#not being treated with the mindfulness that he ought to have treated them with

[yestrday]

― YANDERE! GENSHIN ACADEMY AU. pt one | two | three | four | five

⇢ alhaitham, kaveh, tighnari, cyno + ayato, baizhu, mika / gn! reader

introducing! from sumeru hails teyvat's brightest minds, and it's no surprise that many of the academu's smartest are true-blood sumerians. a lesser known fact is that these are less skilled in the workings of the heart, and therefore, a bit more unstable than the average lad.

warning! yandere, obsessive & possessive behavior, unhealthy relationships, master-pet dynamics, mentions of bullying, physical wounds

— STOIC ACADEMIC TYPE. alhaitham | الهيثم

[ “if you’re looking to get my help, i’d rather you just outright say it than dilly-dallying around.” ]

⇢ one of the geniuses in your second year, haitham is a no-nonsense type of guy that has that air of arrogance around him. he’s quite hard to approach, and he doesn’t care to socialize with any of your circles. he has, however, taken a liking to you, and will usually just drag you around whenever he feels like it.

⇢ expect forced study sessions with him in the library. he’s very keen on making sure your grades are in tip-top shape, even though you never asked him for help. it’s obvious that he takes a bit of sadistic pleasure when you ask him for his help. when you ask him on how to solve a problem, he stops whatever he’s reading and scrutinizes you with those stoic eyes, before a small and smug grin forms on his face. sometimes you’re not sure if he truly wants to help you or he just likes to hear you plead and beg.

⇢ kinda likes to see you screw up as well. seeing you excel (because he helped you, after all) is all nice and good, but he likes to see you fumble it every once in a while. sometimes you get a bit arrogant, refusing his help and insisting that you can do it by yourself, only for it to backfire in your face. when you run back to him with your begging and pleading, he puts on a show of being nonchalant about it. didn’t you say you were fine? so why bother him now, and especially in the middle of a good book?

⇢doesn’t hide the fact that he sort of treats you like a pet, with the way he drags you to and fro. his blunt everyday tone makes everyone feel like he’s looking down at them, but even more so with the way he talks to you. stay, he says when you start approaching him. sit, he tells you. whether you follow or not is up to you, and while he does love having an obedient pet, there is some fun to be found in keeping a bratty one.

⇢likes to see you rely on him. is it out of genuine care or because he sees you as a complete fool who can’t do anything on their own, time will tell, but he’s strangely insistent about you depending on him. he doesn’t make it very obvious, especially when he acts like he could give two shits about anything, but when you mention having troubles, he says things like “that is what you’re having trouble with?” without offering his help, you usually start nagging him for the answer.

⇢haitham isn’t one for praise but… he does get a kick off you praising him. not because he’s starved for it (he’s had heaps of that ever since he showed his academic prowess) but because it felt just right. he does help you a lot, doesn’t he? taking the time out of his busy day to help you with whatever silly thing you need. the least you could do is thank him for it.

[ “honestly, you ought to be more grateful with how much i’m always helping you.” ]

– PASSIONATE TYPE. kaveh | کاوه

[ “oh yeah, uh, i guess i did win that! do… do you like it?” ]

⇢ your senior kaveh who’s been all over you ever since your first year. he’s a bit clingy with his touches, holding onto your arm while you walk and greeting you with hugs ever since the two of you got close. whenever the two of you see each other in the hallways, he immediately latches onto you and doesn’t let go. will drag you around while chatting your ear off.

⇢ often starts to show off when you’re around. he tries to be really nonchalant about it too, like casually trying to slip in his accomplishment in the middle of a conversation to make it seem like he’s not trying too hard. when you smile and compliment him, he starts to stutter and blush, losing the cool composure he tried to maintain just moments ago. the others tease him for being a senior who wants to impress his junior and he quickly denies it (“they’re just saying what they want!” he’d huff to you), but you can’t deny the red blush and the pleased smile on his face.

⇢ always trying to help other people out, even if he’s too busy. while he’ll drop everything he’s doing when you ask him a favor, he also doesn’t have the heart to say no to others. some days, he gets a bit disheveled by dismissal after helping out so many people at once. when he starts whining to you and he becomes even clingier, be understanding and let him. he’s had a rough day, after all.

⇢ everyone knows the shenanigans that occur around you in school and kaveh is no exception. so he’s made a bit paranoid every day, wondering when of your crazed suitors will snap and just kidnap you. he could just do it himself and not worry about being separated from you, but he thinks he’s above such things (true, but only without the proper motivation). to compensate for this, he spends every second with you like it’s his last.

⇢ did you just hold his hand?!? that must mean something, right?! he conveniently forgets that you’ve held hands with numerous other people in this academy, but you can’t blame the poor dude, he’s the type to overthink stuff like that. he’s gone over seemingly normal moments between you two countless times in his head, wondering if any of that meant something. at the back of his head, he knows he’s overreacting. but then he remembers when you gave him some papers and your fingers lingered for some seconds then he starts squealing in his pillow, absolutely deluded by his fantasies.

⇢ he’s not the jealous type…! really! he knows how kind and sweet you are. he knows that the praises you have for him are genuine and the way you look at him in admiration is all real. you’re not the type to fake those after all…! even so… even so, you continue to look at others with that same look, and praise them with the same praise. it’s not that they don’t deserve it but… is he not just good enough? to have your praises reserved for only him… was he just not worthy of that?!

[ “did i… did i do something wrong…? please, just talk to me, look at me!” ]

— SASSY TYPE. tighnari | الطغنري

[ “those idiots… honestly, they could at least treat you with a little more care!” ]

⇢ straightforward and no-nonsense, tighnari is well-respected among his peers for being an academic with an honest personality. especially in a school where anything can just tip anyone off, tighnari does not care about who he has to offend to make them back off. as such, many suitors can’t just do their trickery to you whenever he’s watching, lest he call them out on the spot.

⇢ he’s very concerned about your wellbeing. he’s often warning you about the dangers of the men you surround yourself with. whether you believe him or not is up to you, but that won’t stop him from trying to prevent anything from happening to you. obviously, he can’t just say that someone’s killed someone— he doesn’t want to ruin your life like that— but he’s often cryptic, hoping that you’ll figure it out for yourself.

⇢ very naggy, though he nags like a disappointed mother rather than a caring one. you and cyno are often at the end of these rants when you two do something stupid (either together or as individuals), but it’s a sign that tighnari truly cares about you. he could care less whether haitham cut himself on one of his books, but when you do he’s immediately all over you and berating you for being stupid and careless.

⇢ becomes too smug whenever you show a preference for him. he loves feeling when you choose him over anyone else and the suitors stew in their anger when he shoots them a haughty grin. cyno often has to remind him that he’s being too much, but he knows how much tighnari delights in defeating the other harem members without even having to do anything. you chose him out of your own free will, and that says a lot more than having you forced to pick him.

⇢ being raised on botany and all its properties, tighnari’s almost an expert in all things plants and that includes their… chemistry. it’s no surprise that he’s one of the suitors who are capable of concocting their little mixtures. when using it on other competitors, he’s not one to dirty his hands. he often has cyno slipping a thing or two in their drinks (or in special cases, an overly desparate kaveh). but when it comes to tampering with your drink? well, he reserves that special privilege for himself, all for the pleasure of watching the chemicals slowly affect you.

⇢ a smart guy, who knows that the way to your heart is not intimidating you into it but instead playing the nice and concerned friend. poor you, always being chased around by these unstable men. why have them who will only hurt you, when you can come to him, someone that you can trust? even if your vision is slipping away, your body becomes heavy… you can trust him, no matter what~

[ “feeling sleepy already? dear me, your body is really fragile… and cute ♪” ]

— GUARD DOG TYPE. cyno | κύων 

[ “if they’re bothering you again, talk to me. i’ll be the one to handle it.” ]

⇢ serious cyno who amuses you with his corny jokes delivered with a stoic expression. despite looking so mature, being with cyno often gets you two into trouble that he didn’t foresee. it has something to do with that intimidating expression and the way he’s ready to fight anyone who nears him. people mistake him for challenging them to a fight, and more often than not you’re left watching cyno beat down opponents in self-defense.

⇢ when people aren’t busy trying to fight him, cyno’s always seen patrolling the campus halls as head of the security committee. you can tell who’s been caught by him before by the way they flinch and avoid his piercing gaze. even many of his admirers are a bit terrified of him, and all they can do is just watch him walk over to you and whisper in your ear. they think you’re in trouble, but in reality, he’s telling you to meet him at the same meeting spot because he wants to show you this rare genius invocation card he just bought.

⇢ no one in his friend group takes him seriously anymore, not when he’s busy challenging all of them to a tcg fight every get-together. they tend to get roped up into his antics, and you can see how boys really will just be boys as the four of them begin to one-up each other into petty competitions. and cyno’s always been the most competitive out of them.

⇢ cyno seems to have a habit of suddenly showing up moments before one of your suitors plans to do something. they might start to sneak into your lockers to steal something when they see cyno leaning casually against the wall with a knowing glint in his eye. or when one of them spikes your drink and cyno unhesitatingly takes your glass and dump it on the floor, without breaking eye contact with the suspect. the guard dog that you don’t know about.

⇢ part of the protective stalker group within your suitors who make sure to follow you from the shadows whenever he has free time. these stalkers are often chill with each other, nodding at each other in acknowledgment whenever they bump into each other in one of their stalking escapades. he keeps a close eye on you at all times, with your security purely his concern and nothing else.

⇢ indifferent to getting his hands bloody. he’s not unreasonable— he knows that he can’t kill someone just because he’s jealous or something like that. he can’t risk doing something that will have an impact on you. but justice has to be served, and when he sees someone hurt you or become a threat to your safety… he just can’t help it. whether it’s mixing nari’s poison or simply giving them a cold, swift death, everything he does is because he loves you so.

[ “hush, there’s nothing to cry about. they’re gone, no one will hurt you. i have served you justice.” ]

— SCHEMING TYPE. kamisato ayato | 神里綾人

[ “oho? it pains me that you’re so wary of me, even after all these years!” ]

⇢ senior ayato who always has that gentle but calculating mask on, socializing with many people but never close to any of them. when people start realizing that you might have caught his interest, they have warned you about him and whatever shady motives he might harbor. but whenever he approached you, he was so kind and generous with his offerings… not that you were fooled.

⇢ he’s always showering you with gifts whenever you’re together like he’s trying to flex his wealth. bump into him at the mall? he tells you to walk with him for a bit, but you leave with a luxury item you eyed for a few seconds. bundles you up in his scarf when you’re feeling chilly, however when you try to return it to him on the next day he just tells you to keep it so casually like the fabric doesn’t cost you your life savings.

⇢ when class isn’t keeping them both apart, thoma is always seen attending to ayato’s side. it’s not a secret that thoma can go to school because the kamisatos are funding his education, so no one really questions it. they do get a little bit suspicious whenever the two seem a little… intimate, but in the end, who really cares?

⇢ you should really heed others’ warnings about ayato, because it’s clear that he’s a dangerous fellow. he seems to know everything about everyone. once, he had threatened your bullies off with a thinly veiled threat regarding their shady pasts. you don’t know how he got hold of such rare information, but it seems that he’s one of the many people at this school with an information network under their fingertips.

⇢ while he does view you with adoration, it’s clear with how he talks to you that he doesn’t view you as his equal. with the way he talks you down sometimes like he’s talking to a pet rather than a fellow student, you sometimes feel a bit… demeaned. but when ayato tucks your hair behind your ear so tenderly, you have to second-guess your apprehensions.

⇢ the difference between you two is clear. he is the elite of the elite and you are… you. and he takes advantage of this without guilt. it starts as off remarks, about how you wouldn’t survive a day in their society, then it transforms into something bigger. before you know it, he’s criticizing your clothes, your posture, your personality… anything to nail in the fact that you. are. different. till you lose your pride and self-worth. till ayato makes sure that you won’t have the willpower to fight back once he begins his schemes.

[ “but i’m not lying, am i? you are different, and we can’t really do anything about that, can we?” ]

— SUSPICIOUS TYPE. baizhu | 白术

[ “another trip to the nurse, i see… if i didn’t know better, i would think you were here to see me.” ]

⇢ senior baizhu is head of the health committee and is often seen helping out at the nurse’s. his kind and gentle nature makes the sterile place feel a lot more comforting and he attends to each patient without complaint. but when you come over, the nurse remarks how baizhu seems a bit more stressed whenever he frets over you. you’re not quite sure… after all, baizhu has always been so caring towards you and everyone else.

⇢ he’s sickly himself, so sometimes he has to rely on others for help. he does seem to ask you for help more so than the others, but you really shouldn’t mind. after all, he’s done so much for you! he’s prone to fainting, thankfully not that severe, but you have to catch him in your arms before he hits the floor. the way he thanks you and softly utters your name has you almost dropping him, and you swear there’s a cheeky grin on his face that’s gone a second after.

⇢ although his reputation is generally favorable, there are whispers that he and his family are involved in shady medical research. baizhu, when asked about these, will always only laugh and shake his head. ‘let them say what they want to say’, he would tell them. ‘what matters is that i’m capable of tending to them when they come to me for help.’ such thoughtful words often erase whatever doubts they have about baizhu and even make them guilty for even falsely accusing him.

⇢ but they’re right, though. they are a big pharmaceutical company, and every massive corporation has its shadows. a solo research that he’s been working on is in the area of immortality. in recent years, he’s been working on it with much more fervor now that he’s met you. back then, his goal for immortality was always directionless, only researching for the sake of curiosity. but now he has a clear goal: to spend eternity with you and for you.

⇢ he’s an expert businessman and your harem members are well aware of that. among them, he’s known to make many shady deals, especially since he’s so knowledgeable in… drugs. he makes a lot of profit from this, but another clear advantage is his time with you. though these rich students could just buy their drugs literally anywhere, no one quite provides the safety of not being caught like baizhu.

⇢ … might make those deals because more often than not, they end up with you in the nurse’s office. whether bruised from the bullying of another suitor or disoriented from some sort of poison, you rush to the nurse before things get worse for you. you’re so smart, he’d praise you as he tends to the wounds. there is a pleasure in bandaging you up, knowing full well that he could easily dig his nails into the cuts and leave you more in need of his help.

— ANXIOUS TYPE. mika schmidt 

[ “they’re very cool but i… maybe i shouldn’t get too close…” ]

⇢ lil bro gets pushed around by the meaner people in his year and he doesn’t even question it. it’s just very easy to take advantage of him, with his eager-to-please personality and his notable ability to do almost anything exceptionally well. it takes him being adopted into the first-year harem group before the bullying dies down (mainly because most of the people there are well-known and powerful). he doesn’t quite understand how they could bond over a person (you) and was originally quite frightened at their almost fanatic worship of you.

⇢ no one would think he’s part of your harem, not with the way he desperately tries to avoid you. in fact, you could count the times you’ve talked to him on two hands. on all times he was a blushing and stuttering mess to the point that he was incoherent. xingqiu seemed to take a kick out of his embarrassment, while aether softly coaxed him into forming a full sentence in front of you. what stuck with you was how he refused to shake your hand, to which xingqiu bowled over laughing. 

⇢ when he got a little bit more comfortable with you, he was still shy albeit not much to the point that he wasn’t willing to offer you help. you’d often bump into each other while you’re on your errand, and he takes half the workload. most of the time, the two of you work in silence, with mika taking frequent glances at you. when you’re done, he says a meek ‘goodbye!’ and sprints off.

⇢ stalks you around school like a little creep, but thankfully not to the point where he follows you home. he’d peek from around a corner, watching you in the distance with wide eyes in admiration. you’re always so hardworking and excellent… it’s no wonder you have so many admirers! he was almost caught by you a few times, but thankfully you’re none the wiser. his stalking is painfully obvious to the other harem members, but they think him harmless enough that they don’t pay him any mind.

⇢ things that you need the most are always miraculously appearing in your bag, locker, table, etc. when you had complained to thoma about not bringing your lunch, later that day you’d open your locker to find a freshly made lunchbox. when you grumble to yourself about running out of correction tape, a pack with the plastic still on appears on your table. you’re perplexed, albeit grateful. after all, this isn’t the first time some creepy shit has happened to you.

⇢ he really really wishes he’d work up the courage to talk to you face to face without having to be so nervous… but he can’t help the jitters whenever you’re just in front of him! your voice has his ears ringing, your scent has him dizzy, and you’re just so, so cool that he feels so small compared to you! how could he ever talk to you like this…! maybe in the future, when mika would be more capable and dependable…

[ “a–aah… how could i talk to them! they’re too…!” ]

#yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin #yandere alhaitham #yandere kaveh #yandere tighnari #yandere cyno #yandere ayato #yandere baizhu #yandere mika #yester.writes

[mrrharper]

Coach's Process of Developing a Jock

TW: mentions of bullying and harassment

There are three pillars that Coach considers vital to the development of his jocks.

The first one is physical strength - football jocks need to have the primal urge to lift heavy things and spend hours at the gym, as well as a never-fulfilled desire for their muscles to get bigger.

The second is football intelligence. A jock shouldn't spend time studying or revising for exams, these things ought not to occupy his mind. But he has to have a detailed understanding of the rules of football, so that he can demolish every oponent he comes across on his way to a championship. He has to know how to execute plays perfectly, read the other team and adapt accordingly.

But the third pillar is just as important as the other two - the attitude. Coach, someone with - let's say - a conservative streak, believes his jocks should present all the masculine traits he deems important, and do this publicly, without shame.

It all begins with pride. From the very beginning of their mental conditioning, Coach makes sure his jocks will he proud men, ready to show off their achievements. A football jock has to make sure everyone around him is aware of his triumphs. This also serves the purpose of keeping the morale in the locker room on a high level - all these jocks have to remember what beasts they are on the field and that they are capable of completely demolishing everyone if they so desire (and Coach makes sure they do desire it).

