#Mentally unstable female character

[enchantingcrazylady-2089]

A triggered Revy.

"You don't know me!" In response to Rock saying, and I'm paraphrasing here, He knows exactly what it feels like to be in the same darkness like her.

[velvet-ymarinebloo77]

Vs. "Jumbo"

[yourlittlebabyangel]

[flamingdragonfly-whispers]

Yeah....it runs THAT deep. "You don't fucking know meee!!"

[mizading]

Upper Moon Yandere Headcanons 

Characters: Douma, Akaza, Aizetsu, Kokushibo.

Description: If I’m being honest, I suppose this is how some of the upper moons would express their love normally, but a lot of it is unhealthy. For that sake, I’ll classify this as yandere headcanons for the upper moons with a female reader.

Warnings: Verbal abuse, death, forced affection, unstable behavior, paranoia, etc. 

Douma..

Once Douma declares something his, it belongs to him until he says otherwise.

Douma’s love is sincere but expressed in a twisted way.

As a cult leader does, Douma provides a facade of a perfect life with him if you stick by his side.

The lack of love and nurturing from Doumas parents causes an insatiable desire for the foreign feelings within him.

Douma uses you to replace the love he never received as a child.

His affection begins in a controlled manner. Consisting of little things such as random hugs, quick kisses, or asking you to hold him for a little while.

Over time, Douma would get a bit possessive. You were lucky if you managed to go more than five minutes without Douma forcing you into hour-long cuddle sessions.

One of his favorite things to do is cling to your body and nuzzle his head into your chest.

The feeling of your body's warmth is the only thing that calms his nerves.

Denying Douma’s love is like stabbing him in the heart from his perspective.

"You don’t really love me, do you..? You're just like my parents."

Denying Douma only makes your situation worse.

In Douma’s world, if he forces enough of his affection on you, you’ll eventually love him.

There are periods when Douma is severely mentally unstable.

During these periods, Douma made it clear that you could not and would not leave his side.

You're extra careful when he’s unstable. Any wrong move, and Douma’s threatening to end everyone close to you.

It’s hard for Douma to understand human emotion. Due to his lack of feelings, he can’t possibly understand why you would want to ever leave his side after he’s provided you with a perfect life.

Regardless of how you feel, Douma needs you too much to ever let you go.

Over time, Douma may possibly turn you into a demon to trap you with him for eternity.

He can’t risk losing something that he may never find again. Your love. 

Akaza..

Akaza would kill for you in a heartbeat if it came to it.

The word love itself isn’t nearly enough to convey how much he loves you.

He would love to buy you little things, such as hair pins, just to see your face light up a bit.

Every time you leave, Akaza must be accompanying you.

Akaza always keeps at least one hand on you.

He wouldn’t mind if you didn’t have much physical strength; that’s what he’s there for.

Akaza would rather die than ever see you hurt.

He has a tendency to hurt anyone who causes you just the slightest bit of inconvenience.

Nobody should ever dare gaze upon you with any ill intent.

The other upper moons avoid interacting with you; they know how Akaza can get when it comes to you. 

You're sacred in Akaza’s eyes; he’s practically on his knees for you.

Akaza can become delusional about your love for him. If you don’t hold the same feelings for him, he’ll convince himself otherwise.

Akaza will literally spend hours kissing every inch of your body to prove himself to you.

With night comes Akaza’s paranoia.

There's much more danger for you once the sun sets.

He won’t leave your side for a single second.

In bed, you're always in Akaza’s arms; he’ll refuse to sleep any other way.

Once the sun rises once more, his nerves calm just a bit.

He simply can’t bear the thought of a life without you.

Akaza will pursue your love until the end of time. 

Aizetsu..

Aizetsu is pretty sensitive. Please don’t be too harsh on him.

He craves your affection constantly; it’s the one thing he needs to keep going.

Aizetsu can get aggressive when you refuse to show affection.

He won’t hurt you, but he might get verbally abusive.

Once he’s calmed down, he’ll cry at your feet, wrapping his arms around your waist begging for forgiveness.

He always regrets his behavior once he’s rational again.

Aizetsu sees the world as a depressing place, and you are the only light in his dull life.

One of his many nicknames for you is Sun. 

When Aizetsu gets deeply depressed, he tends to get distant.

He’s running back into your arms soon enough. 

His favorite thing to do is hug you from behind and follow you around.

Aizetsu is excessively clingy on a normal day.

If he is not all over you, something is wrong. 

He’ll ask you to hold him when his anxiety gets hard to bear; you're the only one who can get him to calm down.

He struggles immensely with his mental health.

You happen to be the one to handle Aizetsu when he’s at his lowest.

A lot of it is taken out on you, and he hates himself for it.

A few hours of being in your arms is usually enough for him to be able to function again.

Aizetsu will always do anything he can to make it up to you the next day, starting off with flowers in the morning.

If you don’t forgive him immediately, he’s on his knees once again choking on his own sobs. 

He can’t sleep without you next to him, helping him keep his depressive thoughts away.

At night, he’ll often rest his head in your lap and ask for you to play with his hair.

The feeling of your hands touching his scalp takes his mind off of the billions of things running through his head.

Aizetsu depends on you, don't fail him.

Kokushibo..

Kokushibo is always lurking in a corner, watching your every move.

He prefers to watch you in silence rather than interact with you.

Kokushibo is aware of his unhealthy attraction to you.

Small gifts, such as earrings or handwritten notes, would be left by Kokushibo on most mornings.

He manages to find something to give you each time he goes out.

Kokushibo secretly has a soft spot for you; you're the only one who knows this, of course.

Any affection coming from you stays on his mind for at least a day or two.

Don't upset him. Kokushibo is quick to completely disappear for a few days to teach you a lesson.

Leaving without Kokushibo by your side is forbidden. Once night falls, you can’t leave at all.

His rules may be harsh, but they're for your own good.

On nights that he’s feeling extra stressed, he may ask you to play with his hair.

There's not too much physical contact between you and Kokushibo, despite his hidden obsession.

He has to have a lot going on within himself to flat-out ask for your touch.

Kokushibo will die protecting you. He vowed to keep you protected, always.

You’ll be kept secret from everyone except Muzan. He won’t have you around the upper moons, especially Douma.

If you're feeling particularly stressed, Kokushibo will sit you down and tell you stories from all throughout his 480 years of living.

Kokushibo deeply appreciates your simple presence since he’s been alone for so long. Knowing that you're there is enough for him.

He spends hours watching you sleep at night; he doesn’t sleep much at all himself.

It brings him a sense of peace to watch your sleeping face, knowing that you're at ease.

Kokushibo can live in some type of peace knowing that you're safe and his.

[evanpetersmybf]

All he asked for was you

Tate Langdon x female!reader

Summary: Tate loves you too much. He would do anything for you, to keep you by his side, to make you love him forever. He would cross any line to make you his, it doesn't matter how evil it is... But was it really worth it?

Genre: ANGST!! and some smut

Word count: 5,104

Warnings: Obsessive, stalkish and violent behavior, implicit toxic relationship; mentions of weapons, murder, mental health issues, family issues, school shooting; use of Y/N, swearing, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected p in v. (i hope i'm not missing any...) NOT PROOFREAD !!

A/N: English isn't my first language!! Sorry if I have some mistakes and if Tate's a bit ooc (i tried to keep him in character as much as i could). I wasn't sure (and still not) if this is good but I spent days writing it, so I had to post it.

A small playlist with songs that inspired me for this: monster by meg and dia, pacify her by melanie martinez, all i want is you by rebzyyx, skyfall by adele, psycho by doko, paparazzi by lady gaga, dark red by steve lacy.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ཐི ♡ ཋྀ

Tate never believed in love, nor was he a romantic one. 

In fact, he despised it. How could he even believe in that feeling when he never felt loved by his own mother? At least that’s what he pretended.

The blond always had the facade of a tough guy, although he couldn’t fool anyone. Constance knew well he was a sensitive boy. Probably the most crybaby ever to exist… And the most unstable one.

Now he was here. His chest going up and down, breathing shallow and fast. His eyes were darting around the room, looking for something or perhaps someone. Some silly tears were rolling down his cheeks while he anxiously fidgeted with a ring on his finger. The clock on the wall continued its tick-tack. The time kept running. His heart kept beating. It was getting late.

He refused to look at the wooden floor. He didn’t want to accept reality. If Tate did that, he would feel like the biggest monster on Earth.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t stay like this.

He had to do something real fast.

Today, 18:40

You were supposed to arrive at 19:00.

But he remained there, next to the corpse of his rival. A bloody ax beside the dead man’s bleeding head.

Whom he thought was his worst enemy, was someone really dear to you.

