#it’s always just come across as so reaching and manipulative of an argument in this discussion

[i-love-tony-stark]

While I’m pissed off about it, a lot of people seem to be under the impression that Steve was “using” Tony for money and like to bring it up as a reason why Steve was a terrible friend.

And like. Can we not? Can we just not?

First of all, while Stark Industries does fund part of the Avengers, it’s also a government organization. He doesn’t own it, it’s mainly funded by government grants and contract work. There’s no evidence that Tony solely provided for any of the Avengers, outside of like 2012 fan headcanon. They all have their own jobs and forms of income to support themselves. They’ve all got well known names, most of which had established careers elsewhere before even joining Fury’s fucked up little superhero club.

Secondly, even if Tony had been hosting Steve at one of his towers or something he a) would have chosen to do that and b) he’s a fucking Billionaire. Even if, and remember there’s No evidence that Steve ever was relying on him financially in any way, Steve had been; it’s not as if it’s a particular burden to him. So can we just stop treating Steve like he’s some homeless leech who Tony picked up off the street?

Lastly, I’d like to point out that some of y’all have a really fucked up perception of what you think you are deserving of just because you have money. Even if you’re paying for someone’s rent, that does not mean that you are in any way owed their loyalty, their affection, or the life of their loved ones. You do not get to control their political alignments or who they associate with just because you bought them groceries. Holy shit, have none of you ever heard the saying “you can’t buy friendship”???

You’re just coming across like a manipulative parent who tells their child that they are obligated to fall in line with what they want because “I put a roof over your head and this is the thanks I get??”

[rafesgirl-14]

also another request, no pressure! but maybe a smutty fit with stepbro rafe x naive reader and she just does whatever he says!

A/n: hope you enjoy 💖

Warnings: oral (male receiving), dacryphilia, degrading, all 18+

Naive Girl

About two years ago, your mother had married Ward and ever since then you’d lived at Tannyhill. It had become a common habit for you to wait around Rafe’s room since then as he’d convinced you of how ‘mean’ everyone else in the family are and how they hide it.

Rafe walks in after his shower, his bottom half only covered by a towel and a smirk across his lips. He liked how dependent you were with him. Rafe had always found kook girls too demanding and he would’ve never thought of dating a pogue but you were perfect for him. He smirked at the sight of you in a matching pyjama shorts and tank top set, sitting on his bed like a present all wrapped up.

“Ray, I need y’help.” You say with an innocent smile. Everything about you was so damn innocent and Rafe loved that fact. “Pope asked me on a date f’tonight and I don’t know what to wear.”

“A pogue asked you out?” Rafe’s gaze darkened almost immediately, he knew was going to have to lay the manipulation on thick if he wanted to keep you as his. “Kid, y’know it’s probably not a good idea to be out so late, especially with a pogue, y’never know what could happen.”

“But Pope is sweet, he asked me out to this party down on the beach.” You attempt to defend, looking up at Rafe from your place on his bed. No matter how much he tried, you’d never see the bad in anyone. Rafe classed this as a curse and a godsend since you’d never question him.

“A party, kid? D’ya know how dangerous that is?” Rafe mocks cares. He didn’t care how dangerous a party with alcohol and all sorts of other substances, he cared about keeping you to himself. “Baby, ‘m looking out f’ya. I don’t wanna hear on the news tomorrow that my favourite little sister got drugged and murdered, ‘kay?”

“It wouldn’t go that far, Ray, I swear. ‘M old enough to take care of myself.” You whine, standing up to try and gain some level in this argument but it was a fruitless attempt.

“Hey, kid! Listen t’me, you’re not going to that party and you’re going to text that pogue that you won’t be seeing him again, understood?” Rafe says sternly, his index finger and thumb gripping at your plush cheeks. “Get your damn phone and text him now.”

You shyly reach for your phone, feeling bad as you go onto messages. You’d really wanted to go on this date and wished you’d just called one of your friends for outfit advice. ‘I’m sorry, Pope, I won’t be able to come tonight. I hope you still have fun with your friends tho 💖’ you send the text.

“Good girl. Now, y’gonna make it up to me after stressing me like this?” He smirks, resting a hand against your waist. Rafe knew you’d do anything to please him, that was your fatal flaw. “C’mon, baby, get on your knees f’me.”

Obediently, you crawl to rest on your knees in front of him. You can now clearly see the dent through the towel that covers his bottom half. You were far too innocent for your own good which gave Rafe the opportunity to use that innocence whenever he pleased. It all began when you told him that you’d never had your first kiss so he ‘kindly’ offered to teach you.

You look up at Rafe with big doe eyes and a naive smile as he tugged the towel off, leaving himself bare in front of you. Rafe knew damn well that you’d never be able to take all of him but he could still try and make you.

“Go on, baby, y’know what to do.” He smirks down at you as you shyly bring your lips around his cock. It all felt so vulgar but you did it nonetheless. You just wanted to make your stepbrother proud. Hesitantly, you begin trying to take a bit more at a time but it was clearly taking too long in Rafe’s opinion.

His fingers lace through your hair, pushing your head down to take more of him with a soft gag. You can’t protest due to having your mouthful even as you attempt to pull away slightly. Rafe was in control and he knew that.

“Such a dumb girl, can’t even take my cock without gagging like a little whore.” Rafe mocks with a smirk, beginning to just use your throat, “I thought my little sister was a good girl but I guess not. Bad girl.”

“R- Ray..” you try to mumble around how cock, feeling tears water at his words. Rafe knew you well enough that one way to make you a sobbing mess was a little degradation. He loved the sight of you crying over his cock.

“Shut up, this is what you get for thinking you can go on a date with a dirty pogue. You gotta learn your fuckin’ lesson.” Rafe practically growls, continuing to harshly use your throat, all he could hear was your soft gags and whimpers around his cock. He knew this was too much for you but couldn’t bring himself to care.

“It’s like you.. you’re asking f’this. Coming in ‘ere, practically begging me to ruin you. Be happy I’m not taking your pretty little ass over my lap.” He degrades, keeping a tight grip on your hair. With each rough thrust, he gets closer to coming. He can’t help himself as he lets out one more groan and suddenly you are tasting the familiar bitter taste.

“Fuckin’ swallow.” He snarls, pulling out of your mouth before you obediently swallow.

With big doe eyes, you look up at Rafe from your place on the ground in front of him. You part your lips as proof you’d swallowed, a little bit of the white liquid remaining on your lips. Your cheeks are stained with tears and your lips all puffy. Rafe can’t help himself from grabbing for his phone and getting a picture of the sight.

“You step out of line again and I’m sending this to those pogues, got it?” He smirks down at you, expression softening as you shakily nod. “C’mere, kid.” He smile slightly, gesturing for you to cuddle up with him on the bed. That was all it took for you to climb up on the bed with Rafe. You knew the moment he returns to calling you ‘kid’ then he’s in a good mood.

“Good girl.”

[love-toxin]

Finale -> Lyney

plot: you and lyney can't really "agree" on the terms of your sudden breakup.

(cws: yandere!lyney, gn!darling, good ol' male manipulating, jealousy & cheating accusations, threats, crying, breakup angst w/ fluffy ending)

wc: 2k

It generally took very little for Lyney to find issue with something you'd done. Your partner was not callous or cruel by any means–in fact, he was often quite kind and caring, moreso than most others you'd met in your day-to-day life.

But if he was anything, Lyney was, well…devoted. Dedicated might be a more professional word, but the devotion of Fontaine's most prominent magician could not be understated nor ignored. Lyney was a performer, an artist, a man of great talent and greater loyalty, and nothing on the soil of Teyvat–not an ocean nor a rippling puddle–could tear him away from someone he proclaimed to love and adore. Nor would he ever allow someone he had devoted himself to be ripped from his embrace.

That was exactly where you found yourself now. The breakup had not gone well…Lyney had taken it quite badly. If the tears and desperate pleas for you not to leave weren't enough, the begging and tugging on your sleeves as he tried not to let you step away from him was simply too much to bear. He switched from devastation to fury in moments, flipping between one and another like an absolute crazed madman. He swapped between sobbing, begging to know what he'd done to ordering you through spiteful tears to tell him who the “other man” was, as if he were flipping one of his coveted playing cards. He grew so unhinged so quickly even Lynette had to get between the two of you to calm him down, and it just made it so much more of an ugly mess.

“Please, just think about it. My brother really loves you. Can't you two work it out?” Her words had come from a loving place, you knew, but it was simply not in the cards for you any longer.

You'd long grown sick of Lyney's jealousies, his possessiveness, his hunger for you that overwhelmed all common sense at all the wrong times and places. He wouldn't give you space and he wouldn't take no for an answer whenever you swore you would never leave him. It was his own fault that you had to go back on all those promises he never believed.

Now, all you had to do was pack your things. Lynette had graciously let you know when he was supposed to be out so you could come and collect them in peace, without starting another argument. But so very like her; she neglected to tell you that she'd also informed Lyney of when you were coming, and by the time you stepped into his room your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him. It was instantly too late to leave. You sighed, and your former lover's ears perked up as he sat back on his chair by the desk. Clearly, he had stayed to wait up for you.

“...And where is this attitude coming from?” He bit at you with a snark that had never before been directed at you in particular. You elected simply to say nothing; it would be best for both of you not to say a word. So while he stewed in his own feelings across the room, you shuffled over to the wardrobe right by the door and started stuffing things into the bag you'd brought, whatever you could reach. His violet eyes glowed with frustration, burning holes right through your back like lasers.

“Don't, Lyney. Please.” Your timid voice interrupted the tense silence that followed. At once you felt the air shift, and heard the sigh of Lyney behind you that warned you of an impending change of heart. Him being angry at you was all a farce. In truth he hated to show any irritation towards you at all, and even in relatively harmless fights he would always end up folding much sooner than you ever thought to as he despised not having your favour. The creak of the chair echoed in the small chamber, as did his footsteps as he methodically made his way towards you. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

Your fingers twitched as he took in a breath just a hair's length from your neck.

“I miss the scent you always leave on my pillow…” He muttered quietly. You said nothing. He took a strand of your hair between his gloved fingers, and it took everything within you not to cringe in anticipation of him ripping it out of your head. “I tried to use the soap you wash it with, but it just smells like nothing without you. It's not even worth the money.” He leaned forward, eyes closed, and delicately pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck.

Oh. Why had you let him do that? Why were you letting him still get closer, his chest and his hips meeting yours from behind? You didn't even make a move to flinch at the contact, and that was all that would have stopped Lyney if you had the guts to do it.

Perhaps the answer was obvious. You didn't want him to pull away.

“...You know, if you come back to me, I'll buy it for you from now on.” Now came the bargaining again. Lyney's hands moved upwards to brace your hips, and although you moved your own palm over one of them, your muscles still refused to contract and tug his off of you. Lyney slowly started to sway with you, taking hold of you like a little porcelain doll to posture as he pleased. This dance was so familiar–he would do this every time you stood at any counter, and distract you from whatever you were doing–and it was the nostalgia, you realized, that was stopping you.

“Lyney, we're broken up.” Your lip wobbled while you swung that truth at him like a weapon. But he seemed…unaffected. His words had no tinge of hurt nor malice like they had before.

“We can get back together.” He whispered against the shell of your ear. “All this will go away. I can make all the bad things go away. I can get rid of whoever's pulling you from me-”

“Lyney, I told you there was nobody else.” You broke away from his touch, away from those fingers that crept down your sides and the hug he'd been holding you in from behind. You stepped away and turned to face him, your conviction still not as unwavering now that you'd allowed yourself a moment to bask in Lyney's attention.

“And I told you that you're a damned liar, sweetheart.” Lyney suddenly spoke through gritted teeth, though his smile remained albeit much more tense and nowhere near the vicinity of reaching his eyes. “I'm sure it was that ginger rat that was sniffing around you, but I told you, I've already forgiven you. Plus, he's out of the picture–there's nothing keeping us apart anymore.”

“Lyney, stop! Can you just stop? Why can't you ever just believe me when I tell you anything?” The huff in your tone barely moved the needle for Lyney this time. He was clearly too wrapped up in the gleam of your eyes and the soft press of your lips together as you spoke to take in anything you were saying.

“You're so beautiful when you're angry.”

“You're not listening to me.”

“Kiss me.”

How many times had your arguments culminated into this? Into Lyney grabbing your waist against your will, all smiles and teasing giggles, as he blew puffs of air against your skin until your composure broke? He darted forward with eager lips to try and catch you, just barely backing you into the wardrobe, and on the third try he actually cracked your facade–his desperate kissy sounds and gentle tickling actually made you laugh. Really laugh, for the first time in what felt like ages. And for perhaps the first time, he didn't claim his prize once he figured he'd won. He stood back, hands still gripping you gently, and just watched as you laughed and snorted at how bad his aim was. “Just like always,” You said, and that part hit a nerve within him.

“Come back to me.” He faced you with a serious disposition yet again, and although you balked and rolled your eyes at the moment growing tense yet again, he persisted. “Let's forget this. I'll do better.”

“No you won't, Lyney.” You sighed. “You never change.”

“I will for you.” He swore, moving closer to keep your gaze as if losing it would mean losing this battle he was fighting so hard. “I'll change. I'll be better. I'll do anything for you. Anything.”

“Will you? Change, I mean?” You hesitated even to ask, but Lyney did more than answer. He dropped to his knees right there, his hat tumbled away and off to the side. He wouldn't look up at you with anything but doe eyes, his chin resting snugly against your soft stomach as he held your waist in his arms from below.

“I love you more than life itself. I'll be a better man, I swear. I'll change. I'll change right now! I won't…I won't ever doubt you again.” He nuzzled his face deeper into your belly. He clearly must have missed you at least twice as much as you expected, since he seemed to shudder in pure bliss at just the warmth of your skin through your clothes–a reprieve you had no idea he wanted to claw his eyes out over the fear of losing. He spoke again from the muffled depths of your shirt. “Just come back to me. I'm sorry I never believed you when you said you wouldn't leave. I won't hold it against you–I drove you away, didn't I? It's my fault. I-I deserve it, but I…” He sniffled, and turned his cheek to your stomach instead to keep from soiling your clothes with his tears. “...I just want you back. I feel like I can't breathe without you, my darling. Please come back, and I'll fix everything.”

And in the midst of so many conflicting feelings, you stood there and let him cry. Although this time was brief and much less charged than when you'd first broken up with him, in this moment you let your body move on its own to soothe his pained woes. Your fingers slid through his blond locks and stroked him, trailing over his scalp in waves that instantly calmed Lyney down. You fidgeted with the ends of his hair with your other hand as well, mindlessly combing through those messy stray hairs that you always watched him tuck back into place before a performance. You did love Lyney. As much as you wanted to hate his attitude towards your separation, you could only feel sympathy now–it was a dangerous game you were playing with someone as manipulative as he could be, but you didn't know that, at least not well. You had no idea that even now, those gentle sobs were nothing but crocodile tears.

Lyney did well to shield you from all that. And when your knees started to buckle, and your strong will began showing cracks, your ex-lover went in for the kill with one last, yearning look up at you, eyes glistening with fresh tears.

