#i know for a fact that this is DEFINITELY a bait

[blackbird-brewster]

Meta: Jemily Queerbaiting

With the huge influx of posts saying 'Jemily is gonna be canon', I really appreciated seeing this post because OP was completely correct. I didn't want to write an entire dissertation as a reply, so I'm making my own post with my personal opinion on this. (All sources are noted in footnotes)

Before I began this rant, for anyone who thinks this is anti-Jemily. It is not. I have shipped Jemily for 18 friggin years and that's never going to change. This post is specifically my thoughts about queer baiting.

First off, I need to note that the showrunners (and the cast members who use social media) KNOW what a huge queer following this show has and that's why we got pansexual Tara Lewis in S16 [1]. Which, in itself, was SOOOOOOO important!!! Our first canonically queer main in SIXTEEN seasons was a middle-aged Black woman!!! That's phenomenal. (The fact it was horrible rep, because they instantly ruined her relationships once her queerness served it's plot point is a whole other post entirely)

In my opinion, the 'big Jemily moment' Paget posted about on Twitter [2] (and AJ hinted at during a recent IG live) is simply queerbaiting to get people to watch S17. I know a lot of you are newer to the fandom and I love your enthusiasm, I really do, ship and let ship, but listen, let's be real, Jemily is not going to be made canon. The showrunners aren't going to suddenly say (after 17 seasons) 'Surprise, Jemily is endgame'. This show has never cared about queer rep and now that CBS/Paramount have already ticked their queer rep box with Tara, they won't be in any rush to add any other characters to it.

Please buckle in, I've got a lot of thoughts on this matter --

What is Queerbaiting?

If you aren't aware of what queerbaiting is, here's a good definition:

Historically, queerbaiting has carried two meanings: the first is an act of aggressive heterosexuality to shut down queer subtext on screen while still teasing and catering to the queer audience in advertising, public relations, and fan engagement strategies; the second is an existing homoerotic tension between two characters played up on screen while met with derision by the professionals behind the scenes. [3]

The Medium article quoted here is from 2017, a time when parasocial relationships were really starting to take over social media. In 2024, actors are now only a mention or tag away online, they have direct conversations with fans, and this process has allowed for an even deeper form of queerbaiting.

Oftentimes online, actors are asked directly about certain ships and while some ignore these questions (usually to avoid breaking their contracts or other repercussions), others (looking at you, Paget) choose to instead tease fans about queer ships. She's done this for years upon years and if I've learned anything in the past twenty-years of existing in fandom spaces it's this -- don't hold your breath. In it's original meaning, for something to be deemed as queerbaiting there had to be malicious, or at least, purposeful intent to string queer fans along by teasing them with suggestive content about the ship in question, while knowing this ship will never come to fruition in canon.

The thing to remember is, Paget and AJ aren't the only ones who know about Jemily shippers -- the network and showrunners are well aware of this ship too. When networks/showrunners figure out they have a strong sapphic fanbase, they love to use that to their advantage to get more viewers and higher ratings. Queerbaiting is a goldmine to keep fans watching long running shows, look at Rizzoli and Isles, Supergirl, and OUAT for examples of this.

Jemily and Queerbaiting:

Ever since Emily joined the BAU in S2 (2006), there have always been fans who ship JJ/Emily (shoutout to the old LJ forums!). Way before celebs were just a tweet away from fans, back when all our fics began with disclaimers so we wouldn't get sued by networks, we went to great lengths to keep our fanworks far removed from actors/showrunners attention.

As far as Jemily goes, this reply from Paget in a 2009 interview with TVGuide.com [4] (which has now been deleted from their site unfortunately, but there are quotes on Tumblr still [4.a]) confirmed some fans' worst fear -- the actors had found our fanworks online.

TVGuide.com: Of course, a band of fans want her to hook up with Hotch.

Brewster: I know! I didn't realize that fans make these videos on YouTube? A.J. Cook sent me a hilarious one that made it look like Prentiss and J.J. were having a secret lesbian affair. You know, when Hotch was blown up in the SUV, we shot this scene where he's in the hospital and I'm standing next to him, looking at his bleeding ear. Our director came in and said, "Paget, you're looking at Hotch like you're in love with him. It looks really weird." So now, every day, Thomas [Gibson] and I flutter our eyelids at each other.

This was the first time I recall anyone acknowledging Jemily shippers publicly and at the time (Jan 2009), the show was still in Season Four (just before CBS fired both AJ and Paget [5]). Paget genuinely said it's 'hilarious' that fans shipped JJ/Emily. Even now, I'll see people say 'We know Paget and AJ have seen Jemily fanvids, so they obviously ship it too' -- but those same people rarely acknowledge the full context of the original answer. Paget not only thought JJ/Emily were 'hilarious', but then she doubled down and turned her reply back to how she and Thomas liked to play up the chemistry between Emily/Hotch.

While no one can say for sure which video it was that AJ sent Paget, just knowing they were watching JJ/Emily fanvids sent a bit of a shockwave through the femslash side of the fandom. To some it felt like an invasion of privacy, fanworks are by fans for fans -- knowing the cast were poking around in fandom spaces added an extra layer of worry around what we fans were posting online. Fifteen years ago, it used to be quite taboo for actors to outwardly discuss shipping or other fanon for whatever show they were in, and we fans were usually comfortably removed from the actors altogether.

Of course, now it's the norm for fans and actors/showrunners to co-exist online and interact with one another. This connection has opened new ways for shows to queerbait their fans. Pretty much every show has some form of social media account now and there is no doubt that the people running those accounts keep up with the most popular ships and hashtags. Not to mention that actors are constantly barraged with questions about whether they ship their character with x,y,z, or whether they think a ship should be made canon, etc. These interactions only serve to benefit the shows themselves, because whether the conversation is for or against a certain ship, it's all just free publicity (Why do you think CM now has a TikTok account?)

Every time AJ or Paget say anything about Jemily, the queer side of the fandom loses their minds. But this has been going on for YEARS now and every single time, it turns out to be nothing but social media hype and queerbaiting. Remember this AJ post? [6] Or what about the notorious reply by Paget to a fan, where she talks about how she and AJ held hands under the table 'for the shippers' [7] I've seen this cycle over and over again, so perhaps I am cynical, but I'm not getting my hopes up that Jemily will ever seriously be canon.

It's widely known now, after both Kirsten [8] and Paget [9] have talked about it, that there was an early idea where Prentiss was supposed to be queer, but that was ultimately scraped before it ever made it on screen. For context, please remember, this show has been airing for nearly twenty years. It began in 2005, during the highly conservative Bush administration. Queer people didn't have rights in the US, we couldn't get married, we were rarely protected under discrimination laws, and we could even be fired for simply being queer (in some states). Diverse queer representation on screen was extremely limited to things like 'The L Word' and 'Queer as Folk' (both aired on Showtime, so they were behind a paywall. And as far as tLw goes, that show was extremely male-gaze focused and is horrible in nearly all regards if you try to rewatch it now). As far as prime time shows went, queer rep was even more rare. Which is why Emily wasn't queer from the get-go.

Yes, things have changed since 2006 in terms of queer rep on TV. We have a myriad of queer identities represented in TV and film nowadays, which is why I think it's so easy for newer fans to say 'lf she was supposed to be gay anyway, they should just make Emily queer in canon!' I know this is what fuels most fans' demands for Emily being confirmed queer, and I get it, I DO. I would be all for it! However, I do not, in one hundred years, actually believe that is going to happen after they already canonically queer confirmed Tara in S16. The fact we even got ONE queer character is ground-breaking for this show.

It's also worth noting, that in the time between Paget's departure in 2012 and her return in 2016, she became very active on Twitter. This was when more and more fans began asking her about Jemily and after Kirsten's AfterEllen interview, fans also pushed for Paget to address the possibility of Emily being gay. 'Pushed' is actually an understatement for some of the outright harassment she would receive. (AJ received some of this harassment too, but less so because she doesn't use social media ass often) Back then, neither of them replied to these things directly. Yet, no matter what either woman posted, the replies were full of Jemily stans begging for her acknowledgement. (Did you know 'stan' is literally a term coined for stalker fans?) I remember one time AJ's friend was missing and she posted info on her IG about it, you know what the replies were? People asking her about Jemily. It was genuinely sickening.

Within this context, it was no surprise to fans when Emily came back in S12 , she and JJ's friendship was seemingly erased. The two women were rarely on screen together in the late seasons, plus the writers saw fit to even give Emily not only one (Mark in London, but two, on-screen boyfriends for the first time in the entire series. I personally do not think these changes to Emily's character were coincidence, I saw the hellscape of what people would say to AJ and Paget online and I fully believe that upon Paget's return to the show, the showrunners purposely tried to distance JJ and Emily to dissuade the more abusive side of the fanbase.

Can I prove that, no. But it is the only reason I can think of as to why Emily S12+ seemingly didn't care about JJ anymore, despite their deep and meaningful friendship. I mean, they both CROSSED THE WORLD to go rescue each other in prior canon -- but when Emily comes back, they acted like they barely knew each other. This was even more prevalent in S16, when JJ's main storylines all revolved around Will, and Emily barely looked at JJ in the entirety of ten episodes. (Remember how Prentiss didn't even hug JJ after bomb, but she did go hug Luke?)

So, do Paget and AJ earnestly ship Jemily, or are they continuing the long tradition of queerbaiting us? Who fucking knows, not me. But based on the history of this fandom, I think I can make a safe bet. (Interestingly, if you search all of Paget's twitter for the word 'Jemily' [10] she only has 3 direct tweets mentioning the ship. I don't think it's a coincidence that two are within the past few months since they started filming S17 (the other one was a RT of Kirsten (who tagged something Jemily)

This is all to say --

Just because Paget and AJ have publicly talked about Jemily,, this doesn't mean it's ever going to happen on screen. And you know what, THAT'S OKAY!! There has been this constant outcry (after Tara became queer confirmed) of 'Do Emily next' or 'Why wasn't it Emily with a girlfriend!?' and 'Jemily needs to be canon in S17!' -- as if people believe their ships aren't worth anything unless they are canon.

That couldn't be further from the truth! Fandom is built on headcanons and fan interpretations and rare pairs and all types of shippers. Your ship does NOT need to be canon for you to enjoy it. I will ship Jemily forever, no matter what. I don't think there will be some magical queer plot in S17, at best, we might actually get to see Emily/JJ on screen together again and after the train wreck that was S16 -- I'll take whatever I can get.

And hey -- if I am completely wrong, if Erica Messer pulls a Korrasami out of her hat, I will be ecstatic. I will be happy to be proved wrong, but at the same time, I'm not going to lose sleep over it and I'm DEFINITELY not going to go hound the actors about it on social media.

Sources:

[1] 2022 Digital Spy article about the importance of Tara's coming out

[2] 04/18/24 Paget Tweet

[3] 2017 Queerbaiting article from medium.com

[4] 2009 Broken TVGuide link

[4.a] Tumblr quote from the above TVGuide Interview

[5] 2010 Kirsten interview screenrant.com

[6] 2019 AJ Instagram Post

[7] 2020 Paget video on Twitter (via @karasluthqr)

[8] 2015 Kirsten interview AfterEllen.com

[9] 2016 Paget Interview CriminalMindsFans.com

[10] @PagetPaget search 'Jemily'

[possiblyawesometmblr]

i'm allowing myself exactly one (1) moment of pure delusion:

jon martin jonah. thanks for your time.

