#~it’s because he has less blood~ NO THAT IS NOT HOW SKIN COLOR WORKS

[joelsgreys]

conflicted

Raider! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: Your captor gives you a bath. You have some conflicting feelings when he touches you.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. RAIDER ERA. DARK!JOEL. DUBCON. also tagging elements of NONCON just to be on the safe side. UNSPECIFIED AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 50). READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION. mentions of Joel’s group murdering reader’s group, Joel killed her father, mention of blood, Joel pretty much kidnaps reader and keeps her as his own. pet names (baby, babygirl, honey, pretty girl, little girl), daddy kink, very minimal editing.

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS.

if this isn’t your thing, that’s fine, just scroll on by.

word count: <1k

a/n: this is a bit less than a blurb. a blurb of a blurb. a blurbette, if you will. i shelled it out in like less than an hour. to me it is part of the captive universe, but can be read as a standalone! please be advised that this is not fleshed out at all, i just felt like writing something that didn’t require too much brain power.

He pours one last pail of hot water into the tub.

“How’s the water?” he asks you.

His voice is so deep. Rich, like molasses. 

It’s also laced with a southern accent, you’d noticed.

Aware he’s still waiting for an answer, you shrug.

He tries again. “S’not too hot, is it?”

He had ordered one of the women in the group to start a fire and boil water collected from the stream they had stumbled upon just a mile south of the small cottage.

“Seriously, Joel?” Angela had glared at him. “I am not a fucking maid.” Hands planted on her hips, she foolishly added, “If I’m gonna haul and boil water for a bath, it’s gonna be for me, alright? Not for that little fucking brat of yours.”

His switchblade had gone straight to her throat.

“Fuckin’ say that again,” Joel hissed, the sharp edge of the blade lightly slicing into her flesh. “Call her that one more time and see what fuckin’ happens.”

She apologized and then got to work, completing the task within a couple of hours.

Finally, you answer his question.

“Water’s fine,” you mumble. It’s hot, but not scalding.

“Good.”

Joel kneels beside the tub.

Flinching, you hunch over and pull your legs up against your chest.

It doesn’t matter. He’s already seen you naked.

He’s the one who had undressed you, after all.

Dipping a washcloth into the water, Joel instructs, “Sit up straight, honey.”

Honey.

The pet name makes you feel sick to your stomach.

You’re not his honey. You’re his prisoner.

He frowns, the creases between his brows deepening.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, pretty girl.”

Obediently, you nod and the water sloshes around you as do what he says.

You saw what he was capable of. You’re terrified of him.

With a satisfied hum, he begins washing you.

It had been three days since the massacre. Joel gently scrubs away the crimson caked onto your skin and the color of the water turns to rust. You don’t know whose blood you’ve been wearing—could it be your father’s?

He had been standing in front of you when his life was taken by the very same man that knelt beside you. Had his blood splattered on you? Was it being cleaned off by the same man who had so violently spilled it?

Your stomach lurches at the thought.

He had been trying to protect you during the ambush.

Your father had been trying to fucking protect you.

And Joel Miller had killed him.

He had killed him just to get to you.

Joel runs the washcloth down your arm, his dark gaze dragging over every inch of your body. “Such a pretty, pretty little girl,” he murmurs. Dropping the washcloth into the water, he gently cups one of your breasts in his large hand. He sweeps his thumb over your nipple and lightly teases the pebbled flesh, his digit circling it until it becomes a stiff peak.

Your eyes flutter closed and you inhale sharply.

There’s a strange feeling in your lower belly.

Strange because it’s not entirely unpleasant.

He trails his hand lower, raking over your tummy.

Lower.

Lower.

Lower.

He rests his palm over the mound of your pussy.

Gasping, your thighs clench together.

You’d like to think it’s to keep him out, to keep him from violating you further, but the burning pressure building in between your hips seems to be saying otherwise.

Horrified, you squeeze your thighs even tighter.

No. Don’t let him in.

But what if your resistance led him to force his way in?

You shudder, unable to decide which would be worse.

Joel leans forward over the bathtub, pressing his lips to your temple. “Don’t fight it, honey. S’okay that it feels good,” he mumbles against your skin. “It’s s’pposed to feel good when I touch you, baby.”

No, it’s fucking not!

Bowing your head, quietly begin to sob.

He wraps his arms around you. “Don’t cry, babygirl,” he soothes. “Don’t cry. Daddy’s gonna take real good care of you. I promise I’ll always take good care of you.”

His vow makes you cry even harder.

divider credit @saradika 🤍

#tw dubcon #tw dubious consent #tw noncon #tw dark fic #raider!joel #raider!joel miller #dark!joel miller #dark!joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x afab!reader #joel miller blurb #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller drabble #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

[yet-another-haven-of-dollya]

Finally! My DoL PCs and their LIs

My friends asked me if I wanted to join the School AU with their OCs and I thought for the longest time before bringing Lya to the party. Then I kinda just felt like it and drew the whole gang :D They came out beautifully so more information and separated images undercut!

The First one is of course Lya the Blossom

Main PC

Harpy transforms, Mate for Life.

Wears all white if she can.

Very light in weight, makes her defiant attempts usually ineffective.

Went through a lot to make things easier for her loved ones.

Skilled in segg but doesn't really enjoy it anymore at this point if it's not with her loved one. What she seeks in segg with her lover is intimacy and the feeling of security.

Secretly a meanie. Gets jealous easily and envious of almost anyone, but doesn't show it or act on it often.

Despises the Temple to her core but believes Jordan is a genuinely good person. Wanted to fuck him just because.

Protective toward her lover and the children at the Orphanage.

Very insecure about her financial state. She tried to make money anytime she could.

CONSENT YOU MOTHERFU-

Can't cook. Literally. Keep her away from the kitchen.

Male Robin the Lover~ (Sorry I love this title)

The one and only.

Maybe he's trying his best, maybe he's hiding from something so terrible, who knows.

Love the purple color.

Easily scared and would cry out loud if Lya was there to reassure him and demand a lot of hugs, head pats, and kisses afterward.

Clingy as hell, but luckily he's cute just enough to let it pass.

Hell lots of freckles, everywhere all over his body even though he mostly stays at home or in the shades. Sensitive skin then.

Squishy belly.

Occasionally cross-dress when going on a date with Lya but keeps it as a hobby only.

Love to do makeup for Lya and skin care together.

Grow in height a LOT since the game started and wondering why Lya still stays the same, not that he complains about her growth of boobs and ass.

Lyah the Emancipated

The second PC, made with a lot of feast boots, almost all of the Vrel coins Lya earned.

Wears all black if he can.

Demonic Harpy Chimera Transforms.

Waiting for Robin's preg contents.

2m14. Larger body type, 6/6 physic, S athletic, Vengeful Sadist. Basically all offensive.

Fucking huge manboobs produce fucking lots of milk

Almost always wears a buttplug

The only one taller than him is Jordan.

"Blood moon? Fuck Ivory Wraith I'm out."

Still works at Strip Club, mostly because he loves wearing bunny suits and he wants to look out for Darryl.

Chef. Let him cook.

Housekeeping skill F-. Drops and crashes everything every time trying to clean or deco his room.

Doesn't know how to smile but will unconsciously do so when he's near Robin.

Doesn't understand why he's still sometimes mistaken as female.

Fem Robin the Lover~

So cute and squishy.

People unconsciously smile when she smiles.

"Too precious must protect."

Her weight is top secret.

Knows it all too well that Lyah intentionally feeds her more sweet treats and creamy drinks every day during every school break but can't resist the temptation of sweets.

Accepts gaining weight during the leisurely times, but has to lose it a bit before school starts again so she can fit into the school's uniforms.

Pretty proud that her lover is a chef at the biggest Cafe in town.

Slightly less freckle than male Robin. Just slightly.

Wardrobe full of checkered pattern clothes.

Of course she can cook well.

Perfect housewife material.

Timid when using strap-on but usually gets absorbed in the moment too much she forgor to pull the buttplug out before diving her strap in.

Lyah is not complaining though so it's all good.

Last but not least Kariya the Alter Ego!

"Well somebody has to go to prison and asylum and... hmmm"

Devil transforms

Full name Sesshouin Kariya. Kariya means "Midnight' Swallow"

Not a new save file but one of Lya's older saves. Hence the Alter Ego title.

Was born cuz I was bored and wanted to go to places Lya and Lyah can't go because they're worried about their lover being left alone.

They don't set a love interest because of that, so they can't get attached and can freely roam everywhere.

Enjoy segg as it is, purely seeking more pleasure day by day.

Drooling Masochist. Prefer group.

Get bored easily but are also quick to forget, so after a while that very same thing may pique their interest again.

Zones out a lot. Absent-minded. Sometimes clueless to things that are not segg-related.

"Ahhhh Nii-chan, nee-chan, help me it's 23:55 already and I forgor to cum inside somebody today waaaaaaaa-!!"

Intentionally dress more feminine because they love showing off.

The color palette is reversed from Lya's.

" I wonder if it's blood moon soon..."

#Okay Imma see myself out I've been drawing nonstop for two days time to get some rest and sleep #But I'm also SO READY to draw more ID card like this they're so satisfying to draw #dollya art #dol pc #robin the orphan #dol robin #degrees of lewdity #dol #dol fanart #lya the blossom #kariya the alter ego #lyah the emancipated #original character

[setsugekka]

❥8 degrees (m)

↳ hyunjin loves so many things about you, and your willingness to placate his adventurous streak is certainly one of them.

hwang hyunjin x fem!reader — established relationship, explicit sexual content [2,3k wc] cws: penetrative sex (unprotected), hyunjin has a big dick, exhibitionism, dirty talk/praise, soft & they are in love.

Hyunjin liked having you in places he had no business taking you.

You always knew it was kind of his thing. It started as a quickie at home knowing the guys were coming home within the hour, and as time went on, Hyunjin kept cutting it closer and closer to their projected arrival time until eventually they did come home during a romp in the sheets together. The two of you weren't walked in on and no one was none the wiser - but you suspect that scenario changed Hyunjin in some way. Sometimes kinks have a funny way of unmasking themselves, even if by accident.

Then it was the dance studio one late Thursday night that he was practicing by himself. You brought take out and some small iced coffees knowing he was intending on making it a long night but you apparently didn't have any concept of exactly how long. The thought comes and goes quickly while he has the front of you pressed against the cabinet; clammy, sweaty fingers digging into the skin of your hips.

And there was also the time in the van - the van you have no business ever being in for any reason at all but a text from Hyunjin asking you to come help him bring some things in turns into legs dangling off of his marginally toned arms, teeth grinning into the skin on your neck.

So now, when you're asked to accompany Hyunjin anywhere, in the back of your mind you know what to expect.

"Oh good, you're right on time," Hyunjin says, darting up from his chair and getting the door from behind you as you carefully set all of the numerous items in your arms onto any available table space. "You should have called me to come down" he adds, watching you struggle with your hands full.

"Nah it's fine, I had it," you answer, shaking blood flow back into your appendages and looking up at him, "so how's it going?"

"Good, fine...I mean, it's going."

"So not particularly good or fine then."

"Yeah, not really."

He'd been working on something of his own for a few months now, and spent many a late night in the studio alone on top of all of the other responsibilities he had. In the beginning, he allowed you to accompany him, but as time went on and his inability to finish his project became stifling, the excuses for why you shouldn't come became more and more common, and less and less truthful. It was shame, and you knew that - you just didn't know how to fix it.

You leapt at the chance, when he finally invited you back.

Hyunjin sits back down in the chair, surprisingly large and spacious for just being a rolling desk chair - but suppose that is the luxury life of a successful entertainment company. You watch the way he stares daggers into the screen in front of him, a display of colorful lines and numbers and gadgets everywhere that you were sure you were never going to understand the intricacies of. Watch the way his eyes dart around as if trying to read actual words on a page but in an entirely differently language he was unfamiliar with. His arms cross. He looks sexy, and you feel a little bad for thinking that because you know he's struggling in the present moment but you can't help it.

"You should eat, babe."

As if your words break him from a trance, he seemingly snaps back to present day - raising an eyebrow toward you and rolling himself over to where you sit on the couch off to the side of him.

"I'm not too hungry, I’ll eat later."

"Hyunjin…" It's more of a disappointed, sort of accusatory tone than you meant, because you know he doesn't need the guilt of upsetting you on top of everything else. "Please, make sure you take time to eat tonight."

"I will, I promise," he responds, slightly pouting towards you and setting his chin down into his palm. "Come here, I missed you."

You set your styrofoam take out box to the side, carefully wiping your mouth with a napkin before making your way over to him. Hyunjin pulls you into his lap - legs to the side and wraps both arms around you and yours, squeezing you tightly before dipping one of his hands down to the hem of your dress. "It's 8 degrees outside tonight," he says questioningly, with lips pressed into your shoulder, and fingers slipping under the aforementioned hem to toy with the smooth skin there under.

You kind of knew that the recording studio was on the proverbial list. You came prepared after too many evenings of fumbling with tight skinny jeans under time constraints. 

"Turn around." 

Hyunjin's voice has already dropped when he whispers the words into you, huskier and more serious than he had been the moments before when he was teasing you about the temperature outside - allowing you to stand for just a moment before seating yourself back onto his lap with a leg dangling on either side of his now and arms circled around his shoulders. He doesn't waste time pulling you into him, pressing plush, pink lips into yours a bit harder than you expected for how early into the evenings activities you thought you were - but it appears that Hyunjin had every intention of hurrying things along - carefully gnawing at your bottom lip as his hands make their way to your behind, pulling the fabric of your dress up and away only to make another discovery that actually takes him so far back he physically pulls himself from you to look at you.

"No panties?"

It's almost a gasp, you like that look on him. You'll have to elicit that again somehow.

