#...so me personally i would rather people take their fury with my abuser (in my real life) and maybe invest it in myself and others...

[uncanny-tranny]

I think a lot of people don't support punitive justice on a governmental level (good), but they don't understand why punitive justice is overarchingly a bad thing, so they still operate with the idea that it's still the Best Option, but only when they can wield it.

Of course, there is a difference between a government having access to punitive justice and individuals or a small community having access to it, but the mindset is still strikingly similar. I've seen it time and time again where one's desire to destroy after even a small slight outweighs anything else, and that's alarming, actually. Yes, it's understandable, but I still don't think it is a healthy impulse or knee-jerk reaction for every minor affront.

[v3nusxsky]

Hey, do you write for wandanat? If not that's totally fine but if you do I was wondering if maybe I could request one?

Maybe where Wanda and nat are already together and one night at an avengers party they spot reader and Wanda falls for them and so convinces Natasha to seduce and take reader home with them?

Hopefully with smut, and maybe with daddy nat and soft mommy Wanda?

Love your work soooo much, feel no pressure to write this❤️

One of a Kind 18+

*Authors note~ a) I wrote this exhausted so mistakes are mine sorry y’all. B) I know you guys are all excited for different things so I was struggling to choose what I should post, shamefully having an anxiety attack over not choosing the right fic. So to save the day my lovely girlfriend choose wandnat for tonight*

To requester, I'm sorry I took some artistic liberties here but I honestly couldn't help but write them as g!p I hope that's okay!!!

Trigger warnings~threesome smut seduction daddy and mommy kink g!p Wanda Nat fingering r receiving praise and degrading kinks choking semi public sex??

Prompt~ see ask^^^^

Wanda and Tasha really didn't want to come to this party. No. But as per normal Tony wanted to throw a party and showed off his wealth and success. Wanda opting for a stunning emerald dress and Nat going for a form fitting suit. Wanda hid her cock so well that Nat often found herself being jealous. But she couldn't deny that her girlfriend is absolutely stunning in everything and nothing.

You'd been invited by Fury as a way to introduce you to the Avengers. You'd be set to join the team soon, but no one but Fury or Tony knew. Nat spotted you first, a simple Maroon skirt tucked into a beautiful black pencil skirt. Your legs on full display and a few buttons undone to give a tasteful view of your cleavage to the public. Alone at the bar is how the story starts, a rather cliche but important fact. That was where under an agreement between her and her wife Natasha swooped in on you.

You'd be lying if you said she wasn't sexy and very alluring but you still don't quite understand why she's here wasting time trying to get you in her bed. No one ever does that. It made you skeptical of her advances and actively ignoring the way her voice alone caused your cunt to become slick. The way her voice deepened as her eyes drank you in almost got you. Almost. But your past caught you first, you ended up lashing out at the woman.

"No one's ever really shown an interest in me. I'm not the prettiest or the smartest or the funniest girl around, I'm just average." You almost whispered but the woman could hear the sadness dripping through every word. "So this cruel joke of yours. Just stop it! Because I know no one would ever want me especially when they look like you do. So just stop" your voice broke on the last few words before you fled the scene. Really how could she do this to you? You thought she was a nice person, but to suggest this and not mean it was obviously going to hurt. After all who in their right mind would want an inexperienced virgin when they can have anyone in the whole world?

"Hey, you're beautiful, and I'd gladly take you home for my wife and me to enjoy for the night, you just have to trust we want you in the way we say" she murmured to you a gentle handed rubbing at your back in an attempt to soothe the confusing outburst. Yet both women were no strangers to being used and abused by other people. "You mean it?" You were really speaking more to yourself but when she replied with a Russian pet name that slipped off her tongue, you were a goner, "детка, we've been watching you all evening, no one in this room has caught our interest because we've been focused on you."

A simple nod had Nat leading you to the table to introduce you to her wife. By no surprise, her wife was just as beautiful as the red head. You immediately felt like you were unworthy of their attention. "I um should say I've never, um" you stumbled over your own admission but you could see you had both women's attention. "It's okay детка we will take this slow and at your pace, we truly want to get to know you дорогой" she whispered to you over the loud noise of the party. The other woman who you learned was the Scarlett Witch offered you to come sit closer to the women as you all conversed over small things really, but you were now completely at ease with them, exactly how they wanted you.

Your head warm and fuzzy, you felt an electric pulse of a slender hand trailing your thighs. It appeared you were more sensitive with the alcohol but soon enough you were spreading your legs for the brunette woman with a little help from her magic. From there you exposed your panty covered core to her curious fingers. The woman seemingly unaffected by her actions and holding a conversation with her wife about how much of an asset you'd be to the team. You almost got away with it, almost, but a little whimper escaped you as she accidentally bumped your aching clit.

"Wans" Nat warned, "you best not be playing with the хорошенькая шлюха without me" she growled the last two words. Truly how rude of you both not to wait for her, especially after her work to bring you to them. "I'm sorry Natty, I just couldn't wait anymore" the woman replied and removed her fingers from your core causing you to release a very disappointed whine. "сейчас, котенок, о тебе хорошо позаботятся" Nat purred before gracing you with a kiss to your neck before taking your hand to lead you away from the party, knowing that her wife will follow behind you.

As soon as you rounded the corner the Russian woman immediately slammed your back against the wall and attached her lips to yours with ease. The need was pouring into the kiss as the brunette woman watched in jealousy. She wanted to be the one kissing you, dragging all the pretty nosies she possibly could, but then again watching her wife touch you was doing unspeakable things to her nether region. "Tashsa" Wanda whimpered feeling the tent begin to show through her dress. "Come котенок, mommy is getting impatient and daddy can't wait to ruin your pretty untouched pussy" Natasha purred leading you to the bedroom once again. Only this time she never got side tracked.

Perhaps you'd had too much, but from there it's hazy, how did you end up absolutely bare for two of the most wanted and famous women in the world? And most importantly why the hell did they have throbbing cocks just desperate for you to take them. The women wanted to do this right, they showered you in love and praises. The made sure to touch and caress every inch of skin they could. And only when your ready did they introduce you to more. "котенок, sort out mommy's problem you caused" Nat demanded, encouraging you to bring your head to her shaft, with another quick check in and some guidance you were now choking on her cock as she forced it down your throat. "Oh fuck natty, this throat is perfect, fuck a good cock whore for me oh!"

With a few strokes to own dick she enjoyed the show, you are a fast learner by the looks of it and she was now struggling to contain herself and refrain from doing all the filthy things she desired to you. Wands sensing her wife's impatience slipped from your throat allowing you to breath as Natasha guided you into a new position. With you now on your hands and knees you were able to suck off wanda and give Nat access to your untouched cunt.

She took it slow, letting you adjust to her size, Wanda telepathically sharing the image of you with teary eyes, choking on her cock as you let Nat deflower you. But soon enough you began to rock backwards in a need for something, yet you didn't know what. "Oh there she is, our flight little girl, a dirty slut for us to use. Oh you've made mommy feel so good котенок she's ready to treat you for all your work, you'd love that huh? Mommy to fill your petty throat with cum?" Nat teased keeping her thrusts slow, "and fuck you're so fucking tight котенок, if mommy doesn't hurry up daddy will paint your pretty pussy white instead."

At the pure threat, Wanda was thrown over the edge into her own pools of bliss, breath heaving as all she could do is mewl yours and her wife's name. You greedily sucked every last drop from her shaft, surprising both women with the fact it was your first time. Only when she was sure she'd finished cumming did she slip from your front and encourage you to slip onto your back so Natasha could see your face. The new position only seemed to encourage the red head, especially with Wanda dropping her head to your breast and skilfully sucking and licking the hardened peaks. She even managed to roughly tweak her wife's right bud causing you both to cry out together.

The gasp you let out when Nat brought one hand from the bed to your throat was something both women wanted on a loop, experimenting with a bit of pressure they discovered a kink for you. "Oh Natty she liked your hand as her necklace. Oh darling is your head all fuzzy?" A broken confirmation left you as Natasha picked up an almost animalistic pace of pounding into you. And when your cries became to loud Wanda guided you to her breast, allowing you to suckle and nip her sensitive skin and effectively soothe you at the same time.

When Natasha came in long spurts of sticky white cum you honestly had no thoughts other than both the women. You lost count of how many times you'd been forced over the edge and just how long you'd been here, but now you didn't care. What a first experience to have. Oh but you weren't done, they immediately started to clean up and look after you, offering food water and cuddles. You wanted to talk, what could this mean? You'd slept with married women? Was it a fling? You hoped not. And Wanda heard all those thoughts and settled you into bed between the women with promises of talking about everything when your brain wasn't still in sub space. You'd be needing a clear mind to decide if you would join the relationship as a third party. But for now, you all slept.

Word count ~ 1839

[browneyedboys]

libraries after midnight

you can find my other work here!

Pairing: rafe cameron x reader

Warnings: cursing, ward being an awful father, overall fluff (let me know if you find something else)

Word count: 1.6K

Synopsis: While studying in the library you overheard a harsh conversation and have to stick up for the person being harassed. In turn you meet frat boy rafe cameron, who is less bothered by his father than you would expect.

a/n: this may or may not turn into a series, I promise nothing, feedback is always appreciated! 

It's nearing an hour in which you definitely shouldn’t be awake. The slow death of the sunlight was hours ago; your eyes feel as if they are lifting weight with each blink. They long for a blink that ends in the perpetual closing of your eyelids. And yet the minutes tick by, keyboard clicking in the depths of the library. During the day your favorite table looks out at the city, at twelve the windows reflect your eye bags. Nearing midterms, you’ve managed to miss a class and subsequently be assigned an essay. An essay which lies so close to completion, yet so far as you grow distracted. 

“Stop running, Rafe.” A rather hushed voice pulls you from your work. You’ve never been one to pass up gossip, and the middle aged man huddled a few bookcases in front of you seems to attract it. Whoever he is lecturing is obscured by the shelves, rows and rows of journals and equally academic bullshit. Your parents always were slightly abrasive, something the man seems to share. 

The other person’s response is more appropriate in volume. You barely manage to catch the last words. His words seem something along the lines of college decision and where they currently are. The tilt of his voice seems somewhat familiar, something highly likely considering how many people you have interacted with in the past month. 

This past year has been an insane intro into college life, not only did you move on campus but you also rushed sororities and went to so many events. To think about the past year or so makes you feel slightly dizzy, so much has changed for the better. 

The conversation only meters in front of you seems to grow more intense, angry words hit with a certain passion. Your heart aches for whoever is on the receiving side of the avalanche, it would bury you alive. 

With a final word and the completion of your sentence, you give up on your essay. Submitting it as it is, you close your laptop with a gentle fury. The middle aged man seems to have upset you more than you would have thought possible. 

With a calm exterior, you slide your backpack over your shoulder after placing your laptop inside, and march over to the pair. Not even glancing at the poor student, Rafe you presume from the earlier eavesdropping, who is being harassed, you glare at the man in front of you. 

He pauses in his lecture, eyes shifting to your profile, “Can I help you?” He seems to exude an energy which makes you recoil just slightly, something about his gaze on you is off putting, even if you’ve come over to tell him off. 

Swallowing, you take a step to the side and lean just slightly on the bookshelf in front of the man. “Actually yes, if you would kindly stop degrading this person I would appreciate it. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed what time it is, or where you are, but the library does not take kindly to verbally abusive old men. Who do you think you are?” Crossing your arms over your chest, you muster up the strength to not back down. You’re not usually one to get involved in other people’s business but this man seems to have sparked something inside of you.  

“Ward Cameron,” the man speaks with a tone you’re sure would make service workers shrink, “And who are you?”

“Cory, right? You’re in Pi Phi.” The other person questions, pulling your focus from the abrasive Ward. Rafe turns out to be someone you kind of know, greek life socials have pulled the two of you together before. His tall figure and drawn together eyebrows relax your shoulders just slightly, he seems to be only mildly bothered. Either this is nothing, something concerning, or he has learned to let the words roll off his back. 

You nod your head, sending Rafe a tight lipped smile, “What fraternity are you in again?”

“Phi Gam,” Ward supplies. You can imagine a younger version of him, bright eyed and anticipatory, standing in the infamous frat house. You wonder when he became so cruel, or was it always this way? 

“Now if you will excuse us, we were in the middle of something.”

Ward’s abrasive manner tempts your hardened exterior. You’re sure a few more finely crafted brash words would have you looking bruised, but not these ones. You came over here to defend whoever was being verbally abused and you still intend to do just that, especially now that you know who it is. 

“No.” You reply slowly. “You’ve crossed the line and need to go think about your behavior. Whatever it is you’re upset about does not warrant this kind of response. You acting like this fucks up your kids.” 

You gaze over at Rafe, meeting his eyes, “I’m actually needing to talk to you anyways so that works out.” You turn towards the front of the library, keeping eye contact with Rafe. He sends you an amused smile, following until you leave through the front doors. Pausing by a bench, you glance out at the pitch black landscape, only lit up by the occasional lamp. 

Rafe stops to the left of you, glancing back at the doors, he shoots you a grin. “Did you bring me all the way out here so there would be no witnesses to my murder?” 

“No, what are you talking about?” You question with a mischievous tilt to your voice, smirking at the taller boy beside you.

