#anyway hi im sane if you read all this!!

[aq2003]

twelfth night is not a Shakespeare I have read or seen but now I’m a bit terrified of ever consuming it. I definitely would never touch that audio drama with a 10 foot pole though (so so tempting. I might give in)

i was normal about twelfth night and held many normal emotions about it i really liked it for being this fun very messy queer drama until i listened to david tennant malvolio which ruined my life i cannot stress enough all of my evil derangements are because of david tennant malvolio if he had not done any of that i would have been FINE

[saphira-approves]

Coming to the realization that much of my favorite dragon media, both growing up and recently discovered, had some stealthily normalized queer rep, including but not limited to:

Memoirs of Lady Trent (some genderfluidity, an asexual character who experiments to determine for sure)

Temeraire (a canon queer couple and some Strong vibes for another) (if you know you know)

Seraphina (trans character, gay saints, a fairly central queer relationship)

Priory of the Orange Tree and its prequel (lesbians all the way down, queer rep all over the place)

Eon/a (technically my first introduction to the very concept of being transgender)

So now here I am, politely staring down Paolini, raising a gnarled finger and intoning in a dread voice, “YOURS NEXT—”

[goldfades]

WHO DID THIS TO YOU?──RAFE CAMERON

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

for this request, for my lovely jo! @wanderlusturous

─ summary | you and rafe are consumed by an obsessive love, where their madness is fueled by each other. you find exhilaration in pushing boundaries, testing each other’s limits, and the deeper you fall into your shared insanity, the tighter your bond becomes. when rafe finds you crying in your bedroom one day, he loses his shit and is thrown into a silent rage, seeking revenge. and you don't mind, not one bit.

─ pairing | rafe cameron x fem!reader

─ warnings | oh my god, where do i even begin?? obsessive rafe, like insane but reader reciprocates it. a few kisses but mostly just insane stuff. mention of drugging (not to reader), hacking (?), idk what else but this is lowkey insane...

─ ev's notes | im gonna be honest, i don't know if i like this... but lmk if yall enjoyed it. it's a little too dark-themed for me and i got into it until i reread it and realized that it was lowkey insane but hey!!! whatever!!! anyway, pls lmk if this was too dark.. or if you enjoyed it. also, sorry to any becca's out there, it was just the first name that popped up. any feedback is always very appreciated!

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my masterlist!

The night is suffocating, thick with tension that mirrors the pulse racing in your veins. Every sound, every breath, seems amplified, as if the world knows what’s coming. You stand by the dock, your eyes on the dark water ahead, but your thoughts are elsewhere—on him.

Rafe.

You can already feel him, even when he’s not here. The way your skin hums when you think of him, the way your pulse skips in sync with his name. No one gets you like Rafe does. No one makes you feel like the world is spinning off its axis just by looking at you. He’s chaos, destruction wrapped in a pretty face, and you... you crave it.

The roar of an engine breaks through the night. You don’t turn, but a slow smile curls on your lips. You feel the heat of his presence before you even hear his footsteps.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” Rafe’s voice is a low drawl, but there’s something manic beneath it, something that sparks against the madness in you.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to catch his eyes. There’s that look again. That wild, possessive look that sets your blood on fire. He’s close now, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him, feel the tension in the air tighten like a noose around your neck.

“Neither could you,” you reply, your voice low, daring.

He grins, a sharp, dangerous thing. “You’re right. I can’t.”

His fingers brush your arm, just a ghost of a touch, but it’s enough to ignite something violent between you. This—this is what you live for. The thrill. The madness. The way Rafe looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him sane, and maybe that’s what scares you the most.

Because you’re not sane.

Not anymore.

You can’t even remember why you broke up with him a few months ago, but all you know is that it got overwhelming. There was something suffocating about it—about him. The way he always knew where you were, who you were with, what you were thinking before you even said it. At first, it was intoxicating, the way he could read you like no one else ever could, like you were the only two people on earth and no one else mattered. But then… it was too much. His intensity felt like drowning in quicksand, slow but relentless. And for a moment, just a moment, you thought maybe you needed air.

But standing here now, with the salt stinging your nostrils and the wind howling like some kind of omen, you can’t remember why you ever thought you could leave him.

Because there he is—Rafe Cameron, walking toward you like the world is his and you’re his prize, eyes locked on you in a way that makes your chest tighten, your stomach coil in knots. He’s dangerous in all the ways that matter. Not just because he’s reckless and violent (though God knows he is), but because of how he makes you feel. Alive, in a way that hurts. Like the rush you get standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing one wrong step and it’s all over, but you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward, just to feel the thrill of almost falling.

He doesn’t stop walking until he’s so close you can smell the gasoline and smoke on his clothes, the wild energy pouring off him in waves. He looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters, like you’re the oxygen he’s been deprived of for too long, and suddenly it all makes sense again. The madness. The break-up. The inevitable pull back to him.

“Why’d you leave me?” His voice is low, rough like gravel. His eyes burn with something fierce, and you can feel it sinking into you, clawing its way under your skin. He’s not asking because he doesn’t know. He’s asking because he wants to hear you say it.

You stare at him, heart pounding, pulse thrumming in your ears like a warning. But instead of stepping back, you step forward, closing the small gap between you two. Your breath mingles with his, the night air thick with unsaid things, and you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something irreversible. Like if you take one more step, there’s no going back.

But isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? The danger. The thrill. The sick, twisted excitement of being so intertwined with him that you forget where he ends and you begin.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, even though that’s not the full truth. You do know. You left because you were scared. Scared of how much you wanted him, needed him, even when it hurt. Scared of the fact that the line between love and obsession blurred so fast with him that you couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

His jaw tightens, and his hands, those rough, calloused hands that have touched you in ways no one else ever has, reach out. He grips your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze, and for a moment, you swear you can see the wild, unhinged thing lurking just behind his eyes. It’s the same thing you see in yourself when you look in the mirror. The madness that ties you to him, binds you like a curse.

“You do know,” he says, voice dark and demanding. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, slow, like he’s testing how far he can push you before you break. “You just won’t say it.”

A shiver runs down your spine, but it’s not fear. It’s something else, something deeper. Something that feels like surrender and power all at once. You lean into his touch, letting his hand curl around the side of your face, the heat of him soaking into your skin like a drug.

“I couldn’t handle it,” you admit, the words thick and heavy in your throat. “You. Us. It was too much.”

Rafe’s lips curl into a smirk, but it’s not a kind one. It��s dark, possessive. “Too much? You know you liked it. You loved it.” His hand tightens slightly on your jaw, just enough for you to feel the edge of his control, like he’s reminding you who he is. What he is. “You loved me because of how fucked up we are. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

You swallow hard, heart thundering in your chest, because deep down, you know he’s right. You’ve never felt more alive than when you were with him, caught up in the madness of it all. The fights, the passion, the way you both pushed each other to the edge and then pulled each other back, only to do it all over again. It was twisted, dangerous, and wrong in every way, but that’s what made it irresistible.

“I did,” you confess, and it’s like a weight lifts off your chest, even as you feel yourself falling back into him, back into the chaos. “I do.”

The smirk fades, replaced by something darker, hungrier. His eyes search yours, looking for any sign of hesitation, any crack in your resolve. But there’s nothing. You’re not the same person who left him. Maybe you never really left at all.

Rafe’s hand slides from your chin to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until his lips hover just inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, and before you can respond, his mouth crashes into yours, hard and demanding.

It’s not gentle. It’s never been gentle with Rafe. His kiss is all teeth and tongue, like he’s trying to devour you, claim you all over again. And you let him, because deep down, you crave it just as much as he does. The fire, the chaos, the way he makes you feel like you’re spinning out of control but somehow exactly where you’re supposed to be.

When he pulls back, you’re both breathing hard, your lips swollen, your pulse racing like you’ve just run a marathon. His hands grip your waist now, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the heat of his body searing into yours.

“Tell me,” he says, voice low and dangerous, his eyes boring into yours. “Tell me you’re mine.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, but you don’t hesitate. “I’m yours.” And you are, completely, utterly, unashamedly his.

And just like that, you’re back where you started.

───MONTHS LATER . . .

“God fucking damn it, if you don't tell me right now, I'm gonna lose my shit!” Rafe shouts, his voice cracking like thunder in the small living room as he throws the beer bottle against the wall.

Glass shatters everywhere, scattering across the floor, but you don’t even flinch. You’ve seen this before. Hell, you’ve lived it. The rage, the temper, the chaos—it's like a script you’ve both memorized by heart.

You lean back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching him like you would a caged animal—wild and unpredictable. He’s pacing now, his movements sharp and erratic, the muscles in his jaw clenched so tightly you wonder if they might snap. His eyes are wild, blue like ice but burning with something untamable, something dangerous. He’s teetering on the edge, that fine line between fury and desperation, and you know it won’t take much to push him over.

But you don’t care. Not right now.

“Rafe, calm the fuck down,” you say, your voice steady, almost bored. You know that’ll get to him. It always does. Nothing makes him crazier than when you don’t give him the reaction he’s fishing for.

His head snaps in your direction, eyes narrowing as he stalks toward you like a predator honing in on prey. He stops just inches away, towering over you, his chest heaving, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. He’s so close now that you can smell the alcohol on his breath, feel the heat radiating off his skin. But you don’t move. You stand your ground, looking up at him with a calm that borders on defiance.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” he spits, voice laced with venom. His hands are balled into fists at his sides, knuckles white. “I’m sick of your bullshit! You think you can just stand there like you’re better than me, like you’re not a part of this, but guess what, baby? You are. You always have been.”

You tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing as a slow smile creeps across your lips. “You’re being dramatic, Rafe,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “What, you gonna break something else? Or are you actually gonna say what’s bothering you for once?”

That does it.

He slams his hands down on the counter behind you, trapping you between his arms, his face just inches from yours. His eyes blaze with fury, but beneath it, you see something else—something raw, something that makes your stomach twist in knots.

“Don’t play games with me,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. “I know what you’re doing. You think you can just push me around, mess with my head, and I’ll keep coming back like a fucking dog, huh?”

You meet his gaze, unblinking, heart racing in your chest but refusing to show it. You can feel the tension crackling between you like electricity, the air thick with it, suffocating. This is what it always comes down to with Rafe—this toxic push and pull, this need to break each other just to see what’s left after the pieces fall apart.

“You think I’m the one messing with your head?” you say, your voice low, challenging. “Maybe you should take a look in the mirror, Rafe. You’re not exactly innocent in this, are you?”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he’s going to explode. But instead, he just stares at you, eyes flickering with something dark, something primal. Then, slowly, he leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin.

“Innocent?” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear. “Baby, I’ve never claimed to be innocent. You knew exactly who I was when you got into this.”

You don’t flinch. You don’t pull back. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, your lips grazing the corner of his jaw as you whisper back, “Yeah, and that’s why I’m not scared of you.”

His breath hitches, just for a second, and you feel a surge of satisfaction. You’ve always known how to push his buttons, how to throw him off balance, even when he’s at his most dangerous. It’s a game you’ve played a thousand times before, and you both know how it ends—chaotic, messy, with both of you circling back to the same place.

But this time feels different.

There’s something darker in the way he’s looking at you, something that feels more like possession than anger. Like he’s not just mad because you’re fighting—he’s mad because he can’t stand the thought of you slipping away. Because he knows, deep down, that no matter how hard you push him, he’ll always want you. Need you.

“You don’t get to walk away from me,” Rafe says, his voice low, deadly. “Not this time.”

You feel his grip tighten on the counter behind you, his body pressing against yours as if he’s trying to fuse the two of you together, like if he holds on tight enough, you won’t be able to escape. But he doesn’t know, doesn’t understand that you’re already too far gone. That the very thing he’s holding on to is slipping through his fingers, and there’s nothing either of you can do about it.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you say softly, a cold smile on your lips. “I can walk away whenever I want. I just choose not to.”

And with that, you duck under his arm, slipping out from between him and the counter. His eyes follow you, wide with disbelief, rage bubbling just beneath the surface. You know he’s about to lose it, to completely unravel. But you don’t turn back. Not yet.

Because this time, you want him to come after you.

And he always does.

Rafe’s eyes darken as you slip past him, and for a moment, the room goes deadly silent. The tension is thick, heavy like a storm cloud waiting to burst. You know exactly what’s coming, and it sends a thrill down your spine. You can almost feel it—the moment he snaps, the second his control shatters. It’s a twisted game, one you’ve played too many times before, and every time, you push him a little harder, a little further, just to see how far he’ll go for you.

You take slow, deliberate steps toward the door, your back turned to him, feeling the heat of his gaze sear into you. You don’t need to look back to know he’s watching, every muscle in his body tensed like a predator stalking its prey. The air feels electric, charged with a violence that’s always been just beneath the surface between you two.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His voice cuts through the silence like a knife, sharp and biting. You stop, but you don’t turn around. Not yet.

“Does it matter?” you ask, voice calm, almost teasing. “I thought I could walk away whenever I wanted, remember?”

The silence that follows is deafening. You know you’ve hit a nerve. He hates when you challenge him, hates when you act like you have the upper hand. But that’s what makes it so addictive—pushing him to his limit, watching him unravel in front of you, knowing that no matter how hard he fights it, he’ll always come back to you.

Because he can’t help it. Neither of you can.

Suddenly, you hear his footsteps behind you, fast and heavy, and before you can react, his hand grips your arm, yanking you back toward him with a force that nearly knocks the breath out of you. He spins you around, his face inches from yours, eyes blazing with fury.

“You’re not fucking going anywhere,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. His grip tightens on your arm, fingers digging into your skin, but the pain only makes your pulse quicken, your breath hitch in your throat. There’s something about the way he looks at you—like he’s on the verge of losing control, like he’s barely holding himself together—that sends a thrill through you.

“Let go of me, Rafe,” you say, your voice daring him, even though you know you don’t really want him to.

He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you closer, his other hand gripping the back of your neck, forcing you to look up at him. His chest is heaving, his eyes wild, but there’s something else there, too—something desperate, like he’s terrified of losing you, like he’s clinging to you with everything he has left.

“You think you can just walk away?” he snarls, his breath hot against your face. “After everything? After all the shit we’ve been through? You really think I’m just gonna let you go?”

You meet his gaze, unblinking, your heart racing, but there’s no fear. Not with him. There never is. Instead, you feel the pull again—the twisted, sick need to see how far you can push him, how deep his obsession goes.

“I think you don’t have a choice,” you say, your voice steady, even though your pulse is hammering in your ears.

His grip tightens, his jaw clenched so hard you can see the muscles twitching beneath his skin. For a second, you think he’s going to snap—really snap—but then, just as quickly, something shifts in his expression. The anger doesn’t fade, but it’s joined by something darker, something raw and consuming.

“You’re wrong,” he whispers, his voice barely audible but laced with danger. “You don’t get to decide when this ends. I do.”

Before you can react, his lips crash against yours, rough and demanding, as if he’s trying to prove a point. It’s not a kiss; it’s a claim, a reminder that you belong to him, whether you want to admit it or not. His hands tighten on you, pulling you impossibly closer, and you can feel the tension in his body, the barely restrained violence simmering just beneath the surface.

But instead of pulling away, you kiss him back with just as much fire, matching his intensity. It’s always been like this between you two—this chaotic, messy whirlwind of emotion that neither of you can control. You push, he pulls, and somewhere in the middle of it all, you find something that feels like love, even though you both know it’s something darker, something more dangerous.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, your lips swollen and bruised. His hand stays on the back of your neck, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that’s both possessive and tender, like he’s reminding himself that you’re still here, still his.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice rough, eyes blazing as he stares down at you. “You’ve always been mine.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. There’s a part of you that wants to fight it, to push him away and run as far as you can. But there’s a bigger part of you, a darker part, that knows he’s right.

You’re his. You always have been.

“Yeah,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m yours.”

The words hang in the air between you, thick and heavy, and for a moment, everything else falls away. The anger, the tension, the broken glass on the floor—it’s all background noise now. All that matters is the two of you, standing here in this twisted, fucked-up mess of a relationship, knowing that no matter how many times you try to break free, you’ll always end up right back here.

With him.

Rafe’s grip on you softens, just slightly, and for the first time in what feels like hours, the intensity in his eyes eases. But it’s still there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the next time one of you decides to test the limits again. Because there will be a next time. There always is.

