking a deviation in your routine. Not that that in and of itself is a big deal; there's nothing dictating that you have to follow a certain routine or anything like that. You don't have many responsibilities, as your son takes care of business and management affairs, your job is primarily to be present when needed, and ensure the household is being kept in order.

Therefore, you get a great deal of lounging time. One day, you simply felt like reclining to read for leisure in a different spot than usual, opting to sit in the estate's study rather than the foyer. Something done without any consideration to the matter, not thinking it anything that could possibly cause an issue in any way.

You jolt when the door harshly opens, barging through with urgency. Your son sighs when he sees you, shoulders falling as tension leaves his body. You think something to be the matter, that he must have something upsetting him -- is something wrong, sweetheart?

But instead of answering you with some other matter, his eyes narrow.

I have been searching for you for nearly half an hour. You would do well to not worry me by disappearing so.

There's a frustration in his voice you're unaccustomed to, an authority in his tone he has never used towards you. It catches you off-guard, your eyes widen.

O-oh, I... I didn't mean to...

In the end, you reassure him you will not repeat this variation in your usual schedule, at least not without informing house staff so that they can inform him when needed. He didn't seek you out for any reason, though, as it turns out, only coming to check on you.

You suppose you should appreciate these checks, as they continue. The monitoring becomes more and more intense over time. He begins to check on you several times a day, or at least sending a member of the house staff to do so. He requests that you have a consistent schedule, so he doesn't need worry about you.

One day you decide to take some time to yourself, wanting to clear your mind. The family has long had a very peaceful, calming estate grounds pathway to walk on, a natural garden area behind the main building with flowers and greenery and the like, where you often go to walk around in when you have a lot on your mind.

You've done so for years, and it's never been an issue, but you've been so preoccupied that you haven't gotten the chance to do so since your husband's passing... and yet, this time, you're not even gone for twenty minutes before someone comes looking for you.

Oh... him. The housekeeper is such a sweet boy. Always bright-eyed and energetic. And he feels bad for you. You can tell, you can sense it even now as he comes briskly walking up to you, hand held up in a greeting gesture, smiling -- but in that apologetic, sheepish sort smile, furrowed eyebrows conveying a very different message than the upturned corners of his mouth.

Likewise, the choice of words is polite and sweet, and yet, you can hear the unspoken part without needing to hear it.

'Oh, I was just wondering where you were!'

(I was sent to come find you.)

'...has been really worried about you--'

(I'm going to be in trouble if you don't come back.)

'And I was just thinking--'

(He told me to say--)

He keeps this cheery, upbeat sort of tone, but you can feel it's forced. It's just short of audibly hearing what it says on its own: sorry.

And you know exactly why he's the one coming to find you. Sure, part of it is no doubt because he's so sweet and soft, but you know your son's real line of reasoning -- that you wouldn't want to get him in trouble, that you'll feel more empathetic to him than you would towards any regular servant, and thus you'll be more willing to comply from the start. You hate to admit that it works.

Thoma becomes a sort of guardian over you. He's there in the mornings - of course, you have a female servant to dress you for the day, but as soon as you exit your room, he's always there, smiling and bowing his head in greeting, cheerful as always. Polite and respectful, too, always keeping with the formal honorifics and ma'am's and the like, even if you've tried to tell him it's not necessary. He always makes you food and tea in the morning, always accompanies you if you wish to go out (a fairly new pleasure in your life, as your late husband often told you to refrain from doing so, but you figure it can't hurt to visit the city every now and then), often sits with you and your daughter at meals, particularly if your son is too busy with work to do so.

He hovers over you, a constant presence. Ayato even went to the extent of hiring another new servant to help around with the tasks that had usually been under Thoma's responsibility, to give him more time to watch over you. In truth, it's suffocating, but you know he's only following commands, and you tell yourself that you ought to be grateful you have a son who cares for you so deeply.

And thus, your son continues to utilize him to control your own every move.

That is, until a certain incident.

You do get along well with Thoma, really. Who wouldn't? He's a very pleasant boy, easy to hold a conversation with, bright and energetic while also amiable and easygoing. He's content with talking about pretty much anything, goes wherever you want to go, never complains.

And usually, he's very well-prepared, but of course, everyone will make mistakes every now and then. Thus is how the two of you get caught in the rain, returning from a leisure stroll along the road. The poor thing apologizes a hundred times on the way back for neglecting to consider the possibility of rain and failing to bring an umbrella, taking his jacket off to hold over your head the whole time, but the rain is particularly heavy, so much so you both end up soaked anyways.

He frantically runs to fetch towels, still nervously apologizing (even though you told him it's fine each and every time), getting you multiple towels to dry yourself off. He leaves so you can dry your body off and change your clothes, but even after you return to the living area, sitting by the fire at the back-center of the room, he helps you rub a towel over your scalp and shoulders, arms more or less wrapped around you, leaning in, bodies a few inches apart.

It's at that moment Ayato passes by. Not intending to stop, merely walking past seemingly in a hurry, but his eyes flicker over to you two as he passes, and he comes to an abrupt halt. He's quiet for a few moments. He's a composed young man, never the type to show negative emotions too outwardly, but you can make out a distinct look of displeasure on his face, mouth pulled taut and eyes narrowed. After a moment, he questions what happened, in a calm, but cold voice. You're the one to explain before Thoma can say anything, wanting to defend him, thinking your son is upset over you getting caught in the rain, perhaps.

I see.

It's all he says before turning and walking off.

...You don't see Thoma very much anymore after that. Well, you still see him, he's always around doing some task or another, but he doesn't come to visit you anymore, and even when you see him and speak to him, he sort of leans away from you, keeps an arm-length away from you at all times, smiles and speaks in a sheepish mannerism for a few minutes before coincidentally remembering something he's forgotten to do and leaves to go do that. It hurts you a little. You want to say something to Ayato perhaps, but in truth, you're uncertain how to approach him... was he truly that upset over you getting rained on? Or was it something else? You have trouble making sense of it. Regardless, surely he's overreacting.

He seems so uptight lately. You imagine he's under a great deal of stress. He used to be rather lax and easygoing, but these days he seems to be more easily upset. Ayato's "bad moods" are nothing compared to someone of a less pleasant disposition, he merely gets cold and quiet and a bit harsh with his voice and words, but nonetheless, as your child, you know him well enough to know these things indicate he's upset.

He gets into such a mood more and more often, often nitpicking about the things you wear and do, getting unnecessarily upset if you fail to inform him of your activities and location, insisting you stay in the same places at the same times each day for him to come by so he can briefly check on you.

It's unnecessary, and frankly rather obnoxious. But once more, you're unsure of how to bring the matter up. Perhaps he's merely undergoing a strenuous period of time, and will improve once it is over. You hope so.

He assigns more servants to you, first a different female one, then another, and soon you have three, who are constantly following you around, tending to your every need. It's not as if the estate hasn't always had personal servants, but in the past, you merely summoned them when needed, and in truth, you were never the conceited type to have servants do everything, you were more than capable of performing certain tasks for yourself and didn't feel the need to command someone else to do it. But it's never been like this, never so suffocating.

Eventually, it becomes too much.