Next one is domination. As a football machine that is programmed to win, a jock needs to be able to take control of any situation, make himself the alpha in the room and on the gridiron. This assures that he will fight to get that W in all circumstances, not accepting "no" as an answer.

The two traits above are then accented with arrogance. A jock walks around like he owns the place, because he does. The university gets the funding and prestige because of his dominance on the field. He is on top of the social ladder and doesn't question it. He also knows what people are below him and treats them as such, always looking down and displaying his higher status.

All of this is then augmented with anger. Some would call it toxic behavior or "problems with anger management", but for Coach a real jock requires that streak of aggression flowing in his veins. This allows him to function in his environment with ease, as no problem is really a problem when you're ready to just crush your way through it.

And it starts from the very beginning. Hypnotic videos and tracks Coach uses are infested with examples of dominant and cocky behavior. They set the example of how an aggressive and proud football jock acts, and make conforming to such a way or being a high priority.

Later stages require orchestrating scenarios that encourage the expected behaviors and test the instincts of prospective football jocks. When a jock's grades fall below the NCAA threshold Coach suggests getting a nerd to do the hard work. Violence as a way of solving conflicts between jocks is not discouraged, as long as the injuries don't influence in-game performance. Someone always begins a wave of flexing and posing at the end of a team workout sessions.

Every batch of jocks turns into a form of a high-control group after enough time. Bros who respond better to mental conditioning begin to influence other jocks who need some more time to conform, as their proud, masculine behavior and dominance forces the others to either ascend to the same level and join the alpha bros at the top of the ladder or attain the status of "lesser". No football jock will ever be lesser under Coach, so it doesn't take that long for the locker room to become a textbook example of masculinity, cockiness and dominance, with not a single exception to the rule.

In later stages its only a matter of overseeing the jocks in their life on the team, taking action every time it's likely that a jock is sliding back into his "pre-football" ways.

Coach sometimes has to work a bit harder to maintain the order he's created. The league and NCAA officials are not always keen on violence on the sidelines, so when one of his defensive linemen's fist lands on an enemy WR's face, some strings have to be pulled in the background. There are elements within the university structure that are hostile to Coach's methods and the jock attitude he's nurturing inside of his locker room. But every allegation of bullying or cheating can be worked through in such a way that the jocks come out on top. It's not a question of if, but of how.

Every time Coach sees one of his jocks push over a loser on the hallway, trash talk their conference rivals, take part in a biceps measuring contest in the gym or extort some assignments for class, he knows his methods are working exactly as intended.

Now onto the next batch of recruits.

#jock #football jock #jock development

[mellowsadistic]

Alison sulked on her time-out stool, wondering how long she'd been sitting there. There were no clocks in her nursery, but it felt like hours since her husband had dragged her inside, changed her into one of her punishment diapers, and sat her in the corner with that stupid tiara on her head.

She squirmed a little on her seat and winced. Her bottom was still sore from the spanking she'd received earlier - her husband hadn't been at all pleased when he'd found out how much she'd spent on his credit card, and she'd had to endure almost twenty minutes kicking and crying over his lap before he'd let her up. It wasn't fair! She'd been on a shopping spree with her girlfriends! Was she just supposed to have tagged along, not buying anything? She was sure her friends had spent just as much money as she had... but she was equally sure that none of them were sitting on red bottoms right now, nor would they be wearing diapers, and not one of their houses would have a nursery in it just for them. No, they had husbands who treated them with respect, or who at least saw them as adults.

Alison felt herself going red as she imagined what her friends would say if they could see her now, being punished like a naughty toddler. She knew she ought to put her foot down and insist that she wouldn't let herself be treated like this, but it was just so hard to protest when her husband spoke to her in his authoritative voice, with that stern look in his eyes. For all her feminist ideals and principles, she never managed to do more than whimper when he told her off like a child and announced that she was getting a spanking and a stint in diapers to teach her a lesson. The little plastic tiara was the cherry on top. Her husband called it her "princess potty-pants" tiara, and she had to wear it whenever she wore her diapers. It made her feel like a stupid little girl playing dress-up, and no doubt that was exactly how he wanted her to feel.

Alison scowled around at her nursery with its stupid playmat and its mind-numbing baby toys and the dumb stuffed animals lying around everywhere. She particularly despised the oversized baby blocks sitting on the shelf that held her diapers. She did not love diapers. In fact, she hated them more than anything else in the whole world. She hated how they pushed her legs apart, she hated the way they crinkled with every movement, and most of all she hated what they were for. Alison squirmed again and pressed her thighs together as close as they would go, then let out a quite moan of distress. She needed to pee badly. She was no stranger to this kind of punishment, as the full diaper pail in the corner could attest, but somehow, no matter how many times she was forced to wet herself, it never got easier.

After another minute of increasingly desperate wiggling, she gave up. With a deep breath, Alison clenched her eyes shut and relaxed her bladder. The stream began at once. "Eww..." she whined under her breath, winkling her nose in disgust as she felt the thick padding between her legs start to swell up with pee. "Ew, ew, ewww!" Warmth spread from her crotch, but the knowledge of what she was doing rid the sensation of any pleasantness. She was peeing herself. She was wetting her diaper like an overgrown baby. Tears filled her eyes as her thick baby pants became soggier and soggier. The smell of urine reached her nose and she sobbed. She fell so small, so stupid.

Then came her husband's voice. "Alright, baby girl, time-out is over."

She looked up through her tear-filled eyes to see him walking into the room, looking highly satisfied at the sight of her desperate expression.

"Uh-oh," he said, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, "I think someone's had a little accident. Have you wet yourself, baby?"

Alison sobbed again and nodded. She lifted her fists to her eyes to wipe the tears from them, so she didn't notice her husband's hand until it was already sliding down the front of her diaper. She let out a squeal of protest, but it went ignored.

"Oh my, you're absolutely soaked!" he said, feeling the sodden padding in her diaper. "You really had to go, didn't you, princess potty-pants?" He withdrew his hand and tapped her on the nose. "I guess that tiara's not just for show, is it?" He straightened up. "You can stand up now, baby."

Alison got shakily to her feet, cringing as her diaper sagged heavily between her legs. It was so wet that she could feel the warm, swollen padding brushing against her thighs, and it was drooping down almost to her knees. A whine rose involuntarily in her throat, and she couldn't help flapping her hands in revulsion. It was so yucky!

"You don't like wearing wet diapers, do you, Alison?" her husband asked.

Alison bit back her retort. Of course she didn't! "No, Daddy," she said, unable to bring herself to look him in the eyes.

"And you don't like being spanked either, do you?"

There was a pause. "No, Daddy."

"Do you know why Daddy has to spank your little bottom and make you wear diapers?"

Alison clenched her fists. Now was the time. Now was the moment to tell him she wouldn't put up with this anymore.

"Because I'm a silly little girl," she said meekly, staring at the carpet, "and it's the only way I'll learn."

"Good girl. You can stay in that wet diaper for a few more hours to really drive the lesson home. I'll change you into a clean one at bedtime. Now take Daddy's hand, soggy-britches. Let's go and have a cuddle, okay?"

"Yes, Daddy!"

#mellowsadistic

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine the red hair pirates helping you with your depression

Unfortunately, it's that time of year when seasonal depression, and regular depression team up and beat my ass. So new content will come slower than usual, and I'm sorry about that, but appreciate your patience and understanding.

Shanks: *enters your room* are you gonna get up anytime soon.

You: *in a cocoon of blankets* I don't want to.

Shanks: *stares at you for a minute* are you okay?

You: no

Shanks: should I get Hongo?

You: there's nothing he can do for me.

Shanks: *thinks back to Roger's illness* ... What sort of illness do you have exactly?

You: depression,

Shanks: oh... Well staying in bed isn't going to help

You: I don't have the energy to get out of bed

Shanks: then let me do it for you, *scoops up your cocoon and carries you outside* sun light ought to do you a lotta good.

Hongo: what's going on?

Shank: they're depressed.

Hongo: oh, I have just the thing for that *goes into his office*

Benn: hmm, I suffered from depression as a young man.

You: back in the Stone Age?

Benn: *playfully rolls his eyes* yes, back in the Stone Age. My life kind of fell apart because I couldn't care for myself. I could not wash my clothes, or bath, or brush my teeth.

Shanks: that explains the state of their room then.

Benn: elaborate

Shanks: their laundry bin was overflowing, trash on the floor, and the whole room was dark and smelt bad.

Benn: ... Cleaning it would probably help them recover.

Shanks: would you go evaluate the room and see what needs to be done.

Benn: we're probably gonna have to clean it top to bottom, I will go get some volunteers.

Hongo: *comes back* no I need you to eat these supplements, and this mushroom.

Benn: how come they get to have some of your hallucinogens.

Hongo: multiple studies have shown they're very effective at treating depression long term and because they're mine, and I get to decide who to give them to.

Shanks: *pulls open your cocoon, and hands you a cup of water.*

While you are tripping

The crew: * cleans your room, does your laundry, and puts said laundry away*

Hongo: I think the main cause is seasonal depression, they were fine a month ago when the light was at its fullest.

Shanks: hmm, would installing another window in their room help?

Hongo: probably.

Shanks: okay, while the shipwright does that, (y/n) can stay in my room.

Benn: you just wanna fuck them.

Shanks: A few orgasms would probably do them some good. Plus I can help them better if they're close to me.

Hongo: he's right, but you need to make sure you're not taking advantage of them.

Lucky Roux: we also need to make sure they're eating, I noticed a while ago that they're only having one meal a day.

You: eating is inconvenient, and having a corporeal body is like being stuck with a pet you don't want.

Shanks: *pulls your head into his lap and strokes your hair and shushes you* sh sh sh, I know darling, I know.

Hongo: we should also make sure they exercise more, in fact we all should.

Benn: we can take up daily training practice.

Shanks: totally

You: I dun wanna

Benn: well I expect you to at least try it out for a week, if it doesn't help then you can quit.

You: really?

Benn: no

You: aww

Benn: we'll find a nice activity you like, or don't mind.

You: ugh fine

Shanks: thank you

You: ... You have pretty eyes, kinda like storm clouds

Shanks: we should get you high more often.

You: do we have any music snails?

Shanks: *pulls out his collection of Uta's music* Yes we do.

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#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #akagami no shanks #red haired shanks #red hair pirates #benn beckman #lucky roux #hongo #from the depths of the dragon's hoard #tma original #11/15/23 #no beta we die like men

[whetstonefires]

Hey you said something about the my hero academia creator being unhinged about sexism, do you mind explaining?

I tried to write like, a thorough explanation of this and it just got longer and longer and longer and I have not touched this series in actual years and yet I've still got all these receipts a;lkjk;lfasd.

So rather than trying to build the whole massive case, here's a pared-down version. It's normal to have sexism in media, and shounen manga especially. Everyone does it. The level and mode and intentionality and so forth all vary, but of course it's there.

What's not normal is to have lots of varied and interesting female characters with discernible inner lives, and on-page discussion of how sexism is systemic and unjust and holds them back in specific ways, and then also deliberately make consistent sexist writing decisions even where they don't arise naturally from the flow of the narrative.

Horikoshi is actively interested in gender and sexism, he's aware of them in a way you rarely see outside of the context of, you know, fighting sexism. He is hung up on the thorny issue of what women are worth and deserve and how power and respect ties into it. He genuinely wants, I think, to have Good Female Characters, and not be (seen as) A Sexist Guy!

But. He doesn't actually want to fight sexism. He displays a lot of woman-oriented anxieties, and one of the many churning paddlewheels in his head seems to be that he knows intellectually that morally sexism is bad, but emotionally he really feels like it ought to probably be at least partly correct.

There are so many things I could cite, and maybe I'll get into some of them later, but the crowning item that highlights how the pattern is 1) at least partly conscious and deliberate and 2) about Horikoshi's own weird hangups rather than simply cynical market play, is Mineta Minoru.

The writer has stated Mineta is his favorite character. Mineta is also designed to be hated--that is, he is a particularly elaborate instantiation of a character archetype normally deployed to soak up audience contempt and (by being gross and shameless and unattractive and 'unthreatening') make it possible to include a range of sexual gratification elements into the narrative that would compromise the main characters' reputations as heroic and deserving, if they were the actors.

Good Guys don't grope girls' tits and run away snickering in triumph, after all. Non-losers don't focus intense effort around successfully stealing someone's panties. Nice Girls don't let themselves be seen half-dressed. And so forth. You need an underwear gremlin for that. So, in anime and manga, longstanding though declining tradition of including such a gremlin, for authorial deniability.

Horikoshi definitely uses him straight for this purpose, looping in Kaminari as needed to make a bit work. And yet he has Feelings about the archetype itself.

The passages dedicated to the vindication of Mineta, then, and the author's statements about him, let us understand that Horikoshi identifies with the figure of the underwear gremlin. He understands the underwear gremlin as a defining exemplar of male sexuality, at least if you are not hot, and finds the attached contempt and hostility to be a dehumanizing attack on all uh.

Incels, basically.

It's not fair to write Mineta off just because he's unattractive and horny (and commits sexual harassment). Doesn't he have a mind? Doesn't he have dreams? Doesn't he have human potential?

So what's going on with Horikoshi and gender, as far as I can figure out, is that he knows damn well that women are people and are treated unjustly by sexist society, but however.

He also understands the institutions of sexism as something protecting him and people like him from life being nebulously yet definitively Worse, and therefore wants to see them upheld.

So you get this really bizarre handling of gender where obviously women's rights good and women cool, women can be Strong, and the compulsory sexualization imposed by the industry isn't them or the author, and so forth.

But also it's very important that in the world he controls, women never win anything important or Count too much, and that jokes at their expense that disrupt the internal logic of their characters are always fair game, that women asked about sexism on TV will promptly get into catfights amongst themselves, and they are understood always in terms of their sexual and romantic interests and value, and sexual assertiveness and failures to perform femininity well enough are used to code them as dangerous and irrational, and that the sexy costumes are requisite and will never be subverted or rebelled against--at most they might be circumnavigated via leaning into cute appeal.

And that Yaoyorozu Momo, who converts her body fat into physical objects, is being frivolous when she wants to use money to buy things instead (rather than as sensibly moderating her Quirk use) and is never encouraged to eat as much as possible at every opportunity to put on weight and even shown being embarrassed by hunger (even though Quirk overuse gives symptoms that suggest she's been stripping the lipids out of her cell walls or nervous system to keep fighting) and always, no matter how many Things she has made, has huge big round boobies.

#ask #hoc est meum #beastenraged #bnha #sexism #i think i got the main points here #just getting lost in the weeds of subsidiary arguments and supporting evidence was destroying me #i don't need to do those this is fandom on the internet #and not even a serious level of that #meta #mineta minoru #yaoyorozu momo #honestly psychologically pretty interesting #it's like he keeps saying 'look i know sexism bad but I Need It' #someone tell him that the patriarchy is exploiting him too and we can all achieve liberation together #this is the same mechanism that upholds white supremacy among the poor #'my life is so bad already the idea of liberating those below me and having to share the crumbs with them is horrific' #ESPECIALLY if i know they're worthy and lots of them are better than me #injustice is the only thing keeping my head above water! #he's also fishing for vindication ofc #but it's wild to see how he'll put in the groundwork that would let him do something gender-egalitarian with his themes #and then opt not to #despite having done the hard part already #idk how much that's making a statement and how much it's just 'this Feels Right' #but as a pattern it murdered me

[adnauseum11]

Bomb (John Price x Reader)

My insomnia is keeping me up and this kept me occupied.

Summary: Kate Laswell corners John Price with a loaded question. John admits to some startling news.

less than 1k words

SFW

no CW

Besides his mother, Kate Laswell knows John Price better than anyone. So, when they convened their bi-monthly poker game, she knows something's up almost immediately. John obliged her curiosity by playing well enough to make it down to the last three players, thus enabling her to trap him in the kitchen to question him away from the eyes and ears of the few remaining guests.

“How’s retirement treating you, John? Anything new?”

John raised a brow at the open-ended question, twisting from the sink where he was rinsing glasses. 

‘It’s fine, Kate. Why do you ask?” The near formal response confirms her suspicions.

“You look like you’ve been trying to crack quantum mechanics all night.”

“Poker is hard.” John said lamely in a last-ditch attempt to not have this conversation. 

“Not that hard. Not for you. What’s up?” 

John sighs heavily and gives up on his self-assigned task. He fully turns, hands fisting on his still trim hips and assesses how doggedly Kate’s going to chase this. It’s Kate though, so he resigns himself to admitting his most recent conundrum.

“I have a friend. Known her since I before I shipped off to join the infantry. Our circle of friends grew apart but we stayed in touch.” John downplays their friendship, or that his routine when coming off a mission is to text her straight away.

Kate’s eyebrows nearly hit her hairline in surprise. John has never mentioned this woman. Sure, talk of personal lives is limited in their line of work, but they had spent years developing a friendship beyond their professional one. Kate thought she knew him pretty well, all things considered. 

“What’s the problem? She get herself into something she shouldn’t have?” Kate asks, going for the obvious.

“No, nothing like that. Although I wouldn’t be surprised, the woman’s middle name ought to be trouble.” The ghost of a fond smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“What is her middle name?”

“Grow up, Kate.” John rolls his eyes; he’s spent years keeping his work life and his small personal life separate. He’s not about to compromise that like a rank amateur. 

“Worth a shot.” Kate smiles and crosses her arms over her chest, waiting John out. 

“I’ve asked her out, we’ve gone on a few dates.”

“And? I’m still not hearing a problem. Really never would have pegged you for melodrama, John.” Kate chides gently, enjoying the disapproving look he sends her way. 