“You’re not leaving me again,” he says, his voice softer now, but no less serious. “Not ever.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Because deep down, you know that no matter how much you might want to, no matter how many times you tell yourself you can walk away, you won’t.

You never could.

And Rafe knows it, too.

───

You don’t usually cry. Not ever. Tears are something you’ve learned to bury deep down, hidden under layers of indifference and biting sarcasm. But tonight, they come, hot and angry, streaming down your face as you sit curled up on the edge of the bed, hands trembling in your lap. The weight of the evening presses down on you, your mind reeling from everything that happened.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not tonight.

Your phone buzzes again on the nightstand, but you ignore it. You can’t deal with it right now. You don’t want to see the messages or hear the apologies. You don’t want to relive what just went down.

You wipe at your face roughly, trying to pull yourself together, but it’s no use. The shaky breath you let out only betrays you further, and you feel the tears well up again. You bite your lip to keep from making a sound, not wanting him to hear you.

But, of course, Rafe hears everything.

The door swings open, and Rafe steps inside, his broad frame filling the doorway. He looks at you, really looks at you, and in an instant, his expression darkens. His blue eyes narrow as they sweep over you, taking in the tear-streaked face, the hunched shoulders, the way your body is wound tight like a coiled spring, ready to snap. His jaw tightens, and you can practically feel the shift in the air around him.

“What happened?” His voice is low, dangerous, barely restrained. It’s not a question—it’s a demand.

You shake your head, trying to brush it off. “It’s nothing, Rafe. Just forget it.”

But you know better than to think he’ll let it go. The second you met him, you realized Rafe Cameron isn’t the kind of guy who “forgets” anything.

He moves closer, the tension in his body palpable. He’s not pacing like he usually does when he’s angry. This is different. Controlled. Focused. Like he’s honing in on the source of your pain, ready to eliminate it. He crouches down in front of you, one hand gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. His touch is firm, possessive, but not rough—not yet.

“Tell me what happened,” he says again, his eyes boring into yours. “Who did this to you?”

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should even bring it up. You know how Rafe gets—how he reacts when someone hurts you. And this time, it wasn’t just anyone. It was someone close. Someone you thought was your friend.

“It’s—” You start, but your voice cracks, and you quickly bite down, trying to steady yourself. “It was…Becca.”

“Becca?” The name drops like a lead weight between you two, and you can see the recognition flare in his eyes. Becca, your friend for years, the one person outside of him you’ve always trusted. The one person he’s always been wary of.

Rafe’s grip tightens slightly, his thumb brushing over your jaw in a way that makes your pulse race. His voice drops to a low, dangerous whisper. “What did she do?”

You hesitate, but the words spill out before you can stop them. “She—she said some things. At the party tonight. She called me out in front of everyone, said I was using you, that I only stuck around for the money, the attention. She tried to turn everyone against me, Rafe. She made me look… weak.”

His face hardens instantly, and for a split second, you see something flash in his eyes—something dark and lethal. The kind of rage that makes your breath catch in your throat, even though you know it’s not directed at you.

“She said what?” His voice is so low now, it’s almost a growl.

You nod, swallowing hard, feeling the burn of humiliation all over again. “I don’t know why she did it. I thought she was my friend.”

Rafe lets out a slow breath, and the air around him feels like it’s vibrating with the intensity of his anger. He stands up abruptly, pacing the room, running a hand through his hair as if trying to keep himself from completely losing it. But you know it’s too late for that.

“I’ll fucking kill her,” he mutters under his breath, but you hear every word. “I’ll ruin her life.”

“Rafe—” You start to protest, but he cuts you off with a sharp look.

“No. No one talks to you like that. Not her, not anyone.” His voice is clipped, sharp, like he’s barely holding back the full force of what he’s feeling. “You don’t deserve this shit. Not from her, not from anyone.”

His protectiveness borders on obsession, but you can’t help but feel a strange comfort in it. It’s twisted, but there’s something about the way Rafe reacts to these things—like the whole world can burn as long as you’re safe—that makes you feel… seen. Important.

“I’m going to fix this,” he says, more to himself than to you, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “She thinks she can talk shit about you? In front of everyone? Humiliate you? Nah. She’s going to regret it. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Rafe,” you say softly, trying to reach for him, but he’s too far gone. You can see it in the way his eyes have glazed over, already plotting, already deciding exactly how he’s going to destroy Becca.

And part of you wants to stop him. Part of you knows that this isn’t the answer, that maybe you should handle it differently, like a normal person would.

But you’re not normal. Not anymore.

“I’m serious,” he says, turning to face you again, his expression deadly serious. “No one fucks with you. Ever.”

His intensity washes over you, and for a second, you feel like you can’t breathe. But at the same time, it fills you with a sense of power, knowing that he’s willing to go to these lengths for you. That he’ll protect you at all costs, no matter how destructive it gets.

You stand up slowly, crossing the room until you’re in front of him, your hand resting on his chest. “Just… don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Rafe’s eyes flicker down to you, and for a brief moment, you see a softness there, a flicker of the boy beneath all the rage and chaos. “I won’t. But I’m not letting this go.”

You nod, knowing there’s no point in arguing with him. This is who he is—who you both are. Twisted, obsessive, reckless. But it works. Somehow, it works. And deep down, you don’t really want him to let it go.

A few months later, and somehow everything goes to shit for Becca.

It starts small—things that could almost pass as bad luck. First, her new car gets keyed, deep scratches across the side that no amount of buffing can fix. Then her social media accounts get hacked, posts disappearing, weird comments being left on other people’s pages, like someone is deliberately screwing with her life piece by piece. She brushes it off at first, because Becca’s tough. She’s the type of girl who bounces back quickly, who doesn’t let things get under her skin.

But then things escalate. Quickly.

She gets benched during a big volleyball game when her coach suddenly pulls her aside and questions her attitude. The team captain claims Becca’s been talking shit about the coach behind her back, stirring up drama with teammates. The problem is, Becca never said any of it. But now, she’s got a reputation, and people are starting to look at her differently.

Still, she fights through it, determined not to let it get to her. Becca’s always had her eye on the prize: her full ride to UC Berkeley, where she’s set to play volleyball at the college level. That’s her future. Her escape. Nothing can touch that.

Until it does.

The call comes one morning, out of nowhere. Becca’s shaking as she listens to the voice on the other end of the line, her heart plummeting as her coach tells her the news.

“We’ve received the results of your recent drug test, Becca,” the coach says, his voice stern but somehow apologetic. “I’m sorry, but you’ve tested positive for a banned substance.”

Becca’s head spins, her mouth going dry. “That’s impossible,” she blurts out, panic rising in her chest. “I don’t do drugs. I don’t—”

“I know this is hard to hear,” the coach cuts her off, his voice firm. “But the results are what they are. This disqualifies you from the scholarship and the team. UC Berkeley has revoked your offer.”

The words hit her like a sledgehammer. She feels the ground tilt beneath her, everything she’s worked for slipping through her fingers in an instant. She argues, pleads, tries to explain, but the decision is final. There’s nothing she can do.

And that’s when she starts to see it, to feel the weight of something much bigger pressing down on her. This isn’t just bad luck. It’s not a coincidence that her life is unraveling at the seams. No, this feels orchestrated, like someone’s been pulling the strings behind the scenes, watching her fall apart.

That someone is Rafe Cameron.

Rafe can be physical—he wouldn’t hesitate to swing on anyone he deems a threat. But Rafe isn’t a dumbass. He knows that not everything should be dealt with by violence. Some things are better handled with precision, with patience, with slow, deliberate destruction. He knew that punching Becca in the face wouldn’t satisfy him, wouldn’t give him the kind of control he wanted over the situation.

So instead, he used his connections, his money, his influence, all of the tools at his disposal to dismantle her life bit by bit. A hacked account here, a few whispers to the right people there. He didn’t need to lay a finger on her to destroy her. He just needed to plant the seeds of doubt, to set off a chain reaction, and then watch it all come crumbling down.

The drug test? Easy. A little slip of something into her drink at a party when she wasn’t paying attention, followed by a tip-off to the testing agency. The rumors about her trash-talking her coach? Carefully spread by a few well-placed texts to her teammates, pretending to be her. Her social media? That was just for fun, a way to throw her off balance and make her feel like her world was spiraling.

And it worked.

You know all of this, of course. Rafe never bothers to hide things from you. In fact, he’s proud of it, proud of the way he’s dismantled Becca’s life without so much as breaking a sweat. He tells you about it one night while you’re lying together, his arm draped lazily over your waist as he whispers in your ear.

“She thought she could fuck with you,” he murmurs, his voice dark, satisfied. “But now she knows. No one touches what’s mine.”

You should feel guilty. You should feel something for Becca, after all those years of friendship, of thinking she had your back. But all you can feel is a sick sense of satisfaction, like the universe has finally corrected itself. Becca messed with the wrong person, and now she’s paying the price. And as twisted as it is, you can’t help but feel a little thrill at how far Rafe was willing to go for you, how meticulously he destroyed her without you even asking him to.

“You really did all that?” you ask, your voice low, a smirk tugging at your lips.

Rafe shifts beside you, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your neck. “I told you, baby. No one fucks with you and gets away with it.”

You turn your head to meet his gaze, and there’s something dangerous in the way he looks at you, something possessive and wild. It should scare you, but it doesn’t. Not anymore.

Because the truth is, you like it. You like how far he’s willing to go for you, how far he’s willing to take it. There’s something intoxicating about the way he loves you—twisted, obsessive, and all-consuming. It’s not healthy, not normal, but it’s yours. And that’s enough.

You press your lips to his, kissing him fiercely, feeling the heat between you two ignite once again. Rafe kisses you back just as hard, his hands gripping you tightly, like he’s reminding you that you’re his and no one else’s.

As you pull back, your breath ragged, you glance at him, your voice barely above a whisper.

“She won’t come near me again.”

“No,” Rafe says, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction. “She won’t.”

And in that moment, you both know it’s true. Becca’s done.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[maxivstappen]

congrats on 1k again mel 🤍 i'm so proud of u!!

i'm requesting for ur event: the lyrics "you make me wanna fall in love" from "juno" by sabrina, and the driver is oscar piastri

౨ৎ MAKE YOU FALL IN LOVE ‧˚. OP81

౨ৎ PART OF MY 1K EVENT & my short n' sweet series (not posted yet) ౨ৎ

summary — you said it was casual, but you both knew it wasn’t. he liked to tell people that he’s certainly not in love with you, so maybe you just had to make him fall in love.

a/n — thank you so much for your constant support ml🥹 im not too happy with how this turned out, but i hope you enjoy reading anyway <3 based on the song ‚juno’ by sab!

warnings — kinda smutty?? jealous!oscar, making out, very suggestive, hints of angst, english isn’t my first language, not proofread

It really wasn’t your fault.

You decided to keep it casual as to not get him into any drama, so that people know his focus was keen on racing - becoming a world champion and whatnot - and also for your sake, because the hate, if you weren’t used to it, really could become unbearable, and the last thing Oscar wanted was for you to have to deal with any of that, you were just way too precious to him for that. So the decision was made. No strings attached.

Stupid, right? No strings attached is something to settle on before being all the way into it. Because at that point of your relationship, there was no way to keep it casual anymore. The only way was to take a few things that had been said two or three times too often back. To leave it all behind and really only do those things for ‚urgent needs‘ . No more spending the night or cooking together or meeting up without the friend group or sneaking away from said friend group just so he could finally rip the dress you had been teasing him with all night right off of you. But he had other plans, he seemed to just keep going with it. Telling you how much he missed you every time he was back from the long weekends, repeating the same three words over and over again as he makes his way down your thighs, kissing every clothed and unclothed spot he could reach from under you.

The first time it happened it was simply an accident, at least that’s what you told everyone. At least that’s what you told yourselves. But your touch and perfume still lingered even after a week, so the next time you saw each other at a birthday party of one of your mutual friends, Oscar couldn’t keep his hands off you either. Confessions of being attracted were spoken out loud and the only thing keeping you from taking it farther was nothing more than a mental holdback. You were scared of the public. He was scared to see you hurt because of that.

After a weekend during summer break spent together you asked him to finally decide on where to go on from this. He blurted out that he’s not in love, so there was no reason for things to get complicated. Your breath hitched. Casual hookups was what he said. Friends with benefits, you chuckled, seemingly angreeing with him as to not make this situation any weirder, even if it hurt just a tiny bit. But he was right. You had a different idea of a perfect life than he had. Racing was his passion, being in the spotlight was part of the sport, and you couldn’t even handle having to hold presentations in class because you hated being the center of attention. You two were just too different.

So yes. It is his fault! Because if he’s really, after all these lovey-dovey moment shared, still not in love — like you admittedly were — then he should stop acting like he did. Why would he get you flowers every few weeks? Why would he gift you a whole vacation with your best friend including hotel, trips and things a sane person wouldn’t even ask for for your birthday, and the rest of your friends would only get a normal birthday card and occasionally whatever small thing they had wished for? If you were really just casual, then why did he treat you as if none of this was ever just casual at all? Why did he treat you like his girlfriend if he so confidently stated that he’s not in love with you just months ago?

He couldn’t expect you not to want him to fall for you too if he was the one who made you fall for him in the first place. As if the “casual” sex wasn’t enough already, he just had to do the most romantic shit for you as to not let you get over him at all. He wanted to play with your head, he made it obvious. Too many mixed signs, too many actions done but too little words said. Lucky for you and for him, two can play the game.

If he was sooo sure he’s not in love with you, which he just had to be, maybe you just had to make him realize his loss if he ever lost you. You had to make sure he knew that you were desired also by men who weren’t him, and since it‘s his fault you fell for him in the first place, he should be the one who has to face he consequences of not loving you back.

In other words, a little jealousy clearly wouldn’t hurt him.

You were getting ready in the bathroom of your apartment together with your best friend, “juno“ by Sabrina Carpenter playing in the background while you gossiped about whatever came to mind — including Oscar and you. It was a secret to everybody else, but not to her. She was the one you cried to after Oscar told you he didn’t have feelings for you.

You finished up your makeup with some lipgloss, and once you were final,y content with your accessories and outfits, you made your way over to your friend’s, jack’s, birthday. Everybody was there, including Oscar. And Lando. His only ally and his biggest rival. If that didn’t make him crack, then nothing would, but you decided to try, at least. Lando and you got along alright already when you had only just met, and he was the first man to point out that Oscar and you aren’t just friends, right?

So when you suddenly put your hand on his arm, slowly rubbing up and down his biceps, he was confused at first, and then caught up on your quick nod in Oscar‘s direction while holding eye contact with him. Lando didn’t mean to do him any harm, but as much as he loved his teammate, he would never be one to turn down an opportunity to mess with him like this, especially not if he knew it would, at last, make Oscar snap so he didn‘t have to listen to his hopeless whining about his relationship with you being oh so complicated. Just ball up and confess, man.

It was innocent at first. Just simple touches, your hand on his chest for just a tiny second because you needed something to steady yourself on as your reached behind him to grab your drink from the small table the couch stood in front of, or his arm around your waist when you all stood next to each other to take a round of shots. Lando was certainly amused and your best friend was winking and giggling at you the whole night, seemingly loving your plan, because Oscar was definitely reacting.

His blood was boiling and he wanted to punch that smug look right off of Lando‘s face. How dare he touch you when he knew that Oscar, his own teammate, loved you?

Oscar thought it was better like this. Playing pretend instead of facing the truth, and he was pretty damn good at doing so. He was sure you believed him when he said that he doesn‘t want your relationship to include anything other than moments of lust, he thought it was easier that way. He thought it would make things less complicated, thought he could live his life without having to put you in any danger, live his life without needing you by his side every second of his damned life if he just put some boundaries. Surprise! It only made things worse, plus apparently, guys seemed to think you were available now, thought they could have you like only he can. And it made him fucking furious.

So when you stood up to pour yourself another drink in the kitchen, he followed, of course not before shooting the other driver for McLaren a death glare. Lando sighed and leanded back in his seat, happy to see your man finally making a real move. He hoped so, at least. Oscar closed the door after entering. It was only you two now.

