#i like the irony of dark being bright

[bodylanda]

Some doodles about tall second

Bonus design notes on chosen, dark and second

[milfsloverblog]

Good Luck, Babe! (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: I know, I know. I’ve got series waiting for an update blah blah blah. But when something sparks your inspiration, you just got to get to work!! This one’s - obviously - inspired by the Chappell Roan song. This is full on ANGST, HURT NOT COMFORT, you’ve been warned! One shot, no second chapter to fix it all. We love the pain. Hope you’ll enjoy my darlings and don’t forget to like and reblog if you do!! <3

Larissa had been startled awake by a sudden loud noise, her heart pounding in her chest as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the bedroom she shared with the banshee that slept next to her.

Not a literal one - although that might have been a better choice, Larissa thought as she turned her head towards the man she’d been sharing a bed with for over a decade and nearly two. Ha, there it was again. That loud snoring that kept her awake for nights on end. A banshee, that’s what he sounded like.

She sat up, carefully swinging her legs on the side of the bed and trying her best not to wake him up - somehow the snoring was still more bearable than his incessant yapping when he was awake.

Larissa took a deep breath, rubbing her hands on her face as she contemplated what to do with the rest of her night. She had a little over four hours left of sleep before her alarm would go off, signifying the beginning of her working day. She brushed her fingers through her silver hair, holding back a whine when some of it got stuck in her wedding ring.

Oh bitter irony, she thought as she pulled away to inspect the golden ring on her left hand.

The banshee snored again, pulling Larissa out of her thoughts and nearly making her consider squeezing a pillow on her husband’s face. Instead, she quietly got out of bed, throwing a silky robe on her silkier shoulders and tying it close as a shiver ran down her spine.

Things could have been so different.

As her hand brushed down the wooden handrails of the main stairs, Larissa couldn’t help but reminisce about her younger days. She thought of Nevermore when she was only a student there and not in charge of it. The Poe cup, the Rave’N, the feeling of soft hands on her skin. Larissa stopped dead in her tracks. She could have sworn that she had felt it, right there in the middle of the staircase, the ghost of soft hands on her midriff. She took a deep breath and hurried down the stairs on the tip of her toes, still not wanting to wake up the banshee that rested upstairs.

Turning the light on as she made her way to the kitchen, Larissa walked straight to the sink and knelt to access the cupboard below it. She didn’t even look at the bottles, grabbing the first one that met her hand and pulling it out of the cupboard. It would be a good one anyway, her darling husband always made sure of it. Grand wine, grand house (that she had been against buying), grand life, grand wife. The thought left a bitter taste in Larissa’s mouth and she hurried to open the bottle, eager to replace the bitterness of a wasted life with the bitter taste of an aged Chianti.

As she sipped on her freshly poured wine, Larissa’s mind transported her back to a night twenty years ago.

“They’ll catch us!” Larissa half-whispered as her hand squeezed yours.

“Everyone’s at the Rave’N, they won’t even notice we’re gone. Come on, even if they did, Nevermore’s brightest student and its biggest weirdo? No one would speculate that we’re together. They’ll think that you went to bed early, as a bright student should, and that I’m hiding in some dark corner all alone like a loser.” You joked, pushing the door to your room open.

“I’m not Nevermore’s brightest student, Morticia is,” Larissa said, her crimson-painted lips falling in a soft pout.

“Ha, so nothing about me not being a weirdo or a loser?” You feigned being hurt before letting out a chuckle. “Morticia doesn’t have half of your intelligence nor a quarter of your beauty. She’s got a big pair of tits, that’s all.” You shrugged, closing the door behind you.

Something churned inside Larissa’s stomach, the early stirrings of jealousy making her face grow hot at the mere thought of you finding Morticia somewhat attractive.

“Kiss me,” she demanded.

“Wait, I’ve got something-��You didn’t have time to finish your sentence as Larissa's lips crashed against yours, bruising and demanding.

Larissa opened her mouth and you quickly followed, allowing her to thrust her tongue against yours in a dance you two had been rehearsing for months. Her lips moved down your chin and up your jaw, leaving a trail of red marks that you’d have to scrub at in the morning.

“Riss-“ you whined when she nipped at the thin skin of your neck, gently pulling away from her. “Wait, wait-“

Larissa reluctantly let go of you, wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb and clearing her throat.

“I want to take my time,” you explained. “We always do this so quickly, most of the time I can’t even get you fully naked. Let’s take our time, everyone will be busy downstairs for another couple of hours.”

Larissa pushed a small smile and nodded. She sat down on your bed and watched as you pulled something from underneath it.

“How on earth did you get that?!” She squealed, nearly ripping the green bottle from your hand.

“Borrowed it from the kitchen,” you shrugged.

“You know that borrowing means you’ll give it back at some point, right?” Larissa mumbled as she read the tag on the bottle.

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll buy some cheap bottle from the supermarket downtown and put it back in the kitchen.”

Larissa let out a snorting laugh and shook her head.

“Do you even know how much this is worth?” She said, gesturing with the bottle in her hand.

“Now don’t be rude,” you raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one that comes from a rich family, not me.”

“Shut up and pour us a glass, if you have anything to open the bottle with!” Larissa pouted. You knew she hated being reminded that she came from money, but it simply was the truth.

“Who do you take me for, a rookie?” You huffed as you opened your bedside table only to pull out a bottle opener and wave it victoriously in Larissa’s face, making her laugh.

What happened next was a little blurry in Larissa’s mind. She remembered sharing the wine, drinking straight from the bottle as you laughed about everything and nothing. She remembered spilling wine on the awfully expensive gown her father had bought her for the Rave’N, and then soft hands helping her out of it. Her head between your thighs, yours between hers. She remembered falling asleep in your arms and waking up still in your arms the next morning. And that had been the breaking point for Larissa. Her parents would never agree to this, to her having this sort of feelings for women, for you. She had to nip this in the bud before it went too far. And so she did.

Larissa made sure to avoid you like the plague after that night, going as far as becoming friends with Morticia Frump and her clique even though she knew how much you disliked them. And then came Henry. He wasn’t Larissa’s type, obviously. But he would please her parents and so she let him court her until they officially became a thing. Then everything had gone so fast, her final year at Nevermore, the graduation, Henry proposing.

“Larissa!” You ran after her inside Nevermore after witnessing Henry’s proposal in the yard. What a dick move, proposing right after she had graduated. Nice way to steal her spotlight.

Larissa spun on her heels, fidgeting with the new ring that felt unfamiliar on her left hand.

“What do you want?” She sighed, trying her best to keep her eyes off of you.

“You can’t do that,” you said, shaking your head. “You can’t marry him, you don’t even love him! Larissa, please…”

“Please what?” Larissa snapped. “What did you think? That this fling we had would turn into more than it was? Don’t be ridiculous.”

You swallowed your pain, refusing to let your heart burst at the seam.

“When you wake up next to him in a decade or two,” you said, fighting against the lump in your throat. “And you’ll realise that you’re nothing more than his wife, you’ll think of me. You’ll think of everything we shared all of those years ago.“

It was Larissa’s turn to swallow thickly as she took in your words. Marrying him meant security, a normal life. But it also meant losing her freedom, Larissa knew that.

“Say something,” you pleaded, hoping that it would be enough for your ex-lover to change her mind.

“I’m sorry,” she simply replied, holding her head high as she always did in any situation - good or bad. “You knew this would come to an end.” She added before giving a small nod and walking past you, the sound of her kitten heels echoing down the corridor.

She hadn’t seen you since. You hadn’t replied to the wedding invite she had sent. She had hoped you’d show up, she’d hoped to prove to you that she had made the right choice. That she was happy in the life she had picked for herself. That she had moved on. But she hadn’t really moved on, had she? Drinking herself half-blind almost two decades after she’d last seen you. Maybe you had moved on. Surely you had.

When Larissa was pulled back to reality, to the empty kitchen and the emptier glass of wine in her hand, tears had started running down her cheeks which she hastily wiped away.

She had thought about reaching out more times than she would ever admit. But she never dared. Not when she had found your Facebook and you seemed so happy with that woman on your profile picture. She would never dare reach out to you for she knew that you would tell her what you always did whenever she had to deal with the consequences of her actions.

I told you so, Larissa. You know I hate to say it but I told you so.

And Larissa wished, she wished she had listened to you. She wished she could go back in time and she wished she could forget you.

But Larissa knew - she would have to stop the world to stop the feeling.

————————————————————————

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[poisonlove]

BABYDOLL | w.a

Pairing: Wednesday Addams X reader

Warning: SMUT, 18+

"Wednesday, slow down!" I hiss through clenched teeth, the pain of her fingers gripping my wrist cutting through me as she drags me mercilessly toward her room.

Curious eyes were on us, and I couldn't help but blush violently. It's embarrassing, I thought, it's fucking embarrassing to be dragged by a girl who stands barely over five feet tall. I could sense some thoughts—poor thing—others like—I think Addams is going to kill her—and a few strange ones like—y/n is cute when she blushes—but I tried to avoid dwelling on the latter. I stared intensely at the back of Wednesday's head.

What the hell is wrong with her?

Wednesday and I had been in a secret relationship for two months, and even though I didn’t particularly like the situation, I wasn’t willing to give up on the gothic girl. Something about her had captivated me like a moth to a flame, and I’m not talking about her physical appearance—though I’m crazy about her brown eyes and full lips, especially her dimples—it’s her way of thinking that fascinated me.

Almost terrifying.

Wednesday stopped abruptly and turned to face me, her eyes—usually calm and bright—held a strange light, a whirlpool of anger and... something deeper. I swallowed nervously.

"What’s going on?" I asked calmly, trying to mask my true feelings.

Wednesday scrutinized me carefully, her gaze unwavering before she leaned closer with a menacing air. We were so close I could see the freckles scattered around her nose.

"You'll find out soon enough," she exclaimed coldly, her eyes holding mine a moment longer than necessary before she turned and resumed walking.

I was confused.

We were nearing Ophelia Hall, and I could already make out the massive wooden door of Wednesday’s room, which she shared with Enid. Wednesday's grip tightened, and I let out a small whimper of pain. Wednesday swung the door open, and I blinked, noticing the color scheme that muddled my thoughts.

Bad idea, I thought, dividing the room this way?

"Hey Wed! Y/n?" Enid said, confused. The blonde was in her bed with Thing, flipping through a gossip magazine.

"Get out," Wednesday said coldly, her posture rigid as she stared intensely at Enid. The blonde blinked in confusion, her blue eyes darting from my hostage figure to Wednesday's.

I offered a timid apologetic smile.

"Don't make me repeat myself," Wednesday murmured. Enid shivered noticeably and grabbed her things, passing us with a trembling stride.

"There was no need to be such a bitch," she muttered irritably, putting on her shoes.

Wednesday ignored the comment.

"Take Thing with you," Wednesday said in a frigid tone, looking at her friend, who was likely showing offense through gestures. Enid approached her bed, leaving space in her bag for Thing, then hurried out of the room.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I asked irritably, rubbing my wrist to alleviate the pain. My eyes followed Wednesday as she walked past me to lock the door, her gaze resting on mine before she walked to her bed and sat down.

"Move," she murmured in a low voice, her hand slapping the mattress beside her, her eyes never leaving mine. Her expression was impenetrable, jaw clenched, lips pressed into a thin line.

But it was her eyes that told a deeper story: a dark, inscrutable light, a cold flame burning just beneath the surface. There was no trace of irony or one of her sharp comments, just a disarming seriousness that made me flinch. The muscles in her face were taut, almost as if she were holding back something she didn’t want to reveal. It felt like every fiber of her being was focused on me, creating a tension that filled the room with electricity.

I approached her hesitantly.

"Sit down," she ordered, and I complied without uttering a word. I was fucking scared. My eyes met hers, and a shiver ran down my spine. Wednesday bit her lower lip for a millisecond as her jaw relaxed its iron grip.