“Mind yourself, I’m retired not dead.” John grumbles, crossing his own arms over his broad chest.

“So, what’s the issue? You decide you like being friends better and it’s awkward now?”

“No. Nothing like that. Actually, the opposite of that. But, ah… I’m not sure we’re on the same page.” He scrapes his nails through his facial hair in a reflexive gesture.

Kate’s face softens as she realizes what he’s saying and turns, going on tiptoes to reach a high cabinet. It’s filled with liquors and she pulls a scotch down, pouring them each a few fingers of the amber liquid. 

“Cheers old man. Welcome back to civilian life. Relationships are hard.”

“Thanks Kate. Very helpful.” John nods and sniffs his drink before taking a taste. 

“I find it hard to believe a woman who has apparently known you for years, and has agreed to go on multiple dates with you isn’t attracted to you, John.”

“She shuts me down, won’t let me do anything but kiss her.” 

John throws the rest of the drink back in one swallow with that admission and Kate watches her old friend for a moment. 

“How long you been in love with her?” 

John chokes, coughing and thumping himself on the chest before raising his eyebrows incredulously at Kate. 

“Never said anything about love –“ 

Kate doesn’t let him finish.

“This is the first I’m hearing this woman exists and I’ve known you for the better part of two decades, John. You have gone out of your way to keep her to yourself, for a very long time. She’s got to mean something to you. So, you’re all in on this relationship now that your life has stabilized and she’s dragging her feet. Is that it?”

“Fuckin’ hell Laswell.” John’s reaching for the bottle of scotch to refill his glass.

“Find out why she’s dragging her feet and fix it you idiot. No risk no reward, you know that better than anyone. Now who’s got to grow up?” Kate raises her own brow back at a gobsmacked John. 

“You make it sound easy.” 

“Well, it’s pretty straightforward. Easy is another story. That’s between you and…?”

The look John gives her is withering before he throws back another drink. 

#captain john price #kate laswell #john price x reader #john price cod #call of duty #fanfic #relationship advice #secret life #awkward conversations

[palioom]

Hellooo!! Just really wanted to say I absolutely love your fics they’re so good am always waiting for you to drop the next one 😩👌🏼

But just a suggestion!! I don’t know what it is but there’s something INCREDIBLY hot about a guy who really wants you to sit on his face 🥵 like he’s FERAL to give it to her and will go down for hours if he can and he will!! 😩👌🏼I don’t really have a specific situation in mind but I just need him to have a NEED to give the reader oral idk FKDKDKS

You can do whatever you want with this! Or don’t! Am grateful for anything 🥹

first of all I'm SO sorry with how long this took to upload! i LOVED the idea the second i saw it and I hope I could do your idea justice after such a long wait, I just didn't have the time for longer stuff with kinktober happening but thank you so much for giving me this idea!!

remedy against pain

summary: after being "gravely" injured, Oberyn knows exactly what would help him heal, and you are more than eager to give it to him.

pairing: oberyn martell x f!reader

word count: 4.9k

warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n (but many, many nicknames); fluff & smut; oral (m & f receiving); multiple orgasms; overstimulation; squirting; face sitting; 69; one small slap on the ass

part of "the viper and the sun"

• masterlist •

When she was notified of Oberyn’s injury that sunny afternoon, she was worried at first. All sorts of grisly thoughts came into her head - thoughts of broken bones and bloody wounds. Another deep scar to worship later, once it had healed.

All she had been told was that he had been brought back to their shared bedchambers with an injured back and knee, sustained as he was practicing with their eldest daughter, Obara.

It was difficult to believed that a girl of eighteen years of age could injure her own father in such a grave manner that he had to stop and leave the training pits altogether.

But as the nurse who accompanied her talked more about his supposed suffering, she had to try and keep her oncoming laugh hidden. Coughing to stifle her laughter, the best rendition of worry etched onto her features when she heard of what truly ailed him.

A small, moderately deep cut on the knee and a large bruise on his back from when he fell after Obara had swiped him off his feet.

That old man.

Ever a penchant for the dramatics, the immediate notice of his quite severe injury an exaggeration like only he could procure. In grave danger to meet death, at least that was what he wished for her to believe.

Oberyn loved to exaggerate his ailments whenever she was around, keen to have his wonderful wife dote on and care for him like only she could. With her gentle hands and words, her tongue spinning the sweetest words to help him heal while he lamented about how much he had hurt himself.

She knew every time that things weren’t as bad as he made them out to be, at least not when she saw him. Before that, she would worry her head off, the most grim images in her head until she found out the truth. But she played along nonetheless, and sometimes she would even find it in herself to tease him.

“The Prince is in a lot of pain, my Princess.” The nurse informed her as they arrived at the huge double doors leading to their private chambers, seeming extremely worried. Oh, what a mean man Oberyn was sometimes, making everyone concerned for him all because he enjoyed the attention it gave him from his wife. “You ought to tread carefully.”

She chucked quietly, giving the woman in front of her a soothing smile.

“Thank you, I will make sure to treat my dear husband with utmost care.”

The nurse bowed her head before scurrying off again, leaving her to go inside their chambers.

Carefully she opened the huge doors, flanked by guards on the outside, stepping into the silence of the room. They had drawn some of the curtains so not too much light was flooding inside, dipping everything into hues of red and orange.

She could see him lying on the bed, a wet rag covering his eyes, propped up on some pillows behind him into a position halfway between sitting and lying down. Not looking too miserable, if she had to give an estimated guess from where she stood.

“Oh, my Viper.” She cooed as she came closer, watching how his entire demeanour shifted beneath her words. Suddenly he did look quite miserable, creases forming on his forehead and the corners of his mouth turning downward just slightly. Like their girls pretending to be sick so they would coddle them. She wasn’t quite sure if they learned from Oberyn or Oberyn from them. “My sweet, sweet Viper. Are you well?”

Sitting down on the side of the bed, right next to him, she took his warm, broad hand into hers, feeling the rough calluses on it. With the other, she reached up to remove the wet rag from his eyes.

“My lovely wife.” Oberyn groaned, looking back at her, blinking a few times to adjust to the sudden brightness that flooded his eyes. “My pain seems to ease in your presence, my Sun.”

She chuckled quietly, her thumb brushing over his knuckles while her other hand brushed back his dark, slightly damp hair, then trailed down his face to cup his cheek. Always with a slightly concerned look on her face, but he could see the small twinkle in her eyes.

Oberyn knew it would be hard to fool his clever wife, but he could still try.

“I am glad it does, my love.” She said, smiling at him as he put on the sickest expression he could. Of course he was in some pain, but Gods, how he exaggerated. “Does it hurt much, my fierce Viper?”

The phantom of a smile graced his features for just a moment, vanishing just as quickly as it had appeared.

Nevertheless, she caught it.

“Quite so, my Sun.” He answered, his piercing eyes holding her gaze, and for just the briefest moment, she believed the pain he was in. He made her believe, knowing her heart was too soft for him to truly doubt him. “The pain is nearly unbearable, if it wasn’t for you by my side, I would certainly perish.”

She leaned closer to him, placing a soft kiss onto his lips, light as a feather as he was obviously quite weak. Warm and a little chapped against hers, the bristles of his beard tickling her skin.

His lips chased hers as she drew back, having to stop himself from chasing after them further.

He was in pain, his back certainly did hurt, but not to the degree Oberyn made it out to be. 

“What would make you feel better, my sweet husband?” She cooed, sitting back up again. Still stroking his cheek and her pout bordering on mock concern.

His dark eyes truly began to sparkle at her question, his fingers flexing against hers. 

Oh, there were many different ideas he had about what would truly help him.

But there was one idea in particular that would ensure a speedy recovery.

“The taste of your sweet cunt, my love.” Oberyn said after a beat of silence, a small smirk on his lips. “Nothing would heal me more efficiently than that. Nothing.”

She remained quiet for a moment, her pout giving way to a smile.

“Oh, my love. You are too injured for that.” She tried to imagine him wanting to keep up the facade of being terribly hurt, but also wanting to roll onto his stomach and delve his tongue deep inside of her. As much as she liked the idea, she was more interested in seeing how Oberyn would like to go about this. “I wouldn’t want you to risk your back by helping you onto your stomach.”

His fingers tightened more around hers, a fiery desire settling inside of his eyes. Desire and lust and a need, pushing away all the traces of him being too hurt.

“And you certainly cannot kneel with your gravely injured knee.”

Clever thing.

He needed her cunt against his mouth, had been craving the embrace of her thighs around his head ever since he had woken in the morning. While she had laid beside him in bed, sunken in a peaceful slumber, her magnificent features traced by the rising sun.

But he had decided to wait until tonight, for she had slept so peacefully that he hadn’t wanted to disturb her. And the wait would have made things so much sweeter in his mind.

Imagining her taste so much that he swore he did eventually taste it.

Maybe that had been why Obara had knocked him over so effectively in the end.

“Straddle my face, my love.” He said, already moving to pull a few pillows from beneath his head and throwing them to the side, making it easier for her to position herself. “Please, my Sun. Don’t deny your husband the pleasure of suffocating between your wonderful thighs while drinking from you. Not while he is gravely injured.”

Gravely injured.

Her smile widened at his words, pulling his hand against her lips once more and kissing each of his knuckles. Slowly, deliberately. Never looking away from his eyes.

Oh, how dramatic he was. How could she deny him?

“Is that truly what would make you better, my Viper?” She asked, feeling the familiar heat pool in her stomach, the tingling on her skin and in her spine, wanting him but not wanting to cause him further injury. They both could get quite passionate, after all. “Are you certain?”

Oberyn chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. If his back wasn’t hurting as much as it was, he simply would have lifted her on top of him, unable to wait any longer to have her.

“There is no better medicine than the cunt of a woman.” He replied, removing yet another pillow and reclining. Noticing how she almost gave into rolling her eyes at him. “Nothing better than the cunt of my sweet wife who is keeping me waiting, hurting.”

She removed her shoes before climbing onto the bed with a giggle, lifting her skirts as she straddled his chest and moved closer to where he needed her. Watching how his eyes sparkled with mischief, darting between her face and the apex of her thighs.

Oberyn found her movingly too slowly, his rough hands grabbing at her thighs and ass, pushing her along faster as a pained groan left him. Looking up at her, he found her looking back down at him with a raised brow, but he simply grinned, her knees finally on either side of his head, but she was still sitting on his chest.

“Oberyn.” She warned, not wanting him to be in more pain because of how eager he was. Her husband would break his neck if it meant he could fuck her somehow. 

He simply chose to ignore her, coaxing her with his hands on her ass, his thick fingers digging into the silk of her dress.

“Come here, my Sun.” His voice was dark and smooth, desperate almost. So close to what he wanted, if only she moved. “Let me have you, I need your sweet cunt on my tongue, your sweet juices.”

She giggled, letting him guide her over his face, lifting her skirts again as she hovered over him. He looked ravenous and she could feel his hot breath against her folds, his nails forming faint crescent marks on her skin.

Oberyn didn’t even wait, simply pulling her down onto him, groaning at the surprised noise that left her; half moan half gasp. Expertly licking a stripe through her folds, his tongue found her clit and toyed with it. Flicking against it before he sucked it into his mouth with another groan, her hips bucking into him as she grabbed the headboard for purchase.

“Oh, Oberyn.” She moaned, grinding into him, one of her hands tangling into his hair and tugging on it. The vibrations of his noises travelled up her spine, shivers breaking out over her skin. Eyes closed and her head thrown back. “Gods, yes!”

While he started out slow at first, he quickly picked up speed, eating her like a man starved as his tongue sweeped lower, fucking into her quivering hole, his nose bumping against her clit over and over. 

Like he had been denied this for centuries.

“You taste fucking delectable.” He groaned against her, one of his hands leaving her hips and moving up to grope at her breast. Ignoring how his back hurt, just needing her and her sweet noises as she pressed herself down harder onto his face. Just how he wanted it. “Exactly what I needed, my Sun.”

His fingers pinched her hardened nipple, making her whine and stutter in her movements for a second, her own tugging on his dark hair harder. 

This truly was his heaven, his wife’s weight on top of him, her body freely grinding against his tongue while he took whatever he could get, lapping at her as if his life depended on it. As if her juices were the only remedy against his pain, a concoction no one else could prepare but her.

Suffocating between her warm thighs, her wonderful sounds muffled by them but still loud enough for him to hear.

He would have to make a habit out of this whenever he was sick.

But he needed her release above all, feeling how she pulsed around his tongue, how her movements became more erratic, leading him to double his efforts. He came back to focus on her clit, slowly becoming aware of how hard he was beneath the covers, just from devouring her like this.

“Please, my Viper.” She moaned, the words hitching on her breath as she looked back down at him, so close to reaching her peak. He looked gorgeous in the red and orange lights. “Oh, how grateful I am it wasn’t your talented tongue which was injured.”

He smirked, lightly grazing his teeth over her clit before sucking it between his lips once more, swiftly feeling her reach her peak right after.

Trembling on top of him as she fell into herself slightly, she still moved her hips against his face as his tongue eagerly lapped up her release. His name tumbled from her lips like a prayer, over and over as his fingers dug into her ass, keeping her close to him even as the pleasure started to border on pain.

And she knew, as he didn’t stop and simply kept going, that he hadn’t had enough of his remedy yet. Still needed more to sate himself, to heal. Circling her clit, fucking into her sensitive hole, all while he began to writhe underneath her.

Oberyn loved the shift in her sounds, more on the side of painful pleasure which he knew she loved, her senses heightened and burning a path of desire inside of her as he kept going. Taking what he needed from her, trying to keep his hips still as a sharp pain shot up his back each time they rutted up into nothing, against the thin covers which provided little relief.

She took a glance over her shoulder, her hips stopping just for a moment as she saw his cock straining against the covers. Thick and hard, all from him burying his face inside her cunt, aching to be touched.

Wondering if he would end up begging for her touch, knowing he derived just as much pleasure from eating her cunt like he would with his cock inside of it. That’s what made him so wonderful, being able to give and receive pleasure just from that alone.

Choosing to ignore it and see if he actually would end up begging her, she bit her lip and turned back around, his tongue swiftly working her up again, pain and pleasure bleeding together into one. A steady buzz that had her nerves aflame and her mind swimming, torn between shying away from and pressing herself down harder onto his eager and warm tongue.

He hurled her into her next orgasm, her juices trickling down his chin and neck while he hummed into her. His own sounds bordered on pain, making her concerned amidst the haze surrounding her like a thick fog, but she knew fully well that he knew his limits.

Hopefully.

Oberyn needed her desperately, the pain in his back almost forgotten in the nagging presence of his aching cock, the friction against the thin sheets doing nothing for him. Wanting to lap at her sweet, swollen cunt but also needing her on him somehow, engulfing him.

Her hands, her mouth, her tits - he would take anything as long as it meant he could keep his face buried between her warm thighs.

Reluctantly he pushed her away from his mouth just briefly, latching onto the soft, scarred inside of her thigh. Her tiger’s stripes as he called them affectionately, from carrying his children and the weight gain that came along with that.

“My Sun.” He groaned, tanned fingers digging into her skin and his eyes closing briefly as he dug his teeth into her thigh, humming. Feeling like he was getting drunk just from her, or going crazy. Maybe even both. “Gods, I need you.”

A giggle left her through the haze in her mind, catching her breath in the brief moment of respite. She loved when he got so drunk on her that he couldn’t let his lips rest even for just a second.

“You have me, Oberyn.” She whispered, flames still licking at her insides, her blood boiling hot. Acting as though she didn’t know about the painful erection hiding beneath the covers. “I would think you have me, your tongue was deep in my cunt just moments ago.”

Oberyn groaned again, more kisses and licks and bites bestowing the inside of her thighs in a frenzy. His wife could be such a mean woman sometimes, teasing him, making him wait.

Maybe this was his punishment for acting sicker than he was.

“My cock demands your attention, my Sun.” He rasped, his eyes piercing and full of lust. His hips rutted upwards as if to emphasize his point, a deep grunt following the movement. One of pain, and it made her wonder whether she should be doing this with him in the first place. “My sweet, please. I need to find relief in you.”

Hearing him plead her to pleasure him only fanned the flames inside of her, a whine escaping her lips as her own hips bucked up. She didn’t want to keep him waiting, but just how desperate could Oberyn become?

“But you need my cunt, my Prince.” She said, brushing his hair back without a care in the world. Like she wasn’t burning up from the inside and like he wasn’t aching for her. “How will you heal if you engulf your cock inside of it? What other remedy do we have that is better than my cunt?”

Oberyn licked his lips, regretting that he had taught her to be so naughty.

“My Sun, don’t tease your bruised and sick husband like this.” He admonished, attempting to move her, but the sharp pain in his back swiftly reminded him that he shouldn’t. And he really did not want to miss her wet heat just yet, needing more of her. “I will take anything you can give me, as long as you do. Please, my darling.”

She giggled and Oberyn immediately knew that she was playing with him. Making a twisted little game out of his injury.

He would have to punish her once he was healed enough.

“Does your cock need me so desperately, my Viper?” She asked, laughing breathlessly. “I don’t wish to break my sweet husband in half, you are so gravely injured already.”

The sound that rumbled in his chest was akin to a growl, his patience for her games wearing thin as his dick throbbed with need in between his legs. Aching and desperate for her touch.

“My sweet, please.” He whined, his eyebrows knitting together as he looked up at her. Begging her with his eyes, so full of lust and hurt and desperation that she melted underneath them. “Turn around and let me feel the divinity of your mouth and tongue, my Sun. Help me heal, my Princess.”

She smirked, swiftly moving off of his face before turning around and straddling it again, feeling his strong hands grip her thighs as she leaned down. 

