#he's innocent ur honour

[reunitedinterlude]

accidental thief!phil (2024 // 2013)

[girlfriendline]

hartzy back in his natural habitat

wild @ panthers || 21.1.23

+ bonus

[swaggypsyduck]

me defending ramos against liverpool fans:

[francoisceverts]

marc apologizing to the crowd as he goes to apologise to mig's garage 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

[vatelixx]

The visionary, the willing executor,

Spencer Reid x afab!UNSUB!reader (written with mid!seasons Spencer Reid in mind)

SMUT!! copious amounts of angst (there’s traces of fluff in there as well if u get out ur magnifying glass)

BASED ON THIS SONG (it got so stuck in my head that I had to write something that correlated):

──── autistic spencer (it’s not explored that much, but it’s always gonna be present in my oneshots), evil evil reader (im not being dramatic this time. she’s literally a serial killer. like her ‘body count’ is copious. but idk, she’s kinda sweet. if u squint and ignore the bodies). They were in love ur honour !!! they’re still in love ur honour !!!! She pays him a visit two years after he found out about her homicidal tendencies (they miss each other, Spencer might also hate her a little but it’s okay, don’t worry about that).

Warnings: sub spencer (aaaaaaalways), maybe perhaps some vague, very faint mentions of switch!spencer but idk i blacked out writing this, choking, mentions of death and general behaviour that would get you a life sentence, praise more than degradation surprisingly, coming untouched, crying (you’d think that was a kink or something?), she fucks the good out of him, hopeful ending (eh, kinda), mentions of dante’s inferno, copious amounts of religious imagery, greek mythology references, this isn’t dead dove at all i promise.

w.c: 5k

a/n: everything i write has been so angsty recently. i’m working on something softer for my next upload i swear (alongside the requests, I promise, they’re being written im just a die-hard perfectionist). aaaaanyway, happy (belated) halloween!! It’s Spencer’s favourite season so i thought i’d write him getting destroyed by a serial killer (god when is it my turn????)

────────────

Spencer would consider himself a good person, by default. It’s reasonable: a renowned member of the BAU, with intellect he’s weaponized for morality. The blood etched onto his hands is justified. Necessary evil for greater cause. He’s willing to blemish his skin for the virtue, for the lives of others.

He remembers naivety. He remembers being so fragile he could easily crack into fragmented pieces of wasted innocence. Maybe that’s been stolen from him now, maybe the ruins of his sacrifices are too sharp to touch upon still, but he’s good. He knows he will always be good.

And yet, there’s a bruise. Something ugly and distorted that stains his skin. Something that has the ability to crawl deep into his bones and leave behind a mess of pain. Something bad. Festering and tainted, it haunts him with every breath.

You.

You, who came into his life as an abundance of sunlight. Helios personified. Pretty and warm, and everything he needed. He wanted to kiss you: the moment he stumbled into the coffee shop, tousled hair, overworked and raw from a burdening case. When you took his order, marking constellations onto the styrofoam cup. Andromeda, Ursa Major, Cassiopeia. Later, much later, then when you became an indomitable presence to his apartment.

But for all the good he’s preserved, Spencer knows he’s not allowed to receive it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” is the first thing he says when he finds you waiting for him. He always knew you would come back; you’re bound to follow him indefinitely. Like his shadow, his guilty consciousness, his cracked past of addiction and pre-pubescent torment.

He let you go. When the act was over, the curtain drawn, when he saw you. Homicidal, the perpetrator of the case he was working on, malevolence packed into the frame of perfection, oh even still, he let you go. Free to continue the cycle of death, he was left to scramble in the mess of his own misguided heart.

There’s risk in reward, and reward in risk. You’re meticulous, hedonistic to the last detail. But Spencer? Well, he will always be the one loose end you could never quite force yourself to clean up. The thread that kept untangling, even as time passed. Cut it off, you should be rational, wash every bleeding trace of him from your skin.

But there’s irrationality in love.

Blood adorns your features; there’s no need to touch up your appearance, to return to the domesticated facade you once used on him. No, he’s been exposed to the ugly now. There can be no do overs, no back-tracking, game over try again doesn’t exist in real time.

“What are you going to do about it?” you ask, and god, hes just as beautiful as the day you left him. So perfectly real, with dragging exhaustion and pretty brown eyes to ease the sting of his tight-faced, troubled expression.

You didn’t cut the phone lines, nor move the gun he keeps stashed in his cabinet drawer. Down the hall, to the left. You know he won’t make any abrupt actions. Know, in an intuitive way, telepathic communication between past lovers.

“It was a gamble coming here, aren’t you pleased to see me pretty boy?”

Spencer has to fight every urge he has, every moral he believes in to not lunge at you; to not strangle your slender neck, crack you in half, destroy you the way you’ve destroyed his sanity.

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since you cataclysmically uprooted his routined life. He fell in love with softness, not the jagged edge of a blade.

“I let you go. Wasn’t that enough?” it feels too natural, fighting in his apartment, some sort of twisted lovers quarrel. There’s a definite list of everything he should do in this moment, and despite all logic, he just blanks at the sight of you.

“You had to come back. Rub salt in the wound. Do you get off on this?” a sigh falls from his pretty lips, “Actually, don’t— don’t answer that. We both know the answer.”

“I get off on you,” you correct.

It’s true. If he was to analyse you, profile your warped brain like his other unsubs, he’d find nothing but unyielding loyalty to him. For all the damage you’ve done, there’s always been one anomaly to your detachment.

He stands right before you.

And, sure, maybe you’ve got a leg up in this situation. Perhaps the distorted memory of you holds him back: lazy nights and tangled sheets, his body pressed up against yours. The way he’d talk, quantum physics, philosophy, rambles that dissolved into open admissions of feelings. There’s a lot that was fake, but to be a good liar, you have to add subsidiary details of truth.

God, he wishes the world would be cruel—a cosmic alignment of karmic righteousness that would grant him relief: some kind of justification for what he must do. But the universe is indifferent, nothing but a distant star, a fleeting speck of dust in the grand scheme of life. There’s no such thing as good or bad, only consequences.

Consequences. Consequences for his actions. Butterfly effect. He can comprehend it. But, there were many things he adored about you, while the illusion of love was tangible. The way your hair would curl just above your shoulders, your skin in the morning light. The way you’d laugh at one of his obscure Star Trek references, better yet his criticism on modern, inaccurate horror. He could stare at you for eons, as though he was trying to make out the secrets of the universe in the constellation lines of your scars.

The illusion of love, as it was. He sees you now with the clarity of reality, the same way a mirage fades away as you approach; a distortion of perception.

“And you get off on me. Even now. Don’t you?” you say, shifting forward to close gravitational space.

There’s no way to disregard this morbid connection. No psychological justification he can exploit to demean your feelings. You’re not a psychopath, nor anything that relates to a lack of empathy. You feel— you feel empathy for all of your victims, the line of bodies that mark your path. But it goes deeper than that. There was reasoning for your actions, just as there was for his.

“Say it,” you goad. And there’s satisfaction here, sure. Something mean and condescending. But there’s also hurt, because he was supposed to be a means to an end, and now, he might very well be your end.

“Say you miss me. C’mon boy genius, a few little words and i’ll have enough content to satisfy me for years. Don’t be mean— you know I hate being edged.”

He does miss you, every day that he wakes up, his bones too hollow and cold to leave his bed. The ache in his chest where his heart was supposed to be, too empty to function. No amount of caffeine can fill the void in his skull where thoughts of you used to reside. The longing, the desire for the past to rewrite itself.

“You’re sick,” he tries. But he’s not good at this. Not when the love remained after the inevitable fall out, not when the darkest parts of him still clung to want, even after he realised the truth.

“You’re sick, and..” he tries again, “and I hate how much I miss you. There? Is that enough? Are you happy? Got what you wanted?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, “No. If I ‘got what I wanted’, I would still have you.”

Spencer dies. Metaphorically, literally, what does it even matter? He dies, respawns, and then kisses the admittance from your lips.

Instinctively, just like the past, your hands tangle through his hair, and perhaps there’s a sense of ownership to the gesture. The knowledge that he will always be yours. Scarred from your touch, returning to your lips like a dog with a bird. There’s a mindless attempt at anger on his part, biting lips and rough teeth, but just like always, he quickly melts.

He melts, and you catch him. Because for all it’s worth, lies and deceit aside, you’ve always loved him.

There’s something powerful to the gesture; knowing you have someone wrapped around your finger. Even after you’ve bared the worst of you, the ugliness of man-kind. There’s someone out there that will wipe the blood from your cheek, and kiss you through it.

“Oh, even better,” you mutter against his lips, “Much, much better. C’mon Spence, show me just how much you’ve missed me.”

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since he felt like he could breathe.

It hurts, it hurts so much, because there’s a sense of coming home to the kiss, and he just wants you to stay. To ruin him forever. To leave behind a deformed version of him, something unrecognisable and equally scarring.

You’re too loyal and he’s too susceptible to any form of attention. Because you want him, and it’s easy to fall into a cyclical cycle of self-destruction when you’re the catalyst.

“I did miss you.” he admits again. “You— crazy, homicidal excuse of a person.”

Spencer’s hand comes up to touch your cheek, the rough texture of skin meeting something soft. His thumb traces down the curvature of your jawline, a silent hello that doesn’t linger long, too soon to be replaced with his lips.

You push him back against the wall, a painful groan escaping your lips when you feel his hips canting forward, searching aimlessly for a friction you’ve both been denied. Two years. His body still aches for you. It’s primal, something perverted and tainted and so very good.

You knew this would happen. There was not a doubt in your clouded mind that he would deny you. What you do to me, I do to you.

“There’s my boy.” you mutter when you grip said hips, fingers finding their natural, fated position against divine bone. When he begins to find a stable pace, bucking up to meet you with every kiss that you press to his lips.

He whimpers when you touch him, soft sounds of need slipping past his parted lips into the confines of his empty apartment. He’s trying so hard to maintain composure, but he can’t find it in him to fight the inevitable. The ache of separation between himself and you. So he lets it happen, like he always does.

My boy, the possession goes straight to his head. One simple phrase and he’s untangling, breaking to pieces because yes, he is yours. And yes, he will forever want to be reminded.

