#and blood feuds etc.

[itspileofgoodthings]

Tumblr will show you a blog and be like “in your orbit!” and it’s literally your mortal enemy

[crossbackpoke-check]

i saw the d3 acha coho tiktok and saw your tag about how to spell s(h)(e)(a)(w)n and as I watched it with the roster pulled up next to the video so I could figure things out I HAD to come tell you that it was spelled 'shjon' because LOL. but then I saw your other post and saw that you not only already figured it out but you had a DIFFERENT tag about the 8-3 game last night. i know what game you're talking about; i listened on the radio. i've been sad ever since and it would make me feel better to tell you that you're not special - everyone takes advantage of our terrible powerplay and yet we REFUSE to stop drop passing. sorry you definitely didn't expect a salty shiny helmet fan in your inbox just please be gentle with us tonight. Christmas isn't for another month - stop lighting up our goalie :( although huge congrats on winning the tournament last year i was cheering for you so hard to defeat the Evil and you did :)

​feeling shrimp emotions right now as i try to convey the whiplash this ask gave me… first of all 🥺🥰😭 that you were gonna come tell me how to spell shjon and then 🫵 SAME GAME???

but GOD the experience of “listen i know—shhhhh shhh shhh shhh i haven’t even started yet—i KNOW it looks cool when you do a no-look behind the back pass. it does! when it works. you know what we look like when it doesn’t work? fuckin’ STUPID!!!!” is universal. me 🤝 you 🤝 yelling at our hockey team to stop doing stupid drop passes!!!!

(p.s. wish: granted! most of it was the fact that your baby goalie did better than [redactedx2] and that’s all the shop i will talk here for purposes of not doxxing either of us lmaooo)

[hauntingblue]

Skypiea time part 2

She is a woman..... this is sanji's influence... in whiskey peak his slashes were non gendered

Ace just letting himself get pushed into the river like aight my bad I will take my punishment.... he really is so well mannered (it sounds like I'm talking about a dog)

Conis showing that nami influence.... gfs....

Nami and luffy twins moment look how relieved she is... this whole fight is so theirs...

Also how funny it is that the milk girl gave ace a shirt.... also new pants??? She must think he lost the shirt in the river.... no girl he is just a slut...

Nami: okay ❤️ yay ❤️

Noland just thinking about where karugara is and if he is alright in his EXECUTION!! SICK AND TWISTED

OMG BOUNDMAN INSPO????

NO ACEEE NOOOOOOOO

THE END OF ACES STORY IS THAT THE COFFE IS NO LONGER BITTER BC THEY SERVE IT WITH MILK AND WHY AM I EMOTIONAL ABOUT IT

[thebramblewood]

When you're engaged in an intense stare down with damn near every vampire in town - and probably losing.

Featuring vampires by @itcrescentcrow, @fallstaticexit, @simsdaughters, @antiquatedsimmer, @vicciouxs, @moonwoodhollow, @skyalenesims, @living-undead, @moonfromearth, @queenmabsim, @mosquito-cove, @raye-sim and @evilgoof. Thank you so much for your contributions! I hope you don't mind my embellishments. And to everyone still waiting, I appreciate your patience and there will be several future opportunities! 🧛

Previous / Next

The Top Dog

Vladislaus Straud:

Founder of Forgotten Hollow, de facto ruler

Lilith’s estranged (it’s complicated) sire

Enjoys lurking (read: eavesdropping) from afar

Cagey about his past, claims not to recall his years as a human (if he ever was one?)

Rumblings of discontent with his antiquated  ways

Empire may be crumbling (if rotting, junk-filled castle is any indication)

(Lilith: And that god awful crow! It’s got to be as old as he is. Christ, the racket it makes!)

Veronica Aurelius:

Straud’s new protege (niece?)

Related through a distant bloodline (Lilith: Allegedly.)

Accomplished artist, historian, medium

Dreams led her to Forgotten Hollow (Lilith: Doubtful.)

Lilith’s replacement? (Lilith: He wishes.)

(Caleb: She looks sweet, but there’s a vicious streak beneath that glossy veneer.)

-

The Old Guard (Lilith: In other words, Straud’s minions.)

Elle DeVampiro, Inna Cents, Vlad Bloodvein:

aka The Nobles (Lilith: Fossilized Bitch, Slightly Less Fossilized Bitch, and The Inferior Vlad.)

Council of ancients who guard town’s borders from human trespassers

View vampirism as elite society: only most deserving should be initiated

Have hazing rituals to weed out weaklings

Never-ending blood supply flows from mysterious sources

Eternal life of ease has left them physically weakened, social status protects them

(Helena: Hazing rituals?

Caleb: Mind tricks. Intimidation tactics. Like humans, newborn vampires can be manipulated.

Lilith: Stop scaring her! A strong breeze could knock them over.)

Claudius and Marie Bouvet:

aka The Occult Hunters

Hunt spellcasters for their power

Hunt “exotic” occults (mermaids, aliens, fairies, etc.) to siphon and sell blood, consumed as an indulgent luxury

(Helena: Wait, you’re telling me mermaids and aliens are real?

Caleb: We exist. Is it really so hard to believe they do too?)

Hunt werewolves for sport (owing to centuries-long feud)

Sometimes hired to kill vampires if deemed a threat to community’s existence

(Helena: Werewolves!

Lilith: They smell like wet dog and taste awful.

Caleb: That hardly gives us the right to kill them.

Lilith: Oh, so we should just let them kill us?)

Elizabetha Bathoris:

aka The Gossip Hound (Lilith: She deserves a far nastier title. Sanctimonious cunt.)

Forgotten Hollow’s premier shit-stirrer

Rumored to bathe in virgins’ blood

Delights in spilling secrets that aren’t hers to tell

Loudly claims to be Straud’s “one who got away,” though unconfirmed by man himself

(Lilith: [scoffs] There’s only room for one delusional narcissist in that household.

Caleb: Lilith, please. At this rate, we’ll never finish.)

Carmela Castellano:

Owns sprawling private vineyard in countryside where Forgotten Hollow and Windenburg meet

Crafts exclusive (and expensive) blood vintages

Known for frequently dipping into her own supply

Hoped to raise adoptive daughter Pandora as protege

However, Pandora’s rebelliousness has led to household tensions

(Lilith: Nothing rivals the rush of feeding, but her blends come damn close.)

-

The Enigmas (Lilith: No one knows shit about them, and that’s how they like it.)

Dorian Vasile:

Born vampire, not transformed

Agoraphobic recluse, never seen to leave ruined cottage

Once prominent member of vampire society with many friends — and enemies

Fatal end to human love affair rumored to have led to voluntary isolation

Griselda Oreolo:

(Caleb: I wouldn’t recommend wandering any graveyards at night unless you want to meet The Bride.

Helena: The Bride?

Caleb: She can be quite ruthless.

Helena: As if I don’t already have enough graveyard-related trauma.)

An aristocrat transformed on wedding day, fated to dwell forever on what could have been

Cemeteries are her favorite hunting grounds

Not one for friendly conversation

Defends self first and foremost, no allegiance to other vampires

Nyx?:

Origins, real name, language unknown

Lurks the forest like a cryptid - quick, silent, and deadly

Known to kill men, disposes of withered bodies like a cat leaving gifts of mice for its owner (Lilith: Honestly, good for her.)

Interrupt mid-hunt at your own peril

-

The Challengers

Emet and Maxima Galvus

Obscenely wealthy tech CEO and “granddaughter”

Whispers they’re both much older than they look, by hundreds or even thousands of years (Lilith: I’ve yet to see any proof of that.)

Seem to purposely cultivate air of mystery, socializing little

Keep small coven as waitstaff

Emet fiercely protective of Maxima, though is he protecting her from world or world from her?

(Caleb: Don’t be dramatic, Lil. Yes, that stare of hers is unsettling, but-

Lilith: There’s nothing more aggravating than a precocious child. I don’t trust her one bit.)

Ulric Blüt and Herta Nacht:

(Lilith: I can’t believe you think they warrant serious inclusion. A delusional brat and his pathetic enabler are hardly a threat.)

A supposed demon overlord in the body of a child and his “14th Seneschal”

Taken deadly seriously by himself and no one else

Boasts Grim Reaper fears him, many assassinations dodged

Except his strangely devoted companion

Companion stealthily observant, formulating plans of her own?

Details of supposed coup TBD

Countess Maria Francisca Flores:

Mad vampire scientist (Lilith: [scoffs] An old woman doing science fair experiments.)

Claims to have transformed herself via scientific methods

Seeks to grow her “House Flores” with new vampires devoted to pursuit of knowledge

Unpublished manuscript on vampire anatomy

Old Guard disapprove, but for now human academics remain steadfast in denial

Currently studying cowplants, which scholars can admit do exist

(Helena: If she turned herself into a vampire, can’t she reverse-engineer a cure?

Caleb: I’ve asked. She’s incredibly tight-lipped about her findings.

Lilith: Because they’re non-existent!)

-

The Next Generation

Beginning in ‘60s and ‘70s, an influx of new vampires into Forgotten Hollow

Old Guard bristle at modernism but grudgingly admit transplants necessary to keep town thriving

Recent turnees or experienced vamps who’d rather evolve with times than stay stuck in past

Tend to form cliques based on shared subcultures

Enjoy mixing with humans, easily mistaken as such by undiscerning eyes (often a deadly mistake)

Less concerned with secrecy, hedonistic, impulsive

(Lilith: “Not coincidentally, shortly after we returned, what was once a trickle became a flood.”)

Example: Grunge Gang

Kiona and Nikan: trouble-making twins, street smart, book stupid

Vonny: stoner type, prefers when meals come to him

Clarissa: paranormal investigator turned paranormally investigated

Tara: wants to be good, surrounded by bad influences

Pandora: favors rock concerts over wine-making

-

Lilith: Did you get all that down? Rest up! The hands-on portion begins tomorrow.

[pooks]

Percy Weasley headcanon time, part 2!

all the Quidditch captains at Hogwarts crushed HARD on him

Oliver Wood: obvious reasons, they are roommates (oh my god, they are roommates), they're in every class together, Percy has canonically been at Gryffindor's Quidditch matches, etc. i could go on.

Roger Davies: captain of the Ravenclaw in case you don't remember( can't blame ya). but Percy is smart and clever, he would charm the pants of any Ravenclaw without even trying. a fellow scholar who plays Quidditch too. everytime Ravenclaw meets Gryffindor, he tries to impress but fails cause Oliver Wood.

Cedric Diggory: he got the biggest boy crush on Percy and it was literally his bi awakening. not only is Percy smart, but he's also incredibly kind and responsible. he takes a page of Percy's book and values good sportmanship (this is the reason why the twins can't stand him, they've seen him yearning after their brother)

Marcus Flint: he doesn't like any Gryffindor at all, not even when pigs fly and it rains lava. but Percy is different, he's the Golden Student of not only Gryffindor, but of the whole school (no he doesn't count Hermione). Percy is smart, clever, determined, kind, righteous and so incredibly pretty. if it wasn't for his blood status, then Percy would've been poster child of "the ideal spouse" the pureblood families always nags about.

Conclusion: Oliver and Marcus gets into fistfights every week because of this and no one relents until someone is nearly dead (the only reason Snape gives detention to a Slytherin, of all things, cause he didn't sign up for his own student's blood feud)

Poor Roger Davies gets friendzoned the whole time cause Percy genuinely believes they're friends and he can't ruin that cause Penelope Clearwater will literally murder him in his sleep

Cedric decides to play it safe, earn Percy's affection slowly and maybe the Perfect Prefect will fall for him...eventually.

