#he is a sledgehammer manipulator

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Me, aged 5. Spoken to my extremely Catholic grandmother, matriarch of the family, who had crosses and pictures of saints hanging in every room of the house: [little, uncannily-enunciated voice] “Grandma, when your church gets destroyed in Armageddon, you can come to our kingdom hall!”

[pennzance]

Havelock Vetinari is literature's most dangerous tyrant.

Astute, learned, and wickedly clever, there are no ends the man will not go to in achieving his goals. There is no one he will not manipulate, no one too important to remove by a variety of means, and no one so powerful as to threaten his position.

And this applies, most importantly of all, to himself. Who watches the Watch, after all?

But Vetinari is literature's most dangerous tyrant because he is at once, yes, a tyrant, but ALSO literature's most dedicated civil servant.

He cares for the city. And ONLY for the city. It is from this position of being the man who truly only cares for Ahnk Morpork that he derives his authority. After all, who cares as much as he does?

Vimes? Perhaps, but he's a married man and a father with private concerns that should take his attention as well (even if Vetinari has to constantly remind him of that fact). He has other things to worry about, but good job that man for sticking to his lane: a sledgehammer sized scalpel for repelling threats and keeping the peace.

Carrot? Certainly, but Carrot cares more for the PEOPLE than the CITY. His mind is on the present, keeping the ones who are alive upright and breathing and getting justice for those tragically cut short. He is not concerned with the welfare of the CITY, as such. Not with the future the next generation shall inherit.

The guilds? Self-interested fools who were happy to take what Havelock gave them: stability and a piece of the pie no sane person would eat. They are content to squabble over portions of nebulous power, and all of them recognize that if Vetinari were gone... well, it doesn't much bear thinking about, really.

The nobles? Self-interested fools who are UNhappy with what Vetinari has given them: a slow walk to total obscurity and an eternal life in the back catalogues of Twerp's Peerage. Besides, they tend to only be effective when they can convince others to foolishly do their bidding, and the market for such men has seen a suspicious dearth in supply as late.

The wizards? Certainly not. Tried that before, thank you, and everyone seems much happier when gravity remains consistent and no one randomly becomes newts. Let them remain in their university, fat, happy, and most definitely NOT doing any bloody magic.

Lipwig? Maybe. In time. If he is convinced that it is in his own self-interest and things remain... interesting. But he also has Spike and the Bank and the Post Office, and a man can only juggle so much before suddenly there's a chainsaw in the front row and an awful lot of screaming. Best to keep him in practice of course, but... no. Not yet.

Vetinari uses all of them. They are tools in his box as he tunes and fixes and cares for the Disc's greatest city. The Turtle moves, but so does the Patrician, and it is a close contest on who shifts greater mountains. It is easy to imagine more than a few of the gods on Cori Celeste are keeping an eye on him and wondering what he's up to.

Except for the smart ones. They are doubtlessly taking notes.

[crimsondinnerparty]

Gideon in *Antipasto* is an absolute force, and it’s such a delicious irony that he, the man with no limbs and nowhere to run, has Hannibal completely on edge. Gideon’s presence is the ultimate power move. Every word, every utensil tap is a challenge, a reminder to Hannibal that he’s no longer the puppeteer pulling all the strings.

Hannibal’s reaction when Gideon refuses to be cowed—his fumbling “you still have to eat”—is not just desperate; it’s telling. Hannibal, who thrives on control, is visibly rattled by a man who’s supposed to be powerless. And when Gideon taps those utensils, it’s like a slap in the face, a reminder that Hannibal’s carefully crafted world is slipping through his fingers. Gideon’s sharp “Why do you think I’m allowing this?” slices deeper than any knife, and Hannibal’s empty response shows just how lost he is—because Gideon’s not just sitting there; he’s indulging Hannibal’s pathetic need for an audience, for companionship, in the most twisted way possible.

Hannibal’s arrogance has always been his defining trait, but this scene strips him down. Compare it to *Aperitif*, where Hannibal is reveling in his solitude, dining on his secretary’s offals, radiating superiority. It’s all gone now. After Will Graham shattered his defenses, exposed his weaknesses, and took a sledgehammer to his heart, Hannibal’s left grappling with a stark new reality. He’s reduced to this shadow of himself, sharing joyless, empty meals with a man who’s more interested in psychological warfare than in the food. Gideon hurls truths at him like weapons: that Hannibal’s dining games are nothing but a sad parody, a hollow echo of his former grandeur.

Gideon’s relentless needling cuts through Hannibal’s pretense, exposing a rawness we rarely see in the cannibal. Gideon knows he’s living on borrowed time, and he uses every second to tear into Hannibal’s ego. He’s not just some victim; he’s a mirror to Hannibal’s own emptiness. And let’s not forget the meta-layer here—Gideon’s awareness of Hannibal’s desperate need for an audience mirrors the way Hannibal manipulates others but can’t handle it when the tables are turned.

[skmhlml]

NightShift Abductor x Reader (HC)

Note; slight sfw, unhealthy relationship, yandere (not necessarily abuse, but he hurts you so you can't get away.) PS: slowly getting into his character in a way that respects the characters and creators of the game.

Game; Stay out of the House (By; Puppet combo)

Wordcount:

He is much like Pyramid Head in a way but more empathy due to the placement of his mother. it makes some sense...he is not just a killer, but a follower, a worshiper, and a cultist.

(Copied of the wiki)- "Coupled with the total abandonment of his hometown due to economic decline, it was likely during this crisis of faith that he came into contact with an alternative religious group known as CFV, which had gained traction in the local area and ironically contributed to the mass exodus of small towns in the region on account of their twisted interpretation of the Bible."

And you...You weren't seen as a regular victim of the so-called god he worshipped but as a gift to the great undying loyalty he always gave to his god. a gift...someone just for him. That's how he saw you. And that's what you're going to be.

yeah sure- his home is as decrepit as the ruined buildings of the rest of town, with barricaded windows and doors, junk scattered all over the floor, rats running around, the walls covered in mold and paint peeling off. but no home is perfect, right?

The state of his mother, who appears to be partially decayed and the presence of the mutated baby also point to either him or 'his god' possessing the power of organic life manipulation, so even death can escape you from him, hell always comes back, be immortal, together forever...

-

He's a biter, a cannibal after all (I could make a real good joke about being eaten out but I haven't been that ruined yet. Human meat is tough by itself depending on age, health, and strength. That's why he bites so hard, so so hard. he draws blood and leaves it deep enough to get infected.

His victims are kept in squalor and are imprisoned in either large cages inside of his house or in the backyard inside two reutilized chicken coops in cells of six...

Usually killed right away or left to starve and then slaughtered, and you would have gone through the same fate if his mother, who seemed invisible to death, got sick. With a desperate plea to live, you hesitantly offered to take care of her with a sledgehammer only inches away to the back of your head.

Even if he could bring her back if she did die, taking care of her would save him the trouble of doing all that. Plus, he had 'work' and other victims to attend to.

His silent mother, as much to him, was grateful in her own way. You were smart enough to ignore the victims who so desperately cried out for help. As much as you wanted to, sometimes the only way of survival was to turn a blind eye...

After she got better, you were sure that your time was coming, though somehow, with silent communication between the two, you stayed. You didn't cause any problems or go against his mother at all while taking care of her, so in a way, you were useful.

That didn’t mean liberty, you were still a victim but just a long-term one. You weren't kept in a cage but you were still locked in a bedroom by the ‘NightShift abductor’, or for shorter, the ‘butcher’.

The only advantage you had was not being slaughtered. That and his mother liked the extra company of a more normal living person, one who she knew wouldn’t blow her brains out to escape.

Being a live victim meant you just had more cameras on you everywhere, want to take a filthy ass bath? BAM, camera. Changing? Camera. Other stuff…

📸😳

📷🤨

Freaky ahh…

But catching shit like that on camera for this 6,4 brainless, aggressive, monster of a man can make him question some stuff. Soon enough he doesn’t even notice the sledgehammer in his pants!

*Vine boom insert*

He’s a violent man with sick thoughts that would make the devil hurl…the thoughts about what he wants to do with you are ten times worse, he doesn’t know its wrong, he wasn’t molded into knowing his rights and wrongs only to give to his belived god.

If you had enough one day and ran off he wouldn't hesitate to run after you. Following the reacker he implanted into you while you were asleep. Grabbing your ankle and yanking it as you fell on the ground grabbing his sledgehammer and slamming it on your ankle, tears swelling in your eyes as you cried your lung out, to the point where it felt like there was blood in your throat.

He had no remorse for his actions as he dragged you back to his house while your wailed out. Dropping you on the ground and walked away, leaving you in agony.

[mosaickiwi]

Ahh i totally forgot to send it :’)

(Tumblr hates me so sorry if you get this ask twice)

Hii momo <3

My headcanon is:

“What if Angel gets isekai’d in the game. But instead of getting to live the life of the MC, they switch roles with a certain hacker, unexpectedly getting trapped in the game mechanics. Will they be able to make it out? Or will they be forced to live the days over and over on a loop”

hiii ashe!!! no i will not write teo fic <333 (froggy hats are NOT enough payment sorry!!)