You need some time to yourself. To appear in public by yourself would be unseemly for your position, but nonetheless, you have to find a way to get some room to breathe... you know he would be furious with you if you were to intentionally avoid contact, to go off into the expanse of nature beyond the estate grounds... but the "what he doesn't know won't hurt him" is a motto you imagine all mothers use at some point when dealing with their children. When the beloved pet was killed by a kick from a horse, so you told the children it ran away. When the country underwent such a financial crisis a decade or so back that even your family had to sell some of their heirlooms to pay for the expenses of the estate, so you told the children they were simply tacky and you no longer wanted them. That sort of thing.

Yes, this would be no different. To leave the estate at night and walk around beyond the grounds for a while, beyond the garden where servants might see you, just to get some time and space to yourself, to clear your mind. You have to wait until night, when your servants are no longer trailing you so closely, but you manage to find an unguarded door to the outside, and slip away undetected.

Almost.

You're just taking the last few steps out the gate when a spear is thrust in front of you, the pole section blocking your path. The exterior guards. They seem high-strung, almost panicked by seeing you out. As soon as they stop you, they tell you to (albeit very politely, prefaced with please, madam, it's not good for you to be out here at this hour) return in side immediately.

You try to reason, and yet, they continue to insist. You give a demand -- Please, this is an order, I am simply going for a walk -- and yet even still, even with such an authoritative statement, they merely shake their heads. They take steps forward, gradually pushing you back inside, until you finally relent, making an exasperated noise before turning on your heel and stomping back inside.

You know your son had to have said something to them. Even your husband never held so much power that the household staff would so immediately and sternly disregard your words.

More importantly, you know they'll tell him. You know he'll be upset.

But you were expecting him to simply address it the next day or so. You didn't think he'd be so angry that he'd come into your room so late. You're pretty sure it's past midnight when you hear heavy, quick footsteps come stomping down your hallway.

Nor does he knock. Your doorknob simply turns, opening the door in one swift motion.

Mother.

If his tone alone didn't convey exactly how unhappy he is, the force with which he shuts the door behind him certainly does.

It feels as if your roles are reversed -- you find yourself shrinking back, stammering, like a child caught doing something wrong. You shift uncomfortably on your bed, watching as he sighs, closes his eyes and pinches at the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Don't you realize how foolish a stunt like that was? And bizarre, too, who tries to go outside at night like that? It has nothing to do with you wanting "time to yourself," as you quickly try to defend yourself with, no, he interrupts you before you can finish. You're merely being spiteful. You're bitter about the matter of him having authority over you and giving you instructions on behaving recently, it feels humiliating to you, and you're acting out in some desperate desire to prove your autonomy to yourself, to validate yourself, or perhaps to even intentionally upset him... how utterly childish.

You'll likely do something to escalate the situation just to make him more upset, like going off into the city on your own, putting yourself at risk. Truly, you are so naive, you have no regard for safety.

This is precisely why he will be moving in.

You blink. You take a moment to process his words.

What?

He exhales in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose as if it's a very simple, obvious matter that you're dense for not immediately grasping.

As you know, this room belongs to the head of the estate. It's very obviously designed to be so, given it's center position among all the rooms, size of the bed and the room itself and all that. It's sort of inappropriate for him to still be sleeping in his old childhood room.

You still only blink in confusion.

So... you want me to move out?

He huffs in frustration again, but hearing how soft and meek your voice sounds with those words, his own tone softens, though his words are still stern.

Obviously not. As he just said, he's moving in here to keep better eye on you. That's part of the whole point. You will be staying in the same room and bed from this point forward. You shared a bed with his late father most of your life, yes? This should be no trouble, then. Please, have some maturity.

I'm not a child anymore, mother. I have the final say in how this household operates, and it will make things easier on us both if you cooperate.

You're not sure what part of the matter to protest -- the bizarreness of it all, the fact that sleeping with you is something reserved for a child, the invasion of your privacy.

You say you have no intention of doing something worse like he claims, that you were just going to walk around for a short while. And before he can respond, you interject the obvious question -- that's not... that's not normal, don't you realize that?

He just sighs. You're being needlessly difficult. You know I have the utmost affection for you, Mother, and I've tried to be patient with you, but please be reasonable.

Why would you think this odd? You are family, after all, so no amount of closeness should be strange, there should be nothing to be embarrassed about. His tone as he finishes speaking is firm, making it clear that no further opposition is to be voiced. You find yourself wide-eyed and silent, slack-jawed as he proceeds to not leave, but rather, make his way over to the bed, sitting on the side opposite of you. He reaches out, affectionately putting a hand to rest atop your head, trying to soften the mood after being so firm.

His voice is far more gentle as he speaks again. I do worry for you at night, as well. I know being alone now must be difficult for you... I want to be here for you.

You don't protest further. In truth, he's right to an extent, it's not like it's a stranger or someone unrelated, so it doesn't feel all that unnatural. Still, he's grown, it's been ages since you were last like this... but even then, that thought takes you back to the days he would come shuffling down the hall, tearful over a nightmare or frightening shadow, and would nuzzle up to you all night, and that memory makes you feel warm and happy inside.

It's still awkward, of course, and you have trouble falling asleep with him there. At first you try to close your eyes and pretend it's your husband, but... no, that's too painful to think about. You toss and turn for some time. You keep repeating to yourself that it's not a big deal, even if it feels bizarre. Maybe he's actually stressed, and wanted you for comfort, but didn't want to say so...? That is a possibility. Or, even if it's exactly as he said, that's concern for your wellbeing.

Yes... he's just concerned is all. It's odd, but the sentiment is wholesome, in fact, you feel guilty for being defiant considering it was out of concern for you. You even make a note to apologize to him, the following morning, when you wake up beside him. He just smiles, back to his usual gentle, good-humored self. It's alright... you were merely emotional from stress. I understand. The choice of wording feels a bit degrading, but you know he means well.

Thus begins a rather... odd setup. The next day, you find servants moving some of his belongings into your room. They say nothing, they don't look you in the eye, merely go about their task as presumably instructed. You no longer have the servants following you around either. Instead, Ayato insists you merely stay with him. It will be easier for me to keep an eye on you this way. Really, this would have been easier from the start, but I didn't want to upset you...

You're allowed to do as you normally do. Read, entertain yourself in various sedentary ways. In the afternoon, when your high-class lifestyle has you adjusted to taking a short nap, he returns to the room with you, sitting at the desk to continue his own work. Really, you prefer him to the servants, it feels less awkward, but... he's very nosey. Always wanting to know what you're doing, what you're reading. He sets a schedule for you, ensuring you accompany him everywhere as necessary.

But it begins to become more and more intrusive. You try to take a bath, get some time to yourself, but soon he's knocking on the door to tell you that you've had long enough, and need to get out so you can accompany him to yet another meeting. You try to ask if you can go lay down in your room due to headache, and while he allows it, he insists on accompanying you. If even a servant comes to speak to you, he turns his attention to them too, careful to listen to every word, and you are never granted a private conversation with anyone but him.

You notice other oddities, too. You haven't had any guests for you in ages, despite the fact that you used to have friends and distant family on your side of the family visit fairly often. But since your husband's funeral, you haven't gotten any letters, nor any visitors. You can't imagine he would turn guests away, or intercept the estate's mail for things addressed to you... at least, you hope not, yet you can't think of anything else that could explain it.