“Mhm, mhm. Oh— oh, fuck.” he’s so hard, clothed cock pushing up against you with every movement. He could get off on less of you. He has. Every night.

And yes, it certainly feels like home. It’s only the thing your body has been aimlessly yearning for, day in and day out. It’s not fair, not fair to you, that you’ve allowed your resolve to crumble, your strategic, one-track mind, for the fleeting body of a past lover.

But then again, demeaning him to a past lover doesn’t even begin to articulate this.

You’re fairly certain he was put on this earth, just to torment you.

And you’re fairly certain you’ll always let him.

“God, you’re such a slut for me.” you say, drawing back from the friction just to prove your point. The disintegrating whimpers that bleed out of his mouth in response are enough alone to confirm.

His head falls back against the wall, baring that lovely length of his neck and its pretty bruises. He wants you to kiss him there, to leave one last mark before he says ‘I won’t see you again’ and means it this time.

“Don’t— don’t stop—” even as he speaks, a mess of jumbled words and breathless sentences, you’re still teasing him. He hates how much it works, how much he’d rather fall into the pleasure of your hands.

“Fine. Whatever. Yes. What do you want to hear? That it’s whorish the way I want you. That you’re able to just… corrupt me with all these dirty words, even though I have an extensive vocabulary. Even though i’m supposed to be—“

He’s not even sure what he’s supposed to be anymore.

“You know the extent of my devotion.” he concedes.

There will always be sadistic pleasure in reducing him to such an ignominious version of himself. You’ve seen it before, back when you were trapped in an artificial, yet domesticated, haze of bliss. But to hear it now? Even after everything has been said and done?

That’s a new type of pleasure.

You know he still holds onto the facade of you, aimlessly reaching for something intangible, something that never truly existed. “You want me to be good for you, huh? Just pack up my shit, leave it all behind, get better? Think about it. White picket fence. Coffee every morning. God— it would be insufferable. Coming home to feed the dogs, talking every night over the phone, begging you to be safe on a case, or or—“

Spencer breaks. Silencing your words with a pained whimper.

Usually, he doesn’t allow himself to think about that fantastical hypothetic. He can’t afford to. Months after he let you go, when the truth had been exposed to his naive eyes, he’d spend hours in a mess of aching limbs, dreaming up alternative realities where your hands weren’t stained from blood, and the most despicable thing you could do was make his coffee bitter.

So when you force him to open old wounds, to rehash past hopes, he falls apart. A whine escapes his lips, hips bucking, once, twice and then he’s coming untouched. Making a mess out of himself— and it’s sick, so very sick to get off on the thought of you permanent, the epitome of good.

Something he could hold onto without slicing open skin.

It’s not a good orgasm, it never is without your direct help, but at least it’s some form of release. In the aftermath, he blinks away tears, vaguely aware of the cum staining his boxers, creating damp spots through fabric.

There’s something painful, cutting to your gaze when you look at him. At the debauched sight, corrupted from just a few words.

Give it all up? For what? Him?

All things considered, it’s tempting.

“Spencer,” you mutter in the serrated moments between. When he’s still nebulous, caught in the aftershocks of abrupt pleasure. When he’s just gotten off, untouched, on the notion of a domesticated life with you.

He’s struggling to breathe. He’s spent nights gasping for you, reduced to the most debasing version of himself. So out of touch, you drove a blade through his back, catching his heart on the way.

“Why are you— doing this?” he asks, but before you can even answer, provide him with an explanation that will devastate, he’s lunging forward, kissing the lies that cling to your lips. Kissing you because his mouth hurts when it’s not attached to yours.

“One last time.” he says; he’s too intelligent, too intellectually adept, to allow this swallowing cycle of humiliation to continue.

But, underneath it all, he’s also inherently selfish for you. He’s fairly certain you were engrained into his skin, long before he fell into your barbed trap, teeth and penetrative ruin.

“Then you leave. You actually leave, never contact me again. No showing up at my apartment unprovoked. I have a good life without you. Understood?”

You scoff. He presses forward, “Understood?”

You don’t protest when he elucidates his life as good. Even if it’s quite the contrary. Even if he has to bare witness to depravity every single day, scrutinise his way through the minds of the most perverse. Perhaps this is a social experiment to him, perhaps you are the guinea pig, Laika sentenced to space. You know he loved you once, but it’s hard to comprehend the feelings remained unscarred, it’s hard to imagine you’re anything but a test subject now.

You look at him. Look at that pretty face. Your undoing. He could be your achilles heel, hamartia in its rawest form, or maybe you willingly chose to do this. Maybe fate, and divine intervention played no part in your attachment to him. Maybe it’s just chemicals. The logics explanation. Imbalanced, skewed chemicals.

“Don’t worry, boy genius.” you respond, “You won’t get anything, not even a postcard, from me. It’ll be like I never even existed.” no trace. D.C has always been a monotone cesspit of nothing anyway.

It’s cruel. Because if you leave, truly leave. And he never hears from you again, never catches you in his kitchen, drinking coffee with an unadulterated smile, then he will begin to forget.

The curve of your spine, the scars beneath your chest, the way your fingers fit into his own. The way he was able to memorise your body until he could draw it in the dark, when your body was pressed to his, when there was nothing but a false establishment of safety.

He knows he can’t forget. Not technically. But it’ll grow distant, it’ll be replaced with new normals and routines. That, that, he can’t compute.

“Good,” he says, kissing you again, kissing you because this is it.

Spencer wants you. In every sense of the word, he wants you so badly it’s killing him.

His bedroom still holds traces of you. That, itself, is a crime. But he just falls into you. The way lovers do. Your hands against his skin— his hair threaded through your fingers, your lips at the base of his neck. He lets you leave another bruise, a mark, a confirmation of possession, because even if this is the last time, he is, and always will be yours.

“Still the prettiest person i’ve ever seen,” you admit when he’s flushed naked beneath you.

There’s something in those doe-eyes, brown irises blown out of proportion, that hooked you. Even at the worst, it was still soft with him.

Slender frame, slightly arched, you want to bite into his hips, mark every inch of him as yours. It’s greedy, gluttonous, his messy hair, fanning out like a halo, the tangled curls he never bothers to properly care for.

“God, fucking look at you,” you grip his jaw, tilt his head back to bare that blemished neck of his. To have and to own. He’s so inexplicably different to you, so good it runs down to the bone. And maybe you’ve always been insatiable for what you’ve lacked.

He can’t take this. He can’t, not again. The past, the future will have to dissolve with this moment, because there will never be another again.

You will never get this close to him. It’s a terrifying thought, that this’ll be the standard of intimacy, of love - because he knows it isn’t. But he can’t risk the reality he’s faced with, the reality of living without this. Of living without you.

Your words only make it worse. He wants to beg you to stop. To cease the torture.

“Shut up.” He kisses you, as if to remind you that your mouth is made for kissing, for his lips, for a litany of dirty words that he can’t bear to hear. Those words are for someone else. For someone similar. Not him. Never him.

Defying fate. He gets off on being something bad beneath the surface. No one would ever expect it; boyish maladroit Spencer, the youngest of the team, willingly allowing, condoning, a killer to sink into his skin.

“Don’t tell me to shut up,” you respond, muffled against his lips. “If this is the last time, i’m going to enjoy it. Going to enjoy the sight of you, all desperate for me alone.”

“You assume i’ve ever been desperate for anyone else—“ he counters.

“Oh, that’s it. Keep talking dirty to me.”

“It’s not dirty. It’s a factual statement.”

You pull away, a trail of saliva bridging the space between your mouths. If there is higher power at play here, you want to curse, to spite your creator. Because if ‘things’ had been different, if you had been born from the same rib, this could’ve ended differently.

Or for that matter, never ended at all.

“Sit there and watch me.” you say, and Spencer hates the way he obliges. Pushing himself up against the headboard, he stares at you, at the way you position yourself, standing by the foot of the bed.

“Do you even know what you do to me? Do you even understand the gravity your existence has on me?” you continue, unfastening the lace corset that clings to your frame. When it drops to the floor, breasts exposed, you run your hands across them, catching pierced nipples for a vindictive moment of pleasure.

“I— uh,” Spencer is admittedly a little distracted. Sex had always been something ruinous between you two. Something that conflicted his lack of experience, forced him to adapt.

He always wondered how someone so soft, the epitome of light, could be this obscene. Now he understands.

“Lost your words? Come on, pretty boy. I thought you had an ‘extensive vocabulary?’ Hm?”

He wants to touch himself, to ease the pulsing throb that centres in his cock. But he doesn’t, because despite the time that has passed, he still knows your rules. “Don’t use my words against me. I’m being tortured.”

“Tortured, huh?” your hands fumble over buttons until you’re reduced to a pair of panties, soaked throughly, leaving scarce to the imagination.

“So so tortured. Oh my god, who are you? Can I please have my soul back?” he’s joking, but not really.

“Well maybe if you beg for it,” your words fade into a mess of moans, fingers slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. Spencer’s head spills back against the wall; he looks more affected by the movements than you.

It’s easy to fall back into old habits. Relapse.

“Come here, come here, i’m having an existential crisis.” he says, watching as you slip one finger, then two inside you, struggling to stand now. It’s strange how pleasure can reduce the most antagonising minds to vulnerability.

“Please— oh fuck, please. Please. Don’t make me watch, I can’t. Need you. Need you so bad.”

He thought he found the core of torture in you touching yourself, but he was wrong. Because when you crawl closer, when you slot yourself between his thighs, lips finding skin that only you have ever touched, he sees the root of evil in his brain. The ninth circle of hell.

It’s justified, he supposes. For all the good he’s done, he has betrayed. Himself, his friends, family, existence itself. There is not one thing he wouldn’t ruin, just to feel you. It’s incriminating, so yes, he deserves to freeze in Cocytus. He’ll willingly plead guilty, accept his entrapment in the ring of Caina.

“Poor baby, look at you.” you say, kissing his tip, catching the pre-cum on your tongue. Spencer responds: fisting bedsheets, fighting the restraint to buck forward, to find misplaced solace in the warmth of your mouth. He’s sprawled out across sheets now, lying back in a tangled heap of want. “Shh, it’s okay,” you continue, “I like my men desperate.”

“Desperate? Ah—,” he fights the urge to shut his eyes, too aware that this is the last memory he will ever retain of you.