[transphilza]

i need the world to see my most favoritest radio duo clip ever right now

[thetimelordbatgirl]

Kinda funny how still in 2023, people call Mabel the worst character of Gravity Falls simply because she acts like a 12 year old child, but they silent as hell when it comes to Dipper.

[persephoneflouwers]

-

[arsonway]

bewinged edengrace weapons my beloved

[thecoolertails]

venn diagram overlap between bbc sherlock and good omens includes:

- short seasons with really long episodes

- queerbaiting

- fans recognize that the writing is bad but think the writers/showrunners are too good to make a bad show because it started out strong/they've made better work in the past so they make up theories about how it's actually all going according to plan and will result in an ending that justifies the bad choices (it won't)

[theglizzardwizard]

As above (insane irl) so below (insane online)

[oceanxveiined]

 Genshin Verse Side Muses:

*Mentions of abuse, dysfunctional families, manipulation, torture, violence, experimentation, ableism, transphobia, and death, not necessarily all present/to various extents depending on each bio, ahead.

1) Chang Da’Lun (500+/appears 23): Half-Adeptus, born some time before the Cataclysm. He can shift into a smaller birdlike form at will, though it does take a bit out of him to switch back. It doesn’t stop him from shifting into it on his own or a friend's whim though.

          His father was a Yaksha named Wuye, alias Caligo, who had inevitably become consumed by his karmic debt and became more akin to a malevolent demon. Though admittedly, the adeptus had already possessed quite the cruel streak, even long before he’d fallen. Being driven mad by the karmic debt meant his slaughters turned to fellow adepti and humans alike, which had also grown to be far more frequent and brutal. Each consumed opponent led his power to grow as he’d absorb their vitality and any abilities they possessed.

          By contrast Da’lun’s mother, Anhe, had been fully human, having been with a group of treasure hunters who’d taken her from her family in ransom when they’d strayed too close to the maddened Yaksha’s territory. When they had realized and tried to sneak away, she risked her life to draw Wuye out and betrayed them all in a desperate bid for freedom and power. She offered them all to be slaughtered and devoured by the corrupted Yaksha, as well as to offered to lure more to satisfy his bloodlust for incentive to make him spare her own life. She even offered to be his consort as well, to let herself be used by him as he saw fit, sparing no expense to give anything and everything she could to ensure she survived this encounter. He conceded out of convenience, taking her as promised and continuing his slaughters about Wuwang Hill with her aid.

          Anhe delighted in having his favor, even with how terrified of him she’d been at first, growing more and more sadistic herself with every massacred he’d rend, every death scream that filled her ears while she remained unscathed. The thrill of power and having a mate so powerful to keep it was too alluring and far too intoxicating, she would never dream of ever parting from him.

         Only for her to end up alone and powerless anyway when the former Yaksha was killed shortly after the birth of Da’Lun.

         Much of his childhood had been Anhe relentlessly tormenting him, using him as a scapegoat for how her life had fallen apart and due to having been affected by his father’s karmic debt as well ( both in her continued presence alongside him up until that point and in stubbornly lingering at his lair where the miasma was all concentrated rather than returning home with him gone ). Da’Lun took the abuse without protest, wholeheartedly believing her and his own guilt. He spent his whole life striving to ‘make up’ for his existence, in bringing her gifts and attempting to make her life easier every way he could. To protect and provide for her as his father had intended.

         It all came to a crashing stop when his mother at last succumbed to the cursed energy infesting their home. Or so he tells himself and anyone who ponders of her fate, not wanting to admit he himself had killed and devoured her. It had been when she’d tried to end his life first and the resulting corruption of them both had his adeptal nature spiraling out of control during the struggle. His Electro Vision had been what had ultimately murdered her, bestowed upon him during his struggle as she denounced and cursed him, which he hadn’t realized until the morning after.

         Plagued with guilt and fear, and knowing he must have taken on her share of the karmic debt's influence, his father's ability considered, he traveled Teyvat to distance himself from his former home for a few years. For 500 years, he witnessed beauty and horrors alike throughout it all, before he decided to settle some time in Sumeru. His main aim had been to learn all he could on humans and their histories ( learning from each Darshan over the course of the centuries he’d spent there, changing his appearance every time he’d reapply ), as well as to pass the time in a way that would not aggravate lingering traces of his father’s influence. It was while he learnt from the Amurta Darshan when he met Danae. With time to spare, and admittedly intrigued by the utter madness of her ideas and her equally frenzied determination to see such impossible fantasies made reality, he signed a contract to assist her in any endeavors she may undertake for them, as she would his own, per its terms. They would maintain it dedicatedly before briefly parting ways when her illicit studies were discovered.

         He himself remained at the Akademiya mere weeks before deciding his life had dulled too much without her odd ideas and eccentric ( not to mention at times exceedingly cruel ) methods, setting off to travel again in search of her. Traveling through his homeland, he would come to meet Ozzy, whom he would follow to Mondstadt, after he’d found him interesting company, especially when the man would encourage him to not feel so wary of the karmic debt’s influence. There, he would become a founding member of his gang when it resulted that the man’s interest had been likewise piqued and thus given him the invitation to stay.

          Ozzy was able to locate and drag Danae into his business thanks to Da’Lun’s scheming and using the terms of their contract to rope her in.

         What could he say? He would be a fool to let one of his favorite pieces go. Just as he would the chance to see what would come out of putting so many volatile little components together.

           Surely the end result would be most spectacular indeed.

Oswald “Ozzy” Beauregard / Ásvaldr Bjornsson (appears early 20s): One of the remaining survivors of Khaenri’ah, though he keeps that card very close to his chest. Only Da’Lun is actually aware of said fact, due to their shared longevity and closer bond compared to many of the others. If asked of his origin, he will always give the half-truth that he is of the Sumeru region.

         Stricken with immortality, Ozzy tends to push the limits of what said immortality will do for him, especially since his perception of pain and danger has been skewed severely by his curse. For the longest time, he had wandered about the desert and Sumeru’s forests, picking fight after fight using the very Abyssal energies he’d been corrupted with. Even with no formal combat training outside teachings he learnt as apprentice mage, his frenzied manner tended to allow him to prove a match for the hilichurls, Eremites, and Treasure Hoarders he encountered, leaving brutalized corpses and wreckages in his wake, and plenty a scar to mar his own body. Some of which healed worse off than others due to his inability and lack of real want to properly care for himself. Eventually, he would be found and formally taken in by the Fatui when he had too grievously injured to fight them off.

Not that he would have wanted to even if he could, considering how much they piqued his interest.

        He had been with them long before Danae had joined, having willingly surrendered himself to be experimented on by Dottore out of boredom and curiosity to see what the man could get out of it. As well as a vain hope to possibly stave off his Erosion and keep his mind with the Abyssal energies eating away at it. Needless to say, Ozzy’s sanity still had taken quite the toll throughout the centuries he’s been alive, and the outright torture he faced through the time he’d been with them had truly not helped in the least. Especially not while being injected with god remains steadily twisted up his mind, more and more. The Abyssal energy he’d already been afflicted with had ironically been what helped keep himself through it though, allowing him to fully assimilate the god’s lingering energy into himself and steady his condition.

         When Danae had decided to desert the Fatui, she broke Ozzy out from containment and left him an experimental Delusion to have him serve as a diversion so she could escape, figuring he would have some exploitable grudge that would prompt him to seek vengeance. And he served his purpose well, slaughtering Fatuus after Fatuus he encountered with the three tail-like, bladed chains he could manifest from it. He did so with great delight and utmost zeal, damn near like an animal in frenzy. But in truth, he really cared not for getting even. He rather merely wanted enrichment, as he called it.

         While Danae had figured the Delusion would simply kill him in the end, his own longevity and the god remains he’d assimilated allowed him to use the Delusion so freely without truly permanent consequences, though still at certain cost to his body after particularly prolonged usage. It severely aggravates the place with the god remains had been injected, low at his right side where the Abyssal energy was at its highest concentration. Due to it also being the place of his most severe wound and one of the ones that truly never healed properly, it leaves him feeling as though something had been gouged right out every time he’d stop its use. Still, in the moment of that first use, all he could think of was the thrill of the fighting and being able to run about, free at last. To this day, that very thrill is what keeps him using it, even knowing the painful consequences.

         The euphoric high he felt back then lead him to completely destroy the location all together, both in his own kills and in tampering the delicate machinery that would consume the rest of the location along with it in the ensuing explosions. He himself made his getaway before the destruction caught him up along with everything else, after finding and bringing along a fellow victim ( not that he consciously saw himself as such ) of the Fatui experiments.

         After hearing tales of Monstadt, her homeland, the idea of a nation whose Archon had no real say in its ruling appealed to him greatly, Thus, he would hijack and man a Fatui ship to gain leave off Inazuma, heading to the Southern side of Liyue, and making their journey back to Mond that way.

         Ozzy’s aim in making the gang had solely been to collect interesting people to surround himself with, nothing more nothing less. Something to help stave off ennui and keep his mind sharp; a little pet project he could maintain or ruin at his leisure when the time came. It only became a formal organization incidentally, but he finds it a decent pastime to run it and especially the business he and Da’Lun came up with as a front.

          Due to past experiences, he has a mild to severely violent visceral reaction to fire based abilities; which is only worsened by his love of deliberately avoiding triggering his own phobia and habit of gambling with extreme stakes, typically involving fire in some way.

         What sort of gambling man would he be if he let something like that stop him, after all?

Elisabeth “Eliza” Merrimack (18) - A Mondsadt-born girl whose family lineage traces back to the Imunlaukr clan, after the clan had broken up due to a schism. Originally Visionless, she would gain a Dendro Vision ( chronologically set late in the events of the Sumeru Archon Quest ) and take up Catalyst-based combat.

         The eldest daughter of her main family at the time, she had a horse riding accident in her youth that left her paraplegic, exhibiting little to no movement in her legs even after treatment at the church. The fact that it had taken them some time to get her there, seeing as she had been lost for days, was probably behind it. Regardless, her family despaired at the incident, frantically trying everything they could to heal her, even as the church insisted nothing could be done. Even as she herself tried to reason it was alright; that she didn't need to be, having accepted their verdict when her family could not. And they never truly did.

         When she was fifteen, the Merrimacks ultimately accepted an offer from the Fatui to aid them ( though in hindsight, Eliza couldn’t but wonder if it had been seen as an excuse to have them take her off their hands ), and carted her off far from home. Betrayed at her family giving her away so easily, especially after she realized they would not check up on her or visit, Eliza at last fell into despair after seeing what awaited her at the hands of the Fatui. Her parents had been lied to, after all–Eliza had not been taken in to receive care, instead becoming subjected to experiments with god remains like every other subject they got their hands on.

          And no one would be aware of that to come save her. Assuming they would even care to try if they did.

  ��      Things began to change years later after meeting Danae, who was assigned to oversee her. To be precise, Danae had at first been in charge of her post-op treatments, ensuring the effects of the experiments didn’t disrupt her vitals and in keeping her alive overall. They began to know more of each other and interact after the then Fatuus had been promoted and would have her as an exclusive subject, due to her ideas and personal project.