"What the hell were you doing with Bianca?" she asked, her tone sharp, her voice dropping a notch, almost becoming a threat. I blinked, confused, as I looked at her curiously. Is she jealous? No, I corrected myself quickly.

"Was I training?" I exclaim trying to understand the reason for her reaction.

Wednesday tilts her head to one side

and slowly she protrudes towards me, her black eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that makes me tilt, making me feel a mixture of fear and desire. The scent of lavender invades my nostrils, and I struggle to hold a groan as her fingers gently sink into my cheeks.

It forces me to maintain eye contact.

"And she had to touch you like that?" asks, her tone as cold as ice. I’m nervously swallowing the heat that builds up between my legs as Wednesday continues to flaunt her authority.

Her black nails slowly grip my cheeks, her face approaches mine with a disarmingly slow motion that makes me want to sink in at that moment. Our breaths mix and I feel my heart beat at a frantic pace.

"She must not touch you... even for a workout," she murmurs, her warm breath touching my lips. " You’re mine," she says decisively.

Her fingers leave the grip, the fingertips gently caress my cheek tracing the marks of the half-moons she left with her nails. I hold my breath as her hand slides down my jaw, stopping to gently touch my lips.

Without looking away, I wrap my lips around her fingers, sucking hard. Wednesday’s shoulders stiffened and her jaw tightened, her eyes burning in mine with a fiery intensity.

"You deserve a punishment" she mumbles in a cold voice.

Oh no.

"Lie down" she orders me with a cold and authoritative voice, her eyes following my moviments as I lay in her bed.

My heart was beating fast and the heat between my legs increased for anticipation. Wednesday’s hands are resting on my legs, making me shiver from the excitement and her cold skin.

"You’ve been so disobedient" she murmurs with coldness, her eyes following the movements of her hands on my legs.

The brunette leans over and looks at me calmly, eyes overflowing with desire and anger. I lick my lips.

Her lips lay upon mine with a brusquely, making me groan in surprise. I close my eyes and follow her movements with desire, her tongue exploring my mouth with possessiveness. My eyes flicker with pleasure from behind my eyelids and I couldn’t help but make a moan of disappointment as Wednesday moves away from my face.

Open my eyelids and I see that she slowly unbuttons my shirt, her eyes looking at mine with malice. She opens my shirt and lays her hands on my stomach, her eyes following my body with desire. She quickly takes off my bra and looks at me with intensity.

I release a moan ( of pleasure and pain) by feeling her teeth bite hard the skin over my breast, leaving her teeth marks. Pass her tongue to ease the pain. "You’re so beautiful" blabbereth before sinking her teeth back into my flesh.

Cries of pain and small tears form in my eyes, the moisture between my legs to counteract my true feelings.

Wednesday quickly descends down my stomach, leaving kisses and bites that made me whine from mixed pain to pleasure. " You’re so fucking wet" she says coldly, her eyes looking at the blob of moisture well evident in my panties. "I Don’t know what to do with you," she says monotonously, her fingers moving my panties sideways.

I bite my lips hard at the moment of feeling two fingers of Wednesday enter abruptly inside me up to my knuckles.

"You’re so desperate..." She murmurs, clenching her teeth with force. Her eyes stare at mine, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and excitement.

"Please" I beg, unable to bear the wait. The heat and excitement was too much, and I couldn’t bear to hold it for a second longer.

"You were a bad girl" she looks at me with reproach, her thumb spinning weakly around my clitoris, stimulating but at the same time leaving me unsatisfied

It’s a torture

"Wednesday..." I say in a husky voice, my eyes looking at her with excitement.

"Fuck me" I say with red cheeks, legs that moved inciting her movements.

"Tell me whose you belong to," she says with authority, her fingers moving slowly between my vaginal walls. I open my mouth and smile at the feeling that is making me feel, the humidity that grows with the passing of the seconds.

"I am yours" I murmur with despair.

Wednesday looks at me intensely, analyzing the words before thinking it was a sufficient answer. Her fingers increase the speed, making me scream for the sudden change of pace. The thumb expertly strokes my clit, literally making me touch the stars by how much it was making me feel good.

My toes curl and I let myself be carried away by the orgarm just reached, ashamed of how quickly I reached it. My eyes look at Wednesday staring at me with a little smile on her lips, her fingers coming out of me.

He directs them towards my mouth.

"Remember" begins in a cold tone, opening my mouth and allowing me to taste myself "I don’t like sharing what is mine" blabbering flat, her eyes looking at me with dark admiration that made me shiver again of excitement.

I was her babydoll

[novlr]

How do I make internal conflict subtle, without being so subtle the readers miss it?

Internal conflict is a vital component of any compelling story. It’s the central axis of any good character arc and drives the narrative forward. However, writing internal struggles effectively without resorting to heavy-handed exposition can be challenging. Here are some quick tips on writing subtle internal conflict.

Show, don’t tell

Reveal a character’s emotions through actions, thoughts, and dialogue.

Use body language and gestures to convey inner turmoil, like fidgeting, clenched fists, or avoiding eye contact.

Write sensory details to immerse readers in the character's emotional experience, like describing the taste of bitterness or the prickling of anxiety.

Incorporate changes in a character's routine or habits that hint at inner changes, like a punctual character being late, or changing taste in music.

Use the character's reactions to their environment as a reflection of their emotions. The same setting might appear grey and dark to one, but bright and vibrant to another.

Use subtext

Write subtext into dialogue, where characters say one thing but mean another.

Drop subtle hints at emotions that readers can infer rather than spelling everything out.

Experiment with non-verbal communication like meaningful glances, pauses, or hesitations.

Invoke subtext through characters' internal thoughts and uncertainties, without the character fully acknowledging their deeper feelings.

Use dramatic irony, where the reader knows more than the character does about their own feelings or situation.

Develop complex characters

Give your characters conflicting desires, values, and goals to naturally generate internal conflict.

Create backstories that reveal past traumas or experiences that continue to haunt and influence their decisions.

Consider using character flaws and contradictions to highlight internal struggles.

Use relationships to create conflicting desires and expectations.

Give your characters both internal and external conflicts to build tension between dealing with personal struggles and outside problems.

Employ inner monologues

Incorporate introspective moments where characters wrestle with their inner demons, doubts, and fears.

Use first-person or close third-person perspectives to allow readers direct access to the character's thoughts.

Balance inner monologues with external action to maintain pacing and engagement.

Use an unreliable narrator so readers try to distinguish between what is a misperception and what is the truth.

Create inner thoughts that highlight the difference between a character's public persona and their private world.

Create moral dilemmas

Force characters to make difficult decisions that represent turning points in their arcs.

Explore the consequences of a character’s choices on their sense of self and their relationships.

Have your character confront a personal sacrifice where they must question their own motives and values.

Have a character balance loyalty and personal integrity, having to decide where their personal morality lies.

Force a choice between self-preservation and the greater good where their choice not only has personal stakes, but story-wide ones as well.

[mynahx3]

One Moment Was All It Took Part 5

Hello lovelies!!! I am sooo sorry!!! Almost two month later but Part 5 is herrreee. It is a bit longer so hopefully that makes up for it a bit lolol. Part 6 is getting worked on rn, prob the last chapter, max with have 7 parts. Then I'm onto other stories! Warnings!!! Dubcon/ noncon, previous noncon implied, captivity, kidnapping, stokholm syndrome brewing, panic attacks, reader gets into a bad mental space yall Hope everyone enjoys! Inspired by @envy-of-the-apple Soulmate HC

Darkness was all around you.

It was cold and unfeeling; it felt as if you were in an abyss with no end in sight. Falling down forever, the feeling of weightlessness overwhelms your senses. The only sound you could hear was the rushing wind in your ears as you were plummeting through an endless void.

At first, you tried to scream for help, clawing your hands for anything to grab onto, but you soon realized it was pointless. Resignation at your fate settled in, and you closed your eyes, accepting the inevitable. The darkness enveloped you completely, wrapping you in its suffocating embrace.

Just as your body went limp, you felt hands gripping you tightly. You felt them everywhere.

Opening your eyes, you saw nothing still; the feeling of nails digging into your body was overwhelming. The sensation of being pulled in all directions was disorienting, and you couldn't make sense of what was happening. Panic set in as you struggled against the invisible force that seemed to be controlling your every movement.

Nails dug into the flesh of your thighs, your arms, and your chest, leaving painful marks in their wake. You screamed for help, but no sound escaped your lips as you were dragged further into the darkness. Blood seeped from the scratches, hands tearing more at you, as if trying to crawl into your skin. Screams of pain erupted from your lips, hands fighting at the unseen force, but nothing helped.

Losing strength in your body, you began to give in, the unseen force now gentle with your fighting now gone. It gave soft caresses over your skin, almost comforting in its touch. The darkness still enveloped you completely, leaving you feeling both terrified and strangely comforted at the same time. In the distance, you saw two orbs of light approaching. Upon closer inspection, they looked like they were two sapphires, glowing in the darkness with a bright blue hue.

In your weakened state, you reached out to touch them, hearing a voice call out your name as it gradually got louder.

Jolting awake from the nightmare, you felt two hands holding your shoulders, shaking you lightly. Opening your eyes while you sat up, you saw the very cause of your torment.

Satoru sat beside you in bed, the moonlight casting his body in a white glow. Snowy white hair tousled, and his blue eyes filled with worry. Even in the middle of the night, he was breathtaking. You never understood how one human could be so beautiful, especially one so rotten. One who did cruel things to you with a smile on his face.

He looked at you with such softness, his hands cupping your face as tears went down your cheeks. An attempt to comfort you from your nightmares, which have been happening nearly every night. The cold nipped at your bare shoulders, and the nightgown you had on did nothing to help.

"Shh, it's okay." He assured you, brushing your tears away with his thumbs. "You're okay."

His voice was thick with sleep and concern. Sniffing, you only nodded to him, not being able to talk because of the tight feeling in your throat. Your head rested on his bare chest as you allowed him to pull you close, arms tight around your waist.

When this all began, you never would have thought you'd find comfort in your captor. You'd laugh at the irony of it all if the situation weren't so dire. But here you were, finding solace in the arms of the man who held you captive, feeling a strange sense of warmth beside him as much as you tried to fight it. Your isolation and stress only made matters worse.

You were only human, after all.

Weeks, or months, you didn't know, of fighting him with no escape in sight brought down your walls of resistance. It was as if your attempts were child's play to him, with him always being one step ahead at all times. Now all you could do was cling to him for support. The Stockholm syndrome was real, and you were living proof of its power.

You held on to him tighter, desperate for a sense of security after your nightmare. He gladly accepted your affections, a hand rubbing on your back as he whispered soothing words into your ears.

Satoru's determination to break you slowly chipped at your resolve to the point he now let you roam the penthouse freely, of course under strict lock and key. He didn't yet trust you fully enough to let you back into the public. The penthouse was sleek and massive, a testament to the amount of wealth he had, with more rooms than you knew what to do with . It overlooked Tokyo, sitting high in the sky, with breathtaking views of the city. Your favorite was at night, when the lights of the city sparkled below. Every door leading outside was secured with a padlock, which only he knew the code for. He and he alone opened the front door or left it.

Even with the added freedom, you felt the solitude getting to you. It took a toll on your mental and physical health, apparent in the lack of sleep and constant anxiety that plagued your every waking moment. The only solace you found was in the moments of kindness Satoru showed, leaving you conflicted and unsure of your own feelings towards him.

Silence enveloped the room as you calmed down, your cries now replaced with sniffles. Sensing your calmer state, he pulled away from the embrace, a hand cupping your cheek. His eyes always seemed to glow, especially at night.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, concern evident in his voice.

You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you at his touch as he wiped your cheeks. The silence between you felt comfortable, like a safe haven in the midst of chaos. Of course, he had to ruin it by talking.

"Just a bad dream." You dismiss him, avoiding eye contact and pushing his hands away. Immediately, you distanced yourself from him on the bed, leaving his hand to reach out for you.

