#and more character build thank you very much

[tragedybunny]

Pretty Baby 2

༺Summary༻

Astarion is a brat on several occasions and is duly punished for it. In between, he and Mommy (Fina) deal with some emotional issues.

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Tav

༺Warnings༻ NSFW - PiV Sex, Anal Play, Femdom, Mommy Kink, Feminization, Forced Orgasm, Chastity Cage, Porn with Feelings, Porn streaming, Pegging, Astarion being a brat

༺Word Count༻ 3783

༺A/N༻

So, it's chapter 2 of a fic I never planned to write. Lol. And somewhow now we've got plot and feelings involved. Hope you all enjoy, I had a lot of fun writing it. And huge thank you to the best of betas and friends, @icybluepenguin

The chat is populated by Tav's and other characters from my friends, they all helped makes this a delight.

Check out two similar fics if you dig mine. Decadent Torture and Careless Whisper

Read On AO3 Chapter 1

“Hush, a little more, then your punishment is over.” I let go of his cock, turn off the plug vibrating in his ass, and give him a short reprieve. 

Drawing gasping breaths, he looks up at me with pleading, tear filled eyes. God, his eyes are pretty; startling crimson, soft, and round. Normally, I cave when they're all watery like this. But not tonight - tonight is for lessons. 

I play with the little pink bow on his white thigh high stocking. Leaving him with only those, his white bra, and of course his collar, made him such a fetching picture for our little teaching session.

He'd spent most of the night on his knees in the naughty corner, those stockings peeking out of his pleated white skirt, a little pink cashmere sweater completing his look. I'd posted a few pictures that had his audience nice and worked up.

Demi_g0ddess: oh looks like Little Star was very bad today can’t wait to see what Mommy does to the little brat Bookworm420: didn’t realize Mommy was a thicc queen this might be too much for my ovaries

The chat had been crowded when we set up for the stream. Before the camera went on, I told him what to take off and how to prep, but not what I was planning. 

We went live and I made him give a little introduction. 

“I've had a very bad attitude lately and Mommy wants to make sure I'm thoroughly punished, so she's letting you all watch.” Every word was said petulantly as he leaned into playing the brat. 

Ari147: wonder what he did… Drag-onme: who cares, as long we get to watch the aftermath BardlockLongdick: is that a leather couch animal cruelty is not sexy.

“Go on,” I prompted, gesturing for him to get ready. 

The clothes he stripped were folded and set to the side, the chat cheering him on. When he kneeled down, I handed him a vibrating plug that made his eyes go wide. 

“Mommy, please…” he pleaded, but obediently went to work prepping and inserting it, cheeks flushed a deep red. I let him position himself in my lap, head propped on the arm of the couch. Then I started typing, Astarion watching with dawning horror.  

Mommy: Little Star has been an absolute brat about wearing a chastity cage while I’m out of town, because he wouldn’t be able to touch himself. So, tonight, I’m making him come as many times as I think he can handle. 

Demonbbyy: poor little thing got himself into a lot of trouble  TestyZesty: Mommy is way too nice about it but I’m still going to watch.

And here we were- Astarion, covered in his own semen, whimpering in my arms. I drag my finger along his cock, and he sucks in a shuddering breath. One more and I think he’ll have learned his lesson. I push the button on the remote for the plug.

“Fuck,” he whines the word. 

Penguino: aww, Mommy, I think he’s had enough  TestyZesty: nah, he’s still coherent  keep going Demi_g0ddess: Zesty, we’re sharing a brain cell  DrowDaddy: this chat is very mean tonight

I put a generous coating of lube on my hand and begin to work his shaft again. He pants and moans, desperate sounds falling from his lips as he builds to another orgasm. 

The chat continues to go feral as he whines and cries. I'm gentle this last round, languidly rubbing, letting the plug do its work. “That's it, one more for me. You've been so good for your punishment.”

He squirms at the praise, tearfully whimpering, hips weakly bucking as I take him to climax again. My other hand turns up the intensity on the plug. 

“Pleeeease,” he cries, voice ragged.

Another spurt of cum and he goes limp. I turn off the plug and lean down to kiss his sweat soaked forehead, letting him recover for a moment. He's so pretty like this, spent and helpless in my lap.  “Now, are you ready to apologize for being such a little brat the past couple of days?” 

He doesn't hesitate. “I'm sorry, Mommy,” he whimpers, tears running down his face. 

“Good baby. Almost done.” 

He tenses. “But...”

“Shh. They get to see because of the attitude.” He makes a noise. “Don't turn this into a spanking session,” I warn and he gets quiet. 

I take a warm, moist towel I'd set up earlier and clean up his pretty cock. The chat is losing it. 

KneelForMeSweets: and we get to see the cage  can he act up every night 

It's a pretty pink little chastity cage, just perfect for him. I slide the ring on first, then put the tube over his cock before locking it down. He's so quiet, I can hear every breath and the sniffles he's still fighting. 

Once they get a good look, I shut down the stream. 

Mommy: I'm going to go get this little brat cleaned up. Hopefully, he's learned his lesson.

Bitchybambi: I hope not, I want to see what you do next  KneelForMeSweets: she can DM me for ideas.

I kill the video and give him a proper kiss as he clings to me, spent and shivering. “Come on, you. Bath time.”

Astarion is unusually quiet during our aftercare session, and when he's settled into bed in a pair of oversized pajamas, I pull him close, and he snuggles into my neck on instinct. 

“You know, if you think it's too much to wear it, you don't have to.” I run my fingers through his curls and cover his face in soft kisses. He's done stints in the cage before, but I'm starting to doubt myself on this one. It would kill me to ever hurt him for real. 

He doesn't move; if anything, he burrows deeper into the crook of my neck. “It's not, and I am sorry for being a pain. It's just…”

He makes a small, frustrated noise and I keep petting him. “Take your time.” 

For a few minutes, he just takes shaky breaths, and then he speaks. “It’s this whole going back to school thing. I'm nervous, and you're going to be gone for the next two days. And what if this is a dumb idea and I can't do it.”

“It's not a dumb idea, you really like fashion design, baby. And why do you think you can't do it?” 

“Remember the last time I was in school? I failed out.” 

“Astarion, you didn't want to be a lawyer and you hated law school. You only went because Caz-” I feel him tense in my arms, “because he made you.” 

“I know.” He sounds teary again. “But it doesn't mean I don't feel stupid.”

“Love, my pretty little wife, you are not stupid. You’re capable and creative. And you know I won’t have time on this stupid team building trip, otherwise I’d bring you with.” 

“Still going to miss you, though.” 

“I know, baby. I’ll be back before you know it.”

The next morning, Astarion drives me to the airport. I put the keys for his collar and the cage in my jewelry box in case of an emergency or if it’s too much for him. It's cold and rainy, and he’s adorable in oversize sweats with sleepy eyes. After he unloads my bag, I pull him in for a hug and feel it pressed against me. A wave of lust courses through me; I can’t wait to come back and have a nice little session with him. 

“Call me when you land, Fina.” 

I don’t know if he realizes how much I’ll miss him. Astarion and I have rarely been apart since we met in grad school. It's just as hard on me to get on that plane and be without him.

We get one quick call before I’m off to the first of many “activities” the firm planned. I can’t be too angry about it, they pay a ton, and it finances my trophy wife’s lifestyle. I tell Astarion I’ll call him after dinner and karaoke hour. 

The whole day isn't that tortuous, and most of my coworkers get into the spirit of things for karaoke. I still make my exit as soon as I can to get some time in with Astarion. 

To my surprise, I see he's streaming. Sprawled out on the bed in a sheer black satin chemise that's ridden up his thighs enough to show off his beautifully caged cock. 

Instead of anything salacious, he's painting his nails. Not every stream is as action filled as last night. Some of them are just mundane things like now. I can’t fault the audience, I'd still pay to see him too, if he wasn’t mine already. I slide into the chat without announcing myself. 

Ari147: nothing fun tonight? :( 

“I’m afraid not, darling. If I don’t get any fun, neither do you.” He blows a cheeky kiss to the camera, and readjusts, spreading his legs more. One hand idly traces unpainted nails along a thigh while he blows on the ones he just painted. 

He’s such a filthy little tease. 

Mommy: glad to see you’re behaving yourself tonight

He sits up straighter, eyes lighting up. “Hi, Mommy. Missing all this?” His hand climbs higher, running up his abdomen to his chest. 

Demonbbyy: if she isn’t, I’ll take him   Mommy: settle yourselves down

Astarion leans over, getting on all fours to look directly into the camera, licking his lips. “Well, are you?” he pouts. 

Mommy: you know I am, and I’ll prove it when I get home 

His breath hitches. “That’s all for tonight, darlings. I want to give Mommy all my… attention.” 

The stream goes blank and he’s video-calling me seconds later. “Hi.” He smiles giddily. “I thought you might be a little later.”

“What can I say, I do actually miss you a lot. How was your day?”

We chat for a while and I watch him finish his nails, still in his chemise, which hides nothing as he shifts around. He seems less nervous about the school situation, which I chalk up to actually talking about it. 

“Alright, I should probably get to sleep. I’ll call you in the morning.” 

The morning call goes smooth enough, but the day is filled with seminars and an afternoon paintball session. Why do HR departments always think that’s a good idea? Astarion starts texting me around lunch, chatty little messages that I don’t have time to properly answer. Then the attitude creeps in. 

“Fine, if you don’t want to talk to me.”

“I. Am. Busy. Astarion. I’ll call after dinner.”

I forgot dinner is an awards banquet that traps me for longer than I’d anticipated. It never seems to end, and I start trying to text him during it. No response, and a part of me begins to stress that he’s not doing well. He’d tell me though if he wasn’t, I’m pretty sure. 

I practically run up to my room after dinner, skipping the cocktail hour after and all the great networking. All because he has me nearly panicked with worry. So of course, when he doesn’t answer his phone, I’m furious to find him on stream. 

He’s not actually wearing anything, sitting on the plush white rug, a cozy glow from the fireplace providing ambient lighting.

BaasaNova: weren’t you supposed to be in a chastity cage while Mommy is gone 

He gives his hard cock a firm stroke and moans dramatically, red eyes dancing with mischief. “If I’m getting ignored, I’m not going to listen. Besides, she’s busy, so what she doesn’t know isn’t going to hurt her.”