          Even with how callous Danae could be, she and Eliza eventually came to get along well due to Eliza coming to understand Danae’s wordless gestures and tough-love care after the former had begun to get attached to Eliza. Said care usually being in the form of snuck treats and material comforts. It wasn’t until later on in their friendship that Eliza learned it had been because she reminded Danae of her younger brother, that she had specifically requested to oversee her treatments because she wanted to help her like she'd intended to help him. Learning why and how she intended to do that did embitter Eliza rather than endear her though.

That said, they truly became each other’s first real friend and confidante after Eliza had been–even if gruffly–encouraged by Danae to start speaking up for herself and the first thing Eliza did was tell her off for thinking she ought to ‘fix’ her and any other person, for that matter. It had been a gut reaction based on Eliza’s own resentment of how her family regarded her as well as the god remains in her acting up due to her agitation.

         Still, even while the burst of temper had startled Eliza, it had been enough for Danae to not only respect the girl, but also to begin to doubt her own goals. Most notably, it was enough to prompt the Fatuus to pick up her old ideas anew rather than continuing the original experiment plan she’d had altogether, choosing to help make amends in fashioning Eliza a special wheelchair to take her out for enrichment. Not that Danae would ever admit that’s what it had been for, even in present day, but Eliza understood all the same.

            The day Danae broke out, she had actively tried to reach Eliza to bring her along, but was unable to in the chaos she’d wrought and severely underestimated. Thinking her dead, she prioritized her own survival and left without a second thought.

           Eliza hadn’t realized she’d been abandoned once again, rather had been merely confused by the happening and chaos around her. She patiently awaited Danae to come, trusting the Fatuus to soon fill her in and protect her if need be. Instead, it was the newly freed Ozzy who had found Eliza and offered to bring her along after having slaughtered her guards and hearing her request to see the stars outside before he ‘put her out of her misery’ had moved him.

          And especially because she then tried to cut his throat the instant he got close enough to carry her.

          After convincing her he did want to bring her along, not kill her, she at last conceded and let him take her away from the wreckage of the lab. Eliza's tales of her home nation had been the reason Ozzy had chosen to settle there, and she was more than happy to return with him, though flares ups of the god remains in her did pose some problems both were unsure of how to handle. Not that he trusted anyone in Teyvat to be able to take care of her as they should, especially considering how she’d ended up in the Fatui’s hands in the first place.

         Still, she is grateful he took it upon himself to allow her to stay by his side as his ward, even while she couldn’t offer him much in return in terms of fighting skill, money, or knowledge besides that of her home. When he founded his gang, she did find purpose in aiding with the logistics aspect of running the front for his gang, using the learnings of her youth. Without her, it would have fallen apart from the start, Ozzy would always say, leaving her giddy with excitement and her heart full. After finding and enacting a solution to quell the god remains in her ( taken place post-Sumeru archon quest, story-wise ), she would start taking a more active role in the gang as aid to their resident healer. In addition, her wheelchair would be adapted for combat, to suit her needs and her Vision’s abilities.

          She is well aware that elemental concentrations worsen her flare ups, but she still constantly insists upon staying with everyone else in the gang and utilizing a soothing device relying on Elemental energy anyways. She’d rather spend it in comfort and with her friends, even the lot of them encourage her to when she frets what could come out of it. Once the traces of god remains in her would be sealed off enough, she is able to head out with them with her wheelchair from that point on, as well as set at ease her fears of hurting them. She still feels chronic flares up of pain due to her affliction, but with less risk of it going out of control, she can bear it a lot easier.

          After all she’d been through, this was nothing. Nothing, in the face of being able to smile and delight in her life to the fullest once more.

Tyonna Durene (19): Hailing from Natlan, Durene is essentially a demigodess, born from the union of a mortal man, Jevaun, and minor goddess Oloku, whom he had ensnared with a talisman along with several of his friends and fellow warriors when her tempests had threatened their home village.

          Bound to human form, Oloku had been content in their union at first when the man had been kinder to her than the others, up until her husband began to get exceedingly paranoid and possessive of her following being imbued with several of her blessings. She began to grow miserable, cursing Jevaun and unable to do much to fight him as her powers had become considerably weaker, especially after Durene’s birth. And it didn’t help that it was especially so because the man kept her away from the sea, an important source of vitality for her. Still the goddess did not fault her daughter upon her birth, teaching Durene the ways to be a soothsayer and healer so she could properly go through the initiation process and her actual training in the village once she was of the apt age.

          Durene took to her learnings quite well, eager at the thought of being able to contribute to village this way. She particularly excelled in serving as an herbalist and healer, though she did work hard to improve her skills when it came to divination to impress her mother. It always did seem to put Oloku in a far better mood whenever she did, as well as when she would listen to her mother’s tales of gods and places she’d been, of her life prior to being confined to mortal form. Of their Archon, and her great deeds. More than anything, she loved singing for her mother, songs she learned from her and the others in the village, seeing how her voice seemed to bring the goddess some semblance of solace, when she felt her weakest.

         At twelve years old, Durene learned the full story of her mother’s plight. Horrified and moved, she would elect to repay her mother all she’s taught her in concocting a clever plan to gleam out from her drunken father the location of each piece of the talisman needed to complete the needed ritual and free the goddess. With this knowledge, Durene was able to find and bring them to her mother, who would aid her in completing the necessary steps. As her bonds would break and her strength returned, Oloku lamented being unable to take her child with her. Promising to return with a means to ascend her as soon as she could, the goddess would transform into a pillar hundreds of crabs that would scatter into the sea and leave Durene standing alone at the outcropping. Bittersweet and all-too brief as their parting was, she felt content in knowing her mother would be happy at last.

          The good mood would not last long, as Jevaun flew into a deadly rage in realizing what had happened when he awoke to the sounds of a howling sea storm after she returned home.

          His rage did not frighten her, even as he demanded answers. Did the she not care about their village? Of what the goddess would do to them, now that she was free? Of why she’d been confined to mortality in the first place?

Durene truly cared not, insisting Oloku had borne and suffered enough under his suffocating hold. If they were all to be destroyed in her vengeful wrath, it was for the slight they’d done against her, and thus truly fair.

          Her answers would brand her a traitor in the eyes of her father and, to his claims, their people. To ensure the goddess wouldn’t completely destroy them, he locked Durene away and made sure the goddess could never find her, and no one would in turn ever think to help free her.

          She couldn’t say how much time had passed since he’d left her there. Days went by languishing in her prison, in the presence of no one else but her father, whenever he would stop by to bring her food. If her refusal to concede to his pleas to betray her mother and attempts to break out didn’t enrage him enough to leave her to her own devices the next few, that was. It wasn’t until she’d exhausted every attempt at escaping that Durene formulated a plan to escape.

          The next time Jevaun came to see her, he found his daughter seemingly unresponsive. The man freed her from her bonds and frantically attempted to wake her, only to find his daughter conscious after all, taking advantage of his closeness to grab hold of him. The man was only able to catch a brief glimpse of her newly bequeathed Anemo Vision mere moments before she would sap the breath from his lungs. Her face twisted in every trace of hatred and resentment she felt towards him was the last thing he’d ever see as he would succumb. Durene would hold no remorse for her actions, even as the village people would come to find her and try to seize her in retaliation.

          Escaping their clutches and leaving them to the mercy of her mother’s wrath, Durene would take to travel about Teyvat as a wandering soothsayer, making a pretty coin on divination and healing. Truly, that whole time she had been seeking a way she may ascend to join her mother, sparing no expense wherever she may go. She'd even forged a binding vow for herself, giving up her tongue, and thus ability to speak in exchange for power. Through her journey, she fostered a particular resentment born in her in Sumeru and the way the Akademiya had gone about managing knowledge at the time ( the reason for having rejected entry for her, thinking her to be of the desert folk ). Which lead to her resolving to ensure that place would be the first she may pay a visit to once she reached her goal, to tear it asunder for the offense, seeing as its god would surely not be able to match her when the time came.

          It was in being found by Ozzy in Liyue and being requested to come with him, Eliza, and Da'Lun along the way that she came to have company once more. The final founding member of his gang, she would happily settle in Mond with them. But by no means does this mean she had given up on her goal. With Da'Lun and his influence, as well as the addition of Danae later on, Durene would find use in the team’s members to further seek the information she required for her own ultimate goal. Who knew, perhaps she would just need to be a little more patient, just a little bit longer.

           Well, fine by her. That, she had plenty practice in.

Jaeda Purmizra (18): The daughter of an affluent family in Sumeru and the most recent addition to Ozzy’s gang. She joined them after running away from home and continuously hitching rides on caravans then later merchant ships that guided her to Mondstadt, where she’d been caught stealing from Ozzy’s tavern. Danae had nearly left her bound and at the complete mercy of Treasure Hoarders as punishment, had Eliza not intervened and personally pleaded her case to Ozzy. He accepted only because he knew it would piss off Danae in the process, and because he was intrigued by her Vision in particular,

          Born male and then named Jahar, she had been the family’s sole heir and was raised into the role accordingly ( read: impossibly strict ) by her mother. It was thanks to a young servant girl who tended to her every need that she even began to experiment with and realized her actual gender identity. All because the girl had wanted to play dress up and needed a friend to help her, not realizing all the decorum she was breaking in daring to ask the heir, of all people, such a thing.

          It had been quite the relief in realizing it, though, even when she hadn’t been actively searching for it. But to her, it meant everything from then on. And it meant despair, as she continued to masquerade as her mother’s precious only son and heir. She didn’t want to upset her mother, after all, especially since the woman banked so much of her bid for power as head of the family upon her. So she kept that her little secret, playing with the girl and growing up happily alongside her over the years.

         Up until she and the girl had been caught playing.

         The girl had been punished severely for her ‘crime’ and Jade was forced to bear witness to the bloody ordeal for humoring her. Only after the girl was left near death did Jade face her own punishment, the horrid humiliation her mother enforced upon her before an audience of the woman’s closest friends and advisers.

          The anger she felt in seeing the life dwindling in her friend’s eyes and the cruelty she faced ignited a single-minded determination to make every last person in the room pay for her beloved friend's pain, enough to for her to black out, coming to only when her mother had screamed.

Snapping back to consciousness, Jade felt bloodcurdling horror and cathartic relief in realizing she’d burnt her mother’s lovely face beyond recognition, every other cruel person who’d participated in her torment left as naught but charred corpses in her wake. In spotting the gleaming, blood-red gem clutched tightly in her hand.

          She didn’t stay long, stealing her friend away and running away from home with an intent to bring her along. They could make a life together away from them now, she was sure of it. She had a Pyro Vision after all, she was no longer powerless to protect them!

            With the severity of the girl’s wounds though, her friend had little time left. With her last breath, the girl made her promise to live life for the both of them and to be happy. To stay safe, and never let anyone dictate how she may live her life ever again.

          That day, Jahar died along with the servant girl. In his place and bearing the name of that girl to carry on her memory, Jaeda would set off to find that happiness she’d promised.

Mako du Raie (16): A Visionless young heir to a prolific merchant family in Fontaine, and the member who had joined the Snake-Eyes gang before Danae and Tua had. His father, Benshi, had been a doushin from Inazuma and met Mako’s mother, Marie, while she learnt the trade from her father, prior to the Sakoku Decree being fully enacted. Mako is their illegitimate child, though he was claimed to be his mother’s younger brother to save face for the family. As such, he was raised primarily under the strict watch of his grandmother and even stole the title of heir to the family from Marie, due to the story they’d given him.