Too bad Fred and George is deadset on NO ONE dates their brother...except maybe Oliver Wood, but he has to prove himself with twelve quests (that was a total lie)

Outcome: Percy eventually dates Oliver Wood and he's incredibly happy with him. He doesn't even know that his five brothers and baby sister threatens Oliver if he ever hurt him. He's mildly annoyed when he finds out, though.

[runariya]

I am in love with that Jk merman story of yourssss , you are such a talented author !!!! Keep it up with the good work .

Even i want to request a prompt after that story because i believe only you have the capability to bring that prompt to life (only if you want to write ofcourse, no pressure )

I have never read an ABO fic with enemies to lovers troupe in modern era , I mean just imagine them being the high-school academic rival wolves who can't bear standing eachother

but the moment they turn 18 and their wolves will develop some special senses and powers, they both will realise that they both are actually mates . damnnn now image the strong pull their wolves will feel towards eachother making them go crazy ( their wolves will fall in love with eachother the moment they will recognize eachother as mate and start rebelling their human counterparts and start convincing them to love eachother too .)

and how bad they will try to hide it , deny their wolves forbid their animal counterparts from eachother only to fail miserably in the end because yeah that mate bond will win 🥹

You can choose any BTS member you want because I love and enjoy reading all seven of them so go for any member you want .

Borahae 💜 , no pressure if you are not interested in writing this prompt , I will still adore you and your work 💜 😘 so feel free to reject this request if you want .

part of the prompt game pairing: alpha!Jungkook x omega!female reader genre: fantasy!AU, "E"2L, ABO, high school romance warnings: Jungkook's the most pitiful teenager in all of existence, bad handling of emotions/feelings, a lot of cliques, denial, a little bit of physical fighting, mentions of blood, lmk if I forgot smth word count: 2.754

a/n: tysm for all your compliments, I'm so flattered 🫂 I've tweaked your request a tiny bit to fit the character of OC better and left out marking etc. bc they're still so young 🥹 hope that's okay 💕

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

He hates you.

No, he loathes your entire existence.

That Miss Perfect attitude, excelling in everything you do as if it’s the easiest task in the world. You’ve been enemies since high school started—not because either of you declared it so, but because Jungkook simply can’t stand you.

You, on the other hand, are oblivious to this feud, always kind and friendly towards everyone, especially Jungkook. He doesn’t understand how you do it, staying so humble and kind towards him when he takes every opportunity to throw jabs your way, or cause you minor inconveniences, like not holding the door open or letting you trip more times than he can count.

It’s infuriating to watch you be so lovely, especially when you’re not only the smartest but also the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen—something he will never admit. Ever.

“Jungkook?” Your soft, sweet voice startles him. He’s been too busy glaring at the papers scattered before him, his thoughts circling back to you. There's no one else in the lecture hall, and he didn’t even realise you’d entered. You seem to appear out of nowhere, catching him off guard. “I think you dropped this.”

You’re smiling again, that blinding smile of yours, starry eyes sparkling with joy, courteous as ever. He wants to scream. He doesn’t want this treatment from you, not when you’re a little older than him—well, only two months, but still. You’re 18 now, with your wolf, while he’s not, which only deepens his resentment. Once again, you’re ahead, better at something.

The whole school talked about your wolf. Despite your gentle nature, everyone was shocked to learn after your first turn that you’re an omega—one of the very few in the city, the only one known in school. It’s yet another thing Jungkook can’t stand, especially now that everyone, wolf or not, showers you with attention.

“Not mine,” Jungkook lies through his teeth, eyeing the pencil still held out towards him in your small, delicate hand, your nails perfectly manicured.

“Oh…” you murmur, glancing down at the pencil, your brows drawing together in disbelief. Of course, you don’t believe him. “But it’s got your initials, and it’s the one you’re always using.”

Damn you! Of course, you know it’s his favourite. He should’ve seen this coming.

“You think I’d use it after your germs have contaminated it?” Jungkook scoffs.

“That’s not very kind.” You purse your lips, those beautiful lips.

“It’s the truth, ___.”

“Is it okay if I keep it?”

What?! “What?” Jungkook can’t believe his ears. Why would you want to keep it?

“Can I keep your pen? It would be a waste to throw it away, especially when it looks so cool.” You repeat, smiling again.

The pencil is cool, and Jungkook has half a mind to just snatch it back, but he won’t give in. He won’t concede even the smallest defeat.

“I don’t care,” he grumbles. It’s enough to make you burst with joy, your face lighting up as you clutch the pencil to your chest.

“Thanks, Jungkook! You’re so kind!”

“Whatever.”

And ‘whatever’ indeed, because seeing you every day with his pencil, as if it’s the most precious thing in the world, drives him mad. He regrets his decision. He wants it back. It’s his, and what’s his should stay his, but it isn’t—and it makes him livid.

Livid in a way that fuels his pettiness, pushing him to new lengths to make your life difficult. He puts fake spiders in your bag, bumps into you when you’re struggling with your food tray in the canteen. But all of it is in vain, because you’re an omega—everyone’s darling. Every time something inconvenient happens to you, a horde of people rushes to your aid.

This alone is enough to make Jungkook reconsider his actions—or rather, the attention he’s giving you. It’s not like you care. It’s not like you treat him any differently when he’s mean. So what’s the point? At some stage, he’s not even sure why he started all this, why he loathes you so much. If he’s honest, you’ve never actually wronged him. Not once. And now, he’s running out of ways to break you, to show everyone your true colours, because no one can be this perfect, right?

It’s the Friday before his birthday weekend when you approach him again, this time holding a small present. You look up at him as he stands by his locker.

“Hey, Jungkook,” you say softly.

“What do you want?”

“Uhm, I know Sunday’s your 18th birthday and… well, I know you didn’t invite me to your party, which is totally fine! Don’t get me wrong! But I just wanted to give you this because it’s a big birthday, right? So, yeah…”

The tiny gift is wrapped in floral paper with a neatly tied bow, and it looks exactly how he imagined your presents would. It screams 'you', and he’s unsure what to say. He reckons he should just take it and thank you, but the way you’re looking up at him, so small and kind despite knowing you weren’t invited, bothers him like a sock slipping off mid-walk.

Jungkook reluctantly takes the present, ignoring the slight relieved droop of your shoulders and how your warm, soft fingers brushed softly against his.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, his eyes transfixed on the gift.

“Happy birthday, Jungkook. I hope it’ll be everything you wanted and beyond.”

And with that, you turn away, a light spring in your step, your hair moving behind you like a fairy’s wings.

Jungkook doesn’t waste any time after you leave, ripping the gift open in a rush of curiosity, only to freeze, stunned, when a tiny jewellery box is revealed to him. He’s never received any jewellery before, and the fact that it’s a gift from you—a female ‘stranger’, no less—makes his nerve endings prickle with discomfort. The idea of receiving something so personal feels wrong somehow, and yet, despite this strange feeling creeping over him, he still finds himself opening the small red box.

Inside, nestled on an equally red velvet cushion, is a delicate necklace with a pendant that bears his initials. It’s the prettiest necklace he’s ever seen, and the worst part is that he can already picture himself wearing it, the style so perfectly matching his aesthetic that it’s rather unsettling.

He carefully takes the necklace from the box, letting it twist and turn in the sunlight, the metal gleaming ever so mesmerising. But that’s when he notices an engraving on the back of the pendant, and as he peers closer, he fights the urge to rub his eyes.

You’ve had ‘alpha’ engraved onto it. There’s no way anyone could be so bold as to assume another person’s future rank, and yet here you are, making such an assumption about him. Jungkook can’t help but think maybe he was right all along—there’s something strange about you. You’re just a little too perfect, a little too confident in your kindness, a little too bold in your presumptions.

Shaking his head, he lets the necklace fall back into the box, snapping it shut and tossing it carelessly into his locker, fully intending to forget about it sooner or later. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

Saturday night and Sunday come and go in a blur of noise, people, and anticipation. Jungkook has invited practically everyone he knows to his birthday party, hoping that with the arrival of his wolf, his mate might finally be revealed as well. But no one who attends is his mate, and this realisation drags his mood dangerously low. He feels a nagging stab in his chest that he can’t shake, made even heavier by the recurring thought that you, little Miss Perfect, were right all along—Jungkook has become an alpha, just as you predicted. Typical.

What infuriates him even more is that on Monday morning, as you—like always���walk past his locker on your way to the lecture hall, the world seems to slow around him. He watches in disbelief as you suddenly stop, staring at him with wide eyes that shimmer with unshed tears. You look stunned, but more than that, you look happy, as though you’ve just discovered something wonderful. And then, in the midst of his confusion, his inner wolf starts to go wild, barking ‘mate’ over and over again, leaping with excitement inside him.

It should be a moment of joy, a moment where he feels relief and happiness in finally knowing who his mate is. But instead, all Jungkook feels is denial, a desperate refusal to accept the truth, even though, deep down, he knows that you’re everything he ever wanted in a mate.

Still, he turns away from you, ignoring the way your face crumples, the way your bright, hopeful tears turn into ones of sadness, the way you rush past him with your head down, leaving his wolf whimpering in confusion and hurt. Jungkook tries to convince himself that this can’t be real, that it can’t be right, even though every part of him knows it’s exactly what he wanted, what he’s been waiting for.

In the days that follow, he struggles to keep up his usual routine of tormenting you, making snide remarks whenever he gets the chance, but there’s no joy in it anymore. You’re not kind to him the way you used to be, not anymore. You don’t smile at him, don’t even really smile at anyone; instead, you accept his cruelty with a resigned, sad look in your eyes and a forced, brittle smile that never quite reaches your eyes.

Each day, it becomes harder and harder for Jungkook to suppress his wolf, who clearly isn’t on the same page with his cold treatment of you. His wolf growls at him, restless and unhappy, frustrated with the way things are. And Jungkook knows—he understands why—but he feels trapped.

How could he possibly make things right after all he’s done to you? How could he ever redeem himself after letting his bitterness and resentment carry him so far? It doesn’t help that the necklace you gave him is now tucked securely under his shirt, the cool metal pendant resting against his chest, near his heart, multiplying the ache that’s slowly but surely forming there as well. He fiddles with it absentmindedly, the action soothing in a way he can’t explain, though it only makes the guilt grow.

“Jungkook?”

He no longer startles when you appear, his wolf always sensing your presence before you even speak, and your voice has become so quiet, so broken, that it doesn’t have the same effect it once did.

Looking at you now, standing there with your eyes downcast and your voice soft, makes him wish he could take it all back—every harsh word, every petty action. He wishes he could go back and rewrite everything, build something good between you instead of tearing it down. But it’s too late for that, far too late, and he knows it.

When he doesn’t respond, you gather the courage to continue, your voice wavering slightly. “I know it’s random, but I noticed your grades haven’t been as good as they used to be. I know you’re not the kind of person who needs help, but… if there’s anything I can do, just let me know, yeah?”

He wants to snap at you, wants to push you away, but he’s so exhausted—exhausted from pretending he doesn’t care, exhausted from pretending he hates you, and most of all, exhausted from fighting this undeniable bond between you.

Tears prick at his eyes, overwhelming him with guilt, frustration, and something else he can’t quite name. He’s so fed up with himself, so trapped in the mess he’s made that he doesn’t know how to fix it, doesn’t even know where to start.

“Hey… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” you say, your voice tinged with panic now as you shift nervously on the spot, your hands reaching out towards him only to pull back, unsure of what to do. “I’m sorry…”

“Stop!” Jungkook yells, and the sound of his own voice surprises him. You flinch, your entire body recoiling as if he’s physically struck you, your trembling hands clasping tightly in front of you.

“I… I’m sorry.” Your bottom lip quivers, and before Jungkook can say anything else, you turn and run, disappearing down the hall, leaving him standing there with the misery of his guilt pressing down harder than ever.