Flip the Script(s) - Isekai AU?? 

Flip the script like the saying goes but also a script like coding… is this funny to anyone but me… anyways have some messy thoughts hehe

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

🖤 Flipped [REDACTED]

📜 No glitch powers or awareness anymore. Keeps most of his backstory intact, but gets og!Angel's main plot relevant traits which are: 

Secretly obsessed with AoG and therefore Haruko (this is extremely funny to me).

Someone proposed to him as a kid and he doesn't remember. 

Moved back to Corland, lives in a crappy apartment, works as a librarian.

📜 For the sake of the plot being able to move forward, he can't be as clever or observant but otherwise their personality is pretty much the same. Just without the Angel obsession.

📜 (Lack of) friendship with other characters?? Probably treats them the same as River at best: he doesn't really mind most of them. This is more like a debuff so there's at least a guarantee that Ren won't wind up on another character’s route unless Angel majorly fucks up. Also I can't imagine him putting up with any of the main cast besides Conan for more than 5 minutes.

📜 I think it's funny for River and Leon to swap places too!! So River also proposed to Ren lmfao (and Leon still gets to be Angel’s best friend, only now he’s cautiously supportive of all the wild shit they have to do to make the game progress).

💜 Flipped Angel

📜 I have a specific Angel in mind but obviously bits and pieces here are not universal to all Angels fdjsalkfjldska

📜 Their goal is to leave, but they aren’t even sure how to. Has to play the manipulative yandere role in some ways, otherwise the game falls apart.

📜 Angel’s only inherited traits are the ones [REDACTED] loses, so glitch powers + awareness. They at least have isekai semi-omniscience: 

Knows they're in a yandere romance game 

Knows a few of the characters from browsing social media 

Can see the UI and therefore the choices Ren makes 

Hit by the truck once they press the start button so they don’t know much of the plot outside of meeting Ren at the library

💙 Game Rules - that Angel is not aware of without doing some trial and error

📚 The plot/narration/dialogue etc. doesn't have to (and logically can't) be one-for-one, but pivotal choices remain the same.

📚 The day restarts by itself if Angel’s meter is too low to make any progress (as in [REDACTED] doesn't show enough interest, or shows hostility towards them). Angel can also restart the day themselves once they figure out how the glitch powers work.

📚 Choices that would normally lead to dead ends force Angel to end and restart them the same way [REDACTED] does—by breaking in to his apartment at night.

📚 They can't escape until they reach the true ending to reset the game back to normal, and reach another ending as og!Angel. Except now [REDACTED] remembers everything that happened.

💙 Goofy things to chew on

😋 [REDACTED] would still be a clean freak, so finding the mattress with a hole on day 1 would absolutely piss him off. Bro (rightfully) harasses their landlord 24/7.

😋 [REDACTED] also still terrible with finances… poor Angel has to figure out asap how to hack to give him more money before he has to move in with River (River route canon!!!).

😋 [REDACTED] either has to ignore Teo’s entire existence, or every single interaction is a minefield since Teo would live for pissing him off. River (poorly) plays mediator.

😋 Angel could outright suck at murder. Sledgehammer? Too heavy. Knives? Too messy. Screaming on the inside when [REDACTED] still doesn’t go home with them on day 2 after they’ve tried so hard. Olivia getting murdered simply does not happen anymore, they give up and force another reset.

😋 Elanor having the worst time at work because [REDACTED] gets customer complaints every single day but Conan won't fire him (the plot compels him). And then mutters insults about her being clumsy when she tries to correct his manners.

😋How are Moth and [REDACTED] even friends... enemies on the forums until some third party comes in with the most wild take on AoG?? Enemy of my enemy is my friend. But most of the time they're insulting each other.

😋 Leon watching Angel lose their shit seemingly out of nowhere (because of all the restarts) during a hangout. Consoling them awkwardly while they cry about the emo boy they’ve been stalking and how they don’t know how to ride a motorcycle.

😋 The trio being River, Jae, and Teo instead has disaster possibilities. Leon was the one keeping them from getting TOO destructive, and I feel like River is absolutely on board with every terrible idea. So Corland might as well be going up in flames in the background while Angel attempts romance.

💜 And a short fic!!! Angel's "first" day

Day 1, Attempt #0

You know right away that you’re in some type of isekai situation. An oddly luxurious but empty apartment that you woke up in. A hallway that’s just as empty, and when you knock on all the neighboring doors, nobody’s home. Weird, but not enough to set off any alarms. Getting back home should be simple. 

You head to the library and finally find someone, at least. That blonde girl Ellen? Elaine? Whatever her name is, she smiles as you walk in… and then greets you like a patron? Weren’t you meant to be co-workers? You’re completely confused until the person that you spot in a far aisle isn’t a pink-haired stranger, but instead someone decked head to toe in black fabric and silver chains.

Ohh it’s THIS one. The one you’ve seen in fan art sometimes. He’s supposed to be the real Ren, but you thought he’d be dressed up as “Haruko" at first. Something is wrong.

You slowly walk up and tap his shoulder, but they recoil at your presence. There’s a name tag stuck to his shirt—did he work here? The name is scribbled out completely.

“Um… I was wondering if you could help me?” you timidly ask.

His eyes roll as if you’re bothering him, instead of asking him to do his job. “Y’lookin’ for somethin’?” [REDACTED] mutters.

“Yes! Sort of. It's a long story. Maybe we could go to your place and talk?” Normally, you aren't this forward. But from what little you've read, they're the type to go along with anything his ‘Angel’ says, so this should be easy.

Something pops up in front of you. A small pair of black boxes with words in them. “Invite them over” in one, and “Don't invite them over” in the other. Finally, something like a system. You were wondering if you'd have to play through the game without any clear help. 

You reach your hand out, but the second choice seems to get chosen all on its own, and the menu disappears once more. You worriedly look back up only to be met with pure disgust in the man's gaze.

“...How ‘bout y’do us both a favor n’ fuck off, yeah?” the venom in his tone startles you, forcing you to take a few steps back. “I'd rather not lose my job f’beating the shit out of a patron.”

“What—”

“Leave.”

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Day 2, Attempt #14

It took you longer than you wanted to admit to realize that the pink hair dye in the bathroom was meant for you. 

On the 9th time you approached [REDACTED] for your ‘meet cute,’ you’d finally noticed the little character pin keeping his scribbled out name tag in place. An acrylic, chibi face that looked strikingly similar to the bloodied image on the title screen you saw before winding up in the game.

The thought didn’t occur to you until then. Talking to him was like pulling teeth when he didn’t even care to try, but… If you were taking his place, and they were taking yours… wouldn’t he be more open to talking with someone that was maybe into the same weird anime he was?

So you reluctantly bleached and dyed your hair in pastel pink, put on the sweater despite the horrid summer weather, and went off to the library once again. Unfortunately, it worked. 

While he wasn’t outright hostile like the first couple of times, he wasn’t completely interested, either. But the conversation was friendly enough. As friendly as they seemed capable of being, anyway.

Thanks to frying your hair, you made it all the way through the day after a few more tries. You even managed to get invited over somehow. Instead of waking up in that all too familiar empty apartment for the millionth time, you woke up on a terribly put together couch. Just as you sat up to stretch and work the kinks out of your back, you spotted a rat skittering behind a table across the room.

You were grateful that he hadn’t chosen to make you sleep on the floor.

[mostlymarvelgirl]

Pages I Never Turned

Pairing: Soldier Boy & Reader

Word Count: 3000

Inspired and took it from @myladyship

Third Person POV

Warnings: Strong language / profanity, Alcohol use / substance mentions, PTSD / psychological trauma (implied through Soldier Boy’s behavior and past), Past sexual content (one-night stand referenced; not explicit in the current chapter but implied history), Mentions of abandonment / parental issues (the whole “you fathered a kid and dipped” situation), Aging / mortality themes (Reader is in her 60s, which adds emotional and existential weight), Emotional manipulation / gaslighting (light), Secondhand embarrassment.

1980. New York City.

The bar wasn’t anything special. Neon lights buzzing overhead, smoke curling in lazy ribbons, some rock ballad crooning in the background. Vought liked to throw Soldier Boy in front of cameras, into crowds, into chaos—but this? This was his rare off-night.

No cameras. No handlers. No PR team hovering like vultures. Just a bottle of whiskey and enough noise to drown out his own thoughts.

And then she walked in.

Her.

Classy without trying. Confident without being loud. Hair curled like it meant business. Lips painted like a challenge. She didn't try to catch his eye—but she did anyway.

She sat at the bar two stools down, ordered something neat, and didn’t look his way. That intrigued him.

Most people saw the shield before they saw the man. But her? She didn’t flinch. Didn’t flirt. Didn’t fall over herself to be noticed.

She just just sat there. Cool. Quiet. Whole.

He moved a seat closer.

“You know who I am?” he asked, like it was some kind of threat.

She arched an eyebrow, barely glancing at him. “Unfortunately.”

That made him laugh—really laugh. Deep, rich, real.

He hadn’t felt real in years.

“(Y/N),” she said, finally turning to him. “And you’re Soldier Boy. America's favorite sledgehammer.”