Well, Tate fervently believed this was something justified. He couldn’t stand that fucking asshole anymore! That scumbag needed to be put back in his place. And Tate only did that. Furthermore, he actually helped him. He took him away from this shitty world. It was a favor.

He had already killed his mother’s boyfriend, so why was he feeling guilty?

Maybe because his victim was special to you. Because his death would hurt you. And Langdon swore to God he would never let anybody or anything hurt you, including himself.

He loved you.

He wanted to be the one to hold your hand forever.

Tate snapped back to the present and frowned. He picked up the weapon, putting it in his backpack. He didn’t even mind cleaning it. Then, he proceeded to knelt right next to the lifeless dude and cleaned the blood surrounding his body; afterwards, he dragged him to the basement and…

19:00

A knock on the door.

You arrived.

“DAMN IT!” 

He left his dead foe lying limp on the cold basement ground and quickly ran upstairs, straight to his room. He also left the backpack there.

Tate spent the last twenty minutes cleaning the mess he made in the living room after he atrociously smashed your friend’s head, forgetting that had poor time to get ready. 

He desperately looked for clean clothes, scrambling the entire closet in search of fresh garments while he cussed at himself, at his mother, at that freaking boy, at the entire world but you.

Finally he found some jeans and a striped shirt. He looked at himself in the mirror after changing and cleaned the tiny drops of blood that stayed on his face and hands. He never realized he left the bloody clothing on the bed.

Another knock.

19:07

Tate opened the door, immediately throwing himself at you and giving you one of the warmest hugs. His demeanor with you was completely different; you were the only creature capable of changing his fucked up mind into something more beautiful, more peaceful. The issue was that it only happened when he was with you, otherwise he would be aggressive and rude as usual.

You got the best of him. 

“Missed you so fuckin’ much, babe…” Voice muffled since his face was buried in the crook of your neck. Tate always did the same thing; clinging onto you like a small koala would.

“Heh, me too, hun!” You spoke with the same soothing voice he adored. Tate giggled and placed a tender kiss on your jawline, then another, and another, and another.

Soon enough, he was peppering kisses all over your neck, making you moan softly. Oh those sounds. He could hear you melting under his touch, his embrace, for the rest of eternity.

He loved making you squirm, making you laugh, making you feel loved.

He was way too sweet.

Only if you knew.

Four weeks before today…

Tate has always had the bad habit of stalking you. Yeah… He wasn’t proud of it. But can you blame him? He’s constantly afraid of you leaving him. He wanted to make sure you never did so… Otherwise he would die. Literally.

Don’t ask how he would die. You already know the answer.

You two were supposed to have a date, albeit you had to cancel your meeting.

And that, of course, made him overthink. It didn’t matter how many times you told him you were going to study; he felt betrayed, as if you were rejecting him. And Tate hated and feared rejection to the bone.

“Pretty please? Please, Y/N! I don’t wanna go home early, mom’s gonna be there and-and–”

“Tate, I can’t skip this. I have like, a test every day next week and I must study. I don’t wanna fail. Please, sweetie. I promise I’ll make it up to ya’, mhm?” 

He rolled his eyes and whined, almost throwing a tantrum. He didn’t try to manipulate you on purpose. It came out naturally. “But I need you, Y/N! Why do you always do the same, huh? Am I not that important? Don’t you love me any longer?”

His childish crying continued for a couple of minutes, until it stopped and the blond agreed a deal with you.

You thought he was calm now, but no. How naive.

You went to the library to study as you said… Without noticing he followed you.

Quietly, he got into that maze of books after you and hid behind some shelves.

Tate noticed you sat on an empty table. Thank God. Oh?

Who. Is. He.

A man Tate didn’t know sat next to you. Really close. Too close for Tate’s liking. He tried to think he was a stranger, that he wasn’t going to talk to you… He was wrong.

He clenched his hands into a ball when he saw that idiot talking to you, and the worst part was that you followed suit. It seemed you two were friends or something.

How DARE YOU talk to another man? No, how dare you talk to another HUMAN BEING!?

Tate was insecure 24/7.

If you weren’t there, Tate was falling apart. It was simple.

No Y/N, no happy Tate. Was it too hard to understand?

Three weeks before today…

It was Friday. Tate was impatiently waiting for you outside the campus, hanging a small bouquet of flowers he picked up.

Once he spotted you coming out from the building, he waved his hand and embraced you tightly once you were in front of him. He gave you the adorable present.

“Tate!”

“How did you do? Did you pass your tests? Don’t tell me, I’m sure you did.” Said, grinning from ear to ear. He was away from you for an entire week. How did he survive? He didn’t know, but he was glad to have you with him again. “Tell me about your life in the last days, baby. Please? I feel like I haven’t seen you in years!”

There he was, the one and only drama queen Tate Langdon.

You talked about the tests, about how the teachers were being a pain in the ass (which clearly triggered in him the intense desire of hurting them because they stressed you), and… About a guy. The same guy from the library, with whom you spent the entire last week studying. He couldn’t stand it. He saw him as a threat to your relationship, especially since he was an old friend that you met many years ago. 

As the days went by, you gave him more reasons to hate that jerk. Why? Well of course because you spent hours at the library doing homework or studying with him. Or even hanging out with him and other people.

In reality, you went out with him to a museum just once, and then skating with other colleagues. Nothing compared to the time you spent with Tate; in a week, you would hang out with him almost daily, and if you were way too busy, he would go to your place and spend the night there. He was so attached to you to the point he had to see you at least once a day. And that’s why he was so jealous of your friend. Tate couldn’t stand the idea of you sharing your life with someone else who wasn’t him or your family… And he also got jealous of them, but he was handling it.

Two weeks before today.

After Tate’s pleas, you decided to introduce your friend to him.

Probably a big mistake.

The date was really awkward; your friend tried being nice, and Tate acted surprisingly kind. Of course it was odd; usually, he despised all of your friends and treated them badly, yet this time was different. You were stunned, however, you tried to ignore it and instead got happy as he finally accepted a random person as your buddy. 

Still and all, he hated that moron. It didn’t matter how much he tried liking your pal, he was jealous of him. He was getting on his nerves. He denied the fact that you had more love for other people that wasn’t him. Tate desired being your only one. Your number one. Your entire world. Because that’s what you were for him. And he was willing to do whatever to keep you with him.

Tate exchanged numbers with him and meticulously plotted a plan to ascertain he would never talk to you ever again. At first, it came out as a simple “I’m gonna scare the shit outta him”, nonetheless, it turned into a darker idea, very likely involving physical violence.

One week before today…

The last few days, Tate won Peter’s trust. Ah yes. That’s your friend's name. You were glad that he finally opened his warm heart and began to meet more people besides you.

You thought he needed a friend, an empathetic person who could support the blond when you weren’t available, that way he would feel less lonely and depressed.

They went to the cinema, to the arcade, even to a music store. Everything was going according to what he planned.

Eventually, he invited Peter to his place to play chess and other board games on a Sunday afternoon, before you arrived and had a date with Tate due to your anniversary. 

Today, 16:00

Peter and Tate were eating pizza and having a great noon, talking about their lives and random stuff, like school and music. They both enjoyed Nirvana, and since Peter played the guitar, he agreed on teaching your boy how to.

If it weren’t for Tate’s twisted mind, they would’ve been best friends.

The guitarist wasn’t a bad guy. He was a great buddy that really appreciated you and the crybaby, but Langdon had something else in mind.

18:00

The men watched a movie. Tate didn’t even know its name; in fact, he didn’t even pay attention to it. Instead, he was focused on his next actions, plotting them carefully.

“Crap, mom’s gonna arrive soon…” Tate mumbled with annoyance, biting his nails and tapping his foot on the floor. He was lying. You were going to arrive, not Constance.

“Damn, bro. Well, I don’t have a problem. I wanna meet her.”

“Huh? No no no, you shouldn’t. That bitch is crazy.”

Peter scoffed, disagreeing with Tate’s rude manner to call his own momma.

“Hey, you shouldn’t talk like that. I bet she loves you!”

That pissed him off. “You don’t know anything, Peter. Your family is different. Your life’s different. You won’t understand!” He yelled, standing up from the couch and now pacing around the room, trying to keep it calm.

“Dude, calm down!

“NO! I fucking won’t!”

The screaming continued for a while. Tate revealed his unstable and crystal self. Even something so insignificant could drive him to the edge, like what happened today. That definitely surprised the other one, who used to think that Tate was a sweet boy. “I dunno why Y/N is dating you.”

“What did you say?” Tate abruptly stopped pacing.

“Y/N. Y/N doesn’t deserve you.”

“WHY WOULD YOU EVEN SAY THAT!?” He pounced on Peter, gripping his neck with one rough hand, applying enough pressure on the sides to stop the blood circulation in his carotids and make him lose consciousness.