But you simply smile and pull him into you again, to which he happily - and much more hungrily this time - obliges. Hyunjin firmly plants his palms onto your ass again, this time digging blunt fingernails in to pull you closer against him and you can feel that his erection is already pressing into the confines of his sweat pants - and now your exposed core. Your lips part from his and exhale a breathy moan into his and he takes a moment to simply watch the way you fall for him all over again - his eyes darting all across your face just as they had been on the screen only minutes prior but this time he's taking you in - all of your best attributes and expressions and sounds.

You know this is his element, and you know he can't hold out too long.

"Stand up," he whispers, lightly nudging you to stand up off his lap but only long enough and with enough space for him to slide his pants down to his thighs and expose himself - pulling you back down quickly by the waist. He watches as you hover over him, the fabric of your dress bunched up in your fists to each side of your hips as if doing the lewdest curtsey before descending down onto his length.

Hyunjin doesn't pull you down into a seated position - he knows better. He's very aware of how big his cock is - length in particular - being an issue on occasion, and the lack of foreplay this evening not helping matters. He simply holds you by the waist, in place, until you take it upon yourself to move. 

Feeling full was an understatement. You enjoyed watching his face as you excruciatingly slowly made your way down his shaft, centimeter by centimeter sinking onto him knowing he desperately wants you to take every inch right then and there but also reveling in knowing that you can't - that most people can't. It turned both of you on knowing how big he was.

"Please move." Is the first thing out of his mouth, and you're not fully in a seated position yet for all of the previously mentioned reasons, but you pull off of him slightly so that you can press back down him - despite the fact that the weight and motion on your thighs burns only a few movements in - it's worth it to watch the way Hyunjin comes undone beneath you, fingers digging into your skin again and now actually trying to pull you further down onto his cock - because he feels like he's going crazy. Because he feels an inhuman desire to be bottomed out in you in that moment. "Can you take it?" he whispers into your mouth, wrapping lithe arms around your body to slowly pull you the rest of the way onto his length, and you brace yourself for what might be evening-ending pain if you're not ready for it yet. He watches every movement your face makes as he does so - carefully holding you in place and taking you in as he seats you flush onto his lap - finally able to bottom out inside of you - and it's a sigh of relief for both of you instead of a disastrous yelp and end to the fun of the night (which isn't foreign to either of you, either.)

"See baby? You can take me," Hyunjin groans into your collarbone, ever so slightly angling his hips up and pressing even further into you than what flush on his lap grants. It hurts - slightly. It hurts in the same way that feels intriguingly good - teetering on the edge of excruciating. He pulls out only a few centimeters before pushing back up and into you - a slow and hard grind again - using the strength and leverage he has on your body to pull you onto him as much as he can. He whispers into your skin again, "you take me so well, you're taking it all," and it's the way that his voice sounds when he's so desperate for your body and the release you'll grant him that causes your walls to clench around him. And he notices. Taking the opportunity to pull you down with more of his strength again.

At no point is he necessarily fucking you - at least, not in the typical sense that someone would expect when hearing the phrase. Hyunjin is testing you. Hyunjin is seeing how much of him you can take and how far he can go before you have to tap out. It's definitely a power move - an ego thing, but you're happy to oblige because having him inside of you like this is absolutely heavenly. 

It's almost involuntary, the way your hands press down and against his thighs in an attempt to create distance between the head of his cock and your cervix, but the pressure he applies to your insides makes you relentlessly milk his length even with little movement, and he feels every throb of your needy cunt - kissing and smiling into your neck and chest as he continues to ever so carefully pull your tiny body onto all of the inches that under normal circumstances you may never expect to be able to take into your body - but the way your pussy aches for him to move, sopping wet around him despite barely any actual stimulation to you tells the both of you that Hyunjin must be a perfect fit after all.

"Hy-Hyun-" you finally manage to whimper out, trying to get leverage to grind into his lap or against something that will give you actual friction despite the fact that he has you firmly wrapped into his arms, and he realizes immediately. 

"I know baby," he answers, dropping his arms from you and allowing his hands to rest gently onto your hips in the event that he'll need to help. You quickly begin moving - and it's a slow pace at first but not for long at all - the previous stimulation surprisingly doing a number on your desperate need to cum. You grind into his lap hard, quick, pretty fingernails clawing into his shoulders in an attempt to receive the leverage you need to get yourself there and Hyunjin simply watches in awe - bottom lip pulled between his teeth and the occasional moan escaping from him. You moan his name again - sort of - as much of it as you can get out and he snaps to attention, pulling himself forward with chest against your own, hands now pulling your hips harder into his lap than before in an attempt to help get you there.

"H-hand, fuck," is all you can get out before you drop your head back but it's all the direction he needs, bringing his dominant hand around to the front of you and pressing sloppy, aggressive circles into your clit - desperate to watch you cum and much to both of your surprise it doesn't take long - much less time than usual - before he hisses a cuss as he feels your cunt vice grip his cock as you cum into his lap, desperately trying not to cry out but failing in somewhat spectacular fashion. You'd have thought that you would be better at fucking in public spaces by now but turns out you might only be getting worse at it. Hyunjin snaps you back from the noise concern, taking your hips into his hands with a rigid grip of his own and fucking you hard through your orgasm while also chasing his own and it doesn't take him much either - "fuck, fuck, I'm-" but the words are choked back from ever leaving his lips, one of his arms coming up your back and gripping onto your shoulder from behind to give him the leverage he really wants to fuck his cum into you the way he desires to, and you feel every stroke and throb as he releases deep - once again pulling you down to take absolutely every bit of him that you can into yourself. 

It's a few moments of heaving chests and heavy breaths before Hyunjin finally lets go of you and allows you to create any sort of space between the two bodies, half-lidded, completely fucked out eyes eventually finding your own, and he only smiles before leaning forward and resting his head lazily on your chest.

"I'll eat now."

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask  (⌒‿⌒)  —this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.   i think this is one of the first things i ever wrote nearly three years ago lol

#hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin fanfic #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x y/n #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fanfic #skz smut #skz x reader #skz x you #skz x y/n #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz fanfic

[contentloadinggg]

Game of Distraction - Hozier Drabble

The way I’d give him the creamiest, soul sucking, heaven sent, sloppy, wet, back arching, begging for mercy, praying for God to take him, soul enlightening, spiritual experience head the earth has ever seen. THAT SLUTTY SWEATER TOO. GOD.

Anyways, Drabble more or less inspired by this pic. I can’t tell if this is making me more or less sane.

Summary: Andrew can’t play chess with you in his sweater. (Genderneutral! Reader) (~400 words)

Warnings: Surprisingly none, just a bit of making out towards the end and suggestive talk. No beta reading, I wrote this in 20 minutes.

This is a work of fiction and not a reflection of who Hozier is

Fic under the cut🤎

“Checkmate.”

You declared, dramatically knocking over Andrew’s castle in this very heated game of chess. The man groans in response, dropping his head on to the table.

“This isn’t fair!”

He calls into the wood of the tabletop. He pushes his long curls away from his face when he decides to lift his head back up. Meeting your eyes and seeing your amusement, he scowls.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Why is it not fair, Andy?”

The man looks at you with exasperation.

“Like you don’t know.”

He replies, stiffly. You smile, learning forwards by placing your elbows on the table.

“No, I don’t. Tell me.”

Andrew sighs deeply. His eyes are getting distracted by your bare collarbones. Oh yes, he’s definitely thinking about why it’s not fair.

“Because, you’re cheating.”

His vagueness is purposeful. He doesn’t want to admit that the sight of you wearing his sweater has got him all hot beneath the collar. All oversized on you, dropping low on your shoulders. You’re gorgeous, of course. But since when is he the one to fold so easily?

“Cheating? How?”

It’s a goad. You know exactly why. Andrew stays quiet.

For one,

Two,

Three seconds.

And he’s up.

Out of his seat. Andrew is on you faster than you can replace the breath he knocks out of you. He’s practically biting rather than kissing you. Teeth scraping over your bottom lip.

You’re swift to return it. The tip of your tongue running over his bared teeth. One might call it violent. His beard gently scratches at your skin and his fingers gripping your legs. But if that’s true, It’s a crime of passion.

Andrew lifts you up onto the table. It rocks on its legs with your shared movements. The chess pieces scattering across the board and floor. The wooden pieces on the hard ground are loud, but not loud enough to make you even think about picking them up.

Bites trail down the length of your throat. Teeth pulling at your tendons, but careful not to break skin. Andrew’s only goal is to lift the blood to show a bright pink color against your skin.

Reaching the collar of the sweater. Andrew breathes out shakily. As if just recalling why this started in the first place. You tug lightly on his hair. Urging him to continue.

The man looks back up at you. A familiarly wild look in his eye.

“Let’s get this sweater off you, yeah?”

He asks, running his hands beneath it over your bare skin. Voice rough.

“What? Tired of me ‘cheating’?”

“Don’t push it.”

I revisited some old poems and that’s what inspired this lol. Just wanted to post something while I struggle with my Alex fic.

-Thad💚

#andrew hozier byrne #fanfiction #hozier x reader #andrew hozier byrne x reader #hozier smut

[onmyyan]

Gabe NSFW ABC'S

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

High fives and bear hugs, Gabe's skin may feel hot to the touch but he still demands to feel you in some way‼️ it's a need not a want to feel his baby against his chest, no matter the sweat covering you both or the fact that his brain is still melted from cumming as hard as he did, be it a hand on your stomach or his entire body draped across you like a blanket, he's on you in some way shape or form.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His arms, biceps specifically. He works so hard on himself and to him they show how strong and capable he is, how he has the power to protect what matters to him, as for you darling, our boy's a sucker for your thighs, if the endless amounts of hickeys on them didn't tell you that, the way he buries his face in them so giddily sure does.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He loves a good creampie don't get me wrong but there's something about seeing your perfect form covered in his cum that scratches this primal caveman need of his, he's especially fond of licking you clean afterwards.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Panty sniffer. And he's an absolute fiend about it, obsessed with your natural scent, so much so you periodically lose underwear throughout your relationship because he fucks himself silly, huffing the drenched fabric with a blissed out grin, and ends up ruining them beyond repair, y'all are in this endless cycle of him stealing your underwear, ruining it with his cum, and buying you more.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He has more experience than Caspian but less than Marcos, somewhere in the middle, he's incredibly observant and isn't afraid to ask if he's doing good, if you want this or that, he's attentive.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy, but the kind where he's pressed flush against your back, one strong arm wrapped tightly around your center, pressing him against you like he's trying to make you as close as physically possible, he gets to touch you, fuck into you as hard as he wants, and grunt all his praises directly in your ear.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Unintentionally goofy, he can get pretty clumsy when he's excited so it's almost guaranteed he's gonna knock into something or get trapped in his shirt in his and he's rushing to get to you, which always makes you both giggly, it creates this bubble of warmth and safety.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

His happy trail is prominent, a dark reddish hue showing his natural hair color, fun fact, he thinks he looks hot because of it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Extremely intimate, hands interlocked, searing eye contact, that is when his eyes aren't fluttering shut, that blissful little grin on his face, you can feel his love for you with every tender and heated touch, likes to rest his forehead on yours when he has you facing him, long, sloppy kisses, he stares at you with so much adoration, but also like he wants to completely devour you, it's lovely.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He was bad before y'all got together but now?? His libido is so easily set off by anything and everything you do, you could send him a sweet selfie of yourself at work or school and if he looks at your smile or gorgeous face for a second too long he will get hard, and he will have to cum or his brain is stuck in feral horny goblin mode until he sees you next.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Daddy kink, Size kink, Predator and Prey, Blood kink, Overstimulation, Public kink, and fun fact, if you feeling froggy and call him Daddy in public you will be getting pulled by your neck into the nearest dark corner and he will be rearranging your guts promptly.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He really likes the freedom and security of destroying you in your guy's home because he has full range to ruin you to his hearts content, he doesn't need to rush, he can make you cum over and over and over, however he is partial to some good ol fashioned nasty-window-fogging car sex.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Literally anything you do, good LORD he's down horrendously, but if you really wanna drive him crazy just ask for his help. Can't reach something? He'll get it for you for, sure, just be ready to feel his dick digging into your back when he reaches over you to grab it. Need him to open something? No problem, just hop on the counter real quick, yeah no it's nothing it's just his dick is jumping in his sweatpants because you said please when you asked him and now he has to fuck you against the nearest available surface.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He can't even conceptualize sharing you with someone in ANYWAY his eye will twitch at the mere echo of the thought.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

You're his favorite meal and he's always hungry. If he could live off your cunt he would, he ain't stopping till you yank him away and even then, that only encourages him to bury his tongue that much deeper.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Fucks like a beast, even if he tries to go slow eventually his higher functions turn off and all he can do is pound away, very much the type to break the bed, make sure you're okay, and keep pumping into you like nothing happened, leaves you feeling sore in the best ways.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If you're down he's down, anywhere anytime, especially if there's a chance you'll get caught, he knows he's the most dangerous person in the room and if someone catches you he wishes a mf would try to interrupt or make you feel any kind of bad about it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Absolutely, he's down to try anything once, especially if you suggest it.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

3-5 depending on your energy, he can go all night if he's really pent up, he just can't get enough.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn't own any but he really really wants to use a vibrator on you while he's deep in your guts, any way he can turn your brain into a puddle he's game.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Huge fuckin tease, but also terrible at it lmao?? Because you never have to ask twice, at most you get a delayed yes 💀🤚🏼

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's made the neighbors call the police several times, they just stop coming to y'all's house at some point. He's very vocal, lots of grunts and growls, moans of your name, likes to growl out all the filthy things he's about to do, and the way he says it, it's said like a promise.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Randomly feels subby, once in a blue moon this Daddy Dom needs to be babied and suck on a titty or two for a good few hours, he still fucks like a menace in this state, and despite the role switching, he's somehow even more intense when he's feeling needy.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

7.5 inches and meanly thick, he has to make you cum at least once before he puts it in, because that stretch is a monster, in the best ways.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Horndog central over here. He has a high drive and it's only ever amplified by his intense, obsessive love for you, very down to go to pound town, anytime.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Depends on how much y'all have been fuckin tbh, if it's one of those days where he's been going at you for hours on hours, he's pretty much out seconds after he makes sure you're okay, dw when he wakes up again for real the aftercare is immaculate and loving.

#yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere oc x reader #yandere #delmont brothers #gabe delmont #yandere oc gabe #gabe delmont x reader #gabe x reader

[biteofcherry]

to find the light, we must first touch the darkness

Please also check out @bluepinkangel​’s amazing hot moodboard for this universe 🖤

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings for this chapter: dark!Steve Rogers; power imbalance; forced relationship; D/s undertones; public humiliation; groping; dirty talk

I did warn you this Steve is dark 😜

word count: 4k

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

5. Breaking ice 

~ * ~ 

You’ve never been more annoyed with a sunny day and warm lightness filling your bones than you felt the day after the apothecary incident. Extra bounce to your step as the sun stroked your face and corners of your lips threatening to curl up irked you immensely. 

Every other minute you tried to force yourself into a stormy mood.

Into an expected reaction to what has happened.

You faced direct danger, witnessed people being killed in cold blood, you were trapped in a relationship with a fucking mobster, who - on top of it all - screwed your body and mind in a most wicked, deranged way.

You shouldn’t be feeling cheery. That reaction was inadequate to the situation and to the moral norms you thought you possessed. 

Either Rogers had that strong of an impact that you quickly bent to his dark whims, or the spine you thought you had always been a noodle not a steel rod. 

How otherwise explain the fact repulsion at his manhandling transformed into thrill and arousal? 

Last night, when you finally went to bed after taking a thorough scrubbing shower (and crunching a few cranberry pills to pray the UTI away), the images of being fucked with a gun resurfaced in a colorful burst. 

The crystalline blue frozen in ice of Steve’s irises, the soft pink of his lips inches away from yours, the black of the gun against your floral dress. 

It made you sticky instead of sick. 

You had some knowledge of the psychological aspects to rough sex fantasies, or bdsm preferences, even consensual non-consent role play; but they all were considered normal when consented and previously explored. 

You did not give Steve your verbal consent. Yet you didn’t exactly fight him. Convincing yourself it was because he had a gun and could kill you with it fell poorly since your pussy clenched at the memory of the barrel against your skin. 

What has your life become - cranberry pills and getting wet from being violated.

You were angry, yes, but not at what you should be. Your annoyance with Rogers was peaking, but the true resentment wasn’t only toward his actions. It was directed at yourself for not being outraged by what happened. 

When the next day at work Natalie asked you about the meeting, you gave her the short version - a trap being set up and Rogers coming to save you. The part about coming all over his gun was left unspoken.

You told yourself it’s to spare yourself further humiliation, but a part of you simply feared you’d get turned on thinking about it again. 

Really, that should be a topic to pick at a therapy session, but you couldn’t do that either. You had enough common sense to know going to a psychotherapist was out of the question, not with the man who was about to become your husband. You couldn’t tell all the truth in a session (to not risk a therapist’s life) and going there only to lie and omit had no sense. 

So you decided to channel everything onto the job. 

Focusing on work meant not allowing your thoughts to roam around Steve fucking Rogers, as well not giving your body reasons to stir with arousal. 

You caught up on paperwork, made a few phone calls - including those less important, just to occupy yourself; you visited the new speech therapist in their office. Being busy enhanced the sense of lightness, which you preferred to read as having no space to overthink and stress, instead of wondering if getting debauched was the sole cause of your serenity. 

However, the lull of denial burst the moment Natalie came into your office with lunch.

Lunch you didn’t order, and a couple trailing behind her with creepily bright smiles on their faces. 

“Miss Leigh Parrish and Mister Elias Asher are here for you.” Natalie informed you, professional as always, though you noticed the barely constrained eye roll. “And they brought you lunch, apparently.”

“What?” You looked at the set of neat three boxes with delicious looking food then at Natalie and at the pair behind her. 

The two walked in with confidence, as if they were about to take over your office. The woman, Leigh, had a pad in her hand and a huge binder under her other arm. The man held some small kind of measure tape and a little blue notebook. 

If they were some new donors, or a company who wanted to start a program with your health center, they sure were the very first to start negotiations this way. Usually you were invited to lunch, not have it brought. People meeting you were also more reserved and polite, instead of barging in with some wacky energy. 

“Lunch is from Mister Rogers, we’re just delivering since we were going to be here anyway,” said Leigh, her toothpaste-commercial grin not changing for a second.

Instantly your mood dropped, your eyebrows creasing into a hostile frown. 

“And why are you here?” Your tone remained calm, but you made sure displeasure in it was audible. 

Steve randomly buying you lunch was a worrying problem you stored to resolve later; though you had a feeling he wouldn’t care that these nice gestures annoyed you, as they clashed with the picture of a ruthless mobster you were adamant on hating forever. 

The two cheery people coming in unannounced - at the direction of Steve, undoubtedly - became the aim of your irritation and distrust. 

“To help you plan your wedding, of course.” They both beamed in unison and you almost groaned at how overtly sweet the woman’s tone has become. 

“Mr Rogers mentioned you’re fighting nerves, which is absolutely understandable,” Leigh cooed and your fingers twitched, ready to reach for something to throw it at her. “Planning a wedding can be stressful, especially an impromptu one. But that’s why I’m here! I’m the best wedding planner in the city and I’ll make sure it surpasses all your dreams.”

Your reluctance toward the wedding wasn’t something you hid from Rogers. Quite the opposite, you announced it any chance you had; within limits of reason, to avoid being disposed of.

Him sending in an actual wedding planner was a move you did not expect. At all. 

You’d sooner anticipate him dragging you in your pajamas in front of a forced registrar to get it over with. 

Ah, but that would be too easy. Not enough torment for you. Not enough room for you to show how obedient of a wife you’d be. 

We both know you will be a good girl for me, Princess, his voice resounded in your head, a decadent richness that softened your limbs for a split of a second before your resistance kicked in. 

Having you organize the wedding, or at least actively participate in it, was a lesson - that you would follow his orders even if you hated them.  

“The best wedding planner in the city has a free slot to organize a wedding in a month?” You arched a single eyebrow, studying the woman. “What skeletons are in your closet that my fiance managed to blackmail you?”

You didn’t doubt she was one of the best, but those had their schedules booked for three years in advance. To have her clear it for you meant there was more than just money at stake for Miss Leigh Parrish. 

Her smile faltered for a second, but she regained her composure fast. She ignored your question, walking instead toward your desk and placing her huge binder on it. 

“Since we have the venue covered, with Mr Rogers estate being more than enough to host the event,” she went on, “there are only details to talk over. Let’s start with the wedding rings, so that Elias can begin working on them right away.”

Her companion stepped forward. The tiny measuring tape in his hand now made sense, as it apparently was to measure the circumference of your finger to match a ring size.

“Let’s start-” you interrupted, pushing your chair back- “with you leaving my office.”

Interesting how you managed to maintain your poised self, professionally cool as you delivered the polite fuck you, while that composure quickly dissolved around Rogers. 

You kinda stepped on eggshells around him at first (and still, sensing when the crossing line was too near), but then his demands lit your fuse. Somehow you dared to stomp your foot, be loud in your outbursts and acts of rebellion. And it wasn’t because Steve provided safe space, oh no. He was far from safe. 

“What?” The man blinked, confused, while his friend blanched.

“We have to get it done. As soon as possible.” Still trying to sound sweet and soft, Leigh made the mistake of allowing a tremble to shake her voice. 

“Then get it done, I don’t really care.” You shrugged.

It was the truth. You didn’t care for the ceremony at all. 

You had a brief thought about hating it, if it was some overused boho or retro theme in a barn, but then again you would hate it anyway, since you didn’t want to marry Steve. Besides, it could be funny to see his face if someone told him to wear suspenders and a flat cap for aesthetics.

“You, um, you don’t want to participate in preparations for your own wedding?” Leigh frowned, utterly surprised. “Not even pick a dress?” 

“I can wear a t-shirt and flip-flops for all I care.” You probably wouldn’t go that far, but you really didn’t care. 

If Rogers didn’t order you to wear a wedding dress, you’d do it anyway just to please your parents who were going to be completely oblivious to the truth behind your speedy wedding. You preferred to keep it that way, playing someone so dumbly in love she was ready to marry a few weeks after meeting the guy. You didn’t want to worry your parents.  

Natalie snorted at your words, for the very first time so openly showing amusement. She even grinned when you glared at her, then turned on her heel and walked outside.

“The, um, the wedding rings?” Elias cleared his throat.

“Barbed wire would be fitting,” you snorted under your breath, but he didn’t seem to hear it. You suspected he might’ve fainted if he did. 

“Whatever Mister Rogers wishes,” you shrugged. “As a matter of fact, why don't you go and consult with him?” 

To underline that you were done with this whole shit-show, you opened one of the lunchboxes and dug a fork into it. You didn’t lift up your eyes from the delicious food until you heard the door closing.   

You ate your lunch while idly browsing the internet, just to get your thoughts off the wedding completely. It was approaching with each passing day and you preferred not to accept the fact. 

Though you weren’t sure denial would work once there was an actual ring on your finger. 

It seemed it wouldn’t work even before that, because not a half hour after you dismissed the wedding planner the door to your office opened with impetus.

Steve strode inside, a force of a thousand storms contained in a man’s body. 

His heavy boots and the hem of his tight jeans seemed to be freshly stained with something wet and dark. The rest of him was perfectly clean, not a smudge of dirt on his hands. You tried not to think of blood splashing on his shoes and legs as a lifeless victim fell at Steve's feet.

You definitely tried to ignore a wave of heat that washed over you at the thought. 

You forced your eyes to stay on the devil’s angelic face, drowning in the hues of blue, so that your gaze wouldn’t slide across Steve’s body in search of a gun holster. 

“Princess.” Steve sighed, but there was an undertone of amusement in his voice. 

He walked toward you with purposeful steps; his mass seemingly changing the gravity inside your office, so that all light fractured to disappear in his approaching darkness. 

Or maybe it was your attention discarding anything in your peripheral to focus on him, as if he was the center of your world. 

You abruptly stood up and shuffled back instinctively, bumping into a bureau. Steve caged you against it, blocking any route of escape with his arms on both sides of you. It was only then that you tilted your chin up, tapping into the remnants of your steel defiance.

“Why am I hearing that you’re scaring off the wedding team?” Steve tilted his head to the side and chuckled. “They’re here to take the planning burden off your shoulders, so that you can focus on your work. And your future role…”

You swore that if he said anything about wifely duties, you’d kick him.

“I told them they can plan whatever they want. As long as they do it far away from me,” your mocking sweet smile combined with your sneer. 

Perhaps your tone provoked it, or maybe a challenging fire in your eyes, but Steve’s lips curved into a wolfish grin. 

“Oh, Princess,” he cooed, brushing a thumb over your bottom lip, “look at your cute yip, yet there’s no real bite to it.” 

It was very dangerous to do anything to antagonize Rogers, especially when he was this close and could snap your neck with his bare hands, but you acted before a reasonable thought settled in.

You opened your mouth and caught his thumb between your teeth, clenching your jaw enough to cause pain, but not drawing blood.

Steve’s eyes hardened, the blue of his irises darkening. Time froze for a split second; you could almost hear the ice cracking beneath your feet and the murky depths awaiting to swallow your dead body. 

Suddenly your eyes widened, when instead of backhanding you, Steve pushed his thumb further between your lips.

Your teeth released their grip, his digit easing into your mouth and pressing against your tongue. Saliva pooled around it and you instinctively hollowed your cheeks. 

Twisted satisfaction igniting in his eyes and the subtle thrust of his thumb along your tongue stirred you from stupor. Scorching shame filled you to the roots, though you hoped it didn’t show. 

You pulled back, turning your face away from Steve as you swallowed remnants of his taste. He tilted your chin with his wet thumb, forcing you to look him in the eye again. What the fuck was with this man and maintaining eye contact? 

“Let’s get it over with, shall we?” He smoothed a hand down your arm and wrapped his fingers around your wrists. 

Next thing you knew Steve was calling for Elias Asher, as he stretched your arm out; thumb pressing into your palm to make your fingers stretch. 

Elias stumbled inside and almost tripped over his own feet at the sight the two of you displayed - you pressed against the bureau with Rogers’ intimidating size looming over you, your hand offered on a silver platter. 

“You mentioned you need measurements for the ring size,” Steve intoned conversationally, “do what you must.”

You glared daggers at Steve, which he accepted unbothered. The jeweler’s fingers didn’t shake as he wrapped a small measuring tape around your finger and wrote down the result in his notebook. However, all the while he was staring either at your finger or his notes, never up at either of you.

That way it was easier to pretend the scene before him wasn’t close to intimate, or that he didn’t suspect you were being forced into marriage.

“What type of metal?” His voice wavered slightly. 

“White gold,” came Steve’s decided reply. 

Something told you that while he was giving you free will to organize the wedding however you liked, Steve had already chosen how your permanent shackle looks like. 

You peeked at his hand, gaze sliding across the rings adorning his thick fingers. You noticed there was none on the finger on which a wedding band is worn. He was going to make sure that your rings matched the set he was already wearing.   

“Pure and fierce, like my fiancée.” Steve added, with a mocking tilt. 

“And the cut?” Elias scribbled down, not lifting his eyes at either of you even once.

Steve’s eyes sparked mischievously. His right hand moved up your thigh, squeezing your thick flesh through the fabric of your skirt.

“Cushion?” Steve mused aloud.

Then his touch moved upwards, along your ribcage and ghosting over the swell of your breast. 

“Round?” He cupped your tit indecently, causing you to gasp in outrage that he dared to do it in front of someone. 

That he dared to do it at all!

