#but rather something dealing with his mind

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fic Idea: Lex Luther's annoyance

Vlad Masters is....a pain. Not in the usual elite way Lex is used to. Not the empty-headedness of wealthy men like Bruce Wayne or annoyingly humanitarian like Oliver Queen.

Masters was annoying in the confusing kind. He was new money who danced around Lex's manipulations as if they were mere flies. He never gives Lex a reason to take him out but always leaves the bald man feeling weary.

Unsettled. Unsure.

The effect Masters had on him was irritating. Lex Luthor doesn't get unsure.

Luthor's family money came from his father, but it was Lex who turned the moderate company into one of the biggest powerhouses in the world. He was ruthless, always three steps ahead of his peers, using his clever mind to his every advantage.

Lex prides himself in being the danger in plain sight. He charmed kings and politicians alike, carefully placing a controlling hand on the back of their necks with each casual joke or helpful investment. Wherever Lex went, it wouldn't be long before he gained control of the floor and moved his pieces on the board to his liking.

That was if Vlad Masters wasn't in attendance.

Masters rarely join in high-class events- why should he? He was wealthy, of course, but nowhere near Lex's level. He just didn't run in the same circles- but whenever he did, it was like a rock being thrown in Lex's clam river. No matter where he was, Lex found his eyes tracing the underwhelming cut of Masters's suit (Easily one of the cheapest ones there) or catching the man's gaze that hid barely concealed amusement.

That was another thing. All social rules and etiquette indicated that Masters should be chasing after Lex's attention and approval or, at the very least, feel nervous in his presence. Masters acted like Lex was a part of the background, never impolite but never dazed or impressed.

Equals in a way that made Lex's stomach lurch in anxiety.

He has met some people who thought themselves better than Lex through arrogance, but none have taken one look at him and deemed him unimportant. It was as if Lex were just another man walking down the street who was only worthy of getting a passing greeting.

As if the man had a presence at all. Lex was often the man of the hour, and Masters was the guy nursing a drink by the wall, watching the crowd with a calm, nearly detached expression.

Masters was known for being a rather dull wealthy man, only seemingly interested in conversations if it was about his precious football team or random scientific discoveries. Seeing as he made his wealth through scientific discoveries, it was understandable that he knew an awful lot about them.

However, besides being a fantastic investor and stock buyer, Masters didn't have a single social bone in his body.

Lex had witnessed him flout through galas, parties, art galleries, and political rallies without a hint of displeasure or pleasure. Always engaged in conversations, but only if someone approached him first. He would often be seen admiring the decor, as though he was visiting a museum rather than networking or losing himself in a vice-like alcohol or bed partners.

It was almost as if these grand events that others killed to get an invitation were mere walks in a lovely garden for him. A break from whatever hectic life he lived.

Except that after having his people look into it, Masters didn't have a hectic life. He barely had one. No matter how much Lex dug into his background, besides that one accident that landed him in a hospital in college, Masters's life had been a pretty average rise from rags to riches through his hard work and intelligent mind.

A wealth that would likely only be passed down two generations with no hints of wanting to raise it like Lex had. No hints of ambition for something greater. No hints of nefarious schemes or back-alley deals. No hints of any sort of crime.

Just a man who wasn't amazed by Lex's world of wealth.

Lex hated how utterly boring he found the man and yet, how his eyes always followed him through the room, fascinated by how Masters didn't make any sesne. It was irritating how Masters didn't even have to do anything to grab Lex's attention; just walking by had him nearly tripping over his own two feet to watch him.

He didn't even know why he wanted to watch Masters. He wasn't even that handsome! His long silvery hair tied in a perfect tail, his slightly dry-looking skin, the dark circles under his eyes, and that teeth-gritting accent of his.

He didn't even know why Masters sounded like an upper-class British man. He was born in Wisconsin!

What did he take voice acting lessons to craft an accent? (Lex's checked. He didn't. Masters is just like that. It made his heart beat like Superman was about to burst into his office. He called his doctor to check if he's developed a heart condition)

The worst part was the way Master lingered in his mind, sitting at the back of it with inane questions like: What was he doing? Does he like chocolate or vanilla more? Why has he tried to buy the Parkers from Green Bay ninety-five times?

It made him look like a fool. No one made Lex Luthor look like a fool.

In a fit of madness, Lex had ordered Mercy to blacklist Masters from any parties they would host. He could not stand to have that man throw him off his game a second longer.

It worked for about three months, and Lex did not have to suffer from stomach twisting or heart hurting due to the sudden increase in heart rate. Then he ran into Masters at a Wayne Gala of all places where the man was dressed like an idiot with his pure black-on-black outfit only to throw on a Packer's scarf.

It looked so stupid that Lex had to hide in the men's bathroom for an hour after spotting the man chatting quietly with Wayne's butler. He could not describe why that stupid green and gold scarf had nearly brought him to his knees.

According to Mercy, who had eavesdropped, Masters' mother was from England, which explains his odd accent. She didn't quite judge him openly, but Lex could read the subtext of her stare as she reported everything Masters did at the gala.

He danced to one song with Bruce Wayne. Lex had nearly broken his hand when he punched the way to the bathroom.

The night after Waynes' gala, Lex lifted Masters' ban because he missed the rather dull man's presence. This gala had been the season's highlight, and compared to the other various parties, Lex had found himself feeling something besides boredom or contempt.

The next time Lex saw Masters was at a charity five months later. Once again, Masters was wearing his black suit, but this time, he had a silver undershirt and a ridiculous red bowtie. Lex had spent five hours changing outfit after outfit, trying to find the most flattering one, and Masters had the audacity to wear a red bowtie.

"He looks good," Lena says, eyes drinking in Masters, leaning on a wall with a blue drink in hand and gazing over the dancers. Lex felt like hurling up when Masters' lips twitch up into a grin as a man stumbles by with his unimpressed dance partner. "You should ask him to dance."

"No," Lex bites out, feeling sick. "Why would you even say?"

Lena shares a look with Mercy before muttering, " It's almost pathetic how he doesn't know how to handle his feelings."

"What was that?"

"You're pathetic," She says with an eye roll. She grabs Mercy's hand and drags her to the dance floor, though his bodyguard sends him a look, asking for permission. He waves his hand, knowing his sister would bite his head off if he stopped her from dancing with her girlfriend, even if she was currently on the clock.

" I'm not pathetic. I can make a living clone with my own DNA." He grouches, glaring at her as she twirls under Mercy's arm.

"You can?" The familiar accent has Lex jumping a foot in the air. He spins around only to look down into Master's blue eyes. Lex had always noticed that he was a head taller than the other man, but it was one thing to know on paper and another to see in person.

He felt like Masters' blue gaze had grabbed him by the throat. "What?"

"You make clones?" Masters repeat, eyes alight with delight. "I've dabbled in that technology myself. I have a daughter, thanks to it."

Lex stares, feeling off-footed. "You're married?"

"Oh no, no." Masters laughs, though Lex can pick up a hint of anger from the curve of his jaw. "I'm a single father. My daughter happens to have some characteristics of her DNA donors, but she's mine entirely."

"I see." Lex suddenly feels like every social skill he's ever developed has evaporated. Or, at the very least, all of his brain cells because why else would he have blurted out, "I have a son. He's my clone with another man."

"Oh, congratulations. You and your husband-"

"No! I'm single. I mean, I'm not married. I was never married. In fact, it's been a long time since I've been in a relationship. So long I think I forgot how they are supposed to go." Lex cuts in, nearly spilling his drink as he shakes his hand. Masters' fae clouds with amusement, and Lex realizes he's been talking for too long.

"Well, it's hard to date while being a single parent." Masters hums before smiling, and Lex feels like Superman has just punched him through a wall without wearing his power suit. "Science is a wonderful thing, isn't it? To allow us to have our children."

"I suppose"

Masters ponders something before he holds out a card. "My daughter has always wanted to meet others like her. Would you and your son care to join us for dinner if it's not too much trouble?"

Lex thinks he makes a sound of confirmation, and just as he appears, Masters vanishes. He walks into the crowd, disappearing from sight, taking his mind-numbing, amused eyes and his stupid bow tie.

It takes him a moment to realize the card has Masters' phone number. Lex stares at the seven digits, feeling like he's freefalling and he's seconds away from being sick. He stumbles to a chair, falling into it without his usual grace.

Mercy is at his side in seconds, eyeing him wearily as Lena touches his shoulder. "Lex? You okay?"

"I have...to make a call." He hears himself say, stumbling for his phone. With shaking hands, he taps on a contact, bringing the device to his ear and listening to it ring. It takes five rings before it's picked up, and a voice bites out.

"What?"

"Conner." He starts, hands still shaking slightly. "Are you free this Friday?"

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

shower sounds

It was wrong. It was immoral.

But Simon 'Ghost' Riley couldn't help himself. He just couldn't.

You were his neighbor. His sweet, smiling, food-bringing goddess next-door. You had shared conversations with him, a few bottles of wine from time to time, too many cookies for him to count- you shared walls with him.

For the most part, the walls you shared with him weren't a problem. Sometimes you had your TV volume up too loud, sometimes you sang a bit too loudly to whatever music you were listening to, but that never bothered Simon.

Sometimes he could hear your cat jump up to her cat tower. He could always hear (and sometimes feel the vibration) when she would launch her chubby self up to the tower, and the tower would always knock against the wall you shared with Simon. It made him scoff quietly every time. He had a fondness for that fat cat, whether he would admit it out loud or not.

Maybe her owner, too.

His excellent hearing was partially to blame, so he never made it to be a big deal. He never wanted you to know he heard you that much, didn't want to make you feel bad for some reason.

And those noises really weren't all that bad. In fact, he looked forward to hearing those mundane sounds. Sometimes a cupboard would close a bit too loudly; he never imagined you being the type to go randomly slamming cupboards shut, and he would wonder if you were alright. If he didn't hear anything else, he wouldn't worry as much.

It was a different kind of noise that Simon 'Ghost' Riley was bothered by that came from your unit. Noises, rather. And it was always one kind of noise that led to another…

The first time it happened, he felt almost ashamed of himself. Almost. Maybe he'd be more full of shame if he hadn't felt so damn good after.

Simon had been lounging on one end of his couch, TV remote in hand. He was switching between channels when he heard the familiar sound of your shower turning on. 

There was always this almost ringing-like sound that would come through the building's old pipes when the water was on, especially in the showers. The sound was always the same when the shower turned on, though if you adjusted the spray of the shower head, it would become higher or lower pitched depending on the intensity of the stream of water.

He heard you turn on some music before he could hear the shower curtain being drawn back and forth as you probably stepped into the shower, naked-

Simon shook his head, trying to focus back on the task at hand, picking something to watch on TV.

But there was nothing on.

He decided to give up on that. Right after his television went black, he heard the familiar high pitched noise of the building's old plumbing go up a few levels.

Simon wouldn't have thought anything of it if his apartment hadn't been dead quiet, and if he hadn't heard a small moan through the shared wall between you.

Simon's eyes widened as he listened, his ear turned towards the wall now so he could listen more closely. He could hear the harsh spray of your showerhead, his mind racing with what you could be using it for and where the stream was being directed on your body.

He felt a spark of something, and his body began to respond to the intimate sounds you were making that echoed into his apartment through the wall. His breathing began to slow and he closed his eyes, focusing on the sounds. He could hear your soft whimpering and short gasps even clearer now.

A lump began to form in his throat as his body continued to react, his heart racing with excitement. His hand instinctively went to his groin, his fingers tracing the outline of his growing arousal. He knew he shouldn't be standing there, his ear on the wall between you, his eyes closed, listening to you pleasure yourself in the shower-

But he just couldn't help himself. The sounds were drawing him in, making him feel like he was part of something intimate and-

Simon's eyes snapped open, and he moved away from the wall, trying to compose himself. He couldn't believe he was getting turned on by listening to his sweet, adorable, sweets-and-food gifting neighbor getting herself off in the shower. He needed to put some distance between you. He needed to get out of there, to clear his head and calm down.