You, painted into his mind. The final evidence left in the fire: mouth sinking down his length, taking him to the hilt, watery eyes and leaking mascara.

“This isn’t even desperation. You’re killing me. Just, oh oh— please, don’t. ‘M gonna cum. Gonna cum—“

Is it sick that he doesn’t want to? If only to prolong this transitory moment of destruction? Like the lotus eaters, he will always be mindless in the pursuit of more, more, more of you.

You draw back from his cock, only to press a soft kiss against the tip. The gesture alone has him reeling, has him begging to be saved, to atone for every sin he found in the comfort of your divinely crafted lips.

“Gonna let me sit on that pretty cock of yours, hm? Let me use you one last time? Promise i’ll be good,” a lie, “So so good.”

“God, yes. Yes, please. That would—“ You take him deep, deep enough that everything aches. He only feels alive when you’re wrapped around him, when there’s not an ounce of distance between your bodies, when he can touch the insides of you. Pry open the raw, unfiltered version of you.

He only feels alive when he’s sunk inside the harbinger of death. He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt.

You’ve got one hand tangled in your hair, the other pressed flat against his waist, supporting you through each bump of movement. Eyes like marbles, Spencer looks up, and wonders why this will never be enough for you.

You look back, meet his gaze, as if you’re Orpheus, predestined to turn around, to always return. Even if it’s just for one last second. Even if the fall-out is so much worse than pushing forward blindly.

Oh, hes certain you’re carving a hole inside him, something that will only grow and expand, imploring to be filled by it’s inventor. It’ll hurt, for the rest of time, he supposes.

When he finds your hand around his neck, he isn’t startled. Neither, when your thumb presses against his throat, applying pressure until the world cracks and fades, distorting his refined mind to the here and now. He floats, feeling transient in the curse of your touch.

“That’s it. Just let go. I’ve got you.”

He is a sacrificial lamb. The priests favourite. He will take the knife every time, and thank you for it after.

You release the tension, hand taking his instead. For all the cruelty you possess, you’d never think to harm him. Not physically at least. The emotional damage, however, finds you both. There can be no happiness in either of your worlds, not when the memory of each other festers. “Good boy— taking it so well. God, no one is ever gonna compare.”

He cries at the words. Pretty tears streaming down his face, because the reciprocation to his undying piety will forever trigger the warped chemicals in his brain. Will forever reduce him to something saccharine.

“Love you. Love you so much. Don’t go. Please,” he fractures, “please don’t go.” he begs, besmirched words he’ll regret in the wake of his pleasure. They don’t count, and yet, he knows, in the most depraved sections of his mind, they’re true.

You ride him harder. Back curved, finding god in the washed-out body of someone fatally destroyed. “Not going anywhere— fuck, fuckfuckfuck. That feels so good. You’re so good,” maybe it’s a kink to ruin something so perfectly spotless.

Maybe it’s a kink that he wants it.

“Say it. God, just say it. This once.” for old times sake, he almost adds. But that wouldn’t be objectively correct. For all the intimacy you shared, you never once articulated those three words. Perhaps it was to save your dignity, to hold pieces of yourself in the lies you beautifully crafted.

His thumb runs over your clit, and in the tangle of your orgasm, he almost thinks you forget about his demand. But after, when you’re still taking him, when you’re still clenching, unclenching, clenching around his cock, when you know you own every part of him, you answer.

“I love you.”

He falls apart. Hips canting, body squirming, whimper after whimper escaping his bruised lips as he releases inside of you. Pushed deep, defiled to the limit. For a moment, everything is okay, everything will be alright, because there’s pleasure, and it’s you. It’s always you.

How can he justify falling in love with you again? How can he, when he still clings onto the artificial love of the past? He’s not sure his heart can handle one set of feelings, nevermind two.

He takes you again, well… mostly you take him again. In ways that have him polluted with the remnants of your teeth. Canine marks, etched deep enough to bleed. He hopes the swelling leaves behind perennial scars, anything to remind him. Anything to hold onto when you’re gone and it’s cold.

After, when you lie together, he presses his forehead against yours and wishes he was in any other universe. One where you’re happy. Where everything is pure and simple, clean from sin.

There was always truth in what we shared before, you admit. Lazy nights spent draped over the couch, kissing him to silence convoluted rambles. Your presence in the morning, bathed in holy glow, sunlight bleeding over the pretty sight of you. The first night he touched you and saw god. And then the following night, when he ascended all over again.

He wakes to find no body. He wakes to find nothing. It feels like self-sabotage, the promise that you would leave, even if it’s quite the contrary.

In the absence, abstinence of your presence, he discovers traces of you in everything he sees, all of it, everything consumed, returning to the simple thought of you you you.

When the first postcard comes, Portland, dreary weather— beaches and ports, there’s no anger. No exasperation that you broke your word.

You love him, it’s morbid, but for someone like him, it overrules everything. Sanity, dignity, his own stable existence.

You overrule everything.

[haetrack]

mark couldn’t help it. he couldn’t help but to place his hand over his pants, palming himself when the only thing racing through his mind was how pretty u looked today, ordering a coffee from the cafe that he worked at. he thinks about how u pursed ur lips, reading the menu in concentration, the way ur chest heaved up and down when u came running into the store, escaping the rain. a groan catches in his throat, knowing that this was so wrong, getting off to someone he’s never even talked to, but oh god did it feel so right when his hands slipped past his waistband, fingers curling around himself. the outline of his hardening dick was too prominent thanks to the plaid pyjama pants he wore. he bit his lip, inhaling deep breaths as his hand started stroking himself. he remembers the spark he felt when ur hands brushed his as u handed him ur credit cared, he imagined it was ur hands that were rubbing against his skin right now, ur hands that were playing with the warm pre-cum that was dripping out of his swollen tip. the little voice in the back of his head was still telling him that it wasn’t too late to stop, but all he could hear was how silky smooth ur voice was ordering a drink, he wished he could listen to all the pretty sounds u would make if he was buried inside u. his pace quickens at this fantasy, imagining that he was fucking u right now, not his right hand. groaning at the thought of how good he would feel surrounded by ur warmth, his hips thrusting up into his fist harder and faster. his grip tightens when he remembers how ur white tshirt had gone slightly see through from the rain, how he must’ve been the only one who had the honour to see the traces of ur blue lace bra before u threw a crewneck on top. he couldn’t help but smile at the fact that u were wearing his favourite colour. his deep breathing now morphing into shallow whines with how long the pleasure has been building up inside. it’s the thought of ur pure, innocent smile that pushes him over the edge. the orgasm causing a string of swears being grunted out. his hips sputtering at the thought of cumming all over ur sweet face. his hands continue stroking, milking himself for everything he has. the clarity starts to settle and shame creeps over him at that fact that he really did just get off to a total stranger. but the shame didn’t last long when he discovers that none of his cum spilled and he doesn’t have to change his sheets, grateful for the fact that he was so horny, he didn’t even bother to take off his pants.

ngl smoothie dance practice mark has me in such a chokehold i had three other scenarios i started writing for him but they were all getting SO long i had to stop myself 🧍‍♂️ mark pls hmu i want u so bad 🙏

- 🌱

GODDDDD WHY MEEEE... perv mark who doesn't even realize he's being a little perv... i need him. 🌱 anon get in line bc i need him FIRST!!!!!

he would tell himself it wouldn't matter that he got off to you. it was probably just a one time thing that you came to the coffee shop he worked at. if he doesn't have to see you, it doesn't matter that he came in his pants because he'll probably never see you again anyways.

except, there you are again, pretty smile on your face as you enter the cafe. you're not drenched this time, but you are wearing a low-cut top. you're quick to order this time, same order as last time. mark tries so hard not to stare too hard at your chest, but when you hand him your card, he takes a moment too long to grab it, too busy staring at you. you clear your throat, and you're met with a sheepish look as his face turns red.

he's trying hard not to mess up your order, hands fumbling all around in embarrassment. he's also trying very hard not get a boner at his job where quite literally anyone can see him. when he calls out your order, he swears that your hand lingers on his for a while, and he swears it's on purpose. he watches you walk away, saying goodbye to him as you go about your day.

he waves goodbye to you. although he said it was a one time thing, he might just have to fuck his fist again tonight because of you.

[underoospeterparker]

CONGRATS ON UR MILESTONE BABY!!! i’d like to request 🪸 CORALS !! with the idea of cowboy!james and innocent!reader in mind teeheeee <333

YAY babe thank you so much ily!!! challenged myself to use some slang hehehe

join the celebration

cowboy!james potter x innocent!fem!reader, 0.9k words, hurt/comfort, angsty

tw: (slight) violence, blood mention, toxic ex, swearing

James strolled over with the confidence of a man who'd already won his race. "How're you ladies doing tonight?" He asked you and your friends, leaning over to plant a kiss on your forehead.

"Well, bless your heart for asking," Mary Rose blushed, "we're fairin' just fine," she added, a huge smile on her face. James reciprocated it, but it wasn't as pleasant as hers had been.

When she turned around, you rolled your eyes and James chuckled, taking a seat next to you. "No need for jealousy, darlin', you know I'm all yours," he said, his voice deep and quiet. This time you were the one blushing, forced to hide your red face in the crook of his jacket.

It was a second later when you pulled away, and you noticed Mary Rose's glare from across the bench. James surveyed your eyes quickly, a touch of concern in his big brown eyes. "You alright there, sweetheart?"

You were quick to nod at him. Giving him your best smile, you asked, "when's that race of yours happening?"

He checked his watch on his wrist, then got up to stand. "Reckon it's about to start in a blink of an eye," he replied, grinning at you. "I'd be mighty honoured to have you by my side, darlin', will you come to cheer me on?"

Mary Rose was quick to speak up. "You bet your spurs we'll be there, cowboy!"

James looked at her with a small smile, then turned to you as she began getting her things ready. "I'll be front and centre," you reassured him, and his face brightened. "Wearin' my finest cowgirl hat," you added, giggling softly. "Now go show 'em how it's done."

Your boyfriend saluted you and head off to the races. "Yeehaw," Nellie squealed, tugging at your arm as you laughed along with her. "Let's mosey on down, ladies!"