Bookworm420: this seems like a bad idea I don't want to see you get in trouble. 

It isn’t about disobeying me, or any other kink related thing. He really thinks I’d ignore him on purpose. And that stings like nothing else I've ever felt. 

I wait and lurk while he continues to touch himself. He's bubbly and flamboyant, basking in the praise of the chat. Normally, I'd be entranced by his hand working that gorgeous shaft, now I'm getting more furious. 

Finally, with an exaggerated cry, he comes all over himself. While his hand gives a few more lazy pumps, he glances at the chat. 

Mommy: I hope that was worth it 

His eyes get wide and he sits up straight. “Shit.” 

The stream dies just as he starts calling me.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…” he whimpers before I can say anything.

“Astarion,” I cut him off. “I want you to know that I still love you and that isn't going to change. But I'm so hurt and angry right now that you could decide I would ignore you on purpose.”

“Please, I just…” 

“No, we're not going to talk about this now. I'm going to give you until I get home tomorrow to get your thoughts together. But right now I'm too angry to talk to you. So I'm going to go to bed and will call you in the morning.”

 He sobs. “No, stay on the phone with me. Please, Fina.”

I sigh and relent. “I love you, Star.”

We lay in silence for a long time, the occasional sniffle coming from his end. Finally, I'm too exhausted and have to sleep, and reluctantly tell him goodnight.  

There's a subdued call in the morning and I tell him I'll get a cab at the airport, I don't think he should be driving while that upset. Then I'm on the way home. The anger has mostly worn off but this stunt of his still hurts. 

When I get home, hev hasn't left the bed, completely naked, almost hiding under the covers. I don't even think twice before getting under them with him and pulling him to me.

“I'm sorry,” he says softly into my neck, reminding me so much of the day we first kissed. The day I'd needed to take care of him after what Cazador had done to him. 

“I know. Tell me what happened.” I bury my face in his curls and kiss his head. 

“I started getting nervous again and started to panic, and I wanted to talk to you. And I got upset that I couldn't. I know you wouldn't just ignore me.”

“Then why didn't you say you were anxious? I could have made time if I had known you were panicking.”

“I didn't want you to think I was weak. Especially after you told me that you believed in me.”

“Astarion, love, you are always going to be one of the strongest people I've ever met.” My hands rub his back, fingers finding the scars of years of his adopted father's “discipline.” “I'm sorry too, I think I pushed you into something you didn't need while you were nervous. Even if you said you were alright with it.” 

He gets quiet for a moment before answering. “It isn’t your fault. You’re always the best you can be to me.” 

“Still, maybe we should take a break from some of the more performative things.” I feel him tense and kiss his cheek to reassure him. 

“No, it makes me so happy to be like that, to be so completely yours. Don’t take that away.” 

“Let's talk some more tomorrow. There's no need to rush anything.”

“Alright. And, well, you did say that you were going to show me how much you missed me?” His voice pitches soft and breathy. 

“Astarion, you horny little gremlin,” I tease. 

“Please, Mommy. I know I was very naughty, but don't I deserve a little treat?” 

I already feel slick between my legs, even if I'm not sure that I should let him do this. 

“I know what you're thinking, but I can handle some relatively vanilla sex right now. I want to be loved.” He gives me his best wide-eyed pleading look. 

“Alright, baby.” 

I sit up, and he helps me undress, leaving kisses wherever he can reach. My hand reaches out to wrap around his stiffened cock and give a few languid strokes. I catch his eyes wandering down to my breasts with naked longing. 

Relatively vanilla, he said.

“Come here.” 

I lay back, and he follows, slotting between my legs. His cock pushes into me as his lips latch onto a nipple, and he sucks frantically. “There you go.” I stroke his hair, and he starts fucking me with wild, desperate thrusts. “That's what you needed, huh, baby.”

He whines and sucks harder, teeth scraping until pleasure blends with pain. Molten heat builds in my core with each snap of his hips, and I doubt either of us will last long. 

“So good for me,” I pant as I feel myself contract around him and my body tingle with bliss. That does it, and he gives one last jerky thrust as I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him in tight to take every drop of him. 

He collapses on top of me, still suckling, and I let him stay that way, fucked and comforted.

After a very nice Saturday in our pajamas, we talk and settle some things between us. Astarion is still very nervous about school in a couple of weeks, but doesn't want to change the things he loves about our relationship. He even insists on punishment for his bad behavior.

We agree on three days with the chastity cage, the two he originally was supposed to have and one extra. No clothing at home, so I can see it at all times. It kills me not being able to play with my wife's pretty cock. But you know, discipline hurts me more than it hurts him, or something.  

And at the end of the third day, a very serious lesson. So, I arrange something special, to be shared with his audience, like he shared his misbehavior. He's been waiting in the bedroom while I set things up.

“Safe word, wifey,” I order when I come to collect him. 

He stares at my too short, black latex dress with my pale pink strap-on visible where it rides up over my thighs, and blushes. “Objection.” 

“Good, baby.” I lead him to the living room where the camera is already at the right angle to watch as I bend him over the couch arm, pushing his face into the cushion right next to the waiting paddle. I watch him shiver with anticipation and spare a glance at the chat. They’re in rare form tonight. 

DM_ME_UR_SYRUP: Back from my two week ban just in time.  Thornyonmain: Hggnnnnnn, god he looks so good like that am I enjoying the impending pain too much Bitchybambi: Nah, he's asked for this  Demi_g0ddess : You're so right, bestie Penguino: Aww, you guys, have a little sympathy

Picking up the paddle, I run it over the curve of his ass and hear him whimper. My hand pushes down on his back, commanding and reassuring. The first smack is light and I give him a moment. He trembles but says nothing. 

Another one, slightly harder, he whines but doesn’t say anything. I keep going, watching his pale skin burst into red blossoms with each impact. I can feel him shaking under my hand and hear when he starts to cry. 

“You’re being so good,” I coo.

He sobs in response. It’s been awhile since he had a serious spanking session. I keep whispering praise as I go, letting him know how well he’s doing, how much I love him. He’s a teary mess when I’m done, and I can feel the warmth coming from his skin. 

“I’m sorry I was naughty, Mommy,” he whines through tears.

“Shh, shh, I know. I think you deserve a little reward for taking the punishment so well.”

l take the lube I have waiting and coat my fingers. He whines for a totally different reason when I spread him open and push a finger inside his tight hole.

“Fuck,” he mewls when the second one enters. 

He pants through clenched teeth while I work them inside of him, getting him ready to take me. Each stretch and flex draws a new noise and when he’s ready, I coat the strap in lube and press the tip of it against his entrance. Even with a stinging ass, he rolls his hips into it, desperate and needy. 

I gave him a little playful smack on the marks darkening to bruises. “Behave.” 

He yelps but stills. Slowly, I slide it into him, relishing each little moan as I fill him. Then my hips rock, and I thrust deeply, before stilling again. 

“Please,” he begs, desperately. 

“Please what?”

���Fuck me, Mommy.” 

I reward him with another deep thrust, and began to move my hips with a quick rhythm. Under me, Astarion is losing himself, keening wails and pleading whimpers accompany my every movement. 

I'm aware just how achingly empty I am; later we’ll take care of me. Right now, I focus on making him properly blissed out. 

I know his cock is straining against the cage, leaking helplessly, as he reaches the edge. My fingers dig into his hips and I fuck him as deep as I can until a wordless shout rips from him and his whole body is shaking again. I press my hips tight to his, as deep into him as I can while his orgasm ebbs away with multiple whimpers, only pulling out when he’s stilled. 

Turning back, I give the chat a good-bye and end the stream.

SquidDomme: He has in fact not learned anything DrowDaddyG: I think he'll try to be better, he's such a sweet boy BardlockLongdick: Maybe you all should try opening a Bible instead of this website DM_ME_UR_SYRUP: Anyone know how I can get an air horn noise to play in chat (I'm joking, please don't ban me again)

Then I remove the strap-on and save it for later clean up. “Come here, wifey,” I say, sitting on the couch. 

Sluggishly, he obeys, coming to rest his head in my lap. I run my fingers through his hair and let him come  down from the experience. 

“I love you,” he murmurs into my thighs.

“I love you too. No more bratty behavior, right?” 

I feel the little smirk he makes. “Absolutely, lesson learned.” 

We both know he's lying, but I trust none of it will be super hurtful again. “Good little wife.”

Tag list:

@micropoe10  @writingmysanity @mxxny-lupin @azu21

 @tallymonster  @dependsonthedream @sunfire-ancunin 

@bambamwolf87 @fayeriess @lumienyx @lisrelly

@elora-the-slutty-songstress @bhaalbaaby @spacebarbarianweird

@satanicspinosaurus @darlingxdragon @wanderingisobel @astarionsbeloved

@vixstarria @claryvoyantfray @misscrissfemmefatale @bg3obsessedsideblogg @captainaceofspades @wickedwitchofthewilds @asterordinary @talented-bitch @waking-electric @snowfolly

[gnomebinary]

This is my protocol bingo! (Thank you as always osric.com).

Lena is just doing her evil job - No thoughts, no morals, no alligence. Girlboss.

Nobody ever finds out Jmart's real names - I just think that would be tragic, and fit in with what RQ have been saying about this not being too attached to Archives.

Redemption arc - There was a notable lack of these in Archives even though forgiveness and making a conscious effort to behave morally were important themes in the later seasons. I'm ready for Mr Bonzo to have Kylo Ren's exact redemption arc where he's redeemed mostly through kissing. I don't even care who he kisses.

Froyo trip - It's pretty clear that we're being told that this is Somewhere Else through things like the Archives staff having tea and the OIAR staff having coffee. The s1 Archives gang iconically got icecream, so I'm gunning for a froyo trip, and a Gwen monologue about preservatives.

Colin dies first - He's just so killable. Plus, Celia can't die until they do her reveal and they'll probably want to build up to it, Sam can't die because he's the driving force behind investigation into Magnus, Alice can't die because she kinda makes the whole show, Gwen can't die because she's mid-arc and it is of the type that if left unfinished it would be anticlimactic not tragic, and Lena can't die because the impact would be pretty low.

