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mooishbeam · 8 months

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『♡』 In the Ring

♡ featuring: boxer!wriothesley x manager!reader

♡ summary: its hard managing a boxer full time. maybe it's time you relieve that stress. wc: 6.8k+ (???>":>?)

♡ cw/tw: mentions of trauma, mentions of violence, rough sex, overstim, face-sitting, size kink, unintentional edging, hair pulling, mentions of choking, argument, confessed feelings, slow burn, kinda toxic?

notes: can u tell how down bad i am for wriothesley. also do yall like the smaller text cause I do. jing yuan fluff next :)) art by sxnalien on twitter! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

For a second, the crowd stills. Bright intense lamps illuminate the sweltering squared circle, buoyant under the nimble movement of the boxers. They trade blows, bobbing and throwing each devastating hook with an even deadlier counter. No one took a hit for the past minutes, and the audience scoots to the edge of their seats at the sheer stamina of the two. Both dripping sweat, barely holding on between the merciless clock and their steadfast opponent. You can almost hear the breeze of swift jabs cutting wind against their jaws. The one with blue gloves can barely manage to guard himself, with a swollen face and wobbly legs, while the crimson gloves deal relentless punches. The crowd shouts. Unintelligible echoes, some that pray for the win, others grieving the money they’re about to lose. He’s caught on the ropes, and attempts a wild swing to save himself, to save his career. Red gloves weaves effortlessly and delivers a brutal crush to his bloodied nose and possibly busted mouthpiece. The crack is resounding, it makes the commentators cringe. His skull flies back, and he comes crashing down from his dizzying tower. The head-first fall vibrates beneath the feet of investors in proximity.

DING DING DING

Mass uproar ensues. They jump out of their seats, flailing their arms, joy and pain in equilibrium.

“And he is out! It’s all over!” the commentator yells. Confetti floats golden dust from the ceiling. The victor stalks the ropes before hopping on them, his gloves raised in the air. Glistening, high off elation, but somehow composed in his attitude, akin to a wolf.

“A savage knockout from the untouchable world champion, the king of the ring, Wriooothesley!”

“Wrio, Wrio, Wrio!” they chant. You’re standing near the ropes, already identifying which joints you’ll need to observe after his victory lap. It’s hectic, and you’re jotting down the state of his figure. Past experiences sew through each deep scar carving his rugged biceps and abs, the bruises display early signs of discoloration. He’s tall on the unseen throne, it feels like you’re there with him. A million eyes in that vast stadium, and yet, those midwinter eyes ebbed in silver only look at you.

Your beginnings as a manager were tumultuous. You could barely comprehend how out of your league you were working for a renowned agency fresh out of college. Though you found quick success in your ability to grab the attention of investors through public relations, you weren’t equipped just yet with the hindsight in preparing for scandals. The other athletes you worked with served no problem, and so you never had to worry about their appeal. Higher ups praised your extensive portfolio, and at such a young age, it was even more commendable. You earned it, fame and respect, interviews and gossip—a delicate dance. You were always busy, assisting your clients throughout the day and maintaining their presence while they slept. It was hard work, but you loved doing it.

That was until you worked with amateur boxer, Childe.

A snappy, overconfident lightweight fighter with no regard for anything or anyone. He had an unmistakable void in his eyes, but you fought for him ceaselessly, to prove that he wasn’t the cold person he portrayed himself as. You bore with his flirtatious compliments and innuendos, the need to focus him whenever you documented his afflictions, and he’d not-so-subtly flex his biceps. Childe was unnecessarily violent with underhanded tactics. The media knew this and did everything to amplify that bellicose story. You’d combat it, negate it, but he only fed the flames with threats of retaliation. Taking his phone wasn’t enough, and you couldn’t get through to him. It was only a matter of time before he went off the deep end.

The day you slept, you discovered a restlessness you’d endure indefinitely. The flickering glow of your device woke you at midnight as hundreds of notifications congested your screen. 128 missed calls from your agency, 50 from news sources, and none from Childe. When you processed the damage from his deplorable stunt, you nearly hurled your phone out the window. He posted revenge porn, and evidently turned off his phone. Surely, there’d be a way to fix this. The chances seemed to dissolve with each text turning green. You started pacing, battling with morality and loyalty and anger. What he did was disgusting, but it’s your job to save him, right? Is he worth saving? You spoke with 4 managers at once, switching through motives and bickering until morning. As you flipped through the television, another emotion struck you.

There he was, on a tasteless gossip channel. An interview you didn’t arrange, with a man you’ve never seen before. And he was...crying? The sob story emitting from his deceitful lips was almost impressive. Childe went on about how “demanding and horrible” you were backstage. The crocodile tears dried up through dodgy anecdotes, but it was enough to have people hooked. You were allegedly physically and emotionally abusive. He was too scared to speak up due to your position and he just couldn’t bear it any longer. Then he dropped the bomb; he blamed you for his post. You forced him to do it, jealous of his previous partners, emphasizing how enamored you were of him. The questionable tears began to fall again, but this time he covered his mouth, withholding the duping smile crawling on his face.

You were filled with blinding rage, unable to control the fury at which your remote connected with the screen. It was everywhere now, social media websites booming with live opinions. He had no reason to slander you, and you couldn’t pinpoint why he chose to hurt you like this. You cried for him, shared stories of childhood and family. The knife you used to protect him was firm in your back, twisting and digging with each disgusting message in your inbox. You had no game plan to conduct, and no tears left to cry.

Within a week, you finally understood how cruel this industry could be. Within a week, you were no longer on top. You lost clients fast. It spread like wildfire and not a single outlet spared an ear for your side. People you called friends, coworkers, hadn’t replied to your messages. When you got back to work, the rooms were silent as you passed. You could feel their judgement, whispers rattled with rumors and accusations. They waited for the tiniest slip-up and pounced like hyenas—you were eaten alive by their pitiful stares. You attempted to tell your truth multiple times throughout the week, but it was consistently rejected. The headlines were eye-catching:

“Manager From Hell: Childe Tells All!”

“He Cries: A Story of Love and Jealousy”

Your stomach churned to the magazines being shown. Despite the great amount of loss you suffered, you were thankful for the one person that believed you, your boss.

“Childe is a lying little snake. The media knows that, too.”

“Then why is this happening?”

“Money. That story is making bank right now. But I know for a fact you wouldn’t do this” he reassured.

“Thank you, sir. But...I lost everything; I just don’t know what to do.” The weariness was heavy in your voice.

“I have someone you can manage. It won’t be easy, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.” You were unsure of yourself now, and he continued.

“You’re one of my best. If you want to climb out of this, now’s your chance.” Yes, you were unsure, drowning in doubt. But if the only way to get above water was to keep swimming, you wouldn’t give up so easily.

Wriothesley wasn’t exactly known for his kindness. Crude, cocky, maybe even spoiled were descriptions that circulated in the tabloids. He had a knack for pissing reporters off by not answering questions or humming over their voice with a shit-eating grin on his face. Women loved him, however, throwing bras and phone numbers written on scrap as the condemned “bad boy” departed post-game. They screamed his name at once, and he’d done nothing to deserve it. He relished infamy—that way, it was much harder to pry into his private life.

It had to be a coincidence that it was someone you fangirled over. In college, your eyes were glued to the screen every Sunday, waiting for Wriothesely’s post-conference and behind the scenes interviews. He didn’t speak often, but just the sight of those inky strands streaked with ash made your heart flutter featherlight in your chest.

When you first approached him, he was just as arrogant as you’d expect.

“Good evening!” you beamed. You caught him outside the gym, and he still had his headphones in. Full volume and blankly staring as you went on about the opportunity, silent under the blaring music. He took one earbud out when you finished.

“Hm? Who’re you?”

You were slightly annoyed. “Let me reintroduce myself, I’m (Y/N). Your new manager.”

“No. Bye.” He began to walk past you without an ounce of care. You couldn’t lose it like this.

“Ah, wait!” He turned half-heartedly.

“Listen, I get it. You don’t want to be bossed around. But honestly, your reputation is shit. That can’t be good for business.” you persuaded. He towered over you, the figure of a Greek giant peeked through the compression top as he lazily watched you.

“So? Why do you care?” he remarked.

“I’ll help you. Sponsors, advertisements, whatever you want. You’re good, but you can be so much better. Let’s make money together.” You held your hand out, awaiting a handshake of approval. He merely glanced at your limp wrist.

“Help? You’re obviously not doing this for free.”

“Of course not. Give a little, take a little. I don’t do charity cases” you shrugged.

He groaned, raking his fingers through his thick mane. At the very least, he hadn’t walked away yet. “I'd prefer for my life to be private.”

“Then I’ll guarantee your privacy.”

“Really?” he scoffed. “What can you give me besides empty promises?”

“Anything you desire. Work with me, and I’ll make it happen.” That offer enticed him. No one had been this persistent with him yet, he scared off any manager that dared succor him. It was slightly entertaining, the way you burned ambition in your eyes, you were so easy to read. Most people wouldn’t look directly at him, and here you were, ready to follow him home if that’s what it took. He chuckled, and his massive hand reached for yours.

You shook hands, and your fates were sealed.

That was a year ago, and ever since then he’s been a thorn in your side. Nonstop drama and rectifying consumed your life. You didn’t think a man who spoke so little in public could talk so much around you. Whenever you argue—which is a frequent occurrence—his smirk grew wider at your frustration. You weren’t sure why you ever liked him in the first place. He only puts in effort when it comes to sparring, but you’re determined to ameliorate his standing, and in turn, yours.

The minute you open the doors to the hall, the sound of pummeled sandbags, clanking metal, and sneakers skidding across the floor roars in your ears. Some men are dialed in on abusing the inanimate objects, the rest tense through repetitions of dumbbell curls with a hiss. You're in quick strides, the phone arm's length away from you as the sponsor on the other end screams. Another petty drama surrounding Wriothesley grabs the attention of the internet. Luckily, you have thorough experience remedying this.

“What are you going to do? You’re fucking with my money!” you hear the faint voice. You bring the phone back to your ear.

“Don’t I always deal with it? He fights, I make up for the other half. Give me a few hours.”

“I’m not going to wa-” You hang up at the response.

You propel the double doors free into a large room with a boxing ring in the center. A group of trainers swarm the perimeter, you can barely see through.

“Don’t be scared!” one of them taunt towards the sparring partner, who has an unthinkable panic creeping in goosebumps dotting his skin. Each sloppy dodge tilts him more and more off balance against the strikes. Wriothesley has a powerful stature, with his back curving in a way that accentuates the rough muscle shaping his spine. You drone an annoyed sigh at the commotion and push yourself through them.

“Move it, move!” you yell, before jostling your way to the front of the ring.

“Wriothesley! Times up.” He turns his head to the side, unintentionally sparing his partner and glares at you.

“Two minutes.”

“No. Now.” you command. He looks up at nothing, as if considering his options if he cusses you out. Then he begrudgingly drops the gloves and pulls himself under the ropes. The group disperses from the lack of action and he’s mere inches from you now. Sometimes you forget how to breathe in his half-naked presence.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He mumbles while drying his head with a towel. His colossal forearms are raised over his head, highlighting the happy trail thick down his abdomen and tufts of hair on his armpits.

“You. How many times do I have to tell you not to train during recovery?” you seethe.

“Damn. Must’ve slipped my mind.” He doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest.

“Well then, I’ll be sure to remind you hourly.”

“Nah, I’m good. Hearing you once a day is enough.” He tosses the towel to you like his dutiful servant and grabs his water bottle. The liquid drips down his chin and on his shorts, hanging below his v-line.

Your eyebrow twitches from withheld vexation. “If you don’t want to hear me twice, I suggest you do what I tell you. We need to talk.” A heavy sigh leaves him as he stretches, and he passes you the water bottle. If you had the strength to collapse the bottle with one hand, you would. “Lead the way” he goads.

Wriothesley follows you through the backdoor of the gym to a secluded alleyway. When you get there, he immediately pulls out a cigarette you didn’t know he had. You were aware he smokes occasionally, but seeing it physically coaxed a strange worry in your gut. You twist your phone to him, to display evidence of him instigating an argument with Childe on social media. He reads in silence, briefly laughing at the recollection of his own comebacks, then lights the cigarette.

“What’s this? Didn’t I say keep a low profile?” you reprimand.

He drags in a deep breath of nicotine, and you eye the foul scent with distaste. He blows it above your unhappy face. “Calm down. Once a month thing. That fucker's testing me.”

“This can’t happen again, Wriothesley.” He ignores you to continue his mumbling. “I should break his neck like a twig. He’s lucky he didn’t say that shit to my face, fucking punk.” he grouses. You're struggling to gather your thoughts, the cigarette compacted between his thick fingers irritates you.

“We all appreciate your restraint, however-” you get closer, and yank the stick out his hand.

“No-!” Before he can finish, you promptly smudge it underneath your shoe. You aren’t sure how he’d react, but you didn’t expect him to sulk like a puppy.

“You aren’t doing this shit while I’m here.”

“Oh my god” he pouts, throwing his hands into his face and pulling them down.

“You’re lucky I don’t report it to the doctor. None of this, ever again.”

“Fuck, alright just...” he lets out a defeated sigh. “What do you want me to do about it? Apologize publicly?” You need him to do nothing; neither agency wants controversy, and it’d most likely be swept under the rug in just a couple days. You point his water bottle to him.