While you climbed down the stands, hand-in-hand with Nellie, Mary Rose pulled you aside, her grip tight on your arm. "Don't think for a moment I didn't notice you cozying up with my ex. You better watch your back, partner!" Mary Rose's nails dug into your skin, drawing blood. She pulled away when Laura called her over, waving with a fake smile on her face.

You winced as you looked down at your arm, crescent moons left in her wake. You covered it up as best as you could, pulling your jacket on although it was mighty hot outside. Then, you returned to the race tracks to watch James ride.

"Ladies and gentlemen, gather 'round," the announcer clapped his hands excitedly, "we've got a lineup of fine cowboys ready to tear up that track. Among 'em, we got James Potter!" The crowd roared with enthusiasm as James made his way onto the track, a massive grin on his face. You waved happily at him when he blew a kiss to you good-naturedly.

Mary Rose turned around to look at you, glaring. "Say, (Y/N), I need to make a trip to the outhouse. Would you be so kind as to join me?"

You couldn't refuse, not with all of the girls surrounding you, so you nodded, even though James was about to ride. Mary Rose would have done much worse if you hadn't.

She gave you a smile, then pressed a heavy hand to your back, leading you to the bathroom. James, however, noticed your disappearance soon after, and swiftly mounted his horse. He quickly rose over to where the girls were stood. "Where might I find (Y/N), ma'am?" He asked Nellie pleasantly.

Nellie pointed over to the outhouse, and James nodded, saying, "much obliged, my friend."

He climbed over the fence, although the announcer was yelling at him to get back over and on his horse. James started to jog over to the bathroom, starting to get worried. "Shucks," he said under his breath, swinging the door open to find you cowering in a corner, a bruise blossoming across your face.

You managed to gain some confidence, however, and you struck a painful punch across Mary Rose's face, so hard that she stumbled backwards. "You bitch! I'm gonna-"

James stepped between the two of you. "Hold your horses," he said, his face hard. "I'd never lay a hand against a lady, but you raised a finger against my sweetheart. So I'd suggest you keep your distance."

With tears in her eyes, Mary Rose nodded and stepped out of the way. James turned to you, nothing but care and worry in his eyes as he surveyed the damage.

"James," you murmured softly, "any reason you're lingering 'round here instead of hittin' the track?"

He smiled, "I gotta take care of my girl, y'know? She's my top priority." James cupped your cheek, face softening when you grimaced in pain. "Shhh, I'm sorry, sweetheart," he crooned over you, wrapping you up in his arms, "don't you worry. I'm gonna take good care of you." He paused, making sure you were listening. "And I ain't one to make empty promises, darlin'."

You smiled up at him. "No doubt in my mind, cowboy."

[chillyfrys]

Snow day rendezvous

A Johnny cade X Male!Reader

Made this in honour of the first snow fall here in Canada!! Hope you enjoy 🫶🏼

______________________________

Though it doesn’t snow much in Oklahoma mostly just flurries, but there’s usually at least one big fall of snow. Which all the high schoolers look forward to, because that means snow days.

Y/n sighed as he looked at the morning news on the television, waiting to see if school was going to be closed. His eyes lit up as he read the news stating that school was closed, he jumped up going to get dressed knowing that Johnny will be at his house soon per usual.

He came back downstairs just as Johnny walked through the door, his black hair had white coating the top of it along with his jacket. Y/n chucked, going up to Johnny and wrapped their arms around the boy

“Jesus Johnny! Ur freezing-” y/n said with a laugh, dusting the snow from Johnnys hair. And cupping his cold cheeks.

“Almost like I walked here in the snow..” Johnny chuckled sarcastically, leaning into y/n’s warm hands with a sigh.

“Well aren’t you sassy this morning-” They stood there for a bit, Johnny eventually kicked off his shoes and fallowed y/n into the kitchen. Leaning against the counter as y/n put on a pot of hot water. He groans, going up behind him and wraps his arms around y/n, resting his head on their shoulder. “You wanna cup too johnnycake?”

“Mm.. sure” Johnny mumbled with a yawn, it was still only 7 in the morning and Johnny is far from a morning person unlike his boyfriend.

They get their hot chocolate and go to curl up on the couch together, a random movie playing in the background. Johnny was tiredly pressed up into y/n’s side, the cold still lingered on his skin.

-switch to 1st person-

I smiled down at Johnny, pulling him closer trying to warm the poor boy up. Johnny isn’t the biggest fan of the cold, though it means he stays at my place more and less time out at the lot.. since his parents can barely keep the lights on let alone heat, I let him stay with me and my parents adore Johnny so they are more than happy with him staying.

“You still cold babe?.. snuggle up” Johnny nodded and tossed his Jean jacket off so he’d be more comfortable, as he pressed himself into my side. He’s so adorable and alluring when he’s all sleepy like this, he’s been on my mind all weekend since we haven’t seen one another since Friday I won’t lie that I’ve been longing for him.

I must’ve been staring cause i felt Johnny poke my face, a confused look written on his face. “Hm?” “You were staring..” he mumbled, his cheeks flushed but not from being cold this time.

I was gonna respond but a low whine just left my throat, so I just pressed my face into Johnny’s neck. “Babe..? Come on, Use your words” he mumbled into my hair, a grin on his face.

I looked up to say something but before I had the chance his lips were being pressed against mine, we both musta had the same idea. Even though Johnny seemed so innocent and shy.. behind closed doors that boy is a lil freaky- and my point is proven when I feel him place himself on my lap. I placed my hands on his waist, holding him tightly as we kissed or what the guys would say “sucking each other’s faces” we go at it for a bit until our lungs beg for air, both of us pulling apart and breathing heavily. I dash down to his neck, peppering kisses up and down his neck, leaving the occasional bite and sick. Gentle whimpers and heavy breaths coming from Johnny, he was gripping onto my shoulders. I let go of his neck, feeling like a leach almost-

“Well.. that’s enough of that… for now at least”

I mumble against his forehead before pressing a tender kiss to it, he just whined slightly before snuggling back against me.

Johnny hates snow but he can get used to this.

______________________________

A/n: Heyoo! hope y’all enjoyed my first Johnny fic! (I wrote this whole thing at school) This is pretty cozy. Maybe if ya’ll like it enough I’ll make a part two with some spice~

Hope you have a good day/night love you all! 🫶🏼

[evansbby]

I just know Ari loves the little spark in wg!reader. She’s not really a brat in the broader sense of the word but she’s sort of petulant in the most innocent of ways and I think it keeps Ari on his toes because he knows deep down that she’s just his baby on the inside!!! Innocent but feisty is so hot to me.

That’s one thing I think you’ve done rlly well since finishing poyt is NOT making them the same default character? Even though they’re meant to be us/readers we get a bit of variation which is cool to me. Poyt!reader is shy and almost obsequious whereas Wg!reader gives Ari a run for his money a bit and makes for some good sexual chemistry.

Even Ari and Steve are different. Like Steve is obsessed and shows his emotions easy and his need for omega’s validation is lowk obvious at times (we love him still), whereas Ari is so aloof and cool but you can sense that he becomes more obsessed. I need to see more dominant/obsessed ari in pt5 bc i am on my knees for him in wg

I think wg!ari is just soo in control likeee

Love ur writing as always!!

I don’t think you understand how much this type of ask means to me! Like when someone reads what I write and just UNDERSTANDS everything I’m trying to convey with the characters, and just analyses the way I write stuff, it just makes me feel so honoured and happy, you have no idea! Thank you so so much for this!!! I love this ask so much! 🥺🥺🥺

AND YES!!! okay so i definitely wanted to make wg!reader different from poyt!omega. ofc wg!reader is very innocent especially in the beginning but she was always lowkey sassy and petulant and she continues being like that throughout the series despite her becoming more mature and jaded as the chapters go by!!

AND YES ARI LOVES HER FEISTINESS! I really tried to show without outright telling that Ari really likes how wg!reader bickers with him, how she challenges him. He secretly loves it! Loves being kept on his toes!!! It’s a big part of reader’s allure from Ari’s pov… specially since Sharon isn’t like that at all!

And yes thank you for noticing how I really tried to make wg!Ari different from poyt!Steve! (I also tried to make wg!Steve super super different from wg!Ari and poyt!Steve which I think I succeeded too tbh!) but anyways yes back to Ari… you can tell wg!Ari is a lot more secure than poyt!Steve. He’s also less stubborn, a teensy bit more easier going too. Idk it’s just little changes bc I didn’t want to write the same character again (aka big sporty domineering jock)

I always want my characters to be deep and nuanced and have a whole story about why they act the way they do! I think with wicked games, a lot of people like the fic bc there are so many characters in that fic who all feel very very distinct! It’s the type of fic I personally would love to read! It’s almost like a dysfunctional group of friends who all inter-date and have history/romance with each other!

😭😭😭😭😭😭 IT IS SO MESSY BUT I WRITE IT BC I LOVE READING STUFF LIKE THIS!!

[youremyheaven]

Do you think it’s possible for a solar man to be loyal? My ex turned boyfriend and I are going long distance and it’s not that I don’t trust him but like…gulp. He’s a Krittika sun and his atmakaraka is in Mrigashira he’s also a revati rising😶. He said he’s committed but we can’t see each other for three years😭 he was a senior when I met him as a freshman(in college) and now I’m entering sophomore year and he’s graduated. Apparently when I graduate, moving in together and marriage is what he wants. I’m just scared tho😞 like he’s super blunt and honest sometimes to a fault so if he did anything he’d tell me?? Idk 😭

i think anybody regardless of their naks can be a good, honourable person who is loyal, faithful etc. what naks show us and what their purpose is, is to reveal the innate tendencies of a person. anybody can attain self-mastery and rise above their nature though. (yk the whole enlightenment business hehe)

that saiiiiidd,

i dont think a combination of krittika + mrigashira + revati sounds like husband material stuff to me. thats my honest opinion.

idk what your placements are and how ya'lls synastry looks like but you clearly already have your doubts, which is why you're telling me about it 👀

this isn't only tied to astrology but as a psychic-intuitive person, im getting bad vibes from this man. 🫢🫢

you can make any decision you'd like to and its up to you. im not trying to fearmonger or falsely accuse a man i dont know of anything.