Nostalgic PC games - I LOVE that RQ appears to be into old tech. I want to see Chester and Norris play Catz 5. Lowfi retro charm.

Dyhard - I go back and forth on this one, it feels too obvious what with the hot drinks imagery workplace annoyances to lovers stuff, but at the same time it does Just Make Sense.

Somebody becomes disabled - In Archives people were injured a lot, but none of that amounted to a long-term physical disability, except for Melanie's blindness. Feels like something to do in Protocol.

Police brutality - Feels like a theme that Jonny still has more to say about, and an incredibly easy one to weave into this kind of story.

Alice is hiding something - I actually think she isn't but y'all are saying it.

Alice naming stuff has consequences - She does it so much and Colin warned her off it, clearly seeming concerned but not explaining why, I think it will have unforeseen and damaging consequences.

Someone has a pet - In Archives, especially in the earlier seasons, everyone was notably unattached. Martin has a mum to take care of, but nobody has partners or children. I think this was partly because it made them easier to manipulate, and partly because it meant that tragedy could be dialled up: Sasha dying was sad, but not as gutwrenching as Daisy dying because Daisy's relationships were more fleshed out because it was later in the series. We're already bucking that trend with Celia's son, so I think we might see a pet too. Also, the pet will probably die.

Alice dies in the last season - Alice is very killable but she's also the heart and soul of the character relationships, so I think they will kill her but they'll wait to do it, and then do it mid-final season as an OOH THEY WENT THERE turning point, like how Tim dying brought in a new, darker era for Archives.

Conclusion that love isn't what makes you human - At London Comicon in October, Alex or Jonny (I forget) said that if Archives was about what makes you a monster, Protocol is about what makes you human. I think it's kinda trite if love is the answer, and I think the conclusion re love will be that monsters can love, because that's cooler. Hell yeah romantic monsterfucking.

Celia evil - I LOVE that we're seeing another Welsh person, but she doesn't sit well with me.

Agnes returns but we don't hear her speak - The tree on the other side of the rift is still alive, and if that universe was this one then that means that Agnes may still be alive. Jonny and Alex have said that they regret not doing more with Agnes, and I don't think they'll miss out on the opportunity to use her again. However, I think the fact that she doesn't speak is central to her tragic character and role as Jon's character foil, and I don't think they'll change that. I actually posted a tiktok about this.

Scene on London public transport - We're already seeing our gang at the pub and on dates, I think we're going to get some tube content.

Jmart fate worse than death - They're going to have us WISHING that they died in mag200.

Fears never treated as separate - I just think we're over that.

Breakup - They're getting the character relationships in early, so I'm predicting an onscreen breakup, because that's one of the few ways that we didn't see relationships between characters going bad in Archives.

Gerry's life gets ruined again - I'm sorry guys but I don't think they're going to let him have peace. He's going to get dragged into the OIAR situation and he's going to suffer.

Alice's brother lives - People are already noting similarities between Alice and Tim, I think that it'll be essentially the same character beat again if her brother dies. Adapt, improvise, overcome, RQ.

Another Michael - Just another character called Michael, unrelated to the four existing Michaels. I wasn't going to put this because Jonny is very aware of the four Michael problem, but this man plagurised his own full legal Christian name, so anything is possible.

Jack is Agnes' Jack - I think it's cool if we all think about how there was actually a massive age gap between Agnes and Jack because she didn't seem to age past her twenties, so he was absolutely a child when she was an adult. Not that I want to have Discourse or anything, that relationship was hecked up and complex in plenty of other ways, just because it's interesting.

Onscreen kiss - They said they wouldn't do it during Archives and then they did and it wasn't that gross, so I'm ready to see it happening again. They might have a relationship between allosexuals this time, I don't think they're going as far as onscreen fucking, but I'm game to be surprised. Insert joke about reusing the whimpering noises from Archives here.

[cripplecharacters]

that has a supporting character with dwarfism, and he's really close with his older brother, who is pretty tall. would it be weird if i sometimes had the younger ask his older brother pick him up so he can reach things? its supposed to be a cute little quirk of theirs that shows their bond, but i'm worried it might come off as weird for some reason. also, do you guys could give me a couple more tips on writing a character with dwarfism, if you have any? thanks in advance! (2/2)

Hi! the guy who asked about less talkative autistic characters here. sorry about that! i was going for more of like... don't talk to a point where it wouldn't be considered "socially acceptable?" but i had a character limit so i couldn't really get my point across that well. now that i think about it, that would probably also be lumped into just, yknow, not being talkative too. anyways, i have another unrelated question! probably equally silly but w/e. i'm writing a slice-of-life story (1/2)

Hello lovely asker!

I just wanna say that because of the ask backlog and the rotation of mods I'm afraid I don't know what ask your talking about, but I'm sure it was simply just a question that was in good faith of curiosity which is what this blog is for 😊

And to answer your question, I'm curious with how old the younger brother is. I haven't been picked up since I was probably about five to help me reach something and even then I was getting yelled at for climbing counters and such. If the younger brother isn't a very young child I would avoid this.

Being picked up is a general no. if you wouldn't do it to anyone else don't do it to someone with dwarfism or any person with a disability. Unless it's under their explicit permission, or help with transferring (from say a mobility aid to a bed or another place etc) or life or death situation, it's almost always a no.

Instead using things like the broom handle to hit tall switches or they even have these things called a "Reacher Grabber" that makes grabbing high up things super easy. Stool also are a big help, the small collapsible ones are easy to carry and move, and certain placed handles help too. Tall people are an advantage I will say though. Having the older brother bring something down to the younger brother is fine. Also have the younger brother climb things and stack objects and use the environment around him so he can get what he wants. I assure you this is what most of us do a lot.

A few more writing tips I have would be:

Research different types of dwarfism and find out which one you want your character to have and how this will affect him. It doesn't have to be mentioned at all but you knowing what type will give you much more insight into building this character.

Don't be afraid to give them mobility aids. A lot of people with Dwarfism have them and use them because they help us and they're pretty common in the community. (Do plenty of research there too if they do have one!)

A joke once or twice, especially if the two characters are very very close, about his dwarfism is okay! Me and my friends joke about mine all the time but quantity control along with a joke in good taste and timing is very important.

The character getting frustrated with his disability is okay too! It happens to me a lot but usually I'll find a solution right after to the thing that frustrated me and that frustration is gone as quick as it came.

If he's having a long conversation or an eye-to-eye conversation with someone that's tall, have them sit down somewhere, get to eye-level (I wouldn't have them lean over to his height though). It really does start to hurt your neck and head after looking up at everyone for so long.

And lastly, I certainly use my height to my advantage in multiple different scenarios. Small hands and small containers or spaces are very compatible with one another. And even though I have to shop in the small teens or kids section for clothes or shoes, I will say certain things are made better for kids (for some reason). But I also know how to hem my own clothes and how to fix them! A lot of people with dwarfism make or modify their own clothes. I can't tell you the amount of times I've gotten discounts at buffets and restaurants because people just assume I'm a child and I'm not gonna protest the discount either so. There are many fun aspects to having dwarfism, I have more fun with it and get more laughs and community out of it than frustration or anything else.

I know there's many more little things that I'm forgetting right now but the dwarfism community could probably add a few things too. Good luck writing!

~ Mod Virus 🌸

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

Hi, I have a request: Could you do Angel Dust x Human Reader in platonic way? Where Reader have magic skills and, for a mistake of a spell, fall in hell and meet Angel Dust.

(I don’t see much fan fiction where Hazbin Hotel characters interact with human reader and I hope this can be possible)

Thank you

omg yes!!! i loved this idea so so much! thank you for your patience as i did this request and i hope you enjoy it!

down the rabbit hole

rated: G

the spell was supposed to be simple. a simple spell that was to protect your home and transport any negativity away from your home. but after you chanted the last spell for it, you heard rumbling that grew louder. your dog, luna, whined as she darted closer to you and the rumbling increased.

“shit. how are we getting an earthquake?” you ask yourself out loud, not thinking anything of the shaking yet. that is until the ground started to fall away from your feet. your eyes widen as you see a maroon ground and desolate surroundings. your feet glued to where you were as you tried to run and pull luna with you, but to no avail. your scream echoed as you and luna fell through the portal and landed on the ground. your breath knocked from your lungs as luna landed on top of you. you look at her and the around you, seeing a city, but more conveniently a large building that showed it was the “hazbin hotel”. you blinked and murmured to luna to keep close by as she whined and followed you.

shakily making it up to the door, you hesitated for a moment, anxiety clutching in your chest as you froze. a soft lick on your hand pulling you out of your paralysis as you look at luna and sigh.

“okay, girl. i just have to knock right?” you ask, posing your hand to do so, when the door suddenly opens.

“well, hello there-“ the voice is cut off as you scream, startled and step back. luna takes this as whoever was there as a threat and lunges. your mind catches up to your body as you scream at her to heel. not before a very high pitched scream comes from whoever opened the door and they fall back. you, holding luna, look at the… man? deer? person. he was on the ground and his arms in front of his face, subtly shaking.

“i am so sorry. that was my fault. you startled me and she thought i was in danger.” you explain as you tell luna to sit and stay, and you walk over to help the red deer man up. he glares up at you, looking like he was going to have some snarky comment, when his eyes widen.

“where are you from?” he asks, getting up himself and brushing off his coat like nothing happened. you blink for a moment, and straighten up.

“i’m from california?” you answer, framing it more like a question. his glare is unamused as he stands up straight.

“no, where are you from, what ring? you don’t look hell born.” he says, his eyes narrowing in distrust.

“i-um-i don’t know how to answer that. i’m from earth. i guess? i’m a witch, and i did a spell and i think it went wrong. where am i, actually?” you ask.

“oh yer in hell toots.” a voice comes down the stairs. “charlie we got a new one!” the white spider yells up the stairs, still consumed on their phone. you blink.

“is everyone animals down here?” you ask, but before you can get an answer, a woman with blonde hair bounds down excitedly.

“oh another guest! are you ready to be-“ her eyes widen looking at you. “redeemed?” she trails off, her face scrunching in confusion.

“are you an angel?” another woman, who is next to the blonde asks. you blink owlishly at them.

“i mean, i’ve had compliments before, but if i look that much like an angel, thank you?” you say and the woman shakes her head.