To think it couldn’t get worse was the stupidest thought Jungkook ever had, because it got worse. Not only did his little outburst suffocate him in guilt, but it also made you avoid him every chance you got. It also didn’t help that most people noticed your changed persona, adding one plus one and recognising Jungkook as the culprit.

He doesn’t fault them, doesn’t really mind the insults coming his way, of being heartless for not wanting a mate like you, when he knows they speak the truth. He doesn’t deserve you, doesn’t deserve someone who he clearly hurts without a true reason.

And the way his inner wolf retreats now from him too, is something he understands as well, because there’s literally nothing he could do to mend what he’s broken.

It’s one afternoon after classes have just finished, and he’s walking out of the school when he notices you cornered against the wall by some other alphas, three in total. Jungkook’s immediately enraged, and it’s then that his wolf rises to full strength, baring his teeth and growling violently.

You’re clearly uncomfortable, clearly scared of what might happen, especially when one of these alphas gets in your face, giving you no way to escape. The last straw for Jungkook is when one runs his filthy finger along your beautiful face.

“Hey!” Jungkook roars, storming towards the alphas who have now turned to laugh in his face. “Back off.”

“What?! She’s fair game.” One mocks, while you’re still pressed against the wall, but your eyes are hopefully locked onto Jungkook.

“I said back off my mate.”

They do, but only to now lunge at Jungkook, thinking that outnumbering him will shoo him away. But it doesn’t—Jungkook won’t let anyone else touch you, his wolf and himself ready to do anything to protect you. And so, Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to take each one of them down.

Driven by adrenaline, he doesn’t notice the sting of the hits he couldn’t block, but it’s nothing compared to the urge to protect you with all he has, all he is.

One after the other falls to the floor, while blood trickles from his split lip, knuckles burning and swollen, his chest still heaving, his wolf still angrily jabbing at the air.

“Jungkook?” His eyes snap up to you when you call for him, and he’s relieved to find no repulsion or fear in them when they lock onto him.

“Are you okay?”

“Thank you,” you nod, and his wolf wags his tail, barking mate, deafening all his other senses.

“Good."

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?”

You hesitate, and it makes him feel powerless all over again, but eventually you whisper, “Because I’m not who you wanted.”

It’s broken, it’s defeated, and it’s everything he never wanted his mate to say, because it’s not the truth. Never was. Never will be.

“But you are.” Jungkook tries to smile, despite knowing it’s not hopeful or kind, but sad in all the ways his decisions led it to be.

“I am?”

Seeing your eyes gradually returning to their lively, sparkly self is more than he ever wished to witness, more than he ever should receive, but everything he ever wanted.

“You are. Always were.”

And with that, he opens his arms, stepping over the still-groaning alphas to get closer to you.

With a push off the wall, you sprint into Jungkook’s arms, tears of relief running down your cheeks as he embraces you like you wished he would from the start. But it doesn’t matter, because no time apart could ruin the feeling of him embracing you and your bond.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook mumbles into your hair, inhaling the magnificent scent of you.

“It’s fine, everything’s fine.”

And as you cling to him, your wolves finally as content as you are, you know that you’d never change a thing, because it’s better to be loved willingly than with no other choice.

[mingi-s-dimples]

Vampire's Den

KINKTOBER DAY 1 - REQ. BY @mingleshine:

~ "vampire mingi x siren fem reader, enemies to lovers type shi. vampires and sirens hating each other’s species, etc etc, whatever you want 😭😭 also maybe some praising, degradation kinks?"

pairing: vampire!mingi x siren!fem reader

genre: 18+, filth (ish), enemies to lovers

summary: Meeting one of the vampires that once saved you at the bar you often frequent... ends up being one of the spiciest nights you've ever had with someone and.. with your mortal enemy.

wc: 3.2k

warnings: vampire x siren, enemies to lovers, reader is bratty & cockt af, Mingi is really strict, threats & death threats, mentions of death/murders but not happening in the present, only in the past, knife play, bickering, size kink, big dick!mingi (obvi), choking, degradation (slut), movement restriction (cuffs), face fucking, deepthroating, gagging, throat bulge (yes from Mingi's dick), some praising (good girl), creampie, anal, lots lots of cum, 2 rounds implied 3rd round, manhandling, completely consensual, unprotected (wrap up irl!), unedited, for sure forgot sth.

Author's Note: Enioy, my love. I hope it's up to your expectations 😋. I enjoyed writing it so much! I'm so sorry I am so so behind with some of the other fics 😭 I'll finish them on time I promise 🫣. ENJOY MY LOVES !

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction & does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

In the world of the immortal, where darkness and the supernatural intertwine with the shadows of the mundane, two ancient species have long harbored a deep-seated animosity toward one another. Vampires, with their predatory grace, and Sirens, ethereal creatures of the sea with voices that could enchant and destroy, were bound by a history stained with blood and treachery. Their animosity was woven into the very fabric of their beings, a loathing that stretched back to the time when the world was young, when both species ruled their respective domains with an iron fist. Yet, in this tale of enmity, there lies the seed of an unexpected bond, a story of two souls who defied the boundaries set by their kind.

The hatred between vampires and sirens was born in the primordial past, a time when their realms occasionally overlapped. Vampires, with their insatiable thirst for blood, often found themselves drawn to the shores, where the songs of the Sirens would lure them. But the Sirens, masters of deception, used their melodies not to enthrall but to lead the vampires to their doom. Many a vampire met their end, lured by the promise of sweet blood, only to be dashed upon the rocks or drowned in the treacherous waters. In retaliation, the vampires waged a silent war, hunting Sirens who dared venture too close to land, their fangs seeking to pierce the throats that sang such deadly songs. Over centuries, this cycle of violence and revenge became a grim tradition, each species teaching the next generation to despise the other with an intensity that only the immortal could sustain.

For vampires, Sirens were creatures of deceit, their beauty masking the malice in their hearts. To them, Sirens were nothing more than wicked seductresses, whose only joy lay in the suffering of others. Conversely, Sirens viewed vampires as predators devoid of honor, bloodthirsty beasts who knew only hunger and destruction. The disdain was mutual, and it ran deep, as both vampires and Sirens prided themselves on their power and immortality. Neither could bear the thought of being outwitted or bested by the other, and so the feud persisted, a war of attrition waged in the shadows and in the depths of the oceans.

Amidst this bitter rivalry, the mortal world continued to spin, blissfully unaware of the ancient conflict that simmered beneath the surface. Cities grew, technology advanced, and the supernatural beings who once ruled the night began to adapt to the new world, hiding their true nature behind human facades. Vampires, with their ability to blend into human society, thrived in the bustling metropolises, while Sirens, whose powers were tied to the sea, became more reclusive, retreating to the depths of the oceans where they could sing their songs undisturbed. Yet, even as the world changed around them, the hatred between the two species remained unyielding, a constant in an ever-shifting reality.

But as with all things, the tides of fate are ever-changing, and it was in this time of uneasy equilibrium that you, a Siren of exceptional beauty and power, found yourself unexpectedly drawn into the orbit of a vampire named Mingi. The circumstances of your first encounter were anything but ordinary, marked by suspicion and hostility, as was expected between your kinds. You were young by the standards of your people, but you had already earned a reputation for your deadly voice and your ability to lure even the most cautious of sailors to their watery graves. Mingi, on the other hand, was an ancient vampire, one who had walked the earth for centuries, his power and influence making him a figure of fear and respect among his kind.

Your paths crossed on a moonlit night, in a city by the sea where the line between the mortal and immortal was blurred by the neon lights and the pulse of music. The city, with its sprawling docks and crowded nightclubs, was a place where humans indulged in their vices, unaware that creatures of myth and legend walked among them. It was here that you had come to escape the suffocating silence of the deep, to taste the chaos of the human world, if only for a night. But even as you reveled in the music and the laughter, you felt the presence of another predator in your midst, a dark shadow that moved with the grace of a panther.

Mingi had been watching you from the moment you stepped into the club, his keen senses alerting him to the fact that you were no ordinary human. He recognized the aura of power that clung to you, the subtle grace with which you moved, and the way your eyes seemed to glow with an otherworldly light. To him, you were a curiosity, a puzzle to be solved, and yet, beneath his curiosity lay the age-old enmity that had been drilled into him from the moment he had been turned. Sirens were not to be trusted, and you, with your beauty and your voice, were a danger that needed to be eliminated.

The tension between you was palpable from the moment your eyes met across the crowded room. There was no need for words; the enmity between your species spoke for itself. You knew what he was, just as he knew what you were, and in that moment, a silent challenge was issued. The air crackled with anticipation as you circled each other, like predators vying for dominance. But this was not the open sea, where your voice could carry him to his doom, nor was it the shadowed alleys where he could strike unseen. This was neutral ground, a place where neither of you held the advantage, and so you were forced into an uneasy truce, if only for the duration of the night.

It was a strange dance, the two of you weaving in and out of the crowd, each keeping the other in sight, yet never getting too close. You could sense the power that radiated from him, the strength that came from centuries of existence, and yet, there was something else, something that piqued your interest despite yourself. He was different from the other vampires you had encountered, those mindless beasts who thought of nothing but their next meal. There was a sharp intelligence in his eyes, a cunning that matched your own, and it was this that made you pause, that made you wonder if there was more to this ancient rivalry than you had been taught.

For his part, Mingi found himself equally intrigued by you. He had seen many Sirens in his long life, had heard their songs and watched as they lured men to their deaths, but you were different. There was a fierceness in you, a fire that burned just beneath the surface, and it drew him in despite the warnings that echoed in his mind. You were a challenge, a mystery wrapped in danger, and he had always been drawn to the thrill of the unknown. And so, instead of making his move, instead of ending the threat you posed, he found himself engaging in this strange game, this dance of predator and prey where neither was quite sure who held the upper hand.

"We meet once again, y/n." Mingi whispered, slowly approaching you.

"Hello, Mingi. Haven't seen you in a while" you said, with anticipation.

Truth is, there was a single moment were the two of you met in the past. It was when one of your siren friends was being chased down by some vampires, and Mingi stepped in to stop them. Why? It's been dozens of years and you still don't know the answer.

"How have you been... in the past few..50 years?" the vampire said.

"It doesn't concern you, sweetie. What are you doing here?" you said, confidently.

"Ah, I understand. Still feisty, huh? Well, I was just.. out, for a drink, nothing much."

He continues,"Y/n,I'll keep it short. This is basically my club. I've been coming here for the past 500 something years. If you come back here unnannounced, I'll kill you"

"I don't mind, Mingi. Try all you want. You better do it soon cause that's the only way you'll make me stop coming here." you said, smirking.

"Is that right? What if I kill you right now, hm?"

"You won't. You didn't back then, so what will make your words believable?" you scoffed.

"We'll see, sweetheart." Mingi said and pushed you to the wall, hands over your head, a knife to your throat.

"Now... what should I do with you? You've got quite a mouth, you're basically begging me to put you in your place."

"You fantasise about that image a lot? You seem quite...excited about it." you said looking down to your feet, something catching your sight. A slight bulge could be seen from his thight leather pants.

"Wha- god no, don't flatter yourself. Stop glaring." he said, a bit of harshness in his voice.

"Then what does this mean?" you said and moved your knee up to his crotch, getting a low grunt out of his chest.

"You know what..." he said and closed the distance between the two of you. "Kiss me."

"You have a fucking dagger to my throat, Mingi."

"So? You look angry. How about... you take all of that energy and put it to some good use? Like.. getting on your knees for me right in this instant?" the vampire said, smirking. His dagger still at your throat, but he soon retracted it for a moment.

You continued, smiling sheepishly, "And what's in it for me?"

"Awh, don't look at me like that, sweetheart. You're lucky you're hot, otherwise you'd be 6ft underground right now. After all, you're a siren."