Before passing out, Peter, getting pale, managed to croak out: “Because she deserves better…”

Soon enough, he fainted, giving Tate minutes to think about what else to do. 

Your boyfriend wasn’t planning on murdering Peter today. No, he didn’t have time. He also was supposed to meet you.. But this was the perfect excuse! And not only that; he indirectly admitted he was in love with you! Or that’s what Tate interpreted with his delusional point of view.

Peter didn’t feel anything romantic for you, he was just worried Tate might be too unhinged to be your partner.

Thus, he went to his room and grabbed his backpack. Then, went to the garden shed and picked up the ax that belonged to his father, and a bottle of lye.

He had to get the job done quickly, nevertheless, he lost track of time.

18:30

Tate came back to the living room, just to notice that Peter wasn’t there anymore.

“FUCK IT!” Langdon got nervous. What if he escaped? What if he told you that Tate was crazy? He couldn’t allow this, not at all.

Thankfully, or maybe not, Tate found Peter crawling towards the front door, the poor dude still feeling dizzy after being choked.

Tate didn’t have any mercy.

“Where do you think you’re going, lil�� piece of shit!?”

18:38

Tate finally did it. He brutally murdered Peter, smashing his head several times with the ax.

He got rid of that little issue. He took him to somewhere clean.

Once he assured the other man wasn’t breathing, he dropped the weapon on the floor, making a loud metallic thud.

19:10

Tate was pinning you down on the couch, the same couch where your dead friend was sitting just an hour ago.

His hands were traveling all along your body, tracing sweet patterns on your skin.

Eventually, his fingers were clumsily pulling down your panties, not minding to take off your skirt. “Did you bring this for easy access, baby?” Tate chuckled and buried his face between your legs, holding your thighs in place; his lips plastered messy kisses over the warm flesh, biting it and leaving tiny marks after sucking.

Your reaction was alluring to him; he enjoyed listening to your pleas, to your whimpers. If it was for him, he would spend the entire day making you cum over and over again.

He finally got rid of your underwear, tossing it aside. Without further ado, the boy spread your folds with his large digits, and continued to lick your throbbing wet cunt.

“So fucking pretty… So wet for me, huh?”

His tongue lapped your small clit two or three times, then, traced a zigzag and circles on the sensitive nub. While he devoured you, he inserted his middle and ring finger, pumping them in and out of your cute hole, curling them and hitting the right spot to make you feel butterflies.

Tate could feel his arousal growing; his erection being restrained by the tight fabric of his jeans. He was desperate, yeah. But he always put you in the first place, and that included pleasuring you before him.

After a while, he replaced his fingers with his tongue, fucking your pussy with the agile muscle and now rubbing your clit with his thumb, applying pressure that sent electric waves through your body. He stopped using his tongue on you and instead looked at that stunning face of yours. He was delighted with your flushed cheeks, with every single gesture you did, with the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He wanted to take a picture of you to remember this moment forever.

His thumb increased the pace, while his free hand lifted up your blouse and tried to undo your bra. He couldn’t. You giggled when he groaned in frustration; he was too horny to think straight and that’s why you helped him to take off the garment.

Tate sighed and after that awkward and funny moment, he kept rubbing your bud, using your own juices and his saliva as a lubricant, intensifying the sensation. His left pinched and pulled your nipple, making you gasp and twitch beneath him, whilst his mouth abused your other one, greedily sucking on it.

“Tate, ‘m gonna cum! I-”

Tate cut you off by kissing you harshly; his tongue invading your warm mouth, exploring it and then nibbling your bottom lip until it bleeded. He licked the tiny drops of blood, savoring the metallic taste of it.

Unable to hold on any longer, you reached your orgasm, coming undone while Tate kept caressing your pussy, decreasing the velocity while you finally calmed down.

He left you panting; your heart beating so fast just like his.

You tried to sit up on the couch, breathing deep for more air, but the blond prevented you from going away.

“Where do you think you’re doing? We’re not done yet, you’re gonna cum again!”

Tate carried you bridal style and went upstairs straight to his bedroom. He threw you on the bed.

Without stopping looking at you, he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his jeans along the boxers; his dick already erect and throbbing, the veins thick and the tip leaking precum.

Using the clear liquid as lube, he stroked his shaft for a while, jerking off to the sight of you. He groaned and whimpered, closing his eyes as his hand pumped himself.

One of your hands went to your breasts, massaging them softly as your right went down between your legs, slowly teasing your womanhood and coating your index finger with your arousal, using it to rub your aching bundle of nerves.

Tate’s dark room was now filled with both of your moans; Tate calling your name several times and you begging him to fuck you.

He couldn’t stand this anymore. He NEEDED to be inside you, to feel your warmth enveloping him. “On all fours. Now.” You immediately obeyed, feeling as eager as him.

“Look at me, mhm?” He positioned behind you and rubbed the tip against your wet folds, teasing you for a bit. Afterwards, he slowly entered his cock inside your slit, moving it slowly at first. His thumb went to your clitoris, toying with it just like minutes before. He picked up the pace and fucked you fast and hard; his cockhead brushing your cervix. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, Tate pulled your head towards him, still with the deep thrusting.  “Fuck, Y/N! You’re so pretty… So fucking precious, so fucking mine!” Moaned against your ear, voice raspy and agitated.

Panting, you stopped looking at him and instead looked to the bed. Why? Who knows, but you did it. And you saw Tate’s dirty clothes. Dirty with blood. A lot of blood.

You froze. Maybe it was red paint? 

“U-uh, Tate?” You muttered, feeling already bewildered by the sight. You tried not to jump into conclusions, although you knew Tate and he has always been… Secretive.. And aggressive, of course. 

After your boyfriend heard your shaky whisper, he stopped moving, even if he wanted to keep going. “Hm?”

“What’s this?” Tate sighed and pulled out from you, not understanding what you meant. 

“What’s what?”

Without saying anything else to him, you grabbed the shirt and touched the weird stain. It was still fresh. You took your fingers to your mouth to taste it; and the metallic tang was too obvious. “Tate, what the fuck is this!?”

You threw it at him. Freaked out, you stood up and picked up your clothes, putting them on again, all meanwhile Tate connected the dots and realized he was probably going to get caught.

“Wait, Y/N! It’s not what it looks like, I swear, damn it!” He yelled and grabbed your arm, not wanting you to leave like this. He had to save his reputation, he couldn’t let you think bad of him even if you had all the right. Because, why the fuck the fabric was soaked in blood?

“Then what is it, Tate? WHY DOES IT HAVE SO MUCH BLOOD!?”

“CALM DOWN, PLEASE!” 

You attempted to get away from his grip, struggling with him until, somehow, you managed to do so. However, you tripped with his dirty shoes and fell, realizing they were also stained with the red liquid. “Tate, what…? Why? What is this?”

“Nothing, I swear!” He didn’t have any excuses. Saying it was paint would’ve been lame. You were too smart and he knew lying wasn’t a good choice.

Feeling overwhelmed with the matter, you went downstairs, walking as fast as you could. Passing through the living room, a very familiar bag caught your eye. It was definitely Peter’s. You decided to grab it and realized it had his phone inside. Something was off.

Tate was standing behind you; fists clenched and heart beating like crazy. He tried to approach you, still thinking about what to do or what to say. 

“Tate… What is this doing here? Peter’s here?” 

“Huh? Yeah… He— He came earlier and had to go soon, he left this accidentally, yup…” You could see him fidgeting with that ring on his finger, again. 

“Bullshit!”

Tate scowled and grabbed your chin, making you look at his dark orbs. “Tell me, Y/N, do you trust me or not, huh? Look me in the eyes and say you don’t!”

The struggle continued for what seemed eternity. You trying to run away from the house and he trying to make you stay. “Please, Y/N, just listen to me!”

“You did something to him, right? I know him, Tate! He would NEVER leave his phone like this! Is this a joke?”

“Why do you care so much about that asshole!? What has he done for you!? Tell me!”

“Oh my, you’re jealous! I knew it! All that crap about being his friend was a lie, right? Tate, you’re being delusional! I can have friends, I can hang out with whoever I want, whether you like it or not!” 

Tate pressed your cheeks between his thumb and the rest of his fingers, squeezing the flesh with his veiny, big hand, pressing it tightly enough to leave the mark of his long digits on it.

“You can’t! You’re mine. Only mine. Since the day you were born you were meant to be mine. Not his, not anybody, just me.”

“Tate… We should end this…” You thought this was the best for both. Being in a relationship with him was draining; always being careful to not hurt him, make him jealous or mad. He was such a sensitive boy that always took everything too personally. He felt everything a little too much.