He had taken the first step to move into another room when he heard a faint whisper through the wall.

"Oh, yeah..."

Back against the wall he was.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He was stuck, his ears glued to the wall, listening to the sounds coming from the other side.

The sounds were getting louder, and Simon could hear you more clearly now. You were whimpering and moaning, your breathing a little shallower now.

He continued to listen, unable to move away. His breathing was ragged and sharp, his body reacting to every single noise on the other side of the wall.

Simon's hand went back down to the waistband of his jeans, his fingers tracing the material. He felt a shiver go down his spine as he realized what he was about to do, but he didn't stop himself.

He unbuttoned his jeans, his hands moving urgently as he listened to the sounds coming from the other side of the wall. He was getting more and more turned on as he heard your moans and whimpers growing louder, the sounds getting more frequent.

He shoved his jeans and boxers down in one swift movement, his other hand grasping his already rock-hard length.

He stroked himself slowly, his hand still pressed against the wall, his ear inches from the spot where your voice seemed to be coming from.

His eyes closed once more as he imagined what you might look like, pleasuring yourself in the shower, as he stroked his throbbing cock, already glistening at the tip with precum.

To keep his own pleasured sounds from getting too loud, in fear that you would hear him and maybe stop, he bit down on his own tongue, quickly tasting copper in his mouth as a muffled groan escaped his lips.

He imagined you in the shower, how wet you must be in so many ways, how slick your skin was as you touched yourself, and how much you wanted this, needed this release just as desperately as he did.

With a low growl, he began pumping his shaft faster, harder as he imagined your wet skin, your curves, your breasts, your ass... He could picture it all so vividly, thanks to the erotic symphony playing through the thin wall separating them.

He was stroking his thick, angry cock faster now, his hips rocking slightly, the sound of his own heavy breathing mingling with the distant echoes of your pleasure-filled cries.

"Fuck," he heard you whisper breathlessly before letting out a soft whine. You were getting close. He could tell.

So was he.

The sound of your moans grew louder, more urgent, and Simon found himself matching the rhythm of your strokes, pumping his own cock in time with your breathy pleas.

His grip tightened around his shaft, the veins bulging as he worked himself closer to the edge. The image of you touching yourself, lost in pleasure, fueled his desire, making him ache to be inside you.

He could almost taste you on his tongue, feel your slick heat enveloping him as he thrust deep. The fantasy was so real, so intoxicating, that he swore he could smell the sweet musk of your arousal carried through the thin partition.

A guttural groan tore from his throat as he quickened his pace, chasing his impending climax. Precum dripped steadily from the tip of his cock, leaving a sticky trail on his fist as he pumped faster, harder.

Then, he heard what he had been waiting for most of all, a sound he knew was coming but wasn't sure what exactly it would sound like. And it was more delicious than he could have ever imagined.

He heard you cry out through the wall, in the shower, as your orgasm washed over you. He really hoped that your sound of released pleasure distracted you enough to not notice his own.

Simon's entire world narrowed to the sound of your climax, a whine that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of his reality. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard, and it shattered his last semblance of control.

He knew he was about to be loud. He needed to do something, fast, that wouldn’t mean biting his tongue or lip off-

Simon bit down on his clothed arm as he came undone, his orgasm ripping through him like a hurricane while the pain from biting his own arm threatened to tip the scales of pain and pleasure towards the former, but maybe that made him like it even more. Hot spurts of cum spurted from his cock, painting the wall he leaned against in thick, viscous streaks. His hips jerked erratically as he rode out the aftershocks, his vision flashing white behind clenched eyelids.

When Simon finally returned to Earth, he was left looking at the aftermath of his actions as he caught his breath, breathing in and out with his eyes closed, still listening intently through the wall just in case you had any more delicious sounds in you.

masterlist

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 LOVERS ROCK

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: there are very few things that leave dazai osamu at a loss for answers. you are one of them. more specifically, it's your relationship (is this a relationship?) with him that has him so disconcerted, and dazai is getting to his breaking point.

(wordcount: 3.6k; nsfw [kind of, very suggestive so will label nsfw], ada!reader, dazai has SEVERE trust issues & paranoia, this is set like half a year after he joined the ada, dazai also has a bad relationship with sex that is mentioned in his narration, he is terrible at communication too, accidentally hurts reader a little [nothing major])

AUTHOR'S NOTES: hiiiiiii guys <.< so i'm actually really proud of this ehehe. this is a universe that i'm tempted to expand on like wykyk, but we'll see.

Dazai hates giving up control. 

Ever since he was a kid, he’s been hyper-independent. First with his family, because they were never around and he had to learn to be self-sufficient otherwise he’d die a slow, painful death. Then in the Port Mafia, he quickly learned that asking for help is a weakness and being dependent on others is a vulnerability that people would take advantage of to subvert his influence and usurp his position as an underboss. As long as he’s remembered, it was all but a death sentence to rely on any other than himself. 

It wasn't until he became a member of the Agency that he finally began to allow himself to depend on others—banking on Ranpo and his mind, Kunikida and his ideals, Yosano and her tenacity. But even then, he never allowed himself to lose complete control over a situation, drawing things out in a way that would always leave him with a firm hand guiding the chess board. 

Until he met you, at least.

He wasn’t sure what made you so different—he still isn’t entirely sure, it’s a thought that frequently plagues him, and because of it, he can never allow himself to be fully comfortable with you. You joined the Agency a month after him with lips that spoke pretty words and gave him even prettier smiles. You’d been kind to everyone, but Dazai likes to think you were especially kind to him. Maybe it was just his imagination, but Dazai liked the idea of it.

Well, he didn’t at first. 

In fact, he was rather hostile to it. To you. The longing he felt for the casual, soft touches you laid upon the other members of the Agency felt more like a weakness than anything else. It scared him. He’d never desired anything of the sort before, he’d always been okay on his own—thrived in it, really—and now he was suddenly seeking you out at all hours of the day, and he didn’t even fully understand why. Every time he sought you out, it ended poorly with him saying something uncalled for and your expression twisting as you tried to hide your hurt. 

And yet he still continued to seek you out. He made the same mistake over and over again: constantly forcing himself into your space after getting jealous watching you doll out casual affection to the other detectives, waiting for you to give him the same attention, and then lashing out in some manner when you finally did.

He supposed it didn’t help that Dazai was uncomfortable in general with people touching him, which naturally made him even more hostile because why was he longing for something that made him uncomfortable? 

He also still isn’t sure how you managed to break through all of his walls—or why you even persisted when it became clear that he was at best incompetent when it comes to dealing with real emotions, and at worst, borderline malicious. 

But you did. And it scared him. Scares him.

Dazai lets out a shaky breath when he feels your lips ghost against his neck, fingers twisting the sheets below him. Your hands are sliding against his sides, gentle and soothing, and a part of him wants to melt into the sheets while another part of him wants to flip the two of you around, press you back down into the mattress and rip control over the situation back from you.

As if you can sense his conflict—maybe you can, Dazai has come to realize that unlike everyone else at the Agency, who he can fool with his mask of exaggerated dramatics and clownlike behavior, that you had somehow learned how to see right through him—you pause for the sparest moment and trace your lips back up his neck to brush them against his own, soft and comforting, as if to soothe his discord.

And it works somehow. Dazai doesn’t know how you do it because he can’t even quell his own mind when it starts to spin out of control, but the brush of your lips against his is enough to ground him again. 

“Everything okay?” you ask quietly, eyes searching his face for the answers that he knew his lips might not give.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, voice rough and cracking over the word. 

He thinks maybe a part of it is the way you always check on him to make sure he’s doing alright. For Dazai, sex has only ever been transactional—he was young when he was first carted off to a whorehouse so he could be taught how to use his body for intel and other miscellaneous advantages. No matter how hard he tried to enjoy it, he always found it to be underwhelming at best and loathsome at worst. And he did try to enjoy it, he forced himself to seek out women in his free time to try to learn to enjoy the activity that so many other people seem to find comfort and pleasure in. 

It wasn’t until you that he could.

His first time with you was earth shattering. He’s not exaggerating when he says it completely altered his perspective on intimacy. It was embarrassing, almost—he remembers giving you quick, flirty smiles, and he remembers the sly comments he whispered to you at the bar the members of the Agency were at to celebrate Yosano’s birthday. 

He knew that morning that he wanted you in his bed by nightfall—partly because he thought it would get you out of his system, that maybe all he needed was a good fuck to stop acting like he was brainless whenever you were around, and partly because he was curious. He was curious to know if that genuine demeanor of yours continued behind closed doors, or if it was all just a mask you liked to put up in public. 

Dazai’s hands were on you before the two of you even left for the night—they were creeping up your inner thigh, lingering on your bicep, he was resting his chin on your shoulder as he stood behind you, warding off any man that might try to approach you with cold looks you couldn’t catch. Eventually, like he planned, you asked him if he wanted to go back to your apartment, and Dazai agreed, of course, eager to get his questions answered. Eager to free himself of whatever shackles you’ve put on him.

And it all went downhill from there.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask again, frown deepening and hands stilling on his waist when you don’t find an answer you like on his face.

Dazai tries to play it off—you’re here for sex, not all of his unstable thoughts. He gives you a practiced smile and slips his hand under your shirt to rest on your lower back, pulling you firmer against him—an easy tactic, one of the first he learned to distract his partner when he slips up.

He should have known better than to think you would fall for it.

Instead of returning to the lingering line of kisses you were leaving on his neck, you sit back to study him, and Dazai feels seen. He shifts under your scrutinizing gaze, averting his eyes to the ceiling and counting the seconds that pass as he waits for you to ask that dreaded question. 

“What's wrong?” you ask him quietly.

Dazai can evade it. He knows that he can—even if the sex is ruined, because he knows you’re not going to have sex with him if you think something is wrong, he can evade this question by refusing to answer. You never press it, although sometimes your lips curve down in a disappointed frown that makes him feel even worse than before.

But Dazai finds himself hesitating.

“I-“ he starts to say before cutting himself off abruptly, horrified by the realization that he was just about to admit to you what he was thinking. “Nothing.” 

The anticipation that had sprung to your eyes when he started to speak dissipates when he blows you off, and it makes his chest tighten. He feels your thighs tense and knows you’re about to get off of him, so his hands fly to your hips to keep you in place.

“Something,” he corrects, voice just a little too raspy for comfort. “… Something.”

You settle back down on top of him, tilting your head to the side. 

“Tell me?” you offer quietly, your hands drop to his arms, sliding up and down the bandages that cover his forearms slowly. Soothingly. He hates it.

“I just don’t understand this,” Dazai admits. “It’s… confusing.”

It's possibly the first time he’s ever spoken these words out loud. It’s a weakness he’s never allowed anyone to be aware of—even when Dazai has no idea what’s going on, he’s careful to put up an impenetrable facade of confidence, one that even the keenest eyes can’t see through.

And here he is, bare of masks and facades, admitting his weakness plainly to someone who could easily take advantage of it.

Oh.

“This as in…?” you prompt with a pondering frown.

Is that it?

“This,” he repeats more insistently as his mind races. “Us.”

You, he accuses silently.

You have the ability to destroy him. Dazai realizes, disconcerted, that this is what is confusing him. He's allowed himself to be weak in front of you. He's lowered all of his guards. He's let you in through his many walls of defenses. You’ve settled down in the treacherous beating thing in his chest that he’s tried to rip out too many times to count, and Dazai waits for you to take advantage of it. He waits for this to go wrong. Waits for you to prove yourself to be a Trojan Horse in the form of dazzling smiles and a beautiful face. 