"You think I'm hot?" you smirked, teasingly.

"No, that's not what I-"

You interrupted him, "Your cock says otherwise." and indeed, his cock was already straining against the thight fabric, screaming to be let out. He was big as fuck, too.

"Oh? You think you're hot stuff, huh?" he said as one of his hands went right for your throat. "I want to wrap both of my hands around your throat, and choke you until the life in your eyes dies down."

A smirk curled on your lips despite the pressure of his hand on your throat. Your voice came out in a husky whisper, laced with defiance and heat. "You think you're the first one to try and break me?" Your eyes locked with his, a challenge sparking in the depths. "Go ahead, Mingi. Try. But you'd better be ready to commit, because I don’t plan on going down easy."

You leaned into his touch, the tension thickening between you like a coiled spring about to snap, daring him, teasing him with a sharp, dark grin. "And don't forget," you added, your voice low, laced with seduction and venom, "I bite back."

"I bet" Mingi said and leaned in for a kiss, his tongue interlocking with yours. His hands were roaming freely on your body, from your back to your waist and to your ass, slightly squeezing it.

"You know.. I hate you so, so much, y/n" he whispered, breaking the kiss for a moment.

"And why is that?"

"Back then when I didn't kill you and your little friend, I was so mesmerised by your beauty. I thought you'd be a good round, maybe more.." he giggled. "And I hate it so much... how good you taste" his hand went to the back of your neck.

He continued, "Look at me."

"No."

"Look. at. me"

"Why?"

"Do as I say"

"And why should I?" you said, smiling sheepishly at him, with an almost innocent look.

"You little slut-" the vampire said as he manhandled you in his grip, one hand under your ass and one on your back. He went in for another kiss while he was walking up the stairs, then dropped you somewhere, on a bed.

"See.. this room is mine, y/n. Mine to use freely."

"Ah, I see. Should I care?"

"I can see that you are fucking bratty. Aren't you afraid of what I could do to you if you go againt me, mm?" he scoffed, climbing on the bed and pinning you down.

"Not. at. all."

"We'll see"

As soon as he finished his words, he got off the bed and opened a drawer. He took out some cuffs and threw them on the bed, rapidly followed by him climbing on the bed again. He then pushed you to the headboard, tying your hands behind your back.

"Oh, so this is how we're playing, huh?" you scoffed. "Don't be fooled, I like this shit."

"Y/n. babe. You didn't even have a choice. but I'm glad you like it. Now..." he dragged you closer. "What should I do with you? I think I'll leave your clothes halfway on... you look so hot in this corset, god dammit." he whispered as his hands went to your skirt, forcefully taking it off. You were left in only your panties, soaked with your arousal. "Oh wow, all wet for me?" the vampire scoffed. He looked at you for a moment and decided to unbuckle his leather pants, not breaking eye contact with you.

"Damn.." you whispered among seeing his cock spring out of his briefs, it's huge length and girth taking you aback. You knew that was gonna hurt as hell.

"What? Like what you see?" he giggled. "Come here."

"Hm?"

"I told you to come here" and he didn't even finish talking that he grabbed you by your waist, bringing you closer. You were now sitting on your knees on the bed, eyes looking up at Mingi, him standing straight on the carpet, right near the bed frame. Your cunt was rubbing against the now-wet fabric under you, the linen soaked in your juices.

Mingi's right hand went for your chin, stroking your cheek softly, his left hand pumping his aching length lazily. "You see my cock?" he said and guided the tip to your lips. "You're gonna take it all up your throat" his pointing finger under your chin, poking you to open your mouth. You took his dick in your mouth, trying to adjust to the girth. It was really stretching your mouth out, the corners of your lips aching and tears swelling in your eyes.

"Mhm, just like this." One of his hands went to the back of your head, tangling in your hair. "Though.. it's not enough" and he thrusted himself in your throat, your nose hitting his pelvis. You gagged on his dick, but he didn't move. He stayed like that for a moment, letting your throat get adjusted to his size. In the meantime, you wanted to touch yourself so bad, but your hands were tied at your back so you were left with grinding against the linen.

"You feel so good, sweetie. Let's see, how much can you take, hm?" the vampire whispered, pleased by your performance. He then started mouth-fucking you. He went on for a couple of thrusts, stopping for a moment, as deep as possible deep down your throat.

"Look at this..." Mingi said and touched your neck, feeling a small lump. "See how good you are to me, hm? I can even feel my cock deep down your throat from the outside. Such a good girl.." he leaned in and pulled your hair to make you look up at him in the eyes. His cock dropped heavily from your mouth, precum dripping continuously from the red throbbing tip. "Look at me" your head dizzy and spinning, your eyes went up to his.

"W-what?" you murmured.

"What do you want from me, sweetheart? Tell me. I can fulfill any of your desires" the vampire said, eyes glistening red with lust. "Tell me."

"I w-want you to fuck me" you said.

"Hm? Say it again."

"I want you to fuck me!" you scoffed angrily, catching a glimpse of his smirk as soon as you finished your words.

"Good girl. Turn around, ass up"

"I hate you so much, Mingi"

"I love you too, y/n. Turn the fuck around" the vampire said and manhandled you on your belly, untying the cuffs and throwing them on the floor. He took a moment to look at the exposing position you were in, your breasts slowly falling out of the corset, your ass red from all his fondling until now. He slapped your ass once, getting a soft moan out of your slowly rising chest. He spread out your cheeks, one of his hands fondling with the rim. He prepped you for a moment then pulled you closer, his aching tip throbbing against your hole. Without warning he pushed himself in, bottoming down. You let out a loud moan, feeling your hole being stretched out. It hurt so bad, yet it was so pleasurable. Tears formed in your eyes once again, gripping the sheets around you.

"Once again, babe.. take it all up" he said and started fucking you rapidly, holding onto your ass and back for dear life.

"You feel-" he bottomed down completely once more. "So fucking good". He was becoming louder and louder, sometimes letting out soft curses and whines. He was getting closer, you thought. His thursts became sloppied and heavier, filling you up good.

"Ng-baby. I'm so close" he gripped your back tighter, deepening himself. One of his hands went for your neck, holding it from under your body, his plump lips leaving soft kisses on your spine and back. He thrusted a few more times before you felt heavy strings of silky cum filling you all up. He fucked you through his orgasm, sending you over the edge.

"Oh-my god" you shouted and gripped the sheets once again, feeling the knot in your belly getting thighter and thigther.

"What, y/n? say it. Use your words" he said, panting.

"I wann-na c-cum" you whispered.

"You want me to make you finish, sweetie?"

"Yes fuck please, Mingi!" your voice coarse and your breath hitching. He started rapidly pounding you, his hands all over your body. He picked you up, his chest close to your arched back, he was kneeling on the bed. His left hand on your belly, holding you close and his right hand on your neck, his thumb rubbing your lips. You took his finger in your mouth, sucking on it slowly, with every of his thrusts. He fucked you for a couple more times and you felt your high washing over you.

"I'm not done with you" he said and fucked you through your orgasm, himself being close again. He once again came in you, filling you up.

He stopped for a moment and stayed like that, hugging you from the back, you cockwarming him, your juices slowly seeping out of your hole right on his dick. He took his time to put you down slowly, to which he then laid next to you.

"I never thought I'd fuck my mortal enemy, y/n." he said, looking at you.

"Me neither. I hate you so much, man. I could kill you right now and no one would ever notice." you said, cocky.

"Still bratty? After I fucked you dumb? Want me to go for a 3rd round?" he said and pinned over you.

"Bet." you copied his words and taking that as a yes he leaned in for a kiss, letting you know he wasn't even close to being done with you for the night.

NETWORKS:

@illusionnet

@blossomnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @gong-fourz @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117

[ladysouthpaw1213]

One of the most popular Bell Headcannon that really fascinates me(especially as a AdlerBell fan)is that they are related in some way to Perseus. It’s adds another layer to Adler and Bell’s relationship during Cold War. Giving it a kinda star crossed lovers vibe. Bell falls in love with the man who is determined to kill their relative(father, uncle etc) and they wind up in the crossroads of their feud(being capture and brainwashed by their relative’s main enemy in the hopes that they will lead him to said relative). It also adds a sense of conflicting loyalty when Bell must make a choice on who they will help in the ending. On that note, did Adler know about Bell’s blood relation depending on fics and headcannons?

I love to hear about your thoughts in the comments about this

[serpentface]

Janeys about to win his first ever duel to the death, mostly by virtue of being a less shitty swordsman than his opponent.

DUELING IN IMPERIAL WARDIN

Dueling is partially legal in Imperial Wardin, with official duels overseen and regulated by authority figures, and unoffical duels regulated largely by social contract. This form of combat allows disputes, accusations, acts of vengeance, and slights of honor to be settled outside of court or pure interpersonal violence. Ritualized aspects of the practice act as a sort of self-regulation, allowing scores to be settled while dissuading the developments of outright feuds.

No one is materially compelled to accept a challenge to a duel, but refusing can be a tricky maneuver. In many cases, this will be taken as cowardice and a stain on the challenged party's honor and masculinity, and may add significant fuel to the challenger's accusations. The circumstances where it is socially 'safe' to refuse are when the challenger is VASTLY physically outmatched, or is of markedly lower status or otherwise seen as a social inferior (being lower class, a eunuch/woman/akoshos, an infamously dishonored party, a sex worker, etc), though even this can be risky depending on the circumstances.

Women and akoshos cannot be challenged in duels, nor can they Legally be challengers (with a very specific exception for Odonii priestesses, who have men's legal rights), though they can indirectly do so via a male relation acting as their proxy in combat. The alternative is not Entirely unheard of, but very rare, and rarer still that a male opponent will accept. The concept is, however, a motif in heroic folktales wherein a young woman disguises herself as a man and enters into a duel to avenge the murder of her brother or another family member. In most variants, this is cast as a heroic as an act of extreme familial piety, with her masculinization being an entirely temporary means of doing so (which is immediately abandoned post-duel).

Once the challenge is accepted, both parties will negotiate terms through a proxy (by convention, this is a blood relative or other legal kin). This decides the time and location of the match, as well as its stakes. The majority of duels are Not to the death, rather to a lesser end- first blood, incapacitation, submission, etc. In fully legal duels, this agreement is submitted to a local authority and its terms become legally enforceable. Even in 'off the books' duels, the terms will generally be enforced by overwhelming social contract. There is effectively no backing out once the formal agreements have been made. One party not showing up at the agreed time and place effectively concedes a victorious social high ground to their opponent, but without the matter being 'settled' (encouraging further escalation).

Legally, duels must either be fought on private property or outside of city limits (as wearing a weapon in any of the capital cities is illegal for most civilians). You can find semi-legal underground dueling sites in most of the cities, though this tends to be associated with the petty, dirty squabblings of commoners and most nobility will opt to fight in the countryside.

Duels are typically overseen by a neutral third party, with legal duels being specifically officiated by a socially protected individual (usually a priest) who directs the ritual elements of the proceedings and observes and records its outcome. The arena is measured out in a circle approximately twelve paces wide, and marked with stakes and a binding of sanctified amenchil rope wound left to right. This form of binding is broadly used in cultural practice to delineate and spiritually protect sacred spaces (wound right to left in these contexts). Its reversed use in duels provides a regulatory psychological function- the arena becomes a segregated liminal space, and the rest of the world is symbolically bound with a protective barrier, keeping the violence of the dispute confined to this space and time.

Additionally, both combatants (and their familial proxies) swear a binding oath (before a holy relic in priest-officiated duels) - swearing to obey pre-negotiated terms and rules, and declaring that the victor shall be recognized as the righteous party and that the outcome of the duel wholly resolves the dispute. Being bound to such an oath might not settle things on an emotional level, but HEAVILY disincentivizes a duel starting or worsening family feuds- even in fatal duels, the defeated party's family has no justification to demand a blood price or avenge their slain kin, or otherwise commit direct reprisals over the dispute (and would be breaking a solemn oath before God, which will have consequences).

