#he’s dismissed and neglected by the world at large | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs | Tumgik (2024)

sokka, katara, and the paradox of “the gifted child”

something i’ve noticed is a tendency to (mis)characterize sokka as someone who is dismissed due to being a nonbender, when that’s only partially true. sokka is certainly dismissed by some for not being a bender (namely, by benders), but i think there’s a key difference between being dismissed and not being valued in one specific way. katara was valued by her tribe for being a waterbender for the very crucial reason that she was the last one left. had she been a dime a dozen in her tribe, which would have been the case were it not for the systemic extermination of her people, she would not be valued as highly for possessing this skill. that said, while sokka clearly does hold some resentment over his lack of bending ability, calling himself “the guy in the group who’s regular,” i think it’s folly to assume that this means that sokka was dismissed and discarded as “average” while katara was put on a pedestal for being special. because while katara obviously was considered special, sokka is also clearly considered special by his family, merely in different ways. and if anything, sokka embodies the archetypal struggle of the so-called "gifted child” far more than katara does.

while sokka clearly believes himself to be disposable and intrinsically worthless, i don’t think that he was actively neglected by his family. even if katara was clearly marked by her bending as embodying the last hope of their tribe, that doesn’t mean that she was seen as more gifted than he was or was designated as her family’s obvious favorite. for example, the way hakoda talks about sokka (saying he trusted him with leading and protecting the tribe when he was thirteen, calling him a genius, and other such insanely high praises to heap on a child) shows that he clearly views his son as particularly exceptional and has never been shy about showing that. sokka is distinctly insecure around his father for assumptions he makes regarding hakoda's faith in his abilities and his insecurities when it comes to his perceived failure in not measuring up as a man, but from the second we meet hakoda, it's evident that these insecurities are entirely internal and completely unfounded, at least in terms of his father's perception of him. hakoda is nothing but incredibly proud of sokka, constantly emphasizing just how capable and brilliant he believes him to be. whether or not sokka is capable of internalizing it is another story, but it's clear that hakoda is not stingy in his praise and affection, not even a little bit.

moreover, while katara is clearly kanna’s favorite on an emotional level, she nonetheless affords sokka far more respect. she admonishes katara and tells her to do her chores, and notably, she also impresses the importance of “listening to her brother,” and backs up sokka’s decision to banish aang from the village. you can claim that sexism plays a factor in how sokka views his own supposed position of authority, but kanna is a woman who traveled the entire globe as a teenager because she wanted to escape patriarchal impositions dictating her life. she’s simply far too smart to treat sokka as any sort of authority within their village if she did not fully entrust him with that responsibility. she treats sokka almost like a peer, as if she is legitimately co-running the village with a fifteen year old boy.

katara is only a couple years younger than sokka at most, but her dynamic with kanna is very different. on one hand, kanna clearly sees more of herself in katara, can identify with her sense of adventure and rebellious spirit, but on the other hand, it means that she views katara as a child to be taken care of, who needs to be reminded to do her chores and bailed out when she gets herself into trouble. sokka doesn't want to be viewed as a child, and so he does everything in his power to position himself as kanna's equal rather than her grandson. he takes his duties and responsibilities very seriously, and is obedient to a fault whenever he is submitting to any authority he actually respects, especially his father and grandmother. to be honest, a lot of what katara considers coddling is probably just sokka never being bossed around by their grandmother because she never actually has to tell him to do his chores. because despite katara's claim that he simply faffs about "playing soldier," sokka's problem is actually that he takes himself too seriously for her liking. and with the exception of kanna saying "be nice to your sister," which is the kind of teasing a parent says to their child, she clearly respects sokka's position in the village. when katara tries to run away with aang, kanna takes sokka's side and forbids her from acting impulsively, but when sokka is the one who packs supplies and plans to save aang, kanna gives them both her blessing.

katara is the only person who takes umbrage with the notion of sokka running the village and telling her what to do all day. and those frustrations have likely accumulated up from a lifetime of being told to “do as her brother says” and “why can’t she be smarter and more responsible and levelheaded blah blah blah.” she clearly thinks that she’s punching up when she yells at or mocks him, which may seem crazy to anyone who understands that sokka’s entire identity and existence revolves around being katara’s protector, but katara doesn’t actually know this. in her mind sokka is merely the perfect child who has always represented this impossible standard of “genius.” and what's more, he's absolutely insufferable about it.

and to be clear, this isn’t to say that katara herself isn’t highly intelligent, capable, competent, and skilled. she’s not only an incredibly talented waterbender, but also clever, quick, witty, creative, resourceful, practical, mature, and thoughtful in other ways. at one point, toph calls her a genius (“a stinky, sweaty genius”). and she is, indeed, an extremely powerful and innovative waterbender, both due to her hard work, but also because she is genuinely brilliant. that said, she’s smart in the realistic way that a kid is smart; she works hard to be good at what she cares about (and she has an existentially devastating reason to care about being a good waterbender, mind you), and she’s also good at thinking on the fly when she needs to. however, unlike sokka, or even toph, her intellect may be impressive, but it isn’t astonishing. sokka’s mind functions completely anomalously. i wouldn't say he's unrealistically intelligent, because i do know some people in real life who are similarly adept at processing all kinds of different information with the ability to deftly apply it near-immediately, but it is certainly abnormal, both for real world standards and within his universe.

i normally bristle at this term and its applications (for multiple reasons), but since it is explicitly stated multiple times across the show, it is important to acknowledge that sokka is referred to as a genius multiple times, including by his father. katara is referred to as being a genius by toph for using her own sweat to waterbend (which, as hama points out an episode later, isn't even that clever because you can literally bend water from the air around you); conversely, sokka is referred to as a genius for helping to invent hot air balloons and for figuring out multiple escape routes from the world's most secure prison in less than a day. we don't know the exact timeframe under which katara trained with pakku and earned the title of master, but she clearly worked incredibly hard to earn that title, not only as a master, but as the greatest waterbender in the entire world. i assume it was any time between a few weeks and a little over a month in which zhao would organize a fleet to arrive at the north pole, which is, of course, extremely impressive in itself and a testament to her passion and determination. however, on the other hand, piandao claims that sokka has basically mastered the sword and is ready to make his own within less than a day. it's important to remember that katara is also brilliant in her own way, and possesses great skills that sokka lacks: not only bending, but also midwifery, and an ability to locate her own emotions and allow herself to be vulnerable with others, two skills which should never be looked down upon for their association with womanhood and femininity, and are also particularly impressive considering just how young katara is. she is brilliant in her own right, and in any other family, katara would easily have been "the smart one." and yet, sokka is simply in a league of his own.

so, yeah, he can stand to get thrown around and yelled at; everyone her entire childhood just kept on impressing how special and perfect and brilliant he is, he can handle it. she has no idea that he is depressed, depersonalizes, loathes himself, and thinks he’ll never be good enough, because he never actually communicates any of that to her. the closest he ever comes is admitting that he’s jealous due to not having bending abilities, and even that shocks katara, even though it’s such a small and obvious admission in the scheme of things. she has no idea what’s going on with him psychologically, how he views himself in relation to others, and specifically in relation to her, so she kind of just assumes he’s entitled because surely he must know how special he is and thus feels owed accolades by the world at every turn. he deserves to be humbled, and she is in fact righteous for humbling him.

when she makes fun of him for being stupid or miserable or paranoid or cynical, she thinks she’s owning him the way a righteous underdog fights against an oppressor. it's similar to how zuko wants to "put azula in her place." in katara and zuko's minds, they are both the valiant underdog siblings who had to fight and struggle against the siblings for whom everything came so easily. and in katara’s mind especially, she is always punching up, and she always has a moral justification in lashing out at anyone she pleases. so she couldn’t fathom that the reason sokka puts up with her antagonism without complaint isn’t because he’s so above her that he can simply ignore her taunts and gibes without a care (if that were the case, he wouldn't bother to taunt and gibe in return), but rather that he feels so detached from his own personhood that he would never think to actually explain his feelings to the person whom he has defined himself through since childhood. and if he did ever, somehow, communicate that to her, she’d have to reevaluate their whole entire lives and dynamic. but he never will communicate that to her, so she’ll never actually have to do that.

moreover, even though katara often does tease sokka and cast doubt upon his competence and abilities in low-stakes situations constantly, whenever they are actually facing a real problem that requires an immediate solution, katara seems to forget that sokka is supposedly an unhelpful, lazy, immature idiot because she immediately turns to him to fix all their issues. and then once that issue is resolved, katara goes back to finding his existence bothersome. sokka, on the other hand, falls into this role of problem solver instinctually, with the one exception that when they actually name him as the idea guy, he jokingly complains that it’s a lot of pressure to be one who is always expected to come up with solutions. and while he is joking during that conversation in “the drill,” he’s being honest to an extent, because his perfectionism and fear of failure is truly dire.

when katara is faced with failure, whether as the consequences for her own actions or otherwise, she simply gets back up and tries again. she can’t be knocked down, she can’t be deterred from achieving her goals. she has a very healthy approach to making mistakes, and while she doesn’t always learn from them in the longterm, she does always try her best to fix them and amend the situation as immediately as possible. katara is someone who is incredibly resilient and is constantly demonstrating the sheer magnitude of her inner strength, especially in particularly difficult moments. she has the ability to fail as many times as it takes without letting that failure affect her own self-esteem or desire to keep striving for what she believes in.

sokka, on the other hand, is very physically resilient (he gets beat up a lot), but his emotional resilience is actually quite pathetic. he has no tools for coping with failure. from even the slightest mistake, like not actually being able to open the doors at the fire temple with his makeshift explosives, to a catastrophic one, like his failed invasion, sokka immediately retreats inward. in “the boiling rock,” sokka demonstrates how his first ever real failure that rests squarely on his own shoulders is so devastating to him that he becomes totally irrational and suicidal in an attempt to “rectify” the situation. he does not know how to cope with failure, because he expects himself to be perfect at all times. and it’s not because sokka is overly proud, but rather that his guilt complex is so profound that he blames himself for every single thing that goes awry at all times, even when it isn’t actually his fault whatsoever. so that guilt and shame is magnified a thousand fold when sokka is actually culpable for those losses.

one of many ways in which it is evident that sokka is the older sibling is that he clearly lives with the mentality that if katara messes up or gets herself in danger due to her own impulsive inclinations, it’s always actually sokka’s fault for not being a better, more attentive brother. when she sets off the booby trap in the banned ship, sokka banishes aang from the village so as to protect katara from herself. when katara experiences the consequences of heedlessly blowing up a factory, sokka gets mad at her for her recklessness, but also immediately finds a way to help her fix this situation, because that’s his job, and in fact, his primary purpose on this earth. this is a dynamic sokka has probably internalized even before he was assigned the role of her sworn protector, because that’s just how being the eldest is.

sokka’s tendency to take responsibility for everyone else’s mistakes and his desire to shoulder everyone else’s pain at all times, coupled with his implicit belief that he, uniquely, cannot afford to mess up ever (if other people make mistakes it’s fine and he can help them fix it, but if he makes mistakes he no longer has a purpose on this planet, goodbye cruel world), definitely indicates that he was held to an incredibly high standard all his life. he expects himself to be able to handle a lot of responsibility with perfect ease because he always has. he isn’t used to making mistakes of any kind. if he puts his mind into learning a new skill, he always masters it within a couple of days, whatever that skill happens to be. unlike katara, sokka is used to things coming easily to him, and what he isn’t used to is failure.

katara and sokka are both exceptional, of course, but in very different ways, and for very different reasons. katara grew up with a lot of external pressure to excel as a waterbender, because she needs to embody her cultural legacy and prove that her mother’s sacrifice was not in vain. it’s an unfathomable burden to place on a child, and the rate at which she improves her waterbending once she is actually given the resources to hone her skills is a testament to her perseverance and untiring dedication. katara becomes the greatest waterbender in the world not because she is a natural prodigy (which is something she bristles at when aang does display prodigious skill), but because she is incredibly determined and no one can outmatch the strength of her heart and unshakable commitment when she is pursuing a goal. as pakku even says, raw talent isn’t everything, and katara’s abilities prove that despite not being “naturally gifted,” hard work and determination is far more important when it comes to excelling in any given domain.

however, if katara’s motivation to be excellent is externally imposed by the tragic circ*mstances of her life, sokka’s motivations are, at the very least, internally maintained. as aforementioned, i have no doubt that he received a lot of external validation and praise from the adults in his life as a child with a dazzling, brilliant mind. as has been established, sokka is constantly displaying an ability to synthesize new information at a staggering rate, which likely means that before katara had even discovered her ability to waterbend, sokka was probably being fawned over for the impressive rate at which he was picking up new skills as a baby. since pretty much everything (cerebral, at least) comes easily to sokka, i can only imagine that hakoda, who never hesitates to express to his children how proud he is of them, would constantly affirm sokka’s intellect. and by boasting that sokka takes after himself (hakoda also refers to himself as a genius, completely sincerely), he unwittingly plants the first seeds in fostering sokka’s belief that he must be exactly like his father in every way, and that any deviation from hakoda’s image would prove him unworthy. but he will never be the spitting image of hakoda the way that katara is "the spitting image of kanna" because sokka is already the spitting image of kya, if not – perish the thought – his own person entirely.

unlike katara, who spent her whole childhood trying to waterbend by herself with little success (beyond, of course, isolated instances demonstrating her sheer raw power when her bending was being influenced by her incredibly strong and passionate emotions), sokka always felt like he could handle the amount of responsibility he was given, because everything came easily to him. until the day that his life changed forever, and suddenly the stakes were no longer abstract, but tangible and personally devastating. sokka had never learned that it was okay to fail as a child because he never had a reason to, and then suddenly, he could not afford to fail under any circ*mstances. failure of any kind went from being a (purely hypothetical) blow to the ego, to being something that could directly endanger the lives of his loved ones. and so sokka decides that the only way to not be culpable for his potential failures is to be a martyr.

of course, there are instances in which sokka is proven to be inept, such as on kyoshi island or with piandao, wherein his humility and open-mindedness are put on display and sokka puts aside his own standards of perfection to learn from a master, but i don't think these instances qualify as failures. for one thing, sokka happens to master the forms he is being taught in less than a day, at an unprecedented rate, and thus these initially humiliating blindspots in his knowledge become victories as sokka absorbs new knowledge. sokka is always eager to learn, and willing to acknowledge his lack of expertise in area, humbling himself to learn from others any chance he gets. no, what i mean by "failure" as it relates to sokka's self-perception and ego is not a lack of knowledge, but an inability to protect another. to sokka, his existence is defined by his ability to provide and protect, and thus, a failure is, specifically, when someone gets hurt under his watch. that is what it means to not be able to afford to fail. he is not overly proud (if anything he is overly insecure), but he also understands that the stakes of failure – real failure – are tangible.

so when it comes to failure that carries grave consequences, he would rather be dead than fallible (or, responsible for not adequately protecting his loved ones), one million times over. and so every time someone makes a sacrifice for him, he feels as if he has failed on a fundamental level, because simply being exceptional is not enough, he must also bear the entire world’s suffering alone – as (in his mind) hakoda instructed him to when he left him behind to protect and provide for the village. otherwise he has failed in his promise to be needed, which is his raison d’être. sokka’s complex is very obviously not informed solely by his upbringing as a “gifted kid,” and in fact largely informed by the dehumanizing logic of war as it necessitates sacrifice, but his inability to accept his own fallibility as a product of his self-dehumanization is, at the very least, compounded by his debilitating perfectionism.

thus, katara and sokka's dynamic within their family isn’t “gifted kid and neglected kid,” but rather “two gifted kids who are gifted in different ways, one of those ways being valued more on a cultural level due to its scarcity as a byproduct of genocide.” while katara was put on a pedestal her entire life due to her ability to waterbend, it doesn’t mean that sokka wasn’t put on a pedestal in other ways. if anything, the reason hakoda entrusted a child with the burdens he did was specifically because he put his son on a pedestal. sokka assumes that hakoda didn't think he was capable enough to join his army, but that couldn't be further from the truth. hakoda trusted his thirteen year old son so much that he genuinely thought it best to leave him alone with this duty to defend his village and protect katara at all costs. he didn't leave a single man behind, not even the other teenage boys, because that's how much faith he had in a child to take his responsibilities seriously and perform them competently. and if that decision gave sokka one million different complexes and f*cked him up for life, it wasn’t because he wasn’t valued for his abilities, it’s because he was overvalued and given too much responsibility at too young an age.

both he and katara struggled to live up to the expectations placed on them, forced to fulfill the roles of their parents instead of being allowed to exist as children. but crucially, katara sees the injustice in that, and clings to her childhood even as she strives for greatness, and sokka simply doesn't. he's long accepted that injustice, and in fact feels guilty that he cannot better live up to the impossible portrait of an idolized father, an idealized masculinity, an illusory model of the infallible, unshakeable warrior. despite all his achievements and natural giftedness, he nonetheless feels totally inadequate, deeply flawed, and ontologically worthless. perhaps, in a world beyond the pressures of war and its dehumanizing logic, sokka would have internalized the praise he was constantly receiving his whole life for his gifts. but since he was only ever a prodigy in ways that didn’t matter (within that colonized paradigm), he doesn’t actually care about how clever and brilliant and creative and talented and unique and special he is, because that would first require him to see himself as fully human, and he can’t even do that.

64 notes · View notes

grand finale — the 141

kinktober day 31: gangb*ng (w/ price, gaz, soap, ghost, alej + rudy)

pt 1 // wc: 10,067 :P sorry for dying

tags: smut, gangb*ng, light fee use, light intox, overstimulation, lots of cum obvi;; a little ooc but theyre thinking w their dicks. y/n has the best puss* in the world (canon)

♡

Captain Price was beyond pissed; he’d done his‘display of affection’a few weeks ago, and every few days since, the other men got a little more bold in their actions. What started as a few short sentences of teasing flirtatiousness, ended up in grabbing hands and genuine neglect for Price.

He was well aware of the outcome that was likely to happen, and he understood the consequences and risks of letting his friends watch him f*ck his girl, but he was okay with that. He was okay with his friends stroking their dicks to her and to what he’d let them see because he thought he ingrained it into their heads that she washisgirl, until that message was no longer the part they paid attention to.

It all clicked into place when he saw Mactavish with his hand wrapped around my waist. So he called to action, inviting them over for drinks again and they all thought it was harmless, snickering to themselves and getting tipsy off of John’s fine bourbon. He was encouraging them to drink up, making them soft and pliable, ‘easy to manipulate’ in his brisk words.

All was well until I plopped down on the coffee table in front of them, wearing just a skirt and a lace bra.

They all groaned inwardly, and John scowled slightly. “Don’t react likethat.” He warned as he toyed with my hair, pushing it around, out of my face and adjusting it, making sure I looked as pretty as I could.

They quickly started pointing fingers, biting at whose fault it was that they got caught, realising that he’d suckered them into a deal of getting them drunk just to reprimand and punish them. Meanwhile, John’s strong hands spread my thighs apart, revealing the sticky and glistening puss* to them, causing them to die down from their rowdy argument.

“You’re allowed to touch her.” He spoke with a dismissive shrug as if the intentions for this one were obvious. It was like locking a lamb with a pack of wolves, their hands immediately reaching forward to touch what they could.

He walked around the coffee table again, this time covered with a plush blanket which the boys seemed to ignore or chalk up to as some weird table cover, he took perch in front of my legs, kneeling and pressing a kiss on my neck.

“Wanna tell ‘em, or see how long it takes?”

“Mhm.. I wanna see.”

He gave a small chuckle, pressing more kisses on the expanse of my neck.“Cruel baby.”He muttered to himself, his hands fumbling slightly with his belt. “You’re all prepped up, ain’t you, princess? Tell ‘em.”

“f*cked myself.” I mumbled, though he beckoned more. “Likedbeing watched.”

“She liked it a whole lot.” He slid in slowly, letting his words linger in the air as a breathy whine escaped me. “Almost too much but I ‘aven’t got anythin’ to worry about, right, lads?” The sarcasm dripped off his tongue and was met by an awkward silence as they endured thisagain.

I laid back on the table, resting on my elbows as he started thrusting at a gracious pace, hands on my hips as he took control, easily gliding in and out from the pre-worked slickness and they all peered over his shoulders, getting a better view than they did previously. They sipped their bourbon calmly while their thoughts ran wild.