BUT

as a grown woman, i'll tell you that seniors who hit on freshmen and get into relationships with them are more often than not, predators. he was in that uni for a good 4-5 years and yet he was single in his final year and the only suitable woman was a girl right out of highschool???

if you're in your 20s you would know how hard we find it to connect to someone in their teens. a 21-22yr old is entering the work force/studying further etc and is an actual adult with real responsibilities whose life looks vastly different from an 18yr old fresh out of highschool. this is not a relationship of "equals". there is a power dynamic here (and with that krittika + mrigashira + revati 💀💀💀the power is most definitely in his hands)

i say this as someone who has male friends who have done the same thing and dated freshmen. they've all talked about how "innocent" the girls are and how "naive and cute" they are 🤢🤢🤢🤮 i would never let my daughters around these men. so that should tell you something.

idk how many relationships you've had but trust me, the guy you meet in your first year of university is not The One

another thing that reallyyyy bothers me is how, he expects you to wait for him for 3 years. it SCREAMS revati + krittika/solar influence. he's had a whole college experience and is now graduated and onto other things but he wants you to remain committed to him until you graduate college even though he knows there's no way you can see each other for THREE YEARS???

my june talking stage (Venusian man) was Revati Sun & Venus and him & i used to run in the same circles in school etc and reconnected after nearly a decade. after days of flirting, proposing marriage, him wanting me to have his babies etc he "accidentally" revealed that he's planning on migrating abroad in the next several months 💀💀💀 and i asked him why tf would u then plan ur entire life with me and he said "bc it would be nice to have a plan ready when we meet again in the future" 💀💀💀bro was basically trying to make me hopeful for a life with him, give him my time and energy and stay waiting for the day that may or may not come lmao

its different when a guy who is already your boyfriend promises these things (marriage, moving in etc) but you're 19 baby, you have your whole life ahead of you. do you really believe that this man is the love of your life? do you think you can put up with him every day until the day you die?

at 19, love and romance will feel very do or die and intense af,, you think this is your only shot at true love but that's not true. there is SOOO much wonderful stuff waiting for you in your future and you shouldn't throw it all to the side for a Solar/Martian/Mercurial man 🤢🤢🤢

life changes so dramatically after u graduate college, u have no idea!!! u will become an entirely different human being. you're still a kid right now and you should be focusing on yourself, having fun and doing well in college. men come and go but this degree can change your life!!!

as someone who has been in long distance relationships, lemme tell u that it takes A LOT of time and energy. and at 19, i think that time and energy will be better spent elsewhere. i also generally dont think long distance relationships work except in veryyyy rare cases.

your man loves the idea of you saving yourself for him, waiting for him, needing him, belonging to him. he loves to gives you ideas, fill you up with images of a future together because he relishes having that power over you. this is literally what Solar men are like. sprinkle some Mercurial manipulation on top of it. Martian men can be reallyyy violent and abusive (if imbalanced). he's already harsh with his words as you say, do you really want to stick around and find out what else might happen???

again, not trying to fear monger but i dont get good vibes from this guy

plenty of girls i knew in my first year of college started dating seniors and entered into the most destructive and life changing relationships.

none of them are still together. and this is coming from an indian pov where people still used to date to marry.

all im saying is, this looks bad from many different angles and i dont want you to ruin your college experience caught up with some guy who isn't even there. your friends will be out there making memories of a lifetime, acing their classes and you'll be arguing with him on face time and crying yourself to sleep

ik that sounds dramatic but im trying to be realistic here

cut this man out babe , you can do so much better<3333

[what-the--curtains]

Fire & Ice

Chapter 4: Innocent Indiscretions

(Robb Stark x f!Targaryen!reader)

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

Summary: Disappointed in her sons behaviour, Catlynn plots to remove any and all distractions from his path leaving you caught in the crossfire.

Authors Notes: Thanks for all ur love and patience heres chapter 4! I hope it doesn’t disappoint💕💕

TW: Hearing Voices, swearing, mentions of pregnancy, grief

Word count: 4.9k

Tagged list: @kittykylax @winxschester @mihrimahsultan03 @stargaryenx @the-desilittle-bird @roselibrary @luxlisbonlover

Playlist

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You wake tired. The sound of Viserys screams plagued your sleep. Even in his death he would not let you rest. You move about as if in a fog careless in your movements as you dress absentmindedly. The sun rises orange over the tree, casting a red hue across the sky as you exit your tent. The trees whisper as you walk, leaves rustling ready to fall. The smell of death clings to the air, suppressing your appetite. 

The smell wasn’t the only feeling turning your stomach. Even a man as stupid as Visery would not have penned a letter with such obvious intents of treachery. If Visery was targeted, you may be next. 

With Jorah off fighting on your behalf, you were left alone more often than not, leaving you vulnerable. You could not call him back, if your life was in danger you needed information. Information that would only come from the men that fought for your husband. 

The camp is quiet when you return and the hearth in your tent casts a shadow against the fabric. 

“Lady Rhaeanya, my apologies. I hoped to be finished with my business when you returned, lavender is said to help cleanse the air and ward off bad spirits,” Catlynn states stepping back from your bed.

“You need not apologise, your kindness is most welcome here at any time, if nothing else the lavender will rid the smell from the air,” you reply, laying your cloak down atop an armchair. 

“There is another matter of business I hoped to speak with you about today,” she states, as the sound of footsteps approaches. “Enter,” she shouts. 

The curtains part revealing a man clad in armour bright as the day with silver birds engraved along it. The armour had been cared for, dents and slashes dull against the polished material. Your eyes follow up towards their face finding it equally as perfect as the armour he wore. Clean shaven, warm deep brown eyes that drop to the floor as he bows, dark hair falling slightly as he does. 

“Lady Rhaeanya, this is ser Kean Darrion, he is a Night from the Vale, one of the few sent by my sister,” her inflection tense, evidently Catelynn had expected more “ I have known him since he was a boy, he visited Winterfell frequently after he became one of Jon Arryn’s squires, he was recently knighted by Lysa a few years back. We have entrusted him to protect you, and any future heirs you may have,”

“We?” you question. 

“Robb and myself,” you stifle a laugh. 

“Lady Stark, I understand your concern and I mean no disrespect to Ser Darrion, but Jorah is and has always been…”

“Ser Jorah represents you on the battlefield, and you are too often alone. Besides, two guards often prove better than one,” 

“Your Grace,” Ser Darrion says bowing once again, “It is my great honour to offer protection to someone so valuable to our cause, and I will happily share the duty with Ser Jorah if you will allow me,” he was beautiful, princely, like those you had read about in fairy tales, the ones from dreams you had long abandoned. 

But beautiful people were dangerous, meant to disarm and distract you. He could belong to anyone;  Lysa, Robb, Catelynn, the Lannisters, you should proceed with caution. However, there is a benefit to keeping one's enemies close.

“If you are willing to offer your services freely to me, then I will accept ser Darrion,” a smile pulls at Catelynn's lips, perhaps this was a test. Perhaps a trick, a handsome knight to tempt you, a reason to end your allyship with the Starks. Adultery was not smiled upon by the gods, old or new. 

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

“You have to leave her behind,” Catelynn enforces, laying her hands flat against the table “you have a duty.”

“To who, exactly?” Robb replies

“To your family!” she proclaims “To your sisters trapped by the Lannisters, to you Brothers stuck defending Winterfell when they should be revealing in their childhood, a luxury you were granted,”

“And you think she’s going to help us get them back? I would have done this alone if you had given me the chance and not gone behind my back,” he shoots back 

“She is the last of a bloodline that was usurped from the throne; marrying her has given you the best opportunity for victory! Do you understand that? The value of her name?” 

“And how has that name helped us so far?” he counters

“It has gained us an ally in King's Landing,” Catelynn responds, and Robb turns to look at her “The Lannisters have lost Arya,” she stalls, swallowing hard, “and Sansa is still betrothed to that monster Joffrey, and that her face is frequently bruised,” she finishes. 

“I’ll kill him,” Robb whispered, fist clenched tears threatening to spill. 

“Not alone you won’t,” Catelynn affirms, her hands on Robb’s shoulders. “You both will take King's landing, she will sit on the Iron Throne and you can return to Winterfell with your sisters, back where you belong with your family, is that not enough?” 

“I will not give up the person I love for power, I…” he stutters, stalling, looking for the right word.

“And what about family?” Catelynn presses. Without an answer Robb turns to leave, bumping into Jorah. 

“Apologies, Your Grace,” Jorah replies bowing

“It was my fault, Ser Mormont,” Robb concludes, continuing on his warpath. He looks back as Jorah enters Catelynn's tent, wondering if perhaps he should return. 

“If you won’t have her I will,” Theon states, drawing Robbs gaze forward. 

“She’d eat you alive,” he replies, watching the smirk on his oldest friend's face grow wide. 

“I’d hope so, I’ve heard girls from Essos have a particular speciality of going down south, is it true,” he pushes “very well keep your secrets, but if your not having her once a night you’re the biggest idiot this side of the river,” Theon states

“There's more to a woman than appearance,” Robb states. 

“Did she not win you a battle, besides I’ve never known you to need a smart woman,” he chuckles, eyes turning as a few nurses walk back. 

“You’re thinking of yourself,” Robb laughs as Theon looks over slightly offended, but shrugs his shoulders and laughs along with him. 

“For a King with two beautiful women you still manage to walk around like you’ve got a stick up your arse,” Theon states, watching Robb turn stern faced towards him “Apologies, Your Grace,” 

“You’re an idiot,” Robb laughs. 

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

“Lady Stark, you sent for me?” Jorah asks bowing as she turns towards him

“I have ser Mormont, I am sure you know my husbands banishment of you is something I stood by,” she recounts, watching Jorah shuffle on his feet. 

“Yes my Lady, as you should. It is a moment I wish erased from my past,”

“If it were you would not be where you stand today. Mistakes need to be remembered so they do not happen again. Lady Targaryen trusts you whole-heartedly, I however am still undecided.”

“For what it is worth to you, Lady Stark, I am no longer the man I was in younger, more foolish years. Money and love blinded me in the past, I now know the evils it drives a man to,”

“Evils and lengths. Money can certainly buy love, I believe it may be able to send it away. You must know by now, as he has made it obvious, that my son is not… well, he is not faithful to his vows,” she states, flushed with embarrassment. 