He grinned. “Well, you sure know how to flatter a guy.”

“I wasn’t flattering.”

God, she had a mouth on her. He thought. And he liked that.

The conversation flowed after that—snarky at first, teasing. Then deeper. Raw. She didn’t ask about missions or kill counts or his latest campaign ad. She asked what he read. What he missed. What he wanted.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone asked him that without a microphone in his face.

And then, the night blurred.

There was whiskey. And music. And the heat of her hand finding his. A slow, steady burn.

His motel room was two blocks away. He almost didn’t ask.

But she came.

The sheets tangled around them like fate. His mouth traced poetry into her collarbone. She gasped his name like it meant something.

It wasn’t just sex. Not for him.

It was the first time he felt seen.

The world had turned him into a symbol. A myth. A walking piece of war propaganda.

But she looked at him like he was a man. Bruised. Flawed. Still worthy of softness.

He held her afterward. Didn’t sleep. Just watched her chest rise and fall and thought, Goddamn, I could’ve had a life.

And then—

The knock on the door.

Black suits. Vought goons. A “mission.” A “brief deployment.”

He was gone before sunrise.

No goodbye. No warning.

Just erased.

And she was left with nothing but the imprint of his body in cold sheets… and, weeks later, the realization that he had left something behind.

.

.

.

1980, two months later.

The first time she threw up in the morning, she blamed the bar food.

The second time, she knew better.

She sat on the bathroom floor of her tiny apartment, pregnancy test clutched in a trembling hand, the kind of silence around her that felt like a scream.

Soldier Boy was gone.

Vanished like smoke.

No phone call. No note. Just poof—like he’d never been there at all.

She’d cried for maybe a day. Then she got angry. And then she got very quiet.

Because grief in silence was something she knew how to wear like armor.

She’d been abandoned before. Parents. Men. Dreams. She’d survived them all.

But this? This was different.

This was his child.

And even if he was a myth, even if he was a cautionary tale she whispered to herself on sleepless nights, she still remembered how his eyes softened when he looked at her. How he kissed her like the world might end. How his hands trembled, just slightly, when they held hers.

She didn’t know the truth. Not yet.

All she knew was this: she was having this baby.

.

.

.

1981. Spring. February.

She gave birth in spring.

The nurses asked about the father. She lied. “Not in the picture,” she said.

Which was technically true. How do you explain that your baby daddy was America’s first superhero—and apparently a hit-and-run?

She named the boy after her grandfather—strong, proud, stubborn as hell.

He came into the world screaming like he already knew it was broken.

She held him close and whispered, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

And she didn’t.

Not when rent was overdue. Not when formula prices climbed. Not when she worked double shifts and her bones ached.

She built a life.

Bit by bit. Scrap by scrap. A quiet miracle in the making.

.

.

.

1990s – 2000s.

Her son grew up with laughter in his lungs and fire in his belly. Smart. Sweet. A little reckless. She saw glimpses of him in the kid’s crooked grin. But he wasn’t a carbon copy—he was his own person.

He held the door for old ladies. He cried at dog movies. He punched a bully in the face for calling his friend names. He asked questions like, “Mom, are heroes real?” and she’d smile through the ache and say, “Sometimes.”

She kept the truth locked away in an old shoebox. One photo. One name. One night. That was all she had of Soldier Boy.

She told herself it didn’t matter. That her son didn’t need a man who vanished into thin air.

But some nights… when the house was quiet, and the lights were low, and the ache in her chest was too loud to ignore… she’d look at her boy and whisper, “He would’ve loved you, baby. If he’d known.”

.

.

.

2023.

The knock on the door wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t angry or demanding. It was… tentative.

She opened it slowly, her heart thundering in her ears. And there he was.

Soldier Boy.

Ben.

He looked wrecked. Haunted. Real.

He said her name like it was a prayer and a punishment.

Older, yes. Weathered, broken in new ways. But still him. Those same eyes that had stared at her like she was the first good thing he ever touched.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stood there, stunned.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he said.

His voice was rougher now. Like gravel soaked in whiskey and regret.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” she whispered.

“So are a lot of things.”

She let him in.

He looked around like he couldn’t believe it was real. Like every framed photo on the wall was a bullet to the gut.

And then he saw the photo album.

The one she never showed anyone.

He picked it up with shaking hands. Flipped through it.

She didn’t stop him. She couldn’t.

Page after page of his son’s life—his first steps, his first snowman, that ridiculous mushroom haircut he had in second grade. His graduation. His nonprofit startup. His stupid little dog.

All of it.

Ben stared at the images like they were a movie from a life he never got to live. And maybe they were.

“You kept your name,” he muttered. “Gave him my last name.”

She crossed her arms, a wall of quiet fire. “I wanted him to know where he came from. Even if you weren’t there.”

“I didn’t leave because I wanted to,” he said. “Vought sold me out. Russians took me. I wasn’t… I didn’t choose this.”

“I know,” she said. “Now.”

He looked at her, really looked. Like he was memorizing her all over again.

“I thought about you,” he said. “In that frozen box. Every day. You were the last good thing I had.���

Tears threatened her edges, but she blinked them away. “You missed a lot.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I missed everything.”

She hesitated. “He doesn’t know about you. I never told him. I didn’t want him chasing a man who wasn’t coming back.”

Ben nodded slowly. “He’s better for it. Kid looks good. Happy.”

“He’s a good man,” she said. “Not angry. Not violent. Nothing like—”

“—me,” he finished.

Silence.

And then a voice from upstairs.

“Hey Mom? Who’s at the door?”

Ben froze. His blood turned to ice.

She didn’t answer right away. Just looked at Ben like she was weighing the entire world in her hands.

Then, gently: “Come meet someone.”

The moment he stepped into the room, the air shifted.

Her son- No. Their son stood at the top of the stairs—mid-twenties, built like a man who knew the gym but didn’t worship it, with eyes too kind to belong to someone raised on bitterness.

Ben recognized those eyes.

Not his. Hers.

The young man’s voice was cautious. “Mom… who is this?”

She cleared her throat. “This is Ben.”

A beat.

Then another.

Ben stepped forward, and for the first time in his life, the shield in his bones felt useless. “I’m… your father.”

The silence was immediate and violent.

Her son blinked once, twice. Then laughed—short and disbelieving.

“Is this a joke?”

She opened her mouth, but Ben lifted a hand. “No. Let him say it.”

Ben braced himself. “I didn’t know you existed. Vought—they… they buried me. Literally. Gave me to the Russians in ‘82. I just got out a year ago.”

His son didn’t react. Not yet.

“And what? You saw a picture, decided to show up and play house?”

“No. I saw your life. And I realized it was better without me.”

“Damn right it was,” the young man snapped.

There it is, Ben thought. The fire.

“I grew up wondering if I had a dad who was dead or just didn’t give a shit. Turns out, it’s both?”

Ben didn’t flinch. “You have every right to hate me.”

“Oh, good. We agree.”

She stepped in. “Enough.”

They both stopped. She didn’t raise her voice, but it cut.

Her son turned to her. “You knew? This whole time?”

“I thought he was dead,” she said quietly. “When he came back, I didn’t know what to do. I was going to tell you. I just didn’t want it to come from a tabloid.”

Ben’s jaw clenched. “Look, kid—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Okay. Fair. I’m not here to fix anything. I’m not here to be a hero. I just wanted to see you. To know you’re okay.”

Her son folded his arms. “Why? So you can feel better about being a ghost?”

“No,” Ben said. “So I can feel worse.”

That caught him off guard.

Ben stepped forward, hands open, vulnerable in a way no battlefield ever made him.

“I’ve done things I’ll never be proud of. But you? You’re the one good thing I ever helped make. And even if I wasn’t there to raise you… I’m proud as hell of who you are.”

His son looked at him—really looked.

Saw the war in his eyes. The sorrow in his bones. The regret that lived in every wrinkle and scar.

“…What now?” the young man asked, voice softer.

Ben shrugged. “You tell me.”

And for the first time, there was no anger. Just silence.

And possibility.

.

.

.

That night.

The house was still.

She stood in the kitchen, pouring tea with hands that didn’t tremble anymore—because they’d been through too damn much to shake over old ghosts.

She heard the creak of the hallway floorboards. She didn’t turn.

“You never were light on your feet,” she said.

Ben chuckled, that gravelly rasp now laced with something almost… gentle. “I was trained to crash through doors, not tiptoe through kitchens.”

She slid him a mug without looking at him. “Figured.”

He took it. Sat down at the table. The same one where she’d taught their son multiplication. Bandaged scraped knees. Written overdue bills.

“I thought about you,” he said. “In that pod. Didn’t even know I was thinking. Just... dreams. Fragments. You were always there.”

She sat down slowly.

“I thought you were just another mistake,” she admitted. “Another man who left. I hated you for a long time.”

“You should’ve.”

She met his eyes.

Time had carved stories into her face. Deep lines, silver hair pulled into a loose knot, skin like parchment over fire-hardened steel.

But to Ben?

She’d never looked more beautiful.

“Look at you,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“What?”

“You got older.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Well, thank you for the devastating observation, Captain Freeze.”