But you don’t, and that’s what Dazai just can’t understand. He doesn’t understand what you’re getting out of this—he knows what he’s getting out of it. He’s getting comfort, he’s able to pretend he’s capable of being loved, he gets you. But you’re not getting anything out of this, so he feels like he’s just been biding time before the other shoe drops.

“… What about us do you not understand?” You sound perplexed, and it agitates Dazai. Worse, you can tell it agitates him because immediately you run your thumb over the pulse point on his wrist to soothe him. You add quickly with a small smile, “I'm not understanding now, help me?”

It is beyond disconcerting that even though he knows it was a ploy to distract and soothe him, it works anyway. Dazai needs to do something about this.

“What do you get out of this?” Dazai decides to ask the question plainly instead of dancing around his words, partially because of the agitation and partially because he just needs an answer. Desperately. “What do you get out of what’s going on between us? I don't understand why you keep agreeing to meet me, why you initiate it sometimes. I need to know what it is you get."

Sex is transactional—it always is. Each party has to get something out of it, and if you don't know what the other is getting, then you have made a perilous mistake somewhere along the line. Dazai has known this since the beginning, but he allowed himself too long to bask blindly in the comfort of your arms and bed. He can’t keep doing this without knowing what you’re getting, It’ll come back to haunt him.

You’re still confused by his question even with the explanation, he can see it in the way the thoughts race behind your eyes as you try to piece it together. 

Eventually you settle on a smile that’s almost playful as you answer with, “You?”

Dazai’s frown deepens at your words, his expression becomes a bit colder. He thinks you’re evading the question because you don’t want to answer it, and that’s dangerous. You joined the Armed Detective Agency not long after him—were you a plant sent to get close to him by one of his old enemies? By Mori? His thoughts start to spiral dangerously. These are questions he should’ve been having months ago when you first joined the Agency, not now. 

“What are you really getting?” His grip on your hips tightens. “Tell me. Stop avoiding the question.”

Your expression becomes a bit more alarmed when he closes off from you, he thinks maybe his grip on your hips might be painful from your wince but he can’t afford to let go until he has his answer. 

“You, Dazai,” you say again, more insistently this time. “I get you. I get to spend time with you. be with you. That’s what I get.”

“But why?” Dazai presses, raising his voice, holding you tighter. He is hurting you now, he can tell from the way you try to bat his hands away, but he couldn’t let go if he wanted to. His blood pressure is rising as he realizes how badly he might have messed up. All of Ango’s efforts—Odasaku’s last request—all down the drain because of one mistake. “Why? What information are you trying to get? Who sent you? Who are you work-��

“What?” you demand. The confusion in your eyes is almost believable—Dazai thinks you must’ve been sent by someone important if you’re this good of an actress. His thoughts track back to Mori and his mind starts to fog with fury. “Who sent me? What are you-Dazai-I want you because I care about you. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

The fog clears, Dazai stares at you blankly, hands loosening on your hips. He's not sure he heard you correctly, so he says: “What did you just say?”

Your expression softens a bit, and you repeat, “I care about you. I want you because I care about you.”

“No, you don’t,” Dazai says immediately. Instinctually.

“Yes, I do.” Dazai has never seen you get irritated before, but your face twists when he instantly denies your words. “I do, Dazai.”

“You don’t,” he insists. “You can’t. You don’t even know me, you don't care about me.”

He thinks he almost would have preferred that you had some ulterior motive to this. He hates the way his chest swells with hope—hope is dangerous, more dangerous than any other emotion. Fear, anger, sadness, none of it compares to the light that tries to bloom within his rotted chest. He tries to cut it off before it can spread, but it’s notoriously hard to snuff out; it clings to anything it can get a hold on even as he tries to push it away. 

The idea is… more tempting than he expected. It’s concerning, that should be enough to clear his head, but it’s not. His fingers cling to your shirt desperately, he searches your face, trying to find the sparest indication that you may be lying.

He finds none.

Still, Dazai knows better. He knows this won’t last. you’ll find out who he was, all of the things he did, and then you’ll leave him. You’ll see him for what he is, and you’ll leave him. This will never last. 

Nothing good ever does for him. 

“But I do care about you,” you insist, and you’re cruel now, because you reach out to cup his cheek and Dazai leans into your touch. He can’t help himself from it. “I care about you deeply, Dazai.”

“You can’t,” he repeats, and to his horror, his voice wavers. “You don’t know who I am, you don’t know what I’ve done, and when you do-“

“We all have skeletons in our closet, Dazai,” you interrupt him quietly. “I don't think there’s a single ability user out there that doesn’t. I don't need to know your past to know I care about you.”

That’s not true, he wants to say, but can’t force the words out. Instead, he says hoarsely, “It would change how you see me. I'm not who you think I am. I’m-”

A monster. A demon. His blood is black—has been since the day he was born, will be until the day he dies. He is not someone who should be cared for. He's someone who should be left to rot, someone the world would be better off without. He doesn’t deserve this, not when there are so many other people in the world who are unfailingly good and do deserve it. 

“It won’t,” you say again, but Dazai knows it’s not true, you don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know how awful he is. You don’t give him the chance to protest though. “I care about who you are today. I care about who you are tomorrow. The day after tomorrow. Not who you were months ago. The past is the past, Dazai, leave it there.”

“It's not that simple,” he rasps. 

“It can be,” you say softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear, “if you let it.”

“It can’t be that simple,” he disagrees. There’s an odd lilt to the voice—pleading, almost, begging you not to give him hope only to rip it away when the truth inevitably comes to light. “It can’t.”

“It can for us,” you tell him again, and Dazai finds himself believing you. Wanting to believe you. Wanting to believe things can just be that simple. That easy. 

“Why?” Dazai breathes out, eyes searching your face for answers. “Why me? Why not someone…”

Someone better. Someone good. Someone deserving. 

“Because you’re you,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, you lean down to ghost your lips against his and it fogs his brain with a pleasant warmth he’s only ever felt with you. “Do I need a reason more than that?”

Dazai wants to say yes, because him being him is a reason for you to not want him. He’s despicable, he’s cruel, he lashed out at you for weeks all the while forcing himself into your space because he wanted to be near you but didn’t understand why. 

“I love your smile,” you say, thumb running along his bottom lip, “and I love even more when I’m the reason for it.”

“But-“

“And I love your eyes,” you continue, fingers trailing up his face to trace under his eyes. “I think they’re the prettiest shade of brown I’ve ever seen.”

“I know that’s not true,” he rasps—he knows very well that his eyes are unnerving, too black and too empty. People have been unable to look him in the eye for long even when he was a kid. “I-“

“But most of all, it’s just you,” you say softly, cupping his cheeks with both of your hands. “You make me happy. I like being around you. I always look forward to the time we get to spend together—missions, at work, after work. I’ll take you in whatever way I can get, Dazai.”

You don’t let him avert his gaze this time, you force him to look at you, force him to see the truth of your words reflected in the adoration on your face. No one has ever looked at him like this before, and it makes him feel bare. Seen. He’s always felt seen with you, but never like this.

“I was… mean to you.” He still tries to argue with you, lashes fluttering shut. “I was cruel for months because-“

You laugh at him. “Mean? You were like a puppy trying to snap at my hand to scare me off.”

Dazai gapes. “A puppy?” he demands, seriously offended. “Don’t compare me to a dog. I’m more like a… A…”

“A…?” you press, a pretty smile flickering at your lips.

“A panther,” he supplies confidently.

“A kitten,” you correct.

Dazai groans dramatically, flinging his head back, but he finds himself smiling. He finds his chest full of warmth, light and bubbly, and when he looks back up at you to meet your eyes, he finds the same emotion swimming on your face. He thinks again that no one has ever looked at him like this before—not with such fondness, not with adoration, not with…

No, Dazai doesn’t dare think that word.

“I care about you too,” he admits. He’s hesitant, like he’s scared to say the words out loud.

“Even with all of the skeletons hidden in my closet?” you tease, leaning down to brush your lips against his again, and then a second time, and then a third. He basks in it, eyes sliding shut as you kiss him gently—it takes a few moments for your words to register.

“They’re not worse than mine,” he replies, the pads of his fingers running up and down your thighs absently. After a couple of seconds pass, he asks, “… What skeletons do you have?”

You tilt your head to the side and say playfully, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Dazai isn’t ready for that, so he just tosses you a smile and a wink before murmuring, “How about you show me something else instead?”

You laugh at that, tossing your head back and giggling so genuinely that your hand flies to your mouth to muffle the sound. His lips part to make another suggestive comment, but he finds himself breathless at the sight of you. 

You’re beautiful, and Dazai can’t help but think again that he doesn’t deserve this. You.

“Deal,” you agree.

This time when you lean down to press your lips against his, Dazai’s hands are content to rest on your thighs. His fingers don’t itch to wrangle control from you, and his mind isn’t plagued with paranoia-induced thoughts.

He thinks, maybe, that he can get used to this. Used to you.

[ghostybat]

Damian Wayne is pretty.

This is something that Dick, Jason, and Tim have learned to accept and begrudgingly deal with the consequences of.

Damian was bound to be attractive, what with having Bruce Wayne as a father and Talia al Ghul as a mother; there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he was going to grow up beautifully. And he did.

Long were the days of people cooing over him and telling him, 'Oh my God, you look so much like your father when he was your age.' By the time Damian hit 14 is when he really started to grow into his looks. The older he got, the more obvious it became who he took after.

Damian had inherited a lot from his mother, be it her laugh, her strength, or her flair for the dramatics (though if you were to ask her, she'd say he got it from Bruce). He had also inherited her slight and lean frame along with her height—an even 5'8". His green eyes are a given; however, the long lashes that framed them came from his father, along with his nose and eyebrows. The rest of him was all Talia, which made him look rather soft and delicate, something he was surprisingly never insecure about. He knew his strengths and what he was capable of, and if he happened to look like his mother, then so be it; she's a beautiful woman, and he's honored to have her resemblance.

Now, back to his brothers and how this affects them.

When one is pretty, one gets attention; however, not all of it is good attention. Because Damian has never really taken his looks into consideration, he is completely unaware of the effect he has on people.

This leaves Dick, Jason, and Tim having to deal with the weirdos and creeps trying to get too close to their baby brother.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 51

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,290ish

Summary: Your group goes to fight Cassandra.

Notes: Here we go! Please share reactions! Please remember to review the timeline posted here.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

You woke up to Laura cuddled close. Your body was achy, but not as much as your heart. After pressing a kiss to Laura’s head, you slipped out of bed and headed outside. The fresh morning air was crisp against your achy body and the sun was barely revealing itself. You took a deep breath as you tried to wrap your mind around yesterday. A version of Logan had just entered your life and a version of your long dead teammate Wade as well. How were you suppose to deal with this? 

The sight of smoke near the fire pit area caught your attention. You slowly walked over. Your heart clenched as you realized who was knocked out on the log. Logan was sprawled out on the log, one of his arms dangling over the side, still gripping onto a bottle of alcohol. You were honestly confused as to how he could still be on the log. Taking a step forward, you froze as a branch snapped beneath your foot. 

Logan shot up from the log, claws out, as his eyes frantically searched his surroundings. His gaze eventually fell on you and he too froze. You were tense, looking at Logan like you were a child who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Realizing that his claws were out, Logan quickly hid them, hanging his hands by his sides.

“Sorry,” both of you said at the same time.

The tension was thick, both of you could feel it. Your arms wrapped around you as you took a step back, looking down at the ground. It was harder than you thought to look at him and not have him looking back at you the way that your Logan always had.

“Sorry,” you mumbled again. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine,” he responded. 