You do ask, after finally summoning the gall to do so, but as per usual these days, he just sighs and gives you a vague answer. I have the servants sort through everything addressed to us, Mother. Do you really believe they would withhold anything from you? Somehow, it isn't reassuring.

He begins to personally dictate your choices as well, in ways even your husband never did. You find robes already set out for you each morning, what you will wear thus subtly dictated to you ahead of time. You don't see any point in doing so, but... if it makes him happy... you suppose you can oblige. So you tell yourself, among everything else.

He begins to become more touchy as well. He sits closer to you during your meetings, often so your bodies brush against each other. He often rests his hand on your head now, often touches your shoulder to get your attention. At night, he leans forward to kiss your forehead. And when you sleep, you manage to always end up entangled with each other, you always wake up to his arms on you.

It's all so, so suffocating, it becomes unbearable. You just want a moment to yourself, to do anything without being questioned. You find yourself growing tearful as you lay down at night, lamenting your loss, wishing you could have back your life before, where your husband at least gave you room to breathe, and your son was still merely you son, with no authority over you. You know he's trying his best, and you want so badly for him to be confident and capable, but you can't take it.

And while he's still amiable, still pleasant and easygoing on so many things, you learn that he can snap into that firm, harsh tone at a moment's notice. It's intimidating, truthfully, and for that reason, you tend to stay quiet. You would feel guilty for upsetting him, when he already has so much responsibility. Thus, you let the frustration build. You make excuses for him in your mind. You tolerate it all. The emotions bottle up inside.

It's bound to reach a breaking point, and one day, that point finally comes.

Rather, one night. Not that you do anything wrong by any rational standards. You wake up thirsty, in the middle of the night, and naturally, as anyone would do -- as anyone would do, anyone at all, you tell yourself -- you quietly, slowly slip out of his grasp and out of bed, and make your way down the hall in the moonlight coming through the windows, fetch a glass of water, and turn back the way you came.

You run into your son halfway down the hall. Despite visible grogginess, the moment he sees you, his eyes narrow.

What are you doing?

You halt, begin to shrink back. Out of learned instinct, you feel guilt, despite having done nothing wrong, dread that builds in your gut. Over doing something so simple, so harmless. You stutter as you try to say exactly that, but he isn't having it. He speaks calmly, but his voice is deep and firm.

Come back to bed. I have explicitly told you so many times to not wander off on your own, and yet you continue to deliberately disobey... what am I to do with you...?

And with those words, something inside you snaps. The frustration all comes bursting out at once. Your grip on your glass tightens, you stomp the ground harshly, causing even him to raise his eyebrows in surprise at the sudden lack of dignity. There's venom in your voice as you talk back to him.

I've had enough!

The words come out without intending them. You don't even really process what you're saying, just that you're so, so tired, that you're sick of not having space to yourself, that you won't tolerate being disrespected so. That you think it was ridiculous that he would forbid you from taking walks, that he would remove that sweet housekeeper boy from your side, that he insists you accompany him everywhere. Your eyes well up with tears as you speak, you squeeze them shut.

You aren't in control of me! I am not a wife for you to command, I am your--

But he grabs your jaw. You go silent at the harshness of the grip, your heart skips a beat. The now nearly-empty glass goes falling to the ground, rolling as it hits the rug. His expression is cold and dark and furious.

What you are to me is irrelevant. You are under the authority of the head of this household. Do you understand?

Even in his most frustrated moments, you have never heard him speak in such a low, ominous tone, quiet yet piercing. It strikes fear into your core. You can do nothing but stare up at him. A few moments of quiet pass, your eyes wide with shock, staring into his own. Finally, after moments of crushing tension, he lets out a heavy exhale, shaking his head.

...Come, Mother. We're going back to bed.

The grip he takes on your wrist makes it clear you have no choice in that matter. You stumble a bit as you're pulled back into your room, set down onto your bed, turning to light a candle for the slightest bit of light, signifying that he must think you have more to discuss before you sleep again. But before you can lay down, he sits you upright, hands on your shoulders, before sitting down in front of you, not taking his hands off you as he does. You stare in confusion and questioning. He repeats that affectionate gesture, moving a hand to the top of your head, before speaking again.

I understand what is the matter now. Why you're behaving this way.

Your eyes widen further. You can't find your voice. You find yourself leaning back. There's an unsettling feeling in your chest, something like dread, anticipation. You can just barely make out his eyes in the light.

In truth, I refrained for your sake, thinking it would be too soon... but I see now that was a poor judgement. Your needs are going unmet now... I've neglected my own as well, to control myself for you.

His voice is softer as he speaks, then. Still, something about it makes you feel uneasy. Nervous. Your heart pounds in your chest. What?

Slowly, he reaches out. Not to your head, not to your shoulders. His hands firmly come to rest on your waist. Your body stiffens. He leans forward, forehead against your own.

It's too blatant to not understand the atmosphere, the implicit, silent understanding that passes between you without words. It takes you with such shock, you recoil. You scramble backwards on the bed, away from him, looking up to him with terrified eyes. You can't summon your voice, but your expression says what your mouth can't. After a few more moments of quiet, he speaks in a low, soft voice.

...Mother, are you familiar with what was done in our situation, in the old days? At the passing of the head of the household, what would happen in your case?

The question seems completely out of the blue, takes you completely off-guard. Your eyebrows furrow.

Yes, there were traditions for these sorts of things, you knew that much. Traditions that are now no longer observed, that have been lost to time and the changing of social values. In the case of a patriarch's passing, in the Inazuman nobles of old, there was a process that was to be immediately followed thereafter. In those days, the families were huge, having a large number of children. The eldest son took over the estate and all of its affairs, and was to marry if he had not done so already, middle sons would largely proceed as normal. The most notable of old customs, one of a different time and different mindset, that so notoriously earned disgust from present-day individuals looking back, was for the youngest son, who, if the patriarch left behind a widow, was expected to be wed to his own mother.

You have one son. The eldest and the youngest, by definition.

You shake your head. Disbelief renders you stiff. That's... that's from a different time. That's not... you don't do such things now, it's not right... it's vile, it's...

Mother.

That firm tone again. You stiffen once more. You can't help a soft, quiet noise that comes out of your throat. Your body trembles. You jolt as his hands reach out to grab your waist again.

...The attitudes of society come and go, Mother. They change with the times. You needn't concern yourself with that.

His hands pull you back towards him. His hands then reach for your wrists, and pin them together in one hand. He leans forward, other hand on the back of your head to keep you from pulling away as his mouth meets yours. It's only for a few seconds, but in your shock, everything is slow, it seems to pass as an eternity. Eventually, he pulls back, leaning instead to your ear to murmur to you.

It's alright. This will help your frustrations... remind you your place. It is only natural. Try to understand that... forget about everything else but me.

He doesn't listen to you. Words of protest come out of your mouth, but it's as if he doesn't hear you at all. You struggle to speak as he progresses, but your words devolve into shameful, high-pitched sounds as his mouth latches onto your breast, as his fingers trail down your stomach, under your nighttime robes, slip inside of your body. You squeal when your clothes are pulled off. You cry out, you flail, your legs spasm and your breath hitches when you feel him push inside you. Obscene noises spill from your lips until it all goes quiet.