“Nope, I’ll handle it. Just sit there and be pretty.” you reassure. He leans down to your height with a sweet smile and even sweeter gaze.

“I do that well, don’t I?” he quips.

“You manage.” He latches onto the water bottle, and drinks from it in your hand while looking at you. A soft heat envelops you beyond words that never reach your lips.

“Listen to what I’m saying. Low. Profile.” Wriothesley comes up from thirst, dragging his tongue along the straw to the top, and licks his blushed lips. He delights in your flustered reaction.

“Low. Profile.” he repeats in a sarcastic drawl.

Later in the week, you receive a call in your office. It was fairly busy today, with coworkers constantly “checking in”, more so to see Wriothesley sitting across from you. He had no reason to be here, and you were surprised at his arrival. Be it boredom or a certain longing, a dull swell pulsed in his chest once he saw your overworked smile.

“Hello, this is (Y/N) of Boxe Association. May I know who I’m speaking with?” Wriothesley’s ears perk up at your sudden professionalism, and he mimics your cadence.

“Good afternoon, it’s Isadora.” Isadora was an event coordinator you previously worked with before your controversy. You understood that she stopped communicating to protect her business, but the pain lingered. You twirl the phone cord around your fingers, and meet eyes with Wriothesley, who’s laid back in the chair, his arms behind his head.

“Oh. Hey, it’s been a while.” you say. You turn your swivel chair away from him to continue the conversation. His eyebrow twitches slightly with an unconscious scowl, and he walks towards your chair.

“It has. I’m calling because I have a proposition that might interest you. I believe a meet and greet would be appropriate for your client. A large chunk of his fanbase are young adult women, however, he’s also popular with children.” He spins the chair around with a firm hand and presses his cheek against the phone.

“That’s true.” You side eye him, and without skipping a beat, mush his nosey face away. His hot breath on your digits makes your skin tingle.

“Who is that” he mumbles. You'd never seen Wriothesley interact with children, and you have every reason to be hesitant.

“Hmm...any positive activity with children is good publicity. I’ll consider it. I’ll let you know by tonight.” The second you hang up, you release his face.

“Why are you being annoying-”

“Who were you talking to” he chides.

“Isadora. She’s an event coordinator.” His clenched jaw unwinds. “She wants to do a meet and greet with you and a few kids. If we go through with this, I’ll have a camera crew and some reporters there. It’ll be good for your image.”

“Okay.” he agrees. That was quick.

“...Are you sure? Kids are loud and obnoxious a lot of the time.”

“So? Fine by me. I can teach them how to fight.” Your skin crawls at the thought of Wriothesley launching a child through a wall. “That won’t be necessary.”

“It’ll be fun.” The more he assures you, the more uneasy you feel.

“Wriothesley, I’m serious. Don’t screw this up” you plead. He holds his pinky out. “I won't.” His loose interpretation of promises was dubious at best, but you had no other options, and this might be your only opening. You curl to his word.

After parleying the finer details, you broadcast a raffle for young fans to meet Wriothesley. The traffic to the website was overwhelming, and you quickly began sorting out tickets for the favored winners.

Fortunately, the next couple of weeks were par for the course.

It’s the night before the event, and you’re getting ready for bed. You sit at your desk in a big T-shirt and do your daily review of personal data. As you're scrolling through and identifying what needs improvement, you get a notification on your phone.

“Breaking News: Boxer Bar Fight!” Curious, you open the tab to a video. It makes your breath stall, sweating frantically. You can’t think clearly, and your shaky hands can barely increase the volume. Unidentifiable noises and wobbly camerawork made it impossible to catch anything besides those familiar inky black strands, throwing punches in a drunken stupor at a defenseless man. Your previous conundrum flashes through your memory in a horrific stop-motion; the duping smile on his face.

No. It’s happening all over again. Why is he at a bar? You messaged him before he went to bed. He never goes to bars. Why now, the night before the event? It’s late, he doesn’t go anywhere without telling you.

He promised.

None of it made sense as you threw on any sweatpants in your drawer and ran out the door. You can’t wait until morning. Disaster punctures and tears any rational decision you contemplate. Shouting silently within your mind, a crashing rage—or sadness—boils in your nervous stomach. You’re tunnel vision in a taxi on the way to his address.

When you get there, you bang on the door with a fury that vibrates throughout the archway. His home is extravagant, with two cars and an expansive driveway. You bang again.

“Wriothesley!” He finally opens the door. He’s still half asleep, pajama pants low on his waist, groggily leaning against the arch.

“(Y/N)? Uh, what’s up?” He slurs in a deep slumbering voice through heavy eyelids. You barge in without saying anything. “Make yourself at home, I guess.”

The interior is just as opulent as the exterior, it almost looks untouched. Every corner has a case or shelf stacked with ornate trophies and medals of excellence. It was the home of someone who achieved peak perfection and reveled in it. He follows you to his living room, bewildered at your furious expression. You play the video in front of him, and he watches with that same puzzled attitude that makes you angrier. You try taking deep breaths to compose yourself, but they halt shallowly.

“What the fuck is this?” you accuse.

“What? I don’t know.” “Like hell you don’t know, this shit is on every homepage. Are you serious?”

The cranky boxer pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. You show up at his house, and it’s to badger him about a rumor. Your temperament only heats the smoldering ember fueled by incessant claims. He covers his mouth, physically stopping the involuntary response.

“Okay” he says, and blurts a facetious chuckle. Your heart thumps in your chest and ears.

“Oh, It’s a fucking joke? I bust my ass to save your career and you’re laughing?” you snap, voice increasing in volume until it reaches a broken peak. He returns with the same energy.

“When did I ask you to fix anything? Did you ever think that maybe I don’t fucking need you-”

“You can barely control your smoking habits you pompous ass-”

“I would if you didn’t nag me all the time. Whining and complaining, it’s fucking annoying!” he yells. Neither of you meant the words spilling out the bubbling surface, but your tongues were solely seasoned with the next spiteful jab.

“Yes, whining! Because all you need to do is be on the straight and narrow, but you take nothing seriously, Wriothesley, and that’s exactly why-”

“Exactly why what? Why your career went to shit so you’re piggybacking off mine?”

Your battle stops. You can’t find the words to rebuttal. All the opinions of your colleagues, the media, Wriothesley, and yourself coagulate into a lump that fills the tightening throat. Pride comforts tears brimming your eyes.

He pauses, as though he came to reality. An apology attempts to form on his lips, but it never manifests. “(Y/N), I didn’t-”

“See you in the morning” you choked. You walk to the door, and he reaches out to the infinite space thick between you two.

You didn’t sleep the entire night. It’s morning, and you’re exhausted. You consistently replayed the quarrel in your head through the taxi ride home, and when you strived for rest, it plagued your mind. Your coffee is untouched during your morning routine, a movement comparable to zombies. You don’t bother to confirm if Wriothesely is at the building—either way you owe it to the event holders to be there.

You arrive just before the children file into the training room. Thankfully, Wriothesley is there in the center. Live cameras from reporters and parents border the walls; if something were to occur, it would be irreversible. Your head suddenly hurts.

Perhaps playing it up for his reputation, the smile stretched across his face is a sunny warmth you’ve never seen from him. He waves to them, and they erupt with screams. To your astonishment, he gets on his knees to be eye level with them. They all jump into his arms at once, and he topples over onto the mat.

And he’s laughing. This grumpy asshole fighter is laughing. A hearty, genuine laugh as he wraps his sturdy arms around all of them and picks them up at once. He whirls them around and they orchestrate high-pitched giggles. “Ready to have some fun?” he chortles. They say yes to varying degrees of excitement, and the meet and greet proceeds.

You can’t help but smile when he frolics with the kids. They chase him with boxing gloves, he pretends to fall dramatically. Dogpiling him, he lets out a shrill scream of defeat. He manages to work in proper defense techniques while they jump him like a test dummy. He tosses each kid in the air whenever they ask, and never tells them no. You receive another call from Isadora amid your admiration, and you step outside.

“Hey! Good news, these views are off the charts and the internet is really in his favor right now” she congratulates.

“That’s great...what about the video from last night? Did you see it?” you ask.

“Video...oh, that! Don’t worry, it’s confirmed fake.” What? Oh no. Immediate regret stirs in your blood, and you force the phone away to catch your breath. You feel utterly stupid.

“Hello?” You quickly bring the phone back to your ear. “Yea, sorry. I have to go; I’ll call you later.” you insist. You can’t facepalm any harder. You make your way back to the training room, where the kids decorate his gloves with iridescent stickers. Wriothesley occasionally looks at you, but you can’t bear to show your guilty face.

When the event is over, you both make sure to hug every child on the way out and thank the parent for coming. You’re sorting through mountains of requests people made to see Wriothesley again, and you mute your phone over the influx of emails. Peeking at the broadcast, under the footage in bold letters:

“(Y/N) Back from the Dead?”

It wasn’t the most flattering title, but it proved that public perception was salvageable. You emit a sigh of relief, for you and Wriothesley. As you’re packing your things to exit, he blocks the door with his body.

“Can we talk?” You were dreading this discussion, but agreed, nonetheless. The ride to his home is silent, you grapple with a proper apology.

You lean against the kitchen bar, while he’s laxing on the couch. Sleep deprivation torments you, causes you to wander as you fill in papers from sponsors. You can’t see the way Wriothesley steals glances at your slack figure curving to the marble. He eventually spoke.

“So, um.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. You did a good job today Wriothesley, you should be proud.” You flash a meek smile. He fumbles with his thumbs uncomfortably.

“I am. Aren’t I the best?” he boasts.

“You are” you say. The lack of sleep beckons you to a spur of honesty as you scribble. “You have stunning form, perfect accuracy, and immeasurable talent. Not just anyone can do that.” you return. He gazes at you, that dull swell pumping in his veins again. The cozy radiance of lights brightens your tired eyes.

“You’re a big fan, huh?” he chuckles.

“Of course, I used to watch you in college. I had a major crush on you” you snort. “Everything you are is amazing, but you know this. So cut it out.” He sits on the armrest, swallowing your confessions. The room is entirely too hot, he needs alleviation—he needs you.

“Sorry. For what I said.”

“Forget it. It's my fault, I was careless. I apologize.” you admit.

“You know I didn’t do it, right?”

“I know.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know.” you reassure.

“What if some other bullshit controversy comes out. Then what?” You stop writing to give him your full attention.

“Then, I’ll trust you. We’ve gotten this far. Even if no one else does, even if for some reason I lose my job and I’m not your manager anymore, I’ll trust you, Wriothesley.” you reveal. He doesn’t move. Wriothesley knew he wasn’t deserving of trust, and he’d made a plethora of mistakes throughout your arrangement. You had every right to leave him long ago. Nobody gave him the time of day or cared for his wellbeing like you did, but he couldn’t reciprocate. Even so, here he kneels, at the feet of an angel that shows him undying mercy.

Wriothesley stalks at you, but you remain. He looms over you, pinning you to the counter with both arms, inches from your face. It isn’t a threatening force, but one that begs for confirmation. That slated storm searches for a specific craving, you feel his chest rising and falling laden with yours.

“You’re too close” you quiver. The bitter musk and vanilla enveloping your senses makes you foggy, it lingers through the whole house.

“Tell me to leave.” His mouth slants to you, and he waits expectingly. You ogle his features, the scratches of a warrior celebrated across his hardy torso. His hair brushes against your forehead, imperfect and uniquely beautiful. Why were you mad, again?

“Tell me to back off, (Y/N)” he pleads. The pads of your fingers lightly caress his ear, then his jaw.

“Please” he whispers. Your thumb grazes his bottom lip, and he succumbs to the urge.

You collide fervently, lips coated in definitive desire. Dancing with rough, bruising kisses that don’t make space for air. It smears on your face, dips down your neck and swiftly returns to your lonely mouth. The pressure of the counter bar burns across your lower back from his weight, but those mind-numbing kisses soften any injury. You bite his lip when he pulls away, and he groans. Suddenly, he lifts you effortlessly with his hands on your ass, and you clash teeth and tongue in a passionate challenge. He demands entry, and you moan into the wet mass intertwining through sloppy kisses. It explores your mouth, sending throbs to your nerves and subdues any control you have left. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, but you yearn for deeper contact. He licks up the organ, and spots moist, hungry kisses on your jaw. You both take a fleeting breath before converging again. You find passage in his hair and suck staining rose-colored marks on his neck while he carries you to the bedroom.

“You’ve been waiting for this, hm? Slutty groupie” Wriothesley moans. You drag kisses along the shell of his ear. He tosses you onto the fluffy bedding and haphazardly strips to his underwear. The wide mirror opposite his bed gives you a glimpse of his thighs and shapely bottom hugging the briefs. You’re supposed to be undressing, but that thronging bulge made for a titan makes you nervous for what’s to come. He palms the erection to soothe the ache and climbs over you. He’s somewhat gentle, careful with the bulk of his body as he cradles your face for more kisses. The way he looks at you, a covet softness or misted lust tantalizing the wetness pooling in your panties. He moves to your neck, French kissing down your throat and on your collarbone. You feel like a virgin again, heart racing from every graze of his fingers and lips. His calloused digits grope the plush fat of your thighs, and gradually reach the hem of your skirt. You snake your hands over his pecs and abs and read the muscles. Moaning into each other's mouths, indulging every part of your bodies as you’ve wanted to do for months. He pulls your skirt off and you hold your button-down over your exposed panties. Heat spreads in your body, and he amuses at your sudden bashfulness.