He grins out at you, “No but seriously, thanks. My dad can get overbearing at times and I’m kind of shit at sticking up for myself.” He shifts back and forth, breaking eye contact to look out at the city lights. Rafe shakes his head slightly, returning his gaze back to your figure, “may I walk you to your house to repay you?”

You’re usually a bit skeptical of men, like all men, so it almost surprises you when you agree. You always listen to your gut, but yours seems calm at the moment. “Sure.” When you think about it for more than three seconds you realize that Rafe already knows where you live. Both being in a greek organization you realize that you even live on the same street. “I mean you already know where I live and all.”

Rafe seems to sputter in hesitation, “what?” 

“I live in the Pi Phi house, and you live in the Phi Gam house. You know where I live, and I know where you live.”

He grins at you in a manner which makes your stomach flip, “I mean, when you put it like that I realize just how weird that is. That could end up badly for someone who has a stalker and puts her sorority in her instagram bio.”

“Yeah,” you shake your head, following Rafe as he steps off the curb, “that’s scary to think about.”

Rafe slows his step until you’re walking side by side; “You’re the one who thought about it in the first place.” 

You glance up at him as you both continue to walk back to greek row. The street lights catch the golden hue of his hair, brown shifting into what you realize is dirty blonde. His cheekbones seem to shift in contrast to the rest of his cheeks with each light you pass under. Rafe glows slightly under the warmth of each lamp. 

Your gaze seems to catch his attention as you pass one of the campus coffee shops. Raising his eyebrows, he smiles mischievously at you, “Are you new to the thought that everyone knows where you live as soon as they learn what sorority you’re in?”

Smacking his arm lightly, you remove your gaze from his frustratingly perfect face. “If that’s your way of asking how long I’ve been in Pi Phi my answer is a year.”

“So you’re a sophomore?” 

“Junior,” you shake your head, “I joined as a sophomore. What about you, golden boy, what year are you?”

Rafe shoots you an incredulous look, a softer smile than before pulling at his features. “I’m a junior too and I’ve been in Phi Gam since freshman year. How come we haven’t talked more in the past?”

“I've definitely seen you around,” you shrug. “Maybe you were too distracted by my more bubbly sisters.” As you draw on the final block before arriving at your doorstep you dwell on the happenstance of this moment. 

Rafe runs a hand through his hair, “I’ve seen you around too. Honestly you’re a bit intimidating when you’re with your friends, I haven’t approached cause I didn’t want to regret it.”

“Next time come say hi,” you flash him a smile, “I promise that none of my sisters will bite. They might faint though, you’re quite popular in Pi Phi, a golden boy of sorts.”

Rafe chuckles, shaking his head, “What am I? An urban legend?”

You draw up to the walkway of your house. The white house and silver blue doors signal a community you’ve come to adore. Home has more than one meaning to you now. 

Turning towards Rafe, you address his probing, “Maybe… but if you come around more often you could become something more.” Rafe seems to straighten at your flirty tone, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“That right?”

Nodding your head, you take a step up the pathway, “Thanks for walking me back.”

“Of course, I’ll see you around, Cory” 

You retreat up the walkway to the front door, glancing over your shoulder once you reach the front porch. Rafe stands where you left him, he waves at you before turning to the direction his house is. Whatever this night has added to your life: you have yet to know.

[character-of-all-time]

Now that the submissions are closed, were there any funny submissions that topped the previously stated funny submissions?

I might end up publishing the full response list to browse through at your leisure and so that someone else can seek out the hee hoo funny ha has rather than making myself go through all 1522 again, but I would like to highlight a few submissions that stuck with me:

character: Sam Winchester

from: supernatural

why?: oh COME ON. ur gonna make me defend sam fucking winchester as the most character of all time?? he literally has bangs. he died at 23. he died at 26. he died a lot of other times too but those are the most important ones. he's jesus and he's the antichrist and he gets placed on a visual crucifix too many times to count. he's an addict and he's a christian and god is making his life miserable on a personal level. he is wholeheartedly convinced that there are other people who "have it worse" than him (he was tortured by satan for centuries). again he HAS bangs. he's been possessed too many times to ever feel like his body is his own. he's in a constant cycle of being beaten down and KNOWING he shouldn't get back up, and not wanting to get back up, and getting back up anyway like a kicked puppy who thinks maybe this time they won't get kicked. never ever gives up but in a sad and pathetic way that makes u feel vaguely nauseous. he's psychic. he bought a ring for his girlfriend while they were still in college. he went to stanford. he's unclean in the biblical sense but he prays every night. he had a queer allegory arc spanning multiple seasons that people ignore so they can claim he's cishet. he totally fucked a 300-year-old witch while studying under her to become a witch himself. everyone he has ever loved is dead and he knows it's his fault. he spends the first few decades of his life angry -- SO angry -- at everything he's been put through, full of rage at the things he's suffered and the people who caused them. he is punished for this fury, taught to never be angry again, and after a while he just lies down and takes it. he is a serial killer and on the fbi's most wanted list. he uses "low sodium" as an insult. he's a vegetarian. he never drives his father's car. he has demon blood flowing through his veins and his best friend is a literal biblical angel. he's an abomination. he thinks that hope is kind of the whole point. he has BANGS. he killed his brother several times over, and he destroyed the world to bring his brother back to life a few times too. he spent time in a psych ward. he thinks he is terribly hard to love. his mother destroyed his life before he was even born and he still calls her "mama." he died at 23. he was kicked out of the house when he was 18, and then was kicked out of basically everywhere else for the rest of his life. his only family locked him in a panic room and left him to die. he forgave them for that because he doesn't know how to do anything but forgive. he's got bangs. anyway

what do you want?: u KNOW what i want. if my best friend sam doesn't win this bracket i'm crashing my car into the world's tallest and thickest tree

--------------

character: jesse pinkman

from: breaking bad

why?: Well.Well. i. so. hes THE character okay he was created in gods eyes only to be sculpted and changed by the wrath of satan (or the other way around). Its jesse pinkman. have you ever watched 5 seasons of a grown man with cancer abusing another grown man in order to support his family who hate him because of the way hes trying to support them (drugdealing)?No? well i need you to and then come back to me. jesses relationship with the aforementioned Grown man with cancer (walter white) is so multidimensional you could refer to jesse as walters affair, student, victim, partner in crime, son figure etc and it would be RIGHT because they are all encompassing and fucked up. and jesse loses everything and he cries and hes so emotional but he PREVAILS. he prevails and he precedes walter and all the toxically masculine men who hated him, who convinced him was less than who he was. and the dog motif!!!!! hes a loyal dog but his owner has been slowly feeding him poison, to break him down slowly, and its killing him so he BITES because it hurts and they all talk about the rabid dog he is, how badly the owner needs to put him down. and then his owner gives him away to much worse men, owners who wont feed him the poison slowly, but will beat and use him relentlessly. and then his old owner is going to die and he knows it and he needs to secured his reputation and put everything in place. he saves the dog and kills the dogs new owners. he BEGS for his dog to kill him, to kill him like he had done to the dog. but this dog is not like any of his owners, hw will never be. so he barks and says that he should do it himself and he RUNS. hes crying and whimpering but hes not getting beaten or poisoned anymore, hes a free dog and its up to him to make his own future without the influence of evil owners. THAT'S jesse Pinkman. hes the bride of heisenburg hes the dog motif and he loves and loves and protects animals and kids because he couldn't protect himself and he wins with tears in his eyes. um also hes trans so ^ hasnt watched this show in like 7 months i have mo idea what im talking about

what do you want?: one billion dollars

------

who: Victor frankenstein

from: Mary shelley frankenstein

why?: I don't remember anything about this book except for the incredible and relatable line of 'I raveged an oatcake' cos God man me too

what do you want?: An oatcake

-----

who: sphagnum moss

from: real life

why: Love that bitch. They are light and hold moisture well. and they also form peat bogs when they die which is swag

what do you want?: To be turned into a zebra mussel and sleep in a Marimo moss ball and not have to worry about relationships or taxes

-------

who: Guy Montag

from: Fahrenheit 451

why?: he kills his boss with fire which i think is pretty cool and something we can all aspire to. i also want him to be in an online popularity contest because i want ray bradburys head to explode from beyond the grave

what do you want?: prove life after death so i can destroy ray bradbury’s soul

[bandofchimeras]

"our sins belong together"

on Catholicism, Yom Kippur and excoriation/expiation.

Lately it's been apparent, you know I really do struggle to be nice to people. Non judgemental, endlessly patient, etc etc. maybe it's not for me. I would rather fight for basic human dignity and rights for all of us and be a bitter cunt than try to make everyone feel niceies while drowning in the rotting weight of unacknowledged cultural festering, glut, the untreated pain of the narcissistic empire.

Or so my brain frames it.

That is to say, I don't actually respect most people around me beyond basic respect due to any being, and grew up deeply Not Respecting adults despite being forced to perform respect rituals.

I ended up believing most people do Not know what they're doing and are even less likely to be doing a great job at it. It's not my place to show them that all the time but it's why I get extremely critical in conflict, after holding back so much criticism to keep a stiff peace, it begs to be released. Reading people feels heavenly, like taking a shit you've been holding in while your mom takes too long at the grocery store. There is SO MUCH bullshit in the world too, giving oneself permission to destroy is an angelic emotion. The world would benefit, I believe from the creative impulse below this but there is necessary destruction to get through first. All creation is destruction anyways .

At some point in early life I learned that criticism + adaptation is better for survival, and an inability to tolerate criticism is a terrifying sign of weakness, and an assurance that you are Going to Hell.

I could not understand why my parents defended and protected their fragile egos, while we learned constantly in Catechism to humble ourselves before God. The extremism of my religious beliefs became a further marker of my apparent ridiculousness, and when my parents mocked me or tried to get me to chill out a little, it only drove me deeper into scorn, fury and disgust. How can one have any respect for people who enforce the strictest standard on those with less power, while failing to live up to their standard? Their authority I deemed a sacrilege, a disgrace to the commandments of the saints.

At the same time this harshness tore me apart inside. To empty myself of all personal content and become like Jesus, like St. Therese, to let go every aspect of personality in favor of become the perfect Loving Savior, an extension of His Body on Earth....well I fucking hated that shit the whole time. I cried about it. I wanted to be normal and think about boys and be a disgusting gluttonous mess and not have to be held to this iron standard.

But I held out, as long as I could. I abused myself so heavily, starved, hurt, sleep deprived, emotionally lambasted my self trying to expunge the deep horror I felt about my own existence. Catholicism became a knife in my hand, one I could easily plunge into myself over and over and pretend no one's blood had been spilled. In some way with the operating assumptions I willed myself into non-existence, isolating myself into a rigid, hidden life of abnegation and pain.

It's a far far cry from the repentance expressed in the service of Yom Kippur. The way our missing the mark, our 'sins' belong to each other in the family of Judaism, the way you are asked to carry others failings and understand they carry yours. This has softened my heart in a way that ...well it hurts.

I wonder how much life could change if I could not only forgive people their shortcomings, but agree to carry their shortcomings with me, as a measure of our belonging together.

This is so antithetical to the perfectionism that feels inherent to my nature by now. It's ironic how often the biggest sacrifice of all can be your wounds. How we hold onto the things that hurt us most, when the universe only asks we lay our pain on the altar, stop wielding it as a weapon even against ourselves.

So I wonder what it could look like, to not merely excuse and soften up on others, but to see their flaws, my own flaws, as part of our shared collective body. To praise them even, as what keeps us from thinking we are God. I wonder if I have the strength to do this. I pray to find it.

Shana Tova.

[swordoaths]

Éomer Headcanons

The thing about Éomer that I probably will never stop talking about is that he will always stand with and for those he trusts and regards as friends or family. He believes in the brotherly bond, and it greatly affects how he views and acts in the world around him.

If someone is of good heart and serves good, then he will draw his sword for that person and/or cause and not be afraid to die for it. And as such, he has a good read on people. He is a good judge of character and bases his actions and loyalty on that. Éomer even admits that he might not be the most learned of Men, but that he doesn’t need a wealth of knowledge to do what is right. He bases his acts of service and loyalty based on how others treat one another. For example:

“‘As for myself,’ said  Éomer, ‘I have little knowledge of these deep matters; but I need it not. This I know, and it is enough, that as my friend Aragorn succoured me and my people, so will I aid him when he calls. I will go.’”

And other people have a sense of Éomer‘s adept read on people, for in the films, we see Grima banish Éomer because he is onto Grima and his abuse. And Grima knows that Éomer will put an end to him and dishonourable ways, because that is the heart of who Éomer is.

“You see much, Éomer son of Éomund. Too much. You are banished forthwith from the Kingdom of Rohan, all its domains under pain of death.”

But whilst Éomer does have a good read on people’s hearts and intentions, he is not perfect in all of his judgements. But what makes him so honourable is that he will change his understanding of another person should they prove their good intentions. I am specifically thinking about Éomer greeting Gimli by saying that he would cut off his head if he were but taller. In that moment, Éomer  has made his judgement. But then when he learns of their cause, Éomer knows Gimli, Aragorn, and Legolas to be good and lets them go. And that is a punishable offense in Rohan and is the reason Éomer is imprisoned. But he put his belief in the goodness of others first. Later on in the series, we see how Éomer thinks of Gimli (and Legolas and Aragorn) as a friend he will serve:

“‘Firefoot, my horse, will bear us both, if you will.'