Both parties prepare themselves to fight. Exact traditions vary across the region, but duels are near-ubiquitously fought unarmored with a single blade (sometimes, but not always, replaced by staffs or blunted swords for non-fatal fights). In the south of the region (as depicted here), it's traditional to fight topless with one's cloak clasped around their hips and hair bound into a topknot (the gull feather here is not a dueling norm, but it's lucky).

Both combatants enter the ring and stand at opposing sides, and the dual begins at the overseer's signal. The challenging party is not permitted to make the first attack, and instead must dodge or block their opponent's first swing before they can begin to retaliate. The duel will then proceed to its pre-negotiated ending.

There are additional compacts that direct the fighting. Fleeing from the arena is an automatic loss (and an EXTREME stain on one's honor and masculinity). If the combat spills out past the boundaries, it must be halted and the arena entirely moved and re-bound before restarting. Surrender is possible even in fatal fights, and it is generally taboo to kill an opponent who has verbally declared defeat (as they have lost the duel in doing so, and the matter is thus settled- proceeding further is murder). These rules will be enforced by the authority in legally overseen fights, and are largely (though not universally) enforced by social convention in illegal duels.

Upon resolution, the winner extracts a verbal affirmation of their victory from the loser (if they survived), or from the loser's familial proxy (if they didn't). In some traditions, they are specifically permitted to cut the loser's hair (which is a humiliating and somewhat emasculating act, only adolescent boys (and mourners) wear their hair short in most of the Wardi cultural sphere). A winner who feels the loser fought/died valiantly or is otherwise highly respectable may abstain, as a means of protecting their opponent's dignity. The resolution of the fight ostensibly concludes the dispute, with the winning party justified as righteous in their cause, and gaining social capital and Masc Points in their victory.

[icrawledoutfromtheabyss]

My interpretation of Artificer

(Spoilers for Artificer endings- both ascension and the other. Also general Artificer spoilers.) My interpretation of Artificer- feel free to disagree, this is just my opinion, and I have no problem with opposing personality headcanons.

Artificer isn't a manipulator. Artificer isn't naturally bloodthirsty. Artificer isn't naturally a killer. And Artificer never forgot what she became a killer for. I have a little sister. When I was still in elementary/beginning middle school, I was extremely defensive of her as a baby. If someone insulted her in the slightest, even as a joke, I held a grudge for at least a month- and I am a very forgiving person. I got angry at them, turned a cold shoulder, etc. I've matured now and wouldn't react the same way now if someone poked a rude comment about her, but I would die for her and protect her as strongly if there was real danger. I believe Artificer feels the same about her pups. I think I understand her- only a thousandth of a fraction of understanding; I can't fully grasp a pain I've never felt before. But I can grasp a small portion of it. She would die for her pups. But she didn't die for them. She couldn't. She couldn't save them. And if she couldn't die for them, she would kill for them. She wasn't happy when she killed the scavengers. Satisfied? Maybe. But maybe not even that. Maybe she wasn't even thinking about how extreme her actions were, or, more likely, simply didn't care. All she could feel was rage. All that was in her mind was not even a single worded thought, perhaps not even the memory of her pups dying- only the echo of a memory that was blurred by the image of sheer rage. But regardless of if she was directly thinking of her pups or not, she certainly never forgot who she was killing for. Even if she didn't see their eyes every time she stabbed a scavenger, she could feel them in the tension of her muscles. Even if she didn't call "I'm doing this for my children" as she burned a toll down, her wordless scream cried it. Even if she didn't hear her children's laughter in the back of her ears, she could hear it deep in her heart. If she got them back, maybe she would continue her blood feud. But if she had to choose between her feud and her children, she would lay every pearl in the land at the claws of her enemies to get everything back.

Even if she got them back and they betrayed her somehow, or they sided with the scavengers, she would still love them. Her ascension ending doesn't show a pile of dead scavengers- it shows her pups. The former she only chose in canon because she couldn't obtain the latter. And once she sees them, she accepts her fate, even if it's a failed fate. Acceptance. The only way she could be redeemed- something so little, everything. I'm not positive about her before. Was she toughened by surviving in the acidic Garbage Wastes? Was she a strong, masculine, street smart protector? Was she a gentle, feminine mother? Was she kind? Was she stern? Was she a fighter? Was she skittish? Did her smiles always have a dry humor to them, or did they light like the sun? Was she introverted, or happily sociable? I don't know. All I know is what she is now. An irredeemable monster- but only because her pups' death, to her cycle, is irreversible. She would give up the world for them. She would- reluctantly, but she would- give up her revenge for them, if she had to. She would never willing hurt them, emotionally or physically. She only kills for them because she couldn't die for them. Perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps Artificer was always somewhat evil. Perhaps she's a manipulator, a liar, a criminal. Perhaps she was just looking for an excuse to shed blood. Perhaps she forgot who she was fighting for long ago- perhaps she fights just to fight and kills just to kill. Perhaps she's lost herself so much, so deeply entrenched in war, that she would even hate the scavengers more than she would love her pups. But I don't think she would. Thank you for coming to my TED talk. (One final note: if you disagree with me, I'm totally chill with that! There's Rain World media where she is depicted as something of the last paragraph that I love. This is just my interpretation of her character. I'm also not defending her actions- I just think I understand how she felt while she committed them.)

[sky-kiss]

Raphael/Haarlep: Potential

A/N: Just wanted to do some early days exploration.

R/H: Potential:

Shall they say there are moments of peace? 

Haarlep doesn't know. Peace is the antithesis of their being. They are chaos—it is their blood, marrow, flesh. And so they cannot say there is peace so much as there is…a lull. If an ocean's waves crest, they must also fall. 

There are days when they sit in the dip, neither at the arc's apex nor rising—they are cradled in the storm's eye.  

It should be contentious; some days it is—Haarlep's brat is not the easiest ward. Raphael's temperament veers towards vanity and arrogance, not unlike his father before him. The difference lies in his mortality and his youth. In the earliest days, in those first few years when Mephistopheles sends him to the House, and the boy-king is still seeking to establish his merit, they feud. Raphael reads while Haarlep sucks him off. Days pass where not a dozen words pass between them. 

Haarlep is forced to peddle his juvenile outbursts to Mephistopheles instead of proper information. They're badly beaten for their insolence, threatened, etc. Haarlep hates, but that is not unsurprising. Hate is familiar; hate does not preclude lust. 

Raphael tips his head to the side when Haarlep returns; the incubus' lovely skin is mangled beyond the telling, mottled, bruised, and eaten away by Hellfire. They hiss when they settle in the healing pool, submerging themself to the chin. 

"Such is the price of your service," their brat says, head held high. "These are the wages your master pays, slave."

Haarlep wants to snap at him, every fiber of their body aching. It is beyond even them. "Slave is a fine word for it, lordling." The incubus smiles with teeth. "I suspect you know something of the Cold Lord's attention? How many years did you spend in his dungeons, dearest?" 

Raphael's eyes flare brilliant gold. The lines of his face are softer than his sire's. In truth, Haarlep prefers them. "Be silent, wretch." 

And so it goes, goes, goes, for so many years. Raphael clutches at scraps; Haarlep absorbs their beatings. A divided House. 

"It cannot stand," Raphael mutters, voice drowsy with sleep. He's always softer after, borderline agreeable. The cambion trails fingers down Haarlep's spine, skin still sweat-soaked, lovely. His tongue flicks out to wet the seam of his lips, eyes lulling shut. 

Haarlep smooths hair back from his forehead. "You quite like the sound of your voice—say more." 

"The House." Raphael sighed, shifting under their weight. "Mephistopheles will destroy us."

"He need not." The words are surprisingly soft. In truth, Haarlep barely knows why they say them. They only care that the House is comfortable. And Raphael is…tolerable, nearly saintly by the standards of Hell and the Abyss. "You have proven…capable." 

Their brat chuckles. "You sing such high praises." Raphael frowns. "I am not too proud to seek an accord between us." 

Their initial instinct is to poke, prod, and tease because he is too proud. Haarlep drags the tips of the claws across his cheek instead. No, no, they will not tease. They've worn a slave's collar too long—sold from the Abyss, sold to the House, traded, traded, undervalued. And there is a degree of vengefulness and distaste, like bile. Haarlep's vanity is offended. 

"Shall we speak plainly?"

Haarlep kisses the corner of his mouth. "If you like." 

"I will see him dead." 

Raphael doesn't say who—doesn't need to. It hangs between them like a song. Haarlep shivers. The incubus rocks their hips against their brat, eyes lulling shut—pleasure, low and hot. "Yes."

"I will be king." 

The voice in their head laughs at this—a cambion will never sit as king. But there is an intoxicating sweetness, a whisper of potential, and what if. What if the boy-king killed him? What if he gained power? What if Haarlep was not beholden to the Lord of Contradictions? What if, what if?

It's potential. It tastes like the Abyss, evolution unbeholden to the Hells' rigid power structure. Haarlep groans against his lips, meaning the words. "Tell us how."

And they are pretty tales, childish, but they have merit. 

Haarlep keeps them. They are not for the Cold Lord. 

They have potential.

Haarlep thrives on potential, violence, lust—everything that is not of the Hells. And as much as his brat will rail against it…Raphael is not of the Hells. Not truly. Not entirely. Raphael is potential. 

And how sweet that tastes. Sweeter than the lordlings' breathy cries as Haarlep takes him, sweeter than the arms around them, sweeter than the violent peak of their pleasure. It speaks of an alliance, of evolution, of growth. 

And Haarlep welcomes its potential.

[yanderes-galore]

Aemond vs Lucerys hcs? Romantic (assuming this is enough info-)

Oh dear... sorry if things seem OOC, here you go! I'm still new to writing ASOIAF. Please take note of trigger warnings, this is ASOIAF after all.

I'm an Aemond fan and prefer him but I put this man through hell in this.

Yandere! Aemond Targaryen vs Lucerys Velaryon

Pairing: Romantic - Rivalry

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Canon divergent time-line where Lucerys isn't dead (Dance is either postponed or doesn't happen), Obsession, Violence, Manipulation, Threats, Betrothal, Age Gap Aemond (I think he'd be like 25/26 in this if you and Lucerys are about 18/19), Medieval relationship dynamic (Although you aren't implied to be Targaryen), Swearing, Possessive behavior, Forced affection (From Aemond), Mature themes, Attempted murder/Dueling, Kidnapping mention, Dark themes and unhealthy dynamics, Dubious relationships.

A rivalry such as this is definitely volatile.

The two have an evident history with each other ever since they were young.

After all, Lucerys took Aemond's eye.

Ever since then the two haven't gotten along.

They most likely never will due to their different sides and past.

You throw in betrothal? You're asking for fights.

Imagine if Lucerys and you are betrothed as ordered by Rhaenyra.

Despite this, Aemond still finds himself fond of you.

Probably has for years.

You've always been adorable to him, yet it angers him that you've been betrothed to the bastard or took his eye.

Lucerys just seems to take everything from him.

It doesn't help that you may also be fond of Lucerys, you aren't marrying him just for duty, but also because of your own feelings.

Aemond has admittedly thought of ways to cancel your betrothal.

He has often asked his mother Alicent to convince Rhaenyra of changing things.

Yet nothing comes of it as both you and Lucerys seem happy.

Which causes Aemond to seethe.

Lucerys is no doubt aware of Aemond's fondness towards you.

It's hard to ignore when the Targaryen's peering eye lingers on you.

Lucerys no doubt dislikes the thought of Aemond trying to separate you both.

