#all things rancid and delicate
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For the writers ask: 2, 3, 4, 17
thank u for asking <3 <3 <3
2) What is your favorite fic of yours? i hope this isn't too much of a cop-out answer but my favorite fic is always the one i'm working on. a lot of love goes into each one and if i'm not fully enthralled in a story i'm writing i might as well not write it at all, imo. i'm particularly proud of atrad right now, because it took a long time, as well as lots of research and i really wanted it to be well-written. but rn, even though i'm on pause for a bit, subjectives is my fav bc it's the one i'm working on now.
3) What fic of yours do you think is underrated? it's hard to say when it comes to the ga fandom bc there's usually not as many readers at all, but i must say lack of interaction is what caused me to put not what we should be on the backburner for a few years. i fully intend to write all of it some day, but it is hard to get motivated when it's also a fic i've received negative comments on ;-;
(w the fandom that won't be named, i really liked writing trust, but it was seemingly less interesting to others so i abandoned it. rest in peace...)
4) What fic of yours were you surprised by how popular it was? i am always shocked when any of my fics get attention! my first ga fics in the internship universe on ffn got a lil bit of attention and i was genuinely surprised! but my g*th*am fic play dead getting as much attention as it did really shocked me, especially bc i was on twitter back then and i had plenty of mutuals who would "live tweet" reading whenever a new chapter came out, and it honestly felt so touching... the higher u fly, the more u have to fall and all that.
when it comes to ga, i had surrendered to having no attention especially more recently, but i think atrad got a decent amount of attention for how small the fandom is! and lots of ppl would comment and give me their thoughts which meant a lot too, and which i wasn't fully expecting!
17) Do you have any wips that you can tell us about? What are you most excited for in you wip?
obviously, i still have nwwsb, which someone asked abt recently! i'm very happy there's ppl out there who are interested in seeing it continue bc i am too <3 i'm thinking after subjectives, i'll probably continue nwwsb for a while (tho i had planned on it being rly long so i might get distracted by another project eventually before finishing it lmao)
i also wrote ~7 chapters of a zombie au a few years ago that i enjoyed but never posted bc pretty much all i saw on tumblr back then were ppl hating on zombie aus. i think i'd have to rewrite what i have though if i were to post it, which is why i'm not as excited about that project. i don't like restarting lol
and i also have a restaurant au i like, but it would likely not be quite as long as my other fics <3
and what i'm most excited abt is just sharing more fics for people to enjoy! i love writing natsumikan fanfic and giving as much as i can to this fandom and tho it seems to be in a constant state of shrinking, i won't let myself get too discouraged! thank u to all who read and enjoy my fics <3 i very much appreciate it!
send me a fic writing ask if you would like!
#ga#gakuen alice#thank u ur so nice for asking <3#mizutaama#answered#ask games#writing asks#nwwsb#subjectives#all things rancid and delicate
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pieces you'd tie back when we made love, now slipped away where they loyally wait ♡
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#✦ . ˚ introspection. ┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° ˗ˏˋ ❛ i like the taste of blood / so salty and sweet ❜ ˎˊ˗#✦ . ˚ adoration. ┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° ˗ˏˋ ❛ all things rancid & delicate ❜ ˎˊ˗#✦ . ˚ characterization. ┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° ˗ˏˋ ❛ this vessel is a lie / a lesson in fluidity ❜ ˎˊ˗#✦ . ˚ promos. ┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° ˗ˏˋ ❛ BOOM ! ❜ ˎˊ˗#✦ . ˚ memes. ┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° ˗ˏˋ ❛ i am cruel / i am gentle ❜ ˎˊ˗#✦ . ˚ countenance. ┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° ˗ˏˋ ❛ flawless serpent beauty ❜ ˎˊ˗#✦ . ˚ denji. ┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° ˗ˏˋ ❛ we were both born feral ❜ ˎˊ˗
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how do u think megumi would react overtime as he gets used to you bringing him flowers every so often?
no particular occasion, you just wanted to bring him flowers. what do you think he does with them?
oh lawd this is so cute~~
the first time you give megumi a small handful of wildflowers you'd picked while walking around on campus. you hadn't necessarily intended on giving them to him specifically.. you just happened to be in a rush to go somewhere and he just happened to be there and net thing he knew you were shoving them into his hands and shouting 'for you!' before running off again.
despite the slight warmth in his face, megumi hadn't thought too much of it. it was just coincidence, just you being your usual kinda forgetful self and gifting him whatever happened to be in your hands. it very well could have been a gum wrapper, couldn't it?
the small pile of flowers sit in a sad lump on his desk for a couple days, they're shriveled up and a bit smelly. when he throws them out he still doesn't think much of it- besides how odd it is that flowers can have such a rancid smell once they've whithered.
and then it happens again. this time you're walking back from a particularly easy assignment. a random yellow flower catches your eye and before megumi could tell you not to pick flowers from their well placed beds in town, you're carefully plucking it from the dirt and raising it to your noise. his scold dies on his tongue when you tell him it smells nice and bring it to his face for him to sniff as well. he feels like an idiot, but he finds himself leaning forward for a whiff. he doesn't say anything- but he doesn't deny the pleasant, light scent of spring. you must be able to read his thoughts, because you laugh, before breaking off a part of the stem so you could reach up to tuck it behind his ear. megumi winces at this, unfamiliar with the feeling and unsure of whether or not he should stop you. but you seem delighted when the bright flower stays against his mess of dark hair, so he tries to ignore the whole thing completely.
the nameless yellow flower sits in a small cup of water on his nightstand for a week. eventually the small amount of sunlight and water isn't enough to keep it in bloom, and once it's petals have fallen all around the base of the cup, megumi decides it's time to toss that one out too. but at least he tried with that one, right?
he's not sure exactly when it becomes a habit, but soon it appears every time you approach him, there's a gift of nature in your hands. sometimes it's just dandelions, but sometimes it's pretty flowers you've found on your walks or assignments. there's a few times you've even pulled a half wilted flower out of your pocket- it's petals already torn and it's stem weak and bent. you're only bashful when giving him the less than perfect flowers, but megumi accepts them all the same. with a mostly hidden smile and gentle hands as he takes them from your gentle fingers.
not all of your flowers go into cups, although he does keep them in rotation, replacing the old with the new when he deemed fit. but he only kept a few on his nightstand at a time. he couldn't have anyone noticing his habit of actually keeping your silly gifts after all. it'd be best if no one figured out his tiny, barely there soft spot for you.
so naturally, he kept the rest of your flowers pressed between the pages of his books, where they'd be best hidden. every book on his shelf became littered in the covers and pages with perfectly kept wildflowers. to the point where he had to be careful when opening them, just to be sure none fell out where they risked being lost or ruined. megumi was very thoughtful in his flower placement, taking great care to press them neatly in place.
because of course he couldn't have any of them go to waste, not when the lovely, delicate gifts were given to him by the most lovely thing of all.
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inspired by this post by @pain-after-dark hehe
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the soft crackle of a lamp bulb coming to life lifted the spy up to consciousness. their eyes felt like lead balls, their shirt sticky and wet, the world not quite ready to abandon its murkiness and grow clear. sand was in their mouth and gallons of water filled their head.
"all right, lovely? can you hear me?"
cold fingers gently caught their chin, tipping their head up carefully. the sudden shock of temperature made them more alert. the ache in their body became more apparent. their wrists were sore and the wood of the chair they were tied to dug into their arms. the spy opened their eyes up.
the villain—their target—looked down hungrily at them, eyes raking down every inch of skin and muscle. they tugged the bloody part of their shirt that caught to their body up, and watched it fall back down with a wet sound. their lip curled. "ugh. you're too messy for your own good."
the spy said nothing.
the villain's palm dragged over the curve of their cheek, paying no mind to their bruises and cuts. "but blood looks good on you. it makes you look wild. uncontrollable." they wet their lips. grinned. "insatiable."
"speak for yourself."
the grin widened just a fraction and the villain leaned back. they looked immaculate as ever, pristine. untouchable. their fingers traced the spy's shirt collar. "i saw you, you know," they said. "long, long before you attempted to kill me. don't get me wrong--you're wonderful. i'm just too good."
the spy said nothing. the villain fixed their collar, set it straight, smoothed out the wrinkles. their fingers ghosted downward, over the blood, barely brushing their wounds. the spy clenched their teeth, bracing themselves for pain.
the villain's fingers gently traced the edges of their cuts. the spy breathed carefully through their mouth. "two years ago," the villain said, a little softly, "rome. you were wearing emerald green."
the spy choked.
the villain hushed them quickly, other hand taking their chin, thumb to bottom lip. "it's not your fault," they cooed. "you were a treasure. it would've been inevitable. the way you moved across the room..."
they couldn't help their shivering. the villain liked their pretty things to a sadistic degree—they liked the way they cried. the way they screamed. the way they begged.
delicately, the villain traced the tips of their fingers down to the knot of their tie. "you gorgeous thing," they whispered, awed. "you're amazing. it took me time, you know. to know you were spying. your work is flawless. perfect."
"i'm flattered." it did not come out strong.
their tie came undone in one pull. the spy swallowed down every rancid sensation clawing up their throat down. they needed to live. "wait."
the villain politely paused.
"why torture me? i'm good. i'm great. you said so yourself. you can—you can make me work. for you. it won't be good to render your favourite thing unworkable."
the villain tilted their head to one side, as if they were considering. they twirled the tie around their fingers. "haven't you figured that i thought about that?"
"you'd be an idiot not to consider it."
they laughed. they pursed their lips, humming. "honey, i think the blood loss is getting to you. i don't need your work." they moved to wrap the spy's tie around their mouth. the spy wheezed in a breath.
"there's better ways to do this—"
"hushhh," the villain whispered, dragging out the syllables, dissolving into a soft laugh at the spy's helpless look. "puppy-eyed. i think you might just be my favourite." they secured the gag with deft fingers and sauntered away to take out every little torture device they were going to use on the spy.
the spy pulled on their restraints until their wrists bled. every damn device glinted in the light, shined to perfection.
the villain laughed, taking in their expression with delight. "pretty thing," they said. "you'll look prettier when i'm done with you.
#this is kinda mid sorry#heroes and villains#villains and heroes#villain#villains#writeblr#whump#torture#spy whump#spy#spies#kyles.writing
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Gibson Girl
3k words, pnv sex, pussy eating, dubcon, and dead dove. Rj doesn't have the same rancid vibes as Otis, and he loves eating pussy more than he loves himself. crossposted on a03.