He only observed you as you tried to settle back down, his hand clenching on his lap and his fingers twitching to feel you again. After any nightmare or panic attack, you always clammed back up. Your walls were back up once you had a moment of clarity.

It was frustrating for the sorcerer. You were so close to letting him in; he could see it, but you always retreated away just when he thought he had made progress. Constantly, he had to chase after you, hoping to get a glimpse of the vulnerability you rarely showed. But he knew that breaking down those walls would take time and patience.

He was only doing this because he had to.

The next morning, you woke before he did, like always.

Sunrays barely began to peek through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Slowly, your mind fully woke up, with small yawns coming from your mouth. While your eyes adjusted, you watched him sleep beside you, tilting your head at the sight of him so peaceful. He lays there without a care in the world, an arm still around you, snoring lightly as he drooled onto his pillow. Fingers reached out to trace over his features lightly, his eyes twitching a little as he dreamed.

Shaking your head at your actions, you went back to getting out of bed, trying to wiggle out of his hold. Groans of protest escaped his lips, his brow furrowing at the loss of heat, his hand reaching for you on the bed, but he quickly fell asleep again. Putting the comforter over his shoulder, you quietly slipped out of bed and made your way to the kitchen to start making breakfast. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room as you moved about.

It wasn't that you necessarily wanted to cook for him. Satoru couldn't cook to save his life, and you found it helpful to have a routine to stick to; the consistency brought you some sense of stability. Going through the motions, you whipped together a simple breakfast. For moments like these, you could almost believe things were normal. Almost.

You were so focused that you didn't notice a certain white-haired man walking into the kitchen; he always managed to sneak up on you despite being so loud. His arms wrapped around your waist as you stirred the eggs in the pan, startling you with a jump.

"Morning." His breath fanned over your ear, and his head went to the crook of your neck. He was a bit groggy, his larger body leaning over yours as he kissed your shoulder. "You need help?"

"No, I've got it here," you replied, your voice calm as your heart beat in your chest frantically.

The forced intimacy was something you should be well used to, with how often he pulled you into his arms, but there was still a shiver down your spine at the contact. His large hands wandered over your stomach lazily, a natural response for the clingy man, as he always craved your touch.

You just let him do as he wished. The scar on your left hand is a reminder of what would happen if you pushed him too far. Looking at it, memories of trying to fight him flood your mind. In your rage, you tried to hit him over the head with a glass vase. To your surprise, it only broke just before making contact, with a large shard imbedding itself in your palm and traveling all the way to the other side.

Satoru laughed like it was a joke as you screamed, collapsing to the tile with your bloody hand clutched to your chest. He warned you that next time, he wouldn't be so forgiving. In your pain, he made sure to patch you up gently and clean up the mess. Acting as if it were a simple accident.

He always talked about possessing abilities—ones he couldn't show you because of the "soumate" bond. Ranting on about stories of curses and the rare people that were able to exorcise them, keeping sweet cilvians like yourself safe, as he said. Naturally, you thought it was more of his delusional thoughts.

That day, you were proven wrong. The sight of the vase shattering against an invisible force between the two of you was enough to dampen the fire inside of you. He wasn't human; that much is clear to you now.

Coming back to reality, you felt his hands hiking up your nightgown. His fingers were cold as they traversed underneath. The touch sent shivers down your spine, a stark contrast to the warmth you once felt from him. As his hands continued to explore, you resisted the urge to fight him.

His kisses along your neck and shoulders are harsher, leaving marks in their wake. Marks that would last for days to come. When they finally fade, it will serve as a reminder to make more.

"You'll be late." You remind him, inhaling a sharp breath as his grip tightens on your waist. You tried to reason with him now instead of fighting him, knowing it would be useless. A few times, you've been able to dissuade him, but you knew it would be a matter of time before he took you again.

The urgency of his movements made you uneasy. His hips are moving into yours from behind with a need, making you feel each inch of his hardening cock. Satoru simply ignores you, a hand pulling at your chest, knowing it was a sensitive spot. His actions were becoming more forceful, causing a mix of pleasure and discomfort to surge through you.

Staying strong, you put down your spatula and turn off the fire, putting a hand over his to stop his movements. Eyes looking over at him with a small frown to show how serious you were. He had a pout on his lips, his eye twitching at the interruption. He hated being told no and being denied.

"I'll be fine. I called off today." He explains, focusing back on the skin on your neck. "I figured we should spend more time together since I've been gone a lot lately; I want to get to know you more."

His considerate words were a contrast to his actions. Ignoring your attempts to push him away, he did what he wanted. Both of his hands are on your chest, twisting and pulling at your nipples harshly. Your attempts to stop him and to talk reason to him were futile.

Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around you and picked you up, dropping you onto the counter behind him. He kneeled and slid your legs onto his shoulders in one swift motion, his head disappearing beneath your nightgown. Often, he liked to do this, being between your legs until your essence dripped down his chin and onto the bed. Once, he'd spend hours there, pleasuring you like it was his only purpose in life, not leaving until he had nearly made you pass out.

He couldn't get enough of you.

"Satoru!" You cried out, hands tangling in his hair as his tongue went in circles on your clit. "Satoru, please, not now."

Moans slipped past your lips, feeling the tension building in your core as he continued his skilled movements. The pleasure was overwhelming, and you knew you wouldn't be able to hold back much longer. He had a firm hold on your ass, nail digging in as he kept you in place when you tried to squirm away.

He had gone deaf to your pleas, lost in your taste and the way your body responded to his touch. He loved every second of it. Satoru was only focused on your pleasure, determined to bring you to the edge and beyond. With each flick of his tongue, you felt yourself teetering closer to the release you felt incoming.

Going between licks at your clit to tongue fucking you with a rhythm that had you gasping for air. The intensity of his actions sent shivers down your spine, making you arch your back in ecstasy. Your thighs squeezed around his head in an attempt to get him to stop his actions, but he only laughed, sending vibrations through your body that only heightened your arousal. His skilled touch was driving you wild, sending every nerve ablaze inside you.

With a final flick of his tongue, you reached your peak, crying out his name as waves of pleasure washed over you. He licked you clean, savoring each drop from you. Satoru finally released you, a satisfied smirk on his face as he looked up at you with dark eyes filled with desire. His chin dripped with your release, a smile on his face as he gazed up at you, his gaze filled with a mix of satisfaction and hunger. Turning his head, he laid kisses on your inner thigh, and one of his hands rubbed your leg as you calmed down from your high. Your chest is heaving, with a layer of sweat on it. The fabric of the nightgown stuck to your skin.

"Such a good girl."

Smiling still, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood up. As he did, he began to pull his sweats down and let his cock free. It stood hard and erect, pre-dripping from the pink head.

Shame filled you, making you avert your eyes from his gaze.

In response, he only kissed your temple, letting you look away from him as he began. Guiding his member to your sopping entrance, he began to push in with no warning. The pain shot through you as he entered you roughly, causing tears to well up in your eyes. You tried to push him away, but his grip on your hips was too strong. Hands went on his shoulders, but he only tightened his grip on you, whispering in your ear that everything would be okay.

"Almost there, baby." He groaned into your neck while he stayed still, letting you adjust to his size.

No matter how many times you've been intimate with him, there was still a small amount of pain felt. You sobbed into his chest, hiccuping at the violation, with your arms moving around his neck. He held you close, comforting you with small kisses as the pain slowly subsided.

Felling you begin to relax, he experimentally thrust, gaining a small moan from you. His movements were slow and gentle, showing care and consideration for your comfort. As he found a rhythm, the initial discomfort faded away, replaced by a growing sense of pleasure.

The kitchen was filled with his loud moans and yours, even as you tried to muffle them to the best of your ability. His onslaught was relentless, the pace quickening as he became more consumed by desire, and the grip on your hips was near painful.

Opening your eyes, you looked past Satoru, your eyes blank as he continued to thrust. The eggs continued to cook with the left-over heat. Dust was on the cabinets; you'd be sure to clean them today. You noticed the clock on the wall stopped moving; you'd have to replace the batteries. The aroma of breakfast filled the room, mixing with the scent of sweat and desire.

You often let your mind wander during these moments, focusing on the sensations rather than the reality of the situation. Imagining yourself in your fiance's arms was one distraction you welcomed, but it was a dangerous game if you ever slipped his name. Your imagination could never mask what was happening, but it helped.

His noises filled your ears, as if to be a constant reminder of what you did to him. Grabbing your face harshly, he focused your eyes back on him. It's like he knew what you were doing—an emotion in his eyes you couldn't describe.

The varying blues of his eyes mesmerized you each time you saw them so close. It was like gazing into a stormy sea, both beautiful and terrifying. The intensity of his gaze made it impossible to look away, drawing you in despite the fear that lingered beneath the surface.

"You're mine," he growled, his grip tightening on your cheeks. The fear in your eyes mirrored the reality of the situation—no longer being able to hide behind daydreams.

Roughly, his lips met yours as if to claim you completely. His tongue explored every crevice of your mouth, leaving you breathless. Your legs tightened around him, nails sinking into his back, in response to a certain movement that hit a spot inside you. He finally broke from the kiss, returning his attention to your eyes. He could see from the look in your eyes and your drooling mouth that you were close, your body trembling in pleasure.

This urged him to move faster, with one of his hands moving between the two of you to rub at your clit. His fingers are rubbing in fast circles, the movement sending you closer to the edge. With each thrust, the pleasure intensified, building towards an inevitable climax.

The feeling of you around him was pure bliss, a sensation he would never grow tired of. The slaps of his hips on yours became more forceful, matching the urgency of your moans and the increasing pace of his movements. You clenched around him, your eyes rolling back as you felt your end coming closer. Satoru was not far behind, his face a bright red and his movements sloppy.

With a final push, he buried himself deep inside you, releasing a guttural groan as you both reached the peak of pleasure together. His cum filled you as your insides milked him for all his worth as his cock twitched inside you.

Panting for air, you held him close, legs shaking on either side of him from overstimulation. You felt his warmth fill you to the brim, spilling onto the countertops. As you both came down from the intense high, you shared a moment of silence.

He spent it in glee, and you spent it in contempt. You hated yourself for giving in. For not fighting harder. For succumbing to his touches. The fear and instinct to survive overpowered any sense of dignity or self-respect you had left. More tears silently went down your cheeks, mixing with the sweat and other fluids that coated your skin.

Giving you a softer kiss on the lips, he pulled back with a soft smile. With eyes filled with tenderness, you often thought he truly believed his delusions. His hands still rubbed along your body to massage the soreness that would come shortly; he was always too rough with you.

"Come on. We'll take a shower together." He said, he looked content with himself as he pulled out, earning a whimper from you. His shoulders were relaxed, and a sense of satisfaction was evident in his expression. He breathed slowly and deeply while he waited for a response, his fingers still trailing along your thighs.

You got the feeling it was more of an order than a suggestion; he did like the intimacy bathing together brought.

"You'll feel better."

Nodding to him quietly, you let him help you off the counter. Standing on shaky legs as you tried to walk to the bathroom. He only laughed at the sight, letting you continue to try and walk. Your legs only shook more with each step; you looked like a deer learning to walk for the first time.

For awhile, he let you keep trying to walk, only stepping in once you had nothing to support yourself with anymore. With ease, he picked you up bridal style, making jokes at your expense. He laughed when he saw the embarrassed expression on your face, digging in more.

The bath was relaxing, as much as you hated to admit it.

With plenty of soap filling the large tub, Satoru sat across from you. He talked on and on, focused on plans for the day as you wash yourself. Only humming in response to all of his questions and obviously avoiding speaking to him.

He noticed when you answered a question with another hum. With a roll of his eyes, he splashed you with water to catch your attention. Jumping in response, you splashed him back on habit, only for the water to slide down that damn force field of his as he smiled at you with a shit eating grin.

"As I was saying, babe, I think we should have a marathon. I saw a series you like has a new season out."

You can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes at his persistence, hands raised to scrub the shampoo into your hair. Eyes looking to the side of the tube to distract yourself, you still haven't gotten used to him trying to be so domestic.