“I said you’re allowed to touch her.” He cursed, they knew he didn’t like repeating himself, so they jerked to attention, forming a circle around me while they started touching what they could.

Simon’s hands took firm place on my chest, while the others groped and grabbed at my ass and thighs. They tried fighting Simon’s greedy hands for the tiniest modicum of space but his hands were too large for them to win. Alejandro’s hands tried to grab at my legs, though the lack of space due to the others caused him to move upwards, cupping my face and neck, moving the hair out of my face as it began to dampen up from sweat.

“That’s it, baby girl, all worked up f’me, ey?”

He was met with a trail of moans, whines and groans (not all of which were from me); Price growled at the way I gushed and twitched around him at the actions of the other men, the wet sounds filled the room and he was selfishly working himself close to finish.

“Please.”I spoke under my breath, squirming against him with want. “God, not enough, need more.”

His large fingers started rubbing on my cl*t when he realised the other men weren’t going to, whether out of respect or fear was up for interpretation but he simply let it linger.

“So god damn needy, gonna cum on my co*ck, yeah?” His words stayed harsh, trying to drive me close to org*sm. This was the farthest thing from punishment, and John knew that, so he didn’t plan on treating it like one.

I whined, grabbing hold of the blanket and his arm, digging my fingernails into the flesh of his wrist as he continued to f*ck into me smoothly. His actions, while selfish, were exactly how I needed him, and it seemed he knew that as well.

“Johnny—”

His dick twitched inside me. “Yeah, princess, keep moaning for me. Y’don’t even gotta talk, baby, just make those pretty noises, you know what it does to me. Look what’s it doin’ to the lads.” He beckoned on, his hands glued to my hips and cl*t respectively, knowing the stimulation the other few men were giving me would be more than enough to drive me closer and closer, he could get away with being just a little more selfish, just this once.

Naturally, he felt aggressive, he felt the need to claim up my insides, have his cum leak out of me while one of the others eats me out, tasting his spend while they desperately try to ignore it. He needed to be rough, in the back of his mind, he had to show his display of strength to them, to show them not to cross him again.

This was an act of kindness —and they needed to act like it.

“sh*t, ‘m close.” I choked out, my hips bucking against him.

“Yeah?” He laughed. “You like it way more when they’re touching you, is that it, princess?”

I nodded weakly, and his actions didn’t falter in the slightest. He clenched his jaw with his eyes glazing over slightly while he leant over me, pushing his hips as deep as they could go for the final stretch.

“Cum on my co*ck, princess, show me how good you feel. Cry out f’me, make some noise.” He purred, his head dipping close to mine. “Show the boys. Put on a show for us, baby, I know you like that.”

My head fell back, brushing helplessly against the plush blanket, Alejandro’s sweet hands cradling my head. He carefully watched my body with gritted teeth and a tense jaw, though it didn’t affect the soft grip he held me in.

As I snapped from all the contact on my body, I clenched down around him, hearing an ‘oh god’ fall from his lips. His groans stuttered slightly, his impending org*sm finally crashing him when my walls started spasming around him, loud cries falling from my mouth as I grabbed at him, trying to ground myself through the climax.

“That’s it,that’s it.” He cooed as his dick twitched, his hot cum hitting my walls and he idly kept thrusting, trying to push it into my cervix. My vision spotted, everything going white-hot, and I was sure to put on a special show just for his men.

He eventually pulled out, watching it leak out of the messy hole and onto the softness below it as I went limp once again on the table.

He huffed in amusem*nt, glancing over my relaxed body. He rolled his shoulders as he fiddled with his pants, adjusting them to professionalism and sitting back down on the couch. The men surrounding him paused their movements, hesitantly pulling away from me.

Alejandro kept his soft gaze fixated on me, holding the back of my head and running his fingers through my hair, making sure to push the sweat drenched strands out of my face, keeping me as pretty and presentable as he could.

John completely relaxed, leaning and spreading his arms out to cover the entire back of the couch, spreading his legs slightly as he watched the men with a quirked eyebrow, he tilted his head slightly, and he chuckled lowly once again.

“Don’t all go at once.” He joked. The room stayed silent, so after a few seconds, he continued. “Well? ‘s someone gonna go first? Take turns?” He gestured loosely with a turn of the wrist, looking like the cat who got the cream.

He was met with another silence, which he again filled quickly. “I said you could touch her?” He reminded the men, causing things to click into place. “Go on, keep her company? Treat her real nice.Don't she deserve it?” He spoke sweetly with an edge of condescension.

Mactavish gave a side eye glance at the domineering Captain, tilting his head and trying to smooth the venom that threatened to spit when he talked. “What’s the catch?”

“Don’t cum inside her.” He shrugged. “Otherwise do whatever you want. As long as she likes it.”

“Don’t cum inside her?” He repeated it back like he didn’t believe it, like there was some sort of fine-print in those words, and agreeing to it would damn his soul to suicide runs every morning for the next 3 months.

“That’s f’me only, yeah? Surely you understand?” The ice in his whiskey clinked together as he sipped it slowly, his eyes bore into Johnny, almost like a dare.

The duos all hesitated for their own respective reasons, though KyleknewPrice. He stood up, and took place where John was and I propped myself back up on my elbows, his breath catching at the lust-filled glazed-over look that returned his gaze.

“What? No one else ‘s gonna do it.” He spoke to the men’s stalkerish gazes, using it as an excuse to momentarily avoid my eye contact.

“Thatt’a boy.” He tilted his head downwards in an approving nod when Garrick glanced over his shoulder, they shared a moment of understanding eye contact.

He moved the position around enough where I was still lying comfortably, though enough where Price could relax and get a decent view without moving around.Why bite the hand that feeds?He thinks to himself, trying to make it so John could hover over his actions, and control his every move without much of having to move his neck in the slightest.

Kyle knew as well as anyone, that one wrong move on John’s girl and he’d be grabbed by the scruff of the neck and dragged to god-knows-where. While Mactavish theorised and over-analysed the subtext of those words, he simply knew what they meant.‘Don’t make her unhappy’; so he took those words to heart.

He unbuckled his belt, feeling the peering eyes swallow in his every movement. One hand fiddled with his pants and worked on removing them, while the other ran up the smooth skin of my stomach, giving a soft squeeze to my breast with a low groan.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“Mhm, I’m okay, Kyle.” I nodded, and he simply nodded back, his words catching in his throat.

There was an itching paranoia to not f*ck it up, he stroked himself slowly as his mind lingered on what he was going to do. He knew what hewantedto do, but this wasn’thisgirl, there was no way he could do those sorts of things in front of her boyfriend and not end up on some sort of personal hit-list.

His hand reached for my thigh, lifting it up slightly to spread my legs. He watched John’s cum ooze out of me, and he slid in with a soft groan. “Jesus—” He hissed, hooking the curve of my knee into the curve of his elbow as he sank down to the hilt. He took a moment to regain his composure when I was still twitching around him so he could feel the occasional clench while he tried desperately to keep himself in control.

I arched my back into him, moaning softly and grabbing onto the sheets. John had given me instructions to simply lie there and take it, only speak up when something was wrong. It wasn’t my job to do anything that would get them off faster besides oft conversation. They simply had to make me feel good while working themselves to finish —this was about me.

Kyle began to mimic the thrusting that Price had previously done, and he’d gotten it down to perfection, though there was a slight awkwardness as he shuffled around on his knees.

The slickness swallowed him perfectly, and his head dropped forward, going completely limp. “f*ck, that’s good.” I whined out.

“Yeah?” My words were met back with a raspy plea of approval. “Jus’ tryna treat you right, doll.”

John interjected, noticing the pattern of Kyle f*cking into me the same way he was prior. “Are you gonna f*ck her or what?” He spoke dryly.

“What?”

“You’re doing what I was doing. f*ck her like howyouwant to f*ck her.”

“Don’t say that.” Garrick gritted his teeth, his movements faltering. “How you f*ck her is good f’her, gets ‘er off.” He tried to defend his actions, but while it was partly that, it did have a lot to do with not stepping on his best friend’s toes.

“She can take it.”

“God damn.”He groaned. “Lay back, sweet thing, let me—”

I leant back, and Kyle hovered over me completely, pushing my thigh to go over his shoulder. His hands reached my hips and his head dipped between my chest, staying there for a moment as he thrust at his own pace. It was slow, but deep and harsh.

“You gonna give him a hand?” John spoke up again, swirling his glass to let the clink of ice fill the air. “I didn’t say you couldn’t keep touching her. Just stay out of each other’s way, no fighting.”

They hesitated, though Soap greedily started grabbing at the thigh that wasn’t on Garrick’s shoulder; The other two were unsure if they wanted to touch me when his body was directly pressed onto mine.

Alejandro was not dissuaded, however. “Head up.” He whispered, I lifted myself up slightly and his hands quickly cupped my scalp again, holding me sweetly in place to make sure I didn’t bang my head. He sat quietly, but he assigned himself to the role of making sure I was okay, he knew the wood table was harsh, and a concussion would be the last thing he wanted, and maybe that was the tiniest bit for selfish reasons but he rationalised it by saying he was being kind.

His fingers delicately ran through my hair, brushing it slightly, and he kept pushing it out of my face. He was deliberate, and very gentle and kind with his actions.

Kyle’s head dipped to press kisses onto my neck, licking stripes as he restrained the urge to sink his teeth in. “God, this puss* is so f*cking good.” He let out a whine, his hips speeding up slightly. “Jesus Christ, I don’t even think I deserve it.”

His words rambled on as the squelching noise increased in volume, and his eyes were practically rolling back into his skull the longer that he was buried inside of me. He sunk his teeth into my neck, then licked the teeth marks.

“Better than you imagined, huh?” Price joked, earning a mindless nod in response as my high pitched moans filled the air. “Tell the boys how she feels.”

“Like f*ckin’ heaven.” He started, tripping over his words slightly. “Still twitchin’ ‘round me. So f*ckin’ warm, so f*ckin’ wet,so god damn f*ckin’ tight.”

John let out an amused hum, idly tapping his finger on the side of his glass as he sipped, watching the way Kyle lost himself inside of me. He tilted his head with a smirk, noticing one key detail that Garrick was too puss*-drunk to realise, and he wanted to see how long it took for him to notice.

He continued his drunk ramblings. “f*ck, shouldn’t be allowed to bury my co*ck into this perfect c*nt, too f*ckin’ good for me.” He praised, letting the words go straight to my core, and he groaned when he felt me clench around him.

“Gaz.” John said sternly, interjecting to fix the aforementioned issue.

His brain was barely processing anything from the outside world. “Huh?” He responded, not turning to meet his gaze, instead just trying to bite down on my flesh again, needing to leave more marks. Not even to claim, but to keep his mouth busy from the filthy sounds that threatened to escape.Not in front of the lads,he thought to himself.

“Rub her cl*t, don’t be selfish.”

“f*ck, ‘m sorry, sweetheart.” He tensed up, realising his mistake and dipping his fingers between our bodies. “Can’t think straight, y’feel so good.”

My hands clung to his back as I nodded, my head was limp in Alejandro’s hands as Kyle started running sweet, lazy circles between my legs, hoping it was enough paired with his deep thrusts. His mouth continued to bite and suck at the skin he had access to.

His other hand fiddled with the hemming of the skirt, his brain wracked for anything to say. “God, you’re f*ckin’ me stupid.” He laughed softly, knowing it was the only words lingering on the forefront of his mind.

“Ky, please—” I whined and it dragged his attention to my face, with a slight unease of panic, he scanned it for any sign of discomfort.

“What is it, doll?” He crooned sweetly, cutting me off slightly, inwardly begging that nothing is wrong and it was just a simple request and not something that’d have him dragged out of here before he could cum, he loathed the idea of being pulled out and having to go back to his quarters and stroke himself off to the mere fleeting memory of how good I felt.

He felt like his prayers were answered when I nodded in time to his thrust. “Need more, please.” He let out a sigh of relief, though it was hard to distinguish from his regular heavy breathing.

“If I give you more, you’ll be a sweet thing and cum on my co*ck, yeah?”

“Mhm, yeah!” I pleaded helplessly, squirming beneath his touch. He took note of the way my hips shuffled around against his lap, and he teetered on his knees slightly to ease the tension.

“I know what you need.” He tried to croon, though his voice was rasping and broke between groans. He tried to move our hips around.

“Please, give it to me, please—”

“God, where the f*ck is it?” He growled, he pushed my knee to touch my shoulder, I let out a short whine and his face scrunched up at my desperate clenching. “Where is it, sweet thing? C’mon, help me out.”

Price sighed, pitying my incessant whining. He hovered over Kyle’s back, placing one hand on his spine and the other on his hip. “Move down.” He mumbled, watching him shift down. “Up a bit.” He continued throwing slight directions at him until, eventually—

“Oh, f*ck!” I cried out as his deep slow thrusts pushed into the spongy spot he was looking for.

“f*ck, there it is.” He almost sobbed. “There you go, doll, f*ck.”

John let out a content hum, slumping back on the couch and crossing his leg. He rested his arm on his knee, another slow sip, his eyes lingered on the view in front of him, his dick twitching back to life softly, although he didn’t feed into it.

“Thank you, John.” He babbled as an afterthought as he repeatedly hit the squishy gspot that caused the front of his pants to get damp. “Close, ain’t you, sweetheart?”

“So close, Ky, please, wanna cum.”

“Right with you, doll.” He praised softly, and I instinctively wrapped my leg around his waist, causing a hiss to escape his throat. “Soap, hold her f*ckin’ leg down.” He barked slightly, knowing that the slight amount of desire to keep him inside would be enough for him to not leave.

Mactavish stopped his groping and quickly abetted Kyle’s sudden demand, and Johnny seemed to think that following the rules, every tiny command; it would be his ticket out of jail metaphorically and, with how Price treats him, literally.

“God, wanna cum inside so bad.” He whined, his org*sm impending as I squeezed him tightly. “Wanna bury m’co*ck in and never leave.”

His hips kept faltering as he struggled to keep up his designated pace. “Don’t stop! Please, so close, Kyle, ‘m gonna—”

“I know, sweet thing, ‘m sorry. Just.. f*ck, how does John do it? I’d just live here if I could.” His words flooded my thoughts and my fingernails dug desperately into his shirt, leaving moon shaped indents on his shoulder blades.

“I struggle.” John shrugged. “You better not cum before she does. Forgot to mention that, thought it was a given. You gotta make her cum.” His grin was co*cky as his words crawled into every crevice of Kyle’s brain, as well as the others.

“Iknow.” He growled. “‘M f*ckin’ tryin’, Price.”

His head dipped once again, pressing more kisses onto the soft expanse of my neck, sucking and biting softly with his own desperate need. His hands doubled their speeds on my cl*t as he continued to struggle with keeping his pace set.

“Doll, I know you’re so close, you wanna cum so f*ckin’ bad.” He choked out. “Need t’feel you cum, please—” His words stopped suddenly, his mind going black and his eyes rolling back.

I mindlessly chanted his name, feeling it wash over me. He let out a choked groan, feeling me squeeze down on him. “C’mon, ride it out.” He spoke sweetly, trying to hold himself back until my org*sm was completely over.

He noticed that my body went slack, my tight grip against his shoulders let go of his shirt, and he quickly slipped out while he still could. He moved my leg back down and held my skirt up while he jerked himself to completion, his words coming out as a slurred hiss.

“Such a pretty puss*, god damn, gonna cum.” He continued rambling. “Gonna cum all over this pretty c*nt. You want that?”

“Please.”I pleaded, throwing my head back further into Alejandro’s hands, earning a quiet coo from him.

His hands were holding the skirt up while eyeing up the leaky hole. Watching the arousal and what was left of John’s cum just seeped out of it, and the wetness coating his dick as he stroked himself to completion, the imagery itself making his mind run in circles.

“Yeah, yeah.” He nodded blankly before cursing under his breath again.“sh*t, sh*t, sh*t.”He choked out, going over the edge and spilling warm white ropes that covered the‘perfect puss*.’

His cum covered the mons pubis and dribbled down between the folds, sticking to the slick skin beautifully. If he didn’t know any better, he’d’ve stared for at least an hour at the scene, though he’d quickly rejoined earth with a sigh, tucking himself back into his pants and swiftly moving out of the way for whoever wanted to go next.

Mactavish pushed past Garrick quickly, wanting to get his turn in before Price changed his mind and sent him to the bench again. He didn’t even take a second glance at the mixture of cum that covered me, uncaring for what he was about to be using as lube.

Kyle slumped down onto the couch next to Price so he could catch his breath, and smiled in amusem*nt at the other man’s eagerness. “Good f*ckin’ puss*.” He muttered to John with a lopsided grin more-so directed at him.

Mactavish tugged at the skirt with greedy hands, the soft frilly fabric feeling like a barrier when he rubbed it between his calloused fingers.“Get it off.”He mumbled to himself, knowinghewas going to do it anyway; his hands worked to peel it off my body, careful enough to not get cum-stains on the cute fabric. Rodolfo gave him a hand, pulling the elastic wide enough that it could be pulled past my thighs without smearing anyfilthonto it.

His calloused fingers quickly dipped lower, meeting the wet entrance and he slid two into the warmth. His eyes widened slightly at the feel, and he simply felt around, his fingertips brushing against the walls.

“She can takeanythin’, right?” Johnny turned to the smug faced Captain. “Nothin’‘s off the table?”

He earned nothing but a coy shrug in response, he let out a short laugh, removing his fingers, seeing them coated with the mixture of cum. His fingers dipped to collect some of Kyles and brought his hand to my mouth. “Open wide, bonnie.” He cooed sweetly.

I opened my mouth lazily, letting him push his fingers into the wetness. I moaned around the digits, swirling my tongue around.

“That’s agoodgirl.” He praised, with a tinge of jealousy hanging off the words.

He removed his clean fingers, and his hands tightly gripped onto my waist. “Bet you’re gonna think about this for weeks, how our big ‘n’ mean Cap’n got a group of scary ‘n’ strong soldiers to treat you like a li’l lady, yeah? Ain’t that right,hen?He’s got a bunch of puss* drunk fools treatin’ you like you’re heaven on earth.”

“I am.”I mumbled back as he rubbed the head of his co*ck up and down the wet slit awkwardly, holding my hips enough where Garrick’s cum wouldn’t smear off, though they stuck to between my thighs and he knew that Kyle’s cum would stain the front of his pants. It riled him up, and they all silently yet mutually agreed that they wanted to see the cumdump at the end.

“Yeah, ‘course you are.” He smiled slightly. “How y’want me to f*ck you?”

“Hard, Johnny.” I squirmed at the way he f*cked the slit. The entire time, he had a grin plastered on his face, especially while pushing himself in slowly, closing his eyes. His eyes were half-lidded and he took a handful of tit, bullying his way into the slick space.

“Hard? You wanna asknicer?”

“Please, please, Johnny, please, f*ck me hard.” I pleaded as I kept moving around, trying to move my hips against his for friction but I was held in place with the firmness of his grip on my waist.

“You’re such a perfect girl.” He spoke, dragging himself all the way out before slamming back in, earning himself a choked cry. “Did Price have to teach you how to beg that good?”

I shook my head hesitantly, and he dragged himself out again, holding it there while he waited for a verbal response. “Mhmhm, no.” I struggled out, earning a murmured‘liar’from John.

He tilted his head, pushing back in and repeating the actions, knocking the air out of my lungs. I nodded in time to his thrusts, my eyes unfocused as his movements were harsh, though eventually, he stopped dragging himself out so far but that didn’t mean he relented on the harsh slaps that filled the gaps between my moans.

His hand began rubbing tight circles on my cl*t. “So sensitive.” He spoke coolly, Garrick’s cum sticking to his palm as he moved without a care for it. His movements were steady, quick and deliberate.

Thin strings of a mixture of cum connected our body, sticking to his pubic bone. His free,cleanhand reached up and he ran his fingers through the shaggy mohawk, repeating the motion and slightly gripping onto the hair to hold it out of place as he kept f*cking me closer to the edge. It was an odd quirk, but it seemed like he was barely aware that he was doing it besides the way his eyebrows knitted together when he tugged on his own hair by his brain confusing the movements between each hand.

The hand on my cl*t kept faltering for the same reason, he let out a low groan as he felt me clench around him. “Don’t cum.” He grunted. “Don’t— Don’t youdare.” The way he spoke was clear with the intent that it was a command, making my head spin.