“Fancy another beer?“ You asked calmly, but the feeling in your stomach was far from calm. This could end in complete rejection, maybe he could see right through your façade and thought you were childish for doing this? But how could you not?! Oscar himself made you do it with his mix of signs every damn time you saw each other!

He shook his head.

The tension between you was palpable as he watched your every move, back turned to him. You felt awkward, but tried to ignore it. The light was dim, and you could still feel the bass vibrating through the floor and the walls coming from the speakers in the living room. Was music this loud even allowed at this hour?

You finished pouring yourself some more champagne when you saw him walking over to you in the reflection of the glass cupboard in front of you. You sucked in a breath, not daring to say anything, feeling slightly hazy from the alcohol you‘ve drunken in the past few hours already. His cologne became starker as he stepped closer to you, eyes closed as you let the familiar smell of him take over you completely. You only opened them again once you realized he caged you between himself and the counter, pressing himself against your behind. He started softly kissing down your neck behind your ear, almost tickling you with how light his lips felt against your hot skin. You wanted this, you wanted him. But his touch wasn’t nearly enough, you wanted all of him, and not just his body. Every yet so little interaction you had during the evening left you with butterflies going crazy in your tummy, yet he never seemed affected, not until Lando came into view. Did he really only want your body and not more?

“What were you doing with him, y/n?”

Nothing but a moan left your mouth as he gently bit into your skin, sucking on your sweet spot as you subconsciously rubbed up against him. You didn’t even want to reply, you just wanted him to keep caressing your skin with his mouth. “Tell me what you were doing with Lando, huh, baby? What were you thinking?”

“Oscar I-“

“Keep talking or I’ll stop,” he whispered as he made his way down your back and then back up your shoulder, kissing and mouthing at every spot. Thankfully your best friend had convinced you to wear the backless top, you thought.

You huffed. This felt so humiliating, but you couldn’t keep going like this, not when he makes you feel like this and then leaves like nothing ever happened. You lived a lie and it was time to stop.

“I was trying to make you jealous so that you would finally stop and do something!”

Oscar’s furrowed his eyebrows and stopped in his tracks, hands still on you. What were you talking about The tension came crashing down onto your body once again, his doing not distracting you anymore. You seemed to want to have this conversation, and Oscar could easily put some of his lust away in moments like these. You didn’t get a reply, the cue for you to turn around and face him. You were still caged between him and the counter, his hands steady on either side of you now as he leaned down to look at you. you couldn’t focus like this, not with him so close to you and with the alcohol running through your body like blood. You looked up at him with doe eyes, prettily batting your lashes even if your mascara was slightly smudged already.

“Stop what? Talk to me, please. I didn’t like seeing you with him,” he looked concerned. Worried even, worried about what he might have done wrong. He wanted to be with you, keep you as his, so why would you want to stop being exactly that?

“Why don‘t you love me?“ You whispered, tears forming in your eyes. You hated it, but it was inevitable. The confrontation was overwhelming you anyway, and being under the influence managed to make it a lot worse. Your hands were all shaky and so was your every breath as you anticipated his reaction, expecting rejection but still hoping for more.

“I- What? Why would you think that?“

“Maybe because you literally said so?“

“Uhm, okay fair point. Listen y/n,“ he sighed, and you could practically hear your heartbeat throbbing inside your chest. He thought for a second, but didn‘t say a thing. Instead, he grabbed your face and kissed you like never before, he kissed you with more than just passion, he kissed you with love. his fingers wiped away a tear that had rolled down your face, kissing and holding you as gently as he could. “Don‘t cry on me, y/n, please don‘t,“ he begged as he now kissed down your cleavage, leaving lovebites on your collarbones. “Was just being stupid, didn‘t wanna hurt you baby, thought long distance is too hard,“ he said something, anything to make you understand that the only reason he didn’t confess was because he was scared of his life not being compatible with yours, and not because he didn’t love you.

You smiled into the kiss once he reached your lips again. You‘d have to talk about it more tomorrow morning after taking some aspirin, you knew, after all, that you‘d go back home with him. It wasn‘t enough to make it official, you weren‘t boyfriend and girlfriend, but you finally had the guarantee that he felt the same way, that he loved you just like you did him.

Oscar swore himself at that exact moment, when he felt you smiling while his lips were dancing against yours, that he would never make you feel so unloved again. It wasn’t his intention in the first place, but seeing your beautiful eyes filled with tears because of him made his heart shatter, and he never wants to see you like that again, not if he was the reason for your pain. And even though you did have to make him realize through making him jealous, you certainly didn’t have to make him fall in love with you.

Because he already was.

౨ৎ general taglist / sns taglist ::

@norrisdriver / @1655clean

[cuttedgrl]

tw sh

sfx realistic it's not real :3

hi guys first post !!

i went a bit too ham on the right leg ( or just in general probably )

venting below ur free to click off if you don't wanna read

anyway i did all this because the people i thought were my best friends started verbally harassing me nd made me feel worthless nd shit nd i don't know why i trusted them in the first place they were acting like middle school bullies like ur 16 nd 17 not 12 grow tf up

i have a trauma related to being dogpiled nd insulted online nd it definitely affected how i acted theu made me have an anxiety attack at .least onr of em apologized the other is not sorry whatsoevr nd doesn't gaf

lowkey regretting it a bit bc i have a doctor's appt on friday morning nd my mom's tryna get me put in a residential program nd get my doctor to refer me to it if they even can do that , the plan is im gona pretene to be sane and normal but it's gonna be hard if they see this shit so im trying to make it fade asap so i can play it off as old scars

also they sting so bad i had to take tylenol like yes i cut myself but tskk the stinging constantly is worse than the feeling of being sliced

i am way too sensitive to how people perceive me . like mf if u have an issue with me TELL ME how tf else will i know otherwise how can i fix it if i dont know theres a problem

i haven't cut this bad in literal years i don't even know if ive cut this bad before

rant over class dismissed

[milksnake-tea]

━━ die with a smile .

In every zombie apocalypse, there's always one who is immune to the infection. And Blade, it seems, is the unlucky one who has to carry that burden.

blade x gn!reader (kinda. relationship is ambiguous)

contains: gorey language (rotting flesh, wounds), zombie apocalypse au, horror(???? I GUESS????? I DONT EVEN KNOW BRO), reader dies lol, blade got major issues

wc: 2.4k

a/n: lord i am NOT good with horror BUT !!! might as well give this a try. if you can call this horror. I DONT EVEN KNOW I DONT WRITE OR READ HORROR IM JUST A GIRL anyways. this is for @stellaronhvnters's event that's happening rn! the prompt i ended up choosing was zombie, and i hope i brought it to life! i am actually so sad i wasn't allowed to write for sunday. can you believe this. SIGHS

taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace , @flurrina , @tragedy-of-commons , @cakechase , @kiiyoooo

Immune.

It is a word that Blade has heard time and time over again, and a word he has grown to hate.

Immune. Immortal.

A blessing, it is, to any other soul, especially in an apocalypse such as this. In a world where survival itself is a luxury, and comfort even moreso, what sane person wouldn’t wish for eternal life - or better yet, a life without fear of death?

They say he is lucky, the others. They say that he is blessed, and that whatever cruel deity overlooked this world must’ve found a sliver of fondness towards him.

They say that he is not human, the others. They say that he is something entirely else - not someone, no, something that cannot possibly fathom the pains of humanity, of a mortal life.

And so they say, why not let him bear the weight of a savior? After all, blessings must be used, and they cannot allow Blade to be selfish.

A pity, truly. They seemed to have forgotten, the others, that no matter how blessed he may seem, the deity is still cruel, and will not stand for shortcuts.

And so, Blade has long forgotten the meaning of the word “companion”.

Days pass like seconds in his constant weariness, and his body has become something akin to that of a clock; going through the motions, surviving but not living. His eyes bear witness to the downfall of his home, and yet he cannot see it - he cannot see anything; not the once-vivid colors of nature nor the once-bright streams of light that dare to warm his barely living skin.

He knows not where he is right now. All he knows is that he is injured, a gash on his arm that streams with useless blood. It will heal in due time, which is why…

“This is unnecessary,” he rasps.

If you had a name, he doesn’t remember it. Your face is blurred as everything else in this world is. You’re one of many, hundreds, that he has traveled with - why, he doesn’t know. Perhaps he feels some sort of obligation, like the ones the others have said long ago, to protect those who aren’t favored like he is.

But that isn’t Blade’s main concern. What is, is the bandages binding his wound, bleeding bandages that are wasted on someone of his constitution.

“I will heal,” he continues, his voice a repetitive drawl. “Save it for your own skin.”

And yet the bandages do not fall - in fact, they may have tightened.

“Your blessing allows you to recover from injuries and pain,” you reply, weariness wearing down your own voice, and yet there is a spark of indignation beneath the exhaustion. “It does not excuse you of pain.”

Blade scoffs. “I am not so weak as to kneel from such an insignificant wound.”

“But it hurts, doesn’t it?”

He blinks. Seizing his stunned silence, you continue.

“While your body takes the time to heal, it becomes prey to infections, parasites, all of which are painful and annoying to deal with, as I’m sure you know. It isn’t wise to rely on your blessings all the time.”

But it’ll only take a second. Gods work quick, after all, and their blessings quicker. He has no need for your bandages nor for your ointment.

He sighs.

“Do what you want.”

He doesn’t have the energy to argue much further. If this futile attempt at aiding him is what will calm you, then he will bear with it.

Blade rears his head slightly so that he can catch a glimpse of the wasteland that lies outside the broken-down shack you’ve temporarily taken refuge in. The streets are quiet - for now. But evidence of past destruction stains the road in warning: do not stay, do not yield. Do not think you are safe, for even a moment, because that is when they will strike.

And they will come, the victims and the assailants, with their rotting flesh and grey skin, and you will have but two options: survive and remember, or join them in their pack.

Both you and Blade are well aware of this fact, evident by the fact that you are still human. No one survives long in a world like this without some sort of wits on them, which makes your insistence on treating him all the more befuddling.

He inhales, and the stench of decay fills his nostrils.

They will be here soon.

He stands up abruptly, interrupting your work and leaving the bandage untied. With a grunt, he finishes the binding himself, cutting off the excess with his namesake.

“We can’t afford to dally,” he says gruffly as he pulls on his black coat once more, hiding the bandages and shielding his scars from past battles. “Come.”

He doesn’t wait for your answer. If you have any brains in there, you’ll follow.

It’s eerie, the way fog curls and billows like smoke as he wretches open the door. He cannot feel the wind, but he sees it well enough in the way it drags the fallen clouds across the deserted earth and tickles what little life is left in the leaves of wilted trees.

He hears your footsteps behind him, along with a little sigh, and he resumes his march.

Dried leaves crack under his boots. The air is quiet, as if he were in a vacuum chamber, too quiet. He wonders how long ago it had been since these dirtied streets were clean and covered not by leaves and dried flesh, but by the pit-pats of dozens of people, all on their next chapter of life.

The silence is deafening. His brows furrow slightly.

With a glance back at you, he confirms his suspicions. Your hackles are raised, and the grip on your weapon has switched from idle to offensive. You peer into the fog’s depths, scanning the premises for anything, live or dead, that might be hiding.

Neither of you dare to speak. Talking only sets them off.

But then again, if they are really here, there is little you can do to deter them.

They come in packs - at least, most of them do. Like the humans they used to be, they can be quite fickle. Most prefer each other’s company - if they can call it company, but there are always one or two or five who go on their own, and those either die quickly or become stronger than what is manageable.

His breath mists from his slightly parted lips.

He breathes in through his nose.

The air is sour.

He stops.

He listens.

And then he hears it - the crack of a leaf, crushed under a foot that is neither his nor yours.

Instinct seizes him and he whirls and grabs you and throws you out of the way. Steel meets flesh, carving it with the precision of a butcher and the life he used to have. He faintly registers cold blood as it coats his face in a splatter, its iron taste on the tip of his tongue as he shouts at you,

“Go!”

They come in packs, the creatures. As they swarm him like an infestation of houseflies, Blade begins to miss the eerie silence.

He plunges into a familiar, red-tinted haze. He slashes and slices and cuts through corpses of those who should’ve been put to rest. Rotted teeth bite into his arms (he briefly remembers your insistence on infection) and he kicks them off and his namesake soon follows.

Undying, the two of them are. They are more similar than the others like to admit, but truth is, they are both cursed by the deity. Never will they live, never will they die. Forever, they must exist in this world, until all that’s left of them is a memory.

For how much longer must he endure this? For how much longer must he fight?

He’s tired.

He wants to sleep.

But rest doesn’t come easy.

In the corner of his eye, another one of them lunges at him, falling teeth bared and eyes lolling from their sockets. He tugs his sword, but it is hindered - only slightly, embedded in the flesh of another. It’s a second he’ll lose, and a second that decides it all.

For a moment, he’s half tempted to let it bite.

But then comes a BANG! and then the distinctive smell of gunpowder and then his face is coated in body bits once more.

“What’re you doing?!” Now it’s your turn to grab his arm and pull him away. “There’s too many of them. Let’s get out of here!”

He clicks his tongue in annoyance. You’re loud, but you’ve got a point.

You shove him behind you and unclip one of the many grenades that hang from your belt. He knows this move well enough now, and therefore knows to avert his gaze once he hears the pin pulled and the bomb sails into the crowd of them.

BOOM!

The explosion is only just enough to startle their attackers and create enough of a divy in their ranks that you can push through. Blade leads the retreat, catching any stranglers with his sword while you keep your gun aimed behind you to ward away any pursuers.

He runs, as he always does. He scales hills with a speed that should’ve left his legs stiff and burning, leaps over canals that are flooded with pollution, and turns corners so fast that his neck might’ve broken. Only once or twice does he glance back to see if you are following. 

You are, although, you are slower. Something is weighing you down.

He runs, until he can no longer hear the groans of the deceased and the sourness fades away into crisp nothingness. The smoke-fog lolls back, and he thinks he finds peace, but then-

A weight crashes into his back, making him stumble. With a growl he doesn’t feel, he leers at you.

“What now-?”

He stills as he sees your state.

“Sorry, I just-” Your breath is ragged as you pant. You try to push yourself off, but your legs give out and you crash back into him. But that’s not what catches Blade off-guard.

You are like a second sun, with the heat searing through your skin and burning him through his clothes. His eyes widen as he fully takes you in.

Sweat drips off of you in raindrops. Your skin shivers in small, terrifying tremors. Your breath is short and rasp and choked and hollow, as if every inhale takes all of your energy. Your eyes are barely peeking open as you try to stay conscious.

Words die on the tip of his tongue.

You inhale again, gasping as you try to speak. You want to move, but your body fails you.

“S-”

“Quiet.” He turns you against his chest to assess the danger. Your chest heaves, and- there.

He’s seen it far too many times.

No. Not again.

How- When? When had it- no.

His brows furrow and his teeth grit.

There, tearing through your jacket and into your shoulder, ripped clothes and frayed threads, a bite, black, purple, bruised and bloody and slobbery. And in between, the beginnings of greying skin.

An infection.

His mind begins to race for the first time in years. Fear erupts in him like a sealed volcano as he fights himself on what to do with you.

He should kill you. Get it over with, make it quick before you suffer. There’s no coming back from a bite - you’re as good as dead now, so it wouldn’t be wrong, right? It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to kill a fallen companion (if you could even call them that).

Yes, he should - he needs to do it. Now, while you’re still weak and vulnerable, while you still hold your humanity within your grasp.

In one hand, is you, a person whom he has only known for a month or so. In the other hand is the sword that has never left his side.

The choice is obvious.

Yet why can’t he make it?

“Bl…Blade,” you rasp. His glare pierces you. “I…”

“Don’t waste your energy,” he says quietly, almost gently. He doesn’t recognize his own voice.

“...this-” you cough suddenly, hacking phlegm for a few horrid seconds before you’re able to speak again. “This is- like a really bad time to say this, but… you smell really, really good. Like… like… like meat.”

He freezes.

Now. Do it, as you always have. Don’t think of it any longer.

Yet his feet are rooted and his hands are stone. Like a moth to a flame, his eyes can’t tear away from your face as you stagger, dirtied hands clutching at his dirtied coat. Your lidded eyes are hazy.

His namesake is heavy like a weight in his hand. Bandaged, calloused fingers grip and shift and relax and then tighten again around the handle as he struggles with a decision.