“no, you’re an angel.” her face distorting into anger as she pulls out a spear. “why are you here?” she yells as you back up. luna jumping in front of you and growling. everyone takes a step back at that.

“oh my fuck. is that a dog?” the white spider demon asks, and walking up to luna. luna’s growls deepen and you tell her to heel again.

“be nice.” you mutter to her as she whines and sniffs the spider demons outstretched hand. deeming him a worthy friend, goes over and sits in front of them for pets. “you can pet her. she’s fine.” you say, looking at the spider demon and smiling.

“i haven’t pet a dog in almost 80 years…” he trailed off.

“that’s a dog? from earth?” the blonde squeals and goes over, mimicking the way the spider demon introduced himself and then petting luna too.

“so, let me get this straight… i’m in hell?” you ask. the red deer nods, standing far away from luna.

“yes. you are in hell. but why don’t you look like demon spawn is beyond me.” he provides.

“probably because i didn’t die.” you conclude. “im assuming you all were born here or died and ended up here, right.” there were murmurs of agreement.

“except vaggie,” the blonde points to the spear wielding girl, “she’s a fallen angel.” you nod.

“heaven that bad?” you ask.

“you have no idea.” she deadpans.

“so, i apologize if this is rude, but who are you all?” you ask.

“oh my goodness! i don’t introduce myself!” the blonde exclaims getting up and rushing over to you. “i’m charlie! charlie morningstar. and this is the hazbin hotel. a place where sinners can be rehabilitated and go to heaven.” your eye brows raise at that.

“morningstar, as in lucifer morningstar?” you ask, a bit shocked.

“that’s the very one!” she exclaims.

“how is he? he’s felt a bit off recently, and hasn’t liked the offerings i’ve put out.” you ask as charlie looks at you confused.

“you know my dad?” her head tilted in confusion.

“well, not really. i work with him, in my practice. i’m a witch.” you explain.

“oh, like alastor!” charlie says, making a connection. you look over to where she pointed at the red deer demon, alastor you assumed.

“i don’t think she deals in my magic, charlie.” alastor explains.

“what is your magic?” you ask, curious.

“partially voodoo.” he looks at you and smiles.

“oh, goodness no. my family doesn’t practice voodoo, and that is a closed practice i respect. but more power to ya man!” you say, nodding at him. he tilts his head at you curiously and you look over at luna now on her back and the spider demon rubbing her stomach.

“if you rub her chest to her stomach in one fell swoop, she’ll be your best friend.” you laugh as the spider demon looks at you, does that and watches as luna’s tail wags quicker. he laughs and does it again.

“oh my god, i’m in love.” he says, petting her ears.

“that’s angel.” charlie explains. you smile and nod, until a new person descends the stairs and calls out for charlie.

“charlie, sweetie!” the voice says, getting louder coming down the stairs. “you don’t happen to know where my hat is, do you?” you look curiously at the man, who is barely taller than you, his eyes fixed on his jacket not looking up.

“ummm… no, dad. also. i want you to meet…” charlie looks at you. “i never asked your name.”

“oh! it’s y/n. it’s a pleasure to actually meet you in the flesh lord lucifer.” you say, bowing your head slightly. he stops and looks at you, looking taken aback.

“you didn’t die y/n, why are you down here?” he says coming over to you and grasping your arms.

“i was doing that protection spell for the house and i think i fucked it up.” you say, a bit downtrodden.

“don’t be so hard on yourself, sweetie. we all make mistakes and luckily i can get you back up to earth.” he says, smiling at you.

“thank you. it’s a wonder to actually meet you. i was worried, you hadn’t liked many of my offerings.” you said and he looked bashful.

“how do you guys know each other?” charlie asks.

“well, i work with lucifer in my practice, like i said before.” you say.

“she’s a witch charlie. there are many different types of witches, but there are some who have the gifts to communicate with beings outside of earth, or choose to honor certain beings through what earth calls offerings. they can be food, trinkets, etc.” lucifer continued to explain.

“they’re a form of devotion. and there are many different types of relationships you can have. i work with your dad for help with my spell work, i’ve been working with him for almost 10 years now. not so long to him, but a long time to me.” you finish.

“i had no idea…” charlie explained.

“that’s why i said about the offerings and your dad not liking them. i can normally get a vibe.” you laugh. “maybe i need to put more apples?” you ask, chuckling. lucifer chuckling with you.

“nah, just put a damn rubbah duck.” angel says, still petting luna. “he loves ‘em!” you look to lucifer and he shrugs.

“i do like ducks.” he bows his head, bashfully.

“noted.” you say as you walk over to angel and luna, sitting with them. you smile at angel and pet luna’s head and sigh.

“so, how do i get outta here?” you ask, looking at lucifer.

“how about ya nevah leave and luna stays here. she’d love fat nuggets!” angel exclaims.

“fat nuggets?” you ask.

“my pet pig. sweetest little doll eva.” angel says, leaning to you like he was telling you a secret. you smile and coo at that.

“i’m going to need to get an asmodeon crystal from lust and then i will be back. stay here until i get back all right?” lucifer said, materializing a portal and getting ready to step through it. you salute him in understanding and he disappears.

“that means we’ve got more time to talk and i’ve got more time to let this dog!” angel exclaims, laying down next to luna who was fast asleep now. you laugh and look around.

“it seems i do.”

[piease-iove-me]

who wants to see my unnecessarily detailed list of character roles for the PacRim fic? uh? uh???

edit. check rb

[laesas]

did you ever make a post about pete not liking tankhun ? i know you mentioned it a few times in your tags but i don't remember seeing a post. (i share your opin ions.)

I definitely toyed with the idea of meta or a gifset but I didn't ever make a full post! I love unrequited love and I ESPECIALLY love the extremely rare platonic version which Tankhun and Pete absolutely nail in my opinion!

There are loads of moments where Pete's smile drops around Tankhun very quickly, or he insults Tankhun behind his back. Instead of laughing things off like Arm and Pol, he almost has a wincing fear-response to Tankhun, which we don't really see at all from the other bodyguards.

I think that Tankhun likes to think of himself as being close friends with his bodyguards, and he does genuinely show a lot of open affection for Pete and eventually concern for his safety. But I think ultimately for Pete, Tankhun is just a part of Pete's job, and over time resentment has built up until he thinks of Tankhun as one of the *worst* parts of it. I definitely don't think he resents Tankhun enough to hurt or endanger him, but that's about as far as it goes, there's certainly very little love there.

Something about that dynamic is just particularly brilliant, especially when combined with Pete's eventual defection from Tankhun's side to Vegas'. He chooses a man who has beaten and tortured him over a man who showers him in affection and throws parties on his return.

I utterly adore Tankhun but I think as a character that's grown up in a gilded cage, he doesn't really understand that what Pete needs is a sense of his own autonomy rather than being dragged to "fun" "lets cheer up Pete" parties that Tankhun has demanded on his behalf. At least with Vegas he *chose* to go back, he handed Vegas the ropes, let him lock him back up again. Even before he develops feelings for Vegas, Pete has clearly felt like a subhuman pet for Tankhun and the main family for a long, long time and I think ironically Vegas acknowledging Pete's humanity is the tipping point for him.

I think even without their nascent romantic love as a factor, Pete would always choose Vegas. Because despite the threat of suffering, he offers a sense of freedom that Tankhun's gilded cage does not. It all makes for an incredibly interesting betrayal, and makes Pete choosing Vegas over Tankhun all the more pointed. By choosing to be Vegas' pet, he chooses to be human.

[persy-r-bozo]

Sitting here silently emotional about red guy again beacuse him in transport hit a little. Just a wittle

too close to my severe anxiety home.

[despairforme]

I know you aren't very big on well...talking about stuff...like emotions.. but I wanna try. You can talk to me, alone if you like. About anything, really. I'll listen. I know you're in pain, honey, I want to help. Even if it doesn't sound nice, I promise it will be. I like to see the good in everyone, and I do believe that you are a good person under all that tough exterior. I wanna see the real you, do you think you can do that? To just vent to me? I know it may be hard, at first, but I promise it'll be worth it. I can be as patient as you'd like.

That was the understatement of the year, wasn't it? That he wasn't BIG on talking about stuff. ESPECIALLY his emotions. Nnoitra wasn't a chatty guy. He never had been. Most guys weren't, so it wasn't like there was anything strange about that. Most dudes didn't like talking about their emotions either. It was all a new, fucked-up modern invention that guys should be "vulnerable" and "show their emotions". Guys who went with that were just looking for an excuse to show weakness. Looking for someone to tell them it was OKAY to act like some weak bitch, when that was never okay for a man.

This stranger was offering Nnoitra to talk to them. Alone. About anything. Sure, Nnoitra had things on his mind that he ( maybe ) WOULD like to talk to someone about. Not necessarily talk a lot, but just mention a few things out loud. To vent a little, maybe. Perhaps he would've been more willing to do so if he'd thought it would actually make him feel better. However, he knew it would just make him feel weak and pathetic. He'd rather fucking NOT.

And - why the fuck should he pour his heart out to some random-ass stranger? What was worse, a stranger who clearly had the wrong fucking idea about him, and was treating him in an extremely condescending way. Calling him "honey", like he was some lost little kid.

They thought he was a good person under all the "tough exterior". They wanted to see the REAL him? He fucking hated the tone. How they spoke to him. Do you think you can do that? I know it may be hard at first, but I promise it'll be worth it. Fuck off. FUCK RIGHT OFF! Who the fuck did they think they were, huh? That they could just pretend to ask nicely and he'd spill all his deepest thoughts? What a fucking joke.

The biggest joke here was that they were painting him with the classic misunderstood paint. Yeah, to them he was just some wannabe-tough guy who they could soften up with their bullshit talk. And he'd reveal himself to be all soft on the inside. TOO BAD. The "tough exterior" was, believe it or not, Nnoitra's nicest side. It was the side he portrayed to the world so that he would at least not be sent to fucking prison. The side that made him a somewhat functioning member of society. Beneath? He was WORSE. So much worse. So bad that everyone who'd seen that side of him ( or rather, the two people ) had been so afraid of him that they had chose to RUN AWAY.