Biting her lip as she slowly peeled back the thin, orange fabric of the covers, she let her fingers wander over his hot, tanned skin dipped in orange hues. Feeling his muscles twitch beneath it, teasingly slow as he groaned into her middle, tongue already back on her.

“Don’t tease your husband, my dear.” He whined, digging his fingers into her skin harder in an attempt to make her move faster. “The punishment for this crime is severe.”

It did nothing to stop her teasing, only moaning when his teeth nipped at her folds, her fingers finally uncovering him. Erect and red and angry, the head weeping for her and throbbing as she ran a finger along the length of it with a featherlight touch.

Tracing the thick veins, his hips squirming and his moans muffled by her, she couldn’t help the small laugh that left her. Only keeping him waiting a little longer, she finally granted him his wish, kissing the head of his cock and tasting the saltiness of the pre-cum.

“Oh, Gods.” She heard him groan behind her before his tongue dove into her, eliciting a high pitched moan from her when the pleasurable pain returned. “You gorgeous thing, my Sun.”

Just as eager as he was at the beginning, lapping at her like a man starved, home from long travels through the desert. His hands keeping her squirming hips in place.

She slowly let spit dribble down his cock, wrapping her fingers around it before she pressed her lips against the head over and over, her tongue teasing the sensitive skin with tiny licks before finally flattening against it.

When she finally wrapped her lips around him, he bucked up into her mouth, a whine sounding from between her thighs. Immediate relief spread through him but he needed more, both on his tongue as well as his cock, her head bobbing up and down. Her thighs began to tremble, the slick sounds of her cunt as well as her mouth on him pushing her closer to the edge as she took him deeper.

Her hand wandered to his balls, heavy and warm as she fondled them, just how Oberyn liked it. Taking him deeper still, hitting the back of her throat and feeling another groan against her middle, travelling up her spine.

So damn close, forgetting to move for a moment as she concentrated on the fiery sensation that threatened to set her body ablaze again, closing her eyes and whimpering around him.  The tightness of her throat only spurred him on, her weight on top of him as he finally hurled her over the edge, her sounds coming out as delicious vibrations around his cock.

Yet not stopping, giving her ass a soft smack to spur her back into moving, kneading the soft flesh.

She moved in earnest now, letting him slip down her throat and stilling for a few moments before simply teasing the dark head, kissing and licking at it with vulgar wet sounds.

How she wished to look at him right now, see his dark, piercing eyes glazed over with lust and need and watch him watch her devour his thick cock. Her cunt pulsed at the thought, his talented tongue keeping her nerves aflame, the pain it elicited only helping in hurling her closer to yet another orgasm.

“One more, my sweet.” He groaned, so close himself as her mouth worked over his sensitive cock. “One more for me, let me heal myself through you.”

A sharp whine left her, hips bucking against his face.

“One more for you.” She breathed out, her fingers wrapping around the shaft again and suckling at the head. Delirious and repeating what he had said. “One more, Oberyn- Please-”

She was unsure if she needed him more than he needed her right now, still in awe of how long he could stave off on his peak despite how sensitive and worked up he was.

When the telltale twitching of his cock set in, her tongue continuously flicking over the slit, she felt him focus on her clit, closing his lips around it and sucking hard. Just needing to swallow down more of her.

“Oberyn-” She moaned, dragging out his name as she spilled all over his face, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, trembling on top of him.

It triggered his own peak, groaning into her while he finally felt that sweet release wash over him, dulled by the sharp pain shooting up his spine. Still, nothing could ruin this, no pain would ruin the feeling of his wife’s cum all over his face while his own cock twitched and pulsed furiously.

Some of the white ropes laid across her cheek before she wrapped her lips around him once more with a groan and swallowed the rest eagerly. The salty taste spreading over her tongue, fully Oberyn.

Her mind swimming at the sensation and her body boneless.

They remained like this for several moments, his tongue tenderly licking at her once the waves had stopped, noticing the subtle twitch from just how often he had brought her to a peak. Her cheek rested on his muscular, thick thigh, still tracing the veins on his softening cock before clumsily rolling off of him and onto her back.

A breathless laugh left her, taking a moment to close her eyes and take in the warm feeling that simmered in her body, her hand finding his, their fingers intertwining.

A soothing gesture, grounding her in reality as she felt like floating in water.

Oberyn sat up slightly, wincing quietly as he took in her face, some of his cum still on her cheek, red and orange dancing across her skin from the curtains and he couldn’t help but smile. More than satisfied with what just happened.

Never would he tire from seeing his wife covered with his cum, the only sight better than this being when it trickled out of her swollen cunt.

“Thank you, my Sun.” He said, his thumb brushing over her fingers soothingly. Almost forgetting about his injuries as he laid here with her. “The copious amounts of medicine you provided me with are already showing their effect.”

She laughed at that, and the sound only helped to mend his bruised body, watching her open her eyes and sit up. Stopping to take in his wet face, the now tired but satisfied eyes along with the smallest curl of his lips.

The sight was something she would never tire of, her core still throbbing. So handsome, with the lines on his face which began to form, the first few silver streaks in his hair and beard.

“I am glad I was of help, my Viper.” She giggled, raising her unoccupied hand to swipe his cum off of her face before sucking it off her finger. “I generously received a little bit of my own medicine. Though, my aches only began after ingesting it.”

Oberyn laughed, loud and hearty as he pointed for her to lay down next to him. Needing to feel her body, though he wished he could bury his face in between her thighs for just a little longer, slower this time and not rushing things.

She shuffled around, bending down to kiss him languidly and tasting herself on his tongue. Then finally laying next to him just how he wanted, pulling the covers over them.

“I think in your case, my sweet,” he began, wrapping his arm around her and ignoring the pain that came with it. Kissing her forehead and just keeping her close. “It is simply that you are ageing.”

A playfully shocked gasp left her, hitting his chest with a quick swat and laughing at the exaggerated grunt he let out. Pretending as though he had been struck by something much worse than his beloved wife’s hand.

“How dare you treat your husband, your Prince, like such when he is in terrible, terrible agony?” Oberyn asked with a laugh, wishing he could crush her against him. “Do you not wish for me to be well, my love?”

She nuzzled against his neck with a giggle, peppering his jaw with kisses as she inhaled his scent. Still smelling like the training pits, earthy and sweaty.

“I wish for my husband to stop the dramatics.” This sweet banter had always been her favourite, laughing and jesting with him like no other. “Become the feared Red Viper everyone knows instead of letting your daughter of eighteen years of age knock you off your feet.”

The grip on her hip tightened and she giggled more when she realized that he could certainly not do as he pleased with her just now. Secretly she loved the dramatics, always worried about him but unable to stop her loud mouth and her teasing.

“Oh, sweet wife…” Oberyn sighed, looking at her. What a funny thing she was, too swift with her dangerous tongue. “Once your mortally wounded husband is healed, there will be a punishment in order.”

He paused for a moment, squeezing her hip harder, delighting in the warm flesh in the palm of his hand.

“A punishment and an apology. Perhaps both could be the same.”

She became excited at the plethora of things he could do, though she was quite certain about what he meant, her clit throbbing in anticipation.

“First you should heal, my love.” She said, entirely genuine, pushing her dirty thoughts aside as her hand brushed over his stomach. Warm and soft, tender and the most perfect place to rest her head on usually. “Please rest, let the medicine I gave you work its wonders.”

He kissed her forehead again, allowing his lips to linger there as he closed his eyes and breathed her in. The scent of oranges filling him, his body melting in her presence.

Surely, there was no sweeter remedy than his wife and her delicious cunt, the sweet relief he found in between her thighs.

#oberyn martell #prince oberyn #oberyn nymeros martell #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell fanfiction #oberyn martell x you #oberyn martell smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedrostories #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfic #game of thrones #my writing #tvats

[heich0e]

[warning: while f!reader is not described with any specific physical characteristics, the child in this fic is described as having inherited all of Megumi’s attributes and none from reader! please read with that in mind, or pass over this fic if not <3]

Fushiguro Megumi is responsible.

He always has been, from a younger age than he ought to have needed to be. It's engrained in him now, as much a part of him as his own flesh and bone—if something falls within his scope of responsibility, he's always diligent about seeing it through.

Here's the thing about Megumi, though, the thing he doesn't even really know about himself: he's a perfectionist. Because of this, he doesn't like to be responsible for things—at least not things that he can't guarantee will be a success. Things that he knows he can execute perfectly.

But the road to hell is always paved with good intentions. Convictions, no matter how strongly-held, can accidentally falter.

Megumi has never wanted to be a father.

And maybe this all ties back to his unconscious need to do things perfectly. The pathological insistence he feels to do things all by himself, and do them right. He relies on his experience to achieve these things, and looking back on what little experience he has with fathers, he knows it's not enough—not sufficient—to properly prepare him for a similar undertaking.

And he's fine with that.

He's got enough on his hands anyway, first as a student putting himself through veterinary school, and then with the clinic he works at. The elderly vet he studied under, and who owned the clinic, retired just before Megumi turned 30, and having worked together for almost a decade—first as a part timer, then a tech, then an assistant, and finally a partner—the old man gave Megumi the option of buying the business and taking it on.

Always thought of ya like a son, the old man had said to him one evening after closing, having dragged Megumi to the izakaya down the road to get a drink. Megumi doesn't even really like drinking very much, especially when he was due back at the clinic at dawn, but he indulged the old man who ended up ruddy cheeked and tipsy about as quickly as Megumi expected, given past experience. The conversation had taken him by surprise when his mentor had announced his retirement. 'S only right I pass it on to you, if ya want it.

The offer made something uncomfortable squirm in Megumi's gut. His fear of change rearing its ugly head. His doubt that he was ready to take on such a huge responsibility. The uncomfortably foreignness of being called someone's son.

Just think about it, the old man slurred, immediately picking up on Megumi's hesitation. Yer still a young fella, Megumi, but ya won't be ferever. Gotta start thinkin' about yer future 'ventually. Settlin' down, findin' yourself a pretty girl, babies.

Ah, the future. Yet another thing Megumi hates, in all its unknowable infamy.

Megumi eventually helped the elderly vet into a taxi to get home, and then went back inside the izakaya to drown his sorrows—early shift be damned. His head was a mess, full of a terrible spiral of thoughts about his future that now looked so uncertain, and while the beer he was drinking certainly didn't help him make sense of them, he hoped, however briefly, it might help him to forget.

When Megumi woke the next morning to the alarm blaring from his cellphone, he had a splitting headache thanks to the beer and he was sleeping in the narrow entryway to his apartment with all his clothes (and his shoes) still on. But even in spite of all of that, and the smell of soap clinging to him that he didn't recognize, he felt lighter, somehow—surer about things.

The old man signed the business over to him a month later.

It's been four years since then, and while it hasn't been easy, Megumi's been taking responsibility just like he always has. He does what needs to be done to keep the lights on. He treats his staff well. He takes care of any animals that come through the clinic's door—no matter how dire, no matter how far gone, no matter how they get there.

Yuuji in particular takes advantage of this good nature—showing up frequently, sometimes even after all the other staff has gone home, with some woeful little creature he'd encountered. Sometimes it's a stray cat he'd been called at the fire station to help out of a tree, sometimes it's a dog that he'd found in the road on his drive home from work, or a little bird on the sidewalk. And he gives Megumi the same desperate look every time, the same beseeching eyes, and Megumi curses the fact that the two of them are the same when it comes to this particular responsibility—before letting him inside to examine the new patient.

It's pouring down rain one night, and Megumi has just sent everyone home for the day with a word of thanks for their hard work, when he thinks this very situation is about to repeat itself when he hears a frantic thump! thump! thump! against the glass of the clinic door. Megumi, in his office, pinches the bridge of his nose. He'd even turned the lights out in the lobby so that he could pretend he wasn't there. He knew Yuuji was on his way home from work based on the animated sticker he'd just sent him via text, before offering to pick up some beer and come over, but he hadn't replied—and certainly hadn't expected him to make it to the clinic so quickly.

Megumi sighs, pushing himself up from his desk and padding out in his slippers to the front of the clinic. It's dark out, and hard to see with no lights on in the lobby, but there's a little figure standing outside the rain-covered glass of the door. They appear to be trembling. Megumi pauses, confused, before fiddling with the lock and reaching over to flip on the light beside the door.

What he sees when the door slides open makes him freeze.

Before him is a little boy, no more than four or five, soaked through with rain and shivering in the cold. He has teary green eyes, black hair that's weighed down by the rain, and round, rosy cheeks. Megumi feels sick when he looks at him.

A mirror image of himself.

The man is so frightened that he doesn't even say anything, just stares in horror at the little boy trembling outside the door. Megumi's never heard of a ghost story like this, those were always Yuuji's thing, but that must be what this is. Some kind of spectral being who's shown up to—

A little hand reaches out and tugs on his pant leg.

"Please help me," the little boy says, his voice weak and thick with tears. "Mr. Vet, I need your help."

Megumi watches with wide eyes as the little boy opens his raincoat, revealing a small mass of fur tucked against his chest. A rabbit, Megumi surmises quickly, once he sees the ear; a bunny in fact, when taking into consideration its size. Megumi can't even tell if it's alive because the animal is so terribly still where it's cradled to the boys heart.

He feels another insistent tug at his pant leg, the boy's hand still firmly clutching it. He looks at the child, who seems more determined now, his tears still present but his gaze a little more resolute.

"So, can you help me?"

#megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #jjk drabble #jjk writing #writing #mini megumi #tw parenthood #tw pregnancy

[hiorisgf]

“I love you” (is harder to say than expected)

↪ft. Rin

Rin thinks he ought to tell you how he feels, but it seems it's harder than the movies made it out to be

Rin sucks at communicating; verbally, even more so. He's so pathetic, especially when he tries to tell you the three sacred words. His tongue remains stuck at 'I' and immediately shifts directions on the following words. What was supposed to be a heartfelt I love you, becomes an insult that says the opposite. (Although thankfully, Rin's learned to be careful enough to lock up the insults that would hurt you if ever it slips past his lips.)

You understood, you really did. So you never tried to push Rin to say it. Never forced him, never expected him to say it early on in your relationship. You were willing to wait. Rin knew that, but he still felt the need to tell you as soon as possible.

Rin knows he shouldn't probably take Karasu's words to heart. It was Karasu after all, he wasn't that much trustable. But Karasu's words taunts him day and night and gnaws him up on the inside leading to sleepless nights where he tries to practice saying I love you infront of a mirror with a small photograph he took of you covering where his face was supposed to be.

He succeeds—spectacularly practice wise. But when it becomes for real, he panics and gets tongue tied, the words never leaves his mouth and remains stuck on his throat, clinging desperately inside and refusing to go out, no matter what. So in the end, he leaves with nothing but a ruined pride.

Rin counts the days he's failed to say the three words he's sure you'd be elated to hear. Each day serves as a reminder for him to try harder, "If you don't tell them how you feel, they'll leave you soon enough you know?" it rings through his mind and the more the days he wastes without telling you he loves you, the more he panics and the louder the voices gets.

He figures he can show his love through his actions, maybe if he acts considerate enough you'll see the fact that he does love you an equal amount as you love him.

It worked. The smile on your face as he treats you to your favourite food place, tells him exactly just that. The small giggles that leaves your lips when he offers you his coat during the times you're cold tells him you get the memo. And he thinks this is fine. This should be fine. It should be enough proof to prove to you his love, right?

Not enough.

'The show your love through your actions' plan was a temporary fix. It only sent his insecurities away for a short while. He had to say it. He had to tell you someday—and it had to be soon. He realizes it whenever you look particularly envious when you see other people unbashedly professing their love for their chosen lover. And you won't say it (and he doubts you ever would) but Rin knows it.

Moments like these makes Rin hate himself, just a little bit. He feels powerless, incapable of being the lover you wanted him to be, you deserved to have. And it makes him clench his fist and grit his teeth in anger. But Rin perseveres, he thinks and thinks and thinks and thinks, until he's finally found it. A way to tell you I love you.

He could only hope that even in this, he won't back out like a coward. But it should be relatively easy, since all he needs to do is press a button and then the changes would be irreversible. It was perfect for him, he thinks.

"Bye Rin, I love you." you place a short peck on his lips, bidding him farewell before he heads to practice.

Rin nods, snaking his arms around your waist and squeezing you firmly, yet loose enough as to not hurt you. "Bye."

You stand by the doorway as he heads to the familiar path that would take him to a train station, waiting until he's out of your sight before heading back to your shared home and eat breakfast.

You hum a small tune as you prepare your coffee, scrolling your social medias as you wait for the water to boil. It's a surprise when you see Rin's profile popping up at your notifications. You slide it open, and what you see gets you choking on your spit.

Rinnie rin<3: I love you

Rinnie rin<3:(っ´▽`)っ

Were you being delusional? You check once, twice, thrice, and even installed-uninstalled your messaging app a dozen times. It remains, the message remains and beside it is Rin's profile pictue that you took for him. You gawk, jaw agape as your eyes widens as large as that of a saucer. This was so, so, unexpected and out of character, perhaps somebody hacked into his account? Or maybe one of his friends took it and typed those words, you don't know, but you'd have a hard time believing it was him who sent that to you, especially with the kaomoji.

Rinnie rin<3: Don't leave me on seen, idiot-_-+

By this time, you fall from your seat. He sent it? That Rin did? Unbelievable.

The warmth seeps through your cheeks and it leaves you smiling like a gosh darned idiot. Ah. Unbelievable. You're laughing, this was truly so, so, ridiculous.

Without hesitation, you oress the call button on top of Rin's contact. On the third ring, he finally picks up.

"..What?" he's quiet, uncharacteristically so.

"I love you too" you said, your grin never once leaving your face.