She’s been chained to the radiator so long that she’s surprised she hasn’t melted yet. A fine little puddle of forgotten womanhood. Bare naked under her nightgown, Denise still felt like she was covered in thick wool layers. Scratchy with sweat and heavy against her shoulders, just like the sweaters she used to wear in the winter. She was removed from Tiny’s domain a little over a week ago, and she almost missed him. Tiny was a gentle giant. He never bothered her unless he wanted to apply more makeup or brush out her hair; his most favorite dolly in the collection, with her flexible ball-joints, so fragile she can barely move at all.
Maybe that's why he got bored with her, or maybe he just was very good at sharing with his older brother. RJ was an unsettlingly quiet man, but his touches weren’t quiet — or soft. His heavy hand fisted in her long hair, twisting delicate strands around his thick fingers, tugging and pulling; making sure she knew who was in charge. Usually, RJ lurked around the house like a sulky cat unless he had to work. Today, he planted himself on his bed, a beer in hand, watching whatever was on the TV. With one massive finger, he cracked open the beer and explained, “A hardworkin’ man needs some time off.”
Denise didn’t know what to say to that. Wetting her dry lips, she found it was better to agree with him. “You deserve it.” Her voice, hoarse from thirst — and neglect, startled her. RJ didn’t seem to care, he only smirked in response. He seemed to like things quiet. He was a busy man, getting up before the sun was out, and often getting home late into the night. Denise supposed that was something good about him.
Denise didn’t know what to say to that. Wetting her dry lips, she found it was better to agree with him. “You deserve it.” Her voice, hoarse from thirst — and neglect, startled her. RJ didn’t seem to care, he only smirked in response. He seemed to like things quiet. He was a busy man, getting up before the sun was out, and often getting home late into the night. Denise supposed that was something good about him. Good or not, he was still petting her, petting her like some sort of animal.
His grimy, thick nails dug deep into her scalp like he was trying to dig her hair follicles out one by one. Denise watched him like a hawk would a mouse, trying to gage the reaction he wanted from her. Tiny was simple, he wanted a pretty doll to play with. RJ didn’t want a dolly, he wanted a dog. Something loyal and alive to welcome him back home after a long day, he didn’t want a doll; he wanted a woman. Something warm to stuff himself inside off when he felt that certain itch.
Denise was a crumpled, sweaty mess chained to his radiator. It wasn’t like she had a choice. Escape was a fantasy, a bitter, apathetic fantasy. Denise didn’t know why she clung to it; or her memories. She replayed them like worn home movies in her mind, especially the ones of Jerry. She missed him so much that it felt like someone whipped welts against her heart. It hurt so badly to think about him, to think about them. The ache felt so bad, like the exposed nerves of a rotten tooth in a mouthful of nothing but sugar.
Denise forced apart her dry lips again. “It must be very hard.” She went on, unable to stand the silence. Jerry didn’t believe in working for the “man.” Jerry wanted to be a freedom child, a love product of the sixties who still held ironclad to his parents' beliefs, a pair of old timers who Peter Panned through life and instilled the same ethics in their only son. Denise wondered if they even knew he was missing, if they even cared.
“Been a lot of work lately.” RJ grumbled. “Assholes need to learn how to drive.”
“I can’t drive,” Denise blurted out. “No one ever taught me.” As if he would care. She was only some plaything for him until he got bored, which would be soon. Denise could taste her impending death like she could the grits on her teeth from yesterday's breakfast. The fingers in her hair paused, and relief rushed through her, hoping he was done petting her; but RJ only trailed his hand down her neck, rubbing in circles with the pad of his massive thumb at the base of her neck, jolting her body forward with every motion he made.
His rough hands must’ve broken a lot of toys growing up, seemed like he traded in breaking toys for breaking bones. He could easily snap her neck like a bendable straw, and feel just about that the same for her as he did the straw.
“Mama don’t drive, either.” RJ mused. “Lotsa ladies don’t drive. Spaudlin’ taught Baby, I think.” He chuckled to himself, “Tried too, anyway. Girl ran his truck into a wall.”
Maybe that’s why the bitch has scrambled eggs for brains. “That sounds very scary.” Her daddy never wanted her to drive. He was just trying to keep her safe, like he always did. She should’ve listened to him better, that he was right; he did know more, he knew better than she did. The world was a cold, disgusting place waiting to chew on you and spit you out, bones and all. He was right about it all, even Jerry. He was just some hippie going nowhere, even if his heart was in the right place for everything he did. Denise wouldn’t have gone out with him. She wouldn’t of loved him so much if he was a bad person; he was just misunderstood.
Even when they fought, Denise never thought he was an evil man. He just didn’t have the same upbringing that she did. Jerry always told her that she’d choke on that silver spoon one day. Be true to yourself, baby, he’d say to her; then grimace when she did. Denise Willis was not a hippie chick, she was not a freedom child, and she knew that about herself. She believed in justice; Denise believed in soap and aspirin — she didn’t want to live on some community convent like Jerry grew up on; she wanted a spacious little apartment on Hollywood and Vine.
Don’t frown like that, Dee. Jerry used to say. Don’t be such a square, Dee. It’s just a road trip. Don’t do this, Denise, Don’t do that. He almost reminded her of a father in that way, always needing to be in control of what she was doing, thinking, feeling — at least RJ didn’t do that. Under his touch, at her own grotesque thoughts, Denise shivered. She shouldn’t think like that, couldn’t think like that. RJ was not some reluctant hero under the heavy foot of his overbearing family, if anything, he was the pure muscle that made sure they got their evil deeds done.
He was nothing to her, nothing but her captor, an enormous bear guarding the stolen princess.
“Naw. Baby thought it was funny. Now, she ain’t ‘loud to be in the drivers-seat. Me’n Otis gotta drive them everywhere. Don’t mind though, love my mama.”
Denise loved her mother, too. She’d give anything to see her again. “That’s nice.”
RJ shifted on the bed, dipping his hand down the back of her dress, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass. “You’re nice.”
His hand was warm and damp against her skin, the rough skin scratching an itch Denise didn’t know she had. “My boyfriend used to say I could be a real bitch.”
RJ scoffed. “That hippie sonbitch’ didn’t know his ass from his mouth.” He paused his hand. “Ain’t nothing bitchy about you. Maybe your friend with the braids, but not you.”
Mary. She missed Mary. She was just so excited about starting a new life. Some good that did her. “Mary wasn’t so bad. She had a hard life,” Denise whispered. “But, thank you.”
“Rich girls don’t have hard lives.” RJ said nonchalantly. “Maybe bad days, but not hard lives. Did you have a hard life?” It was the first time he’d ever asked her a question, or bothered to hold a conversation with her.
“No.” Denise admitted, reluctantly. “I had a good life. Until Captain Spauldings.”
RJ laughed at that, too. Finally, bored with petting her, he withdrew his hand from the back of her dress. “Suppose that coulda been a bad day for you.” He took the last swallow of his beer and reached for her again, taking her chin in his massive hand. “Wasn’t such a bad turnout for me. Always thought you was pretty.”
Her breath hitched in her throat. Did he want a “Thank You”? His words felt like maggots burrowing under her skin, eating away at the last bit of humanity she had left. He brushed his thumb against her lips, filling her nose with the faint remnants of sour beer and tobacco. Denise watched him watch her, with half-lidded eyes and a sloppy smirk. He pushed against her clammed lips, demanding entrance into the soft warmth of her mouth. He would keep pushing until he broke teeth, and she’d rather keep all her teeth while she could; So, Denise opened her mouth for him.
“Tiny didn’t know what to do with you. Not like I do,” RJ went on, sliding his thumb gently against her tongue. “Otis is too rough. He likes to break pretty things. I don’t break things.” He paused, laughing. “Well, I don’t try to make a habit of it. Sometimes pretty things are so damn breakable.”
You won’t break me. Denise thought, even with her lips locked around his thumb, she was too stubborn to be broken. Denise wasn’t brave like Mary was, but what was that old bible passage? The meek would inherit the world? All she had to do was bide her time until she was found; and she would be found, Denise was sure of that.
RJ moved this thumb in and out, swirling it around in her mouth, “You like this, don’t you?” He panted. “Gettin’ me all worked up really does something for you, don’t it, mama?”
If that’s what you want to tell yourself. Denise could taste him all over her tongue, and it made her want to retch. But she looked up at him through her lashes, watching the faint blush crawl across his nose, from their interaction or the alcohol — she wasn’t sure; maybe both. She lapped her tongue around his gargantuan finger; Denise was no seductress, she was just an awkward tomboy, something Jerry always made sure to remind her of during their own lovemaking.
“Don’t be so cold, Dee. Can you try to be sexy?” He’d complain. Usually when the fault was undoubtedly with him. Daringly, she wrapped her slender hand around his huge wrist, watching him like a cat would their favorite mouse. But, whatever she had, whatever she was doing; it was good enough for RJ, and that excited something treacherous inside her.
RJ’s chest rose and fell in hurried breaths, his eyes never leaving hers, and something dribbled traitorously against her thigh. RJ jammed his finger deeper into her mouth, and she stifled a gag, his thumb creasing the bottom of her chin. “Let's see how well you do with the real deal, baby.” He said, breathlessly. Sliding his finger free from the wet warmth of her mouth, RJ fumbled over his own belt buckle. “Got me so hard already, baby.”
Drool dripped from her chin onto her nightgown. In her haze, Denise nodded. She’d given head before, though Jerry told her she gave it like a decapitated fish. “Show me,” she rasped, the demand tasting funny in her mouth, like it shouldn’t be there at all. “Show me how hard I make you.”
RJ laughed, giving himself a few eager strokes. “You like what you see, mama?”
“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” Denise sleezed, forgetting herself, forgetting she was bleeding in shark-infested waters. He was bigger than Jerry was, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. RJ could either be the best or worse lay of her entire life.
“Yeah, you do.” RJ boosted. “I saw the way your eyes got wide, bigger than that hippie, huh?”
Denise bit into the fat on her bottom lip. She didn’t want to talk about Jerry now. It was bad enough he plagued her thoughts like some omen. "Does it matter?"
“Yeah. It does, and I am. Bigger than most,” inhaling, RJ worked his giant fist down his cock, smirking at her. “Most girls are scareda’ me.”