He takes too long.

You lunge at him with abrupt strength and tackle him to the ground. Blade chokes as gravel digs into his shoulders. Still-warm hands seize onto his broad shoulders with a grip so tight they might shatter. And above him, the sun halos your silhouette, basking you in shadow.

The grip on his shoulders trembles.

“Sor….” your language begins to slur, deteriorating into the common groan of them. “Hung….”

Blade doesn’t reply, too caught up in his mind and in witnessing your last moments as a human. Your mouth hangs open, breath and saliva dripping from it as the grey climbs up your skin in patches of mold.

“Hurs…” you mutter. “Hurs… so…”

Your hands leave his shoulders in favor of pulling down his collar in a manner that is hauntingly gentle. You pull, layers and layers of cloth down and away until his throat is fully exposed, Adam’s apple bobbing.

Fingers trace his throat, thumbs rubbing against it. Animalistic hunger overtakes your pupils, which have always smiled so kindly and tiredly at him, blurring all sentient thoughts away.

Blade squeezes his eyes shut. He breathes, feeling the air pool in his lungs.

And then, at last, he decides.

You scarcely resist as he switches your positions. He slams you to the concrete and raises his namesake, pointed tip situated just above your heart.

And then he sees you, as he always has.

And despite your clouded eyes, your dog-like breaths, and the mold growing on your skin, you smile softly.

But why?

Out of relief?

Out of gratitude?

Or… out of forgiveness?

Blade doesn’t know, nor does he ever find out, as he takes one last look at your life, soaking in all that remains of you and burning it into his memory.

And then he plunges, and the deity laughs once more.

And again, he loses the meaning of companion.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[mister-lobotomy]

Eughhhh... Tomura Shigaraki is acctually so amazing..

He makes me so misreble yet so happy, he's so complex, he's so perfect but so messed up, he's a deep character; without it feeling forced or boring, I could read his wiki ten times and write a summary of it, I could rant about him for hours without end, I could draw 586 drawings of him, I would probably die if i couldn't consume media related to him...,..,

I've made countless playlists, art, fics, AUs, you name it!!!!!!; relating to him

I look at everyday things and go "Oh golly geez, this MUST be a shigaraki reference!!!!!!"

his character design, his psychology, his backstory, his personality, his relationships, his goals, everything..... it's all so meaningful to me..

Anyway yeah, im normal and sane about him.

[aurorasgate]

LUNAAAAA ily 🤭 anyway i've read a bunch of your fics and i never thought i would like sephiroth until i read what you write so pls pls pls if you can write smth smutty and sweet of seph it would kill me (p.s. preferably after him and reader have their first baby and they've been so pent up after almost 2 years of not being able to do it)

hi babes!! ily too!🥰🩷 im so glad i could help bring you over to loving sephiroth heheh🤭 i did take this idea but i did change it a bit and then kinda ran away with it? i still hope you like it! thank you so much for reading and requesting something!

the sweetest of dark dreams

sephiroth x fem!reader | 6.3k + words

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, porn with plot, un named daughter, hurt/comfort, post ffvii story, violence and drugging (not by seph), he's not pre-nibelheim sane but not crazy seph either?, possessiveness, explicit sexual content, mating press, cream pie, implied multiple rounds, i think that it but please let me know i missed anything!

synopsis: the first thing you saw upon opening your eyes is sephiroth with your daughter smiling at his side and tugging at his sleeve but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t considered that maybe you never woke up in the first place and you’re still dreaming. is it a nightmare or a sweet dream? you wonder again and again as two days pass, questioning if any of this is even real because how could it possibly be real when your husband who should be dead is suddenly.. here, alive and breathing and making your daughter smile. you don’t know what to believe but all of this feels so unbelievably real it’s hard to tell your brain and your heart otherwise and he doesn't wait long to show you just how real this is.

you’ve yet to decide if this is a dream or a nightmare or which you would even want it to be if you knew.

it started off as a nightmare. no it was so much more than that when you lost sephiroth after the nibelheim mission and somehow even worse than that when you found out you were pregnant. pregnant and utterly alone. on the run from shinra, desperate to ensure your baby would never be known by them, would never have to come close to one of their labs or needles.

then your daughter was born. a mix of you and your soulmate and beyond perfect. the rays of light in her eyes, his eyes, helping guide you through the darkness that had clouded the path in front of you for those first nine months without him and thus nightmare began to turn into a bittersweet dream.

the sweetness of it was easier to take in the more she grew, with each successful day that you’re both free of shinra, but a day never passed that you didn’t think of sephiroth or feel the permanent ache in your chest that had been present since you were parted. and you were never blind to the threats that still lingered. the truth that your daughter shares sephiroths jenova cells and if shinra ever found her.. well you would be sure they never got to her so you would not have to find out and she would never have to know any of the pain her father was put through.

it's what sephiroth would have wanted too. 

nearly six years of you and her, safe and sound, six years of giggles and smiles and you doing everything you can to protect her, a dream you live out for both you and your beloved and when you heard of the explosion of shinra, what sephiroth had done, you had hoped maybe the running could finally be over, but it only took one moment for it to turn into a horror you didn’t dare dream of, that you could hardly take and have relived every night since in your dreams.

“mommy?”

“yes baby?” you replied as calmly as you could and prayed that your daughter couldn’t feel the rapidness of your heart beat under her hands that cling around your neck but you couldn't suppress it no matter how hard you tried.

“is something wrong?”

she’s always been more aware than you know how to handle at times but how could you lie when at this moment everything seemed wrong, so very fucking wrong, like everything you did to try to keep her safe wasn’t enough and never would have been. you remembered crying about how you couldn’t do this without sephiroth during her birth and maybe you were right all along..

you heard he died along with many others that fateful day but there was no mistaking hojo when you spotted him in the city you visited for supplies near the place you had called home for the last half year and the devilish expression on his face when your eyes met let you know he had not mistaken you either.

that sickening smile had only grown when his gaze came to the small child holding your hand, her silver hair so similar to her fathers if her slitted pupils weren’t enough to give her away to him. though you honestly don’t know how much of a look he got of her because so quick you had your daughter in your arms and slipped back into the crowd that frequents this market street.

you didn’t look back but you felt him and others following you.

“whatever happens, just don’t let go of me, okay?” you asked of your daughter, hugging her closer to your body. you had dropped your groceries somewhere on the side of the road to help lighten the load and get you moving faster as she wordlessly buried herself into your chest, holding on like her life depended on it.

she held on just as tightly when she was ripped from your hold by a man dressed in a shinra infantry uniform only minutes outside of the city. like they had been waiting for you, they cornered you against an abandoned building and before you realized it, hojo was behind you and you felt the prick of a thick needle sinking into your side. 

there were a dozen others that surrounded you, some pulling your weakening body away from your daughter as others tried to make her let go of you. you’ve never felt so helpless, so scared and even though you know it’s only a dream this time around, the emotions flood back like they had then. 

“what did you do to me?!” you screamed at hojo in your fight to reach for her but no matter how much you tried to move you couldn’t get your body to do anything and the place where hojo had injected you burned like the heat of it was draining every ounce of your strength and consciousness. 

you hardly heard his answer over the cries of your daughter and the adrenaline pumping through your veins with no way to release after whatever the hell hojo put inside of you. you screamed, unable to hold it back when your mouth felt like it's the only thing that could move or do anything at all. it made your lungs burn with dry heat, you thought they may even burst with how it rages inside of your chest but you could only hope in the explosion it would take hojo and these ass holes with you.

by some miracle it ignited your muscles and you tugged at the hands that held onto you, your strength surprising them and their hold slipped, allowing you a moment to tumble away towards your daughter, reaching out for her with bruised arms just as gunshots echo all around you. 

a gust of wind, like the beat of a giant wing, swirled around you, sending hojos lackeys flying in every direction but you and your daughter remained steady, not a hair flying in the wind. before your hands can connect with her she’s being lifted into the air by gloved hands and when you follow them to the person picking her up, feeling your body succumbing to the serum hojo injected you with, you see sephiroth holding her on his hip, reaching down for you with his other arm, a dark black wing surrounding you like a shield before the entire world faded away.

you awake with the same jolt you had once the serum had run its course, body jolting and gasping for air but unlike then, you’re quick to realize where you are and that things are okay. a weird, uneasy definition of the word but your daughter is safe and hojo is dead and that is enough for you. at least that’s what you keep telling yourself.

it had to be enough because right now nothing else aside from those two things make any sense to you and even the latter you’re only taking at the word of the familiar stranger currently asleep with your daughter in his arms on the plush chair in her bedroom. 

it’s only been a few days since you woke up after being asleep for two weeks thanks to hojos concoction and the first thing you saw upon opening your eyes was sephiroth with your daughter smiling at his side and tugging at his sleeve but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t considered that maybe you never woke up in the first place and you’re still dreaming. is it a nightmare or a sweet dream? you wonder again and again as two days pass, questioning if any of this is even real. 

how could it possibly be real when your husband who should be dead is suddenly.. here, alive and breathing and making your daughter smile and claiming hojo is no longer a threat because he personally saw to it and you’ll all be safe now. he’ll be sure of it. you honestly don’t know what to believe but all of this feels so unbelievably real it’s hard to tell your brain and your heart otherwise and regardless of whether it is or not, you need to continue to protect your daughter. so even in this foggy state between reality and a fucked up beautiful dream, you do what you’ve always done to keep her safe.

she may be a heavy sleeper but sephiroth never has been himself and you doubt that’s change in the years you’ve been apart so when you sneak out of the house, you hold your boots against your chest as you tiptoe out of the front door and hold your breath with every step until you’re on the edge of the small garden you keep, sitting on the wood plank of the garden box and lace up your boots before making your way back towards the city.

two weeks you’d been asleep. two weeks of not earning any gil and you don’t even know how sephiroth has paid for or gotten the food currently in your pantry. it’s just another worry on your shoulders that makes it hard to breath or think straight but it’s one you can do something about at least. you’d have made better care taking plans for your daughter in your absence had you not been asleep all this time and the fights you planned to join in the undercity for gil being only tonight until next month. you couldn’t wait that long and having joined them before, you know you’ll be fine. thank the goddess there were no lingering effects of the serum as far as you could tell.

that doesn’t stop how sickly on edge you feel the entire walk, like hojo or sephiroth might pop up from the shadows, like you’ve done a terrible thing by leaving your daughter with a man you aren’t sure is real. a stranger, you had called him earlier but you’re just as much of a stranger to him now too. so long without him, your only focus being keeping your daughter alive and safe at any cost and despite your heart with a wound that not even time could heal. you’re not the same person and if he really is the man you once called your husband, the same one who had tried to destroy the planet, he isn’t the same either. 

he had been gentle with your daughter over the past two days of you carefully watching his every move though. she had hardly wanted to be away from him since you’ve awoken and he had seen to her care during the time you were drugged to sleep without as much as a scratch on her little body. she trusted him and though you aren’t sure that you did, you didn’t think he’d hurt her and you’d do your best to get back before either of them noticed you were gone.

your dream replays in your mind as you walk past the place where sephiroth had reappeared before you, right when you needed him. in the moonlight you’d never guess it was the place of a slaughter or the return of someone you never thought you’d see again. it looks almost peaceful in your slowed steps taking in the blades of grass that flatten under your footsteps but it does anything but bring you calmness. 

on the brink of losing it, your mind running a million miles an hour with how to wake up from this dream, how to discern what’s real and what isn’t, you’re thankful the undercity is filled with more life than the actual city is thanks to more than just the townsfolk being here to watch the fights happening in an arena that sits in the center of it all. no one pays you any mind and the endless chatter along with the announcers echoing in the background nearly drowns out your anxious thoughts.

you’d need to figure them out at some point. you know you can’t avoid it forever but it would have to wait for tonight, until you could control just one thing and be sure there was enough gil for whatever your family might need in the coming weeks, until you could feel something that was undoubtedly real to knock you out of this sorry state if for no other reason but your daughter.

like always, you would need to push through for her even when you’re breaking in ways you don’t know where to begin to cover up or fix. then again, maybe you’re just unfixable to begin with. 

having made your way through most of the crowd, you’re nearly at the carved out side entrance of the arena to look over the fight lists and sign up for one’s you know you’ll be able to win against other people and monsters but like he had been waiting for you to arrive, you see sephiroth leaning against the wall with his arms folded and his head down, silver locks covering most of his face just a curtain of starlight. he no longer wears his normal armor but there's no denying it’s him. in the busyness no one seems to notice him either but he’s all you can see.

in a blink, his attention is on you, as if he felt your presence, and you’re frozen in the street, unsure what it is that’s gluing your feet to the ground. fear? guilt? worry? you can’t begin to describe the feeling properly but it's like black tendrils root you in place and make your heart beat uncontrollably, uncomfortably.

unfolding his arms, he takes long strides towards you, his eyes never leaving yours, the expression on his face completely unreadable and as composed as ever. every conscious part of your body tells you to run as fast as you can in the opposite direction, all the while your heart whispers that he would never hurt you. run towards him. you push the urge down, remind yourself he isn’t your sephiroth, and when the nerves in your feet finally get the message and move, it’s away from him that they choose. he’s so close to you by then though and you know you only get away because he’s letting you.

you can’t get out the ‘excuse me’s and ‘i’m sorry’s that sit on the tip of your tongue as you hurry away from the arena and back towards the entrance you came from, accidentally knocking into patrons without looking back. you don’t even know why you’re running when you know there was no getting away from him. even if he’s letting you go now, he was faster. stronger. dangerous. and worst of all and more likely than anything else, maybe you’ll realize he’s just some twisted joke conjured by your subconscious or shinra in order to get whatever they want from you.

it’s just outside the dimly lit entrance to the undercity that sephiroth has had enough of chasing after you and before you can stop in your tracks, he’s standing in front of you, the lights of the undercity reflecting back on his handsome features, and he’s quickly changing your direction and backing you into metal wall of the normally closed off entrance with his steps only inches from yours. it’s only the two of you around with the arena growing louder, telling you the event is about to begin. 

he doesn’t touch you, there’s not a place your bodies connect, no where you’ve dared to reach for in the two days you’ve been awake but you can feel the warmth of him at this distance, smell his familiar leather and flora scent, and it wraps around you like a blanket you had nearly forgotten the touch of but you hesitate to melt into its comfort. his strong arms cage you in, not letting you escape his intense gaze and towering height, and on bated breath you wait for him to make the first move, to say something, anything because for two days you’ve hardly had any words between you but it seems he was not going to let that continue any longer.

“what are you doing here?” he asks and you feel your heart skip a beat at the sound of his voice that wavers with what you swear is worry.

but it couldn’t have been, you tell yourself.  he’s not real. this isn’t real. wake up - wake up!

“it looks to me like you already know,” your words are like venom on your own tongue. you hate the taste but you can’t stop it with the overwhelming feelings currently consuming you, that you don’t know where to begin to process. before he can say anything you continue, finally finding the strength to move and using it to shove him away from you with your hands planted firmly on his chest. it’s the first time you’ve touched him since waking up and you’re almost surprised that he feels solid. it steals the poison behind your words, makes you falter and they’re only defeated now. “you don’t get to judge my choices. i do what i have to for her. i always have and i always will.”

free from his caging, you don’t try to go back to the undercity. you know he wouldn’t let you and gods dammit your daughter is alone right now - your feet start to head back towards home at a quick pace, not waiting up for him or looking back to see if he is following you.

“that’s not the issue here,” his voice is close when he speaks again, as though he’s right on your heels.

you stop in your tracks, turning on the balls of your feet to meet his gaze. goddess how is he even before you.. 

“not the issue?” you can’t help but laugh. it feels horrible though, bitter and heavy and brings tears to your eyes. “then tell me, what exactly is the problem because i can think of so many bigger issues than earning gil to keep my daughter safe!” so quickly you’ve lost your cool, every word you speak brings you closer and closer to bursting into tears.