“Please, baby?”

You were finished. The words didn't even register as they tumbled out of your mouth–all you knew was that in a moment, Lyney was up on his feet and he was hugging you tight, nearly crushing your bones as he promised ad nauseum that he wouldn't waste this precious chance. He would be better, he would do better, he would listen and be more attentive and not be so pushy–and though you only believed half of those promises in the moment, the desperation with which he kissed you and the squeeze of his arms trapping you in a tearful hug inflated some sense of belonging within you.

At least with Lyney you felt wanted. You felt desired, needed, not like a piece of furniture or a token but as someone who literally laid the ground for him to walk on. He wouldn't dare breathe an ounce of air if you weren't around to give him a reason to. And as bad as it might turn out to be when the people closest to you start going missing….at the very least, the man who refuses to live without you will only get closer and closer to your side, desperate to earn that approval of yours that he coveted more than all the Mora in the gods' universe.

[tarot-readingz]

band-aids

Bill Cipher x Reader oneshot || fluff, hurt/comfort ⊹₊⟡⋆ warnings: self harm injuries/relapse in self harm, brief negative self-talk and low self-esteem ⊹₊⟡⋆ summary: Bill helps bandage up your wounds and provides some awkward comfort. 💭 i needed some comfort recently, and i thought i'd maybe share what i wrote in case anyone else needs it too . bill might be a bit 'ooc', but that doesn't matter here lol . and to whoever's reading, remember that you are loved, and you matter very much . please be gentle with yourself, and stay safe, friend <3

Rrrip.

The sound of another band-aid being opened fills the otherwise tense silence. That’s the third one, and you’ll probably need another. You watch as Bill carefully lines it up across your arm, making sure it doesn’t bubble up when you move, then presses down so it sticks. It’s… oddly sweet, almost unnervingly so. You’d never have thought he’d be capable of this much care; this tenderness.

Neither of you speak for what feels like hours in your small bathroom. You’ve just finished crying, and now a headache lingers. You’re not even sure what to say, anyway. Luckily, though, he beats you to it.

“What made you do this?”

…maybe not so lucky.

You chew on your lip, pointedly keeping your gaze away from his. How do you even answer that? It’s too much to begin explaining, you don’t know where to start, and with your thoughts currently moving at the speed of molasses, all you can do is sigh. “I just…” a pause, you try again. “I…”

God, the words just aren’t going to come out easily, are they?

Thankfully (but surprisingly), Bill says nothing— no teasing, no prodding— instead going still as he actually waits for you to answer. Why is he acting so… so…

Your face scrunches up in mild frustration, then falls into something more dismayed with another huff. “I just… spiralled. I was angry, and I felt that I deserved it. And… I wanted it, I guess.” It was much more complicated than that, but it’s a start.

He’s eerily quiet, and when it stretches on for too long, it feels like it’s suffocating you— you have to say something else. 

“I thought you’d be more amused. Don’t you find pain hilarious and all that?” It’s a weak attempt at banter, and you only muster a breath of a laugh, but he doesn’t joke back. Rather, his grip on your arm tightens slightly, and his gaze remains on the cuts now hidden away under the protective band-aids. He mutters something so softly and you almost miss what he says. “Not when it’s yours.”

His words make your chest do… something. It tightens and flutters at the same time. He doesn’t admit any vulnerability out loud, it’s always indirect. Implied. You’re touched, confused, and all-around emotional. You pray that you don’t start crying again. 

“If you start thinking like that again, you’ll tell me. Got it?” Bill breaks the silence again, and his tone leaves no room for argument, but underneath it…. He’s oddly affected by this, and you really didn’t think he would be, considering what kind of person (er, triangle?) he is. You’ve seen exactly what he’s like, evil and manipulative and uncaring towards others— and for whatever reason, he makes exceptions with you. Sometimes.

Mulling over his statement, you finally nod silently in agreement, but he still doesn’t move. “Promise me.”

Now that makes your insides twinge, and as much as you want to, you don’t dare to look up at him. There’s no way Bill would demand a promise. There’s no way he’d ask, or plead for something.

But that’s exactly what he’s doing.

You don’t know how to process it.

“…Okay.”

“Say it.”

“I— okay, I promise.”

Finally satisfied, he resumes covering the tiny stripes of lacerations with another band-aid, the ripping of the paper cuts sharply through the already fragile atmosphere. He repeats the same steps, using the same level of care that makes your heart ache. You don’t realize you’re crying until you watch his hand reach up to brush against your cheek, the contact making your breath hitch and your face to heat up. 

“Hey, stop that. You’ve done enough gross leaking for the night.” He sounds awkward and mildly annoyed, and you can’t help the laugh that slips out, nor the tired smile that forms on your face, and finally, you glance up. Bill’s gaze is already on you, and you swear you can feel him brighten a little bit at your reaction. “There you go, that’s better! Besides, you gotta keep yourself together for me. Can’t have my future puppet falling apart so soon, y’know.”

You shove him, but there’s no force behind it. His hand falls away from your cheek as he laughs, and you find yourself wishing it had stayed a little longer. “Oh shush, you know that’s not happening.”

“Not yet,”

“I will drop-kick you out the window.”

“Ha! Good luck trying while all of your motor functions are inverted!”

All the while, his other hand hasn’t moved from your arm, even when he’s done tending to your wounds.

[dazed--xx]

💔You Broke Me First💔

Summary: Now suddenly you're asking for it back Could you tell me, where'd you get the nerve? Yeah, you could say you miss all that we had. But I don't really care how bad it hurts…..When you broke me first

Member: Hyunjin x Reader

T/W: Mentions of Cheating, Break Ups, arguments, drinking, manipulation, crying, heartbreak, ANGST…, swearing, mentions of being drunk, yelling, sad ending

Word Count: 2.7K

Maybe you don't like talking too much about yourself But you should've told me that you were thinkin' 'bout someone else…

“I know…”

You state stoically, your eyes stuck on the quaint maple table that sat between you and your boyfriend. You brushed your tongue over your bottom lip biting back tears “I know about her..” Your voice is just above a whisper. “Y-Y/N…” His tone is full of pity and guilt, you scoff to yourself shaking your head in disbelief.

“Why?… What did I do so wrong?”

“Nothing…”

“Then how could you?”

“I-I don't know…”

You stare blankly, not able to find the words to express how you feel right now. Your head grew heavier and heavier the longer the silence continued. You could feel Hyunjin’s gaze burning holes into your face. “I do care about you, Y/N…please don't think that I don't.” He sighs, his fingers fidgeting with each other as he bit the inside of his cheek. “She just made me feel…different. I’m sorry…” Another scoff is released from your chest, rolling your eyes at his apology. “I mean you could have told me you didn't love me anymore…” You mutter, trying your hardest to seem strong in this moment. “That someone else was catching your eye…instead of stringing me along for a while just to throw me away,” you growl as anger bubbles in your gut. “Y-Y/N—That’s not tr—It's fine, Hyunjin” you cut off his stammering.

Finally meeting his eyes, you could see the exhaustion and hint of something you couldn't quite place. You take in his image. Allowing yourself for a moment to memorize every single inch of his face, your heart ached the more time passed. You should have known this was coming eventually. He was always just out of reach when it came to you. Hwang Hyunjin was an enigma when you first got together, your relationship was passionate and lustful. Spending every moment you could in each other's arms or beside each other; as the honeymoon phase left your relationship so did Hyunjin. Whilst, He physically stayed beside you; emotionally you could tell he checked out. He was no longer interested in what you were doing, or if you were safe. Your sex life quickly became nonexistent and soon so did you. He was never the most open with how he felt, but you stayed. As the months passed you continued to reach out and try to attempt to get closer to your boyfriend once again, only to be met with unanswered calls and missed dates. You couldn't understand why, that is—until two weeks ago.

You couldn't understand why it had taken you accidentally stumbling upon the two, inside this very cafe, on a date. You had been walking home from your part-time job and in your tiredness you stopped outside of the quaint little coffee shop and contemplated going in. Until you saw that familiar mop of midnight locks. You had seen the way he stared at her longingly. Hyunjin broke your trust and after you avoided him for two whole weeks he was now here to break your heart.

You saw the way he stared at his lap, struggling to find the words he wished to say. You should have known that when he suddenly started paying attention to you again, it was the guilt that ate at him. You know because he felt he'd wronged you he wouldn't just leave you alone, so you decided to do what he couldn't. He released a heavy sigh placing his hands around his cup on the table “Y/N—It's okay, you don't have to say it…” you cut him off once again, giving him a sad shrug. “N-no I do…I-I—Hyunjin!” you stare at him as you reach across the table to take his large hand in yours.

“I don't resent you. Thank you for the memories you've given me…” a small glint of something appeared in his eye, and it looked almost as if his face was about to light up. You give him a mournful smile “But let's stop” you state, your voice cracking at the end. He stared at you in bewilderment as his mouth hung open. “Y/N..” He gasped almost inaudibly the rest of his words not coming to him. You nod in response “I'll leave first…I hope things work out with her and she makes you happy” Your tone is laced with dejection and sadness. You stare at where you had connected your hands, even now as you hold his hand tightly; he sat with his sitting loosely on the table. With a final nod, you pull your hand away and lift yourself from your seat. Hyunjin stared at where your hand once was, flabbergasted. Disbelief decorated his face as you made your way out of the cafe.

You found your resolve breaking as soon as you turned the corner. Your legs finally give way as a sob rips through your chest. You release all the pain, anger, and sadness you held back. You felt broken, forgotten, and useless. You cried and cried feeling deep in your soul, that while Hyunjin will be completely fine you sat here broken.

Your phone's been off for a couple months, so you're calling me now I know you, you're like this. When shit don't go your way you needed me to fix it, And like me, I did But I ran out of every reason….

“Y/N He's drunk!” Felix pleaded as he grunted from the other line. “That's not my problem anymore, Lix” you grumble as you chew on your bottom lip. You hear him whisper something to whom you can assume, is Hyunjin. A heavy sigh is heard through the line “He won't listen to any of us right now!” Felix argues as you hear a shuffle “…You came any other time…He needs your help right now. He's hurting” Felix confesses, his tone is pleading and almost enough to convince you. Almost…and while Felix was correct you had run to help Hyunjin, a lot in these past two months since you had broken up. You no longer wished to do it “I'm sorry Lix, truly I am. But it was no longer my responsibility to take care of Hyunjin and I made the mistake of continuing to help after we ended things. But I don't owe him shit if he needs help then you should probably call his girlfriend.” you state matter of factly.

“Y/N He doesn't—” you cut the call off not wanting to hear any more of what Felix had to say; you toss your phone to the side onto your couch. As Guilty as you felt for not going to help Hyunjin; it was no longer your place to. It had taken these few months to stop running to help the person who had betrayed you. Every time you received a call from either Hyunjin himself or a mutual friend, you always found yourself dropping everything and rushing to assist him. When you finally had enough, you received a text from Hyunjin stating his car broke down and he asked for your help bringing him to the store and then his friend's house, only when you got to the house a familiar face popped out of the door. You scoffed to yourself as you saw the girl he had cheated on you with give him a bright smile as she waved at him. Quickly peeling away from the house, you laughed at your stupidity as well as his audacity. Ever since that moment every call from Hyunjin has gone unanswered and when requests from your mutual friends came in to help Hyunjin with something, they were rejected. You'd finally run out of reasons to continuously correct his mistakes and come running to his rescue.

You were no longer together so you no longer needed to be at his beck and call.

Now suddenly you're asking for it back. Could you tell me, where'd you get the nerve? Yeah, you could say you miss all that we had But I don't really care how bad it hurts When you broke me first…

A loud panicked knock against your door pulls you out of your sleep. Quickly checking the time on your phone 3:32 AM. Your eyes widen as another round of raps begins on your door once again. Pulling yourself out of bed ready to tear the head off of whoever has the nerve, the AUDACITY to wake you up at such an ungodly hour. You state out the peephole only to be met with the view of the street, you crack your door slightly. You're met with Hyunjin drunkenly leaning against your door. His arm supported his head against it. His free hand shakes nervously as he attempts to bang on your door again, that's when you hear it.

The most heartbreaking sob tears through his chest. He whimpers inaudible words to himself as he opens and closes his fist before allowing it to fall limp at his side. “Hyunjin?” you question visibly confused. His head whips up “Y/N!” He slurs almost excitedly, and the smell of liquor quickly fills your nose, “You opened the door…” his voice cracking behind his drunk smile.

“Do you know what time it is? You smell like a distillery” you growl at him as he tries to shove his way inside. You roll your eyes pulling the door open fully making him stumble forward. “Why are you here, Hyunjin?” you don't mean to be so hostile but you were very clear with Felix earlier. His hands encase your face, his eyes meeting yours as tears continue to cascade down his cheeks. His eyes are bloodshot, and his lips look swollen and raw, probably from biting them as you notice him repeatedly doing it. His hair was a tousled mess.

“Y/N…” He lets out a sigh of relief, placing his forehead against yours something he always did when you guys were together and happy. Your hands tug on his wrists at the familiar action. “You didn't come...why don't you come for me anymore?” He whines as he squeezes his eyes shut trying to steady his breathing. “I shouldn't come for you. There's no reason for me to…” you respond stoically.

“You just disappeared on me…” his words becoming more incomprehensible as he cried “Why did you abandon me?”

“Hyunjin! We aren't together anymore. You can't just expect me to pick you up or help you out anymore!”

“How else would I see you then?!?”

“You shouldn't be seeing me! We shouldn't hang around each other, it's too painful for me. I understand our relationship didn't mean much to you but it meant a lot to me…” you state sadly, Hyunjin’s pitiful expression now replaced with a puzzled scowl. “Who told you that?” disgust filled his tone. “You're kidding me right?” you counter. Hyunjin bites his bottom lip once again before clenching his jaw “No, who lied to you like that?” you stare at him wide-eyed “You did! With your actions or lack thereof. You cheated on me and ignored me for months” You snap. He can't be serious… you think to yourself.

“B-But I was trying to fix it!” He cried, seeming almost sober at this point. “You-you weren't supposed to find out!”

“So what?” you snarl “You would have continued to just string me along? String us both along?!” He shakes his head rapidly “N-No! I-'m sorry I should have explained better that day…” His tone is laced with regret and panic. “I-I ended things with her…Y/N—I wanted to fix things. I never wanted you to know...” He confessed behind shaky nervous breaths, he finally released you as he steadied himself. Slowly, taking a seat on your couch he quickly buried his face in his hands; his elbows resting on his knees as he took a deep breath “I didn't—I didn't want this to happen...I missed you so much I just—I wanted everything back to the way it was. You loved me so much and when I realized what a huge mistake I was making I ended it. I swear I ended it before we ended things…the last two weeks, when I couldn't see you I was only trying to see you. I only wanted you, I didn't want to lose you. W-When you told me you knew about her…it felt like my entire world was collapsing around me.” He rubs his face and tries uselessly to wipe away his tears. “I just wanted to explain. And when I processed what was going on—what you said…you were gone..” his soft cries turn back into full-on sobs.