The other side of the phone is silent, and you wait for a minute before he finally replies.

"Is that so? If that's all I'm hanging up" Without giving you a chance to say otherwise, he immediately hits the end call button.

You frown, grumbling at his rude behavior. "Mean."

The next message you receive while complaining leaves you pausing and smiling brightly for the entire day. Gosh, for someone deemed rude by most of society, he sure was quite the dork wasn't he?

Rinnie rin<3: I love you more٩(●˙—˙●)۶

#@@.xylvie's works #blue lock x you #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin x reader #itoshi x reader

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Little Red Rapscallion

Gender Neutral Reader x Jack Howl Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: 'Dear Evil, Overlord, Patron. Please stop sicking your demon guard dog on me. I'm only trying to help. Kind Regards, Little Red Ridinghood'

A/N: Thank you so much to @insideous-beez for the brain rot, which became brain fertilizer, and eventually a functional story; This one is a bit darker than the other installments due to the Warlock/Evil Deity goodness, so there is a bit more horror here!

[PART 1]

Your grandmother had always told you to mind your manners when it came to the creatures who made the forest their home.

Or, well. That was a lie. Many lies, really. If you wanted to be nitpicky.

Firstly, the old crone who lived deep within the borough of the cursed trees wasn’t actually your grandmother. At least, not in the biological sense that seemed to matter most within your little, provincial, town. She was just a kindly, wrinkled, turnip of a woman who found you wandering the mudflats one day and decided she liked your spunk and general lack of self-awareness. She patted your head, served you strange, bubbling, teas laced with sweet magics, and always returned you to your fretful parents by sundown. And so, she was Grandma. Even if calling her that aloud made your parents go nearly green and had the local shopkeepers crossing themselves and spritzing you with Holy Water.

Secondly, Grandma had never told you to keep to your manners. Usually, she encouraged the opposite. (‘Why not curse them, huh?’ she’d complain loudly. ‘They’re thieving bastards, the lot of them.’ ‘Grandma,’ you’d sigh. ‘The street cleaners are just doing their job. They didn’t mean to steal your dead racoons.’) The idea of her demanding you act ‘proper’ and ‘kind’ was damn near laughable. But what she did enforce upon you with all the firmness of a world-weary teacher was the concept of not fucking with that which ought not be fucked with.

And the sprawling, Shaftland Forest was not to be fucked with.

It had always been a great, creeping, thing. The trees would groan and whisper as you passed, and when their sharp branches tangled in your cloak like grasping fingers, it never felt like an accident. The animals that lived beneath those trees were even stranger—wild, large, beasts with glinting eyes and an arcane mysticism about them that left icicles in their tracks even on summer days, or tangled the undergrowth into something that moved.

The people of your village did not enter the Shaftland Forests. They put up signs, and wards, and spun cautionary tales to every traveler who dared step even a single foot into their teeny, terrified, homestead.

You visited regularly. Because you were half-stupid at least, and because Grandma lived in those woods. And while she’d cautioned you about treating her habitat with care, she’d promised ages ago that so long as you were sweet to the forest, it would forever be sweet on you too.

‘There is a great power in these trees,’ she’d hum to you, as she stirred a simmering pot that looked to be filled with the blood of… something you probably shouldn’t think too hard about. ‘You would have been a lovely gift for it, you know.’ She laughed under her breath. It didn’t sound like a joke. ‘But you were too precious to ruin like that. So he decided we ought to keep you.’

You had no idea who ‘he’ was supposed to be, but you always made sure to shower the forest with compliments. As thanks for not using you as whatever being a, uhm, lovely gift entailed. ‘Oh what nice leaves you have,’ you told many a tree. ‘And what large petals have bloomed today,’ to all the flowers. You’d always been safe in these woods—sheltered beneath a bubble of golden affection and the soft scents of the richest perfumes. The forest always welcomed you with open branches and the coo of creaking bark.

Which is why the twisty field of black thorns blocking your usual pathway gave you pause.

You reached out a finger and prodded one of the sharp points. It bit into your skin with the clear intention of drawing blood, before swaying away at the last moment to twine loosely around your wrist.

Huh. How peculiar.

“May I pass?” you asked the thorns.

The shivering web of ebony tightened along the path and you frowned.

“May I pass, please?” you tried again.

The briar patch seemed to heave with a gusty, angry, sigh. You were about to reach forward and try your luck one more time when a deep, rumbling, snarl curled out from the shadows beyond. Out of the sea of roiling darkness and dainty thorns strode a great, white, wolf. It bared its teeth at you in an expression that was entirely unpleasant.

Immediately you held up your hands in placation and took a wide step backwards. The wolf just kept growling at you like you’d murdered its entire family or something else equally egregious. It skulked forward soundlessly, ears pinned flat.

“My apologies,” you said, dipping your chin in a gentle bow. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I’m just trying to use this path to—”

The wolf lunged at you with a near roar, and you just barely managed to roll out of the way with a shriek. The thing landed hard in the dirt where you’d just been not a moment prior, and it swung its great, fanged, maw in your direction.

“Apologies, old one,” you tried again, just as Grandma had taught you. “But I really just—”

The wolf snapped, nearly taking off your fingers, and you folded over like a turtle that had been upended on its back—rolling around helplessly with your limbs flailing wildly as you went. The sharp crack of your head against the ground left your brain rattling around like dried beans in a can, and you could taste the copper sting where you’d bitten down into your tongue. The failed cartwheel had set you back a solid fifteen feet from the wood’s edge, and the wolf huffed at you—a stupidly pointed ‘stay away’ if you’d ever seen one. It glared at you with glowing, golden, eyes for a long moment before melting back into the shadows.

You spat out the cocktail of mud and blood pooling along your tongue, and wiped angrily at your sore chin. The forest had never denied you before. So maybe it wasn’t your lovely, lonely, trees that were sending you away. Maybe it was just this stupid wolf. Maybe the beast was trying to make a stand—to usurp the role of whatever spirit had ruled over this dark land for so long now. You grumbled and made your way back to your feet. It was fine. Your forest was strong. It would never lose to such a stupidly fluffy opponent. You’d just have to try again tomorrow.

The next day you armed yourself with a small arsenal of goodies. Daggers, ropes, armloads of talismans, and kindling, and rations. You hoisted your bow across your back and carefully plucked at the soft fletching of the arrows. The feathers buzzed beneath your fingers, and after a moment of uneasy hesitance, you cautiously replaced the weapon where it hung over your bed. Grandma had never liked the idea of you carrying weapons in the forest (‘it invites troublemakers’ she’d warned), but if something really had gone wrong in her woods, then it was better to worry about asking forgiveness than permission. And surely you could argue for a dagger. The bow… With its weighted arcana and strange, dissonant, strength felt like something dangerous.  

So you apologized to the rippling thorns before cutting them back with swift, precise, strokes of your blade and starting down that familiar path to Grandma’s cottage.

You made it about fifty yards before one of your talismans began to ping worryingly. The tingling thrum along your side was just enough of a warning to keep you from being mauled outright.

The White Wolf lunged from between the trees and you skittered out of the way of its attack. For such a huge creature, it was so silent. And its gleaming, downy, coat should have more than given away its position in the gloom. There must have been some kind of magic to it—something old, and ancient, that let the beast slip through the darkness unseen.

The Wolf situated itself firmly in the center of the path, hackles raised and shoulders hunched like it was readying itself to pounce.

“I need to get through,” you told it, firm, and raised one of the Protective talismans. After a heavy moment you scowled and bit out, “Please.”

The Wolf snarled and propelled itself forward. It latched its overlarge teeth in the fabric of your red cloak and quickly began to drag you to the ground. You frantically flailed about, and just managed to avoid those glinting fangs enough to thrust the talisman up into the beast’s ribs with a heavy smack. The charm lit with a brilliant, amethyst, gleam and sparks shot through the air. You let out a triumphant, ‘ah HA!’ And then all that magic fizzled out like a dying candle. You gaped in horror as the ‘one hundred percent foolproof, don’t you worry about that child’ Protective talisman fluttered to the ground like a discarded bit of newspaper.

“Oh, shit,” you croaked, as your cloak was shredded between the wolf’s canines with a horribly shrill wriiiiiip.

You sprinted like a bat out of Hell, tearing through the undergrowth and only just managing to collapse beyond the border of the tree line before the wolf could snap its jaws around your ankles. You curled your limbs protectively up beneath you, and watched through a veil of cold sweat as it paced along the foliage—leaving no tracks in its wake.

Fine, you thought bitterly. Two can play at this game.

The next morning you walked North, beyond the only safe paths you knew. Carefully, you began to scuttle your way up the nearest, gnarled, tree. The bark groaned and rattled beneath your fingers, as if disquieted. But there were no trails of white fur yet darting about the underbrush, so you offered the tree a hasty apology before climbing higher.

From there, it was only a matter of cautiously hopping from branch to branch. Normally when you’d tried ridiculous feats of stupidity like this in the past, the trees seemed more than eager to help you along—practically reaching out with their branches to catch you in their willowy, wooden, fingers. But they seemed stiff today, testy. The leaves themselves seemed to complain as you went, and you shushed them as politely as you could.  

There was a sharp bark from beneath you, and you looked down to see the Wolf circling your perch in a frantic, pacing, dance.  

“Hello!” you beamed, perfectly, poisonously, pleasant. “Nice to see you too!”

The Wolf sneered, lips curling up into a tight, tense, bow over its fangs.

You leaned forward, keeping a hand securely looped into your roost.

“Aww,” you cooed. “Is it too hard to climb up here with those big, fluffy, paws?” you mocked, wiggling your own fingers contentedly. “Bet someone really wishes they had opposable thumbs, huh?”

And then, like you were being smited by God Himself, the branch beneath your feet cracked clean in half, and you plummeted to the ground bellow with a harrowing screech. Naturally, you landed right at the wolf’s aforementioned stupid, fluffy, paws. Its great head lowered, and you could feel the heat of its breath as it growled into your face.

With a pathetic little ‘eep!’, the talisman tucked into the back of your boot burst into life and you flickered like a janky illusion. You stumbled to your feet a dozen or so yards away, fighting the urge to double over and barf. Slipping through planes was unpleasant at the best of times, let alone when under actual fucking duress.

The Wolf blinked its wide, golden, eyes at the empty space beneath its paws, and then whipped its head in your direction like a blood hound. You pushed yourself upright with the help of the very tree who had betrayed you so thoroughly, and began your hasty retreat.

You crashed through a curtain of thorns and out into the open with a gasp.

You rolled forward like the world’s most inelegant acrobat and came to a skidding halt in the dirt. You sat up with an achy cough, dislodging muck, and rocks, and leaves from your windpipe.

The Wolf prowled behind you—its glare a set of golden pinpricks in the gloom.

“What is your problem?!” you wailed.

The wolf tossed its head, like rolling its eyes wouldn’t have been enough. And snapped at you with another one of those pissy, bitten off, growls.  

“You know what?” you seethed, swinging back onto your knees to jab a finger at it accusatorily. “Fuck you!”

The thing had the absolute gall to snort at you before turning to return to its ceaseless patrol.

By the time you hauled yourself back to your family home, you must have looked an absolute mess. No one bothered to stop you when you practically clawed your way up the stairs and into your small bedroom. Though to be fair, no one really bothered to stop you for anything anymore. Not since an old women with too much spare time and not nearly enough light in her eyes had decided that you were a child to be treasured.

You grabbed your bow off the wall and slung it over your back. The sleek, silvery, wood hummed beneath your fingers. It had been a gift, one whose very existence you stalwartly refused to question. The weapon was finer than anything that could have come from your village’s blacksmith, or honestly probably any human craftsman. It was weightless. It was too heavy. It sang in your hands. It was not a token to be bestowed lightly. But… Well. Whoever it had belonged to before, it was yours now.

And you were going to shoot that goddamn Wolf right in the ass.

On the fourth day of your apparent banishment from the Shaftland Forest, you stormed those woods like a would-be conqueror. The silver bow keened beneath your palms, and you held a thin, spiked, arrow knocked and at the ready. Your nemesis found you in no time at all, and you bared your teeth at the stupid, fucking, mutt before it had the chance.

“One last time,” you said, drawing your bow as tight as you could. “Let me pass, beast. Or I will go through you.”

The wolf’s hackles were raised, but the snarl had slipped off its face. It dug its claws into the dirt, and you watched something like surprise work its way across the thing’s regal features. Its golden glare flickered from you, to the bow, and back again, like it couldn’t quite believe what it was seeing.

“I have business in these woods,” you demanded. And then, petulantly—because you just wanted to know that your stupid, devil worshipping, turnip of a grandmother was okay, and you were so fucking fed up with this garbage—you stomped at the ground and shouted, “And I was here first! So scram, you overgrown Pomeranian!”

The Wolf’s ears drooped, and something like a tremor worked its way down its spine. But then the thing was shaking its giant head like it was surfacing from beneath a pool of water, and it straightened its posture with a rumbling growl.

“Fine,” you snapped, and unleased the first arrow. It whizzed past your fingertips with a thready, shrill, fwoom faster than you could track. The booming force of it shocked you enough to have you shooting wide, and you watched that pin-thin arrow hit a tree trunk and sink all the way through to the other side.

The Wolf rushed forward when you went to reload, fur standing on end like you’d run it through with a bolt of lightning. It tackled you bodily to the ground with a yelp, and you wheezed as the air was knocked out of your lungs in one, fell, swoop. The bow tumbled out of your hands and you scrabbled for it wildly. And then the beast lunged for the bright red of your hood, as it seemed so keen to do in each of your past scuffles. But maybe it was done playing with you. Or maybe it just wasn’t expecting you to flail around so terribly. Because its garish fangs bore down past the soft, billowy, fabric of your cloak and tore straight into the meat of your arm instead.

You gasped and weren’t entirely able to swallow down the sharp shriek of pain that bubbled up and out of your throat. The wolf reared back in shock, its mouth stained red. It immediately ducked back in close, and then away, and then in again. Like it wasn’t sure what to do. The stalwart resolve from earlier was gone—replaced entirely by a bumbling sort of panic that had your head swimming more than the blood loss.

You tucked your arm in close, feeling the tattered remains of shredded fabric curling beneath new, warm, wetness. The Wolf cautiously nosed forward, but when you flinched it reared back like you’d struck it. The beast stepped pointedly away, and then began to pace frantically back and forth. Occasionally it would stop, like it was going to move in close again. But then its pointy ears would press stiff and flat atop its head and it would skulk away all over again.

Whatever, you seethed silently, jerkily ruffling through your bag for some of the Healing talismans you knew were tucked away at the bottom. If the monster felt some kind of weird guilt for taking a chomp out of you when it’d already been doings its damndest to maul you for the past four days straight, that was its problem.

It was taking you longer to unearth the talismans than you would have liked, and your hand was really starting to shake in earnest. The Wolf whined high and miserable in its throat, and you rationally decided that it would be a terrible, petty, idea to waste what little composure you had left just to tell it to fuck right off.

The horrid mess of crimson had begun to seep its way along your skin—dripping down your wrist to plop against the damp, mossy, earth with an echoing plip plip plip that was not unlike the fall of slow, fat, spring rain. The air around you seemed to grow heavier with it—the trees swaying at their roots and the dark, shriveled, flowers straining against their stems to get a taste. The Wolf’s golden gaze flicked around the grove cautiously, and you watched its black nose twitch in obvious discomfort. You swore you could see hands—dozens, hundreds of inky appendages reaching out from the shadows. Fingers twisting up into claws like they meant to grab onto you and dig in, never letting go. The Wolf settled itself at your back like a brick wall, snarling doggedly at the wispy talons. The beast was so large it practically enveloped the entirety of you, and you had to fight the delirious, dizzy, urge to lean back into its impractically soft fur.

“Hey! Are you alright over there?”

Both you and the Wolf jolted in surprise as a group of adventurers plowed their way through the trees. The Wolf’s already distressed expression twisted into something nearly manic and it roared—putting all those ferocious teeth on display.

“Woah!” one of them yelped, crashing to a halt and dragging their friends to a stop beside them. “What the fuck?!”

The others all looked equally startled, hands settling heavily on their weapons. And while right now Mister Wolfy wasn’t outright nomming on you or your limbs, there was a still a steady stream of blood trailing from the wound near your shoulder—a set of very obvious teeth marks sitting stark and red against the rest of you.

“We heard a scream,” another spoke up. Then, pointedly raising the sharp edge of his sword, asked, “Is this your companion, Ranger?”

‘Ranger?’ you blinked, confused, before remembering the bow still sitting in the dirt by your feet. Before you could respond, the Wolf lurched forward over your shoulder. It didn’t leave you—didn’t stray from its steadfast position at your hind—but it pushed its gaping, angry, maw as close to the group as it could. The trio reeled back as the monster snapped, and snarled, and nearly vibrated out of its skin with rage. But… no. Something wasn’t quite right. As viciously angry as all that harsh barking sounded, there was something very, very disquieting about it. Something strained, something afraid.

The one with his sword raised stepped forward, the others moved to follow. And then they were gone.

You blinked, shocked silly. There had been people there—not a second before. You were sure of it. What the fuck was happening?—

And then there was a discordant scream from somewhere deeper in the woods. Distant, but close. Like there were arcane tricks distorting the way of the world. Keeping you separate from the horrible, grinding, shrieking noises while… whatever was happening carried on—not a dozen yards away. Cloaked in shadows and rotten, violet, petals like how a parent might gently close a curtain around a child’s bed at night.  You watched in half-awe, half-horror as seeping, purple, miasma leached from the trees and into the air. It chased the intruders with vicious intent. You could feel the sharp, dark, heat of it prickling along your skin, but when that swirl of near-black enchantments made its way to you, it slipped past you like smoke—leaving only a faint trace of awful, coppery, perfume against your clothes.  