I tried to balance my breathing, my hand wrapping over my mouth as Ale soothingly stroked my hair, brushing the sweat out of my face again. “Oh, f*ck—“ I choked out. “Slow down—“

“He said you can takeanything, bonnie, what’s the matter?” He spoke dismissively.

“It’s too much!”

“I don’t f*ckin’ care.” He hissed, as he shuffled around, groaning at the slight discomfort from kneeling. Breathy moans left his throat at the pleasure, but the slight grunts and groans were from his knees brushing against the hardwood floor.

“Is someone’s knee acting up?” Price teased.

“Shut the f*ck up.” John barked back.

His eyes glazed over slightly when he noticed that I was slowing my breathing to hold off the impending org*sm, his hand snaked up and wrapped tightly around my throat, squeezing enough to falter my composure, causing my smooth breathing to fall to disarray.

“Chugged to those panties, yeah? Still got ‘em.” He confessed, sounding utterly and truly debauched. The words sounded filthy coming from his mouth, and his accent didn’t help. “I’m sure John wants ‘em back but he can have it over m’dead body.”

“Please—” I cried out, clenching around him both from his words and the pressure from between my legs. “Can’t..”

“You wanna cum? You know what to do.”

“God, please, please, let me cum, please—“ I babbled, repeating the same few words over and over, sounding pitiful as he continued to take what he wanted. Tears pricked my eyes, oversensitive and desperate to cum. “Johnny,please.”

“How can I say no when you sound so pretty like that?” He grunted. “Go on, cum on my co*ck, yougreedy—”

“Watch it.”Price interjected quickly.

Johnny let out a low growl, picking up the pace a little more. He swallowed his thoughts, his mind going blank as he chased his org*sm. “Just cum for me, y/n, clench around me.” His accent was thick and aggressive with need, I panted under him as he tried to keep his movements steady despite the feeling around him.

I cried out as I clamped down on him, tensing around him in a weak attempt to milk him dry. His thrusts faltered slightly as I kept sucking him in and he tried to station his breathing through my climax. Once the climax had drawn out enough for him to pull out, he took a breath of air and dipped his head.

His hair hung low, covering his face as he looked completely down, though he was biting down on his lips so hard they might bleed. “If I can’t cum in your womb, I’ll f*ckin’ cum on it.” He moaned, wrapping his hand around mine as he fisted his dick until it twitched in my hand, quickly leaking over my fingers and onto my lower stomach.

The fresh cum was warm and landed freshly onto the expanse of my skin, and his cum mixed slightly with Kyle’s. His hand dipped momentarily to try and wipe off the excess cum from his own thighs, then wiped his hand clean on a fresh part of my skin like a mere rag.

He slumped down on the couch, a fair distance from Price and picked up his drink. He was barely packed away, only enough to be considered barely decent, and he used the vapour on the glass to make his hand feel less slick as the water diluted the mixture of cum. He dried his hands on his cargo pants and leaned back in the chair with a slow sip of the whiskey; his mind was completely blank and he sat there looking like the cat who got the cream just like Garrick.

However, Rodolfo, Alejandro and Simon shared a glance, unsure on who was to go next. There was no shoving, no argument and no rush; they were willing to wait for their turn. Alejandro and Simon were patient men, their ranks proved that. Rodolfo was a well-trained soldier, willing to let his superiors pick first.

“Either of you can go.” Alejandro spoke up clearly, it came across as an order as he carefully stroked my hair out of my face again, using his wrist to wipe the sweat off of my forehead and his eyebrows knitted as he watched the other men.

“Are you sure?” Rodolfo continued, evidently not as an act of disobedience but as a subtle sign of respect. “You can go.”

“I don’t care.” His response was swift. “I want to go last. Someone just go.”

The discussion then moved towards the Ghost. Rodolfo turned to him in an attempt to foist himself last. He was awkwardly sitting there, but Simon stood stern and strong. He was unmoving and composed despite the scene in front of him but his eyes betrayed him as his gaze flicked to the mess on my lower torso.

“Just go.” Simon spoke, continuing Alejandro’s orders but his words were still soft outside of the natural roughness of his voice. He was considerably tense, though he was staying patient and entirely collected.

Rodolfo nodded sharply, taking his order in stride as a respectable soldier, though his erection betrayed his professionalism. He awkwardly stood to attention, meeting between my legs and looking Alejandro in the eyes briefly before he grabbed at my tit*.

“Princesa..” He mumbled. “You look so pretty.”

“Thank you.” I purred politely, sounding evidently co*ck-drunk.

A handful of words tumbled out of his mouth freely despite my inability to understand spanish. Though it seemed like incoherent ramblings of gibberish as all his sentences muddled together.“Eres una mujer brillante.”The words tumbled out of his mouth.“Déjame tratarte bien.”

His hands groped at my chest idly as his brain went into overdrive. His hands wanted to linger downwards but he was cautious of the drying mess on my stomach. His hands landed on the side of my hips, before he quickly made work on his pants.

“You’ll take me so well, won’t you, princesa?” He continued, hesitantly pushing into the hilt, letting out a short gasp at the ease of it. “Holy— Jesucristo.” He cursed. “Easy fit.” A string of groans left his throat just as easily, his hands dug into the flesh of my thighs as he pulled me closer, moving in tandem.

There was a slight snicker behind him as the others agreed despite the exhaustion from post nut clarity as they sunk into the chairs, sipping the fine liquor and their eyes half-lidded in a weak attempt to stay awake or to fight the urge to go for a round two.

Rudy was a quiet man, only speaking when spoken to. He took this as just another mission, despite his own selfish need. Deep down, he knew he wanted this more than anything, but something deep in his gut churned, he knew this wasn’t his girl and that his superiors were watching, that didn’t dissuade him from chasing the mutual pleasure but he didn’t indulge in the fantasies replaying behind his eyes. The positions, the scenarios, the kinks, the generalised exploration. He watched them keenly, though his hands twitched in restraint.

“You’re so pretty.” He mumbled, leaning close to me. His thrusts were precise, though he had to shuffle around in an attempt to find the gspot. “So head empty, that’s it.” His words were a soft coo as he attempted to bring himself down to earth despite his mind being apparently somewhere else.

“Rudy—” I whined out, shuffling my hips to meet his thrusts and try to position him, though it was met with incessant whining once again as I cried out in frustration, too exhausted to use my words.

Price gestured at the two men beside him and in sync, they stood up and each took one side of his hip. They shared a nervous glance as they moved his hips similarly to what worked for them. They were just as tired, and held their breaths until I moaned out the signal they’d done their job. They let out the breath they were holding and slumped back down. Price gave a curt nod of approval, refilling their whiskey and dropping the ice cubes with a clink.

Rodolfo mumbled a‘gracias’, continuing his movements as he started to hit the good spot. “You have.. Thebestpuss* I’ve everseen.” He spoke slowly, hesitating over his words. The other men agreed, and admittedly, Simon and Alejandro were excited for what awaited them. They were all experienced with puss* — but there was a mutual agreement that they’d never had anythingquitelike this.

Eventually, Price had had enough; “Let go.” He ordered sternly though his voice was a low whisper.

He swallowed a groan and tried to turn off his thoughts, though it was only an excuse to obey an order. “Touch yourself for me.” He beckoned me. “Por favor. I want to see it.” I obeyed him just as he did to Price, reaching down to rub my cl*t for him. He let out a satisfied grunt as his methodical thrusts picked up pace.

“Thank you.” I babbled mindlessly as I rubbed my cl*t for him, he continued his movements as he wracked his brain for anything he could say that hadn’t already been said.

“There you go, see? You’re not too tired to get yourself off. So needy.” He muttered. “So sensitive.” He’d noticed the sudden tightness at the added sensation from me rubbing myself exactly how I liked. “You’re doing so good, hermosa.”

I nodded blankly, trying to comprehend his words while keeping up with his movements, though he noticed me faltering. “Come on, princesa, you’re creaming on my co*ck, you're made for..” He trailed off quickly with a sharp inhale.“Eres bien, muy bien.”He praised.

“I’m close.” I whispered. “Please, I’m close.”

He had a lopsided grin, his words were sweet despite the teasing undertone. “That’s it, use your words.” He spoke with his fingernails digging into the plump of my thighs, leaving indents on the flesh. I winced at the feeling though it only fueled me more.

“So damn wet, creaming all over me, preciosa, look at the ring around my dick.” He rambled to himself helplessly. “I’d do awful things to you if John wasn’t around.” He mumbled, attempting to be out of earshot but whether or not itactuallywas up for debate, however, it’s not like John responded to his comment.

He wasdesperatelytrying to push me over the edge, I was twitching around him from the sensitivity and the impending org*sm. “Want you to cum. Para mi.” He spoke through his groans. “I need you to cum so I can.”

“Rudolfo, please.” I pleaded with him though he beckoned for me to use my words. “I’m right there,don’t stop.” I spoke through teary eyes, the overstimulation getting to me.

He didn’t plan on stopping, and he felt the weak spasming as another org*sm washed over me completely. The way I took his co*ck completely through my org*sm was almost too much for him, his breath catching in his throat as he scrunched his face up. He held on as I tried to ride out my org*sm,

“Mierda, maldita mierda.”He cursed sharply, pulling out and stroking himself once, twice before he spilled out onto my thigh, leaving the white streaks dripping down between my legs.“Casi dentro, ay, eso apestaría.”He tried to laugh awkwardly as he came back to earth, his cum continued to dribble from the tip, smearing it across my thigh before tucking it back away. He stood awkwardly for a moment, taking in the scene in front of him and the scene around him.

He mumbled a quiet‘gracias’to Price as he picked up his drink from where he left it and awkwardly moved to one of the chairs away from the couch, not wanting to sit directly next to the man whose girlfriend he’d just f*cked and came all over.

Simon reluctantly got up quickly after, handing his drink off to Soap and unbuckling his belt with a clink. “You’re lucky I don’t have the mask on.” He commented, his tone fairly unreadable in the haze of my afterglow. The aftermath was lasting longer and longer and the time between org*sms were shorter and shorter, and my eyes were already quite teary so they both knew there was only so long left before it would begin to be too much. While the other men were simply glad they got their turn, and they were enjoying the view while their dicks got hard once again, there was a slight guilt for what would be of Alejandro if he couldn’t get his turn.

The Ghost clicked his fingers for my attention and once my eyes were on him, he was sliding into the slickness slowly. His shoulders slumped quickly and he let out a low growl. “Okay.” He breathed in sharply through his nose, clearly unexpecting the others to be telling the truth. “Okay, this is a good c*nt.”

He felt me flutter around him while I kept twitching from the overstimulation, and immediately, he let his composure fall and took the situation before him in stride. “They’re so gentle with you.” He spoke with a sense of condescension. “They treat you like you’re f*ckin’ glass, ey?”

I nodded weakly, and he slowly began to thrust, dragging it out against the slickness and nuzzling it against the back wall. He found the gspot rather quickly due to his observant nature, and it immediately made me yelp, earning a coo from him.

“I bet you came up with this.” He accused. “Not him, you’re the mastermind behind this, aren’t you?” His words weren’t aggressive, though he spat the words like he wanted the truth and wouldn’t accept any other answer outside of that. He sped up his pace, going harsh and fast, f*cking the words out of my head.

“Don’t know what you’re on about.” I managed to stutter out, though he didn’t take that as the answer he wanted or expected. His fingers began rubbing short, slow 8’s onto the sensitive bundle of nerves, earning a flinch away from him but that didn’t stop him.

“You’re torturing us all the time, god, trying to rile us up just so John would get pissed at us.” He continued accusing me, his eyes glued to the slick mess on my lower body. “Then you came up with this sick idea, huh? You get off to it.”

I let out struggling sounds as answers and he just gave a short laugh, continuing his movements though he could tell I was already too close from overstimulation and his harsh words and harsher pace were driving me close.

“I know.” He hummed. “Using your words can bereallyhard when your head is just so f*cking empty.” He tried to speak sweetly, though stifling the aggression wasn’t going to work in the slightest against the one and only Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley. “You’re such a good girl when you’re not some co*ck-drunk slag.”

His words were usually followed by a chuckle, though the air was filled with his groans and growls, and he’d curse under his breath at the tension around him. “You’re swallowing me in, baby.” He grunted. “God, you’re gonna cum from this, aren’t you?”

His words were heavy, and I nodded weakly. “Love it.” I mumbled, though the sentence itself didn’t make a whole lot of sense, he put the dots together on what it meant.

“Yeah, you love being treated like a dirty slag. You love getting your c*nt used, getting turned into a f*ckin’ cumdump.” His words kept the underlying harshness, though his smug grin made him sound like this wasamusingto him.

“I do.”I managed out.

*His words rang around my head like a melody at his smooth words since it was all I could focus on. I was seeing stars and my body ached from all the tension.

The org*sm was quick and sharp, and came (ha) almost out of nowhere; it was short with a cried out‘oh, f*ck’, as I arched into him, my entire body tensing up and Alejandro carefully holding me up.

I fell back down to catch my breath and gazed up at Simon with glazed eyes, he just looked back down with a soft smile, almost pitying me. “Darlin’, that felt amazing but I’m not close yet.”

“Si, please.” I whimpered with no real purpose. He tutted down at me as his actions didn’t stop. My words didn’t string together as I struggled out helpless moans of his name and pleas with no end goal in mind.

“You can take it, baby, just until I cum, yeah? And then you got sweet Alejandro, he’ll treat you real nice too.” He whispered reassuringly, chasing his org*sm. He gave a light pat to my cheek, feeling me pulse around him. “I feel you sucking me in.” He grunted to himself.

“I know you’re close, always right there, dirty f*ckin’ slu*t.” His words were harsh and Price gave a warning glare. “Your greedy puss* keeps begging for more.” His eyes, the whole time, were glued to mine though they would occasionally flicker down to my body to drink me in. His thrusts were quick and strong as he snapped into place, he was cursing and growling under his breath, his hands grabbing at my chest when he didn’t need to hold my hips in place.

I started to sob as he pummelled deep inside of me, Alejandro’s sweet hands wiped them away and Simon let out a soft snicker. “You’re so desperate and sensitive.” His words were heavy with lust. “Don’t you dare cum again, Price didn’t say you had to cum multiple times, hm? And who knows how many you’ve got left in you.”

“Plenty— I’ve got plenty, I can take it all.” I rambled, his movements bullying the air out of my lungs and bouncing me against the soft fabric beneath me. “Please, ‘m gonna cum, I want.. Please, wanna cum.”

His breathing was laboured as I pulsed around him, trying to ride my org*sm out of him, I dipped down to complete myself as short growls left his throat. “f*ck, you’re..” He hissed. “Price got us worshipping this sloppy f*cking c*nt, naughty girl. Say it.”

“I’m,Ah, I’m a naughty girl.”

He clicked his fingers again to get my attention. “No, say it was your idea. It was your idea to get us to take advantage of this dripping hole, wasn’t it?” It was evident by his clenched jaw and tight-knit brows that he was close but he wasn’t going to cum until I rebutted his claims.

“No! ‘M a good girl!” The words fell smoothly off my tongue and he gripped my face in response, my eyes were glazed over. “I’d never do a thing like that.” I slurred, trying to flutter my eyelashes up at him but it didn’t work onhim.

“Liar.” He cursed, slowing his movements just barely. “You must think ‘m stupid. I’m not letting you cum until you tell thetruth.” He threatened, and while I didn’t take him seriously, his hands wrapped around my wrist and attempted to hold my hands from him.

“Okay!” I cried out in defeat, earning a beckoned ‘okay?’ as a gesture, I should continue my admittance of defeat. “I did it! It was my idea!” I sobbed, and he continued the pace enough to let my blinding pleasure snap. “God f*cking damn, I begged John to let me teach you a lesson—”

“That’a girl, cum on my co*ck, that’s it.” He spoke softly, turning to give John a smug, sh*t-eating grin. “See, there you go, that wasn’t hard.” My body ached and the muscles were sensitive, though he continued for a few more thrusts, making sure it was completely over.

His breathing became laboured as he pulled out, my body trembling slightly. “You have everyone fooled that you’re a good girl but you’re just a dirty slag, who just wants to get f*cked senseless. You cum so quick and hard, so damn sensitive.” He groaned inwardly, working himself to completion. “Where you want me, y/n? C’mon, bet you’ve rubbed your pretty c*nt to this idea.”

The other men cursed at themselves, wishing they’d made the best of it like Simon was, taking it to its full extent. “Anywhere.” I pleaded. “Wherever you want—”

He let out a frustrated grunt while he stroked himself greedily. “That’s not an answer.” He said firmly. “You’ve been such a good girl, so verbal and everything.” He praised backhandedly with the evident annoyance at the lack of answer.

With a sharp hiss, he moved his hips in time with the way he stroked his dick, his face was stone-cold and serious as he tried to quickly cum. Like all the other men, the army had built up his stamina, though being a soldier meant he didn’t have the time to take care of himself fully, learning to only rely on the minimum it took to fulfil his needs.

As much as they hated taking their time, they at least knew this was jerk-*ff material for at least a few months before the memory began to fade.

“Take it, babe, there you go.” He moaned, small pants of air filling his lungs and he reached around, giving a sharp tug on my hair. “Arch your back for me, that’s it.” He growled, watching me press my stomach into his red, leaking tip. He panted for air with short growls on the exhale, his hand tightly wrapped around my hair and his co*ck as he worked himself to finish.

He lets out a low, pleased grunt as his cum manages to spurteverywhere— at its peak, it reaches my tit* and then dips down to my lower stomach, making a mess on the entirety of the cum-stained flesh. He continued to stroke himself slowly, pushing the last of his cum from the tip before quickly pulling his pants up.

He cleared his throat, and just like that, he was back to his mean old self.

Alejandro carefully took his hands away from me, and moved around the table slowly like he was stalking his prey; he was desperate, beyond so, you could tell from justlookingat him and the way he carried himself to kneel between my legs.

His eyes flicked to the mess on my stomach and he let out a low exhale, unbuttoning his pants slowly and furrowing his eyebrows. He rubbed the head up and down the wet slit before sliding in with a grunt. “Good job, querida, you’re doingsogood.” He crooned, starting his thrusting before he even reached the hilt.

He leaned forward to press kisses on my neck and chest while he moved, slowly burying his aching co*ck deeper and deeper. “God, had to watch them f*ck you. My dicks so f*ckin’ hard.” He spoke mindlessly, letting himself get caught up in the feeling.

My puss* throbbed around him at the stimulation of his movements while he made quick work on my cl*t, kissing the side of my neck pleasantly. “Can I kiss her?” He pleaded to Price. He answered with a short nod and muttered‘why not?’

His movements, like the others, were with attempted precision under the fear of being spectated by Captain John Price, though as expected, they couldn’t work to unfaulted perfection.

“Solo déjame hacerte sentir bien, querida.”He mumbled sweetly before pressing a chaste kiss onto my lips. I moaned quietly into his mouth and he took it in stride, picking up the pace and hitting deep inside the slick heat.

His hand stroked the side of my face, cupping it slightly as he continued pressing kisses along my skin, making me squeeze around him. I was a mess and it was audible and visual to everyone in the room. I was overstimulated, and on the brink of exhaustion as I took everything he could give me.

He noticed the look on my face, he felt guilty that I was so tired, but god, he couldn’t stop now. “One more, querida.” He pleaded with whiney breaths, his languid movements almost overwhelming to my quivering body.

“Alejandro,it’s a lot.”

“I know, angel, I know.” He spoke sweetly despite the dryness in his throat. “I know you’re tired, but you can do one more, can’t you?” He pleaded, though he was understanding if this was all too much, not that he’d be too pleased about it.

I gave a weak nod from my tear-stained cheeks as his hand stayed cupping my cheek. He pulled away and his hands began to explore my body. “Rub that pretty cl*t for me, neña, I have to..” His voice trailed off softly, as his hands tried to work around Riley’s cum.

“God, please.”I mindlessly chanted as his hands slightly squeezed at parts of my body, from my breasts to the back of my thighs. I tried to move my fingers quickly in circles but it felt futile, my body going that tingly, numb sensation, the slight searing pain beginning to set in while still being a blinding, white-hot pleasure.