         He took to his studies like a fish to water, being quite bright and precocious for his age. And in his eagerness to pursue his grandmother’s approval, he went far above and beyond the efforts his mother had ever put into her own. The family agreed he was definitely a far more suitable heir than she as a result, though he avoided his mother’s jealous wrath by asking she be involved in everything he did. Like this, the woman’s temperament was appeased, her going as far as to even take credit behind his talent and boast of him to all who would meet them.

          In all honesty, he would have been content enough handing her the reins of the family, had a business venture to Mondstadt not changed his mind entirely. His mother’s boasting lead to drawing Ozzy’s attention, the man having been seeking a nice, convenient little liaison for his gang’s front. With the boy being as young as he was, not only would he be easy to exploit, but his talent and influence would absolutely prove worth the effort to draw him in, just as he'd hope.

          As such, Da'Lun would be the one to meet and gain his trust. To persuade him to join Ozzy’s gang as their merchant contact. And, to ensure Mako’s position and control over his family’s affairs, Da'Lun would even go as far as to encourage Mako to eliminate each and every family member that could possibly stand in his way of managing it all himself.

           Mako couldn’t help but give in, even with how complacent he’d been before. All it took was being given the affection and doting he always wanted, rather than praises for his potential, stolen credit, and empty words he knew better than to believe. It took one friend, who cared and spoiled him so, to make him turn his previous wishes before and pursue a more ruthless ambition without a qualm. Even as he gazed into his mother’s dulling eyes, he would only feel a strong sense of satisfaction as Da'Lun would ruffle his hair with praises aplenty before carrying him back to Ozzy’s little haunt.

           He knew full well he was to be used by Ozzy’s group, having realized it early on in Da'Lun’s attempts to worm his way into his heart. But once he’d met with the others and Ozzy himself, there was no longer a single trace of lingering doubt in his heart. Looking at the lot of them gathered to see him, all varying shades of proud of what he’d accomplished, no matter how horrific, he determined the excitement and validation that came with what they did was a lot better than living his life within conventional rules.

            Where else could he feel like he was at the top of the world like this?

Tusitala / Tua (20): Originally hailing from a coastal village in Natlan then migrating to and settling in Liyue due to his father’s relentless pursuit of riches and lack of interest in the wars that ravaged their nation, Tua had been a Treasure Hoarder well before his coming of age. He is rather proud of the fact, often boasting of his own successes compared to other factions, especially after he’s fought his way through a group of them. 

At first it had been at his father’s urging that he joined and stayed with the Treasure Hoarders they’d joined up with. It was only to serve as something to make for a side hustle while his father took care of other business dealings at first ( taking care of logistics for that gang while Tua himself got to take on the more dangerous aspects ), then it became Tua’s obsession as his own greed grew, right along his addiction for every victory and bounty he secured them.

         He was quite content with this life, thinking himself the luckiest man in the world to have this chance. Even if he did have to surrender near all of his share of the spoils to his father, to quell the man's avarice. But with what he was allowed to keep or what he squirreled away to pass off as such later, Tua would take to decorating himself handsomely to show off his successes. As such, he’s got several piercings ( many of which he did himself ) along his body, as well as bits of gold embedded in his skin, particularly about his shoulders. He also has a few tattoos to commemorate his victories and his comrades, which glow whenever he uses his Vision.

          Speaking of, his Geo Vision came to him in a show of his conviction to protect his Treasure Hoarder ‘family’ by all means and any costs. In this case, it had been in protecting them from a squadron of Milileth by the skin of his own teeth then later its aid, having chosen to cover them on his own to ensure they could make off with a particularly rich score. Because of it, he became quite popular among them, with the lot thinking he would lead them to great success and eventually become their leader.

          The thought strongly appealed to him, enough that he resolved to make it a reality. As leader, he would have a greater right to a bigger share of the spoils, and he could be independent enough to break away from his father, too. And of course, being able to protect his comrades and look after them with greater responsibility and authority. That was his greatest desire above all else, one he would swear before them during the celebration of his blessing by the Lord of Geo.

          Though he did eventually fail to keep his promise to them when a conflict with Fatui, and severely underestimating them, left his group all slaughtered or near death, himself included. With his last lingering traces of full consciousness, he lamented not being strong enough to protect them all, and expected to meet his shameful end along with them.

          However his survival had been ensured when Danae had stumbled across the massacre. Though initially focused on eliminating the injured and resting Fatui and with her own hatred of Treasure Hoarders having her near ready to ditch them all as it was, it was due to her having determined his potential usefulness upon noting his Vision that prompted her to nurse him back to health.

          Deliberately leaving all the others to their fates, as she didn’t need them.

          When Tua would ask later after awakening, she would swear they were all goners by the time she had found him. That Tua had supposedly been the only one strong enough to survive because of his Vision.

          Grief would take hold, but he wouldn’t linger on that feeling too much. Not enough for it to consume him, anyways. Not when his savior made him an offer to come with her, a suggestion to carry on in his comrades’ names and honor their memories in continuing to plunder and seek the treasures they'd so craved. Feeling both indebted to her and a thrumming need to protect someone once more now that he was without a family ( he dared not return to his father nor join up with a new Hoarder faction after such a harrowing defeat ), he would choose to follow Danae to Mondstadt.

          Along the way and upon reaching their destination, they would take up mercenary work and end up wrapped up in the group they currently associate with now, after participating in an attempt on the young head of the Snake-Eyes gang alongside others like them. Said hit actually having placed by the young head, Ozzy, himself, using it as a ploy for recruitment to test if Danae had been worth Da'Lun's recomendation to his group. Tua likewise making it out alive alongside her and having demonstrated his immense strength and capabilities had been the icing on the cake. He was more than happy to accept the offer to join after that, no need for incentives or anything.

          Well, okay, maybe the pay grade and further chances to seek riches while with them was a pretty good incentive. That, and being able to take part in a whole new gang he could protect and grow stronger with. Those who didn’t need to depend wholly on him and could defend themselves should his strength fail them. But he refused to do so again, swearing the very same oath he gave his late comrades before.

          He will protect his newfound family, with all he has. Whatever it takes.

Mason Ennosigaeus (17): Sidon’s actual biological child. He was stolen away from his family by Morjena when she had found out of his existence, snatching him during the chaos she'd set off after tricking Eremites into looting the caravan the man's wife had traveled with on her way to the main city. It was a move meant to ensure Danae had no competition to being the man’s heir, especially after the woman and her attendants had been killed in the ensuing struggle. Danae was supposed to kill Mason upon being left with him, as Morjena had thought she’d thoroughly beaten the heart out of her. When it turned out the she hadn’t and even wound up with an attachment to the boy, Mason became an opportunity for Morjena to ensure Danae stuck around.

           Mason was frequently abused by Morjena while Danae was gone and quickly came to rely on the latter for everything. Not that it necessarily meant he was entirely helpless. His weak constitution left him helpless as it was, sure, but in truth, Danae never failed to endlessly dote on him every chance she was home to see him, even going as far as to sacrifice her own meals for his sake. She would even forgo sleep to guard him against Morjena as best she could, and when she did, she would deliberately sleep in a way that if the woman pulled anything, she would be the one to take the brunt of her mother’s abrupt assaults. Every little thing he could ever want or need and THEN some was his at his command, and without hesitation. He need only ask. She couldn't offer him comforts like reassurances and gentleness, but this, this she could do for him. And he was wholly all for it, appreciating the one good thing he had amid the horrid life he was stuck in.

             Inevitably, her boundless devotion and their environment twisted him up as badly as it had her, albeit in a different way. The one who truly wound up heartless and cruel, through and through, just as Morjena was, had been him.

          He may come off as shy and unassuming but in truth, he is twice as vicious and self-serving as Danae, behind the gentle demeanor. He is the one person who can ask of her to do anything at his whim, no matter what it is, no matter how hurt she would end up in the process. And he's used that, time and again to sic her on whoever it was he so chose, be it strangers for his own amusement or even people he's realized she started to get a little too close to, in selfish need to ensure she wouldn't start giving away her loyalties. To test that she truly did mean her loyalties to him, and act accordingly if she hesitated or doubted. He still needed her to survive, after all.

          At the same time, he is also the person others could use to strongarm Danae into damn near anything if they hold him captive, as any threats to him lead her to be all to eager to comply for his safety ( though woe betide those who lose him as a bargaining chip at any point during ). He is the One and Only Thing she has left to lose, but the feeling is not mutual. It hasn’t been from the moment she’d left him at the Akademiya on his own.

          Even having been left in the lap of luxury when she'd been forced to flee, being torn from her side and the endless doting, from his greatest asset, left him stewing in a resentful rage. His bitterness and broken heart earned him a Cryo Vision amid the enraged outburst within his room, gleaming enticingly within the wreckage of her final gift to him. That Vision, however, he deemed the greatest gift of all, and one he thoroughly believes was the Tsaritsa’s personal wish to him and show of support.

         As such, as of earning his Vision, he swiftly abandoned the idea of staying at the Akademiya. Instead, he sought to join the Fatui, using his power as incentive to be kept of use to them alongside the Cicin Mages. Though he was sure to mask what he did, telling Danae he got to travel for his studies so she never suspects. So her constant stream of money and gifts from afar never end, having them brought to him by agents he roped into his whims that happened to be stationed in Sumeru.

          In learning she had also once joined the Fatui only to abruptly disappear, he never once believed her dead as many assumed her to be. Knowing her well and the lengths she would go through to survive and how much she loved her freedom, he assumed she truly ran away. Though he keeps this fact to himself. He has full intentions to help hunt her down and make her face her the full consequences for abandoning him. And the Fatui, too, of course. But if possible, he would like to be the one to bring her end himself. To look her right in the eyes as he would use his Vision to make of her a pristine statue for himself to keep.

         Maybe then she’ll actually keep her promise to never leave his side.

[scarletspider2the2ndpower]

Ben Reilly: Scarlet Spider (Vol. 1/2017), #5.

Writer: Peter David; Penciler: Mark Bagely; Inker: John Dell; Colorist: Jason Keith; Letterer: Joe Caramagna

[fiovske]

can I just say. coffee theory is stupid and completely cheapens the choice Aziraphale makes.

Aziraphale continues to say no to Metatron's offer until Metatron uses the real bait: if you take over Heaven, you can reinstate Crowley to his Angelic status. And that is what gets Aziraphale to say yes hook line and sinker — he can take Crowley with him so Crowey doesn't have to be afraid of Hell and Aziraphale can run things Do It Right as the Head of Heaven and no one would say anything to Crowley ever again if Aziraphale was on his side. Aziraphale doesn't know about the trial and the fact that Gabriel was fired for disagreeing w Heaven on the Second Armageddon front. He just thinks Gabriel was fired bc he fell in love w a demon (and Aziraphale's in love w a demon). Aziraphale strongly believes that if he can reinstate Crowley as an angel again then there would be no such objections from Heaven at all, because they would both be on the same side and they can be together and if anything ever goes wrong, both Crowley and he would be protected under Aziraphale's position as the new boss of Heaven. Plus, the way he remembers it, Crowley enjoyed making things creating things and still likes to do good deeds which he gets in trouble for if Hell finds out, but he won't if he's an angel, in Aziraphale's eyes then Crowley would be free to do all the good he liked. And because Aziraphale would be the boss, Crowley would be able to ask questions and work with him and make things better w his inquisitive perspective, something Crowley always wanted to do and Aziraphale wants to give him that also.