“I was trying to fight for us those nights I begged you to come and see me, to talk to me only for me to be ignored while you went and made damn sure you had time to see her. And to make things worse, you used my feelings for you to manipulate me into driving you to her house?! You made me look like a fucking idiot! I'm wondering where the hell do you get the nerve to sit here and act like this?” you snap. He winced at your words “T-that wasn't her house! I-I don't know why she was there that's Seungmin’s new place I swear!” Every second you spent glaring at him felt like another stab to the heart. He knows he made so many mistakes, but he felt like he was dying with you looking at him. He wished he could go back and tell himself how it feels right now. How it felt to watch your hand leave him but deny that it was happening at that very moment. He'd tell himself how embarrassingly hard he had cried when he noticed she was no longer in her seat in front of him. How he'd run out of the cafe not knowing which direction you had gone in but how desperately he felt he'd needed to find you…how dejected and nauseous he felt when he couldn't. How he'd cried himself to sleep every night since you had left his life.

Your blood boiled as you saw him sitting there staring at you apologetically. “Y/N…Please” he swallows his tears “please just give me a chance to fix this…” he pleads. “What did you think would happen?” you question your voice laced with venom as you glare daggers at him. He can't meet your eyes only able to stare at the ground near your feet. He hung his head low “Not this…Not me being without you. Not being this hurt over the mistakes I made. I love you…when you ended things before I could have a chance to fix them, it broke me” He confesses staring up at you. You can't help the genuinely demeaning laugh that rips through your stomach. “Of-fucking-course it did. God, you really are something huh? You have some nerve to come in here to ask me for another chance. You want to know something?” you challenge raising your eyebrow as you cross your arms over your chest allowing all the anger pain and hurt to spill into your tone “I don't care…” you shrug before you throw your hands in the air as Hyunjin stared at you in horror.

“Y-You don't mean that…” He stammers in denial more to himself than to you “Yes, I do Hyunjin. I don't care that you're hurting. I don't care that you're finally opening your eyes. I don't really care how bad it hurts” You confess shaking your head “Not When you broke me first now see yourself out and move on…”

He stared at you for a moment, not wanting to give up on you, on the love he still has for you, but he could see it. You truly meant your words, you wanted nothing to do with him. He sighs heavily as he wipes his hands on his jeans before he lifts himself from the couch and makes his way toward the door; stopping in front of you he yearns to hold you one last time but the way you won't meet his gaze makes him sigh. He continues on his way pulling your door open he stares back at you only able to hear the pain in the words that are now circling around in his mind.

“You broke me first…”

⏪| ⏸️| ⏩

taglist: @yangbbokari @slayhyunjin

[yanderes-galore]

Micah bell with Prompts 8, 10, by inuzkua

12/13

Wel almost there

-🧨

Oh... well, these prompts alone are pretty dark like most of the Micah ones. I'll see what I got. WARNING, THIS COVERS SOME DARK TOPICS, PLEASE KEEP THIS IN MIND.

Prompts Here

Yandere! Micah Bell Prompts 8 + 10

“You’re so dramatic. The bleeding should stop soon.”

“The more I look at you the more I wanna hurt you, why is that?” 

Pairing: "Romantic"(?)

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Sadism, Micah likes to hurt you, One-sided relationship, Possessive behavior, Blood, Violence, Marking/Branding with a knife, Touchy behavior, Forced "relationship".

You and Micah had never gotten along. Honestly, not many got along with Micah in general. However, you and Micah tended to clash heads more than most.

You had gotten into many arguments. Most of which were because Micah wanted to see how far he could push you. To him, being cruel to you was his form of fun.

He liked to see you get worked up. He liked you upset. He liked fighting with you. He liked how much it hurt you.

Micah wasn't sure why making you suffer brought him joy. He was already quite insufferable to everyone he comes across. Yet with you...

It's so much different.

He likes the tears in your eyes as he's belittling you. You may hide them, but he knows. He likes that he has that power over you.

Your fellow gang members were aware of Micah's sadism to you. His gaze was normally cold, yet there was a hint of desire in his eyes as he looked at you. One may even describe it as ownership towards you.

You thought it couldn't get much worse. You thought he was just going to be a stinking rat who likes to toy with you. Unfortunately...

Micah loves to discover new ways to hurt you.

Micah was always vile. You knew that even before he got touchy. He always has such a grin when he reaches for you, chuckling when you smack his hand away.

Micah would give you crude flirtation as he wraps his arms around you. He acts like you two are something close. In reality, you despise him.

He probably despises you for other reasons.

After all, why else would he be insistent to hurt you? He insults you, makes you uncomfortable.... Micah is a vile man, always will be...

Yet he's a vile man with a goal it seems...

A twisted goal.

“You’re so dramatic. The bleeding should stop soon.” Micah grumbles, looking wistfully as his blade finishes its job. Blood coats the sharpened edge as he pulls it away.

In its place, a carving of 'M.B' struggles to heal, no doubt meant to leave a scar.

You're shivering, tears pricking your eyes as you hiss and sputter in pain. It all happened so fast. Micah and you had gotten into another argument after you had finished one with Arthur.

Things seemed to just keep getting worse... You had even left camp to get away from him...

Only for Micah to follow... and tackle you with his knife.

You had thought this was it. Your arguments had hit a peak and Micah was going to risk it all to kill you. Except... He didn't.

He just liked the fear in your eyes as he carved his name into your back.

"You're so irritating, know that?" Micah growls, begrudgingly wiping off the blood from your skin. The action makes you tense, another hiss leaving your mouth.

“The more I look at you the more I wanna hurt you, why is that?” Micah continues, staring at the engraving. "You make me feel a weird way, cowpoke. Bet you have no clue, huh? I can't explain it..."

You tense when he grabs your chin, turning you to face him. His eyes still hold that cold desire in them. He looks at you like you're an annoyance he can't quite let go.

"I want to make you mine." Micah eventually says, grip tight on you as you shiver. "I want to be the only one who has you. I want to mark you as mine, I want to be the cause of your hurt. That way... you'll know you're mine... and I can ignore these damn feelings you keep giving me."

Micah spoke to you like he was in denial. He was obsessed with you, you knew that at the very least. The nature of his obsession... was significantly harder to pin point.

Was he obsessed with hurting you... or just trying to distract himself. Did he love you and didn't want to admit it? Did he view himself as weak for you catching his eye... and wanted to punish you for it?

Regardless, it only made you hate him more. Even now as he pins you to the dirt ground, your blood spilling his hands, you doubt anything will be done. You doubt Micah will get in trouble with Dutch.

Nevertheless, you remain hopeful.

"Now you're all mine, sweetheart... gonna be sweet for me from now on? Maybe that will change something in me...."

Even when Micah leans into your ear, telling you you're his, you think of hurting him in return. There was never going to be anything good between you and Micah. You didn't care if he seemed misguided.

You just hope Dutch would do something to make Micah pay once he eventually learned of this... because if he doesn't...

You may very well be the cause of Micah's retribution if he isn't careful.

[the-reader-insert-gazette]

What Comes After - F!Reader x Claude von Riegan

Fire Emblem Three Houses (Time Skip)

Amid the chaos of war, Claude and Reader forge a bond built on trust, shared dreams, and unspoken promises. Together, they navigate the complexities of strategy and politics, discovering that hope feels easier when they have each other.

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

[Name] leaned over the map sprawled across the desk, her fingers tracing the lines that described the Alliance's contested borders. Her focused gaze darted between the intricate markings she had made and the notes she had scrawled in the margins. Claude stood opposite her, his sharp green eyes flickering between her determined expression and the map. He leaned casually on one elbow, the usual irreverence in his posture slightly muted by the tension of the moment.

“So,” he began, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “your plan involves convincing the merchants to reroute their trade caravans entirely. You know they’ll complain about the costs, right?”

[Name] didn’t look up, her voice calm but firm. “They’ll complain, but they’ll comply if they believe it’s in their best interest. I’ve already drafted the economic projections to show how this route will be safer and more profitable in the long run. Besides,” she added, glancing at him now with a hint of challenge in her eyes, “you’re the one who always says people can be swayed if you frame the argument cleverly enough.”

Claude chuckled, leaning back. “True. You’re learning. I should feel threatened.”

Her lips curved into a small smile, one of rare amusement that came only when she was deeply engrossed in a project. “You're a good teacher.”

Claude straightened, his demeanor shifting as he placed a hand on the table to point at the southern section of the map. “We’ll need Lorenz to sell this idea to the nobles. They’ll trust him over me—or anyone else, for that matter. His name carries weight, and his reputation is squeaky clean enough to convince even the most stubborn lords.”

[Name] raised an eyebrow. “And do you think he’ll agree? He doesn’t exactly… take orders well.”

Claude’s smirk widened. “He doesn’t have to. We just need to make him believe this plan was his idea all along.”

[Name] sighed, shaking her head. “Manipulative as always.”

“Efficient,” Claude corrected, his tone playful.

The room fell into a thoughtful silence as they worked out the finer details of their scheme. [Name] jotted down notes while Claude shifted pieces on the map, occasionally brushing her hand as they both reached for the same area. The first time it happened, neither of them said anything. The second time, Claude’s smirk turned teasing.

“Careful, [Name]. People might think we’re getting along.”

Her gaze flicked up to meet his, steady and unimpressed. “The only thing they’ll think is that we’re focused on the survival of the Alliance. Unless, of course, you give them a reason to believe otherwise.”

“Touché,” he replied with a mock bow. “But you’ve got to admit, our collaboration is turning out to be something special.”

[Name] rolled her eyes, but the faint blush on her cheeks betrayed her. “Let’s just stick to the plan.”

By the time the meeting with Lorenz was arranged, the pieces were falling into place. Lorenz’s skeptical expression made [Name] brace herself for a barrage of objections. To her surprise, Claude opened the conversation with an uncharacteristically serious tone, laying out the broader vision for the Alliance’s future before deftly nudging Lorenz toward the proposed trade route adjustments.

“Of course, a noble of your standing would understand the importance of ensuring stability in these uncertain times,” Claude said, his tone dripping with casual flattery.

Lorenz adjusted his posture, clearly pleased. “Naturally. It is the duty of those with influence to guide others toward prosperity.”

Claude threw a quick, subtle glance at [Name], signaling her to take over. She straightened, addressing Lorenz with a composed demeanor.

“We’ve mapped out the most efficient routes and prepared an analysis of the economic impact,” she explained, sliding a meticulously prepared document across the table. “Your endorsement would carry significant weight among the merchant guilds, ensuring swift adoption of the plan.”

Lorenz studied the document with an approving nod. “Very well. I shall lend my voice to this endeavor. It is, after all, a sound and noble course of action.”

As Lorenz departed, Claude leaned against the table, watching [Name] gather her notes. “See? He thinks it’s all his idea. Told you this would work.”

[Name] gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re lucky he’s predictable.”

“And you’re lucky I’m charming.”

She scoffed, but a smile tugged at her lips. “Debatable.”

Claude leaned in slightly, his smirk widening. “Admit it, [Name]. You’d miss me if I wasn’t around to keep things interesting.”

“Interesting isn’t the word I’d use,” she replied, turning her attention back to the map. “Infuriating is more like it.”

For a moment, she hesitated, her fingers pausing mid-motion on the map. The teasing lilt in his tone wasn’t unusual, but there was something else in his gaze, something quieter and more genuine. She brushed it off with a soft laugh and returned to the task at hand, but the lingering warmth in her chest stayed with her.

-----

The weeks that followed were a blur of coordination and negotiation. [Name] and Claude spent countless hours together, refining their plans, convincing skeptical merchants, and ensuring the nobility stayed in line. The long days blurred into late nights, the air in the strategy room growing heavy with ink, parchment, and the faint scent of Claude’s cologne—something woodsy and subtle that she couldn’t seem to ignore.

Their dynamic shifted in those weeks, the sharp edges of their banter softening into something more familiar. Claude’s teasing grew less pointed, more playful, and [Name] found herself responding in kind, her wit sharper but her tone lighter. She began to notice the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the way he leaned just a little closer when he was explaining something to her.

One evening, as they poured over logistics in the dim light of the strategy room, Claude leaned back in his chair and stretched, his arms extending over his head. “You know,” he said, breaking the silence, “I’m starting to think you might actually enjoy working with me.”

[Name] didn’t look up from her notes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I enjoy solving problems, not dealing with you.”

“Ah, but I am the problem,” he said, his grin audible in his voice. “Which means you must enjoy me by association.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “That logic is as flimsy as your excuses when you’re late to meetings.”

“You’re still smiling though,” he pointed out, leaning forward on his elbows. “Careful, [Name]. I might start thinking you like having me around.”

She met his gaze, her expression steady but tinged with amusement. “Don’t push your luck.”

-----

The turning point came during a particularly grueling day when a critical trade envoy threatened to pull out of their agreement. Claude, ever the diplomat, managed to diffuse the situation with his usual charm, but the stress of the encounter lingered as they returned to the war room.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Claude said as [Name] furiously scribbled notes, trying to piece together a contingency plan. “We’ll figure this out, just like we always do.”

She didn’t respond immediately, her focus fixed on the parchment in front of her. Finally, she exhaled, setting the quill down and rubbing her temples. “It’s not just this, Claude. It’s… everything. The stakes, the pressure… Sometimes it feels like no matter what we do, it’s never enough.”

He stood and walked around the table, coming to stand beside her. “Hey,” he said softly, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “You’re not doing this alone. We’re in this together, remember?”

The warmth of his touch startled her, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she glanced up at him, her eyes searching his face. There was no teasing in his expression, no trace of the flippant Claude she had come to know. He looked at her with quiet sincerity, and for the first time, she let herself acknowledge how much his presence grounded her.

“I know,” she said finally, her voice softer than usual. “Thank you.”

His hand lingered for a moment before he stepped back, the spell between them breaking but leaving an unmistakable tension in its wake.

As their plans began to bear fruit, their camaraderie deepened. Moments of levity became more frequent, their laughter filling the once-solemn strategy room. [Name] caught herself looking forward to their late-night sessions, not for the work but for the easy rhythm they had developed. She started noticing little things about him—how he tapped his fingers when he was thinking, how his voice softened when he spoke of his people, how his confidence masked a quiet vulnerability.

Claude, for his part, found himself drawn to [Name]’s steadfast determination, the way her mind worked through problems with precision and creativity. He admired her practicality but found himself captivated by the rare glimpses of warmth she let slip—her laugh, her sharp wit, the way her lips quirked when she was pleased with an idea.

One evening, as they sat side by side reviewing reports, Claude turned to her, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “[Name], can I ask you something?”

She glanced at him, surprised by his tone. “Of course.”

“Why do you put up with me?” he asked, a faint smile softening the weight of his question. “You could’ve worked with anyone else in the Alliance, but you chose this.”

She tilted her head, studying him for a moment before answering. “Because I believe in what we’re doing. And… because you make it easier to believe.”

His smile widened, and for once, he didn’t deflect with a joke. “You’re something else, [Name].”

She felt her cheeks warm and quickly looked back at the reports. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Claude chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. “Too late. But seriously…” His voice trailed off, softer now, tinged with something unspoken.