Regrettably, her cunt clenched around nothing. “Maybe I’m not most girls.”
“Naw. If you was, you wouldn’t be here right now.” He rubbed his thumb over his reddening tip, “Come on, then.”
Denise edges closer, the chain dragging behind her against the worn floor boards like some fat, slow snake.
substituting his larger hand with her smaller one — which barely encompass his entire shaft. She twists her wrist upwards against his sweaty skin, and RJ groans, bucking his hips against her hand. Maybe it had been awhile. She pumps him downwards, running her thumb along his length, she watches his fingers curl into the dirty sheets below him; was he itching to get those hands on her? Was she itching to let him? Her cunt was aching to be teased, and that disgusted her.
Denise gathered saliva in her mouth, and spat, earning a head tossing moan from RJ. Working, and twisting her wrists, Denise watched his hips twitch, and his fingers dig deeper into the sheets, she couldn’t imagine what he’d do once she had him in her mouth. He might explode.
“You like this?” Denise asks. “Does it feel good?”
“Yes,” RJ says, breathlessly. “It feels so fucking good.”
Good. It made her feel powerful in a situation that gave her little power at all. Without warning, Denise bowed her head and swirled her tongue around his head, trailing along his meatus. RJ bucks his hips again, forcing more of himself into her mouth, and Denise gags at the sudden invasion. One hand braces itself against his wide leg, and the other grabs at his shaft.
“Gotta warn a man, angel. Shit feels too good.” His heavy hand comes up to collect a wad of hair between his fingers, forcing her down on his dick further. “Take it, baby. I know you can.”
The lack of air causes her throat to constrict around him, her jaw aches, and the tears blur her vision — but she was no quitter. Denise bobs her head up and down along his length, like the good slut she was becoming for him. She didn’t have a fucking choice. Despite that, she has to squeeze her thighs together at his hot, vile words, and the downright nasty noises he was making at her touch. They shouldn’t be making her feel so good, they shouldn’t be lighting a fire under her ass. Still, her tongue laps at him eagerly, teasing him with her little love flicks. Her tongue kisses the parts of him she can’t explore with her hands. Slipping one hand away from his shaft, she dares to tug on his balls, testing the waters to see how far was too far with him.
“Fuck. You keep this shit up, and I’m gonna cum.” RJ growls, fingers digging into her scalp. “Don’t fucking stop. Come on, take all of me baby, please.” He thrusts up into her mouth again, desperate.
Her throat constricted tightly around him again, and this time she can taste the bile rise in the back of hr throat. Without a second thought, Denise spits him out from her mouth and coughs a few times before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“I can’t,” she whined. “I can’t breathe when you do that.”
“That’s fine baby. I want to take you for a spin, anyway.” RJ moves fast for a man so large. He makes quick work of the heavy chain around her ankle, but Denise has no time to be relieved when she’s hosted up from the ground. RJ lifted her with ease. He was a behemoth, she probably felt like nothing to him. His wide chest rose and fell under her palms. Was he nervous? His breathing was so fast — excited? Maybe he just wanted her to take control, and that was almost comical. He was such a large man, an imposing man; he could crush her with the raw strength of his thighs. But he wanted her to get on top and ride him.
“You look good like that,” he mused. His large hands coming to rest on her hips, softly rocking her against his waiting, hot, heavy erection. “Feels good, too.”
“Thank you,” Denise forced out, her voice strained. The sensation of him against the small of her back was maddening.
With a smack, RJ's large hands pressed down on her folded thighs, tenderly squeezing them hard enough to bruise. RJ smirked and pulled her forward without waiting for a response, “let's go for a ride.”
“I can’t sit directly over your face,” Denise said. No one had ever offered to eat her out before. Figures the first time some psycho would be the one. “Won’t you suffocate?”
RJ howled with laughter. “Death by eatin’ pussy? What a way to go. I wouldn’t mind that on my tombstone.”
Denise couldn’t help but blush. “I’ve never done this before.” She told him, like it mattered at all to him.
“What? That hippie never took you for a spin?” RJ scoffed. “Fuckin’ idiot. Get up here, I’ll show you what a real man does with a woman.” He pulled her forward, raising her up over his face, “I won’t suffocate.” He added, “Swear it.”
Maybe she should want him to. This shouldn’t be this…cozy, or fun. It was dirty, nasty, and wrong. Denise gasped as her sweat-drenched body lowered onto his waiting mouth. She trembled as he playfully teased her with gentle licks, as if she tasted like some kind of candy. With eager, but slow flicks of his tongue. He dragged it along her folds, not giving her a moment to collect herself before he found her clit with his teeth. He pushed his face harder against her, hands gripping tightly against her thighs, burying himself in all her sticky, wet, glory.
“Fuck,” Denise moaned, planting her hands firmly against the wall. “Oh my god, oh my fucking god.” She couldn’t help but grind down against his tongue. The heat building in her belly was killing her. She could imagine it boiling her organs and frying her heart; killing her before she could reach her feverous peak. His teeth nipped at her labia, like he wanted to make it bleed, make it hurt — and it did. It hurt so good. “RJ, fuck I’m gonna cum.” She tried to peel herself off him, the pleasure building, making her thoughts hazy, only to be slammed back down against his face. Below her, he growled against her cunt, a warning: Do not do that again.
“Shit,” rocking her hips forward into him, Denise clenched her thighs on either side of his head, feeling his low moan erupted from his mouth, and it sent shivers down her spine. Grinding down, Denise threw her head back — her teeth bit hard into her lower lip, and for a split second she hoped that she tasted like acid against his lips. Her orgasm ripped through her like a goddamn freight train, shockwaves of pure, unbridled heat raced through her body, arching her back as far as she humanly could; Denise howled like some lost wolf looking for the light of the moon.
RJ loosened his grip against her thighs, leaving delicate temporary tattoos of his fingers along her skin. He allowed her to slither from his mouth and crumble against his chest in a spent heap. RJ wiped at it with the back of his mouth with his hand. “You cum real pretty, baby girl.” He reached behind him, tapping her lower back with his still hard cock, “Daddy’s turn now, hop on it.”
“I-I can’t, at least give me a break,” Denise whined. Jerry never had her so tired out. There was no way that she could go another round with him like this. “Please, Rufus.”
“I like when you say my name,” He tapped her again, “I want you to scream it.”
Whining, Denise raised her weak body up, rubbing her drooling cunt against the head of his dick. Hating how much she ached to feel it hollow her out, slowly, she forces her tired, puffy cunt down over his red, angry head, sighing at the sensation of being so damn full. She hates how stupid he’s making her, but he is good at making her forget everything; and Denise hasn’t felt this good in weeks. Maybe longer, when was the last time she came that hard with Jerry? The curve of his cock brushes against somewhere that bubbles a moan up from her parted lips; potentially, it wouldn’t be so bad to get fucked this stupid if he blocked everything else in the world out.
RJ groans, bucking up into her warm, wet, eager hole. “Better dick than that hippie, isn't it?”
“God, yes,” Denise moans, voice discombobulated — like she’s been chewing on a ball of cotton. “Rufus, please.” RJ grunts, thrusting his hips up, hitting that same spot from earlier, and phosphenes danced behind her eyes. Denise tries to move her hips, tries to match his pace, but she’s too fuckstupid, too far gone to have any sort of rhythm; she braces her hands against his chest and peers at him through heavy eyes darkened by her own lashes. He’s smirking at her. His hands find her hips, and he guides her along with him, grinding her down against him like a pretty dolly that she is.
Denise rocks back onto him, and each desperate thrust squelches sticky and wet. Anger blooms next to her own arousal. How dare she allow this to happen? What would her friends think of her now? What would her parents think of her? Her inner walls constricted and RJ grunts. Suddenly, it didn’t fucking matter; her brain turned just as sloppy and wet as her cunt and nothing else seemed to make sense.
“You got another one for me, baby?” RJ groans, “I know you do. Come on, let me feel you cum again.” The rusty bedsprings squeaked loudly in time to the two tightly entwined bodies struggling wildly against each other. The sounds of deep, straining grunts and groans filled the hot, stifling air of the room. Mingling with the noise of sweat soaked flesh smacking sharply against sweat soaked flesh and the wet, viscous slurp of his pile driving cock going in and out of her cunt.
Denise gasped, her hips ground uncontrollably against his. Soft mewling animal sounds escaped pitifully from between her passion clenched teeth. “It hurts,” she whimpered, through bared teeth, suddenly, with a deep throated groan, her body began vibrating uncontrollably.
“Y’like it when it hurts, baby?” RJ groans. “Tell me you like it when it hurts.”
“Fuck,” Denise's body felt itself coming to life now. The pain was receding and was slowly giving way to a maddening electric tingle that began deep within her womb and seeped relentlessly through the raw nerve ends of her flesh. “I like when it hurts, Rufus.” Her orgasm rippled through her cunt, dancing like fire across her thighs, up the full length of her legs and circled around inside her toes, curling them tightly against the bottoms of her feet. She can feel RJ pulse inside her. Through her lidded eyes, she watched his jaw tighten at his own impending orgasm. It almost looks painful, but he drew his hips back and gave one final slam into her abused cunt before draining himself deep inside her.
“You don’t disappoint, you know that?” RJ said, breathless, running his fingers along her back. He made no moves to remove himself from her, despite how soft he was growing inside her.
Thin rivulets of sweat rolled down her forehead. Collapsing against RJ’s chest, Denise gasped like some sort of fish out of water. “I’ve got a lot to live for,” she muttered, too spent to think about what she was saying.
“I knew you’d be a good pick,” RJ mused, not paying any attention to what she was saying. “Knew you’d be the type to bring home to mama, but know your way around the fuckin’ bedroom. Hate havin’ to train bitches.”
Denise shuddered at the implication of his words. The haze in her mind was clearing, and she didn’t want to think about what he meant.
#house of 1000 corpses#minxie writes*#RJ firefly#Rufus Firefly Jr#Denise Willis#dead dove do not eat#dubcon#I hate this but its the best I can do
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Breaking Point
Elvenking Thranduil x fem!reader (no use of 'y/n')
As a reluctant ambassador to Mirkwood, your pleasures are few and far between... and completely unattached to Elvenking Thranduil. But when the king finds out about your casual intimacy with one of Mirkwood's traders, he has a few things to say.