“I have to feel you.” He whispered in explanation, though he continued his sweet, thoughtful actions; he brushed my hair out of my face again and tried to wipe away the sweat forming in some of the crevices. “Dirty girl, messy little thing.” He muttered quietly.

“Your puss* is so good, bebe, buena coño, hm?” He switched smoothly, feeling my twitching when he spoke his native tongue.“Si, uno más, solo uno más.”

He was gruff, short heavy breaths rasping from his dry throat, but his mind was reeling at the attempt of softness.I couldn’t bear to hurt you — not when you’re so sweet, not when you’re not even mine, he thought to himself as he tried to keep his soft composure. He wanted nothing more than to go hard and fast, to take what hewanted.

“I feel you squeezing me, I know it’s a lot, neña.” His words were sweet as he tried to keep me calm. Tears continued to stream down my face with short moans and she simply hushed them away.

I whimpered under his gentle thrusts, and he continued to try to hush me into calmness. “It’s so much.” I whined.

“It’s okay.” He reassured me. “Just one more for me.” He was careful, he felt the throb of my puss* from sensitivity, it coaxed more out of him as it hugged around his co*ck perfectly. It was clear that he wasn’t asking, though his encouragement was earnest.

His mouth continued to brush against my flesh and he landed on my lips again. He gave a light slap to the back of my thigh. “I’m trying to be gentle with you, querida.” He spoke smoothly. He continued his movements, his hand holding my thighs into place as he pressed a light kiss on my throat.

“I’m close.”

“Me too, you can do it.” His words were barely above a whisper. “Keep going, neña, you’re right there.” His hips stuttered slightly, struggling to move as I tightened around him, holding him in place. He let out a low groan as his ears perked to my high-pitched moans and whines.

“Alejandro.”I sobbed, tears streaming down my face as I shivered from the numbing pleasure.“Alejandro, like that, don’t stop.”

He continued his movements slowly, “It's hard to go after Ghost and be impressive.” He joked, trying to keep the mood light. “Relax, take a deep breath. Ride it out, milk my f*cking co*ck.” He rasped out, furrowing his eyebrows through the org*sm cascading around him.

I went limp on the table and he wrapped his arms around my torso to hold me up.“Joder, vamos.”He mumbled to himself, kneading my thighs in his hands.“Justo contigo, justo ahí.”

He was trying to control himself as he neared his edge. I could feel his dick twitching inside of me as he slowed his thrusting to make sure it didn’t hurt me despite it elongating his pleasure. “Trying not to hurt you.” He explained softly.“I’m almost done.”

He quickly slid out with ease and ran his hands up the side of my body, cupping my breast and then my face as he pulled away to spectate the view in front of him. “Tómalo, hermosa.” He grunted, closing his eyes as his org*sm washed over him.

The strings of white cum gushed from his tip, landing on the space of my stomach. It began to gather in the V of my pelvis, dripping down already onto the white-stained flesh. Dry white streaks covered my tit* down to my thighs, and his hazy-lidded eyes took in the sight as he rubbed his tip over the mess, smearing his cum around slightly.

“Thank you, cariño.” He muttered sweetly, pressing another chaste kiss onto my lips. “I know you’re sore and tired.” He stroked my cheek softly.

Price let out a soft sigh, patting his thighs and standing up. He placed the empty glass on the blanket and placed his hand on Alejandro’s shoulder. Alej took the hint, putting his dick back in his pants and shuffling them straight as he zipped it up.

“Who’s going to help me clean up?” John announced. The other men were tired, and evidently puss*-drunk from the post-climax haze.

“Do we get a reward?” Mactavish joked coyly, a snicker falling past his lips and earning no more than a sideways glance. John tried to conceal his smug grin, and raised his eyebrows in amusem*nt as he ignored the question.

I was sprawled across the table, legs spread wide still as an act of display. He let a soft smile across his face before he sat down next to me. “Wake up, princess.” He teased. His hand brushed over my forehead, moving the hair and sweat away like Alejandro had done previously.

“You okay?” He asked softly. I nodded lazily, resting my eyes. “My baby girl is just so f*cked out.” He commented with a soft laugh. “Someone get me a wet cloth.” He clicked his fingers, gesturing towards the bathroom.

“I’mtired.” I slurred out.

“You did such a good job, princess.” He praised, holding the wet cloth to my stomach and wiping away thefilth. He washed my skin gingerly, watching it collect onto the rag and he tossed it to one of the lads to put away.

There was vague chitter-chatter and the sound of the glasses being taken to the sink, and they walked around cleaning up idly.

He wrapped his arms around my torso, pulling me into a hug, one hand holding my thighs in a cradled position. “That’s it, baby girl.” He cooed, smiling softly while picking me up. I nuzzled into his neck, feeling the scratch of his beard. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I sighed, a soft love-filled gaze mixed with my exhaustion. “‘M okay..”

“I know you can take a lot but you can tell me.” He reassured while holding me, his hands rubbing up and down the side of my arm, then he placed a gentle kiss onto the curve of my shoulder.

He picked me up fully, giving a short glance to the other men as he smiled down at me. “I’m proud of you, princess, you did a good job, I’m gonna take good care of you.” He spoke sweetly as he dismissed the others.

232 notes · View notes

𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑? 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒.

All these quotes are taken from different media and some made from scratch about the royal succession line and the troubles it brought during a medieval/fantasy period. Change pronouns, names, titles and locations as you see fit.

You poison a king so that they may take his place.

Have no fear, Stark. I was only keeping it warm for our friend Robert. It's not a very comfortable seat, I'm afraid.

I swear to you, sitting a throne is a thousand times harder than winning one.

Seat Stannis on the Iron Throne and I promise you, the realm will bleed.

I will claim the Iron Throne by myself, with your swords and your allegiance.

If Daenerys is no more than a sweet young girl, the Iron Throne will cut her into sweet young pieces.

Princess Catherine. Your loss has endeared you to the people. They share your grief.

You've had your courses for days, but you do not tell anyone. I don't understand.

God would have me wed Prince Harry.

But you are his brother's widow. It is impossible. It is forbidden.

I am every inch the soldier... And commander.

In England, widows don't handle swords, much less a widow carrying a prince in her womb.

And I'll wager that you were praying for a boy.

My mother is already planning my next marriage, though in God's eyes it will be my first marriage.

If you are still a maid, then, Catherine, I can be your husband.

I will raise you up, you... you and all of England. You will be my princess and... and my queen.

Ten years since the king has been on the throne and there is no heir apparent. Only his brother, gods forbid.

Daughters don’t inherit, sons do.

You have a son but you must have a spare too. Gods know what would happen if the boy dies.

The line of succession is clear on these matters. Girls are the last resource.

I am a woman, whoever I marry must be clear on his duty. He is not the crown, I am.

His Majesty has no male heir and will have none but he, Buckingham will succeed to the throne.

By assassinating His Majesty.

Right of Conquest is still a rightful way to gain a throne. Has anyone banned it as a law?

Will you like it when an old man tries to make love to you?

God forbid that the king should abandon her just to ease his own conscience. I don't think the English people would ever forgive him.

She is threatening the peace in this realm by playing the king with empty promises. No one can predict a son.

Perhaps the succession must change, this dynasty is large and will survive.

Your Majesty, I beg that you yield to the King's will.

To your wife, the mother of your child. You treat me so unkindly and in public neglect me.

You think he might invade England in support of the queen?

You underestimate the support he/she has with the smallfolk and highborn alike. They would go to war if you dismiss them.

Perhaps, one day this little girl will preside over empires.

Now I am indeed Queen.

Perhaps Elizabeth isn't even mine!

Perhaps there should be reasons to annul the marriage and make the king consider marry another. He is still young.

Nothing like a young bride to make a man forget his troubles.

He will have his heir or else he will have my head.

Tell Sir Francis to double the guards around the Princess Mary and defend her with their life- for if the King dies, some will be for the boy, others for her.

There shall be a proclamation soon, the king shall announce his heir and the realm will rest.

A lifetime of building an empire can fall in a day because of the wrong successor to the empire.

It is not by blood, anyhow, that man's true continuity is established.

He became their king by right of blood; he's held the position by beating the crap out of anyone who tries to take it away.

When the crown is weak and struggles, anyone can come and sweep it away. And in this world, it is allowed.

This small council tried to work out what that meant for the line of succession.

If she were to wed him, her claim to the throne will increase, as her popularity.

While the king entertains the highborns, the prince/princess makes friends with the people they rule. The decision is easy.

Whoever he marries is as important as how many heirs he can produce.

Sons are good for the realm, Daughters are good for alliances.

My father chose me, his firstborn child, to succeed him. He held to his decision until death.

They stole my crown and murdered my daughter, and they shall answer for it.

I would rather feed my sons to the dragons, than have them carry spears and cups for your drunken, usurper c*nt of a king.

I understand why you're angry. And you are my sister and technically have a claim to the throne. And believe me, I would love for someone else to rule. But it can't be you.

Father would hate to see you sit in his seat, when it was never you he chose.

The pretty decent king split the crown between his heirs.

Proclamations are good, but this should have been in written, send to every corner of the world. Now we have war.

When the king needed to be replaced, one of the royal family would be elected to be the new king.

Succession is never peaceful. The King new this and the reason he called a council for his new heir to be chosen.

The line must always continue.

That little bit of dragon blood in him allowed Robert Baratheon to sit on the throne and continue.

Our son is a wastrel and a halfwit. We shudder to think of the throne in his hands.

My greatest hope is that you will surpass me in every way, consigning my name to some forgotten corner of history.

What's most important is what he isn't like—his father. I think you'll find him to be a reasonable man.

The King is easily controlled by those in his council. All too happy to give some of the power away to another.

A king is a martyr to their ideals.

If the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne.

Women can rule as wise as men, perhaps even more.

Men would sooner put the realm to the torch than see a woman ascend the Iron Throne.

Have you never imagined yourself on the Iron Throne?

We have royal wombs, you and I. The child bed is our battlefield.

Ten years you’ve been king, and yet not once have you asked me to be your Hand.

The princess remains your best bet to step closer to the throne. Seduce her, marry her.

In the end, history will remember little, as history is written by the winners.

You have not one son now but two, Your Grace. Perhaps some changes to the successions are to be made.

I know why you are here. Men want my crown as much as they want the pleasure of a woman.

I need to give the realm an heir and plenty of spares.

What use is to gain a throne if you are already in crisis by having no heir by blood?

I can give you what she never gave you. Another son.

Are the rumors true, then? There is a child in your belly?

All of my father’s work will crumble if I leave it all to a weak sickly child.

62 notes · View notes

FAMILY AFFAIRS

Chapter 4 preview

previous part

Shinichiro x Reader, Mikey x Reader, Izana x Reader

Please enjoy an excerpt of chapter 4 :) Full chapter coming soon!!

DARK CONTENT!!! MDNI READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Series TW: Yandere, smut, murder, noncon/dubcon, drugging, kidnapping, pseudo-incest (reader is considered a sibling but not blood-related), physical abuse, emotional abuse, mentions of child abuse, and neglectful parents, ages of characters are shifted around a bit (Shin is younger)

Sept. 6th ****

Groggy and disoriented, you slowly pried open your eyelids. The world around you was hazy, senses dulled as if emerging from a deep slumber. A persistent ringing echoed in your ears, making it difficult to tell what was happening and where you were. As your vision cleared, you found yourself lying on a couch in an unfamiliar room, bathed in the dim light of the street below.

Before you stood a large window that framed the Tokyo skyline in the distance. Amongst the towering structures, a familiar luxury boutique stood like a sentinel from your past. Rapponggi? you wondered before your attention turned to sudden sounds.

Muffled voices reverberated around you, distant and fragmented. your gaze shifted to two figures in the room—tall, imposing, with vivid purple hair that seemed to shimmer in the subdued light. Matching tattoos adorned their necks- odd symbols that sparked something in your mind. It triggered a vague sense of recognition, but the details remained just out of reach, obscured by the daze.

They conversed as if you were not present, their words dancing just beyond the grasp of comprehension.

"… and both leaders sent us looking for her. The irony, right?" one of the figures mused, a touch of amusem*nt in their tone. "I wonder who'll be more pleased to see her— boss or Hitto. Its been over a decade for both after all"

The other figure chuckled in response, a low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Could've saved time if we knew Shiba was the one helping her. Wasted three years chasing that idiot from the pet shop."

The conversation swirled around you, but you struggled to focus, to understand the significance of their words and their connection to your existence. Why were you hear? Who were these men? Were they the ones who got your parents? Were you next? Were they even talking about you in the first place??

Just as their voices began to fade, a door creaked open and a lanky, dark figure began to make its way inside the room. Panic surged within you, the instinct to flee gripping your mind. But before you could react, a touch brushed against your cheek, grounding you in a moment of clarity. With a start, you awoke, heart racing as you found yourself back in the familiar confines of the orphanage.

Izana's concerned gaze met yours, his fingers still lingering on your skin. The echo of the dream clung to your thoughts, flashes of the figure in the doorway making you shiver and grip your blanket. As you struggled to shake off the remnants of the dream, your eyes fell upon the earring adorning Izana's ear. Its design bore an uncanny resemblance to the symbol on the tattoo—the symbol etched on those figures' necks. Panic swelled within you, but you quickly dismissed it as your mind playing tricks, reassuring yourself that it was all a dream. ' the earring must have been the last thing I had seen before I fell asleep' you thought. but still, it felt too real, the men, their voices, the room...

You shook your head, trying to dispel the unsettling feeling that lingered. As your gaze lifted, you found Izana's concerned eyes locked onto yours. His brows furrowed, and you realized that the distress you were feeling must have been evident on your face. "Hey, you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine worry.

a/n: didn't want this sitting in my drafts for too long :) also, hope you guys caught the hints of some new faces, one of which was mentioned a few chapters ago :)

TAGS @wildartist @rosemary108233 @devils-blackrose @teesissy @jcrml @soushswag @inurmom00 @spookychaossuit @shinslover @stalkergirl512 @miyuaditt @lurvelybones @kthyyxz @missanonymous1999 @kokonoiscoconut @ang3liclov3ly @josuke8 @bunn1rabb1t @gata-preta08 @chocomori @whyulyinggurl @Imbiafandbored @kazusbby @jcrml @the-grimm-writer @tamaki-jiki-reblogs @kookieszme @Berriesandcrem @bloobewy @thetruepair @madness-puppy @spookychaossuit @caramelcandescence @pongster @lostsomewhereinthegarden @k1nkyshoto @luno-614 @a-cult-leader @imbiafandbored @lovlessbish @kenmasbimbo @hnmashji @valeriinee @mel-star636 @mikeyaki @bontensbabygirl@luffysbaee@lostinahaze@reveluv-wendy@junolikescats@jkeluv@hells-jester@evvie8@randomsoba

130 notes · View notes

Flattery

Hubris. Pride. Ego.

A crippling lack of self-esteem from years of bullying, a childhood spent emotionally neglected and constantly overshadowed by an older sibling in a family where intellectual achievement was valued over everything else resulting in an intense emotional need for validation that runs deep and burns bright and goes largely unacknowledged (to use the words of his therapist at his second rehab clinic).

Any one of these would suffice as an explanation why he's ended up here, on the roof at Barts hospital.

Sherlock always considered it a sign of true intelligence to be able to learn from your mistakes. The problem is recognising the exact nature of the mistake.

He let Moriarty flatter him into engaging with him. Then he made the same mistake with Irene. Then with Moriarty, again. All because he was secretly so pleased that Moriarty chose him as a rival, not all-seeing, all-knowing Mycroft, no, for once, Sherlock was the special one, the archnemesis. He let Moriarty lead him by the nose to his own self-destruction. He was too proud, too flattered, too stupid to walk away.

And now his chickens have come home to roost, it's time to pay the piper, and a few other useless metaphors that all mean the same thing: Playtime is over. Now it's time for consequences.

And of course what's truly horrible about all of this is that the consequences aren't only his to bear. No, the mistakes were all his, but the consequences will be shared by everyone who — stupidly — cares about him.

"What are you doing up here?"

Sherlock starts and turns his head, watching as John approaches the air vent he’s leaning against. He sits down next to Sherlock without saying a word, and Sherlock is grateful for the silence.

"Mycroft is having kittens downstairs, just so you know. You're supposed to be dead, not wandering about the bloody hospital," John finally says.

"He arrested the snipers, we're out of danger," Sherlock answers, dismissing Mycroft's concern with a wave of his hand.

John doesn't answer, just tilts his head back to look at the bright blue sky.

"What a f*cking day," he sighs. "So what now?"

"Now..." Sherlock looks at his hands and wishes this conversation to be over, wishes he didn't know exactly how it's going to go. Wishes he could just disappear. But he can't. He owes John the truth. After all the sh*t he put him through, with Moriarty and the trial and then having to witness Sherlock's fake suicide, having to live with Sherlock's death for two hours before Mycroft could get to him - after all that, Sherlock can’t just leave without explaining where he’s going and what he has to do. "Now I go after Moriarty's network. He had people all over Europe, all over the world maybe. Killing the spider means nothing if you leave the web intact. Another spider would just move right in."

John is quiet for a while. He's sitting very close to Sherlock, shoulders touching. The day is mild, but Sherlock's still shivering a bit with nerves, exhaustion and fear, so the warmth of John's body against his is - pleasant. Necessary.

"You know I'm coming with you, right?"

Sherlock sighs, having expected this response down to the exact inflection of John’s voice. "John—"

"No, no, don't even try to talk me out of it." He turns to face Sherlock, and Sherlock can see the grim determination on John's face. It's incredibly reassuring, after a day like this, even though it's terribly inconvenient in every other respect. "Listen. You're brilliant, but you can't do this alone. And what's more, you don't have to."

"I almost got you killed."

"You saved me today. And so many times before." John turns his head to look over the edge of the roof Sherlock jumped from not three hours ago. "I can't..." John's voice nearly breaks, but he takes a deep breath and soldiers on. "I can't just sit here, knowing that you might die out there alone. Please don't make me go through that."

"You're not playing fair," Sherlock says, leaning his head back against the warm concrete wall. He’s too exhausted to deal with John’s loud and insistent emotions. He’s also far too tired to argue against something he secretly desperately wants. He doesn’t want to go alone, and he doesn’t want to go with anyone but John. But he has to make sure John knows the risk, that he goes into this with his eyes wide open. “You’re not considering what I would go through if I got you killed. We might die out there. Either or both of us.”

John grins at him, fierce and sharp and dangerous. “Remember what you said to me, on Day bloody One? I said dangerous, and here you are.”

Sherlock looks down at his hands and smiles. “What do I have to do to get rid of you? All of London thinks I’m a fraud, I make you watch me die, almost get you blown up, stabbed, shot, and you’re still here.”

“Well, you could stop leaving ears in the fridge, I won’t lie,” John says, jostling his shoulder against Sherlock’s. “Other than that, I think you’re pretty much stuck with me.”

Sherlock closes his eyes and stops fighting the fierce gladness that John is still here, that he believes in Sherlock, that he’ll come with him into the darkness and maybe out the other side again. “I guess I could think of worse fates.”

“Wow, easy with the flattery, otherwise I might think you like me or something,” John says, the smile audible in his voice. He gets up from the roof and holds out his hand to Sherlock. “Shall we?”

Sherlock takes his hand and lets John pull him to his feet. “By all means.”

A little TRF fix it for your reading pleasure. Thank you so much for the prompt, @calaisreno

Tagging a few people: @lisbeth-kk @keirgreeneyes @meetinginsamarra @jrow @khorazir @totallysilvergirl @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @shiplocks-of-love @7-percent @the-reading-lemon @catlock-holmes @inevitably-johnlocked @thetimemoves @discordantwords and anyone else who wants to play.

85 notes · View notes

Back in your inbox to discuss Cyrus bullsh*t again lmfao. I am normal. Totally normal.

So media literacy decline aside (no really, the reports are scary, less people can interpret nuance and hints), I blame 1) how young most of us were when we first played the games, 2) the OG Diamond and Pearl characterization (because it was a little different than Platinum's) and 3) the Pokemon Anime.