[Name] glanced at him, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “What is it?”

He hesitated, his usual air of confidence wavering for just a moment. “Do you ever think about what you’ll do when all of this is over? When the war is done, the Alliance is safe, and there’s nothing left to fight for?”

She blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I… haven’t thought that far ahead,” she admitted. “There’s so much to do now, it feels… impossible to imagine.”

Claude nodded, his gaze distant. “Yeah. Sometimes it feels that way to me too.” He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, “But I do think about it. What comes next.”

[Name] studied him, sensing there was more he wasn’t saying. “And? What do you see for yourself?”

He smiled, but it wasn’t his usual grin. It was quieter, more thoughtful. “A place where I don’t have to keep looking over my shoulder. Somewhere I can just… be myself. No politics, no schemes, no one trying to use me as a pawn.”

“That sounds…” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “Nice. Peaceful.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” he said, his eyes meeting hers. “But getting there… it’s not easy. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll even make it.”

“You will,” she said firmly, surprising even herself with the certainty in her voice. “You’re too stubborn not to.”

His grin returned, softer this time. “Maybe. But it’s not the kind of place you can reach alone.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and [Name] felt her heart skip a beat. “Claude,” she began carefully, “what are you really asking?”

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table as he held her gaze. “If I left—if I found that place I’ve been dreaming about—do you think you’d come with me?”

Her breath caught, the question sending her mind racing. She saw the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, the rare moment when the walls he so carefully maintained had come down. He wasn’t just teasing or playing around—this was real.

“I…” she started, then paused, her voice catching. She looked away, her thoughts a tangle of emotions she hadn’t fully confronted until now. Finally, she met his gaze again, her eyes steady. “I don’t know what the future holds, Claude. But if you found a place like that… I think it would be hard not to follow.”

His expression softened, a warmth spreading across his face that she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before. “Good to know.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the unspoken understanding between them growing stronger. [Name] felt a strange mixture of fear and exhilaration, the realization of how much he meant to her settling over her like a heavy yet comforting weight.

Claude reached out, his fingers brushing hers where they rested on the table. It was a light touch, fleeting, but it carried more meaning than words ever could.

“I hope you meant what you said before,” he murmured. “You know... me making it easier to believe. In this, in what comes after… in everything.”

[Name]'s chest tightened, and for once, she didn’t deflect or retreat. Instead, she turned her hand slightly, letting her fingertips brush against his.

“I meant it when I said that and...,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “When I said you’re too stubborn not to make it.”

His grin returned, this time with a hint of relief. “I suppose that's a 'yes' then?.”

She smiled, her heart pounding in a way that felt both terrifying and wonderful. “I suppose so.”

As they sat together in the dimly lit room, the weight of the war and the world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them and the quiet promise of something more.

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

While he ain't my main, he was my first romance, so this fluff ball has a special place in my heart when it comes to FE3H. Hope you all enjoyed! Next fic will be for Ferdinand and will be slightly darker than my usual fics.

[firstdeerwife]

C.10

Whispers Of Desire

The days passed, and although the memory of the kiss they had shared lingered, Alastor and _____ seemed to have reached a tacit agreement not to mention it.

Their encounters became more frequent, charged with a complicity that had been absent before.

They both knew that something had changed, but neither of them dared to cross that line again... yet.

On the other hand, things between Charles and _____ had gone from bad to worse.

The arguments that were once sporadic had now become a daily routine, growing fiercer and more bitter each time.

_____ felt her life was falling apart, trapped in a commitment she never wanted, with a man she could no longer love.

One afternoon, after yet another argument that ended in tense silence, _____ was in the kitchen, her mind replaying the hurtful words they had exchanged.

But something inside her broke.

She was tired—tired of fighting, tired of pretending.

And that night, as Charles walked into the room, _____ decided she could no longer go on like this.

"Charles, we need to talk,"

_____ said with a firm voice, though she was filled with uncertainty inside.

He looked at her with disdain, as if he already knew what she was going to say.

"This again, _____? What is it now?"

_____ pressed her lips together, gathering the courage she needed.

"I'm leaving you. Our marriage is over. I won't marry you."

The words echoed in the room, leaving Charles momentarily stunned.

But the shock quickly turned to anger.

"Are you crazy? What are you talking about? You can't just leave me, _____. This isn't over until I say it is!"

"Yes, I can,"

She responded, her tone defiant.

"I can't keep living this lie. You don't love me, Charles. You only care about having someone to play the role of the perfect wife, and I won't be that woman."

The argument escalated quickly, both of them hurling increasingly sharp and cruel remarks.

The words they had once held back now flew like daggers, tearing apart what little was left of their relationship.

"You're ungrateful! After everything I've done for you, this is how you repay me,"

Charles shouted, his face red with fury.

"And what have you done, Charles? Controlled me? Manipulated me? You're nothing but a selfish man who only thinks of himself,"

_____ retorted, her voice trembling with anger.

But then, _____ said something that made Charles completely lose his temper.

"I never loved you, Charles. I've always been a prisoner in this relationship, and you... you're nothing more than a jailer."

In a fit of blind rage, Charles raised his hand and struck her across the cheek with such force that the sound echoed in the room.

_____ staggered back, bringing a hand to her cheek where she felt the sting of the blow.

A deadly silence fell between them.

Charles, horrified by what he had just done, took a step towards her, his voice breaking.

"_____, I... I didn't mean... I'm so sorry."

But Charles' words fell on deaf ears.

_____, with tears of anger and pain in her eyes, looked at him as if she were seeing a stranger.

Without a second thought, she turned and walked out of the house, ignoring Charles' shouts for her to come back.

The rain had begun to fall heavily, drenching her within seconds, but _____ didn't stop.

She walked aimlessly, her mind clouded by anger and pain as the raindrops mixed with her tears.

She didn't know how much time had passed or how far she had walked, but suddenly, a familiar figure appeared in front of her.

Alastor.

He looked at her with concern as he saw her soaked and visibly upset.

"_____, what happened?"

Alastor asked, approaching her cautiously.

_____, unable to speak, simply looked at him with pleading eyes.

Alastor didn't need more.

He took her in his arms, covering her with his coat as he guided her to his home, shielding her from the storm that raged around them.

When they arrived, he helped her inside, and _____ noticed that the house was empty.

Charles wasn't there, and the thought of facing him again filled her with dread.

Alastor led her to a chair and began to dry her off with a towel, all in silence.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?"

Alastor asked softly, handing her another towel to dry her hair.

_____ took a deep breath, her voice barely a whisper.

"Charles hit me... after I told him I wouldn't marry him."

Alastor's expression hardened, and his hands momentarily tensed before he relaxed, forcing himself to stay calm for _____'s sake.

He knelt in front of her, gently cupping her face in his hands.

"_____, you don't deserve this. You don't deserve anything he's done to you,"

Alastor said, his voice filled with a mix of tenderness and restrained fury.

"I won't let him hurt you again."

Unable to hold back any longer, _____ leaned into him, seeking the comfort she knew only Alastor could give her.

He held her close, his warm breath on her skin, as he felt the pain and anger mix inside him.

"Don't cry for him, _____,"

Alastor whispered, his lips brushing hers as he spoke.

"He's not worth it... and I promise he'll regret every tear he's made you shed."

And then, without more words, Alastor kissed her. This time there was no doubt, no hesitation.

They both gave in to the kiss with the passion they had suppressed for so long.

_____ felt all her fear and pain begin to dissipate under the warmth of Alastor's embrace, and for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to feel what she truly desired.

When the kiss ended, _____ looked at him with eyes full of gratitude and deep sadness.

"I don't know what to do now, Alastor."

He held her tighter, whispering softly in her ear.

"We'll be alright, _____. We'll get through this together. And I promise you, Charles won't hurt you again."

As the rain continued to pound against the windows, _____ allowed herself to rest in Alastor's arms, knowing that while the road ahead would be difficult, she would no longer walk it alone.

End of the first act

|𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚛𝚎|

[ihasafandom]

Carnage re-write

I'll add these all together into a single post and probably put it onto a03 and my artblog when I'm done with all of these, but for now we're going with this format.

Part 2/??

Previous / Next

So for Eddie’s arc let’s have him learn that he needs to open up and allow himself to listen to and rely on other people. He can’t go around behind other peoples’ backs, and he can’t lie to the people in his inner circle. This will connect back to his flaws in the first film, where he tried to do everything himself his own way without considering how other people would feel about/react to that or reaching out to any of his contacts or allies for help or anything like that.

Venom meanwhile got hints of it in the first film, but we need to double down on it learning the value and meaning of community and friends and allies and all that. In theory Eddie has some of that, but he also tends to throw them away so if we can have Venom glom on and stick that’ll be good for them both in the long run (not a necessity for a good story, but I like when partners fill eachothers’ weak spots.

As for the relationship, we need them both to go on a journey where they realize that/why they care about eachother, and come to value that enough to compromise and work to find their balance.

They also both need to temper their impulses and instinctive responses to be able to think thing through and not just rush in guns blazing, though that might be a series arc and not just for the one movie.

Probably makes the main thrust of this movie something along the lines of: People and relationships are important and irreplaceable, but also hard work and compromise. They are well worth the effort of doing things right.

Which gives us some nice points to invert for our villain trio.

And speaking of villains, the villains and side-characters need arcs too.

In the film, Cletus wants to tell his story, wants to escape, wants to find his girlfriend, wants to get married, and wants to wreak havoc and kill people.

Scream wants to escape, wants to find her boyfriend, wants to get married, and wants to wreak havoc and kill people.

That’s all perfect for what the film wants to do (I have not read the comics and know nothing about scream, don’t at me. But also do, maybe you’ve got some ways to sell all of this better) 100%, no notes.

Where this breaks down is when it comes to Carnage itself. We get very little of its motivations, and we don’t get much between the symbiote and Casady, and even less between it and Scream. And what we do get isn’t compelling. It seems clear to me that they were trying to do a parallel to Eddie and Venom here, but it lacks the clarity and follow-through to really work.

Also AFAIK Carnage symbiote is supposed to be she/her and it’s a bummer that it’s not in the movie though I am always gonna be a “symbiotes are it/its first and anything else second” truther.

So to fix it:

Carnage is newly born straight off of the “we should be able to do what we want with no morals/consequences/limits” argument that Eddie & Venom were having and bases its initial personality off of that. Its motivation is that it wants to murder-party its way across the Earth. It sees Cletus as a good time and it is covetous of him as a host. It wants a match at least as good as Venom’s, and it wants its host to have things that make them feel hedonistically good, but it does not respect Cletus and it doesn’t care about Scream herself.

Cletus loves Scream. And he appreciates the abilities and possibilities that Carnage brings to the table and the way that their goals and desires align, but nothing more than that. People are a means to an end, to be used as he sees fit. To be manipulated and lied to without a thought. He doesn’t care to tell Scream about Carnage being its own being, all the better to bask in the glory of saving her and being powered up all by himself. He doesn’t care to explain to Carnage how the world works, or to reel it in, preferring to ramp it up for the carnage and chaos and pretend that it was all his idea.

Scream loves Cletus, but she is jealous and suspicious. She acts up whenever Cletus seems to have anyone else important in his life, and is even more dismissive of the people around them as little more than backdressing and playthings at best. She has skills and knowledge, and tries to use them to plan their future, but gets ignored by Cletus overruling her opinions and choices unless he is in a “yes, anything for you, everything you say will be done” mood. When she finds out about Carnage she is HECKIN jealous. How dare he have someone even closer to him than she is?

The marriage going from the two of them to the three of them is a peace offering without solving the underlying issues. And when Cletus ignores one of Scream’s choices – the officiant or somethign and Scream gets mad and Carnage slaps her for ruining their big day and then Cletus fights with Carnage for hurting his love, that is the crack that weakens them enough for Eddie and Venom (with backup) to eventually win the day. Their bond is stronger, they have put in the work, they have laid out a support network and talked about their needs, and in the end they will prevail because they have a healthier relationship for it.

This is of course diametrically opposed to how the actual movie played it, where Eddie and V got back together with no actual changes and out of desperation but the movie still kind of tried to imply that they won because their bond was better? Nah, you gotta earn that, on both sides, and we’d seen more problems on the protagonist side than the antagonists’ by far at that point.

Part 2/??

Previous / Next

[carnivorousyandeere]

Do you think you might reach too many yan groups at some point?

Also I'd like possessive head canons for the student council ^^

Partly to show I love more than just marcus /j /lh

I fear I may have reached too many yan groups already tbh 😂😭 (rip unfinished Crime Family group and the Ghost Hunting Crew ✌️😔✌️)

CW: manipulation, stalking, gaslighting, mentions of violence and death, kidnapping, captivity

Emerson becomes much touchier than usual, standing at your side at all times. You really can’t get a moment away from them— even if you think you’ve lost them, they always catch up within minutes. Good luck trying to alert anybody to what’s going on. I mean, everybody knows Emerson— they’re so sweet, couldn’t hurt a fly! What are you so worked up about?

Kendra is the least outwardly possessive. Clingy and cuddly, sure, but she’s probably the yan in this group who’s the most lenient about you having friends outside of her and the student council. As long as you don’t get too close to anybody else~! Then it’ll be time for them to lose their kneecaps ✌️😜 and probably their lives 😔🕊️

Jace is typically more quiet and shy, but his possessiveness comes across as aggression and intimidation towards whoever is taking your attention. He’s got a way of justifying those arguments and fights that he gets into while dancing around the truth— that he wants you to himself. He’s not a great fighter, but even that has its upside— maybe he can play the victim and you’ll feel bad, playing nurse for him afterwards…

Rayleigh is a crier and a guilt-tripper; whether it’s intentional or not on her part is debatable. The intent matters little, you’ll still respond however you would— either frustrated and uncomfortable with her sloppy manipulations, or you think it’s rather cute and indulge her immature actions, whatever. However you respond, she’ll adapt, changing parts of herself to match whatever she sees in the people trying to take your attention from her, in a desperate bid to keep you focused on her and her alone.

Kaylee is typically more lax, like Kendra. She thinks it’s rather adorable whenever you express having positive feelings towards anybody else. It’s like a game to her, a game she knows she’ll win. She can dispose of opponents with no remorse, or just poison you against them. She also has a talent for pissing people off, and she’ll use it when you two hang out to scare off other people so the two of you stay as just two.

Hailey is the most possessive. If she can’t have you, then nobody can. She’ll kill anyone who looks at you the wrong way— which, for her, means looking at you romantically or lustfully… sometimes, looking at you in any positive way. She’s the only one allowed to hold you in any positive regard, and works damn hard to balance making you out to be a worthless pos without ruining her reputation by keeping you at her side. You’re always going to be her “project,” presented as a topic of scorn or pity amongst her friends, someone who can’t live without her guidance and protection. None of her friends can understand why she tolerates you— she must be an angel to let you hang around her, because they certainly wouldn’t, not from what they’ve heard from Hailey! Soon, she’ll be your only access to social interaction. And if you don’t want social interaction? What makes you think she cares? She’ll drag you around wherever she wants you to go, and you’ll damn well do it or else risk being locked in her basement.