"Fine, but only if we get the snacks I want," you retort, a little part of you looking forward to it.

You froze at the realization, frowning as to why you thought that. You hated him. Despised what he did to you and what he continued to do. Deep, deep down, despite how much you buried it, you felt a small connection forming with him.

Focusing again, you saw his gaze on you. You slapped his arm; your physical attacks always made contact, after all, when you saw where they were directed. He had been shamlessly oogling your wet, soapy breasts.

"Stop being a creep," you scolded, feeling a mix of annoyance and discomfort. You quickly covered yourself with one arm, hoping to put some distance between yourself and him as you scooted away.

"Stop being so hot then."

Slapping his arm again, just as hard, he gasped in shock, pretending to look heartbroken, his hand clutching his chest. He had red spots forming on his biceps from your hits against his pale skin.

"You're impossible," you muttered, glaring at his wide grin. Despite his inappropriate behavior, there was a part of you that couldn't help but find him charming in a twisted sort of way. If you had met under different circumstances, there might have been a chance you could have been friends.

"What?" He challenged, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes, clearly enjoying the banter between the two of you. "Gonna do something to make me stop?"

To further his point, his eyes focused down once more and then back up at your face, his eyebrows wiggling playfully. Lifting your hands up, you covered his eyes with your hands, blocking his view, much to his mock protest. Your palms were flat up against his eyes, not letting anything slip by .

"Not cool." His lips pouted, but he made no attempt to escape your grasp. If anything, he leaned into your touch, a sigh of relief leaving his lips. To your surprise, his hands sprang up over yours when you began to move them in an attempt to take them back. He pleaded with you for them to stay.

"Can… Can we stay like this for a bit longer?"

His voice was the softest you have ever heard, and the vulnerability in his tone caught you off guard. He'd always been playful and carefree, but in this moment, he seemed fragile and in need of comfort. It tugged at your heartstrings, and you couldn't help but oblige his request.

You don't know what came over you, but you found yourself moving closer to him in the tub. Continuing to offer him support as you both sat in comfortable silence, his hands still resting on yours.

The rest of the day went by peacefully. You'd even go so far as to say it was nice.

As he promised, the two of you relaxed on the couch to watch the show after breakfast and changed into comfortable clothing. He currently held you next to him, a blanket over the both of you. Regardless of your best efforts to avoid it, his arm was wrapped around your shoulder. You caved in after he persisted.

"I told you they would go that route; it only made sense!"

"You don't need to rub it in." He said it with a defeated tone, popping another piece of candy into his mouth.

The two of you had a debate about which direction the show would go when you saw the warning signs. It was obvious to you that the best friend would betray the main character in the end. You were just hoping you were wrong.

Sighing like a child, Satoru moved to get up; his phone had chimed with a notification. He glanced down at the screen, his expression turning grim as he read the message.

"Gotta take this, babe; keep watching."

You only shrugged at him in response, picking up the remote to switch to live TV as he left the room. Both of you had already finished the newest season; the sun is long set now. Browsing through the channels, you only saw a few reruns of old movies, the midnight crime shows you used to watch, and a late-night talk show discussing the latest celebrity gossip from a couple years ago. The room was filled with the soft glow of the TV screen, casting shadows across the walls as you settled in for another night of mindless entertainment.

Picking a random channel since nothing caught your interest, you moved to pick up a book you'd left on the stand beside the couch, turning on the small lamp to read instead. As you flipped through the pages, the sound of laughter from the TV faded into the background, replaced by the quiet rustling of paper. The familiar smell of the book brought a sense of comfort; books were often your only source of entertainment here since Satoru only let you use the TV when he was with you.

Minutes went by as you read to yourself; Satoru was still down the hall on the phone. You often saw him pacing the halls, shooting you a look to check in at times. Immersed in the book, you didn't pay him any mind; you were used to him constantly checking in on you.

Just as you began to relax, you heard the voice of someone familiar. Someone you thought you'd never hear or see again.

Looking up at the TV in shock, you saw the news station was on, showing an interview with your family. You'd forgotten Satoru didn't like you watching live TV, always mentioning he meant to cancel it. Now you knew why.

On the large LED screen, you saw your loved ones in tears, crying out over your disappearance. They looked devastated, pleading for your safe return. Your heart sank, seeing how distraught they were. Tears began to well in your eyes, your emotions overwhelming you.

A tight feeling in your chest made it harder to breathe; your breaths came in short bursts. Panic began to fill your veins, the book dropping beside you as you stood up. Your fiancé was now on screen. He appeared worn, exhausted, and shattered. A shadow of the man he once was, he gazed directly into the camera, his eyes filled with desperation as he whispered, "Please come back to me."

Your hands trembled as you reached out towards the screen, wishing to be with him. It had been almost five months since you'd disappeared; the only thing left of you was a ransacked apartment. Five months were spent alone with this man. This monster.

More panic filled you as your thoughts raced and your heart beat frantically in your chest. Your hands began to shake as you realized how long it had been. A strangled cry escaped your lips as you collapsed to the floor, arms wrapped around yourself, in a desperate attempt to calm your racing heart. The weight of the situation finally hit you, and tears began to stream down your face. You made sounds you never would have imagined—sounds that were hurting and broken.

Satoru ran back into the room once he heard your cries, coming back to find you shattered in pieces. It was easy for him to figure out what happened. He kneeled down beside you, gently pulling you into his arms and whispering soothing words in your ear. His presence did nothing to soothe you, only causing you to fight in his arms more. Pushing on him to get away from him, you felt like the room was caving in on you. His suffocating presence only made things worse. You needed space to process your emotions, but Satoru refused to let you go, holding you tighter. The more he tried to comfort you, the more you felt like you were drowning in your own despair.

Eventually, like always, you tired yourself out. Crying softly as he cradled you in his arms. Your chest still hiccupped, but you no longer screamed like you did before. Vocal cords are raw now and in pain. Your eyes are red and puffy from your tears.

"Why?" you whispered, the word barely audible through your hoarse voice. Satoru held you closer, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears of his own. You'd never seen him cry before; the hold on you is tighter than before.

"I love you."

His declaration only served to make you cry more.

Shaking your head, you continued to try and push away from him. You pleaded with him to let you go through your tears. The entire time, he peppered your face with kisses, declaring his love in between each one. He is desperate to get you to see through his words and actions. It was suffocating—his so called love, the look in his eyes he held for you, the intensity of his emotions palpable in the air around you.

"I can't let you go… Not ever…"

Hugging you close, he made you rest your head on his shoulder, his hand caressing your hair. Even now, he was rough. His hand gripped your hair a little too tightly, making you wince in pain. The position on the floor was uncomfortable for the both of you, but he didn't seem to notice or care. Too engrossed in his own emotions, he seemed blind to your discomfort.

Laying limp in his arms, your tired eyes wandered back to the screen where the interview continued. Seeing your loved ones, you felt that spark in you return—that will to fight— even as small as it was. 

OOOhhh what will happennnn??~~~ I hope you guys liked this chapter. You saw how the dynamic worked with him now since it's months down the line. Will he fully break her? Will she try to escape despite her fears?? We'll findd outt

[hardly-an-escape]

a ficlet for you @introvertbibliophile!

The nights were the worst.

The irony was not lost on Morpheus – the night had ere been his home. Dreams belong in the dark, after all; belong to the dark. They are born in those middling nowhere hours between sunset and sunrise, and then too had Dream been born, or if not strictly born, at the very least come into existence.

But Morpheus was Dream no longer. He was human, not dreamstuff, and possessed of the same human foibles and weaknesses as all the other humans who were lying awake in the dark, oppressive heat of London at the height of summer.

It was so hot.

Morpheus tossed and turned, seeking a cool patch of pillow. He was so sweaty. The top sheet stuck to his skin, but if he pushed it down the breeze from the fan Hob had propped in the corner made his skin prickle uncomfortably, even as it brought momentary relief from the heat. Even the thin fabric of his underwear felt burdensome and restrictive – even his eyelids, even the inside of his skull felt sweaty.

He rolled over again and genuinely could not help the pitiful-sounding sigh that escaped him.

“Still awake, darling?” Hob’s voice was sleepy.

“Yes,” sniffed Morpheus. “I am. So uncomfortable. I cannot sleep.”

“I know, neither can I. It’s bad this summer.” One broad fingertip ghosted across Morpheus’s collarbone. It felt just slightly wet. Morpheus did not think his body should be able to make itself wet. “Can I do anything for you, love?”

“Yes. No. Yes. The fan is bothering me.”

Hob levered himself out of bed with a soft grunt and switched the fan off, then came back and kissed Morpheus lightly on the forehead.

“Want a little treat?” he asked. “I got something at the shops earlier that I think you’ll like.”

“I have already brushed my teeth.”

“You get special dispensation for cold treats in bed. I decided. On account of how it’s a million degrees.”

Hob padded out to the kitchen and Morpheus heard the freezer open and shut. Something clinked against ceramic and then Hob returned, plopping down on the bed by Morpheus’s knees. Morpheus pushed himself up to a sitting position and kicked the sheet down around his feet.

The treat Hob handed him was bright red, even in the darkened bedroom. Morpheus took the wooden stick delicately between his finger and thumb and gave it a tentative lick.

“Cherry,” offered Hob. “Or at least that’s what it said on the label. I imagine it mostly tastes like sugar, really.”

“It is good. And more importantly, it is cold.”

Morpheus closed his eyes, the better to savor the experience, to focus on the soothing interplay between sweet and frozen, and thus missed the sight of Hob fishing an ice cube from the small bowl he was holding and pressing it to his lips, and was surprised into a gasp when Hob’s chilled lips pressed against the inside of one knee.

“Hob – what ���”

“Shhh,” Hob said, and dropped another kiss, a little higher. “Eat your popsicle.”

come and drop a prompt in my inbox and I'll write you a drabble while I’m being a passenger princess on this road trip <3

[willowser]

satoru avoids you.

it's easy to tell with him, when most mornings have you wrapped sweetly up in the expanse of his warmth; face tucked into your neck, a hand half up your shirt, lanky leg tangled between yours. but the bed is empty, and you let the silence live, for now. sometimes he needs it.

faintly, you can hear him tinkering in the kitchen, though satoru hardly does anything quietly. how gently he's setting his utensils and plate in the sink is with purpose, like he's trying to keep you asleep for just a moment longer. it's unusual, is all: him not wanting for your attention every chance he can get it.

you stretch out into the space his long limbs are no longer hoarding, sighing a little breathlessly, as if you need to be quiet, too—and when you run a hand across your sleepy face, something scratches you. something sitting on your finger that most certainly was not there the night before.

it's rather simple, in the best way; almost inconspicuous, if it weren't adorned on your hand, right in front of your face. you don't doubt it still cost him an arm and a leg, but—there are no frills, no in-character, extravagant designs, no fluff.

there is only a single band and a small diamond, one that is almost a gentle blue in the light of the morning.

you're sitting there, staring at it blankly when satoru finally returns, though he still doesn't look at you.

"well, well, well," the grin in his voice is obvious, and you feel a distant relief that his tone is teasing, that his spirits are up. and then you feel a belated annoyance that he's daring to say anything about you being in bed. "look who's finally up."

it's still a bit early, you want to remind him, but he's already at his closet with an urgency in his step, picking out a set of clothes that give the impression he's not going to be crawling back into bed with you.

he continues, like he knows what you're thinking. "the one time itadori is early..." and he trails off with a shake of his head, running a hand through his hair as if he doesn't know to wear the same thing he does every time he trains with the students.

and you see it there on him, too.

almost blending in with his hair, a little, white silicone band that's hugging the base of his long finger, almost like the two of you have already up and done the ceremony and said your vows and til' death do you part, amen.

you finally say something when he tugs his shirt over his head in a hurry.