It doesn't feel real. You shiver in place with his arms around you. You stare at the faint light cast on the ceiling. He murmurs soft comforts to you, pulling you close, rubbing a hand up and down your back, but you can't seem to even make the words out.

You don't remember closing your eyes, you merely wake the next morning far later than usual, almost convinced it was a nightmare until the soreness all over your body sets in. Your limbs feel heavy and limp. You slowly turn your head as your son stirs beside you, sitting upright with a quiet groan, leaning forward to kiss your forehead.

Are you sore? I'll have today's schedule adjusted... come, I'll dress you...

As if it's nothing at all, no particularly big deal. You're silent and trembling as you stumble to your feet at his tugging on your arms. You feel hot with embarrassment as his eyes trail over your body, now in full daylight. You stand stiff, still overcome with shock, unable to move more than just the slightest on your own as he pulls your clothing onto your body. He mentions to a servant in passing to get you herbal tea for your aches, not specifying what said aches are from.

And from there, it all falls so perfectly into place. It repeats the next night, the next, and the next. Your protests are quickly silenced with a firm, commanding voice that makes you go quiet, makes your chest swell with fear at the sound. Told that you're being unreasonable, that you're thinking too much about the matter, that you just need to be more open-minded, and you'd realize this is what is best for you. And the next night, and the next night, and the next. Then, during the day, during the time reserved for your afternoon naps. Then, at his desk, pulling you over to sit on his lap, sheathed inside of you as he works, telling you it's beneficial to his progress.

The servants accept it. As time goes on, they seem to slowly figure it out, little by little. You see it in their expressions. For a while their eyebrows furrowed, they looked perplexed whenever he was so close to you, kept his arms around you, whenever they had to come knocking on the door to inform him of something and saw you in there through the crack when he opened it just enough to talk to them. And after some time, their expressions change. The corners of their mouth pull taut.

The trade partners and all the figures of local politics and business that visit your home seem to accept... whatever they believe it all is. It used to be frequent that you would hear them pull him aside, propose an arrangement to marry their wealthy daughters, but he would always politely tell them he plans to put that off for a few more years now. Some acquaintances visiting would likewise ask if he planned to marry soon, and he would give the same answer. They gradually stopped asking. You even overhear two guests once talking to themselves about the matter. He seems content with his mother filling the role of a wife, hah. You clench your jaw and think to yourself that they have no idea.

You're trapped and helpless. Everywhere you turn, there is no solution, no way out. The servants won't help you; even if personally revolted (based on the expressions that sometimes cross their faces, you know they are) they're loyal to their paychecks at the end of the day. They won't let you leave and seek help elsewhere. Everything is locked into place exactly as your son wants it, everything is set up to function as he would have it, with you left unable to do anything about it.

Except for one little problematic piece, one that cannot be fitted into the metaphorical puzzle, yet the image is not complete without its presence, it cannot be removed from the scene altogether, and thus, it creates an obstacle.

Your daughter is a perceptive, intelligent girl. You've always been proud of her, wanted a better and freer life for her than you had. You want to shield her.

It pains you to know that she knows something is wrong. When your son moved into the same room as you, he kept it quiet, but she has noticed, having passed the room several times. She doesn't speak to you much lately, and when she does, it's quiet, she looks at the wall or the ground. Her eyebrows furrow with an expression of confusion and unspoken questioning, but it's only ever so slight, so much so that you know it's only a mild confusion, that she hasn't begun to really understand anything. You want to say something, desperately want to address the silent but unbearable tension, and yet you can't find the words. The tension remains, crushing.

It's the worst-kept secret, anyway, as you know the servants all know something is going on. Even so, it didn't matter if they knew. That wasn't your concern. Above all, you were still hoping to shield it from her. Did everything in your power to appear normal and as if nothing was amiss, just for her. Wanted so desperately to preserve her innocence and happiness, dreading the thought of bringing such a depraved, distressing thing into her life and force her to live in awareness of it. You wanted to spare her that undoubtedly scarring experience. You prayed you could just maintain that alone, that you'd endure anything as long as she could live in ignorant bliss.

One night as you lie in bed on your back, legs slung over your son's shoulders... you hear a sound. Wood against wood, a soft friction, the door sliding. The movement of the bed and wet sounds of his body in yours drowned out any footsteps you might have otherwise heard approaching. Instead, it's just that soft wooden sound... and, as soon as it slid open just the slightest inch, within a split second, it slams shut again.

He stops, equally caught off-guard, head turning towards the door. In the absence of movement between the two of you, you hear hurried, clattering footsteps running back down the hall in the opposite direction. There's a silence that follows as the footsteps grow further and further until they can't be heard.

For once, even your usually composed and collected son seems to lose some composure, eyes wide and face visibly worried. He's never had anything he considered important enough to stop mid-session like this. Even before, when you had company or anything of the sort, he would tell the servants to tell the visitor to hold on just a moment, quickly finish up with you first.

But not now. He pulls out, stands up, throws all his clothes back on in a matter of seconds. I need to talk to her.

Part of you wants to intervene. You want to do something, you don't want him to be the one to say anything to her, are afraid of what he might say, and want to hear whatever he says... and yet, you just lie there. You can't bring yourself to face the crushing shameful feeling, can't bear to look her in the eye. As badly as you want to do something about it, you can't bring yourself to face it, and in avoidance, instead you curl up into yourself, shivering as you grip a pillow to your body, letting tears gather on your eyelids and soak into the fabric.

You never know what he says to her. It takes a long time, though, you know that much. Several hours pass before he finally comes back to bed. He says nothing about the matter himself, only quietly enters the now-dark room, crawls into bed with you (stirring you from having fallen half-asleep), and presses his mouth to yours, resuming your former activities before you can even question anything. You know whatever transpired frustrated him, his grip is intense and his movements are forceful and harsh... but you say nothing. You don't want to ask, you don't want to know.

In the end, though, however it went down, he must have had the final say. Nothing happens to indicate any sort of change. And as for your daughter... she, too, pretends nothing happened, goes about her day as usual. Only now, she speaks more quietly, she won't look you in the eye when she talks to you. It's painful, yet at the same time, you can't bring yourself to bring it up. You're not sure which would hurt more.

You once, accompanying your son, rounded a corner into another room, and caught her talking to Thoma, a hushed but pleading voice, but unable to make out the words. He was a bit louder than her, though, you could clearly make out the replies on his end with each back-and-forth exchange.

I know... I know, I wish I could-- I know. I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do... I don't even know what to--

But both fell quiet as the two of you came into their line of sight. Both visibly stiffening. Coming up with quick excuses to walk off, flashing forced smiles and a greeting gesture as they passed you.

You remember how sick you felt for the rest of the day. You lay in bed for hours, and your son was kind enough to stay by your side... and to even breed you more gently than usual, something he seemed to feel was particularly benevolent of him.

It goes unaddressed. Not a soul in the household doesn't know. But it is never spoken, never brought up. No one reaches out to help you. You know your squeals and protests are loud enough to be heard. You see the way the servants refuse to look you in the eye. You feel the bitter humiliation when some even smirk or snicker as you pass. You can't speak to guests outside of your son's perpetual, hovering presence. It feels like drowning, struggling, all while those around you merely watch.