“Why couldn’t you just stay away?” a deep, miserable, voice echoed in your head, and you jerked around in shock to see the Wolf staring at you with heavy, gold eyes.

“Did… Are you…” you trailed off, swallowing. Not sure how to even begin asking what you wanted to ask.

The Wolf sighed, bone deep and weary.

“I tried so hard to keep everyone away,” its voice rumbled in the back of your mind. “Why did you have to be so stubborn?”

“This is my forest, too,” you said after a long moment, fingers digging into the dusty material of your pants. “What’s wrong with it? What happened?”

The Wolf stared at you, quiet and considering. And then it lumbered to its feet with a defeated sort of slouch.

“Come, then, Little Red One,” it huffed, and swished its tail against your back. “I’ll show you.”

.

.

.

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #Twst Fantasy AU #Jack Howl x Reader #Jack Howl x Yuu #Hellhound!Jack Howl #Familiar!Jack Howl #Patron!Vil Schoenheit #vil schoenheit #Jack Howl #Monster Mayhem Jack Part 1

[hydropyro]

Just read chapter 19 of Palmarosa by @not-poignant

Thinking about Raphael’s character, both in general, as the lore suggests, and as the author describes — and I think they write it well.

Consider devils are very animalistic. Intelligent, yes, but still very much animals.

If we consider

1. How devils eat (through the release of ‘life spark’ via torture/torment/pain) this better explains his sadistic nature beyond twisted satisfaction in the way humans experience it.

2. How devils reproduce : they don’t. They can, but they don’t have to, thus they don’t have an instinctual drive to. Thus, outside of incubi/succubi who eat sexual pleasure, devils are unlikely to actually feel a desire for sex that goes beyond their desire for any other pleasurable pastime. For example — it may be as pleasurable and fun for them as playing lanceboard (Yahtzee came to mind first, you should know). It is also great for manipulation as mortals need it on some basal, instinctual level.

3. Possessiveness allows survival. Do devils indulge? Yes. But souls are the currency of their life, and sadism is their food. Now I am no peta advocate and I grew up on a farm. To a devil like Raphael, his House of Hope is no different than a farm he manages. Seeking souls is as much a sport as it is necessary for his own survival, no differently than hunting is for mortals.

4. Egotistical and narcissistic. I do believe devils tend to fall in these categories, and I am not discounting Raphael from them. However, the scope is not as extreme as our POV makes it. If we consider the way he behaves as far as is necessary for his survival, everything beyond that is what becomes excessive — and there doesn’t appear to be much. Look at his hobbies — poetry, which he himself is happy to admit he’s not wonderful at — he is not as egotistical and narcissistic as a devil ought to be.

Now, he does have a ‘superiority complex’, but it is not undeserved. Devils like him (higher echelon like bone devils and pit fiends) make mortals look like livestock. Now I believe livestock should be treated well and respectfully — but consider that the opposite is what Raphael needs to survive. Not great, still, not forgivable, but understandable?

Maybe I’m psychoanalysing too much, but devils cannot be measured in the same way as mortals.

Yes, by mortal standards (which as a mortal is what I and we gauge morality by, so I’m not excusing any of Raphael’s behavior, merely satisfying my need to overanalyse and psychoanalyse) Raphael is possessive, sadistic, egotistical, and self-centered.

But when we break these traits down and consider why he behaves this way — he’s not different from Astarion. And he seems to be doing his best.

In Palmarosa Raphael is resource guarding, and the writing of such is well done. (Author has a puppy. Maybe it’s intentionally done, maybe it’s ’instinctive’).

I’ve tried to get friends to read Palmarosa but they’ve expressed that it gives them the ick at the thought of someone being as capable and driven toward cruelty as Cazador getting their hands on Astarion — and I get it

But Raphael isn’t like that in this fic. It’s not a ‘healthy’ arrangement, but given how devils must function, it’s as healthy as is possible. In fact, ((until the plot twist dun dun dun)) Raphael is actually giving to Astarion, in what way he can.

Can’t overthink a reason for it just yet.

Anyway, TL;DR, bravo @not-poignant

#baldur’s gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #raphael #raphael bg3 #simpathyforthedevil #baldur's gate 3 #theorycrafting #theory

[crucipuzzled]

About Loid Forger's therapy in SxF manga chapter 77 (Spoilers ahead)

There's a Freudian text for everything. Today's all about The Question of Lay Analysis (1926), also known as Wild Analysis.

Endo did what I have been planning to do for a comic of my own: depict Loid actually working as a Psychiatrist. While I'm glad he took this path, sadly I can't say he did a good job on it.

As some of you know, I'm a therapist grounded in Psychoanalitic Theory. Yes, I like Freud and Lacan, and no, Oedipus Complex is not what you heard it is. I did a brief analysis of Psychiatry stuff in SxF in the past, and today I feel compelled to repeat that exercise.

Let's go in order.

1. The importance of being a third party

What's the reason for which people ask a therapist for help, and not their families or friends? What do we have that they don't?

The answer is pretty simple: neutrality. We don't have a side other than rationality and ethics. A good therapist should be able to listen to his patient without losing objectivity.

When you and your patient have a shared, unique shared experience, it's preferable, even ethical, to refer him to another therapist, in order to preserve the higher interest of the patient. The more neutrality you can muster, the better for the curing process. Otherwise, it's really hard to listen to someone else without being constantly reminded of yourself. It turns into a blind spot.

Now, there are exceptions to this rule, but you must handle them carefully, and always putting the patient at the center. Loid openly talking here about how close he is to the hijacking incident doesn't help much.

In short, you have to ensure that your position in the therapeutic process remains an impartial, neutral Other, and avoid becoming a fellow. It's good to create trust, but not too much, just enough to work.

2. Chronic condition (?)

The biggest difference between a Psychiatrist and a Psychologist is that the first went to Med School. Hence, chronicity is a term that applies mostly for organic conditions, but it's rare in the field of subjectivity.

In my short experience, I've met cases labeled as "chronic depression" being cured. I, myself, cured a case of "compulsive suicide attempts since 15 years old, chronic depression, started hearing evil voices 2 weeks ago". You might think that I'm a great therapist, but it's not the case; it's just that, in order to tackle subjective problems, you ought to go to the root of the symptoms and deal with the subjectivity you find there. Psychoanalitic therapy has proven to be wonderful to treat many conditions that didn't get a cure in other types of psychotherapy.

Of course, it's not a panacea. There are things that we can't figure out yet. But bear in mind that chronicity, in the field of the mind, is more complex than just the passage of time and only a bunch of mental conditions truly admit it.

Jacques Lacan, the most important psychoanalist after Freud, said that the unconscious's track of time is not chronological, but logical. You don't just jump out of adolescence because you turned 18; other things need to happen for you to finally feel like an adult. It's a logical progression. The same can be said about some "chronic" conditions.

3. Explicit Reason of Consultation vs Latent Reason of Consultation

A.K.A Everybody lies.

Psychotherapy is a really weird thing to learn and master. In Psychology School they teach you that you must trust what your patient tells you, but at the same time, distrust him enough. How to conceal both things?

Well, everything is easier when you take Dr. House's words to heart.

Everyone states a reason for consultation, but that first reason is never the real reason, no matter how reasonable it might sound. The trick to discern what the latent, real reason for consultation is, is to determine what the subjective conflict hiding in plain sight is. Sometimes there isn't any and therefore, a full psychotherapy is not necessary (maybe just assisting someone with some things, being there just in case, etc), but most cases are built upon a conflict.

I'm glad that Loid here decided to act like a good Psychiatrist and took a mental note on the oddities.

WELL SAID MY BOY, I'M PROUD OF YOU

I want to remark this, because it's discouraging how many therapists oversee this to simplify their job to an extreme. Believe it or not, there are therapists out there that act upon what their patients tell them first. "Hi doc. I came here today because I got an accident and I think I have PTSD". "Ok, I'll have you practice these mindfulness excercises and you should be ok within a month, see ya". DUDE.

4. The place of truth in the context of Psychotherapy

Ah, the classic temptation of knowing the 'real' truth. Is this patient in front of me bullshitting his way out? Is he in a delirium? Is she telling the truth, or just embellishing her story to make it more believable?

You don't have this struggle once you are certain of your role as a psychotherapist. And your role is to help your patients to deal with their subjective struggles.

In short: Psychoterapy deals with the patient's truth, not with the 'real' truth.

You know who deals with 'real' truth in the field of Mental Health? Social Workers.

We psychotherapists don't need to ascertain our patient's claims. Confronting them with reality usually proves to be fruitless, just like Loid did here ("But you're a respected educator!"). It's way more useful to open the topic by asking more questions such as "How did you reach that conclussion?" "What made you think that way?", or giving a specular answer ("You speak like someone else said that about you", "You're too hard with yourself. Where does that come from?", "It sounds like you're belittling your fear for what your wife could say", etc etc etc).

Whenever you're with a neurotic patient, their own personal truth is the only truth you need to work with. Leave the 'real' truth for people who actually needs it, like Social Workers, Doctors or Judges. Your role with a patient is to make sure that his personal truth can turn into something less painful. No need to talk with their friends and family for info, unless your patient is a child or a teenager; just ask him and stick to what he says word by word.

There's a huge topic about the place of reality in therapy, specially in the field of Psychoanalysis, but if I start this train of thought I'm afraid I'll go down to Hell. If you're interested, I've reblogged some Lacanian pills on this Tumblr, check them out by searching the tag #lacan.

PS: NO LOID, DON'T DO THAT. DON'T BREAK THE TRUST YOU ACHIEVED WITH MR AUSTIN! CONFIDENTIALITY IS A MUST!!

5. Counceling = Psychotherapy?

Loid is a (fake) Psychiatrist, not a psychotherapist, so I can't be too hard on him. Also I stan this man. I'm painfully well aware that councelling and coaching is an alternative to psychotherapy in other parts of the world, mostly in the US. But let's not forget one thing:

Psychotherapists DON'T GIVE ADVICES.

At least, not the ones that take this job seriously.

Everyone can give advices. Do you want an advice? Ask your family or friends, or post something in social media, or ask a complete stranger in the street what to do. You'll get plenty of answers and advices. Maybe a bunch of them will be really useful. Good!

The thing with advices is that: -They act like a universal recipe for a problem -There's no universal recipe to sort a problem -They don't tackle the subjective root of a problem -They assume that the problem can be solved by something you can do upon your surroundings, when the real struggle stems from subjective problems Some advices do help with real struggles, but when you have a subjective conflict, they barely help; hell, sometimes they make everything worse.

Like Loid here.

Remember when I mentioned that the unconscious mind's track of time is not chronological, but logical? This is a great example. Mr Austin won't be able to properly talk with his wife just because Loid adviced him to; he must solve other issues before that.

I'm glad we're on the same page on this one

6. Your therapist is not your friend

Sad but true.

If your therapist is good enough, you won't know many things about his private life. You won't know about his lover, his hobbies, where does he live, what does he fear.

Why the secretism? Because it's useless for the patient. Also because disclosing personal information has the effect of becoming a model for the patient, who would start to imitate you. And finally, because you need to mantain a semblance of neutrality and not getting emotionally close with the patient more than necessary.

PS: It's kinda cute how aware Loid is about Yor's every movement. Kinda. KISS HER ALREADY, GODDAMNIT

7. Talking cure and (how not to use) the divan

I talked a bit about divans here.

There, I mentioned that you should NEVER PUT A PSYCHOTIC PATIENT IN A DIVAN. NOPENOPENOPENOPENOPENOPE. Well, we can amplify this rule a bit and say that you should avoid the divan with any patient that has a risk of getting seriously upset, like in severe trauma.

The divan is not the only thing that could play against you if badly used. There are cases in Psychiatric Hospitals of patients getting upset because their therapists used the same clothes and hairstyle every single day for months. The point here is that, with psychotic patients and fragile psychic structures (like what happens in traumatized people), you can't use methods that require too much projection.

Also, Lottie here is not performing a Talking Cure.

The divan has been used since Freud to facilitate transference through the Free Association Method. You lay down on it and your therapist ask for whatever crosses your mind first. You don't put a content there beforehand.

(On the same line, if you're a therapist, please refrain from decorating your consultation room with motivational phrases. You're putting words in your patient's mouth before he even starts to speak)

So, it's useless to make Mr Austin lay down on a divan, only to ask him to remember a specific memory. I'd advice (Ha! The irony!) against using the divan here.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------- To finish my Two Cents, I'd like to point some positive aspects of this chapter. It's nice that a troubled person decides to seek for help. There's still a huge stigma about men requiring mental health help, and it's a nice example to settle to portray one actually going to a Psychiatrist. Men usually struggle with their problems alone and they have it rough.

It's also nice that, in the end, Loid could help his patient. I wonder how (How?!), but it probably means that, at some point of the process, he changed his methods for the better.

And yes. Sometimes, helping one single person can change many lives. I'm honored to be able to attest to that :D

As everyone, I'd expect the logical sucession of events that could follow this chapter: Loid realizing he's got a heck of a wife compared to other marriages, appreciating Yor more, and giving us heavy smut cute TwiYor moments. But Endo has proven to be an author that doesn't like to follow logic. So, let's brace for whatever will come in two weeks.

Thank you for reading!

#spy x family #loid forger #psychiatry #psychoanalysis #sigmund freud #jacques lacan #psychotherapy #spy x family manga #sxf

[diagonal-queen]

HELP I'm sorry but this idea literally got in my head😭😭

What if Manipulative S/o with Chuuya,Dazai and Fyodor?

Them with a manipulative S/O

♡ pairing: Chuuya Nakahara, Dazai Osamu, Fyodor Dostoyevsky x gn!Reader

♡ synopsis: How are these men with a manipulative partner?

♡ cw: Swearing, manipulation, sexual stuff (Fyodor, you're better than this)

note: Ngl I was stumped with this one for a bit, didn't write a single part of it, and then one night I just wrote the whole damn thing in like ten minutes. Writing's a weird thing sometimes eh? Anyways apologies for errors anon and I hope you enjoy x

Chuuya:

If you're another mafioso and you use your Machiavellian techniques to interrogate people, Chuuya finds that hot (he's so whipped T-T)

But if you were ever to try and be manipulative with him? He'd probably figure it out relatively quickly and he'd be pretty upset about it. It feels to him as if you think he's unintelligent or something

He also wouldn't be such a fan if you tried to manipulate other members of the Port Mafia (especially if he's close with them like Kouyou)

Chuuya would prefer if you kept it for work and work only, because he values honesty and is more comfortable knowing that you trust him and vice versa

If it's like a trauma response or something though he's more understanding and helps you work on dismantling the habit in healthy and effective ways <3

Unlike the compulsive lying he would NOT consult Mori about this, because let's be real you probably got some of it from him

Eventually Chuuya might take a more passive role and just let you do your thing as long as you leave him out of it. If you're honest with him he'll be happy

Use your manipulation against Dazai (or at least try to)? You got yourself a loyal man for life ✊✊

Dazai:

Y'know that trope when a dude will like dreamily watch their partner with hearts in his eyes as they do some badass shit? That's literally Dazai when you're fucking with people

Especially other members of the ADA oh my god you guys are such menaces (the only one who can see through your bullshit is Ranpo but do you really think he's gonna put in the effort to stop you guys? No. That's what I thought)

But if you were to try and manipulate him, his attitude would change up real quick.

He lowkey takes it as an insult to his intelligence and also takes it pretty personal regardless of who you treat the same way. How can he not? You're literally his partner

You'd learn not to ever try crossing him, in a serious way at least- you'd definitely still play games and tease each other

If you're like super manipulative, even Dazai would have to be like 'hey! stop'. I feel like it would just remind him of his past self and he wouldn't like that

Like Chuuya he also prefers that, when it comes to more serious things, you're honest with him. He wants to be able to trust you

I mean either way he'd be able to catch up with you, so I guess it's not really a practical issue. Just be nice to him, alright?

Fyodor:

I ought to immediately establish that you're literally not getting past this man at all, ever

You will never be able to trick him, lie to him, or have any sway over anything he does at all. That being said, he actually loves the way you are

Fyodor definitely has a god complex and the fact that you can't get anything past him is definitely boosting said god complex. Though he's always like 'nobody gets me I'm too smart' we know that he secretly enjoys being better than everyone else let's be real

He thinks it's cute, but he will very much still give you ~appropriate punishments~ for your bad behaviour

Definitely uses you for the DOA's benefit in some way. Though it would definitely be with your consent because he knows you're not an idiot (and also why wouldn't you be on board tbh)

Sigma is probably a little wary around you because of how similar you are to your boyfriend (and obviously Mykola loves you he's your bestie)

You two definitely play a lot of mind games with one another for entertainment, as well as skill-based games like chess and poker (is that skill based? I've never played it lmao)

In conclusion, power couple of the fucking century

taglist~ ♡ @gettinshiggywithit, @fedyushka, @flower-of-darkness, @bejeweledgirl

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #bsd fic #bsd fanfic #bsd fanfiction #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #dazai bsd #chuuya nakahara #chuuya x reader #chuuya bsd #fyodor bsd #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #fyodor dostoyevsky #bsd headcanons #headcanons #hcs #bsd hcs

[prettybabybaby]

unspoken duties | loki laufeyson !

¡ 18+ only ! ¡ minors do not interact !

word count: 4.44k

synopsis: Prince Loki has taken a special interest in you.

content warning: prince!loki, f!servant!reader, RAPE/NONCON, sexual assault, power imbalance, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, creampie, innocence/virginity kink, lmk if I missed any !

notes: it’s shorter than I anticipated but it is what it is. thank you to @b0fi for requesting :-))

¡ marvel masterlist !