Largely skipping over the age thing because it speaks for itself. A good number of players were probably too young to catch all of the hints or grasp how irrational and emotionally driven Cyrus really was. Like, a legit Trauma Meter for our age group (20s) would be to ask if Cyrus freaked them out, or if they thought he had a point. Whatever the collective's first impression was would've colored YEARS of discussion and content. And I'm pretty sure I remember his reception being negative. Of course, the theory that he wrote the old notebook and that the old man was his Grandpa (meaning Cyrus was an abuse/neglect survivor) always existed. But before USUM and PokeMas added more implications, they were treated as "Just Theories" or after Platinum, retcons. Likewise, I think a good number of the older players WANTED Cyrus to be evil, so they kinda ignored it. Though there was an equal faction WISHING for a well written Sympathetic Villian. They missed Giovanni and had little hope GameFreak could write a worthwhile sympathetic villian because while Maxie and Archie weren't evil, their plan was just so stupid? Maybe it's because I grew up in a rural area at the start of the Going Green era, but I can remember being taught basic ecosystems in like 3rd or 4th Grade Science and learning that major changes to the environment were bad? And they were supposed to be super smart scientists?

On to game characterization, D/P Cyrus and Platinum Cyrus were portrayed slightly differently and I don't know if it was intentional or not, given how subtle the changes in the overall story were. But it boils down to a matter of A Means to an End, where D/P Cyrus seemed like he was changing the world to become a God, while Platinum Cyrus wanted to change the world and has to become a God to do so. Likewise, I don't think the implications that Cyrus was the abused/neglected grandson of that Old Man and the author of the old notebook were as strong. Also every scene with Cyrus in the Distortion World didn't exist in D/P so you didn't witness his breakdown or him admitting to his own faults. Charon/Pluto also wasn't in D/P, nor was the Rotom Room which was the first thing to give the "Cyrus wrote the Old Notebook Theory" any credibility.

My last reason was the Poke Anime and I talked a bit about it in a comment the other day. I have since looked it up and the D/P Anime aired the same day as the D/P Game Release, in Japan at least. So the 2nd most prevalent and remembered version of Cyrus is an ASS. The Anime did a great job of showing us the double life he was living, smiling and dressing/acting normal, albiet hammy, in front of Cynthia and that one old lady. But for a cold, stoic villian, he was super agressive, loud, short-tempered and dismissive in the anime. In that clip you shared, he wasn't calmly explaining why fighting was useless, he was about to snap on his admins. He yelled at someone else to (Ash I think). So it didn't even do a good job of portraying him as the kind of villian he was supposed to be, though this may have been because the series ended in 2011, so it may have been affected by the Platinum retcons.

But yeah, I'm also kinda sad about how people see Cyrus, but it isn't surprising. For everyone who "grew out of" pokemon or just never played Platinum, USUM, PokeMas or BDSP, they have to go back and relearn everything and not everyone does that. Nor will everyone want to because again, some people wanted Cyrus to be genuinely evil. And even if they do want to learn what changed and are open to it, they have to sift through years of content saying he was actually that bad.

It was a nightmare explaining to two of my homies why I was suddenly trying to write fanfic and draw fanart of him because they didn't get the memo.

Quick correction - It is not a theory that the old man is Cyrus's grandpa. It's confirmed from my understanding. Which it means Cyrus is likely an abuse victim (though, what Cyrus was going through was never entirely specified. Just that it was bad enough to concern his grandfather.)

I will note that his characterisation did change between Diamond-Pearl and Platinum (and now BDSP has introduced younger people to the pre-Platinum story), so I will give them that. But specifically, I was on the USUM battle theme still seeing it. (Interestingly, not at all on the BDSP rendition, though. Maybe because it's just Sinnoh fans who already know everything.) One of the top comments was ironically a joke about him seeing the Rotom Dex and wanting to kill everyone.

I think his character is really just generally misunderstood because of how subtle everything was is what I was originally trying to say. Like you said, some of it is general literacy issues. It just makes me sad to see him so misunderstood... I think Game Freak did a really good job writing him. Though, he does clearly read as emotional in both Diamond-Pearl and Platinum. At least, seeing his little chibi march up to you in BDSP after you ruin his plans really shows how emotional he truly is. While the Rotom Room journal is clearly only a theory, I do truly think he is the only logical character who fills that role so well. (Charon 100% would use Cyrus's childhood trauma journal for its precious Rotom research without a doubt seeing how quick he was to try to take over Team Galactic.)

I am glad that they gave him depth rather than just making him a generic bad guy... Actually, considering that Platinum was just before BW (well, a few years but development wise, I mean), I think it might have been their first steps into more character driven plots. I do hope people end up looking more into Cyrus, but I know he isn't the most popular villain at all. (I believe that crown goes to either Archie or Guzma. Or. Well. Lusamine, actually, probably.)

I convinced my friend by telling her about the Rotom Room stuff, actually. She already liked Cyrus since she is super into Sinnoh, but apparently, learning that he was besties with Rotom when he was a child sold her. Now she bravely helps me write for him sometimes lmao. My other friend, however... She still doesn't believe that he's actually 27.

Granted. Youtube comment section opinions should probably always be discarded.

Except maybe... This one. This is the only good and acceptable one lmao

15 notes · View notes

what even is the tma Annie lore I'm curious now

god. okay. so like. annie was the child of two avatars from rival cult families, newt crane, a web avatar, and lamia wright, a hunt avatar. from birth to the age of 11 she was largely kept hidden from the outside world due to the danger of either of her parents' families harming her, leading an extremely sheltered life. unfortunately at the age of 11 newt's family got sick of his sh*t and had him and his wife killed by a stranger avatar who erased newt from existence, impersonated him in order to infiltrate his home, terrorized annie for a couple of months and then died fighting their mom, who realized it wasn't her husband when it tried to kill their child. annie was supposed to be killed with them, but they survived, so they were taken in by the cranes, who didn't really want anything to do with them and considered them an inconvenience but couldn't easily have them killed off due to the media and true crime attention the death of their parents attracted. they ended up alternately neglecting annie and tormenting him, since they're an avatar family and he was a convenient source of easy fear.

annie escaped when he turned 18 and was legally able to inherit his parents' will and become independent, and briefly spent some time poking around the magnus institute trying to learn what really happened to his parents, since he knew it wasn't an ordinary occurence and, despite being heavily traumatized and suffering from a co*cktail of mental health issues that led to a lot of people dismissing her insistence that her parents were killed by some kind of monster, didn't believe the widely accepted story that newt murdered his wife and attempted to murder his child before fleeing and never being found (because, well, she was there. it happened to her.). this led to her only becoming even more paranoid and traumatized by the knowledge that the supernatural does, in fact, exsit, and it wants to eat you so bad.

annie's family, the cranes, started getting sick of annie's sh*t like they did with newt at this point, so annie, in an attempt to avoid sharing their parents' fate, faked their death and ran away to america, where they ended up joining the usher foundation, another paranormal research institute (this is where the rp server i made them for started). through a series of increasingly unfortunate and messy events, annie developed latent desolation avatar powers that had been lying dormant since their highly traumatic and difficult childhood; made some friends through trauma bonding; got one of said friends killed and turned into a monster (eye avatar) while attempting to protect her from the other side of his family, the wrights, who turned out to have been hunting annie's coworker's family for generations in order to perform an everchase ritual (small world); briefly lost all of their friends because of this and got trapped in the lonely due to their guilt and self loathing causing them to self isolate; sacrificed himself to the desolation in the lonely and finally became a fully fledged avatar; met a paranormal investigator named raz (who is my beloved's oc) and accompanied him to a haunted meat packing plant where they saved each other from a rampaging ghost bull; developed a crush on raz after he stood between her and the bull that rapidly turned into hypercodependent devotion; went into the spiral to rescue him when he got eaten by it one time; started a relationship together; nearly died in a haunted house fighting him when they both got possessed by angry ghosts; and even attended a masquerade party one time.

248 notes · View notes

last line tag game

me neglecting my duties despite my fave @morning-star-joy tagging me in really fun games bc im the WORST <3

I'll post a little snippet from both, the first being more of a summary an the second straight from the edited first chapter of my Thing.

Alphas and Archdruids (ABOverse Alpha! Halsin/Omega!Reader)

The concept of “rules'' has loomed over Halsin like an ever-present storm - one of the many unpleasant byproducts brought about by his designation. Fate had ruled him the moment he’d been brought into this world - an alpha before he had even taken his first full breath, and an archdruid not long after.

Perhaps it is for that reason that he finds himself so opposed to inflexibility. Even as a young, spirited boy, Halsin believed that the only fixed rules are best set by nature, as they are not imposed by any outside force. As the earth spins, the sun knows to set, and the moon rises to meet it. An owl knows it must fly silently in order to procure its prey, just as the mouse knows it must forage to survive. The plants drink, grow, and bloom, all without a carrot or stick to steer them, as things should be.

There is one rule, however, that Halsin does not offer this same grace - one rule that, under no circ*mstances, should ever be broken, bent, or questioned.

There is never to be an omega in his grove.

His subjects know this. The animals know it. The damn trees know it.

So why, then, is there one laying half dead on his exam table?

And worse yet, why does she smell so irresistibly like honey and… sunlight?

Tailor's Version (Post-BG3 Tailor!Astarion/Fem!Reader)

“I take it you won’t be attending, then?”

“Of course not,” Astarion says matter-of-factly, “Someone needs to be here to tend to things. This place isn’t going to run itself.”

“It’s our sister’s wedding, Astarion. You can find someone to take over for a while, surely. Or hells, maybe you could, I don’t know, consider taking an actual vacation?” Petras crosses his arms, leaning his large frame against the wooden edge of the desk. The surface creaking under his weight. “It’s Waterdeep. The Waterdeep. Debaucherous-festivals-day-and-night, tavern-at-every-corner Waterdeep.”

“I’m aware.” Astarion’s tone is dismissive. He doesn’t spare his brother a glance as he unfolds the second sheet of paper. It’s, unsurprisingly, a very lengthy handwritten letter, which he skims over as Petras continues the assault on his ears.

-

feel free to do this if you'd like!

10 notes · View notes

@cannibal-lesbian

Doing a fresh post so the chain doesn't get too long. For anyone interested here's where we left off talking about Sombron.

🧋Oke whew. I'm gonna uhhh put a big big disclaimer here before diving in. I do not have any sort of media literacy degree or am I a scholar AT ALL. I am just a big f*cking nerd, and my take can be very subjective. (You'll see why I'm saying this in a hot minute). 🧋

My take is this:

A big dooky spitball, featuring ww2.

Before reading your post, my thoughts of Sombron is that he embodies on some level, a generalized stereotypical deadbeat parent that's annoyingly common irl (at least in my sphere of asia, I live in a certain SEA country which got invaded by Japan back then. this narrative seems to be common over there too to some extent). This specific type grew up in the era of post WW2, where their parents utterly suffered from and in war, and they may or may not have seen some of the horrors of in Japan as a child. Think of this group over the age of 75, as a rule of thumb.

This generation had to grow up without their parents, in a society so turbulent with social changes where scores of its population are KIA or MIA. To say they have trauma is the LEAST of it, bc in JP context these missing parents are often men who died fighting for their or someone's bullsh*t dream of racial superiority and imperialism trying to conquer the rest of Asia, then getting 2 f*cking atomic bombs for it. American planes flew over their skies as they cowered in fear, their soldiers they sent gone beyond the horizon. Their childhood, though messy, has yet to fully comprehend beyond the threats flying literally over their heads. In the form of American fighter and bomber planes.

1945 wasn't that long ago. 77 years ago. My dad is in his 60s and he still feels bitter about Japan doing sh*t to his family.

In spite of it all, childhood was probably the safest they felt in the whirlwind of life with people they knew. Childhood is safe and sacred to many. Across the board, their parents left to keep them safe, at least, that's what they believed to frame why Japan went to commit atrocities in other countries. Regardless, there were so many broken families and orphans or eventual orphans that it's normal, and it's permeated through every level of society. Even those who came a little after experienced the aftermath of such a hellish landscape.

And these people lived, and they had children, though not all of them made it, and with many unaddressed traumas. Mental health in the west can be a joke sometimes, but it's even worse in Asia. Mental trauma and neurological disorder as a concept has been largely dismissed and even denied until only the last 20 years, and even then the situation on the ground is that it's still sh*t.

And because of this, no one really talks about the effects of this generational trauma. People just went to work. Emotionally battered and doing their best, earning money for their family and country to keep themselves fed. But the results and reality is that they are just not ok. I mean, how the f*ck can one be ok? Even as they build a new world or enter into one, how can most of them really say they're ok?

Still, time passes anyway. The world changes anyway.

The writers of FE and most video games currently are around the age of anywhere 30 to 60, give or take a couple years. They are the children of these generation who told stories like Grave of The Fireflies and Barefoot Gen.

Writers who grew up with this society, with that generation and kind of going "Uh, huh. Our parents are kind of emotionally f*cked up and neglectful even..." and other similar related sentiments. For many, it can be felt even if it cannot be vocalized.

...Do you see where I'm going with this? Do I make sense? ;;

I see Sombron as this battered generation. He's the survivor of a genocide/war left to fend for himself, with a condition that he can't even explain or understand. I mean even irl rn, understanding there's a neurological/mental condition doesn't mean everything is smooth sailing in practice when interacting with a person suffering from said effects. The one who knew him best, that parental figure, is gone like all the support structure he would otherwise have.

Like many disconnected people, sometimes no matter how nice the new guardians or community is, there's always a sense of not belonging. For some it would be hard to even try connecting, but really, letting go can look like the easier option sometimes.

So Sombron has an attachment to that sacred childhood. Where he felt safe. Maybe he faltered or found that this new life wasn't working for him, and he let go in search of the past.

And ofc, just like Alear puts it, even if Sombron truly went back and found that emblem or the past, what's to say that alternate reality would grant him the happiness and fulfillment he seeks?

Anyway, imo connections are a 2 way street. If one party doesn't or cannot play ball, something goes a awry. And though sh*t, Sombron always had a choice. Not enough to bring back the past, but definitely a choice and he. Kept. Choosing. Crap. He kept. Choosing. Delusion.

I have always thought of Sombron as a reflection of this generation of people. Who are battered, traumatized, and as a result do all kinds of weird sh*t for the next generation to deal with in some form. Very importantly here: including but not limited to starting a cult to get some edge in society. (See: Aum Shinrikyo and the Tokyo subway sarin attack. And also the Moonies and Shinzo Abe's assassination.)

After reading your above, I think it is absolutely applicable here with Sombron. All of it, the trauma, the genocide, the mental struggles, it all checks out. No matter how I look at it, I see FE as a story being told by Japan, and I cannot uncouple that thought from my analysis anymore. Even if it's not meant to be such a deep reflection, it fits at least on surface level. Stories are influenced by each other often and by big events in the society's subconcious, so while this take is a spitball it is at least somewhat applicable.

BUT!! I'm not saying the writers fully intended for Sombron to be written this way. I could be reading too much into it, and those are just breadcrumbs laid out by the writers for the players to form our own theories and understanding.

What is definitely inarguable is that Sombron suffers from some level of Trauma and Mental Illness. He definitely feels empty and unfulfilled enough to go off on a deep end to fill that void.

But since Intsys ANNOYINGLY doesn't give much personal interview about their thought process, I can only say my analysis here has gone past canon and into wildly speculative reading. Grr!!

And there you have it. That's my thoughts. Sorry for the wall of text ;w;

14 notes · View notes

Umbrella Pharmaceuticals - Chapter 34

He had chosen Raccoon City for its isolation, its poverty, its vibrant decadence. It was a wasteland, terra nullius[1]; a chimera, neither an industrial centre nor a small town in the foothills of the Appalachians. It was a want and I can't; a kind of American East End[2].

He landed there on the recommendation of a good old Californian friend. This friend, who knew of Oswell’s eternal desire to found his Motor City [3], recommended the Midwest because of its accelerated post-war boom. Cities such as Detroit had expanded relentlessly, and others such as Gary had sprung up like mushrooms. In the late 1950s, he opened the first Anzec Pharma plant in Detroit. Twenty years later, the Umbrella Pharmaceuticals plant closed due to the oil crisis of the early 1970s and the ongoing outsourcing of manufacturing to the Third World, a process Oswell hoped would be completed with Thatcher's impending election victory. Because of its terrible location and limited industrialisation, Raccoon City participated in the birth of the Rust Belt [4], becoming one of the few towns whose mayoralty was sold to foreign and domestic investors for four pounds. This attracted Oswell like a moth to a fly lamp. He took over the town hall and in less than five years, subverting the law, had his country house and training centre built. The financial boost he brought, in return for his guaranteed interference in the council, meant more jobs, more houses and more middle-class families happy with their bland lifestyles, less crime, fewer vagrants and well-fed bellies thanks to co-optation and bribery. In short, his plan had worked.

But there was another problem. The question of the Progenitor. It all fitted into the jigsaw of interpersonal relationships, favours and shell companies that would be used to carry out the second phase. With the approval of the City Council and the dismissal of the police, the disappearance of a handful of junkies, prostitutes, beggars and poor Whites, Blacks, Latinos and Asians would not attract attention if it was done with care and wisdom. He had already chosen his first “hotbed”: Eastside, the city's poorest area. A rattrap of dilapidated housing, half-ruined squats and caravan parks. Its residents struggled against the common ills of unemployment and drug addiction, the wilful incompetence of the authorities, the total neglect of the federal government and an unbearable desperation. In this situation, there was one problem: rats, and he proposed the solution: a fumigation company. They would either knock on the door or find an unsuspecting person driving a large, well-equipped van. The training centre was half an hour away. Sick, crippled or healthy: it didn’t matter. Marcus would process the “commodity” and some of it would be diverted to Spencer Mansion. If it worked, the next step would be Europe.

That was what had been agreed.

[1] Literally Latin for “no man's land”.

[2] The East End of London, often referred to within the London area simply as the East End, is the historic core of wider East London, east of the Roman and medieval walls of the City of London and north of the River Thames. The area was notorious for its deep poverty, overcrowding and associated social problems.

[3] Detroit's nickname, in the sense of an industrial and corporate city.

[4] The term "Rust Belt" refers to the impact of deindustrialization, economic decline, population loss, and urban decay on these regions attributable to the shrinking industrial sector especially including steelmaking, automobile manufacturing, and coal mining.

4 notes · View notes

I think the real tragedy of Arthur's backstory is how much of what happened was out of his control.

Being born a member of the royal family? Couldn't help that.

His mother being unable to adjust to castle life? That was her problem, not his.

His mother, despite loving him, choosing to neglect and make it look like she hated him so she could be quietly dismissed without a fuss? He wasn't in on the plan. He had no idea what was actually going on.

His father, the parent who does openly care for him, being largely absent during his son's greatest time of need? He IS the king of an entire nation. It was probably difficult to make any time for Arthur, no matter how hard he tried.

Even when it came to interpreting his mother's final words, Arthur didn't have a choice. So much information had been withheld from him about her intentions that, to him, the only meaning was the literal meaning. There was no other way to take them.

The only time Arthur ever had a choice was whether to put on his mother's glasses or not. If he had, the truth would have immediately come to light. He would have known that his mother did care for him, that she had never hated him, and that she had only wanted the best for her son. He wouldn't have deliberately isolated himself from both his friends, family, and colleagues, and he would have been able to develop deep, meaningful relationships with those around him. He would have been able to trust and be trusted, and he wouldn't have spent so many years by himself, quietly suffering yet never giving any indication that he needed help.

But Arthur did not put those glasses on. How was he supposed to face his mother if he knew what she actually thought of him? He was firmly convinced that she had despised him, but a small part of him still hoped that she may have loved him. If he was right and she had always hated him, then he'd truly have no reason to believe in anything anymore. Any hope that he still had would have been crushed in an instant.

The one choice Arthur had as a boy is what caused him the most hardship. Yet that choice is also what helped him find the things he loved most life, and it ultimately led him to taking up a position in a certain town with a certain dragon, where he would have an encounter with someone who would change his entire world....

16 notes · View notes

a necessary evil ; 18+

pairing ; ariel conroy x female!reader

requested by ; anonymous

tag list ; @jamiewintons | @pink-booty-butts

word count ; 1920

warnings ; unprotected sex, light bondage, co*ckwarming, puss* spanking, ass spanking, nipple clamps, gagging, org*sm denial, degradation, mean dom!ariel, biting, dark!ariel, potentially ooc dialogue

read also on ; ao3 | wattpad

Considering everything that he'd been through, Ariel Conroy was incredibly lenient when it came to anything and everything regarding you. Any mistakes (major or minor) would be brushed off and fixed without any real fuss, messed would be cleaned up and insecurities would be addressed with all of the intensity and sensitivity that you could hope for. Hell, you could get away with anything up to and including murder when it came to your boyfriend for how forgiving he was.