“I have heard mumblings amongst the men. It was not my place to verify the truth of it,” his apparent calmness betrayed by the clenching of his jaw. 

“He is a good man, despite what you may have seen of him. Had Talisa not been a factor I am sure Lady Targaryean would have known a different side to him. She is important to our cause, intelligent and a strategist worthy of challenging the Lannisters, I do not want her to feel this unwelcome. He needs her. Whether he understands it yet or not,  she will help lead him to victory, she will give the men something else to fight for, but only if he remains focused, singularly on winning this war,” She stalls, eye Jorah searching for a reaction, 

“I entrust you with this because I know you wish to see her on the throne, I know you would not betray her and if you can help it, you will not fail her. I have recently learnt the purpose of Talisa’s arrival to Westeros, in search of funds and medicine to send back to her ailing mother and brother, she writes them and sends money. I know her commitment and love for her family runs deeper than that which she has with Robb, all she needs is…”

“A nudge in the right direction,” Jorah finishes  “Thank you for trusting me with this Lady Stark, I will not fail your house, not again”

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

“Talisa” Jorah coughs, having caught her in the woods gathering medicinal supplies

“Ser Mormont, I am surprised to see you here I did not take you for someone who enjoys strolls through forest,” she smiles knowingly, “If you come here on behalf of Lady Stark I commend you but she, and you, and I all know by now that I cannot control the actions of her son,” she replies gathering medicinal herbs. 

‘No, but perhaps something exists to encourage you to part from his side,” He offers

“I hardly doubt…” 

“They offer a sum,” her hand stalls, still as the breeze blows her hair. “A large sum, enough not only for your comfortable passage across the narrow sea, but to ensure the greatest care and medicines for you mother and brother if you are to return, but only if you return indefinitely,”

“I will make the money myself,” she insists, hands once again gathering with speed. 

“Take it from someone who once believed hard work would satisfy the demands of life. No amount made on small wages will be able to save them, nor will it pay for the time you are able to spend with them if a cure is impossible,” he says softly. 

“How much?” she whispers, hardly audible. 

“More than you will ever need,” he relays, kneeling beside her. 

“Enough to save them?” she whispers, tears frosting her lashes. 

“I cannot guarantee that, but I can guarantee that this war will wage a long time, and the longer you stay the more they wither,” 

“What of Robb, what…” she stuttered, wiping her eyes, rarely did she allow them to fall lest in front of strangers, but her heart was conflicted, torn by the love for her family and love for a man she could never truly have.

“You need not see him again, we have a ship prepared ready for departure. I will escort you there, and then to your family to ensure all promises made are kept.” She swallows,  “He is safer with you gone, you must know that,” she wipes her eyes, looking up to Jorah, handing him the herbs she had collected standing to full height, she straightens her dress. She could not abandon her family, not when the possibility to save them was in her reach.  

“I have no things worth packing, but I do ask one favour from you Ser Jorah,”

“Anything My Lady,”

“You deliver Robb a note from me, I will not let him go on in life thinking my love for him was false,”

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

You sit in Catelynn’s tent, transcribing documents for the maesters, war messages in uncommon languages, a recent development you implemented to stop Lannister eyes from reading them in the field, delaying retaliations.  

A sense of peace washed over you as you wrote, the faint scratching of pen on paper lulling you into a relaxed state.

“Tell me it isn't true,” The tranquil atmosphere suddenly shattered “Tell me this is not what I think!” Robb shouts, breaking your focus causing you to smudge your script. 

“Robb of what do you speak,” Catlynn asks, standing from her chair, concern plastered on her face. You re-ink your quill returning to your work, family matters were well outside your scope.  

“You had her paid off,” he retreats from her touch.

“Robb,” Catlyenn shakes her head.

“You're doing no doubt considering Ser Jorah escorted her home himself,” he directs towards you.

“I do not even know what…” you begin, but your level tone is interrupted by another shout. 

“Talisa,” he proclaims as if obvious, “she has returned home, back across the narrow sea” causing you and Catelynn to exchange a look. 

“Then I am not surprised Jorah escorted her. He knows the way better than any, her safety will be secured until she returns I am certain of that,” you reply, glancing briefly at Catelynn. If she had anything to do with it, she hid it well. 

“She will not return though will she, you having sent her away,” 

“Why would I wish to send away the only thing that kept you out of my eyeline on a regular basis,” you reply, mind focused elsewhere. 

“Because you’re a spiteful person,” he prods, voice low. 

“Bold words coming from you darling,” you reply, flipping the page on your scripture.

“I killed you vile brother so you what? Send away my one source of happiness” he pushes. 

“Visery was more a prison guard than family most days. I thank you for expunging him from my life. It saved me a great deal of moral anguish,”  you relay through gritted teeth angered by Robb blaming you for another situation that was completely out of your control. 

“You resented our love, you were jealous of it,” He sneers. You lay down your quill and meet his gaze, it was not rage or malice that drove him, the pain was etched into him. It was obvious, so obvious that you should have let it go. 

“Forgive me Your Grace, am I mistaken or did she not just leave on her own volition? Perhaps your love was more one sided than you thought,” The air falls silent. Words were your weapon, and you had just delivered a wounding blow. 

“Leave,” his face is thunderous despite his silence, “I do not wish for you to be in my sight tonight or any other night for that matter,” you raise your brow despite the sudden shame you felt creeping up your spine “Now,” he snarls. 

The chair creaks as you stand “Thank you your highness,” you curtsey “for dismissing me from your court.” 

An admixture of remorse and validation courses through your veins as you flee towards the woods. Pride in your ability to fight back, but shame in your lack of restraint. Wounding someone already in pain. 

“Why,” Robb asks, tears threatening to spill over after you leave. Perhaps you were correct, perhaps his love had been stronger than hers. Perhaps Talisa had used him for his position, leaving him now he was married and her opportunity squandered. 

“Robb, she was never attainable long term, what were her options? A mistress until her death or yours? Rhaeanya’s death allowing you to remarry? Perhaps she simply realised this life was no longer what she wished for,” Catlynn explains softly. 

“I'll never forgive this,” 

“When you storm King's Landing and retrieve your sister from the clutches of Cersei Lannister this…this will feel like nothing but a distant memory. I have no reason to suspect your wife was behind Talisa’s departure. I feel she too is is upset as you will be spending more time being unpleasant towards her,” she scolds

“And she to me, I will not burden the entire blame for the hatred between us,” 

“Someone has to bend Robb, this tension cannot hold,”

“And that must be me?”

“You are in your homeland surrounded by men sworn to you, she has no one, and you just burnt her brother alive, so perhaps it should be you,” She relays condescendingly, if he was to act like a child, perhaps he should be treated as one. 

“She’ll receive no such kindness from me, if not to spite her then to spite you for what you have done to the last remaining ounce of my happiness. Everything I've done has been for you, why not allow me this once,”

“She left on her own accord Robb believe me or not,” 

“She would have told me,” He counters, and Catelynn falters, eyes glancing down. “What?” Robb whispers. 

“She sent a letter. I kept it from you, and for that I admit wrongdoing,” Robb strides over snatching the paper from his mothers, the letter read and carefully resealed by her hands, ensuring no words suggesting her involvement “read it yourself, and perhaps then you will see,” she replies leaving Robb alone with the letter. 

The words proved true enough information none could have known concealed within. She had left to return to her family in their final moments, not because she did not love him. He pushes down tears mourning the life that could have been as he reads her final lines. 

“I am fortunate to have known you, Robb Stark, and your good heart. I will cherish every moment spent in your presence. Let go of what could have been, but do not forget me. Bury me beneath the ground and return to look upon me with fondness

All my love,

Talisa”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Alone in the woods you curse yourself for the pit forming in your stomach, for the remorse you felt, and for the apology that sat at the edge of your tongue that you bit back out of spite. Jealousy was not the right sentiment for what you felt towards Robb and Talisa. You were not jealous, you were tortured by their love, pained by how much it reminded you of Drogo, and the love you once had. How he looked at you, how he protected you, how he craved you. 

The memories of a love you would never know again and the pain you felt every waking moment as you mourned alone. 

A motion diverts your gaze, you rub your eyes clearing them as the tree’s whispers follow your movements and turn into sentences. 

“Come deeper my lady”

“We wish to speak with you” 

“What! What do you wish to speak about with me,” you shout, sadness intermingling with anger, “tell me what you seek,” but there is no response, no response, save from the sound of footsteps fast approaching. You compose yourself when you see Ser Darrion, quickly wiping away your tears. 

“Ser Darrion, my apologies, I am… I… well I...” you stall, unable to find an explanation. 

“I didn't mean to frighten you, Your Grace, I saw you head to the woods I followed and then I heard shouting,” a silence continue between you, “ I must admit, you are making my job difficult,” He smiles softly “It will be my head if I lose you, and other parts if a wolf took you,”

“I am not so sure losing me would render you an enemy with my husband,” you mutter “I am sorry to have worried you, and I apologies for losing my composer, I am not so hysterical most days,” you reply, taking the arm he offers you. 

“Grief is all consuming, it rips through your entire body. Sometimes shouting towards the sky, or at the trees offers comfort, and I see no madness in that. My condolences for your loss,” he says, the sincerity of words southing you, the only condolences you felt were sincere. 

“Thank you Ser Darrion, you have managed to make me feel sane in a world that seems to unravel my very fibres of being,” 

“I was sorry not to see you at the day’s strategy meeting. I must admit, I am eager to see your mind at work,” 

“It seems to be the only way I am able to contribute besides producing a future king. I used to dream of fighting those who stood in my way,” you admit, causing the knight to smile up towards the sky “Cutting down those who had wronged me, securing my way to the Iron Throne, back to my ancestors freeing their bones from those who hold them captive still…well you know the rest,” you finish abruptly, rambling was one of the many things Visery had scolded you for. 

“I would prefer to hear your version,  it seems that besides strategy you possess a great talent for weaving tales, and I assume great speeches,” 

“I read many great speeches in my youth, I transcribed them for the old masters across the sea. You pick up on a few things, but speeches do not win wars,” you relay 

“I would argue they do, though if you wish for training in the way of the sword, I would gladly offer my services. I offer my qualifications of being a knight,” he relays, his smile catching your eye. 