“Oh…you’re shy?” he teases, before popping the buttons off with a brutal rip. “Wrio!” you yelp. That’s the first time you called Wriothesley a nickname; he must’ve died and went to heaven. The lace gift wrapped around your breasts taunts him, and he buries his face immediately. He nips the sensitive skin and snaps the clasp off. “Cute. Need to feel you” he husks. He twirls the bud in his mouth, while manipulating the other between his girthy fingers. Alternating among loving hickies and harsh tugs of his teeth on your nipple. You whine, and his laugh tickles your raw skin. He flips over on his back and steadies you on top of him. Discards the rest of your top, and let’s out a shaky groan.

“You’ve never been this speechless” he says. You smile and kiss his puffy lips, your hands kneading his chest. “You’re so pretty” you coo. He huffs while rubbing circles on your waist, eyeing your inner thighs covered in juices.

“Then come fuck my pretty face.” He slips under the waistband and tweaks the fabric, but you grip his wrists. “Wait! Let me shower first- “

“You said you'd give me anything I desire, remember that? Keep your promise." He yanks the thin material down your legs in your weak clutches, trailing a string of drool that sticks to your labia. “C’mere” he grunts and lifts you towards his face. Your thighs are soft on either side of him, and you still in his grasp. He lolls his tongue out, but you’re reluctant to fully sit. “I’m heavy” you murmur.

“Shut up.” He embraces your body, and you have no choice but to settle in his warmth. He keeps you flush with his flat tongue, swiping up and down the squishy flesh molding to his mouth. You writhe in his grasp, but he continues to lap at your clit with a starving lust. Wriothesely soaks in your velvet skin and perfumed essence dribbling down his chin. He doesn’t come up for air, and your brain is mush over him, his lips slurping your quivering cunt. A buzzing intensity courses through your twitching stomach. You rut your hips against his mouth, and he maintains his position while you use him. You’re grinding on his tongue, absent-mindedly biting your lips and mewling endlessly as you bring yourself closer to climax. He hums while sucking the nub and the vibrations make you cry out.

“Wrio, ‘m coming” you whine. You hump his mouth until you come undone in a pulsating finish. His hands restrain you, greedily devouring the newly found honey as it pours out. You ride it through while he curls the tip of his tongue at your opening. Without warning, you feel the pink muscle push in your recovering vulva. “S-Shit, Wrio” you whimper, trembling on him as he drives inside. He seizes the back of your thighs and begins to bounce you up and down the mushy appendage slowly stretching you. The sensation is overwhelming, his nose skims your oversensitive clit each time you drop, and you sob. Wriothesley moves faster, your hands entangle in his hair. You babble please’s repeatedly, gazing sensually at each other as the coil winds in your gut. More, more. Then it snaps, an abrupt shock, clenching on his tongue as you cream. He raises your lower half; the wetness collecting in your convulsing heat makes his cock strain more than it already suffered.

“Such a cute slut” Wriothesley husks. Your numb legs can’t navigate on their own, so he places you on your stomach. “We’re not done.” He springs his throbbing length free. The veins are consistent, prominent up his shaft to the angry red crown—9 inches begging to be inside you. Fresh precome trickles down his tip and he sighs at the bloated pain in his hefty balls. You arch your back, presenting yourself to his awaiting size. When he doesn’t enter you turn to him impatiently and he smirks.

“Put it in” you whine. Wriothesley spreads your backside, and watches you clench around the ghost of him. He glazes himself with your slick, and moans from the feeling of your puffy lips cuddling his cock. “It’s not every day a fan gets to sleep with me. Be grateful.” he teases. He pumps through your squashed thighs, the head prodding your nub while he forces your chest flush with the bed. After he thoroughly coats himself, he nudges the bulbous tip to your entrance.

Wriothesley sinks into your sex. You’re gripping him like a vice despite the searing soreness of your body accommodating the scale. The fevered sleeve nearly makes him crash to the hilt, but he stutters gradually to relieve your discomfort. He hits the base and shudders. You feel unbelievably stuffed, as if it’s squirming in your cervix. Then he starts at a savage pace. He’s using you like a flesh-light, balls smacking your overwhelmed tender nub with a carnal impulse. His moans spill uncontrollably as he watches your rippling ass and viscous webs blend together, clinging to his cock and forming a cloudy froth at the base. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets; you can’t think or feel anything that isn’t him, core surging with intense want.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, gonna snap my dick off. Ah- gonna make sure you can’t walk t-tomorrow. Then- hah- then you won’t be able to find anyone who fucks you like this, who makes you come like this.” He’s rambling and stuttering, completely incoherent the closer he gets. He glances at the mirror, then at you. You feel your hair jerked back by his massive hand, and lock eyes with Wriothesley in his drunken haze. “Stop, it’s embarrassing!” you slur. You’re both sheened with sweat, disheveled bodies satiating the hunger in any way you can.

“Shh, you hear that?” The squelching slam of passion echoes in the room, sopping down your leg through his pummeling thrusts. Your back bends unnaturally as though it were folded in half. “You’re so fucking hot, so needy for me.” His veins adorn your walls, you start to tear up from the mixture of pleasure and pain. He notices your tears and holds you up so that your back is flush with his chest.

“It hurts?” he questions, stalling his movement. You feel him twitch. “No, feels s’good Wrio. More” you mewl. He chuckles, and gently wraps his hand around your throat before pumping again.

“Too good? Am I the best you’ve ever had? Say it.” He moves faster, free hand rubbing your clit. Your knees buckle and eyes roll back to your skull, he takes in the scene of your convulsing figure in the mirror. “S’best I’ve ever had, please ‘m so close!” you rasp, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He chases his high, panting animalistically in your ear.

“Shit- look how desperate you are. Want me to come inside? Y-yea, I bet you fucking do”

“‘M coming!” you babble.

“Good. Make a mess.” he commands. Fire trails up your limbs, and you tighten before falling apart. Fluttering around him, taking him deeper while you come on his sack. Wriothesley pursues his sputtering hips, spurting thick globs that paint you white. He whimpers as you milk his spasming length dry and presses tired kisses along your shoulder blade. When he comes down from his apex, he turns you over on your back. It’s hard for him to not be proud of your boneless existence sprawled on his bed. You’re both breathing hard in silence, and he leaves for a couple minutes. You’re stunned when he returns with a damp rag to clean you up, and some dark substance in a mug.

You find the strength to sit up while he wipes your lower areas. “Where are my clothes?”

“...For what?” he mumbles.

“To leave?” It seemed like common sense to you—boxers usually don’t go for long-term relationships, and so you assumed it to be a one-night stand. You dip over the edge of the bed and locate your skirt, but Wriothesely hops up and snatches it before you can. “I’ll put it in the wash. Relax.”

“I didn’t know you were so hospitable. Do you do this for every girl?” you tease. He gets visibly upset, and shoves the cup from the dresser in your hands. “Don’t piss me off. Now, drink. I’ll order food.”

Multicolored sunset flaking through the sheer curtains frames his stature while he’s on the phone. You sip the tea, it’s a vile grainy taste. For a moment you imagine what life could be like with him by your side—poor quality tea and an awful temper. In your pleasant aftermath, it doesn’t seem bad at all.

#genshin smut #genshin au #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley headcanons #wriothesley #fontaine #genshin x reader #genshin impact

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i-smoke-chapstick · 2 months

Text

‘THE VALLEY, [hard kinks! hcs]

-GOTHAM!VILLAINS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Oswald Cobblepot, Victor Zsasz, Edward Nygma, Jerome Valeska, Jervis Tetch

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; hard and unusual kinks hcs with the gotham villain men

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!villains x female reader. PURE PORN like this is absolutely filthy and descriptive. Some of these are probably too creative and WAY out of character, but oh well. I need to practice my smut writing skills and what better way to do it then with some short scenarios of our boys ? HARD KINKS (all of them are too kinky for there own good) sadomasochistic sex warning for victor and jerome,,, and (sort of?) non-consensual hypnosis warning for jervis, somnophilia and bondage warning for ed. controlling and degrading behavior.

𝛰𝑆𝑊𝐴𝐿𝐷 𝐶𝛰𝐵𝐵𝐿𝐸𝑃𝛰𝑇

♫ “Obey, like I’m your master babe.” The Valley by Miguel

He has a habit of leaving in the mornings. He’s a gangster, a crime lord. He loves his job…you think. But it’s hard. Especially seeing him go. Which is why when the two of you fuck, he makes it worth your while.

Yes, he’s shy. He despises indecency. He doesn’t fuck, he makes love. At least, that’s what he likes to think, so you let him.

But you know better. Oswald can’t control anything about himself. The man is impulsive and spoiled. And when he wants you to feel something, you feel it. For better or for worse.

Which is why when he’s awfully pent up and sexually frustrated, you reap the benefits of the king of gotham’s cock pistoning into you. He needs to feel wanted. He needs the two of you to feel loved. He thinks the two of you are sweetly and slowly fucking in his mind. But in reality?

His thick length is hammering into you, selfishly ignoring your pleas. No, he gets drunk on them. Even if he doesn’t want to admit how obscene he’s being.

You’ll feel his sticky tip align with your pussy. He means to enter you slowly, but before you know it, he’s letting himself go. Every inch of his cock is filling you up, taking you in. His eyes are rolling back as he feels you clench around him, and he tries to push all the more unsavory thoughts out of his head.

Thoughts of you tied up. Worshipping him. Unable to resist him. Thoughts of you riding his thighs, while he gives the order to shoot someone dead. The idea of you bending to him, being a good servant. Kissing his shoes, groveling and kneeling. Degrading you.

His fingers sink into the fat of your thighs and ass, clawing at any part of you he can grasp.

His mother taught him better, he reprimands himself. But how can he stay composed and loving when you look at him like he’s the only man in the world?

Oh, he wants to make you feel good, loved, and have this be an act of intimacy. It’s what he was raised to believe sex was for. But he also wants you on your knees, choking on his length, collared like a dog.

𝑉𝐼𝐶𝑇𝛰𝑅 𝑍𝑆𝐴𝑆𝑍

♫ “I wanna fuck like we're filming in the valley.” The Valley by Miguel

Victor is always upfront with what he wants. And he’s been around the block one too many times. He’s fucked around quite a bit. He’s a ladies man, what can he say?

Which is why vanilla sex is entirely boring to him. Well, maybe not entirely. Not with you.

But theres something so special about mixing physical pain, his sole desire, with you, his other sole desire. It’s his lifes work, meeting the love of his life. What’s not to like?

Which is why he blunty suggests the idea. And boy is he glad he did.

A phone camera is pushed into your face while he records everything. The sloppy noises of your pretty pink mouth slipping and sliding around his cock.

It’s not just any homemade porno either, no. It’s a borderline snuff film.

He films himself slotting his cock into your swollen lips, one hand recording, another hand on a pistol pressed firmly against your head while you choke on his cock. The gun isn’t loaded of course, at least, you don’t think it is.

If the gun is loaded, you’re sure he’s playing a dangerous game with himself. Testing his own capabilities. He’s the best of the best, and his fingers are placed firmly on the trigger. If he loses control or focus for even a moment, you could never see the light of day again. Each time he cums is like a self-made test for himself, an ego trip. He’s excercising the greatest control not to accidentally pull the trigger and pop your top.

You’re spitting wildly, tears and saliva and cum mixing on your face. You’ve been sucking him off for what feels like hours, playing this game, and it’s still not enough. No, the man could live his whole life with your face inbetween his thighs. You have no clue what round you’re on.

“There you go…sweetness. Uh-huh…take it.” He’ll press the gun further into your temple, talking down to you slowly. It’s awfully demeaning.

He never shuts the fuck up during sex. This is no exception. His dry humor persists in every word, even as his gun comes into contact with your fucked out wet face, or a blade slices through your sweet soft thighs.

He’s doing close-up shots of every cut he makes on your skin. He marks the both of you, respectively. He keeps the videos in his pocket for later. Y’know, just in case you aren’t there, and he needs something to jack off to. He’s a manwhore, and he can admit it.

He’ll ask to show the videos to Wendell. Just so he knows Victor wasn’t lying about his girl being a total catch.

𝐸𝐷𝑊𝐴𝑅𝐷 𝑁𝑌𝐺𝑀𝐴

♫ “I wanna taste your sweat, force my fingers in your mouth.” The Valley by Miguel

Oh, Eddy. Ever the show man. Oddly enough, I think he has the dirtiest mind and the highest sex drive out of everyone on this list. In the words of CMS, "He loves donuts and getting laid." You're no exception babe.

Similarly, he isn't the kinkiest when he's at the GCPD. The poor baby is so vanilla; so eager to please. If you want a man to put your needs above his own? Look no further. Eddy is your guy. But similar to Ozzy, the man grapples with control. How can he resist when your small sleeping body looks so innocent? So willing?

You wake up to him pumping his dick deep into your hole, groping your breasts and ass, hips plowing harshly into your stretched cunt. He wants to apologize, for waking you. He feels bad of taking advantage of you. But it's your fault. The man is a little bit of a creep and has gone his whole life without pussy. What did you expect?