He doesn't know the full depth of things that Crowley knows, which is why when Crowley hears Aziraphale's offer, all he hears is that Aziraphale is choosing Heaven, after everything they have done to him, Aziraphale is leaving Crowley FOR Heaven. The way he sees it, Aziraphale wants him to change and be Heaven's definition of "Good" so they can both be in Heaven, conforming to a life Crowley left behind long ago, a life he knows Aziraphale wouldn't be happy in either. Which is the killing blow to Crowley's heart bc Aziraphale would choose THAT instead of coming away with Crowley? Devastating. But he doesn't know that Metatron's offer WAS Crowley's Angelification and hence forth security that got Aziraphale to say yes. Crowley hasn't communicated a lot to Aziraphale but Aziraphale also hasn't communicated a lot to him either and they're both on very different pages w the information they've got and what they feel they need to do to be together and be safe and happy.

Does Aziraphale make the naive choice? Yes. Does he make so in full control of his mind and senses? Also yes. Having his coffee poisoned is an incredibly cheap tactic because as a writer it's a cop out. It robs Aziraphale of not only his agency but also the reasonings behind his choice. It absolves him from the struggles and consequences of his actions and robs him of the growth and realization and epiphany he will have in the third act. It cheapens their inevitable reconciliation.

Metatron didn't hand him the coffee to poison him. He handed it to him so he can use the manipulative familiarity of "oh look i brought ur coffee order, isn't it cool how I know your coffee order isn't it nice how we are close like that?" that was the tactic. to get him to listen. Not some elaborate coffee poison.

[muffinlance]

Kidnapped Zuko? Rescued by Gaang who dont know who he is and he has to hide his identity.

Okay, so. There’s already a teenager down in Commander Muttonchop’s brig. This fact is so far past concerning it’s wrapped around to let’s-not-think-too-hard-about-this hilarity, and Sokka finds himself grinning, and offering the guy a good ol’ fashioned Water Tribe wrist shake through the bars. They’re neighbors, after all.

“Hello, Fellow Prisoner. What are you in for?”

“I, uh,” says Fellow Prisoner, who is clearly undersocialized from his time in here. He’s looking a little grimy around the edges of his all-black outfit, and the bruises on him have had time to get newer, fresher bruises on top, which is just. That is all kinds of reassuring. Oh, and the giant fiery facial scar. Also reassuring. Though at least that one’s a few years old. So… inflicted when he was, what, Aang’s age?

So reassured, is feeling Sokka, for the Fire Nation’s upcoming hospitality.  

“Uh,” repeats Fellow Prisoner, who is uncoiling a little in the direction of Sokka’s offered hand. As if Sokka was trying to coax him out, and hadn’t just sort of forgotten he was holding it there while his thoughts were doing their downward spiral. But hey, one man’s desperate attempts to keep his cool were another man’s offer of friendship. Fellow Prisoner grasped his wrist and shook it, in both the most technically correct and least experienced Water Tribe wrist clasp Sokka has ever experienced. 

“Zhao thinks I was stealing military correspondence,” the guy says.

“Were you stealing military correspondence?” asks Sokka.

“Only his,” scowls Fellow Prisoner, to whom Sokka takes an immediate liking. “...What did you do? To get arrested. But not killed. He doesn’t usually…”

So, so reassured.

“Oh, you know,” Sokka says, continuing to shake wrists, because it is becoming clear that Fellow Prisoner has no idea how long this is supposed to last and Sokka isn't going to be the one to stop him. “The usual. Found the Avatar. Became traveling companions. Got captured doing something definitely heroic that did not in anyway involve excessive screaming of an unmanly pitch.”

“...The Avatar?” says Fellow Prisoner, who clearly knows how to focus on the important points.

“I’m bait,” says Sokka.

“For the Avatar.”

To be fair, Sokka is still a little stuck on that point, too. It’s been a few weeks, but he still wakes up too-hot in the night and wondering why the stars above him aren’t quite right.

“Yep,” he confirms.

Fellow Prisoner’s face does a thing. A sort of processing, processing, processing thing that involves progressively more scowling. “The Avatar left you? I knew the old man must be a coward.”

“So,” Sokka says, “about that.”

Fellow Prisoner drinks up Sokka’s story like a man who’s spent three years in a desert searching for water. 

- - -

(It’s been two and half years.)

- - - 

Their escape involves a significantly higher swords-to-escapees ratio than Sokka had anticipated, which is distractingly epic. 

Also, the last-minute bison save is both the stupidest thing his little sister could have possibly done and very welcome, which means that Sokka is going to catch his breath and let some of his adrenaline fade before channeling his inner Gran-Gran for a lecture. 

Fellow Prisoner sheaths both his swords. And kind of stares, rather than sitting down, so Sokka pulls him over before the bison turbulence (read: catapult dodging) can do the job. This does nothing to interrupt the staring. 

“Hi,” says Aang, looking back from Appa’s head. “I’m Aang! What’s your name?”

“...Li?”

Under the sunlight, Fellow Prisoner’s eyes glint gold. He is… very Fire Nation-y looking, now that there is enough light to see him. And he is warmer against Sokka’s side than anyone not feverish should be, even in the ridiculous heat these northerners call ‘winter’.

“Are you a firebender?” asks Aang, like that question hasn’t spent decades earning its status as an insult.

“Uh,” says Li.

“Great!” says Aang, who has already figured out Li-speak. “I need a teacher!”

On the deck below them, Zhao has gone from shouting to laughing. 

Sokka continues to be reassured.

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOR ─── jonathan crane ✧♤

ೃ⁀➷ “Finally, a sin worth hurting for, a fervor, a sweet--you are mine.” — ‘Postcolonial Love Poem’, Natalie Diaz.

pairing. yandere!jonathan crane x reader

summary. a few months ago, you found out about your close friend’s… habit, of “cleaning up” creeps who hung around you. you use this to your advantage, but can you deal with the repercussions when your words backfire?

warnings. swearing, stalking, jonathan being creepy & delusional, manipulative but naive reader, mention of murder, p in v, creampie, breeding kink/forced breeding/babytrapping, unprotected sex, mild somno, oral sex (f), panty kink, forced cockwarming, drugging, heavy dubcon/noncon, SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 6.1k

a/n. this is definitely the darkest thing ive ever written. pls read w caution everyone!!! this is also inspired by these headcanons by @babybluebex and this alphabet by @scorpiussage !!

i.

You covered your face with your palms, sniffling. “Maybe I’m just being overdramatic. I was always too nice to him, y’know? Maybe I did lead him on.”

Jonathan’s head snapped to you, swiftly stepping toward the couch and kneeling down in front of you. “No, no, that’s what he wants you to think. You did nothing wrong,” he assured, pulling your hands away from your face and wiping a sneaky, non-existent tear from the corner of your eye. 

You pouted at Jonathan, big doe eyes glistening with grief. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do tomorrow… and everyday after that,” you lamented, “because it’ll be so - upsetting, seeing him.”

Jonathan’s large hands clasped around your own, delicate and warm. “Does it scare you? Him being there?” he murmured softly, peering deeply into you with an indecipherable look.

You nodded pitifully, looking down at his hands wrapped in yours so your hair would fall in front of your face, hopefully shielding the glee sparkling in your eyes. Thank god Jonathan had taken the bait -- it was only a matter of time before your dear, obsessive friend would get rid of your competitor for you. 

It was late evening, and you’d called Jonathan, pretending to rant about a coworker who confessed and got slightly violent at the fact you did not reciprocate his feelings. In truth, none of that had happened at all— said coworker was vying for the same promotion opportunity as you were, and it was just your luck that a few months ago you discovered your sweet friend from college had made it a habit to “clean up” any creeps and freaks hanging around you. 

What kind of ambitious career-woman would you be if you didn’t take advantage of that, huh? So there you were, crying on the phone so devastatingly that Jonathan would have no choice but to come over, comfort you, and later, be your knight in shining armor and kill, kidnap or maim your coworker. 

You didn’t think it immoral to do so, y’know, even though it clearly was. To you, it was just… indulging his little hero-fantasy, while also making your life just that much easier. It made you happy, and it made Jonathan happy. 

It was all harmless (to you, anyway), because you knew how reserved Jonathan was… how logical he was. You were positive he’d never cross that line, go too far; stray out of the shadows with that possibility of losing you still hanging over him like a cloud. 

You wrapped your arms around Jonathan’s thin neck, hugging him tightly. “Thank you for coming tonight,” you murmured, your lips ghosting the shell of his ear. He shuddered under your touch, and you knew you had him whipped; probably already so deep within a plan to kill your coworker nothing could stop him.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said, pulling away and letting his hand come up to the hand-print sized bruises on your shoulder. “I can’t believe that - that monster hurt you.” Jonathan shook his head aghast, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes moved from your bruised shoulder to the strap of your lacy bra, trailing down your breasts before snapping back up to your face.

Your coworker hadn’t actually hurt you, obviously, but you had asked him to knead out a knot in your shoulder at lunch, and made him pinch harder ‘till you knew it would bruise. You’d known him for a couple of years now, coming from the same training batch, and had been involved in plenty of tit-for-tat exchanges, “scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” type of deals. 

So you were close enough to be comfortable massaging the other-- but you’d be fucking damned if he got the promotion and you didn’t. 

“It’s not that bad,” you murmured, ducking your head like you were ashamed. 

“You don’t need to downplay it -- least of all to me,” Jonathan tutted softly, two fingers tilting your chin up to meet his gaze again. 

You pressed your lips into a thin line, brows knitting. “I know, I’m sorry, I just…” you blinked rapidly, as if you were trying to do away with on-coming tears, “I thought you wouldn’t believe me. He said… he said that nobody would believe me.”

And just like that, it was like a shadow had passed over him. Jonathan’s expression contorted almost frighteningly quickly, and gone were the delicate, comforting sweetness of his sharp features; thus came the darkened eyes, clenched jaw, frown digging into his cheeks. 

“…He said that?” Jonathan whispered, voice low, barely containing the rage seeping into his words.

“He said that - he could do… do whatever he wanted to me, and I’d never convince a soul.” You confided, letting your face get weepy, tear tracks running along the curve of your cheeks. 

At that, you suddenly pulled Jonathan close to you, pressing your face to his chest and making anguished cries leave your throat. His hands shakily came up to pet your hair, and you could hear his heartbeat; skipping beats and growing faster the longer you clutched onto him. 

“I believe you,” Jonathan insisted, and went from petting you to holding you so tight you could barely breathe, “I believe you.”

ii.

You never saw your coworker again. He’d sent in a notice of “vacation” that nobody could really object to… considering he also informed your boss he’d already gone, and was sending said notice from his hotel.

Sure, that was incredibly suspicious anywhere else, but that’s the thing— you weren’t “anywhere else”, you were in Gotham. If your coworker had actually gone on a split-second vacation, nobody would blame him; everyone you knew who lived in Gotham had snapped, at least once, and had to get away. Most temporarily, some permanently -- in which, chalking his fate up to Jonathan, your coworker was definitely the latter. 