[forcesensitiveaurawielder]

Trying to Write More

Hello there!

So for a while I’ve been trying to write my high fantasy series more consistently. So far, I’ve written a few chapters, and done a lot of backstory and lore development. I have all of the usual excuses (have a regular job, too many ideas at once, it’s all in my head I just need to get it on paper, blah blah blah). So I thought maybe I’d try to post some stuff on here on a semi-regular basis. Also, if you guys like it, it might be encouraging. And if you think it’s trash, that’ll be good to know sooner rather than later! 

So the first thing I want to post is some of the lore behind this world I’m building. This is how the universe started (well, part 1 anyway). And you’re the only ones who know it right now, because the inhabitants of said universe mess up the story pretty early on.

The plan is to start here and then if you guys like it I’ll start on Wattpad and seriously get moving on it. I’d like to publish one day, but I have this idea that even if I print the book I’d always like to have a free online version to be available to everyone.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

...

In The Beginning

Imagine a world wildly different than any one that you’ve ever seen, that you’ve ever heard of. A world filled with creatures that you could only be vaguely familiar with if you recognized the connection between them and ancient myths implanted by my people. A world where people act so differently and talk so strangely they seem alien to you.

In many ways, they are alien. But terms like that are all relative and poorly defined. Besides, even though these people live completely different from you or I, they are motivated by many of the same things. No matter what dimension you go to , the same kind of people will desire the same kind of things: either they covet serenity and love, fame and wealth, or power and control. What makes them unique is how they go about obtaining them.

Like most groups of people who find they exist together in the same place on one of the wedges of rock that swirls through infinity, they also find that they don’t always agree. The same holds true here. There is much confusion and argument on how things came to be, and as per usual even the ones that are closest to the truth are still very far from the complete truth. But I do know how their existence came to be. And I’m going to tell you.

In the beginning, there was light.

And later, the world was born of light and darkness.

Unlike most dimensions, this one did not start in a sea of chaos. It was more like a calm meadow. There was nothing but a soft, golden light that reached out across every part of the universe. This light had no source. It seemed to just flow out from the cracks in the cosmos. Which to be fair, that’s exactly where it was coming from. That’s how all dimensions start: energy leakage. The reason so many dimensions and universes turn out so different is because basic cosmic energy can be warped in an incomprehensible number of ways when it squeezes through the membrane of reality. Except for one dimension that ended up with infinite identical universes. That place makes me very uncomfortable.

Anyway, this light was not a sentient being. It was, simply, a wonder. The first great wonder of the universe. But it was not inert either. It was a force, and an energy. The energy was always flowing, moving, and changing shape. And like all forces, the light sought only to be balanced. Anytime it changed, it always found equilibrium. For what can only be described only as a small infinity, the light was in its own perfect balance. Nothing disturbed it.

But then something incredible happened. The light was not provoked, not disturbed, not manipulated in any way by anything. But as I said, the light was never at rest. It was always moving. And like so many other wonderful things, something wonderful was created by accident.

A child was born of the light.

Though she was technically newborn, she had the appearance of a young girl the age of eight or nine. Her gold eyes glowed warmly, her skin radiated a warm brightness, she had long white-blond hair that swept into her face. And she was in constant awe of her life and the universe of pure light in which she dwelled. Curious as a child should be, she explored her home. She taught herself the inner workings of the light that sustained her. She learned unimaginable things.

But the light was still looking for a balance. Another child was born, the same age as the girl at the time. A boy with shining blond hair, hazel eyes, and a sparkling smile.

To be clear, that is not embellished descriptivism. His hair actually glowed and there was what I can only describe as pixie dust constantly floating around his lower facial area.

The two children observed each other, not knowing what to do. They knew not how to speak. But after a while, they did communicate. They were bound together by the light. They could talk to each other in their minds.

Once they realized this, they named one another. The girl took the name Iimii. Her brother took the name Orro. She taught him everything she knew of their home. And so they grew up together, together they grew in the light.

But it didn’t end there; tales like this never can.

Iimii and Orro sought to explore the very limits of the light. They were confident in themselves and their abilities. Orro was much more reserved about their adventure, but Iimii had grown...arrogant. The light had no bounds, however it was not perfect. As time drew on, the constant shifting of the light had made (for lack of a better description) stretches in its very fabric. Iimii noticed this eventually, but in her innocence she failed to see this as danger. She investigated the stretch in light, she tried to manipulate it...until it tore...and she fell through, into the darkness.

That is when fear was invented. Poor Iimii, she was terrified. She needed the light, it kept her alive. Without it she had no control, she was hurling through nothingness.

You must understand that even though the light extended through the universe, that did not mean it was the only thing in existence. The light was the first thing to exist, but within it the dark was made. They are two sides to one coin.

Iimii did not know of the dark. And then, just as all wonderful things are, something wonderful happened by accident. Iimii did not die. She was strong and still young, she adapted. She learned without knowing it. Her golden hair darkened to a void. Her skin paled. The glow faded from her eyes to be replaced by pure black. Not but moments after her initial terror did she learn to move through the dark. She ran back toward the tear, toward the light that was her home. She didn’t realize the change that took place within her. She didn’t understand that the light was not her home anymore.

When she reached the light, it seared her skin. She could not enter. She became frightened again, and confused. Desperation setting in, she called out to Orro...and she started to cry.

Orro, panic-stricken, reached the tear in light. He had been looking for Iimii for a while by then. But his hopes did not raise when he looked upon his sister. She was different, they could both feel that now.

He tried to reach out to her, but the darkness corroded his skin and he shrieked out in pain. They looked at each other helplessly through the first seam ever between light and dark. But Orro wasn’t going to let pain stop him.

Iimii.

He reached back into the dark.

Please.

The dark ate away at his arm.

Iimii was horrified.

Stop Orro! It’s destroying you. If I touch you then…

Iimii take my hand!

She did. The light started flowing through her again. Iimii smiled, her smile started to glow. Her hair lightened. Orro’s arm healed. But the dark would not yield. The glow was swiped out of her smile. Her hair faded to black once again. For the first time, the light and the dark had to fight for balance. The serenity was broken. It would remain broken unless balance was found again.

Orro was still clasping to Iimii’s hand. He felt something stirring in their palms. Something powerful. The energy blast was so powerful in fact, that Orro was sent flying backwards. When he scrambled back to the seam, he was more than shocked to see not one, but two beings on the other side.

It was another young man [for Orro had grown past adolescence by this time]. He was staring at Iimii. He looked at himself. He was confused. Orro knew the feeling, the strangeness of being willed into existence. Of course that didn’t mean that Orro was any less confused. He smiled at the siblings.

This new being was unlike Orro or Iimii. His eyes were grey, a color that never existed before. His hair was blond like Orro’s, except it was a darker hue and there was a jet black streak that went across as it tumbled down his back. His smile was bright like Iimii’s used to be and radiated a glow, but his chestnut skin seemed to absorb the glow. He looked at his hands, there was a long scar across each of his palms: one dark and one light. Both greatly contrasted with his skin.

He looked back at Iimii. Why… are you sad?

Orro jumped at the words that appeared in his head from this stranger. Iimii was so shocked it almost wiped away her depression. But it came back when she answered the question.

She pointed towards Orro. I can’t go home.

She cried. The newcomer, who would later call himself Uku, looked between the two siblings. He turned to Iimii. He took her hand and smiled.

Please don’t cry.

He led her back into the light, and she felt no pain. Iimii couldn’t believe it, she was so happy. She let go of Uru’s hand to embrace her brother, but she didn’t get the chance. As soon as she let go, the light attacked her. She screamed in agony. Uku embraced her, and the light stopped.

Orro and Iimii did not understand why the light would reject her like it did. But they soon understood that Iimii was no longer a child of the light; she was a creature of the dark. Uku brought her back to the dark.  Orro and Iimii now existed in two different extremes of their universe.

Orro was bitter, he spent the next millennium sitting next to the tear that binded their two realms looking out into the darkness thinking of his lost sister.  Iimii became depressed, hiding herself and avoiding her brother’s gaze.

Uku visited Iimii quite often. He worried about her, he wanted to help her. When he wasn’t keeping her company, he traveled between the two realms, hoping to learn something he could use to help Iimii. When he was gone, Iimii sank further into darkness. Just as she taught herself to use the light, so she did with the dark. It became her purpose.

Then the Forming came. Orro and Iimii were shaken out of their self-pity when they felt ripples across the realms. Something was happening, and they were scared.

Orro was too blind to see that Uku had come back to the tear between realms, he had started manipulating the light and the dark at the same time, using the tear as a focal point.

Orro was furious. He had originally thought Uku to be an unnatural entity, and now he was committing what Orro considered to be blasphemous. Uku knew this, so he stayed in the dark while he worked the light, where Orro couldn’t stop him.

When Iimii arrived, the universe looked chaotic. She had grown to trust Uku and she didn’t want to hurt him. But though she was more open-minded than her brother, she still couldn’t help but feel what Uku was doing was wrong.

And what was Uku doing? He was creating a middle-ground. A realm where the light and dark could coexist without destroying each other. What he didn’t know, was that he was creating the world in the process. Uku accidently created the world.

When he finished, Uku was shocked to behold the landscape that stood as the core of the realm he had made. To Iimii’s delight, she found that she could pass smoothly through the veil of darkness into this middle ground, without feeling any discomfort. Even though she was bound to the dark, she could now feel the tingle of light dancing across her body, a comfort she had forgotten. Orro too passed into Uku’s new realm, reluctant at first to accept the tender balance of the dark with the light. But the dark felt cool against his skin, a sensation he did not know of and found that it felt somewhat relieving.

Recovering from his shock, Uku rejoiced that he had actually succeeded. When Iimii saw Orro, once again in the same realm as her, she cried and embraced her brother.

After that, the three of them spent most of their lives in the Twilight Realm. Uku taught the siblings how to work with their opposite natures and manipulate them in a way that they wouldn’t mutually obliterate one another.

After nearly mastering her new abilities, Iimii could no longer resist going down from the Realms to explore the world that Uku had accidently created. She was disappointed to find that it was barren. She had hoped this place would be like a new realm she could explore, yet it was little more than a large, flat plain. Iimii took it upon herself to remedy this.

From the dark she rose mountains, cut canyons, and carved valleys into the once flat surface. Her brother saw what she was doing and decided to join, seeing it as fun. From the light he grew forests and decorated Iimii’s landscape with colors he invented for each plant.

The plants however quickly died. It was then Uku came and invented water: the only substance to know perfect harmony of light and dark. The plants found life again.

But Iimii was not yet satisfied. The slow growing of plants failed to hold Iimii’s child-like attention span. She wanted creatures that were more animated. She tried making creatures that resembled her and Orro and Uku, but she couldn’t. She ended up making the creatures of the air. When Orro saw his sister trying to make sapient beings, he tried to do the same, but failed as well. He created most of the creatures of the sea. The two of them kept trying until they eventually filled the land with creatures as well.

Uku was the only one of them able to create self-aware beings. But they were not . When Uku made the first race to walk the world he found that they could not exist outside of the solid world he had created. Only he, Iimii, and Orro are able to travel between the Abstract Realms.

But this little fact didn’t stop Uku. After he made his first intelligent species, he made ten more. Eleven high-functioning peoples roamed the world now.

Iimii was delighted with what they had accomplished. The three named  their world “Ruiviur”, a word that tastes complicated and foreign in the mouths of the world’s inhabitants, but to its creators it is simply the word for home. Uku recommended that they wait for the people to grow accustomed to their new home before they intervened.

But shouldn’t we help them? Make it easier for them?

I agree with Uku. said Orro. They need to teach themselves like we did. For now at least.

But they did do one thing for the people of Ruiviur. Since Uku created them, they were equal parts light and dark, but they couldn’t manipulate either nor could they tolerate prolonged exposures to either one. So Iimi and Orro split the light and dark on Ruiviur into day and night. But this divided Ruiviur into two halves. That’s why Uku made it so that day and night would oscillate across the whole world. This, however, still did not solve the problem entirely. Uku’s creatures were not as versatile as he was. Some of the creatures could see through the cover of night, others could not see well in the brightest part of day. Not only that, the sudden shift between the light and dark was an unpleasant transition for all of the creations on Ruiviur, plant and animal alike.

To counter this, Uku asked Orro and Iimii to concentrate all of the light and dark at singular points opposite of each other and high above Ruiviur. In doing this, Orro created an orb of brilliant golden light and Iimii created an orb of pure ebony dark. Then Uku touched both orbs, putting them on a path to circle Ruiviur, making it so that the night would overcome the day gradually, and so the case with day overcoming night. But by Uku’s touch, the orbs changed.

They began gravitating toward the center of Ruiviur. Eventually they crashed into each other and merged. They became one orb, an orb of the same size as either of the originals, but much more dense. For a time, it looked that Uku’s orb had destroyed Iimii’s. But after some time, the light of the orb was dissolved by a darkness that spread out from the center of the orb. And then after the same amount of time, the light would once again overtake the dark by spreading out from its center.

The orb’s light form would later become known as the Sun and its dark form would be known as the Moon to the people of Ruiviur. And the periods where the orb was made up of part Sun and part Moon would come to be known as phases in the cycle of day and night. This is one of this universe’s greatest balancing acts of nature.

The day came for the Three to visit the people of Ruiviur. It didn’t take them long to learn the concept of spoken language, and when they were able to talk to the people the Three found that they were kind and welcoming. When they told them who they were and where they came from, the people were skeptical. To prove themselves, Uku pulled a silk tree out of the bare ground. Needless to say, people believed them after that. A gathering of all the tribes was called to meet the Three. This would later be turned into a celebration, known to everyone as “The Realm Crux Festival.”

The Three told stories of the Realms in which the dwelled, but they were careful not to say too much, they didn’t want the people to be disappointed when they realized they were confined to Ruiviur.

After the gathering, Iimii, Orro, and Uku traveled around Ruiviur learning of the uniqueness of each species’ culture, occasionally teaching them something new that they felt they could.

However, this peace didn’t last. The Kaliginians are not much different from the people of Earth, they too are able to be blinded by selfishness. The skills that the Three could teach them became something to covet. More people started asking Uku to create something for them. Tribes started coming up with ways of keeping the Three with them longer. Staying with a tribe, was looked at as showing one tribe more favor.

There had been...battles before. Strife among the tribes leading to an attack. But they had been minor disputes. The first war was waged over the Three.

Horrified, Uku told Iimii and Orro that they had to leave.

Look at them. That’s because of us.

We can’t just leave them like this. We need to resolve what we’ve started.

They are creatures of free will. We have no right. They must resolve it themselves.

But it was out of our free will that this came to be.

They left Ruiviur. The tribes knew that they did, but the war did not stop. It was no longer about the Three.  Despite what Uku said, Iimii couldn’t leave it alone.

She went back. She saw that the leaders of two tribes were the cause for the war’s longevity. They were power-hungry. They desired more than they deserved. Iimii hated them; they were laying waste to the world she loved.

Iimii….her mind was still that of a child, in many ways. She saw things in a simplified form. She didn’t understand how complex the world they created had become.