'I thank you indeed,' said Gimli greatly pleased. 'I will gladly go with you, if Legolas, my comrade, may ride beside us.'

'It shall be so,' said Éomer. 'Legolas upon my left, and Aragorn upon my right, and none will dare to stand before us!'”

I also need to have an extra bit here about his loyalty to his sister Éowyn because I cannot stress their sibling bond enough. Éomer and Éowyn lost their parents when they were children, and whilst their uncle and King Théoden raises them as his own, there is still this element of Éomer and Éowyn having each other--- that they’re all they’ve got left. The brotherhood and sisterhood bond between them is unbreakable, even by death itself. We all know that scene when Éomer finds Éowyn seemingly slain on the battlefield and that heartbreaking scream that comes out. Here’s a little snippet:

“And he looked at the slain, recalling their names. Then suddenly he beheld his sister Éowyn as she lay, and he knew her. He stood a moment as a man who is pierced in the midst of a cry by an arrow through the heart; and then his face went deathly white, and a cold fury rose in him, so that all speech failed him for a while. A fey mood took him.'Éowyn, Éowyn!' he cried at last 'Éowyn, how come you here? What madness or devilry is this? Death, death, death! Death take us all!'   Then without taking counsel or waiting for the approach of the men of the City, he spurred headlong back to the front of the great host, and blew a horn, and cried aloud for the onset. Over the field rang his clear voice calling: ' Death! Ride, ride to ruin and the world's ending!'”

This passage shows the extent of Éomer and his loyalty-- that if brother and sister are to be parted, then he would rather go down fighting and trying to avenge the life they took from his sister. And that sibling bond is strong enough to bring  Éowyn back-- it’s not romantic love that Éowyn feels for Aragorn that brings her back to the living, but brotherly love from Éomer. It’s a testament that it’s not always romantic love that is the knight in shining armour in every tale of old, and that brotherhood (whether it be by blood or by choice) is equally important. And Éomer greatly embodies that importance of brotherhood amongst his friends and family.

[kpop-dungeon-dark]

The King's Bitch. (King!Taehyung x You)

•TRIGGER WARNING•

Pretty much plot credits to @taesluttt.

Warning(s): Non-con, Punishment, King!Taehyung, brat!tamer Taehyung, choking, slapping, spanking, face fucking, hair pulling, sadist!Taehyung, watersports, spit play, historical au, fear kink, royal au, objectification (duh it's me so), anal, just rough shit basically. You're both legal in this. Read at your own risk.

His arms were held behind his back in the royal manner they'd taught to be in ever since he was a little boy, eyes focused on the little figure shivering just slightly due to the chill air of the dungeons from where he was standing, the bars of the prison cell separating King Taehyung and his rather young and newly wedded wife, the younger not having any idea that he was even there in one of the shadows, watching her hug her legs as she rocked back and forth.

"Bring her to me." Instructor Jeon was ordered in the King's heavy voice, it's rumble almost shaking up the walls as the younger man bowed respectfully before one of the dungeon keepers unlocked the cell, followed by Y/n being escorted out who started to try to challenge and fight Jeon, causing him to sigh as he bit the inside of his cheek, just pulling the reckless Queen without any conversation.

"LET ME GO! I AM THE QUEEN! HOW DARE YOU LAY YOUR LOWLY HANDS ON ME YOU IMBECILE! I WILL REPORT YOU ALL TO THE KING! HOW DARE ANY OF YOU EVEN TOUCH ME LET ALONE LOCK ME IN THIS HIDEOUS GOD FORBIDDEN DUNGEON! THAT FUCKING MAID AND YOU AND EVERYONE ELSE JUST WAIT! YOU WILL FACE MY WRA-" her threats turned into an embarrassing loud squeak when a now irritated King exposed his huge figure from the shadows of the dungeon before landing his hand on her soft cheek in full swing to shut her up, catching the young woman off guard as she lost her balance and fell on the ground.

"So very disappointing." Y/n was about to get back up and start screaming when she realises the voice to be her husband's. Oh no. He was one person she had to be good in front of so she could have him bring all her wishes true. Blinking her eyes to get rid of the stars in her eyes due to the impact of the King's slap, the Queen looked up at her husband, bottom lip jutting out.

"Y- Your highness! I've been disrespected so bad!" The man felt himself cringe from her vocabulary. What noble family raised their daughter like this? It was like she was raised in the slums. "You've no idea! I was disrespected by all these cruel people! They put me in prison! The Queen! This is unacce-"

"Enough!" A little gasp left her as he grabbed a huge handful of the air from the top of her head, pulling her up on her feet forcefully before starting to drag The Queen of the dungeon in front of everyone, the girl stumbling as she whined from the pain and tried to keep up, her small figure and strength nothing compared to the 40 year old King.

"I- Owww! Let g- gooooo~! It hurrrrts!" Y/n's cheeks were red in embarrassment as she caught all the staff of the Royal Palace watching her being dragged to the Royal Residency and then their chambers as her husband kept a firm grip on her hair, both of her smaller hands that were cupping over his unable to aid her. "You o- old man!" She grunted to herself as he dragged her towards the double doors of their chambers, a huge pout on her face along the pained expression. "Ugh! I told mother you looked like a cruel old grandpa King! But they forced me to marry you and now I am being abused!" Although she was only mumbling it, Taehyung could hear it and it angered him only more.

So his own wife thought of him as a cold and cruel King with no regard for anyone like the rest of the kingdom too, huh?

"OUCH!" The Queen squeaked when she was swung against the ground as her husband locked the door from the inside, unbuckling the leather belt around his pants before pulling it out of it's hoops and doubling it. "THAT WAS SO CRUEL OF YOU! NOW THE MAIDS WILL THINK DISRESPECTING ME IS OKAY! WHAT KIND OF-"

"Oh, shut up!" Turning around, the King moved before his young wife could even decipher what was happening, grabbing her smaller body and forcing her on her knees by her neck, pushing her further down so she was on all fours before locking her in place like that by the back of her throat, landing merciless belts on her sensitive still clothed buttocks, his strength enough to make it hurt still even through all the layers of fabric she wore. "You talk and complain too much."

Y/n was screeching as she tried to get away from the strong man, starting to crawl like a bitch almost, jerking with each hit as she tried to get away although having no luck, her husband's huge hand holding her nape tightly which controlled her whole body. "AHHH! PLEASE! PLEASE! WHAT DID I EVEN DOOOOO!" The girl pathetically crawled in circles, sobbing already.

"Humiliating me as a King and a husband is what you did." Came an angered reply before the King just ripped her beautiful and expensive robes off from behind, now landing his belt on her exposed skin, causing her to scream even louder.

Y/n hated it. All the fucking maids could hear it too. Nobody would respect her or be afraid of her anymore. She was just a laughing stock now. Being disciplined by her own husband like a child. Spanking at that.

“I DID NOT DO ANYTHING! IT WAS THE MAID’S FAULT! SHE MESSED UP WHAT I WANTED TO EAT- OUCH!” Her ass was on fire as she kept crawling in circles like an animal, whining and crying from the pain. “THEN THEY PUT ME IN PRISON AND INSTEAD OF ASKING THEM YOU HUMILIATED ME IN FRONT OF THEM! THIS IS NOT FAIR! THIS IS ABUSE!”

Taehyung deeply chuckled in disbelief as he finally stopped. “You really do not get it, do you, huh?” When Y/n continued to cry like a child and just stare at him in confusion, the King clicked his tongue in distaste and made his way to the edge of the bed while dragging her with him by her nape like a toy, taking a seat before wrapping the belt around her neck. "This is what they do in your Kingdom? Explains why you are all so illiterate and beaten up by the neighboring Kingdoms." The girl's eyebrows furrowed as he pulled her closer by the makeshift leash, their faces inches away now.

"How pathetic" Taehyung's eyes were dark and full of fury as he stared down at her through the long strands of his coal coloured hair, landing a wad of spit straight on her nose which dripped down to her lips, causing her to whine out only to be shushed with a slap. "You do not even know what you did. Tsk." His hand jerked at her leash when she tried to get away followed by a slap landing on her cheek.

"We do not hit our servants here, you illiterate little disrespectful slut" Y/n's eyes widened at his sudden choice of words, the King's cock getting hard from the sight of her on her knees on a leash like this after getting spanked. Completely at his mercy. "What are you in this Kingdom? An outsider with no knowledge or skills whatsoever; nothing." The girl gulped from his deep tone and harsh words, her hands free by her sides but unable to get up and try to defend herself. "You are nothing. But my mere wife. How dare you think you could order anyone here and then hit them for it?" A slap landed on her face before he grabbed her hair by his other hand, pulling at it and making her cry out, causing her lips to part as tears formed at the corners of her eyes.

"You're nothing without me." Taehyung deeply spoke, maintaining the eye contact while tightening his grip around her soft hair. "You're nothing to order or punish anyone here." A soft whimper escaped the girl when he spat on her tongue, squeezing on her throat just a little bit and cutting off her oxygen, watching her face get red as she ran out of breath, only adding to his need. "You're just a little bitch. A bitch for me to breed and take pleasure out of." While still choking her, Taehyung unclothed his cock with his other hand, pumping the erect organ just a little before loosening his grip. "What are you?" Y/n gasped for air as more tears streamed down her face, drool dripping out of her already swollen lips. "What are you?!" The man roughly jerked her by the throat, eliciting a squeak out of her.

"A- A bitch! A bitch, y- your Majesty!"

"Good." Taehyung's lips curled into a satisfied smirk before he forced her face closer to his cock, pushing it straight into her mouth with full strength, causing her to gag instantly as the girl's  eyes widened in alarm of what was happening. "Fuck…" The King threw his head back and arched his hips, getting used to the feeling of her tight and warm mouth clasped around his shaft. "So fucking tight and warm" a shudder ripped through his whole body from the feeling.

Y/n was struggling to breathe as she felt more and more tears escaping her eyes, limbs trembling from the intensity. "Just a bitch…" Taehyung's beautiful lips parted as he threw his head back, starting to thrust in her throat as he made her face meet him halfway, literally stomping it up and down his cock with the help of her hair. "I think I need to teach you your place since I didn't really have the time to when you arrived, hm?" His breaths were getting heavy as he glared down at her, pulling his cock out of her mouth and slowly pumping it, whimpering silently before he started to release his piss out and all over her face, causing it to drip down her chin and on her chest.

"Open up!" Prying her mouth open before landing a slap on her cheek, the male forced his leaking cock in her mouth and moaned, his balls hurting from how horny he was. "Drink it! Don't waste it!" Her face dangled to the side when he slapped it again, spitting on her. "Look at you! Nothing but a filthy little disgusting fucking urinal! Thinking she could do whatever in MY Palace just because she married me!" Tears were escaping her eyes and trailing down her cheeks as her throat slightly burnt from the abuse it underwent a few moments ago and now the hot piss she was being forced to consume.

"Move over" Taehyung growled when he was done, pushing her out of the way before kneeling on the ground and forcing her face against the ground that was wet from his face, pushing it in the small puddle. "Fuck… you're so much better when you're being like this, tsk." Smacking her ass and making her whine from the pain, the King spat copious amounts of spit on her pucker before massaging it in, causing her eyes to widen in realisation.

"Y- YOUR HIGH-"

"Shut it." Her eyes widened to the shape of saucers before rolling just slightly upward when he suddenly tugged at the belt, pulling her backwards all the while pushing his thick and long cock right up her small, unused ass. "You don't get a say in anything, 'dear'." The endearment was a mere taunt, the King's cock twitching in her soft walls as he pulled it out a little before pushing it back in, causing her tiny rim to forcefully expand and restrict it from defensively contracting, drilling the hole in strong and small paced thrusts.

"A foolish fucking child is what you are. No sense of responsibility." His deep voice was firm and Y/n couldn't help but gulp, helplessly being used in whichever way husband liked. "This can't go on like this. The Queen's court is a laughing stock at this point because she is not even there!" Y/n desperately tried to breath as he harshly slapped her ass, trying to force his balls in too. "Only enjoying her privileges!" Tilting her head back by her chin so she was forced to look up at him although upside down, the King spat in her mouth, shaking his head in distaste.

"I- I am sorry! I am sorry! I- I swear! P- Please! Please! I won't b- be bad again!" Y/n was crying as her ass burned. "Please, Y- Your Highness!" He wasn't an old and foolish King like she'd thought. Oh no.

"You better be." Harshly pulling her closer, Taehyung kissed her despite the piss coating her face, hands hastily slipping to her chest and fiddling with the little fabric left on her body, thumbs stroking her nipples and hardening them in an instant as his hands palmed her breasts. "You will only know obedience. I was letting you off because you were just a young little bride that had to leave her Kingdom and family. But I refuse to let you make a joke of my Kingdom and I."

Brats was one thing King Kim fucking despised. All talk no work.

"Y- Yes! P- P- Please stop! It hurts!" His heart fluttered from how she whined and pouted, looking cute even with her face all red and literally piss covered.

"That is the whole point." Peppering kisses down her neck, Taehyung but the tender skin and sucked harshly on it, marking her as his property. "When I have time one of these days, I'll make sure I force fuck some sense of responsibility in you, you pathetic brat. You will be a useful Queen, faithful wife and loving mother." Her eyes widened when she realised what he was saying. "I'll fill you deep and well with my heirs and you will raise each one yourself."