A bout of silence grew between the two of you. Neither of you were able to look at each other in the eye. Logan could hear how your heartbeat was picking up, signaling how nervous you were. He clenched his fists harder to try to calm his own nerves.

“Are you… uh, are you fighting today?” He wondered.

“Yes. Cassandra may have something that will get us home,” you replied. “And I can’t let Laura fight without me.” Logan nodded, letting your answer sink in. “Are you fighting with us?”

“No… Or I wasn’t,” he shook his head. “It’s suicide.”

You shrugged. “A lot of missions are… but I’d rather die fighting.” With a twist of your hand, you relit the fire.

Logan’s brows furrowed when you winced as your hands cooled down. He stepped forward. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. It’s just… weird. Seeing you or not you or I really don’t know.” You shook your head

“I understand.”

“Was there a me in your universe?”

“Yes.”

“And is she…?”

“She’s dead.”

“Oh. I’m sorry… My husband—you—my version of you is dead, too.”

“I heard. It’s the reason Wade came looking for me.” 

Your head tilted in curiosity. “Why?”

Logan sighed, shaking his head. “Ain’t my story.”

“Mom?” You heard Laura call in the distance. “Mom!”

“I should go,” you took a few more steps back, “before Laura gets too worried.” You turned around but before you could get yourself to move, you looked back. “Take care of yourself, Logan.”

Logan’s mouth opened to say something but his mind wouldn’t let him. Instead, he watched you walk away. Was he really going to let you fight again without him trying to protect him? No, you weren’t his version of you, but you were a version. And he knew that he definitely would not forgive himself if you died and he could have prevented it.

~~~

“So, Buttercup,” Wade slipped next to you as you pulled fingerless compression gloves over your hands, “I have to tell you that your husbands’ claws are still extremely useful.”

Your head snapped towards Wade. “What?” 

“Yeah. I dug him up and had to use his sturdy bones to fight off some TVA agents.”

“You did what with my husband’s body?” Your hands formed fists which quickly went up in flames as you took a step towards Wade.

“Hey! Look! Your flames! They are even more spectacular in person, you know? And they—“

Wade didn’t have the chance to finish the thought before you blasted him against the wall with fire.

“Mom!” Laura exclaimed, rushing towards you. “Mom, stop! You can’t—“

“He dug your father up,” your tone was low. A warning. Something that Laura had rarely ever heard. “He used his bones as a weapon.”

Laura’s eyes widened as she looked between Wade and you. She was conflicted. Wade deserved what you wanted to do to him, but Laura couldn’t risk you wearing yourself out already.

“He’s not worth your energy right now,” Laura said, reaching for your arms.

“If it helps, I grabbed these,” Wade offered, pulling out two sets of dog tags from his suit. “I promise I didn’t put them anywhere inappropriate—“

You marched over and ripped them out of his grip. “Don’t think you’re off the hook for this, Wilson,” you threatened. “I will burn you alive.”

“Oh!” He clapped excitedly. “Can’t wait!”

~~~

You were smushed between Gambit and Laura in the middle row of the Honda Odyssey. Elektra was driving with Deadpool beside her and Blade in the back row. Your hand was firmly grasped around the dog tags you had taken back from Wade. The Honda Odyssey sped towards Cassandra’s base that was closed off.

“Ooh! Look at that there!” Gambit exclaimed. “You see them bigger hands come closed. Ain’t not a wanna gettin’ up inside there.”

“Gun!” Blade ordered as he stood up behind you and threw the opening on the roof.

You and Gambit lifted the gun up to Blade, who took it and aimed it at Cassandra’s base.

“Where’s he get that little beauty?” Deadpool wondered.

“That’s Punisher’s AT4,” Elektra explained.

“Which Punisher? There’s been, like, five of them.”

“There’s only been one Blade,” Blade commented, “and there’s only ever gonna be one Blade.”

Blade fired the weapon. It hit the large, closed skeleton hands, causing an explosion. Elektra sped the van up. When the van neared the fire, you prevented it from doing any harm to your group. As soon as the van was past it, you enlarged the flames, blocking everyone inside of the base. Elektra threw the van into park, bringing it to a screeching halt. 

Cassandra’s minions aimed their weapons at your group as you all exited the van. Deadpool and Gambit stood in front with Elektra, Blade, Laura, and then yourself. The van’s trunk opening caught all of your attentions. Turning to look, you saw Logan exit the van, having been hiding back there. Logan’s eyes met Laura’s first, who gave him a small smile before they flickered to yours. You were surprised to see him. He gave you a small nod before standing beside you.

“Ooh, this is gonna be good,” Blade commented.

“You know how long I’ve been waiting for this?” Gambit added. “Whoo! I’m about to make a name for myself here.”

“I don’t think you guys walk away from this,” Logan said, sparing another glance at you.

“You just make sure people know what happened here today. And when you get out of here, you have a drink for me, yeah?”

“You just stay on our six and get inside,” Blade ordered, moving to the front. You, Laura, and Elektra moved with him. “We’ll make sure you get the package.”

“And we’ll get our ending,” add Elektra.

You reached over and gave Laura’s hand a squeeze before making flames out of your fists. Laura slipped on her old purple glasses. Logan watched the interaction with a pang of jealousy. Your Logan was a lucky man, to have a wife and daughter who stick together no matter what. Too bad that this Logan believed he had ruined his chances of that long ago. 

You took a deep breath as you stared at Juggernaut, who was front and center, leading Cassandra’s minions. Everyone readied their weapons and Cassandra’s minions charged. The five of you took the front lines while Logan and Wade remained behind you. As Logan caught glimpses of you fighting, he began to realize how much he really couldn’t afford to lose another one of you. Not because of him. He stuck behind you, defending you from those trying to take you out. You knew that Logan was sticking close to you, so you made sure to try harder to defend him. Pushing aside the pain that was gradually getting worse, you continued to fight, using your fire to end people before they had the chance to get too close.

Eventually, you broke through Cassandra’s defenses. Logan and Wade rushed further into the base while the rest of you lined up in front of the opening. You still needed to get Juggernaut’s helmet and fast.

Meanwhile, inside the base, Logan and Wade found Cassandra lounging on her throne, drinking tea.

“You two escaping, I could live with,” she said as the two men came closer. “But coming back? Willingly?” She chuckled. “Boys are so silly.”

“I just need to get home,” Wade said.

“Well, that’s not on the menu, I’m afraid.” She set down her tea. “It’s death or enslavement. A la carte, of course.” She stood up and used her powers to throw Wade up against the ceiling. “Upsy-daisy.” She threw him back down, twisted him around, before tossing him against one of the side walls. “Finally, it’s nice to give someone else a chance to talk.” She moved closer to Logan.

“Not my strong suit,” he responded. 

Logan’s claws extended and he tried to throw a punch, only to be stopped. Cassandra forced his claws into his thighs before forcing him to the ground, keeping his claws in the floorboards. He grunted and groaned as he tried to free himself, but it was no use.

“Now,” Cassandra crouched in front of Logan, “we just need your counterpart.”

She smirked as Logan continued straining against her hold. Walking over to the eye holes that allowed her to see the fight, Cassandra caught sight of you. With a quick movement, she had you tangled up in netting and flying up to her.

“No! Mom!” Laura shouted.

You were about to set the netting on fire when you gasped. You could feel Cassandra in your mind, preventing you from doing anything. She threw you harshly in front of Logan, who was growing angrier. 

“There we go,” Cassandra commented, “much better.” She knelt down between the two of you. “You both are very interesting. Deadpools are a dime a dozen here in the The Void. But the two of you… Are extremely rare.” Her long fingers moved to caress your face.

“Don’t touch her!” Logan barked.

“Interesting. She’s not your Ember yet you are protective of her. Let’s see why, shall we?”

Cassandra pushed a finger into your forehead, causing you to scream, whilst doing the same to Logan. He screamed out, hating himself for not being able to protect you properly. Failing another one of you.

Both of your minds connected and glimpses of your Logan played out in front of you. Before you could say anything about it, your surroundings changed. You and Logan were standing in a field. The sky was grey. An endless row of stone monuments where lined near you. Slowly, you and Logan walked forward.

“Logan!” You heard an echo of a voice. Jean.

“Logan!” Another one. Charles.

“Logan!” This one had you tensing. It was your voice, though you knew it wasn’t you.

“Interesting…” Cassandra commented, her voice echoing around. “Not what I expected back here. Behind the anger.” 

Cassandra suddenly appeared from behind one of the stone monuments. Logan stopped, hand on the monument to keep himself up. You stood there, not knowing what to do.

“You’re hiding,” Cassandra continued. “From them. From all the ones you let down.” 

Logan let out a deep breath, leaning forward so his hands were on his knees. You reached out and placed a hand on his back, trying to comfort him in some way, and he collapsed to his knees.

“So much pain,” Cassandra noted.

“I walked away,” Logan stated, growing emotional. “They called after me… She called after me and I… I walked away. I always do.”

“Logan!” The voice of his you echoed around again.

“I know,” Cassandra said. She knelt beside you. Logan’s breathing increased as he looked forward, unable to look at you. “That’s not all you did. Is it? You found them. The X-Men.”

Screams sounded in the distance. You remained standing at Logan’s side, hand on his back.

“Dead,” Logan murmured. “Piled like wood… She was…” He closed his eyes and a tear rolled down his cheek. “Beast had clearly tried but she was… dead… her smoke and flames everywhere.”

“What did you do?” Cassandra asked.

“I started killing. And I couldn’t stop. I didn’t wanna stop.”

“All those bad men.”

“It’s not just the bad ones.”

“My little animal.” Cassandra’s smile had your stomach tied in knots.

“And I turned the whole world against the X-Men… Just once… I wanna be the man that Charles thought I was… That she thought I was.”

“Logan… in The Void, you can be what you are.”

“I just wanna be free.”

“I can set you free. I can silence all those voices.”

“No,” you finally spoke up. You knelt down in front of Logan and shakily took his face in your hands. “You cannot forget where you came from. You who are… Trust me. It’s not worth it.”

“Don’t listen to her.” Cassandra cut off your ability to speak and forced your hands away from Logan’s face. The area around you grew eerily silent. “I’ve got you. She’s not your Ember. You don’t need to worry about her. I’ve got you.”

“No,” Logan’s breathed out shaking his head as he looked over at Cassandra. “I got you.”

Before you knew it, Cassandra cried out in pain and you were back in Cassandra’s base. Wade had Juggernaut’s helmet on her and had her wrapped him in his limbs to keep it there as she fought. Logan pulled his claws from the floor and quickly cut through the netting you were bound in.

“Are you alright?” He asked, helping you to your feet.

You nodded, catching your breath. “I’m fine.”

“Get it off!” Cassandra grunted. 

“You’re gonna send us home, or I’m gonna twist your fucking head off,” Wade threatened. Cassandra laughed. “Why are you laughing?”

“I can’t send you home unless you get this thing off my head. And as soon as you do that, I’m going to force Y/N to boil your brains on an atomic level whilst I flick my bean to the Enya box set.” Logan took a protective step in front of you.

“There’s an Enya box set?”

“Either you kill me or I kill you. Both wonderful options. Except for the fact that I’m the only one that can help with Y/N’s fire problem.” Wade and Logan’s heads snapped in your direction.

“What?” You breathed out.

“Kill me and you are killing her.”

Logan took a step closer to you. “What is she talking about?” He asked.

You shook your head. “I’m fine,” you told him. 

But Logan’s eyes scanned your body, how tense you were compared to earlier, how you were standing in a way that kept your weight evenly distributed. How he had noticed you wincing from the simplest use of your power. There was something wrong.

“Just end this,” you said. “Get home and end this.”

“Do you want me to do it?” Wade asked Logan.