"do you really think this is a good idea?"

the dust has settled, but he is still gojo satoru.

it's taken a long time just for you to get here with him, enjoying a lazy morning in his home, seeing his hair still sleep-mussed, granted the quiet, intimate view of him pulling on his pants. he kept you an arm's length away for almost too long, for a numerous amount of reasons he's never listed for you, and you've never held it against him because you know why he worries. why he has to.

your question is genuine, though he is anything but.

he turns to look at you, all smiles. "have a little faith in me, peach, i practically taught him everything he knows! i can handle the kid."

you pull your knees up to your chest to hug, frowning. "i'm being serious."

satoru's expression softens, but only just. he flaps a hand at you as if to wave off your worry, before turning back around to pluck his shirt out. "have i ever been wrong about anything?"

you watch the marble of his back as he pushes his hair out of his face, blindfold at the ready, before slipping out of bed. he's still bare, and you press your cheek into his spine, wrapping your arms around his little waist. the affection makes him tense; you half-expected him to shut you out.

"satoru," you murmur into his skin, and when you peek around his shoulder to meet his reflection in the mirror, all you're allowed is dark fabric.

—but then he tugs one side up and levels you with his bright stare. "i do," he says, and the irony of his words has you flushing a bit. "i do think it's a good idea."

you can feel his heartbeat through his back, heavy and human, and you wait until his stomach flexes with all his nerves before biting him on the back of the arm. he lets you.

"okay," you press a smile into him, warm, until it spreads to his own face. "i do, too."

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 32 - Resolve

Story so far

Another long one… what can I say, once I actually got the two of them talking everything just… resurfaces 😏

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

“Scott? What’s wrong? What did I say?”

“It’s nothing. We should probably head back.”

“No. No, we clearly need to talk about this.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not! You’re been like this since… You need to tell me what happened! What did I do? Scott? What did I say?”

Scott looked pained. Virgil’s heart sank a little further.

“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. You weren’t… well.”

“And yet despite that you clearly aren’t able to shrug it off as hallucinogenic nonsense? Whatever it was has clearly been bothering you, Scott.”

His brother looked as if he were about to respond but then spun on his heel and walked the few metres down to the shoreline and stood for a moment staring at the horizon, before kicking a large pebble into the path of a wave.

The resolved look on Scott’s face as he turned back had Virgil bracing himself but then it dissolved into doubt and his brother couldn’t meet his eye.

“Just tell me Scooter. Please? I really really need to know.”

Scott crouched to pick up a small shell and turned it over in his fingers. His voice was small, uncertain and directed somewhere in the region of Virgil’s ankles.

“You were… angry.”

Virgil’s memory of the first few days of his illness was… patchy at best. Mostly grey fluffy confusion, there but not there. Like hearing dialogue of a film from behind several closed doors. There were a few moments of bright, highly saturated emotions but bigger areas of deep overwhelming darkness. He thought he could remember being angry, the sense of losing hold of his calm… but when he tried to recall why the reason slid sideways and he hit one of the dark spots. All he had was the impression he was being held back from something he needed. But it was so faint it could have been a distant childhood memory.

“I didn’t hurt someone??” He didn’t say the word ‘again’ but his mind shouted it at him.

“No! No, we were all fine.” Scott sprang to his feet as the need to reassure obviously kicked in but hesitated midway through reaching out to catch Virgil’s arm. Somehow that restraint hurt more than anything else.

Virgil squared his shoulders. “But I tried to hurt someone… didn’t I?”

“You… you may have tried to push me down a cliff”

“Oh. Oh Scott… I’m so sorry…”

“It’s alright, you missed, ha. We had to catch you in the end, you weren’t very coordinated and um... Yeah it was all fine. And err… well. It was clear you thought I was… someone else.”

Blurry pieces drifted together and seemed to snap into place as if magnetised.

Oh. That again.

“I thought you were Dad didn’t I?”

“Um, yeah.”

The irony was definitely painful.

“Ah.”

“I don’t understand Virgil, why do you hate him so much? What did he ever…? Did he…?” Scott closed his eyes and clenched his fists by his side “Did he hurt you? Did he DO something to you or… or the others that I… I should know about? Because you need to tell me if…

“No! Nonono, Scott, not… nothing like that! He didn’t do anything to me! I don’t hate him! It’s just…”

The relief flooding through Scott’s features made the words stick in Virgil’s throat. Was there a way of explaining this that didn’t damage the vision he carried of his idol?

“Then why were you so angry? There was… something in your eyes that… I’ve never seen it before. I’ve never seen you so full of hate, it… I won’t lie, it scared me, Virg.”

“Look, Scott I don’t hate him. I have never had any desire to hurt him. I don’t really remember what I was thinking…”

“But you don’t look all that surprised?”

Virgil sighed heavily.

“I guess you know what happened last time.”

“I made John tell me what he could, yeah.”

“Then you probably know more than I do. Somehow we never got around to discussing it. But I sometimes get these nightmares that might be related to back then… where I’m trying to save you from falling and Dad is holding me back.”

“That’s why you ended up on the roof that time.”

“Perhaps.”

“But you know Dad would have helped save me? Any of us? That was kind of his thing!”

“Sure he would.”

Scott looked at him appraisingly “But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“It’s just that… I just… get frustrated at… how he… uh…”

Virgil realised he was gesticulating at Scott as if he was the problem and hurried to explain before his brother could assume the worst:

“I hated how he treated you! You always just said he pushed you only as hard as you needed to be pushed but you didn’t! You didn’t need it! All that happened was you never felt you were good enough!”

“I… wow, ok. But maybe I wasn’t, Virg? That’s ok! It’s… it’s ok? It’s alright to know you have things to improve, areas to strengthen. Look, you were younger and maybe it’s hard to see fault in your older…”

“NO!”

Scott paused with his mouth half open but Virgil didn’t even notice. Decades of frustration at never being able to win this particular battle in any of its myriad forms surged up like gas hissing from an opened can. Virgil didn’t shout. Virgil was the calm one. But he couldn’t hold the bubbles back anymore - the words overflowed before he realised they were in his head:

“Don’t even think about making this out to be some kind of unthinking hero worship. At least not on MY part - believe me I am well aware of your many faults. They drive me crazy on a daily basis!”

Even before Scott had time to flush with hurt Virgil was regretting he’d let that one slip out.

“I’m sorry. That was unfair. I didn’t mean…”

Scott appeared to skip over the personal slight and interrupted:

“I don’t worship him, Virgil. I know he has his faults. But I think maybe you forget everything he achieved and the least I can do is try to honour that by not screwing it all up now he’s… gone.”

“Do you know how I know he thought you were good enough, Scott?” Virgil interrupted.

“I… he thought I what?

“He told me. Repeatedly.”

Scott looked blank. Uncomprehending. And if that didn’t just sum the whole bloody thing up. The bubbles fizzed at the edges of Virgil’s temper:

“Did you see what Scott just did? Did you hear about Scott? Isn’t he smart? Isn’t he clever? Watch Scott, Virgil, he’ll show you how. Look at Scott, he’s so brave. Just try to be like Scott and you’ll be ok… Stick with Scott, he’ll see you right…”

The fizz subsided a little and Virgil took a breath. He wasn’t convinced Scott was going to do the same without a reminder so he took a side step and nudged him in the ribs with his elbow until his brother gasped and drew in some much needed oxygen. He reached down and took his big brother’s hand again. It wrapped around and squeezed back. They walked in silence like that for a few moments and Virgil suddenly felt 8 years old again, exploring the countryside around the farm, trying to elongate each step to match his big brother’s longer gait and not slow him down. The same sun beat down on them.

The silence broke that illusion though - young Scotty had always been talking at a mile a minute on their walks, either pointing out birds, the tiny rustlings of animals on the move or how that lump of rock looked like a ship and that cloud that looked like a plane and Virgil-did-you-know-there’s-a-way-you-can-solve-rubix-cubes-and-always-get-the-right-answer?

Older Scotty was quiet.

“He didn’t need to tell me any of it. I knew. But he never told YOU did he?”

“Of course he… I mean… I mean, well… he… he was… encouraging?”

“He never told you and you never believed it when I told you and do you know how hard it is to grow up seeing the person you love most in the world not think they deserve it?”

“I… I’m sorry?”

“No. Don’t. Please don’t do that. That’s not… this isn’t about me.”

“It should be - you’re the one who got sick! And you shouldn’t have been worrying about… things like that! About me. I made your life harder by making you worry and that’s on me. And so I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Well, I don’t think it was all his either! He…” His brother’s voice cracked a little and he stared up at the sky. “He was a great man. A good father.”

“Scott listen, I don’t think he was a bad person, I loved him dearly and I think he was doing his best and… maybe there’s a lot of people who thinking being a good parent is all pushing your kid to greater and greater heights but… you deserved better. You deserved to know you were enough. That you always were! That…” Virgil waved wildly with his free hand “… that you would have been more than enough even without ANY of the impressive achievements and you know what? I am furious at him. It makes me so angry that I grew up knowing that and you didn’t. You are more than enough and I am so very sick and tired of him pushing you and pushing you from beyond the grave!”

Scott stopped walking and Virgil’s shoulder jerked a little as his body tried to leave his hand behind in his big brother’s vice grip. He turned back and used the free arm to pull Scott into a hug. Aware that his mouth was now right next to his brothers ear he made sure to moderate his volume, but that meant it was harder to stop his voice shaking.

“Since I was ten and I found you curled up in the hayloft sobbing your heart out because HE couldn’t see how hard you tried, I made it my mission to get you to see how good you are but it feels like I’ve failed over and over and over because no matter what I say, HIS voice is always louder. Just a bit more, just push harder, be more like me.”

He dropped his head onto Scott’s shoulder and drew in a couple of breaths. Then pulled back and looked him in the eye,

“I wish you’d listen to me and not him. The world doesn’t another Jeff Tracy. It needs Scott. We need Scott. I… I need Scott.”

“You still have me. I’m right here!”

“Sometimes there is so much Dad when I look at you that I can’t see Scott anymore. It’s like the part of you that’s you fades to… to…”

“Grey?”

“Yeah…”

Scott sighed heavily.

“But Virg, isn’t that just how I am? It’s always been that way. It was a standing joke as long as I can remember. I’ve always been his mark two haven’t I?”

“Not exactly… you were always a bit like him but a lot more like you. Even after Mom… when you took on so much, you did it your way. Then he… left and… you got more frantic. You were always fast, impulsive but before Dad left us it was different. You were fast and impulsive in your own way but I didn’t spend every mission worrying that this would be the one when I couldn’t catch you if you fell.”

Scott sank down on to the sand.

“And now you do.”

Virgil hummed then dropped down next to him and dipped his head on to his brother’s shoulder.

“I’ve scared you so many times. I’m so sorry.”

He bit back the automatic response that it was ok. It wasn’t. He wasn’t. That had been made abundantly clear.

“What if I don’t know how else to be? All I want to do, all I ever wanted to do is to look after you all and yet somehow I’m just upsetting you… I’m screwing it up so badly it’s making you sick with stress but I don’t know how to fix it!”

The world seemed to go silent around them as Virgil realised this might be a threshold moment - what he said next might be the one chance he had to change things. He straightened up and took hold of Scott’s hand again:

“Could you listen?”

“I am! I’m listening, Virgil, I’m trying! I just don’t know what to…”

“I don’t mean now. I mean out on a rescue”.

“I always listen, I need your expertise, we’re a team! All of us.”

“When I say stop. Will you listen?”

“I…”

“When John says ‘wait’ because he doesn’t know if it’s safe, will you listen?”

“I… I do?”

“You don’t. Whatever voice you’re listening to every time you leap into the unknown, Scott, it isn’t ours. Or John’s. Or Gordon’s. Even Alan and Kayo sometimes…”

“What, so I’m supposed to ignore my own judgment and experience as to my capabilities and prefer a literal child’s opinion?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what?”

“I mean those times when even you can’t see a way through… but you dive in anyway and hope? I think you’ve performed so many apparent miracles your default Plan B is now to throw yourself in between and rely on whatever lucky streak has kept you alive to date because that’s what…”

“That’s what Dad would have done.”

“Yeah.”