“you’ve done so much for her,” he says and despite the flinch of the words you used to claim your daughter without him, there’s a soft adoration in his tone that makes you think this really must be some kind of mirage meant to torture you further, to break you, and it’s working. he takes a step closer to you, reaching for you with his gloveless hand but his touch never connects. “but putting yourself in danger is no way of protecting her.”

your tears begin to shed without your permission, letting go with them the floodgates of your emotions. this was too much to take, too much to process when you don’t know what to believe or do when years of longing pain crashes to the surface in a suffocating wave. “what would you even know about it when you’ve been goddess knows where - what - trying to destory the fucking planet - while ive been in agony without you?! trying to get through every day-”

you take a step away from him, thankful there seems to be no one else around you to hear your loss of control, to see the way you run your hands over your face and hair and take in breaths that only seem to fuel the heat inside you that is cracking you with ever added degree.

“did you even come back for me after nibelheim? did you know i was pregnant or about our daughter?!” you’re sobbing uncontrollably, unsure if he can understand your words but you couldn’t stop them just as much as you couldn’t control your weeping eyes. you can’t meet his either when you continue, “i - i don’t even know if you’re real sephiroth! the only thing i know that's real is her and even if this, right now, is some kind of messed up dream hojo’s put me in, i have to take care of her in the chance it’s not and if it is then- then i have to wake up so i can save her. i have to do something! - anything - i -”

the touch of his hands on your face, cradling your jaw with gentle strength, stops you in your tracks before you can fully succumb to fear and grief and every little emotion firing off inside of you, before you drown in your own tears. 

sephiroth says your name and though you can’t tell if it’s helping or making your tears worse, you don’t fight him. “you don’t think i’m real?” he asks, his voice deep and eerily tranquil but before you can protest or reply, his lips are on yours, pressing together in a deep, claiming kiss. one of his hands carding into your hair while the other grabs your trembling hands and brings them up to his chest. 

you can feel his steady heartbeat under your palms, taste him on your lips with each kiss you return that’s coated in your tears and the way he handles you feels like a distant memory. you want to melt into it, let yourself be weak and handled by him like you had years ago but you can’t bring yourself to give in. it’s not real and it hurts that much worse because of it. 

with unreserved strength, he presses you against him with a hand now at your back, splayed across you in a possessive grip, keeping you completely flush against his larger body, your feet nearly off the ground in your reach for him. you gasp against his lips at the sudden contact and when he takes in a deep breath, he affirms you as though he had read your mind, “this is real,” you feel the pressure of his forehead on yours and hiccup in your sobbing at the contact. “and you will never be without me again.”

“sephiroth..” you hold onto the shirt he wears, the fabric bunching in your fists as if he might disappear in the wind if you did not hold onto him. in this state you don’t know if you can believe him but so badly do you want it to be true and you think maybe for a moment you can give in, let yourself believe it for the sake of your heart that’s filled with a hope you worry might break you like you never before if it turns out to not be true.

you couldn’t bear to lose him again. even if neither of you are the same as before, there is no doubt in your mind that he is a part of your soul and heart just as you are a part of his. that you will always be tied to one another in a bond you can’t explain in words but that you’re certain transcends lifetimes and universes.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

the front door to the house creaks open slowly and for the first time since you gave in, you break from sephiroths lips, trying to catch your breath in quiet gasps thanks to the tears still flowing from your eyes. he’s carried you the entire way home, with your legs wrapped around his thin waist and his ever present strength helping him support you with minimal effort. he isn’t keen on letting you go now that you’re home either. 

the house is quiet and in his walk to your bedroom at the end of the hallway, you both peek into your daughter's room to see her sleeping peacefully where sephiroth had tucked her in before following after you. you reach down and shut the door and in his next step, he captures your lips once more in a kiss that makes you light headed and dizzy.

he’s quick to press you against your bedroom door as the click of the lock fills the room and is quickly replaced by your whimpers. aside from when you slept here for those two long weeks, unmoving but with your heart still beating, he hasn’t stepped foot back in your room despite the fact it was torture to be so close and yet so far from you. he had wanted to devour you from the moment you first woke up and looked at him with those eyes that were so closed off but still so full of the love that changed him, that made him realize there was something he could not live without.  

he wasn’t well without you by his side either and regardless of whether you believed him or not, he hadn’t known of your daughter but when he found out, all he had done was search for you until he heard the planet vibrate with your scream that shook his soul and brought him to you, never to be parted again.

“have you remained only mine angel?” he asks low against your lips, with an urgency that tells you he needs you to tell him. he gives you the chance, lifting up further up on his waist and stepping away from the door, latching his lips on the base of your neck, nibbling and sucking on your supple skin.

you’re quick to nod, your words following after he has you on the bed and is on top of you, not letting an inch between your bodies. “only ever yours,” you promise and you mean it whole heartily. there could never be anyone but him in your bed or in your heart.

“only mine,” he echoes, the words vibrating through his chest and then his teeth are sinking deeper into your flesh. you hold back a cry, feeling your body break out in goosebumps as you writhe underneath his broad frame, trying to keep quiet. he shifts and presses his hard, clothed cock over your sex, rolling his hips with a soothing lick over the marks of his teeth on your flesh. “all mine.”

the way he strips you of your clothes is such a stark contrast to how he handles your body. the fabric is carelessly ripped and torn in a ravenous fashion, the fibers easily giving way to his strength but when his fingers touch your skin that lay beneath, they’re acutely aware to your fragility compared to what had become of his own body and maps out every change in your own since sephiroth last saw you like this.

he remains completely clothed above you, his pupils the thinnest of slits underneath thick dark lashes that grow heavier with aching hunger the longer he stares at you. a piercing gaze that makes your entire body tremble and burn with heat. a predator gaze. the eyes of your other half that you only saw in your dreams for so long. but your dreams had never been this real. your heart had not beat like this in six years, not even your endless tears could begin to replicate the feelings coursing through you right now and you couldn’t control a single one of them but you didn’t need to when you surrender all of yourself to him.

the pressure of his body against yours once more grounds you, the warmth of his breath and lips on the skin below your ear, his hand that travels down your inner thigh towards where you want him the most making you whimper in a plea for more. at this point you aren’t sure you’ll be able to stop crying but your tears are slower now, your hands tugging at his clothes for purchase or to get them off of him or some mix of them both.

“i’ll show you how real i am darling,” he whispers against you, placing a kiss to the space below the lobe of your ear right as you feel his fingers on your cunt, slowly parting your folds from your entrance to your clit, groaning at the soft and wet feeling of you. “be a good girl for me.”

in all the time you’ve been apart you’ve never forgotten the feeling of him but have never been able to mimic it with your own hands and could not even dream of it with another, let alone follow through with it just to sate your needs. there’s nothing compared to the way he knows your body better than yourself, the intense adoration he shows it and how easily he finds the perfect pressure against your clit that has you clenching around nothing, arching into his chest, and soaking his fingers.

and when he finally sinks two of his digits into you, you have to bite your bottom lip to keep from screaming out. it feels so good, so right, so real. his body lifts from yours, spreading his legs and yours thighs on top of his follow, giving him the perfect view of your glistening cunt. 

“‘s real,” you don’t mean for the words to be spoken out loud despite the fact they echo over and over again in your mind and you say them so quietly he might not have heard you had he not been so keenly aware of every inch of you.

his other hand comes up to your face, the pads of his thumb soothing below your bottom lip in a gentle caress that coaxes your jaw to slacken and hear the your sweet noises as he thrusts his fingers in and out of your tight hole, curling them when they’re buried knuckles deep inside of you.

“i’m real,” he confirms, running his thumb along your bottom lip.

your hands hold onto his muscular arms, your nails leaving crescent shapes in his skin with every lewd squelch from between your legs each time he pulls his fingers away and pushes back into you with skilled movements until you’re coming so quick, so hard, around his fingers. he massages that perfect spot inside of you that has you seeing stars behind your closed eyes, his thumb pressing against you clit in time with his movements and your orgasm rocks your body, adding to your tears that he begins wipes with his hand on your face as he watches you break around him, feeling himself growing impossibly harder behind the confines of his pants at how beautiful you are. 

his chest is full of the anguish and relief of all these years without you, what he thought he had lost that only drove him to further madness but that was here before him now, that he would never be let out of his grasp again. 

a whimper escapes your lips when he leaves you so very empty with the withdrawal of his fingers but you can’t bear to take your hands off of him. you need to feel more of him, all of him, and don’t stop your pitiful movements that pull at his clothes, shaking and needy. you can’t hold onto him tight enough but it doesn’t bother him, he doesn’t make you stop, and his much steadier hands help you take off all of his clothes, revealing every last bit of porcelain skin that you thought you would never see or touch again and the silken strands of hair that tickle your skin nearly everywhere your hands roam.

settling between your legs, he helps you stroke his cock in languid movements, his larger hand enveloping your own, mako filled eyes entirely focused on you, slitted pupils blown wide taking in the sweet divine bliss on the beautiful features of your face, the delicate curve of your breasts with every deep breath you try to take, the sticky slickness of your pussy that makes his hands on you tremble in held back strength and makes his mouth water. 

“spread your legs for me,” he instructs, his free hand supporting your leg helping you move as he wishes. “spread them wider,” his voice falls deeper, your legs shake but not from the stretch. you do as he says and you let go of his big cock to reach your hands up around his neck to bring him down to your lips. his hair falls around you like streaks of moonlight, bringing you back to the place you always belonged and the softness of his lips on yours, the pressure of his leaking tip at your entrance, all reminding you how real this is. “just like that sweet girl.”

the thickness of him stretches you in a lovely ache that you only want more of and he takes it slow sinking into your tight walls until he’s buried to the hilt, all while kissing so passionately to muffle your shared moans, to feel and claim all of you that he could. his strong grip keeps you still, at the mercy of his movements. even when his hands travel from your hips to your legs while he begins to pull out of you just to sink back in with a powerful thrust, they have you at sephiroths will and you easily give it to him.

grabbing onto the fat of your thighs, relishing in the feeling of you in his hands once more, so pliant and desperate, he pushes your legs to your chest, spreading them wide, and sets a deep and brutal pace when he gives into everything he’s feeling that's only amplified by taking you like this. 

at this angle he’s so deep, fucking you into the matress, and with how unchecked his power is, you don’t doubt you’ll have bruises where his hands hold you open for him but you want the proof that he’s yours again. that you won’t wake up to and he’ll be gone. you hold onto him with just as much fervor, your grip moves from his arms and bury in the thickness of his hair, tugging at the roots with every time you feel so full of him, so close to your release again already, and it only seems to spur him on more.

the bed posts move along the ground in time with his thrusts and when it’s somehow still not enough of you, his chest meets yours, his arms barely holding the majority of his weight over you that has you folded in half, whimpering underneath him with every jolt of his hips inside of you, the slap of his heavy balls against your ass joining your quieted cries of his name and his heavy breaths, his sweet praises. 

“you’re taking me so well - ngh, fuck,” you clench around him, greedily sucking him back in when he’s pulling away from you. “my good girl.”

“‘m so close,” the words are breathless, barely there when they escape past your lips and the heat of them soaks into his own that can’t stop kissing you, delving his tongue into your mouth and tasting you again and again.

“i know,” his voice is octaves deeper, sensual in a way that only brings you that much closer. “don’t hold back. cum for me angel,” it feels like a gentle command, even with all the desperation and love behind his words. “need to feel you cum on my cock.”

“ah! s - seph-!” you can’t get out his name before the pressure between your legs bursts like it never has before and when you feel him throbbing inside of you, painting your walls with his seed, it only adds to the ethereal heat that washes over you and leaves you trembling in the drugging, hypnotizing atmosphere of him still hard inside of you, the feel of his body against you, the numbing tingle of your legs as he helps them unfold and settle comfortable around his hips.

he doesn’t stop there. your heart skips far too many beats at the loss of his chest on yours, not knowing where you began and he ended and your hands that try to pull him back to you are too weak to do anything but follow the way he moves you but he soothed you with his lithe fingers caressing your skin as they help you move onto your stomach.

you mewl at the sensation of his cock moving inside of you while he shifts you into this new position. the sticky mess between your legs drips onto the sheets below you but makes it easy to sheathe himself fully inside you with a gentle and small pull of your hips upwards.

most others would be terrified to be in such a vulnerable position with sephiroth but you’re nothing if not pliant and perfect when he plants his hands beside you, leaning down to kiss your neck as he bucks his hips into your sensitive pussy and whispers against your skin before sinking his teeth into your tender flesh again.

“i’m not done with you yet.”

bonus!!!

in the morning you wake up alone but the noise that erupted from somewhere else in the house and caused you to stir eases your heart before your mess of thoughts begins to come back to you. your daughter's giggles and though quiet compared to her own unrestrained shriek of laughter, you could still make out the deep chuckle of sephiroth.

slipping out of bed, you move slowly thanks to the ache in your muscles and between your legs, your steps a bit wobbly with each one you take to dress in something more decent and walk to the door. the more you move, the steadier you become and by the time you make it to the living area, stopping in your tracks to watch your beloved peel an orange for your daughter who talks to him animatedly, it’s a pleasurable hum throughout your body with every movement reminding you of the words he told you last night.

there’s still a lot to consider. a lot of questions to be answered. a lot of healing to be done. maybe you’ll never be back to normal or you'll be stronger than ever. you don’t have any answers, not for yourself or from him but for this morning, you can let yourself hope this will be the start of the dreams you shared with sephiroth since his days in soldier, whatever version of a normal life might be left for your little family.

main masterlist

comments & reblogs would be so greatly appreciated!<3 thank you for reading ♡

[cupiohearts]

I WISH YOU LOVE ! - reminiscing with gun.

(cant catch me now series). GUN VER. dg ver. goo ver

they see you everywhere. james, jonggun, joongoo. they find bits and pieces of you lying around in their pockets, their houses and memories. it depends on which one it is which scene they see you in.

for GUN, he cant figure out for the life of anyone why they would wish someone that moved on in life the best of luck. he was a selfish man. when you disappeared from him, he mutters bitterly to himself wishing curses upon your name. the tear drops on the letter you wrote to him being the symbolism behind it all.

why would he want you to do well without him? why did you have to leave him?

did you not care as much as you said you did? he furrows his eyebrow. taking another drag out of his cigarette while he watches the stupid couple on the street pick out matching items for each other.

"jonggun! jonggun! look come here! hurry up!" you hiss at him as you press your face against the glass of a window. it was the pet adoption center. a calico cat taking a nap in the window as you cood at it.

that was the ugliest cat hes ever seen. it's eyes looked a bit too similar to the one you always give him when you want him to do something ridiculous for you.

"its cute" he gruffly says. you raise an eyebrow at him and made a face "youre a big fat liar. when we grow old with joongoo and james! we should all get a cat together!"

you giggle as you wiggled your finger at the cat. your breath fogging up the glass and when you pulled away he could see a slight bit of lipgloss- or lip tint- or whatever you were wearing on your lips that left it all glossy and shimmery left on the window.

he didnt say anything about it. he probably shouldve. you left the window dirty with your makeup. the same lips he imagined himself kissing from to time.

he thinks again. gun is a selfish man. when he read the letter you gave him, he thinks to himself for a far longer period of time than what he would appreciate.

he picks up the small camera you left behind in your apartment. he kept it with him for some reason. it was to keep videos and photos of yourself so he wont forget all of the times hes had with you.

"gun stop! stop! stop- what in the world happened here?!" your voice can be heard from behind the camera. the camera work a bit shaky as you walk closer to the restaurant.

there were a lot of bodies on the floor. a lot. "did you take them all down by yourself?" you ask him. you already knew the answer. he didnt need to respond but he did "yes"

you let out a deep sigh "this was supposed to be a cute video! you just ruined it. i wanted to send my mom and dad videos of me while im still here!"

you never sent it. he almost wished you did. so your parents knew what your friends were in korea. gangsters hanging out with the most.. sane one. sane is a strong word. hed think more like you were the glue.

you held everyone together, but at the same time. you were the one keeping them in the past.

that wasnt what he thought as he read your note though.

while he reading the shaky lines with splotchy text. the tears you left on the paper made it all crumbly and the words were hard to read.

he could only wish you the worst time without him. you better not be happier than you were with him. thats how you made him feel. he felt like the vines growing around the fence around you. his growth was hindered by the boundaries you had. if you werent there, he wouldve probably never grown in the first place, but you were also the reason he couldnt get better.

even as he read the lines 'jongun, you are the one who destroyed me the most.' he felt a small smile come to his face. he really is the most selfish person he knew.

sooooo... im here. I DID THE SECONDPARTY YIPPEE 😋😋 is it messy idk

i havent proof read so im assuming its ok. if its ooc mb brother.

their personalities are hard to capture anyways live laufh love the lookism blondes <3 the hottest in the game frl

[thepenguinweeb]

rewatching part four, you say…

*slams metaphorical credit card on table* rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan rohan please i am normal and sane about the manga artist

anyways perchance maybe reader is an assorted background stand user in morioh™️, and Jotaro or Joskue or whomever pair them up to look for things/people that stick out around the town (post shigechi death). Rohan is all like “that’s stupid, I can’t use my stand on every single citizen of morioh” only to be told “that’s fine, y/n can help narrow down the search”

maybe reader with a stand that lets them see auras or something similar. Neither knows what the others stand is or does and they kinda make idle banter about it as they go about the streets searching.