You had only been working at the castle for a little over two months. It was your first job all alone without your mother by your side. It was meant to be the two of you before she opted to remain serving King Rogers in the Kingdom adjacent to Asgard. You were devastated, you sobbed for many nights even before you made the move.

Not that the crying ever stopped, only now it was for different reasons. Prince Loki had an unnerving air to him.

The other servants dismissed your concerns, saying that he is just rude and entitled. He’s like that with all of us, they would say.

Only, he wasn’t. He seemed to have a certain interest in you, the youngest of all the servants. He was crueler to you. He would look at you for too long, order you to do obscure tasks but was never content with the work you did. You also couldn’t forget the time he “accidentally” flipped your skirt as you were bent down, organizing the books in his room for the umpteeth time. They can never stay in place, he says, you ought to do a better job.

It didn’t help that he always called for you in the evenings as he was being readied for bed. Sometimes he was completely nude when you’d walk in, unabashedly waltzing around bare. His manhood was always slightly erect and hanging between his legs with his smirk illuminated by the candlelight.

He wasn’t like that with the rest of the women.

Most times, it was like he hadn’t seen them at all.

Natasha would walk into the library where he sat reading and he would pay her no mind, not even when she spoke to him. But as soon as you entered the room you could feel his burning eyes on you as you dusted the shelves. Predatory eyes following you wherever you went.

But he was never satisfied with your work and he made sure you knew it. Sometimes you thought he was doing it on purpose to keep you from straying too far.

+

As you set the table for dinner, you jumped in surprise as the door creaked open. Your heartbeat sped up as Prince Loki stepped inside.

“Prince Loki,” you bowed, “dinner is not yet served.”

“Yes, I am aware. Always quite laggard, you,” he gave you a look up and down.

You cleared your throat, “my apologies, Prince Loki.”

You picked up your speed, wiping down the table at a faster pace before assembling two places with appropriate silverware for the two Princes. You did what you could to keep yourself from bending over, even with the coverage of your almost knee length skirt, you still did not want to be subject to his predatory staring.

You could feel Loki watching you still. The room was filled with the sound of his foot tapping the ground lightly in impatience. “Serve dinner at once.”

You scurried to the kitchen and assembled two servings as quickly as you could.

The flu had been running rampant in Asgard. Much of the staff had been exposed and were currently bedridden. Only you and three others were healthy. The four of you had divided the jobs evenly and you were stuck with the kitchen and the surrounding areas. Your duties entailed cooking and you were nervous. You lacked proper training and you settled for a basic dish.

You carried both of the plates in your hand as you reentered the dining room. Loki was sitting in his seat, bored look on his face. His back straightened as you came into view. You walked over to Prince Thor’s side of the table, setting down his own plate. You stretched over the table to reach Prince Loki.

He clicked his tongue, “is that the way to treat your Prince, darling. Don’t forget your manners.”

You bowed your head, “My apologies, Prince Loki.” You hesitantly walked over to him, feeling the coldness of his body against your arm as you set the plate before him. He inhaled deeply and you weren’t sure if he was inhaling the aroma of your cooking or the smell of your skin.

He said nothing as he lifted a golden spoon and took a small bit of the food. You watched him with a worried expression, hoping just that what you had done was satisfactory.

He made a face of disgust, “well, you just can’t do anything right, can you?”

You weren’t sure how to respond so you stayed silent for a few moments. “I am sorry, Prince Loki. The recipe called for the amount of salt. I simply followed directions.”

“And you did not find it appropriate to taste it before serving it to us?” His long, ring-clad fingers tapped the table.

“I did not have a taste, Prince Loki, no.”

“Why don’t you give it a try then, hm?” His eyes are hard as he reaches for your chin. His touch was gentle yet it made you feel as if you couldn’t move a muscle. He moved the golden spoon to your mouth, nodding his head ever so slightly until you parted your lips. He pushed it inside, the flavor was ambrosial, though you had to admit, he was right. A tad salty. It was almost unnoticeable. In fact, you’re sure you wouldn’t have noticed the inappreciable saline flavor if it wasn’t for the expecting emerald stare.

You were prepared to apologize, beg for forgiveness, anything to save you from the expected punishment from the head maid when she caught wind of this. But you were stunned as he continued to push the spoon further into your mouth, eyes twilinking with something unsettling. You looked up at him with confusion and slight fear. The gold prodded the back of your throat. You started to gag only to abruptly stop at the sound of a disapproving click of his tongue. The rush flavors from the slightly over seasoned food slipped down your throat and you fought to contain your gagging. You couldn’t contain it and an indecent retch erupted from you.

He held the spoon still, curved bottom pushing down on the back of your tongue. His expression remained unphased but you swore his eyes held amusement. He pulled the spoon out, setting it down beside his plate as Thor made his entrance. He sat as you bowed to the approaching blonde prince, blinking back the tears that had pricked your eyes only seconds before.

Thor smiled at you, polite as always before taking his own seat. He clapped his hands loudly, “shall we eat, brother?”

Loki said nothing, he simply picked up his spoon and scooped up a bite. Across the table, his brother did the same.

Thor closed his eyes as he chewed on the food. He called your name with a serious tone, your blood ran cold. “This is utterly fantastic, my dear.”

“Yes,” Loki agreed much to your confusion, “spectacular, darling.”

You were in shock. Had he not just criticized the dish moments earlier?

You let go of the breath you held, “thank you, Prince Thor,” you paused and with hesitance said, “thank you, Prince Loki.”

You fled the room as quickly as you could, doing what you could to avoid looking eager. These types of occurrences were not rare with the Prince. He was always mean and critical towards you directly but would praise you when you were within earshot of his family. What was rare was what he had done with the golden spoon. It was daring and utterly inappropriate. The only other time he had laid a hand on you in a scandalous way was when he had flipped your skirt.

It unnerved you and the scene would not leave your brain for the remainder of the day.

+

Just as you were going to retire to bed, Maria peaked her head through your door, “you’ve been summoned by Prince Loki.”

You sighed as soon as she left. You fixed yourself up and made your way to his room. Your mind was racing and you were scared to face him again in fear that he would do something inappropriate again.

You fiddled with the hem of your uniform skirt as you stood by Prince Loki’s door. You knocked as confidently as you could, waiting for him to open the door and let you in. You took a few breaths to calm yourself. But all that was thrown out as soon as the door creaked open.

You stepped inside, taking in the scent of his room as you made your way to the bookshelf after a brief bow. His hair was wet and his skin had a pink flush, he had likely just gotten out of the bath. He wore only a bathrobe, it was made of green silk to match his usual attire.

You heard a chuckle behind you but you ignored it, instead you knelt before the books and began to hastily organize them.

“Don’t rush, darling,” his voice was closer and you could practically feel his stare burning your backside.

“Yes, sir.”

He groaned. The hair on the back of your neck stood. “I like it when you’re polite. Sir.”

You didn’t say anything and he clicked his tongue.

Seconds later you felt the warmth of his body behind you. In fear you kept your eyes on the books. Maybe if you ignored it, he would go away.

A hand came to rest on your hip and you jumped at the sensation. His hips rocked forward, pressing his pelvis to your ass. The hard outline of his cock pushed into your flesh causing you to gasp. You tried to pull away but he caught you, tightening his grip on your side.

Another groan fell from his lips, “so warm. I wonder how your tight, little cunt is gonna feel. You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

All the air left your lungs and you felt your lip wobble. You were. You never had time for men or boys, you were too busy helping your mother around. You didn’t respond and he began to grind his hips into yours, the hands holding you in place began to inch closer and closer to your pussy.

“I asked you a question, darling.”

You tried to fight back your tears by focusing on the books in front of you rather than the man behind you. “Prince Loki, please let me go.”

“No,” he said simply. “You’re my servant. You are to do what I say.”

You lunged forward at the feeling of his cold fingers reaching under your dress. He pinched at the flesh of your thigh, causing a tingling sensation to erupt in your cunt.

“Mm,” he groaned, hip thrusts speeding up. “Untouched little virgin.”

A tear fell from your eyes along with a shaky inhale.

“Brother! I must speak to you at once!”

The familiar booming voice had never sounded so heavenly. You ripped yourself from Prince Loki’s grasp just as the door flew open and the strong, blonde Prince walked in.

“Ah,” he said upon seeing you. His eyes flicked from you to his brother. Once, twice. “Hm.”

You reached up to wipe your tears and fix your skirt, “excuse me, Prince Thor. I was summoned by Prince Loki to assist in organizing his bookshelf.”

“At this hour?” He gave his brother a look of judgement. “Well, you’re free to return to the chambers. You may assist him tomorrow.” He offered you a gentle smile and you returned it surprisingly genuinely.

Prince Thor is kind. He’s lively and funny and he treats all the staff with the appropriate respect. He’s just decent if you really thought about it. But even that was far better than most of the other royalty.

You scurried back to your room and locked the door behind you. You sank to the floor and let the tears you had held fall.

+

The following days, Prince Thor began to request you more and more. Considering that he was the heir of the throne, his wishes were top priority. Even above Prince Loki’s. You were relieved and you tried your best to make it known without being too out front.

You smiled more, talked more and overall returned to your true self. It was someone you haven't seen since you were a child. It was scary but it was a pleasant change that you welcomed with open arms.

Prince Loki had done the opposite. He summoned you so many times a day the head maid had stopped telling you. So, even if you weren’t hearing it, you knew it was happening. But you couldn’t be bothered because you had not faced him since. You were busy from morning to night assisting Prince Thor.

After breakfast, Prince Thor had ordered you to dust the library. So you practically skipped over to the large room and began your task.

Aside from the usual discomfort from Prince Loki that came with the room, it was one of your favorites. You loved to read and being able to look through and care for the collection of books was your favorite part of the castle.

It was different from Prince Loki’s room because it was in an open space and not in a secluded bedroom.

As you dusted and organized the books, you stood on a moving ladder that allowed you to reach the higher shelves. You were so entranced by the pages of a novel Prince Thor had recommended earlier in the week that you did not hear the door open. Nor the footsteps that led to where you were standing.

“Oh, yes,” his daunting voice said, “this is what I like to see.”

You yelped and the book fell from your hands, landing on the ground beneath you. You caught yourself before you could fall.

Prince Loki stood under you, peering up under your skirt. You clenched your thighs shut tight, your heartrate picking up immediately.

“No, no,” he said, taking his cold hands and prying your thighs open to their previous position. “Keep them open for me. I want to see your pretty pussy.”

You ignored him, shutting them again. “I’m sorry, Prince Loki. Prince Thor ordered me to make the library spotless, I must return to work.”

“You will return to work when I allow it.”

You swallowed as his hand crept up your leg. “Open them wide for me. I would like to taste your pure, virgin essence. You’re probably as sweet as sugar, darling.”

“No, Prince Lo-“

“Do as I say!” He bellowed. You flinched as he forced his head in between your thighs.

He had never been so verbally direct so you tried to loosen up and do as told until an escape presented itself.

You shakily opened your legs and he dove in. His tongue lapped your cunt through your panties, dampening the fabric. Involuntarily, you jolted up and away from this mouth.

His hands moved to pull on your hips and bring them closer to his awaiting lips. His tongue flicked at a rapid pace, lapping at your covered clit. You gasped, feeling your balance wavering.

He removed his head, “take those off. I can’t taste you.”

You didn’t move. He sighed in annoyance and all but pried your hands from the ladder. You wiggled in his hold as he dragged you away. You reached for whatever you could. You caught hold of the railing and you planted your feet to the ground as sobs fell from you.

Prince Loki huffed, “fine. Make this difficult.”

He flipped your skirt like he had before and he yanked your panties down your legs in one movement. The cold air of the room made you shiver as it came in contact with your pussy.

Prince Loki smacked your ass, groaning as the skin rippled. “I’ve been dying to catch a glimpse of this pretty pussy, darling.” You were in shock.

You tried to pull away again, but he delivered another slap. Only this time it was harder. You flinched in pain.

“Please,” you could still feel the burn of the area.

“Of course, darling. No need to beg me.”

You almost let go of the railing, relieved that he was going to let you go. Instead, his lips reconnected with your cunt, lapping rapidly at your mound once more.

That hadn’t been what you meant. Despair filled your body as his tongue circled your clit and licked up the slick that had begun to leak from you.

You whined loudly. The sensation was so new to you, it felt foreign. You hated the way your body wanted to lean into it. Your legs were shaking and your hold on the railing was so tight it had begun to hurt.

“It’s so obvious you’ve never been touched,” his voice was slightly muffled, “you’re so sensitive.”

He suckled at your mound as his hands kneaded the flesh of your ass above his head. You had stopped crying and your mind was racing. Were you… enjoying this?

One of his long fingers prodded at your hole, circling it. You were distracted by his tongue on your bud that you didn’t notice as he pushed the finger in slowly. A sudden pain rushed through your body and your eyes widened.

“No, please, Prince Loki, don’t.”

He ignored you and continued pushing his finger in until the entire length was inside. He held it there for a few seconds as his tongue continued its assault on your cunt.

Slowly, this finger slid in and out. Squelching noises filled the room. You felt your face heat from embarrassment of the lewd sound.

“So wet,” he said, suckling harshly at your nub.

You felt something building in your belly and your breathing became uneven.

“Let me go. Let me go,” your voice was weak and strained.

“Cum for me, darling. Let it go.”

Again. It was like he was speaking to you without actually speaking to you. Like he was altering your words to fit his wants. You just wanted him to let you leave. You didn’t want him.

Still, he’s tongue licked up your cunt, focusing on your clit as he moved his fingers in and out of your hole. Soon, you felt a release in your belly as your body shook, your eyes closed and the pleasure turned to pain.

“Stop! Stop, please!” You cried, kicking one of your legs back.

He didn’t budge but he did stop. He pulled back and his eyes had darkened in the way you had learned to loathe. “You’re even sweeter than I imagined. You taste as pure as sugar.”

You grimaced, shakily standing and tugging your skirt down. He had rid you of your panties and you didn’t bother to look. You wanted to leave and pretend this had never happened.

The way he spoke disgusted you. You tried not to think about his comments as you stumbled to the door.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t like it, darling. I felt how wet you were.”

+

You had returned to normal. You were back to being a shell of a person.

You woke up sweaty and breathing heavily more times than you would like to admit. As much as the rest of the royal staff — and even Prince Thor — tried, you couldn’t shake what had happened. But you still never told a soul.

I’m just not feeling well, you’d say.

Luckily, Prince Thor still kept you close. You wondered if he knew of the antics of his brother. You liked to believe he was protecting you, that he deemed you worthy of saving.

You still took your own precautions, though. You would make up any excuse not to serve at mealtimes or anywhere Prince Loki knew you frequented. Like the library, the gardens, or the kitchens. You’d rush to your room as quickly as you possibly could at the end of every night, praying you wouldn’t run into the Prince.

It worked for a few days. Until it didn’t.

You shut the door hastily and locked it, sighing in relief at the feeling of security. You turned slowly, feeling your heart plummet to the ground at the sight of the man sitting on your mattress.

“This is not very comfortable,” he said nonchalantly, like he hadn’t broken into your room. It was your only place of solace and you knew it would never feel that way again.

You didn’t say anything, you just looked at him in fear.

“I’ll arrange for you to have a new one put in as soon as possible,” he gave you an unnerving smile.

You didn’t know what to think.

“I have not been able to stop thinking about you, darling,” he stood from the bed. “The taste of you is otherworldly. Nothing compares.”

You took a step back as he took one towards you. “Prince Loki, you should not be here.”

“On the contrary, darling. I have to be here. I am drawn to you, to your sweet little hole. I must feel it. I must be the one to rid you of your innocence. I have waited,” he twirled a piece of your hair around his finger, “far too long.”

You felt your lips wobble, “please, no.”

“But I must, darling,” he made a faux face of worry, “it is your duty to serve me, is it not?”

A tear slipped. You wish you could say no, but he was right. Your mother had taught you to obey all orders no matter what. But this was too much. You didn’t react.

Prince Loki grabbed your chin, his cold, calloused fingers burned your skin. “I want to claim your innocence as my own.”

Tears were falling quickly now and you couldn’t stand it. You didn’t care about what your mother or the other servants had said. This is not what you wanted. He would not claim your virtue.

You shoved him away, bolting towards the door. You fiddled with the locks, holding out hope that you would get out. But your room was small. He had caught up to you before you could unlock it.

The Prince gripped your hair and yanked it back, using his free hand to hold your throat. “You will do as told.”

He shoved you back, causing you to fall onto your bed. The familiar scent of your sheets was tainted with his aroma. How long had he been there?

You wasted no time pulling your clothes off. His eyes were hungry as they raked over your body. You tried to fight him off, pry his hands off but he wouldn’t budge. You watched as he slipped your panties into his pocket. Did he have your other pair?

He leaned down to kiss your pussy, open mouthed and greedy. He moaned at the taste before standing and ridding himself of his bottoms. You tried to run again but he stopped you, giving you a look filled with venom.

You flinched back and he forced your legs open with his own. You feared looking down but you couldn't help yourself.

His cock was red and angry, it was curved and you couldn’t imagine it fitting inside you.

“Prince, no, please, please, no!” You writhed under him, pushing on the hands that held down your wrists.

He propped himself up, hold tight on your wrists as he spit onto your cunt. You weren’t wet this time, you knew that.

That didn’t stop him, he persisted. He gathered the spit with the tip of his dick, circling his hard shaft against your mount.

“Are you afraid?” He asked, eyes trained on your face as you looked down. “I know you are.”

You began to kick your legs. He rolled his eyes and forced your legs open wider with his own, limiting your movements.

His cock brushed your hole and you gasped at the feeling. He began to push himself in and you held your breath, your tears were hot and trailing down your face and neck.