Honestly, you weren’t very surprised when you found out Jonathan was, for lack of better word, murdering people. Specifically, people he deemed a “threat” to you. 

Jonathan had always been… a touch too overprotective. Territorial, even. It was far subtler in college, but you supposed that was because you’d seen him everyday; with both of you trekking through your hellish career aspirations, you couldn’t see each other as often as you had back in school. It was like that saying-- absence makes the heart grow fonder. 

You’d first met Jonathan in GSU’s large community library, after you dropped a book on his head. You were on one side of the bookshelf, he on the other, and you were trying to grab a book on a too-tall ledge. Instead of getting your measly grip on it, it went backwards and smacked Jonathan right in the rimless frames. It was a meet-cute, sort of, with you apologizing profusely, him brushing your worries off with that irritatingly charming smile of his, and then helping you with any books you needed (a clear advantage of his height) for the rest of the day. 

From there you became close friends. He always knew the right things to say, had various fascinating interests (half of them coinciding with your own), and was always, without fail nor doubt, an absolute darling. He never poked or prodded into information you didn’t want to tell him (at least not yet), constantly staying polite, respectful, eloquent, and patient. 

You knew now why and how your relationship had escalated like so: you suspected he’d been one of those “creeps” hanging around you, long before the library incident in your early college days. You first began adoring him for the most part because it felt like he understood you perfectly, unknowingly adhering to all your creature habits, liking all your hobbies, and knowing every word that could make you let your guard down like you’d been friends for years. It all made sense now-- he’d collected said information just from watching you for so long. 

Thus the “meet cute, sort of”; Jonathan had probably been planning the moment for months. Polite, respectful, eloquent, patient. 

Why you? Well, you didn’t know either. Getting psychological about this, you probably reminded him of a relative he adored - some Freudian aspect coming into play, y’know? But it all boiled down to one constant fact: he was obsessed with you. 

It should’ve scared you, and it probably would’ve, back in college, but it didn’t now. His type was a dime a dozen, incredibly hard to come by; the kind of guy who you know you can trust, rely on, know without a doubt he will never leave. 

Even if you and Jonathan were just friends, you suspected in his sweet, beautiful, sick and twisted mind he’d long since considered you his — and, similarly, since finding out his secret, you began thinking of him as yours. Perhaps not yours romantically, but more like you owned him. He was the ever-present lucky charm in your pocket, the one who reminded you that you’d been loved before so you’ll be loved again, your constant support. 

“How’re you feeling?” Jonathan’s worried voice crackled out of your beat-up phone, startling you back to reality. You were hiding in your car while on break, not keen on talking to any of your coworkers or bosses in the cafeteria, when you’d gotten a call from him. 

“A lot better, actually.” You said, taking a bite of your lunch and trying to sound relieved rather than giddy. “…He went on vacation.”

Jonathan hummed on the other end of the line. You could hear the grin in his tone, but he quickly coughed, smoothing out the cheerful jitters in his voice.  “Really? That’s rather… well-timed.”

You shrugged, as if Jonathan could see you, “Whether it’s about me, or not, I’m just… glad I don’t have to see him.”

“Know that I agree wholeheartedly– the thought of him being near you made my stomach turn.” He let out a sigh, like his nerves were finally relaxing, “How about you come over tonight? I can make us a nice dinner, you can stay over if you want-- I regret leaving you alone last night… you were terrified.”

You bit your lip. When it came to Jonathan actually getting, well, romantic, you hesitated. Did he really want you, or was it his obsession kicking in? You knew he loved who he thought you were: a frail girl he needed to protect, not knowing you’d been using him to your heart's content since you found out his dirty little secret.

You were running out of fingers on your hands to count how many people you’d directed him to… clean up. First it was little targets, like the barista at your usual coffee place who’d flirt and always take too long making your drink, causing several lates at work. More recently it was the landlord of your apartment, who’d raised the rent three times in one month; after she died, the ownership went to her absent-minded son who reset the prices to the original, more-than-comfortable regular rate. 

But… you supposed you could humor him. A reward of some sorts; an unknowing treat to your obedient, sweetheart guard dog. “I’ll stop by, then,” you responded delicately. “I… didn't want you to leave either, Jon,” you murmured, before quickly hanging up. 

Later, after work, you’re driving to Jonathan’s with a bottle of white wine. You did these kinds of things for eachother -- little gifts, you mean -- often. Yesterday, he visited your flat with pastries from a bakery you liked all the way down in Old Gotham. 

“Chardonnay,” Jonathan commented when you arrived, ushering you through the front door with a squeeze to the thigh and gently inspecting the bottle. “You know me so well.” 

“Dare I say the best,” you grinned, pressing a friendly peck to his cheek and handing him your evening coat before traversing into his house’s large kitchen, swiping a finger-dip into the various dishes he had laid out in the middle of cooking.

“At least don’t touch dessert,” he pouted, quickly hanging your coat in his entry closet and trailing behind you. But his expression still cracked into a loving smile when he saw you sneak your pinkie-finger into a chocolate custard. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll be patient,” you backed off with a cheeky smile, arms up in the air and opting to hoist yourself on an empty counter and watch him resume cooking. 

“How thoughtful of you,” he responded sarcastically.

It didn’t take him long at all to finish up, and your eyes were trained on his sinewy figure the whole way through; the careful way he cooked, the absolute attention to every detail. 

Sure, you could say that was because Jonathan was a detail-oriented person (because he was), but you also knew it was because he was nervous, fumbling to impress you-- you noticed these kinds of things a whole lot more after finding out. Like how he gave you his coat when you went out together late at night and it was cold, how he often kept you close with a hand to the small of your back, how intently he listened to your every word, like it was the last thing he’d ever hear. 

“Like what you see?” Jonathan joked when he was done, urging you to sit down across from him and handing you the chardonnay poured in one of his wine glasses. 

“M’just admiring your cooking skills,” you explained sweetly, taking the glass and sipping it mildly. 

Jonathan’s eyes crinkled, lips curling into a sheepish smile. He didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to: he radiated delight. You swore you could see pink dusting his high cheekbones, a feverish blush burning from his ears to his pale neck. 

From there, dinner went on with some friendly chatter, his skillful dishes, and several more glasses of chardonnay. Nothing ever got old with Jonathan-- he listened well and he spoke gently and he revered your every word; you felt important just by being near him, he was so devoted. 

By the end of the night, however, you were feeling rather light-headed- veering on the edge of unconsciousness: “I think I’ll - take you up on that offer, Jon…” you murmured, trailing off and getting up from your seat. It was odd, surely, how quickly a mere white wine had gotten you drunk, but then again you’d been housing a nearly-full glass every few minutes. You lost your drink count ages ago. 

Jonathan, ever the gentleman, stopped tidying up immediately. “Good judgment,” he nodded agreeably, coming to your aid and picking you up bridal style. Your head swam at the sudden movement, his feet swiftly heading down the hallway, but his gentle voice quickly aided the dizziness: “Don’t force yourself and don’t worry, just sleep…”

“M’sorry,” you whispered, holding him tightly by the lapel, more words on the tip of your tongue, but he just shushed you, “didn’t help.”

“That’s quite alright, my love,” he replied lowly, entering his bedroom. He pressed an uncharacteristic kiss to your forehead and let you down onto his cushy mattress, watching how quickly your eyes dropped. You were certainly feeling the effects of the glass he laced now-- and then you were out. 

Jonathan needed to have you now, under his protection, and he’d achieve that through any means necessary, be it liquid melatonin or anything else…

“You’ll have plenty of time to help later. You’re home now.”

iii.

“Sorry about… last night,” you said the next morning when you got up, rubbing your eyes sleepily and padding into Jonathan’s kitchen. 

You found him leaning against his marble countertops, gently sipping down a mug of black coffee within his calloused grip, and he raised a brow amusedly. “You said the same thing in your sleep.”

Your gaze darted away from his own at the sudden embarrasssment. “Nonetheless… thanks, Jon. I’ll be out of your hair immediately-- I’m actually rather late for work. I kept a dress here last time, right?”

He set down his mug with a dull clink, and in your rambling, he’d made his way right in front of you. “No need,” he murmured, to which you tilted your head in confusion. 

“I already called in for you. You’re not going to work today.” He explained, a thin smile coming up to his face, eyes gleaming.

You laughed awkwardly, suddenly feeling trapped at the way he took slow steps forward, making you backtrack into the wall. “What are -- Jonathan, what are you talking about?”

“I can’t, in good conscience, let you leave.” Jonathan insisted with a nod, expression knitted in a way you knew he thought he was doing the right thing. 

‘“Let me’ leave? Is- is this a joke? Because it’s… it’s not a funny one,” you stuttered, heart beginning to hammer in your chest at the way he looked down at you. It was like he was watching a wounded animal-- in a way, you felt like it… and Jonathan was clearly your predator. 

“It’s not a joke, dear. Gotham’s gotten too dangerous for you,” he informed you softly, hands coming up to hold your face lovingly. His steps stopped, and you felt it: he’d finally pinned you against the wall, and there was no escape. “That coworker of yours was the last straw. My heart aches at the thought of what he could’ve done to you.”

“I - that wasn’t…” You trailed off, cringing at the way he leaned in further, his hot breath fanning on your cheeks -- how helpless you were against his advances. 

You knew something was going to happen when Jonathan couldn’t just stay on the sidelines anymore, but you didn’t think it’d happen like this. You thought it might end with him professing his love to you, pleading and begging you to indulge him fully. That he’d fume and sob at rejection… that he’d let you go. 

But Jonathan was like a ticking time bomb: with every victim you gave him, moments were ticked off his clock. It seemed that your coworker was the last second… and that he’d had enough of his frail darling being surrounded left and right by threats to take care of. He knew it’d all be so much easier if he could keep you safe in one spot, a place only he could enter.

“That wasn’t what? My god, I knew I couldn’t leave you all alone like that anymore… you’re too sweet, too innocent to know what’s gone too far,” he shook his head pityingly, unaware how hypocritical his words were. 

“Jonathan,” you looked up at him, breath catching at the way his fingers dug into your neck, “what are -- what are you going to do to me?”

He let out a sharp laugh, “Do to you? Oh… no, my love, I won’t be doing anything to you… no, I’ll be keeping you safe.”

“Safe?” you repeated incredulously, “but what about - my life? My friends? My family? My job?”

He shushed you, not unlike he had done just the other night, or the night before that, “You don’t need to worry about any of those trivial things anymore. You have me. I’ll give you anything -- no, everything you want.”

Your lips parted and closed, unable to come up with a response that may cause him to realize the sheer insanity of what he was saying. He’d gone too far… had slipped too deep into the infatuation while you weren’t looking.

Then, Jonathan wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pressing your face into the crook of his neck and immediately invading your nostrils with the scent of his cologne. It had been nice, once, but now it sickened you: how quickly that scent made your head swirl and your stomach clench… how quickly Jonathan had went from a darling pet of yours to a terror of unimaginable size. 

Fuck, you thought, fuck, you’d been playing with fire this whole time-- you had been playing with fire while being naive and underestimating and wholly stupid. 

You’d completely underestimated the depth of his commitment; how Jonathan was the kind of man who loved one and only one, and that there was no letting go with him. That once he had his claws in your skin, there was nothing that could stop him. 