Logan stared at you for a moment, clearly weighing his options. Your determined look gave him his answer. “No,” he responded, eyes falling back on Cassandra. “I’ll do it.”

“I have her neck right here. It’s really no problem.”

“You’ll screw it up.”

“Oh, come on, Mr. PG-13, except the last one!”

A gun shot suddenly sounded from behind. Logan grabbed you and threw you to the ground, him on top of you, as the shots continued. Each bullet landing in Cassandra.

“What the fuck?!” Wade exclaimed.

You looked over at the person who was shooting, recognizing who it was. “Pyro?” You questioned.

“Hello, Ember,” he greeted. “Never thought I’d see you again. You have no idea what it’s like!” He waltzed further into the room as Logan helped you back up to your feet. “Day after day. Shovel the shit. Fetch the meats. I have spent my entire exis—“ Logan threw a punch to Pyro’s face, knocking him out.

“Not everyone gets a speech,” Logan said. His focus turned back to Wade and Cassandra, who had blood coming out of her mouth. “She’s gonna die.”

“Okay. Hey, hey,” Wade said. “If I take this helmet off, do you promise you won’t kill us?”

“Fuck!”

“I promise,” Cassandra whimpered in pain, “I will kill you first thing.”

“Oh! What are you like this?” Wade exclaimed.

“I wish I knew,” Cassandra laughed.

“Take it off,” Logan ordered.

“What?” Wade questioned.

“Take it off.”

“Why?”

“Just take it off.”

“This is our only chance to fix our shit!”

“Take it off!” Logan stepped closer. “I am wearing this suit. And that means a lot of things, but most of all… it means I’m an X-Man.” Pride swelled in your chest, now knowing how hard it was for Logan to admit that. “And I know your brother. As much as I want to fucking kill you, every bone in my body wants to fucking kill you, he would not let me stand here and watch you die! She,” he threw his arm back and pointed at you, “would not let me stand here and watch you die! Take your hands off. This is for him. This is for Charles.” 

Logan slowly removed the helmet. Cassandra was panting as she closed her eyes to feel her powers again. Wade let her go and stepped back. Her hand shot out to Wade and he covered his head.

“Hey, no, no, no!” He exclaimed. “Don’t you dare do me like Johnny!”

Cassandra lowered her arm and looked at Logan. “My brother loved you,” she said. “In every universe, he loved you.”

“He loved all of us,” Logan replied. 

“Hmm. Must be nice.”

“He would’ve loved you, too.”

“Yes, he would have,” you agreed. “So much.”

“If he knew about you… If he knew where you were, he would’ve torn a hole in the fucking universe to bring you home.”

“This is my home,” said Cassandra.

“Well, then at least let us save his.”

She looked over at Wade before stepping away from Logan. “You want to hear something crazy? An amateur magician rolled through here a while back. I killed him, of course. Wore his skin around for four days. But I found this,” she pulled a ring out from her pocket, “little trinket on his lovely fingers.”

“Strange!” Wade whispered.

Cassandra slipped the ring onto her fingers and lifted her hand up. Her other hand moved in a circle and a sparkling golden circle formed.

“What’s that?” Logan asked.

“This is your way home,” Cassandra said as the portal completed itself. “I do owe you for saving my life. But let’s keep things interesting.” She spun back around. “I’d say you have about four seconds before you’re Alioth’s food.”

The large purple cloud, Alioth, was racing towards the base.

“Haha,” Wade chuckled. “Race ya.”

You stood there as you watched Logan and Wade racing towards the circle and disappear into it.

next chapter >

[linlinmoon]

"Look Of Love."

a/n : hi! just to note this isn't my best work as it is something i've done to crawl out of the deep pit of writer's block i'm currently suffering with so i suppose it is better than nothing 🙂‍↕️ i do appreciate if u suggest prompts in my ask box so i get the motivation to write and to write better 😻 enjoy!

🍰 : (they/them), fluff! riddle roseharts x reader.

The housewarden of Heartslabyul trudged his way back to his own dorm after dealing with miscellaneous events that wasn't even part of his agenda. His feet were practically dragging itself across the checkered tiles, his body so heavy he just wanted to do nothing but lay on his bed the whole entire evening after. 

It was one of the things left unsaid when being a housewarden, that you'd also have to be the one to pick up after the people who are more careless with following the rules and laws of the dorm. 

He couldn't let those things slide of course, yet fortunately he was a bit more considerate than before. After the overblot incident, he had become more lenient with certain rules, although it didn't mean that he'd let things slide way too often. 

And finally after a day of housewarden duties homework, and a lot of spellcasting on rulebreakers. He had arrived at the front of his dorm. Thank the Seven.

He opens the door to see them currently studying on the desk, the only other person that would make him feel like not everything has to be perfect all the time. The person that reminded him it was okay that his files didn't have to always be in proper order or the colors of his pens weren't in sequence according to their shades. Through them, it's also how he learned to be more expressive with how he feels and is in the process of learning how to do so in a proper manner, to  avoid any pent up negativity that would possibly bottle up inside of him.

Perhaps he was even more than lenient with them when it came to the laws of the dorm, though he'd say that it had just slipped his mind.

Definitely wasn't favoritism. ( Of course it was, he just wouldn't say it out loud )

“Ah, good evening. You're back later than usual.” they smiled, the corners of their lips tugging at their cheeks. They had taken his hands in theirs, slowly intertwining their fingers with each other's.

“Mm. Got held back a little.” he spoke, visibly exhausted. 

“Want to talk about it?”

“Please. It would truly help to let it out.”

They get up from their seat and had sat themself down at the bed and had laid on their back, pulling the housewarden down with their movement. After a few moments of comfortable silence, they shift to lay on their stomach to fix their eyes on the redhead who was to talk about the day they've had.

Riddle had rested his eyes before looking back up at their partner, giving them a knowing look to subconsciously ask them if it was alright to rant and let out whatever he could about what had happened through out his day. 

“Go on, I'm listening.” they assure, nodding a little as a signal for him to begin

“My day was usual, but it was a rather hectic with the sudden things that would come up out of nowhere, completely unannounced. As always, there would be atleast a number of students who are careless to forget certain rules. The assigned students had forgotten to wear pink when taking care of the flamingos today, they should know that by now. It's just once every week, how hard it is to remember..”

He continues on and on for awhile shifting their positions as their limbs entangle with one another. His head had rested on their chest as they ran their fingers through his hair. Eyes half lidded as they continued to listen, now just noticing this is the most he's ranted in awhile. 

They weren't complaining though, they "were" listening or they supposed to be but they couldn't help but stare while he just spoke. The way his lips would move when he pronounced certain words differently, the way how his brows would furrow when he talked about some event that irritated him or the way his eyes would shift from them then towards the ceiling as he recalled about thing that happened. Overall entranced by how... pretty, he looked when he spoke.

Riddle had noticed that they seemed to be just hum and nod in agreement at a certain pace, as if they were on autopilot or something. Noticing the way they looked at him, the way they only blinked or glanced elsewhere only if it was necessary.

“Are you listening?”

“Mhm.. huh?”

“I think you've just been staring the entire time.”

“No no no.. I was listening I promise. The doormouse had jam spread on it's nose, the herbal tea is better than any other and-”

“That's not.. Oh, you're impossible.” he stifles a laugh, playfully hitting their chest. They had moved closer to his embrace and laughed along with him. 

The sweet melodic sound of their voice rung in his ear, tinting his ears pink.  He could listen to them laugh over and over again like a broke vinyl. 

He had moved his hand onto theirs before making its way to their cheeks, holding their face in place to admire the way their features complimented one another. Riddle would be completely lying if he said he didn't like the way they would look at him, how could he? They looked at him as if he was the only one he could see, the only one in this world. Their gaze so full of love that it was overflowing, all the love that the world could hold in those eyes. And they were his, all his. They were his world, and he was theirs.  

“Sorry I can't help but stare. But I swear I listened.. to the first half I suppose.”

“Not to worry. I'd be happy to tell you all about it over and over again.”

“You would?”

“Mhm.. For you, I'd do it over and over again.”

[bread-crum206]

A Game of Hearts

Chapter four: Beneath the Surface

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

Pt 1 P t 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5

Mornings were always the worst; waking up to the cold, sterile room with only the faintest trace of his presence lingering in the air. He was always gone before you even stirred, disappearing into the depths of the compound to handle whatever dark business his role demanded.

You had yet to share a meal together, much less have a conversation that didn’t feel forced or terse. The tension between you was thick like a string pulled taut, just waiting to snap. And yet, nothing changed.

But today felt different.

You heard a knock at the door, and your heart pounded as you made your way through the common room to the entrance.

You muttered under your breath, “Since when did he knock before coming in?” Convinced it was your husband on the other side, there was an unfamiliar stillness in the air, an almost tangible sense that something was on the verge of shifting.

You opened the door, coming face to face with a man in a pink suit. He wore a black mask with a large white square painted across the front, adding an air of mystery to his appearance.

“Mrs. Frontman,” he addressed you, handing over a small stack of neatly arranged white papers with elegant black lettering. “These are the documents you’re expected to review regarding the VIP room.” His voice was rough through the mask, betraying the fact that he clearly didn’t want to be the one to deliver them. He would much rather be doing something more interesting than talking to his boss’s wife.

You nodded politely. “Thank you.”

You watched as the man retreated down the vast hallway, his footsteps echoing in the distance.

The silence that followed felt heavy as your own footsteps echoed across the room, the sound unnervingly hollow as you crossed the threshold into the sitting room. This room has quickly become your favorite. It was the one space in the complex that felt almost warm. The view outside the large windows was serene, and the only color in the otherwise monochrome apartment came from the beautifully patterned brown and beige rug.

You sank into the cushioned chair by the small table in front of the windows and peeled the paperclip off the stack of documents. You glanced down at the first page.

VIP Room (Very Important People)

This document outlines the private quarters of the VIPs and the central room.You will decide the theme of the room. You will choose the furniture. You will ensure that all the needs of the VIPs are met.

You flipped to the next page, which listed the current contents of the room. From the light switch covers to the diamond chandelier, everything was detailed. The following pages were filled with names of contractors who could be hired to renovate the space, should you decide a change was necessary.

You frowned as you scanned the list. The gold-and-black jungle theme had always felt suffocating, and you especially hated the naked models that stood on display in the corners of the room, meant to entertain the twisted men seated in the center. You thought it was disgusting.

Your mind began to run wild with ideas. How could you change it without being ridiculed? You didn’t know if you could stomach another round of the garish gold accents on the walls.

You muttered aloud to the empty room, “Maybe I could add more plants… Or maybe introduce some new architectural elements…”

You sat at the table for a few hours, brainstorming, sketching out ideas on the margins of the pages. Eventually, you sighed and set the papers down, walking toward the window. The incoming storm was slowly swallowing the sun, and you stood there, staring out into the gathering dark. Even though it was still mid-day.

———————

You were still standing by the window, watching the rain cascade down the glass, when you heard the door creak open behind you.

At first, you thought it was your imagination—an echo from the distant hallways. But then you heard it again: the soft sound of boots on the polished floor.

You turned, and there he was, The Frontman, stepping into the room. His posture was rigid, but there was something different about him today: an edge to his movements, a subtle exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin.

“Didn’t expect you home so early,” you said, the words slipping out sharper than you had intended.

He met your gaze, but said nothing for a long moment. There was no greeting, no acknowledgment of your biting tone. He simply walked toward the side table, setting his mask down with deliberate precision.

“I had a few things to take care of,” he replied quietly.

You nodded, unwilling to let the silence stretch between you. “And?”

He hesitated, as if weighing how much to say. The stillness hung thick in the air, and you found yourself stepping toward him, closer than you’d planned.