"I A- AM T- TOO YOUNG THOUGH! P- PLEASE!"

Taehyung grunted upon her pathetic attempts to try to break free from his grasp, only earning a harsh pinch to her nipples as he continued to give her hickeys all over her neck.

"You still think you get to decide?!" He chuckled in disbelief, biting down on her skin and softly grunting when he felt his balls twitch, forcing one of her hands to touch them as he tried to force them up her small rim. "No. You take what's being given to you and you be grateful for it! Bitches like you open their legs for their Masters and breed as much children from them as they want. That's all they fucking do."

.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

snake | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Your parents have no qualms on doing whatever they can to climb the social ladder. That includes assigning you a betrothed you've never met, an offering to the crown prince. You, the one the gossipers whisper under their breath... the Snake Princess.

warnings: implied parental emotional and physical abuse; language; non-idol!AU - prince!Yoongi x aristocrat!reader, ft overprotective (but secretly soft), tattooed, little brother!JK; based on this

–

“I don’t care what our father said, you’re not marrying him!”

You scratched your ear, partly shielding it from the loud voice of your brother.

“He’s an asshole!”

“You don’t know him?” you offered, affixing your earring, somewhat annoyed. The yellow gold wasn’t quite your style. Your parents liked such gaudy, ugly things.

Both in fashion and tradition, unfortunately.

“Do you?” your brother shot back, throwing himself up from your bed where he was yelling at the ceiling about nothing he could change. It was a favorite past time of his, along with following you around like a talkative shadow.

“No, that’s why I’m meeting him today,” you replied dryly. You switched to the other ear, adding the dragon-shaped ear cuff above the gold earring. Your parents hated it when you added such aggressive accessories – they’re not womanly, they would say – but if you were going to be betrothed to some guy on the sole basis that they had ambitions and he was the man who so happened to be the next-in-line for the throne, you weren’t going to lie about what kind of woman you were.

“Aren’t you pissed?”

You shrugged. “Is it so bad?”

“Yes!”

You sighed and flickered your eyes to the mirror, seeing Jeon Jungkook’s furious expression, long black hair tied back with lingering strands framing his high cheekbones, his black and gold robes wild, poorly tied and revealing half of his tanned, toned chest. His dark brown eyes flashed, pressing his cherry-painted lips together, jawline sharp and defiant. That’s how Jungkook always looked, messy, undone, borderline furious.

Everyone called him the Reckless Prince.

You just called him little brother.

“Noona…”

“Hmm?”

You saw him frown and you looked away, running a hand through your hair, browsing your hair accessories. You used to have an aide to help you at one point, but you told your parents to get rid of them, preferring to get ready by yourself. And besides, Jungkook liked to burst in and interrupt you with his relentless tirades about how unfair your arranged marriage was. There was no point in having hired help when you could coerce your brother into doing things as you put up with him.

“Can I brush your hair?”

“You have arms and hands, so you’re physically capable, yes.”

You heard him click his tongue in annoyance and smirked, shifting your eyes to the mirror. He was behind you now, face no longer visible. It didn’t matter. You already knew his cross expression quite well. He snatched the ornate comb from your vanity, the black snake head clearly visible on the side of his right wrist, inked near his thumb. Your parents scolded and beat him for getting it, but Jungkook could care less, breaking the wooden paddle with ease, right out of your mother’s hand.

You hadn’t said anything.

The rumors called you the Snake Princess.

Quick-witted, sharp, vicious. Not to your face though, because that was just foolishness. It wouldn’t be only your wrath they would be evoking.

Jungkook ran the comb through your hair, gently separating the strands, careful not to pull too hard. He was better than any aide anyway. They merely yanked and pulled you into their standard of beauty, ignoring your opinions or input, always citing that it was important to not look like a peasant, important to always look above your status, using your beauty to save face.

Saving face.

You hated those words.

“What if he’s a horrible person?” your brother asked quietly, tucking the strands away from your eyes only for them to slip back stubbornly.

“Then he’s a horrible person,” you replied, applying your makeup. “And you’ll probably do something about it.”

Jungkook made a noise between an aggravated bear and an injured tiger.

“If he so much as puts one fingertip on you, I’ll kill him.”

You snorted. “I’d hate to tell you what marriage entails, Jungkook.”

The comb in your hair paused.

His anger subsided, just like that.

“You’re really going to do it?” he asked softly. “Really, really?”

You heard the pain in Jungkook’s voice.

You recalled when you received the news many years ago, silent fury as your parents gave you away, turning you into a transaction to raise their own reputation and status. Your reaction was nothing to your little brother’s, him running to your room and crying in your arms, distraught and upset that you were leaving him, declaring he hated your parents, everyone, and everything.

“You’re supposed to protect me,” Jungkook had sobbed, already too big for you to hold like this but you did anyway, patting his head and wiping his tears with your sleeve. “You’re supposed to be here, with me, forever and always.”

He had taken your hand, tucking his fingers in yours, pressing your pinkies together.

“You promised me.”

And you had, from the very beginning, the shy kid always following after you and making you speak for him, your parents yelling and scolding him to be a man, but you defending him, taking the slaps meant for him, sneaking him sweets when he was hiding his tears, telling him it was okay to cry and that noona would stay here and listen to his worries, no matter if it was as stupid as a butterfly flying away or the teacher once again reprimanding him for his poor scores.

The amount of pressure they put on him just because he was the son was immense.

“I wanna play,” he had cried softly. “I don’t have to study anymore.”

“You want to be stupid?” you had teased, patting his head. “What if I had my lessons with you? I can make that happen.”

“R-Really?”

So, you made it happen, telling your parents and tutors that it would be better for him to be exposed to more complex concepts earlier rather than later and watching someone learn would improve his own scores. You made yourself a better student for his benefit and he, in turn, followed obediently, doing what you did, always overjoyed to hear your praise.

You and your snake tongue could made anything happen for him.

“This servant is bothering me.”

You found some questionable information on that servant and they resigned rather quickly.

“I don’t like the girl our father introduced me to.”

Suddenly said girl was no longer interested in Jungkook. For… reasons.

“I wish I could go on vacation, even for a couple days.”

That one got you both beaten for your three-day adventure to the sea, mostly because you had to run away from your duties to do it. But it was worth it to see the smile on Jungkook’s face.

Then Jungkook became a teenager.

You might have taught him that rules were for old people, for the generation too uptight.

He wanted to do a whole lot of things and you made it happen. Getting him out of those sticky situations was a bit tough, but nothing unmanageable. And now Jungkook was a young adult who did not care about anyone’s opinion other than yours, getting tattooed and spending all of his time with his friends, lackadaisical and free, your parents giving up and calling him a disgrace, relying on your marriage to restore the reputation they valued so much, the face they themselves ruined with their own poor decisions, taking out their frustrations on you and Jungkook, sometimes without warning.

You stayed home, playing good daughter so Jungkook could be the bad son.

Ah, maybe it was your fault he was the Reckless Prince.

You turned, looking up at him now from the corner of your eye, up his loose robes and exposed collarbone, up the line of his jaw that was similar to yours, his lips not quite as full, his round brown orbs that were actually much more innocent and purer than he liked to admit, similar to your eye shape.

But not the same.

Because your eyes were sharper, cold-blooded, predatory.

Even with Jungkook, there was no mistaking the power behind your gaze.

“Do you think just because I’m married to some man that he can control my life?” you said with a sly smile, your lips painted lush red. “I’ll come visit you whenever I want. You can come whenever you want. You can live with me if you want.”

You turned back, sweeping your hair and twisting it in place, deftly and quickly pinning it back, leaving some strands loose and messy that your parents would highly disapprove of, but why did that matter? If this man was to be your husband, then he would see you completely undone at one point, so he should get used to it.

Your parents wouldn’t approve of the black and dark green combination you had chosen either, but that’s why you learned how to sew to dress yourself as you liked. You have to be a lady. You were a lady. Just your version of a lady and not theirs. They tried to gatekeep you by saying that the pink and yellow fabrics were all they could afford. They had a tendency to underestimate your craftiness.

No obstacle was too high for the Snake Princess to slither over.

“Really?” Jungkook asked as you stood up, smoothly adjusting the tie at your waist.

You chuckled at him as he began to follow you out of your bedroom.

“If that’s what you want, I’ll do it for you.”

-

“You brought your brother.”

“I don’t bring him anywhere. He comes and goes as he pleases.”

Jungkook was sitting behind you, arms crossed, glaring at the dark-haired man sitting in front of you. You had mildly fixed his appearance before entering only from him to push up his sleeves so he could reveal the entire snake tattoo wrapped around his arm, a black snake surrounded by thorned vines.

“Hmm.”

This man had requested to meet you first, alone, without the parents. Untraditional, but as long as his father agreed to the request, it was done. Your father had no say in the matter, although he did protest rather loudly and uncouthly.

You had poured the tea for your future husband and you.

Neither of you were drinking it.

The man before you had a piercing gaze, cloud-white skin, shapely lips. Somehow, he surprised you by being dressed in black and gold as well, although he was much neater than Jungkook, black hair tied back in a the usual, curated traditional style.

“I intend in marrying you, you know.”

He had a deep, rough voice, reminding you of dead leaves and winter.

“Is that not the point of this meeting?” was your dry response.

A dark eyebrow lifted.

Jungkook clicked his tongue dismissively.

Those shapely lips curved into a slow smirk.

“I thought I wouldn’t like you,” the dark-haired man mused, reaching over to the teacup and pulling it to him. “I was fully prepared to refuse this proposal and put your family more in the dirt than your brother has already put them into.”

“You bas–” Jungkook hissed, but you held up a hand, cutting him off.

You kept your eyes on those dark brown orbs, cat-like and predatory. He took a deep inhale of the aroma of the tea, letting out a satisfied, smokey sigh.

“I thought you would be like the others. Prim, proper, begging for me to take your hand.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What do I need to beg for? You either will or you won’t. It has nothing to do with me.”

A dark chuckle. “Indeed.”

He took a long sip of the tea, savoring it. You watched him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing, tongue flickering out to lick his lips. Slowly lowering his head, scrutinizing gaze on you. He made you wait for his words.

“And besides, snakes can’t kneel, can they, Snake Princess?” he purred.

“Don’t you dare call her that!”

“No, they cannot,” you replied calmly, ignoring Jungkook’s outburst, staring into the eyes of the man who was going to decide whether or not you were going to be his wife.

“They can’t pray either.”

The dark-haired man tilted his head, intrigued.

“I have no need for gods to be able to live the life I want, Min Yoongi,” you said quietly, venomous edge to your voice. “The ties you put on me cannot restrain me from living as frivolously or ambitiously as I like.”

Min Yoongi, the man who would decide whether you would live an honorable or disgraceful life, the man who was next-in-line, the crown prince. You were meant to be his, but, unlike you, he was free to refuse. Unlike you, he had nothing to lose. Unlike you, he could destroy your life in a heartbeat with a simple no.

“You believe that?” Yoongi questioned, daring you.

You didn’t back down, small serpentine smile on your lips.

“I do not need to believe when I know.”

Silence.

Then Yoongi’s shoulders shook, raspy laughing bubbling from his throat, smirk on his lips.

“You want me to refuse. You want to ruin your parents’ lives.”

You didn’t say anything, your smile fading.

“Ah, but the problem is, I really do like you, Snake Princess,” Yoongi hummed. “You sharp tongue and you even sharper mind. A simpler man would have been tricked by you.” He tapped his long fingers against the table, keeping his feline poise directed at you. “I did not want some placid, useless little thing but a real woman, someone who isn’t afraid to say what she thinks. Why have a trophy when you can have a weapon?”

He placed his chin on the back of his other hand, clicking his tongue thoughtfully.

“What shall we do then? You absolutely must be my wife.”

“You–” Jungkook hissed, rising up behind you, glaring at Yoongi over your shoulder. “You know she doesn’t want to marry you and yet you’re going to do it anyway?”

The dark-haired man raised an eyebrow. “She doesn’t want to marry me because she wants her parents to pay for using her so carelessly to further their status. However,” he added with a sweep of his hand on the table, palm upward towards you. “Has she actually said she has no interest in me as a person? During this entire meeting, has she declared that I, the crown prince, am not to her liking?”

Yoongi gave Jungkook a sharp look.

“Do you think she would hide her disdain for me if she had some?”

Silence.

“N… Noona?”

“Yes, Jungkook?”

“You don’t like him at all… right?”

Silence.

You let out a deep breath, slow and controlled.

“Hmm, you are very intuitive.”

Yoongi grinned. “You know we would be a good match, you and I. Here,” he murmured, pointing to the table. “On the throne.” Pointing outside, indicating the land. His cat-like eyes locked with your snake-like gaze, lips forming his next words slowly and deliberately.

“In bed.”

Your eyes trailed from those glittering dark eyes to his pleased smirk. Not a malicious expression somehow. An exciting one. You fully expected to be walking into this room to tear down an arrogant, gaudy man with grandiose self-centeredness.

Instead, it was Min Yoongi.

He ticked his chin to Jungkook, now right next you instead of behind you, clutching your arm tightly.

“Do you want him to be with you? That could be arranged. I can make that happen.”