“Only a knight,” you reply and he chuckles, it's warm, and it fills you with heat. Your arm drops from his as you re-enter the camp, despite your desire to hold on, you would not play the hypocrite, knowing what you had said to Robb on the basis of properness. 

“Thank you for finding me, Ser Darrion,” you relay eyes finally meeting him. “I am glad to have another ally here, and another person to talk to. The trees will finally be free from my lamentations,”

“I would listen to you speak all day, and for what it matters, I am not the only one who wishes to converse with you. Lord Umber and Lord Karstark speak highly of you, even Lord Bolton managed a uncharacteristic compliment on your competence,” 

“Is that so?” you chuckle

“When you wish to begin training, let me know, I would gladly beside you on the field,” he says, 

“I can hunt well enough,” you admit, not wanting the conversation to end “at one point I could shoot a sheep a good thirty yards right in the eye,” 

“That I must see, speak with your husband about the lessons, I'm sure he will approve,” Ser Darrion bows, leaving you feeling in better spirits than you could remember since arriving here. Any jollity souring when you turn to see Robb approaching, you prepare for battle, but it doesn't come, he by-passess you grabbing a few books before departing, not returning again till the morning. Women were frequently brought in for the men, perhaps he had gone to drown his sorrows in them. 

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

A recent setback had increased the tension around the camp. The men needed a fight, or they would soon forget what they were fighting for. 

 Robb was unfocused, overworked and heartbroken. He had been pacing more, dark circles had appeared under his eyes. He needed a plan, one that was not coming to fruition. If he could not come up with a plan, then perhaps you could. So you followed him, each morning for the past three days to the war room, staring over the maps on the table while Robb remained hunched over candle light. The following day, you find yourself glazing over, as Robb circles the table, pushing and prodding houses, returning and replacing them. The book in your lap was a last resort, writing on early wars upon man's first arrival to Westeros, but you had read half a dozen books this morning,  and you grew tired of the feel of pages.

“You have nothing better to do than stare at me,” Robb asks. 

“Perhaps I was considering every possible way you could be assassinated,” you state evenly, causing his head to raise. His mouth is ajar in an attempt to decipher your words. The tone showed no sign of being a joke or a threat, he could not read you, not in the slightest. “In order to circumvent it of course.” you finish

“I’ve seen men hung for less,” he mutters

“A noose would free me from my dull cage of existence,” you retort. 

“If you are bored,” he says exasperated, “then perhaps you should learn a skill, any would suffice.” 

He returns to starting down at the carving. You sigh, pulling out an older book you had gone over the other day. You walk over, dropping it down before him, his gaze looking to you, as you open it. 

“This is in Valyrian,” he says blankly

“My mother tongue,”

“And how is this supposed to help me?”

“Well I assumed you could not speak it so I transcribed it,” you pull out loose sheets filled with neat handwriting, laying it down beside the map. 

“Why?” he questions, suspicion dripping from his lips. 

“I want to beat the Lannisters just as much as you do, ancient strategies in other languages may be a good way of outsmarting them, or at least levelling with them,” you explain, as Robbs eyes skim the writing. 

“Perhaps we have found at least one thing in common,” he murmurs, picking up the sheets. 

“Besides our utter disdain for each other? Well that and the Lannisters killing our fathers, not that they were much alike,” 

“And our brothers, well only an attempt in my case”

“I wasn’t aware,” you state sympathetically “but it was a Baratheon who killed my brother for loving your aunt,”

“For abducting my aunt,”

“You believe that?” Robb looks at you, and you opt to let it go. 

“What happened to your brother,”

“They pushed him out a window, he was ten” 

“Murdering children has never been above the Lannisters, I doubt your brother will be their last victim. They will pay for their sins. Review what I made note of, tell me what you think, if you see a fit for it somewhere. I can’t quite place how it should be adjusted for your army, and well you know your men best, “

“You wish to freely spend time in my company? 

“I wish to stop you from ruining my chances at the throne,”

“Your chances,” he asks gruffly, 

“The iron throne is mine, I will get to it, with or without your help,” he laughs, “Had we not been forced into this situation I would have my own way across the narrow sea and the Lannister’s would have paid their debts. As for my learning a new skill Ser Darrion has offered me training to defend myself.”

“If it will free me from your presence, by all means,” 

Ser Darrion stands outside the tent, guarding you as promised to Catelyn 

“Well, when do we begin?” 

“Begin?”

“Our lessons,” 

“We’ll start tomorrow,”

“I look forward to it,”

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

 You startle back at Robbs presence in your shared tent, his figure lit by the warm hues of the hearth. 

“You startled me,” you relay, but it gets no acknowledgement. 

“We need to have a frank conversation,” Robb says

“Have you identified a strategy?” You guess

“I believe so, but that is not the matter we must speak of, it is more urgent, perhaps more sinister,”

“Is this it?” you question, Robb’s brow scrunching  “you’re finally going to reveal your plans to kill me?” he relaxes, for a moment you think a smile crosses his lips 

“Not yet,” he replies, sitting down rolling up the sleeves of his undershirt “It pertains to your family, to your lineage and what you wish your legacy to be. Now, you made it clear on the night of our wedding that you would not breed my heir, but what about yours. With your brother dead, you are the last Targaryen,” 

“I am acutely aware of my isolation, thank you Your Grace,”

“This is not said in spite, it is said in practicality. You will take the Iron Throne, it is your wish, yes?” you nod your head “you are intelligent, tell me what happens if you take the throne and die without an heir,” The issue of legacy had crossed your mind multiple times since Viserys death. You thought more time would have been allotted to make plans. 

“All this starts over, and that in itself is a reason to fight against us,” you reply

“We must make it apparent that this will be the last great war, that once you pass, it will not restart a cycle of battles and kings,” he was right, infuriatingly, and on multiple levels, but as you stare the fire Mirri’s laugh enters your minds, her words of your barrenness, your inability to reproduce. The price you had paid for a life you took. 

“Well I know of your displeasure towards my behaviour though I  was not aware my appearance was so adverse to you as well,” Robb relays, a poor attempt to make light of the grimace across your face. 

“I want you to know that I do not make a habit of breaking promises, a person is worth only their word, my threats are rarely made and when they are they are kept,” 

“That being said,” his eyes meet yours, “I  will revoke my oath to never allow you to touch me, but I remain on the fact that love will never bloom between us. The soil is rotted and I am well aware you have no longing for me. I will produce an heir as it is a necessity, but it does not go beyond that. Is that understood?” He nods.

“I shall speak to the wet nurse for the best times to begin.” 

[rinhaler]

Girl when I tell you I was INVESTED in finger trigger, I spent the whole afternoon reading it. I was heartbroken I literally CRIED imagining y/n crying, don’t wanting to fuck Toji because she loves sukuna so much and how he let other man touch her was the worst after seeing how much he loved her. I couldn’t see him the same after that, and how he was even more clingy to her after he broke her heart. In my opinion, it’s not easy to come back from that.

I believe Uraume would succeed with her plan, but after some time, the truth will come to light and Sukuna will end her. I also think y/n texting with Toji is just as a distraction as she feels very heartbroken and distant from Sukuna. She’s having fun and she might feel butterflies in her stomach, but I don’t think she could love someone other than Sukuna, and she probably doesn’t even know she’s that broken, she probably doesn’t think about it too much and just does the things that makes her feel better, as texting with Toji. Eventually, Sukuna will win the heart of y/n, but after a lot of efforts and pain he deserves.

I want to end this long ass message by telling you 😭 this is the best thing I’ve read in a LONG time, like this is never going to leave me, I’m definitely coming back to read it again. Your mind… I’d kiss it. You made me love Sukuna and hate Toji and Toji is my husband like, how is that possible? That’s your power. You’re so talented I hope you’re making a bag out of this. I want to read everything you write.

Thank you!!!

omg u cried :o

this is such a nice ask im really honoured that you took the time to take such an interest in my writing and talk to me about it like this! i just intended for it to be a smutty one off that no one would care about past the sex but alas here we are!

but ur right she's so in love with sukuna she'd do anything for him even if she doesn't want to which is how the whole situation ended up like this in the first place.

toji deff isnt innocent in the least but i think sukuna is worse for forcing the reader into it but obviously uraume masterminded it all so she's the worst of the bunch LOL but sukuna should not have forced the reader into the threesome.

she's never gonna not be in love with sukuna no matter what though, but maybe toji could tempt her away hehe the possibilities are endless! sorry i made u cry tho :((( i never think my writing is sad it always shocks me when i hear people cry at my work!

thank u for supporting me ur an angel :3

[serafilms]

random challengers thoughts after i just watched a sad patrick edit

during/after my first watch of challengers i thought to myself. patrick is the most innocent one. he ain’t done NOTHING WRONG FREE MY BOY. none of them are the villain but if anyone were to be the villain it wouldn’t be him girl. #teampatrick

all these fake bitches on tiktok being like “why is everyone saying art is the villain” but there’s so many people saying that they’ll defend art that like now it’s at the point where there’s nothing to defend. because art being innocent is the now the most popular opinion. well u know what i think that they only say that bc he was a shaggy haired blond little whiny golden retriever boy. #PATRICKFORLIFE

This is like partially a joke i love art 🫶 but PATRICK IS NOT THE VILLAIN U WANT HIM TO BE. art isn’t either (100% innocent as an adult ur honour) but.