He was so lenient that he only had one rule for you to follow; one small ask that should have taken nothing to follow for all of the hurdles he'd leapt over for you. A tiny favour that he seemed to have channeled all of his strictness into.

You weren't to touch yourself without his expressed approval.

No ifs, ands, or buts about it; your pleasure was his to own and dictate and should only be experienced by you at his discretion.

And you'd done well to abide by that singular restriction... for the first few months of your relationship, at least. You'd coped well with your need for pleasure, for release, by seeking out Ariel in person or by phone to get either his direct attentions or his permission to take care of yourself if he was too busy.

But then his workload got much larger and he stopped coming up to your shared bedroom at night. He'd taken to napping for painfully brief periods at his desk, always dismissing you when you came looking for him and shushing any complaints you had about his unintentional neglect. Making promises of “later” and “not now” and that he’d take care of you when he got the time; promises he’d been yet to keep. Promises that he’d broken time and time again over the past few weeks.

A woman can only last so long before she breaks — and break you did; giving into those painful lingering urges after what felt like the thousandth denial from your previously attentive lover. And for as wrong as you knew it was, it felt too right — too good — to stop.

————

Whilst your hands never felt quite as good as his — lacking all of the length and callouses that define his fingers — any sensation was galaxies better than none and you were more than eager to look past your limitations for the sake of maintaining some shred of sanity. You alternated between toying with your cl*t and fingering yourself, sliding one then two then three fingers into your sensitive centre and crooking, scissoring and thrusting to your heart’s content. Seeking out your g-spot and edging yourself ever closer to your tantalisingly looming release.

Every circle of your fingertips against that swollen bud, every slide along your soaked slit, clouded your mind further and further as the world around you faded away bit by bit. Bleeding into the fuzzy whiteness that outlined the edges of your vision — that crept closer and closer to swallowing your sight entirely the closer you got to release. Until all that was left was the feeling of your cool hands on your heated skin. Until all that was left was you and your hands and your pleasure.

Until you were so far gone that you didn’t realise you had company, didn’t respond when called as you’d been trained to. Until you were stopped in your tracks by a strong, large hand wrapping around your wrist, pausing you mid-movement, snapping you out of your trance.

Snapping your eyes open to meet the disappointed, disdainful, dark eyes of your boyfriend. Those soft lips that were quirked downwards in a dangerous tilt that had your mouth feeling dry and your tongue heavy with the weight of the consequences you were sure to face. Those dark irises, perfect unreadable pools that were so easy to lose yourself in, flitting in a wordless warning between your exposed sex and your guilt-ridden expression.

He didn’t even need to say it. You already knew you’d made a grave mistake.

And you mentally prepared yourself to face whatever surely fitting punishment he had in mind for you.

————

By the time Ariel was done, you felt so utterly vulnerable and helpless yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to object or complain: your hands were tied tightly behind your back, bound at the wrist with a thick leather strap adorned with metal buckles, taut enough to hold you in place but not enough to cause you too much pain or strain on its own; your nipples, forced to hardness by his talented touch, were adorned with cold metallic clamps, themselves linked together with a delicate silver chain that brushed against your chest with every breath — leaving an expanding patch of gooseflesh in its wake; your mouth was forced open by a ball gag that muffled every moan and whine you let out at the treatment of your body, forcing the edges of your mouth to leak thin trails of saliva you were unable to swallow.

And that’s not to neglect the stinging red marks that freshly adorned your ass — a gift and warning from your boyfriend. Ten sharp smacks to each cheek. No seconds of relief between consecutive strikes. The only soothing you received was the light, brief rubbing of his large palms against your backside as he mockingly cooed at you, shushing you as you teared up and almost praising you for accepting your punishment.

“This is your own fault, babe,” he murmured with faux kindness, pressing his lips against the shell of your ear just barely biting back a sad*stic smile as he spoke, “this wouldn’t have happened if you’d followed the rules,”

And you knew it.

You knew it was your fault, of course you did, so you tearfully nodded and leaned into the sole gentle touch he placed against your cheek before allowing him to fully manoeuvre you into whatever position he had in mind.

Large hands, calloused and unusually cold, grasped at your hips and hoisted you up and onto his lap — having you face away from him as he forced your gushing c*nt down onto his throbbing co*ck in a single, fluid movement. An action that flooded your veins with an intoxicatingly familiar mixture of pleasure and pain that overwhelmed your senses and had tears prickling at the edges of your eyes as you tried desperately to behave. To adjust to the stretch. To still. To do whatever it was he wanted.

But then he just stopped. Stopped moving. Stopping groping. Just stopped everything and held you in that tight grip you were all too familiar with — one that always promised to leave bruises behind in the romantic signature of his fingerprints.

And, unable to do anything else, you sat in anxious silence and just waited — breath held and heart racing as you listened intently for any sort of instruction.

Anything to tell you what he had in mind… if only he would be so generous; which he had no intentions of being during such a severe punishment.

————

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Ariel prodded after a few minutes of silence, reaching around to tug at the chain hanging from your chest (smirking when you arched your chest up into his hand at the rough motion). “You were so desperate for my attention… and now you’ve got it. Isn’t that exactly what you were going for?”

Knowing that you were unable to respond, Ariel only chuckled to himself and forced your legs further apart as you straddled him.

“This didn’t need to happen, you know that right babe?”

He hummed approvingly when you nodded before sharply reeling his hand back and spanking you directly on the puss* — holding you in place with his other hand so you couldn’t squirm away.

“If you weren’t such a needy bitch,” another slap to your sensitive sex, “then maybe you could have got what you wanted. But no,” another, “you just had to go and break the one,” slap, “f*cking,” slap, “rule I put in place.”

He paused and forced your head to the side so you were able to look at him properly, staring into your tearful eyes with a combination of mirth and disappointment that made your stomach churn.

“Do you think I enjoy punishing you? Do you think I wanted this?” You tried to shake your head and let out an unintelligible vocalisation that was mangled by the gag, and he sighed. “Well that doesn’t matter does it? Rules need to be followed and since you were so impolite, you need to be taught otherwise.”

And then he continued, alternating between roughly spanking your puss* and pleasuring you with those long fingers of his. Fingering, circling and hitting. Pain and pleasure. Slow burn and raging inferno. Punishment and reward.

A contradictory confusing mess of sensations that left your head spinning and your senses completely on fire. Part of you kept flinching away from his endless chaotic onslaught yet another, baser, part of you leaned into it — craved it; craved him, his touch, violence and all. Yet still his expert touch was slowly guiding you towards your peak and you couldn’t help but collapse back into him as that familiar wanton heat started pulsing through your veins like blood.

The pain that set your nerves alight and had your heart racing with adrenaline combined with the tantalising, tempting intoxication of pleasure came together to form an addictive sensation that felt closer to nirvana than punishment. And as your climax approached, Ariel’s voice began to fade more and more until it almost felt as if your head was underwater — submerged in the sensation of him. Drowning in it behind your gag.

Every “whor*” and “cum slu*t” and “needy bitch” that left his lips fell on deaf ears as you continued climbing up to the precipice of release. Guided only by his loving, hateful hands and the feeling of his lips against the juncture of your neck.

Closer and closer until you could practically taste the bliss of the high you’d been aching for for so long — until it all came crashing down.

Until it all suddenly stopped and your pleasure was washed away by another wave of white hot pain that had you practically screaming into the ball gag. Until the spanking was replaced with a sharp pull on your clamps that had you falling forwards. Until Ariel’s teeth sank into your delicate flesh and drew blood, tearing you away from the peak and sending you reeling into a cycle of shock and pain.

Until you were suddenly flipped onto your stomach on the bed as your boyfriend reentered you and you could feel his hands pressing against your shoulder blades. Holding you down; forcing you down against the bed without the option or desire to move as he started to thrust in and out of you at a pace that was so painfully fast and deep yet offered enough attention to have your eyes rolling back into your head. When the only explanation you were offered was a promise (itself said in a voice oozing with authority and need) that had your c*nt throbbing with need and your mind racing with anticipation for what was sure to become one of the longest nights of your life.

“Tonight’s only just begun, babe. Now that I’m here, you get to show me just how desperate you are for my attention… and if you do a good enough job as my f*ck toy then I might just let you cum,”

8 notes · View notes

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐎’𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐥 | hphm character profile

warnings:mentions of death, illness, a car accident, child neglect & abuse, war-related traumas and premature births + related complications

✧ IDENTITY ✧

Full Name: Conor Lorcan O’Donnell

Nicknames: Con

Name Meanings: Conor → Irish, “lover of hounds” ; Lorcan → Irish, “little” or “fierce” ; O’Donnell → Irish, “descendant of Domhnall.”

Date of Birth: August 18, 1973 (at 8:01 pm)

Gender: Male ; he/him

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Blood Status: Half-blood

Nationality: Irish

Residence: County Donegal, Ireland (birth to 5) ; Lynch Manor, County Donegal, Ireland (5 to 17) ; Dublin, Ireland (17 to 30) ; Galway, Ireland (30 to 35) ; County Donegal, Ireland (35 to death)

✧ APPEARANCE ✧

Hogwarts Faceclaim: Jack Moore

Adult Faceclaim: Grant Gustin

Height: 5’8” in his sixth ; 6’0” as an adult

Build: Athletic

Hair: Sandy brown hair that is usually kept short and messy

Eye Color: Blue

Scarring:

Childhood & Hogwarts: Conor has a series of small scars scattered across his arms and legs from the Ice Vault. They look like he walked through a pricker bush or stinging needles.

Post-Second War & Adulthood: Conor has a long, jagged scar running across his torso from his right shoulder to his left hip. There’s a large burn scar at the base of his spine and some smaller scars littered across his back and torso.

Modifications: (glasses, piercings, tattoos, etc.) At the age of fourteen, Conor gets glasses due to astigmatism.

Other Distinguishing Marks: Conor has some freckling on his face.

Clothing Style: Jeans. ; t-shirts ; Henleys ; sweaters ; plaid shirts ; chinos ; sneakers ; Irish fisherman sweaters ; fair isle sweaters

Accessories: A wristwatch that belonged to his late grandfather

What’s in His Pockets: His wand ; money

What’s in His School Bag: Textbooks ; parchment, quills, ink ; pens, pencils, erasers ; a graph paper notebook ; a ruler ; a protractor ; a deck of playing cards ; quidditch gloves ; a water bottle

✧ SPEECH & LANGUAGE ✧

Voiceclaim: Jack Moore ; Grant Gustin

Accent: Irish

Dialect: Ulster

Languages Spoken: English, Irish Gaelic

Languages Understood: English, Irish Gaelic, Latin

Speech Disorder: Conor has a stutter. He mainly stutters on consonants, but will stutter on vowels when they start a word. He doesn’t usually stutter on every word.His stutter is present no matter which language he speaks

✧ PERSONALITY ✧

MBTI Type: ISTP — the virtuoso

→ A Virtuoso (ISTP) is someone with the Introverted, Observant, Thinking, and Prospecting personality traits. They tend to have an individualistic mindset, pursuing goals without needing much external connection. They engage in life with inquisitiveness and personal skill, varying their approach as needed.

Enneagram Type: 5 — the investigator

→ Enneagram Fives are defined by their desire to conserve their energy and to avoid being drained by engagement with the outside world. They focus on being knowledgeable and competent so that they can be as self-sufficient as possible. Fives enjoy deepening their understanding of the world, expanding their intellect, while minimizing their physical and relationship needs.

Positive Traits: Intelligent, practical, creative, easygoing, relaxed, energetic, organized

Neutral Traits: Reserved, private, stubborn, rational, logical, realistic, somewhat spontaneous

Negative Traits: Self-conscious, anxious, insensitive, risk-taker, cautious, very guarded

Common Stressors: Public speaking ; the Vaults ; low grades ; his uncle ; his stutter ; strangers

Comforting Things: Building card houses ; flying ; reading ; The Who music ; swearing

Interests & Hobbies: Reading ; sketching buildings + plans ; building card houses ; running ; flying ; quidditch ; football/soccer

Description: A reserved man even without a stutter, Conor suffers from being constantly underestimated as people often misconstrue his stutter as being a reflection of his intelligence. He’s used to people dismissing him for his inability to speak fluently, and that makes him feel very self-conscious. In addition, Conor isn’t comfortable around most people and sometimes has an anxious demeanor. As he ages, Conor starts to embrace his stutter and leave some of the self-consciousness and anxiety from his youth behind.

✧ MAGIC ✧

First Wand: Conor’s wand is made of cypress wood with a dragon heartstring core and is 11 inches with a slightly springy flexibility.

→ Cypress wands were said to be well-matched to wizards who were self-sacrificing and willing to die a heroic death.

Second Wand: Conor’s wand is made of ash wood with a phoenix tail feather and is 12 ¾ inches with an unyielding flexibility.

→ Ash wands cleaved to its one true master and ought not to be passed on or gifted from the original owner, because it would lose power and skill. This tendency was extreme if the core was of unicorn hair. Those witches and wizards best suited to ash wands were not lightly swayed from their beliefs or purposes. However, the brash or over-confident witch or wizard, who often insisted of trying wands on this prestigious wood, would be disappointed by its effects. The ideal owner might be stubborn, and would certainly be courageous, but never crass or arrogant.

Other Magical Abilities: None

Patronus: Leopard

Patronus Memory: A surprisingly sunny summer afternoon when he was visiting Donegal Castle with his grandmother and siblings, a few weeks before Rose O’Donnell suffered a fatal hemorrhagic stroke

Boggart: Himself, standing on a stage with a crowd surrounding him and as he goes to speak, he gets stuck on a word and cannot get unstuck

Riddikulus: He turns into Porky Pig while the crowd is turned into muppets

Amortentia:

Conor smells like sandalwood, leather, graphite, and soap.

Conor smells peat, warm chocolate chip cookies, sea spray, and strawberries

Mirror of Erised: Conor sees himself with his family, his mother and father are beaming at him.

✧ HOGWARTS ✧

House: Ravenclaw

OWL Classes:

Astronomy — Acceptable

Charms — Outstanding

Defense Against the Dark Arts — Outstanding

Flying — Outstanding

Herbology — Exceeds Expectations

History of Magic — Acceptable

Potions — Exceeds Expectations

Transfiguration — Outstanding

OWL Electives:

Arithmancy — Outstanding

Care of Magical Creatures — Acceptable

NEWT Classes:

Arithmancy — Exceeds Expectations

Charms — Exceeds Expectations

Defense Against the Dark Arts — Outstanding

Potions — Acceptable

Transfiguration — Acceptable

Extracurriculars: Seeker on his house quidditch team ; dueling club

✧ EMPLOYMENT ✧

Affiliations: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry ; Dublin University ; Keller Architecture ; Enchanting Architecture

Professions:

Age 22 to 24 - Architect’s apprentice

Age 26 to 85 - Architect

✧ FAMILY ✧

Father: Seán Michael O’Donnell [deceased, 1936-1978]

Seán was born in Donegal Town, Ireland on June 30, 1936 to Lorcan and Rose O’Donnell. He was their only child and was raised Catholic. His family had always had a more liberal approach to Catholicism, though. Seán had a good childhood that was lively and full of joy. He had a close knit group of friends and his family was well off.

After unexpectedly receiving his Hogwarts letter on his eleventh birthday, Seán was sorted into Ravenclaw. He enjoyed his time at Hogwarts, joining the quidditch team and making a network of friends. His future wife was amongst that group. Seán was a fairly popular and handsome young man, who attracted attention everywhere he went.

After graduating from Hogwarts, Seán began to pursue a career as an auror. He was successful and raised quickly through the ranks. However, he only did field work for ten years, switching to desk work when his eldest son was born in 1965. He retired from the ministry and auror office in January of 1975 after the death of his wife a few months prior. Shortly after, Albus Dumbledore offered Seán a position teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts for the 1975-1976 school year. Seán spent a long time deliberating before he agreed to the position, as long as Dumbledore would honor the terms and conditions Seán laid out. Seán retired after that one year, citing a desire to spend more time with his children.

In 1959, Seán ran into Ailis Lynch. Literally. He spilled his coffee over the both of them and something they began rekindling their friendship, which eventually turned to romance. On Ailis’s twenty-fourth birthday, Seán asked Ailis out to dinner for their first date. They would date for approximately two years before getting married on May 29, 1962.

Their first years of marriage were tough, as both faced losses, including the death of Seán’s auror partner. However, it was filled with lots of love and patience. Three years into their marriage, their eldest son, Cian Jacob was born on January 18, 1965. Eight years and three miscarriages later, Seán’s youngest children, Ryan Michael, Cara Rose, Sara Ailis, and Conor Lorcan were born on August 18, 1973.

The first year with the quadruplets went quite smoothly, but everything changed in July of 1974. His wife became incredibly ill and no one was ever able to diagnose her. Seán became a widower and single father on August 2, 1974. He would never remove his wedding band.

In April of 1978, Seán was killed in an automobile wreck. It was wet and dark and something just went wrong. He was killed upon impact and his death was a significant blow to the family.

Conor adored his father, but most of his memories of Seán are fuzzy. He doesn’t remember much of his dad, but Conor hopes that his dad is proud of him and wonders what Seán would have thought of him.

Faceclaim: Pierce Brosnan (1980s)

Mother: Ailis Ciara O’Donnell née Lynch [deceased, 1936-1974]

Ailis was born in Dublin, Ireland in March 24, 1936 to Conor and Ciara Lynch. She joined older brother, Doyle who was ten. She had a happy childhood that was full of love. Due to their age gap, her older brother was rarely around and she was shielded from some of her parents’ concerns about him. She’d share those concerns later in life, but never noticed it prior to starting Hogwarts.

Upon starting Hogwarts, Ailis was sorted into Ravenclaw. She enjoyed her time at Hogwarts. She became a prefect and made a group of good friends. It wasn’t as extensive a network as her husband or youngest four children made, but they were still close friends. She also became good friends with her future husband, although she never would have called him a close friend and may have harbored a secret crush on him.

After graduating from Hogwarts, Ailis began her career as a healer. She spent her first few years working at St. Mungo’s in London, but would transfer to the Irish hospital, Leighis. She spent the remainder of her career at Leighis.

In 1959, Ailis reconnected with Seán O’Donnell… after he spilled his coffee all over the two of them. Ailis was instantly smitten with the man and they began rekindling their friendship, which turned romantic when he asked her to dinner on her twenty-fourth birthday. Ailis married Seán on May 29, 1962.

Their first years of marriage were a little rough as they both faced a series of losses, including the death of Ailis’s parents from dragon pox while she was pregnant with her first child. However, their marriage was filled with lots of love and patience. Three years into their marriage, their eldest son, Cian Jacob was born on January 18, 1965. Eight years and three miscarriages later, her youngest four children, Ryan Michael, Cara Rose, Sara Ailis, and Conor Lorcan were born on August 18, 1973.

Their first year or so with the quadruplets went pretty smoothly, but everything changed when Ailis fell gravely ill in July of 1974. No one was able to identify what was ailing Ailis, and on July 25, Ailis and Seán agreed to end the search for a cure or diagnosis. The healers had discovered it was not contagious and Ailis was able to spend the remainder of her life with her husband and children. She passed away, peacefully, in her sleep early on August 2, 1974.

Unfortunately, Conor doesn’t have any memories of his mother. He misses her a lot and sometimes wonders what it would be like to have a mother and what she would think of him.

Faceclaim: Stephanie Zimbalist

Brother: Cian Jacob O’Donnell [1965-2002]

Cian was born on January 18, 1965, making him a little over eight years older than the quadruplets. Upon starting Hogwarts, Cian was sorted into Gryffindor and became involved in the Cursed Vaults. He used them as a crutch to ignore the grief of losing his parents, grandparents, and a close friend. He also used them as an attempt to impress his uncle.

After he was released from the portrait vault, Cian fled from Hogwarts and sunk into hiding. He didn’t know how to handle the mess that he had made and he had an intense desire for acceptance. Cian spends most of his life hiding and generally being a bit of a vagabond. In 2002, Cian fell fatally ill and passed away on December 13, 2002 at age 37.