She traveled, by shadow as to remain unseen, to the first leader. She manipulated the dark into his body, and it consumed the light within him, without which he could not survive. Though they mourned the loss, that tribe’s people were relieved.

She did the same to the other tribe leader, except she was seen doing it. That tribe was weary of war as well, but they were horrified that Iimii had taken a life.

When Iimii returned to the Twilight Realm, she was confused to find that she did not feel proud of her accomplishment. She looked down at Ruiviur, the war ended, but she still felt ill. Orro and Uku found out what she had done. It took Orro time to forgive her for what she did. Uku embraced Iimii, explained to her the severity of what she did. The realization broke her. She fled back to the Null Realm. Uku went after her. Orro stayed to watch over Ruiviur. Uku has been searching for Iimii ever since.

The Three never visited the people of their world again.

[orlaithrose]

Orlaith had forgotten Tristan was still there, the world shrunk down to just her and her father standing there in the kitchen; no one else existed in that moment. A parent was meant to protect you, to regard your wellbeing above anything else. Her father had never done that and wasn't doing so now; that was clear in the gloating, almost gleeful way he had told her everything. Now she was being told her other parent had never had an interest in protecting her either, had never cared, had merely seen her as some sort of asset. How could the world not shrink down to nothing?

When John's shout cut through the space between them as well as her jumbled and confused thoughts, it made Orlaith jump. His temper always lived on a knife's edge, ready to fall. It did so now, making her heart hammer instantly the way it always had when she was a child. She may as well been ten still, him towering over her, rather than a grown adult. "Do not keep on playing the fool." His hand came down to slam against the counter so hard it sent a glass waiting by the sink scattering across its surface until it met the edge and smashed upon the floor. He wasn't angry Orlaith might think badly of him. He was angry her mother's manipulation had worked better than his own ever had; that she could stand here now and still believe Mairead over him. She blinked down at the smashed pieces as though she couldn't comprehend where they had come from. In a way she couldn't.

"Do you really think I could ever keep a Fae as old and powerful as your mother anywhere against her will? The iron was for your benefit, not her." He didn't really need to prove this was true, because as soon as he'd pointed out the ludicrousness in the notion his power could be more than Mairead's it seemed so obvious Orlaith really did feel stupid, but he did so anyway. She watched as he pulled out the small dagger he'd had as long as she could remember. He always carried it around. It was iron she knew, which should have buoyed her into movement, but it was as though everything was under water suddenly and she couldn't react or move with any degree of speed. Before she could even comprehend why John had pulled it out, to connect the dots, let alone protest or move he was even nearer to her, spare hand reaching for her arm so that the other could hold the flat of the knife against her skin.

She did not have powers iron could weaken, but it burned, skin reddening instantly underneath its touch despite the coolness of the blade as the heat spread out and down. Again, it all seemed so obvious now. On an island populated by Fae, the only iron around was deliberate, in weapons, or outside of places other species wanted to keep Fae out of. They didn't use it in the hospital. It wasn't something she might have accidentally come across, but still, she felt stupid, stupid, more stupid as she looked down to see the blisters forming the longer John held the blade there. Her eyes went back up to John's, who was waiting, watching carefully for her reaction. All she could do, tears of pain pricking the corners of her eyes, was cry, "Ow," and pull her arm away.

With an air of satisfaction, John pulled the knife away and put it back into the sheath he kept it in. He knew he'd won this argument, and more perhaps. His voice returned to its usual octave, calm once more. Reasonable, as though he'd never been anything but. "Now you have had quite the shock. You may take some time to process it all and then I'll expect to see you for our weekly dinners." When he said this Orlaith understood quite suddenly why they were so important to him; it was the only way he could keep a close eye on her to see if he and Mairead had been right all along. "Do not make me come back here." Despite his reasonable, understanding tone the threat was clear. He was gone before she could even reply, door slamming shut behind him.

For a few seconds Orlaith stood dumbfounded, frozen in utter shock as an entire life collapsed and reshaped itself. Everything she thought she'd known gone and replaced by something terrible and devastating and impossible to comprehend in this moment. Perhaps it always would be. Then sound rushed back in, as did the rest of the apartment, the kitchen she was standing in, the living area where Tristan still sat. Her cheeks burned at him being witness to what had just happened, her foolishness, her submissiveness. She couldn't look at him. Instead she crouched down, weight resting on her ankles, to clear up the smashed glass on the floor. It would have been sensible to deal with the burn first, but everything was too muddled for coherent thought.

Tristan was pretty sure he could leave and no one would notice. However, he also felt that if nothing else, Orlaith ought not be alone when her father finally did leave. At least, Tristan hoped he didn't plan on staying for much longer. In fact, he was rather amazed that he hadn't been asked to leave already, under the guise that whatever he had to say to his daughter might be deemed private or a family affair. The fact, though, made it clear that her father seemed intent on humiliating her. At least, it felt like the only way to interpret this scene.

In many ways, Tristan wished he wasn't able to hear what was being said, letting Orlaith explain in her way what had happened. It felt like he was being privy to a moment that should be private, but it was also hard not to listen. Especially when they went on about prophecies and power. Tristan knew all of that existed, but given his humanness it was often still hard to comprehend.

He could see the delivery of the information-- whatever it meant, Tristan didn't really understand it or its implications-- was a hard pill for Orlaith to swallow. Although, in fairness, his first suggestion would have been that her father was lying so her accusation of it all being a lie made sense to him. He seemed like the kind of man who would lie, cheat and steal to get his way, no matter the cost. Even from this brief observation of the man, he exuded that aura.

Tristan wanted to step in and say something, even. Demand that her father get the fuck out. But Tristan had too long ago learned that sort of brashness could often be more dangerous than anything else, especially for someone like him who was powerless in more ways than one. It felt like this wasn't a line to cross and yet he still felt stupid for sitting here dumbly, like he should be doing something even if he simply should stand there menacingly like her own father's body guards.

[cryptidclaw]

Hmm have Snow stick around for a while. Have her argue with thistle after realizing what an ***hole he is. (If you wanna keep spottedleaf’s heart canon, she could realize what he’s doing to spotted) She’s emotional and upset, and he calls her soft and weak. How she would let invaders walk right over them or something. And when a shadow order cat comes through… she desperately tries to prove her worth one last time(he goads her on to chase them back to their own territory). But she didn’t see the stampede/wild animal/ cliff/ etc.

But thistle doesn’t care. She redeemed herself, in his eyes. So he takes her body back to camp, and lies on how a shadow Order cat tricked her into running into the accident. Bluefur is distraught and suspicious, but she has no proof.

Until White(Storm) steps forward. Barely a ‘paw, he just witnessed his father cause his mothers death. And (if you want to keep spottedleaf’s heart canon) talks about what he did to Spottedleaf. Spottedleaf testifies for this, backing up his claims.

Star sunfall doesn’t give him the option for exile. Rosetail, bluefur, and 2 other cats who are close to Whitestorm and snowfur or Spottedleaf offer to take care of him. They drag him out of camp hissing and screaming, while the nursery moms spit in his face. He reaches out to Tiger(claw), begging him for help.

He snarls, scratches him across his face, and turns around before going to comfort spotted and white.

TLDR: Tigerclaw might be an *sshole, but he does not f/ with canon thistleclaw from spottedleaf’s heart.

ok ok! i had an idea !

So Snowstorm has a litter with Thistleclaw at around 1-2 cycles old, but her first litter all die tragically. This understandably traumatizes her and leaves her in a depressive state for a while, Thistle finds this weak and is not supportive at all. He just makes her feel like she is being dramatic, bec "kits die, that's a part of life".

Even after Snow starts to heal and move on, she is never the same and is very hesitant about having kits for the next few cycles, which also pisses Thistle off because he wants to continue his bloodline, and make tiny Thistles that he can mold.

Eventually Snow agrees to have another litter when she's around 5 cycles old and they have Tigerclaw and Whitestorm!

then your idea for Thistle getting Snow killed due to a argument happens. Snow and Thistle's relationship has been strained and filled with spats since their first litter died, but Snow stayed with Thistle because he's a manipulative asshole who always gaslit her into staying with him.

Snow and Thistle have another big argument like how you describe, resulting in Snow dying.

I dont think Spottedleaf would have even been born at the time (she's like 15 moons younger than White and Tiger), so ig Spottedleaf's heart isn't happening, which im chill with lol. Instead thistle just sucks bec he's an abusive asshole and terrible dad.

Anyways, I dont want Thistle to be executed/exiled, purely bec of the plot where Blue gives up her kits so she can be deputy instead of Thistle, sooo... Maybe other cats besides Bluefrost don't fully realize how bad Thistle and Snow's relationship was, and they just thought it was a bit strained due to the trauma of loosing their kits, and cats still think Thistle is a chill if not a bit battle hungry.

I like the idea that Blue had her kits around the time that Snow dies and for her, her world is falling apart, her sister is dead, she's the only one who seems to be suspicious of Thistleclaw, Star Sunfall is getting old and could die soon, AND his second/mate Tawnyspots is retiring. Blue knows that Thistle cannot be Second, and she seems to be the only one who fully knows how terrible he is, and nobody believes her bec they think she and Thistle have just never gotten along. So Blue gives up her kits so Sunfall would make her his Second.

I like the idea that later on, Blue, Whitestorm and possibly some other cats plan a ambush to take out Thistle, and they blame it on a fox or something.

[erenoir]

push & pull

❥ find the request here: ✞

having endured plenty of ran’s careless flirting with other people, you finally decide to stand your ground with him. though with ran, “standing your ground” doesn’t last very long.

💿 now playing: judas by banks !

❥ warnings: 18+ content, toxic relationship, manipulative!ran, cunnilingus, angry/jealous sex, slapping, choking, MDNI.

❥ featuring: ran haitani x f!reader

❥ word count: 3.9k

❥ a/n: first time writing ran,, kinda nervous </3 the other title option for this was, “hot sexy jealous brother gets all messy with sexy reader HD recording,” but i was like eh :/ thank u poppy for beta-reading this + telling me: more spanking! so true.

tagging ! @godbaji @poppyandhervillains @weenieslug

“Get the fuck away from me...”

You raised a hand to his chest in an attempt to stop him from coming any closer, scoffing as he took your hand in his and pushed his cheek into your palm. He blinked, over and over, squinting his eyes and quivering his lip. A series of staged actions only to push a single tear out of his guiltless eyes. You watched the teardrop roll down his cheek, his lips turning to place a gentle kiss to your hand. He always did this, a master at making you feel empathy, for him, the one who wronged you. In times where your jealousy put you over the edge, no one was better at reassuring you more than Ran. But tonight was different, you’d watched him casually accept the advances of another girl for the last time. He made you watch as her finger wrapped around his chain, telling him how pretty it was, drawing him in closer, only backing down once feeling the weight of your icy glare.

Now you and Ran were standing in the hallway of your apartment complex, feet dancing up and down the carpeted floor, you pushed him back as he pushed forward. Ran was far from giving up on you, he knew what strings to pull when you were like this, though he’s noticed that you might not crawl back so easily this time.

“You don’t mean that baby…” He whispered, the crack in his voice signifying all of the sweet nothings you were hoping to hear, but he was just giving you empty words, things to help you forget why you were even mad. He grazed your fingertips across his lips, kissing each of them one by one, before letting his kiss linger on your thumb. You dragged it across his bottom lip, watching the way it bounced back from your pull, your body frozen in place under his lazy gaze. It was all so fake, so contrived, a show he put on all too often for you, so you pulled your hand away, and it shook as you balled it into a fist. Don’t let him do this again, you thought. But every step you took back, he stepped forward, and his eyes were fixed on you. That was one thing all of the girls that flirted with Ran would never have, the ones that shamelessly pined after him while you sat right there. His undivided attention. He smirked, playfully, he teased them, intentionally, but underneath the bar top you two sat at tonight, his hand never left your thigh. And his fingers didn’t stop tracing up your hot skin, burning with jealousy, until they reached the fabric of your panties. It was when she slid her number across the counter, signed off with a heart at the top of your tab. That was when you snapped, storming out of the bar and leaving him behind.

“Yes. I fucking. Do. Now stop-” Your words were cut short when your back hit the door to your apartment, slowly closing your eyes when you realized Ran had you cornered, yet again. He rests his hands on either side of your head, locking his elbows as he leans into the wall, his forehead touching yours.

“You don’t mean that… Now why don’t we just talk this out like we always do?” He asked you knowingly. Why haven’t you given into me yet my dear? Ran purses his eyebrows in confusion, deep in thought and wondering, at this point in the argument he would’ve had your shirt off by now. But there was a fire in your eyes, a strong desire to bite back, to test his limits this time.

“Like we always do? Ran… I’m sorry but that’s not always gonna work… How many more girls are you gonna eye-fuck until you realize that I’ve had enough?” His dull eyes widened with a bit of life, was that- concern? For once Ran was actually reflecting on the possible consequences of his actions, but he couldn’t lose you. He wouldn’t allow it, surely not for some bartender whose name he didn’t even remember. You sneered, gazing upon his speechless figure, his tongue pushed at the inside of his cheek as he nodded in disbelief.

“Okay then…” He scoffed, his hand colliding with the wall, the abruptness of his fist landing inches away from your head made you jolt, “...Then what the hell is gonna work this time?”

“Nothing,” you rolled your eyes, swiftly turning around and unlocking your door with shaky hands. That was a lie. There were about a hundred things Ran could do to win you back, but if you had to watch his ego inflate anymore, even if just by a little bit, you'd rip at the seams. You fought through the fact that his glare alone was enough to make you tremble at the knees, continuing to stride into your apartment and push the door shut with your back, only to have his hand stop it in its tracks, forcing your body forward as he casually walked past you and into your kitchen.

“No I don’t think that’s gonna work,” he mumbled, leaning up against the refrigerator as he tilted his head back and poured the remaining crumbs from an opened bag of chips into his mouth. Then he cracked open a can of soda. Then he pulled some leftovers from the freezer and popped them into the microwave. He hummed and stared into the little glass window, listening to the food sizzle when he asked, “You got any of those little desserts left babe? You know the um… they were like little-”

“Have you made yourself comfortable?” He looked at you quizzically, acting innocent to the little performance he was putting on. You peeled your jacket and shoes off and walked into the kitchen, hearing Ran snicker quietly as you shuffled through your cabinets, opening and slamming shut every single one until you pulled out the box of pastries he wanted.

“Oh… did you mean these?” You asked honestly, nodding your head as he nodded his, before placing your toes on the pedal to the trash can and emptying the box into it, not breaking eye contact as all of the sweets were quickly contaminated with browning banana peels and used coffee filters. He watched your smug expression, waiting for it to falter as he dug a fork into the leftovers, shoveling bite after bite into his mouth, Ran always found you cute when you were bothered. He covered his mouth with his hand while he chewed, nodding slowly before letting a slick smile spread across his cheeks. Your attempts at standing your ground were laughable to him.

“You really got me with that one baby… I’m hurt,” he dramatically placed a hand over his heart and keeled over. Your hands clenched at your sides and your breath seethed through your teeth as you pushed the trash can over, letting out a scream loud enough to pierce him where it hurt.