But nothing is ever done. You suppose that, too, is part of the expectations of nobility, to fulfill one's responsibility without question. Your son has done an excellent job of meeting that standard... hopefully you will learn to as well.

#.momcon #.ay

[juminies]

Aside from the BE2 mischaracterisation, do you have any other fanon Jumin pet peeves?

Sure do lol, I want to preface though by saying that I don't think any particular characteristic is wrong or out of place all of the time. He can act any which way if it's for a reason and he can do things he otherwise wouldn't if a specific situation calls for him to. Sure he wouldn't fucking say that usually but he might if he was stuck and you can definitely explore that! Even his route itself is an example of him being pushed to his limit and acting in a way he usually wouldn't, and both he and his friends point that out frequently. This to say that me saying I don't like it when people interpret him as xyz doesn't mean him being written that way is inherently bad, so don't let me discourage you from writing. Anyway!

I think I've mentioned most of this at some point or another, and honestly I feel like a lot of his most common mischaracterisations do stem from the same place BE2 comes from. Any part of him being incredibly domineering or overly possessive, making big decisions without consulting MC, trying to limit who she talks to, being suspicious of her, etc. On the contrary he is very much at her beck and call. Her happiness is his. He's not going to be immediately perfect but being protective does not inherently mean being controlling and I think it's a fine line that people can trip over very easily.

Kind of continuing from that, I dislike it when people think he's too demanding on a professional level. It's often to the point of people calling him abusive, and while I can't deny that he's strict and impersonal and often a bit oblivious to larger structures at play, on the whole he's respectful of the people that work for him and genuinely values their contributions to the workplace. He wants everything done to the highest possible standard and I understand it can at times have negative repercussions, but he's not just an unreasonable dick who gets off on the power imbalance.

I'm also really not a fan of people believing him to be overly traditional i.e. the very socially conservative, strict gender roles, no sex before marriage, children must attend church type. It just doesn't make sense. It's taking smaller aspects of his character or things he says out of context and blowing them out of proportion—into something they're simply... not? Even the things he does say directly (eg. not living together before marriage) could be swayed easily under the influence of his fiancée.

Sure he likes things done efficiently in a way he knows works, but he is both very knowledgable and repeatedly shown to be very open to learning. He's curious and asks questions and will try and understand things to the best of his ability, even when they're entirely unimportant. If he's made aware of his ignorance he will not continue to push it (unless you're Zen, maybe). Jumin is not stubborn if he has no reason to be! He is very much pliable. You can tell him off and he'll listen. He wants to hear your side of things. He likes it when people disagree with him; a fan of some healthy debate, if you will. And he is not!! selfish!! So much of what he does is for others. He very rarely puts himself first. He's trusting and beyond loyal and goes out of his way to make sure his influence/knowledge/money are used for good the minute he deems it necessary to help those around him.

It annoys me when people act as if he's clueless and sort of just sits back and lets his status do the work for him. There seems to be this narrative of him being foolish and relying on others to get him by but that is absolutely the opposite of what he's really like. His intelligence and resourcefulness are not just a façade created by his disposition or the way he was brought up. He tells MC himself that his father wouldn't have put so much trust in him if he wasn't capable of handling it. He really wants her to believe in him because he's used to people wrongly assuming. It's not like he's just the heir and has little to no role, or even that he only oversees a department or two. He has a VERY high position in the company and easily excels at it. Jaehee herself (who people tend to see as the overworked one) admits that Jumin works significantly more than she does. He's the director of a global conglomerate in his twenties and takes it in his stride.

Last but not least he is far from unemotional. He's just good at detaching himself from his feelings and viewing them objectively. It does not!!! mean he does not feel or he does not care 💜

#ty for coming to my ted talk #jumin han #oh also um. I don't think he's kinky. sorry

[deadendtracks]

Response to @divinekangaroo's reply to me in this thread:

Reading your comments up above, it also struck me I'm falling into the Myth of Tommy Shelby as that educated self-critical man, too, which he sort of presents - when in fact he's frequently very uncritical / unplanned and just *does the thing* then suffers the consequences after. (Also the kind of: Tommy saying "i'm an extreme example of what a working class man can achieve" - the delusion in this statement. "I have no limitations." again, the delusion. Does he even believe these words he's saying?)

Yeah, that's just it: he's not educated (traditionally) -- he's an autodidact. He's very intelligent but he is *not* an intellectual -- he doesn't have the time or patience for it. For most of the show he doesn't *care* about philosophy of any kind, let alone political philosophy.

In s5 he's reading Freud and Shakespeare and Greek literature for pragmatic reasons. The Freud because of his own struggles with mental illness (it's implied whatever psychiatrist he'd gone to recommended Freud). The Shakespeare (Richard III I think, on his nightstand) and Greek literature (mentioned in the exchange with Churchill) probably have to do with his paranoia about losing his 'crown' and trying to work on his rhetoric/speech writing skills for Parliament, respectively. Which I don't really see as the same thing as trying to 'pass' as upper class; he's trying to develop his skills to get what he wants in Parliament and be effective. I don't see him going around dropping quotes at people socially in order to look educated, for example.

What I'm trying to say is he's not reading these things to be enlightened or to assimilate to the upper classes and pass as educated; he's reading them for very specific reasons. They're *tools.* Mosley points out that he doesn't have a traditional education, that he's not familiar with Nietszche. Tommy's reaction isn't one of being caught out as uneducated and therefore not 'passing' -- it's wariness about Mosley's reasons for bringing it up (and Mosley's specifically bringing up Freud). It's less Mosley rubbing his nose in his lack of education (though it is that) and more fucking with him psychologically, but that's probably a whole other essay. I've gotten off topic!

But what I mean to emphasize is that yeah, Tommy's *not* educated and he doesn't *try to pass himself off as educated* either. And I don't think you could call him 'self-critical' in the way an upper class educated man would be either.

He's fairly self-aware a lot of the time, but he's definitely not above self deception and rationalizing things. And I'm not sure self-aware is quite the same thing as self-critical. He knows what they do (the crime) is not good. He has no self deception when it comes to how they hurt people -- he says so to Michael, for example. I think he sees this as a means to an end and as you said, one of limited choices, and he *does* want to get out of it. And there's the fact that for a long time he's not fully feeling the impact of any of it, either (which I think is different from deliberately looking away from the impact. I think due to his PTSD he literally cannot feel it in a frozen/numb way, it literally does not impact him even if he looks right at it). It's interesting to contrast him with Arthur, who says he's a good man whose hands 'belong to the devil' -- it's a very different way of looking at himself; I don't think Tommy would be self-deceptive enough to call himself a good man.

But when you're talking about him being aware that going to a prostitute is specifically *sexual* violence (the way we'd understand it, i guess) and that he looks the other way because that would interfere with what he wants, I just don't think that's at all what's going on there.

He doesn't have a thought out coherent political philosophy up through s5, not in the way that might be expected of an 'educated man' (or even a working class Communist like his sister) -- Ada comments on this (if he believed anything he said he'd be dangerous) and this is evident with both Jessie Eden and his 'champagne bubbles' ramble and in that line from s4 about being an extreme example of what a working man can achieve. He sees what Mosely is and the immediate danger of fascism *and the specific threat to he and his family* but he's not a dedicated Socialist despite running as one. His only real political philosophy by s5 is that he's dragged himself up by the bootstraps.