❝ Fuck off. ❞ He spat, clearly annoyed, bordering on angry. He hated being talked to in the manner the stranger had just addressed him. Calling him "honey", and treating him like a broken toy. ❝ I ain't some 'lil broken bitch boy ya need 'ta FIX. ❞

[thedeadthree]

Ayrenn + basics and Verlaine + personality 💓

ALYSSA DEARIEE TY TY SO MUCH FOR THE ASK ABOUT MY BELOVED PHOENIX and! my lovely verlaine! ever since I made them and began reading the exile + golden rose.... they’ve been on the brain living there rent free with luxury room service aakjnsd so! ty again bb!

oc questions

x

1. what’s their full name?

ayrenn marcelette emelina urthemiel of plaithus!

2. what does their name mean? why were they named that?

ayrenn actually shares her name and surname with two characters from elder scrolls and dragon age! ayrenn means mountain of strength (oo she’ll need it if shes gonna survive dealing with her mom and former bestie sjnxak) I couldn’t find a meaning behind her surname but! urthemiel was the archdemon of beauty! her middle names are based on variations of the names of her moms! marcelette being a diminutive of marcelle and is derived from the name of the roman god mars! it’s fitting as she was the commander of that plaithian military and the symbolism of being a phoenix and “fires of war” hehe. and emelina is a diminutive of emmeline meaning “work!” dragon age and elder scrolls are two of my favorite fantasy worlds every (along with the witcher!) and when i was thinking of names for her they ayrenn and urthemiel popped into my head! epiphany! stars aligned etc! I knew they were perfect for her and to pay homage to the worlds I adore so much!

3. do they have any nicknames?

she doesn’t have any nicknames unfortunately but she does have a few aliases! the one she tends to use the most is either lilith or before her exile she just went by her title!

4. how old are they?

she is 24!

5. when’s their birthday?

she was born on the 19th of february!

6. what’s their zodiac sign/element/birthstone/etc.? do they believe that holds any significance?

her zodiac is a pisces with a cusp in aquarius leaning into pisces! ironically enough with her being the painted phoenix her element matches her zodiac in that her’s would be water!

(oo the internal conflict sjdans SORRY AYRENN DEAR) as those bearing the element of water tend to take everything to heart (especially things done to them.... FITTING), have a strong intuition and pick up on the emotions of other easily which is GREAT when she had a politics specialty and being the commander it was useful to read the emotions of her opponents and knew their movements before they acted on them, and..... not the most willing to open up about themselves and remain rather mysterious! and finally that her own desire for security leaves her to resort to risk taking behaviors at any cost to feel whole again! that’s her! her

and her birthstone would be the amethyst as she was born in february! and if she believe that they hold significance, I think if the circumstances of her childhood were different, if she was allowed to have a life of her own that wasn’t tethered by any red strings of fate or destinies, etc that I think there is a high chance she would have! but alas the tides of time proved that if she had hopes of such things, they’re long gone now. so she really doesn’t? what good would it do when shes been told her whole life what her fate is? what use is destiny when she has no choice on how she fulfills it?

7. what’s their species/subspecies? do they have any special/magical abilities?

she’s a mythosi with her blood infused from the procedure with that of a phoenix! and you can BET she does! not necessarily a magical ability per say, but she does have immortality (don’t remind her that saber doesn’t BAD idea), she had wings (also refrain from reminding her of THAT sajndka), resistance to flame and the ability to manipulate and release flames from her hands/body, when transformed her heart and bones would begin to glow, eyes would turn from their red into lava resembling orbs, and! her hair would become flame!

8. what “class” do they belong to (for fantasy characters)? if none, what weapon do they favor?

she doesn’t have a “set” class per say but the closest i would put her down having a class with is a sort of blood hunter/paladin hybrid? or the way solaire was in terms of class in dark souls? WAIT okay the prisoner class in elden ring is definitely a closer fit! the prisoner and ayrenn would be besties for sure kjwednw

the weapon that she prefers is a scythe! (or halberd!) ayrenn on a battlefield with a flame covered scythe.. we love to see it!

1. what’s their alignment?

shes a chaotic good! a good person with good intentions but of course her methods are unconventional (alessa and hadrian would best describe her as a hot mess with good intentions hehe)

2. which one of the 16 personality types do they fit into?

her’s would be the isfp-a “the adventurer!” it’s so interesting to me with that as I played the if and got to know her more as a character throughout reading golden rose I realized how much more fitting she is as an introvert than an extrovert! and the adventurer is a perfect bridge between those two! being charismatic and reserved all the while its so fitting!

3. what are their hobbies and interests? do they have any particular “favorites” (food, books, and so on)?

she loves to collect ornate and ceremonial daggers! and a beloved hobby of hers is to collect, usually roses or peonies, and press them into books! when she has down time picking flowers from local markets or fields she’ll make perfumes with them! best of all verlaine LOVES to give raf a hard time as much as he enjoys to give her a hard time asjnsda she is an avid collector of relics of her patron goddess aphrodite from before things went awry and the gods ceased to be worshipped! yes shes aware that’s heretical what about it? jsanja. ANYWAYS, she does! rosewater lemonade and a sweet bread with lemon icing is a true beloved of hers! romantic compilations of love notes or poetry is a dear peace of literature (GET TO WRITING RAF), and old leather bound books, pressed flowers, perfumes, relics of aphrodite and ornate daggers are her favs!

4. what are they bad at?

will she ever admit to these? that’s silly! what she isnt so great at is why she’s so grateful that hadrian is in her life, as she isn’t the most proficient in melee and swords (save for the rapier shes proficient with those!). she much prefers her daggers! (also not being the queen of pity parties at any small inconvenience is perhaps what some would say is what she isnt great at as well but she couldn’t find a reason why.. must be jealousy!)

5. what kind of things do they dislike/hate?

her ego being bruised is something she LOATHES (leo things sajnsak), that sort of hot weather that ruins a carefully prepared look with the humidity or temperature, THAT A CERTAIN BELOVED OF HERS KEEPS BEING A STEP AHEAD AND TAKES HER THINGS.. take her out for dinner not take her maps babes!

6. do they have any vices/addictions/mental illnesses?

not any that I can think of currently! but maybe vices could be her less than frugalness with money when it comes to markets? she was told to hand over her money to hadrian for the VERY REASON that as there is a market it is known by the group she will spend... all of it sjkna.

7. what are their goals and motivations?

i think what would be verlaines main aspirations would be of course to uncover the identity of this nero sort, to learn all she can about her patron goddess aphrodite and the other forgotten gods..... and to wed raf kasnks.

8. what are their manners like? Any habits?

she came from an noble-ish upper class background! her family fell out of favor with the other families back in syracusae and whatever wasn’t auctioned off was more than likely gambled off in an effort to stay relevant.. so that is why she is traveling with the white company! and because of said background she remains to have the same sort of countenance as she did back then! it makes her a DEAR to the wealthy people they meet (and she cons money from hehe).

9. what are they most afraid of?

that her own desires and ambitions, her hubris, being the downfall of those she cares about is something I would say is a fear that haunts her nightmares! sure, she wants to know all there is, and to uncover the identity of this nero and the forgotten gods is a dream of hers. but that it could come at the cost of people she holds dear is something that haunts her at times.

[voiths]

☾ CoD Guys and their kinks ☽

𑁍 Warnings: sexual content, choking, dubious consent (only slightly) crying 𑁍

𑁍 Characters featured: Ghost, König, Captain Price 𑁍

❥ Ghost

Orgasm Control: Loves overstimulating you to the point where you're begging him to stop while you're crying and whimpering. Pushing your hips down everytime you try to squirm away. If he feels even meaner he will edge you for hours on end. Hearing you beg only fuels him more and pushes him to keep on edging you. Getting you so close to release only to take it away from you making you whine in frustration.

Deep Throating: At first you struggled a lot with it but after some training of him slowly filling your mouth wider and wider you can take him fully. Loves feeling your throat swallow around him. Of course he always makes sure to give you chances to tap out but he just loves feeling you choke around his massive length. Watching the tears slowly build up in the corner of your eyes while you look up at him with those pretty eyes.

❥ König

Primal play: One of his favourite fantasies is making you wear a collar with a bell and then let you run out into the woods. Feeling the thrill of hunting for you and then when he finds you pounding into you roughly. Groans when he hears the bell jingle everytime he slams into you. Pulling you back by your hair and just taking you.

Size Kink: The first time you sat in his lap the actual size difference between you two dawned on him. How small you are in his lap and how he can just tower over you. He loves how he can just pick you up with his massive strength and fuck you while standing. Not even letting you touch the ground while feeling your tiny body trembling in his arms. Will also hold both of your wrists above your head with only one hand if you struggle too much.

❥ Captain Price

Impact play: Having you bent over his lap while he's sitting on the bed is one of his favourites scenes. Hearing you whimper out his title everytime he spanks you. If you've been annoying him a lot he will make you count them and if you mess up or dont thank him he will start over without mercy. Will rub the beautiful red marks on your ass and thighs afterwards.

Collaring: At first he wasnt very interested but when he saw you wear one for one of your outfits he was not able to take his eyes off of it the entire day. The next day he immediately orders one online with a leash. Loves having you sit on your knees next to him or infront of him. It gives him easy acces to pull you towards him by your collar or your leash.

Masterlist

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 || dark!jonathan crane x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || since you're the only one of his coworkers at arkham who doesn't seem to be intimidated by his intelligence, jonathan decides it's time he finds out what does scare you... and how he can embody it. unfortunately for you, turning into your greatest nightmare doesn't prove very difficult for him.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 5.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || EXTREME AND EXPLICIT NONCON (18+ only and please proceed with caution), drugging and kidnapping, paralysis, traumatized reader, forced orgasms/overstimulation, degradation, humiliation, choking, slapping, unprotected sex/breeding, misogyny, jonathan is very much in character which means he is incredibly evil and has incel vibes (I know y'all are not about to get mad at me for writing a villain being a villain and not uwu babifying him...)

When you interrupted and corrected your colleague, Dr. Crane, about the correct combination of pharmaceuticals for a certain schizophrenic patient in the asylum who happened to have diabetes, you thought nothing of it.  After all, the whole point of staff meetings was to discuss and debate these things, and you weren’t about to let him damn-near poison a patient by giving him something that would interfere with his insulin.  You weren’t trying to be snarky about it, but you did sort of make a joke about how dangerous his suggestion was— and you didn’t notice the way Jonathan’s nostrils flared and jaw tightened when some others chuckled at what you said.