It felt like his finger had, only worse. His cock was bigger and thicker. He leaned down to lap at your tears.

“My little virgin,” he whispered. “You’re all mine, darling.”

You were sobbing uncontrollably as he bottomed out. You still weren’t wet and it felt like sandpaper as he pulled out. It didn’t seem that way for him because his eyes rolled to the back of his head in pleasure. He spit a few more times before pushing back in.

You screamed in pain, hoping someone, anyone would come to help you. You knew they could hear you and that only added to your despair. “Please,” you repeated like a mantra. Plearse stop.

“So lovely when you beg, darling,” he said, burying his face into your neck. He licked at the tears that had fallen there and moaned at the taste before thrusting at a steady pace. You couldn’t stop crying.

“Relax, darling. I can feel you getting wetter by the second, just let yourself enjoy it.”

That couldn’t be true. There was no way you were ever going to enjoy an interaction like this. But soon you hear the squelching noises you had heard before and your body let out an involuntary moan. It was quiet but you knew he had heard it. He began to thrust faster, harder.

“You’re so tight, my darling.”

My darling. You felt sick.

You wanted to kick him, punch him, hurt him. He stole your virtue away. He had no right.

Or did he?

“You’re so obedient, my darling. You’re doing so well.”

Finally something had satisfied him, you thought.

You were sobbing as moans and whined fell from your lips, they mingled with his own sounds of pleasure.

You felt the familiar weight in your belly. No, no, no.

His fingers reached to rub circles into your mound. You didn’t last after that.

You spasmed around his cock, your walls clenched around it.

“Fuck, my darling, you’re heavenly,” he panted. “I’m gonna paint your insides white.”

You didn’t know what he meant by that but you didn’t want to find out. You weakly thrashed under him, straining against his hold on your wrists legs and legs.

A sudden burst of warmth shot through your body. He collapsed onto you while you laid frozen in shock.

He had bred you. Your mother had told you to never let a man breed you.

You were still in shock as he kissed your neck lazily. He hauled himself up and planted a kiss on your frozen lips. He pulled his bottoms on and started for the door, “I will return tomorrow, my darling.”

#CHECK WARNINGS #loki (belle’s version) #by belle ! #bellegetsdark #mcu loki #loki laufeyson #dark!loki #dark!loki laufeyson #loki god of mischief #loki of asgard #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #dark!loki x reader #dark marvel smut #loki x reader smut #loki smut #dark!marvel #prince!loki #prince!loki x reader #unspoken duties !

[dreamfyre03]

A Dragon's Love

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of healing injury, sexual tension, alcohol consumption

Chapter 9: To burn together

Days after the tourney, and Daenys still hadn’t been to see Aemond. She knew from speaking to Alicent and Helaena that he was much better but still couldn’t resume his daily training due to his injuries. She was walking the halls that evening to take dinner with Helaena in her rooms, when a voice nearly made her jump, “You truly do look just like you mother, niece.”

She saw her uncle Daemon approach, his hand resting lazily on the pommel of Dark Sister. “Uncle. How is Jacaerys? I trust he is coming along well after the tourney’s events.” She enquired.

“The boy will be well soon enough. Where might you be off to?” He came closer, looking down at her. She defiantly looked back up at him, unwilling to be intimidated by him and said, “Dinner, in my sister’s rooms.” He nodded, before saying, “You ought to reconsider your alliances, niece. Alicent Hightower and her children are not your allies. They will attempt crown that drunken fool King, and marry you off to the first fat lord that can spare gold for the crown, or men to fight against the true heir.” “Forgive me, uncle, but you know nothing of my relationship with my siblings. They may not be perfect, but they have treated me more like family than you or your wife every has.” “Can you truly not see that it is only a means to an end for your stepmother? She does not care for you, nor do her children. You shall return to Dragonstone with us, Rhaenyra and I have already found some suitable suitors to vie for your hand.” He said decidedly. She scoffed. “I am not yours or my sisters to control, uncle.” She said, about to walk away, but her grabbed her arm and gripped tightly, holding her in place. “Don’t be foolish. You are true dragon’s blood, untainted by the Hightower sickness. You will come with us, and leave this place.” He said threateningly. She struggled under his grasp uselessly, about to shout when she heard a voice come to her rescue. “Sister, I’ve been looking for you.” Aegon approached them, and Daemon released her. 

Aegon took his sister’s arm in his and said smugly, “If you don’t mind uncle, we’ve some place to be. Give Rhaenyra my warmest regards.”

He walked them off before Daemon could reply, and Daenys heaved a sigh of relief. “Was he threatening you?” Aegon whispered. Daenys shook her head. 

He stopped her when they reached the doors of Helaena’s chambers. “Do not lie. He threatened you, didn’t he?” She sighed. “It was more a menacing warning. About how none of your care for me, and that I am to return to Dragonstone with them, as they’ve already selected viable candidates for me to marry.” 

“And if you don’t return with them?” “He made it clear he wasn’t giving me a choice.” Aegon grimaced. “Don’t- don’t tell Aemond. Please.” She begged. “He’s gotten angry and acted foolishly more than once. Daemon is… Daemon is possibly the one person who could best him. Don’t tell him, please Aegon.” 

He sighed. “Fine.” 

She breathed a sigh of relief, as they went into Helaena’s rooms for dinner, all the while her mind wandering to the one brother that wasn’t present.

.

.

.

Aemond had mostly recovered from the tourney, and  was glad to use his injuries as excuse to miss the final feast to end off the celebrations. He was in no mood to force himself to listen to countless foolish nobles going on about things he cared nothing about. He only cared about one person, and she hadn’t been to see him since the day of the tourney. He pondered over what to do about it, as he approached the door of the Tower of the Hand, knocking and being bid to enter by his grandsire’s voice. Otto Hightower was an ambitious man, that was an indisputable fact. Aemond had always known him to be cold and calculating, for what type of man could marry his daughter off to a man old enough to be her father, for his own political schemes? He wondered why he was summoned, because his grandfather only summoned for any if them if he had need of them. “Grandsire.” He greeted as he took a seat across from his desk. “Aemond. Do you know why I’ve summoned you here?” He asked, setting down his quil to look directly at his grandson. Aemond shrugged. 

“You are one of our greatest assets, my boy. The gods are cruel, for we both know you would have made a better eldest son, but alas, that is not the case. In any case, you are a skilled swordsman, you have the largest dragon, and you are unmarried. There is much you can do for us when the time comes.” He said.

Aemond was no fool, he knew of his grandsire’s ambitions involving Aegon. “All this I know, grandfather. Have you summoned me to remind me of my accomplishments?” He asked. He handed Aemond a piece of parchment, with the Velaryon sigil. “Lord Corlys is dead?” He asked before beginning to read. “He is on death’s door, but has not yet met the Stranger. No, that would be from his brother, Vaemond.” “He is arriving in a weeks’ time.” Aemond read the letter. 

“Indeed. To contest the Driftmark succession.” 

Aemond handed him back the parchment.

“Why are you telling me this?” He questioned. “Much is coming, boy. War is potentially on the horizon. I say this so that you are prepared, for what must come, and to do what must be done. Remember, your allegiance is to this family first and foremost.” Otto said.

Aemond nodded, and the Hand soon dismissed him. 

He walked to the gardens, deciding he would speak to Daenys, and hopefully quell her anger against him, only to be met with a most unwelcome sight. Daenys walking through the gardens, with Jacearys, a genuine, but guarded smile on her face as she laughed softly at something he whispered to her. He watched, as they sat on a bench near the rose bushes, and she pointed to the roses and said something, and his eyes never left her face. His nephew still sported some bruises for the tourney, much to Aemond’s satisfaction. 

He stalked over to them, and the smile dropped from Daenys’s face as he approached, while Jace’s face took the form of a scowl. 

“Sister, might I borrow you for a moment?” He asked curtly.

“I’m actually busy now, brother, perhaps we might speak later?” She replied. 

“‘Mmm, I’m afraid that won’t do. No, it’s quite urgent, I’m afraid you must come now.” He said in a calm yet insistent tone. She sighed and got up, turning to Jace and saying, “Thank you, for the walk, Jace, it was lovely. Remember what I said.” “Indeed. Your words won’t leave my mind anytime soon, Princess.” He said, giving her a knowing smile. 

Daenys waited until they were out of earshot and asked, “Well? What is it?” 

He didn’t answer and kept walking until they got to a small unused study and pulled her inside. 

“I told you to stay away from him.” He said as he shut the door behind them. 

“I do not answer to you. And I do not believe Jace has the ill intentions of his mother.” She replied. “What did you say to him?” He asked, closing the space between them, standing so close he could feel her body heat. She looked at him confused. 

“You told him not to forget what you said. What. Did. You. Tell. Him?” He repeated. “That is not your concern.” She responded. “See, that is where you’re wrong, Dōna mandia,” (sweet sister) he began. “Everything about you, is my concern. You, are my concern. You consume the very core of my being, and I desire nothing more than to mount Vhagar and burn King’s Landing to the ground every time you grace that brown haired bastard with you smile, or your laugh. Do you know why? Because you are mine.” He finished, pleased with himself when he saw her eyes darkening, and her breaths growing unsteady. “I am not yours to claim.” She whispered.

He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, relishing in its softness, then said, “My beautiful Daenys. We both know that isn’t true. You can deny it, you can use our unwitting nephew to distract yourself from it, but you know that I speak the truth. The sooner you acknowledge that fact, the easier it all becomes.” 

She closed her eyes, as if willing herself to simply disappear, and he leaned in closer, their cheeks touching, and said lowly, “We are the blood of the dragon. The gods have deigned us to burn together, my love. And even if they didn’t, I would smite them all, because I refuse to let anyone, anything, say that you are not mine. Because you are, just as I am yours.” 

Her eyes fluttered open, and locked on his, and as much as he wanted to take her, over the desk, or against the wall, and make her make those sweet sounds for him again, he resisted the urge, and kissed her lips gently, savouring her warmth, before walking out the room, leaving her standing there, the truth of his words sinking in. 

.

.

.

Daenys avoided Aemond like the plague the following days. His words echoed in her head, she couldn’t forget them. But she couldn’t bring herself to simply succumb to desire, she feared tainting her reputation, but more than that, she feared utterly losing herself in him. Aemond knew her better than anyone else. He knew what made her happy, sad, and everything in between and now, he knew how to ignite a passion within her that could only be destructive. 

They weren’t good for each other. He made her lose control, let down her guard, and she made him act recklessly, hurt others, what good could come of that? She wished things could go back to the way they did before, when she didn’t suddenly see him as more than her brother, when she didn’t know how intoxicating his lips tasted. 

That day, before the gathering to hear the petitions for the Driftmark succession, she found herself sitting with Alicent and the Hand, in the Queen’s sitting room, holding a cup of tea that she truthfully didn’t want in her hands. 

“I have news for you, my dear girl,” Alicent said, putting aside her cup, and smoothening the skirt of her green dress. She looked at her, forcing to appear interested, when all she could think of was Aemond. 

“You are to be betrothed.” Alicent’s words nearly knocked the wind out of her. “To whom?” She asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Cregan Stark. You’re to be the Lady of Winterfell, Daenys. It is a good match, for both the Crown, and for you.” Alicent told her. Winterfell. The North. So far from King’s Landing. From Aemond. “I hope we can rely on you to sway your husband’s loyalties when the time comes, to your true family.” Otto’s voice cut through her thoughts. He meant Aegon. He means for her to marry Stark, and keep him loyal to Aegon when they attempt to crown him King. He means for her to get the man to abandon the oath he made to Rhaenyra years ago. 

She simply nodded, unable to speak. 

Alicent, mistaking her silence for nervousness, kindly took her hand, which had discarded the tea in favour of wine, and said, “Do not worry. All accounts say that Lord Stark is a good, kind man. Honourable, and will uphold your marriage vows. He is close to your age, it will be a good match.” 

How could Meraxa survive the North? “What about Meraxa?” She asked quietly. “I suppose that is up to you to decide. You may leave her here in the Dragonpit, take her North with you, see how she fares the cold.” Otto answered. 

She nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, My Lord Hand, I’d like to get some air before the hearing. I shall see you there.” She excused herself quickly. 

She walked the halls briskly, her head pounding, her heart racing. Tears blurred her vision. Were she told this a few weeks ago, she would have taken it in stride, doing her duty with a smile. She would be saddened at not being with her siblings everyday, but she would try to make herself content with visiting. 

But being away from Aemond, she couldn’t bear to tell him. She couldn’t. 

She found her way to the hidden room, to be met with Aegon, drinking from a jug of wine. “What’s wrong?” He asked, noticing her tears. She shook her head, and took the bottle, plopping next to him and finished it off, immediately feeling the buzz in her head.

He took another he brought with him and drank, then passed it to her. “For once you look like you need it more than I do.” He said.

She drank, guzzling like a drunkard, her lips becoming stained with wine. She didn’t drink like this often, except for when Aegon on a rare occasion stayed in the castle at night and they sat in this room, drinking and laughing drunkenly. Those nights would be no more.

They sat in silence, until they emptied two more bottles of wine, when she asked, “If I were sent away, would you come see me?” In his slightly inebriated state, he replied, “Of course, although I’d pray you returned quickly. Things would quickly go to shit if you left.”

She felt fresh tears come to her eyes, and took his hand. “That isn’t true.” He clumsily pulled her to him, and they leaned against the settee together from their seat on the ground. “Oh, but it is, my dear sister. Helaena would be devastated. I’d be more miserable. And Aemond… well Aemond would make the Keep a living hell, he’d probably slay anyone who spoke to him.” She breathed in her brother’s familiar scent of dragon and wine. Aegon’s reputation left many seeing him as a bad man, and while he had his failings, Daenys knew he was, on the inside, the same little boy she grew up with that just wanted his mother’s love. He was marred by hurt, as they all were. He was her closest friend in a way that Aemond and Helaena were not, because he understood the rejection she felt, for he too felt constantly rejected by his mother, unloved by their father. Even though she comforted him countless times, he was there for her too, and even though he ran from royal duty, and soothed his own pain in brothels and bottles of wine, she loved him, because he was her brother. Her first friend, from the moment he was born.

Her tears wet the outside of his doublet, and she ran her fingers over the chain on the outside. The wall slid open, and she heard Aemond’s voice say, “What are you doing? The hearing is about to begin, we must go. Now.” Aegon sighed and helped her up, and she stumbled, the effects of the excessive wine being felt much more as she walked with them to the great hall. 

“Are you drunk?” Aemond whispered to her as they watched the proceedings. “No!” She denied in a whisper. “I can smell your breath. You can barely stand.” He replied. “I am fine.” She muttered, not really paying attention to what was going on, until she heard Vaemond Velaryon shout loudly that her sister was a whore. Her eyes widened in shock, and she saw Jace’s face furious with anger, and her father weakly pull out his dagger from atop the throne. Aegon smiled arrogantly, while Aemond seemed to be enjoying the conflict. 

Suddenly, her uncle Daemon slashed Vaemond’s head in half effectively silencing him, and Daenys felt her breakfast coming up, and she covered her mouth with her hand, as Aemond pulled her behind him, shielding her. 

She saw Helaena cover her ears at the conflict, Alicent holding her in a protective manner. As the matter was settled; Rhaenyra was protected by their father once again, to the Hand and the Queen’s dismay, she ran to the privy, emptying the contents of her stomach. She felt a hand pulling her hair back from her face, and rubbing her back soothingly. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and realised it was Aemond who stood behind her as she turned around. “Thank you,” she rasped, her throat sore from throwing up.

She rinsed her mouth with water, and Aemond walked her to Helaena’s rooms, where she and Aegon sat with the children.

“How are you not sick?” She asked Aegon as they entered. “Years of practice, sister. It is a skill that not many have.” He said proudly, prompting Aemond to scoff. Aemond handed her a glass of water, which she drank gratefully.

They sat together, the four of them with the twins playing and Maelor asleep on Helaena’s lap, mostly Aegon and Helaena speaking, either with each other or the children, Aemond sometimes chiming in, but Daenys hardly spoke.

The doors opened and Alicent entered, the exhaustion visible on her face. 

“Your father has commanded us all to have dinner together. The whole family.” She said tiredly. 

Aegon groaned aloud, drawing the attention of the twins, who looked up at their father, then their grandmother. Alicent gave them a tired smile before addressing the four. “You will all be there. And you will all be there sober.” She said, eyeing Aegon, and then Daenys, just noticing her clearly dishevelled state.

Alicent departed as quickly as she appeared, leaving the siblings alone once again. Daenys sighed, burying her face in her hands. First, the betrothal, now this. She just prayed dinner wouldn’t be as eventful as the morning so far. 

#aemond fanfiction #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #alicent hightower #helaena targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen #aemond fic

[eyesofshan-if]

I too like the silly commanders, but what i love the most is that, in my mc's case he isn't always like that, back before this, my mc is always so serious and very very polite because they are well aware that he's just a slave and thought he ought to act accordingly. And because everyone looks down and makes fun of him and he know having an unserious personality would NOT help. Enter: Hansol.

This man treats the mc sooo right that he goes back to being a normal human and not just a battle slave😭 He knows that if he joke with hansol, hansol wouldn't mind, unlike how anyone else would've look at him like he's some untrained dog. If mc have to choose side, my mc wouldn't change side. Not becauss he loves hae, not because the emperor, but because he swore to himself he would NEVER leave Hansol's side. (*cough* but he'd waver ofc if it's Hansol vs So *cough*)

this is really sweet!! it's so interesting to see how the different people in different commanders' playthroughs affect their allegiences differently :D hansol is truly a good man and a best friend of all time!! as for so... well, you'll have more time till you see them, so enjoy the peace and happiness (for now)

#asks