Lucerys does not wish to fight his uncle, especially over you.

To Lucerys, the betrothal is final.

You want this, he wants this, that's how it should be.

Yet Lucerys still has to deal with Aemond courting you right up until wedding day.

He's laying the charm on thick, trying his best to make you rethink your agreement with Lucerys.

Lucerys doesn't let Aemond's words sway you.

Your fiancé always manages to catch Aemond trying to court you, pinning you to a wall to try and seduce you.

This always ends in a fight, Lucerys telling off Aemond to stop his advances.

But both of their obsessions only seem to grow.

There's a good chance even after the wedding is official Aemond may just crash it.

That or try to force a conflict between Lucerys, perhaps even suggesting a duel for your hand.

Both men are quite possessive of you and the idea of marrying you.

Even to the point of threats and violence.

Want to make this even worse?

Bring the dragons into it.

Vhagar can sense Aemond's distress towards being unable to have you.

His draconic mount often ends up hearing his complaints when she rests.

Arrax notices the irritation of his own rider towards Aemond's courting.

The dragon often tries to encourage his rider to keep fighting for you.

But it appears their feud just keep sparking up flames.

There's many ways this could end.

One of them kills the other... Aemond kidnaps you... etc...

The two dragons think their riders will resolve this on their own.

But it seems their rivalry will only end in fire and blood.

By the end of it only time will tell who actually gets your hand in marriage.

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

I might be one of the few fans who don’t really see how Galadriel was sidelined in Season 2. Her connection with Nenya and her growing into her ring-bearer role was such a huge plot throughout the season, as well as her connecting to other races of Middle-earth, namely the Orcs. She’s also starting to understand she can’t possibly fight Sauron alone (which was her character arc in Season 1 and Season 2).

The show is called “Rings of Power”, Galadriel is the keeper of one of those rings of power. There is no way she can be sidelined, because she’s at the core of the story. The fact she’s not doing direct battle doesn’t change that.

If you are expecting Season 1 Galadriel moving forward, I’m afraid you’ll end up disappointed because that’s not her character arc in Tolkien lore during the Second age. The problem here is they moved her First age character to the Second age, and it’s creating a bunch of problems story-wise and a process that should last a few centuries looks instantaneous.

There are so many Galadriel plots the show hasn’t dealt with yet and it has nothing to do with Lothlórien. I see many fans worrying about her founding it and staying there barefoot and pregnant in Season 3. I don’t see any TV show, in this day and age, doing that to a female lead, even if and when Celeborn returns. And we know he will, because the showrunners confirmed it last year, we just don’t know when, so it can be Season 3, 4 or 5.

And this is why I don’t think we’ll see Celebrían on the show (maybe pregnant Galadriel in the epilogue or something). The elves are at war with Sauron, and will be until the end of the show. Everyone likes the bring up the legendarium, except for the fact Elves don’t have children during wartime. Celebrían was suppose to be born already during the show’s timeline, because she was born before the War of the Elves and Sauron (which started in Season 2 and will continue in Season 3), and we have the War of the Last Alliance next (Season 5):

We still have to see:

Galadriel growing into her political role (Lothlórien is not only a safe haven from evil, but a policial center, too); we already saw her as a commander and a war strategist, but the political side of her character has yet to be explored by the show;

Galadriel’s powers: she has telepathic powers (in the lore she uses them to talk to Frodo and Elrond); she can see into other beings’ minds, too. Her magical artifacts (mirror, phial, etc.) will probably be during the Lothlórien arc, though;

I would love for the show to explore her connection with the Dwarves (to connect to her gifting three strands of her hair to Gimli on the Third age);

I really want her to meet Gandalf, and explore the beginning of that friendship;

Actually my biggest concern about Galadriel in Season 3, and if blood binding theory is correct, is the show giving us some weird “Exorcist” stuff, with her being locked up somewhere for her “own protection” against Sauron. This would be absolutely awful, and I hope they don’t go there.

Sure, give me Galadriel wrecking stuff up with her new found powers. The show can even give me “Samara Morgan Galadriel” Peter Jackson style and other characters terrified of her, but do not lock her up, please.

The wisest way to approach “blood binding” is following the Harry Potter-Voldemort route (ironic); with nightmares, visions and access to Sauron’s mind and plans, and vice-versa. Galadriel is tormented by it but goes about her everyday life, pretending everything’s fine, until the climax of the season.

And enough of her feud with Elrond; he’s the Sam to her Frodo in the Galadriel/Frodo parallel the show is doing. His character needs to be supportive of Galadriel, and her emotional rock like Sam was to Frodo.

[theresattrpgforthat]

SYSTEM OVERVIEW: Powered by the Apocalypse (PbtA).

This week I’m taking a break from my regular recommendation posts to talk about some indie ttrpg systems that have gained some well-deserved attention over the years. I’m going to introduce you to how they work, why I like them, and what kinds of games are out there!

Powered by the Apocalypse is often described by its progenitor as a game philosophy more than a game system. If you want to learn about the ins and outs of Vincent Baker’s thoughts on this game philosophy, I recommend looking at his series of blog posts about the system, starting here.

There are a lot of things that can be housed within the family of PbtA games, but a game that advertises itself as Powered by the Apocalypse is probably going to have the following elements.

Moves

To do anything, PbtA games have a list of moves available to the whole party, and then certain moves specific to any given players. When you do something that fits the description of the move, you follow the move’s instructions.

Generally, this involves rolling 2d6 and adding a relevant modifier, somewhere between -1 and +3. The most common source of these modifiers comes from player stats, 3-5 player traits assigned to you during character creation that represent your strengths and weaknesses. These traits might be Cool, Sharp, and Hot, like in Apocalypse World, or Spirit, Wit and Heart, like in Thirsty Sword Lesbians, etc.

Other games use different sources of modifiers. In Apocalypse Keys, you’ll spend Tokens gained by roleplaying according to certain prompts, such as feeling lonely or forgotten. In Patchwork World, your modifiers depend on the moves your character takes. Can you become cats? When you burst into 1d6 cats, roll -CATS. Do you have Bee Resonance? You’ll roll +Stress marked.

Some moves might not even require you to roll dice - maybe you just have to use up a resource, or answer a question before that action happens.

Staggered Successes

PbtA games are not the only games to use this kind of metric, but they’re certainly the most well-known. When you roll dice in these kinds of games, there are generally three different kinds of results you can get: 7-9, 10 and higher, or 6 and below. Usually a 10 or higher allows something spectacular to happen, with a greater amount of narrative control given to the player. A 7-9 is partially successful: the player and GM will likely share narrative control. On a 6 or less, a significant amount of narrative control is given to the GM. 6 or less is usually seen as a turn for the worse, but what that turn looks like is dependant on the game and the genre.

What I like about these results is that regardless of the outcome, the results are meant to be narratively engaging, and push the story forward. Failing to sway the bartender doesn’t stop your plan in its tracks - it leads to the bartender calling forward security, or maybe calling you out on your shit. In a game like Last Fleet, these outcomes push the characters closer and closer to a meltdown. In Urban Shadows 1e, they encourage the characters to deal more intimately with favours and debt. Each outcome should propel you into another fraught situation.

Social Currency.

Having some kind of personal connection to other characters becomes a useful resource in many PbtA games. At the beginning of the game, you’ll answer leading questions that tie you to other characters, in both positive and negative ways. What exactly that personal connection is depends on the game.

In MASKS, your teenage superheroes have Influence over each-other. This Influence is either present, or it isn’t, but when it’s present, it can be spent to encourage other characters to follow your lead or your orders. In Blood Feud, you can look up to or down upon your fellow players, which will change the nature of how you interact with each-other. In Interstitial, you can spend Heart Links to improve your chances of success, adding modifiers to your roll.

I love these mechanics because they encourage the players to engage with each-other - and their interactions don’t have to always be positive either! Monster-Hearts expects your players to be at each-other’s necks just as often as they might be making out, for example.

Character Playbooks

Most, though not all, PbtA games have character playbooks - which may not feel like a novel thing, but it’s a big change for folks who are used to putting their character together from a list of options provided in a rulebook. Character playbooks usually provide all of the options for your specific character type on one page. You don’t choose from a big list: you choose a concept, and then select options from that concept.

Often concepts fill out tropes, such as the Git in Pigsmoke, or the Monstrous in Monster of the Week. These may come with pre-assigned stats, or ask you to assign certain stat values as you like. You’ll also choose playbook-specific moves, describe your character, and take note of special advances or forms of harm that may be incurred as you play. This harm might be physical, but it could just as easily be an emotional state, such as in Voidheart Symphony, where your character could become Angry, Callous or Scared.

What I like about this is that it can streamline character creation. If you’re a first-timer to PbtA you might need some guidance, but you can probably still knock out a character in under an hour. If you’re a veteran, you might be able to put a character together in a few minutes.

Collaborative World-building.

Any given PbtA game is usually inspired by a short list of media or some kind of genre. Brindlewood Bay is inspired by elderly lady detective fiction and eldritch horror. Sunset Kills is inspired by Buffy the Vampire Slayer and similar supernatural-teenager media. However, the specifics of what your group is doing still has to be determined by the group. This means that you’ll have to decide how you met, how you got here, and what the world around you is like.

For some games, like Legacy: Life Among the Ruins, the character choices you’ve made will determine facts about the end-of-the-world you live in. Did you pick titan-slayers? That means there’s titans walking around. Similarly in Comrades, if you pick the Propagandist, you have a newspaper or radio station as part of your rebellion.

I like about this because it affirms one of the core claims of PbtA: the game is a conversation. You begin your Session 0 sharing ideas as a group, with players having just as much say in the creation of the world as the GM. If you want to speed up the game, the GM may propose a setting to make things more specific. I’ve done this in the past with Wolf Hounds, which I wanted to make fit into my Monster Squad campaign last year.

However, even if the GM makes some decisions about the world, the choices the individual players will affect what parts of that world we’ll focus on. I feel like this experience gives a lot more agency to the players, so if you want to run a game but you don’t want to be responsible for everything that lands on the table, you might want to consider something Powered by the Apocalypse.

There are some elements of PbtA that can provide quite a bit of whiplash for new players. The game is very reactive, which means that it can be difficult for a traditional GM to figure out what to plan. Some games, like The Between, come with modules or adventures that can make it easier to ease into a GM-ing role. I’d also recommend checking out PbtA games that play in genres that both the GM and the group are very familiar with. If you like teenage superheroes, MASKS will probably be fairly easy to pick up. If you're familiar with found-footage horror, you might be more interested in Public Access.

I’ve talked about a number of PbtA games in the past. Let’s take a look at a few that I haven’t mentioned much.

City of Mist is a game by Son of Oak about ordinary people caught up in supernatural investigations as they grow to embody myths and legends.

Trespassers, by BoughandWave is a game about monsters in a wood - but you are not the scariest things in this forest.

Fight Item Run, by Whimsy Machine, is a game meant to replicate beloved video games about dungeons and magic.

A Monster's Tail, by Five Points Games, is an homage to monster catcher media, such as Pokemon, Digimon, and Jade Cocoon.

If you’re interested in PbtA games, you might also want to check out the collection of PbtA games that I’ve put together on Itch!

[1000plants]

You Don’t Know Pt 2

Steve Rogers x reader (GN)

Summary: Steve Rogers and his pretentious “know it all” attitude is getting on your last nerves. Neither of you know what to do about it. Maybe this nice little therapy session with our favorite therapist would help! 

Warnings- mentions diets and body image (no body description given, but comments on food are VERY briefly made.) The whole chapter is a therapy session, a brief flashback (blood, weapons, etc) 

Word count- ~4k

Authors Note- This has a little bit of backstory to it 👀👀 mostly me using my real therapy sessions as a twinge of inspo <3 I promise Steve will become more likable in the next few chapters, and we will also become a bit more bearable lmao. Still, enjoy xoxo

Chapter 2/?