With a huff, you muttered, “You don’t need to explain yourself.” You turned away, but there was a crack in your voice you hadn’t expected. “It’s none of my business.”

He was silent for a moment, before speaking, almost too softly to catch.

“It’s all your business now, whether you want it to be or not.”

Your breath hitched in your chest. His voice, raw and unguarded, struck you. You turned toward him, wanting to catch a glimpse of the vulnerability he’d let slip. But by the time you reached the entrance to the common room, it was gone. He had returned to his usual mask of stoic detachment, his eyes cold.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you said, your voice low, harsh. “I didn’t ask to be part of this twisted��� thing you’ve built.”

He locked eyes with you, and for the first time in a long while, you saw something in his gaze that wasn’t just resignation or indifference. There was an ache there, something deep, something that mirrored your own. But before you could latch onto it, he shut it down.

“I know,” he replied simply.

———————

Fourth chapter!! Get ready cause more are coming!!! :) Thank you for all the support 🫶

Tag list:

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@lucinda-reads

@shakysif

@whoisbriannaa

@allmylovegoestomusic

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[save-the-moonpjo]

I've been ruminating on the Percy In College Problem for months and have concluded that he would have a massive burn out/ depressive episode second year. So, in honour of that, please enjoy this snippet of my mostly unwritten, half outlined fic I've been jokingly calling Percy Jackson and his Sixth Major

It started when Percy had to tell Annabeth he switched his major. 

Again. 

“Again?” Annabeth asked, though unlike the voice in Percy’s head, it was without judgment. She had looked up from her work when Percy came in and was now staring at him with an intensity she usually reserved for buildings. “What did you change it to this time?”

Percy crossed the room and put his bag down. The two had moved into a cramped one bedroom together at the start of their second year and the space was filled with a combo of Percy’s mom’s old furniture and nice new furniture that Annabeth’s dad had bought her either as a bribe or apology. Before he could launch into his pre-prepared speech (Annabeth’s version) she reached up and wrapped her arm around the back of his neck, pulling him gently down for a kiss. Her lips were soft under his and she tasted faintly of the strawberry lip gloss he got her for her stocking last Christmas. Like magic he felt his shoulders drop and his jaw unclench.

“There,” Annabeth said, her voice smug, when they came up for air. She left one more quick kiss on his lips before she pushed him down onto the couch next to him and tucked her feet into his lap. “Better. Now you can go. What is this? Major number 5 now?”

Percy cringed. “Six, actually.” 

“Ouch.” Annabeth cringed in sympathy. “What did Marnie say?”

Marnie, Percy’s guidance counselor and a legacy of Mercury, had tried to run away when Percy had shown up at her office first thing this morning. They had been through a lot in his first year of college, Marnie and him, whether it was switching majors or helping him explain to his Greek History teacher that Ganymede told him so was a valid source for his most recent paper. She had weathered all the visits with the grace he would have expected of a Praetor of Rome rather than a guidance counselor but the last time he changed his major she had made him promise to stick it out for his whole second year. 

It was October. 

“She… Got me set up.” Annabeth leveled Percy with a stare. “She begged me to stick it out until the end of semester.”

“And when you didn’t change your mind?”

“She poured something out of a flask into her coffee and then started on the paperwork?” 

Percy couldn’t blame her. When he had originally arrived at New Rome Marnie had seemed so relieved when he declared marine biology as a major. 

“Perfect for a son of Neptune,” she had said, signing the paperwork with a flourish. 

Poseidon, he had corrected in his head. He didn’t bother saying it out loud. 

She had also been unphased when he switched to Classical Studies the week after he had come back from thanksgiving. The problem with marine biology, Percy had found out those first couple months, was that he both knew everything about it and nothing. Learning about sea animals and water currents and ocean conservation had been so cool and he had a wave of smugness those first couple weeks of Marine Biology 101 being able to answer every question with ease. 

But no amount of innate godly knowledge of the ocean and its creatures prepared him for dealing weekly with scientific inquiry and methodology. 

So he had switched to Classical Studies, partially because the last class he genuinely liked that wasn’t sword fighting had been Latin with Mr. Brunner. The other part of the reason was it meant he would be in half of Annabeth’s classes. He’d also been weirdly pleased by the switchabout where he got to tutor Annabeth in Latin, the roman language not coming as easily to her as it did to him. 

He’d loved all his classes. Until he got to Poseidon’s week of Intro to Greek Godly History. 

The next morning he was at Marnie’s door before she even arrived at her office. She had switched him from Classical Studies to a General History major, but this time she sighed a lot and when the paperwork was finally done and he left, her head was leaning into her hands. 

History was… fine. He got to use a bunch of his Classical Studies credits towards it so he wasn’t going to be starting second year completely behind. He thought that the History and Film class was pretty fun, even if he had mostly picked it so that he could watch movies. Romans really seemed to like their history of war though and, as a veteran of two wars, he was not as into the topic as some of the legacies in his class. 

It had been fine though. Did Paul and his mom exchange worried looks when he came home from his first year of college on his third major? Sure. But it was fine. 

Then he started classes in his second year and his Global History of Empires professor had insisted on starting each class with a prayer and offering to Mars. 

Percy was back at Marnie’s door the second week of classes and this time she made him wait until she finished her entire cup of coffee in one go before she let him talk. 

Environmental science had been Grover’s suggestion. He’d gotten to take an Urban Planning course with Annabeth this semester, a part of college that Percy loved and that seemed like it was going to be harder and harder to do as college went on. 

It was just that everyone around him in his classes were so… interested. Committed. 

It was like being surrounded by fifty Annabeths, but they wanted to be microbiologists and geologists and ecologists and other ologist jobs that made him feel like a stupid slacker who had no idea what he wanted to do in life. 

“I think she’ll be fine,” Percy concluded. Annabeth hummed something non-committal and Percy wondered if he should maybe make Marnie a batch of his mom’s cookies. 

“What did you end up switching to?” Annabeth asked, her head tilted to the side. 

“Oh, um…” Percy looked at the textbook, the ceiling, the dishes in the sink- anywhere but Annabeth. “General arts?”

“General arts,” Annabeth repeated. Her toes pressed into his thigh. 

“It- uh, it was the only major that I could switch to without having to take an extra semester to graduate.” His stomach had dropped when Marnie had told him that. He had almost bailed until she had suggested that he could also switch back to marine biology, her voice desperate. 

He switched into General Arts. 

“What are you thinking?” Percy finally asked, when he couldn’t take Annabeth’s quiet stare any longer. She had been fine with all the switches so far, usually just giving him a laughing kiss and teasing him about being so ADHD that he couldn’t stick with a major. He couldn’t shake the feeling like he was going to be so annoying that she would-

Well, he didn’t know what he thought she would do actually. He just felt it wouldn’t be good. 

“I think,” Annabeth said, closing her textbook and twinning her fingers through Percy’s to tug him to his feet. “We should go get something to eat.” 

You know, if they’re going to show us Percy killing himself to get into college, can they at least tell us what he’s going to study, and let us see him feeling somewhat excited about it?

yeah, as far as i can tell the general consensus that percy is going for marine biology is bc of annabeth's throwaway line. if percy's major has been confirmed somewhere, i'd love to see it.

it's weird that rick hasn't written percy actually liking any of his classes since...mr brunner's??? which percy didn't even find the specific material interesting as much as he found mr brunner to be engaging. the lack of focus makes sense, at least, in pjo and hoo bc their focus is less on school, so percy's classes are on the backburner after tlt (outside of acknowledging he's not experiencing straight-up ableism and is therefore doing better), but w the focus on college in the new marketing trilogy, percy's lack of interest stands out. it would be so easy to have percy say that he really enjoyed x class or lecture or assignment and wanted to study it more/focus on it in college. instead, rick has written percy to be slacking off in class, as if that was his problem and not, you know, the ableism he was experiencing (which is why mr brunner was the exception) and the fact that he had to miss a year of school bc of hoo. also, i'm unsure what accommodations (if any) alternative high is making for percy...considering he says he can quote sparknotes instead of shakespeare makes me doubt they're giving him audiobooks for his dyslexia...but the fact that percy is written to be struggling in his senior year bc he's lazy and not disabled is literally just ableism.

it makes it difficult to see college as a "good ending" when percy 1) has never showed an interest in pursuing a specific field of study (outside of him technically being a published author in-universe, which i'm not sure counts bc it's not referenced in the series...? is the implication percy writes the books after going to college? idk.), 2) is working himself incredibly hard to the point where's he's falling asleep in class, and 3) has to leave his mother/family behind to live across the country. rick also changed it so that demigods don't really have to worry abt monsters once they're 18 (which is coding for their disabilities...) and retconned nru so it requires good sat scores and isn't a full college (it's a satellite campus w uc berkeley and annabeth goes to classes at berkeley bc they don't have what she wants at nru???), so there's really no unique incentive for percy to be going to college at all, let alone in new rome. it's a series of very strange writing choices. to say the least.

[the-crooked-library]

You made such excellent points- in OG book vampirism is imposed on Mina by outside force and Mina actually can be cured from it if they kill Dracula. But if not Jonathan is ready to become vampire himself. Ellen meanwhile was born like that - with her psychic paranormal abilities. Orlok didn’t make her like that, that’s her forever part. But Thomas essentially wants her to be normal, while she never was in the traditional sense and can’t be normal and in his hunt for Orlok seems to believe that killing him would not only save but cure-fix Ellen too. It won’t. I mean Thomas is the one, who proceeds to have sex with Ellen when she’s not even feeling perfectly coherent, not entirely self, because he wants to show his masculinity or idk. Imagine if after Dracula’s attack on Mina and Mina telling about it Jonathan would immediately proceed to have aggressive sex with her instead of just comforting her, because he needs to reestablish his husband’s rights or something? Like that’s not. But that’s the part of why book Jonathan and 2024 remake Thomas are different characters.

Thank you - I'm glad you've enjoyed them, and they do actually connect to the scene you're mentioning here!

There is a lot to say about this particular sequence, mainly because it forces two characters to deal with each other and face the reality of their marriage, while both are emotionally stripped to the bone and unstable. The result is an incredibly revealing scene. It digs into the Hutters' insecurities, fears, hurts - and even though they largely fail to communicate within their fictional framework, the viewer gets a veritable feast of information regarding them both.

Throughout this scene, Ellen is evidently in a psychic trance; as demonstrated by Von Franz and his needle, during these "fits" she is at least partially astral projecting; her soul is not entirely housed in her body and she often appears to be sleepwalking (which might be a reference both to the original 1922 Nosferatu and Eggers' earlier project The Witch). In this state, she is also not in control of the baser, more physical, less rational passions and desires; she is unbound, stripped of her usual repression - and what lies beneath is a lifetime of neglect, loneliness, and disrespect, as well as all the pain and rage she consequently feels. This is not a surprise for the viewer, who has already witnessed her suffering, her lack of autonomy, and her argument with Harding; but it is absolutely a surprise for Thomas.

Thomas cannot fathom why Ellen would be angry with him; in his mind, he has done everything right - provided for her, prioritized their financial advancement, came back to try and save her from the monster he knows is after her. However, what he fails to understand that he has also cut their honeymoon short, that he left her right after that to travel to another country, that she never cared about wealth beyond being able to afford a somewhat stable existence; what Ellen wants, above all else, is to be known, understood, and respected - and Thomas has failed to give her that. He discourages her from talking about her dreams, he does not understand her priorities in life, and he cannot help but patronize her, even when he is attempting to express his affections. Her visceral anger is a shock to him, it catches him entirely off-guard, and then she drops a final bomb - "you could never please me the way he does."