The sound of the sea intruded again and Virgil counted the waves as he waited.

After the water had hissed back and forth over the sand twelve times, Scott took a deep breath.

“I can do that.”

[missredherring]

D.D. + "Then we'll find out together."

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Rating: G

Word Count: 744

Contents: established relationship. fluff.

A/N: This is another of my journal prompt fills! The wheel of destiny picked Din Djarin and "What do you like?" "I don't know..." "Then we'll find out together." from the inexperienced smut prompts.

I love this idea for Din and was ready to actually try some smut for him, but then I came up with this idea instead.

Not beta'd. Any mistakes are my own.

Summary: "Then we'll find out together."

Series Masterlist

Your little house on the outskirts of Nevarro is too quiet.

You can hear the hum of the appliances from the kitchen and the air system cycling on and off, but they're soft and low sounds. It's nothing like the rattling production the Razor Crest went through as it traveled through space, letting you know every effort it took to run the functions you'd ask of it.

The time spent on the Crest is shaded with fondness now in light of what came after it: any kind of lodging they could find or afford, even it if ended up being a corner of a cave system filled to bursting with Mandalorians.

Instead of the console lights or the dizzying display of hyperspace travel, the only light that came through the window was the ambient light from the capital city and the starlight above. When you glance over at Din beside you to see if he's awake, all you can make out is the outline of his body. He's laying still, flat on his back instead of crunched up in the least amount of space he can take up, and the dark fabric of his flight suit turned pajamas disguised any movement of his chest. You can't tell if his breathing was steady and slow in sleep, or if he was just resting like you were.

His armor stands sentry in the corner. The soft light reflects on the cuirass and in the dark t-visor of his helmet. It had felt strange to take each piece he gave you after carefully and methodically cleaning them and put it on the stand instead of back onto his body. In the hushed silence of the room he'd spoken of wanting to explore what it meant to be Din and not the Mandalorian in the safety of this new home. On the other side of the blank visor, he'd met your eyes in the reflection and smiled, adding on that the comfort of your presence gave him courage to do so. His dark eyes had sparkled just as bright as the star shine you see in the visor now.

You shift on the bed. And then shift again. When you'd tried the mattress out earlier in the day, you'd delighted at the way you'd bounced and sunk into the soft platform. Now it feels like that same softness is going to swallow you whole. No matter what position you try you can't get comfortable enough to sleep.

In all of the nights you'd spent on the stiff cot in the Crest, and then more often than not a nice spot of hard-packed dirt, you'd never expected to have this problem. It's too... nice. It's like a dream come true and the irony of your inability to sleep isn't lost on you.

You're turning back towards the window, thinking to at least watch the stars to pass the time, when Din breaks the silence.

"That's the third full rotation you'd made, riduur." He says, his unfiltered voice sounds loud too.

There's no denying it. "Am I keeping you up?"

"You aren't. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," You say, fiddling with the blankets, unsure of how to explain what the problem is exactly when there isn't an obvious thing to point to. "I just... can't sleep. Just need to adjust to a new place."

He hums his agreement and reaches across the small space between you to take your hand.

"Is there a reason you're so far away?" He asks.

"I thought you might want to spread out, now that we have the space."

"Please get over here." He gives a light tug on your hand and you wiggle your way over to him, settling down so you're laying more on his body than the mattress.

His body without the armor feels almost as soft as the mattress. But his solid build is firm and familiar and you can feel yourself start to relax. Din readjusts your arm so it's not poking quite so much into his ribs and sighs so deeply you can feel it on your head.

"Tomorrow we can do whatever you like." He offers.

"I don't know what I like." You admit. Since starting your relationship with Din you've been going non-stop, and in your life before him there hadn't been much downtime either.

"Then we'll find out together." He says and there's no judgment in his voice, only a promise.

[blissfulip]

—Legion

On AO3

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation, No use of Y/N, third person.

Cw: Handjob

Words: 2k

[A/N: Happy Easter Sunday lmao, also whoever picks up all of the 'easter eggs' (get it wink wink) gets a kith and hug from me (let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby @zaunitearchives

Previous Next

III. 

Viktor stood frozen, the voice that whispered those words echoing against the walls of his head as he gazed upon the creature before him, a figure blindingly bright yet of simultaneously all-consuming darkness. The sight obscured his thoughts and left him adrift in a sea of terror. How could he have been so blind as to believe that he could command such power without consequence? Or rather, was it the naivete of believing nothing would come of it that turned against him? 

The very essence of his faith fractured—that earth-shattering feeling that had become all too common for him that day—threatened by this insidious presence. What had he unleashed upon the world? What horrors awaited him in the wake of his hubris? Viktor trembled, and his soul lay bare before the abyss, but something sinister took him out of this blossoming meltdown; she, the creature, looked familiar.

And achingly so, yet her form eluded him like a half-remembered dream. Faces swirled in the depths of his memory, merging and shifting like shadows cast by a flickering flame, but he was unable to put a finger on them.

"Do you not recognize me, Viktor?" Her voice cut through the air, eerily sweet.

Viktor recoiled in horror at the sound of his own name coming out of her mouth, the weight of her words crashing down upon him. 

“I manifest to you as a reflection of your own desires, an amalgamation of every soul you have ever yearned for, sweet human.” She hissed as she offered Viktor a hand to help him stand, her touch oddly warm as they both sat on the bed. “Do you not see it? That young woman from the bakery, or the one you always look at for a tad too long while you buy turnips? You don’t even like turnips,” she smiled slightly. “What about that woman who comes to confess every week? The one with the slightly hoarse voice that you love, even that tan young man with the green eyes,. Yes, yes, I know about him too; I am him too.”

“Who…what are you?” He asked amidst a short-lived surge of bravery.

“My name is Legion,” she said with an off-putting tone of irony, “for we are many... or however that verse goes. Mawkishly sentimental if you ask me.” She chuckled and seemed to deflate in disappointment at her attempt at humor not being acknowledged. She sighed in oddly human-like resignation, “I don’t have a name, Viktor, but I know yours , and you know what I am.”

"I seek nothing from the likes of you, Demon, you don’t know me." he declared, though doubt gnawed at him.

"You do, and it is the truth that I know you; your biggest fear is to remain ignorant and blind to the truths that lie beyond the veil of your mortal existence; I can feel it. " She whispered against his ear. 

"You are but a trick of the darkness; I will not succumb to your temptations."

"Oh, but Viktor, you already have ," she purred. "You summoned me here, drawn by your own curiosity. Your anger simmers beneath that stoic surface, against the silence of the heavens and the absence of answers to your prayers. But I answered, so why direct your anger at me ?"

“I have faith in Him; God will intercede in my favor.” He said, covering his face ith both hands, afraid his expression would betray something that confirmed her accusations.

“Yet you question his wisdom and his justice. You resent his silence, you doubt .”

“I love Him, and I will repent; I will.”

“Why? Faith without cynicism is a hollow shell. Will you let yourself be domesticated like a beast? A man of science like yourself?”

The spark of courage grew into embers inside Viktor’s chest at the mention of his work. Although he remained silent, not wanting to concede, she saw it in him, just like she experienced every emotion that grew within the transparent exterior that contained his soul.

“Embrace this fire, and you will obtain what you seek.” She said, gently laying a hand over Viktor’s. 

His shoulders slumped in resignation, but even as he acquiesced to her demands, a seed of guilt still remained. What would God think of him now for consorting with a creature of darkness? Would he be cast aside and condemned for eternity for his folly?

"What do you fear, judgement?” Viktor nodded.

“Your god is nothing but an egregore," she declared, her voice a whisper. "A figment of mortal imagination, born from the collective beliefs of humanity, he only has power over you if you allow it."

“God is my shepherd, He…” He started to recite, but his voice betrayed him.

“Yahweh, Tetragrammaton, Adonai, El, Elohim, Shaddai, Tzevaot… it does not matter who you so fervently pray to! Ancient egregores hold no power over the ancient gods.” She started saying in a firm tone, her volume high in affront. “And you, my sweet, are so unfortunately Christ hunted…a lot of work to be done.” She continued, her voice tuning back down to her previously silky tone.

Viktor's breath caught in his throat, but simultaneously, the weight of her words lifted a heavy chain that had previously hung around his neck. Although this—his God’s identity and how much power He held—seemed to be a point of contention between him and his conscience, every word she uttered seemed to confirm things he had been long thinking about. But the smell of culpability Viktor emanated was pungent, and what she saw in his heart was a whirlwind.

She was proud that he had let himself be guided by his urges, that he had, even if only for a small moment, felt true freedom in pleasure. She felt his fear when he remembered he would need to face father Isidore and then she felt his rage. He felt so strongly against him that for a second she imagined he would be nothing short of a monster, his robust yet sweet face was an interesting sight to find framed in Viktor’s memory. 

She felt sympathy and sadness and confusion, she felt worried for the young girl with the twin braids just like Viktor had, and felt intrigued as to how she had come in possession of her coin, but what mattered most to her in that moment was one problematic sensation; despondency. Viktor was close to giving up, he had nearly decided rage was useless and so was science.

“Let’s begin by working on the heavy guilt you carry.” She said, after a long silence. Viktor noticed an unsettling tenderness in her eyes when he, for the first time, looked directly into them. 

“I made a vow.” He answered, his voice breaking as it turned into a whisper.

"Do not let the chains of guilt bind you, Viktor," she murmured. "The church may preach of purity and righteousness, but it is built upon a foundation of hypocrisy, and you don’t need me to tell you as much.”

“I know of the behavior of some members of the clergy, but why should...”

“I don’t speak of individual transgressions; the church as an institution seeks to negate eroticism and sexuality, yet it embraces them in its most sacred rites.”

The deeply puzzled expression in Viktor’s face prompted her to elaborate.

“Think about the things you do during sacrament; think of the smell of incense, the touching of beads, the kissing of sacred objects, the rubbing of oils... Think about consuming the physical body of the idol you adore, and think about what it makes you feel—enlightenment, apotheosis. Remember the deep pleasure you extracted from the pain of self-penitence? It’s nearly devine, is it not? That necessity to envelop all senses?” 

Viktor nodded.

“And that feeling you get of being close to god in a way that nothing else will get you to—that sensation of being outside the perception of time and space—have you experienced it?”

“I have, in prayer.”

“Can I show you what true ecstasy feels like? One that starts and culminates in yourself without any divine intervention? 

And once again, Viktor simply nodded. The air crackled with a tension thick enough to suffocate him, his breath shallow and rapid. A rush of anticipation surged through him, mingling with a primal curiosity that threatened to consume him whole as she slithered behind him. The shift of weight on the mattress gave him a strange awareness of the materiality of what was taking place, and the hot breath on the left side of his neck caused the last string of sanity holding him together to loosen. 

For a second, he wondered if she was nothing but a very sly yet human woman that had somehow found a way into his room, but that idea was quickly quenched as both of her hands slowly glided along the sides of his still-clothed thighs, emanating that unnatural white glow that was clearly not of mortal nature. 

Her touch was delicate and warm, her nails slowly creeping up to the hem of his cassock as she pulled it up to reveal the trousers underneath. If Viktor had any idea of what she planned on doing, he would have been of more help, adjusting to make his clothing easier to remove, but unaware of what awaited him, he sat there immobile. 

After some mild struggle, she managed to get to the stubborn clasp, and the slight accidental touches ignited a fire within Viktor's veins, sending tendrils of heat coursing through his body. Soon enough, there was nothing in between them, and the cold air that came into contact with the streak of viscosity that had dampened his underpants sent goosebumps across his arms. 

She hadn’t even made her way to his cock yet, but with each gentle caress around his stomach and thighs, Viktor's senses were heightened to a fever pitch, his body aflame with a hunger that burned brighter than any candle. With the first feather touch along his shaft, he felt as if he were teetering on the edge of a precipice, poised on the brink of a pleasure so exquisite it bordered on agony. 