Conor never had much of a relationship with Cian, as his older brother disappeared when Conor was eight and spent the majority of Conor’s early childhood at Hogwarts. Conor never gets the opportunity to form a relationship with Cian when they’re older as Cian also disappears and then dies in 2002.

Faceclaim: Nick Robinson

Brother: Ryan Michael O’Donnell

Born on August 18, 1973, Ryan is the eldest quadruplet, fifty-seven minutes older than Conor, and a Gryffindor. Conor is very close to his brother, and although they often have brotherly spats, both know that the other always has his back. He and Ryan appear to be quite different, but underneath it all, they are rather similar. In fact, their biggest argument arose over Conor’s decision to quit the Cursed Vaults investigation.

Faceclaim: Jaeden Martell

Sister: Cara Rose O’Donnell

Born on August 18, 1973, Cara is the second quadruplet, forty-two minutes older than Conor, and a Slytherin. Conor probably has the most distant relationship with Cara, but they’re still close. They have the occasional spat, but they’re nothing compared to his spats with Ryan. However, Conor and Cara bond over their artistic pursuits. Conor’s might be a lot more mathematical than Cara’s, but her tips and pointers have proved to be invaluable to his future blueprints and building sketches.

Faceclaim: Sadie Sink

Sister: Sara Ailis O’Donnell

Born on August 18, 1973, Sara is the third quadruplet, twenty-one minutes older than Conor, and a Hufflepuff. Conor is quite close to his sister and they rarely have spats. Conor is probably the only one who can patiently explain quidditch to Sara for the fiftieth time. Sara’s support is something that Conor values immensely, but tries not to take advantage of it the way that some others (cough Merula) do.

Faceclaim: Malina Weissman

Grandfather: Lorcan Ryan O’Donnell [deceased, 1905-1979]

Lorcan was born in Donegal Town, Ireland, on January 29, 1905 to Jacob and Mary O’Donnell, joining elder brother, Eoin (1899-1920). For the most part, Lorcan’s early childhood was calm and stable, as he grew up the son of a farmer. However, things changed in his early teen years, as when Lorcan was 14, the Irish War of Independence broke out. His brother insisted on joining the cause and was killed in 1920 at the age of 21, while participating in the raiding of a British supply train. From that point on, Lorcan’s parents forbid the 15-year-old from becoming further involved in the war. Lorcan abided by their wishes, grieving for his older brother, and settled into a world of history that had yet to be adequately told.

After the war and the partition and at the age of 20, Lorcan traveled to Dublin to spend some time with his bachelor uncle Michael as he studied at a university. A few weeks into his stay, Lorcan met Rose Boyle and started up a friendship with her, which had always had a bit of a romantic tilt. That friendship continued, even when Lorcan returned to Donegal to help his aging parents with the selling of the farm. After the farm had been sold, Lorcan accepted a teaching position in Dublin for a year. He reconnected with Rose and they fell deeper into love. He married Rose in 1927, and they moved back to Donegal in 1936, with their first and only child on the way. They had struggled for some time to conceive, and upon finally conceiving, they decided to move back for the support of Lorcan’s parents as they had also received a small but hefty inheritance from Lorcan’s late uncle. Their only child, Seán Michael O’Donnell, was born on June 30, 1936.

Lorcan adored his son and did his best to raise his son into a good man, which he succeeded in doing. He was surprised to learn that his son was a wizard, but he continued to love and nurture his son, the best he could for a man born in the 1900s. While his son grew and studied, Lorcan spent a lot of time cataloging the history of his hometown and fostering his marriage with Rose. Lorcan’s parents passed away within a three year span, with his father dying in 1947 and his mother in 1950. He adored them and eagerly welcomed Ailis Lynch into the family when Seán married her in 1962. He was also very excited when his first grandchild, Cian Jacob, was born in 1965, and his excitement quintupled when his quadruplet grandchildren, Ryan Michael, Cara Rose, Sara Ailis, and Conor Lorcan, were born in 1973. He was also incredibly touched to learn that Ryan and Conor were named after him.

Lorcan adored being a grandfather and could often be found telling one of his grandchildren a long and complicated story, especially when they were babies. To Lorcan, moving in to help his son raise his children after becoming a widower was a no brainer and Lorcan adored doing so, even though he was heartbroken by his daughter-in-law’s 1974 death. It was also a no brainer to raise his grandchildren after his son’s death in 1978, which was shattering and Lorcan knows the only reason he lived through that painful time was because of his grandchildren. Unfortunately, Lorcan’s time with his grandchildren was limited as, in 1979 and only a few months after losing his son, Lorcan caught a fatal case of pneumonia. He passed away at the age of 74, leaving behind a legacy of love for his grandchildren, son, and history.

Conor adored his grandfather, but unfortunately, he doesn’t have very many clear memories of the man. Most of his clear memories are tied to the small collectible trinkets that his grandfather gave him when he was still alive.

Faceclaim: Pierce Brosnan (current)

Grandmother: Rose Marie O’Donnell née Boyle [deceased, 1906-1979]

Born on November 18, 1906 in Dublin, Ireland, Rose was the only child of Patrick and Brigid Boyle. Rose’s childhood was spent in the city of Dublin and she enjoyed her childhood very much. Of course, things changed when the war for independence broke out and her family relocated to live with her aunt, uncle, and cousins in the countryside. Two of her cousins were killed during the war and the war made Rose grow up rather quickly.

After the war and at the age of 19, Rose moved back to Dublin and she got a job at a bookstore, which allowed her to meet Lorcan O’Donnell. They struck up a friendship, which turned into letters once Lorcan moved back to Donegal. They reconnected, though, once Lorcan moved back to teach for a year. Rose married Lorcan in 1927, and a few years later they moved back to Donegal, as Rose was pregnant with their only child. Her son, Seán Michael, was born on June 30, 1936 and Rose adored her new baby boy. She loved him dearly and was surprised by the fact that he was a wizard. However, it didn’t make her love him any less. After he started at Hogwarts, Rose began a new project, retelling Irish and Celtic myths and legends underneath a pen name when she published. In addition, Rose’s parents also passed away when her son was still a child.

Rose was overjoyed when Ailis Lynch joined the family in 1962. She was also very excited to meet her first grandchild, Cian Jacob when he was born in 1965, and was overjoyed when her quadruplet grandchildren, Ryan Michael, Cara Rose, Sara Ailis, and Conor Lorcan were born in 1973. Rose was very touched to learn that Seán and Ailis had given her name to baby Cara. Rose was also heartbroken when Ailis died in 1974 and immediately agreed to move in to help her son raise his five children. Rose was also heartbroken by the subsequent losses of her son in 1978 and her husband in 1979, but she dedicated her time to her grandchildren. Unfortunately, like her husband, Rose only had a limited amount of time with her grandchildren as she suffered a fatal hemorrhagic stroke a few months after losing her husband. She passed away at the age of 73 and left behind a legacy of love for her grandchildren.

Conor adored his grandmother, but also doesn’t have many clear memories of her. However, there are small things, like smells or the changing leaves, that remind her of them.

Grandparents: Conor Ryan Lynch [decased, 1900-1964] and Ciara Mary Lynch née Mallon [dceased, 1900-1964]

Born on March 29, 1900 and sorted into Hufflepuff, Conor was the only son and child of Cillian Lynch and Orla O’Rourke. Conor was pretty much the opposite of his parents and never spent much time around them, but he was still shocked when his father was arrested in 1925. After Hogwarts, Conor became a healer. His youngest grandson was named after him.

Born in 1900 and sorted into Ravenclaw, Ciara is the second child of David and Mary Mallon. Unlike her husband, Ciara was a muggleborn. She was infinitely fascinated by the wizarding world and was eager to learn all she could. After Hogwarts, Ciara became a ministry secretary and bounced around the different departments, sating her infinite curiosity.

Conor and Ciara married in 1924, after meeting in the ministry. They had two children together, Doyle Brannigan in 1925 and Ailis Ciara in 1936. They both contracted dragon pox and died on the day, hours apart. They never got to meet their grandchildren, which means that Conor never knew his maternal grandparents.

Uncle: Doyle Brannigan Lynch [1925-1998]

Born on December 13, 1925 and a Slytherin, Doyle was the eldest child of Conor and Ciara Lynch and nearly eleven years older than his younger sister, Ailis. Despite having a kind and loving childhood, Doyle still became quite cold and ruthless. He was a terrifying combination of his grandfather and great-grandfather. No one has any idea how he ended up that way.

At the age of 40, Doyle inherited the Lynch Manor and 40% of the family fortune upon the deaths of his parents. He was infinitely fascinated by the darkness the manor held and especially of the portrait of his great-grandfather, the abusive Bain Lynch. Doyle also was a bachelor, and was one for his entire life.

At the age of 54, Doyle received custody of his nieces and nephews, much to his disdain. However, he did see potential in his eldest nephew, Cian. Doyle began to manipulate the boy, taking advantage of the grief-riddled teen’s desperation for approval. In doing so, though, Doyle neglected the quadruplets until Cian was expelled from Hogwarts. Then, he began to launch into tirades, and occasionally got physically violent. A common refrain was calling the quads’ father “your filthy mudblood father.” Doyle died at the age of 73, in 1998.

Conor was always intimidated by his uncle and had never liked him. Conor never returned to his uncle after beginning his seventh year. He wasn’t exactly sad when he got the news of Doyle’s death as the man had never been kind to Conor.

Faceclaim: Sam Neill

Pets:

Childhood: Archimedes the owl ; duch*ess the cat

Adulthood: A yellow Labrador retriever named Maudie

✧ ROMANCE & CHILDREN ✧

Love Interest: Ruth Abigail Lyman

→ Conor first officially met Ruth Lyman when Professor Flitwick paired them together in their fourth year. They had known of each other before, but had never spoken until that moment. A friendship didn’t form right away, but it did begin forming in their sixth year after Ruth was tasked with helping Conor catch up with school work after he took a bludger to the head during a quidditch game. Their friendship didn’t become romantic until they shared a kiss one night during their seventh year, after studying for the NEWTs. However, after graduating from Hogwarts, they lost touch and didn’t reconnect until 2000. Their friendship rekindled, and after six months, Conor worked up the courage to ask Ruth out on a date. She agreed and they dated for a year before Conor proposed. Conor married Ruth on January 27, 2002.

Son: Seth Lorcan O’Donnell

Ravenclaw | Keeper | Demisexual | b. December 28, 2009

Conor has a good relationship with his eldest son, although Seth takes after Ruth more than he does Conor. Conor tries to be as supportive as possible of Seth and encourages his son to find his passions in life. He is very proud of Seth and adores the boy.

Faceclaim: Jett Klyne

Daughter: Naomi Ailis O’Donnell

Ravenclaw | Prefect | Twin | Heterosexual | b. December 28, 2009

Conor has a good relationship with his only daughter. Naomi is a good mix of both himself and Ruth, which sometimes causes some butting of heads, but Conor adores his little girl. He tries to be as supportive as possible and encourages Naomi to find what she loves in the world. He is very proud of his daughter and loves her dearly.

Faceclaim: Alisha Weir

Son: Ciaran Judah O’Donnell

Ravenclaw | Stutterer | Seeker | Twin | Hetersoexual | b. December 28, 2009

Conor has a pretty good relationship with his youngest son, but he and Ciaran are so similar in personality that it causes heads to butt more often. However, Conor understands Ciaran’s struggles with stuttering and strives to give his son a better relationship with stuttering than Conor himself has. He is very proud of his son and adores the boy.

Faceclaim: Julian Hilliard

✧ OTHER RELATIONSHIPS ✧

Best Friend:

Barnaby Lee

Close Friends:

Wendy Gordon @drinkyoursoupbitch

Penny Haywood

Rohan & Rowan Khanna

Bill & Charlie Weasley

Friends:

Callie Black (@cursedvaultss)

Julian Bennett ; Ira Janda ; Lizzie Parker (@slytherindisaster)

Katriona Cassiopeia (@kc-and-co)

Ben Copper

Odhrán Donovan (@amerrymystery)

Ellie Hopper (@thatravenpuffwitch)

Marty Raymond (@hogwartsmysteryho)

Cato Reese (@catohphm)

Nymphadora Tonks

Marti Venturi (@smarti-at-smogwarts)

Acquaintances:

Badeea Ali

Diego Caplan

Jae Kim

Tulip Karasu

Murphy McNully

Liz Tuttle

It’s Complicated:

Andre Egwu

Talbott Winger

Hogwarts Dormmates:

Andre Egwu

Victor Ketsuki

Talbott Winger

Rivals:

Ismelda Murk

Patricia Rakepick

Merula Synde

Enemies:

R

Death eaters

✧ HISTORY & BACKGROUND ✧

Place of Birth: Leighis Hospital for Magical Illnesses and Maladies, Dublin, Ireland

Hometown: County Donegal, Ireland

Childhood:

Born at 8:01 pm on August 18, 1973, Conor Lorcan O’Donnell was the youngest child and third son of Seán and Ailis O’Donnell. He joined fellow quadruplets, Ryan Michael (born at 7:04 pm), Cara Rose (born at 7:19 pm), and Sara Ailis (born at 7:41 pm), as well as older brother, Cian Jacob (then 8). Seán and Ailis were kind and loving parents, who did everything they could for their children, including spending countless hours at Leighis as Conor and his fellow quadruplets were born approximately ten weeks prematurely. Conor himself had weighed only three pounds and three ounces at birth but with no other health issues.

Brought home at three months old, Conor’s first few months at home were stable and loving and happy. His parents doted on him and his siblings, even though Cian wasn’t quite sure what to make of the quadruplets. Unfortunately, in July, about a month before Conor’s first birthday, his mother fell deathly ill. Healers tried in vain to diagnose her and find a cure, but were ultimately unsuccessful. On July 25, Seán and Ailis agreed to end all attempts to diagnose and cure her. The disease wasn’t contagious, and it wasn’t worth it anymore. On August 2, 1974, in the wee hours of the morning, Ailis Ciara O’Donnell (née Lynch) passed peacefully in her sleep, leaving her husband to raise their five children… mostly alone.

A few months later, in January, 1975, Seán quit his job in the auror office and became a stay-at-home dad. However, that plan was slightly interrupted when Albus Dumbledore offered Seán the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, which Seán eventually accepted but only for a year. After that, Seán officially prioritized his children and raising them to the best of his ability, along with the help of his parents, Lorcan and Rose, who had moved in shortly after Ailis’s death. Unfortunately, in April of 1978, Seán passed away after a fatal car accident.

After the death of his father, Conor and his siblings were primarily raised by their grandparents, who did their best to handle four toddlers and one moody, grief-riddled teenager. It was hard, but both Lorcan and Rose thought it was very rewarding work. Unfortunately, this didn’t last long either as in January of 1979, Lorcan caught pneumonia and that eventually claimed his life. Only a few months later, in May of 1979, Rose suffered a fatal hemorrhagic stroke.

Thus, Conor and his siblings were placed into the custody of their uncle, Doyle. He was their late mother’s older brother, whom Conor and his siblings had never met. The siblings were also relocated to Lynch Manor, which was a gloomy and loveless place where it seemed to echo with the misery of previous generations. However, Doyle generally ignored his nieces and nephews, especially Conor, Ryan, Cara, and Sara as they were not yet six. Conor rarely ever saw his uncle, which meant that he and his siblings more or less had a free reign over the manor and its grounds.

However, everything began to change when Conor was eight and his older brother was expelled from Hogwarts. Doyle began to have violent outbursts, especially where his nieces and nephews were concerned. Yet, Doyle rarely ever laid a hand on Conor and his siblings as he preferred to give degrading lectures where he attacked anything that he perceived as a weakness, often including Conor’s stutter.

Hogwarts Years:

Upon starting Hogwarts, Conor was sorted into Ravenclaw. He became comfortable in the house, rather quickly. Although, he struggled with forming friendships outside of those his siblings had introduced him to. This was a combination of being naturally reserved and being extremely self-conscious about his stutter. However, as time passed, Conor began to create his own friendships and perhaps one of the most important friendships was with his future brother-in-law, Barnaby Lee.

For five years, Conor participated in an investigation into the Cursed Vaults alongside his siblings in a search to find out the truth about what happened to their older brother. Conor never truly enjoyed looking into the Vaults, and after his fifth year, which constituted a yearlong detention and constant, petty sibling bickering, Conor decided that he was done with the Vaults. Unfortunately, his sixth year sees another death, this time of his friend, Rohan Khanna who was murdered for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

After quitting the Vaults in his sixth year, Conor devoted more time to quidditch, as he’d begun playing seeker in his third year, and to his studies, especially in muggle subjects. His seventh year calmed down a lot more, and Conor spent a decent amount of time filling out university applications so that he could study architecture at muggle university.

Adulthood:

Upon graduating from Hogwarts, Conor began his studies in architecture at a muggle university in Dublin. He keeps mostly to himself at university, and shares a flat in Dublin with his sister, Sara and occasionally, her boyfriend, Barnaby. Conor enjoys his time at university, even though he decided against truly making friends. Then, after graduating, Conor takes an internship with a muggle architect at Keller Architecture, which he holds until July 1, 1997.

While Conor had been a member of the Order of the Phoenix since 1995, he hadn’t done much prior to Dumbledore’s death. After the headmaster had died, Conor was approached with an offer to become a spy, which Conor agreed to. His mission was supposedly simple, but in September of 1997, his cover was blown and Conor was held captive until February 19, 1998. He was found in very rough shape, with a lot of physical injuries. However, Conor’s mental state was fairly unscathed, even though he was still left with a case of PTSD. Conor pushed through most of it, and even fought in the Battle of Hogwarts on May 2, 1998 alongside his siblings and friends.

After the war had ended, Conor returned to the world of architecture. He threw himself into building his own architecture firm, which he was forced to register as Enchanting Architecture, as a way to avoid dealing with other things. However, he was eventually forced to actually deal with everything that he had been bottling up, which turned out to be a good thing. It even led to Conor reconnecting with Ruth Lyman, his old crush from Hogwarts and beginning a true, adult relationship. Eventually, Conor married Ruth in a small ceremony on January 27, 2002.

Conor and Ruth had triplets. Their children, Seth, Naomi, and Ciaran were born on December 28, 2009.

Old Age:

Conor retired at the age of 85, and devoted the rest of his life to hobbies… and his grandchildren. He generally enjoyed his retirement and even spent some time traveling with Ruth to various European cities, where Conor visited some of the great architecture of Europe. He remained close to his siblings, and mourned familial passings.

Death:

Conor passed away, in his sleep, at the age of 120. It was two years after Ruth’s passing. Conor had lived a long and fulfilled life and he left behind three children, seven grandchildren, ten great-grandchildren, and three great-great-grandchildren.

✧ MISCELLANEOUS ✧

Favorite Color: Navy blue

Favorite Food: Baked ziti

Favorite Drink: Hot chocolate

Favorite Weather: Overcast but not raining

Favorite Season: Winter

Favorite Book: And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie, Sherlock Holmes, architecture books

Favorite Music: The Who, Social Distortion, R.E.M., The Cure

Dislikes: Bullies ; for a few months at age 14/15, his glasses ; crowds ; public speaking ; fish ; his name being misspelled, especially after he’s provided corrections

Trivia:

Conor’s mental state remained unaffected by the trauma of his life because of the love magic that dispersed when his parents died. That love magic managed to protect Conor’s, Ryan’s, Cara’s, and Sara’s minds from the worst of their trauma.

When Ailis O’Donnell died, an ancient protection magic wove itself into her five children. While it didn’t do all that much for her eldest son, who was nine at the time, it did provide much protection to her younger four children, aged eleven months. Its power wasn’t based on who was loved more. No, this magic’s power was influenced more by the children’s ages than anything else, really. Her eldest, at nine, never managed to recover from the grief and over the next seven years, her son’s destructive grief overpowered the magic. Her younger four, being much younger, had no memory of Ailis and so, the grief they held was different, less oppressive than her eldest son’s. Thus, it was able to be strengthened over time as it fed on the love and bond that always held steadfast for the quadruplets.

Conor is named after both his grandfathers. His first name was after his maternal grandfather, Conor Lynch, while his middle name was after his paternal grandfather, Lorcan O’Donnell.