His reasons for getting into politics in the first place aren't about political belief (and would be another essay); but he *does* start to develop beliefs and act on them almost despite himself once he's in office.

What I'm trying to get at in this digression is that despite his (proto?) Communist past, after the war he's about ensuring he and his family and his gang get enough capital to go legit; his circle of caring so to speak is literally that limited and everyone outside it -- including the 'working man' -- is excluded; and he sees even himself and his brothers as tools in reaching that goal for the family in a more military kind of way, where he will put them (and himself) at risk for the 'greater good.'

His limited 'circle' is evident in s4 when he's using factory wages and the possibility of a strike for his own ends in the vendetta. And this is tied in with what you have talked about re: the subaltern, of course, because everyone outside his family and gang have excluded him, including those supposed fellow working men.

What he says to May about laying off people versus the violence of the gun -- i think he's struggling with this point. He *does* see what the upper classes do to workers as violence, but is it any better than the violence he does with the gang? Is it worse? He feels the gang violence is more honest about what it is. They're worse than us. But he doesn't have what I'd call a coherent political stance with all of this, as self-critical as it might be, because he's seeing that ok, if being a gangster is violent and being a capitalist is violent and the alternative is being exploited as a worker, where does that leave you? Might as well keep being a gangster.

So he's gotten that far, but I don't think he'd be able to frame sex work as specifically *sexual* violence. Women just literally got the right to vote, you know?

It would be completely anachronistic to look at it that way, as far as I can tell? I haven't done a ton of research here; but going within the 'world' of the show, *nobody* looks at prostitution as sexual violence *unless the John is actually physically violent* -- someone like Tommy, who's most likely pretty straightforward, nonviolent, and pays decently (given the way Lizzie likes him, I think it's fair to say that's probably the case) wouldn't be seen as sexually violent for using a prostitute and neither would he think of himself that way. It's just not remotely on anyone's radar.

Anyway this is an example of me not being remotely concise.

What I'm trying to say is Tommy most likely looks at it as something most women would rather not do, and when he has the chance he helps Lizzie get out of it the same way he thinks of his own criminal enterprises as something he'd rather not do (and there's stigma to being a gangster -- not the same! Kind! at all! the power dynamic is completely different obviously, but it's also something he wouldn't have gotten into if *he* felt he had any other choice, either). He sees *himself* in Lizzie -- sees someone doing something to get ahead they'd rather not be doing, with ambitions to be something else. I really don't think he has any conception of *himself* as *sexually* violent towards Lizzie, even in a way that he has to squash down. It's definitely not something he's deliberately looking away from to get what he wants, you know?

It's possible I'm being really pedantic here in focusing on the 'sexual' part of the 'violence' but I think it's an important line. I do think it's closer to what you said about the way he treats himself. I'm just not convinced he'd be able to remotely articulate that any of this is specifically *sexual* violence. I don't think he can articulate for himself that what he did with Diana (what Diana did to him) was a kind of sexual violence. He'd be aware he didn't want to do it and did it anyway, and that it's impacting him in ways he thought it wouldn't and doesn't fully understand.

I think the way he equates sex work/his own trading of sex with *working* is important. If he was seeing this as *sexual* violence that he looks away from or won't engage with -- idk, to me it's much more unconscious than that? I really don't think he sees it as different from the exploitation of factory work. It's not just a rationalization he gives Finn in s4 -- it's what he says about himself, to Polly, about sleeping with Tatiana -- that he was *working.* And he gets upset at all of them for thinking he did it because he couldn't keep his dick in his pants.

It's fully possible we're talking in parallel about this? Maybe because by then the whole world is violence to him. It's probably not even a conscious repression, it's just happens, he squashes stuff down rather than examine it closely. He isn't actually that self-critical or meta-thinking a guy at all despite occasionally sounding like it?

Yeah this is closer to how I think it is for him. He's self aware of doing things that are 'wrong' to get ahead. He's aware that people get hurt. I have a whole theory about him getting into owning factories only to find out if you want to actually make a profit you *have to* exploit your workers and the impact of that on him -- I don't actually think he'd thought about it very deeply before that, when he was on the other side of it. His disgust about the whole thing to May feels kind of newly discovered, the way his "they're worse than us, they will never let us into their palaces" rant felt newly discovered, rather than something he believed all along? If that makes any sense.

The way he *doesn't have the words* about the war, I don't think he has the words for what we'd call sexual violence that isn't outright rape, and I don't think he'd have any conception that prostitution is sexual violence unless someone is literally violent. Otherwise it's just sex for money, and a job people would probably rather not do, but there's a lot of jobs people would rather not do where they're exploited by people with more money and don't have a lot of choices.

By s6 he's trying to actually change things politically to the point where people might not be forced into these kinds of choices -- the housing projects, for example. My guess is if we saw him post-s6 he'd be much farther along on his political 'development' so to speak.

Christ, sorry this was so meandering. I have no idea if I've made a coherent point or not. There's a whole thread about the impact of PTSD on all of this I haven't really even touched on but glancingly.

#peaky blinders #meta #divinekangaroo

[tonguetiedraven]

Hi Raven!!! You are the boss of bonrin fics so I’m asking for some advice since I’m looking to to write one. A big pet peeve of mine is that ryuuji is portrayed as catholic a lot even though he’s Buddhist. Asking if you have some sources or advice for writing a Buddhist character (I’m catholic so I’m pretty confident in portraying rin)???

Thanks so much <3

I wouldn't say I'm the boss, but I've probably written the most xD

Ryuuji getting portrayed as a Catholic is also a major pet peeve of mine, and something I always strive not to do. Especially in canon following fics. (AUs I can understand, but even then I typically don't write him that way.)

Ryuuji follows a Vajrayana form of Buddhism, and he is (I believe) specifically a Shingon Buddhist. (A specific school of Buddhism in Japan. Here is a pretty good run down.)

Things to keep in mind:

Meditation is important and frequently done. It's not limited to sitting and chanting mantras either. You can and should meditate while doing anything. Cleaning, cooking, exercising, etc.

Ryuuji's form of Buddhism (most forms) have a high importance on teaching. Learning from a master is the only way to get a lot of information. It's a very secretive form of Buddhism. (Probably why Karura is with them.) Which also means a lot of knowledge died on the Blue Night with the elders.

Japanese Buddhism does not require you to shave your hair, and does not require you to give up meat in your diet, and allows you to get married, so you don't have to worry about having that in a story.

Ryuuji's form of Buddhism has a lot of focus on fire rituals ('Goma' rituals which is what they use Goma hall for.)

Buddhists' believe that all life is sacred. They're against hurting/killing others and don't believe in holding grudges. (Lol at the filler episode and the 'grudges over food can last generations!' Ryuuji trying to curb that potential before it even happens xD But also, the drama of his drive to defeat Satan for what he took from them.)

Ryuuji's form of Buddhism is heavily connected to the pantheon of Buddhist deities, including the Fudo Myo-o (The Immovable One. The statue you see in a lot of Ryuuji and Kyoto Trio art. He has Kurikara in most depictions. Kurikara is the sword he wields in most text, and the symbol you see on Kurikara and in the True Cross logo is his.) They are connected to the other Myo-o (the wisdom kings) like Yamantaka too. They'll invoke them for rituals and prayers for aids.