But then, you remembered your thoughts from just two days prior-- you had him whipped. It was like a lightbulb went off; you knew you could use that, use his mindless, adoring obsession to you…

“Jonathan,” you murmured under your breath, too quiet for him to hear as he hummed lovingly above you. “Jonathan,” you repeated, louder this time, pushing him away and startling him.

He blinked rapidly, fixing his glasses that had gone askew in your sudden movement. “What is it, my love?”

“You -- you love me, do you not?” you asked, swallowing the cowardly dryness in your throat.

Jonathan nodded vehemently, inching closer, desperate to have you in his arms again. “Nothing in the world could compete with my love for you. Nothing.”

You exhaled shakily, putting your hands out in a poor way of creating more distance between you two. “I - I love you, too. I love you.”

You saw Jonathan’s face light up at your sudden confession, saw how his demeanor changed from hesitant to beaming. “You love me?”

“Yes, yes, I do,” you insisted, panting as beads of sweat rolled down your back, “and I’m telling you… I won’t anymore, not if you keep me here. If you truly love me, you won’t trap me here.”

“It’s because I love you that I plan to keep you here,” he frowned, before grabbing you by the extended wrist, pulling you close and wrapping his arms around you in a deathgrip. 

“But you love me,” he repeated in amazement, pressing rough kisses along the side of your neck that had you whimpering, “so you’ll understand. God, how I’ve longed to hear those words leave your mouth.”

Jonathan had gotten tunnel vision at this point, barely registering your pleas, and when he began pawing at your clothes, apparently in some kind of delusion that your “confession” was a lustful one… you jumped ship. 

He thought your confession meant he had permission to have a taste of you, and while it made your knees buckle and your throat burn, if it meant he might finally fucking listen, let you convince him to let you leave… so fucking be it. 

The two of you then stumbled back down his hallway to the bedroom, tugging at each other’s garments while pressing hungry kisses on one another. You played along dutifully, trailing your hands along his back while tugging off his jacket, and other articles of clothing. 

Entering the bedroom at last, Jonathan gently pushed you down onto the springy bed, having long since undone you-- you were left in your lacy underwear from the night before: black bra, black stockings, lacy thong hidden beneath it. 

You wore thongs because they didn’t leave any panty lines under your thin pencil skirts, but you were quickly regretting the choice when Jonathan crawled onto the bed and roughly tugged down your stockings, surely leaving holes and runs in them, and let out a lecherous groan at the sight. 

“God, I love your body,” he purred, hands hungrily groping your thighs and throwing your ruined stockings off to the side. “Can’t believe how long I waited for this.”

You closed your legs on instinct shyly, but he just as quickly pried your legs apart, leaning in and pressing sweet kisses along the soft flesh. “Jonathan…” you whimpered, trying to act needy, like you wanted him so bad-- in reality, you wanted to get this over with. 

You reckoned if you let him fuck you, get him pussywhipped, you could promise you’d adore him wholeheartedly if he just fucking let you leave his house. You couldn’t deny how his ministrations made you feel, though; his plush lips brushing along your clothed cunt made tingles run up your spine, made your heart beat in a way that was anticipatory rather than terrified. 

“Let me take care of you,” he promised, slipping off your panties and leaving your lips bare. You would’ve hissed at the cold, but the noise died in your throat as you saw Jonathan ball up the lace and press it to his face, inhaling deeply. 

“Fuck, you smell so good,” Jonathan groaned, and you almost gagged. “Wonder how good you’ll taste…” With that, he pressed his face between your legs and began lapping up your wetness, and you felt a gleeful smile tug at his face. 

You gasped at the sudden action, bucking up into him on instinct. Your cheeks burned with shame, but you still choked on an unwarranted mewl when Jonathan’s tongue slipped inside your sticky hole and felt along your velvet walls. 

He couldn’t exactly speak, with his mouth trained artfully on your cunt, but he let out an unintelligible noise of approval. All of this made you nauseous, your insides twisting in disgust, but your body reacted the opposite, pussy pulsing and clenching around him. 

It was just -- fucking criminal how skillful he was with that long tongue of his, licking long stripes up and down, suckling on your clit, searching for the spongy spot in your cunt that he knew he couldn’t find without his cock, but wanted to make you squirm anyway. 

You felt that familiar pressure building within you, his tongue going down on you faster, making shameful squelching noises echo around the room. He was hitting every pressure point, something you hadn’t felt in… well, honestly, you weren’t sure you’d been eaten out like this ever… 

The thought you were enjoying this, that he might actually make you come made you queasy, and your hands tangled through his locks, pulling him away. “Want - want your… your cock,” you panted, shaking your head when he tried to bury himself in your sex again. 

Jonathan frowned, going from all fours to sitting on the backs of his heels. “Baby…” he said, hesitant. You knew he wanted to take his time, worship you, treat you lovingly, but you were getting confused… losing yourself to the pleasure, forgetting you were doing this to stop him from holding you captive, not because you actually wanted it. 

You pouted, and, to prove your point further, you pressed one of your feet onto his extremely noticeable bulge, fondling it softly. He nearly doubled over at the much needed friction to his neglected cock, and then Jonathan finally let go of all his inhibitions, giving into his primal needs. 

He quickly undid his belt buckle and fly, slipping out of his suit trousers. Your heart sank at the reveal of his size; the imprint of his cock looked extremely intimidating, and that was beneath his boxer shorts. 

It seemed your thoughts showed on your face, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, leaving an embarrassing amount of your wetness on the skin. “It’s okay, my love,” he reassured, “your pretty pussy can take me.”

You nodded hesitantly, your teeth capturing your bottom lip and nipping at it nervously as you watched him completely undress… his cock wasn’t very thick, but boy, was it long, coloured a delicate pink hue that was pretty and aching, but you knew he wouldn’t be using it delicately at all. 

The way he looked at you, almost feral, eyes dragging over every curve and practically melting at how your hole gaped for him had you wanting to cover up, run away-- but you held still and forced yourself to brave through it. 

You only need to do this once, you repeat mentally, only once, and you can convince him to let you go. 

Jonathan didn’t waste any time touching himself or anything like that, he merely crawled atop of you and slotted himself between your shuddering lips. “So wet,” he grunted, slowly pushing his cockhead in. 

Despite his words, and the terrifyingly glaring feeling of your wetness, you still winced at the stretch; your back arched at the intrusion, your arms wrapping around his neck and digging your fingernails into his back just from the pain of his tip at your entrance. 

He slid the rest of the way in jiltedly, and you let out a pained gasp, then a helpless whimper, and finally, his name, your voice weak and raspy as he laid his weight on your torso, panting at how you soaked him. His unruly length was going deeper than you thought possible, and your mind went fuzzy with fear at how it’d feel when he actually started thrusting in and out. You could only pray he didn’t break you. 

“You did it, dear,” Jonathan announced proudly, pressing a kiss to your lips this time. You shuddered at the intimate gesture, but he didn’t seem to notice, and slowly pulled out, before slamming back in. 

You swore you saw stars, tears welling in your eyes at the rough action, and Jonathan placed his hands on your hips to soothe you by rubbing circles into the skin. “Full,” you choked out simply. 

Apparently, he thought that was praise, and he repeated the action, falling into a steady rhythm of slow but brutal thrusts. It had you gasping for air each time, the sting in your lower-half almost unbearable, but you suddenly felt yourself falling into a morally muddled, puzzling state of mind: he was practically torturing you with his length, but he was also whispering sweet nothings in your ear, gently massaging your rear. 

“You’re so -- fuck, thats a tight pussy -- beautiful,” he’d murmur, hanging his head low into the dip of your collarbone, “so beautiful.”

But, as you had to keep reminding yourself, you didn’t want this-- this was just the only way you’d escape. You didn’t want to be fucked by him, and most of all, you didn’t want him.

That train of thought was thrown out the window, however, when Jonathan’s hands suddenly hooked under your thighs and wrapped your legs around his waist. You were pulled further beneath him, and his cock went even deeper, punching up against the spongy spot in your pussy. 

You moaned; feverish, loud, wanton, and Jonathan drank it in fiendishly. From there, he knew where to thrust, pounding in and out of your cunt and hitting that spot everytime. The pain fell away into a sickly pleasure, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at how deliciously he was fucking you. 

“Jonathan!” You mewled, digging your heels into the small of his back. He was relentless, ruthlessly rutting his hips into yours and gripping your thighs so tight there’d be hand-shape sized bruises littering your body later. 

“You like that, darling?” he groaned proudly, pushing your hips further down his cock. “God, you love it, don’t you? I can feel you squeezing me…”

Your fucked out mind couldn’t discern between your lustful thoughts and your logical ones; you couldn’t help how you nodded, how you pleaded for more, despite the terror swimming in your gut -- despite how the sober part of yourself weeped. 

Then, it was like a tight rubber band around your stomach snapped; the pleasure that had been building in your gut burst, sending electric shocks of ecstasy running through your entire body. You saw white for a moment, your toes curling along his back as your thighs shook, your moan coming out terribly loud and sounding every bit his name. You didn’t mean to, of course, not again, but your mind filled in the gaps: Jonathan was fucking you, so Jonathan deserved the praise.

“Fuck!” Jonathan growled, “You came so hard… all because of this cock, all because of me.” Then, he began slamming his cock into your quivering hole quicker, desperately chasing his orgasm. 

It was only then in your foggy, post-high mind did you realize he’d never used a condom… you weren’t on anything, you hadn’t been for years, and the way Jonathan was fucking into you gave no indication he was stopping. The thought of him coming inside made your blood run cold; there’d be no escape, you’d be fucking finished— 

“Jon-- Jon, pull out,” you instructed weakly, trying to push him off you and watching how his focussed face tensed and tightened with the oncoming orgasm. 

“Sweetheart,” he panted with a frown, “what’re you talking about?”

“Please,” you whimpered helplessly, “just - just please pull out… don’t come inside, please!”

“I’m afraid not, my love,” He grunted, baring his teeth and hammering into you faster, “m’gonna paint your walls white… get you nice and pregnant, fuck, no-one’ll have to question who you belong to…”

“Don’t, no, no -- Jon, please,” you begged, struggling to get away from his assault on your cunt as he pressed his weight further onto you, pinning you down against the bed. 

But Jonathan wasn’t listening to you, not anymore. “Gon’ come, fuck, gon’ come,” he repeated, his thrusts stuttering, and you could only let out a grievous cry when you felt his cock twitch, hot spend spilling deep within you. 

Jonathan laid on top of you for a moment, pressing his forehead against your sweaty chest, before leaning back and pulling out of you. The painful stretch was reawakened, and your tears really came this time, large sobs exiting your mouth as you crumpled into a ball on the mattress. 

“Oh, my love,” he called your pet name with a furrowed brow, crawling closer to you, “what’s wrong? Was it too much? I know how delicate you can be…”

God, you could’ve screamed. He was still treating you like his little lamb… but you were beginning to feel that way, too; feeling like someone helpless he needed to protect. With the way you bunched up devastatedly beside him, it felt like Jonathan had fucking broken you, and then put you back together again with that doll image in mind. Not all the pieces fit the way he wanted them to, but Jonathan had time and brute force to fix all that…

“You -- you… I’m ruined,” you weeped, unable to explain properly with how terrified you felt, bringing your hands up to your face to shield yourself from him. 