Inspired by anonymous request: Hi! I don’t know if you are open for requests so ignore if not but I would love to request and Thranduil x reader smut where they constantly argue and one day he just snaps and they end up sleeping together? Kinda rough and dirty. I understand that this would basically be hate fucking so I understand if you are not comfortable writing it ❤️
Rating: Explicit, mature, etc. Minors DNI!
Word Count: 5,700
Warnings: arguments, themes of isolation, mentions of outdated societal expectation concerning female sexuality, power imbalance, handjobs, fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected piv sex.
---
You strode quickly down the halls of the elven kingdom in the depths of Mirkwood, ignoring the reactions of the elves surrounding you. Those reactions ranged from curious to censuring, but you were too irritated to pay heed. After all, you were a human walking among elves - your step was heavier, your movements less graceful. What difference would a little stomping make?
You hadn’t wanted to come here from Lake-Town. In fact, you had argued with King Bard when he had assigned you here. “I’m no diplomat,” you had reminded him.
“Look around,” the king had told you kindly. “Do you see any diplomats here? No, but I can trust you to handle yourself well without harming our relationship with the elves.”
It had taken more convincing than that - far more than was pretty - but you had eventually agreed. You were familiar with most Lake-Town residents, but you and Bard had known each other for years. You had tutored his son and daughters. The trade relationship between Lake-Town and Mirkwood was delicate and too important to trust to others.
Ever since you had sailed out of Lake-Town and past the remains of that dratted dragon, you had cursed your own folly. Perhaps Lake-Town’s trade relationship would have suffered from having another representative argue on its behalf, but then you wouldn’t have had to be there. Most days, you wondered if that was not a worthy trade after all.
Honestly, the Woodland Realm was lovely. The palace was bright and airy, arches made from twisting boughs of trees soaring overhead. Even the lower levels were spacious and generously sized. That was a necessity since Elves tended to be larger than most humans, but it was lovely nevertheless. Despite being in the heart of Mirkwood, the water was sweet, the food was fresh and filling, and the air never stank of the rancid forest.
The trouble all stemmed from a different source - the Elvenking Thranduil.
He had been dismissive of your efforts to represent Lake-Town, going directly to Bard to handle any disputes rather than allow you to perform the role you had brought there to play. He spoke over you in meetings, loftily proclaiming that humans could hardly say anything of interest to elves. Perhaps worst of all, he laughed.
You refused to let him be so disrespectful without arguing as best any small-town representative could with a king who was essentially immortal. But no matter how sharp your tongue and bitter your words, the Elvenking only laughed. On occasion, he would toss in an amused quip about the stubbornness of humans compared to that of dwarves, but never once had he been taken aback or conceded your point. And if he had gone so far as to apologize?
Well, you would probably die of shock. Of course, you would die of old age long before such a thing happened in truth.
Your stay in Mirkwood - a term particularly despised by King Thranduil - was far from idyllic, but you had learned to carve out pleasures where you could find them. One of these had been planned for that very day… and it was only a bout of poor luck that prevented it.
Léod was one man in a group of traders who typically traveled to the Woodland Realm once every other month to trade the goods produced by his town of East Bight. What those goods were, you never truly learned. You were far too busy finding an alternate purpose for Léod’s presence.
Léod had been your lover since the first time you and he had been in the Woodland Realm at the same time. It had been only six months since your first dalliance and… well, doing those sums left you with a disappointingly low total number of times you had truly shared anything, but it was a good arrangement. You gained a way to vent your frustrations that left the Elvenking’s head intact and Léod received far more incentive to travel the significant distance between East Bight and the palace of the Woodland Realm. Today was when he and his group were meant to arrive in the Elvenking’s halls.
But it was not to be.
The East Bight traders had been unexpectedly detained, as a messenger had confided to you. There was no anticipated arrival date, as the detour may be severe enough to force the traders to return to their town without ever reaching the Woodland Realm.
You were left alone, frustrated… wanting.
You were as capable of pushing away your physical needs as the next person, but it had been two months since you had been around anyone you could tolerate. This had been your chance for some relief. But now that chance had disappeared, and it had done so as easily as the drop of a rotted branch to the floor of the overgrown forest. If it had not been for your carefully-established informational trade with the messenger elves, you would never have known until Léod failed to appear.
With the furor of disappointment and thwarted desire rising to a boiling point inside of you, you allowed a groan to slip from you. For a moment after the sound - jarring in the ever-tranquil surroundings of the Woodland Realm - had faded, you felt lighter somehow. It was as though you had managed to lighten your own burdens, regardless of how temporary that state may be.
“Oh, dear,” a coolly amused voice said behind you. “Have I found you ill?”
Instantly, your slight sense of inner peace evaporated like a drop of water in the summer sun. You turned to face the owner of that voice directly: Elvenking Thranduil.
“Elvenking,” you said politely, dropping a slight curtsy to hide your clenching jaw.
“Representative,” he returned, as was proper.
Your relationship with Thranduil was tumultuous. You disliked his arrogance and he disliked your… well, he seemed to dislike most things about you. Still, you were both aware of the demands of your respective stations. Despite the certainty that any conversation was guaranteed to spark into contention, you started each meeting from a place of respect.
“Whatever could be wrong?” the Elvenking asked.
“I would never presume to burden the Elvenking with the personal matters of a human diplomat.” Refusing to answer a direct question from a king was always a risk-filled proposition, but you were confident that Thranduil could not care one whit about the personal affairs of someone he disliked so strongly.
Unbelievably, it seemed your guess was incorrect. Thranduil’s eyes sharpened and his dark brows lowered into an expression of intense displeasure. “Must I ask once more?”
And so you were caught. You couldn’t refuse his request for information, not without breaking the bonds of propriety that ensured the continued trade between Mirkwood and Lake-Town.
You gave yourself a single moment of self-pity before you forced an answer: “I have learned that the East Bight trading group will not arrive in the Woodland Realm tonight. I was anticipating the chance to reestablish a bond with one of the traders.”
Thranduil said nothing in response to that. You had a single moment to wonder if you had startled or alienated him with your answer… and then you heard his snort.
“I beg your pardon, but I am needed elsewhere,” you snapped, moving to leave.
“I am the king,” Thranduil reminded you, voice full of a gloating that set your teeth on edge. “You are needed nowhere as urgently as you are here. Especially since I have not dismissed you from my presence.”
You stopped short at that, spine stiffening. He was correct. It was his right as king to demand you stay, and it was your duty as a representative to bow to that demand. Fortunately, your face was turned away from the Elvenking, as it was far from pleasant. You gave yourself a moment to breathe and settle your expression into one of pleasant neutrality. When you spoke, your voice was calm.
“My apologies, Elvenking.”
“Turn around.”
A half-beat of gritting teeth and you had done what he ordered.
“Good,” he complimented, smiling an emptily pleasant smile. “Now, what need have you of a bond with human traders from a different section of the Greenwood than the town whose interests you claim to represent?”
“One grows lonely here,” you told him with a self-deprecating gesture. “It is pleasant to have others with whom one may share a connection.”
Thranduil scoffed. “Lonely? You are surrounded by others here.”
“Elves.” You said, your quiet tone failing to hide the censure.
“And what sort of connection do you crave, hmm?” Thranduil stepped closer, towering over you with his advanced height.
“A personal one,” you told him, inadvertently straightening your posture until you were standing at your full height.
“Ah, a personal connection,” the elf repeated, managing to make the innocent word lascivious. “I was given to understand that humans frowned upon women forming personal connections.”
You stared past the gloating face of the Elvenking, striving for neutrality. “Perhaps I am trying to correct a wrong done to my sex, then.”
Thranduil’s chuckle was low, warm, and far too rich for your comfort. “And there are none in my halls with whom you would choose to share a personal connection?”
“No,” you refused shortly.
The Elvenking moved even closer. He was all you could see, his scent overtaking any other. You were drowning in him. He leaned down until he was closer to your height. With his light eyes dancing in his angular face, Thranduil asked, “And why not? The elves are a lovely race. Far more enticing than humans, and I will not even stoop to mention the dwarves.”
“The possibility of such a connection has never been mentioned by any of your subjects,” you replied, trying to ignore the slight to your race.
“Of course it has not,” Thranduil replied easily. “I forbade it months ago.”
“You forbade-?” You sighed, hands itching to rub at your tired eyes. “Elvenking Thranduil, I am afraid I do not understand. You will have to speak more clearly-”
“Must I truly explain myself more bluntly than that? Very well. If any elf in my kingdom is destined to find solace between your thighs, it will be me and no other,” Thranduil decreed. “Shall I assume that was clear enough to be understood?”
“You want to-? You want-”
Your stammered sentences were cut off as Thranduil leaned still closer. You could have counted every one of his eyelashes with how slight the distance was between you. After mere moments, Thranduil’s lips parted in a self-satisfied smirk.
“Have I surprised you, my little human?”
“Not your anything,” you snipped.
Thranduil’s gaze sharpened as he agreed, “Not yet.”
“Your confidence is stunning, as is your ego.” Speaking to a king in such a way was a poor choice, but your temper was well and truly piqued.
“Tell me you are not interested and I will never breathe another word on the subject,” Thranduil said gallantly, the gleam in his eyes belying any sense of honor he may otherwise have presented. “Though I must emphasize that no other experience can approach the pleasure I can give you.”
“Tempting,” you told him, “but I think-”
“Ah, you mistakenly believe that your human trader is preferable to me,” Thranduil summarized.
“At the very least, I can tolerate his company!” Your voice was too loud, though you only just realized that the area around you and the Elvenking was entirely empty. “It takes my every ounce of effort to avoid arguing with you.”
“You do not avoid arguing with me.”
You sighed at the deliberately obtuse king. “Then imagine for a moment how much more severe the trouble would be if I did not make that effort.”
Thranduil laughed then, and even his laugh sounded far too rich to be wasted on you. “My dear human, you seem to be suffering from the idea that one must be friendly with one’s bedfellows. It is not so.”
Your mouth opened and closed a few times as you tried to formulate a response to that. Much as it pained you to admit it, you truly hadn’t considered the idea that you could sleep with someone you disliked. It made no sense to you. Why give them access to your body if you despise them? However, the odd draw of the Elvenking made you reconsider your previous stance on the subject.
When your attention fixed on Thranduil once more, you found that he had moved still closer. There was only the slightest space between you. If you took too full a breath, you would find your breasts brushing his chest. When the king spoke, you did your best to stop thinking about your breasts. You had far too great a sense of awareness of your own body right then as it was.