So for writing him, the first step is to simply not include any Catholic thinking/influence. He was raised at a dying Buddhist temple so he wouldn't have any real interaction with Catholicism before True Cross Academy. Guilt won't be a big driving force for him, but determination and an enormous work ethic will be. He's determined not to hurt humans/animals, and he has a lot of ways he meditates during his free time (traditional meditation, studying, exercising, cleaning.) He's a good student because he's been one all his life and it's tied to how he learns about his faith -- also why he gets really annoyed at people not willing to put any effort into learning or who try to do something that isn't learning/listening during classes. He has a really strong drive for justice, and isn't afraid to correct what he sees as bad behavior. (Also part of Buddhist practice. The teachers will correct the students.) He's going to eventually be entrusted with a lot of the secretive knowledge of his sect, and he takes that very seriously.

Hope that helped some! Let me know if you have more questions. And also, feel free to join our Blue Exorcist Writers Discord. It's a place specifically for Blue Exorcist Writers and (In my opinion, lol) a pretty fantastic place with a lot of resources!

#ryuuji suguro #ryuji suguro #asks #bon suguro #ao no exorcist #blue exorcist #suguro ryuuji #suguro ryuji #aoe #aoex #ane

[maddiviner]

So, @ceruab13 was asking about books focused on Enochian magic and the Angelical language.

I scrolled a bit, and it turns out that the interest stems from the popular television drama, Supernatural! I actually think it’s kind of neat that Supernatural incorporated the Enochian language into the show. I watched an episode or two back in the day, but have trouble keeping with long shows, so it’s not my fandom.

If people are interested in learning more because of it, though, so be it. I could try to write my own summary of Enochian magic, but other people have done that, and much better than I could, so I’m providing a list of books instead. Some are published and available in ebooks and print; a few are freely available online, either out of copyright or just free to distribute.

This is a short reading list featuring books I’ve read focused on Enochian magic, the history of it, and the concepts involved. It is not a recommended reading list, exactly. It’s just a list of everything I’ve read that might be relevant, with a little bit about each book.

Some are books written by magical practitioners to help others learn the art; others are focused on the history surrounding John Dee and Edward Kelley. I hope you find something worth reading here. Again, these aren’t limited to recommended favorites - it’s just a list of everything that might be, in some way, helpful.

First, before I start listing the secondary sources, I’ll suggest reading some of Dee’s diaries.

They’re actual diaries, and you should keep them handy in a tab if you’re reading more about this. Also check out A True and Faithful Relation, which is a later account of their workings. That link includes (typed) excerpts, but you can find scanned copies through Cornell’s digital library, too. You can keep these handy while reading any of the following works, and it’ll be helpful. Don’t feel discouraged if the Elizabethan grammar and such seems obtuse, and if secondary sources help provide context, let them!

The Essential Enochian Grimoire, by Aaron Leitch.

This one’s really comprehensive, and covers both purist interpretations of the tradition and Neo-Enochiana. On top of that, there’s a lot of good historical context here, too. A lot of the strictly historical authors ignore the existing occult traditions that influenced Dee and Kelley, or just don’t talk about them enough, whereas here there’s entire sections devoted to them.

I really liked the chapter that attempts to outline the worldview present in Dee’s diaries. I recommend this for the willworker who hasn’t got any experience with Enochian, but not for someone just starting out with magic. If you’re used to working in a spartan fashion, you might find the calls for equipment daunting, but the workings in this book are very adaptable.

John Dee and the Empire of Angels, by Jason Louv.

Not a book of practical magic, but a biography of Dee and Kelley. Louv himself is an occultist, and therefore willing to entertain explanations for the incidents that other history researchers might not. He also keeps grounded and admits that none of this can be strictly proven, and that Kelley, of course, could’ve been a charlatan. I tend to see a critical approach to Dee and Kelley (rather than treating them both as sages) as the mark of a decent book on Enochian magic.

Here, the author speculates a lot on what was actually going on, and doesn’t shy away from mentioning the paranormal aspects that are hard to explain. Louv’s tone and pacing are excellent, and the conversational tone of the book will no doubt maintain your attention to the very end. A lot of it feels like juicy Elizabethan gossip (except with citations!), and will give you a feel for Dee and Kelley’s complicated world.

The Angelical Language, by Aaron Leitch.

Whereas The Essential Enochian Grimoire covered the working of Enochian magic in practice, Leitch’s The Angelical Language gives us a narrative of the system’s reception and development, with special attention to the language itself. There’s plenty of practical bits woven in there, and the blending of history and magical technique enriches the experience of both. Also, while I did like this book, I had a tonic clonic seizure while reading it. I liked how the author included pronunciation notes for the Enochian letters, even though I doubt I vocalized them properly.

Primarily focused on the language itself, the book doesn’t include as much practical advice as The Essential Enochian Grimoire. The practical parts he does give look like they’d be easy to adapt to different scenarios, though. There’s not an overt focus on having a lot of tools. I lost consciousness and seized for a good three or so minutes while reading this book on break at work and woke up in the emergency room. I’ll probably get the second volume and read it soon. Leitch himself suggested not reading the Angelical words out loud next time? 😆

Enochian Vision Magick, by Lon Milo DuQuette

Lon really isn’t my cup of tea, particularly since I’ve ditched Thelema and don’t plan on ever going back. This book is notable, though, because he uses really archaic techniques for his scrying operations, making them quite different in energetic texture than the more common Golden Dawn methods. His methods require a lot of “stuff,” so to speak: ritual tools and accoutrement.

DuQuette’s attitude of treating ritual tools as training wheels to be internalized and eventually rendered unnecessary as skills develop isn’t exactly unsound. It’s certainly one method of doing it, but it’s not very accessible. It’s certainly not how most people (who tend to pick up magic in their early years, and may not have a ton of resources) are doing things. I didn’t. I’m mentioning this one for completeness, mostly. Read it to see what Thelemites are doing Enochian-wise, and how Crowley’s influence survives to this day in Enochian magic.

The Vision and the Voice, by Aleister Crowley

Crowley was an abusive piece of shit. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, you can check out The Vision and the Voice. It’s available here online. It’s Crowley’s journal of his experience scrying the Enochian aethyrs with his student and service top, Victor Neuberg. They had decided that the Algerian desert was the perfect place for a month-long scrying operation facilitated by a sex magic ritual wherein Crowley took the passive role. In the desert. Let that sink in. 😝

Following this experience, Crowley considered himself to have reached a state of enlightenment. The experiences therein and the visions were, in fact, fairly intense. Oddly, I hadn’t read this when I did my (first) Enochian workings, and didn’t pick it up until much later, and then only for completeness sake. I don’t recommend actually listening to Crowley’s advice on hardly anything, but it’s good to read this to understand his influence and history. You probably shouldn’t listen to one iota of his actual “teachings,” but there’s plenty to be learned from the guy. You can learn a lot about aerodynamics from watching a fiery plane crash.

The Queen’s Conjuror, by Benjamin Woollet

This is more of a straight-up history book detailing the remarkable lives and work of John Dee and Edward Kelley. Woollet provides enough background material to give an ample window into Elizabethan life, occult and beyond. This book gives no practical (or other) instructions and, as far as I’ve been able to tell, was written by a non-magical historian. I consider The Queen’s Conjuror a necessary read for that reason.