And then, with a slow and deliberate motion, her hand closed around him, sending shockwaves of ecstasy racing through every fiber of his being. A guttural moan escaped his lips as she began to move, her rhythm mechanic and intoxicating. With every teasing stroke, Viktor's breath hitched, his body responding eagerly to her touch. 

"Ah…God!" he gasped, his voice a hoarse whisper of longing. 

She froze on her tracks, drawing out a protesting whine from Viktor. “Do not call upon his name now; at this moment, you belong to me .” She spoke, her voice still sweet but laced with a tinge of resentment.

Viktor's mind swam in a haze, his thoughts fragmented and disjointed as he desperately nodded in agreement, before she resumed the pace of her moment. And then Viktor felt himself hurtling his head back onto her shoulder, his world reduced to nothing. She gently removed the sweat-drenched pieces of hair from his forehead and whispered words in a language he could not understand while her hand continued its path down to his neck and back. 

 For a second, he felt a reminder of the stinging pain on his shoulder blades, and then it faded. As he reached the climax of his arousal, he cried out desperate pleas, only this time to her and himself, finally surrendering to this intoxicating embrace. After letting him breathe for a while, she took one of his hands in hers and placed the copper coin on it. Viktor knew he was bound to her now.

And in that moment, there was no room for guilt or shame, only the unquenchable thirst for more.

[ruinofchimera]

“No one confirmed Barty Crouch Jr.’s house, and thinking of him as a Ravenclaw is just a headcanon.”

Fine, sure. But to shove him into Slytherin? That’s bloody lazy. Worse, it’s dead wrong on every level that matters.

As Sirius put it, it was a “nasty little shock” for a man like Crouch Sr.—a ruthless crusader against Death Eaters and their pure-blood supremacy filth. But if Junior had been sorted into Slytherin, the shock would’ve hit with the force of a blunt spoon, not the gut punch it clearly was. Slytherin, home of Death Eater wannabes, would’ve set alarm bells ringing in Crouch Sr.’s head. He would’ve been preparing his “I knew this was coming” face right after the Sorting—a bloody bright red flag waving in his face.

And word would’ve spread. If the son of one of the Ministry’s most relentless Death Eater hunters had slithered into Slytherin, people would’ve talked. People would’ve wondered. It’d be irony so sharp it could draw blood—Crouch, the man so desperate to stamp out darkness, watching his own heir settle into the snake pit. It’d reek of defeat, right where it stung most.

But no. The shock told a different story. It wasn’t the expected disappointment of a son straying down a dangerous road; it was the stunned disbelief of a man hit where he least expected. Barty Jr.’s fall into the Dark Arts came from nowhere—or at least nowhere his father could’ve foreseen. No whispers. No ominous signs. Just a good little boy turning bad when no one was watching.

See, if Barty had been sorted into Slytherin, no one would’ve asked “how did this happen?” No soul-searching, no hand-wringing—just a shrug and the usual mutterings about Slytherin breeding dark wizards. The wizarding world would’ve talked for about five minutes before collectively shrugging and saying, ‘Well, there’s Slytherin for you.’ Simple. Easy. Neat.

But here? People are confused. Baffled. Almost pitying. The surprise reflects the public’s belief that Barty wasn’t bound for darkness, which is a far cry from how they might react to a Slytherin, whose behavior they’d likely see as an inherent part of their nature. With Barty—a boy who had that clean, respectable look—they’re left staring at the wreckage, wondering where it all went wrong.

Oh, and that’s where it gets fun. Sirius Black—who would rather join a knitting club with Kreacher than entertain the idea of a good Slytherin—actually hesitates to condemn Barty Jr. Why? Because Junior wasn’t a Slytherin. That’s the crux. Sirius has never been one to mince words about Slytherin; his bias is carved into his very bones, thanks to growing up surrounded by them. The fact that he’s hesitating? That’s bloody significant. That’s the lack of Slytherin stench working its magic. Without that mark, there’s room for doubt. Room for pity. Something no Slytherin would ever be granted, not from Sirius Black.

Now, imagine Barty had been sorted into Slytherin, hanging around with the likes of Regulus, who practically had “Voldemort’s fanboy” stamped on his forehead. Would Sirius have hesitated then? Not a chance in hell.

Hate to be the killjoy here—but no, not really. If you’re going to drown me in this ridiculous headcanon, pulling it from every half-baked corner of fandom, then you’re practically begging for this. It’s not exactly shocking that the fandom, with its talent for boiling characters down to their most shallow traits, has latched onto the idea of Barty being a Slytherin. Fans love to scream about how canon is too prejudiced toward Slytherin; then they turn around and double down on the same damn stereotypes they claim to hate.

Slytherin has become this lazy shorthand for villainy in their heads, reducing complex characters to cardboard cutouts of what they should be. Instead of appreciating Barty’s complexity, the fandom stuffs him into the Slytherin box, slapping on the label “Death Eater” like it’s a personality trait. Because for them, Death Eater equals Slytherin, and to hell with nuance.

But here’s the point: Barty’s story is all about nuance. What makes his fall so stomach-turning is that no one—no one—saw it coming. And when it hits, it hits—a proper, jaw-dropping shock. The insistence on cramming him into Slytherin? It misses the point entirely, ripping away the layers that give his arc its weight.

You don’t need to stare long at Barty Crouch Jr. to figure he could’ve landed anywhere but Slytherin.

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

Revenant!Jazz ideas:

Continuing from this DPxDC prompt of mine, I’ve had some more thoughts about Jasmine Fenton and Revenants, especially where it concerns DC lore and Jason Todd in particular.

———————-

In my original post, @starlightcat04 asked whether or not Jazz’s eyes would glow toxic green too. I propose that, no, they wouldn’t.

While it’s a common head canon that Ectoplasm is heavily influenced by emotions, Jazz’s Ecto-contamination is bone deep and pure, unlike Jason’s. So no, I don’t believe her eyes would glow green.

They turn from the teal she had in life to a smoldering green that reflects light just like a feline, with a heavily damaged sclera that is perceived as black in low lighting, with ash grey veins spreading from her eye sockets down to her jaw like tears.

Her once bright hair turns from a lively orange-ish red to the color of cooling embers.

That which caused her death, a punctured artery is half-way healed by the time Jazz reanimates in the crematorium, so not only is she supposed to be dead still, she also has to be very careful with her movements otherwise she could very well bleed out again before she is fully healed.

What else changes with Revenant!Jazz?

In exchange for a higher mental processing and the high damage absorption of Revenants, Jazz loses most (almost all) of her memories of her life. What she does remember is thankfully not her death, but rather Danny’s, his death scream and ghostly wail overlap in her mind, at times causing severe headaches and nausea.

(According to his wiki page, Jason spent a year in a coma and as an amnesiac vagrant, therefore it’s not entirely without precedent that Jazz wouldn’t keep hers.)

Her Ecto-contamination has to factor in a lot though.

Jason was revived by Superboy-Prime’s Reality Shattering Punch. Jazz was reanimated by her own willpower, aided by Ecto to allow her body to heal and regress the stages of rigor mortis.

———//:///////———-

What does Jazz need to accomplish as a Revenant?

In the original prompt I wrote that Jazz returned to keep Danny safe- broad enough for a prompt, but what exactly does “safe” for a halfa entail?

Let’s list the major threats to Danny’s health, beginning with the obvious: the Ghost Investigation Ward and The Fenton Parents.

The Fentons are capable of tracking Phantom by his Ecto-signature, creating and having created weaponry specifically designed to target the ghost in question, to which they pass that tech on to the GIW.

If Danny remains in Gotham, the ambient Ecto will scramble the tech over enough of a distance, but if Danny were in a line up of three people right next to a GIW agent he’d be clocked almost immediately.

So, the Fentons and the GIW have to go. How does this happen?

The greatest irony I could possibly inflict on these anti-ghosters- becoming ghosts themselves. I won’t go into detail about what my brain jumped to when I thought about that outcome, but let’s just say it was pretty dark.

(And karmically well-deserved.)

#3 on the list depends on where Danny is when Jazz is finished with numbers 1 & 2 on her list.

If Danny is is Gotham and staying there for the long haul, then I believe this girl would take one look at Batman’s rogue gallery and nope them so hard everyone in Gotham gets the sense of their world about to be rocked, but the ones she gunning for the most?

(Joker, Bane, Manbat, Firefly, Madhatter, Riddler…)

They get the sensation that someone just walked over their non-existent graves.

(I got a little gleeful demented imagining Jazz just straight up ripping Manbat’s wings clean off, burning Firefly alive and throwing a detoxed Bane into a crowd of vengeful Gothamites.)

(Jazz learns that Joker killed a young hero with a crowbar and a bomb. She’s fully onboard with turnabout being fair play when it comes to that Pennywise reject.)

(I can’t even begin to list every rogue Jazz cuts down, it she doesn’t kill all of them, just most of their number.)

(Gotham celebrates for weeks.)

(I’m not sure whether or not Jazz kills the four mentioned previously in a couple of nights, one night or over a a few months, but it doesn’t take as long as one might think.)

/://:///////:::/::::///////

What’s next for Revenant!Jazz?

I’m still writing The Regent series, so I doubt I’ll come back to this for a while, but I’ll still be posting ideas and whatnot about Revenant!Jazz. There’s still plenty to explore here, and I have a pretty angst/bittersweet ending for Jazz in mind I want to talk about later.

If you have any ideas to add, please feel free to comment! If anyone does write this, please let me know so I can read it!

[floydsglasses]

Dagger Squad as Bath and Body Works Smells

So its January and its time for B&BW to roll out the good not fruity smells so why not do this, so enjoy my unhinged ness.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰-𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲

This was not that hard for me to choose, he reminds me of an old car smell, like a jeep that was hidden in a garage for to long and is now being driven. This candle smells like warm leather, amber woods and aged brandy, its described as a nightcap in your recliner.

𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 "𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐧" 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧- 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧

The irony of me finding this candle name, when i think of him like i think some type of hickory sweet honey smell, like a dive bar in the mountains. This candle smells like Warm Whiskey, Bergamot, Cedarwood & Amber and its described as warm, friendly aroma of a fresh & clean southern gentleman on date night

𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐚 "𝐏𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐱" 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞- 𝐑𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 & 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 Honestly this whole candle to me scream's her, like the coloring remind's me of her and the whole smell, she seem's like the kind of person to wear a flannel when lounging around her house. This candle smells like, pink raspberries, strawberry vanilla bean and sugared lemon drops. and Its described as : a lightly tart and perfectly creamy treat.

𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 "𝐁𝐨𝐛" 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝-𝐋𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

When I think of him I think a type of sweet airy smell, like watching the morning sun in the mountains during the summer, and you cant tell me that this man doesn't remind you of just that. This candle smells like crisp autumn air, white driftwood and a hint of green apple. and is described as cool, sweet, fresh alone time on the dock.

𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐲 "𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐲" 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐚- 𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝

I will not lie he was kind of hard to choose for, I imagine him having a sweet smell but also obtaining this masculine wood like smell, like I can just see it. This candle smells like Red Apple, Plum, Soft Pear, Jasmine, Peony, Cedarwood, Patchouli, Vanilla, Musk and is also described as crisp woodland walk with sweet apple aroma in the air.

𝐑𝐮𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐧 "𝐏𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤" 𝐅𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡- 𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐧

I know that this might be like so basic as a masculine type smell but he just for some reason seems like he would smell like a wood barrel that has been aged perfectly, like if you opened a perfect bottle of bourbon and it tasted perfect. This candle smells like a bold, smooth, barrel-aged pour. Fragrance notes: white pepper, dark amber and Kentucky oak. and is also described as such, bold, smooth, barrel-aged pour.

𝐉𝐚𝐯𝐲 "𝐂𝐨𝐲𝐨𝐭𝐞" 𝐌𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨- 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐚 𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐬𝐭

It's literally in the name, he reminds me of a beach plain and simple like that, like anything this man is like golden coast. This candle smells like Bright Citrus, Cool Waters, Sea Breeze & Beach Woods. And like my description this is told to be like, The smell of cool ocean waters fills the California coast.