That being said...when he undergoes his transformation of sorts? It's like he has something to prove, to you and himself. Riddler baby is tired of hiding in the shadows, no, it's show time. If you thought the somnophilia was kinky, you've seen nothing yet.

Season 3-4 Ed is desperate to dominate you. Claim you in every way. Prove to himself that you're not going anywhere. It's a deep seated need to exert control, with a touch of dramatic flair.

Which is why, from time to time, especially on special occasions, you'll wake up from being drugged, ball-gagged in a warehouse, tied to a chair, moaning around a vibrator overstimulated against your cunny. He'll watch the whole show, pleased with his handiwork.

Might even turn it into a game. How many riddles can you answer? Maybe if you get one right, he'll let you cum. And if you don't get one right, prepare to be in for a long, long night.

Ed's pushing his thick long fingers into your tight little pussy, watching your cream spread along his fingertips. He'll force his fingers in your mouth, making you taste yourself. Making you taste what he's doing to you.

He's giggling while he does so, smile wide while you gag around him. Oh, this will be fun.

𝐽𝐸𝑅𝛰𝑀𝐸 𝑉𝐴𝐿𝐸𝑆𝐾𝐴

♫ “lips, tits, clit, sit.” The Valley by Miguel

Would it be too brave to go on record to say the mans a virgin? I'm sorry, but he didn't get any pussy in that carnival.

Which is why he's incredibly sex starved. The man is feral. Hungry. He fucks you like a dog in heat half the time. You're his own personal pocket pussy, who will love him no matter what.

So when he tells you to do something, you better do it.

For instance, when he tells you to sit on his face, he means sit. No hovering. No, he wants the entirety of your weight in his mouth so he can tongue fuck you into oblivion.

He's wildly gripping at you, laughing like a mad man as he keeps you in place firmly. He's digging into your cunt with his tongue like a man whose getting his first lick of pussy. He's slapping your ass, letting you ride his face like a cowgirl.

He'll slap your sopping cunt. He'll spit in your mouth, on your face, on your pussy. He loves everything feral and sloppy. And for his own good, the man can't shut up. He loves some good dirty talk.

"Hah! There you go, doll. You want it raw? You do, don'tcha? Naughty, naughty girl." Excuse his breeding kink. "Should just pump you right up with my cum. Get you all messy. Cream-pie you riiiiiiight here," He cackles, hand hovering over you're lower stomach.

He likes seeing your face contort in pleasure and pain when your thighs scratch the staples on his face.

Oh, he's a biter. Your thighs might be bleeding by the time he's done, biting hard enough to break skin. You'll yelp in pain and it will spur him on, like you're his own personal show to watch.

God, please hit him back. Slap him. Push him around. He adores it- the two of you fucking like wild animals, clawing and at each others throats, all the while his girthy length his pounding into your sweet tight hole.

𝐽𝐸𝑅𝑉𝐼𝑆 𝑇𝐸𝑇𝐶𝐻

♫ “Tell me that you love it darling." The Valley by Miguel

Jervis has a very deep seated need to have you close to him. To have you bonded with him. He's obsessive, clingy, stalkerish. And he loves a good old fashioned Victorian flirtation. But god, he gets tired of waiting.

He's a gentlemen through and through. But even gentlemen have needs. And when he sees you in that light blue dress he bought you, pussy peaking out through the short skirt? Or how you lick your lips when the tea he makes you dribbles down?

He'll have to take what he wants eventually.

He knows you'll say yes. Even though the two of you have never talked about sex. No, you're his Alice. His willing little girl. Why would you ever say no to him? And he's right. He could ask, and you would probably say yes.

But, just for a precaution...Can't have you running off like the white rabbit, can he?

It will be late night after the two of you have tea. And he'll pull out his pocket watch. And before you know it, you'll be pinned on top a table, dress pooling between your legs, pulling on his hair against your will.

It's a sight he will never sick of. His sticky ropes of cum dripping, tainting the dress he'd bought you. It trickles down from your spine. You'll be too fucked out to walk the next day, and you won't even remember why.

He takes you, ignoring your pleas and whines of overstimulation. He'll continue to stuff his cock inside you until he feels pity for you.

Hypnotizing you while he's balls-deep inside of you, messily thrusting as he tries to concentrate. "You love this. Tell me you love me. Tell me you love this." His words scramble as he comes undone himself, letting your mind wash over and speak the words against your will.

If somehow you piece two and two together, the cum stains on your dress- and the feeling of being stretched out the next morning...assure him he doesn't have to hypnotize you.

Or let him keep it up. It's more fun for him this way.

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bejeweledraven · 9 months

Text

call it what you want

All the drama queens taking swings All the jokers dressin' up as kings They fade to nothin' when I look at him

relationship headcanons with the gotham villains

parrings: oswald cobblepot x gn!reader, ed nygma x gn!reader, victor zsasz x gn!reader, jerome valeska x gn!reader, jeremiah valeska x gn!reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

warnings: mentions of criminal activity, mentions of toxic and unhealthy behaviors in romantic relationships/mentions of unhealthy relationships

requested?: yes

request: anon: can i request general relationship hc with oswald cobblepot, ed nygma, victor zsasz, jerome valeska and jeremiah valeska with a gn reader

song prompt: call it what you want by taylor swift

word count: 1392

oswald cobblepot:

first and foremost his love language is 100% gift giving

it would be both subtle and dramatic

subtle, because he would never ask directly; he'd listen

was there something you were talking about currently? or maybe something you've wanted forever? he would pick up on the slightest mention of it

but like i said, it would also be dramatic

an artist you've been listening to lately? he'll make sure you have every possible record on vinyl and cd, concert tickets, merch

a car that you've dreamed of for years? in your driveway, with every possible upgrade

growing up he didn't have much, so he wanted to make sure someone that he cares about never feels like that

although he's not really the one for physical intimacy, there are some small gestures he really loves

great example are forehead kisses - long evenings after tiring days, right by the fire places

he might not be huge with PDA, but everyone knows that you're involved with each other, making you untouchable

and when i say everyone, i mean everyone; his enemies, his allies, his staff

his worst fear is someone hurting you to hurt him; makes him extremely protective, making sure you're safe 24/7

your relationship is the definition of "private, but not secret"

ed nygma:

although the pre and post riddler ed might have fair share of differences when it comes to dating, there's definitely a lot of similarities

for example, for ed you're always the number one priority, not matter what

the pre-riddler ed would cancel any plans for you (not that he had loads of those anyways lol)

it would take one phone call from you for him to drop everything and meet you somewhere

if ed liked you, he would have the hardest time telling you; even if you were involved with someone else, he would be your shoulder to cry on, no matter how much it broke his heart

once you got together he would need regular reassuring of how much he means to you

would be a combination of his own insecurities and how highly he thinks of you

both before and after you start dating, you smiling in his direction would be enough to make his day

post-riddler is much more confident, cares significantly less of what people think of him

but even given all of his confidence, his old insecurities still get the best of him

he would get very jealous at times

whenever he would suspect you could have feelings for someone else (which is a conclusion he makes way too rapidly) he would feel like the awkward and practically invisible technician working at the police station all over again

takes a ton of reassuring to for him to seem confident again- because deep down he will always feel like that to an extent

being his partner means being his best friend- it's such a special connection

he relies on your support so so much

although it took him a while to learn to come to you with his issues, you're definitely the best support system he's ever had, and he makes sure you know how much that means to him

victor zsasz:

one word: TEASING

so so so much teasing

oddly enough, this might be the healthiest relationship on the list

he has an understanding of personal space and time

i mean don't get it wrong: he WILL show up unannounced in your living room in the middle of the night on a random tuesday, just chilling on the couch because "he missed you"

but if there is ever a situation where you tell him that you need space and time alone, he just respects it

he has a very laid back attitude towards you, but if the situation requires he will act very quick to protect you; whether you disapprove of his methods or not

even though like i said he gives you space and time if needed, he has his subtle ways of knowing whether you're staying safe and out of trouble

i can for sure see him with a fellow assassin, even, or maybe especially, working for a rival gang

business is business, and he doesn't see a reason why it should interfere with his personal life after work

and the constant competition is kind of fun and exciting to him, which is ironic, given the line of work

one time you were ordered by your bosses to take each other out, and for shits and giggles you even pretended to attempt it, but gave up easily just cause you couldn't take one another and this whole situation seriously

overall it's a very playful relationship of equal time teasing and strong sense of protection, on both sides

jerome valeska:

the best word to describe the relationship with this man is 'rollercoaster'

with the highest of highs and lowest of lows

good moments make you feel on top of the worlds and bad moments make your stomach drop

no two days are the same with this guy

no surprise that he is very obsessive

the second he saw you and was utterly and completely fixated on you and you only

it was obsession at first sight for sure (bonus points if you met at arkham)

and you can't really blame yourself, he was very charming

just something completely captivating about him

although his attention is all over the place, he would make sure to always have a good look at you, even with the corner of his eye

he just needs you around 24/7

the respect for personal space and time? yeah don't really count on that

at a certain point there's some sort of addiction formed, where you can't really function without him either

say what you want about jerome, but his energy is absolutely infectious and sometimes you just need someone who will make you feel like you're on top of the world

another thing about him is that his obsessive sense of protection mostly extends to guarding you from the GCPD, but not really to a basic sense of safety

he will take you with him to all of his most dangerous heists, because he doesn't want you 'missing out on all the fun'

he regularly finds places to break into in the middle of the night, like theme parks and big malls, and just goes CRAZY

he is there to make any absurd wish of yours come true

if during the time where everyone just assumed he was dead you moved on with your life and god forbid found happiness with someone else- he is changing that the second he's back

jeremiah valeska:

the jeremiah before the transformation was paranoid about absolutely everything

including your safety, mostly because of jerome

his childhood made him put up this shield around him and it wasn't easy to let you into his life - but once he did he shielded you even more than he ever did for himself

if it was up to him, you'd never leave his super-secure home/facility, because he's that worried

and many times he's begged you do to so

out of sheer sense of protectiveness over you

but staying in a windowless bunker is not really easy for many people

and he knows that he can't really argue you on that, so all he has left is worrying until you're back

you always were back, and he had to fight the urge to beg you not to ever leave again

the post-transformation jeremiah is also insanely protective- with the added effect of more confidence is slight obsessiveness

his obsessiveness would be much more subtle than one that his brother displayed - jeremiah would just always know where you are and who you're with

he would go to actual insane measures to protect you; he'd burn entire cities if it meant keeping you safe

both before and after the transformation he's not really the best at communicating his feelings, but his way of making up for it is acts of service - subtle before transformation and less subtle after the transformation

oddly enough, he also became a lot more openly romantic than before, with grand, dramatic gestures

not that he wasn't romantic before; just in a lot more shy and delicate way

one thing never changed - how much keeping you safe meant to him

#gotham x reader #oswald cobblepot x reader #ed nygma x reader #riddler x reader #victor zsasz x reader #jerome valeska x reader #jeremiah valeska x reader #gotham headcanons #gotham x reader headcanons #gotham imagine

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theaveragepsychoticbitch · 9 months

Note

Hey there!! Could I request some sfw + nsfw hcs of Poseidon , Buddha , and Nikola Tesla with a cat hybrid! Reader?💕

I've been wanting to do another hybrid readerrr😭thanks for the request <3 I'm not sure if I'm characterizing Mr Kola right, but there's a first for everything! I'll make the SFW and NSFW versions separate, so send another ask just to bookmark it would you?♡

Poseidon, Buddha, Tesla x Cat Hybrid!Reader || SFW || Headcanons || Warnings: Ur, none!

Poseidon♡

The king of the seas is ironically, a cat guy. When he sees you sleeping, tail tucked comfortably into your side with your ears twitching occasionally, a strange feeling comes over him.

You were definitely lesser, and he definitely despises you along with everyone else but... he supposes you may sleep in his private suite.

He somehow doesn't hear you when you point out that you didn't ask to sleep there in the first place.

Rubs your ears subconsciously. They're like a stress reliever for him, and dealing with other gods caused him great amounts of stress. He's embarrassed by it (though he'd die before admitting it) and so whenever he catches himself reaching for you, he has the audacity to get mad at you, and send you away.

Quickly calls for your return though. Which he also is embarrassed by.

Loves when you purr in your sleep. Late at night with nothing and no one to see how his face relaxes as the vibrations hit his chest. One large hand adoringly placed atop your head, he hasn't slept this well in eons.

Buddha ♥︎

His initial impression of you was unhinged; he'd caught you in some sort of... hiss-off with an actual cat. It was far too interesting a sight for him to simply ignore it. So he sat there, for ten good minutes, until you finally emerged victor! He jumped and cheered right along with you, scaring you shitless.

He once managed to spook you and watched as jumped far above his head, shredding the wall as you embedded your claws in it.

Your canines are a strange source of serotonin for him. Sharp as a lion's and strong as one too, you've bit the shit out of him a few times while he was admiring them- only a few weren't on purpose.

Once said "Why do they call them canines when you're a cat? Shouldnt they be felines?"

You bit him for that too.

Nikola Tesla ¤

He wants to figure out how you work. So, so bad.

He entered your life by grabbing you none to gently by the tail, hoping to gain insight from your reaction. While he did gain said insight, he also gained four new scratches on his face.