“No. We know which suits you best, right?” Steve’s hand ventured north, brushing your collarbone before his fingers curled around the front of your neck. 

“A princess cut.” 

Ringed fingers wrapped around your throat loosely, but it was a firm enough gesture to boil your blood and weaken your knees. 

You couldn’t blame it on the fear of being strangled, because not a single thought about it entered your mind when Steve did that. Neither when he did it the first time, in his kitchen, nor now. 

What you thought about was the power he spread over you and how it melted your resolve into an obedient puddle. Against all reason. 

Unable to look away from Steve, you didn’t notice the jeweler leaving your office in a hurry, undoubtedly ready to drink away what he tried not to witness. You didn’t even hear the door close, your ears were filled with the sound of your own heart pounding in a quickened rhythm as Steve’s hold on you continued. 

Slowly (it seemed reluctant, too), Steve loosened his grip. He didn’t move it away, though, shifting it only slightly, so his hand splayed like a necklace above your sternum. 

You took a shaky breath in, cogs in your brain starting to turn anew. 

“Why can’t we just sign the papers without this wedding party fuss?” You asked quietly, gaze shifting from Steve’s hold on your hand to his face. 

He brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles before he let go of it and took a step away from you. He swiped a hand over his mouth then gave you a blank, almost condescending look.

“Because I need everyone convinced I’m here after your cute ass, Princess. Blind with love or lust, or whatever people want to believe in,” he winked at you, as if you were supposed to agree with his cynical assessment.

You thought quite the opposite. That no one sane would believe Steve Fucking Rogers was interested in you. 

“Who would even believe that?” You snorted, frowning.

It wasn’t about insecurities of any kind; you were mildly confident both in your looks and your worth. However, men like Rogers didn’t even circle around women of your kind. 

Men of power; men who rode the thin line of morality, mostly treading through the dark side; they went for women who craved such things. Women who suited that lifestyle. Women rotten at the core, or greedy (whether for wealth, or for power and influence). Or at least for women who looked really fucking good on their arms, like models and escorts. 

No one, none of Steve’s rivals surely, would believe that he was simply courting you. You beside him made zero sense.

Steve laughed. Actually laughed. A warm, sparkling burst of amusement that made his handsome face gain impossible boyish charm. 

“That a man got addicted to a sweet pussy?” He looked down at you, still grinning. But that grin transformed into a sly curve. 

“Everyone, Princess.” He leaned closer, again; voice nearly purring as his lips brushed your cheek. “I can assure you that even at this moment they’re thinking I’m balls deep inside you.”

You couldn’t help the shiver that rocked your body. Judging by the way Steve’s eyes dragged down and up your frame, he noticed your reaction. 

“I’m kinda thinking about it, too.” He licked his lips, drawing your hungry attention to them.

But the ire at his crude words snapped you out of daze. Your fingers curled in a fist and you pounded it against Steve’s chest when he pressed his weight into you.

“In your dreams!” You hissed.

Your small fist made no real impact against Steve’s hard chest. It didn’t deter him and it seemed he didn’t even feel any pain from the hit. 

His hands returned to your body, boldly gripping your hips and holding you in place as he licked along your jaw. He flicked your earlobe with his tongue - a lewd tease that should disgust you, but instead made your pussy tingle.  

“I’m dreaming of our wedding night.” Steve whispered before pulling away with a low chuckle at your wheeze.

“There will be no wedding night!” You pounded two of your fists against his chest. Futilely.

Steve regarded you with a look one may give to a small kitten trying to appear intimidating toward a wolf fifty times its size.

“I’ll make you a deal, Princess,” he tucked both thumbs beneath the hem of your blouse, his touch nearly scorching against your skin. 

“On our wedding night, if I touch your sweet pussy and it’s dry, I’ll let you pick a bedroom for your own. So you can live in solitude, unbothered by my presence.” He sounded sincere, like it was a business deal he was really willing to propose.

Then his hips were pressing against yours, bulge in his pants prominent as he rocked it into you. Steve’s eyes flashed a dark gleam; his sensual lips parting enough to reveal a row of sharp teeth ready to take a hefty bite.

“But if I find your cunt leaking, as I know it is now-” his deep growl resonated straight to your clit.

“I’ll take a pound of flesh. And I’ll be taking you over and over and over again, until you lose your voice from screaming my name.” 

You clutched at his shirt where your hands rested on his chest. You wanted to be able to shove him away, to punch away the beam of smug victory off Steve’s face. Reasonably, you knew you couldn’t do that without serious repercussions happening. 

You were also too busy with the inner battle, fighting some fucked up, primal need to have Steve do to you exactly what he threatened. 

The bastard was unfortunately right, you were soaked. Something you’d never admit to him.

Even if he pushed his big hand up your skirt and dipped his fingers straight into your dripping cunt, you’d deny it to his face. You’d deny it to yourself. Forever. 

Thankfully, Rogers didn’t push further. He seemed satisfied with his stupid bet and that you didn’t fight back (even if you kept your mouth closed in fear of releasing a whimper). Steve let go of you, only lifting one hand to cup your chin.

“Now be good, Princess,” he commanded. “I don’t have time to deal with hysterical wedding planners.”

You grimaced - eyebrows drawing in a frown, nose scrunching up. You weren’t interested in dealing with wedding planning either, but you were aware Steve considered the topic closed. If you reopened it, he might do more than just bend you into obedience in front of a stranger.

“Then why did you come here?” You asked instead.

“I came for my distressed fiancée,” Steve’s grin was cheeky as he used his grip on your chin to slightly shake your head.

He squeezed a tad tighter and when your lips puckered he pecked them. 

“You’ll get a big girl kiss when you start acting like one,” he added at your indignant glare. 

Then released you and simply turned around to leave. You cursed him and called him names in your head. You prayed that one day you’ll get reckless enough to throw something at him, consequences be damned. For now, you still liked to be alive. 

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #dark!steve rogers #dark mafia!steve rogers #dark mafia!steve rogers x reader #dark mafia!steve rogers x female reader #dark steve rogers #touch the darkness #my writing

[paradoxlemonade]

Nature of Curiousity

Fandom: Hermitcraft

Characters: Joe & Cleo

words: 1024

Warnings: very mild body horror (Cleo is embroidering on Joe, but he's made of fabric and does not feel pain)

Ao3: Here!

Summary: Joe Hills the puppet wants to make friends with humans. The humans do not want to be made friends with. Cleo puts him back together afterwards. [Abecedarian Prose Poem]

@mcyt-valentines gift for @therizino-ao3! Hope you enjoy :]

...

A sunrise the color of a bitter lemon tea beckons in the fresh morning scent of grass and dreams, soft around the edges and losing their remaining sharpness as sleep turns to wakefulness. Beneath an old willow tree, a corpse as fresh as the day it died rests in the dewy grass and embroiders artful designs into her best friend’s shoulder.

Cleo huffs at him, “You know, it would’ve been nice if you had waited until at least breakfast to go galavanting around and get yourself shot by a humanfolk.”

Dauntlessly undeterred as per usual, Joe merely smiles serenely and says, “But I must watch them, as the rain must fall and snow must melt; it is in my nature, sewn into my skin.”

Even-spaced threads holding his innards on the right side of the felt are the only thing decorating his skin, by Cleo’s own observation.

“Fine as that may be, your ‘nature’ does not make you invincible to arrows.” Generally speaking, being made of cloth made Joe invincible to very little, save for perhaps pain and common sense. He would grow tired of his game eventually, and then he would stop attempting to consort with the humanfolk (at least, Cleo hoped he would tire of it).

“If I am endlessly repairable no matter my condition, is that not a form of invincibility?”

 “Joe, you can only be repaired if I have the pieces to put you back together; if the humanfolk decide it would be more fun to capture you instead of running you off, you would be in more pieces than magic thread could possibly hold together.”

“Killjoys—that being people who deny my innermost whimsy, that being you—” he gestured at her with the arm not being worked on, “should not judge how one chooses to express themself, especially when they are themselves of humanfolk blood.”

Less ever said about one Joe Hills’ innermost whimsy, the more sane one would be, as neither consistency nor thoughts of sound minds are facets of his being.

Minutes flow around them like a gentle brook as Cleo continues her stitchwork and pointedly does not give his comments the dignity of a direct response, at least until she thinks of one worth saying.

“No humanfolk,” she began slowly, “Would consider me possible by their understanding of the world, let alone ‘of their blood’; I have not been theirs for a very long time.” One day was all it took to lose everything that she’d built over the course of her entire life, as one day was all it took for the sickness that ravaged her village like a pack of wolves descending on a flock of sheep to bury her in an early grave that she didn’t stay put in.

“Perhaps that much is fair and you have no love left for them, but I have never been theirs; the humanfolk ways are unlike our own, and I find myself pulled in again and again despite all attempts to the contrary.”

Quickly fleeting curiosity would be too much to ask, she supposed, as temporary passion was also as antithetical to Joe’s nature as he claimed sedation to be.

 “Really, you can’t be all too mad at me for this, because if you were as upset as you pretend to be, you wouldn’t have offered to sew me back up, and you certainly wouldn’t have added these nice yellow flowers without me needing to ask.”

She glances down to her hands as if seeing them for the first time that morning, the hands that gently wove the thread in and out of his fabric skin with a practiced ease and the comfort of a close friend. This conversation—despite its distances—has still grown much too close to an uncomfortable shard of glass nestled deep into her chest, digging and poking into the soft tissue beneath her heart that she could not excise no matter how strong her will. 

“Unfortunately, we still live in a world where I need to sew you back up for reasons other than your own foolishness, and it’s not like I could simply let someone I’ve worked on walk around looking like I did the job carelessly.” 

Vexed enough by her candid response, Joe allows the conversation to wander along to more familiar territory by changing the topic with all the subtlety he could muster—that is, not a whole lot.

 “What type of flowers are these meant to be, anyway?” Joe asks, stretching to see Cleo’s handiwork.

“Xyris flowers, of some kind; they’re all over around here and you seem to like them well enough that I didn’t think you would mind if I put some on your arm.”

Yellow petals of soft thread cascade from the top of his shoulder down midway to his elbow, just shy of of meeting up with the dusky green vines—those were almost ready to come out, but the new stitches would have to stay for a few weeks so the fabric could knit itself back together. Zero weeks have gone in recent memory that did not end with one of Cleo’s friends needing stitches (usually Joe, and usually for silly and-or humanfolk reasons), but she never stopped pulling out her needle and thread before they could even apologize for bothering her.

And as Joe thanks her for the help and the flowers, she leads him back to her house for an early breakfast to cap off an odd morning, all the while dreaming of a world where the humanfolk and the otherfolk didn’t have to live on opposite sides of the veil, and Joe could make strangers into friends.

 Better worlds and broken hearts are playing cards of the same set, but a card for resilience is also shuffled into that same deck. Crisp toast and peppery fried eggs aren’t quite miracle workers, but they’re enough to bring Cleo back up to normal when combined with good company. Dreams weren’t going to come true on their own, but maybe Joe was onto something with his adventures.

 Everything considered, it took him an hour longer than last time to get run off.

#hermitcraft #mcyt #joe hills #zombiecleo #hermitcraft fic #idea writes #fanfic #idea original post

[munson-blurbs]

Hurt People

This is just me giving an accurate depiction of what would most likely happen if Eddie Munson was real and went to high school with me. I’m sad tonight.

Warnings: hurt/no comfort, angst, insults, bullying

WC: 718

—

You don’t know how you didn’t see it coming. Maybe it’s because he’s Eddie, the boy—young man, really—thrust into the fringes of society because of his affinity for metal music and fantasy games. Maybe it’s because you’d assumed outcasts, loners, losers, looked out for one another. Or maybe you were just delusional, rose-colored glasses shielding you from what you couldn’t, wouldn’t see.

You and Eddie don’t have any classes together, with you electing to take honors classes and him struggling with introductory courses. You’d never judged him for it, never thought less of him because of it; some people’s talents lay outside of academia. Rumor has it that he’s a decent guitar player, though your parents’ strict rules forbid you from checking out a gig. Truly, you don’t know much about him except that he’s on his third round of senior year and, in your opinion, is the cutest guy at Hawkins High.

The opportunity to befriend him presents itself in the unassuming form of Honor Society volunteer hours. Mrs. O’Donnell needs someone to tutor Eddie in chemistry so she can get him the hell out of her class, and you eagerly offer to be his teacher. Quiet afternoons together in the library might lead to secrets whispered, kisses shared…

The first tutoring session is…fine. Eddie’s completely disinterested in the material, which is to be expected. You keep drawing his attention back to the lab report he’s supposed to be writing, trying to maintain your composure as your patience wears thin.

When he’s barely accomplished anything at the end of the hour, you tell him to meet you back in the study room tomorrow after school.

“You need to hand this in on time,” you say softly but firmly. “Don’t wanna lose points for late work.”

He grumbles as he grabs his tin lunchbox and carelessly shoves the lab report into his backpack, not even saying goodbye.

The next day, you muster up the courage to approach his lunch table. You’ve got your old chemistry study guides clenched in your fists; the idea is to offer them to him so he doesn’t have to reference his own scribbled notes for his upcoming quiz. Just a casual, “hey, I figured you could use these.” Yeah, that could work.

You’re ten feet away when you hear his boisterous laugh. “Oh, and get this,” he’s saying to his friends, “she wants me to study again with her today! Like yesterday wasn’t bad enough.”

“Dude,” one of his buddies chuckles, sympathetically shaking his head and clapping his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, “it’s just your luck that the one girl crushing on you happens to be the ugliest girl in the school.”

Your blood runs cold, nerves buzzing in anticipation of Eddie’s response. Surely he’ll tell the guy that he’s gone too far, that poking fun at your appearance is uncalled for.

But Eddie just gives him the finger and replies, “tell me about it. And now I gotta sit there while she makes heart-eyes at me, unless I wanna face O’Donnell’s wrath. Again.”