Sometimes we forget how magic can intersect with things like politics and science. This biography of John Dee reminds us that it’s all always already connected, and that Dee’s primary impetus was a (highly political) “immanentization of the Eschaton”. This book entertains various theories about the situation at Mortlake, fully admits Kelley may have been a charlatan in some capacity, and features other refreshing takes from an academic perspective.

The Black Lodge of Santa Cruz, by Satyr

Magic, much like fire, can be a useful tool. It can also reduce precious things to embers. This is the memoir of a magician who, in the late 1980s, was part of a small and controversial Enochian studies group in California. Read it here.

Satyr, working with his wife and their easily-possessed mentor, begins a series of experimental Enochian workings. Things rapidly spiral out of control amid already tense occult political situations. The context for this (the Caliphate OTO’s squabble over succession, etc) may feel irrelevant to modern practitioners (it is to me, for all intents and purposes). Nevertheless, we can all recognize the egos, personality clashes, ambition and other factors that contributed to the unique situation in Santa Cruz. In terms of magic itself, this memoir documents a period of great innovation, both inside Enochian circles and in other areas.

Heartbreaking in places and illuminating in others, The Black Lodge of Santa Cruz gives the story of one of the most infamous cases of the notorious “Enochian breakdown” phenomenon people talk about, where someone starts doing intense Enochian workings only to have their lives driven into pure chaos. Recommended reading before you attempt any so-called hell-rides (those month-long scrying operations people keep doing), at very least.

I hope something here interests someone!

#witchcraft #magic #witch #witchblr #enochian #eliza.txt #eliza reads #Edward Kelley #john dee #angels #angelic #angel #Angelical

[adiduck]

7, 74, and 22!

:DDDDDDDD

7. How do you choose which POV to write from?

It'll depend on what I'm trying to accomplish in the story and the scene! For example, I'll keep a single POV if I want to limit a reader's experience to specifically what this one character knows (I mean, obviously) when the character themselves has more knowledge than everyone around them? I am, for example, writing a more traditional time travel au, and in it I stay very strictly in the time traveler's head, because he knows more about what is going on and what might happen, but also as he changes things, he'll notice less and less about those impacts until something is just flat out different! I think that sort of play is fascinating, and it's only possible with a strict limited POV.

I'll go with more than one POV if I feel like I'm just not going to be able to tell the story I want to tell from the perspective of a single person. That can be fun, too, if the POV character is just completely shocked, but like. There's a scene that's going to come up in chapter 5 of Both Sides Now, for example, and if I wasn't allowed in mini-Mav's head, we flat out would just not be able to see this cameo and many of the jokes I have secretly been threading through would make no sense. Can't have THAT ;)

If I've decided to swap POVs, there're a few things I'll keep in mind. I'll TRY not to have two scenes from the same person's POV in a row unless it's from a sequence with firm borders--just for the sake of balance. I'll also consider, to some extent, who will be able to provide the most information that I want to portray in that scene, and whether I think that that portrayal will be engaging, or instead if I should transfer some of that info later for the sake of a scene being more fun to read.

SO. TL;DR: I'll decide based on the type of story I'm telling, info I want to convey, and whether I think the scene'll be more fun from a different POV!

74. You’ve posted a fic anonymously. How would someone be able to guess that you’d written it?

All the shrugging and snorting people do instead of laughing :X

I kid, I kid. Honestly this is one of those questions I don't know how to answer! I'd love to hear what OTHER people think!

22. Are there certain types of writing you won’t do? (style, pov, genre, tropes, etc)

I never say never. I used to say I'd never write hard kink, and then I did a kink bingo ONE TIME and there I was trying to find a way to write figging--a kink I had never even HEARD of until it showed up on my bingo card. 😂 So, no! Though I don't think I've ever felt the NEED to write an omegaverse fic or a second person POV fic. At least to date!

#adi is a writer #ask game

[esther-dot]

Fans are stating that Jaime killed the Mad King. So how he could go back to another Mad Queen. Like as if Cersei wasn't his twin sister, lover and mother of his children for years. Also Jaime killing Night King was way different than what he is in books now. Plus he killed Aerys to protect his father Tywin who sacked KL and killed Elia and her children. Also why was there rage when he going to kill another Mad Queen. Do they forget that Dany wanted to kill Jaime for killing her father?

Men killing their lovers is gross and I keep saying no one wants to read /watch that, but it isn't true for this fandom, is it? They were very enthusiastic about it and wanted it, just for some women, not others. They wanted Jaime to strangle his sister/lover/mother of his children, declared it character assassination when he didn’t, but then said it was sexist that Jon killed Dany to stop her from carrying out her stated intention of attacking other cities/castles. 🤦🏻‍♀️

As for Jaime's morality regarding "mad kings" and "mad queens," I do think the books and show made it pretty clear that Jaime wasn’t exactly a picture of virtue. I mean, he was fucking his sister, he was down for a little kid killing (sorry, Bran), even though his big dishonorable act is revealed to have actually been a good thing, it doesn't change his characterization over-all. I don't remember anything specific that made me believe it, other than a general, "born together, die together" idea, but I always thought he would die with Cersei. When that happened on the show and fans had a major meltdown, I argued he was a better man for trying to save his lover than if he hadn’t. And, I appreciated it too, because, as riddled with nonsense as s8 was, what made the show (more so, ASOIAF), compelling was that the characters weren't standins for us. They surprised me because what they did wasn't what I wanted, but what they wanted. Jaime's feelings for Cersei were real, the lust, betrayal, anger, obsession...it made for an immersive experience because I couldn't project or predict. I treasure that. I admire that aspect of Martin's writing so much.

Let's think of it this way, what is the point of a POV story unless we accept that every character has a personal history and limited perspective which will impact the choices they make? It made total sense to me that people in Westeros would reject Dany, she's invading! So, Jaime deciding to try to take her out makes sense not only because he must keep up his tradition of Targ killing, but also, who would welcome someone who shows up with monsters who can just...burn an army alive? Destroy a city in a few minutes? Why would you think that person has good intentions? Why would anyone think, "I don't know, maybe they'll be nice." Add on the fact that her dad was intending to burn women and children, it isn't plausible that Jaime would think well of Dany, not when he just witnessed her burning countless men alive. Attempting to kill her makes an awful lot of sense for him.

And, I should add, I don't take issue with Dany wanting to have him executed either! The fascinating part of having a huge cast, having people with histories that have them on opposing sides is to allow them to interact in that context, not to dismiss it as soon as it will make things interesting. I can't defend how D&D wrote any of this, we've all criticized it endlessly, but tbh, a good portion of the fandom had worse ideas. Worse interpretations of the characters, far more cliché ideas of everyone getting along, far, far more insulting dream endings.

But, I suppose that was largely a result of how D&D were playing games. They didn't understand that emotionally manipulating your audience into siding with (or against) characters by undercutting or rewriting characters at whim would result in absolute confusion about the moral framework of the story.  You can't have a satisfying ending if that ending supports ideals you've deleted from the story and condemns the ones you've been celebrating all along.

#dot chat #< for filtering