Pestered you for a long time with questions, none of which you answered. Eventually, advice from Buddha led him to setting up a nice dinner for the two of you- him, with a steak, and you, with a variety of fish and cat treats.

You appreciate the thought... you guess.

Always touching and poking you. He doesn't even realize how odly intimate he gets; holding your hand and playing with your fingers is just him studying how your claws extend. Trailing his fingers down your back is him trying trying to figure out if your tail connects to your spine or your ass. Massaging your ears? Ur, well... he hasn't come up with scientific reasoning for that yet, but he will!

(His excuse is that purring has been proved relaxing for humans, and wants to see if it still works with you. Doesn't know he could have asked Poseidon 🤦🏾‍♀️👀)

Adores when you loaf on him, or "bake bread". He finds the semi-human equivalent of these cat behaviors to be extraordinary, and asks you dozens of "why?" And "how?" questions. When he asks too many, you stop, and don't continue until he promises to be quiet.

--------

A/N: I'm literally a comedic genius guys. Not proofread!

#record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #record of ragnarok x reader #poseidon snv #poseidon x reader #ror poseidon #buddha ror #buddha x reader #buddha snv #nikola tesla #nikola tesla x reader #Nikola tesla ror #nikola tesla snv

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yuurei20 · 5 months

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Strange question but!! Yk how the villains are treated as heroes? How on earth did the heroes stories work if they, uh, yk, dont have the villains? Like i briefly remember TWST!Jafar hijacking Aladdin’s plan to fake being a prince, so theres not rlly any more “aladdin” story, but im curious how other stories went if u know! Are the OG heroes still treated as heroes, etc etc, that fun stuff

Hello hello! Thank you so much for this question!!

The different interpretations of history that seem exist in Twst are fascinating, and one of my favorite things is the part in Book 6 where Lilia seems to insinuate that the Disney stories that we know might not actually be what really happened, because history is written by the victors:

These "classic" stories--were they, too, twisted to suit an agenda? Is the truth closer to what is taught as history in Twst, or is it somewhere in the middle? It is so interesting to think about!

For the most part it seems that the heroes from the stories we know are not turned into villains in Twst, and the deeds that are attributed to them were actually done by multiple characters from different folklore:

For example, Harveston has stories about miners and customs based on "a young lady who made a wish at a well," a "traveler" who cleaned a stranger's home and then a tale about "some princess who wished to fall in love right away," as if the young lady, princess and traveler are three separate people.

While basing their traditions on the miners, the lady and traveler, they also deify the Fairest Queen, as if they are all independent individuals with no overlap.

One of the more interesting parts of the Fairest Queen's history, in particular, is that there is actually a "dastardly villain" in Harveston folklore that stalks a woman who is then saved by forest creatures.

The huntsman is--just like the queen--not a villain in the Twst universe. Who was who, and what really happened? 👀

For the Scalding Sands, it seems that the unnamed princess and the sultan from local stories are just as revered as the Sorcerer of the Sands himself, with the sultan known to be the person who named the Sorcerer as his vizier and retaining their connection from the story we know.

Much like in Harveston, the history of the Scalding Sands seems to attribute what we believe to be the history of just one character to multiple individuals: Kalim talks about the Sorcerer saving his country from a street rat, who was a swindler/charlatan/usurper who tried to trick the sultan and princess, in a rare case of a "hero" being vilified.

But they also have folklore about "a poor but kind-hearted young man" who shared his food with children, and whose marriage to the beautiful princess they celebrate every year with a festival.

Whereas the Disney movies make the charlatan and the kind man into one person, in Twst's history it seems they were two different people.

Diasomnia is very big on the Thorn Fairy, and they also talk about the human king who feared her, the princess whose birthday she was not invited to (Silver: "Was their king raised in a barn?") and the three presents that the princess received.

Lilia talks about a trio of fairies that were not able to break the Thorn Fairy's curses and also put an entire kingdom to sleep, while Silver comments on how Lilia is consciously, intentionally emulating the three fairies from that tale with his cooking.

Silver and Malleus discuss "some faeries" raising a child for 16 years without magic, but they do not seem to know why they did so, and it is unclear if they believe that those faeries and the three faeries that put the kingdom to sleep are the same or different people.

Heartslabyul seems to separate Alice into two different characters as well, referring to a 1-km-tall giant that the Queen of Hearts tried in court and a child that got lost in the castle as if they were two people.

The only reference we get of the "heroes" of the Lion King tale are Jack referring to the King of Beast's "rascal of a nephew" and Leona mentioning that he deposed his brother "to build a better, wiser kingdom."

While the characters seem similar to the stories we know it's possible that the timelines are slightly different, with the rebirth of the pridelands being attributed to the King of Beasts himself rather than his nephew.

The history of the Sea Witch in Twst might be the most fascinating: the characters reference the Sea Witch taking someone's voice for a contract and making a shapeshifting potion to facilitate love between a mermaid and a human, but also turning herself into a human and being proposed to by a prince the next day, with no acknowledgement that the human from the first tale and the prince from the second might have been the same person.

They also talk about the eels flipping over a boat and a mermaid princess who had trouble walking on land, but there is no mention of the princess being in the boat in the eel story.

Octavinelle even acknowledges that the Sea Witch once made herself huge and sunk a ship with a whirlpool and "some even labeled her a monster," saying that she was later lauded as a compassionate figure after turning over a new leaf. (While the less-than-pleasant deeds done by the Sorcerer, the Fairest Queen and the King of Beasts in the stories that we know are never mentioned.)

Silver's tale from Halloween seems to be an exception to this rule. Everything done by the "hero" in the tale we know is still attributed to the hero in the story that Silver knows, and the enemy army is still the enemy army.

To the initial question: it seems that the heroes from the histories that we know are still being regarded as heroes in Twst (though they tend to get separated into multiple people), while the characters that we know as villains are also highly regarded. This sometimes includes their pasts (in the case of the Sea Witch and the Queen of Hearts), being separated from their pasts (in the case of the Hunter) or with no mention of their pasts (the King of Beasts, the Sorcerer of the Sands, the Fairest Queen, the Thorn Fairy).

(Not a lot of information about the King of the Underworld when compared to the others! Idia mostly just talks about how charismatic he was. Ortho suggests something about "the truth" about him being closer to Idia's own situation than they have been taught, but Idia is not convinced.)

Also: there is a reference to a hero rescuing his ladylove from the Underworld in Book 6, so it seems the hero in that tale remains a hero in Twst as well!

#twstask

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thenightling · 5 months

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Pet peeve about the Internet *Pretending* to have read Frankenstein

I am so tired of everyone and their dog on the Internet saying "Actually the monster was The Doctor." or "Frankenstein was the Doctor. Not The Creature." And no one notices what's wrong with this. First, Victor Frankenstein (in the novel) was no doctor. He was a student of metaphysics. He never graduates. He's not a medical doctor at all. He found the secret of life while reading the works of Agrippa and Paracelsus. A self-proclaimed sorcerer and alchemist. Now what makes Victor a Monster? He had f--king postpartum depression. No. Seriously. THAT is what makes everyone call him a monster. The term Postpartum didn't exist yet but that's what is described. He's excited about creating life. He even chose various parts for their beauty. The Creature has luxurious black hair, and perfect teeth (a detail left out of most film adaptations). But the eyes are yellow and watery. There's an effect that we'd today call Uncanny Valley. Victor does not find him hideous until he comes to life. Then Victor flees. It takes him months to recover from his "Brain fever." He has a sort of nervous break down. When he finally comes home it's to discover his youngest brother has been killed and The Creature has framed an innocent maid for the murder (and is hanged for it). YES, The Creature is sympathetic. Abandoned by Victor and rejected by the world but both make horrible mistakes. Victor is no innocent but he isn't Satan either. Someone on Tumblr even blocked me for trying to point out that Mary Shelley wanted us to sympathize with BOTH Victor and his Creature. It's not black and white. The person claimed I clearly never read the book and then blocked me after saying "Another person who didn't read the book trying to school me." Not only did I read the book but Frankenstein is in my top four favorite novels. To me, seeing the Internet constantly parrot the "The Doctor was the monster" is like seeing the rather sexist "Beauty and the Beast is Stockholm Syndrome" (which actually means "I don't trust Belle and will ignore her agency as a character.") Or the not-so-subtle transphobia attached to the Hot take of "Disney's The Little Mermaid gave up who she was for a man." which requires ignoring that Ariel wanted to be human before she ever saw Eric. I even got into an argument with someone about that once who insisted that she only sang "Part of your world" after she saw Eric. No. That was the reprise. The first time she sang it was before she ever saw Eric. Also I'm sick of people "correcting" those that call The Creature Frankenstein. The Creature views Victor as his father. Usually a son takes his father's surname. On a lighter note we have the people who PRETEND to have read Dracula, sharing the old man image of him with the handlebar mustache as being "This is what Dracula actually looked like in the book." I often point out to them that he de-ages in the novel and is later described with dark hair with grey in it. And a pointed beard. One person, who didn't want to admit they were wrong, tried to claim he was disguising himself so no one would reocognize him. That the beard was false and the hair was a wig. Umm... Why? The only person who knew what he looked like was Jonathan Harker. And at the time Dracula thought Harker was still in his castle. I know this is a long post but to sum it up... Please, stop repeating memes about classic stories as if they are fact and try reading them for yourself. It may not quite be what you've been lead to believe.

#Frankenstein #Dracula #Mary Shelley #Bram Stoker

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eddies-disability-swag-blog · 1 year

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WELCOME TO THE DISABILITY SWAG SUMMIT OF 2023!

In the following weeks, our favorite disabled characters will battle to the death to see who is the one worthy of the title of “Disability Swag Champion” of this year.

Without any more preamble, here come our participants!

Part 1

1. Toph Beifong [Blind] (Avatar: The Last Airbender)

2. Edward Elric [Amputee] (Fullmetal Alchemist)

3. Frankie Stein [Amputee, Joint hyper mobility] (Monster High)

4. Hermann Gottlieb [Cane user] (Pacific Rim)

5. Eda Clawthorne [Chronic illness, Amputee] (The Owl House)

6. Hiccup and Toothless [Amputees] (How to train your dragon)

7. Neopolitan (Mute) [RWBY]

8. Pietro Polendina (Wheelchair user) [RWBY]

9. Geordi La Forge [Blind] (Star Trek)

10. Johnny Joestar [Paraplegic] (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure)

11. Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader [Amputee, Respiratory ailments] (Star Wars)

12. Principal Bump [Partial blindness] (The Owl House)

13. Terezi Pyrope [Blind] (Homestuck)

14. Matt Murdock/Daredevil [Blind] (Marvel)

15. Vash the Stampede [Amputee] (Trigun)

16. Brightheart [One-eyed] (Warriors)

17. Barbara Gordon/Oracle [Wheelchair user] (Batman)

18. Kitty Softpaws [Declawed] (Puss in Boots)

19. Teo [Wheelchair user] (Avatar: The Last Airbender)

20. Izumi Curtis [Chronic illness] (Fullmetal Alchemist)

21. Hearthstone [Deaf] (Magnus Chase)

22. Jayfeather [Blind] (Warriors)

Part 2

1. Gordon Freeman [Amputee] (HLVRAI)

2. Handy [Amputee] (Happy Tree Friends)

3. Luca [Wheelchair user] (Monica’s Gang)

4. Kaz Brekker [Cane user] (Six of Crows)

5. Vriska Serket [Amputee, One-eyed] (Homestuck)

6. Dr. Gregory House [Chronic pain, Cane user] (House MD)

7. Future Leonardo [Amputee] (Rise of the TMNT)

8. Melanie King [Blind] (The Magnus Archives)

9. Hawkeye [Deaf] (Marvel)

10. Tavros Nitram [Wheelchair user] (Homestuck)

11. Donatello [Soft shell] (Rise of the TMNT)

12. Zuko [Burn scar, Visual impairment] (Avatar: The Last Airbender)

13. Finn the Human [Amputee] (Adventure time)

14. Ashton Greymoore [Chronic pain, Visual impairment, others] (Critical Role)

15. Mole [Blind] (Happy Tree Friends)

16. Ricky Potts [Mute, Crutch user] (Ride the Cyclone)

17. Scootaloo [Underdeveloped wings] (MLP: FIM)

18. Victor [Chronic illness, Mobility aid user] (League of Legends/Arcane]

19. Amaya [Deaf] (The Dragon Prince)

20. Briarlight [Paralyzed] (Warriors)

21. Charles Xavier/Professor X [Wheelchair user] (X-Men)

22. Elina [Wingless] (Barbie: Fairytopia)

If I got something wrong (it is your fault, you are the ones who gave me this info/hj) feel free to correct me!

Also, excuse my ugly brackets, they were really painful to make and the template thingies didn’t work properly.

#disability swag summit #disability pride #swag competition #swag summit #bracket #competition #disability #disabled #tumblr polls #main thread

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imperiuswrecked · 7 months

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But the hour is getting late. My son. My heir. My legacy. Let us go then, you and I. And I will show you how to save the world.