Since the beginning you knew he was unstable and that he had many issues, but you tried to see beyond his sick mind, you tried to understand him despite being so different.

Tate felt so safe with you. You were the only person who understood him, or at least made attempts to. 

He felt rejected by the entire society, even by his own mother, until he met you and he had a minimum spark of hope that the world didn’t suck that much.

That’s why he clung to you. That’s why you were his everything. He would lose his mind if you leave him.

He felt like dying when he heard you wanted to finish the relationship.

He couldn’t breathe. 

Some tears were now falling to the floor, his eyes puffy and an ugly frown on his face. His mouth twisted as he sobbed loudly, tugging the hem of your shirt while he begged you to stay. He was crying like a newborn, like a baby who had to be apart from his mother for a second.

“No no no no, you can’t do this to me!” He whimpered, his speech cracking as he tried to hold you close whilst you were stepping back. You were slipping through his fingers, you were leaving him.

“Tate, if something happened to Peter, I will never forgive you! Can’t you see you’re hurting me?”

Tate swore he would never hurt you, nor let anyone. But here he was, finally snapping out of it and seeing the cruel truth. 

“You’ve been hurting me the whole time, Tate! I tried to understand you, I really did, I tried to help you, to save you from yourself! But it’s impossible. I’m losing myself here with you, I don’t even know who I am anymore! You don’t want help, do you? ‘Cause it doesn’t matter what I do, you’re never satisfied! You suffocate me!”

All those words were like daggers penetrating his skin, touching his nerves and making him die of pain. You were tearing him apart, just the way he was destroying you.

He finally let go of you, feeling a tornado of emotions. Tate felt depressed, mad, resentful, like he was going crazy. Though, he knew he had to leave if that’s what you wanted. He couldn’t bring himself to break another promise.

Thereby, he confessed his crimes to you. He explained he killed his mom’s partner a few days ago, and that now he had killed your friend. Why? He was jealous, he was scared you’d left him. You did it before you discovered the cruel reality, anyways. That’s why he told you. Because he couldn’t lose anything else.

The situation was utterly disgusting. Tate was sick. He murdered an innocent man and then proceeded to fuck you, as it was the maximum test of love, as if his life meant nothing.

You knew he wasn’t what people often considered “normal”. But this was definitely more than just being a “weirdo”. Tate needed psychiatric help… And being arrested, of course.

“You make me wanna puke, Tate! You’re the evil!”

Without hesitating, you left Tate behind, running as fast as you could from that living hell.

You just wanted to cry, curl up into a ball and wake up from this nightmare. You wished it was merely a bad dream.

Tomorrow morning, you’d go to the police, but for now you needed to sleep.

Monday morning, 11:05

You couldn’t sleep all night. You spent hours thinking about everything, about how this looked like a cruel joke to you. Eventually, you fell asleep at 4AM, and didn’t wake up at what seemed almost midday. 

An intense sound of police sirens woke you from your slumber. Startled by the loud noise, you rubbed your eyes and went to the window, trying to get a glimpse of what was happening outside.

Police cars and SWAT vans were going in a specific direction… Towards Tate’s street. It couldn’t be, right?

Did his mother find the corpse? Or perhaps something else?

You looked at the clock, realizing it was late and you had to go to class. 

08:00

After the most painful night of his life, Tate decided today everything would be over.

He had to cleanse the world… To take people to somewhere else, to some place full of peace away from the piss and the vomit that runs down the streets.

He was doing this not only because of your breakup, but also because of many other reasons. Your split up was the straw that broke the camel and drove him to the edge.

10:40

 After shooting the school, Tate left the place, looking unfazed about what he just did. He was unhinged. 

He peacefully got into his place, went to his room and stayed there for some minutes. 

The blond sat on the edge of the bed, leaving the gun right next to him and stared at nothing. His gaze was empty, but also there were some tears threatening to spill.

His mind was a whirlwind. Some part of him was satisfied, but the other was confused, wondering what was he thinking, what had he done?

What would you think of him now? Were you even there? Did he kill you too and he didn’t even notice?

In the end, he recognized he indeed was the evil you said. Damn it. You were right, again, as ever.

Tate wanted to hear your voice, to comfort him, to hear you saying everything was okay. That he’d be okay. He desired to hear “I love you” from you once more.

11:15

You went downstairs to find your family apparently mourning you.

They thought you were at school when the shooting happened. They believed you were gone, but here you were. 

Eventually, they explained to you what happened.

The first thing that popped into your mind was Tate’s wellbeing, still unaware that he was the culprit. You were afraid something terrible could’ve happened to him, you were regretting your last words to him, but you also had to get him prisoner.

Your heart dropped when they explained to you he was the shooter.

No, it couldn’t be possible. 

It was possible. After all, he had already killed two men.

Even if you despise what he did, some part of you still longed for him, still was in love with his once kind heart.

A terrifying feeling of dread filled your body, making you feel numb, as if none of this was real… 

11:25

After running to Tate’s house and seeing it surrounded by the cops and the SWAT team, everything stopped. Constance’s distressed cries and pleas were heard from outside, followed suit by the sound of bullets. It was over now.

Tate was certainly a troubled individual who dedicated his entire life to searching for something, to feel something, to feel loved.

All he asked for was love, to be loved, to love. All he wanted was you.

But at the same time, your love led him to an never-ending obsession that ultimately broke both of you.

He became your biggest regret.

All he feared, all his nightmares came true. Everything he was so afraid of was him and only himself. 

[powerpuffobsession]

The whole Eden Lucifer-Adam-Lilith-Eve situation is kinda creepy. I see serious groomer undertones in it, given the difference in Lucifer's and humans' life experience (and to extent, maturity) at the moment

Imagine that you are an adult experienced angel who is present during the making of Eden and the birth of first humans. You also apparently want a wife. And to be a part in creation of Eden. What do you do? Find some female angel to marry and live your life with? Find an actually helpful way of working alongside elder angels?

Nope, instead you meddle with the lives of newborn and inexperienced humans in the most destructive way possible.

You could have helped them sort out their disagreements and actually taught them proper ways to behave. But you don't. You groom the naive female human into trusting you and then you encourage her cheating on the male human, causing trauma and insecurities to corrupt his personality in his first few years of living (the most influential in shaping a person's mentality). Thus you become partly responsible for the vengeful monster he will become in the future

More than that, you take away the female human's chance to live safely in paradise or on earth. Because of aiding you in your not-so-well-thought-out-plan (she didnt have any other choice, you and the male human were the only company she had), she is doomed to be allowed to only live in hell the rest of her life. And you knew that no one in heaven was going to give her the benefit of the doubt

As icing on the cake, you don't stop just on grooming and encouraging cheating, you don't leave the male human alone after you've already did him dirty and abandoned him... you come back and corrupt his new wife for some unclear reason (because your "whimsical" ideas of how you'd do a project elder angels know better how to carry out, are never even elaborated upon).

As a result, you doom not only these three babies in adult bodies but also the entire humanity to a terrifying life of fighting sinful outbursts, suffering, surviving, dying and risking ending up in hell where they'll be suffering for an eternity

I'm not sure if writers will ever hold Lucifer accountable for all this in a proper way. Probably not. But thinking about how much he fucked over first three humans makes me wish more depression on him

At this point, Lilith leaving Lucifer is not surprising. Imagine if after maturing and gaining life experience (and already giving birth to Charlie) she realized how her husband was practically using her. That could be why she left after doing her job of raising Charlie until she became an adult that can survive on her own

(I mean, it could be true if hazbin hotel was good at having the characters live through consequences of their actions and not just making Adam a scapegoat who is supposedly like Stella v 2.0 - evil ever since he was born and already inventing patriarchy with his very first breath. Like, all humans are selfish jerks when they are newborn - that's what parenting is for, shaping something more pleasant out of all that selfishness) (notice how the writing only focuses on how Adam was "bad" back in Eden)

(That also gives me a reason to judge angels in general - just a few narrative details really show how little they cared about the first humans' wellbeing and future. It's their fault too that Lilith ended up in hell and had to make some sort of deal to get a chance to visit her home/ Adam became an immature mentally unstable murderer/ and Eve... dunno, we haven't seen her yet)

[sevikasdoll]

Sevika x female reader

Unspoken desires pt 2.

Tags : JEALOUSY , character death , Berserk!Sevika x Reader who gets off to violence , mentally unstable reader tbh , denial of feelings kinda , confessing , gun play , knife play , death play ? , hate fuck , hate makeout , yeah she totally hates you , conflicting feelings , blood , degradation ofc , vika says some mean stuff ;( , threats threats threats.