“I mean it,” he said. “You… you lived. I didn’t.”

She blinked. That hit harder than she expected.

“I missed every part of it,” he said, voice low. “You built a life. You raised a good man. You grew into someone I would’ve begged to grow old beside… but I didn’t get the chance.”

She looked down at her mug. “I kept your photo, you know. The one they printed for propaganda. The stupid grin. The flag behind you.”

He smiled sadly. “I was full of shit.”

“You were full of fire,” she said. “There’s a difference.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then she reached out. Laid her hand on top of his. Soft, warm, spotted with age. His hand was the same as it had been—big, calloused, ageless.

“Ben,” she said. “You’re not the man I remember. But neither am I the girl you loved.”

“I still love you.”

The air stopped.

“You don’t have to say it,” she whispered.

“I’m not saying it for you,” he replied. “I’m saying it because I need to. Because I should’ve said it then. And maybe if I had, we wouldn’t be sitting here across decades like strangers in a museum.”

She smiled—tired, wistful. “If I let myself love you again, it would break me.”

“I know.”

“And I’d still do it.”

He leaned forward, forehead resting against hers. The ageless warrior and the woman time tried to wear down.

He closed his eyes. “Can I stay a while?”

“You’ve always had a place here,” she said. “Even when you didn’t know it.”

.

.

.

Two weeks later.

Ben had started to… blend in.

Not perfectly—he still cursed at the microwave like it owed him money, and their son had to explain WiFi three times—but he was quieter now. Softer in the way soldiers get when they’re tired of war.

He fixed the back gate. Repaired the busted faucet. Trimmed the hedges. All without asking.

She watched him move around the house like he was trying to earn back the years with elbow grease and eye contact.

Her son had been honest.

“We’re cool. He’s not my dad, but… he’s trying. I can respect that.”

And he left it there.

She thought the tension would fade.

But it didn’t.

If anything, it simmered.

It was in the way Ben looked at her when she passed him in the hallway in her robe. The way his eyes lingered—not just on her face, but on her. Her laugh lines. Her neck. The little things age had left behind like permanent bookmarks.

And that man had zero shame.

One night.

She came downstairs in a long cardigan and slippers, holding a glass of wine. Ben was already there, sprawled on the couch in a henley and sweatpants, reading her son's college econ textbook like it was written in Greek. (It kind of was.)

“You look cozy,” he said.

She smirked. “I’m sixty three. I am cozy.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re sixty three and still the best damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

She rolled her eyes, sat beside him. “Don’t flirt with me. You’ll throw your back out.”

He grinned. “My back’s indestructible. Unlike some people.”

She gave him a look, but it was warm, amused. “Ben—”

“I’m serious,” he said, turning toward her, all quiet intensity now. “I don’t care about the years. The gray. The wrinkles. Hell, I like them. You’ve lived. You feel real.”

She exhaled, suddenly very aware of how close he was.

“I’m not a young woman anymore.”

He leaned in, voice low. “I never liked young women. I liked you. I still do.”

Silence.

Then, daring—“You ever think about… us?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” she said honestly.

“And?”

“I think about how good it was. How easy. How stupid. How much I missed it.”

He let his hand brush hers, just barely. “You ever think about doing something stupid again?”

Her lips curved up—wry, knowing, tired and tempted. “Ben, are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

He leaned back, throwing an arm along the couch with that same cocky, smug, goddamn invincible smirk.

“Hey. You’re still hot. I’m still hot. The world’s gone to hell. Might as well enjoy what’s left, right?”

She laughed—a real one, full and sharp. “You are so—you.”

He leaned in closer. “So is that a yes?”

She gave him a long, unreadable look. Then took a slow sip of wine.

“…Get the heating pad ready, soldier. I need the warmup cause I don’t bend like I used to.”

Ben nearly choked on air.

.

.

.

The room was quiet.

Not awkward-quiet. Afterglow quiet.

The kind of quiet that held satisfaction and surprise in equal measure. Like they’d just cheated time itself and gotten away with it.

She laid on her back, one hand resting on her chest, the other draped over the sheet. Her hair was a little messy, her breathing slow, deep.

Ben was beside her, shirtless, arms folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling like it owed him an apology.

“…You still with me, old man?” she asked, her voice dry and amused.

He scoffed. “Barely. You trying to kill me?”

“You offered.”

He turned his head to look at her. “No regrets?”

She smirked. “Ben, I’m sixty three. I stopped regretting good sex sometime around menopause.”

He laughed, but it faded quickly. His voice got quiet again. “You look at me now and what do you see?”

She blinked. “What kind of question is that?”

He looked down at her, serious. “You’ve lived a full life. You’ve grown. Changed. Me? I’m still frozen in the same damn decade. Still the same man who walked out of that hotel room.”

She turned to face him, propping herself up on one elbow. “No, you’re not.”

“You sure about that?”

“You’re quieter,” she said. “More reflective. You’ve seen what you missed. You’re not the same—you just look it.”

He let out a shaky breath. “Sometimes I feel like a relic. Like I don’t belong in this world. But when I’m here, with you? I almost forget how far I fell behind.”

She reached for his hand under the sheets. Held it.

“I don’t need you to catch up, Ben. I just need you to be here.”

He closed his eyes.

“And what about your son?” he asked. “You think he’s okay with this?”

She shrugged. “He’s grown. He’s got his own life. He understands this is mine.”

Ben turned toward her now, hand still in hers.

“I never wanted to be a father because I thought I’d screw it up. And I did—by never being there at all. But you? You didn’t just survive. You thrived. You made something good without me.”

Her eyes softened. “Don’t mistake absence for failure. You were stolen, Ben. Not forgotten.”

They lay there for a while longer, fingers intertwined.

Eventually, she said, “We’re not twenty anymore.”

He smirked. “Speak for yourself.”

She rolled her eyes and whacked him with a pillow.

He laughed, and the sound was almost boyish—like someone just lifted a hundred pounds of guilt off his chest.

“Still got that fire,” he said.

“Still got that mouth,” she shot back.

And in the quiet that followed, there was peace.

Not the kind that comes from everything being fixed.

The kind that comes from being seen.

.

.

.

Ben never left.

Not after that night. Not after the honesty, the laughter, or the way she looked at him like time hadn’t won.

The world outside went on—louder, faster, crueler—but their little house? It was untouched by all that.

It was where he learned to make coffee without burning it. Where he read books with the TV muted. Where he picked up groceries and bickered with her about which cereal had too much sugar.

It was where he learned the sound of peace.

Where he finally saw what life could’ve been—if he’d had the damn chance.

She aged like an oak tree. Strong. Weathered. Rooted.

Her laugh stayed sharp, her eyes stayed curious, and even as her body began to slow, her wit stayed lethal.

And Ben stayed beside her.

He stayed when she started to forget little things—where the keys were, the name of a neighbor, what day it was.

He stayed when she had to switch to softer foods, and her hands started to tremble with tea cups.

He read to her when her eyes got too tired. Tucked her in like it was ritual. Sat outside with her in the evenings and listened to the birds like it was music.

And when her son visited, the two men shared quiet, mutual respect.

“You make her happy,” he said to Ben once, pouring them each a whiskey.

“She makes me human,” Ben replied.

The end wasn’t dramatic.

It was a soft morning.

Early spring light spilled through the curtains.

Ben brought in her tea, humming an old Sinatra tune under his breath. But she didn’t stir.

He sat beside her and saw it immediately—the stillness. The softness.

She had slipped away in her sleep.

No pain. No fear.

Just… peace.

He didn’t cry at first.

He just sat there, holding her hand. Brushing back her silver hair. Kissing her knuckles like he always did.

She looked beautiful, even in stillness.

“Guess you finally outran me,” he whispered, voice cracking.

He buried her in the garden.

Under the cherry tree she loved. Next to the bench where she used to read.

And for days, he didn’t say much. Just sat there. Sometimes talked out loud. Told her what the weather was like. What was on TV. Whether the neighbor’s cat was still being an asshole.

Then one day, he stood up. Picked up his bag. Left the house with the front door still unlocked.

They say there’s a man who wanders the country now. Gray at the temples, flannel shirts, quiet hands.

Looks too young to have eyes that old.

Some say he saved a kid from a burning car. Others say he beat a supe half to death behind a dive bar and disappeared before anyone could ask questions.

But nobody really knows him.

He’s just passing through.

But if you sit with him long enough, if you offer him tea—he might tell you about a woman named (Y/N).

The only person who ever made him feel whole.

The only one who ever made time worth standing still.

The End.

[lemonandlime22]

Platonic yandere!Ace & Deuce

Warning(s): Yandere shit, unhealthy behavior, this shits only good for fiction irl this is no fuckin good obv, basically me rambling abt whatever comes to mind, cussing, not edited

A/N: getting more into yandere shit again, might write a fic at some point, but knowing me i doubt it lol. Sorry for the extreme lack on content, ive recently moved and been so much busier then i ever expected, also no wifi yet so its rly hard to to this on the computer. rn im pet sitting for a friend and they let me use their wifi so im able to write.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

These two as yanderes wouldn't be too bad in all honesty

their just both extremely overprotective

and maybe Ace is a lot tad manipulative

Deuce just wants you to be safe and happy.