King Victor Von Doom & Prince Kristoff of Latveria

Thank you to the wonderful @ecairnsart for my Von Doom Royal Family Portrait! I'm once again in awe of your beautiful talent and art. ID and more below the cut~

[ID: Victor Von Doom sits front and center on an elaborately carved wood throne as the King of Latveria, the back of the throne shows a letter D engraving, and there is a detailed open mouthed lion’s head carved into the visible arm, the other side is covered by Doom’s cape which is draped over it. Doom wears a furred cape fastened by detailed decorative clasps, and a fine sash crosses his tunic. The medals on his chest represent his heritage, one is a symbol of the Roma flag, one is a letter W to represent his mother’s symbol, one is a pentagram to represent magic. Doom’s eyes are locked on the viewer from behind his mask. One arm rests on his knee while his other hand holds a unsheathed medieval inspired longsword by the hilt with its sharp end resting on the ground.

Two black dogs sit at Victor’s feet, while his son, Kristoff, stands to his right and just behind his throne. Kristoff also wears sashes and medals on his suit that represent his heritage and place as Prince of Latveria. He wears a fine cape with the symbol of Doom visible to the viewer. Unlike Victor who is completely armored and wears a hooded tunic and cape, Kristoff’s hood is drawn down, while his face and hair are visible, he wears gloves rather than metal gauntlets. Kristoff’s armor is minimal and the only visible parts cover his neck, jaw, and the lower part of his head. Kristoff’s eyes are also on the viewer while he stands proudly beside his father. His left hand rests on the pommel of a sheathed renaissance era sword.

The unmasked version shows Victor’s face, the right side of his face shows a jagged scar that runs from under his eye, down his cheek. /END ID]

Artist Notes:

Doom of course is seated front and center, with the dogs at his side and Kristoff at his right hand. The throne is elaborately carved wood and kept relatively dark so that it doesn't draw the eye away from the main figures of the painting.

The portrait composition is inspired by 18th/19th century aristocratic/royal portraits.

Doom’s sword, inspired by Maleev’s various paintings of Doom featuring a sword, is a medieval inspired longsword. In contrast Kristoff’s sword is a renaissance era inspired weapon, reflecting Victor as the medieval king and Kristoff as his younger heir.

Victor’s sword and position upon his throne works well as a kind of powerful element, like most royal portraits, it is intended to project a particular image of Latveria's rulers - specifically one of strength, in a bit of contrast to the early portrait representing Doom as a paternal figure and friend to the children of Latveria as represented by a young Kristoff.

You asked me to use some symbolism relevant to their backgrounds for the medals and such: I used a W - like shape from his mother’s chest of magical items in one of Victor’s medals and also on the top of his throne. A wheel-like design (as on the Roma flag) on a medal to represent his heritage, this design is also present in the medallions and on the chest/shoulders holding Kristoff’s cloak. A pentagram symbol on another medal and on the hilt of Victor’s sword to represent his use of magic.

Both of them are wearing somewhat "fancier" versions of typical outfits that we've seen them in from the comics - I've pulled various elements in, (the sashes and medals from Doom's wedding issue) and from Kristoff's appearance in New Avengers.

Victor’s scar is designed after Jack Kirby’s unmasked Doom drawing.

Quote Source: Marvel Voices Infinity Comic (2022) #10

This art commission is a companion follow up to a previous Von Doom family portrait art that Ecairnsart created for me, in the older piece Victor and Kristoff have a more whimsical vibe, with Victor reading a book of children’s tales to a young Kristoff while their pet tiger lounges by them.

After Ev presented this piece I knew that I needed an art that showed them in later years, that it needed to be something more somber and austere than the fanciful family portrait of Kristoff’s youth. I wanted to show that years have passed, how the hardships and their personal choices have created a sort of invisible gulf between them but they have a deep bond as adopted family that they can’t ever fully sever. Both are dressed in their best clothing and armor, their portrait shows the image they’ve created for themselves, this is how they present themselves to the world. In contrast to the older portrait there are no colors nor fantastical tiger, instead there are two dogs that give off an almost cerberus vibe, guard dogs instead of a powerful but tamed tiger. Kristoff is waiting just outside of the shadows as Victor’s heir to take his place on the throne of Latveria while Victor sits at the ready to swing his sword in defense of his beloved country and people.

The call back to Victor being the “Lion of Latveria” is in the engraved lion’s head which I thought was another brilliant idea from Ecairnsart. I love how much thought they put into every detail of their work, and how they brought in Victor and Kristoff’s Romani heritage. Ecairnsart also created an unmasked Doom version which I absolutely love as much as the masked version. I love how Victor’s unscarred side is the one he presents to the viewer while the scarred side is hidden a bit more, how he might be uncomfortable being seen unmasked and that perhaps this version of the portrait is one he keeps only in family living spaces in the castle while the other masked version is prominently displayed in the public spaces of the castle. I’ve been a big fan of Ecairnsart’s work for years now and every new piece they create only reminds me how wonderfully talented and dedicated they are to their craft.

I love Victor & Kristoff very much and I’m overjoyed to have another family art of them to cherish.

#victor von doom #doctor doom #kristoff vernard #art #fantastic four #marvel comics #fanart #ecairnsart #ev art #imp comms a thing #*loud sobbing and wailing noises as I cry over these precious characters who have stolen my heart and my sanity*#I love this so much!!!!#its beautiful and perfect!!!

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shiro-luvs-victor · 9 days

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This is just my impression so far on the MCs of Ikemen Series. I have seen posts about Ikemen MC not having enough spite, dumb, damsel and distress etc etc....and to some point I do agree with it. Even I made a post about MCs being overly positive. But at the same time I feel like this is done on purpose from the writers' part.

Let's just say it, the MCs are not really that relatable even though they try to make it look like that. MCs in these games are very kind-hearted for no reason, overly positive and lack basic common sense. For example, take this scene from Harry's story event:

Harry did mention to her before this that he can detect if a person is lying or not when he makes eye-contact. In the scene mentioned above, a person with common sense can easily tell that Harry lost on purpose. But for some reason Kate thought he lost because she was able deceived him. It is only later that Harry told her and Kate looked genuinely surprised. I don't think Kate is dumb. But I feel like the writers think we players are not that smart enough to distinguish between Harry's lies and truth. It makes me laugh some times.

I just honestly feel like MCs are portrayed this way so that we players could understand the game and its characters better. Like Paimon from genshin, who repeats everything in baby terms so that we could understand what we have to do (even if her screechy noise is annoying). MCs here are played by us, so when male characters has a plan that they don't reveal, MCs try to find out what their plan is so that we could understand. That's it. MCs are here just simplify the story to make us understand the character's better. They'll only ask the male characters what's needed to know right now and not anything extra. If it where a realistic MCs, she would ask more logical questions like:

Is Victor also cursed?

If Crown consists of only 'cursed' people and Victor went around to search these people, are there any 'cursed' people out there who rejected his request?

More questions on their abilities like: Can Harry still detect lies if someone closes their eye? Can Elbert trigger sad memories if a person doesn't have a sad memory? etc etc...

But we don't see Kate asking these questions.

I feel like the reason why we feel sometimes frustrated when MCs act in a certain way is because these MCs are not at all realistic. I'll never believe that someone with common sense did not try to run away after watching a murder happen. I'll never believe that someone with common sense falling into easy traps. Like this one scene from Silvio's story where, Silvio's daddy visits Rhodolite because his lost son is found and he also wants to know if Rhodolite King is dead blah blah blah...you guys know that story (I assume). Emma has to choose the next King without Silvio's dad knowing and they wait for Sariel's call. A servant comes to Emma's room to call both her and Rio. This servant itself is sus because Emma clearly states that she hasn't seen that servant before. When I read this, I immediately knew it was red flag. But even so, Emma and Rio ignores the red flag and goes with the servant and what do you know? They get kidnapped. The scene was very predictable. But it's so frustrating because, realistically speaking I think normal people would feel a little bit suspicious about the person given the situation. Maybe even question the servant. That's why I'm saying...I do feel MCs are not realistic enough. I don't think anyone is overly-kindhearted to the point that they would accept insults from the male leads and be like "I'm going to prove myself to you!". Normal people would just be like "fuck off!" and won't listen to their insults. No one is so dumb it fall into easy traps and no normal person is like "I will work hard to get to know them better." Majority of the people are way smarter and way selfish (not in a bad way though!). Many people have attitude, not everyone are kind to strangers. That's why MCs are not realistic, so there is no use in comparing MC to your personality or your intelligence. They are just tools for explaining the story in a simplified way and moving the plot forward. Because like I said, if Emma and Rio didn't go with the servant and get kidnapped, Silvio's story wouldn't move forward.

That's all. This no hate, this is just how I felt after reading quite amount of stories both in-game and on tumblr. MC's don't have much background because the writers don't really put too much thought about their personality. MCs are basically last on their lists. They just make sure that she's an adult, working woman (doing some odd jobs like a flowershop lady or something, because I've never seen a CEO MC), and they are very kind for some reason. They don't have family (except for Emma), they don't have a story, they don't have anything that impacts their personality. At least it would have been nice to see why a MC is so kind-hearted would be nice. But otome games' main selling points are the male leads. The male leads falls for MC's purity in their dark world.

#this is just my opinion #no hate at all #i do think mcs in ikemen games are fine #ikemen series #ikemen villains #ikemen prince #ikemen genjiden #ikemen sengoku #ikemen revolution #ikemen vampire #ikemen game #otome #otome game #ikemen mcs

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ash-arts-but-sinful · 7 months

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This is burning a hole into my brain, but what if new game+ gave you the option to summon Carlo instead of Specter and he offers stupid/witty commentary for each boss you fight with him. Tbh this is just for fun, but I wanted to share in case anybody else might like it

Might have to put this one under a cut it could get long. Also spoiler warning!

Scrapped Watchman

• I never liked cops, this is going to be fun!

• Do we really need a watchman this big?

• Okay Sparky, let’s dance!

• (if he gets picked up) Shit-! -> Ugh- okay that might’ve hurt a little.

• Haha! Good riddance! Don’t know what the local kids saw in that thing.

King’s Flame

• Oh boy, a walking furnace.

• Have I ever mentioned I hate the heat?

• The floor is lava! Shit!

• (if he’s set on fire) I know I’m hot, but this is ridiculous! / Hot! Too hot!

• Sigh, thank god. I could never work alongside that… thing.

Archbishop

• Oh wow, that is… hard to look at.

• Watch the chicken legs!

• Really?! With its tongue?! Disgusting!

During phase 2

• How did he manage to get even uglier?

• You should’ve stayed in your shell!

• God chose you to be an Angel alright. Just not a living one.

Black Rabbit Brotherhood

• Some rabbit, the big guy looks more like a pig to me!

• Would somebody shut her up!

• Half of you aren’t even rabbits! That stupid bucket looks like a dog!

• You are too full of yourself, bunny boy.

• These guys need better fursuits

• Pathetic… And don’t bother coming back!

King of Puppets

• Something feels wrong about this.

• That voice…

• No… It can’t be-!

Second phase

• Romeo?!

• Romeo please! Why won’t you stop, it’s me!

• How do we get through to him?!

• No!!! UGH Why wouldn’t you LISTEN?! *shakey inhale* Damn it, just go! Get out of this damn place.

Victor

• What do you want? Are we killing my best friend in disguise again?

• I finally get to see this guy in action and I’m the one who has to fight him! Seriously?!

• This guy really is all washed up.

• That can’t be good for you.

• Yikes, those fists pack one hell of a punch!

• That Simon guy is a real piece of work. Good luck with that.

Green Monster

• Ohh this thing looks disgusting.

• It sounds disgusting too, I think I’m going hurl!

• It slimed me!

Phase 2

• Not the giant cop again!

• Would you! Just! Sit! Still!

• I can only imagine what it smells like in that puppet chassis.

• That was truly vile. If you ever need help fighting a giant slime monster again PLEASE hesitate to ask.

Black Rabbit Brotherhood 2

• Didn’t you learn your lessons last time?

• Lord, are these guys full of themselves.

• If you couldn’t beat us last time what makes you think you can this time?

• Looks like the pig wants his bacon cooked again!

• You had to mutate yourself because you wouldn’t beat us last time? Now THAT is pathetic.

• Still losers. Still pretentious. Still pathetic. How disappointing.

Laxasia

• Hmm. Big sword.

• Oh and it makes lightning too, great!

• How can she move so fast with all that armour!?

Phase 2

• Ohhhh good, now she’s even faster!

• Weakness to it or not electricity still hurts like hell!

• There she goes into the air again. Coward!

• Well that wasn’t fun, but I suspect it’ll be even less fun in that tower.

Simon

• Isn’t that the guy from the exhibition?

• This guy is a real piece of work.

• And I thought the rabbits were full of themselves!

Phase 2

• I didn’t think it could get any worse!

• Who needs this many hands?!

• God or not this guy is going down!

• The last like after Simon is defeated depends on your playthrough: Truth “Until next we meet. Which will be sooner than you think, I can’t wait.” Punctuated by a dark chuckle. Lie “I’ll see you again soon. For what it’s worth though… I’m sorry.”

Bonus: depending on what playthrough you did the Nameless Puppet will actually talk and have different dialogue

Truth playthrough/Lie playthrough

• I’ve been waiting for this for too damn long. / I didn’t want it to come to this.

• You don’t deserve that heart! It’s rightfully mine! / Please, you have to understand! I need that heart!

• You stupid puppet, I hope you didn’t think father actually cared about YOU! / Gepetto never cared for you, I wish he had, at least you could’ve known love.

• Why won’t you DIE ALREADY!? / I deserve to live too, this isn’t fair for either of us!