Tell me about it. Tell me about it. Tell me about it.

There’s no defending you, no sense of irritation with his friend’s statement. It’s pure, unfiltered agreement.

You’re the ugliest girl in school, and even Eddie Munson thinks so.

Tears blur your vision as you make a beeline out of the cafeteria, dumping your papers in the nearest trash can. You’re sorry you wasted your precious time digging them up. Humiliation seeps into your skin. It doesn’t matter if no one else heard him, because you did. And the information isn’t novel to you—you’re not Chrissy Cunningham or Nancy Wheeler, not by a longshot. No, you’re embarrassed because you’d deluded yourself into thinking that Eddie could see you in a way that others didn’t, in a way that you simply couldn’t.

A large part of you hoped that Eddie would see your status as a fellow freak and applaud you for it, welcome you into his group, take you under his wing. That seems like a pipe dream now.

It’s like that old cliche: hurt people hurt people. Maybe if you were bravier—bitchier, even—you’d hurt him back. But for now, you’re too tired from dragging around the burden of your existence.

Hurt will have to wait another day.

—

#eddie munson #stranger things #fanfic #stranger things fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson angst #angst #hurt/no comfort #eddie munson x reader

[ronearoundblindly]

Fire & Ice (a RoAR drabble)

Flufftober Day 12, Ransom Drysdale x rich!Reader (see series)

I blame @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory and @brandycranby for encouraging HughSaison. This is fairly loosely related to the prompt but there are a bunch of temperature references/illusions. 🤷🏻‍♀️Hey, I did my best. -> While I'm at it, does anyone want to own up (privately) to being the person who first asked about rich!Reader over a year ago??? I always wonder if that anon is still reading 🥹

Uhhh, angst with a fluffy ending... yeah, yeah, Ro loves writing arguments, we get it.

Warnings: If you've never read my Ransom before, beware. He curses like an angry sailor, inside and outside of his brain. Plus super suggestive language/mentions of sex. LOTS of dialogue. Zero editing. MINORS DNI. WC 1.8k

He cannot fucking believe it's come to this.

"Don't you fucking dare," he snips. “You cannot use a veto. You put me in charge.”

He watches you walk calmly, put away a dish calmly, sit at his couch calmly.

"I've made my decision, and that's final."

"Fuck you." Ran means it, but in his own way. "You said I could choose--"

"Not that," you say, so calmly, too fucking calmly for someone who managed to turn Ransom Drysdale into this, this thing that cares about something so petty for all the wrong--or just different--reasons.

He stretches to his full height and sucks on his tongue for a moment.

You continue to scroll through your phone.

He never thought he’d get married but he’s always loved a good party. Since the ring's not flashy, he wants you in the tiara. He hasn’t given you the ring yet either because…well, because it’s been less than a year and you practically live on the other side of the planet. Call him old-fashioned, but Ransom wants to be home for all the big things. He can plan a damn party though—and the look to match— whenever the hell he wants and for however long he wants.

At length in the quiet, he asks, "why not?"

"Because it's ridiculous, and I'm saying 'no.' Veto."

"You don't get vetoes for--" Ran smothers his frustration, but barely. "Does this have to do with...money? Because you know I’m not talking millions of dollars in real diamonds or something.” But, ya know, he’s expecting a couple hundred thou between colored and semi-precious stones, plus the setting in—would gold or platinum work best for your skin? Grandma Thrombey’s ring is made of yellow gold. Ran guesses he should match that.

The false calm never lifts from you.

Eyes icy and blank, you look at him while his plans keep running amuck. "No."

Two letters. One word. He fucking hates it.

"You'll look beautiful," he yells in annoyance.

The phone drops on the leather couch. "I'm not wearing a crown to be married in. It'll look pretentious, ostentatious. I won't do it and that's that."

"It's a tiara," Ran corrects, "and with a veil, it's near invisible. It’ll include the wedding colors with the stones."

"No."

His blood starts to boil. Don't say it, don't say it, he thinks fleetingly but fails.

"Says the woman with shit taste."

Slowly, calmly, coldly, you walk over to him, stretching to your full height, holding his gaze. You’re wearing one of his sweaters again and nothing else. That’s his favorite look, but only for him.

It’s winter outside, the heater turned up so that your naked skin stays comfortable. You stay comfortably exposed all the time, when he has his way. Comfort is king in Ran’s house. 

Despite being exposed though, he can see how you've made it so far in business—in life—even with shitty taste. Your poker face rivals champions, and you are stalwart in your dedication. There's a hard (and hardening) edge to your simple, sly grin.

You take a deep breath in,  a whiff of him, a sample for assessment.

"Poor--" you sigh "--boy."

His teeth grind together, jaw tight as a vice. How dare you.

Ran's petty, spiteful even when he tries so damn hard to keep it together, and the wound of disinheritance is still fresh enough he cannot abide that sting.

"Burn in hell."

You don’t take the bait and simply cock your head, waiting for his guilty meltdown. So far, he does this at least once a week, sometimes multiple times a day. It bothers you, you’ve told him, that he questions everything instantly, that he can’t trust you or your feelings or his surroundings, that he panics over the idea of ever having to get a job, but it’s also great ammunition against a man-child.

The grin never leaves your lips. You're in fine fighting form tonight. Ran shouldn't have tangoed.

"Go fuck some bimbo's ass."

Oh.

Oh, you bitch.

That's low.

Ransom's face contorts. "It was one time," he gripes, "and we weren't even dating."

Your palm lies flat against his chest. "We'd slept together several times, and you even volunteered for me by then so..."

Ran grabs your hips and brings you close, avoiding your gaze while hoping you keep looking at him, cooling him down, evening his hot temper.

"Of course," you add casually, "that wasn't the first time you did that, was it?"

This is where it gets tricky for him. Ran never had a real relationship before you--not even his 'bond' with his parents compares--but old habits die hard.

He shoves at your hips, spinning you two until your back hits the glass block window between the house and the bare woods outside.

His head ducks to mirror the angle of yours. "Doesn't have to be the last either."

"Hugh," you warn, as threatening as wind across his cheek.

He's gonna regret this. He knows he will, but curiosity gets the better of him.

"Tell me. Tell me why you don't want to wear something gorgeous and fancy for an occasion where you are meant to be gorgeous and fancy."

The turn in your expression is pronounced. He didn't expect you to be more alarmed by his caring than his come-ons.

"Bad form," you finally admit. "Some rich bitch thinks she's a princess. Looks really bad."

"You are rich. You are a--"

"Careful..."

"--I'm saying 'princess.' Calm down," he says to the perfectly, eerily calm woman in his arms. "Would you just fucking let me compliment you?"

Ran fiddles with some hair around your ear, noting proudly how your eyes droop shut slightly at the smallest touch from him. He likes that you respond to him, his distance, his fury, his doubt, and his passion. You make feeling okay. You are his safe space since you've seen him at his lowest.

You see him.

There's very few things in life that make more sense to Ransom than his wife will be the one who sees him and he lets see him. Everyone else and everything else can piss off.

God, he fucking hates that he loves you so much. Why won’t you just wear the fucking crown? You’ve earned it; you’re the one who conquered his demons, not Ran.

He could buy it anyway, have your veil sown straight on it, not give you the chance to argue, or he could take you out to shop, put one in your hands, knock it onto the floor, and claim ‘you break it, you bought it.’ Problem solved, but he’s a petty bitch.

He tucks the edge of his lip into his cheek.

He should be less of a petty bitch.

“What do you want?” Ran asks. “What’s it gonna take?”

He keeps his sharp eyes locked to yours, watching understanding shrink your once-dilating pupils

Change in demeanor. “Oh my god.”

Aaaand there’s the regret. “Don’t make a big deal—“

“HOLY SHIT.”

“It’s not—I’m just—“

“Hugh Fucking Drysdale?! Trying to compromise??? I’ve see it all now.”

“Stop,” he whines, dropping his head to your squirming chest.

“Wait—” you whip out of his arms and hustle back to the couch, retrieving your phone “—do it again.”

He’s too lost in staring up the sweater as you bend over to notice right away.

“Are you filming me?” Disgusting. Childish. Petty, just like him. Maybe he’s had more influence on you than he realized.

“Your face is priceless.”

“Give me that.” Ran doesn’t put much effort into reaching the phone. He would rather win for his cause. “Seriously, what do you want?”

The arm held up falls lax. He has a clear view of your home screen, so you weren’t taking a video. You just wanted to tease him. Fuck, you love to tease him.

Dramatically, your hand frames your chin in thought. “Well, I don’t want something that extravagant to go to waste, but it won’t go with every outfit…”

“No, not with colored stones,” Ran says absently. He guesses you want to get more use out of it. Gross.

“Okay, my compromise is whenever I wear it, you treat me like a princess, or perhaps, your queen.”

“Uh, sure,” he snorts. You already get treated better than any woman he’s ever known…by him, of course. He’s vaguely aware that some people do even more than the bare minimum, but those are other people. Baby steps.

“If that tiara is on my head, Hugh, you become a perfect and adoring gentleman.”

Ran wrinkles his nose. “What?”

“You heard me. That’s my compromise. Dress me that way and you have to treat me like royalty.”

“Like…” He rushes forward to sweep you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and thrusting his hips. “Princess Pussy?”

“Ran. Ew, no.”

“Queen Cunt?” Heh, he chuckles, King Comfort and Queen Cunt. No, don’t say that out loud.

You gag slightly. “Super not what I meant.”

“You’re already going to marry me, but you want me to worship you? No fucking way.” Ransom flat-out laughs.

“How did you get worship out of ‘treat me nicely?’” Your arms tighten around his neck, pulling your faces closer.

He exaggerates a groan. “I don’t know. That’s asking a lot.”

“Oh, right,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “Just keep on being shitty…even to your future wife. What could possibly go wrong?”

He huffs.

Ran is passionate about making you look good, not just because you are on his arm. Sure, he probably focuses on all the wrong things—all the selfish things,—but you easily think of the big picture and completely forget about yourself.

That’s already a balance. That’s already a big compromise.

And yet…

Ran’s looking at your face and admiring your playfulness when he could be ordering you to unzip his pants. He’s more excited to see you decked out pretty things than he is to say he dressed you. He’s concerned with how you refuse to spend money for you even though you’ve put no restrictions on him. That’s…that’s just a different Ransom Drysdale. That’s a man he wouldn’t recognize if he weren’t watching his reflection in your eyes.

Ran pecks a gentle kiss to your waiting lips.

“Okay, princess,” he coos, his arms snaking tighter over your back and his fingers plunging into your hair. He keeps you close, noses touching, hot breath mingling. “Shh, shhh.”

He hears the faintest whine escape you, and he just can’t help himself. He’s a petty bitch.

“Don’t worry, princess. I’ll fuck your ass.”

🙈🙇🏻‍♀️😝

sorry not sorry.

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @starkleila

[Main Masterlist; The Root of All Ransom Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#the root of all ransom #ransom drysdale x you #flufftober 2023 #day 12 #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale fluff #ransom drysdale smut #kinda

[callsignmarz]

MDNI | 18+ | König x Reader

TW: mentions of knife play, weapons, explicit language, sexual content, bondage/chains.

“Prisoner of War.” PT.2

A creditable sigh eases itself out while König watches the consequential duel between bravado and submission in your irises. Sliding his finger out from the depths of your mouth, a residual smile is left clinging onto your lips.

“I'm a whore who you desperately crave to have control over."

The words fell from your mouth with little to no trouble at all, dripping with the appalling truth. Underneath the hood, König's upper lip plucked in annoyance but he held his unwavering gaze as you taunted him with a giggle.

"Ich hasse dich. (I hate you.)"

He didn’t deny it.

How could he?

Though truth be told, hatred was the vital element that pumped through his veins all those years of tracking you down, infatuated on the day when you would finally meet your demise.

But now, you were finally at his mercy.

As it should've been from the very beginning.

In turn, you couldn’t care less if he hated you or not. All you needed was to buy enough time to make an escape and if you had to go to the extreme...then so fucking be it.

"I don't think you hate me, König. In fact, I think it's the complete opposite of that."

"Do tell, meine schatz. Because if I remember correctly, you've been nothing but a monumental pain in my ass the last few years."

"Oh, please." You scoffed. "Don't act like it didn't get your dick hard every time you saw my ass get away."  

Growing tired of your petulance, his hand forcibly clasped onto either side of your cheeks to shut you up, squeezing them uncomfortably with powerful pressure, painful enough to leave bruises beneath the pads of his fingers.

This act alone, furthered to prove your point.

His milky blue eyes, become the only thing you see as he gets in your face and whispers a new threat, one that catches you completely off guard and has you pooling in your panties.

"We'll see how much talking you'll be doing after I fuck that tight ass of yours." A sinister smile ghosts over his lips and under the hood.

The metal of the chains, collide together, sharp and angry as König rips away the chair beneath you, it skids across the floor until it crashes against the concrete wall.

In seconds, you found yourself laying flat over the table, baring your teeth as his fingers were replaced by a tactical knife, the cool steel pressing into your skin and you feel the warmth of your blood leaking down your face like thick sap oozing from a maple tree.

Your heart begins to race at a unhealthy rate with predilection igniting your nerve ending when he kicks your feet apart to position himself behind you.

"Was? (What?) Too scared to say something smart now?”

König chuckles with his eyes darkening as he gently drags the dull part of the blade from your cheek, down your neckline and roaming your back freely.

"If you didn't cause so many fucking problems for everyone, I think you and I could've...worked something out."

A fervid chill charges down your spine at the sound of his hand undoing his belt and khakis with no difficulty, leaving plenty of space for his bulge to swell as he pressed against your perfect ass.

"I bet I won't even feel a thing." You blatantly lie through your teeth.

"Hartnäckige Sache. (Stubborn thing.)" He rasped with a hidden smirk while his eyes raked over your curves, imagining how your body would looked with nothing on.