They downright refuse to let you alone with anyone that has or has tried to hurt you, it took a lot of convincing and reassuring just to let those ppl near you period

and there are quite a few ppl that fall into that category,

All the house wardens + Jamil

except for Kalim,

Crowley

I cannot express into words how much they hate Crowley,

The tweels,

Lilia

just in case.... (≖_≖ ),

Ruggie

he and Leona are kinda a package deal in that regard,

Ortho

for B6 spoiler reasons,

And a bunch of random students

cause a lot students at this school are assholes.

And i think that's abt it so far-

Deuce worries so much abt you all the time, he's like a clingy big dog

he rarely lets you leave his or Ace's sight

Ace acts like he could give a rats ass abt you but rly he worries just as much as Deuce

These two will do virtually anything for you

want answers to a test?

they got them for you by the end of the day!

some rando bothering you?

this world might have one less person or a hospital might gain a patient!

want Ramshackle cleaned

that mf is ganna be spotless once they're done with it!

ok maybe not the last one they'll rly just casually clean when they're there and in a month it'll be sparkling

The only downside to this is that they will always bicker wth each other while doing these things.

Oh Ace and Deuce almost never leave Ramshackle btw

Just imagine having a clingy dog and cat and that's abt the same experience.

Oh and this might go without saying, but by the end of the story they won't let you more than 6 feet away from either of them at all times

and i mean ALL

also there is no way in hell you are ever going to go home

these two will fr get a sledgehammer and go to town on that mirror no matter the consequences.

Buuut before that, they'll mostly Ace try and convince you to stay willingly by saying almost anything from guilt-tripping you too antagonizing your friends and family.

Decue will try to convince you too stay by getting you things, both sentimental and otherwise

he might even go back into stealing if the time comes.

Overall, rly these two aren't all that bad, but kidnapping is still on the table if they ever need to take dire measures....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[waywardsummoner46]

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ Sink Into the Darkness, My Light | Four | ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

"Join us, my Light."

Two centuries ago, the ruler of the Light disappeared, plunging the universe into chaos and disrupting the sacred, unspoken balance of the universe.

The eight rulers of the Darkness never stopped looking for her; their obsession never once waning since she vanished.

Recently, they've sensed something. Never around long enough to pinpoint but so euphoric that it sings within their veins. And since meeting you, well... slowly they begin to understand why.

"Sink into the darkness with us."

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

「✦」 PAIRING - yandere ot8!ateez x (?)reader

「✦」 GENRE - ancient gods!au, fantasy!au, magical powers!au

「✦」 WARNINGS - mind control, gaslighting, dom/sub, subspace (of a sort), temporary amnesia, manipulation, YANDERE AND DARK THEMES

「✦」 WORD COUNT - 1,406

「✦」 A/N - Did I vanish again? No? Good answer. Anyway, I AM BACK NOT THAT I LEFT. Shorter chapter this time but there is a lot of lore packed into it. I hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think!

「✦」 TAGLIST - @yandere-stories - @adorawritesalot - @yoongisgirl69 - @sadtoru

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

• one • two • three • four • five • six •

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

You woke to the worst migraine of your life. It throbbed against the walls of your skull and felt like someone was taking a sledgehammer and relentlessly battering your head.

  You let out an unattractive grunt, one hand coming up to massage your temples and the other trying to rub sleep from your eyes. You cringed at the amount of gunk that had gathered over night, although you were grateful for the good night’s sleep that came hand in hand with it. 

  Letting out a long sigh, you lowered both of your hands. The early morning atmosphere was very calming, despite the pounding migraine, and you took the time to appreciate it whilst it lasted.

  You took the time to recollect your birthday; it had surely been a hectic day, a birthday unlike any other you’ve had before, to say the least. Yunho and Yeosang were back in your thoughts (and if smiled slightly then that was no one’s business but your own). They had truly made your morning, their kindness and general warm exteriors effortlessly making a pleasant feeling spread through your chest. 

  It dissipated once you remembered Seonghwa and Wooyoung. 

  There was something… off about them. Completely opposite to Yunho and Yeosang. They instilled a feeling of such instinctual wrongness within you that you found yourself grimacing absentmindedly. Seonghwa had been welcoming with a presence that demanded attention, and there was nothing wrong with that. But then, he’d taken such a drastic turn in emotions after he’d styled your hair. Mumbling, crying, even laughing almost hysterically - and for what?

  Wooyoung was an even more different story. Something about the guy gave you chills and you’d barely interacted with him for more than half an hour. And how did he manage to get Jiwon to finally settle down? He’d completely bypassed her aloof nature and her inability to keep major secrets from you. 

  You let out a long sigh and shifted slightly, and a mild prick at the back of your neck had your hand snapping up. You felt around your hair, feeling that it was still styled how Seonghwa had done it yesterday. But apparently he had placed a hair pin at the back of your head that you hadn’t noticed yesterday. 

  “Huh,” you said as you examined it. The hair pin was gorgeous; holding it vertically, you saw that there were two separate parts to the hair pin, the bottom of each connected by a singular rose gold chain. Both pieces were single helices in shape, however, one was the deepest black you’d ever seen in your life - squinting at it, you swore it was almost sucking in the light around it but you chalked that up to your sleep-addled brain.

  The other side was the most ethereal and pure white you’d ever bore witness to. A complete juxtaposition to its partner and yet somehow complimenting it so beautifully. You grazed your fingers gently across the narrow curve of the strand, eyes completely transfixed on its blinding glow, and you felt a spark, almost like an electric shock, travel from your fingertips down your arm and directly to your heart.

  And just like that, you entered a memory that was not your own.

A figure knelt before the dias, before the eight beings who sat on thrones of a grandeur impossible to capture in any form of literature, made of materials unfathomable to a mortal mind. 

  It was a young man, no older than twenty five, that held an audience with the eight. Seven of them unfamiliar to the furthest extent… the remaining one a love so old that words could do it no justice. And it was she, sat in a dress as weightless as the clouds and as treasured as the gentlest of snow, that gazed upon him with such heartbreak and betrayal. 

  Not anger, though. She could never be angry at him. Being angry at him was a poisonous thunder in her chest and a stain on her very being, irreversible and endlessly damaging. And he knew this.

  That didn’t stop him from taking her trust and thrusting it into her back like the sharpest of knives, 

  A delighted giggle echoed around the vast space, stars and galaxies and planets existing so peacefully around the circular platform these beings had created. He knew that His Lady of Light despised this stage more than anyone, despised the theatrics of sitting with the seven Lords of Darkness and utterly despised why the universe had called her here… called them all here.

  The King arose, and so did the Queen. The King raised an elegant brow at her behaviour, delighted to see her so far out of sorts that she had reacted physically. The young man knew that he was the cause, he knew that what he had done could not be undone. Nor could it be forgiven. 

 “Something you wish to say, My Lady?” The King asked, a morbid and sadistic pleasure behind every syllable he played with his tongue. Any mortal would sway to the symphonies he spoke, completely blinded to the sins woven between each letter. He was the worst of them all. He was the first. 

  Just like she was. 

  The young man’s eyes darted to His Lady’s dress as a light, almost imperceptible grey had begun to tease its edges. A human would never have detected it… but he wasn’t exactly mortal anymore, was he? 

  His Lady of Light hesitated for the briefest moment in time, enough for the seven Lords to smirk cruelly at her turmoil. And yet, with her head still raised high and eyes holding emotions unwilling to be released, she sat back down.

  “Wonderful,” The King crooned. He turned towards the young man, giving him his full attention once more. The man gulped, one of his last remaining human responses to fear and stood as the King beckoned him with a grin. 

  A chilling hand grasped the man’s chin. A flash of perfect white teeth and then a pain so intense that every nerve in the man’s body was alight with Hellfire. Shaking, he lowered his head slightly and whimpered loudly at the sight of the King’s hand puncturing his chest and grasping his heart.

  His gloves were off. There was no barrier from his corruption. 

  His Lady of Light could do nothing but watch her lover die. He did not perish but to her, to her heart, he might as well have. The call of Death would  have been a mercy compared to what the King was making him. 

  The man could feel an inky sensation spreading from his heart and down every lining and every nerve in his body. He imagined that black veins marred his skin. 

  There was a slight… itch, though. On his cheekbone. He knew not what it was nor where it came from but that sensation was firmly behind a fortress of onyx with a gravitational pull so undeniable that the man fell to his knees once more. This time in reverence of the King.

  The man heard a sob in the distance but even that was drowned by the pure evil binding to every blood cell in his body and replacing it with unparalleled power, power unlike anything he had ever experienced in his life. 

  His Lady would say that such power was a burden, a responsibility no one should have to bear. And now, the Lady’s words were of little concern to him now, a distant trickle of memory in the face of a waterfall of temptation, of sin. 

  “There you are.” 

  The boy stood. His eyes now a pitch black.

  “Our very own-”

You woke to the worst migraine of your life. It throbbed against the walls of your skull and felt like someone…

  A piercing ringing next to your ear made your eyes squeeze together in pain. Frantically, you aimed messily for your phone on your nightstand and pressed the answer button and regretted it immediately.