“I do not wish to be your friend, your companion, or your confidante,” Thranduil murmured, his words raising chills over your skin. “I have no interest in your thoughts or ideas. I want only one thing from you and I offer it to you in return: pleasure.”
Those chills grew even stronger and you recognized the sick tightening in your stomach as longing.
“If you agree to my terms, we will retire to my bedchamber and I will spend the evening demonstrating the benefits of keeping a connection closer than East Bight. You will leave fully satisfied, that terrible ache gone from your body. And you will choose if - when - you wish to return. I will make myself available to you for such a purpose.”
“And if I refuse?” you asked, voice so soft and wavering that you wished you had never spoken at all.
The Elvenking’s eyes gleamed down at you. “It is well within your rights to refuse me. But it will be two months before the East Bight traders return. Do you truly wish to wait so long for release?”
And there was the problem. You were missing Léod now. You were frustrated now. You needed release now. Would the physical satisfaction of your own needs be worth Thranduil’s satisfaction of his own irresistibility?
Tragically, the answer was resoundingly ‘yes’.
“Very well,” you agreed. “But-”
You never did remember what condition you intended to place on your participation. The moment you had finished agreeing to Thranduil’s proposal, he closed the miniscule space between you.
His lips were incredibly soft - both in texture and how they moved. His tongue was a flash of wet heat against your lips, but you kept them firmly closed. You were a single heartbeat from relaxing into the kiss, melting into it. You didn’t want that. You refused to get lost in a romantic encounter on these terms, in a situation like this one. Instead, you pulled away from Thranduil.
He blinked confusedly at you, but you shook your head. “You said you would be better than my tradesman. Do you think we simply kiss? If you truly claim to be better… Prove it.”
The elves were a mild-mannered race - at least in front of outsiders. Even the Mirkwood elves, known for their impetuous natures by elves of other areas, were far from aggressive. However, the wolfish smile that flashed across the Elvenking’s face at your challenge was enough to put your nerves on edge.
He did not respond to you; at least, not verbally. Thranduil turned and began moving down the hallway away from you, pausing to beckon imperiously when you did not immediately follow him.
You had previously thought you knew most of the kingdom of the Woodland Realm. Indeed, as you trailed behind Thranduil and wondered if you had chosen incorrectly, you recognized your surroundings for only a handful of minutes. Rapidly, though, you began moving into sections of the palace that were totally unfamiliar to you.
When you were well and truly lost, you fixed your attention on Thranduil’s back ahead of you. It seemed as if he were paying you no attention, but you knew better. Elves had incredible hearing. If you stopped or turned around, Thranduil would hear it.
You were under no compulsion to follow through on this. You were not one of the Elvenking’s subjects and Bard would certainly not compel you to do this. And yet… your eyes traced over Thranduil’s square shoulders and down his back. Elves were slender as a race, but Thranduil seemed wider, broader. Maybe it was just the force of his personality, but he struck you as being more solid than other elves you had met.
But your thoughts about the Elvenking were cut short when he stopped at a doorway, waving off the guards that stood on either side.
You fought the urge to balk at the presence of others, especially ones who may judge what you were about to do. Two things kept you moving through the door: first, the expressions of the guards told you clearly that they did not care in the slightest what you did with their king so long as you had no intention of harming him. Second, Thranduil’s impossibly long fingers shackled your wrist and tugged you off-balance until you had to choose between following him inside the room or falling to the floor.
You followed him inside the room.
‘Room’ may have been an inaccurate term, you reflected as you gazed around. ‘Chambers’ would be truthful, or perhaps even ‘residence’. You were in the entryway, a small room that would allow for barricades if someone were trying to attack his private chambers. Thranduil did not pause there. Instead, he pulled you through a dining room that, if small, still managed to be sumptuous. Together, you and the Elvenking moved into a seating area. You could see his bedchambers through the door, but he stopped.
He met your quizzical glance with imperiousness. “Disrobe. You have until I have finished.”
The moment it took you to process his order and the second moment required to unbend your pride enough to obey it put you significantly behind Thranduil. When he was bare, you had only just removed the light slip beneath your dress and were still clad in your undergarments.
He stopped you with a devouring kiss that you returned with eagerness, though you noted more than a hint of tension in his body. Before you could draw away to ask if anything was wrong, Thranduil ripped your smallclothes from your body.
You gasped into his mouth and Thranduil took advantage of it, thrusting his tongue deep and taking full control of the kiss. When he finally pulled away, you took in air as though you had been trapped underwater instead of locked in the Elvenking’s embrace. That air left in a shuddering sigh as Thranduil’s long fingers rose to play with the stiffened peak of your breast. His lips traveled down over your neck, along the graceful curve of your collarbone, and down to capture the other nipple.
On the journey to Thranduil’s bedchamber, you had harbored ideas of being unresponsive to the Elvenking’s touches, utterly in control of yourself despite what he had promised. Perhaps it would have been foolish to deny yourself pleasure for the sake of saving face or proving something to yourself - or him - but you had believed it would be worth it. Even underneath that, you believed it could be done.
Oh, what a fool you had been!
Thranduil strummed one nipple as his hot mouth worked at the other and you found yourself positively dancing in place. It was impossible to remain still under the intense pleasure, and he had paid no attention to the place between your legs yet! With only the thought of it, you could feel your body blooming for him, preparing for his invasion.
“Lovely human,” Thranduil murmured against your skin, nuzzling the soft flesh of your lower stomach. Your insides knotted with anticipation of his path from there. “Lovely, infuriating human…”
“Your sweet talk leaves something to be desired,” you told him, a touch breathlessly for your taste.
Thranduil straightened up, raising one dark eyebrow. “I was under the impression that you would prefer I skip the sweet talk. Were those not the terms of this arrangement?”
“Oh… yes,” you said slowly, trying to regain your verbal footing.
Thranduil shook his head despairingly. “Humans never know what they truly want, but I must say you are worse than most. You are so preoccupied with speaking that you never take a moment’s pause to consider whether what you say is at all important.”
You gaped. “You wouldn’t know whether my points are worthwhile since you never give me the opportunity to make them uninterrupted!”
“Precisely,” Thranduil agreed, gaze drifting downward. “I think we could put that enchanting mouth to better use.”
You glanced away, trying to collect yourself before you attempted to murder a king and ruined Lake-Town’s relationship with Mirkwood once and for all. You do not need to enjoy his company, you reminded yourself. Simply use him for relief and pay him no more mind.
“Let us not waste time on such things,” you told him. “We both know our true goal.”
With that, you reached for Thranduil’s hardness as he watched in amusement. He was thick and pale, jutting upward from a small patch of fine curls. Even the veins tracing his length seemed perfectly placed, managing to be elegant, somehow. You wrapped a hand around him, tugging him gently as you rubbed at the underside of his head at the top of every stroke.
You pulled away after a few strokes, intending to move to the bed, but Thranduil’s hips followed your movement with a hastily bitten-back whine. Feeling suddenly generous, you licked your hand and returned it to him.
Thranduil’s eyes were heavy lidded, his hips rocking with each of your movements, but he pulled your fingers away just as the pace of his breathing began to increase.
You watched him, curious, but his hands closed around your waist and he tossed you easily toward the bed. It was massive, a generous size even for the larger proportions of elves, but you gave a cry of distress as you flew through the air. What if he missed his target and you went toppling to the floor? Thranduil had been very clear that he cared not a whit for your welfare.
The softness underneath your hip was a welcome relief, but your second reaction was fury. You sat up again, ready to berate him, but you found yourself flat on your back once more. Thranduil was between your legs, forcing them wide around him as his hands lifted you up to his mouth. Your hips were raised from the bed’s surface even as he left your shoulders lying against the mattress. It was an undignified position and you opened your mouth to tell him so.
Your words of displeasure soon turned to a moan of pleasure as Thranduil lavished attention to that magical place between your thighs. He was indiscriminate in his explorations, his tongue working its way everywhere, regardless of propriety. You made a shocked noise - so jagged it nearly sounded wounded - as the slick muscle pressed against your rear. Thranduil moved on, but you felt his chuckle rumble against the heart of you.
He casually demonstrated his strength, balancing you on one hand and supporting the weight of your lower half while he used his other to thrust fingers deep inside of you. His mouth worked against the nub at the top of your slit, sucking and rolling and lapping until everything tightened.
Whether it was from the awkward position of your body or the sheer strength of your orgasm, you couldn’t be certain, but what you were certain of was that your vision blurred as every muscle locked down. Thranduil pulled his mouth away but his fingers stayed buried deep inside of you, stroking through your wetness as you thrashed for him.
When you finally gathered the strength to push his hand away, Thranduil lowered you back to the bed before withdrawing his fingers from you. That process gave you ample time to notice that he controlled your descent with only one hand.
You could feel the Elvenking’s smugness in the hush of his bedroom, could sense it hanging in the air like a humid breeze. It was quiet enough that you heard his intake of air and knew enough to brace yourself before he even began to speak.
“Does your tradesman take such care when bringing you pleasure?” Thranduil asked, and you could feel the arch of his brows despite your eyes being closed. “Does he draw the same sounds from your mouth? Does he draw the same wetness from your depths? No, do not bother replying. I know he does not. Judging from your response, it is fair to say that you have been sorely neglected.”
“Because you ensured I would form no other connections in your court,” you countered, keeping your eyes closed.
“Perhaps I simply believe that you are worthy of my kingdom’s best,” he rumbled, satisfaction dripping from his low voice. “And no one else can hope to compare to me.”
You snorted, but before you could offer a snide remark in return, you felt him looming closer and opened your eyes. Thranduil was indeed leaning over you, pale eyes studying your face between flashes toward lower places.
“If you are recovered enough to mock me, you are recovered enough to continue,” he told you. “Only one of us has found our pleasure.”
A glance downward confirmed that: Thranduil’s length was painfully hard and straining toward you. “One would think your kingdom’s best would be able to hold off as long as necessary.”
Thranduil’s eyes sparkled and he inclined his head, acknowledging the insult. “And yet, who would dare keep the king waiting?”
“Then shall we, impatient king?” you asked, parting your knees in subtle invitation.
A moment later, the air was driven from your lungs as Thranduil rolled on top of you, his hips planted firmly between your legs. The hardness of him pressed at your core, still swollen and weeping with the effects of your earlier pleasure. Any complaints you may have made were silenced by Thranduil’s lips pressing to yours, muting your voice as surely as any gag.