Stuff like “how are you supposed to help narrow this down” “stfu i’ll just tell you who looks suspicious, what are you even gonna do when I do though?” “i don’t want to tell you wtf” and “they wouldn’t have put us together if our stands weren’t benificial” and “you know, if i really wanted, I could just get the information myself (heavens door go brrr) but Im being kind and trying this new thing called ‘consent’”

Chance for comedy bc obviously they’re not gonna find bbg yoshikage, definitely could read one person with a negative vibe and be so shocked/discouraged by what they find after hours of walking that they turn in for the night. Rohan walks reader home, could be flirty as they actually talk about how terrifying heavens door could be (ie: koichi kidnapping)

if you go with the aura thing, maybe also a conversation about what his looks like and what readers first reaction to it was. talking about how well they compliment each other and that it’s no shock they were paired up for the search

idk, idc, go nuts man. the manga artist is hot and i’m not ashamed to admit that. need him. sorry this is so long and informal 😭

[ ♡ Kishibe Rohan x reader ]

[ ♡ When Jotaro pairs you up with an unfamiliar man as your partner to search for clues about a killer living in Morioh, you find an unlikely connection despite his.. less than friendly demeanor. ]

[ ♡ Requested by: anon !! <3 ]

[ ♡ A/N: YES YES I LOVE ROHAN THANK YOU !! DW about the long ask, I cannot emphasize how much I love when people rant in my inbox about their sillies. Anyway I loved this concept smm I hope I did your idea justice !! I kinda might have gone a bit overboard lol I usually don't write this much ]

[ ♡ Word count: 2k ! ]

Divider by @/cafekitsune !!

You've lived in the quiet town that is Morioh since your childhood. Your life, up to this point had been quite average, to say the least...

Until now, that is.

A few months ago, you'd been shot with a mysterious arrow, which seemed to awaken some kind of strange power within you.

You'd always been good at judging people's characters. It's what being a chronic people-watcher does to a person. Perhaps that's why you could see people's "auras" since the arrow incident.

To be quite honest with yourself, you didn't think much of it. It came in handy a few times, but life went on as normal.

But it seemed life had other plans for you, as not long after your discovery of these powers, you met a man, Kujo Jotaro.

Well.. not so much as met. More like, watched for a few days by him because he caught you using your Stand in public and thought you were an enemy.

But, you've cleared your name since then and became loosely accquainted with a group of people who were all Stand users, much like yourself.

All was well in Morioh.. you thought so, anyway.

Oh, but poor Shigechi.

It was Josuke who informed you of his death. You were just as struck as everyone else, despite not knowing the boy personally.

He didn't deserve to die.

And so, an investigation began. Clearly, there was something going on in Morioh, way bigger scale than what the group initially expected.

But nothing came back. You asked about it every day, to see if anyone had any news, but nothing. All you could be sure about was the fact that a killer was lurking in Morioh.. who was, also, most definitely a Stand user.

Just then, you got a call from Jotaro. He told you to meet him at a certain address. And don't be late.

You honestly didn't know what to expect. Despite its unlikeliness, deep down you hoped it was only good news - that they somehow found the killer and had him arrested, so Morioh would return to normal.

That, of course, wasn't the case.

You arrived at the location quite soon, as it was not too far from your own home. The address took you to a nice-looking house, though you weren't exactly sure why Jotaro wanted to meet you at a random house.

You spotted Jotaro immediately. Not a hard task, considering the man was 190 cm and wore a huge white coat at all times.

But then, next to him was another man, unknown to you. You know you've seen his face before.. more than once, too. Yet you still couldn't put it together..

"Y/N. Good. You're here." Jotaro nodded once you approached.

"Right. So, uh.." you made a point to glance at the other man, who you noticed was staring at you trough a sharp gaze.

"Kishibe Rohan." He extended his hand toward you, his eyes almost piercing trough your soul with the intensity. You had to wonder if he was always like that, or if he just didn't trust you.. perhaps both.

"Y/N L/N.." you took his hand for an awkward handshake. Then, something seemed to click in your mind. "Wait- Kishibe Rohan. Like, the mangaka?"

"That would be me, yes."

In hindsight.. Koichi did mention something in passing about knowing Kishibe Rohan, 'the greatest mangaka alive' personally..

You smiled, hoping some banter would eventually ease him up. But just as you were about to reply, Jotaro cut you off.

"The reason you're here," he began, "is because I have a job for you both."

Both you and Rohan raised an eyebrow at that.

"You have been informed of all that has happened recently, correct?"

You nodded in confirmation.

"I want you to work together to find anyone or anything suspicious. Whatever you can find. At this point, anything could be a clue."

A small silence filled the air as you stared at the tall man. You weren't against the idea of working together with Rohan, even if you didn't know him too well. The mangaka, however..

"You must be joking, Jotaro." He crossed his arms as he turned his head to look at the other man. "Surely you don't expect me to use my Stand on everyone in Morioh?"

"Of course not," Jotaro replied in his usual tone. "That's what Y/N is here for."

You could almost feel yourself wanting to sink into the ground at the harsh glance Rohan gave you.

But, after a few minutes of convincing, he eventually was dragged out by Jotaro agreed.

An extremely awkward silence hung about as the two of you trekked trough the streets. You kept your Stand activated at all times, but so far nobody had caught your attention. Though.. you had to admit, Rohan's aura was quite unique. Perhaps it was the simple fact that he was a Stand user, but his aura was more.. powerful, more confident, more defining than the average person.

"So." It was him who broke the silence first. "How, exactly, are you supposed to be of any help?"

You glanced at him, not appreciating his condescending tone. "It's simple. I'll tell you who's suspicious and who's not." You raised an eyebrow. "And what are you supposed to be doing?"

The man scoffed in response. "As if I would tell you about my Stand."

You rolled your eyes at his attitude. "Jotaro paired us up for a reason." Your lips curved into a small grin. "What, are you this insecure about your abilities?"

Rohan glared at you, even more intensely than before. He gave you the kind of look that told you if consequences weren't a thing, he'd have strangled you by now.

"Shut your mouth," he replied. "I don't need you for this job, you know. I could always do it on my own. You should be grateful you even have this opportunity."

You let out a long sigh and clutched your temple. It would be a long day if it kept on going like this..

The sun was beginning to dip in the sky above you. You'd been wandering the streets of Morioh since the morning, and so far, nothing.

"Ughh.." you heard Rohan quietly groan beside you. "Are you sure your Stand works perfectly? You seriously haven't seen anything at all yet?"

You gave the man a pointed glare upon hearing his doubts. "Of course it works," you snapped back.

"Then how come we haven't found a single suspicious person yet? Morioh isn't such a big town." He sighed. "Maybe you should get better at judging people."

"Ah, yes, I should be more like you, huh? Be judgemental to everyone who I think is below me."

You could tell Rohan was about to clap back with some witty comment, but you suddenly stopped in your tracks, so he did the same.

You focused on a certain person whose aura was different from the rest.

"That one." You pointed a finger at them.

Thankfully, for once Rohan decided not to be a pain in the ass and actually cooperate. As soon as you pointed the person out, he summoned his own Stand.. it was smaller than you expected from someone with an aura like his, but alas.

"Heaven's door!"

Rohan, with a simple drawing, somehow knocked the person out.. and turned their body into a book?

Definitely looked weird and gross.

"..that's your Stand?"

"Shut it."

Rohan began to flip trough the pages, his expression less and less positive with each passing paragraph.

After a couple minutes, he let out a long, defeated sigh. "Definitely not who we're looking for."

"Are you gonna let me read it too, or..."

The man rolled his eyes and let you have a look. But, to your disappointment, he was right. There was nothing noteworthy about them, there was no chance they were the killer.

You let out a sigh aswell and stepped back. You saw Rohan briefly scribble something into the book, then close it up.

"Let's go," he muttered. "We've been wandering for long enough. We can just tell Jotaro we haven't found anything."

You nodded in defeat and followed behind him as the two of you walked back toward his house.

"Well.. now that you know what my Stand does, it's only fair you tell me about yours too." Rohan spoke on your way back. "Isn't that right?"

"I suppose.." you replied. Even though you were reluctant to share at first, in a strange way, the two of you seemed to bond trough the day, even if you kept insulting and hating on each other.

"My Stand is called [Stand name]. It basically allows me to see people's auras, and get a feeling of their character," you explained.

"Hm.. I see." He was quiet for a while, most likely deep in thought. "So, what about mine?"

You tilted your head to the side. "You want to know what your aura is like?"

He nodded.

"Well, it's.. bold, powerful. Definitely stands out. It's proud and shameless. Like you."

You didn't even notice the small smile that grew on your face while you spoke. But Rohan definitely did, which only gave him an ego boost, it seemed.

"Is that so?" He questioned.

You nodded in response. "It was a little intimidating at first, to be honest," you muttered. "But you're not so scary. Just.. annoying."

He huffed at your answer and rolled his eyes in a dramatic motion, not missing the way you giggled at it.

"Heaven's Door can be frightening, I'll have you know," he replied, almost sounding defensive.

"Hm, well.. I guess it is pretty horrible to have your memories read, or taken out, or altered.." you pondered on that for a moment. "Your Stand is too powerful."

Rohan just grinned, not at all insulted. "Only the best for the best."

You stifled another sigh at his arrogant behaviour. You've gotten used to it by the course of that day.

"But.." he continued, his tone changing to a more serious one again. "I do see why Jotaro paired us up now." He looked at you. "Our Stands do work nicely with each other. Wouldn't you agree?"

You gave him a smile and nodded. "Yeah. In an investigation like this, especially."

Soon, the two of you arrived back to his home. It was dark by then, but you didn't mind.

"Well, today was.." you began,

"Exhausting," Rohan finished the sentence for you. "Horrible and exhausting."

"Yeah.. that." You chuckled. "But.. honestly, it was better than I expected." You tapped your chin. "Could've been worse.. especially since you were involved."

He narrowed his eyes at you. "Hey. What's that supposed to mean?"

"Pfft.." you stifled another chuckle. "I'll let you figure it out by yourself. Since you're so smart."

Rohan just glared at you in silence for a moment before shaking his head and giving up. "You're hopeless."

Your grin widened in amusement. Oh, was it easy to rile the poor man up.. you didn't feel too bad about it though.

Suddenly, he took out his notebook and wrote down something. He tore the page out and handed it to you without a word. Taking one look at it, you could tell clearly it was a phone number.

"We should keep in touch during the investigation," he said. "I don't believe you have my phone number yet."

"Now I do," you said with a smile. "Thank you."

He simply hummed in reply and muttered a barely audible 'no problem'.

"You better head home now," he told you. "I've seen too much of your face for today."

You wanted to take the insult to heart, but all you could do was giggle at it. "As if that was a problem."

"Get out."

"You're no fun.." you complained, but you did as he wished and turned around. "I'll call you if I find out anything, yeah?"

"Right," Rohan agreed. "Same goes for me."

You waved at each other and parted ways. The night suddenly felt a lot colder and more quiet without Rohan's annoying, yet admittedly somehow endearing presence.

The day might've been way too long, and not even successful. But hey. At least you made a connection with someone.

[prettyboykatsuki]

how surprising ur response doesn’t address the issue at all!!!! i would love for u to go off on me because it’s easy for me to win a disagreement when i know i’m right lmao and also i KNOW 100% for a fact that countless people would agree w me but it’s not reaching the correct audience w a sane mindset cuz all ur followers are 🌽 addicts too thinking the same shit as u and pitying and comforting ur ass in ur replies🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️shits cringe to watch but anyway every normal person knows it’s weird and that’s all the matters i suppose cuz post that shit literally anywhere else and your ass WILL get dragged

maybe let’s try a one month no 🌽 challenge and try again! maybe ur mind will detox and you’ll realize ur fucking weird

i didn't respond to your ask with any dignity because the original premise of your ask was not worthy of being dignified with time nor attention.

ive gotten tens of asks of people who also want to hold moral superiority over me by regurgitating opinions they've adopted from their online internet circles without any real nuance and thus i have no reason to take it seriously. you are not the first person to try to peddle this to me and there is nothing about your ask that warrants any of my thoughtful consideration.

i normally wouldn't bother with correcting this one either, but because im already in a deeply irritable mood - sure, i will give you the response you are asking for, starting with the post you are criticizing.

firstly, you're incorrectly reading my post. you intentionally misrepresent my post with your wording and also the sort of joke i was making by implying "memed about waiting for the age of consent" so i can indulge my porn addiction."

im going to disregard your application of harmful real world rhetoric to what is essentially fiction and go along with the idea that fictional characters are in anyway effected by my posting.

the main issue is fundamentally that you are misreading it. i know you are because i am the original poster and the author of this post - which means i can directly tell you that the point of this post is ironic.

it is poking fun at the people who have accused me of pedophilia for aging up a fictional character for years because he is now, in canon, an adult.

the irony of that is that i was doing what horikoshi was when writing my fics. the people who treated my aging up as invalid simply because horikoshi is the author are no longer able to wield it against me. the author has no confirmed his adulthood, which makes that argument moot.

your argument is that i was in some way making a joking about having waited for izuku to reach adulthood in order to sexualize him. this is blantantly incorrect and a misreading of the post in general. that is not something you can counter because if you've spent any time on my blog at all - it would be very clear i was already aging up and sexualizing characters on my own whims.

both posts for better viewing.

the other thing you spout off about is porn addiction. this is the main reason i didn't find any reason to take your points seriously. if you knew, researched, or understood any of the points you've borrowed from your peers on tiktok - you would know why porn addiction is not a term you can apply to erotica.

in the first place, there is no universally understood diagnostic criteria for porn addiction. there are other forms of research related to how porn interferes with cis-heterosexual partnerships and the quality of sex life and some affiliation with watching porn as a compulsive behavior - but neither of these things qualify as addiction.

pornography is a highly politicized topic because our society is structured upon old school protestant christian beliefs and puritanism. but pornography and sexually explicit materal is a difficult thing to quantify in usage. it is culturally ubiquitous and has several nuances in relation to its use. it is near impossibly to quantify sexual behavior because it is a normal, human urge like hunger or thirst whether or not you choose to believe that.

here are three articles making points about the claims around porn addiction from reliable sources that you're welcome to point out.

one | two | three

as i keep repeating - addiction is a specific line of behavior and being frank, it's rather insulting you think i suffer from a porn addiction given i used to do actual drugs and suffered from real life addictions lmao.

but if you want to use other addiction diagnostic critera in this argument. my posting on silly erotica tumblr does not

interfere with my daily life or relationships

negatively affect my performance in school or at work

cause me to withdraw from social situations

lose interest in my other hobbies and activies that improve quality of life.

none of the above applies to me. but im guessing you don't have any actual concern.

it's very clear to me and everyone else that your peddling of this term has nothing to do with whether or not i actually have the addiction - and everything to do with you attempting to moralize my behavior to an audience and boost up your own points.

if i really did have a porn addiction, implying i had an addiction - you are implying that this is something i should be ashamed of just as you are implying my fellow porn addicts should also be ashamed.

you see addiction as a point of shame and not a disease and don't show any actual empathy which makes you a morally bankrupt human being in my subjective view. you don't have any actual arguments about how this might effect my behavior or character. only that addiction (a thing people can't control) is bad, that i am bad for watching porn and being addicted to it.

neither of these are provable as you do not know me.

instead your attempt to find fault is to arm yourself with puritan talking points and internet tiktok buzzword language and make your clauses have some kind of ground or validity. it is trite and frankly embarrassing watching you come into my inbox with such confidence that you would be able to argue with me critically and meaningfully.

the last thing i will address is your point about this not being a popular opinion.

you are under the impression im not aware of this and that this is not a choice i've made deliberately so i will be kindly blunt.

i, unlike you, have formed these opinions with my own critical understanding of culture, sociology, psychology, and politics by researching and reading from people who study these things with more expertise than me.

these opinions are formed by my own discretion and worldview. they are unpopular opinions.

unlike you, my peers are not decided by my moral parading. rather, im frank and upfront with those world views and have formed a circle that agrees with them.

i do not need your validation nor the validation of people online to confirm whether or not im a good person. the reason people agree with me is not pity, but because they too have formed their own opinions and ours happen to allign.

you think this is pitying behavior because the people you choose to align with would cast you out for showing even a breadth of disagreement or critique. you have not fostered a space for intelligent conversation because you can't see disagreement without accusing someone of this or that.

you are all the same and you are all equally confident in your hivemind opinions. i applaud your audacity and admire your confidence in your own ability to argue something you've barely formed your own conscious thought about.

i dont need to detox anything and i dont care about being weird. i also, really don't care about you or your opinions.

you are unoriginal and boring, a pest of the highest pedigree and i don't find you intimidating. your inability to receive validation from your own moral character will doom you to shame and guilt for as long as you allow and thats much more punishment than i could ever dole out to you

have a good day pookie 🫂🫂

[thelov3lybookworm]

Hey. I love your work. I notice you write for shatter me and i got to say the amount of attention that booktok and i give to Aaron Warner, I thought there would be an explosion of fanfics. Unfortunately that's not the case. So i was hoping you could write something for me based on him.