When you received an email from your therapist’s office informing you that there was evidence of a break-in in her building, but that the police were unable to officially determine if confidential client files were compromised, you thought nothing of it.  It was a big complex, these things happen, and you knew from being a clinician yourself how tricky the laws could be surrounding that stuff: she had to email you, legally, if there was any chance your file could’ve been accessed, and that didn’t mean you had any reason to fear your private therapy session notes had been read.  Besides, who would want to read about you and your boring life, diving into your mundane hopes and fears and daily stresses?

And when Crane came into the office with tea for you, you thought nothing of it.  Sure, you seemed surprised when he popped into your office with cups in hand— you asked him why he had two cups of tea, assuming they were both for himself, and he laughed.  Just that was out of character, he wasn’t much of a chucklehead or anything.  “Green tea, right?  With lime and honey?” he asked, setting one cup down for you.  You were still taken aback, but you had to admit defeat.

“Yeah,” you said, taking the cup as he sat down across the desk from you.  “Yeah, that’s my order— I didn’t know you drank tea.”

“Sometimes,” he informed you, hoping his poker face was holding up as he watched you take a sip.  He couldn’t help but stare at your lips wrapping around the little hole in the lid, the print of berry-red your lipstick left behind.  His heart was racing already, more than he expected.

When you finished the first sip, you smiled at him and let out a small, nervous laugh.  “Thank you,” you finally said.  So, yes, even though you clearly noticed this was slightly odd behavior, you thought nothing of drinking the tea.  That was one thing he hated about you: the thoughtlessness.  You didn’t seem to second-guess yourself much, if anything you were a little on the cocky side.  He found it so irritating— that confidence.  Sure, you were smart and you deserved to take yourself somewhat seriously, but the way you walked around this place— the way you ignored him so easily, or spoke over him if you wanted to, or ignored his suggestions when he gave them… you were a bitch, basically.  You clearly thought you were better than him— better than everybody else— for no reason at all.  Just because you were pretty and had a good job you thought you could get away with anything, surely; pretty girls always think that way.

He made casual conversation with you as you sipped the tea, asking questions he already knew the answer to, hoping to catch you in a lie.  For the most part, your stories matched up with what he’d learned from that file.  But, you left out the gory details— you left out the best parts, really.

You mentioned where you went to medical school and that you transferred mid-way through due to ‘stress’, but you didn’t elaborate on what really happened to you.  You mentioned having your own therapist— something you said passionately that every client-facing mental health professional should have— but left out what you were actually being treated for, not to mention the PTSD diagnosis.

He had to hide his smirk behind the paper cup every time you seemed to lose your train of thought— it wasn’t like you, so focused and determined all the time.  No, it was the drugs finally kicking in.  You went for bigger gulps of tea each time your eyes looked heavier, hoping the caffeine would work— but the trace caffeine in your green tea was nothing compared to what he’d added.

You tried to warn him that you were suddenly not feel up to par— that he needed to leave, and you might try to wake yourself up— but he just sat and waited.  He watched you try to get up, and lose your balance.  He watched you stumble, trip, and ultimately fall onto the floor limply.  He watched your eyes flutter shut and the final ounce of energy to fight it fade; he quietly took a final sip of his tea.

~

You woke up on the floor.  You could barely feel it beneath you, but you knew it was the floor— it was cold, and hard.  And you were looking up at the dark ceiling, at the fan spinning at the lowest speed; so you were definitely on the floor.

Jonathan was standing above you, not too far off, flipping through papers.  You couldn’t move— no matter how hard you fought to, you couldn’t.  You barely managed to turn your head, but it felt more like it rolled to the side on its own.  You tried to yell for Dr. Crane’s attention, for help, for him to explain what happened to you, but even your mouth couldn’t move.  The best you could do was breathe harder— actually, you were pretty sure your body was trying to hyperventilate, but you were too incapacitated to even have a proper panic attack.

He heard you, though; he looked away from the papers and grinned down at you.  “Comfortable down there?”

You started to put together a few things.  One, that the last thing you remembered was being in your office, and now you were in your apartment.  Two, that those papers were photoscans of chart notes— obviously you couldn’t make out the words from here, but the format gave away that it must have to do with a patient.

And three, that Crane was neither surprised that you were paralyzed on the floor, nor interested in helping you.

He half-rolled the papers in one hand and playfully hit the other hand’s palm with them.  “These have been quite interesting… revealing, to say the least,” he informed you, like it was a compliment— something you should be proud to hear.  “You’re quite the enigma, Doc!”

He sat down beside you on the floor, leaning on his hand first to find his balance with a little sigh; he seemed amused, actually, and your heart began to race.

As he started to read aloud from the page in front of him, you felt nauseous.  He was reading patient data, describing a client who was receiving individual counseling— or that’s what the CPT code indicated, at least.  As he listed the client’s demographic data— age, race, gender, height, weight— it became eerily obvious what he was doing.  You refused to believe it until he went on: “Client was recommended to Dr. Min Zhang for individual therapy concerning PTSD following sexual trauma.”

Your therapist.  This was a file he’d copied, which belonged to your therapist.  And it was obvious whose file it was.

As you tried with all your might to scream, Jonathan flipped a few pages ahead.

“Session fourteen, eleventh of June,” he continued.  “Client expressed frustration with an increased recurrence of nightmares and flashbacks to her assault.  Up until now, she has struggled to explain what triggers her anxiety without having to actually elaborate on the circumstances of the event.”

He stopped, but you weren’t exactly relieved.  In fact, you were horrified.  He had a little grin on his face when he looked at you, but you could finally see the rage in his eyes.  Suddenly, you realized how long it had been there.  You had sort of picked up on it before, the resentment he had towards you— and it didn’t take a Freudian expert to figure out that he was threatened by you, especially as a man.  He didn’t respond well to feeling upstaged and he clearly had an issue with women.  Maybe not that issue— he was good-looking and well-off, he didn’t need to have any issues with women if he didn’t want to— but an issue nonetheless.  

“Now,” he added, smiling wider than you’d ever seen him smile before, “client states she is ready to describe the incident in full detail.”

He set the papers aside for a second, leaning over you and almost looking… giddy, really.

“I won’t read you the rest, I’ve already pretty much memorized what goes on from there.  It was fascinating— seeing how what happened that night connected to the fears you still have today… the nightmares.  You said that you still feel sick at the smell of alcohol, you still don’t like to wear pinstripe skirts, and even just the wrong few words can make you feel like you’re right back there where it happened— on the floor of your apartment.”

All you could do was look up at him, and you felt your eyes get hot as they welled with tears.

“Not this apartment, obviously— the one by your old school,” Jonathan sighed, “but this will have to do.  And the smell of alcohol, well, I wouldn’t want to let anything cloud my experience— but I dabbed a little gin on my wrists, what do you think?”

He held his hand up by your face, caressing your cheek for a second, and you imagined yourself pulling away— turning your head and shrugging his touch off of you with a grimace.  But nothing happened, of course, and you were entirely helpless as the acidic stench of liquor became apparent.  You couldn’t give your typical outward reaction of a frown, but inside, you felt just the same as always: your stomach twisted, your heart pounded, your head swirled.

“Smell is such a… primal trigger of memory, isn’t it?” he mused, watching your face reverently.  “I can see it in your eyes, it’s affecting you even more than I expected.  You act so fearless at work— but I knew you must have been overcompensating.  God, you’re terrified— I would say you’re paralyzed, but, well… it would be too literal, I think.”

You knew that Crane studied fear and phobias, even trauma occasionally, as a personal interest within the field.  It was normal to have a favorite subtopic, and to conduct related research on it— but obviously, this was far from normal, this was absolutely deranged.  You knew that part of this was vengeance, in his own mind at least, but you didn't feel like you'd done anything actually wrong to him.  And the rest of it, well, it seemed like some twisted experiment, but if you were able to speak you would've tried to remind him that this 'research' wasn't going to get him published or advance his career— but of course, that wasn't what he wanted.  He just wanted to humiliate you.

“I was worried I didn’t have enough to work with, you know,” he added.  “I knew I couldn’t get you to where it happened, if I could even figure it out since you never filed that police report… and the skirt, well, I considered it.  It sounded pretty exciting to dress you up like the night it happened— what I would give to know everything you were wearing that night, but I don’t have a ton to work with.  Obviously, you don’t own any pinstripe skirts anymore, so I would’ve had to buy one… and I wasn’t quite ready for the looks I’d get shopping at Macy’s, so…”

Carefully, he reached up to take off his glasses, folding them and setting them down on your coffee table.

“You know how detail-oriented I am— I mean, I went to all this, didn’t I?” He continued, reaching down and brushing his fingers for a moment over your leg.  It was so instinctive to pull away that it took you a moment to realize you hadn’t… because of course, you couldn’t.  “But it’s impossible to recreate it all perfectly.  Clearly, I don’t need to— if only you could see it, Doc, you look… you look so weak.  Pathetic.”

Since the only thing you could do was look around, you tried to look away— to not give him the satisfaction of seeing the terror in your eyes.  He grabbed your face and turned it until you looked up at him.  

“Did you think you’d be able to face your greatest fear?  Perhaps with a bit more dignity?” he mused.  He looked different without the glasses on; and, ironically, you felt like he could see you even better now.

It was obvious that he enjoyed lording complete power over you, but a quick glance down to his suit trousers made it clear just how much he enjoyed it.  You quickly darted your gaze away, but it was too late; he started to climb on top of you, staring at your face uncomfortably close, and worked on opening his belt and fly.

“Fear rules us all, doesn’t it?  Everything you did, it was guided by your fear that it would— well, why paraphrase?  Let me find exactly how you put it…”

He picked up the papers again quickly, licking his thumb and flipping around until he found the right entry.

“Yes,” he said, “here it is: client states she lives in almost constant fear that it will happen again.”

So that's what this was: his disturbed take on exposure therapy.

As he tossed the copied charts away for the last time and reached up under your skirt, he leaned down and whispered in your ear— and you couldn’t even flinch from the harsh sounds of his words.  “It took you over fifty sessions to admit it,” he recalled, “to tell her the whole truth.  Not just what he did to you… what you did.”