What Ellen means here is that Orlok, a monster, is the only one who has ever understood her - because she is herself a monster. What she is trying to do is bait Thomas into exposing what she believes he truly thinks of her, now that he has seen what she becomes, liberated by the nightfall.* This is obviously a toxic thing to do, but Ellen is not a healthy or balanced individual, and this is a gothic story, so yes, she baits him (rather blatantly, in my opinion; but I've seen people confused about it, so who knows. Admittedly, I have a rather specific sort of practical background, as far as relationships go). Point is, what she expects from him is a rejection; and what she craves, desperately, is his acceptance.

What Thomas hears, however, is that another man has infringed upon what is legally his - and that his masculinity is in question, rather than Ellen's humanity; which lands a critical hit against his already damaged, patriarchal, 19th-century-misogynistic ego.

To fully understand his reaction, we must really dig into his overall narrative context. From the very beginning of the film, and throughout the story, Thomas Hutter's struggles revolve around his continuous emasculation. He is a low-level part-time employee at a real estate firm that is run exclusively by older, well-established men. He is played for a fool by foreigners who steal his horse (they were just trying to save his life, seriously, they didn't think he'd hike the fucking Carpathians on foot in the winter, but that's not how he perceives that situation). He is trapped in Orlok's castle - and, given the sexual allegories of vampirism, arguably assaulted. I'm not going to go into the full background of queerphobic stereotypes and opinions; still, suffice to say that not only would that experience have been traumatic (understandably so), but also that the act of submitting to penetration (here, biting) by another man has been historically seen as inherently emasculating and degrading. In the context of Nosferatu (or Dracula, or Interview with the Vampire, and others), this scenario is, on a largely Doylist level, a bodice-ripper fantasy; however, that doesn't make it any easier for Thomas to accept. To submit to another (even a richer, older, infinitely more powerful) man is a problem - but to enjoy that position is unforgivable.

All that to say - by the time Thomas returns to Wisborg, his sense of self-worth is in shambles. The narrative has assigned him the role of a Damsel in Distress, which he fits perfectly and obviously resents. Thus, when he hears yet another insult from his wife - who may be higher-born, but still his wife, and thus below him - he reacts accordingly, with fury.

Again, in anticipation of discourse wank - this is not a good thing; his reasons are clear, I understand them, I do not excuse him. What Thomas does at this point is attempt to aggressively reassert his claim and right to Ellen as her husband. He's rough, but uninventive; he also doesn't worship her the way Orlok did; and, ultimately, even as he tries to demonstrate his continued interest and desire for her, he ends up proving her anxieties. When faced with a hallucination - a fraction of her psychic gift - he flings her away. Crucially, he cannot "show" Orlok their love.

After that, he does try to reassure her, be gentle with her, declare his love - but, really, he might as well mark that off as another failure. She has seen how terrified he looked, and she will not believe a word he says.

The whole scene is a distillation of their dynamic. It's one disconnect after another, strung together by his inability to listen, her lack of trust, and their shared resentment. Thomas and Ellen's relationship is hindered at every turn by the misogyny, queerphobia, and repression that are built into the cage that is their society. The film is an exploration of that cage. Its bars are the driving force behind the plot.

* NIGHTFALL - the diurnal, or gas-lit (it's on the nose. it's SO on the nose) scenes are a visual shorthand for the "normal" accepted society. It is Rational (hence the scientific "gaseous" light), it is godly (sunlight), it is the domain of the Hardings and Sievers of the story. The moonlight and firelight provide a similar distinction to the scenes that delve into the Emotional and the demonic, removing the subjects from the usual societal restrictions; those light sources are generally considered to be magical, primal, raw. It's fascinating, seriously - if you ever watch this film again, try to pay attention to the lighting!

[coeur-de-fruk]

Cardverse: A Case Study (that really isn't one.)

Hello gaymers and happy new year! Today we will be revisiting an old official au called Cardverse. Keep in mind that this is going to be an entirely different version of it rather than canon Cardverse, and 90% of it will be just my sorry behind rambling about the wonders and glories of political relations and why IT SUCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! LETS GO.

🔶Kingdom of Diamonds🔶

Ruler: Our Majesty Francis Bonnefoy, King/Queen of Diamonds; Beside him Prime Minister Erika Vogel and Royal Financial Advisor Vasch Zwingli (spelt his name wrong ik.)

The Kingdom of Diamonds; one of the wealthiest kingdoms in the land with a very turbulent history. Centuries ago, the king and queen upheld the most power (aside from Lords and Aristocrats). This imbalance of power would spark a revolt that would last for decades until a new form of government was put into place. (Not really.)

The Kingdom of Diamonds lies South, known for their very warm climates which contribute to their bountiful crops. They are responsible for 75% of the food distribution to other neighboring kingdoms. They are sometimes subsequently referred to as the "Brighter South" due to the amount of sunshine that contributes to their warm climate. However, they are often hindered by bad storms and monsoons from June until November.

While still under a monarchy, the Diamonds kingdom has it's own prime minister that keeps everything and everyone in check, this includes the king (or queen). Erika and Vasch act as some sort of caretaker for Francis, making sure that he's safe and not frivolously spending his inheritance on useless things such as new land, etc. Some have said that the King/Queen is too incompetent to be ruling a kingdom due to several factors: His emotional sensitivity, him being a people pleaser, and his overly flamboyant nature. Other has praised the king in his efforts in helping improve the lives of his people and his kind nature.

♠️The United Spades♠️

Ruler: Commander in Chief and President Alfred F. Jones; beside him Vice President Arthur Kirkland, and Secretary of State Chun-Yan Wang

From a small monarchy to one of the largest democracies in the land, The United Spades (actual name The United Spades of Aces) holds a lot of power than one may know.

They reside North, having to deal with several harsh winters. The Spades Kingdom has many various industrial sites. Unfortunately because of this, it is said to be the kingdom with the highest recorded rate of pollution.

The birth of the Spade's democracy still remains under debate by some historians. Some may have suggested it had ended after the death of the President's mother, who was said to be the last Queen of what once was the Kingdom of Spades. Others may have concluded that it emerged at the end of some sort of civil war; though these events had coincided with each other. Despite these events, the Spades are relatively young.

While he holds much authority over everyone, Alfred does struggle to keep many things in check; some praise him for his hard work while others criticize him for hurting some aspect of his community.

❤️The Kingdom of Hearts❤️

Ruler: Queen S̶͕̯̳͇̰͉̬̻̈́̃̿̈́͌̎͝ä̵̡̡͉̮̦̼̻̬̦̭́̄̓͝ḱ̸̛̜͉̀͑̆̊̈̚͠ų̵̠̤̀͗̋̌͋̇̌̏͋̍��̥̻r̷͇̫̱̩̗̥̺̋̀͜͝a̵̢͕̯̙̓͐̔̓ ̶͇̜̯͍͍̥̩̟̹̣͗̀͛̔̍͑̈̕H̵̢͖͖͊͘ö̷̡̤̱̟̬̗̲́̆͂̾̇̊̚͠ń̶̢̧̠̓̂̚͜d̵̘͚̟̲̮͙͚̮͚̃́͛͋͒͐̄a̵̢͕͔̜̙͂̈́͌̅̈́͜ Lucrezia Vargas and King Ludwig Beilschmidt of the Hearts Kingdom.

The Hearts Kingdom resides in the western portion of the lands, also known as the "Western Kingdom" or "The Wild West". Much like the Empire of Clubs, they have a very fair climate. Average to the point where there is not much to comment on.

Not much is known about the Heart's Kingdom or what it's known for. It is rumored that the current queen isn't the real queen, and that something must've happened behind closed doors. Despite Ludwig being king and having the same amount of power, Lucrezia has the most authority over everybody. There is something about her that'll give you an aching feeling in your gut. But who is Sakura?

♣️The Empire of Clubs♣️

Ruler: Emperor Ivan Braginsky and Empress Elizabeta Hedevary and Jack of all trades Clubs Roderich Edelstein

The Empire of Clubs lies just to the east, majority of its territory landlocked by mountains and valleys. It's a place where not much goes on, not even among the monarchs who hold the power of the world within their hands. Some travelers from other kingdoms will return with how reserved most of the people are, giving them this quiet reputation.

Although quiet, they are well known for their clean environment and vast green valleys. Because of this they have a very diverse ecosystem and dedicate their fundings to preserving the homes of many species whether by land or by sea. It is even rumored that Ivan has a giant pet polar that was stolen from a neighboring kingdom elsewhere. Although due to the privacy of the royals, this cannot be confirmed nor denied.

[lesson-in-ruthlessness]

Ruthlessness Is Mercy — KOTLC fanfic

Description: Flashbacks throughout Grady's childhood. Grady and Vespera finally meet. Grady is pathetic and sexy while Vespera is evil and sexy. This will probably be a series if yall like it. Neverseen!Grady series.

————————————————————————————————

It's ok to feel… troubled when you manifest as a Mesmer. The mind is something greatly idolized, and manipulation of it is scrutinized.

Grady laid on his bed as he flipped through the pages of his new, Foxfire-issued textbook, dramatically sighing each time he flipped to a new page.

Lots of diagrams, he thought as he studied a diagram of an elven brain, this isn't freaky at all!

He closed the book and looked at the title, hoping it would change the outcome of the results.

A Beginner’s Guide to Being a Mesmer.

Instinctively, he turned the book over so he couldn't see the title, hoping it wasn't real.

Grady was still dealing with the uprooting of his entire life. Ever since he manifested, his family wouldn't talk to him and his Foxfire peers would look at him as if his entire existence was a taboo.

He knew they were right.

His ability to entrance then control the wills and minds of others wasn't banned outright, simply anyone with it was virtually a pariah.

As his thoughts stirred, he had no idea what that bubbling feeling in his chest was, as he began to choke on his tears; thinking about everything he was losing.

Once you learn how to manage this daunting power, it will be like you never manifested in the first place.

———

“Finally, I get to meet you in person. You're as…mesmerizing as they say.” A pale gray elf with very pointy ears emerged out of the shadows.

Grady shuddered at her voice. He didn't know who was addressing him, all he knew was that his mission was being compromised. “That’s a thinking cap, isn't it.” Grady said, pointing to the head dress the elf was wearing. “It’s why I can't sense your mind.” He laughed starkly. “That is, unless I've officially lost it.”

“You’re rather clever, however not clever enough to know this is not a hallucination.” The elf said, appearing on the other side of the room.

“Two questions. How do you know who…and I'm assuming what, I am? What do you want?”

“There’s only so many Mesmers on the Nobility. Isn't it unfair?” She smiled a cold smile, “as for the second question, you'll just have to find out.”

“Once I figure out who…and where you are… I'm going to rip that thinking cap off your head. Then we'll see who's laughing.”

“You’re rather bold for someone who just started his job as an Emissary.”

“I've been here for a decade, miss whoever you are,” Grady said, observing the walls.

Mirrors, he thought.

“A decade is a rather short amount of time, especially for an elf.” She smiled, her image shifting to another mirror.

“You’re an Ancient, aren't you?” Grady looked around for a way out. “I’m asking one more time, what do you want?”

“Your help.”

—-------

“This is in no way a bad idea,” Grady whispered to himself as he stood on the Bramble field. “Get in their heads, get the ball. Like you have before. Two people is nothing.” He said that last part again, as if he was trying to convince himself of it. Then, he exhaled and said “game on.”

A whistle blew and Grady took off running towards the opposing team's bases.

Bramble was the one place in school where he wasn't an outcast. In fact, he was the opposite. Due to his ability and Bramble allowing abilities, he was the star player on the Foxfire Bramble team. He knew that for the most part, he was seen more as an asset, but it felt good to have a community.

He spotted two people running towards his team's base and exhaled again. “Change of plans. Go for one. This could be…” he hesitated for a moment. “Fun.”