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The door to Dr. Raynor's office swung open, hard. The oak wood door smacked the wall loudly, bouncing back towards you with a dull thud. But your anger was faster than the door you were adjacently pissed at. You stormed into the room, the doctor wasn't even phased by your intense entrance. Your flare for the dramatic was always on show right before a session. Though, usually it was a brooding look, angry huff, and stomping feet. 

Red hot agitation was rare.

"made it." Was all you grumbled out, teeth aching from how firmly you were gritting them. You loudly sighed through your flared nostrils as you flopped onto the couch. Your body language was closed off, lying on your back with the heels of your palms pressing against your eyes. One leg bent up on the couch, the other hanging off and touching the floor. In your ideal world, you would've vented to Bucky or maybe JARVIS, not go to her. Neither of them really criticized you much for being pissed off with Steve.

Dr. Raynor just glanced over the top of her glasses, a single brow raised in your direction. She was used to your outbursts by now. She was just casually holding her notebook and pen, it seemed that she had been aimlessly drawing spirals on it before you stormed in. You were, admittedly, a bit surprised she was even expecting you to show up.

“So you decided to come today.” Dr. Raynor sat back in her chair, a small amused smile on her face. She let her hands relax, the notebook and her pen sat gently on her lap as she tilted her head toward you.

“And only 10 minutes late,” she added, pressing her lips together to avoid a bigger smile. She was clearly trying to hold back a laugh. Why exactly? You weren't exactly sure. She always acted as if there was a little secret between the two of you when obviously there wasn't.

"Rogers," was all you sharply replied with. You tried to seem disinterested, feeling slightly self-conscious about your obvious anger. Distracting yourself by looking out the window was always a good idea… even if there wasn't anything interesting outside.

Mh, Well…. Maybe the little joke was that you only ever complained about him… it wasn't even a funny joke.

You had spent a lot of time in therapy talking about your, oddly consistent, feud with Steve. The two of you just couldn't seem to get along. You swore up and down Steve was just a hardass who couldn't stand you. He’d make small jabs about your form on missions, every little mistake or slip-up, and even comment on your workout routines and diets. Which, considering Tony ate junk food every other meal, and you mainly stuck to the clean SHIELD Agent diet… the comments felt a lot more personal rather than constructive.

"He's still a dickwad," You added, removing your hands from your eyes and staring at the ceiling.

Hey, at least being ten minutes late meant you only had to be here for 50 minutes instead of a full hour. Not like you would've stayed full-time, anyway. You always had a plan in place to get out early. Whether that is a fake emergency call from Fury, a text from Bruce, or even an alert from JARVIS saying something was wrong at the tower.

You. Never. Stayed.

Dr. Raynor huffed a short laugh, picking up her notebook and pen from where they sat on her lap. She flipped to a new page, clean from her previous scribbling.

“You say that every week.” She responded with a small, amused smile. The sound of her pen softly writing against the paper was cue enough that she was noting your entrance and word usage. Admittedly, it was funny to think that she was writing dickwad in her professional therapy notes.

“I think you need to come up with new names for Steve. Dickwad is getting stale.” She hummed as if your conversation was normal. To give the doctor some credit, she was damn good at making you feel like you weren't an Avenger. Sometimes it was annoying, you'd feel like a child getting scolded… but most of the time you just felt a little more… normal. 

"He's.... uhhh," you sigh, wracking your brain for another insult. One that would be devastating, brutal, downright evil to call Steve… 

"old."

Dr. Raynor looked up from her notebook, a tickled smile on her face. “Very creative.” She replied, deadpan. She set down her pen, crossing her legs. “I’m assuming he was the one who caused a disruption in your usual routine this morning?”

Dr. Raynor has been keeping a close eye on your day-to-day functions over the past few months. Waking up at the relative same time every day. Breakfast, quick shower, brush teeth, workout, real shower, lunch, side work, dinner, hang out with some of the team, bed. That was the bare bones of your day, give or take a few things, you lived a fairly simple life. Save for, of course, the days you had missions, more intense workout sessions, or even a day off from being a hero. The only time a disruption became a problem was when that disruption was 6’2”, blonde-haired, and blue-eyed…

"He just can't be, just so... what's the word," you sigh, your anger more of just frustration and slight tiredness from the sparring session. You ran your tongue over your teeth, stopping yourself from gritting them more and giving yourself a bigger headache. Your hands had been laced over your stomach, but they were now picking at the other's nails.

"He just has to be so self-righteous all the time. He can't let anyone else... be better." you clarify, finding the right words. He hadn't let you bask in your moment of beating him at sparring, and that was picking in the back of your mind.

Dr. Raynor nodded in understanding, making a quick note in her notebook. “Is it fair to say that’s because of his leadership position?” She asked.

“Steve is very…. Particular about his role on the Avengers and taking charge. Does that make you feel like you’re being pushed aside?”

"I guess." you dryly admit. You hated when Dr. Raynor hit the nail on the head. Because of Steve, you were still being treated like a SHIELD agent that was war fodder… not like the impressive new Avenger you actually were.

"He still calls me "rookie" and "newbie" all the time, and I've been an Avenger for months and I've worked with SHIELD for years!" you grumbled. You crossed your arms over your chest, shutting your eyes and debating if the couch you were lying on was comfortable or not. 

Dr. Raynor continued to watch you with interest, still silently taking notes. Her pen on paper was a nice little change from the monotonous sound of the air conditioning in the room, “Sounds like Steve is still treating you like an inferior.” She mused. “How does that make you feel?”

The doctor knew that Steve’s stubbornness and tendency to boss you around wasn’t necessarily his fault-- soldier brain, she called it. She did wonder if there was something else to the tension between the two of you, though. She had mentioned it briefly, once, but you had just loudly laughed then left the room with a loud declaration that you needed a drink. It has been a Tuesday… 9 am. You were drunk by 10 that day.

"How do you think it makes me feel?" you sarcastically ask, opening your eyes to look at Dr. Raynor with an unimpressed glance. It was more of a glare, in all honesty. The woman was talking like it was a mystery how being treated like dirt might make a person feel.

You sigh and sit up on the couch, elbows on your knees as you move to plant your feet on the ground. You thought it was a nice way to keep yourself grounded, Dr. Raynor said it was a weak attempt to look intimidating. You rubbed your eyes and glanced out the window with a small exhale from your nose. The sky was slightly gray, it was early spring but there were still a decent amount of rain showers throughout the day.

The doctor clicked her pen as you looked out the window, a habit Dr. Raynor would point out what you did when you were trying to avoid the topic at hand.

“I think it makes you feel like a child.” Dr. Raynor responded bluntly. “Like he’s talking down to you, and treating you like you’re below him.”

You give her a small nod, lips tugged down in a small yeah, that's about right, expression.

“Have you ever told Steve how you feel?” Raynor questions. Her voice was mostly expressionless, though remained soft with a slight firmness laced in it.

You snort, shaking your head slightly. Your teeth play with your lower lip as you continue to look out at the New York skyline. It was an ugly view, but it beat the intense stare of a shrink.

"I tried once, but... I dunno, it didn't work." you shrug, acquiescing on your lack of engagement.

In all honesty, it was a half-assed attempt. You had brought it up mid-mission while you and Steve were getting shot at. But, in all fairness, you technically did try!

-------

The sound of the bullets hitting the soft dirt was oddly not scary. It was a lot more scary when the small grenade blew up the rotting tree just a few meters away. The blast threw you off balance just enough to send you rolling to your left. Landing on your already injured arm. 

Your eyes squeezed shut as pain rippled through your body, a bullet had already grazed your right arm, and now your left was definitely bruised along with the cut on your forearm that was now bleeding. The mud that had smattered on your face caused the scrapes and cuts to burn.

Then, out of nowhere, a loud voice snarls in your ear, “You've got to be more careful, rookie!” Steve said, roughly grabbing your forearm and pulling you from the ground.

The HYDRA base you had been sent to was a lot more guarded than Tony had thought It’d be. What was assumed to be 10 soldiers ended up being over 100. And they were a lot more than you had been prepared to deal with

“I-- Hey!” You yelp, face flushed red as the supersoldier manhandles you easily. You could take care of yourself, you didn’t need Captain Asshat to be covering you. 

And- Hey, wait? Natasha was your partner for this mission… Why was Steve here?!

“I can handle myself, Steve,” You huffed into the comms, immediately getting yourself back on your feet as you continued your rush back to the Quinjet. Sam had retrieved the data from the base you had needed, and since your little team of four was vastly outnumbered, y’all decided to just get back to the base ASAP. 

You forced your legs to carry you through the soft grass as you ran in pace with Steve. A small accomplishment you felt incredibly proud of.

“Sure you can,” Steve chuckles dryly, not even sparing you a look as you weaved through the wild plants, “That's why you almost got blown to pieces, yeah?”

“I tripped for a moment,” You counter, neither of you slowing down as the Quinjet came to view. Both of you rushing to just get into the damn thing.

“That moment could've cost you your life,” Steve reminds you, face stern as his feet pound at the metal of the ramp. He grumbles and yanks his helmet off, his face was dirty and sweat-clad from the mission.

Your retort of being an Avenger, just the same as him, was cut short by his finger being jabbed into your face and a stern glare. His light blue eyes never seemed more dangerous than when they stared icy daggers at you.

“You need to watch yourself. This isn't some SHIELD playground anymore. This is the real shit.”

-------

Dr. Raynor once again noted your distractions when talking about Steve.

The woman leaned back in her chair, a contemplative look on her face. “Why haven’t you tried again?”

“It’s important for you to be able to speak your mind, and let others know how you feel and see things.” The woman explained. “It’s how people fix issues and move forward.”

"Every time I bring it up, bring anything up to him... he compares me to Bucky or Natasha or Bruce. I can't just, ugh, be myself." you found the words slipping out faster than you could bottle them up.

"I need to be more stealthy like Natasha, more intuitive like Wanda... more open during therapy like Bucky," you said the last part mostly under your breath.

Your gaze fell to the floor, leg bouncing slightly. You bit the tip of your tongue, regretting letting the last part slip out.

Dr. Raynor was silently filling her notebook the whole time, letting you say whatever came to mind. You were starting to understand why Bucky saw the notebook as a more passive-aggressive statement rather than something helpful. You also partially wondered what she was writing.

She was probably drawing, you thought. Little houses, cats… disproportionate flowers...

“And you think Bucky is more open?” She questioned, a knowing smile on her face. You were snapped away from your thoughts of doodles by how quickly she picked up on your mumbled statement.

"According to Steve, he is." you shrug, nodding along to further give weight to your statement. You tilted your head towards the doctor, meeting her gaze for a moment and holding it.

Bucky had been going to therapy longer than you, so it made sense if he was further along than you were in terms of openness. You had seen two sides of Bucky, one side that liked cooking and helping you do art... and the other side that had horrid nightmares.

Bucky was the only other person who understood your nightmares on a truly personal level.

It was easy to see how you would feel inferior to Bucky—he’d been in therapy longer and had Steve’s favor and trust. He was also a war vet just like Steve, and the two men were close. And, being Bucky's friend always left you feeling second best when it came to who his best friend was… 

It just seemed like Steve never had the same patience with you as he did with Bucky.

Dr. Raynor hummed in thought, putting the tip of her pen to her chin. “And how do you feel about Bucky?”

"He's fine, I guess." you vaguely say, you had never really announced it, defined your relationship, "We're friends... that's probably what you'd call it."