“Fuck you Ran! Can’t you take this shit seriously for once?” You ripped the container of food out of his hands and let it collide with the wall, sauce dripping down the grey tiles. Your hands collided with his chest repeatedly, releasing all of your anger as he held his position and watched. It was an amusing sight for him, he didn’t think much of it until the first tear fell from your eyes, that was when his smirk dropped and the act began to fade. One after another, the tears didn’t stop streaming down your hot cheeks just as the curses didn’t stop leaving your lips.

“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” He stopped your hands and held your wrists together tight, drawing you into his chest with a hand placed on the back of your head. You ripped yourself from his hold and stormed off to your bedroom, locking the door and wincing as he desperately tried to jiggle the knob open.

“Please, what can I do?” He asked you for the second time that night, leaning against the outside of your door. Your body fell to the floor, sliding your back down the wall until your legs hit the carpet. Ran had an ear glued to the door, listening to your quiet sniffles be muffled by the sleeves of your sweater.

“You can go fuck yourself Ran…”

“Oh please… so you want me to walk out of here? Never come back?”

No, of course you didn’t.

“Yes, goodbye.”

“No you don’t.”

“Ran-”

“What? You don’t.”

The two of you spoke like that for a while, your snippy voice bounced back and forth with Ran’s tired one through the mediator that was your bedroom door. Ran was breaking you down sentence by sentence, knowing that if you really wanted him to leave you would have stopped entertaining his nonsense by now, but there you were, still feeding into his provocations. You arrived at your apartment at around 11 pm, and it was now nearing midnight. Ran could stall and fabricate and tell you what you wanted to hear until you unlocked that door and let him in. Tonight you were hard to crack, but Ran was never one to back down from a challenge, especially with you. So eager to win you over, to prove you wrong, he pulled out his last stop.

“I’m sorry baby,” the words were so soft, so breathless, and as you went radio silent on the other end, he exhaled. Mission accomplished. But his smug expression soon dropped when you finally opened the door, to see the way you snarled at him in that moment, with your arms crossed under your breasts, you’d only ever done this a few times before. A ticking time bomb, down to its last ten seconds, the fallout about to blow up in his face.

“Am I not fucking good enough?”

“Huh?”

“Is this a joke to you?”

For once Ran looked dumbfounded, frozen in his tracks as you grilled him, awaiting an answer, a good one at that, “Of course this isn’t a fucking joke-”

​​”Then why? Why do you let girls throw themselves all over you? And every, single, fucking time I’m right there Ran! God, you make me feel like a fucking-” You felt tears build up again, so you inhaled sharply and turned your back to him in an attempt to collect yourself. You raised a hand to silence him again, “Ran I am so done,” you threatened.

“You can’t be-”

“Yes I fucking am,” your voice shook, finally allowing tears to fall. You didn’t want to be done, god, you wanted Ran forever. Both of you knew that, neither of you wanted to be done. You could push and pull forever, be opposite forces for as long as you could stand it, just to be with each other for one minute longer. His head rested on your shoulder, placing a kiss in the crook of your neck, “I only have eyes for you,” he muttered into the fabric of your sweater. His hands dragged up and down your sides, letting them rest on your hips as he swayed your bodies back and forth.

“I don’t give a fuck about anyone else.”

His grip on your waist tightened, trailing his tongue up your shoulder, across the back of your neck, before he took your necklace between his teeth. You shuddered as the air nipped at the fresh line of spit on your skin, wrapping an arm around his neck and letting your head drop to one side. He blew on your nape before whispering the words you’ve been aching to hear all night, “Let me show you.”

Your breath stopped in your throat as he traced his hands underneath your sweater, the calloused pads of his fingers tickling your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind them. He pushed you back onto the bed, peeling off his shirt and following you closely behind. He hovered above you, using his forearms for support as he traced his thumb over your forehead. Ran was a different person when he was in bed with you. Every manipulative comment, every second he spends getting a rise out of you, every time he’s laughing when you’re crying, it leads up to this. It turns into passionate kisses, wiping your cheeks dry, holding your hands while he takes you in a fit of angry, jealous sex.

“Ran please…” You mumble into your kiss, pushing at his pants as he fumbles with the zipper using one hand, the other doesn't leave your face. Ran searched for a lot in the compliments and love from other women. Validation, the feeling of being wanted, sought after, it was a sensation that he craved. Unfortunately for Ran, he could be showered with endless fake praises, but nothing, no one, could come close to the way you made him feel. Everything else was fleeting, things that passed, things to help people climb up Ran’s ladder, where at the top sat you, knocking everyone else down notch by notch. You were his only vice, the only thing that was constant, and he would go back to you as long as you’d have him. Tonight he knew he got lucky, as he looked down at your face, brushed over with need for him, Ran knew he held onto his winning ticket for one more night. He was so fucking lucky.

His pants hit the floor as he shimmied down to settle his face between your thighs, lightly dragging his nails up the insides of your legs, holding them open as you shuddered at the sensation of his touch. Alternating tiny kisses between each thigh, his lavender eyes never left yours, he was hungry for it, for you. He looped a pinky around the fabric and pushed it to the side, letting his tongue slide up your folds, settling at your clit and sucking on your sensitive bud, his eyes closing as he took in your taste.

“What do they have that I don’t?” You snapped out of your euphoric daze, grabbing his hair and forcing him to look at you.

“Nothing… they have… fucking… nothing…” He insisted, kissing your clit between every word, his eyes fixed on your disapproving expression. Your fingers intertwined as he kissed the most vulnerable part of you, squeezing your hands in his as your head flung back and your back arched off the bed. He pushed your abdomen back down into the sheets as he sped up, his cheeks becoming covered in your slick as moved his face from side to side, grabbing a hold of one of your thighs as they clenched around his head. No, you weren’t done with him.

“You’re… fuck- you’re lying,” you pushed him off of you, waiting for his lips to meet yours again before you flipped him onto his back. He gawked at you in disbelief, following your every move as you pulled your sweater off. He shifted underneath you, feeling himself ache as you exposed a new side of yourself to him. Never did you bite back, never did you fight, prod, or snap when you two were like this. But when you held him by his chain, when you rutted your hips down into his, and when you loomed over him with an overwhelming sense of anger, all which was directed at him, he needed to feel you more than ever. He wanted to get drunk off of your fury, he wanted to drown in your aggravation. And so he provoked you, this new domineering side of you, he wanted you just like this.

“And what if I am?” He spat, ushering his briefs off of his legs and allowing you to pump his length in your hands. You grabbed his wrist and let your spit pool in his palm, replacing your hand with his and watching his eyes squeeze shut as he feathered his fingers over his tip.

“Well then you’d just be the fucking asshole I know you are,” you scoffed, lining him up with your entrance, glaring down at him and grabbing his jaw to get him to look at you, “God, you don’t even deserve me.”

“Yeah? Then what do I deserve?” He snaps as he pushes his hips up, catching your body as you fall into him, the feeling of him inside of you so sudden. You rest your forehead on his and begin to rock your hips back and forth, the sheets twisting as you fist them, tiny moans leaving your lips. Ran watches as your eyes roll back, your words getting caught in your throat as you stifle a moan, “You don’t even know what you’re saying, poor thing.”

“Fuck you,” you push yourself off his chest and wrap your hands around his neck, using it to anchor yourself as you bounce on his length, crying out everytime you fall back down to his thighs, Ran never takes his gaze off your face, watching it twist and contort as he filled you up. “You just fucking do it on purpose- I don’t know… fuck- why… I should go out and talk to other people then… it’s only fair,” you spewed nonsense, your moans breaking up your sentences as you fucked out all of your frustration. Ran’s fingers curled into the skin of your hips, letting his eyes flutter shut as your grip on his neck tightened.

“Is it worth it?” A hand came down to his cheek, a resounding smack, with his head splayed off to the side. Your movements halted as you moved your hands from his neck to his shoulders, vulnerability sneaking back through the cracks of the hard exterior you wore for only a brief moment. You landed another smack, and another, and another, each one sounding off with the name of a girl that Ran indulged.  “Are they worth it? You fucking asshole!” Another strike approached his cheek, but before your hand could meet his face again he caught it in his, his lip curling as he grabbed your wrist and flipped you onto your stomach.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Ran grunted as he pulled your arms behind your back, holding your wrists in his hand. He pushed your face into the bed, holding your neck down as he thrusted into you, your muffled groans symphonic in his ears as he bent down to whisper something to you.

“They don’t… mean fucking… anything…” With every pause he pulled out and rammed back into you, your hips falling into the bed over and over again. His movements grew frantic, breathing heavy as he watched the way your ass bounced with every thrust into you, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room.

“Fuck baby…” You mewled, gasping for air as the headboard met the wall, as the nightstand shook, and as Ran’s grip on your neck tightened. He released your hands and let you grip onto the sheets, watching your knuckles strain as he striked you with his hand, welts from his metal rings rising on the tender skin of your ass. “M-more,” you begged, your hands shaking as he scoffs, he traced a finger up and down your spine before bringing his hand down to your sore skin again.

“I know you don’t want me to take these off, you like when I mark you…” He spits, letting a bead of saliva drop down to the small of your back, “You like when people know that you’re mine.” He rubs the cool rings over the warm marks he left on you, teasing you as you shake underneath him. He takes the saliva under his palm and drags it up your spine, before wrapping his hand around your neck and drawing you up into his chest.

“Makes you feel special, right? No one else gets marks from me, right?” He asks you in a nurturing tone, high-pitched and mocking, as if he was talking to a child. The way you choked on your words was entertaining him, so was the way your eyes crossed, the way your mouth hung open, and the way you chanted his name like it was a hymn. He rests his head between your shoulder blades as his movements speed up, pace increasing as he feels you clench around him.

“T-tell me… who do you fucking belong to?” He snaps, digging his rings into the heat of your neck. He brings his other hand around your chest to grab one of your breasts, prodding at your nipples until he hears you cry out his name. “Ran… please… I’m yours…” Your words break out into a whisper, broken moans interrupting your praises for him.

“No,” you feel your face jerk around, your lips puckered in between Ran’s strong grip on your face as he forces you to look him in the eyes, “Tell me who you fucking belong to.” Your heavy breaths mix together, foreheads connecting as he pushes through your slick walls, his moans growing louder as he hears the sound of him squelching inside of you. He kisses you hungrily, before jerking your face away and shaking it slightly, giving you an opportunity to answer.

“Y-you, Ran-”

“No- Ran who?” He pushes, he wants to hear his name fall from your lips, like if you didn’t say it you would die. Like if you didn’t scream it out in desperation, you’d lose your claim on him, the one that you wanted every other person that’s ever flirted with Ran to see. Fuck all of them, you thought, a sense of territorialism overwhelming the two of your tangled bodies, he’s mine.

“I’m y-yours… Ran Haitani… I’m all fucking yours baby,” you growled into his lips, moving your hips back into his. His thrusts faltered, returning his hand to your neck and his lips to your shoulder as he exhaled sharply, feeling you reach your high.

“Ran- please I-” You choked out, fingers fervently moving at your clit as your other hand tightened its hold on his forearm. “I know baby, I know… come on,” he coaxed you, keeping his pace steady, making sure he hit the same spot over and over until he felt you squeeze around him, letting your body fall into the bed as you rocked back and forth on him. Before you could catch your breath, Ran had his hands back on your hips, fucking into you like he needed you. He did, just as you needed him, pushing and pulling on each other until you broke.

“You’re so good for me, no one else is… only… you…”  He squeezed out his sentence between thrusts, grabbing onto your shaking hands and holding them in his, he dragged his thumbs over your knuckles as he released, grunting as he pushed his cum into you and rode out his high. The bed dipped in as he collapsed beside you, watching your eyes grow drowsy. Ran smirked at your breathless figure, the lazy smile that teased you so much, pulling you into his chest and blowing sweetly onto your sweaty forehead.

“They don’t… mean anything…” He said again, this time he whispered it to you as you laid your head on his stomach, while he stroked his nails up your bare back. He gave you another ounce of reassurance, because no one could reassure you the way Ran did. His lips touched the top of your head, before you asked him one last time. Just to be sure.

“Do you mean it?”

“Yes… I fucking mean it.”

© 2021 sxkunas - do not repost my work to any other platforms

[river-bottom-nightmare]

an (incomplete) list of things kon can do because lex luthor is his dad that people always forget about:

#1 : math - he's fifteen, and math comes easy to him (unlike a lot of people his age, or at least, his visible age.) a lot of things come easy to him, because when you have all knowledge in the known universe downloaded into your brain, things like advanced math don't bother you very much.

but it bothers his friends, because bart loses interest about three seconds into the assignments, cassie groans anytime "homework" is brought up in general, and tim hates the concept and execution of math so much that he'd rather hide in kon's room where he thinks no one will look for him instead of even cracking open a textbook.

but kon's pretty sure being a hero means you don't need any real world skills, and after his initial hesitation and disagreements, he realized that he genuinely wants these people to like him, to be friends with him. their math homework is easier than a breeze to complete.

#2 : tying a tie the ~fancy~ way - he's nineteen, and his fingers flow through a silk tie like a fish through water. the motions are beyond familiar, he could do them in his sleep. so is the action of pulling on a suit, pressing his collar, arranging his hair into a neat style. he's timothy drake-wayne's date tonight, and he needs to look the part. fortunately, luthor taught him how to look the part a long the ago.

the party itself is,,,,pleasant, he supposes. he spends most of the time as arm candy, tim's pretty little thing as his boyfriend sweet-talked investors and networked. but they both know that the tipsier people are, the easier they let slip secrets to someone they believe won't understand them, and kon gathers a wealth of information by the time he meets up with tim by the appetizer bar right before dinner.

tim tugs him close by his tie and kisses his cheek, then laughs when kon discreetly but disgustedly spits out the pickled salmon cracker toppings.

#3 : educated debating - he's sixteen, and in an argument with tim that's gone so off the rails that kon can't even remember what they were fighting about in the first place. wherever they started, they were here, now, kon on top of a table in an ice cream parlour screaming about how a socialist approach to taxes would boost the lower class, tim on top of a barstool screaming right back about how the middle class are the only ones paying taxes and socialism would only put more weight on their shoulders.

both of them are this close to busting out laughing, and the only reason they haven't been thrown out is because the employee behind the counter is frantically taking notes. kon can see it in tim's eyes, see the way the younger boy didn't expect to hold such a passionate and intense debate with him, didn't expect kon to be capable of it. it's a pleasant surprise, though; that much is evident in tim's barely-hidden grin.

the debate comes to a pause when bart smacks him with a spoon and tells him off for stepping on the speedster's ice cream, and the tiredness with which he collapses back into the booth is a good one.