As he plundered your mouth, sweeping deeper than any bounds of propriety would allow, Thranduil’s graceful fingers were wandering your body. They smoothed over your shoulders and urged you to relax. And then they traveled to your breasts and removed any trace of relaxation you had achieved. His searching fingers rubbed, then tweaked, and finally pinched enough that you broke away from his mouth to complain.
Thranduil, whose cleverness you had underestimated, took advantage of his newfound freedom to soothe your sore breasts with his lips and tongue. Your sharp words died before they were ever exposed to the air.
“Tell me, Representative,” Thranduil said between nuzzles. His tone was mockingly formal considering your current position. “Are you at last ready for me?”
“Yes, Elvenking,” you agreed. The words were obedient, almost subservient, but the effect was mitigated by the fact that they were forced through gritted teeth.
You didn’t feel his hands slip downward to position the tip of him against your center, but after a single thrust, he speared himself into you. Your jaw dropped, eyes half-closing as you adjusted to the stretch of him. That adjustment process had hardly begun when Thranduil flexed his hips, withdrew from you, and pushed himself back in.
The Elvenking hissed as your nails bit into his back. “Need I remind you that attacking your king is considered an act of treason?”
“You are not my king,” you countered. “I was not ready for you to move.”
“Ah, so your tradesman was not as… gifted as I am,” Thranduil said, his expression turning smug once more.
“He was simply kinder.” You hissed as Thranduil withdrew and plunged deep again.
“Tell me you wish me to stop,” he told you.
You paused, and that was your downfall. Thranduil smiled victoriously and thrust once - twice - three times more until you were writhing under him. He was overwhelming, stretching you and filling both your core and your vision until you could think of nothing else. It should have been too much - it nearly was too much - but it only spurred you higher.
“Nothing to say, human?” he asked, the mocking thick in his voice. “Very well. I understand it can be overwhelming the first time one is with a lover who exceeds expectations.”
The only reaction you managed for that was to curl your lip at him, but the effect was ruined when he thrust deep and your head tipped back. How was it possible that he could feel so good inside of you? This had never been something you had sought with any real frequency. Your body had demanded it on occasion when you had gone without the touch of another for an extended time, but it had never been something you craved.
With dread fighting for space in your belly alongside the pleasure, you realized that this was something you could indeed see yourself craving.
As if he could see - or feel - the realization in you, the pace of Thranduil’s hips built to a speed that was nearly overwhelming. Your body was dripping for him, creating as much lubrication as possible as if to encourage him to continue. The squelching of him inside of you was constant, loud in the hush of the room, though that silence was partially filled with the small sounds forced from between your lips.
Thranduil seemed to savor every noise.
At last, the coils of warm iron forming low in your belly grew too large and too hot to contain. You cried out, clutching at the Elvenking as your body shattered around him. Colors burst behind the eyes you had squeezed shut and even the sounds of his increased breathing were muffled by the roaring in your ears.
As you were slowly coming back down from your pleasure, Thranduil tore himself from your depths. Your surprised cry mingled with his pleased groan as he spilled his seed across your stomach.
Your regret of the encounter was not immediate, but it was strong and undeniable. You had fought so long to keep the Elvenking from having too much control over you and yet, you had given him this part of yourself. You had shared a bed with him, shared pleasure. How could you ever return to fighting him in meetings or disdaining him in the halls? At the very least, this would hang heavy over every interaction.
His fingers were stroking your skin and you frowned. It was an oddly tender action from the ruler who seemed to despise you. When you at last opened your eyes to see him for yourself, you found that he was busy spreading his spend over the gentle curve of your belly until it seemed to disappear, absorbed into your skin.
“You’ll wear this for me, Representative,” he decreed. “It is a gift - a priceless one. Wear it back to your quarters.”
“Is that a joke?” you asked with a frown. Though the mess appeared to have soaked into your skin, the area felt stiff and was already beginning to itch slightly under the near-invisible film that covered it.
Thranduil laughed at you. “Did you truly believe I would invite you to share my bed for the evening?”
You made a face at him, but were interrupted before you could give him the reply that question deserved.
“Elvenking Thranduil!”
The call came from just beyond the doors to Thranduil’s bedchamber. You made a startled noise and tried to hide yourself, but Thranduil answered immediately in a bored tone: “What is it, guard?”
“A messenger for you, your grace.”
“Very well,” Thranduil agreed.
As you realized that no one was attempting to enter the room, you relaxed slightly, even as a new voice rang through the doors. “My king, the East Bight traders have arrived.”
“They were not due until tomorrow,” Thranduil replied as you stared at him, aghast.
“There was poor weather on their travels, Elvenking,” the new voice revealed. “They offer their most sincere apologies.”
“What is going on, Thranduil?” you hissed, carefully keeping your voice as low as possible while still being audible. The Elves had remarkable hearing, and the last thing you needed was to be heard in the king’s chambers.
“You are both dismissed,” Thranduil called, ignoring you. “Tell the traders I will meet with them at our arranged time tomorrow.”
After a moment of waiting for the guards to be out of hearing range, Thranduil looked at you. His expression was neutral, but his eyes were dancing with amusement. “Did you have a question, Representative?”
You hissed out a breath, only narrowly stopping it from being a curse. “Why was I told the East Bight traders had canceled their trip?”
“Because I ordered that you should be told so,” Thranduil said plainly.
With the fury burning through your veins, you didn’t notice that your hand had tightened into a fist until Thranduil glanced down at it.
When he looked back at you, his gaze was stern. “I will not tell you again: attacks on the king are considered treason.”
You loosened the tension in your fingers, though the effort it required was noticeable. Thranduil smiled when your arm fell limply to the surface of the bed once more. You still wanted to strike that beautiful face.
“I must tell you, I find you far more bearable now that I know the face you make when you are overwhelmed by pleasure.”
There must have been murder in your expression, but Thranduil simply patted your bare hip. “Get dressed, Representative. I must retire so I may properly greet the East Bight traders tomorrow morning. I expect to see you there as well.”
Despite the shaking rush of rage that filled your body, you managed to get dressed and leave before Thranduil could needle you into saying something you would regret.
You had done quite enough regretful activities that day as it was.
---
Author's Note - For someone who likes the asshole-ish characters that I do, I really have to fight to keep things from getting soft! Anon, if you're reading this, I hope this was what you were looking for! (If you aren't reading this, I understand since it's been over a year.)
Quick note about requests: I only use them as writing warm-ups and cool-downs. If you submit a request to me for this blog, there are very good odds you'll never see a response. I apologize for that, but I feel it's only fair to give the warning.
I don't offer taglists for mature works, but you can find other fics on my masterlist!
#the hobbit thranduil#the hobbit#thranduil x reader#thranduil x you#reader insert fic#reader insert#spicy#lemon#not suitable for minors#minors dni#elvenking thranduil
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A couple of random fantasy foods/street foods/condiments, since we’re on the topic:
Wrad rocks. These are little bluish seed pods that look a little bit like hard, marble-sized blueberries, usually sold in little paper packets of about six or so. If you put one in your mouth and bite down, they pop and explode the bitterest taste you’ve ever experienced all over the inside of your mouth. Seriously. Incredibly bitter. They’re vile. But once the initial hit fades, the aftertaste is a sort of pleasant, warm, sweetish flavour, and they make you feel buzzed. Wide, wide awake. The effect doesn’t last long, but for about ten to fifteen minutes after popping one of these, you are aggressively awake and aware. The effect is not cumulative, and if you eat more than about three or so at once, or more than about ten or so consecutively every fifteen minutes, it does bad things to your taste buds, your stomach lining, and your ability to think complex thoughts, but wrad rocks are still extremely popular with night watchmen, college students, and the sort of kids who like to test who has the strongest taste buds or who can keep the straightest face under extreme provocation.
Durril/Lethifar/Blacktongue. A widespread condiment made primarily from the secretions of a particular subterranean fungus, blacktongue is, as one of the common names suggests, a very thick blackish sauce that sticks and coats to whatever it comes in contact with. It has a very strong, pungent, earthy taste, and it coats the back of your throat from smelling it, never mind tasting it. Very, very popular with dwarves, goblins, gnomes, and other subterranean peoples, it has long since made it onto the surface as well, and is very … not necessarily popular but well known among sailors, soldiers, explorers, and other people who spend long stretches of time stationed or exploring places where fresh food is problematic. This is because if you put a couple of drops of this stuff on anything, no matter how rancid, the blacktongue will still be all you can taste. So once you’re used to blacktongue, and you have some, you can eat pretty much anything. It also does stain your teeth and tongue over time, so ‘soldier’s blacktongue’ or ‘sailor’s blacktongue’ can be used to identify someone who’s subsisted on it for some time. Several variations on the recipe do exist, and various families, vendors and peoples have added other ingredients to alter the flavour profile a bit. This is usually accepted cheerfully enough, but most dwarves in particular strongly disapprove of several surface variations that have attempted to make the condiment sweeter, on the grounds that that taste is going to stick for some time, and there’s nothing worse than having coated the back of your teeth in black, fungal honey for the next four days of your life. Blacktongue is usually sold in little earthen jars that hold about four ounces or so. Trust us, a little bit goes a long way.
Rainbow Fry. A well-known coastal delicacy, rainbow fry are a specialty of street vendors, as their preparation is as much entertainment as food supply. A delicate white-fleshed fish, they are primarily known for the odd quirk that the meat of the fish will spectacularly change colours when heated. Roadside carts where vendors fry large pans full of thinly cut strips are a common sight in many coastal areas, where audiences can watch in fascination as the slivers go from white to emerald green to turquoise blue to shocking purple in the pan. It is generally considered, though, that carts which keep the fish in the pan as it goes through purple into more red and orange hues are there primarily as entertainment, as keeping the fish in the heat past the purple stage makes the flesh very tough and rubbery, and loses much of the quite delicate flavour. The ruby tones are very beautiful, and are often used in noble houses for more ornamental dishes, but eating red rainbow fry is not unlike chewing gristle in both taste and texture.