"I promise, you're going to feel all of me."

Smoothly, he reaches around, taking his sweet time to unbutton and tug your cargo pants down, bunching them mid-thigh. His cock shivers with palpable need when his eyes fall on the thin waistband of your black thong before soaking in the soft curvature you were blessed with.

"So perfekt. (So perfect.)"

Your breath hitches at leathery feel of König's gloves, tracing and caressing your delicate skin. With your mind spinning in all directions, you hardly didn't notice that you had rose to your tip toes, your body grinding into him, fueling the flames of libido.

Between your ragged breaths, you purr.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to fuck me stupid like a real man?"

#call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty fanfic #mw2 imagine #spotify #konig x y/n #konig modern warfare #konig smut #konig x you #konig call of duty #konig mw2 #konig cod #konig x reader #wattpad #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #könig smut #smut

[leonenjoyer69]

I present, from my new Lanyon drinks the potion AU (working on the name), Robert Lanyon and his HJ7 Alter ego!

Taking pictures of colored pencil drawings is the bane of my existence, bc lighting is so annoying.

Anyways!!! I've settled on the first name Elias, bc I feel like Henry would help name him and Elias is a letter off from Alias (which means a fake/pen name), so I thought that'd be funny :3 still working on the last name tho.

Yes, that is Hyde's vest that Elias is wearing. Henry gave it to him on his first night alive after clearing everything up with him and Robert about what just happened to him. Since he's near Hyde's size, Jekyll decided that he needed some clothes, at least temporarily, but Elias refuses to give it back now, despite having his own clothes. Why? Because Henry gave it to him, and he loves Henry so much. it's also Hyde's vest, who's part of Henry, so by proxy he's gotta love him too, right? How could he hate any part of Henry?

Unlike Hyde, Elias isn't some self-proclaimed evil incarnate. He's very easy to read emotionally and is very honest to everyone around him. He's very open about his feelings, which are generally very quick to change, especially towards those he cares most about (*cough* JekyllandHyde *cough*-) and he strives for praise. He likes accomplishing things and has more of a liking for "sciency stuff", he also recalls most of the doctor things that Lanyon learned from university and isn't deterred by gross things and blood. He shares hyde's wanderlust and will run around town with him, though Elias prefers parks and nature over the slums of London, and he also enjoys the rooftops.

Timeline wise, Lanyon accidentally drinks the potion after all the blackfog and queen Lucy stuff, when they "kidnap" Hyde. Specifically, it happens right before Jekyll dumps all the HJ7 down the drain- like, right before. Lanyon kinda interrupts him doing that. Henry reenters the room in the middle of Lanyon's transformation, so he's there when Elias kinda "wakes up".

Anyways, please please PLEASE ask me questions about him, I'd love to answer them :3 also, I'm currently working on a fic for this!! The first chapter is almost done I think, I just need time to actually sit down and write.

Also jejvkekkvke character design is SO HARD, shout out to people who do it all the time. Also apologies if the skin looks off in any way, I've never really used colored pencils to color any characters, much less any colored characters, so I kinda had to figure it out as I went lmao.

#tgs #the glass scientists #jekyll and hyde #tgs hyde #dr jekyll and mr hyde #edward hyde #robert lanyon #tgs fanart #tgs robert lanyon #tgs lanyon #lanyon takes the potion AU #my writing #oc: elias wright #my art

[moumouton4]

Orochimaru with an s/o who has a very animalistic way of showing affection? Love bites, growling, being possessive. That sorta thing. Thanks :)

Having A S/o With An Animalistic Way Of Showing Affection || Orochimaru x reader

A/n : Hello pumpkin ! I thank you a lot for this idea, because now it adds to my personnal hc for Oorchimaru. I'm sure he'll fucking love it 🍧✨

Warnings : no mention of gender for reader, biting, hickeys, possessivity, growling, 18+ READERS ONLY and wrap it before you tap it

Masterlist ⚜

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Word count : 587

What had drawn his to you - despite your godly body - was your strength and resilience

You were a fierce fighter and he found incredibly attracting the way you were able to display your strength in such untamed manner

You looked completely blood thirsty and he it awakened something within him

Soon after you started dating, Orochimaru encouraged to move in with him in his hideout. He wanted to have you close to him

Though he didn’t expect at all what he discovered about you then

He was really surprised to find out that the ferocity you displayed during fights didn’t come out of nowhere

You had indeed a very specific and animalistic way of showing your emotions. And affection and love were part of them

Orochimaru staying true to himself couldn’t help but be entranced by your mannerism. He’d lie if he were to say that your actions don’t most of time give him a hard on

It had a stark contrast with the way you looked - very fancy and clean - and the rawness your love was displaying

The pale skin of his and collarbone were almost always decorated with purplish loves bites you’d let in your track

And you didn't necessarily have to make love for them to appear there

You liked to sit straddling his lap no matter where he was before dipping in and planting a hickey on his skin

He always scolds you because it flusters him to think that people might think he's submissive. When in reality, it's because of him that these marks are there.

Either because he's fucking you hard and you need to bite something. Or because he's so perfect you want to keep him all to yourself

On your side it fueled you to know that others could see those marks on her body. A sign that he was taken

But the proportion of visible marks is only 5%. Nobody knew how his thighs and hips were bruised by your lips. And how passionately you sucked the skin of his torso or stomach to form a small colored stain

He's also very territorial and appreciates some of your gestures

For example, when someone you consider a rival comes too close, you grab hold of his waist and he can hear you growl lowly. He'd be willing to bet that if the person in question got too close, you'd chew his throat out with your teeth

He loves hearing your growl in his ear. Makes him want to fuck you right here and right now. And he really thinks that if you continue like this he is not going to be able to hold back

Somehow when you make love you both manage to understand the meaning of each others growl. It can be a “faster please” or an “I’m close”

You also always keep contact with him. Either clutching his arm or holding his hand

It really reassures him with his insecurities to see that you react like that next to him. And he trusts you blindly because he knows you have no filter when you express your emotions

The only moment your affection is shown a bit less wild is during your afterglow. You nestle your body close to his and enjoy the warmth of his skin - yes warmth because snakes are warm after mating

While his fingers run through your hair in a soothing motion or rub slow circles on your ass cheeks you pepper his body with open mouth kisses

~

~

A/n : I hope you guys liked it ! 🍙🍣 Again my requests are open 🥞🍳

Taglist : @foxxymunson, @cl0vr, @ilovemanypeople, @glossy1pearl, @jane57sstuff

#naruto #naruto imagine #naruto smut #naruto shippuden #naruto shippuden smut #orochimaru #orochimaru smut #orochimaru x reader #orochimaru x reader smut #orochimaru imagine #request #smut #miri-writes

[cafeinthemoon]

King - Chapter III

Chapter 3/?

Wordcount 4k

Title Dragonet

Fandom Shuumatsu no Valkyrie / Record of Ragnarok

Pairing Poseidon x reader

Previous chapters

1 . 2

Symbols ⭕ . ➕ . 🖤

Warnings: Mentions of blood and piercing; mentions of nudity

Tagging @cloveradora @the-dumber-scaramouche @mikkies @sl33py-zer0 @nooneknows8976 (If you want to be tagged in any of my stories, just leave a comment on this chapter or send an ask or a message)

N. A.: So, after almost saying sorry for the wordcount in the previous chapter, here I am with an even longer one lol I've put much effort in this one, specially bc it's the wedding night ;) (wedding nights are, apparently, on of my fav things to write).

A few words about the title: dragonets are a group/category of small, colorful fishes of "shy" behavior, greatly appreciated for people who raise fishes in aquariums. There are really interesting things about them to research :)

Also, I want to apologize in anticipation for the use of the word "manhood" in this chapter bc though I think it sounds good when it's isolated, it feels kinda ridiculous when you contextualize it (but this is just my opinion as someone who doesn't have English as their first language lol)

The Lord of the Seas, as silent as his own domain before a storm, didn’t give any signs that he has noticed your presence in the room until he stopped by your side before the altar, but a moment under his glare was enough to make you wish you were invisible.

He kept looking at your whole form, examining your appearance, that is, his servants’ work through the aspect of your hair, your skin and the gown you were wearing, analyzing your movements, the way you were staring at him, your breath, your shivers, everything. Those eyes, you guessed, were the eyes of someone who was used to have people’s lives and deaths in his hands, and you had no doubts that he could finish you right there if he decided you weren’t worthy of his time.

Fortunately for you – or not, you still didn’t know – you were worthy, and after his examinations, he opened his mouth… doing this to give you an order, as expected.

– Come forward. You are too distant from the altar.

Unlike you imagined, Poseidon had a soft, low voice, typical of a young man.

You hesitated, though you understood what was said, and for the first time a wrinkle of irritation appeared on his forehead.

– You are too distant from the altar, human.

The sentence was repeated in a slightly higher tone, but not even this was enough for you to make a move toward him. When he took one step toward you, it was the end of your self-control: you stepped back, and would have run away if he hasn’t reached you in a second. Your legs almost failed you, and it was a miracle that you didn’t let out a scream.

He raised his hand and you closed your eyes tight, too scared to see what was going to happen, but you opened them again when you felt his hand closing around your jawline; his skin was warm and his grip was far from rude.

What he did after that, however, made you doubt what you were experiencing.

First, he moved your face from one side to the other, as to verify its conditions; the second step was to raise his free hand to your ears’ height and snap his fingers beside each one, making you flinch; he then put his hand at your eyes’ height and showed you three fingers, moving them and observing as your eyes followed everything.

– Tell me – he ordered – How many fingers you see here?

You replied with some difficulty, less because your movements were limited by his hand than because of your nervousness.

– Three… – and, before you forgot the appropriate treatment, – Poseidon-sama.

Finally, he lowered his hand and let go of your jawline. Less patience was sensed in his voice when he spoke again.

�� Now, tell me. If you can talk, if you can see me, hear my voice and understand what I say... Why don’t you respond when I speak to you?

You swallowed, and no word was heard from you. You could barely raise your eyes to him, but when you did, you saw him raising an eyebrow, and the corners of his lips curving themselves in a smirk.

What? A god can do this type of thing?

Apparently, not only he could do that, but he had also proficiency in teasing.

– Are you defying me, or are you just anxious?

You felt your cheeks warming up and looked away, but not before sensing his fingers touching your hair, brushing it behind your ear.

– So quiet, so hesitant and small... – he commented; and, with a chuckle, – I thought I would find a human here tonight, but instead of this… What are you? A dragonet?

Your eyes widened at the comparison. Now he was giving you names? What kind of man was that?

Your tongue was almost freed at that moment for you to make that very question, but before the words left your mouth, Poseidon grabbed your arm.

– There is no use for shyness here, woman. Come, now. Let's finish this.

He then led you to the spot he originally ordered you to take.

Now that you were seeing the altar from close, you could see details that went unnoticed before. For example, alongside the earrings, there was a white, folded piece of fabric on the tray, which use you didn’t find hard to guess: in case the bride didn’t have her ears pierced already, she would bleed, and the fabric would keep her clean. You used to wear earrings, but your last pair was taken away during the preparations for the wedding, as well as any other metallic object or jewel you might have had with you, so that you would be at least spared from the pain and the mess.

Poseidon took one of the pearls and approached it from your lips, holding it with his fingertips.

– Kiss it.

You obeyed, despite the strangeness of the instruction. He then moved your hair away from your right ear, exposing it, as well as your neck and collar, and pinned the earring on your lobe. You flinched at his touch, but one look from him and you stopped avoiding his hands.

The process was repeated with the second pearl, and you knew that the easiest part of the ceremony was over.

Poseidon was the first to speak after it.

– These pearls are the sign of the Emperor’s wives – he started – Not only for the others, but for yourself. From now on, your heart, your mind, your body and your spirit belong to me. Whenever I tell you to come, you come. When I tell you to leave, you leave. When I tell you to speak, you do it, and if I want you to be silent, you do it as well. You will carry my children, and only them; no one else can touch you and stay alive, for these pearls must be their only warning. No attempt of removing them will be tolerated, nor even if they come from yourself. Always remember this, and you will stay in my favor.

Finally, he raised the back of his right hand and told you to kiss it, as the ultimate sign of your compliance. No, you weren’t really agreeing with all of that; you never asked or expected it, but you gave him the kiss. You knew it was marking a permanent change in your life, but how many things have already changed since you were taken away from home? Even when you were trapped in the depths of the seas, marked as a god’s belonging, you still had hopes of finding your way, if not out of his domain, at least through it, but you would have to navigate between many things to get there, most of them unpleasing. You still had to learn where you were stepping into, and for this you had to study the territory.

Your study already began, with your arrival at the lodge and your friendship with Alyssa, and now it would continue with this strange wedding.

With the kiss, the ceremony was over. Poseidon held your wrist and, without any additional explanation, walked you around the altar, to the doors through which he arrived. With one hand, he pulled them, and a new path appeared before you.

His steps were steady, too fast for you to follow without panting; you would have stayed behind if he wasn’t holding you. At some point, when you almost stumbled, he finally stopped and turned to you, disappointed.

– Too slow.

You just stared at him, unable to speak.

– Humans used to be a bit stronger in the past – and, assuming a more serious tone, – I am not sure if I like what I see now.

And before you could think of a reaction, he grabbed you by your waist and threw you over his shoulder. You let out a little scream, and had no response from him but a tightening on his grip before he continued to walk on the same pace as before.

This is so humiliating.

The only advantage of this – if you could call it an advantage – was that you were spared from any anxiety that a longer trip to the chambers where your marriage would be consummated would provoke.

***

Poseidon only put you down when you passed the chambers’ entry, closing the door behind him.

You immediately stepped away from him when you reached the floor. You haven’t gone too far when you felt a warm, comfortable texture under your feet; you looked down and found a black carpet that covered the entire place, forming what seemed to be a black sea.

It was when you realized the wideness of that place.