Your plan had no future of fruition, not anymore… you’d fucked him so you could convince him you were trustful enough to leave and still be his, but you’d fallen into his trap; fucking him was the way he attached a ball and chain to your ankle.

His hand curled around your wrist roughly, pinning it to the bed and letting his other brush a tear from your eye.  “No, no, you’ll be the most gorgeous mother I know… your tits and your stomach all swollen like that? I won’t be able to keep my hands off you.”

Jonathan said that like you wanted him to be all over you, and it only made your cries wrack through your body harder. He then pulled you close to him, pressing your tear-stained face to his chest, letting you sob into him like he brought any comfort at all. 

You suddenly felt him press up to your entrance and your tears stopped momentarily, a fearful whine exiting your mouth instead. 

At your noise, he pet you gently, reassuringly, “Don’t worry… I’m just keeping us warm… keeping my come inside, my love.” With that, Jonathan slowly slid his length past your aching lips, until he was seated so deep within you his cockhead brushed up against your cervix.

His cream squelched within you and coated himself, feeling terribly slick and sticky between your thighs; you wanted to throw up there was such a large amount of it marking you from the inside.

“God, how d’you already feel brand new… need to do this more often….” he grunted the praise, and you felt shame colour you entirely.

But despite that shame and the terror swelling in your chest, the fact him within you was a surefire way none of his seed went anywhere but inside, his cock resting there did feel nice, like his rough fuck molded your pussy to fit him perfectly.

It was confusing… all of it very mind-boggling; how his actions petrified you while still making you feel nice and appreciated and loved… how his obsession was possessive and toxic but all at once delicate and thoughtful… how you felt yourself cry because he’d come inside you but was slowly succumbing to a sweet and comfortable sleep within his wiry arms. 

There was much time to make sense of your amalgamated terror and love later, however. Nine-months long, to be exact: you later woke up to Jomathan pummeling his leaking, hard cock back into you. All you did was whimper, keep limp as he used you-- there was no choice fighting back, not anymore; not since he’d fully marked you… impregnated you… made it so there was no way you were ever leaving him. 

[laundrybiscuits]

(Continued from this snippet! Content notes: police interrogation, homophobia)

“You don’t look gay.” The detective gives Steve a very obvious once-over. Steve tries to look gayer as subtly as he can. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Guess I’ll have to let my boyfriend know you don’t think I look gay enough to fuck him.”

The detective’s face twists slightly, like he’s smelled something bad. “No need to be like that. I’m just saying, I bet a good-looking guy like you could get a girlfriend pretty easy.”

“You’re not my type,” says Steve. He smiles with his teeth, even though his heart is going fast and he can feel his palms starting to sweat. 

The detective’s hands tense, and Steve wonders if he’s about to get hit, but they relax again and the detective sits back.

“Just doing my job,” says the detective. “Because, funny enough, we asked around with all your little friends, and it seems like you used to be a bit of a ladies’ man.”

“Things change,” says Steve. 

“In fact…seems like none of your friends ever even saw you talk to Munson before. Moved in different circles and everything. I remember what high school was like.”

The detective leans close. 

“So why would the captain of the swim team, a nice normal boy from a good family with a string of pretty girlfriends, ever—ever—stick his neck out like this for some murdering scum like Munson? That’s what I’m trying to figure out, here.”

“Don’t fucking talk about him like that,” says Steve. His mouth is dry. His pulse is thundering in his ears. “He didn’t kill anyone. He was with me the whole time. He’s—he didn’t kill anyone.”

“Hm,” says the detective. 

It takes a while for them to stop interrogating him. They keep asking him the same questions over and over, trying to trip him up. He asks for water and doesn’t get it. In the back of his mind, a hysterical little voice is shrieking Scoops Ahoy! I work for Scoops Ahoy!, but he manages to keep it locked down. Doesn’t let himself get baited, just keeps repeating that Eddie was with him the whole time and neither of them know anything. 

It takes a while, but it’s over eventually.

When he leaves the station, Eddie’s standing outside with Hopper and Joyce Byers, wearing a shirt and jeans that definitely belonged to Jonathan at some point. Eddie’s got his hands tucked into his armpits, looking antsy and tense, but he’s free and standing on his own two feet. It’s a pretty big upgrade from when Steve last saw him about a week or two ago. 

It’s almost too easy to go straight over to him, wrapping him up in a tight hug like they’ve had their arms around each other a million times. 

“Oof. Easy there, tiger,” laughs Eddie. “I’m, uh, still a little fragile.”

“Sorry,” says Steve, and loosens his hold. He doesn’t let go all the way.

“Come on, boys,” says Joyce. “I’m taking you two home. Steve, Eddie’s been staying with us, but we’re a little short on spare beds and it’s not great for his recovery. We’re moving him to your place until we can figure out something better, okay?” 

———

Joyce drops them off and helps carry in a few garbage bags full of Eddie’s stuff. There’s not that much.

And then the door closes behind her, and Steve’s alone with Eddie for the first time since—actually, maybe ever. 

“So,” says Eddie. “What…the fuck, Harrington.”

“Is that an actual question?” Steve says. He rolls his shoulders, trying to get some of the stiffness out. “I mean, didn’t Hopper and Mrs. Byers explain everything to you?”

“Kind of? I mean, I still think this is probably the worst idea of all time, but they told me—anyway, what I meant just now was a much more personalized and individual what the fuck. As in, why the fuck would you agree to any of this? You know you’re never gonna get another girl in this town to look at you now.”

“Dumping me already? Ice cold, man.”

Eddie groans and actually throws his hands in the air in frustration. Steve hadn’t known people did that in real life. 

“Jesus christ.” Eddie wheels around and grabs two of the garbage bags. “I can’t do this right now, I need to take a fucking nap. We will be discussing this later.”

“Still don’t know what there is to discuss,” says Steve, but he picks up the last garbage bag and leads the way to the spare room. 

Eddie pitches forwards onto the bed, arms outstretched and face mashed into the pillow. “Fuck yes, I am going to marry this goddamn mattress. Hit the lights when you leave,” he says, slightly muffled. 

For a second, Steve finds himself stepping forward with a hand outstretched to—do something. He’s not sure what. Touch Eddie’s hair, or something dumb like that. His face warms. He’s really glad Eddie isn’t looking at him and doesn’t see how he’s kind of just standing there with a hand out for no reason. 

He turns around, flicking the light switch on his way out, and doesn’t look back.

[ghouljams]

ghoul

ghoul you keep hitting the mark on every one of my kinks

monstrous size differences, seeing ur person as holy, ovul-

its like ur in my brain get out of there before u see something that starts turning these rough military men into men that fear what i want to do to them (the erotica of cyborgs, mechs and their maintenance handler just DOES something to me. someone just turning my screws and fixing my internal wires while i look down at them feeling up my most vulnerable parts. my engineer knowing every external and internal piece of me, my repairman knowing exactly which metal plates are bothering me and which screws need to be tightened more often and which parts i won’t say need fixing but he knows, i want to be known wholly and entirely by someone who can fix me and make me into their own theseus’ ship)

The eroticism of the machine.... thinking about android!Ghost....

He always seems to be hanging around when you're working on other droids or laboring with mechs. He checks over various weapons while you sit crosslegged on the tiled floor surrounded by neatly organized plates and screws. You can feel his eyes on you, but every time you look up at him, he's studying a trigger switch or tipping a gun barrel this way and that. You try to keep your attention on the open chest cavity in front of you. Your fingers trail over wires and trace circuits, looking for the too tight screws and miss-laid paths. It's delicate work, work that takes years of practice to get good at even with natural skill.

You twist to check the diagnostics window running on your bulky tablet, the cords running between it and one of your favorite droids humming with electric life. Binary flickers over the screen, replaced by strings of code as the machine parses and translates subroutines and operating systems. You squint at the glowing green letters, eyes flicking through code as you push your finger against the screen to scroll back up. You lean closer to the open cavity, flick your safety goggles down as you turn your attention back to your hands.

"I don't want to have to shut you down," You tell the droid, "So let me know if your servos start locking up." The droid gives you a thumbs up from their position on the floor.

"Isn't it safer shuttin' 'em down?" Ghost hums from the other side of the room. You ignore him, flicking the spark on your torch until it lights. You need to rewire the auxiliary movement board for the right leg, maybe reprogram the routines that are making it twitchy. You doubt anyone else noticed this bot starting to drag its foot when it walked, but you did.

"Five doesn't like being shut off," You explain, heating the metal connecting the wires to their "hip", "Says the lost time cuts productivity." Which is as close as you've ever heard a bot get to expressing an opinion. Even then saying they don't "like" being shut off is a stretch. Machines don't "like" or "dislike" anything, they simply are. You prod at the loosened wires with a pair of tweezers, pulling them from their places and examining the frayed ends. Definitely need replacing.

"Suppose I can understand that," Ghost grumbles. Again you ignore him. You don't know what he's doing, trying to bait you into a conversation or engage your curiosity, two things you can't afford when you're doing detail work. You solder the other end of the wires, rolling your shoulders to try and get some of the tightness out of them. You really should work on your posture, you're sure you look like a shrimp curled over your work, but you need the leverage.

You sit back, inspecting the freed wires, mentally tallying their length and checking the screen readouts. You set about snipping and stripping new lengths of wire, push a few buttons on your little screen, and feel your shoulders hike up to your ears as you lean to get the new parts installed. You think part of your fascination with machines comes from how repairable they are. You've long since come to terms with the fact that detaching your shoulders and giving them a good scrub down isn't actually possible. Not unless you want to look into cybernetics for yourself, and with the grade of parts the military offers you think you're better off eu natural.

"Still good five?" You ask, soldering in the new wires, you glance at the screen, watching the routines for speech zip across the green.

"Yes."

You smile to yourself. It looks like everything is running normally up top, that's reassuring. You weren't sure if this was a systematic issue or a parts issue, never know 100% until you open up whoever you're working on. You mentally scroll through your project list as you run the wires from the metal "hip" to the central data column. You scratch your tweezers against a bit of flashing, frowning. That shouldn't be there. You wave your torch over the distorted metal, and trying to find the defect. You hear a soft 'click, click, click' like nails flicking against each other as you heat the area.

You're jerked back by your collar as the bot jerks, its defensive system snapping like a bear trap over its open chest. Your heart hammers in your chest, your tools still tightly clenched in your hands, and your breath coming quick with adrenaline fueled fear. Ghost hauls you up to your feet like picking up a kitten, all titanium and inhuman strength getting you to standing. He leaves you to swipe the repair pad from the floor, the wires stringing it to the android shredded as cleanly as your neck would have been.

"Still stubborn enough to get yourself killed," He grumbles, shaking his head, the red glow of his cameras seems almost disappointed under the white skull paint. He tosses you the pad and you fumble to catch it. "Inter-system problem, shut 'em down." It's an order, his voice carrying all the authority it should as your superior officer.

You nod quickly, swallow some of the dryness in your mouth, and punch new numbers onto your little computer. "Um, thanks," You manage, watching him re-assemble his rifle with practices precision.

"Don't mention it." He replies, and you get the feeling he means that as an order too. Don't mention it, don't go spreading around that he saved your neck. Don't try to thank him again and he shoulders the rifle and pushes past you out of the landing bay.