Note : this is a continuation of my headcanons post but turned into an actual fic instead of dabbles. I HIGHLY recommend reading it first before starting this! Enjoy cuties<3

Sevika's eyes flashed with rage as she lunged forward, grabbing the other girl by the throat and slamming her against the brick wall. Lifting her off her feet with ease. The girl's eyes bulged in terror, her hands scrabbling uselessly at Sevika's iron grip. "You think you can just replace me, huh?" Sevika snarled, her face inches from yours. "Thought you could just fuck around on me?"

With a vicious twist of her wrist, Sevika snapped the girl's neck, dropping her limp body to the ground with a sickening thud. Blood pooling beneath her head. She turned her attention back to you, her expression dark and dangerous.

You stared in horror, unable to move as Sevika's rage consumed her. The other girl lay dead at her feet, her lifeless eyes staring up at the sky. Sevika's gaze locked onto yours, her grey eyes burning with a mix of anger and betrayal.

"How could you do this to me?" she hissed, taking a step towards you. "After everything we've been through, you think you can just throw it all away?"

Her hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back painfully. "I should kill you too," she snarled, her face inches from yours. "But I won't. Not yet."

She released you abruptly, shoving you away. "Get out of my sight," she spat. "Before I change my mind."

You stumbled back, your heart pounding in your chest as you watched Sevika's anger dissipate, replaced by a cold, calculating look. She bent down, roughly grabbing the dead girl's arm and dragging her further into the alley, out of sight. You stood there, frozen in shock and fear, as Sevika disappeared into the shadows with the body. After what felt like an eternity, she returned, her clothes splattered with blood. She stalked towards you, her eyes never leaving yours.

"Why are you still here." she said, her voice low and menacing.

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. "I... I don't know," you stammered, your eyes darting to the side. "I'm sorry, Sevika. I didn't mean for this to happen."

Sevika let out a harsh laugh, the sound echoing off the alley walls. "Sorry? You think sorry is gonna cut it?" She grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her.

Sevika's eyes flashed with disgust as she looked you up and down. "You make me fucking sick," she spat, her voice dripping with venom. "I taught you so much, and this is how you repay me? By spreading your legs for the first whore that comes along?"

She stepped closer, invading your personal space. "You're nothing but a filthy whore," she hissed, her breath hot against your face. "And I'm done with you."

Her hand shot out, grabbing your chin roughly and forcing you to meet her gaze. "Get out of my life," she growled.

"And if I ever see you again, I'll put a bullet in your pretty little head."

Tears streamed down your face as you stared up at Sevika, your heart shattering into a million pieces. "I don't understand," you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. "Why are you doing this to me? I've always been loyal to you, even when you treated me like shit."

Sevika's grip on your chin tightened, her nails digging into your skin. "Loyal?" she scoffed. "You call this loyalty? You call letting some slut put her hands all over you loyalty?" She shoved you away, your back hitting the alley wall with a thud. "I never wanted you," she snarled, her eyes blazing with anger and something else, something darker. She turned to leave, but paused, looking back over her shoulder.

"And to think for a second that I missed you," she said, her voice cold and cruel.

You fell to your knees, sobbing uncontrollably as Sevika turned to leave. "Please, Sevika," you begged, your voice raw with emotion. "Don't go. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'll do anything, just please don't leave me."

Sevika paused, her back still turned to you. For a moment, you thought she might relent, that she might turn around and take you in her arms. But then she laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that made your blood run cold.

"Anything, huh?" she said, her voice dripping with malice. "Alright then. Crawl to me."

You hesitated for a moment, your pride warring with your desperation. But in the end, your love for Sevika won out. You dropped to your hands and knees, As you moved, you felt something wet and sticky coating your skin. Glancing down, you realized with horror that it was blood - the dead girl's blood, splattered across the alley floor.

As you reached her, she grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back painfully. "Look at you," she sneered, her eyes roaming over your tear-stained face.

"Crawling like the worthless little bitch you are. And for what? For someone who never gave a fuck about you?"

Sevika's lips curled into a cruel smile as she looked down at you, cowering at her feet. She leaned down, her face inches from yours, and spat in your face, the warm saliva dripping down your cheek.

"You're pathetic," she hissed, her breath hot against your skin.

She slapped you across the face, the sting of her palm against your cheek sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. You moaned softly, your eyes fluttering closed as you reveled in the pain.

Sevika's eyes widened for a split second, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before it was quickly replaced by a scowl. She slapped you again, harder this time, the force of it sending your head snapping to the side.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she snarled, her hand fisting in your hair. "You like this? You like being treated like a piece of shit?"

She yanked your head back, forcing you to look up at her. "Answer me," she demanded, her voice low and dangerous.

You couldn't help it. A moan escaped your lips, your body trembling with a mix of fear and desire. "Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I like it when you hurt me, Sevika. Every time you would pick on me. Every punch I took from your power. It was so addictive. It still is."

Sevika's eyes darkened, a predatory glint appearing in their depths. She released your hair, only to grab your jaw, her fingers digging into your skin. "You're a fucking masochist," she growled. "A pathetic, twisted little whore."

Sevika's grip on your jaw tightened, her fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises. "Why?" she demanded, her voice a low, dangerous growl. "Why the fuck were you with her? “ Her eyes searching your face for an answer. But you knew there was no explanation that would satisfy her. No words that could make her understand the twisted desires that drove you.

"I don't know," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I was confused. Distant. I thought maybe I could forget about you, about the way you make me feel."

Sevika's eyes narrowed. "Make you feel what?" she asked, her voice deceptively soft. "Tell me, little girl. Tell me how I make you feel."

You bit your lip, hesitating. But the truth was burning inside you, demanding to be let out. "You make me feel alive," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "Every time you hurt me, every time you degrade me, I feel more alive than I've ever felt before."

Sevika's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something - shock, perhaps even a hint of desire - crossing her face. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by her usual scowl.

"You're fucked up," she said, her voice cold and dismissive. "A twisted little freak who gets off on pain and humiliation."

Sevika's grip on your jaw loosened slightly, her thumb brushing across your bottom lip almost tenderly. "I should leave you here," she murmured, her eyes searching yours. "Let you wallow in your own filth and depravity."

But even as she said the words, her body betrayed her. She leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear. "Maybe I should give you what you want," she whispered, her voice husky with desire. "Maybe I should show you just how much I can hurt you."

Sevika hauled you to your feet, shoving you roughly against the brick wall of the alley. Her leg pressed between your thighs, the heat of her body searing through your clothes.

"I fucking hate you," she growled, her lips hovering inches from yours. "I hate every pathetic, twisted thing about you."

But even as she spoke, her mouth crashed against yours in a brutal, punishing kiss. Her teeth nipped at your bottom lip, drawing blood, as her tongue forced its way past your lips to claim your mouth. You whimpered against her, your body melting into hers as she ground her thigh against your core.

Sevika broke the kiss, leaving you gasping and panting. "You want to know why I really hate you?" she hissed, her hand fisting in your hair and yanking your head back. "It's because I can't stop thinking about you. Because every time I touch another woman, all I can see is your face. All I can feel is your body beneath mine."

She slammed her hips against yours, grinding against you hard enough to make you cry out. "I hate that you have this power over me," she snarled, her free hand ripping open your shirt, buttons flying everywhere. "I hate that I can't resist you, no matter how much I try."

Her mouth latched onto your neck, biting and sucking, leaving dark bruises blooming on your skin. "I should kill you," she muttered against your throat, her hand sliding down to cup your breast roughly. "Put a bullet into this pretty little head and be done with it.”

Sevika's hand left your hair, reaching for the gun holstered at her hip. She pressed the cold metal barrel against your temple, her eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and desire.

"Maybe I will," she growled, her finger tightening on the trigger. "Maybe I'll blow your fucking brains out right here, right now."

But even as she said it, you could see the conflict in her eyes. The war raging inside her between the urge to destroy you and the desperate need to possess you completely.

"Please," you whispered, your voice shaking.

"Please what?" Sevika hissed, the gun digging into your skin. "Please kill me? Or please fuck me?"

She ground her hips against yours, the heat of her body searing through your clothes. "Which is it? Which one do you want more?"

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling with a mix of fear and desire. "Both," you whimpered, your eyes locked on hers. "I want you to fuck me until I can't walk, until I'm screaming your name. And then I want you to kill me, so I can die happy."

Sevika's breath hitched, a low growl rumbling in her chest as she listened to your desperate pleas. Keeping the gun trained on you, her bionic arm reached out, shredding your clothes with minimal effort.

"You want me to fuck you until you can't walk, do you?" she purred, her finger caressing the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. "Want me to make you scream until your throat is raw?"

Her touch was electric, sending shivers racing down your spine. But the gun never wavered, a constant, deadly reminder of the thin line between pleasure and pain.