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for the writers ask- 8, 14, and 16!! :) <3
thanks so much for asking ;-; <3
8) Do you take inspiration from real life? If so how do you incorporate it into your fics? sometimes... i take my experiences of universal feelings (like the things i do when im VERY happy or VERY sad and then apply them to characters). characters like natsume (like. loners. etc.) are characters i relate to a lot so i can cherry pick little experiences ive had and fashion them to fit them. i never use the specific way i was abused (tmi) in my writing ever but the feelings that come from it are pretty common after being hurt, so i like to use those. ig long story short i keep the emotional part of my own experiences but discard the specifics.
14) What is something you wrote in a fic that you are hoping readers picked up on but you don't know if they did? And/or, what is something that you were excited that readers did pick up on? im primarily thinking abt all things rancid and delicate rn bc i think that one garnered a lot of attention compared to my other ga fics and also since it was one i put a lot of artistic effort into...
anyway i was very lucky, especially for that fic, that i had a couple of readers who would comment long reviews, discussing p much everything that stood out to them or even quoting passages they liked, so i could see what people were paying special attention to. when im writing i like to do extended metaphors or running themes that keep threads connected. in atrad specifically, there was the heart thing, though that was pretty obvious.
i think in subjectives, i want to imply that theres feelings OTHER than hatred between natsume and mikan because. well. its a romance fic. so i was happy to see comments pointing out that, even tho there was nothing specifically alluding to it, my readers were noticing that there was smth more there! lovely <3
(not in a fic but i wrote a line once that was supposed to be a metaphor i was very proud of but when my mom read it she took it seriously and was like ???? THAT REALLY HAPPENED? and idk if its bc she just didnt catch on or if the metaphor wasnt as well-written as i would have liked.)
16) Do you have a method for getting characters to sound/feel in character? i rly wish i had a more concrete way to put this...
i think its really crucial to have an understanding of the character: what they want, what they fear, their relationships with others, etc--both in the fic and in canon. try to keep the important features that stand out in the characters so they resemble the canon version. (for mikan, for example, that tends to be her optimism, friendliness, and kindness, but also her quick temper and occasionally unreasonable nature and for natsume, his impatience with most people, tendency to be curt and evasive, disillusionment with life in general, etc.)
its key not to stray from those more staple characteristics, even in au, but they can be stretched to fit a role (and this is just keeping them in character from the canon. sometimes ooc is the goal).
sometimes ill just stare at actual art from the manga, like a panel of natsume or mikan or somebody, and think abt lines of dialogue or certain actions, and i'll ask myself if i can see that character saying that or doing that. usually this method just makes me feel rly weird abt writing abt them at all, tho, so its more of a control method rather than some critical part of my process.
yeah ig its just understanding the character in canon and how those traits are reflected in ur fic and keeping those key traits consistent.
thanks so much for asking these questions <3 talking abt writing is a surreal experience for me bc it sometimes feels like very little concrete thought is put into it but its fun to remove the process from abstract ideas so thank u!!!!
send me a fic writing ask if you would like!
#crimsoncitrus#answered#ask games#all things rancid and delicate#subjectives#ga#idk how to tag im just winging it mostly
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may the fourth be with you! ✨could we maybe get a snippet of star wars au on this blessed day?
😄 May the 4th be with you anon! it's a beautiful day for some star wars au Beatrice and Lilith, just being so chill and so normal
///
snippet - chapter 4
‘Don’t do that,’ Lilith says suddenly. She has her saber in her lap. Without her cloak wrapped around her she looks smaller, slighter. Tall and tightly-wound.
Beatrice finds her voice, miraculously -
‘Don’t do what?’
Lilith scowls. Her fingers tighten so imperceptibly around the hilt of her saber that most would not see it, but Beatrice knows every line in Lilith’s body. She knows the taste of her shoulders and the inside of her mouth, and her fingers, too. She sees how a tremor passes through them, the fretful whine of the Force around her body, shivering close against the frame of her face.
The Force loves Lilith almost as much as it hates Beatrice. She can relate to that.
It is strange with Lilith – the Force - not the sickly-sweet of the dark side. It is everywhere, now, laced through the empty air, filling every spare moment with the sound of burning hair, of rancid heat.
It isn't light, either. There are no crooked lines of illumination in the bird-black of Lilith's hair. She is clean heat and dust and the scent of sketching charcoal - not the saltwater of the light side, though Lilith doesn't taste so different from the warm wash of water over beach stone. But it's not about light. She is not the light so much as she is in all the places light won't touch.
She is something else. If pressed, Beatrice might describe it as a creaturely thing; an animal scampering along Lilith’s bare arms, or some great winged shape wrapped around her. A caustic smell, annotated with sourness, but clean in the manner of a beachhead plundered by boats.
Beatrice looks at her, eyes hooded with bruises.
'Don't do what?' She repeats, as though there is any mystery in it, as though it is not absolutely clear that Lilith - always, only, forever - wants her to stop bleeding, or at least to care where the blood falls.
Lilith reaches out, catches a fat drop of blood as it descends. Her palm looks dirty with the red crawling through it.
‘It’s my blood,’ Beatrice says quietly. ‘I can put it where I like.’
She doesn’t mean to say it like that, doesn’t mean to tilt her face up so that she might observe Lilith’s pupils blow wider than even the dark desert has made them. She’s beautiful, in her terrible way, and it’s very easy to stir the air. To feel, once again, bite marks littering up her abdomen, the press and pierce of Lilith’s teeth and her ungentle mouth. The miracle of her, healing each puncture as it happens with the graze of her tongue or the brush of her bottom lip.
But it’s easy – always so easy – to take what is between them and put it between them.
‘Fine. It’s your blood,’ Lilith mutters. She looks away, out into the desert, as though searching for something to say, some rebuke or witticism or anything. But neither of them have the knack for saying what they ought to – half of the time Beatrice does not even have the knack for speaking at all - so Lilith's mouth only closes around what it might have said.
Beatrice knows that Lilith would allow her to pry it back open. That she could reach across their space to place forefinger and middle finger delicately on Lilith’s bottom lip, chapped from the desert wind. Draw it down, open, to remind them both of every unspeakable thing they have considered doing, if only to put another wall between what Beatrice said and what she wanted to say, what she did not dare to say.
That she doesn’t mind bleeding at all. Sometimes it feels like relief. It makes her feel empty. We’re terrible, she thinks, aren’t we? We come to town and they lock their doors.
But she doesn’t say it.
She does not say, there are days when I feel like a rupture, and at any moment I might touch something only to watch it shatter. And she does not say, I bleed to feel empty, but it never works. I am too full of myself to carry myself.
Because Lilith would say something like, ‘I can carry you,’ and it would mean too much.
#ty anon!#i hope you like this little snippet#i also wish i could say they start being normal after this but they don't#wn star wars au#warrior nun
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“Death is a beginning not an end” “I love you so much I can’t stand you” “I’m a sucker for the look of the flesh all things rancid and delicate” “and recite back to them as if they were your own” and “we pray to the wax bride and her violet varicose veins” fighting in my head for the ultimate Nicole Dollanganger lyric award
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Simple Tips From Ang Chong Yi To Make Foods Taste And Smell Better
Food is one of the reasons a lot of people live. Diversity, aesthetics, and taste in foods are very important to people of all cultural backgrounds. Even tiny amounts of ingredients can change things in all kinds of foods. So, if you want tips from Ang Chong Yi to improve the taste of the foods you cook, read this article. He explains some easy cooking, seasoning, and preparation suggestions to help your ordinary cuisine taste better. If you want to know more about how things in foods interact, read Ang Chong Yi Talks About The Harmony Of Flavors And Taste Sensations.
Don’t Prepare Garlic And Onions In Advance
It is advisable to chop the onions and garlic at the final minute because they release powerful aromas and sharp scents that can become overwhelming. Soak chopped or sliced onions in a solution of baking soda and water. Then, make sure to rinse them well before using them to lessen the pungency of onions for raw applications.
Don’t Seed Tomatoes
Don't seed tomatoes when using them for a meal where too much moisture may ruin the dish. This is because the majority of the flavor is in the seeds, and the surrounding flesh acts like excess moisture.
Keep Fats Tasting Fresh
Your cooking might get off-flavor due to the rancidity of lipids found in butter, oils, and nuts. To help slow down this process, reduce their exposure to light and oxygen. Keep nut oils refrigerated, butter and nuts frozen, and vegetable oils in a dark pantry.
Only Strike When The Pan Is Hot
It's important to take your time preheating most sautés because the temperature of the cooking surface will decrease as soon as you put food on it. Wait for the oil to shimmer when cooking veggies. When frying protein, it's best to cook it until the oil begins to emit the first faint clouds of smoke.
Bloom Spices And Dried Herbs In Fat
Add a little butter or oil to the pan and sauté the ground spices and dried herbs for a minute or two before adding liquid to bring out their flavor. Add the spices to the pan's fat after the veggies are almost done if the recipe calls for sautéing aromatics. After ten minutes of baking, turn the loaf over using parchment paper.
Add A Little Umami Or Savoriness
Toss in a spoonful or two of soy sauce to your chili, or sauté some chopped anchovies with your veggies in a soup or stew to add that unique taste.
Incorporate Fresh Herbs At The Right Time
Hardy herbs give off a nice flavor and provide a less intrusive texture. So, fresh herbs like thyme, rosemary, oregano, sage, and marjoram should be added to recipes early in the cooking process. Basil, parsley, cilantro, tarragon, chives, and other delicate herbs should be saved for the very end to preserve their vibrant color and fresh flavor.
Final Thoughts
These tips can seem simple but greatly improve the taste of your foods. If you want more food related tips, Follow Ang Chong Yi - Food Blogger and Critic in Singapore and learn his professional tips.
#ang chong yi#ang chong yi's#food bloggers#food blogging#plant-based diet#royal cuisine#Foods Taste#Critic in Singapore#food blogger
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i don’t feel poetic when i write, my words look too crude and too raw on the page, like i have scooped and scraped out my flesh and all that remains is bloody bone and i've smashed my soft tissue around a page. i feel like my words must be decorated and ornate to be art.
like it’s not just me that has to look beautiful at all times, but what i create and what i put out has to be perfectly constructed and beautiful.
sometimes i’m all alone in my room hunched and sobbing and naked and i hold myself in a way that i wish my mother had, and i stop. and i think. am i beautiful? please let me be beautiful.
Even at the depths of my soul and the height of my emotions i feel i must bleach myself
to make sure everything is clean and presentable.
so if someone asks me
“what’s wrong with you?”
i can expose my rancid core in a clean and beautiful way.
the mess will be compartmentalised and someone can point to a part of me and name it,
fix it,
fix. it.
i am still a girl,
a half-grown thing.