  “Morning! How did you sleep?”

  “I slept well, tha-”

  “‘Kay, cool! I’m suuuuper busy today and Wooyoung left his phone at that place we went to last night. We would go and get it but…” Why-oh-why did Jiwon have to mention Wooyoung, he gave you pins and needles even just thinking about him.

  Shaking your head silently, you responded, “It’s alright, Jiwon. Tell Wooyoung I’ll… go and grab his phone this afternoon. I’ll call you when I’ve got it.”

  She squealed and made a hasty goodbye. Nothing exasperated you more than that girl, you’re sure of it. 

  Time to start the day, you supposed. You hauled yourself out of bed and noticed that ‘The Hidden War Within’ was opened and on the floor. Your eyes skimmed the passage it had landed on, muttering a soft, “Awesome, the first entry is poetry? Who wrote it?”

Anonymous.

Inspiring. With that, you made your way to the bathroom and tidied yourself up for what would most definitely be a gruelling day.

[shotmrmiller]

but what about the other way- where the friend group is surprised that they ARENT dating bc theyre so touchy and snuggly (bc johnny gaslit reader into thinking all the sexy stuff is practice. lots and lots of practice. funny how she never gets a chance to actually try stuff out on other people)

but also half johnnys wardrobe is, if not stolen booty shorts from reader, actively bought for him bc she thinks itll suit him. marking her territory 😉

johnny would claim they're not dating because they're essentially married, argue with ye mam about it.

ugh i love manipulative cbf johnny who convinces you that him casually fingering you on a tuesday evening is what best friends do for each other (he's your only best friend, right? right??)

like he comes in you because he loves you 😔 so unless you're admitting to not loving him, cease this behavior and get in bed.

and you leave whatever you use. eyelashes, hair clips, socks, toiletries, a cute shirt that johnny would definitely wear even if it's 3x too small (johnny wears crop tops for fun idc) and he likes to act dumb around you so he doesn't say anything about how you're leaving things behind on purpose and when you ask who went with him to the bar or something, all he can think about is how your attempts at sneakily extracting info outta him are about as subtle as a sledgehammer. he finds it endearing.

he humors you anyway, counts on his fingers who exactly was there and then fucks you stupid because you're so cute when you're jealous

[azsazz]

Undercover

Jax x Reader [Next Gen Fic]

Summary: Anon Req: This one is for S, who wanted a better insight on Jax. A little combo of what you sent me-"or just a drabble about him and his mate (who is helping the IC with something but she doesn’t know about the bond) and how he tried to deflect the bond bcoz it’s a bit too much for him" and "since he’s an empath he has the ability to see bonds so imagine his surprise and the excess flood of emotions he feels when the bond snaps for him" (i hope this finds you💙)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 972

_________________________________________

This must be what the victims of his father’s torture must feel like, he thinks.

It itches at his skin, and no matter how hard he tries, how high he builds those walls to block it out, it’s still fucking there.

It gnaws on his skin like maggots on rot, featherlight wings beating in his ears like the hummingbirds Malos favors so much. It’s a constant, these days, makes Jax ache to dig his fingers into his skin, but not even the bite of pain would be enough for him to draw his attention away from that tether inside of him, lassoed around his heart.

And you don’t seem to feel a goddamn thing. You’re completely unknowing of the barbed rope you’ve coiled around his heart with your presence alone. How could you not realize the agony he’s in? How can you not feel the thundering of his heart whenever you are near?

He stands in the corner, shadows wreathed around his shoulders, eyes pinned to you as you move about his uncle’s ballroom, flanked by Castor and Sif. You’re wearing the darkest color of silk you could find, and if there’s a chance that you do know he is your mate, it would be this.

But he knows that you don’t know. He knows almost everything that is going on in the house, how everyone is feeling. How Baz is tingling with excitement as a couple waves his way, cheeks pink and bashful. How his father’s heart warms at the sight of his mother laughing with his uncles mates. How you and his cousins flutter with nervousness whenever a handsome fae male asks you to dance.

A whisper of darkness curls around the shell of his ear from the libraries below. A slight comfort, an invitation, should he need to escape the party and confide in the monster contained to this home.

Jax brushes the feeling away, gaze pinned to you. It’s overwhelming most times, being around this many people. Even a long dinner with the entirety of his uncle’s Inner Circle sends him almost reeling, though his powers have come a long way since childhood. He can block strong emotions out, manipulate them to his advantage, but the one he’s always had trouble reigning into submission has always been love.

He knows that a part of him doesn’t want to block the feeling out. It’s so raw, so breath-taking, it feels like he’s high with it when he’s surrounded by the emotion. It glows a minty green, swirling throughout the air of the ballroom. A new trick Jax had picked up while honing his powers, the ability to see auras and emotion in the air from just a glimpse. 

A blink, and it’s gone, and he’s still leaning against the wall with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, watching you twirl around in your pretty dress.

Knox is the first of his siblings to find him still lingering near the door. His family understands that events like this are not ideal for Jax, but he always makes sure to attend, say his hellos, and stick around as he practices blocking out the onslaught of emotions beating against the walls in his mind like a sledgehammer. 

He’s made it all of four hours this time.

And the party will rage on all night. He doesn’t usually care about missing out on the festivities, but with you here, he can’t force himself to leave. He’ll endure a thousand people's emotions to be able to glean a droplet of yours, even if you don’t even know he’s here.

You’re still here? Knox signs, slipping into the darkened corner with him. His youngest brother’s shadows wreath around their feet, and it’s not that Jax notices he hasn’t seen Malos in an hour and a half. Maybe he should leave, see if they can get into some sort of trouble. At least he’d be surrounded by his sister’s cool, calm, and collected character.

He hadn’t expected Knox to be the one to find him. Normally, it’s Baz’s shadows coiling tight around his wrists and dragging him across the ballroom, shoving a shot of liquor into his hand and keeping watch for their father while Jax slams it back, the heat burning his throat. Knox has been otherwise occupied with his own mate, who he’d had the pleasure of finding years ago. Jax remembers how the shock had burst from his mouth in the middle of dinner when he’d found out about Knox’s mate. He’d almost fallen from his chair.

It had felt different than this, though. Knox’s emotions had felt like his veins had burst into flames, the emotions held so tightly in his chest. The bond Jax feels with you is much different. It’s a calming breeze, a cool rush of relaxant in his blood. It makes his head dizzy, and he wonders if it will change when the bond becomes known for you. 

Jax nods once, and Knox’s gaze follows across the room. He’s not trying to hide the way that he’s looking at you, knows that Knox won’t tell a soul…except for Malos, but he knows the twins will take this to the grave if he asks them to.

Mate, then? Knox asks, but he already knows the answer. Jax is not easy to read but he knows his brother. Can see it in the tightness of his mouth, the tightness in which he’s clenching his fists, that predatory glint in his glowing eyes as he watches a male twirl you around the dancefloor. Why not go get her?

Jax shakes his head in response, finally ripping his gaze away from you as the song ends and you bounce over to his cousins, giggling and blushing. He allows the shadows to pull him deeper, towards the exit. “It’s not time yet.”

[homestuckreplay]

<boss battle music plays>

(page 391-393)

Not reading Homestuck anymore. This is now a blog where I talk about all my favorite video game characters, like Solid Snake from Metal Gear, or Chell from Portal, or Jean Forrester from KIng's Field, or-

wait. John Egbert is a video game character????

ok in that case I can still talk about Homestuck.

I'm extremely curious on if John feels physically different inside Sburb. Some elements of his surroundings are sustained by the game - such as the wifi - and we don't know if, for example, John still needs to eat and sleep. He still has physical limitations (he can't wield the sledgehammer) but that's just his strength stat now. And what about sound cues, which are really common in video games but don't seem to exist for John, given how there's no enemy alert sound before the shale imp sneaks up on him? (I love how the screen pixelates at this moment - especially with the imp being so colorful vs everything else's black and white, it's a very cool effect).

Does Showtime begin playing out loud for him when the shale imp engages him in combat? Is he like 'whoa, that's my song, Sburb is playing my song?' Sburban Jungle, which played during the game's installation, is the closest thing we know of to a generic Sburb theme tune - but Sburb is intelligent in some way and responsive to its player, so is it possible that the game has picked up the music from John's piano and is incorporating it into the game?

The shale imp holding the bunny hostage is a direct recreation of the Con Air scene linked from p.20, except John is not a badass Nic Cage, he's a kid with no fighting experience. Aside from the reference, I wonder if there's a reason the imp is so interested in the bunny, and if it has some value to the game enemies. They're probably not big movieheads, but there could be something hidden inside it? Or it could be the most obvious item that John's emotionally attached to, and the game is trying to manipulate him.

I am thinking again about who made Sburb and what their goals and intentions were with this game. Is this just a negligent 'look what technology makes possible' deal or are they trying to kidnap people into their game world for some end? If so, is that just opportunistic, taking whoever happens to figure out the game best,or did they invite specific people to beta test because the designers want something with them specifically? Now that John is fully immersed in the game world I need to sit down and look for more clues about Sburb itself.