#4 : efficient + effective workplace supervision - he's twenty, and wondering how in the hell people hadn't murdered the entirety of young justice when it was first founded. bart had graduated to being the flash's full time sidekick, and though he came to visit often, it wasn't the same. gotham was almost always on the verge of imminent disaster these days, and tim was one of the few ropes holding it together. kon missed him like crazy, but his few visits were all the boy could spare. cassie was in charge now, and she was a wonderful leader, but busy, always smoothing over relations between the team and the justice league and civilian offices.

so, somehow, that left kon to be the den mother to all the new younger kids, and somehow, kon was good at it. he knew exactly what to say to get people to listen to his commands, telling them to work on this or work on that, train for this and practice that. he tells them when to get some sleep and let the weight of the day roll off their shoulders, and when to push themselves to raise them higher than they ever thought they could go. unexpectedly, he finds himself liking it.

#5 : the splits

#6 : colour schemes + interior decorating - he's twenty-one, and tim's finally deciding to turn the nest into a home. bart, who had spent the last couple of years bouncing between allen-west-mercury households and was therefore accustomed to a home with a fire of love reaching every corner and every member of the family, was appalled. so was kon, honestly.

the penthouse that tim worked out of was cold and impersonal, sleek lines that angles that matched the limbs and contours of tim's body. but the shadows around tim's eyes had lessed over the past few years, his smile coming to his lips almost as easy as when young justice first learned how to work together. all it took was a little encouragement from cassie, and suddenly, all four of them were involved in a home renovation project.

cassie churned out ikea furniture like it was nothing, the three of them taking a break from their jobs to just watch her as she lifted one of their hardwood bookshelves with one hand. bart bought home goods and essentials from various department stores and ran around, stocking the house with them wherever he felt a saucepan needed to be hung (near the coat hanger) or a candle holder needed to be placed (on the kitchen barstools, because apparently those were decorative anyway).

kon, meanwhile, decorated. he painted rooms and bought curtains and pillows, yes. but he also sorted through every single souvenir and memory the four of them had managed to accumulate over the years, photographs and hacked-off pieces of giant robots and saved movie tickets and broken weapons. he gets his hands on everything he can find, then fills up tim's nest until it's brimming with a cosy warmth made up of the four of them.

still, it's an obnoxiously large penthouse, so there's empty and open space left over even after redecorating. it's tim who takes a breath and works up the courage to tell them, not ask but tell them, that he wanted each of them to have their own bedroom. so bart takes the largest guest room and turns it into an explosion of colour, and cassie spends too much time decorating a room that she won't even live in most of the time. kon conspicuously notes how tim doesn't bother giving kon a room, just dumps kon's backpack on his bed and clears room in his own closet. he does wrap tim in a ttk hug though, from all the way across the room, and drinks in tim's red flush.

#7 : speed reading (no powers) - he's seventeen, and just now realizing how competitive his best friends are. cassie had long since resigned herself to being the judge and the hander-outer-of-prizes (candy from the nearest convenience store) for the speed-reading competition, but tim, kon, and bart were still in the running.

eventually, though, the pressure from holding back his powers grew too strong, and bart slumped against the back of the sofa, mournfully opening his mouth so cassie could drop a candy into it.

and then there were two.

kon thought back to the confrontation that had started this contest in the first place, robin's offhand comment about how he had to be the one to collect the data files from the company office they were infiltrating, because he was the only one who could speed-read and retain information. that had spiraled into an argument, then a challenge, then a competition, with a clear rule not to use any powers.

kon darted his eyes across the page, soaking up every word, the pages like tiny knives on the pads of his fingers as he turned them. he lost track of the page count, just reading and reading and reading until he tried to turn the page and realized there wasn't a next one. he yelled in triumph, reveling in tim's defeated groan, and settled in for cassie's quiz on the contents of the book.

#8 : sophisticated meal and wine palette - he was twenty-two, and discovering that he really, really liked tim's shocked face. they'd been friends for years now, childish hatred turned into playful bantering turned into knowing each other inside out. still, every now and then, kon did something that forced tim's eyebrows high on his head, his eyes widening just the barest bit.

right now, kon was at a dinner party with the words moral support written across his forehead. tim could handle himself remarkably well, but there was tiredness lacing the smaller boy's frame, and kon could practically see the way the tips of his soul were frazzled. so kon let tim lean into his arm and whispered jokes about luna-with-the-big-ugly-purse and martonio-who-can't-do-a-combover into his ear. or, at least, he was.

somehow he'd been drawn into a good natured argument with the man sitting just two seats down from tim and kon. friendly opinions of food had been tossed back and forth, growing more and more heated until kon looked him right in the eye and said he liked prosecco with his prosciutto, internally crowing with satisfaction at their shocked silence and sighing with pity that none of the guests here would ever try that combination out of fear of deviation. once the man had regained his sensibilities, he shot back, saying the sixth course should never serve salmon, instead regaling the fish to the amusebouche or the cheese course. kon snorted and told him fish itself was going out of style, and if he wanted to impress guests at the next dinner party he hosted, he should try serving octopus.

tim's shocked face was a pleasant surprise, but seeing the stunned, controlled blinks of everyone around him as they realized he wasn't just a pretty face was satisfying as well. even more satisfying was when he and tim said their goodbyes; while waiting for the valet, tim pressed up onto the tips of his toes and whispered promisingly in kon's ear, i fucking love your competence.

#9 : manipulating people into hating him to justify his actions - he was eighteen, and he was screaming, crying, tearing his hair out. kon didn't know what he had expected. lingering fondness? grudging acceptance? maybe a small leap for a chance at love?

it didn't matter. clark didn't want anything to do with him. and he was eighteen now, which meant clark didn't need to take care of him anymore, didn't need to pretend to pay attention to him anymore. he'd made it quite clear.

maybe that was why he found himself hesitating before saying no to amanda waller's offer. he forgot about the warnings tim gave him, though, and waller pounced on that hesitation, quicker than a panther. it was easy, it was oh so easy to let himself go with her.

besides, they had a reason to hate him now. he hadn't done anything to clark. he hadn't asked to be made. but clark had wanted nothing to do with him anyway, and didn't that sting. so if people were going to turn him away now, it was going to be for something he did.

he didn't realize how bad he was spiraling, how close he was to stepping off the lighted ledge he'd been balancing on his entire life and tumbling into the darkness below. but cassie had a stronger punch than most grown superheroes, and bart had tenaciousness written into every strand of his ginormous hair, and tim gripped his jaw so hard his fingernails dug into kon's skin and told kon that he was getting his best friend back, no matter what the hell he thought he was worth.

maybe it was madness that made him throw himself forward, still wrapped in the lasso cassie borrowed from diana, practically mauling tim's lips with his own. he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to break down crying after he kissed someone, given past experience, but the three of them, his wonderful, wonderful friends, just hugged him tight, let him fight and shake and sob until all the rage was gone. it was the first time in a long while he'd done something in hopes that someone would look at him with love, not hatred.

#10 : waltzing - he was twenty-three, twenty three and giddy with how much time he had left. conner was with tim drake-wayne publicly now, so expectations were thrust onto him, expecting to be met.

kon tended to have more fun at events than tim ever did. granted, kon didn't have to deal with all of his coworkers drinking too much and exchanging money with secrets faster than drugs and asking tim whether or not his relationship meant he was open for still-young and handsome men who needed just a small escape from their wives. but tim wasn't trying very hard to enjoy himself either.

so kon was completely justified in tugging him towards the center of the room, in a patch of floor sparsely occupied, then pulling him as close as he dared. tim's panicked whisper of what!? was overridden by kon's laughter, but he muffled his sounds for a minute, letting tim hear the quiet music playing in the background (prerecorded and playing on speakers, not live).

understanding broke over tim's face, and he arched into kon's hold as easy as breathing. kon moved one of his hands to grip tim's wrist, and he twirled the two of them effortlessly, breathless at tim's flabbergasted expression. the rhythm was simple, and tim caught on quickly. one two three, one two twist, one two three, one two step, one two three, one two switch, one two three, one two three.

kon couldn't say they danced the night away, because a little while later tim took a break for a drink, then speeches were made, then dinner was served. by then, they were both entirely too tired to dance, longing for just a bed and a soft blanket and each other. but for those few minutes in the middle of a packed yet empty ballroom, kon and tim did lose themselves in the music, just a little bit.

i don't know shit about taxes or socialism. this got way longer than anticipated whoops. i'm tagging this "long post," but if someone asks me to put it under a cut, i'd be happy to

also jesus christ this thing is almost 2.5k words. im uploading it to ao3 later if i'm in the mood

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @bikoncon @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridg @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy

[officialdiegorodriguez]

Though his chest ached from Poppy’s rejection, Diego’s eyes widened with a gentle kind of joy as he watched Henry duck his head, poorly disguising the smile that so effortlessly lit up his face. As much as the whole situation hurt, Diego knew that Henry wasn’t cruel – nor Poppy, for that matter – and he couldn’t imagine him harshly laughing in his face when he’d already come to grovel. 

His own lips twitched, not quite smiling, but a fleeting recognition of Henry’s own amusement, his body always reacting instinctively, and without his consent, to the pianist. As though to prove his own point, his hand lifted aimlessly, reaching out, brushing the fabric of Henry’s shirt. Light as a feather, his fingers grazed at the edges of his shirt, wanting to tug him in, to chase that smile with his own mouth and stretch it wider across his features. 

He blinked, lost in his own, fucked up daydream, and dragged himself back to the situation at hand. His arm fell, rigid at his side, hand curling into a fist as he tried to regain control. Henry seemed distracted, however, his own gaze straying to the bag at Diego’s feet. For one, brief moment Diego wondered if that would be enough; if this lazy, last-minute gesture might be enough for the two of them to set their argument aside, pull him in through the door, and accept him back with open arms. 

Any sense of hope he might have held was lost almost instantly with Henry’s words. He was right, of course, it was Poppy’s choice whether or not she wanted to actually see Diego. All the same, it didn’t do much to help the sting he felt when once again met with her silence. He shut his eyes, feeling hopeless. 

“It’s cool, Hen. I mean – I wouldn’t wanna see me either,” he told the man, grimacing at his own tone. He wasn’t trying to sound self-deprecating. He had no intentions of trying to manipulate the two of them into forgiving him just by looking sad. He had to earn their forgiveness; he knew that. 

He arched his brow then, confused and a little surprised as Henry raised his voice, informing their pretty bassist that Diego had come bearing gifts. Whatever notion Diego had about the two of them, he was clearly wrong. Their hearts were miles bigger than his own, Henry seemingly doing all he could to help Diego in his mission to apologise. It seemed unfair, really. The other man was so devoted in his love and support for Poppy, that he appeared to be hyper focusing on her, rather than himself. 

Diego smiled in return, warmth flooding his chest as he was greeted once more by the upturn of Henry’s sweet lips. 

“I do owe her an apology, you’re right,” Diego informed him, his throat suddenly dry. He felt his neck and palms begin to sweat, anxiety spilling out from his pores, heart pounding in his chest. “But I owe you an apology too, Hen.” 

Reaching down, he bunched the bag into one hand and held it out towards the other man. 

“I, uh. I got a bottle of wine, too,” he told him. It felt stupid now, on reflection. He was tipsy himself, and the last thing he imagined the two of them would want was for him to get more drunk on top of an already hazy, unpleasant evening. “And two flavours of ice cream. Salted Caramel – that's Poppy’s favourite – and I wasn’t sure what yours was, so I went for Peanut Butter.” 

He wished he could see past the door, see if Poppy was really listening, or if his words were going unheard. He knew she was in there, her indignant cry moments before a dead giveaway, but he wanted her to truly hear him. 

“I’m stalling, I know,” he frowned, ducking his head in shame. 

Taking a slow, deep breath, Diego pressed the tips of his fingers to his eyelids momentarily, pressing there momentarily as he allowed himself a moment’s reprieve. He suddenly thought he wasn’t ready for this conversation, but he had to be; he had no choice in the matter. 

“I was an asshole,” he declared, clumsy and loud, the drinks he’d procured from his mini bar earlier on the night suddenly rushing to his head. “I was scared... confused, I guess? I felt like I was suffocating...” 

His voice cracked, his chest caving. He knew he must look pathetic to Henry, stumbling up to his door with a look of self-pity on his face, offering up a half-assed apology in some attempt to redeem himself. 

His eyes began to sting, filling with tears not for the first time of the night. A flurry of movement over Henry’s shoulder caught his attention. His vision was blurry, but it was unmistakably Poppy. He hadn’t heard her leave her perch, hadn’t noticed her wander over, but there she stood, staring over Henry’s shoulder, tugging anxiously at the hem of her shorts, a sad look on her face of Diego’s own making. 

“I know it’s not about how I feel, I get that. I just... I said a lot of things I regret. To both of you, and I’m sorry.” 

Diego looked more contrite than Henry could ever recall him looking before. Guilt poured off the other man in waves, and that was almost enough for Henry to completely drop his guard. Nevertheless, he held firm, keeping Diego at the door, although it was more for Poppy’s sake than his own.

He noticed the way that Diego’s eyes darted over his shoulder, but he still made sure to keep Poppy firmly out of his line of sight. It wasn’t because he didn’t want Poppy and Diego to make up; in fact, he wanted that more than anything. But while he still cared about Diego and while he was still worried about the other man, his concern was for Poppy, first and foremost. For the whole night, she had been quiet and subdued in a way he had never seen her before. Poppy, whether she was onstage or off, usually always radiated enthusiasm and relentless optimism. The abrupt disappearance of that had alarmed Henry, even though he knew what the cause of it was. He couldn’t force her to talk to Diego yet if she didn’t want to.

When her loud no sounded from the bed behind him, Henry couldn’t help but duck his head to hide a smile. The situation wasn’t funny at all, but Poppy giving herself up was amusing to him. 

“Does that answer your question?” he asked Diego, fighting to keep his voice light, perhaps a little bit playful, just so Diego didn’t get it into his head that he had walked into enemy territory, a hostile environment, completely unarmed.

Well, not totally unarmed, Henry noted. First of all, Diego was wearing one of Henry’s hoodies, the one that had mistakenly ended up in the other man’s duffle bag when they’d hurriedly had to pack after sleeping in before a flight one morning. Diego hadn’t offered to give the hoodie back, and Henry hadn't asked for it. He didn’t know what it meant for Diego to be wearing it right now.

Secondly, he noticed the carrier bag of something lying down by Diego’s feet. Glancing up to catch the other man’s gaze, he held it for a few seconds before looking back down, craning his neck a little to peer inside at the contents. Given Diego’s precarious state of contrition right now, Henry didn’t think he was about to be yelled at for his nosiness.

Smiling a little when he saw what was inside, he leaned back against the doorframe and nodded slightly.

“It’s up to Poppy,” he said, before adding, “Who obviously isn’t here right now.”

He waited a little wondering if the other girl wanted to say something in the following silence to contradict him and put Diego out of his misery.. When she didn’t, Henry gnawed lightly on his bottom lip before taking matters into his own hands.

“If she was here though.” He pitched his voice a little louder. “Then I think she would be willing to listen to an apology. And I also think that if she was here, she’d be interested in the ice cream that you’ve brought.”

He heard the rustle of bedsheets behind him, knowing rather than seeing that Poppy had suddenly sat up to attention. Where she couldn’t see him, he turned back to Diego and offered him a conspiratorial smile, which also doubled as confirmation that Henry was also willing to hear him out as well.