• You will NEVER be me, just give up already! / You may not be me, but you deserve better than this.

During Phase 2 the puppet won’t speak, but Carlo’s dialogue will be inserted along everyone else’s, tbh I want to have him say something during phase 2, but there’s already so much going on during that fight. In a truth playthrough the ending will play out as normal and Gepetto will die, calling Pinocchio a useless puppet, Pinocchio will be the one to finish off Carlo’s vessel. In a lie playthrough Carlo will finally be able to control his actions and is unable to finish off Pinocchio, he shuts himself down while giving one final line.

“Maybe in another life we could have been… brothers.”

Gepetto is distraught and instead of shedding tears for his father Pinocchio sheds them for Carlo

A lot of his radient dialogue would consist of laughter that borders on unhinged and the usual exertion and damage taking grunts. Regardless of what playthrough you do he wants to keep either his heart or Pinocchio alive, so if his health falls below half he has a chance of reminding you to heal. Also depending on the playthrough he’ll either compliment perfect blocks, parry’s, dodges or hits for lies and for truths he’ll be a snarky asshole, claiming he could do just as good if not better

#lies of p #lies of p spoilers #sfw #Pinocchio #Carlo #Specter Carlo AU

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weclassybouquetfun · 5 days

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I see dead people and they are in the form of teenagers Edwin Payne and Charles Rowland killed in 1916 and 1989, respectively.

Yes, all eight episodes (too few episodes, I say. A good 13 eps would have been fitting) of DEAD BOY DETECTIVES is available on Netflix.

Series stars George Rexstrew (Edwin), Kassius Nelson (Crystal Palace), Yuyu Kitamura (Niko Sasaki) and Jayden Revri (Charles Rowland)

A bit about the series:

NO SPOILERS

Born out of DC Comics' Vertigo imprint and created by Neil Gaiman with its characters being spun out of the Sandman universe, how divergent is the series from the comics?Not very. They have retained the trio's backstories, but there were story arcs they could not delve into because Netflix's SANDMAN needs to get there first. Other than that, things are twists on canon or new creations.

Of the characters themselves, Neil Gaiman has said Charles was "more or less him" as a boy and in crafting the series characters, the costumes lent a hand. With his buttoned-up attitude, the bespoked suits for Edwin Paine belies his closed off demeanor. Jayden Revri's Charles Rowland had a ska/rude boy looked that was of fashion when he was alive. This was a nod that Revri appreciated as he has explained in the past he's, "half Indian, a quarter Jamaican and a quarter English." Charles also always has red on him as a nod to comics!Charles' red sweater.

While the characters were first introduced in HBO Max's DOOM PATROL, once the plans for a series was announced, it was quickly let known that this incarnation is not in the same universe as DOOM PATROL's characters, despite DOOM PATROL's Ruth Connell reprising her role as Night Nurse in the Netflix series. This series is firmly in the Sandman universe with Kirby (formerly Kirby Howell-Baptiste, briefly reprising her role as Death in the first episode.

Should DEAD BOY DETECTIVES get a second series, Rexstrew and Lukas Gage (who plays Cat King)

have already spoken of their love of Mason Alexander Park's character Desire from the series, with Rexstrew saying he would love to see Edwin's reaction to Desire.

There's no malewife like him.

Other cast members include Briana Cucuo, sister of BIG BANG THEORY's Kaley Cucuo. Briana voices Barbara Gordon and a sundry of other characters on Max's HARLEY QUINN.

Much too hot to be doing voice-work.

Jenn Lyon (Claws), Joshua Colley (Love, Victor) and Max Jenkins and Caitlin Reilly cutting it up in a (literal) small role.

Jayden says he can't wait for fan fiction and edits of Charles and Edwin and says their ship name will likely be Chedwin. Mans don't know what he's asking for!

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leeknowsintrusivethots · 2 months

Text

A Stray Concubine

| Part 1 | Pairings: Prince!Lee Know/You, Prince!Bangchan/You, RivalNoble!Hyunjin/You? We are all about possibility here. Summary: Entering into a harem choosing was something you have been groomed for since you were young. Your aim is to make Crown Prince Christopher fall at your heels in order to restore your ruined family name and fortune, but games of love are much harder than games of lies and deceit. Content: Angst (is it me if it's not?), slow burn, smut(warnings below the cut), fictional historical universe, dark themes, second person perspective, historical-typical gender roles, imperial harem-inspired concubine system, multi-pov WC: 5119 Minors do not interact. Do not repost my content to other websites. Notes: I'm back to writing again, keyboard slappin' again. Also, I am having trouble figuring out a way to format POV shifts on tumblr that is clean but not intrusive. I am open to suggestions.

Smut Warnings: very brief/very vanilla smut, sex with a stranger, no strings, mentions/illusions of oral, smut is not between leads of the story?(idk, I think some of you might be peeved by that. We do it for the plot.)

You

Powerful was a word that most would not place on a woman.

Women were meant to be demure and delicate. They were meant to rear children and attend to household affairs as their husbands brought in income and fought in wars where there would be no true victors. It was not a woman's place to meddle in affairs of politics and governance outside of securing marriage alliances for unwanted daughters to bring extra wealth and prestige to the family name. That is simply how the world worked.

You never questioned it in your childhood. You wore the pretty, colorful silks. You learned to speak eloquently but never out of turn. You played instruments and studied embroidery and other womanly arts. You were exactly what society dictated you be: a pretty face being prepared to be sold off for the honor of your family name.

It was a single, fateful trip to the capital with your mother and father that had changed not only your perspective but the entire course of your life. Your family name was tarnished and your father was executed by the ruling Bang family for murder and treason. The only thing that had saved you and your mother was the grace of the sex you had been born with and her tears and pleas for mercy. Even as she cried and begged in front of His Majesty, the truths you had known crumbled to dust.

Your father had been a puzzle piece in a generations long game of chess where the kings and queens played with the lives of others to gain power of their own. He had been a disposable pawn, easily lost to the ages as a traitor whom there would be no songs written about. Everyone knew it, and it didn't take long for you to realize it for yourself. You, even at a young age, looked beyond your mother's pretty tears and prettier words.

You knew Princess Mai was set to wed the young lord Hwang.

The Hwangs were a powerful family - rivaling your own in terms of wealth and influence. Hwang Hyunjin was the sole heir to his family's fortunes. A marriage alliance with Princess Mai would tip the precarious balance of power to favor the Hwangs more greatly. It would have been a match that would have been detrimental to your own family's power.

You knew all of this. You also knew the vial of dark purple liquid your mother had hidden under the flowing sleeve of her gown was not nail polish as she had told you. You had watched keenly as she had slipped the liquid into Princess Mai’s goblet as you all supped with the Queen without anyone else the wiser. Your mother's poison had killed the young princess before the physicians could even get through the door. As Queen Bang had cried and screamed for the loss of her child, your mother had secretly smiled.

She had ruined the Hwang’s grab for more power and gotten rid of a Bang daughter in one fell swoop. She was the chess master, and she had outmaneuvered them all with a pretty face and a pretty smile. You don't know if she foresaw any of the consequences of her actions: the execution of her husband, the ruin of the family businesses, and the loss of your family's prestige.

Your mother had broken the mold. She had held your father under a spell with her looks alone. His station allowed him to take other wives if he chose, but he never did. He allowed her the freedom that many women would never get to taste in this lifetime, and she took it with greed and left him in a grave of her making.

“Was the power worth it, Mother?” You asked the carriage window that tottered down the street.

Through the pristine glass, the lush landscape was ruined by the image of heavily armed men on horseback. They wore the colors and heraldry of the Bangs, and they patrolled the road to the palace with keen eyes and sharp blades. Their numbers were more than usual as they surveyed the throng of carriages and ladies on horseback that made the journey in an unlikely parade.

The Selection was the only time that the Kingdom of Miroh would see such an odd assortment of women making their way to the Palace of Kings. It was a rare event, only happening when the Royal family required more women to act as concubines and maids. The needs of the Palace had nobles and commoners alike sending their daughters off for the possibilities of fame and fortune.

Serving the royals as a maid was an honor that most of the peasantry could only dream of, but even nobles would be pleased if one of their younger daughters could secure a spot in the Royal household. It would ensure that they were at least in the line of sight of the many princes, and the maid staff were compensated fairly for their time along with accommodations and food provided for them. There were certainly worse places for a woman to find herself.

You, however, were not sent by your mother with such plebeian goals.

It was not comfort you sought, nor was it the possibility of an affair with the princes. You were to aim higher. You were to become one of the women that history scorned for reaching beyond her station.

Your aim was to ensure that you became Prince Bang's Most Favored. Your mother would accept no less. She wanted the favor, the prestige and wealth that would come along with your rise. It had always been her goal, and it had been fed to you for so long that you weren't even sure how much of it was your own desire over her influence.

Did you want that level of power?

Did you even care to join the Royal family in such a fashion?

Would you ever even come to care for Prince Bang as more than a chess piece on your own board?

These were questions that you could not answer. You often thought of being a young girl again - ignorant to the world and the affairs of adults. You liked your pretty dresses. You loved running through your family's well maintained gardens with your favored hunting hound on your heels. You loved scrubbing paint off your arms and being scolded by your governess for ruining good gowns after a day of painting lessons. You were innocent then, but that was certainly no longer the case.

The frivolities of childhood had to be left behind. You were an adult, and you knew more of the world than you cared to. You knew that as a gently bred woman, you would never be more than a broodmare for a rich and powerful man unless you took charge like your mother had so many times before. The consequences could be grave; you could lose your head if you weren't careful, but great queens had never become so by following the status quo.

As you toiled with emotions far beyond your depth, the King's Gate shadowed your carriage eerily. It was an original part of the palace’s structure, built so solidly that the centuries had done minimal damage to its intricate design. It towered over the road, blocking out the sun with marbled walls inlaid with precious metals and jewels. It was meant to intimidate, and belittle. It was meant to make everyone passing in its shadows feel weak and small in comparison to the glory of the Royal Family. It opened seldomly, and only for whatever family sat the throne at the time.

Its momentous shadow lasted for what felt like an eternity as the line of carriages trudged along the walls of the palace to a more appropriate entrance for those not of royal blood. You and the other women arriving for the selection were being directed to the same gate used for supply carriages and merchants. It was yet another mind game: being delivered like fine cattle to await the murderous whims of a king. It was a way to ensure all women of the selection knew their place - but you saw things through the lens of your mother.

The Gate of Kings was the first thing all arrivals to the palace would see by design, but it would never open for them. Instead of intimidation, you saw a challenge to inflame and inspire your heart. You would enter through the Merchant's Gate, but you knew that the Gate of Kings would open for you one day. It was all a matter of what you had to do to make it happen - consequences be damned.

Prince Minho

Head held high. Feet light and delicate. Body slim and lithe. Features sharp and regal despite station. Gown loose and flowing in bright, ostentatious colors.

She could be a candidate, Lee Minho thought to himself as he watched the dancers practice.

The brightly colored fabric of her gown rode up her ankles as she moved, offering the briefest flash of a pale and delicate ankle. It was inappropriate – bordering on scandalous. Had it been even a decade prior, she might have been imprisoned for her lewdness but times were changing. It was a fact of life as set in stone as the changing of seasons: people evolved and people learned.

Minho liked that concept. He liked the ideas of society shifting and expanding. He liked the change of pace from the monotony, but what he liked even more was the prospect of those daring enough to enact that change. It took an uncommon spirit to go against the masses – to challenge the very knowledge that civilized society was built on.

As if reading his thoughts, the dancer’s eyes found his and held them. Her's were not the wide eyes of an innocent maid. They were heavily lidded, seductive in their intent.

It was another act of impudence, a daring so strong she probably would be locked in a labor camp if his father witnessed the scene. A woman so open in her sexuality was a threat to the masculinity of the insecure men around her who grasped at whatever shred of power they thought was within their reach. She would be scorned – likely punished by her closest male relative had she acted so with any other man.

Lee Minho was certainly not just any man off the streets of Miroh. He was so much more, and arguably so much worse. A Prince of Miroh could easily have her pretty head taken off for such an insignificant slight against social norms. He hated himself for even thinking about it, but he did. He hated himself even as the dance practice came to a natural end and the dancer approached him carelessly.

It was a silent exchange – not a single word passing her rouged lips as he took her slim hand in his and led her from the banquet hall. He knew what she wanted. It's what they all wanted. Motivations differed, but the methods never changed. A fun time with a Prince of one of the most powerful nations in the world. He was never one to reject the advances, never had been.

Lee Minho was many things. He was a Second Prince of Miroh. He was the son of the most powerful man in the kingdom. He was the younger brother of the Crown Prince. He was an intellectual, a graceful fencer, and the official Spare of the Bang family. These were all monikers and titles the public used to describe him, but behind closed doors they sang a different tune.

He was the shame of the Royal family. He favored arts over swordsmanship. He was an alcoholic who frequented ill reputed pubs and discussed philosophy over ale with criminal scholars. He was a rake who lived at brothels and slept with low class whores. They talked as if they knew him. They spoke as if he sat at their tables and discussed with him personally over hot tea – but they had no idea.

They knew nothing of the self hatred that coursed through his veins. They knew nothing of the helplessness he felt due to his station. They would never understand the uncontrollable guilt that never failed to find him.