With a small growl, he yanked your panties down your legs and rubbed your thighs with far too much aggression, such that you expected bruises from his hands— just like the ones you’d had before.

“You said he made you do it,” he continued, “you couldn’t help it, right?  But you said nothing’s ever felt like that— that you’d never had such a powerful orgasm.”

You would’ve vomited, except that that, too, requires your muscles to not be paralyzed.  Rolling your skirt up and spreading your legs, he positioned himself right between them, rubbing his cock's leaking head around your hole.

“Your greatest fear isn’t really that it’ll happen again, is it?” Jonathan taunted.  “You’re afraid someone’s going to find out how much you liked it.”

With that, he punched his hips forward and speared you on his cock.

It had been years since you'd had anything inside you, even your own fingers.  You couldn't even remember if being penetrated hurt like this during your assault, and you would've sworn before that you remembered every detail perfectly.  But this was so real, not a memory or a nightmare.  You couldn't cry out from the sting.

"God, it's tight," he groaned, "I bet you weren't this tight when it happened— you'd been whoring around, hadn't you?  Letting all kinds of guys use you… just ran into the wrong one and got your drink spiked.  But now…"

He hissed through his teeth, tightening his grip on your hip.  

"Now it's all mine, isn't it?"

Inside, you were screaming and kicking and pleading for mercy.  You imagined you would be angry and violent, beat him to death with your heel or something, but you wondered if you'd be forced to bargain with him— apologize for whatever you did to upset him, promise you wouldn't tell a soul about this as long as he left you alone.  But either way, it didn't matter… on the outside, you were useless, laying there and letting him use you.

"What made you come so much before?  Did he have a big cock, is that it?” he asked with a snarl.  “Did he know exactly how to touch you?  Or was it just that you’d been craving it, needed it really rough to get off properly?  Is that why you came while he raped you?”

It was a biological response, you told yourself like you had over and over, I couldn't help it, it wasn't my fault, it was a biological response— it wasn't my fault, I didn't like it, it was a biological response.

“I think I know what it is,” he mused, looking down at you with heavy eyes and almost purring as he watched your limp form bounce on the floor.  “I think you wanted to be put in your place.  You act so liberated, so empowered— but you’re a creature of instinct, like anything else.  You need someone to remind you how weak you are, I know, fuck, I know you do…”

He fucked you just a bit faster, grunting and tightening his fist on the floor by your head.

“You haven’t been able to have an orgasm at all, since then,” he stated— almost making it like a question, with the way he said it, but he obviously already knew it was true.  He sounded shockingly sympathetic— not even pitying, not condescending, for once.  “I’m sure for a while you didn’t even try, afraid it would remind you— but that’s the thing, you can’t finish unless you’re reminded.”

You almost surprised yourself when you heard a whine come from your throat; he smiled proudly.

"It's wearing off, I think," he noticed.  "I only gave you a small dose.  Can you move at all?  Can you beg me to stop?"

You opened your mouth to try to say everything you'd wanted to since you awoke, but all that came out was a moan.  You hated yourself for that, and he laughed happily.

"You don't want me to stop," he decided.  "Feels too good?"

I fucking hate you, you wanted to scream, you sick son of a bitch, I fucking hate you—

"You didn't say it outright, but he must have said something to you— during, maybe after," Jonathan theorized.  "You didn't say what it was, but you told your therapist about having a vivid flashback after being accosted by a delusional homeless man on the street.  He called you a bitch, seemingly for no reason… is that what your rapist said to you?  Did he say you were a stuck-up little bitch?"

As burning hot tears striped your temples, you curled your fingers over and over— maybe you could move your arms if you really tried…

"He was fucking right about you.  You think you're so much fucking better than everyone else," he growled.  "You think you're so fucking smart, and special.  But you're no fucking different, you're nothing—"

You whined and reached up, weakly trying to push him off of you, but all you could do was limply grasp at his shoulders.

"Nothing but a stupid—" he grunted the word as he slammed himself into you— "fucking—" he did it again— "bitch."

"No!" you finally heard yourself sob, clutching a weak fistful of his white shirt, but he grabbed your hands and shoved them back down to the floor.

“God,” he choked, holding your wrists tightly until you whined, “it’s so much better when you can fight— fuck, it’s so much better.  Keep struggling if you want, Doc, you’re still too weak for me…”

Your legs moved a little, but they felt heavy.  Sensation was only just beginning to return to them, like pins and needles, and it stung; you winced as you managed to squirm a bit beneath him.

"That's it," he praised, "this is probably just how you did it before.  Too drunk and too desperate for cock to really do much, but trying so hard to look like you hate it— I understand, you don't want anyone to know that you need this.  They'd never look at you the same again: the smart, accomplished psychiatrist who likes getting treated like fuckmeat.  What would they think of you if they knew?"

"No…" you said again, too weak and traumatized to say much else— but it wasn't what he said that made you say no, it was the pulse of pleasure inside your cunt.  He must have felt it, and if he didn't, he surely felt the next; yes, he did, because he smiled down at you excitedly.

"It's happening, isn't it?  You're gonna come."

He held on tight to one of your legs, gripping your thigh and staring uncomfortably into your eyes as he kept going— faster and rougher with each thrust.  You choked on your throat, trying to stop any part of this, but the pleasure was undeniable; it still hurt, yes, and you still felt so angry and sick and numb, but something familiar and desperate was tightening in your gut.  It’d been so long since anyone touched you… you’d forgotten how natural it could feel, even when it was so horrible.

"I read it in your file, but I still couldn't really believe it,” he laughed quietly, “I couldn't believe you came over and over while being raped— but here you are, wow, look at you… you’re so beautiful when you’re scared.”

A long, heavy sigh fell from your lips; your eyes got heavier, and your whole body seemed to relax— in a way totally different from the medication-induced paralysis.

He cooed at you, seeming oddly proud, and you were oddly compliant as he picked you up and pulled you into his lap.

Tears streamed across your cheeks as he held you close, one hand around your back while the other moved your hips against his.  “There you go— come for me, I wanna feel it— another one, baby, for me…”

It wasn’t much longer before another one came— from what you remembered, it was a lot like the first time, this terribly wonderful way your body protected itself from the trauma by immersing you in pleasure.  Of course, Jonathan helped you along by rubbing your clit with his thumb, excited to watch you surrender to ecstasy even when you begged him to just stop and leave you alone.

Of course, your protests were less and less believable as more of your strength and mobility returned— you could’ve tried harder to get away, but instead you found your hips rocking with his, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.  No, you didn’t want this— you never wanted this— but you found the way he spoke to you impossibly comforting even while it was still deeply upsetting.  “Tell me about the nightmares, darling,” he whispered— some impossible mix of pleading and ordering.

“A-almost every night,” you whimpered.  “I… I got used to it, but I used to… I used to wake up and think I was still…”

"They felt so real, hm?" he presumed, and you nodded.  “It’s real now… you don’t have to be afraid of the dreams anymore, it’s all real— I’m right here.”

You couldn’t tell if he was trying to scare or comfort you; he pet your hair, clinging to you tightly, kissing your face and neck along the lines of the tears soaking your skin.  

You felt his grin against your cheek when another wavering moan echoed in your chest, and he laid you back on the floor to hover over you again.  “Was that your third one, already?” he noticed.  “This is so much easier than I thought… you needed this so badly, you poor girl.”

A quick wave of panic settled over you when his hand wrapped around your neck.  “W-wait,” you pleaded instantly, as if you really feared he would just strangle you to death right then and there.  Your hands, still weak and tingly, reached up to his arm, and you felt his cock throb inside you— of course that was what he wanted, to see you react in fear again.  So many other emotions were at play right now, even some you didn’t know existed (like whatever the word would be for longing for the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, or feeling like the only person you can trust is the person hurting you the most), but fear was still going to rule it all as long as he had any say.

"How many times did you come before?" he demanded to know, nostrils flaring as he fucked you harder.  "Tell me how many times you came when he raped you."

"I— I don't—" you stammered.

"Say it," he ordered.

"I— I don't know!" you yelped, whimpers falling to silence as he tightened his grip on your neck. 

"You don't fucking know?" he snarled at you, watching you fight for air.  You clawed at his shirt, his wrist, tried to pry his fingers away, but he just sneered as he stared at your numbing face.  "You don't know how many times you creamed on your rapist's cock?  Bullshit."

"I—" you gasped when he let go of your throat, "I lost count…"

He went from livid to ecstatic in a second, laughing proudly and dipping down to kiss your neck passionately.  "Good girl," he mumbled against your skin, fucking you even faster.  "That's what you need to do for me now— come for me until you lose count."

“I— I can’t,” you choked, grabbing at his shoulders as he seemed to overwhelm you just by pressing his weight down on top of you.  “I’m sorry— you… you proved your point, I— I just need a break—”

Even though the drug he’d injected you with was wearing off, you realized you were just as limp and helpless as before… after all, some of the most powerful chemicals come inside the body.  You didn’t even fight it when he put his hand over your mouth, spitting out a quiet but hateful shut up and continuing with his quick and forceful thrusts into you.  

He kept you conscious and lucid by occasionally hitting or choking you, talking to you, once or twice even ordering you to kiss him.  Like you mean it, he’d said, slapping you as punishment for doing it wrong.  Truth be told, you hadn’t kissed anyone in so long that you’d really been trying your best the first time.  Sometimes he told you to beg him for more— or to beg him to get off of you— and yet he would usually punish you for speaking at all.  He was completely unpredictable, and you figured that was part of the plan: take away any shred of control you might try to get by making it impossible to follow his rules.  Keep you confused and crying, keep you fearful, keep you obedient.

But, he did seem to enjoy when you could only just choke out a broken please.  He laughed at you, pinching your sore clit in response until you sobbed and tried to jerk your hips away.  “‘Please’ what, honey?  You mean, ‘please keep fucking me, Doctor Crane, you’ll make me come again?’” he taunted.  “Something like that?”

“Please… please,” you swallowed around your whines, “please just… finish, and go…”

“Oh,” he purred, “you want me to come?”