Sevika leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear as she continued to tease your slick flesh. "I'll use you until you're broken," she whispered. "Until you're nothing but a quivering, useless mess. And then maybe, if you're lucky, I'll put you out of your misery."

Sevika's gun traced a slow, menacing path down your naked body, the cold metal a stark contrast to your heated skin. "Touch yourself," she commanded, her voice rough with lust. "Show me how badly you want it." Her eyes bore into yours, dark and intense as she watched you obediently slide your hand between your thighs. You shuddered at the contact, your fingers finding your slick, aching flesh.

"That's it, baby," Sevika purred, circling her thumb around your nipple. "Play with that pretty little cunt for me. Let me see how desperate you are for me."

You whimpered, your hips bucking involuntarily as you stroked yourself. The mix of pleasure and humiliation was intoxicating, your body responding eagerly to Sevika's degrading words.

"Faster," she ordered, her voice a low growl. "I want to hear you moan like the slut you are."

Your fingers moved faster, your breathing growing ragged as you chased your pleasure. The sound of your desperate whimpers filled the air, mingling with the click of the gun as Sevika kept it pressed against your skin.

"Louder," she hissed, her teeth sinking into your shoulder. "I want everyone in Zaun to hear what a filthy whore you are."

You cried out, the pain and pleasure blurring together until you couldn't tell them apart. Your body was on fire, every nerve ending singing with need.

"Please," you begged, your voice hoarse and broken. "Please, Sevika. I need you."

Sevika chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Oh, you'll get what you need, baby girl. But first..."

She brought the gun up, pressing it firmly against your clit. Your eyes widened, a mix of terror and excitement flooding through you.

"Beg for it," she demanded, her finger on the trigger. "Beg me to let you cum."

Your hips bucked instinctively, grinding your aching core against the cold, hard metal of the gun. The sensation was foreign and intense, sending sparks of pleasure-pain through your body.

"Please, Sevika," you whimpered, your eyes pleading with her. "Please pleaaaase let me cum. I need it so bad. Need you so bad.”

You could feel yourself teetering on the edge, your body taut and trembling. The gun was a deliciously dangerous stimulation, pushing you closer to the brink with each desperate grind.

"Fuck, you're such a needy little slut," Sevika growled, her hand tightening around the gun. She pressed the gun harder against your clit, the pressure intense and overwhelming. Your moans grew louder, more desperate, as you chased the elusive peak.

The sound of your slick flesh against the cold metal was obscene, a lewd reminder of your depravity. Sevika's bionic hand slid up to wrap around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin.

"Cum for me," she commanded, her thumb brushing over your lower lip. "Cum like the desperate little slut you are. Now."

The combination of sensations - the gun against your clit, her hand around your throat, her words - pushed you over the edge. Your body seized, a silent scream tearing from your throat as you came hard, your juices coating the barrel of the gun.

Sevika held you through it, her grip firm and unyielding as she rode out your orgasm. When you finally collapsed against her, spent and trembling, she released her hold, letting you slide bonelessly to the ground.

"Clean it," she ordered, pressing the still-warm gun against your lips. "Taste your filth."

You obeyed without hesitation, parting your lips to take the gun into your mouth. The taste of your own arousal mingled with the metallic tang of the weapon, a heady and humiliating combination.

Sevika watched with a smirk, her eyes dark and hungry. "Good girl," she purred, petting your hair almost affectionately as you cleaned every inch of the gun.

When you finished, she pulled the weapon away, tucking it back into her holster. Her hand cupped your chin, tilting your head up to meet her gaze.

"You're mine," she said, her voice low and possessive. "No matter who you fuck, no matter how much you try to deny it, you belong to me."

She leaned in, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. It was a declaration of ownership, a reminder of your place in her world.

"Never forget that," she breathed against your lips. "Now get up. We're going home."

You stumbled to your feet, your legs shaky and weak from the intensity of your orgasm. Sevika grabbed your chin, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip almost tenderly before she stepped back.

"Walk," she commanded, her voice low and authoritative. "And don't expect me to carry you. You wanted to be treated like my property, now act like it."

You nodded meekly, the cool night air kissed your bare skin, raising goosebumps along your flesh. You could feel the stares of passersby, their gazes lingering on your naked form. But under Sevika's possessive grip, you felt safe, protected.

Sevika's hand rested on the small of your back, guiding you, claiming you. Her touch was a brand, marking you as hers for all to see. You could feel the eyes of passersby on you, judging, desiring, but you didn't care. All that mattered was staying close to Sevika, basking in her dominant presence. As you neared her place, Sevika's pace quickened, her anticipation palpable. She pushed you inside, slamming you against the door and claiming your mouth in a searing kiss.

Sevika's kiss was all teeth and tongue, rough and demanding. Her hands roamed your naked body, reclaiming what was hers. You moaned into her mouth, your own hands tugging at her clothes, desperate to feel her skin against yours.

She broke the kiss abruptly, shoving you away. "On the bed," she growled, her eyes dark with lust. “Keep your eyes shut.”

You scrambled to obey, positioning yourself as instructed. The cool sheets beneath you were a stark contrast to the heat of your skin, a reminder of your vulnerability.

Sevika loomed over you, her body a solid wall of muscle and strength. Her bionic hand trailed down your waist, making your muscles twitch and contract.

"Feel that," she growled, pressing the thick, heavy length of the strap-on against your thigh. "Feel how big it is. How it's going to stretch you open."

You shuddered, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through you. The thought of being taken, claimed, dominated by the massive toy had you dripping with anticipation.

Sevika positioned herself between your legs, the blunt head of the strap-on pushing insistently at your entrance. "Beg for it," she demanded, her voice a low, sinful purr. "Beg me to fuck you with this big, fat cock."

"Please," you whimpered, your hips lifting in an attempt to take her inside. "Please, Sevika. I need it. I need your cock. Please, fuck me hard. Make me yours."

Sevika smiled, a cruel, wicked twist of her lips. And then she was driving forward, impaling you on the thick shaft in one brutal thrust.

You screamed, the sound tearing from your throat as she stretched you wide. The pain was exquisite, the burn of being filled so completely turning rapidly to pleasure as she began to move.

Sevika's hips snapped forward, the force of her thrusts pushing you deeper into the mattress. "Did you enjoy watching me kill that whore?" she growled, her voice tight with exertion. "Did it turn you on seeing me snap her neck like a twig?"

The question caught you off guard, your mind struggling to process the sudden shift in conversation. You gasped, a shudder running through you at the memory of the brutal scene you'd witnessed earlier.

"Y..yes," you admitted shamefully, your voice trembles. "It was... really hot.. You taking someone’s life.. for me..."

Sevika's laugh was dark and menacing, the sound sending a jolt of fear and arousal straight to your core. "You're such a fucking freak," she sneered, pausing for a moment to reach under the bed. "A twisted little psycho who gets off on death and violence."

You heard the distinct click of a knife being opened, and before you could react, the cold blade was pressed against your throat.

"What if I did this to you, huh?" Sevika hissed, the strap-on still buried deep inside you. "Would you cum as I slit your pretty throat? Would you thank me for finally giving you the release you've been begging for?"

You couldn't answer, your voice caught in your throat, both literally and figuratively. The cold press of the blade against your skin made every nerve ending in your body ignite with fear and exhilaration.

"Look at you," Sevika growled, her hips starting to move again, slowly at first, then picking up speed. "Quivering like a little rabbit. Scared shitless but so fucking turned on."

She leaned down, her lips brushing your ear as she whispered, "I could end you right now. Snuff out your pathetic little life with one swift slice. And you'd probably cum in your grave."

The strap-on hammered into you, each thrust forcing the air from your lungs. You could feel your orgasm building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your belly.

"Beg me," Sevika demanded, her voice a low, dangerous purr. "Beg me to kill you while I fuck you. Beg me to make you cum as I paint these walls with your blood."

Tears streamed down your face, your body writhing beneath her as she drove you closer and closer to the edge. "Please," you sobbed, the word torn from your throat. "Please, Sevika. Kill me. Make me cum. I'm yours. Take everything from me."

Sevika's laugh was cruel, almost maniacal as she continued to piston into you, the knife never leaving your throat. "You're pathetic," she hissed, her hips snapping forward with brutal force. "Absolutely fucking pathetic."

But even as she degraded you, you could feel the tension in her body, the way her movements grew more erratic. She was close too, her own release barreling towards her like a freight train.

"Cum for me," she snarled, her hand tightening on the knife. "Cum on my cock like the desperate little slut you are. And pray that I decide to let you live."

Something inside you snapped, the fear and the pleasure colliding in a dizzying rush. You arched your back, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you in wave after wave of pure ecstasy.