Also John's data structures book looks like complete trash, but I bet Dave would think it's genius. It finally, perfectly explains why Dave's room is furnished with cinderblocks - he's used them to weaponize his sylladex. New headcanon that Dave bought John this book for his birthday last year.

[atriza]

The Breaking Point pt.8 Yandere Five Hargreeves x Reader

Part 7

Summary: Y/N finally attempts to escape from Five’s control after weeks of pretending to submit. However, Five catches them just as they are about to leave, his calm demeanor quickly turning to violent fury. He confronts them with accusations of betrayal and, in a fit of rage, physically assaults them. Five strangles them, slams them to the ground, and begins carving his name into their skin with a knife, marking them as his possession. Despite their pleas, Five continues his brutal assault, leaving them bloodied and broken. As the protagonist lies defeated, they realize that their hope of escape is crushed, and Five’s obsessive control over them is absolute.

Word Count: 1,108 words

**Content Warning:**

This story contains dark and potentially distressing themes, including obsessive behavior, violence, manipulation, and psychological distress. It portrays a relationship that is unhealthy and toxic, where one character exhibits controlling and possessive tendencies that lead to extreme actions.

If you are sensitive to these themes or find them triggering, please consider skipping this story.

Have Fun Reading!

The house was silent as Five slept beside you, his arm draped possessively over your waist, his grip like a chain even in sleep. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, but you moved slowly, carefully lifting his arm and slipping out of bed. Every second was a risk, every movement calculated. You stepped onto the cold floor, swallowing the fear rising in your chest. This was it. You’d played your part for weeks—smiled, submitted, lied. But now, after all the planning, you finally had a chance to escape. You had to act fast.

The door was only a few steps away, but each step felt like a mile. Your hands trembled as you gripped the doorknob, holding your breath. One step outside, and you could run. Freedom was waiting for you—just beyond the threshold.

The creak of the door filled the silence, and then

“Going somewhere?”

His voice was soft, but it hit you like a sledgehammer. You froze, fear slamming into you. Slowly, you turned to see him standing at the doorway, his silhouette barely visible in the dim light. His eyes, dark and dangerous, were locked onto you with a look that sent ice through your veins.

"Five, I—" you stammered, but he cut you off, his face twisting with fury.

“Don't. Lie.” His voice was calm, eerily so, but his fists were clenched, knuckles white with restrained anger.

You stumbled backward, the terror clawing at your chest. You were so close, so close to freedom, but now... now there was nowhere to go.

In an instant, Five lunged at you, grabbing you by the throat and slamming you against the wall. Your vision exploded with stars as the back of your head hit the plaster. His grip tightened, cutting off your air as he leaned in, his breath hot against your face.

“After everything I’ve done for you... you still thought you could leave?” His voice was a venomous hiss, dripping with disgust and betrayal. “You think you can escape me?”

You clawed at his hand, gasping for breath, but his hold was unyielding, his fingers pressing deeper into your skin. He was close, too close, his face inches from yours, eyes gleaming with a terrifying mix of fury and obsession.

"l... can't... breathe," you choked out, your vision blurring at the edges. Five's lips curled into a cold, twisted smile as he loosened his grip just enough for you to suck in a desperate breath.

Then, without warning, he slammed you to the floor, the impact sending a sharp pain through your ribs. You tried to Crawl away, but Five was on you in an instant, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking you up onto your knees. A cry of pain escaped your lips, but he only yanked harder, forcing you to look up at him.

"Did you really think you could run from me?" he snarled, his voice dripping with venom. "After everything? After | saved you, protected you, gave you everything?"

His hand lashed out, striking you hard across the face. The force of the blow sent you sprawling onto the floor, your cheek burning with the sting of it. You tried to scramble away, but Five was relentless. He grabbed you by the ankle, dragging you across the floor like you were nothing, his anger palpable in the air.

“You're mine,” he growled, pulling you back toward the bed. “You'll always be mine.”

Before you could move, before you could even think, he was on top of you, pinning you down with his full weight. His hands clamped around your wrists, trapping you beneath him.

“You thought you could betray me," he whispered, his voice low and dangerous. "You thought you could just walk away? After all this time?"

His hand went to his pocket, and when he pulled it out, the glint of the knife in his hand made your blood run cold. The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in around you as the cold steel pressed against your skin.

“No, Five, please—”

Your words were cut off as he leaned down, his mouth brushing against your ear. "You think you can survive without me? You're nothing without me."

With terrifying precision, he brought the blade down to your arm, the sharp tip biting into your skin. You screamed, your body jerking beneath him, but he didn’t stop. His grip on your wrist tightened as he carved the first letter of his name into your arm, the blade dragging through flesh with slow, deliberate strokes.

"F,’ he whispered, his voice filled with a twisted satisfaction. "I."

You screamed again, your voice raw as the pain tore through you, blood trickling down your arm, pooling onto the sheets. But Five didn’t flinch. He was methodical, controlled, his face calm as he continued carving his name into your flesh.

"V... E...” he finished, pulling the knife away, the letters of his name permanently etched into your skin. Blood dripped from the wound, staining the bed, but Five’s eyes gleamed with dark satisfaction.

"There," he whispered, leaning down to kiss your forehead, his lips soft against your trembling skin. "Now you'll never forget who you belong to."

You sobbed, your body shaking with pain and fear, but Five wasn't done. He flipped you over onto your stomach, pressing your face into the bed as he pinned your arms behind your back. You tried to struggle, but it was useless. He was stronger, faster, and completely unhinged.

“You think you can just run?” he snarled, his voice thick with rage. “You

think anyone else will ever want you now?”

With a sickening thud, his fist connected with your ribs. The pain exploded through your body, a scream tearing from your throat as the bones cracked under the force of the blow. He hit you again, and again, each strike sending fresh waves of agony through your already broken body.

You begged, pleaded, your voice hoarse from screaming, but Five didn’t care. His fists continued to rain down on you, each hit more brutal than the last, until your body went limp beneath him, your vision swimming with black spots.

When he finally stopped, when the storm of violence finally subsided, you lay there, broken and bleeding, barely able to breathe. Five stood above you, his chest heaving with exertion, but his eyes were calm. Too calm.

He leaned down, brushing a strand of blood-matted hair from your face. "Now, you'll never try to leave again, will you?" he murmured, his voice almost tender. You couldn't speak. You couldn't even move. The pain was too much, the weight of his obsession crushing whatever was left of you.

And as he lifted you into his arms, cradling you like a broken doll, you knew the truth. There was no escape. Not anymore.

He had broken you, completely and utterly. And you were his—forever.

[noinoi10101010]

stabbed in the heart

Sunny and Moonie were always together two sisters against the world. But a killing game was something neither were used to but the one person would split the sisters in two mikuo. Mikuo grown to be in love with sunny....very in love to the point of full blown obsession. While Moonie of course comforted her sister so did mikuo manipulating sunny by being a shoulder to cry on in order to get her to warm up to and later fall in love with him. Sunny never saw mikuo in the way he did and just viewed him as a friend but mikuo could just wait it out and until his feeling were returned. Moonie however was as naive as sunny and would constantly warn sunny about mikuo and how she thinks is using her but she never listened. Moonie was now attempting to one last time try and tell sunny that she doesn't trust mikuo but sunny just snapped tired of her trying to villainize someone who in her eyes is a supportive friend "STOP TRYING TO PAINT HIM AS BAD HE HAS BEEN NOTHING BUT SUPPORTIVE TO ME IN THIS MESS! I don't why you think that Moonie normally your pretty laid back." Sunny said anger bubbleing up. "Im just looking out for you. Don't you find at least some of his behavior off? Look I am your sister it's my job to look after you and make sure your safe especially in a situation like this" Moonie asked as the two girls keep fighting until sunny says something she regrets "I HATE YOU!" Sunny says fall of red as Moonie feels as her heart got stabbed as tear well up in her cheeks as sunny covers her mouth in shame "m-moonie-" sunny says as Moonie walks off as mikuo hideing behind a wall heard everything and smirks all he needs to do now is get rid of Moonie

Sunny covers herself guilt filling up with her as she runs in to dark sun before he can even speak she beats him to it. "Not now dark sun I don't want to deal with this right now" see says through her tears. "I will say nothing all I will say is be prepared to be an only sister." He said bluntly as sunny stands there confused. A while later she runs into moon and moonshine and wonder were Moonie is the 3 look around and find a cabin in the kitchen were the 3 see a horrifying sight. Moonie dead stabbed in the heart with a cut on her cheek "MOONIE!" sunny yells as she runs to her dead body "no no no no no no" sunny repeats as she hear moon punch a wall in anger as she kneels to her sister body stunned. Mikuo eventually comes to find the body and comfort her She as well as the rest have only one option left find Moonie killer.