It was like two or three rooms with your lodge’s size were built together, but without walls to separate them, and the existing ones were even higher, leading to a ceiling that reminded you of the skies out there, toward which you saw the bright star flying at that night. All around you, there was a cold, bluish light that touched everything, from the decorations on the walls and the furniture to your skin and gown, yet your sight was as good as if you were under the daylight.

Some meters ahead you, at your left, there was an enormous canopy bed with four columns and a golden shell on the top of each one, and with curtains and sheets so dark that they could be black or indigo under that light; the curtains were opened, but you couldn’t help wondering if you’d feel like drowning in an abyssal zone if they were closed around you. Not so far from it, there was a small table with a bottle upon it.

There’s oppression in each corner of this room.

All of this you noticed the instant when the door was being locked behind you; you turned to it, passing your arms around yourself. Your wedding night was going to happen, then.

Poseidon turned to you and, when he started walking at you direction, Proteus’ advice came back to your mind in a flash.

Trust the silence, the modesty and the compliance, and everything will be good for you.

Everything would be good if you chose to become his Lord’s wife. If you acted like he instructed, you would survive.

But would you still be you?

Anything that goes beyond this you will do at your own risk.

He spoke as if your death was a certainty in case you dared speak. However, if you didn’t do anything now, you would lose what made you human.

My freedom.

And maybe Proteus-sama needed to know more about humans, because if he understood that trying to prevent you from doing something by threatening you with the unknown was the precise way to encourage you to do it, he would never speak like that to you.

To him, my voice means my death. But, to me, it always meant change.

And because, besides a human, you were also a merchant.

And the best thing a merchant does is to trade.

You stopped trembling, and decided to make your first offer.

Right now, Poseidon was going to untie the stripes of his robe, but was still dressed with it. You pulled back and knelt on the carpet, with your palms before your head and your face hidden upon the ground.

You couldn’t see Poseidon’s expression when he saw that, but a sort of annoyance – and maybe a bit of confusion – was sensed in his voice.

– What is the meaning of this? Are you really going to beg for my favor right now?

You tried not to stutter in your reply.

– Yes, my Lord.

You heard him sigh.

– Well, whatever. What do you want to ask?

It was the moment.

– Please, my Lord… Kill me.

Now, a slight change in his voice was sensed: whatever he imagined you asking for, it was clear that he wasn’t expecting something like this.

– What?

You raised your eyes to him, afraid of going too far but eager to observe the emotions on his face while you spoke:

– Please... Kill me... Make me one of your servants... Or just throw me away... But do not make me a mother.

It was hard to tell if Poseidon was shocked or offended by your request. The best you could say was that he was intrigued.

– Do you understand what you are asking from me, human? I can finish you with a move of my hand if I want, yet you would prefer this rather than having my children? – and with a hint of indignation, – What kind of plead is this?

You couldn’t risk his patience now, as much as you couldn’t risk having your request denied. You took a moment to adjust your posture, kneeling with your hands upon your lap, not looking directly into his eyes, then started to speak lower, as if opening your heart to him.

– Poseidon-sama, if you give me a death like this, I would be honored. But if you make me bear a child, it would be the longest, the most painful death I can think of – your hands gripped on your gown – Please, show your wife mercy and don’t give her such fate.

The Lord of the Seas spent a moment observing you. Then, without saying a word, he turned his back on you and walked toward a corner of the room, out of your sight. When he came back, you shivered: he has now returned to his previous spot and had his Trident with him.

So... this is the fate he chose for me.

His grip around the weapon’s base increased, and he extended it toward you in the blink of an eye. You only had time to bow your head...

But the strike never came.

You looked again, and found the three blades pointing at you, at your eyes’ height, the metal shinning under the blue light.

He's not going to kill me, then?

– Touch it – he instructed – Beware of the blades.

You understood you were supposed to put your fingers upon the symbol beyond the blades, and did it. Despite not being made of the same material of them, it was sharp, and freezing to the touch. With all the possible caution, you moved your hand away, back to your lap, and the Trident was pulled back to his owner’s side.

– Here you have it. The sign of my favor. Now, on your feet.

You obeyed and he went to return the Trident to its place, then passed by the small table where you saw the bottle. He opened it and brought it to you: it was an interesting object, with an elliptical shape and a rounded cap, entirely decorated with small, reddish jewels and aged gold. Before you understood what was going on, he grabbed your jawline just like he did before and approached the bottle’s neck to your lips, making you swallow part of the content. You took two shots of the fluid, cold and bittersweet down your throat.

You coughed a bit when he moved the bottle away, putting it back on the table.

– What is this, my Lord? – you had the nerve to ask.

– I am simply answering your request – his reply was unfazed – With this, you will not be able to conceive for one month. The next month, on the same day, you will take it again.

You frowned.

– I don’t understand. If my request will be answered, why do I have to...

You never finished the sentence. You blinked and the next thing you knew it was your lips being silenced with his index finger, after he returned to your side in an instant. Apparently, moving so fast that mortal eyes can barely follow him was one of the Sea Lord’s abilities, something that you supposed to be both impressive and lethal.

He had the same smirk as before when he replied to you.

– Let me tell you something, dragonet. Killing you, thus making you a subject of my elder brother, would be rather a waste after bringing you here. Even worse would be making you a servant with these frail hands of yours – he grabbed your wrists and approached your right ear, whispering – And, concerning sending you away... do you think you would survive as a rejected offer? Do you even understand what it means?

You opened your mouth in shock and he chuckled.

– Not even your people would have mercy on you.

You remembered the relief in Alyssa’s tone when she said she was glad for being accepted.

So, there’s really a taboo surrounding rejected offers.

You didn’t have much time to think of this. You felt his arm passing around your waist and pulling you to him, in a way that you were forced to stay on tip toes, your hands upon his chest, with no chance to escape. With his free hand, Poseidon took a lock from your hair, approaching it from his nostrils, smelling it intensely as he let it slip between his fingers.

– Finally, I conceded you the favor of not becoming a mother, but you are still my wife, you understand? – he approached his lips to your neck, brushing them on your skin as he spoke – You were the one who took me out of boredom this year with this absurd request of yours. Who told you I would not want to see more of you?

Your eyes widened with that. So, he was indeed willing to keep you around.

Staying this close to him was not that bad, though: not only he was handsome, but his body was warm and the fabric of his robe was soft; besides, from him you could sense a deep, addicting fragrance that reminded you of the sweetness of flowers, with a hint of the salinity of the seas. You inhaled it in silence, wondering if it was elaborated to make women compliant.

All of this was observed carefully by Poseidon, and what he said to you about it made you hold your breath.

– Not only this, but you are a terrible liar, you know? – he whispered in your ear – I can sense, smell, your warmth, your arousal from here... It is still just a tiny bit, but it can always get better…

Just like at the beach, when you stood with the water at your waist and your body was too slow to react and avoid the next wave, there was no way to escape the one brought by the god who commanded all of them: the strength of his arm keeping you close to him, having only the thin fabric of his robe and your gown to separate you; his fragrance, which you still weren’t sure to be a perfume or his natural scent; his breath upon your ear, your neck as he spoke; his voice, soft and composed yet youthful, sweet even in the coldest threats and mockery, invading your thoughts like a lullaby, numbing your senses, making his authority acceptable.

If this is what facing a god feels like… how do I fight him?

Not knowing how, you didn’t fight. However, you hoped that one day you would find the answer, for the path to it was right there with you.

The answer is himself.

This thought barely crossed your mind when Poseidon suddenly released you from his grip, and you almost fell. Before you did, you felt his hand holding your left arm, while the other grabbed your gown by the cleavage and pulled it with no hesitation; in a second, the pretty piece was turned into shreds that were promptly discarded with one move of his hand.

You covered your mouth, then your chest with the shock. That was the reason behind that servant’s laughter and the enigmatic response of her partner: you didn’t receive anything more because you wouldn’t need anything more.

His eyes passed all over you, in a way that nothing escaped from them – not even the tremble in your legs. It wasn’t clear that if he approved what he saw, but whatever he might have found displeasing, he would discuss it with his servants later. You pitied them for the tyrannical lord they had to serve.

Poseidon let go of your arm and unraveled the stripe of his robe, getting rid of it as fast as he did with your gown. The blue fabric fell to his feet, exposing everything and making you understand that it wasn’t for nothing that he held such prideful posture.

He was perfect in every possible detail.

At that moment, none of you spoke, and you kept observing, feeling something between embarrassment and awe: the absence of flaws impressed and enchanted you, from the uniformed tone of his skin, to the thin, golden layers of hair shinning over it in different parts of his body; the line of his muscles, as defined as if made of marble; his broad chest and strong arms; the shape of his abdomen, his groins and manhood; his firm thighs and legs. It was hard not to imagine yourself being held, touched, taken by him, and that was precisely what he wanted you to think of, for he stood there long enough for you to catch all those details, fix them in your mind and give room to desire.

Of course. He expects me to give him my undivided attention.

And it was the easiest thing for him to get it, you had to admit.

He came closer to you again, but unlike you imagined, he didn’t surround you with his arms: instead, he held your left shoulder as to keep you in place while his free hand held your chin, in a way that looked more like a study than an attempt of seduction.

– I am going to prepare you first – he spoke more to himself than to you – Most humans use kisses for this type of thing, don’t they? It worked with the previous one – his thumb caressed your lips as he approached his own, whispering – It might work for you as well…

And it worked. As he approached his mouth and put it over yours, you closed your eyes, afraid that he would just suffocate you with greed, but none of this happened: he started with small, brief touches on your lips and the corners of them; noticing your compliance, he made the kisses longer and experimented with them, sucking your lower lip, opening your mouth to reach your tongue with his, while his hands started caressing your face, your neck and shoulders, then go all over your body, warming up your skin; they were strong, but didn’t lack gentleness.

As he extended his kisses to your chin, your neck and collarbone, with his hands continuing to work on the rest, you began to feel sleepy, even relaxed.

Even when humans aren’t common here, he really knows how to do it with them. Maybe these things are not that different with other folks.

When Poseidon understood it was the right time, he took you in his arms and carried you to the canopy bed. Concretizing your fear, he indeed closed the curtains when he laid you on the mattress, so the apprehension of being surrounded by darkness couldn’t be denied, but at the same time it was good not to have yourself exposed as before.

As cold ripples that reach your feet when you first enter the sea, you felt his hands touching your feet, then your legs; it tickled you, but when you tried to move them away, you sensed his hand closing around your ankle and pulling you down to him.

– Where are you going, dragonet? – he put his body over yours, and you sensed his hand leaning on the sheets beside your head – It is too late for this.

You didn’t reply. With his other hand, he searched for your mouth, and carried on with the kisses when he found it. At the same time, you felt his knee moving your leg to the side, separating it from the other as he laid upon you.

You were now one of Poseidon’s wives.

#shuumatsu no valkyrie poseidon #record of ragnarok poseidon #poseidon x reader #snv poseidon #ror poseidon #snv x reader #ror x reader #ror poseidon x reader #snv poseidon x reader

[sn0wbat]

a row of einarrs because.... why not tbh.

honestly i just wanted to have a reference for his hair and skin colors at different ages. he changed a bit

details under cut

toddler

born very light blond

still very baby

child

hair may start darkening, as is usual with most natural blondes.

turned out to be surprisingly good at sewing, placing him with the women at an earlier age than usual. :^)

he was trying to give his dress a more masculine tunic cut, because he liked it more for some reason. unfortunately, he did it maybe a little too well.

still a bit clueless about his gender situation, but Something Felt Off

really liked roleplaying... you will never guess what gender all his best characters were. (boys. they were all boys.)

teen

so apparently lye bleach was a thing?? anyway he probably did that with his hair at this point.

came out as a boy 🏳️‍⚧️

going by einarr for real now

father immediately accepted him, mother not so much.

constantly wearing an oversized capelet over his entire torso because he was dysphoric as hell.

fledgling vampire (age 24-40)

ah, the hubris of exploring on his own while the rest of the group were trying to pillage this mysteriously empty castle. it's an old ruin. and those just intrigue him a lot. they are fascinating to him

anyway so basically he ran into a vampire while going viking. ended up in a duel. died.

in his early vampire years, his growing bat form's white fur started to overtake his existing hair color. kinda similar to graying hair.

once he realized how hardy vampires were, did top surgery on himself with a sword.

then he had to stitch himself up. with his existing sewing skills - a skillset deemed to be very feminine at the time. something poetic about that i feel

stuck in a castle. doesn't escape until he's like 50

middle vampire (age 200-700)

hair has already gone fully pale a long time ago.

skin is getting paler. more purple in tone.

ears are slowly growing in size, gaining transparency along with it

however, has also figured out how to blend in with humans again at this time (through vampiric illusions that make him look mortal)

peasant for a while. growing dislike of kings and authority figures. ends up joining the pirates in his seventh (?) century

has been caught drinking blood from humans, has been caught stealing from the rich, and has been to jail several times. usually escaped pretty easily with vampire powers. has been responsible for at least one mass jailbreak

the look of his clothing actually shifted a lot over all these centuries, but this art wasn't really focused on clothes, so i just picked something basic

ancient vampire (900+)

skin gone blue. fangs gone long.

ears reached their max size a while ago.

gotten quite nostalgic; started to wear norse-style clothing in his own time again. it's comfy and familiar!

among the mortals it has been many centuries of trying to match contemporary fashions. genuinely enjoys working with textiles though, so it's no big deal. yeah he still does this.

cannot keep up a human disguise for more than a couple hours... maintaining an illusion gets exhausting when it's so many things at once.

mostly goes for fish blood these days. it's not the greatest blood, but he likes the taste of it the most and it's less of a hassle to get when he's at sea all the time.

avoids the greater vampire community. he feels it's too much drama all the time, all while they just tend to think of him as a hermit, and well. they're not wrong.

has been known to take some odd jobs here and there, pretending to be mortal.

i did not actually intend to write down this much but!! i just like him a lot. gotta stop myself from writing too much. there's so much more i could say about him, but we'd be here forever

#low stakes 🦇 #my art #sure vampires can age but it's really really really slow #he turned at like 24. he's over a thousand years old now #i'd assume he'd look at least a little more mature at this point #no this is not supposed to be his entire history but i got a bit carried away writing this so you get a good chunk of it anyway

[horizon-verizon]

The show gives Rhaenyra's characteristic nervous habit of playing with her rings to Alicent in having Alicent shows her nerves through picking her fingers' skin, sans rings. But Rhaenyra/Emma D'Arcy, has no obvious outward expression of anxiety, whilst Young Alicent/Emilia Carey does (but not Olivia Cooke? where is the consistency?).