You had plenty of friends. The other Avengers were all close with you, a few buddies from your SHIELD days, and a few civilian friends. Though, those were very few. Being involved in top government duties and now being a hero didn't let you keep around friendships with people who could get kidnapped

Dr. Raynor studied you carefully as you spoke about your friendships. It was rare for you to open up in a session—most days you were closed off and uncooperative, which meant the two of you were making notable progress -- slow progress.

But today was… different. You were being strangely open with Dr. Raynor about your thoughts. “That’s it? He’s fine?” She asked, a hint of disbelief in her voice.

“It seems like Bucky’s a good friend to you. Is there anything more to your relationship?” She continued to question. You had mentioned once how he understood your night terrors, though that was quite literally all you had said.

Normally Dr. Raynor wouldn’t dig so deep, but you were letting her get inside your head and ask questions. She couldn’t pass up the opportunity to possibly know a little more. Plus, it was clear the last thing you wanted to talk about was Steve, so Bucky was the safe second option.

You were quiet for a long time, letting Dr. Raynor feared she had pushed too hard.

You ran your tongue over your teeth, doing basically every nervous tic a person could do: bouncing your leg, rubbing your nose, looking around, etc., all to make the doctor squirm.

"He's the only one who understands the nightmares," you finally say. Dr. Raynor knew all about your nightmares. They were brutal, to say the least. Consistently as bad as the worst of Bucky's nightmares.

Dr. Raynor’s expression softened in understanding. Bucky was your anchor when it came to the nightmares—he was the only one that actually understood them. At least, on the team.

As a therapist, she knew the importance of finding comfort in others. Especially for people with PTSD. In fact, she had encouraged Bucky to also confide a little in you as well. It helped him to talk to more than just Steve about his more intense emotions.

“Do you feel like Bucky understands your nightmares more than Steve?” Raynor asked.

You just wordlessly nod. Not like you had told Steve about them. Though, thinking about it, he most definitely knew a bit more than he was letting on. The man knew the ins and outs of the whole team.

"Ive never told Stve about them,” You admit with a sigh, “But, he was so quick to get Bucky on the field and all that shit," you reluctantly say, "he's treating me like a baby. Like I can't handle myself."

It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing that Steve was protective over you. The whole team was very protective over Bucky and his triggers. But you weren’t Bucky, and you weren’t an ex-brainwashed assassin. You just… merely got startled by very specific noises. Unlike Bucky, there wasn't a fear of you becoming a Winter Soldier… you just kinda cried.

“Steve’s always been overprotective of anyone in his team,” Dr. Raynor explained. “He’s like a hawk—he keeps an eagle eye on you all.” She watched you to see how you reacted to that statement.

"And he needs to fuckin' back off," you huff, crossing your arms and leaning back against the couch.

You were closing yourself off again, getting frustrated and slightly overwhelmed from it all. Dr. Raynor could probably get one last solid question out of you before the session would come to an end.

Raynor jotted down a quick note before looking back up at you, choosing her words carefully before she spoke.

“I have one last question for you before our session is up.” She announced, setting down her notebook.

You were surprised that it had already been over 45 minutes. You glanced at the clock then back to the therapist. Part of you was a little peeved you hadn't even noticed the silent notification of a faux JARVIS alert.

"Yeah, fine... what is it?" you sigh out, leaning your elbows against your knees. You were itchin' to get out of here now that you realized you had possibly been gettin’ a little too friendly with the doctor.

You were already imagining what you’d make for lunch, do some laundry, maybe bake a bit… There were a few pinterest recipes that had been callin’ your name.

Raynor knew you had a… complicated relationship with Steve, that much was insanely obvious. One that often teetered the line between workplace acquaintances and…. Something more.

Dr. Raynor was a professional, but she was also observant. And there was something between you and Steve.

“Do you ever feel frustrated with Steve because you like him?”

A look of confusion and disbelief slowly appeared on your face, your eyes widening slightly. It felt like you just suddenly got slapped with a brick.

Dr. Raynor’s expression never changed as she continued to stare at you, as you processed the question, and tried to formulate a response.

“It isn’t uncommon, you know.” She spoke after a moment. “To be more…” She looked for the right word. “… frustrated with someone you like.”

It wasn’t a secret that Steve was one of the most attractive men on the team. He was tall, muscular, handsome, and not to mention the leader of the Avengers thing, the whole hero thing.

So there was no doubt in Dr. Raynor’s mind that you felt an attraction to him, at least a physical one. If the doctor would speak bluntly, she'd tell you that your frustration with the Captain was bordering on sexual, and not one-sided.

You scoffed, oh, you were definitely on the defensive now, "Are you saying I'm horny and that's why I fight with Steve?" you practically laugh in disbelief, shaking your head no as you stand up. You weren't even going to entertain the thought. 

"You've lost your mind," you say under your breath, grabbing your bag by the door. You sling it over your shoulder, the earlier frustration of letting yourself be so vulnerable was coming back. You were so stupid, why the hell would you say any of that?!

Dr. Raynor didn’t react much to your comment, only letting a small smirk play on her lips.

The woman wasn’t necessarily trying to make the implication that you were horny for Steve. That was just the usual response she got from her patients when she brought up attraction to others. And, typically the only people who used that wording were the ones who actually felt it.

“I’m not saying anything,” She responded calmly as she got up from her chair. “I’m asking. There’s a difference.”

"Oh, you're asking," you drawl with an eye roll.

"No. No, I am not horny for Steven Grant Rogers." you firmly state, your expression stern as you look back at Dr. Raynor. With brows drawn in, and jaw tensed, your next words came out like a smooth venom.

"The man couldn't make me any less horny if he tried."

Dr. Raynor had to bite back a laugh at that statement, a sly smile appearing on her face. “I’m not sure about that.”

The woman didn’t want to come right out and state the fact that you were attracted to Steve, and probably more so than you thought. And that could be the reason for your dislike and frustration towards him.

“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?”

"I'm not convincing anyone. I'm just stating the truth," you scoff, running your tongue over your lip.

"Look, do I have homework or something? Or can I just leave now and see you next week?" you quickly ask, your hand already on the door handle. You came into this session mad at Steve, and were leaving the session mad at Steve… Woo, therapy was really workin’ out for you, huh?

“You know I don’t give you ‘homework’.” Dr. Raynor responded in an unconvincing tone, watching as you opened the door. You fought back a painful eye roll, almost wanting to snip back, yeah, and I don't want to punch Steve. 

She was getting under your skin, and she knew it.

Instead, you settled for just yanking the door open, almost as violently as you had entered. You were quick to take a few steps out of the room.

As she watched you start to walk out of the office, the doctor spoke up once more, a smirk on her face. “Oh, and do say ‘hi’ to Steve for me!”

You didn't even look back at the doctor, just flipping her off over your shoulder.

You didn't like that session

Not one bit.

Though, unbeknownst to you, Dr. Raynor had accomplished what she set out to do—get under your skin and get you thinking.

In all reality, she figured you had more than just a physical reaction towards Steve. There was no way, she believed, that you and him purely fought because of fieldwork or Avenger duties. It just didn't fit the MO of either of you. Now, if only you would at least somewhat acknowledge it to your end… But you were just too stubborn and closed off to admit anything.

Raynor could ask you if the sky was blue, and you'd tell her it was any color but.

Though, and this went for just about anyone who had to work with superheroes, she liked a challenge.

[tanoraqui]

key elements of Crownless (the Young Aragorn show that lives in my head and heart) season 1:

(Note that I will play a little fast and loose with timelines and for the sake of a better story. And/or take ruthless advantage of canonical slow Dúnedain aging to spread the timeline out over several decades)

First episode(s) is Aragorn (age 21, functionally late teens) leaving Rivendell to start wandering the wilds with the Rangers. I would do Elrond & his people dirty and say that Aragorn has been kinda sheltered growing up, a little because Elves tend to baby Men, especially young Men, and mostly because everyone wanted to be sure Isildur’s heir was safe as darkness grew in the world, especially after his father was killed when he was 2.

So Aragorn starts with significant book smarts, homely peace smarts—historical knowledge, animal friendship, herblore, diplomacy skills, technical sword/knife/bow skills…but he doesn’t know the dirty fighting tricks that win a fight. His tracking, hunting, forest stealth, etc. skills…suck at first. He’s prone to freeze in urgent healing (or combat) situations, because he’s never done this on his own before—though he has a natural talent for the ‘calling people back from death’ thing we see in LotR.

(This gives Aragorn obvious skills to pick up that demonstrate his character growth as a leader, while also establishing from the start that his real talent in kingship is, always was, diplomacy, strength of character & connection with his people, literal and metaphorical healing. Also, weirdass plans, often based on things he read, with success resting on luck/prayer/hope more than any reasonable thing…including a willingness to trust strange new and/or sketchy people…and they work.)

Maybe eps 1-2 is a double-length episode: opens with newly widowed Gilraen arriving in distress with a toddler 18 years ago, then first half is mostly restless late teen!Estel in Rivendell, ending with Elrond revealing his true name, broken sword, time to go forth… Smash cut to Aragorn tripping in the forest and falling in a stream while 2 other baby Rangers laugh at him and whoever’s stuck training these new recruits sighs heavily. There’s a lot of “this is the new Chieftain of the Dúnedain, Isildur’s heir?”

Format: 22ep 44min monster of the week (like GOD INTENDED) focused on the newest young Rangers: Aragorn, Halbarad, Dúnawen (OC: “maiden of the west”, don’t @ me for naming), as they range throughout Eriador learning how to be badasses guarding the boundaries of civilization. Monsters include orcs, wargs, mortal bandits, trolls, giant spiders, a small ice wyvern that made its way to northern Dale, barrow-wrights, unhoused fëa, rival clans of Men or maybe Dwarves who are about to go to blood feud war…

…and a slowly mounting season plot of the trouble of 3 Nazgúl reoccupying Dol Goldur, after the White Council forced the “Necromancer” out 15ish years ago. (Riling up ghosts throughout the countryside? Something something themes of moving on from the past. Also, can’t go wrong with an episode in which heroes must confront their literal personal ghosts.)

Repeat cameos from Elrohir & Elladan, cousins of all Mannish Dúnedain (and kind of older brothers to Aragorn in particular.) Are they helping him? Are they harder on him than on the other new recruits? Are they good cop/bad cop-ing it?

Arwen! Meet briefly ep1 and/or she’s a key feature of midseason finale; return in season finale to be badass. “Tinúviel! Tinúviel!” scene in Lothlórien casts a hiccup in a fledgling romance between Aragorn and Dúnawen

All combinations of Aragorn/Halbarad/Dunawen ARE welcome, nay, encouraged. They’re functionally in college and they’re all hot, and constantly in near-death situations. I advise the writers to have fun. Bisexuality is free.

Gandalf introduction early, ep2? Probably also in finale (something of a large team-up).

Late season bottle episode, maybe just before a 2-parter finale, in which due to a thunderstorm/mudslide/cave-in incident, Aragorn, Halbarad and Dunawen are trapped in a cave/small series of caves with a random assortment of other travelers on the road west of Bree: a pair of Dwarvish merchants, a few men, 1 elf (journeying to the Havens to Sail?), and 1 hobbit, Mr. Drogo Baggins of Hobbiton, who was making a perilous journey to Bree and back in order to fetch his beloved, very pregnant wife a particular kind of cheese she was craving. No loss of air threat, but they’re stuck. Obviously getting Drogo home is of utmost importance (and everyone else needs to get home safe, too). Tempers run high! Only once the Junior Rangers sort out their late-season interpersonal drama can Aragorn rise to the occasion and organize/mediate this microcosm of Middle Earth’s populace to dig their way out of this cave.

Aragorn is exceptionally good at facing down Nazgúl and their weaponized despair because he has—indeed, he is, by name!—hope. This show is about hope first and teamwork second, and looking badass in a beautiful landscape while Howard Shore music swells third.

[s2 in notes]