You really thought you would hate Min Yoongi and yet it seemed as if you were being drawn closer and closer to him. You pursed your lips, not ready to give up yet. He continued.

“And, of course, there’s no reason for your parents to enjoy luxuries that they didn’t earn, is there?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. Yoongi smiled, calm with an underlying slyness.

“That would reflect on you if you treated your in-laws poorly,” you responded coolly.

Yoongi shrugged. “And so? I still have you.” He tilted his head. “Why take a wife if you’re not prepared to do anything for her?” He nodded to himself, tapping his fingertips on the table once more. “Whatever you want, I can make it happen. Be it your brother tagging along, your parents’ lives in ruins…”

Yoongi’s eyes found yours and there was a kindness, already knowing your and him were meant to be.

You weren’t so sure.

And yet.

His next words made you fall in love.

“If that’s what you want, I’ll do it for you.”

--

masterpost

[yandere-mha]

good morning, my lovely caramel candy💛! hope you're doing well ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ can I request Dabi with a s/o who grew up in abusive family and if she said something she didn't mean or did something embarrassing she puts her hands under the faucet with pouring boiling water bc she learned that "wrong" behaviour should be punished

You know the best ways to compliment me, don’t you 🥰😘 okay but only because you’re cute and wonderful and I want to really bad.

TW: ABUSE, SELF HARM, HOMOCIDE, TORTURE MENTION, BODY ISSUES AND SCARS, INAPPROPROATE REACTION TO ABUSE, SLIGHT SELF HARM VICTIM BLAMING.

MAJOR BNHA MANGA SPOILERS

READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

Yandere Dabi w/ a self harming s/o:

Though it’s very hypocritical, Dabi would immediately get pissed at you if he saw you doing this.

The biggest source of his anger from this would be that, though he is explicitly self destructive with his quirk and purposefully overuses it to the point where he’s literally burning the skin off, he sees this as an unavoidable result of being created rather than self harm. He sees his scars as a big source of hardship in his life, so he’d initially be upset that you’d “choose” to do that to yourself. As someone with very little emotional intelligence, he doesn’t have the greatest understanding of what might cause someone to want to self harm even as someone who does it himself. He doesn’t understand himself very well either but thinking about it too much makes him uncomfortable.

He quietly power walks over to you as he seethes, ripping your hand away from the steaming faucet and holding you tightly by the wrists with wide eyes of fury, forcefully dragging you to the shower by the scalding wrist clenched in his hand, and placing the shower head so close to your arm that the force of the cool water stings and makes your entire body soaked as the streams blast everywhere. His face is dark and unreadable as the burning under your skin begins to subside and he roughly yanks your still injured arm towards him to bandage it much too tightly for comfort. 

“You fucking idiot... Who even does this to themselves?”. He’s harsh but he’s mostly worried about you and taking his stress out on the nearest target. He never expected this from you, thinking that you must love yourself since you’re so perfect, so he was never prepared for feeling this way. He was always envious of how amazing you are in every way.

His first reaction to people making him angry is to insult and threaten them, so he'd probably even threaten to burn you if you did that again as you feel heat emanating from his body... He’s not really accomplishing anything there. 

He won’t ask you why you did it because he’s too busy being pissed at you. He promised he would kill anyone who even thought about hurting you, but he never imagined a scenario where the attacker would be yourself and he doesn’t know how to respond. 

If you were to break down and tell him your story yourself, he would grow menacingly quiet again, unmoving with a thousand yard stare that bore right through your head. Suddenly everything would slowly click in a way that made more sense to him. Not only does he now have a much more suitable target for his need for revenge, but he subconsciously feels more connected to you through a shared trauma that he can relate to. He starts to connect your family with Endeavor and he finally feels like he finally understands you as a person. You two really are a match made in the stars, aren’t you? He takes this as a cosmic sign that you were always meant to be his.

After you finish your story there are a few seconds of uncomfortable, reverberating silence when a cruel, tooth-filled leer spreads from each of his cobbled-together cheeks. He can’t help the growing cackle that bursts free from his rib cage as he thinks of all the terrible ways he could murder your family for this. Finally, you’re going to be his completely and without anyone else to distract you from him. The only person you need is him and no one else. 

He’ll bring you with him and force you to watch whether you want to or not as he slaughters every one of them as slowly and painfully as he can manage. Don’t look away. Keep looking at him and only him. Don’t you love him? Isn’t he good? Please tell him he’s good.

After the deed is done, he will demand validation and affection from you. He’ll place your limp body on the floor face up, straddling your hips between his crouched legs and his face resting on yours as his lanky arms ensnare your torso in a protective embrace. He tells you he’ll kill anyone who ever hurts you, that you’re his to protect, and that he’ll never let you hurt again in between slowly, tender kisses spread on every part of your face. He’d burn this whole garbage heap planet down for you along with every piece of shit living on it if he could. A soft smile spreads on his face. He really has gone soft for you, huh?

[fruitcoops]

Part 3 of the disowning fic where Sirius calls Reg and Remus tells James (with Sirius’ permission ofc) and when Walburga calls Reg, he rips into her like never before. James rushing to Sirius’ house and basically having to be restrained from going to her house with Reg in tow.

Hopefully that makes sense. Sorry it’s probably really badly phrased

This makes a ton of sense--thank you for sending it in! Writing Regulus is such a neat challenge, since he and Sirius are so similar and yet so different. Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

Part 1 II Part 2

TW for disownment and past child abuse (mentioned)

If Sirius ever met the person that invented showers, he would kiss them on the mouth. With tongue, if requested.

His phone hummed on the coffee table; when he made no move to grab it, Remus reached over and flipped the screen up. “Reg is on the way.”

Sirius hummed and cuddled into his chest, tightening his hold on his waist. Gentle fingers combed through his damp hair and he was warm all over in the best way. His face and eyes still itched a little, and his throat was raw from crying so hard, but at least he finally felt clean. The ache in his gut had dulled.

Remus pressed his lips to the space just above Sirius’ ear and wrapped his arms around him, tracing patterns on his upper back beneath his shirt. The skin-to-skin contact was something he never knew he needed so much—he couldn’t imagine living without it now. “We should go on vacation sometime this summer,” he mused, absently braiding a few locks of Sirius’ hair.

“Where?”

“I dunno. Somewhere warm, where we can swim and you can get all sexy and tan.”

Sirius laughed against his chest and breathed in the honey-lavender smell of his soap. “As long as you promise to freckle.”

He could feel Remus smiling. “I’ll do my best. It wouldn’t have to be a long trip, either—maybe a week in Florida, or California.”

“Alabama?” Sirius teased.

“Honey.” Remus kissed his forehead. “If you take me to Alabama—” Another kiss. “—I will take the biggest spider I can find—” A third kiss, so sweet in comparison to his playful threat. “—and put it in your shoe.”

Sirius snorted. “Just divorce me, that would be nicer.”

“Mmm, no, you’d miss me too much.”

“Put a spider in my shoe and we’ll see if that’s true.” Remus’ shoulders shook under him as they laughed and Sirius kissed his collarbone, then closed his eyes. “Do we have time for a nap before Reg gets here?”

“Maybe. How fast does he drive?”

“Not as fast as Pots—”

The doorbell rang, and then kept ringing; someone knocked insistently on the door, and Sirius groaned as he untangled his limbs from Remus and wandered over.

Regulus was not alone on the porch.

“What’s her phone number?” James demanded, practically smoking with fury as he and Regulus stormed into the house. He let out a furious breath when he saw the open envelope on the kitchen counter.

Sirius raised an eyebrow at his little brother. “Did you call him?”

“Of course I called him,” Regulus scoffed. “We also called Logan.”

“Isn’t he in Canada for the rest of the week?”

“Yeah, but he said he’d be here on Friday.” Regulus gave him a quick once-over and a stormy look came over his face. “When did she drop those off?”

“She didn’t. The mailman did, just after five.” Something bitter tinged Sirius’ mouth. “That was after she tried to make Remus give them to me.”

“What a bitch.”

“Reg!”

“It’s true,” Regulus snapped, though his anger was clearly directed elsewhere. “She’s a horrible coward and you deserve better.”

James held his phone up to get Sirius’ attention. “What’s her number?”

“I’m not giving you her phone number, J.”

“Reg, what’s her number?”

Regulus bit his lip for a second, then shook his head. “She won’t know who you are, and she would sue your ass faster than you could blink if you lost your temper on her. Me, on the other hand…”

Sirius put his hand over Regulus’ phone. “Don’t do this. If she disowns you, too—”

“If she disowns me I’ll throw a fucking party!” Regulus all but shouted. The room went silent. “I am sick and tired of hiding and watching them hurt you. She doesn’t control me anymore.”

“I’m not letting you get hurt for me.”

“And I’m not asking for you permission.” Regulus stepped back and dialed a number; in the kitchen doorway, Remus and James watched them in a mix of shock and concern.

The call connected and Regulus’ whole face went stony. “What is it, Regulus?” a tinny voice asked.

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?” Walburga sniffed. “Please, Regulus, we’ve discussed this. You have to clarify your intentions—”

“Did you disown my brother?”

“He’s not your brother anymore.” Disdain dripped from her voice and Sirius’ throat constricted as cold fire lit in Regulus’ eyes.

“He’s more family to me than you ever were.” His tone was even and deadly.

“Don’t be ridiculous—”

“Shut up.” A protective urge jolted in Sirius’ gut and he almost smacked the phone out of Regulus’ hand. “Just shut up.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re a coward and a liar, and I hate you.” A fine tremor slipped through and Regulus gritted his teeth. Remus touched Sirius’ elbow gently, and he gripped his hand tight.

“Listen here, you silly boy—”

“You don’t get to hurt him anymore. Sirius is a better person that you could ever dream of being and the fact that you can’t accept when your own son is happy—”

“He disgraced us—”

“You disgraced us!” Regulus snapped. “You and your rules, your blood money, your parenting that belonged more in a prison than a house! I’m not stupid, Mother, I know what you did was wrong!”

There were a few beats of silence. “I did what I did to prepare you for the real world.”

“The real world doesn’t give a ten-year-old a black eye for breaking a plate.”

Sirius closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as Remus inhaled sharply next to him; James cursed under his breath. The plate had been one of his grandmother’s, part of a twelve-piece set that they were using for Thanksgiving. One flipped corner on the rug had sent him flying, but the porcelain shard in his hand had hurt less than Walburga’s fury.

She was breathing hard on the other end of the line. “The world is a cruel place, Regulus.”

“No crueler than you.”

“Watch your mouth, you ungrateful child, or you’ll find yourself in the same shoes as that stain on our family tree.”

A flinty look came over Regulus then; if Sirius didn’t know better, he’d say he looked almost smug. “Do it. I dare you to look the media in the eye and tell them you disowned one son for being happy and the other for calling you out on your terrible parenting.”

“We disowned him for being a failure and a disgrace.”

Grey met grey as Regulus spoke next, his gaze never flickering from Sirius’ eyes. “Happily married to the love of his life, youngest captain in the league, with two Stanley Cups under his belt? Doesn’t sound like a failure to me, and far from a disgrace.”

Remus squeezed his hand as Sirius swallowed back a few tears that had started to gather. He offered a weak smile and the corners of Regulus’ eyes crinkled slightly.

“I’m hanging up the phone now,” he said, smooth and collected. Walburga was utterly silent. “Never contact me or my brother again. If you disown me, at least have the dignity to do it in person.”

He hung up and slid his phone into his back pocket. “Jesus,” James half-laughed behind them. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“That was really brave, and really stupid.” Sirius said as he walked forward. Regulus met him in the middle, tucking his head under Sirius’ chin in a tight hug. “Thank you.”

“Brave and stupid, huh? I’m turning into you already.”

Sirius flicked his ear with a grin, but never loosened his hold. “Brat.”

“Love you.”

He closed his eyes and felt Regulus’ heartbeat through his palm. “Love you, too.”

“Will you at least give me her address so I can egg her house?” James asked once they separated, already moving to give Sirius another hug. He melted into it; James had the incredible ability to make him feel completely and utterly safe, like the world couldn’t touch him as long as he was there.

“As amazing as that would be, I’d rather not see you arrested.”

“Fair point.” He pulled back a bit and James searched his face. A wrinkle appeared between his brows. “How can I help?”

“This is nice.” Exhaustion made Sirius’ limbs heavy and his head was starting to throb from his earlier breakdown. James pulled him back in and two more sets of arms followed, forming a shield all around him. He felt Remus kiss his cheek and Regulus’ hand splay over his ribs; James was steady, an anchor in the storm. “How am I going to tell people about this?”

“You don’t have to,” Remus murmured.

“If I don’t, she will.”

“Then tell them the truth,” Regulus said. “Maybe not everything, but the relevant parts.”

“We’ll be here with you.” James’ voice was soft. “Us, and the rest of the team. Anything you need.”

Sirius didn’t say anything, but he did sink into the warmth of their embrace and let the weight of fear and unease lift off his shoulders. The burden wasn’t his alone; it never had been.

[shini--chan]

I have an idea! What would Allies do after finding out that their s/o have (another) stalker? It can be another yandere, a creep, ex, jealous coworker with bad intentions or even a serial killer.

And a good idea it is, my dear anon.