They gave Rhaenyra's canonical black/red dress reveal-and-entry to Alicent in her green-dress moment of episode 5. Rhaenyra's entry in canon is: her declaring political opposition to the already formed green faction; autonomous monarchial claim against Alicent and Otto's attempts to lessen the legitimacy of that; where she draws that claim from (the colors representing her house, her blood connection, and Viserys choosing her); AND her defying Alicent's domestic attempts at ruining her self esteem or disconnect her from her roots. It was her first real moment of triumph. Whereas canonically Alicent is one of Rhaenyra's antagonists; Alicent was the one who independently and intentionally used female chastity (a principle of sexual repression for women) against Rhaenyra to tarnish her reputation and public image in order to raise dissent against her and her prospective reign. And make her son seem even more desirable...which didn't work, as she continues and eventually has to imprison people to make way for herself and Aegon the Elder.

Second, not only does what HotD did steal most of Rhaenyra's agency and boldness to give to their diluted version of Alicent and incorrectly center her as if she were the protagonist of this story, it makes Alicent, of all people, the one who experiences the a central problem of this story: societal misogyny. It removes Alicent's accountability and suggests that Rhaenyra is the problem. That whatever Show!Alicent perceives Rhaenyra to have done (lied to her, didn't stay "chaste" like her by sleeping with a person outside of marriage, didn't recognize her queenly authority how she thinks she should...when all that actually matters is Viserys' word AND it is actually Otto who put her in the position she is in to fear absolutely knowing what that portion entails [as he thinks]), that is the wrong being done here....when it is really Show!Otto's ambition.

Some may say, after watching this show, that Rhaenyra should have observed her friend's anxiety as she was "talking" with Viserys...but Rhaenyra 1) lost her mother just a few months (presumably) earlier 2) is just coming into her heir duties and activities, one of which was her choosing her personal guard in the various candidates Otto tries to present to her, and we see in that particular point that she also had to come up against people doubting her, questioning her...why? because she is both young and female. It does not require much imagination to figure out that Rhaenyra was going through her own stuff that justifiably draws her attention away from Alicent, who could have also told her what was going on but didn't. 3) By principle, Rhaenyra was also developing her own life and growing into her own adulthood -- making a life for herself.

Where would she have the emotional bandwidth to catch everything going on with her friend in the face of all mentioned?! In relationships, we take turns to support the other. Rhaenyra is the one with less room to do something since her fears, duties, grief, loneliness, and prerogative to live all are present and probably emotionally overwhelming, understandably making her less aware of others when the are not either the focus or means to accomplishing those ends of monarchial duties or alleviating misery. Alicent is fully aware of what's happening and knows that it would hurt Rhaenyra' emotional and political position even worse to follow through without resistance...yet chooses not to tell her and maybe thinks of ways to resist, even with Rhaenyra.

And again, even that ambition is being denied to Alicent herself, who canonically drives much of the green cause by attacking Rhaenyra since the latter was 10 before the war begins until her grand moment of calling the green council.

Thirdly, all of these changes...just to ultimately create confusion in narrative direction and switch/reduce the philosophical and political priorities (are we against misogyny or against others having what we want but deny ourselves because we actually like the patriarchy that has actually victimized us?). We have fallen from criticizing how women with internalized misogyny target other women to gain whatever power a patriarchy seems to bestow them to what HotD gives us -- a woman not being rewarded by being "good" and compliant with the patriarchy, as if compliance is the answer to escape the suffering caused by the oppressve forces one is told to comply with and obey! So the message is that we should always follow and conform with unjust social hierarchies?!

The fourth problem with what HotD did is that in the writers' probable justification of not giving Rhaenyra her dress moment because viewers should already know that red and black are her families colors and that they will deduce that the blacks' name come from that, they reduced all of what I point out the moment meant in canon to it being "obvious" why the blacks are called the blacks.

Fifthly, the Hightowers' colors are not even green. If anything it would be silver or grey! And the firelight the Hightower tower basis the usual red, orange, and yellow in real life and in their sigil. So not only did they remove Rhaenyra's agency-practicing moment, they moved away from the fact that Alicent chose green independently as her own faction and cause' color. She was staking a claim herself, for herself! And as @mononijikayu says in the linked reblogs, green-as-the-color-Alicent-chooses thematically works to show how her own envy, greed, ambition, and tyranny subsequently has her lose all of her children and die alone and delirious. Similar to how Jaehaerys I's tyranny and misogyny against his own family causes him to be completely alone the day he died, as Saera was his only living relative aside from Viserys, Daemon, and Aemma Arryn, who all did not seem to care about the man one way or another nor were raised close to him.

This user/anonymous asker told me how some green stans give Daemon's narrative of self sacrifice for family and faction to Aemond.

The show refused to give Mysaria and Daemon his and Mysaria's grief over their baby's loss and a justification of anger against Viserys other than not being made his Hand, but it will very likely give Aemond an arc of passion with Alys Rivers and a pregnancy partially to mimic the "children having children" arc they gave to Alicent and partially to facilitate the idea of him making mistake after mistake from him maybe choosing "fuck duty", or just running from it (Ryan Condal's "theory of reactions and accidents") as this other user contemplates. Meanwhile, Mysaria and Daemon were always in a consensual relationship even if he was definitely exploiting her being in SW....and Alys was Aemond's war prize and sex slave, so there was no consent there--to all the shippers of the latter. (And if she did have visions, and she told Aemond that he should meet Daemon and where to find him....it is also very possible that she saw Aemond die....such a situation leads me to believe that this was not the sunshine and roses relationship many green stans like to think.) [8/30/23] AND the show cheapens Daemon's contention with Viserys after his habitation in Dragonstone to his just fucking around to fuck around, as this Twitter user named Branwyn the Half-witch says:

Mysaria’s pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage (which hardened Daemon’s heart against his brother) to Daemon just messing around for no reason. It removes any sympathetic or human motive Daemon has for his rebelliousness, and ditto for Mysaria.

Yes, Daemon loves his chaos to a degree…but that is to a degree and circumstantial. Viserys definitely committed wrongs against Dameon, which motivates Daemon to "act out" or ignore/defy him. Plus, as hamliet explains, there is a pattern of Mysaria being concerned or affected by the loss of children from her own loss of a child by Viserys forcing Daemon to abandon her. As a sex worker, she's not "allowed" to grow a family or obtain some sort of self-sustenance outside of the exploitative sex industry embedded within this patriarchal system. Thus, it is likely she targeted Nettles, arranged for Blood & Cheese to kill either Aegon or one of his kids, & gave away the information about Maelor to Heleana (triggering Helaena to kill herself) to strike back against any Targ...perhaps. [check out hamliet's breakdown of Mysaria's motivations for doing all she did after being exiled HERE] NUANCE!

The show made it much easier to see Rhaenyra as the aggressor against Criston....meanwhile it's too arguable that even as young as Rhaenyra was at the time (15), she'd ever go for Criston when you read the account (in order: HERE, HERE, HERE, and HERE). That it was most likely Criston who wanted Rhaenyra and she rejected him while he tried something. It is especially important to note this part of the text I didn't include that is between the last two quotes I do give:

However it happened, whether the princess scorned the knight or he her, from that day forward the love that Ser Criston Cole had formerly borne for Rhaenyra Targaryen turned to loathing and disdain, and the man who had hitherto been the princess’s constant companion and champion became the most bitter of her foes.

Thus relying more on Mushroom's (the arguably most unreliable narrator and source for the events pre and during and post-Dance -- those who will try to make anything sexual and exaggerate just to self-aggrandize and attention) account of how Rhaenyra and Criston fell out......sure.

It refused to insert or to imagine any of Aegon and Aemond's pre-Dance misogyny towards Rhaenyra (an example) that would have existed following Alicent teaching them all how to view her. Or any of his pre-Dance viciousness: "Two years later, she produced a daughter for the king, Helaena; in 110 AC, she bore him a second son, Aemond, who was said to be half the size of his elder brother, but twice as fierce ("A Question of Succession"). Aemond's probable bullying of the V boys made into Aegon, his own brother, being one of his bullies despite this quote and its emphasis that no matter what Viserys tried, all five boys couldn't get along and that the green boys resented the V boys for taking what they thought was theirs.

But sure, we get Show!Daemon obviously kill his wife with a rock -- not even an assassin -- despite the fact that he was at the Stepstones, still fighting and preoccupied, when Rhea died and it took a few more days after the nine it took for her to die for him to even be notified of her death and travel to the Vale AND what we know about horses (reblogs of @the-king-andthe-lionheart's post....forgot to credit and tag). The same woman who would have, if she had been able to sit up and talk, immediately name foul play with her canon dislike of Daemon.

As I mentioned before above, this show even removes Alicent's biggest and game-changing, plot-driving, self-determined act to convene the green council while purposefully leaving Viserys' body to rot over to the council members acting under Otto and ignoring her until she has to yell at them, and even that is ignored as we see her wrestle against Otto to bring Aegon in. Instead of them working together to do so, illustrating further how a woman can work with patriarchal authorities and use the power the system allows her to block another woman. The most memorable thing adult Show!Alicent did was to gives her feet over to Larys to drool over in a very disturbing voyeuristic scene, just so she gets information...this show is even more misogynist and unrealistic towards Alicent than the book/the maesters could ever be, for the sake of making Alicent a victim instead of a woman who decided to use power for power's sake. Because apparently that's an anomaly or a sexist take...that women could hurt themselves, their children, the children of others, and other women who arguably are in similar sociopolitical positions for power.

And because they aged Alicent down, her kids are all supposed to be aged down, so that in itself can and has drawn more sympathy (whether intentional or not) for the greens for what will happen in the next season to them. And I mean for locals who've never read the book or just its account of the Dance.

While we get no other scenes of how Alicent and Rhaenyra even interacted and how their relationship became nothing (ignore Alicent of episodes 8-9, this is such a terrible switch up because it makes no psychological sense) during the time between the 6th and 7th episode, how Alicent would have a isolated, victimized, antagonized, and pressured Rhaenyra as we saw her do at the 6th episode's council. Because, apparently, these women can still theoretically become friends again even after all of this AND Lucerys' and Visenya's deaths?

But then you can't tell a good or fair story about a feudal family, about "generational conflict"...without showing how two of those generations....fought each other at home AND then at war.

#rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #hotd characterization #aemond targaryen #daemon targaryen #daemon vs aemond #hotd critical #hotd season 1 #hotd male gaze #hotd misogyny #rhaenyra and feminism #rhea royce #team black thoughts #daemon and rhea royce #hotd comment #male gaze #hotd green-washing #hotd rant #asoiaf #hotd

[gaphic]

hi im really interested in your hot takes on the classpects. as i was reading through that post about how homestuck is about breaking or following the narrative my first thought was about how this probably leads to a very different interpretation of the classpects than ive usually seen, but im not sure if im familiar enough to think it all out myself - and then i saw you mention offhand you have Hot Takes about it so. color me curious?

YOU ARE QUITE RIGHT IN THAT ASSESSMENT!

ok here's my take: it's literally Not That Deep. sburb is an incomplete RPG, not a deity or a greater consciousness. it doesn't actually know what is good for the players personal development. it is entirely skin-deep.

this is reflected in the performatively hollow echeladder mechanic, and in the sprites- who, lest we forget, are NPCs. that's why they're so 'mysterious.' they exist only to keep players on track, and 'the following quest objectives are HIGHLY PERSONALIZED to help you reach your full potential! great answers await you!' is a line written to serve that purpose. jaspersprite drops the facade a little bit and reveals he has no idea what he's talking about, the game is just making him say it

in keeping with this, classpects are not determined by people deep interior selves. they are determined by surface-level observations and by party optimization. the game generates a handful of possible classpects based on traits like 'bookish,' 'pirate' and 'cheerful,' then cross-references that with balanced team builds. the alpha session, being less complete, lacks the party optimization algorithm

Roxy is a do-good hacker (criminal) who uses an appearifier, she's a rogue who makes stuff appear out of nothing. Dirk carries on about being a leader and being toxic, he's a prince who destroys souls. Jake is weak/insecure and ignores reality, he's the 'untapped potential' class with the power to imagine things into existence. Jane is the only one who seems a little less literal, and I suspect that has to do with the Condesce, since she was the one who released the sburb alpha. Condy is a life player, therefore Jane is a life player (plus, she has that penchant for foiling assassination attempts, avoiding death) and she's a maid because Condy wants a handmaid

Aradia robs graves, Dave collects dead things, Caliborn is into murder, time is the death aspect. Callie, Jade, and Kanaya are all artists, space is the creation aspect. Karkat fantasizes about being a member of the royal army and he's obsessed with his blood, he's a knight of blood. I could go on but you get the point lol. classpects are superficial and depend heavily on what balances well, not your personal truth

likewise, I think your average '[closest object to you] + [current weather condition] = your sburb planet' type meme is pretty much exactly how the sburb planets actually work. they're not 'designed to challenge people' beyond the literal quest challenges

i think this reading immediately clears up a lot of apparent inconsistencies in the comic, like how Dave's planet is his own personal hell while Vriska's planet is her own personal heaven. the game doesn't actually know how they feel about these things or what would help them grow