So it goes like this. Reader has this guy friend and she is very very very close with him and they even have nicknames. Aaron is so annoyed by this and especially with kenji because he won't stop moking him. That is until reader introduces him as her best friend and kenji is livid. Maybe you could show how they get rid of the guy and kenji and Aaron bonding.

Thank you and have an amazing day ahead!

Not Enough Attention

Summary: Y/n has been neglecting Aaron in favour of... of him.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: omg anon i feel you because whyyy does pookie not have more fics???? absolutely ridiculous. disappointing honestly 😔 like wanna write for pookie but i have so many drafts rn, but i will write for him because i have a few things planned for him 🤭

(not proofread yet because im about to go to sleep im sorry 🥲)

anyways, enjoyy!!

Kenji was not known to be the smartest creature on the planet, everyone knew that. And that was the only reason Aaron never bothered to converse with him.

But alas, everyone has to face their nemesis at some point.

To make matters worse, Y/n, the only one keeping Aaron sane, was away again.

Probably meeting with her lover.

Aaron had to force himself to not roll his eyes.

"Hey, Warner. Have you seen Y/n?"

Aaron glanced up from the papers he'd been reading through, sighing. "Probably loitering around the building with her new... friend."

Kenji snorted, pulling back the chair in front of him and then practically throwing himself in it. "Aww, is our wittle Warner jealous?"

Aaron leaned back, setting the stack in his hand on the desk. "Wittle?" Kenji opened his mouth to explain, but Aaron cut in before he could spew more stupidity. "Never mind. And I'm not jealous."

Kenji smirked, leaning the chair back so it balanced precariously on its back legs. "Sure you aren't, Warner."

Aaron took a deep breath, trying not to let his words get under his skin. "I'm merely concerned for her safety-"

The door opened then, and both the men turned to look, watching intently as Y/n stepped in, another boy following her.

Aaron's jaw clenched, looking away from her smiling face.

"Y/n! I was searching for you."

Unable to resist, Aaron let his eyes wander back to the people in front of him.

Y/n nodded. "I know, I saw you walk in and thought you might have been looking for me." Y/n glanced back at her new friend. "Oh, and this is my best friend Jack. Jack, this is Kenji."

Jack offered a simple nod to Kenji, impatience shining in his eyes.

Y/n seemed to understand why he was so impatient, and she turned to Aaron.

"I have some work, I'll see you two later, yeah?"

Aaron avoided her eyes as he nodded, waiting for her to leave the office before releasing the breath he didn't even know he had been holding.

Kenji seemed to be lost in thought as he stared after Y/n, his jaw working.

"You know... maybe this needs to be looked into."

Aaron pressed his lips into a tight line to stop himself from smiling in triumph, and stood, dusting off invisible dust from his pants.

"So, what's the plan boss?" Kenji questioned, his expression more serious than Aaron had ever seen.

"We do some work."

Aaron would have never thought that he would be working along side Kenji, let alone looking forward to working with him, but here he was, anticipation building in his gut as he stood leaning against the doorframe leading to the barracks.

Kenji had left him standing there to go search for Jack.

They did not have a solid plan, no matter how hard they pretended. All they had talked about was the fact that they were going to ambush him. And then have a friendly little chat.

Aaron knew Y/n would be mad when she found out, but he couldn't help it. Aaron had never really had friends, so he as quite protective over the ones he now did have. He refused to be overshadowed by anyone, let alone someone named Jack.

Footsteps neared, alerting Aaron. He reached down, patting the gun at his hip.

He knew he shouldn't have to resort to violence, but this was his best friend he was concerned about. He wasn't about to take any chances.

He ignored the voice in his head who chirped about how she wasn't just his friend.

She was also the object of all his desires.

The desire to hold. To protect. To kiss.

The desire to love.

To be vulnerable.

He straightened, clearing his mind of any and all distractions, and turned to watch as Jack walked in step with Kenji, right into the awaiting hands of his doom.

Kenji slowed down the moment his eyes met Aaron's, falling behind Jack in case the fucker decided to run.

Thankfully, he wasn't as dumb as he looked and he just stared at Aaron's looming form.

"Did you need something from me?"

"What are your intentions for Y/n?"

He blinked. "We're just... friends?"

Aaron scowled. "I don't think you have only friendly intentions for her though. Tell me, how many times have you thought of kissing her?"

Jack's eyes bulged at that, and he looked so disgusted with Aaron that even Aaron had to question whether he as mistaken.

"I am not interested in Y/n like that. What even gave you the impression-"

"Don't lie." Kenji sang in a loud high pitched voice, and Jack turned to glare at him.

"I'm not fucking lying. Why do you two think I- is it because we have become close over the past week? Is that it? Is she not giving you two enough attention?"

Aaron didn't let it show on his face, but inside he agreed to that statement to some extent.

He felt like he was being ignored, abandoned, and he did not like it one bit. His father ignoring his existence most the time was enough for him. He didn't need even his best friend and the woman he was in love with to ignore him too.

When neither of them replied, Jack let out a sharp laugh. "Get Y/n. Let her tell you why I've been seeing her out so much the past week."

Kenji winced, his eyes wide with alarm. "I don't think that's a good idea-"

"What's going on here?"

Aaron froze, and so did Kenji as Y/n's voice rang down the hallway.

Jack turned to meet Y/n's gaze as she stalked towards the three men, her brows furrowed.

"Tell them Y/n. Tell them how in love with you I am."

Y/n stared at him, bewildered. Aaron snuck a glance at Kenji, who was staring at the only exit, and Aaron could practically see the gears in his head turning.

"I- what?"

"Exactly. They think I'm here to take advantage of you somehow, and also because they miss having all your attention on them, they cornered me. Trying to do what, I don't know."

Y/n turned to glare at Kenji, who raised his hands and stepped away, avoiding everyones eyes.

"Jack, you go. Get some rest. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Jack nodded, clasping her shoulder in farewell as he threw a scathing glare at Aaron, then stalked into the barracks.

"What was that about?"

"Hey! I did nothing-"

At one look, Kenji shut his fat mouth, retreating further as he realised Y/n's glare was now targeted at Aaron.

"You want to explain?"

Aaron swallowed, looking down at his shoes.

She sighed through her nose, rubbing her temples.

"He's getting married."

Aaron jolted, his wide eyes flying to hers.

"Well, not married. Yet. He has been planning on the best way to propose to his girlfriend. He was just asking me to help him plan everything."

Aaron stared at Y/n, not believing his ears. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Kenji disappearing down the hallway, and Aaron cursed him silently.

"I can't even begin to understand why you would do something like this-"

Aaron knew that if he didn't stop her now, she would keep talking, and while he loved listening to her voice too much to ever want her to stop, he also did not want to be yelled at.

And so what did he do?

Instead of telling her to stop, he stepped forward, and in a moment of sudden confidence, he grabbed her face, intending to hold her until she stopped speaking.

Alas, she had other plans as her eyes fluttered shut instantly, her hands flying to hold onto the lapels of his jacket.

And of course, Aaron was not about to miss a chance to have what he always wanted, so he leaned forward.

And kissed her.

Shatter Me Taglist: @dahliawarner

Permanent taglist: @cassie6392 @bubybubsters @harrystylesfan2686 @berryzxx

[darkdemeter]

Dem!!!demy!!! My bestie

This idea has been going around the ol' nogging for a little. But part 2 of A Warriors Armor (punk!human) where the human has been making the horsemen their own punk vests as a way to Keep themself sane. (I imagine this especially applies to death's human after he yeets himself to the well of souls).

I Also imagine that their human takes their measurements with like...a maker measuring tape/hj(everything's easier when you use the maker measurement system,aka: everything is "fuck you" big)

And the horsemen's reactions are priceless. Their little human adopted them into their punk pack??(and maybe its about time they confess)

As always take ur time,Im sure you have a lot on your hands!!

(Pd: looking forward to dark feathers SO MUCH. but take as long as you need!!!/gen)

-Jeri🧡

・issue #2・ STYLE OF WARRIOR II

⚤ Death/Strife/Fury/War x GN Punk!Reader just fluffy content with some angst ✎ 2.6k

✎ a note from the author, Death: throws himself in the well of souls Me, remembering your fic: T R I G G E R E D hahahahha! yes I still get all emotional and upset when I even think about that fic! I gotta read it again.... 😂 here you go, Jer, part 2 for your punk request!

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

For your dearest Horseman, you'd do all you humanely could to achieve what they asked of you. You'd brave the depths of hell, you'd face off the vanguards of the White City in protest of their declared 'holiness'.

But you never expected this.

DEATH

Having finally taken his measurements, it's all about fitting it to him nicely. precisely... no nasty points--

"Human," Death snarls after you jab him with the needle for the fourth time in a span of 30 seconds. It's not your fault that every time your fingers linger so close it's like his presence possesses them to tremble with violent impulse. And every time you do accidently poke him, you wince and apologise, but at this point, you may as well just stab him with the damn thing if he's going to keep carrying on like a ragged animal being prodded at intentionally.

"Then stay still," you breath back easily and roll your eyes. The insufferable nature of this reaper sometimes. Alright, you may have had to convince him a little but overall, this was his idea - his request. You're just being a good companion.

Placing the needle between your lips, you say, "I'm almost done. Back a little straighter." Your words are muffled but he overhears the tone of it and its enough for him to suffer through the remainder of his fitting in relative, blessed silence; just the way you both like it. Your eyes occasionally lift up to try and capture his expression, no matter how pointless it is with that mask, you can read the eyes at least. His gaze is elsewhere and you decide not to intrude on his thoughts.

You work better when he's not watching you with the eyes of a looming hawk anyway. You weave the last thread through the tiny hole and begin to stitch the final adjustments of his vest, but that's putting a fashion term nicely and you humour him just this once. He didn't exactly want a tradition vest like you due to the nature of his skill set and you obliged in his request, but you still kept some semblance of a vest-like quality to your craftmanship. The design ended up being a sort of an additional shawl that draped over his shoulder, but with a little artistic flare, you made the shoulder portion imitate torn sleeves.

"Are you almost finished?" he asks, almost causing you to flinch and lose control of the needle's point again. With a sigh, you nod. "Almost. Just a little stitch here... and a bit there-- and done!"

You step down off the stool because yes, he refused to crouch down to your level. Stubborn old bastard but you care about him nevertheless. You balance on the heel of your foot, nervousness flickering through the fluster of your beating lashes and the way you awkwardly angle your head down.

"What'cha think?" You suddenly take an interest in the very long, sturdy leather strip you used as a measuring tape. Alya's measuring tape.

"Hmm... I like it."

His confession could have come in an assortment of ways, and you're kind of confused by it still, but his embrace was comforting. "And I like you too."

You've never forgotten that compliment or that confession. The way it brightened your mood and turned your lips into a large smile. You'll always remember the way his eyes smiled down at you, applauding your work in the new addition of his attire.

That's what you think about as you stitch up the patches and sew new relics and decorations into the black fabric. Tears in your eyes, you find it hard to not jab your own fingers, wincing every few seconds when the sharp sting of your needle bites venomously. Now you know just how poor Death felt being pricked by you. Fond memories that now turn dark in this hour.

He's gone now. Sacrificed his very being to revive your species and to spare War a punishment to a crime he did not commit. He gave it back to you before his encounter with the avatar of corruption - his once brother, Absalom. By the time you managed to pry open the doors of the chamber, all that remained on the ground was the placid face of bone, sockets void of that vibrant amber you adored with secret fondness.

You're not sure if he will ever come back or the fate of War for that matter. The tears blanket your vision with a thickness that hinders your work, forcing you to stop. At this point, you're needlessly sewing and threat into it, reminiscing in every little detail and every tiny sensation that travels through your fingers. You begin to wonder as you lower the garb into your lap, haunted by a loud, audible sniffle, if Death knew what his fate was and that's why he finally indulged in your little scattered hints.

You'll wait for him. You'll keep adding these stitches and touch ups until the reaper returns. However long he may find rest in the well, you will wait for him.

STRIFE

The gunslinging Horsemen truly was a marvel at times. Not only did it take him exactly 48 hours to ask you if you would perhaps consider making him a punk vest. Suffice to say, your affirmative answer earned you a bone-crushing hug and a plethora of 'thank you's thereafter. Strife was excited right from the get go and eager to help you find the perfect material that was both strong and big enough to make a vest made for his size. Now to get a form of measurement...

"Alright, arms out, chest out and shoulders back."

He does exactly as you say and maybe a little too well. You take a rough estimate of his limbs and body proportions and when you ask, "Do you want me to make any alterations so it's more... suited for... y'know, your work?"

He shakes his head and his golden eyes flare with a giddiness. "Nope. Just like your one."

Eyes blinking rapidly, you take a short moment to compose your surprise. "Right. Okay then, let's see what we can do about that."

It takes a considerable amount of days but you finally get your hands on the perfect fabric and thankfully, you find some other suitable patterns and clothing to add to it and give it that punk flare. Strife particularly adores this one stripe of pattern that decorates the hem of your vest and so you do your best to replicate it, even going the extra mile in finding a similar pattern to it.

During your small sessions of camp and in your adventurous search for a measuring tape suited for his size, he watches you with that same excitement, almost fawning over your work right there and then, eyes blending to the fire's glow.

"Uh, hello? Earth to Strife." The Nephilim with spiked hair finally awakens from his dreaming stupor and addresses you. You can sense the sheepish smirk behind his mask. "Sorry, where you saying something?"

Your lips fold back into a slight grin as you shake your head. "Nah. Nothing important."

He's in awe of the delicate handle you have with the needle but fucking hell, does he whine when you so much as graze him with the needle point.

"Ow!"

"Quit your whining, I barely pricked you."

"Still... that hurt," he grumbles and you snort a little at that. His visor set aside, you're given full view of his expression which is both a good and bad thing. For one thing you can admire his handsome features, but the other means you can tell exactly what he's thinking. From the slack and slight of his brows and to the bevel between, all the way down to the small dimples that form in his cheeks with a deepened smirk.

"It's good you found a measuring tape for me," you say behind a chuckle, actually taking in just how long it was... "Where did you say you got it from?"

"I, er... found it." His reasoning doesn't add up and his eyes avoid yours.

"Yeah, that's a way to not sound suspicious, Strife." You continue to press the needlework into the craft, adding unique little strips of stitches and filling in any alterations and requests on the way. When you want him to be still, he's like a statue. Which is every tailor's dream client. You remember the countless times your mother complained about her clients being unable to stop fidgeting. Of course, Strife has his moments where he can't help it, but with a warning glare and threatening poise of the needle, he's on his best behaviour until you're done.