Yandere Allies – Feindling America

You were already fast asleep, snoozing away under the covers in your shared bedroom. He, on the other hand, was still wide awake and had decided to settle down in the living room to do some light reading. His insomnia was due to the usual reasons – too much caffeine, too much stress, too much curiosity to just let the day finish.

And because he was worried, intently, about you. There was somebody else trying to stick their grubby fingers in your shared life, and pry you apart. That was something he was absolutely sure off. After living so long, and becoming paranoid due to his position on the global stage, he knew very well when he was being watched.

There was something after you in particular, he didn’t like it.

Out of his peripheral vision, he caught sight of somebody moving in the bushes. A spike of adrenaline shot through his body, and for a moment he was tempted to storm about side and give that creep a hook. Yet a better idea came to mind – first to fire a warning shot.

He net his book aside and sauntered to one of the glass door to the balcony and gave the pane a few sharp knocks. It was enough to catch their attention. It was almost comical how the figure froze, and the hood swivelled in his direction. Alfred couldn’t identify them in any capacity – they wore non-script jeans and a grey hoodie along with a pair of gloves. But this was about digging up the war axe.

Grinning, he flipped the bird at them, and then proceeded to draw a thin line across his throat in an unmistakable message.

Alfred would see this as a chance to play hero. He would finally be able to prove to you how capable he is at protecting you, how attentive he would be when it would water down to your safety. Of course, he would make sure there would be a lot he wouldn’t catch wind off – it would be the instances where he would come off as an evil master mind or as a control freak that he would skilfully hide from you.

He might or might not elect to torture the fool that would be stalking you. For him, waterboarding that creep would be a method of stress relief. It would also drive home the point that nobody should dare try to get between him and his sweetie.

Canada

Besides you, your phone beeped for what must have been the twelfth time in the span of one minute. You sobbed harder and buried your face in his chest. Matthew calmly stroked your back, making quiet soothing noises as he held you close.

“(Ex) will have to leave you be someday. This can’t go on forever. One day that jerk will have to accept that you’re gone for good”, he told quietly, while cautiously shifting his position to a more comfortable one.

You were both on the backseat of his car, having sought sanctuary there after you started panicking upon seeing the messages. All the memories had started to overwhelm you, and you had gripped his arm as if it was the only thing that was preventing you from drowning.

“No, that won’t be the case. Before I met you, I tried to leave so often only to be lured back into it. It was only because I met you that I haven’t gone back”, you cried, gazing up at him with a tear-stricken face.

“Shh, I will think of something. There shall be hell to pay.”

Matthew would be concerned about your wellbeing first and foremost. He would cater to you, cuddle with you, sooth you. But don’t think that would mean he would go easy on you should you step out of line and try to flee from him. When he would say he would never let your ex take you back, he would be indirectly saying he would never allow you to leave him.

Naturally, he would be careful and avoid any explicit rhetoric stating that your place in the world is at his side, but the message would be there, hidden between the lines.

With the legal sway he would hold, he would easily have your ex punished in some capacity. This could range from a fine to a restrain order to spending some time in jail.

China

A scream pierced the silence of the night, followed by a yell as the attacker was swept off his feet. Yao didn’t hesitate to continue beating the culprit up, even though he was on the ground.

After all, this was a man that had just been a few milliseconds away from dragging you away and murdering you, after doing unspeakable things to you, things that couldn’t be lightly talked about in any context.

“So, you’re the vermin that has been butchering people left and right for the past four months. You’re just as disgusting as I expected”, Yao commented as he brought his foot down on his back in a harsh stamp.

You had taken seat on a tree stump that was standing by. The near death experience and the fight going on in front of you had utterly rattled you. You were numbly staring at the scene playing out, heads in your hands, whole body trembling and eyes wide blown.

He kicked the killer in the side and was rewarded was a grunt and a hiss: “And I’ll fucking kill you too.”

“Sure you will”, Yao drawled sarcastically and pressed the criminals head into the dirt. “Get used to the taste of it.”

Contrary to expectations, Yao would approach the situation of serial killer being after you calmy. Not because he wouldn’t care about you, but rather because he would be far to old to be surprised by such a – in his eyes – trivial thing. And because he would know that letting himself drown in anger or panic would just result in him making grave mistakes – ie. losing you.

Nevertheless, he would never be far off, lurking behind corners, just out of sight of you and the murderer. He would also scoure your online activity, searching for any suspicious doings from other users. Furthermore he would use the opportunity to learn more about you and your strengths and weaknesses.

England

“Ah, ah, ah. Keep your dirty paws off that”, Arthur chided Jane and firmly grabbed Jane by the ear, harshly tugging there. It wasn’t the most humane treatment of a mortal, that England knew very well. However, he was in a sour mood, your infuriating co-worker being one of the contributing factors to it. Besides, he hadn’t made it one of his life maximas to be nice.

“You dare”, she hissed. When he gave another sharp tug, she yelped and dropped your phone, showing one of your social media profiles. Jane Smithers was persistent, he would have to give her that. Yet that would just be her downfall because she had decided to use that trait to try to ruin your life.

“Oh yes I dare. I dare to not tolerate your disgusting behaviour. Between you and me, we’re going to have a very long talk about your morals.”

She snorted and grabbed his hand.

“I could sue you for sexual harassment. We’ll see if you’ll still be laughing then.”

Oh, he had expected such a threat to come from such a vile person as her. He chuckled lowly – did she really think she could best him when it came to anything.

“And then spend some time in the nick for lying to judge and jury. Don’t think you’d be able to weasel your way out of this. I’m the one here that can have your framed and believe me, I could get you a bloody life sentence.”

She stared at him, uncomprehending, before realisation dawned and she let out a harsh laugh.

“So that is how (l/n) did it. Slept the way to the top.”

“No. (Y/n) has talent, impeccable talent. So unlike you, my dearest never had to resort to the methods you were so kind to mentioned.”

Arthur would see it as his duty to protect you – your physical & mental wellbeing as well as your reputation. So of course he would go after any jealous co-worker that would try to ruin you to any extent. And as mentioned in the snippet above, he wouldn’t be exactly nice about it. Any means would do for him, as long as the risk of his machinations backfiring on him and you would be relatively low.

During the whole process, he would letting you know about everything. It would be his point of proving that the world is a horrible place and that you can only find solace in his company and attention.

France

Francis was in the kitchen when you came stumbling in, frazzled and panting as If you had just run a marathon. By the way your extremities were trembling and sweat dotted your forehead, he wouldn’t be surprised. The only question was why.

Aside from that, fear danced in your eyes, and that was the only further information he needed to know that something was wrong. Rushing forward, he scooped you in his arms, ignoring the coffee that he had been preparing, and asked you:

“What happened, ma cherie?”

Instead of answering, you leaned your head against his shoulder and wrapped your arms around his torso, taking heavy, laboured breaths, as if you were crying. That was when he realised that you were. It worried him.

Was this something that he had done? What had caused you to become so distressed? Was it something he could fix.

“You don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want to”, he offered shakily, unsure about what he should do to cheer you up. How could he, when he didn’t know why you were in such a state?

Thankfully, you supplied him with an explanation, one that caused his concern to freeze to ice cold anger: “There is some creep following me. He grabbed my butt when I got off the bus.”

Whoever that devil was, he was going to have hell to pay,

Francis would be enraged that somebody would be so disrespectful of your boundaries and of the fact that you’re already taken. In the brief moments of his more intense bouts of fury, he might do something as rash as to track the creep down and bludgeon him with something, probably a newspaper.

However, his preferred method would be character assassination (this would work especially well if the culprit in question would have a high social status) and verbal abuse. In this case, his revenge could be long-winded and very elaborate.

Russia

The temperature of the corridor had dropped since the last time he had visited – a testimony to the bad insulation and the approaching winter. Ivan thought it did her justice. After all, she did deserve this after nearly kidnapping you.

Speaking of her, she was sitting near the bars when he approached and when she glimpsed him, she quickly scooted away. Clever; she had learned from what had occurred the last time.

“Come to taunt me again?”, she seethed, curling into a tight, haggard ball of fury. Understandable in her case, however he wouldn’t shed any tears or have any sleepless nights.

“As is customary. I have to elevate your boredom somehow”, he confirmed, grabbing a chair and seating himself opposite her.

She stared at the door at the end of the passage, hungerly tracing it and searching the shadows for any sign of you. Ivan derived pleasure from mocking her: “How foolish are to think I would have brought my lover with me? I didn’t the last few times so why should it any different now?”

“You’re so very attached to (y/n), so I had my hopes.”

“Then I’ll have to forever dash them. That I owe you.”

She snarled at this; face twisted to a nasty frown.

“You know, you and I aren’t so different. So it is even more hypocritical of you to claim the moral high ground. Does (y/n) know even half of the things you’ve done in the name of your love?”

“I detest the comparison. I walk free while you rot in solitude, unloved and unwanted. While you have done everything wrong, I have done what was right where it counted most. You go very far by suggesting anything else.”

Russia would be the one to act the most intense of all the allies. He would have had people that were dear to him ripped away from him in the past, so he invest a lot of energy in insuring that wouldn’t happen to you and him.

That would mean he would go up to 11 in this case. As in, he would either kill this person and dissolve their body in acid or feed it to the pigs. Or he would leave this other yandere to rot somewhere after having dragged them before court for a very showy trail to break their spirit.

[therealvinelle]

Answering the ask about Carlisle killing humans: take two

In this post, @effervescent-influenza​ asked me what it would take for Carlisle to intentionally kill a human. Sadly for effervescent-influenza, the thought of Carlisle killing people was apparently so inconceivable to my brain that it said “Error. Did you mean: accidentally kills a human?” and so I wrote them a post about Carlisle losing patients as part of his work as a doctor instead. [Insert the meme about Michael asking for a file but getting a cactus from The Good Place here.]

Anyway, here’s me trying to give effervescent-influenza an actual answer and not just another cactus.

What could motivate Carlisle to kill a human?

He was willing to kill newborns in Eclipse. This was in self-defense and to defend others, and he had no other means to stop them. These were unique conditions that had not arisen before in his near four-hundred-years long life.

He’ll never need to defend himself from humans. If he needs to keep a human from hurting other humans, then he will have an array of options, as it is we see him do this in canon with Bella’s would-be rapists. They’re drugged and taken to a police station, where the police have outstanding arrest warrents on them. (Question I’ll return to below: What would he have done if those would-be rapists weren’t known to the police? If they would go back to raping and murdering as soon as they woke up?)

Beyond that, looking for other motives...

Carlisle isn’t going to kill a human for his own benefit, as there would be none. He’s not willing to kill them for their blood, he would not benefit materially, and there’s nothing humans could do to him to provoke him. A patient could become obsessed with him and become his Misery-style terrifying stalker, or a capricious colleague could set out to make him miserable at work, and he’d probably fail but if he didn’t, if a human succeeded in being such a nuisance that it bothered Carlisle, then Carlisle can just move. Always, if a human becomes a problem for him, he can just pack up his things and move. He has a low threshold for doing this.

Carlisle’s not going to kill any humans for his own sake.

But, we do in canon see that he allowed Rosalie to kill her rapists and that he took it for granted that something had to be done about Bella’s would-be rapists.

To take Rosalie and her rapists first, Edward (who is not the best source, but I’ll write a separate post on that. Basically, read the below closely - notice how he inserts himself into this.) explains how it went down:

“In the first year of Rosalie’s second life, before she had disappeared on her several missions of revenge, her thoughts had given her away clearly and thoroughly. I knew what she was planning, and I’d informed Carlisle. The first time, he counseled her gently, urging her to let go of her past life, certain that if she did she would forget, and then her pain could lessen. Revenge could not bring back anything she had lost. But when his guidance met only the implacability of her fury, he gave her advice on how best to be discreet about her forays. Neither of us could argue that she didn’t deserve vengeance. And we both couldn’t help but believe that the world would be a better place without the rapists and murderers who had ended her life.” (Midnight Sun, chapter 18)

For the record, I disagree with the notion that Carlisle would wish Charles Evenson (Esme’s abusive first husband) harm, or harbor revenge fantasies, and this is why. Killing Charles wouldn’t take away Esme’s trauma, it wouldn’t undo any of what happened to her, and it wouldn’t help her heal. It would be for Carlisle’s own benefit, for him to feel better, at the cost of a human life.

More, this would make Carlisle judge and jury of which humans get to live or die. In his life as a doctor, Carlisle has seen countless of cruel men who abused their families. Most of them still have their wives and children living with them, with no rescue in sight. If Carlisle were to kill Evenson, what justification does he have not to kill other abusers?

We know, through Carlisle’s condemnation of Edward’s actions when he ran away to eat rapists, and again when he’s delighted Edward didn’t eat rapists in 2005, that Carlisle doesn’t think humans lose their right to live - or perhaps, to rephrase in light of Rosalie’s situation - killing isn’t worth what it does to you, the killer.

When Rosalie wanted revenge, Carlisle urged her to move past it, to heal without making herself a murderer. That had nothing to do with Royce, or whether Carlisle thought he deserved to die or not, and everything to do with Rosalie. She had a very long life ahead of herself, and Carlisle did not want her to start it off with murder.