Conor had a love-hate relationship with his glasses for the first four months that he had them. It took him a while to get used to them and to accept that his eyesight really wasn’t as good as he had thought it was.

Conor is a soccer/football fan and supports the Finn Harps. He is also a quidditch team and supports both the Kenmare Kestrels and the Ballycastle Bats.

Conor doesn’t know where or when his interest in becoming an architect began. It seems like it has always been there and by fourth year, he’s pretty confident in his desire to become an architect.

When stressed, Conor likes to build houses and other buildings out of playing cards. It gives him something to concentrate on that isn’t his stress.

Conor’s stutter is present no matter what language he speaks. (Also, stutter and stammer may be used interchangeably.)

Conor is very good at nonverbal magic. In fact, he masters it before any of his peers are able to master it. This is partially because verbal magic is difficult for him to begin with, as his stutter often makes his magic go haywire.

Conor swears like a sailor. He has no shame about it either, and has done so in front of multiple professors, as he doesn’t stutter when he swears. Therefore, he swears quite often, as he’s easily frustrated.

Important Links:

Conor’s tag

More information about Conor’s children, Seth, Naomi, and Ciaran

13 notes · View notes

The mayor's home in the Libyan city of Derna has been burnt down, as hundreds of protesters demanded answers for last week's catastrophic flood.

They gathered on Monday night at the city's landmark Sahaba Mosque, many chanting for top officials in Libya's eastern government to be sacked.

Derna's whole city council has now been dismissed.

Internet and telephone access have also been shut down and journalists ordered to leave in a media crackdown.

More than 10,000 people are officially missing after two old and dilapidated dams burst, flooding the city.

Figures given for the number of people known to have died have varied widely but the UN says it has confirmed close to 4,000 deaths.

The UN now says one of its teams has been refused permission to enter Derna.

"We can confirm that search and rescue teams, emergency medical teams and UN colleagues who are already in Derna continue to operate," Najwa Mekki, of the UN's humanitarian body OCHA, told Reuters news agency on Tuesday.

"However, a UN team was due to travel from Benghazi to Derna today but were not authorized to proceed," she added.

The home of Derna's mayor, Abdulmenam al-Ghaithi, has become a focal point for people's anger.

Residents say they were not sufficiently warned by officials, who they believe must have known a huge amount of rainfall was coming.

They say they were also given a stay-at-home warning rather than being told to evacuate,although officials deny this.

Since the ousting of long-time leader Muammar Gaddafi, Libya has been riven by power struggles and currently has two governments - a UN-recognised one based in Tripoli, and another in the country's east backed by warlord Gen Khalifa Haftar.

He has been calling the flooding a natural disaster but many Libyans disagree, saying the eastern government had neglected the dams despite prior warnings about their fragile condition.

Speaking from his hospital bed in Benghazi, 48-year-old Abdelqader al-Omrani told the AFP news agency that he and other people living near the dams had "warned the municipality and demanded repairs" after spotting leaks two years ago. "They [now] have our deaths on their conscience," he said.

Scientists from the World Weather Attribution group said Libya's conflict and poor dam maintenance had turned extreme weather into a humanitarian disaster, but noted that up to 50% more rain pounded eastern Libya because of global warming caused by human activity.

On Tuesday, the day after the protests, a minister in eastern Libya's government announced that all journalists had been asked to leave Derna, and accused them of hampering the work of rescue teams.

"Have no doubt, this is not about health or safety, but about punishing Dernawis [Derna's residents] for protesting," said Emadeddin Badi of the Atlantic Council think tank,in a post on X (formerly Twitter).

In addition to a large international aid effort, parts of Libya where, until recently, militias had been fighting each other are now sending volunteers and their own private vehicles with food, water, medicine and bedding.

But humanitarians warn of a brewing public health crisis and demonstrators say they need more aid.

And with their most vital possessions washed away by the water, they also want processing facilities set up to replace lost passports and identity documents.

Monday's rallies at the Sahaba Mosque - itself partially damaged by flooding - were the biggest seen since the floods hit, and there are suggestions the protest has some institutional backing.

"The location of the protest, the Sahaba Mosque, is normally cordoned off as part of the rescue area - so how come all of a sudden all the public was allowed to go [there]?" Claudia Gazzini of International Crisis Group in Libyatold BBC Newsday.

"It makes me think that it wasn't necessarily just a spontaneous outburst of anger."

0 notes

disability in the Six Of Crows Duology; an analysis of Kaz Brekker, Wylan Van Eck, and the fandom’s treatment of them.

****Note: I originally wrote this for a tiktok series, which im still going to do, but i wanted to post here as well bc tumblr is major contributor to what im going to talk about

CW: ableism, filicide, abuse

In the Six of Crows duology, Leigh Bardugo delicately subverts and melds harmful disability tropes into her narrative, unpacking them in a way that I, as a disabled person, found immensely refreshing and…. just brilliant.

But what did you all do with that? Well, you f*cked it up. Instead of critically looking at the characters, y’all just chose to be ableist.

For the next few videos paragraphs im going to unpack disability theory (largely the stuff surrounding media, for obvious reasons) and how it relates to Six Of Crows and the characterization of Kaz Brekker and Wylan Van Eck, then how, despite their brilliant writing, y’all completely overlooked the actual text and continuously revert them to ableist cariactures.

Disclaimer: 1. Shocker - i am disabled. I have also extensively researched disability theory and am very active in the disabled community. Basically, I know my sh*t. 2. im going to be mad in these videos this analysis. Because the way y’all have been acting has been going on for a long ass time and im f*ckin sick of it. I don’t give a sh*t about non-disabled feelings, die mad

Firstly, I’m going to discuss Kaz, his play on the stereotypical “mean cripple” trope and how Bardugo subverts it, his cane, and disabled rage. Then, I am going to discuss Wylan, the “inspiration p*rn” stereotype, caregivers / parents, and the social model of disability. Finally, I will then explain the problems in the fandom from my perspective as a disabled person, largely when it comes to wylan, bc yall cant leave that boy tf alone.

Kaz Brekker

Think of a character who uses a cane (obviously not Kaz). Now, are they evil, dubiously moral, or just an asshole in general? Because nearly example I can think of is: whether it be Lots’O from Toy Story, Lucius Malfoy, or even Scrooge and Mr.Gold from Once Upon A Time all have canes (the last two even having their canes appear less and less as they become better people)

The mean/evil cripple trope is far more common than you would think. Villains with different bodies are confined to the role of “evil”. To quote TV Tropes, who I think did a brilliant job on explaining it “The first is rooted in eugenics-based ideas linking disability or other physical deformities with a "natural" predisposition towards madness, criminality, vice, etc. The Rule of Symbolism is often at work here, since a "crippled" body can be used to represent a "crippled" soul — and indeed, a disabled villain is usually put in contrast to a morally upright and physically "perfect" hero. Whether consciously on the part of the writer or not, this can reinforce cultural ideas of disability making a person inherently inferior or negative, much in the same way the Sissy Villain or Depraved hom*osexual trope associate sexual and gender nonconformity with evil. ”

Our introduction to Kaz affirms this notion of him being bad or morally bankrupt, with “Kaz Brekker didn’t need a reason”, etc. This mythologized version of himself, the “bastard of the barrel” actively fed into this misconception. But, as we the audience are privy to his inner thoughts, know that he is just a teenager like every other Crow. He is complex, his disability isn’t this tragic backstory, he just fell off a roof. It’s not his main motivation, nor does he curse revenge for making him a cripple - it is just another part of who he is.

His cane (though the shows version fills me with rage but-) is an extension of Kaz - he fights with it, but it has a purpose. Another common thing in media is for canes to be simply accessories, but while Kaz’ cane is fashionable, it has purpose.

The quote “There was no part of him that was not broken, that had not healed wrong and there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken.” is so f*cking powerful. Kaz does not want nor need a cure - its said in Crooked Kingdom that his leg could most likely be healed, but he chooses not to. Abled-bodied people tend to dismiss this thought as Kaz being stubborn but it shows a reality of acceptance of his disability that is just, so refreshing.

In chapter 22 of SOC, we see disabled rage done right - when he is called a cripple by the Fjerdan inmate, Kaz is pissed - the important detail being that he is pissed at the Fjerdan, at society for ableism, not blaming it on being disabled or wishing he could be normal. He takes action, dislocating the asshole’s shoulder and proving to him, and to a lesser extent, himself, that he is just as capable as anyone else, not in spite of, but because he is disabled. And that is the point of Kaz, harking back to the line that “there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken”.

I cried on numerous occasions while reading the SOC duology, but the parts I highlighted in this section especially so. I, as many other disabled people do, have had a long and tumultuous relationship with our disability/es, and for many still struggle. But Kaz Brekker gave me an empowered disabled character who accepts themselves, and that means the world to me.

Keeping that in mind, I hope you can understand why it hurts so much to disabled people when you either erase Kaz’s disability (whether through cosplay or fanfiction), or portray him as a “broken boy uwu”, especially implying that he would want a cure. That flies in the face of canon and is inherently f*cking ableist. (if u think im mad wait until the next section)

Next, we have Wylan.

Oh f*cking boy.

I love Wylan so f*cking much, and y’all just do not seem to understand his character? Like at all? Since this is disability-centric, I’m not going to discuss how the intersection of his queerness also contributes to these issues, but trust me when I say it’s a contributing factor to what i'm going to say.

Wylan, motherf*cking Van Eck. If you ableist pricks don’t take ur f*cking hands off him right now im going to fight you. I see Wylan as a subversion another, and in my opinion more insidious stereotype pf disabled people - inspiration p*rn.

Cara Liebowitz in a 2015 article on the blog The Body Is Not An Apology explains in greater detail how inspiration p*rn is impactful in real life, but media is a major contributing factor to this reality. The technical definition is “the portrayal of people with disabilities as inspirational solely or in part on the basis of their disability” - but that does not cover it fully.

Inspiration p*rn does lasting damage on the disabled community as it implies that disability is a negative that you need to “overcome” or “triumph” instead of something one can feel proud of. It exploits disabled people for the development of non-disabled people, and in media often the white male protagonist. Framing disability as inherently negative perpetuates ideals of eugenics and cures - see Autism $peaks’ “I Am Autism” ad. Inspiration p*rn is also incredibly patronizing as it implies that we cannot take care of ourselves, or do things like non-disabled people do. Because i stg some of you tend to think that we just sit around all day wishing we weren’t disabled.

Another important theory ideal that is necessary when thinking about Wylan is the experience of feeling like a burden simply for needing help or accommodations. This is especially true when it comes to familial relationships, and internalized ableism.

The rhetoric that Wylan’s father drilled into his head, that he is “defective”, “a mistake”, and “needs to be corrected”, that he (Jan) was “cursed with a moron for a child” is a long held belief that disabled people hear relentlessly. And while many see Van Eck’s attempted murder of Wylan as “preposturous” and overall something that you would never think happens today - filicide (a parent murdering their child) is more common than you would like to believe. Without even mentioning the countless and often unreported deaths of disabled people due to lack of / insufficient / neglectful medical care, in a study on children who died from the result of household abuse, 40 of 42 of them (95%) were diagnosed with disabilities. Van Eck is not some caricature of ableist ideals - he is a real reflection on how many people and family members view disability.

Circling back to how Wylan unpacks the inspiration p*rn trope - he is 3 dimensional, he is not only used to develop the other characters, he is just *chefs kiss* Leigh, imo, put so much love and care into the creation of Wylan and his story and character growth that is representative of a larger feeling in the disabled community.

That being said, what you non-disabled motherf*ckers have done to him.

The “haha Wylan can’t read” jokes aren’t and were not funny. Y’all literally boiled down everything Wylan is to him being dyslexic. And it’s like,,,, the only thing you can say about him. You ignore every other part of him other than his disability, and then mock him for it. There’s so much you can say about Wylan - simping for Jesper, being band kid and playing the f*ckin flute, literally anything else. But no, you just chose to mock his disability, excellent f*cking job!

Next up on “ableds stfu” - infantilization! y’all are so f*cking condescending to Wylan, and treat him like a f*cking toddler. And while partly it is due to his sexuality i think a larger portion is him being disabled. Its in the same vein of people who think that Wylan and Jesper are romantically one sided, and that Jesper only kind of liked Wylan, despite the canon evidence of him loving Wylan just as much. You all view him as a “smol bean”, who needs protecting, and care, when Wylan is the opposite of that. He is a f*cking demolitions expert who suggested waking up sleeping men to kill them - what about that says “uwu”. You are treating Wylan as a burden to Jesper and the other Crows when he is an immensely valuable, fully autonomous disabled person - you all just view him as damaged.

And before I get a comment saying that “uhhh Wylan isn’t real why do you care” while Wylan may not be real, how you all view him and treat him has real f*cking impacts and informs how you treat people like me. If someone called me an “uwu baby boy” they’d get a fist square in the f*cking jaw. Fiction informs how we perceive the world and y’all are making it super f*cking clear how you see disabled people.

Finally, I wanted to talk about how the social model of disability is portrayed through Wylan. For those who are unaware, the social model of disability contrasts the medical model, that views the disability itself as the problem, that needs to be cured, whereas the social model essentially boils down to creating an accommodating society, where disability acceptance and pride is the goal. And we see this with Wylan - he is able to manage his father’s estate, with Jesper’s assistance to help him read documents. And this is not out of pity or charity, but an act of love. It is not portrayed as this almighty act for Jesper to play saviour, just a given, which is incredibly important to show, especially for someone who has been abused by family for his disability like Wylan, that he is accepted.

Yet, I still see people hold up Jesper on a pedestal for “putting up with” Wylan, as if loving a disabled person deserves a f*cking pat on the back. It’s genuinely exhausting trying to engage with a work I love so much with a fandom that thinks so little of me and my community. It f*cking shows.

Overall, Leigh Bardugo as a disabled person wrote two incredibly meticulous and empowered disabled characters, and due to either lack of reading comprehension, ableism, or a quirky mix of both, the fandom has ignored canon and the experiences of disabled people for…. sh*ts and giggles i guess. And yes, there are issues with the Grishaverse and disability representation - while I haven’t finished them yet so I do not have an opinion on it, people have been discussing issues in the KOS duology with ableist ideals. This mini series was no way indicative of the entire disabled experience, nor does it represent my entire view on the representation as a whole. These things need to be met critically in our community, and talked about with disabled voices at the forefront. For example, the limited perspective we get of Wylan and Kaz being both white men, does not account for a large portion of the disabled community and the intersection of multiple identities.

All-in-all, Critique media, but do not forget to also critique fandom spaces. Alternatively, just shut the f*ck up :)

happy f*cking disability pride month, ig

2K notes · View notes

pay attention.

| loki x reader | fluff |

anon requested. you only pay attention to me when I misbehave

You’d been nothing short of angelic.

For the last week, you’d been extremely sweet and obedient, doing everything Loki asked and more. All you wanted was his attention and affection, but even your lovely attitude hadn’t earned it.

Once again, he prioritized work with the avengers over tending to you, a bad habit he slipped into when stress built up. You knew his job was important, that he was needed, but you got frustrated as his time with you dwindled.

Obviously you knew that Loki would never intentionally hurt you, and you should’ve just talked to him about it. When you’d asked him to sit with you or help you with something, he’d brushed you off with a “later” until it became never.

Your frustration built, finally bubbling to the surface on a particularly stormy Thursday, when he was saddled with work at the compound. Gone in meetings all day, with paperwork looming over him.

.

“Loki,” your voice was small, barely audible to ears other than his.

You rocked on your feet, knowing he didn’t appreciate you interrupting him. You’d slipped into the conference room during a meeting, effectively cutting off the conversation between him and Steve and Tony, men who intimidated you.

“I’m working. Go, behave,” Loki said dismissively, barely looking at you.

“But daddy,” you whined softly, breathing out the endearment that was typically reserved for privacy.

“What did I say?” His tone was threatening, and he turned in his chair when you didn’t move.

Both Tony and Steve were watching the two of you tensely, feeling like this was a moment they almost shouldn’t be witnessing. They’d both heard the change in his voice, recognizing his annoyance.

You opened your mouth to reply, when his hand wrapped around your forearm, easily tugging you closer to his body.

“What happened to my good girl?” He asked, trapping you between his knees and effectively embarrassing you in front of his two colleagues.

“Stop,” you whispered, your resolve crumbling as he publicly manhandled you.

“You’re going to be a brat and now you’re going to be shy?” Loki asked, almost taunting you.

You lifted your head to look him in the eyes, catching his gaze for the first time. Tears welled in your waterline, spilling down your cheeks as you spoke.

“You only pay attention to me when I misbehave.” The hurt in your voice was obvious enough, but you pulled yourself from your stunned boyfriend.

“Darling-” Loki tried to call after you as your drew back.

“I’m sorry,” Loki apologized to Steve and Tony before hurrying out of the conference room after you.

He discovered you in your shared suite, your knees pulled to your chest as you knelt on the corner of the bed.

Guilt swelled in his chest. It hurt to see you cry and to hear the pained accusation. He knew you were right, unable to deny his own absence from your life. He hadn’t meant to, you were the most important thing to him, but his work had slowly edged your time out of his day.

“My darling, can you look at me please?” Loki’s voice was gentle and soft, his hands laying over your elbows.

You peered up from under wet lashes, your bottom lip trembling. Seeing you so sad broke Loki’s heart, immense guilt washing over him.

“I am so sorry. Please, forgive me. I’ve not given you near as much attention as I should.”

“I tried to be good but you didn’t notice. I just want you to notice me,” you cried softly, now afraid of being punished for interrupting his meeting.

“I know, my darling. I notice you now.”

He gently moved you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you. You sank back into his chest, your hands going to his bicep that was draped over your front.

His lips pressed to the top of your head, his hand squeezing your hip.

“My sweet baby,” Loki hummed, smiling into your hair when you turned your face into his arm.

“How can I make it up to you?” He grew serious.

“I just want you to spend time with me.”

You leaned your head back, looking up into his eyes. You were still sniffling, your cheeks puffy and stained with tears.

“Oh, my darling. I will happily spend time with you. I’m all yours,” Loki promised, his fingers gently stroking over your cheek. He leaned down and tenderly kissed your lips, cradling your face in his large hands.

“Shall we clean you up first?” Loki asked.

You nodded, slipping off of his lap. He gently cleaned your face, pressing kisses to the tip of your nose and the corners of your eyes.

“What shall we do?” He asked once your face and hands were clean.

“Will you make some cookies with me?”

You’d been meaning to bake them for the two of you, but you favored doing it together, hoping he’d agree. Loki earned a smile when he nodded, walking with you to the kitchen, his fingers laced in yours.

He loved you, happy to bake with you if that is what would please you. He hadn’t realized how much he’d neglected you until he realized how nice it was to give you his entire attention. You gasped softly, laughter escaping your lips as he turned you around, kissing you feverently.

You moaned softly into the kiss, your hands resting against his solid chest. You smiled, giggling as he kissed your cheek.

“I think Tony has some chocolate chips hidden in the cabinets we could use,” Loki said, lifting you up onto the counter. He hung onto your hips as you searched through the cabinets, digging through baking supplies.

You squealed, holding up a bag of chocolate chips, grinning down at your boyfriend. You handed them down, along with the other ingredients before he pulled you back to the floor.

“What if Tony gets mad?”

“He won’t, darling,” Loki promised, kissing your head and helping you mix the ingredients in a large bowl.

You snuck a couple of chocolate chips, thinking you were being secretive. Loki caught your wrist before you could put another in your mouth, startling you.

“No ma’am,” he said, eating it out of your fingers.

“That was mine daddy,” you protested, pouting.

“You’ve had quite enough, save them for the cookies,” Loki chastised you gently, knowing your proclivity to accidentally overindulge in sweets until your stomach ached.

You didn’t argue, letting him put them away before sliding the tray of cookies into the oven. You sat on the countertop in front of him, opening your knees for him to stand between.

“Can I have a kiss?” You asked the god.

“Of course.”

He kissed you sweetly, his fingers threading into your hair at the base of your head. You parted your lips, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” Loki apologized, his expression going serious.

“Loki?” You pulled away, concerned that you’d done something wrong.

“I’m sorry for not spending enough time with you. I want to make sure you know that you’re my world. And I love you, so much.”

“I love you too.”

You leaned in and kissed him forcefully, pulling Loki into your body. He melted against you, comforted by your forgiveness.

832 notes · View notes