the problem with art is NOT that he manipulated his friends into breaking up bc he was selfish (though that was very ehhhhh of him like alright buddy idk like me speaking as a 19 year old with morals sorry guys i think it was a little fucked) the problem comes when he YELLED AT PATRICK TO GET THE FUCK OUT AND THEN DIDNT TALK TO HIM FOR 13 YEARS LIKE GODDAMNNNNNNNNNBNNNNNNNBNBBBNNDNSNSNSN GOD DAMN BRO R U FRRRRRR LIKE WHAAAAATT WHAY THE FUCKKKKK i think he was just closeted and a lil homophobic tbh. like not homophobic homophobic but just a little bit in denial of his own sexuality homophobic.. but like GODDAMNNNNNN AND THEN THE MAN HAD THE NERVE TO BE ALL UP IN PATRICKS FACE IN THE SAUNA

and he was projecting onto patrick his insecurities bc patrick Was in love w art (he made that so clear) but patrick also just in general had more confidence than art which made him insecure his whole life (jerking off story was foreshadowing their future friendship) and so he wanted to split tashi and patrick up bc 1) he saw tashi partially as a trophy that would make him the winner, 2) he did love her to some extent (but there’s only so much love to give when they don’t give quite as much back, also patrick was the glue tbh), 3) he didn’t want patrick and tashi to be together and then he would be left out not only from his bond with patrick but also as a third wheel and a second choice to tashi

but like for Real patrick would never abandon art like that imo. and he had every right to do what he did w tashi (twice). like imagine your best friend of 7 years tries to get with your girlfriend when you thought you were all just chilling, and then when you and your gf have a fight he swoops in and like shields her and pushes you out and then he doesn’t talk to you for years and years and you don’t even really get a proper breakup with him or your girlfriend bc the last time you see them is them yelling at you to get out, so you leave and you lose your best friend ever bc he was being a cunt to you and you lose your girlfriend bc your best friend is a cunt to you. and you have no friends and no family support and so you focus on your career but it lowkey fails bc you’re just not doing ok in general. and then you find out that they’re dating years later and then you see the ex girlfriend who you were actually serious about it and being w her for the first time you thought about lowkey settling down with maybe. and then she’s engaged to the friend. like girllllllll i’d have fucked her too to get back at that man 😭 plus she was like the realest relationship he’s ever had aside from art and like he never blamed her really for cutting him out bc he understood her (but she also was not in the wrong for cutting him out it was just really sad like i felt so bad for patrick throughout the entire movie even though he was kind of a dick in his attitude)

patrick was messy as hell but he was Innocent.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

i made fun of you for the gax brain parasite and now i have it too… ‘i would poison your tea’ they’re spies your honour and max is over on assignment from the dutch intelligence agency bc he’s sooo good and he’s sooo talented and georgie is trying his very hardest to live up to lewis (bc everyone knows lewis. he’s lewis. he’s mi5 god save the queen do you know how much i’m worth personified) and he’s lumped with this dutch ASSHOLE who is somehow so insanely good at his job and makes fun of george for the smallest things and at least lewis was NICE to him and george can’t even complain to everyone bc they all love max and max is so nice or whatever and cut to him having a classic george moment in a cupboard in headquarters and no it’s not a breakdown no lewis’ offhand comment didn’t get to him at ALL and max finds him and is like mate please this is embarrassing for both of us that im here but mostly you so please of course pull it together that would be lovely. screaming match ensues. insert princess here. hot hate sex. toto doesn’t get why they’re somehow WORSE and better and is definitely not looking at the fact that george’s shirt is slightly too big on him and has a dutch flag on the cuff…

“gax brain parasite” as if U did not put the fear of god gax into ME, an innocent bystander!! brainrot so deep now my hair’s basically medusa!!

this idea is bigbrained btw. huge. i love that we have three gax AUs (casino!gax, gourmand!Gax and now spies!gax) cooking at once now. the power of one giant idiot brain cell ur honour

editing to add that the dutch flag on the cuff made me need to go chew something. so thanks, anon.

[somewhatsentientspellbook]

The Ruby Vanguard: an Allegory for the Far-Right

The Apogee Solstice is in full swing, ladies and gentlemen – and in honour of Bells Hells being split, I thought I’d lay out some of the fundamental reasons why I despise Ludinus Da’Leth and his posse I affectionately refer to as the genocidal moon cult. From pretty much the start, Ludinus Da’Leth has made himself an interesting figure in Wildemount history. His age, magical ability, and political power gives him an advantage over not only the average citizen but also his colleagues in the Cerberus Assembly. As the Archmage of Domestic Protections, his role is militaristic in nature, and that was the first thing that tipped me off. Ludinus Da’Leth and the Ruby Vanguard are a wonderful allegory for far-right politics. Let’s take a look at the 14 general properties of UR-F@cism, as established by Umberto Eco!

“Cult of Tradition”

The idea is that once tradition has been established, it cannot be defied (even when the traditions contradict themselves). We can see this most clearly with the Ruby Vanguard’s most basic tenant: “mortals are under the thumbs of the gods.” Ludinus maintains this as fact despite the gods being largely incapable of manifesting power in a large manner outside their home planes. Ludinus supposedly grew up in a time when the gods would have had more power than they do now, but he has failed to adjust his ideologies in the centuries since then.

2. “Rejection of modernism”

This is a little harder to argue, but hear me out on this. Rejecting modernism when put simply is the idea that new ways of thinking are depraved compared to the old. Ludinus Da’Leth idolises the Age of Arcanum, he sees the accomplishments mortals made pre-Calamity as the height of civilisation. It’s not difficult to assume that this would lead the Ruby Vanguard to turn their noses at the current state of Exandria.

3. “The cult of action for action’s sake”

Action for action’s sake demands that one not think too hard about what they are doing and why – simply doing it is enough. We see this in the Ruby Vanguard’s willingness to attack innocents for the sake of a larger scheme. The best example of this is the deaths of Will and Derrig, who posed no threat to the Vanguard and were simply sacrificed for a greater cause.

4. “Disagreement is treason”

Intellectual discourse and any critical thought will inevitably reveal contradictions in ideology. We see people like Tuldus and Ludinus recite the same phrases. Mortals as “the god’s toys”, “they’ve feared us”, and “their cattle/food/power”. The fact that a powerful figure says these things, and an impressionable man repeated these things under interrogation to show his loyalty to Ludinus. It’s concerning.

5. “Fear of difference”

This is the classic use of the “other group.” Ludinus and the Vanguard have established multiple “others” to be the enemy of their cause. The gods (who are unworthy of their status), their divine followers (whose powers are derived from those unworthy of status), and the Grim Verity (who are not ‘enemies’ in the classic sense, must still be hunted to protect the cause).

6. “Appeal to a frustrated middle class”

This one is difficult to argue as the Vanguard doesn’t seem to hold any economic beliefs. The closest I can get is to say that those who dislike theocracies like Vasselheim or the Dynasty function as the frustrated middle class. They seek to disrupt the governing bodies that dictate religious doctrine.

7. “Obsession with a plot”

Ah yes, the idea that the enemy/other has a nefarious plot that must be foiled. And oh BOY, do Ludinus and the Ruby Vanguard believe that mortals are glorified sustenance for the gods. They seem to have taken the opinion of mortals being essentially batteries to power the pantheon – and to put an end to this scheme, the Vanguard has no choice but to release a god-eater.

8. “Too weak but too strong”

THIS WAS THE ONE I NOTICED FIRST. Ludinus argues that the gods are strong and deserve to be made the enemy of the people for it. However, he also contradicts this by saying that the gods are weak enough to be thoroughly dismantled by mortals. He appeals to the rebels who hate hierarchy by telling them those at the top are too strong for their own good, and he appeals to those who love hierarchy by telling them that those at the top are too weak to lead/control the rest.

9. “Pacifism is trafficking with the enemy because life is permanent warfare”

We can’t know for certain whether this property exists in its entirety within the Vanguard as it requires them ‘winning’ the war and then desperately need to find a new enemy to fight. However, this can still be fulfilled with how they treat those who don’t care for the gods but also don’t care for the Vanguard. People like Keyleth and the Verity are not theistic, but because they are not actively against the pantheon, they have made themselves enemies by association.

10. “Contempt for the weak”

The idea is that the members of the in-group must exist in a hierarchy of weak to strong (but all members of the in-group are still stronger than those outside the group). This is evident in how the Exaltants are clearly favoured by Ludinus and the rest of his movement. Despite not being Exaltants, members of the Vanguard and Paragon’s Call are still considered strong (but lower in the hierarchy). Ludinus himself has placed himself at the top even though he does not fulfil his own requirements for what constitutes as strength.

11. “Everybody is educated to become a hero”

I’m not going to lie, this one doesn’t have a whole lot of physical evidence, but the contextual evidence is there. The ideals of the Vanguard and Ludinus must be ones their followers are willing to die for. Should that happen, they are martyrs and sacrifices to a noble cause, rather than tragic losses. This encouragement to seek out death leads to a lot more unnecessary death.

12. “Machismo”

This is one of the only ones that I have no evidence for at all. It refers to the preoccupation with warfare and violence, that power is extended to romantic/sexual matters. This usually leads to a stark increase in sexism and homophobia.

13. “Selective populism”

In which the self-appointed leader declares themselves the interpreter of the will of the masses. This is a role built on the idea that individual thought does not exist, and instead, the only thought that matters is the ‘collective majority’ (even though the viewpoints of the leader are 100% NOT the views of the majority). We see this as Ludinus seems to believe he’s speaking not only for all of current Exandria but also historical Exandria.

14. “Newspeak”

Newspeak is essentially vocabulary that has been simplified and used to impede critical thinking. This aspect also doesn’t have a great deal of evidence to support it – as Ludinus prides himself on his (and his group’s) superior intelligence. However, I will still draw attention back to the repeated phrases and mantras that almost act as self-assurance that the pantheon are the bad guys, and the actions of the Ruby Vanguard are justified.

So, there you have it! The properties of UR-F@cism as applied to Ludinus Da’Leth and the Ruby Vanguard. I hope you enjoyed this needless essay detailing why the ideologies they support are a sea of red flags built on propaganda and a lack of individualism. Thank you for making it all the way through, and happy Critical Role Day!

[swaggypsyduck]

Not that you've managed to kidnap me onto the Sergio stan ship but I do think there's something really to appreciate in his duality. The beautiful way in which he murders people on the field (really he and Pepe belong in jail) but is so sweet to his teammates and his wife. (And I know that's a bar that shouldn't be celebrated but not a lot of men are like that) More players should take him as an example that you on the field and your normal self is two different people and once you're off that field all grudges are gone (well kind of but you know I'd still be mad at him if he was killing me like Messi or what he did Salah) I just really love how affectionate he is with his teammates and worships his wife

idk bro u worded that so well it seems like u have one foot on the ramos train to me 🤭🤭

but ur so right in that his duality makes him so much more lovable and endearing to the masses. it also helps of course that he's hot as fuck. literally the whole package 😮‍💨😮‍💨

also wdym he should be in jail?! ur honour my man is innocent 🤞🏼🤥🤥 (he's so guilty)