You’d specifically not phrased it that way, but, yes, that was what you were asking for.  You weren’t sure what else he wanted from you now, it felt like he’d drained you of everything.

“You can just say that, baby— you wanna make me come?” he grinned, moving in closer for a kiss, but you turned your head away.  He grabbed your jaw again and stared at you with an angry glare.  “This isn’t about me.  This is what you wanted.  This is what you fucking wanted!”

As he screamed in your face, you sobbed and tried to look away again, but he hit you hard on the face and covered your mouth before the cry of agony could come out.  

“This is what you wanted, right?” he insisted again, forcing your head to nod with his clammy, iron-tight grip.  “Uh huh— and you wanna make me come, don’t you?  You understand now that’s all you’re good for.”

As sick as it was, you felt yourself fall into another orgasm when he said that; your eyes rolled back a bit, and for a moment you felt even hotter between your legs.

“I think, if you beg me to come, maybe I will,” he offered— bargaining with you, probably another way to trick you into clamoring for some control only to yank it away.  Unfortunately, you were in no position to turn down a deal.

“Please,” you blurted out the second he released your mouth from under his hand; when you blinked the tears from your eyes, you saw him clearly again and realized how completely different he looked from the arrogant-but-generally-unassuming man you knew from work.  His hair was fallen beside his face, and he was close enough that the ends were tickling your forehead.  His eyes were bloodshot, crazed, and dark.  His lips, always full and plush but usually in a tight frown or neutral look of condescending boredom, were curled around the teeth he bared at you.  He looked animalistic, for a man typically so measured.  Only he could do something so animalistic in a way that required such intellect, foresight, and contemplation— using his superhuman skills to treat you in a subhuman manner.  You realized that you were really seeing him for the first time— the person you’d known before was the mask.  This was something horribly freeing for him; and you were having a much easier time analyzing and thinking about him to distract from how sickly freeing this experience was becoming for you.  “Please, Jonathan—”

“Doctor Crane,” he corrected.  Apparently this wasn’t enough to put you on a first name basis…

“Doctor Crane,” you repeated, “please… come.  I want… I want you to come.”

“Hmm,” he considered, and you worried he’d decide he was unimpressed with your effort and hurt you again— but, he did maybe the only thing worse.  “Okay,” he agreed, “if it’s so important to you.”

Just when you shut your eyes tight and hoped you could just get through this— just hold on for a few more minutes at most and then this would be over and done with— he whispered in your ear that he needed you to keep your eyes open if he was going to finish.  

Though, when you obeyed, he purred at you and let his own eyes flutter shut for just a moment.  For once, he actually seemed affected by all this physically and not just psychosexually.  “I think I’ll come inside, like he did before,” Crane decided with a groan when he opened his eyes, biting his lip for a moment as he stared down at you.  “I didn’t see any birth control in your listed medications on chart… I guess we’ll find out if you have a fear of getting pregnant.”

"Jonathan— don't," you whimpered.  "Please, don't do that—"

"Shh," he soothed, petting the top of your head and laying his weight over you.  "Shh, it's alright.  I think you need to be filled with come… I think that might be the one thing that’ll get you to settle down, now just hold still.”

“I— please… please…” you began to beg again, but your words faded away as another wave of sensation washed over you— they started to blend together, like before, and you realized you were doing what he’d asked: you were losing count.

“Good girl,” he praised under his breath, “like that— fuck, I’m close.  Fuck!”

He held onto you tight— one hand on your thigh and the other on your neck as his thrusts sped to a desperately, impossibly fast pace.  You moaned— or cried, or yelled, or something— as he pushed just a little too deep and your toes curled in your heels.

“Uh huh,” he encouraged, “just one more while I come inside you— I think you can manage that, just one more good squeeze on my cock— oh, fuck, that’s it, yes, just like that…”

You stopped being able to understand what he was saying, but you heard the wavering groan that came a few moments later when his movements suddenly stopped.  He gasped and kept himself as far inside you as possible; you shuddered, blinking fresh tears out of your eyes, and felt paralyzed in an entirely new way as you laid under him, staring up at your ceiling, seeing how far the sun had set since it began— actually, it had started to rain, making it even more impossible to tell how much time had really passed.  Eventually, though, he took his head out from the crook of your neck and propped himself up enough to look down at you.  

Reaching to your coffee table, he fumbled his hand around until he found his glasses, and shakily put them back on.  “Well,” he grinned, still panting but seeming to be mostly back to himself (whoever that was).  “I never thought I’d meet someone who loves fear as much as I do.”

[lno-x]

Hello! I've just came here to say I adore your Gideon and Harrow designs (as someone w/ a big forehead, I thank you for harrow bigger forehead). I do have a question; how did you come up with their designs? What did you keep from canon and what did you add that, well, makes the characters... Them.

Info-dump as much as you want, I wanna learn more about their looks and just whatever else comes to your mind. (Also it feels like really nice to see myself in harrow, at least in appearance.... Thank you).

HI!!!!!!! AND THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!! To be honest, my furst Harrow was the most basic Harrow ever

I only start to read book at this point, but then i came across a line where her skin was described as gray, and that's when the gears in my head started moving headcanons thoughts bellow (tw: non-sexual nuduty)

Only after some time, when I was already attached to the design, I found a post describing the appearance of the characters on the official Temsyn blog, and it turned out that Gideon’s skin should be darker than Harrow’s. I was very afraid that I would not be accepted in the fandom for such inattention, but as it turned out, many people were pleased to see such design of Harrow, and some even saw it as a representation. I am very happy about that!!! The book gave me enough descriptions of her appearance that I didn't add much except to make her look ridiculously lanky.

In book 3, at the time of her first meeting with Kiriona, Nona said that her appearance was completely opposite to Harrow’s in every way. That's why I build their portraits on contrasts. Harrow have neat smooth nose, Gideon on the other hand have hooked nose. Harrow have cupid bow lips, Gideon's lips is more slim. Harrow is bony, Gideon is kinda curvy. Harrow has tsureme eyes, Gideon have tareme eyes. And etc. etc. Almost all the details are taken from the book, even her acne, so again I didn’t add much of my own. Unless I think that Gideon is not as big as she thinks she is (Camilla is bigger) (gaining weight in the ninth house with a terribly poor diet is very difficult) This post changed my whole imagination about her.

Necromancer gideon as bonus!!

[artlefty]

MMMMMMMMM GOOD THINGS ARE BEING SAID.

Martin consistently stutters, consistently allows himself to build up to a point where his frustrations have nowhere to go other than an abrupt spurt of anger that can almost seem out of character to him in the beginning but are, in fact, intrinsically linked to who he is as a person. He sidesteps his own comfort in favour of others' and expresses his feelings in providing for those he cares about. Simple gestures, like a cup of tea. And later (avoiding spoilers) Bigger Gestures.

Martin has convinced himself he does not matter and attempts to make himself small as a result. Be kind, be gentle and offer comfort to those around him in an attempt to convince them to let him stay. Historically he's been an emotional punching bag for others. His mother, then Jon- you can assume later Lukas too (though in a very different manner).

It's not until much later he starts expressing himself in more honest ways (i.e. post Lonely). He admits his faults and asks for things. Allows his anger and frustration to bubble up organically. Isn't as afraid to express these things as now he's confidant he won't be left in the dirt as a result of taking up space. "I am Martin Blackwood and I am not lonely anymore."

English tea is the most inoffensive thing to offer someone as a source of comfort. The smallest and most effective way to provide in a workspace that he has very little idea to what he's doing in thanks to fudging the records to get in in the first place. The mugs may as well have "Please keep me, I'm helping, see?" written on them. So yes. Yes and Thank you.

[despairforme]

How did Nnoitra develop his fashion style? Was it different as kid? Would he cringe at his younger self?

❝ My fuckin' WHAT now? Fashion style? ❞ He looked down at his body, and tugged at his baggy, washed-out t-shirt. It was kinda funny, having someone refer to the way he dressed as a ' fashion style ', so he was chuckling. He'd spotted a smudge on his t-shirt, and was currently trying to rub it off with aggressive use of his thumb. And some spit.

❝ Would ya really call this a style? ❞ He asked with a small laugh, his face twisting into a focused expression as he continued to work on the smudge. Nnoitra definitely didn't think he had any sort of STYLE. He wore clothes only for their practicality and their comfort. He didn't think he'd ever, in his entire life, actually dressed up.

Nnoitra always wore large, baggy t-shirts. Not because he thought they looked good on him or whatever, but because that's what fit him. He had an incredibly awkward build. His shoulders were REALLY wide. So wide that triple X could feel kinda tight sometimes. He had to shop at stores that were meant for... Large people, let's say. People who weighed what? Ten times as much as him? The hell if he knew. Those t-shirts were large enough for his shoulders and his wide chest, but - Nnoitra had skinny arms and the smallest waist. At least his torso was long, so the t-shirts didn't end up too long on him. But yeah, they appeared baggy. He had the same problem when buying hoodies or sweaters.

Pants were easier, since Nnoitra's legs were thin, and his hips narrow. The length though? Yeah, that was an issue. He bought whatever pants would fit him, whenever he came across them. Mostly they were a little short on him, but whatever.

He had a large black coat he wore in winter, and he always wore the same old army boots that he'd bought years ago. Other than that? He wore his eye-patch every day and that pretty much concluded his whole "fashion style". As for colours? He preferred black, grey or muted colours. In summer he wore a little bit of a brighter range, with reds and some yellows. He had some green t-shirts too. He preferred to buy clothes with a darker colour because they didn't stain so easily.

He'd wore the same kinda clothes his whole adult life, as well as when he was a teenager. More or less since he grew this tall, he had to adapt to wearing clothes that a) would fit him, and b) were cheap. It had been easier when he was a kid, since he'd been normal-sized, and he'd just worn whatever his mother bought for him. He had never CARED about wearing fancy stuff. What he wanted was to appear less skinny, and baggy clothes definitely did that for him.

So no, he wouldn't cringe at his younger self. At least not due to how his younger self had dressed. Hell, he probably still wore some of the same t-shirts from 10 years ago.

❝ How I'd describe it... ❞ He pondered out loud, tapping his fingers against the stain, which he'd somehow managed to make worse with his efforts to remove it. ❝ It's comfortable 'n ugly. ❞ He found the description funny, and grinned.