Sevika let out a guttural groan, her hips stuttering as she followed you over the edge. The knife pressed down, breaking the skin ever so slightly, a warm trickle of blood running down your neck as she came hard, filling you with her release.

For a long moment, she stayed there, poised above you, the knife still pressed to your throat. Then, slowly, she withdrew. She pulled out of you, the strap-on slipping free with a obscene wet sound.

"Get out," she growled, her voice hoarse and raspy. "Get the fuck out of my sight before I change my mind and finish what I started."

You stumbled to your feet, your legs shaking, your body covered in a sheen of sweat and blood and other fluids. You grabbed whatever clothes were around, dressing hurriedly, desperate to escape before Sevika decided to make good on her threats.

As you fled into the night, you couldn't help but wonder if you'd just narrowly avoided death or if you'd somehow managed to fall even deeper under Sevika's spell. Either way, you knew one thing for certain - you'd never be the same again.

❥・・ ┈┈┈┈┈‪༚༅༚˳ . ୨୧ . ˳༚༅༚┈┈┈┈ ・・❥

Congratulations, you got the good ending!

I mean, sevika would never kill you… right?

Alternatively I did write out a different where vika actually ends up offing you at the end but this fic was already so crazy I spared y’all the emotional damage. I might consider going deeper into this AU. Turn it into an actual story or something.

With that aside, take lots of good care of yourself !! Especially if you made it here. <3

[stari-hun]

Isolde

Reverse 1999 is so fun for making a female character who's beautiful while being mentally ill but is still completely undefendable while talking about her actions. Isolde was manipulated by Manus yes, but she was and HAS been unstable from the start. Spending your life seeing the dead and having then possess you for a living with the family predisposition towards mania. There wasn't a lot of hope for her, but at the same time, her actions were still her own; as an adult, she was in control. She's cunning, manipulative, and she holds the judgement of people she places her trust in above everything: especially her morals.

[helen-norvilles-female-rage]

Helen Norville truly is the female character of all time.

She’s strong, but not in a way a caricature “strong female character” is strong (being physically powerful, aggressive, capable of violence, etc). She’s not just a male character but sexy.

She’s thoughtful, sure in her convictions, decicated to helping the vulnerable, empathetic. She has a strong sense of justice. She’s loving. She protects people she loves. She knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to take it. She keeps standing up for herself and others even though she’s constantly being met with people putting her down in the worst ways. She has an open mind despite all the culture around her telling her not to. She endured many years of abuse and persevered. She’s extremely competent and knows it. She’s unapologetic. And she has amazing hair.

She’s also extremely vulnerable, easily swayed by personal attacks, unstable, prone to sinking to lows, gets overwhelmed by her emotions and is generally a bit of a mess. She flees when she’s scared. She’s deeply insecure when it comes to close relationships. She is affected by serious mental health issues. She has trauma and shame around it.

She’s Dale’s superior. She’s his mentor. She’s older than him. She doesn’t want marriage or children. What a beautiful “fuck you” to rigid patriarchal gender roles.

If this doesn’t read “complex female character who has real depth and isn’t made for male gaze but is fully human and her own person” idk what does. Thank you for reading my essay

[raythekiller]

🗒 ❛ Personality Headcanons ༉‧₊˚✧

Featuring: Jeff The Killer, Ben Drowned, Ticci Toby, Eyeless Jack, Masky, Hoodie

#Notes: just my general take on the creeps. hope y'all enjoy! requests open :)

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꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Jeff The Killer

He's a total fucking prick, for a lack of better word. He doesn't care about other's feelings, he thinks he's better than everyone so he's "allowed" to treat people badly, and he has anger issues to top that. Protesting against his bad treatment is gonna earn you some screaming at best and some blood spilled at worst, depending entirely on his mood.

He has the potential to be a good friend and person in general, he just doesn't want to. However, you might catch him trying to awkwardly comfort Toby or Ben when they have mental breakdowns. Well, not as much "comfort" but more of a shy pat on the back and a "Stop being a little bitch" comment, but that's his way of showing that he cares. Take it or leave.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ben Drowned

Generally a pretty chill guy. He's not an extrovert, but he's still fairly outgoing when it comes to meeting new people (when he does leave his room, that is. He's kind of a shut in). Since he died when he was about twelve, I think he's forever stuck into the pre-pubescent boy mentality, so he can be quite the little shit.

That means he's also kind of a pervert and just immature in general. The type to play certain games just to gawk at the female character's slutty outfits and make fart jokes. He can also be very sarcastic and witty when he wants to, just a total smartass. Also, he's a pothead.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ticci Toby

Probably one of, if not the nicest creep in the manor. Very upbeat and cheerful, at least most of the time. As someone that has bipolar disorder, it personally doesn't make me very violent and as unstable as Toby is canonically said to be. What does make me does things though is my BPD, so I headcanon he has that as well. He's all sunshine and rainbows until someone says something in a slightly off tone and suddenly he's screaming and throwing his hatchets at the fucking wall.

That also means he's extremely clingy. He wants every last bit of attention he can get and is extremely possessive of people he likes. And, while he is nice most of the time, when he's having an episode he's probably the most cold and cruel person you'll ever met.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Eyeless Jack

One of the most chill creeps. He's not aggressive and kills only when he needs to eat, and tries to make it quick and painless for the victim. He eats any organs, not just kidneys. Also, he's a fucking great cook, Hannibal Lecter style. He really likes reading and is extremely intelligent, probably knows two or more languages, and is probably the most mature member of the manor after Slenderman.

He's not actually blind, but he's not not blind either. He sees the temperature of things instead of the actual object. He hates drama and argument and loud noises, so he normally stays away from the other creeps (especially our favorite trio, Jeff, Ben and Toby), but he gets along really well with Jane.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Masky

Another prick, though a more reserved one than Jeff. He's a perfectionist and natural leader, so he expects everyone to obey him without questions and no mistakes allowed. He has this rivalry going on with Toby because, even though he's the leader and Slenderman's right hand, he feels the tall guy has a certain favoritism or soft spot when it comes to Toby (which is true).

He gets very aggressive after missions and just wants to be left alone for at least a few hours, just until he calms down a little. After he's rested, he's actually pretty decent to be around, becoming less defensive and more accepting of others.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Hoodie

The coolest guy ever. He's calm but great to be around and is always willing to listen to others when they need to vent. He's kind of the manor's therapist and gives great advice. He's mute, so he talks either through sign language or writing down on paper. He also plays guitar and likes to write his own songs sometimes. Ben and Sally really look up to him as a kind of cool uncle.

Since he's so level headed, he's always the one to calm Masky down when he's being a bit much. Toby really appreciates this, since he's normally getting the short end of Masky's bad moods. As mentioned, he's great with the younger members of the manor and just kids in general and they all love him. The type of uncle to give them candy while saying "Don't tell your parents" playfully.

[velvet-ymarinebloo77]

[petitvettie]

why Candy Caramella is the best fucking Space Goofs character

they suffer in Season 2 a lot, my favorite genre of character

voiced by Charlie Adler

I like how they keep moaning after every sentence 

gay in the show, trans female in the game, canonically nb so utterly based Jesus Christ.

they’re so tiny and bite sized I wanna run them over with a steam roller

big gruff sweaty hairy men lover

mentally unstable

their name is so prettyy

[mitziholder]

Can you talk more about my lesbian experience with loneliness pretty please

ok. It’s dog shit written as the salve of a deranged narcissist’s ego.

I am sick of things being lauded as revolutionary and important just because they’re Real - Real and Honest. honest does not mean good. memoirs are works like any other. they have their biases and a point to make and goals to achieve. I can read into their content and criticize their handling of it and the goals and motivations of the “characters” therein. and, believe it or not, I am not in the business of clapping for wannabe rapists just because they were so far gone they thought that hiring a prostitute was an essential expression of their adult autonomy and independence (and Female Power and Sexuality blah blah blah blah blah)

boo-hoo. poor me. I had anxiety and depression and an eating disorder and I self-harmed and and and I was the most pathetic sad little worm on the planet. I was so sad and so lonely. and now I have put it out there into the world - seeking absolution from an army of people who think that what I did was fine because I put it all on display - and you can’t criticize it because it is so real. if you criticize it, you’re afraid of dark and uncomfortable subject matter. if you criticize it, you just didn’t get it. (on that note, I would say that I got it better than the author. the portrayal of that prostitute really says it all. lol. lmao.)

really, why should I give a shit about the pity party therapy session of a woman who used her own pain as a justification for exploiting another human being, who contributed to the sex industry, whose only fear was of disappointing her parents and only shame was the fact that she was too inhibited to really enjoy the experience? why should I support and uphold the work of a person who did that and then profited off of it? why should I appreciate the cultural contributions of someone whose perspective on Lesbianism is a purely self-indulgent affirmation of what people already imagine to be true: that we’re mentally unstable, dysfunctional sex perverts?