I look older now but, at my core, i still feel so little. like a hatchling, i open my mouth wide for something but when it comes it’s too soon, too much, too early.
i don’t want to be raw and crude, i want to be delicate and flowery with my words and make them look beautiful but when i write crude, ugly words
apart of me
feels
beautiful.
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New WIP Tag Game!
thank you @thescholarlystrumpet !
Give me three lines/paragraphs that you've written that you love [fiction, non-fiction, from different works or the same, from completed stories or poems or WIPs, from yesterday or ten years ago]. If that seems hard, even one will do. It doesn't have to be perfect. It can just be something silly that gives you joy.
And give me three lines/paragraphs that you've written that you dislike and find shitty. Anything at all as long as you wrote it. If you think it's ridiculous or absolute fucking garbage, even better! That's the point of this game. To see that we all write good things and bad things. Yeah? You can do this. And remember that both these categories are subjective.
okay these are all from wips (all different ones, because i have gone insane). bad lines first, but this is more like just...not RIGHT yet.
“Well, yeah, that’s the whole point!” the angel sputters. “I dunno why they want to do this nonsense with Earth, but if they want these ‘people’ to be able to see something marvelous, they’ve gotta be able to—to see it, right? Nevermind that it’s not even the point of the nebula, forget it, I’ll survive, but spending all these resources on making it and then sticking it in some corner somewhere? It’s madness!”
“I’ll have you know I’ve been far too busy to go—fishing!” Aziraphale sputters indignantly.
The flames are reflected in the demon’s eyes. He’s entranced. Aziraphale can’t help watching him.
good lines!
The City of Elua—that rancid cesspit filigreed in gold and pearls—was never more itself than on Longest Night. The nobles wore their most delicately embroidered gowns and doublets to fuck drunkenly in corners, highlighted all their most beautiful features with cosmetics made of bugs and soot, and pranced through intricately planned streets alongside rivers of sewage.
It is so hot that Crowley has worn his squash shorts, and Aziraphale is very much looking forward to accidentally placing his hand on Crowley’s thigh whilst they participate in enthusiasm for sport, but being so close to the hopeful answer to the pollen riddle is overriding even the levels of distraction offered by Crowley’s spiffing pins, and he finds himself giggling in anticipation of whatever is about to occur beyond the gates of this athletic nirvana.
Even more than usual, he looks like he’s barely keeping all his nerve endings contained within his body, like he could start shooting sparks at any moment, start a chain reaction that would set every electric candle and shard of glitter alight like a supernova.
tagging some people who i think have not yet been tagged? @adverbian @crowleyslvt @gaiaseyes451 @ineffable-rohese @andromeda4004 and YOU
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TOS in Beloved Retrospect
A GREAT Show that is absolutely canon! But I’m Taking the Rose Colored Glasses Off
Listen, it’s no secret that I absolutely ADORE Star Trek: The Original Series. It’s easily in my tied top 3 with SNW and DS9.
But you know what?
I am so, incredibly SICK of people treating it like a sacred document whenever literally any show that’s set before it does almost any plot point that’s even tangentially related to it.
Let’s take off the holy pedestal for just, two seconds please I am BEGGING you.
Star Trek TOS is an episodic show from the 1960s and the showrunners (including Roddenberry!) had NO IDEA, at all, was going to spawn an absolutely massive, beautiful scifi universe that’s practically a genre unto itself.
Even when they made a second series they tried to get away from TOS with the century time jump! Some creators going so far as to want it to never have existed at all, at least briefly, like, uh, Gene Roddenberry.
I can safely say I and many others are VERY glad TOS never got decanonized, but some facts still remain.
As a result of time, The Original Series is very much limited by when it was made. Such as!
In it’s cultural attitudes to minorities and women, see: the POC and female characters not getting any major plot lines until after TOS.
Literally one of the first things that got disregarded by pretty much all other Star Treks that take place before and after is that women can’t become captains (like wtf was that about?? Oh wait, it was the 60s 🙄). It was literally like, the peak of sexism, and cloaking devices existing before the Romulans showed up that get decanonized the first chance they had (it’s literally been happening since Enterprise and people freak out about invisible ships, every time).
In the fact that because it was exclusively, extremely episodic, every episode was the first time anybody ever saw anything because they had to introduce it to the audience without confusing them and making them turn off the TV or change channels.
Do you know how many times I, a Zillenial who grew up with a mix of episodic/serialized shows, had to suspend my disbelief because if this show was any less episodic the main characters would’ve learned their lesson already from a previous episode or would still be processing the trauma of a previous episode? So many! Watsonian explanations galore!
It was TOS movies that changed the Klingon character design with no explanation. Every time there’s an evil double of Kirk or he gets possessed the crew reacts like it’s never happened to anybody before! Kirk convinces a computer to kill itself like eight times and every time it’s like “oh wow look how smart Kirk is getting a computer to commit die”. Kirk loses his brother, his sister-in-law AND his love interest within the span of two episodes and is totally fine afterward! And you know what? I’m ok with that because I have a brain cell and recognize the show was created before serialized television got even a bit popular!
Third of all technology! Listen I hate all that touchscreen chrome color pallete stuff too! I’m also not, never have been, and never will be a technobabble guy! I’m so happy that the Enterprise is still colorful and has buttons and stuff! But ultimately, TOS was a 1960s conception of 250 years of progress, and it came up a little, even VERY short at times (so do all the other Star Treks, you can’t predict progress with 100% accuracy).
So if the tech is better than say, not much more fancy than a submarine in space, I’m willing to give it a pass. Star Trek has been making up and then immediately forgetting/disregarding some completely world altering technobabble from a single episode or movie since the beginning! The tech is a means of storytelling, and it’s clearly not a limitation because people are always changing or ignoring it! It’s only pure vomitous rancid evil when “NuTrek” does it right?
If you take all three of those HUGE things into account, TOS has, by far, the most tissue paper thin delicate canon of all of Star Trek. Quite frankly I would MUCH rather enjoy exploring the 2200s without walking on incredibly fragile eggshells regarding technobabble details or certain alien encounters.
It’s not like Federation ships have cloaking devices in the 2260s or that the SNW crew is out here fighting off Romulan boarding parties or sipping Meridor with the ruler of the Gorn Hegemony. They’re toeing the line to explore familar concepts in a new format (like serialized short form TV) and like, that’s fine! For crying out loud the Ferengi popped up in an Enterprise episode and most people tend to regard that as funny without ripping their hair out!
Have there been some changes to canon I’m a bit lukewarm about (see, the Gorn being as xenomorph-adjacent and unsympathetic as they were in All Those Who Wander) sure, yes, absolutely! Do I think it obliterates the canon of TOS, in which the Gorn only show up in a single episode with very little and vague lore around them? No!
The Doylist explanation, even if it hurts, is that a lot of meta aspects of TOS are falling out of favor or otherwise obsolete. NOT the stories or the characters for certain, but other fundamental building blocks are frozen in the context they were created in. Trying to adhere to them would severely limit any writer trying to explore that era of Starfleet’s history. So the writers are going to adapt to the spirit if not the precise letter of TOS’s canon.
The Watsonian explanations are numerous, but my favorite interpretation (which you don’t have to like, but maybe it’ll help) is that TOS is still fundementally canon, but the elements that make it inconsistent with other treks or with modern expectations for representation and technology are the result of a “universal translator” sending the truth about our future being translated into a way 1960s audiences could understand. Which is ultimately, kind of what Roddenberry’s desires were in the first place, to show us a better future within the confines of what was then modern TV.
#Star Trek#star trek analysis#meta#Star Trek meta#tos meta#fandom meta#analysis#deep dive#star trek the original series#Star Trek tos#the original series#tos#Star Trek discovery#Star Trek strange new worlds#discovery#strange new worlds#Star Trek disco#snw#Star Trek snw
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For canon muses: what's the worst take, headcanon or even canon moment you saw regarding your muse? ( yea based on your post about the rancid tag )
i'm sorry gio for this hornet nest you have poked ily
I'M GONNA SOUND EXTREMELY AGGRESSIVE IN THIS BUT DW I'M FINE I'M OKAY I'M JUST PASSIONATE ABOUT THIS CHARACTER IN A WAY THAT ALTERS MY MENTAL STATE
it's the WHOLE fucking umbrella of giovanni simping. and really the SIMPING, and reducing his entire personality to that and only that. maybe it's just difficult to get right or something? it is a delicate balance. like whatever if someone makes a joke about it it's funny and i love the jokes i get here about it in moderation because i know my friends and mutuals UNDERSTAND it's not all there is. and ic reactions are a different thing entirely bc the dynamic/their reputation to outsiders may present the bond between them like that.
i see it more as archer's personal lack of self-worth and his need to be flawless and perfect and his flawed sense of self-destructive loyalty, and who else he could project that onto than his boss who literally saved his life and elevated him from a dirt poor street rat into one of the most brutal, skilled and sought after criminals in the kanto-johto area. archer doesn't follow his order blindly, he may even challenge his order if he thinks there's a better/more efficient way, because there's a deep sense of trust and understanding between them.
i'm just gonna go ahead and blame pokéspe for this simp culture because what the fuck look how they massacred my boy in it. overall pokéspe used the execs to finish the d/p storyline which i'm endlessly mad and bitter about but won't get into bc it's not part of this but y'know.
and like yeah. i know. this is a pretty insignificant character in a large scale so many people just don't take it as dead serious as i do in my deranged mind space. for most people it's just funnies. i understand. good for them. but i'm still gonna be salty about it.
fanons have a funny way of reducing a character's entire personality to one line of dialogue or one personality trait and giving them nothing else. in comparison to proton (who i fucking adore and you know it it ain't about that and proton's popular fanon takes have a TON of issues too that i could yell about for hours, but this is just for an example) archer often gets the 'prissy stick in the mud uwu pathetic simp wet dog boy' treatment while proton gets the 'cool sexy badass murder man' one. there's a funny divide between the english and japanese fanons in this because japanese fanons often get it better. if i sound like a gatekeeper with this character it's because i am (i'm joking i do like different takes on him but not the 'simp and NOTHING else' stuff it makes me explode).
#infernalpursuit#《 asks. 》#sorry for writing a reddit manifesto#and sorry for being insane about a character who shows up for like 10 minutes </3 THIS IS MY HELL!!!!
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