Of course, Rosalie refused to move past it, she had to have her revenge to move past this, and so Carlisle agreed. I imagine his consent came because of several factors:

This wasn’t a vampire killing humans, as Carlisle killing Charles would be, or Edward killing rapists for that matter. This was personal: this was a rape victim killing her rapists. Had Rosalie survived and been given a gun, she likely would have done the same thing.

Had Royce and his friends been convicted of the rape and murder of Rosalie Hale, they would have received the capital sentence. Unfortunately there was no body, so no one would know what happened to Rosalie and no charges could be pressed against anybody. Even if they could, and suspected who did it, Royce King II was a rich white man at the top of the social ladder in the 1930′s. He was untouchable. He did what he did to Rosalie because he knew he’d get away with it. Rosalie killing him and the other four rapists was what the legal system would have seen to in an ideal world.

Royce King II would likely have done what he did to Rosalie again, to other women.

Rosalie deserved justice after what was done to her.

Royce King II was a perfect storm of conditions for Carlisle to approve of a killing, and even then he would rather have Rosalie not do it. Rosalie and Edward found out how far Carlisle would go, and that turned out to be not very far at all.

And yet, when Bella was accosted in Port Angeles, there was no question to Carlisle as to whether he should do something or not.

I think, and this is me headcanoning, that when Carlisle has found himself facing the Royces of this world, people who are only going to hurt others, and there has been no legal recourse, his preferred course of action has been nothing, or as little as possible. Action means making himself judge and jury of mankind, and that’s not what he’s for. He walks with humans to help them, not to act as some vigilante above us all . He doesn’t have that right.

In extreme cases, though...

There will always be extreme cases. Serial rapists, child molestors, the worst of the worst. And they’ll be hard to catch for humans, especially in times preceding modern forensics. Carlisle, with his nose and hearing, has likely known the identities of culprits and of undiscovered crimes he knew he could never bring to the police. “Yes, your honor, I smelled him all over the crime scene. He’s guilty!”

I honestly think, in the most desperate situations where to do nothing would be to condemn the innocent to suffer monstrously, Carlisle has gotten creative. This could mean anything, could mean bundling up the offending human and putting them on a boat headed to Australia, could mean gathering up his surgical equipment in the dead of night and making a eunich.

Doesn’t mean murder, though. He made that quite clear with Rosalie and Royce. No matter the evil of the human offender, becoming a murderer would only make it a greater tragedy.

TL;DR: “Cool motive, still murder” - Carlisle Cullen.

[journeythroughbible]

The Road Not Taken

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference." – R. Frost

This poem came to mind upon our Daughter Ella's passing. She will be 33 forever.

We met Ella 10 years ago; she was a damaged victim with a black eye. Our church knew we had extra room and asked if we could house her for a few weeks till she could get back on her feet. We said sure, and "that has made all the difference."

A few months later, we did an adult adoption and accepted Ella into our family. Ella was an exceptional young lady with an incredible intellect whose life had been twisted from a lifetime of abuse and torture. Before we move on, think of the most horrific abuse someone could endure as a child, then step it up, and you will be closer to what El took. With that out of the way, Ella was an amazingly caring person. As we were contacting people that she had known, we became amazed at the stories of how she impacted their lives. We talked with 3 people who claimed she kept them from suicide.

"And that has made all the difference" is true since Ella claimed that if we had not adopted her, she was close to suicide. So with Ella's life being extended for 10 years, at least 3 lives have been saved and prospered. I am sure there are more.

I think of so many stories. When she first came to stay with us, she used to wake up screaming, asking mommy not to leave since "he will hurt me." Because of her, we got to know many in the Suwanee PD and Fire Department. If it wasn't for her and Miracle, I might not have had anyone close by to call 911 when I had my cardiac arrest. So technically, you can add another life Ella saved!!

I love Robert Frost, and he wrote the poem "Out, Out," which he never read aloud because of the coldness. It was a true story about a young man who had injured himself with a bandsaw. The last few lines were a grim look at how we live:

"The doctor put him in the dark of ether. He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath. And then—the watcher at his pulse took fright. No one believed. They listened at his heart. Little—less—nothing!—and that ended it. No more to build on there. And they, since they Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs."

The poem's title was from Macbeth when he heard of his wife's death:

"Out out brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing."

Both talk about life and how insignificant it is in the grand scheme of things. Really if you think about it, only the death of Jesus has one life made such a worldwide impact. Over 2000 years after his death, his statement "but my words will not pass away" reigns true (Matt 24:35). No matter how you view Jesus as a savior, a prophet, or a myth, his words and impact are undeniable. While I am not trying to compare Ella with Jesus, her life is more like a pebble in a quiet lake. The ripples go much further than the point it dropped into the water. (Ok, maybe not a pebble, but rather a large rock:) These ripples will continue well after that pebble has sunk away; like Ella, I am sure her waves will continue well into the future.

Also, we need to mourn her death, but at the same time, we need to gather our lives together and move forward. She would not want us to do anything less.

What now? She has left this earth and is finally able to hug Jesus in his T-Shirt and torn blue jeans!! What are we to do? Can we go back to scales over our eyes and ignore the child sex trafficking she brought to all our attention? Can we sit and do nothing while millions of our young continue to be abused by often rich, godly, and powerful people? Do we say, "there is nothing I can do; someone else will take care of it?"

I would say NO. You can take the easy way and give to some organization (I will link a few at the end). Or you can take the road less traveled and roll up your sleeves. I can guarantee you will have long and ugly conversations with God, and life will not be easy. You WILL be attacked, and the "enemy" will do everything they can to end your progress. All I can say is this is imperative.

Our lives would be so different if we took that path more traveled. There are some points in our life's trajectory that you can look at where you are today and realize that one decision made all the difference. Regrets? None whatsoever!

Here are some organizations we have experience with that are great sources of information and are in deep.

https://discoveringmercy.org/ - an organization that helps victims recover from complex trauma, as Ella had.

https://www.ourrescue.org/ - Tim Ballard's group for saving Child Sex Trafficking victims worldwide.

[redadm1ral-moved]

I’ve seen discussions floating around about Makarov and what kind of a person he is, and I think it’s super interesting so I’m going to jump in with my own thoughts. This is going to be a very ramble-y post where I talk about my observations and my personal headcanons so please forgive me if this post isn’t very well organized. As a disclaimer, these are my personal thoughts on him, not the end-all-be-all of how he must be characterized.

 Vladimir Makarov strikes me as an unhappy person. It’s not that he struggles with depression or anxiety (though I think he would’ve dealt with these things in the 90s, following the collapse of the Soviet Union and his forced resignation from the military); rather, Makarov is perpetually unsatisfied.

Everything about Makarov is obsessive. His hatred is obsessive, his love is obsessive, and his lust for power and respect is obsessive. He’s consumptive, taking everything the world and the people around him will give and then some, but never giving back, because why would he? Giving back is vulnerability, giving back is beneath him. And his obsession is unchecked and uncontrollable; the extreme measures he takes to get what he wants permanently changes the course of history.

Makarov wants power. He wants wealth, however at odds with his ideology that may be, and he wants the respect and fear of the people around him. And he stops at nothing for this. He will manipulate people, abuse people, torture people, kill people to get what he wants. Violence is a tool, and Makarov’s cruelty and ruthlessness allows him to wield it with terrifying precision. But that doesn’t mean he enjoys it, at least not all the time; Makarov loves the suffering of the people he perceives as having wronged him, but more often than not, a human life is a means to an end. When Makarov and his men launched their attack on Zakhaev International, it wasn’t because the slaughter of innocent civilians made him gleeful. Any sadistic pleasure he got from killing those people was secondary to his goals: to inspire anger, to inspire terror, to inspire fear. Nearly three hundred civilian lives were nothing but a pawn to him. He didn’t care about the people; what he was after was the impact their deaths would bring.

This isn’t to say Makarov never gets pleasure from harming others, though. Because he does—if he perceives his target as having wronged him. Betraying Makarov, spiting Makarov, and humiliating Makarov are some of the worst things another person or entity can ever do, and Makarov will never forget when someone wrongs him, or when he thinks someone wrongs him. His vengeance is just as obsessive as the rest of him, and he will not rest until everyone who has harmed him or has taken something from him is strapped to a chair and facing down the wrong end of a knife. Even if he must bide his time and wait years; his spite is never-ending.

And Makarov has such a lofty view of himself and looks down so much on other people that it doesn’t take much for someone to earn his ire. Makarov is never short of enemies because he makes them himself. The Ultranationalists won the Second Russian Civil War, but that wasn’t enough for Makarov because the ones in power were Vorshevsky and his moderates. And the purging of the extremists to make themselves more palatable to the West? That was enough for Makarov to strike back, ten times harder than the moderates ever would have. To Makarov, anyone who isn’t on his side 100% will always be his enemy, and his extremism and violence ensures that the world will be against him.

Makarov does not accept anything less than perfection. And failure? Failure is a concept Makarov straight-out refuses to accept. Failure is humiliation, and Makarov’s hatred, his spite, his blind fury are fueled by his fear of being humiliated. His fear of reduction. His fear of failure.

Makarov lives a life of obsession, of violence, of perpetual and cyclic hatred and contempt for everyone and everything that doesn’t bend to his every whim. He consumes everything around him and, in the end, he consumes himself, like a black hole that defies reality and collapses in on itself. Nothing is enough for Makarov, and he escalates further and further until he can’t go any further, and everything collapses around him once again, reducing him to a paranoid wreck running out of people and places to go. He has a cool façade, sure, but strip away his veneer of confidence and you’re left with a bitter, angry man, capable of endless cruelty, fueled by spite and contempt for the rest of the world and his compulsive, obsessive urge to take what the world has even if it doesn’t want to give it to him. He’s parasitic, he’s unflinching, and no matter how much he takes, he will never settle, not because he won’t, but because he can’t.

[fizzychocolatemilk]

You've Got a Friend in Me (You've Got Troubles. I've Got 'em too.) (A Bakudeku Tropetember Fic)

Another Tropetember thingy (this one is a little late though...oops). I classify this one as a fic because it surpassed 1K. This one is for day eight:  5+1 / 3+1 (Five Times + One Time). AO3 link is here. It’s slightly angsty...so beware of feels.

tw: use of the f slur, homophobia, unsupportive parents, bullying

(1.)

“You’ll always be nothing but some dumbass, lightning-bolt faggot! You should just pack up and quit the hero course now. You’re too stupid to ever make it further than some lowly sidekick position,” the boy finished his abuse before dissolving into obnoxious laughter. 

 Said boy was one of Denki’s middle school classmates. Denki had accidentally run into him because he was texting Eijirou. The boy had looked over his shoulder and seen Eiji’s name (along with a heart) and started making fun of him for being “a faggot”. Denki knew he shouldn’t take what some asshole said to heart, but the things that he said reminded Denki of other times when he had been put down similarly. Lots of people seemed to think he was an incompetent dumbass who could never do anything right unless he had help, and, while sure, he was a little slow in academics...he definitely had other skill sets that made him a kick-ass hero! That didn’t mean that it was easy to convince himself of that.

 “Denki-kun! Hi!” a voice broke Denki out of his spiral.

 Denki turned toward the voice and, low and behold, it was Izu-kun. Denki gave Izuku a weak smile and a wave as he stood tensely next to the bully.

 “Denki! Who’s this? A friend?” Izuku asked as he walked up to the two. His voice sounded dangerous, and Denki could hear the “or foe?” that came after his words. At 17, Class 3-A knew that Izuku was dangerously protective of his friends, and they all did their best not to provoke his fury in any way. Because a feral Izuku was terrifying. 

 The bully didn’t know this though, and he simply laughed before “greeting” Izuku, “Ah, guess we’ve got another faggot. Or did you not know that Lightning Dolt here was a twink?”

 Izuku’s aura darkened several degrees at the boy's statement but still he shot the boy a bright (but fake) smile, “I’ll give you three seconds to run before I fucking destroy you.”

 The boy’s face dropped and he blinked, “Uhhh...what?”

 Izuku continued to smile, “One.”

 The boy’s eyes widened in panic, “Wait, man!”

 “Two.”

 The boy started running, “We can talk about this!”

 “Three,” Izuku immediately gave chase—or he would have if Denki hadn’t given him a small shock and held him back. Izuku struggled for a second before sighing and turning to Denki, “Denki-kun, you are more than just a brainless idiot and more than just a...a...you know. You’re amazing and talented in your own right and I’m proud to call you my friend.”

 Denki blinked in surprise before blushing lightly, “Thanks, Izu. I really appreciate it.” He smiled genuinely at Izuku.

 (2.)

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Momo,” the dark-haired woman stared harshly down at her daughter, “You may feel like this now, but one day you’ll find a nice, upstanding gentleman that captures your heart. Not some...punk-rock freak-girl.”

 Momo stared down at her feet and sighed softly before replying, “Yes, mother.”

 However, as she turned to make her way into the dorms, and her mother turned to meet with the chauffeur, she heard a very familiar voice. “Excuse me, ma’am! Yaoyorozu-san! May I have a word with you?” Momo turned to see Izuku-kun coming down the dorm steps and speed walking down the lawn to meet with the two women. He had a slightly dangerous aura (someone outside of Class A wouldn’t even notice), but Momo stood rigid as her friend stood up to her mother, “Yaoyorozu-san. I think you should consider taking your daughter more seriously. 