The trial starts and suspicious falls on mikuo. Sunny of course defends him as much as she can but unlike fighting for his innocence like sunny thought mikuo laughs as his face turns bright red and his eyes turn into big hearts "m-muiko?" Sunny says in a sacred voice "what's wrong my sunflower ~" mikuo says in a flirty voice as sunny stands there in shock and horror "y-you.....didn't." Sunny said getting an idea of what he did "I had too sunny. She got in the way of us. After all you believed me over your own sister so I'm sure that means that some part of you likes me back" ~ minkuo says in a obsessioned voice as what feels like a sledgehammer to heart hits sunny. "I-i....I TRUSTED YOU! I WOULD NEVER HAVE WANTED THIS! DID YOU EVEN ASK ME IF I LIKED YOU BACK!" Sunny yells in tears "you'll eventually learn to love me." ~ mikuo says with a wink as sunny feels even more uncomfortable. Mikuo is then voted for the blackend and is executed after it sunny takes the time to process everything including the execution "i-i....I need to be alone for a while" as she leaves to her dorm room to cry and cry and cry over guilt. Moonie was right she should have listened to her and she even told her she hated her before she died. "IM SO SORRY MOONIE."

@goodolddumbbanana @catspawcreates @theinfamousmaybelle @multifandomcutie13 @sillyzone1209 @ikamigami @doodledrawz

[svtskneecaps]

oh yet another good purgatory moment i rediscovered earlier today, and i'm willing to bet i said something about this when it first happened, but day 3 i believe when tubbo came to bolas spawn and was chatting with foolish and asked to borrow their enchanting table and foolish was dodging the FUCK out of the question and refusing to clarify if they even had an enchanting table, meanwhile tubbo's noticing the evasions and calling them out

like foolish goes "idek how to make an enchanting table" and tubbo goes "so you do have one, but you didn't make it" and foolish goes "well i didn't SAY that" and they go back and forth and then foolish goes "listen i don't see an enchanting table in [the hole in the wall that is the bolas base]" and philza like stifles a giggle bc he has the enchanting table in his inventory rn and foolish def knows it

like the fucking mental chess that they're both playing like a fucking unstoppable force vs immovable object type beat. trickster meets trickster. every time i see that conversation i want to take notes holy shit. a dishonest person who never tells lies meets a guy who knows his tactics and unlike badboyhalo doesn't join the dance but smashes through the wall like a goddamn sledgehammer. i LOVE THAT SHIT it was like that time tubbo went circles around cucurucho the first time they met or whatever. amazing. 10/10

i'm also thinking about this now bc i noticed jaiden doing it too, on day 4 during all the spawnkilling (yes i watched that vod again lmfao it's too good not to). like when pierre is taking her over to the green base and she stops herself when saying "it's time for my revenge on green team" and corrects it to "my revenge on elquackity", and when bbh came back to red spawn to escort her safely to her body after she quickwarped via punching a whale, she didn't say outright that she was going to take him to her base when she started walking, just implied it and then took off.

like goddamn. i love that shit. i eat that shit up. i love when characters are tricky and manipulative. bbh and foolish talking in extended metaphors is an absolute feast for me.

[thebibutterflyao3]

What if Dumbledore faked the prophecy?

**An Interesting head canon that I think weaves together several disjointed series plot points in a more compelling way. **

- Dumbledore attempted to use Riddle as a pawn first, but Riddle double crosses, so Dumbledore encouraged Slughorn to tell Riddle about horcruxes believing Riddle will tear himself apart. He later uses that information to create discord in the Death Eaters and to recruit Severus and Regulus Black as spies (how he found out about the locket and ring).

- Dumbledore uses Trelawney’s claim of “the sight” to craft the prophecy through suggestion. Is purposely vague enough to apply to Neville if he loses Harry, who was born around the same time and equally displaced from his parents.

- He assures Severus hears the prophecy so that Voldemort is told. Voldemort then makes the prophecy come true in his attempts to avoid it. (Dumbledore knows all about Riddle).

- Dumbledore uses the threat of the prophecy in an attempt to control James/Lily Potter and Frank/Alice Longbottom, which by extension gives him Harry, Neville, Peter, Remus, and Sirius as pawns to manipulate.

- He orchestrates Peter’s betrayal, promising Peter will be free when Voldemort is killed, but Dumbledore places a spell on Harry himself to repel Voldemort’s curses. Sirius is blamed for the betrayal, removing him as an obstacle to Harry’s being raised by the Dursleys, then he blackmails Peter into his rat routine to keep him informed on the ministry via Arthur and later on Harry while he’s with the Weasleys and in Gryffindor Tower.

- Dumbledore removes all alternatives to Petunia Dursley raising Harry, using the claim of a “blood magic” charm to convince her. He instructs her to make him humble and desperate for validation.

- He uses the Sorcerer’s Stone, Chamber of Secrets, Triwizard Tournament, and threat of Voldemort to train Harry and cement his reliance on Dumbledore as a mentor. He gives Harry the map and the cloak to encourage brazen rule breaking and to buy goodwill.

- Dumbledore releases Sirius from prison when he needs a new leash for Harry, since Molly is too overprotective. Lucius Malfoy is a Dumbledore plant to undermine Voldemort’s plans and interfere with the ministry.

- Barty Crouch Jr figures out what Dumbledore is doing and tries to break Dumbledore’s control by properly teaching Defense against unforgivables to students and introducing them to occlumency, including Harry. He is also seeking revenge against Dumbledore & Voldemort for the deaths of his friends.

- Ministry finds out about Dumbledore’s agenda from Crouch via his son and sends in Umbridge to thwart his control over Harry, but she overcorrects and causes more problems than helps. Allegory to government’s lack of oversight and solving problems with a sledgehammer.

- Dumbledore’s full manipulation revealed in Snape’s last memory, creating a huge series plot twist. Wise mentor was secretly a bigger villain than the villain. All of this to undermine the ministry, continue his own legacy through Harry, his “lamb raised for slaughter” who has desperately clung to Dumbledore as a mentor, and collapse the ministry to reveal the wizarding world, furthering “the greater good.”

- Final “war” becomes Harry dismantling his idolization of Dumbledore, uncovering how he was used. When Dumbledore’s manipulation is revealed, the four houses of students and teachers rally together to defeat Voldemort, destroying the divisions Dumbledore tried to create between them.

**The reveal of Dumbledore as a supervillain we (including Harry) all trusted would be insane.**

[class1akids]

What do you think of Nana as a character?

She was really intriguing for me when she was introduced in the Kamino fight. I thought that reveal was a great twist and couldn't wait to find more out about her.

But in the end, I have to say, her character just didn't add up very well for me. She's another one of the "buff, pretty women" who people really love for their design (Nagant, Star, Nana, Mirko), but their characterization relies on a lot of tropes and "cool factor" and remains pretty shallow.

The bits and pieces we get from Nana just feel like a lot of wasted potential instead of really digging into an important theme of the story - the pain caused by self-sacrifice for the people left behind.

She is kind of a contradictory person: she tries to hide her son to protect him and cut him off from the hero world but at the same time she burdens another child - All Might - with OFA and the fight against AFO, but leaves him with at least some support. Gran Torino supporting Toshinori helps him rise and her forbidding GT to look after Kotaro is a factor in his spiral.

Hero Nana feels like all the tropes of "badass woman hero": she grins at AFO in her death, talking about how All Might will take him down, also telling a young Toshinori to keep smiling because that's what makes him "strong". And ironically, that smile to Tomura becomes the symbol of everything he hates about hero society, pretending not to see the suffering they cause or simply ignore.

Hero Nana seems like someone who successfully compartmentalized Mother Nana and shut her inside a box when she gave up her son for adoption and seems to have severed that part of herself until the end. The feelings of guilt only come after she sees what Tomura has become.

Vestige Nana with her "testing of Izuku" and "can you kill Tomura - oh I was just kidding" is also tropey as hell. I would have preferred some real introspection, or at least some good interaction with Izuku about the moral dilemma of what to do about Tomura, but Horikoshi is not great with that when it comes to female characters.

So in the end, she is just kind of a crying mess of a vestige, flip-flopping on Tomura's fate. I'd like to say that her finally taking responsibility moved me, but it being between two dead people in vestige land, just doesn't carry the same weight to me (like as opposed to Rei running into the fire).

I always say that Horikoshi is mostly a visual storyteller, and he knows exactly the stuff 99% of his audience wants. I'm in the minority and I actively dislike when I feel like he's trying to manipulate me with sentimental visuals instead of solid storytelling (like last week's episode of Anya x Damien in MHA).

But at least the way he used Nana wasn't too bad - even if it had to be really spelled out for her that leaving her son behind like that was kind of bad for him - hugging and stopping Dreamland Kotaro is stepping up both as mother and hero - reuniting her two halves. She couldn't get through the barrier until she reintegrates the mother into the hero and becomes the hero to save her family. And she is the final piece to help Izuku get through. Thank you. I get the theme. It's about as subtle as a sledgehammer.

I guess it's a decent cap for a character who embodies a key theme. But I think she could have been fleshed out (not just drawing her in a lot of detail), but in actual character nuance and storytelling (things like how she met En, why did she take OFA, her state of mind after losing her husband, etc.)

On another note, it would be nice if this was finally the end of the vestige peanut gallery (I absolutely came to hate their parts in the final fight), but considering Yoichi and Vestige Might just seemed to have gone poof, unfortunately, I wouldn't be surprised to see again all of them.