I wouldn’t clap for Jimmy Swaggart, either.

I am not going to say that I hope she dies but I’m ending the sentence there.

[thekirammanjinx]

"If Caitlyn were a man, the caitvi power imbalance would be obvious and no one would be defending it" is a bunk argument because Caitlyn is not a man and her life experiences, socialization, and relationship to power are not that of a man. Cait and Vi both being women makes a fundamental diffenece in the dymanics of their relationship. Runeterra might, at the surface level, appear to be a sexism-free society, but it still reflects the social mores of the real world, and Caitlyn still shows the effects of female socialization.

When people say "what if Caitlyn were a man?" They're saying "what if caitvi was not caitvi, wouldn't that make you hate caitvi?"

You could ruin plenty of female characters by asking the same question.

What if Jinx were a man? I'm sure a lot of stans would love him, but imagine...a violently unstable man is possesive of his lesbian sister so he breaks into the home of her crush, watches her shower, abducts her naked, ties her up and tries to compel his sister to kill her.

Funny how that changes the optics a bit, isn't it?

Its wild that people use that as a "gotcha". "If caitlyn were a man" she's literally not and it would change the whole dynamic. Like yes, caitlyn lashing out and hitting vi is bad, but it's not the same as if a man lashes out and hits a woman. Like fundamentally it's just not.

Watering the dynamic down to "if she were a man" for the sole point of ignoring the context of the hit. People really think they're smart when they say this shit but they just sound ignorant.

Caitlyn being a woman is a defining part of her character, not just in her relationship but in the story. She is a lesbian. She is a woman. There is not a what if.

Honestly if caitlyn were a man so many people would write off her actions; they write off jayce and viktor and SILCO?! The way people act like silco was a good father to jinx...

Actually fandom can handle and write off the actions of men. They can't handle complex female characters that have a fall from grace or struggle with emotions vs morals. Like can these people actually bffr?

People also can't handle when women's actions aren't centered around men. The way people write off jinx and silco.

People can't even talk about the power imbalance of timebomb because they don't see jinx as someone with more power than ekko, oh because she's a woman with psychosis and mental instability at points. But literally all of s1 we see how the power dynamic sways between that relationship but nobody talks about it.

How about stop the "what if" Olympics and examine the show for what it's fucking giving us. People love to reach when they dont actually have an argument. Because now you're not examining the characters and story and the characters within the narrative, you're writing a whole new story and character.

[acethetically-bway]

fiona and her kids

today on shameless metas with annie, we’re going to talk about why it’s so important that the writers let fiona canonically decide she doesn’t want kids of her own. because it’s not just about the fact that she raised her siblings since many of them were babies, it’s not just about her becoming their legal guardian, and it’s not just about them viewing her as their mom in certain regards (TWs for brief talks of abortion/miscarriage)

fiona not wanting kids of her own is vital in the context of the show itself. first off, she’s the only female main character on the show who does not carry a baby to term or already have biological children of her own prior to the start of the show. that alone is such a breath of fresh air in a show where being a mother is so ingrained in every other major female character. and it’s especially important considering that she’s been playing this patriarchal trad wife type role in the gallagher family as frank’s chief enabler for so long. no other leading female character is allowed to coast on casual sex for the majority of the show. even when she tries to have a longer term relationship or commit to a marriage, it doesn’t work. why is that you ask? because the whole notion of the long haul is fundamentally incompatible with fiona’s character. she inherited her parents’ impulsiveness, and that in itself is her fatal flaw. every decision she makes is driven by it, and because it is literally impossible to impulsively decide to have a baby (you can decide you want a baby, you can decide to have sex/get pregnant, but pregnancy/true motherhood are not impulsive decisions), it wouldn’t work at all with her character. square peg, round hole.

even in the context of raising her siblings, fiona’s whole character is built on impulsive decisions, recklessness, and wild abandon. to even suggest that she’s the type of woman who would consciously, and with full agency, commit to raising her own babies for at least two decades is lunacy. it goes against everything she aspires towards and everything she wants for herself, especially later in the show. committing 9–10 months for a pregnancy and another 18+ years to a child (and a boyfriend/husband/father on top of that) is so obviously anti-fiona that it would literally destroy her character to have her backpedal into consensually having a child, even if the hypothetical father didn’t stay in her life.

fiona pins her distaste towards having kids on raising her siblings, but in reality it’s also the fact that there is literally no space in her life to raise a child. even if she didn’t have her siblings to worry about, by the time she would have been considering having kids, she’s already made multiple attempts to start a career for herself and she’s continuously been jumping from man to man for instant gratification. the one commitment she’s locked herself into is the one she’s literally forced into out of pure obligation and devotion towards her (in the beginning) infant/toddler siblings who could not fend for themselves. and by the time she realizes what she’s doing, she just keeps going because what is she gonna do, leave two mentally unstable young adults, two preteens, and a preschooler on their own?

now of course, the natural thought is "she's essentially been a mom to her siblings all these years, what's the big deal about having a kid of her own?" fiona may be the closest thing her siblings had to a mom, but she is not their mom. she does not have the maternal instincts that mothers develop from the moment their child is born, because her siblings are not her biological children. she may act maternal, but she’s not inherently a mother at any point. she knows how to love her siblings, but loving your own child is completely different. she’s seen what the lack of a mother’s support and love can do to a kid and she knows that if she’s not 100% sure she could love that kid unconditionally, she should not have kids. so that’s what she does. also, having a kid at 25 or 30 is also essentially hitting the reset button on this big countdown timer she’s had going for almost two decades. it’s why she was so against franny being born (obviously it was insane of her to make debbie’s pregnancy about herself, but it was a very valid fear to have). in the same vein, fiona’s decision to have an abortion was so necessary for her, not only because a baby would quadruple the absolute shitstorm her life already was in s6, but because it goes along with everything her character is meant to represent. she never second guesses herself even when her family tries to talk her out of it, and she never feels any sort of guilt or shame in having an abortion. and honestly i think that that’s just amazing, particularly the fact that she has the option and pursues it actively instead of coincidentally miscarrying (so that narratively she’s not the one to blame for “killing” the baby) or having the kid and going through some forced “learning to love the child because that’s your baby and you’re their mother” arc.

also, in season 8 she maintains her aversion to having kids, which is even more crucial because it shows how even though most of her siblings were over 18, she doesn’t need to be a mother to feel satisfied in her life anymore. when her siblings are little, she says outright that mothering them makes her feel wanted. she doesn’t leave with jimmy steve because she feels her kids need her. but in seasons 7 and 8, she starts living her life independently, moves out, and makes her own money purely for herself. she’s found other ways to feel fulfilled. she never feels some “unexplained void in her soul” now that she isn’t a full time matriarch to her siblings anymore. she is allowed to be her own person, she’s allowed to grow as a character, and she’s allowed to have her own identity. even though she loves her siblings, her life starts to gradually revolve less and less around them, and she’s allowed to be okay with that. so many times a female character will have this major character development, and then suddenly a love interest or a reminder of their past life comes knocking at their door and they’re right back where they started. but not fiona. fiona has goals and ambitions that are purely personal, and we get to see her start to achieve them. and even when she spirals in season 9, she doesn’t regress as a character. she doesn’t seek out the comfort of being wanted because she doesn’t deem that as the most important thing in her life anymore. fiona’s s4 spiral and her s9 spiral are two completely different events (they both involve heavy abuse of substances, but that’s really the only thing they have in common), and this demonstrates how her character has evolved over the course of the show. her s4 spiral ends with her taking personal responsibility for her actions and not blaming them on being some helpless little kid or a victim of her circumstances. meanwhile, in s9, she takes what she’s learned from this and applies it to other areas of her life. she is her own person with her own agency and freedom, and the best way to use that autonomy is to start over somewhere else. deciding to have a kid at that point in her life would not only feel shoehorned in for the sake of meeting some BS societal quota, but once again it would undermine everything her character has been building towards for nine seasons.

so in summary, it is so so incredibly important that the writers never made fiona have her own kids or even want to have her own kids someday because doing so would refute the core of her character. it would lump her in with every other wife and mother in the show and reduce her character to an aspect that should always be secondary (for many women, but especially for her). motherhood was always forced on fiona; it was never her choice, and making it into her choice would not be some badass act of ownership/reclamation. instead it would require her to sacrifice everything she’s worked for and hoped for just for the sake of appeasing the patriarchy, thereby undoing every ounce of development she had undergone throughout her time on the show.

tl;dr : the shameless writers fucked a lot of shit up across 11 seasons but i have to defend them on this topic because god they knew what they were doing by continually having fiona outwardly oppose having kids of her own.