 “You might not know me well personally, but Yaomomo-chan and I know each other very well and I would consider us good friends. She’s smart, resourceful, and talented, and I think we can both agree that she will make a fantastic hero. But Yaomomo-chan is also responsible and mature, definitely mature enough to make her own decisions about her relationship choices. 

 “My own mother is very protective of me too, but I think that part of being a parent means accepting and supporting children through their choices and the consequences of those choices (good or bad), even if they aren’t choices that you, yourself, would make. I hope that you can come to respect Yaomomo-chan’s decisions about her own future, and find comfort in the fact that I, and everyone else in Class A, will always offer her our full support. Thank you for your time.” Izuku bowed politely before turning to Momo. “Kacchan made dinner. You should come eat it before it gets cold,” he smiled before heading back inside.

 Momo’s mother looked surprised for a second before saying a quick goodbye and hurrying away. Momo smiled after her before whispering under her breath, “You are a marvelous friend, Izuku-kun.”

 (3.)

Hanta was in a rush to get to class. Usually he was pretty punctual, but today he missed his alarm so he wasn’t feeling the best. Anxious and rushed, he accidentally ran into the worst person reasonably possible.

 “Ahah, if it isn’t the plain-faced tape dispenser from Class A!” Monoma laughed, “Late to class, I see! Tsk, tsk, yet another reason Class B is superior! At the very least we’re punctual!”

 Hanta deadpanned at the slate-eyed boy, “You know you’re late too, right?”

 Monoma’s jaw dropped for a second before he regained his composure. He huffed and took another angle, “Well, at least I have a personality! You’re so boring that it’s a wonder anyone pays attention to you at all. You’re almost more invisible than the invisible girl in your class! Not to mention that you’ll probably never get a girlfriend, hah!”

 Hanta rolled his eyes, despite the pang in his heart, before maneuvering himself to speed-walk past Monoma. “I’m literally dating Shou. It’s been the hot gossip for the past few days, and you’re definitely shallow enough to keep up with the gossip mill.”

 Monoma guffawed, “How did a plain-faced peasant like you end up with someone as high class as Todoroki? It’s a wonder, isn’t it? But, of course, I’m sure you’ve been hearing that for the past few days, haven’t you?”

 Hanta knew that he shouldn’t take anything that Monoma says seriously, but he’d been hearing how “unworthy” he was of Shouto for the past few days (since their relationship became public knowledge). The scathing words got to him and it made him doubt himself a little. He sped off towards his classroom, ignoring Monoma’s jeers in the background.

 That day, during a joint training session, Izuku requested to be paired with Monoma...and maybe Izuku went a little harder than he usually did. Maybe Monoma ended up in the infirmary before class ended, but it was training so Izuku couldn’t really be blamed for accidentally injuring his classmate, could he?

 Hanta smiled as he now had an explanation for the flash of green he swore he saw out of the corner of his eye as he was rushing to class after the encounter.

 (+1.) 

Katsuki slapped Deku on the back after training. “What the fuck was that, nerd?! You fucking beat the hell outta the Copycat Freak! Why can’t you ever go that hard when we train?”

 Deku’s face flushed as he turned a blinding smile at Katsuki. Cute. Katsuki shook himself from his thoughts as Deku started talking to him. “I guess I just got really into the exercise, Kacchan!”

 Katsuki could tell that Izuku’s words weren’t the whole truth but he decided to gloss over it for now in favor of focusing on a topic that had been bugging him. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Mochi Head lately. Skimping on our training. Any specific reason, Deku?”

 Katsuki watched as Deku’s face flushed again, but this time it made a pit grow in his stomach. The pit grew as Deku stumbled over his words for a few minutes before answering, “We’ve just been helping each other study, Kacchan.” 

 “You’re fucking lying, stupid Deku,” Katsuki scoffed as his heart started cracking, tiny pieces falling into the void. “But it’s fucking fine. If you’d rather waste time with your girlfriend like a dumbass then I’ll take the number one spot all the more easily,” he said, but the words felt ashy in his mouth, empty and non-fulfilling.

 He started walking away when there was a sharp tug on his wrist. “Kacchan!” It was Deku. It was always Deku. Katsuki stopped trying to pull away, but he didn’t turn around yet. “I love you! No one else! Ochako-chan has just been helping me work through my feelings for you! She has feelings for someone else!” Katsuki turned sharply to see Deku staring intensely at him. “You are my symbol of victory. My hero. My Kacchan. It’s only ever been you, so please. Please allow me to stand by your side!”

 Katsuki sniffled before completely breaking down in tears from the emotional taxation of the last few minutes. Being the empathetic crier he is, Deku broke down with him and they held each other and sobbed. After a couple more minutes, Katsuki had pulled himself together enough to respond, “Y-yeah, dumb Deku. Keep your eyes on me.”

 Katsuki stood and extended a hand to Izuku to help him up. Izuku stared at him fondly for a split second before taking his offer. They walked back to the dorms side-by-side and hand-in-hand.

[cdroloisms]

more of the vegas team 2.0 !! time for a group therapy session* :D

*includes very little therapy

tw: TORTURE (doesnt happen in the scene but is Absolutely talked about), abuse, beatings, violence, manipulation, toxic relationship, prison arc, mental instability, emotional distress, trauma, dehumanization

"So!" Wilbur claps his hands, smiling widely. "Are we ready to start?"

"This is fuckin' stupid."

Ignoring Quackity, Wilbur looks out over his handiwork; Quackity, Sam, and Dream and himself are sat down in a circle on the ground, all looking like they're at varying levels of get me the fuck out of here. Quackity glares up at him with his one good eye with a scowl on his face, while Sam looks pointedly at the opposite wall like it's the most interesting thing in the world. Across from him, from where he is sandwiched between Quackity and Sam, Dream gives him a pleading look that Wilbur deliberately ignores.

"Big Q is right," Sam sighs, anxiety making his voice slightly tinny, "We're wasting a lot of time, Wilbur. We all have a lot of stuff to get done to get ready for tomorrow-"

Wilbur's arm snaps out, pressing on Sam's shoulder as the taller moves his hands to the ground in an effort to push himself up.

"No- come on, Sam. Don't be like that, man. It'll be fun! We're a team," he stretches the word just to watch the others flinch, feeling a cold sweep of satisfaction when they do, "It'll be good for all of us- what do you think, Dream?"

Dream freezes, wide eyes turning to look into Wilbur's, lip beginning to tremble. Wilbur smiles serenely, watches as he shakes worse with every second of Quackity's angry glare and Sam's cold gaze directed at him with equal parts curiosity and excitement, smiles wider when he finally wilts under the weight of all of their eyes.

"I think- I think that it's a good idea, Wil," he mumbles, flinching back when Quackity's eyes narrow further, and Wilbur bites down his laughter.

"Wonderful!" Quackity turns the fury of his expression back over at him, all but snarling, lips curled and wings fluttering in anger on his back.

"What the fuck- no I'm not helping with this- this stupid fuckin' group therapy bullshit- what is this, a fuckin' AA meeting?" He accompanies his words with a series of jerky gestures, seemingly oblivious to the way that they make Dream curl more and more into himself, and Wilbur digs into his inventory-

"Yeah, that's exactly what this is like, Big Q!" He drops the result of his search unceremoniously into the other's lap, grinning at the look he's given when Quackity finally stops fumbling with the item.

"Is this a stick of dynamite?"

"It's your talking stick!" Quackity looks about three seconds away from cursing him out or burying a sword in his neck, while Sam and Dream look like they would rather be anywhere else at the minute, and this is the best decision that Wilbur's made in his life. "I was thinking that because there's clearly been some tension between us-"

"Quackity tried to kill Dream three times this week."

"-that it would be good for us to talk about our feelings!"

Sam looks entirely unimpressed, a flash of frustration breaking through his usual mask of cold indifference.

"Wilbur, what are you-"

"Ah ah ah!" Wilbur gestures at Quackity, smoothing down a smirk at Sam's irritation, "You can't speak."

"And why am I not allowed to speak, again?"

"Big Q has the talking stick, so he's the only one that can talk right now."

"Wilbur," Sam's hand moves to his face, palms digging into his eyes, "you don't have the talking stick, either."

"Oh, sorry," Wilbur reaches over, easily plucking the dynamite out of Quackity's hands and ignoring the younger's protests, "As I was saying, only the person with the talking stick can speak!"

"...sure."

Wilbur turns his eyes to sweep over the three again, feeling a cold thrill growing in his chest; Dream has hidden himself entirely behind the cloth of his hoodie, knees drawn to his chest and hood pulled up over his head. Quackity, to his left, mutters angry curses, directing his glare at anyone that he deems worthy of his ire - which, per usual, means just about everybody. Sam holds his gaze with a cold stare of his own, a knowing look in his eye, and Wilbur smiles wider in challenge; you going to try and stop me?

Sam doesn't speak, looking away. That's what I thought.

"Anyway!" Wilbur claps his hands together, dynamite still held in his right hand, "Anyone want to go first?"

"...this is fuckin' stupid as hell-"

"You don't have the talking stick, Big Q."

"Fuck off."

"Would you like the talking stick first, then?"

Quackity grits his teeth, opens his mouth to begin what will no doubt be another expletive-filled rant, when he catches Wilbur's line of sight and his eyebrows narrow, lips pressing back together. The electric feeling in Wilbur's ribcage grows further, amusement piquing; interesting.

"Actually," Quackity smiles tightly, forced civility entering his voice, "I would love the talking stick first, Wilbur."

"Of course!" He reaches his hand out, dynamite held loosely in his fingers, "I was thinking that we could talk about our feelings, what's making us upset, you know? So we can all work together better."

"You know- I get that, I get that," Quackity's smile gets sharper, voice growing crueler as he yanks the dynamite out of Wilbur's grip, brings it to his chest, "I see what you're saying, Wilbur. And I think that this is a great idea."

Wilbur's eyes flick to the others as he nods along; it seems like he wasn't the only one to notice the change in Quackity's tone. Sam looks noticeably more uneasy, shifting in his seat and tapping at the floor by his side. Dream looks like he's praying to the gods for the ground to swallow him whole.

Sorry, mate, but there's no one listening in hell.

"Las Nevadas, this place- I've put a lot of fuckin' time into this, ok?" Quackity drums his fingers on the side of the dynamite as he talks, and something in Wilbur shifts, settles, at the symbolism, "This isn't a country, isn't some- ideal, or egg, or some shit. It's power, plain and simple, and it's mine." His lips curl back, his golden tooth glinting in the light, "And I get the feeling that some people aren't taking this place nearly as seriously as they should be."

Dream's head snaps to the side, the pale face of his mask peeking out from where it had been pressed into his arms.

"What do you mean-"

"Dream-" Quackity reaches out, making Dream scramble backwards as Quackity's hand lands on his shoulder and grips it tightly. "I'm sorry. I don't think that you have the talking stick?"

Dream shakes, tugs unsuccessfully at the hand locked around his upper arm, breathing shuddery as he ducks away to look at the floor again.

"...sorry."

"Thank you," Quackity grins, lips curving cruelly. "As I was saying, all I want is for everyone to take a little more responsibility and shit, you know? We have to be efficient if we want this place to get off the ground, and we can't be efficient if everyone is fuckin' complaining all the time. I just think that it's about time that we let go of old grudges, move on already, you know? Focus on what really fuckin' matters-"

Dream's shoulders tense, and in the sliver of his face that isn't covered by his mask, Wilbur watches with unbridled glee as his eyes flash.

"Oh- you've got to be fucking kidding me-"

Quackity sneers. "Dream-"

Wilbur doesn't even catch the man moving, but between one blink and the next, the bright red stick in Quackity's hand has been ripped away from him, held in Dream's white-knuckled grip above his head as he scowls at Quackity.

"No- it's my time to talk now, ok? I have the talking stick- it's- it's my time to talk now. You fucking asshole- move on? You tortured me!"

"Oh- don't be so fuckin' overdramatic-"

"Overdramatic? You- you kicked my ribs in! You carved your name into my skin! You ripped out my fucking nails just to hear me scream-"

"What the fuck was I supposed to do? You weren't giving up the information!"

"You didn't have to fucking torture me-"

"Watch your fuckin' mouth or I'll do it again, dickhead," Quackity hisses, a sword suddenly in hand, the blade pressed against the underside of Dream's chin- which would usually be the end of it, but Dream, who must be running on too much adrenaline to register the familiarity of the position, narrows his eyes and bares his teeth at the winged man.

"Yeah- go on, kill me, and we'll see what happens when I respawn, Quackity. I hope you like explosions-"

"Big Q, Dream." Sam's voice, deep and heavy with exhaustion, finally seems to snap the two out of their bloodlust, because Quackity stumbles back into where he was sitting and Dream immediately curls back into himself, breathing loud and rattling in his panic. Sam directs a disapproving glare in Wilbur's direction, "Wilbur, where did you even get popcorn from?"

"Oh- sorry," Wilbur smiles, lets the red and white striped bag fall back into his inventory. "I guess that might've been a bit rude."

"You guess?" Sam mumbles, massaging his temples with a heavy sigh. Quackity glares back and forth at all of them before standing and stomping away to sulk, his footsteps loud and heavy against the marble floor. Sam ignores him, pushes at Dream's shoulder with one hand, gets no response, and Wilbur laughs.

"You know, Sam, I think that went great."