He was a Prince. He held all the power in the world but that power was wrapped up and presented to him with strings attached ever since he came into the world. He could drink, he could talk and he could sleep his way through the entirety of Miroh but that was as far as his freedom extended. The second he even stepped over the invisible line of what was acceptable, everything could be taken away.

The change he wanted was within his reach – a delicate treasure that would be so easy to share. Reaching up to break it free for the rest of the world would spell the end of everything he had, but he was not brave enough. He was a coward – a coward hiding behind fancy words and under the colorful skirts of women far more courageous than he.

His frustrations often manifested in indulgence in the freedoms he was allowed. He would drink, he would dine, and he would fuck in a vain attempt to fill the deepest pits of his tarnished soul. He never wanted it. He had wanted to change it, but his own desires had twisted him. He became the very thing he feared: a powerful man taking advantage of the luxuries given to him without giving anything in return.

The dancer’s back was pressed against a thin wooden door. Her lithe legs had wrapped around him of their own accord and her hands were threading into his hair and the fabric of his shirt – pulling him deeper into a brief moment where he was not a Prince. He was a normal man without a moral compass, enjoying the pleasures of a woman's body.

There was no foreplay – no kissing or passionate words. He didn't even get her name before he was pushing her skirts up and sinking his sheathed cock into her cunt. It was not an act of love. It was the act of a desperate fool seeking to forget the world around him.

And he took. He took the brief reprieve with abandon. The door shook dangerously behind her. Her nails raked him though his shirt hard enough to leave marks. Her moans and whines intermingled with his hushed pants to fill his ears with sensual distraction as her walls squeezed him.

It was over too fast. The sounds, smells, and feelings of arousal tapering until all that was left was grim reality. Post orgasm clarity was never a good moment sober. Words failed him, and all the truths he ran from distracted him from the beautiful woman who had originally caught his eye.

“Talia,” she spoke as she adjusted her skirts.

“Excuse me?” He questioned dumbly. He had put space between them, giving himself a moment of reprieve and allowing her a moment to collect herself.

“My name: Talia,” she repeated.

“You're telling me now?” He asked in mild amusement.

“Figured you might want to know who just made you cum,” she shrugged nonchalantly.

“Is that any way for a lady to speak?” he asked at her audacity. It was brazen and crass, but he was far from mad about it. Her words had his cock twitching in his pants again.

“M’no Lady. You know as well as me that I'm not gentleborn.”

“Since we're being so frank, relieve me of my curiosity,” he said as he propped himself against an abandoned and dusty desk against the wall opposite of her. He regarded her levelly, but with the easy charisma that he was often praised for.

“Anything for Second Prince Bang,” she mocked with a quirk of her brows. She never shied away from his stare, never let herself be subdued by the power his titles held. He liked that – a lot.

“I figured you knew.” He was not surprised in the slightest. His portraits were few and far in between, but it was highly likely the palace staff had informed the dancers one of the princes was watching in on their practice. She made no comment of guilt, so he continued, “What did you want from this entanglement?”

“Other than being able to brag that I fucked a Prince?” She laughed. It was not a malicious laugh, but a genuine one. She also found their exchange amusing.

“Are you going to join my fanclub?”

“I'll be the leader.”

At her remark, he laughed. It was an honest laugh, one that had him feeling light and free. It was an uncommon feeling for him, one only his brothers had managed to make him feel. He liked this girl, but that's all he ever could do was like her. He was under no illusions that this was just an exchange of banter. She was a passing moment in his life, not a permanent fixture.

“Were you that pleased?” He asked with a spark in his gut. He made to move from the desk, but she put her hands up in surrender.

“So pleased, I fear another round would have me fainting.” She let out a sigh as she fanned herself in exaggeration before letting out a snort of derision. “Isn't that what the gentleladies say when their ladybits can't take it anymore?”

“Even noblewomen like to dabble in the fine art of overstimulation,” he smirked back.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Are you avoiding my question?”

“I would never dare,” she hummed with a twinkle showing in her eyes. It was teasing – daring on its own.

“Then answer.”

“Is that a command, Your Highness?”

“Would you obey if it were?”

His question had her approaching him, a smirk that mirrored his own pulling at her painted lips as the gauzy material of her dress flowed around her slim figure enticingly. When she was directly in front of him, close enough that he could feel her breath against his skin, she sank to her knees before him. Her hands deftly handled the ties of his trousers to pull them down enough to free him.

“If the Prince commands, I will serve.” Her mouth, hot and wanting, was on him before he could even think of a witty response.

Prince Christopher

As heir apparent of a nation, Christopher Bang was not unaccustomed to worry. He worried about the coming winter and if the provinces had prepared their food stores accordingly. The winters in Miroh could be harsh– deadly even. If the cold didn’t kill the populace, hunger was a certain second contender. If he could help alleviate that in any way: he would. It was his birthright and his duty, and he was nothing if not a man of his station.

Any indication of increasing hostilities in the Borderlands would have him holed up in his personal offices for weeks on end. He would analyze patterns. He would discern strategies. He would rethink choices in generals. He would make plans to advocate for peace treaties with the neighboring territories. WIthout fail, his efforts would be rebuked by the King and the conflicts would continue unchecked. He never stopped trying.

The conflicts never turned to all out war. They were simply petty squabbles with centuries long history over dejure land rights. It was almost ingrained as tradition– sons carrying out the same trite battles as a matter of pride over any true cause. Ofcourse, it wasn’t the Kings or Princes that suffered.

It was the common soldiers with wives and children waiting for their safe return. It was the fishermen who watched warily as flagships came to shore. It was the farmers who worked full days for a meager loaf of bread only to watch their livelihoods be put to the torch in a war they never asked for. It was average people who held no stake nor say in the matters of governance or state. It didn’t matter to them who held the territories they called home. Their lot would stay the same regardless of which Lords called themselves King, but the battles for that title hurt them more than anyone else.

Christopher knew that. He wanted to change it. He wanted to right historical wrongs and be the King his people needed. Alas, he couldn't. All he could do was worry.

It wasn't even just grand matters of state that occupied his mind. Smaller, more personal affairs piled on his already overloaded platter of responsibilities. He was the eldest of his family's sons – even in the circles of peasantry that came with its own responsibility. He had to look out for his younger siblings. He had to ensure they played their parts as royal children and kept the family name clean and as prestigious as ever. Some of his brothers made it harder than others.

Changbin had taken his duties easily as had their younger brothers: Seungmin and Jeongin. They knew their stations and how to conform within the standards that befit them. Felix and Jisung tried, but they were more empathetic. They struggled with their places on the world stage– questioning the morality of their way of life and the responsibilities they held. It wasn't a negative thing, and Christopher could not fault them for it. It was a natural part of being human.

In his youth, it wasn't at all uncommon for his studies and training as heir to lead him down a spiral of questions. He was one of the most powerful men in the world thanks to nothing other than being born a son of the Bang Family. He could make people tremble in fear if he so much as looked at them with ill intent. He held the power of life and death in his hands. How could that possibly be fair? How could he live knowing that he had everything while others had nothing? He was as well aware of the moral quandaries as Jisung and Felix. He would not fault them for floundering – he could not.

The hardest thing – he had learned – was having all the power in the world and still trying to be a decent human.

The duties and power of royalty were a loaded hand cannon given at whim by an unfair creator. Some men would tremble at the burden, and lay it down without problem. Some would take the power to head and heart, and become a terrible beast whose machinations could ruin entire realms with a single shot. Others – a very rare few – had the sense and sensibility to know not only how to shoot, but how to aim.

It was Christopher’s only hope that he ended up in the history books as one of the latter. He would be a good king when the time came. He would care for his people and not let the burden of rule turn him hard and corrupt. He would be the role model his brothers needed.

But these were simply hopes and dreams. In reality, he was simply one Prince amongst many others. His father still held the crown of governance, and he answered to the King as well as anyone else.

“You can not simply force him!” Beauty Lee cried out with as much emotion as Christopher had ever seen her express. She was usually so calm, and collected. She was a Beauty of the King’s Harem, but he had learned far too early that even his father could break the cool facade of the Palace women with little effort.

“And what's to stop me, Woman?” King Bang grunted back with a bite. His voice was not to be forgotten. It was distinct in its unyielding harshness, and it suited his appearance just as well.

He was a hardened man – a King but a true warrior at heart. He was graying and wrinkling in age, but he was still considered a handsome – even fearsome – man. Under the wrinkles covering his face and hands were scars from battle. He had seen war, but his age and dress showed he also knew luxury in equal measure.

“He is your son! You must have an ounce of compassion for your own blood!” Beauty Lee protested.

“Compassion? Is compassion what he needs, now?” The words were not spoken, but spat in frustration. It was a testament to Beauty Lee’s determination that she did not shirk away from the words. “I'd rather a firm beating to undo all the years of coddling you've put the boy through.”

“Is a mother's love coddling? I shall not deny he is flawed. Heaven knows we all are, but he's grown into a good man with a good heart!” Her voice was calmer, but still burning with resolve.

The feeling of dread that had been slowly rising in Christopher’s chest engulfed him until he felt bile rising in the back of throat. He knew he had not been summoned to the King’s receiving chambers to simply witness a lover’s quarrel. They were speaking of Second Prince Minho - Beauty Lee’s only son and the Second of the Bang Sons.

Minho wasn’t like his other brothers. He had always been incredibly brave even if outlandish. He broke tradition: galavanting across the world with intellectuals, keeping the company of whores and artists, and never accepting his duties as a Prince of the Royal Family. He had always done what he wanted, and Christopher admired him for it even if it stressed him out to his wits end.

“A heart our enemies would tear out of his chest and eat for protein. He is soft. Sometimes I question whether he is even my son,” King Bang said viciously. It was a tone that could cut down enemies. I was not a tone to take with a gentlewoman, especially not regarding your own blood.

“You– you can't say such things! He is your true son! I swear it,” Beauty Lee prostrated.

“Ah, bugger off woman! If I had any true suspicions you would be dead and he would be left to rot in a cell.”

“Please, Your Highness. Minho admires you so much, he just needs time.”

“Time? Had I known you and your welp would be so resource intensive, I would have left you both in the whore house you came from.” King Bang said it as if he were discussing the menu for the upcoming festivities. It was as casual a threat as could be delivered, but it was a threat.

“Plea–”

“Save your whimpering. There will be no further discussion. Minho will cease his fruitless adventures and settle down here in the palace with a harem befitting his station – or he will be sent to the Borderlands indefinitely.”

“You would send your own son to die in such a way?” Beauty Lee cried. As if suddenly realizing he was present, her wild eyes fell on Christopher. Before he could even register what was happening, she was tugging the sleeve of his shirt in desperation. “My Prince! He is your brother! Minho will die in the Borderlands! You know it.”

“Unhand the Crown Prince, Woman! I have taken heads for less!” King Bang roared amongst her pleas for mercy.

It was moments like this that Christopher liked to pretend. He was not simply Prince Christopher: he was King Christopher. He held the power. He would never let Beauty Lee be in such distress and he would be content to let Minho live as he saw fit, but those were still dreams. He was but a Prince, and Minho was too. If they wanted to survive for a future, they all had their parts to play. He could not pretend: he had to take action.

“Father,” Christopher spoke up as Beauty Lee clung to him. “I will take responsibility.”

“For Minho?” King Bang questioned with narrowed eyes. He was always suspicious– always seeing a play even if there was none, and truly Christopher didn’t have one.

“Yes. I will ensure he settles down into Court Life,” Christopher assured his dad and the bleary-eyed Beauty. She blinked up at him with hope, and even fondness. She always had been kind to him and his brothers. She would sneak them sweets when they were young and practiced at swords and the King forbade it. She was a kind woman – maybe too kind for the world she had been adopted into. “I will make sure he accepts it, and adjusts appropriately.”

“Sometimes, I fear I have raised no sons, but seven bleeding hearts instead,” King Bang sighed. He contemplated for a moment, his eyes flashing between his concubine and his heir with laser focus. If he were looking for something, he seemed to be content with what he found. “I will let you.”

“Oh, Your Majesty. I will be forever grateful. You are good, and just!” Beauty Lee cried as she dropped Christopher’s arm only to bow as low as possible at the foot of the King’s ornate desk chair he occupied.

“Save your words,” he commanded her. Her words stopped at once at his admonishment. “If Christopher should fail to tame my most wayward son, it will be a statement of his right to rule.”

As he spoke, he stared right into the eyes of Chrisopher.

The young prince was not surprised. He had spent his entire life jumping through hoops to earn not only his crown, but even a shred of affection from the larger than life figure that he shared blood with. His aptitude had never failed him, but he would never feel safe relying on his father’s love for anything in his life.

“If I cannot trust my heir to command his own blood, how can I trust him to command the people of an entire kingdom?” the King added. He let the threat hang in the air before turning his attention back to the sniveling Beauty at his feet. “In other words, if he fails: you will ruin two of my sons.”

It was another threat meant for the woman who had borne him a child.

She was one of his longest lasting concubines. It was rumored that Beauty Lee was the one woman of the harem that held any love from the King, and she had suffered for it. She had been scorned and bullied by the other women of the King’s harem. She had been attacked in countless games of court intrigue. She had outlasted all the attempts to have her ousted from the court and from his favor.

Christopher could only wonder: how would she survive the biggest threat of them all?

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