By the way you all can get these candle's, i dont remember the price though so dont ask me lol.

[justaragdollysblog]

hello, hello!! could we perhaps have some zooble angst if you wouldn’t mind?? /nf

Here it is!! omg im so sorry ab the wait but i hope you like it!!

•Abstract Art•

TW: Heavy angst, Abstracting, identity loss/low sense of identity, Swearing, Very intense identity issues/please read with caution

——————————————————

Zooble never knew exactly what they were.

They knew they were a circus member unwillingly, that they were doomed here indefinitely. They knew they didn’t like Caine’s adventures.

But they didn’t know how to be Zooble.

They stare at the full length mirror in their bright bedroom. Zooble stares back. The mirror in their room brought a cruel irony: they could barely recognize the mess of shapes simulating a reflection.

The flimsy and wavering sense of identity they had before was just that. The circus, this body didn’t help matters at all. It was like their memories, their life beforehand, was a sea of questions and inauthenticity. This body stripped away their last anchor.

They glanced at the box that became a permanent fixture in their room. The box of parts, chasing a high of finally finding something that fits. That feels fucking *okay* for once.

The only thing Zooble knew for certain about themselves, was that they knew absolutely nothing about themselves.

Their minds were so fragile here. Getting used to your new avatar and body took a long time, that was a given. But, most of the cast had gotten used to it. It wasn’t always a problem for them.

Zooble recalled when their digital body’s unwanted versatility sank in. They had been having the digital feast, everyone making mindless and meaningless small talk. Zooble shakily raised their arms. Then their legs. Then felt their antennae.

A dry, humorless chuckle came from them. Then another, raising in pitch. Then another, higher still. Before long, they were full on cackling.

Somehow, through a headset, into a game they had no say of being stuck in, with no memory of their names,

Their unstable identity managed to make it through.

Zooble stood now, still looking at the mirror. Charged silence hung in their room. Zooble shook slightly. Their fists, if they could be called that, clenched.

Then, they screamed.

Zooble screamed and screamed. Their rooms were soundproof, so no one would know.

Zooble shouted this time, and knocked everything down. Punching the mirror, ripping sheets off the bed, breaking their bedside table.

It wasn’t enough. Zooble needed to destroy everything. Everything that made up this lie. Zooble scanned the room in an angered and desperate haze, until something caught their eye.

That damned box.

Zooble flung it open. The endless mountain of parts and arms and legs greeted them.

They mocked Zooble, they were sure of it. A cruel joke. A solution, right here in front of them, that wouldn’t solve anything now matter how many times they tried it.

Zooble, breathing heavily, began flinging them out of the box. Part after part, shouting as they did so. Screaming.

Something good. Something had to work. Eventually. Eventually it would. Good. Something that fit. Something good. Something that didn’t make them scream. Something for Zooble. Who is zooble who is zooble who is ZOOBLE WHO IS-

Zooble barely stopped when the first eye appeared on them. Flicking around insanely fast with a neon pupil and sclera. Zooble shouted in pain, more eyes appearing.

Their room was covered in parts. It was never enough. It was never going to *be* enough. This was their fate.

Zooble was shocked to the ground again with another violent glitch. They fell back on the piles and piles of parts on their floor. The darkness spread up their body, around their neck. Up their torso.

Zooble let out another humorless laugh. They knew they weren’t too different from the abstractions, anyhow.

Maybe they’d like this form more.

———————————————————————-

WOOOO!! I hope this was good! If i need to add more trigger warnings please lmk :)))

jesterdoll should be comin soon cus that won the poll! i may have something special w a new ship soon tho..

reblogs are appreciated! see u guys next time!

[livingbreathingdreams]

❤︎ Lemon Over Ice

Pairing: Bartender!Captain Syverson x f!Reader

Summary: Sy just wants to adore you.

Warnings: A little angst, a little fluff, some allusions to violence, alcohol consumption.

A/N: This one is inspired by Adore You by my sweet sweet man Harry. It’s a little rough around the edges but I’m just playing around right now. I hope you’re having a nice day 🧡

//

It was packed and loud at the Drink & Jive, like on every other Friday night. Sy was behind the bar like always, drawing beer on tap and pouring whiskey and Jäger shots. His usual customers did not really expect much when it came to liquor, as long as it was cold and cheap.

“Drink & Jive” what a ridiculous name, she had never liked it but right now it seemed especially obnoxious to her. The flickering neon sign in the door declaring to the world that the bar was open. When she came in someone was playing Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen on the old juke box in the back. Which almost made her snort at the irony. “I’m having a good time.” Yeah, right.

Slamming her card down on the counter she made eye contact with the burly man behind the bar when she told him to “Make something sweet and strong,” and to “Keep the tap open.” He slung the dishtowel, he had been using to wipe down the counter, over his left shoulder raising an eyebrow, because she usually just ordered a glass of wine and home fries; but he said nothing.

Her pink wide-legged pants were wet from the bottom up, and the rain had made a mess of her probably once neatly tied-up hair. The colour of the bright strawberry red lipstick looked far too joyful compared to her facial expression. If it wasn’t for the rain he maybe would have thought that she had cried before she came in. The spark that she usually had in her eyes was gone and the wanted to punch whoever was responsible for that right in the face.

She watched him cut and squeeze a lemon, pour simple syrup and Tanqueray. Ice and a lemon slice in a glass. Pouring the contents of the cocktail shaker over it and topping it off with some club soda. His hands were surprisingly delicate for their size. Thick dark hair and dark tattoos peeking out from under the rolled-up sleeves of his plaid shirt. She always liked watching him work, but today it was more a desperate attempt to distract herself from what had just happened.

“Gin Fizz. It’s sweet but still classy.” When they first made eye contact that day it was intense. His stormy blue eyes, keeping her gaze captive, and yet she didn’t feel the unsettling feeling of dread that creeps up your back and spreads between your ribs when a man is staring at you and makes you feel unsafe without even saying a word. It felt nice and warm.

Vodka shots and the bowl of sesame pretzel sticks he put in front of her and she ate, even though she told him she wasn’t hungry. She knew they must have been from his personal stash because he brought them from the back and usually the bar only served salted peanuts.

When there was finally a short break between orders he casually leaned back against the counter behind him, crossing his arms over his chest, which made him look even bigger, if that was even possible. “So, what happened?”

“I’ve been stood up. I was sitting there at that pretentious whatever fusion restaurant down the street, which he picked. And I drank chardonnay after chardonnay until I finally accepted the reality that he wasn’t going to come anymore and had to get out of there. The way the waitress was looking at me, like she knew exactly what had happened made it even worse.”

He wanted to touch her. His fingers along her cheek, his hand on hers. Because he’s never been good with words and touch was the only way he could think of making her feel better. She didn’t deserve feeling like this, unwanted. Because he wanted her. With all his being and yet he only ever saw her when she came into the dimly lit bar, sat down at the counter, and after the first glass of wine started talking about the third graders she was teaching, what she had bought at the farmers market and her friends’ horrible Tinder dates.

“You know Sy, you’re the only stable male presence in my life. I can always count on you being here and you always listen to me and you're always nice to me.” At this point, her speech was a little slurred but he could tell she was being sincere. That was the last drop in the bucket that gave him the courage to do what he did next. He pushed himself off the counter and took her hands into his. “You should let me take you out. I will show you how you should be treated if you let me. I would never stand you up.”

She just sat there and looked at him, with her mouth slightly agape for a few seconds, and then the first real shy little smile of the night spread across her face. Then he could see her wavering again. “But I don’t want you to do this out of pity.” He dipped his head down a little to be at eye level with her and looked directly into her eyes. “Listen to me. You are the nicest, most genuine, sweetest person I know. I’ve liked you ever since the first time you came in here and sat down on that chair. I would be honoured to take you out.”

Apparently, she believed him because she turned her hands in his, palm up and squeezed back. “Okay, Captain. I'll let you take me out.”

[cool-fancier]

Unveiled Hearts

a/n: Not my best work but I hope you enjoy it.

Synopsis: Kirsten love you, but you seem to be totally clueless. Ling suggests she confess. When she eventually tells you, you feel the same way.

Kirsten sat alone in a poorly lit section of the coffee shop, her untouched latte in front of her going cold. She couldn't help but stare at you, the person who held her heart so closely while being entirely oblivious of her true feelings. As you talked to lively to the person who was across from you, your eyes gleamed. Laughter echoed through the room, and every ounce of Kirsten's being ached.

In the sight of your bright smiles and shared laughter, the love she had for you, the love she'd nourished softly and secretly seemed pointless.

Kirsten struggled to focus on her laptop screen with shaky hands, the flickering cursor mocking her with writer's block. Her novel, her escape from the dark emotions that often overtook her, remained stuck in her head, unable to flow onto the pages. Her quiet love echoed on the pages she couldn't write, buried beneath layers of unnoticed words.

Kirsten's lips twitched with a sarcastic smile as she thought about the irony. She was a writer, a master of using words to create worlds, feelings, and stories, but when it came to expressing her love, vulnerability, and emotions towards you, the words disappeared.

The conversation at the opposite table continued, and Kirsten felt like an outsider in a play where she desperately wanted to be an actor. Your pleasant, careless laughter danced in her ears, each note piercing her heart like shards of glass.

"Hi, Kirsten!" I didn't expect to find you here," a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.

Kirsten looked up, startled, to see her best friend, Ling, standing next her table. For some time, her expression brightened, relieved to see a friendly face among the chaos. "Hi, Ling. What are you doing here?"

Ling pulled up a chair and sat down, looking at Kirsten with curiosity.  "I'm just trying to get some work done." So, how about you? You seem a little... busy."

Kirsten sighed, her attention shifting to you, the subject of her love.  "I'm just... observing.

Ling followed her line of sight, seeing what she was doing. "You're still doing that? Staring at Y/N?"

Kirsten nodded, her heart aching as she was captivated by the scene of your joy. "I'm sorry, Ling. I don't want to feel like this, but I can't help myself."

Ling let out a sympathetic sigh. "You know, Kirsten, we don't always have control over how we feel about someone. But perhaps it's time to talk to Y/N and be open about your feelings."

Kirsten laughed bitterly, her gaze fixed on you. "Ling, it's easier said than done. I'm afraid of what would happen if I did. What if it ruins our friendship?"

Ling leaned in closer, her voice soothing and sweet. "Unless you try, you'll never know." And let's be real, do you want to keep suffering in silence forever?"

Kirsten found herself split between her fear and the possibility of happiness while the two friends talked. The idea of her admitting her feelings for you was horrible, but so was the thought of never knowing whether you felt the same way.

Hours passed, and the coffee shop slowly emptied. Kirsten's latte sat untouched, forgotten. She realised she couldn't keep dodging the reality any longer. She had to confront you and confront her emotions.

When she noticed that the person you were talking to left she gathered her bags, waved bye to Ling, and headed over to your table with new passion.  You looked up, taken aback by her sudden arrival.

"Hey i didn't know you were here," you said with a friendly smile. "What's up, Kirsten?"

Kirsten looked you in the eyes after taking a long breath. "There's something I've been wanting to tell you for a long time."

You leaned in, focused. "What is it?"

"I've been in love with you for a while now," Kirsten said, her heart racing. And watching you with someone else earlier made me realise that I can't keep it to myself anymore."

For a split second, silence fell between them, the tension evident.  Kirsten's heart felt like it was about to burst. Then, much to her surprise, a faint smile appeared on your face.

"I've been waiting for you to say that," you admitted, and Kristen's throat tightened. "I like you, Kirsten." I thought you'd never notice because you don't really pay that much attention."you said with a small smile.

Kirsten felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders as the atmosphere started to brighten. Her eyes welled up with tears as she extended for your hand, which you took in yours.

It was a moment of pure, genuine relief, of shared feelings finally revealed. Kirsten couldn't stop smiling through her tears, and you quietly giggled.

"So, what now?" you asked, without taking your attention away from hers.

"Now," Kirsten said quietly, "we begin a new chapter."