He closed his eyes and locked in on the mind of one of the people, a girl, feeling his energy coursing through hers. It was almost a calming feeling as he felt their energy become one. Then, felt his take over hers. He opened his eyes and saw her, feeling her attempts to move. He let out another sigh as he focused his energy on launching her towards the other person running. Watching intently and with a slight feeling of horror, he made her tackle the other elf.

Once he saw a few elves run to the tackled boy to help, Grady ran for the ball.

————

“You’re going to ask me for assistance and not even give me a name?” Grady asked through his laughter.

“Why do you need a name?” The Ancient asked. “It's not in any of your Elvin History books, rest assured.”

“I am assured,” he said, walking towards a mirrored wall. “Very assured.”

Grady drew back a fist and punched a mirror, the glass shattering into a seemingly infinite amount of pieces.

He did it again. And again. And again, until he was standing in a pool of shards. He looked at his fists, which were bloodied.

Most elves aren't used to the sight of blood, let alone their own. However, between his time playing bramble and the Council giving him more…unsettling missions, he had seen his own blood plenty of times.

He looked around again for the Ancient, but couldn't find her. Then, he picked up a glass shard and wielded it like a knife. “This is the last time I'm asking nicely. What do you want with me?”

“And what are you going to do about it? You're practically defenseless.” She laughed another bone-chilling laugh. “Anyways, I want your help to change the world as we know it.”

“Very funny. You cannot demand my help without even giving me an actual face.” Grady waved the makeshift knife around.

And then, she stepped out of the shadows. Then, Grady ran behind her and stuck the mirror shard to her throat. “One more word,” he said through gritted teeth, “and I’ll slash.”

“You wouldn't do that. At the end of the day, you're still an elf. You're fragile.” She grabbed the shard out of his hand with ease and pointed it back at him. “You, however, would be quite the interesting specimen to study.” She grabbed his hand and carved a line in the palm.

Grady winced but through the pain, grabbed another shard with his free, less bloody, hand. This time, instead of holding onto it, he threw it at the Ancient. It got caught in her cheek and she smiled. She took out the bloodied shard without even flinching. “It makes sense that one like you has the capacity to be so… ruthless.”

“What do you mean ‘one like you,’” Grady asked.

Deep down, he knew the answer. He knew it was because— as far as elves went— he was essentially hardened to violence. He was almost human in that aspect. While he burst into tears at the sight of an animal being hurt and rush to help, he's the only elf he knew that would scrape and bleed and even scar. He's the only elf he knew that didn't really care that he did, of course he'd stop by a Healing Center and patch up, but in the moment, he'd wince but there would be no shock.

He had a theory on why he was like that as well. It was because of his damned ability, it was an inherently violent one to him. Even as a kid, he held the belief he was dangerous. Therefore, he didn't really care about what happened to him, only the people he was close to; if he ever met someone he was close to.

Despite knowing the answer, the Ancient answered “your history, Grady. The Troll incident. The Bramble championships.” She wiped her cheek and showed him the blood. “You made and Ancient bleed. You're as ruthless as you are ostracized. With your help, we could reshape the world. A world where you won't be judged for something you couldn't control. A world without being viewed as evil for something you were burdened with. Not something you desired.” She offered out her hand for a shake.

He observed her hand, which was as gray as the rest of her skin. “Before I accept your generous offer, what's your name?”

“Vespera.”

Grady shook Vespera’s hand with his cut one.

————————————————————————————

taglist: @nowjumpinthewater @camelspit (this was YOUR idea) @crescentpaws (it evolved a bit since we last spoke)

[harmeu]

ARGUMENTS 

(HSR X READER) (ANGST)

(Amphoreus Men)

(GN!READER)

MYDEI: (His devotion to his fight which results in neglect.)

You couldn’t remember the last time you and your beloved spouse had talked to each other. It was as if Mydei’s mind was constantly on things that neglected you heavily. Even a simple “How are you today”  would’ve been enough at this point. It hurt a lot. As if millions of daggers pierced you everytime Mydei walked past without saying anything. You were his lover for God’s sake.

Mydei was in the training room punching dummies with ease, letting them break into shards as they thumped onto the ground, his knuckles bleeding heavily from the constant fight.

You stepped in peeking through the small opening of the door with your wide gaze contemplating to yourself if you should walk in and say something or not. 

Eventual acceptance of the option ‘yes’ overthrew your mind so you walked in and Mydei’s keen senses picked up on it immediately.

“What is it.” His gruff reply made it sound like he was annoyed. (Which he probably was.) 

“You’ve been busy lately.” You mumbled out moving from one foot to another a bit nervous to how he was going to reply.

“Of course I am. You know my duties.” Mydei went back to smashing his fists against the solid wooden dummies as you winced at the sight and decided to walk up, up to him.

“I miss you.” You murmured out making Mydei freeze slightly and you could’ve sworn he softened. But as fast as it came it vanished. Mydei was back to his tense state. 

“You should know everything I deal with in a singular day.”

“But I’m your lover!” You exclaimed out flinching at your own tone of voice and words making Mydei turn looking at you in your eye for the first time. 

“That doesn’t matter.” He huffed out. Okay wow. Now it was your turn to be cruel.

“No wonder everyone finds you difficult.” You spat back leaving the door slamming heavily making the walls vibrate as Mydei stared dumbfounded at the shut door clenching his fists.

PHANION: (Accusations that result in anger.)

Phanion was a gentle soul with you. The perfect boyfriend in your eyes. Though as days passed you had a weird gut feeling. As if he was talking to someone other than you. Not possible. Right. The constant ‘they’re just a friend’ sounded like a lie. But you didn’t have any proof. Not yet at least.

Phanion was sitting on your local bench quietly reading as you walked up to him with a half lidded gaze of suspicion. Feeling your hard gaze Phanion sighed, shutting his book and standing up to match your height.

“Don’t give me that look.” Phanion murmured frowning with a pained expression on his face making you feel a hint of guilt. 

“It’s just that you’re constantly not letting me meet your friends at all. As if you’re hiding something from me.” Your fists clenched, eyeing up at Phanion as he narrowed his own gaze at your words.

“I do not let you meet them in order for them to not do anything to you darling.” Lies. You repeated in your head. You were being unreasonable. You knew that. But your gut feeling never failed you. 

“I don’t believe you.” You said spitefully making Phanion droop in hurt as you frowned at his reaction. You were expecting anger.

“Why don’t you trust me?” Phanion said holding your hand. He really had to pull that card out didn’t he.

“I do..I just.” As if knowing you were in the wrong, the only option left in your mind was to get out of the scene immediately. You let go of Phanions hand shakily leaving Phanion standing next to the bench alone as he stared at your slowly disappearing figure with a pained look.

ANAXA: (His anger towards the Gods.)

You knew your spouse's hatred towards the Gods. It never bothered you really because the people of Amphoreus worshipped titans rather than the Aeons above. Though Anaxa seemed to be solely focused on that singular emotion of hatred removing everything else in his life. Including you.

You were sitting in bed with Anaxa as he fixed up his eyepatch with his usual elegance as he eyed the several books in front of him that talked about the several elements the Gods gave down to the mortals.

“Anaxa.” You mumbled out tilting your head as Anaxa hummed out a reply as you frowned. “Why are you so focused on this subject?” 

Anaxa sighed at your words as if he was contemplating you speaking out on this matter and turned his gaze towards you. 

“You don’t know what these Aeons have done to our people. They’re vultures.” Anaxa spat out with seeming elegance despite his harsh words. 

“I feel like you’re forgetting about everything to focus on this.” You said a hushed whisper as Anaxa narrowed his gaze.

“That’s utter lies darling. I have enough mindspace to deal with everything.” You stared at him blankly. You doubted it at this point honestly.

“I feel like you’re lying.” Silence dawned between the two of you at your words as if rendering Anaxa speechless from your statement. Which added onto your doubt from his quietness. 

Silently Anaxa grabbed his things and left. 

Did he just storm off?

I post in like once a century oopsie (Since I don't know anything about the characters personalities I went off looks and the trailers)

[monroe-cooper]

Monroe couldn’t help but appreciate how effortlessly they connected. She didn’t have to hide anything anymore. He saw the way she looked at him, the way her hand rested on his cheek like it belonged there, and it made him feel something deep and real. He had wanted to be with her for so long, and now it was happening. When he kissed the inside of her wrist, the tender gesture made her melt, and the satisfaction that came from it was mutual. She had wanted this for years, and he had too. Being with her now felt like a dream come true. Her laughter was music to his ears as she teased him about his defense strategy. "I don't know anything about that side of things. I'm not brainy like you. I feel like a kiss as my defense is my best shot at getting anything done." As they stood in front of the restaurant, Monroe noticed the hesitation in her eyes. She was looking at the people inside, dressed in a way that made her question if this place was really the right spot for a first date. They did look like they belonged there, but that wasn’t what mattered. It was the two of them. He caught her glance and felt her uncertainty, but before he could say anything, she spoke up, her voice light with a hint of mischief. Monroe couldn’t help but laugh. "Deal, that sounds more like us. You want to drive?" he said, amusement in his voice. “Alright, but I’m not sure I trust you to keep the speed limit. I might need to take the hit if we get a speeding fine seen as your lawyer clark." But he didn’t mind at all. The night was theirs, and there was no place he’d rather be than with her. He handed her the keys without a second thought. "After you, m'lady." The idea of driving to the beach, one of their favorite spots, made his heart race. "I can't promise I won't be a distraction on our way there though. I'm a man of my word and make no promises."

lottie was someone who was quite good at keeping feelings to herself, she had practiced her poker face for work. but when she was with monroe, it was different. her smile was always on her face. now she wasn’t scared of holding his hand and him wondering if that was more than just that. now she was starting to like the fact that she didn’t have to hide how she really felt. she liked him. they were dating and... she didn’t have to be scared about losing him because of the way she felt. she was starting to like the new relationship between them. it was so easy to be around him, but there she was, with her hand on his cheek as if it belonged there. they belonged together. he kissed the inner side of her wrist and she was melting inside. she had wanted that to happen for years. she had wanted to be with him for years and now? it felt like a dream. his playful words made her laugh. “that kiss would be your defense?” she chuckled. “do you think that’s how court works?” she laughed, shaking her head. “i think you’d need more than a kiss to win, at least with me. you don’t know lawyer clark,” she teased, winking at him, knowing that would be enough to win. as they stood in front of the restaurant, lottie couldn’t help noticing monroe looking at the people inside. she did the same. they were dressed like those people, but... was that the place for a first date? was that the place for them? as she heard his words, she glanced at him. “i think we should get back in that car, get our favorite burgers and fries, and eat them on the hood of the car,” she smiled. “maybe by the beach?” she suggested, raising her eyebrows at monroe, a smile on her lips. “but give me the keys, i’m driving. you’re way too slow and get too distracted,” she joked.

[dykedvonte]

Jimmy killing himself because he knows he is incapable of living an life without Curly and knows that in the miracle chance they were found and saved they would not let him have contact with Curly and he hates the idea he'd actually have to take responsibility.

Even if he lied, its only a matter of time before Curly is capable of showing or telling what a monster he really is, no matter what delusions tell Jimmy Curly would never do that to him.

He understands that he was the monster in everyone's worse moments but refused to accept that at the end. So he made sure that he died without the possibility of it being actualized as he's the only one that saw death as an escape rather than a release. Jimmy truly didn't believe Curly had anything to escape from even after everything and let him have what he perceived as glory as the sole survivor and thus Captain of the Tulpar.

[avirxy]

beauty and beast au but Claire’s the one cursed because she’s the only one I can see literally pissing a sorceress off enough to get cursed. (If we’re going off the original movie Jim would probably offer them a hot meal and a room for the night, knowing him he’d make everything super accommodating)

[liquidstar]

a friend who'd wait :)