Indeed a very traditional vest and to say he wears it well is an understatement. It's like he was meant to be a punk. All he was missing was the vest. With a grin, you take a step back and allow him his space to take in the garment, waiting with batted breath.

"So?" you finally press to ask. He twirls around before stopping hot on his heels with a loud skrrt, flashing you with his signature finger guns and winks.

"It rocks! By the way, you know we're a couple now, right?"

Your jaw goes slack and your eyes increase tenfold in their blatant stare up at him, your face becoming flushed with a certain heat. "W-what?!"

FURY

"You know, you'd probably make a really kickass punk queen - if that was in our culture."

Could you have flattered her more? Here you go again, yapping on about how well her hair suits the culture and how she should think on it at least. It does get a bit boring sometimes when you're the only punk left in the world. After a few nights of noticing your considerable moping, she bit the bullet and upon preparing to leave the next morning, she caves in.

"Would you... like to make me a punk vest?"

With a gasp, you turn towards her in a way that causes her to flinch out of instinct when something moves that fast. "Yes!"

The task now at hand of making Fury's vest is a memorable one. Whilst she slays the hordes of hell, the seven deadly sins and gains mutual alliances, there you are in the background of it all; collecting whatever cool scraps you can fashion together. It's not like she held the jaws of gluttony apart for you just so that you could get that piece of textured fabric. It's a very beautiful piece of studded leather.

Back in the safety of Haven, Ulthan happily allows you to use the maker's measuring tape to your heart's content. Not that he really uses it much, rather knowing his know-how off the tip of his experience but to the younger maker, it could be more useful.

"Ugh, this is taking too long," Fury sighs.

With a raise of your brow, you huff in reply, "It's only been twenty minutes."

Fury only rolls her eyes but she lets you continue. You do well not to get her with the needle, only having done it once and she threatened that it'd be the last if you did it again. And so you go about her vest with the utmost care, cautious about how far your depth goes and where your needle point is aimed at all times.

"Look at you!" Jones taunts from the other side of Haven with a wicked waggle of his fingers, mimicking a playful, mischievous wave. In return, you do the same such to Fury's dismay. It says as much by the slow turn of her head in your direction, the milky whites of her glowing, Nephilim eyes glaring down on you.

Your lips pull into a thinned line and you continue your work in silence, carried on only by the sternness of her gaze that occasionally swept over you. When you finally finish her vest off, you feel a sense of relief that it's finished. Sighing, you gesture for her to have a move about in her new vest, to take it in.

"Ey? Ey?" you hum. It's not your fault that with each passing second you become more consumed by the thought of seeking her approval. Not very punk of you but for the longest time now -- and maybe because of your crush on the female Horseman -- but you have become obsessed with her opinion and moreso, her approval of the punk culture.

"Humans and their pathetic utility to craft such--" she pauses, and then slowly turns. She's observing the vest, now she's look at it closer... and she smiles!

Victory!

"This is actually... rather well made," she says, voice soothing and laced with an impressed purr. Then her eyes meet yours and you feel your heart melt, your chest swelling as the heat in your face surfaces. "I love what you did. I think you were right, I would make an excellent punk."

WAR

To make a vest for War would be putting an extreme limit on his capabilities. Besides, you'd be stitching that thing together for the remainder of your days with the way he throws himself into harm's way and dashes right towards it like a beast on the loose.

So you have to improvise. You decide to pin it here, cinch it there and around the shoulder to connect to the pauldrons and there you have it: a shawl that he can add over the top of his red one. It took many days and many sleepless nights by the fire's light to see what you were doing and your fingers are covered in tiny dots and a few makeshift bandages. But to you, it was worth it. It kept your spirits up and it made dealing with the whole end of the world thing easier to cope with when you have a personal project to work on. And War would watch you, observant but distant.

And finally, time for the final adjustments. When you first measured War, you'll admit - it was a very big undertaking to make him a punk vest. But the way his eyes looked at you like a shy puppy as he softly asked, almost mumbling his words as if unsure of how to present such a question.

You couldn't say no! So you pushed that overwhelming sense of dread when you realised just how big of a canvas you were working with. You would do this for him, to let him have his own piece of the culture and allow him to be a part of it.

By no means did he become impatient. Or at least he didn't show that side of him, but every now and then he'd check in and finally when it came time for his final fitting, you caught the slight blush on his cheeks as he stood still for you.

For the few times you accidently poked him with the needle, apologies poured out of your mouth as if you injured the most precious thing in the world, only for him to brush aside your doting concern. You'd shake and tremble a little out of worry that you'd hurt him.

"There! all done," you announce and brush a hand over your brow as you take a step back to analyse your work. "You look amazing, War!"

"You truly think so?" he asks, his voice unsure. He looks at himself however much he's able to. It's not until you direct him over to an old store window, allowing him to gauge his reflection in the splintered window.

"See?"

"Your craftsmanship is one of a kind."

You stumble over a sentence of half stringed words. Even to you they were unintelligible and so you sweep some hair that fell over your eyes away with a sheepish smile. "Thank you. Do you like it? I know it's not a traditional vest like mine, but I tried my best to keep in theme. I didn't wanna comp---"

His lips caress the delicate space between your hairline and your words immediately cease.

"I adore it. Thank you."

[ungodly-amounts-of-godly-trauma]

wotw round 1

propaganda under the cut!

will graham:

OMG where do I even start??? A lot of the fandom (not the whole fandom, but a lot of them) are obsessed with Will Graham being traumatized helpless baby boy sub and it's just like… Hello? Did you watch the same show as me?

"Oh no he got his brain caught on fire with encephalitis he needs his big strong psychiatrist Hannibal to take care of him and spoon feed him and protect him from the world"

"Oh he's in love with his friend Alana but she just sees him as a friend and a psychiatric project I just need to wrap him in a blanket and cuddle him and protect him from all these people who hurt him"

Like the list goes on and on but guys, come on. Will Graham lives by himself with his 7 dogs and takes care of all of them. He's an FBI agent. HE'S LITERALLY KILLED PEOPLE BOTH WITH HIS BARE HANDS AND WITH WEAPONS. THIS MAN IS A SCRUFFY OUTDOORSMAN WHO'S LIKE 6'0" AND MAYBE NOT BUILT BUT DEFINITELY NOT SCRAWNY AND IN NEED OF PROTECTING. I think a lot of people get caught up in the fact that Will Graham is played by Hugh Dancy and he was very much a "pretty boy" character in a lot of stuff before he played Will Graham and this is also exacerbated by Hannibal being played by Mads Mikkelsen who is "slightly taller rugged silver fox European man who is going to fix my daddy issues" and since Will and Hannibal are the main couple a lot of people are like "well they can't both be big tough top guys so obviously it's the guy who's slightly bigger and buffer and older"

Will Graham is a 38 year old FBI criminal profiler who has killed dangerous people with his bare hands, went to prison for some time, masterfully manipulated others, also hunts and fishes, and he's like very good at reading people and their motivations. Incredibly smart everyday man.

Sweet JESUS sometimes the fandom makes him out to be more of a helpless puppy than he really is. Granted, even if he has his moments of mental vulnerability, it's never treated as weak by the show. He's managed to persist through some of the hardest situations. AND LIKE I GET IT, HE'S REALLY PRETTY WHEN HE'S IN PAIN AND SUFFERING BUT HE'S NOT!!! A BABY!!! Anyway I've seen a lot of fandom takes where he's been twinkified to high hell or portrayed as helpless/submissive and often it entirely diminishes that he's a grown fucking person (who has KILLED AND WILL DO IT AGAIN).

had encephalitis in s1 so everyone calls him sweaty & got framed for murder so when he actually murders people people say it’s not his fault and that he was manipulated into doing so (how do you manipulate someone into putting down a shotgun and beating someone to death with their bare hands when you’re not even there? fuck if i know. also, the manipulator in question (hannibal, his sort of therapist) actively stopped him from killing someone). “someone help will graham” is an actual tag on ao3. people treat him like a child. he is a serial killer and people act like he can’t even feed himself. it’s terrible. will graham is a liar, a murderer, a cannibal, a manipulator, and i love him for it

jason "jd" dean:

shoutout to my lovely friend who knows who they are who talk abt how jd does no wrong and hes so slay when like. he does slay. he did slay. he slayed three whole people. and tried to slay a school. like, jd does a lot of wrong. all he does is wrong. and sometimes the fandom acts like everything he does is super chill and fine and sane, and ignores what he did altogether. like yea christian slater was fit in the movie. yk whats not fit? homocide

hes also treated like an innocent lil baby who can do nothing for himself but im watching the movie rn and he just bashed veronicas head off of an emergency fire hose, and shes apparently the love of his life

[narwhalandchill]

oh my fucking god i feel. SO stupid rn at How i didnt make the (super sane very normal just absolutely. Yes. Surely) connection earlier but uhh

so anyway im now like 89% certain that whatever the "traces" of the narwhal that remain on ajax and facilitate their (ever-growing) innate connection are like. an actually fundamental aspect of it (them?) more or less.

why? because if you consider its pov just for a moment. the narwhal was literally about to depart teyvat for good. it had nearly finished consuming the primordial sea and preparing to breach surface to finish the job by eating the french for the leftovers their human bodies were made from. its an interstellar voyager it does not linger on planets it devours. it goes glug glug and it leaves.

and like if it wasnt for traveler intervening its confirmed through narzissenkreuz and renes world formula that teyvat wouldve just been destroyed. no one could have stopped the narwhal not neuvillette not focalors not anyone.

so what was the one other thing it did right before going for that french brunch? calling for ajax. getting them reunited in the primordial sea. like all the possible implications aside bc theres many different ways to speculate on the exact reasons why and the nature of that link. the point remains.

it wasnt leaving teyvat without finding him.

like the narwhal is about to fucking Dip from this cringe planet and whatever part of it that ajax carries within himself his narwhal Absolutely wanted to be reunited with. what the fuck am i supposed to read from that. hoyo???????!??! answers?!?!?!

and its not only the calling from the narwhal side itself either bc this is ALL coinciding with the growth of a 'restless power' within ajax and his vision malfunctioning (the things celestia is literally confirmed to harvest energy thru to repair its damaged authority) and his connection with the narwhal reaching an actual conscious level (arguably subconscious n emotional too bc i find it Curious his mood is poor right as the narwhal is repeatedly described as positively malding to the point its boss fight mechanic is literally a rage meter). ajax' power is growing. his destiny is starting to shift and something is drawing him to fontaine... right as the narwhal is getting close to finished with the primordial sea. funny how it overlaps eh. how it aligns 🤨🤨 why are they orbiting each other like this (they should kiss)

(& not to even Mention how ajax just Happened to get that absolutely exponential and borderline unbelievable feat of power spike in extending his foul legacy endurance as massively as he did. while. within the primordial sea. with his narwhal. who had at that point all but incorporated the power of that sea into itself. i s2g if childe was getting passive home turf co-op bonus exp with a 4x multiplier automatically the whole 40+ days 💀💀)

[nobody-is-here01]

back on my bullshit, (im here to spam you Marine Luffy stuff)

Thinking about Marine Luffy’s dynamic with the 7 warlords and it's one of the funniest things ever.

Boa Hancock is going to get her own post because I have SO MUCH to say about her and Canon! Luffy along with Marine Luffy’s dynamic with her.

Anyway, personal headcanons of what I think Marine Luffy and the Warlords dynamics are.

Doflamingo: Luffy is usually the one who during Warlord meetings has to deal with Doflamingo’s bullshit. This is partially because Luffy is the only thing that really puts the fear of god back into Doflamingo. Also, Marine luffy is absolutely feral, and terrifying, and does indeed bite. I think in some twisted ways Luffy in this AU reminds Doflamingo of when he's younger. In some fucked up way of trying to cope with trauma Doflamingo tries to simulate situations that he went through as a kid to see how Luffy reacts. To see if things had been a bit better, if things had been different, if Doflamingo could have been a better person. The Dressrosa Arc still happens in this AU except a bit later. As Doflamingo’s tyrant rein finally falls he realizes that “huh maybe we never were that similar…”

(I have no idea if this AU is a Crocomom AU or not but I’ll go ahead and write up how it would go in either situations.)

Crocodile: Dynamic is definitely more cold and distant than in an AU where Crocodile is Luffy’s other parent. Luffy is seen as a threat, and Crocodile has at least 15 different drawn-up plans on how to deal with him. (none of these plans would actually work in practice.) The dynamic is pretty much just business, you leave me be I’ll leave you be.

Crocomom: Similar to the first one. Except the first time he meets Luffy and he hears that he's Garp's grandkid he's freaking the fuck out. Because holyshit, that's his alive, grownup, kid. Crocodile has no idea how to explain to Luffy that like “hey im your biological mother, now a man, hahaha…” So Crocodile simply doesn't. (The two of them do have a heart-to-heart much later alone in Impel down during the breakout.)

Moria: Honestly I don't have much to say about him. Luffy absolutely hates Hogback and Absolom though. So Luffy has a dislike for Moria and what he does. But Moria out of all the warlords not including Kuma is the easiest to deal with, so that earns him some brownie points.

Kuma: Im not sure if you caught up with the latest chapters. (specifically his backstory chapters) so I will be staying silent for now as not to spoil anything for you.

Mihawk: Mihawk is both intrigued and concerned at the beginning. Because that is Shank’s hat, and Shank’s kid. Why is Shank’s brat in the Marines?? Mihawk also like all the other warlords tends to use Luffy as some form of a coping mechanism. It's not uncommon to hear about Luffy and Mihawk getting into another physical fight. But after a while, Mihawk does realize that he has been accidentally treating Luffy as if he is Shanks. Mihawk realizes that he can't force Luffy to become his new sparring partner. Luffy is not Shanks, and he can't fill that hole either. After Marine Ford Mihawk reads the news regularly, a rare grin on his face whenever he catches sight of a straw hat.

Jinbei: That is Luffy’s emotional support parental figure your honor! The only one who is normal, safe, and sane. Also, the only one to look at Luffy and go “Are you okay?? I don't think healthy humans are supposed to act like that.��� Also, the one to get Luffy to open up and heal slowly after Marineford. Also Luffy definitely knows the full truth of what happened to Fisher Tiger in this AU, so yeah that's something.

(I am so sorry, this is a really long post 💀)

Aaaahhhhhh!!! I've missed you and your bullshit bombarding my asks!

I love how with each dynamic all of them are also like, 'alright this kid is fucked up, keep an eye on him' but for different reasons

So here are some of my thoughts on what Marine Luffy’s relationship is with the warlords (love yours so much)

Crocodile : so unfortunately not a coco-mom au, like you said their relationship is strictly business, Luffy doesn't really care for the warlords as long as they don't get in his way.

Domflamingo : Luffy finds him kinda annoying so he tries to avoid any situation where he would meet him, unfortunately he can't at warlord meetings, but he's tried, probably one of the only warlords Luffy wouldn't mind punching out of the blue, dude would punch him without reason (gets away with it too)

Kuma : (no sadly not that far yet but I know a bit of his background not much though) but Luffy likes him

Moria : almost the same relationship as Domflamingo, except he just straight up avoids him, unless he has to deal with Moria then he will and he'll do it quickly

Mihawk : one of the few warlords Luffy actually respects, he admires his fighting and his character, granted it annoyed him a bit to constantly be reminded of Shanks, like you said he also like the other warlords used luffy as some form of coping, but after he realized what he did he stopped and him and Luffy kinda became like gossip buddies, like they'd hang out whenever Mihawk was in the area, but Luffy wouldn't actively seek him out, Mihawk would have to come to him if he wanted someone to talk to or spar with,

Jimbe : only warlord and person that Luffy actually likes from the warlords, yes he likes Mihawk, but Jimbe is different, Luffy has a sort of awe for Jimbe and felt very honored to know about him and his past with Fisher Tiger, Jimbe is the only one who knows that Luffy secretly wishes he was a pirate instead of a Marine, when Jimbe asked why Luffy didn't just become a pirate now Luffy replied saying that he's made so many promises to the people he protects that he doesn't want to go back, not now at least, Jimbe is also the only one who knows about Ace and Sabo and how much Luffy misses them and how proud he is of them

absolutely love your asks 🩷

Have aa good day/night