#nothing but the most respect for this man

[dilf-docs]

I Can Fix Her (No Really I Can)

jackson!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: jackson's loud mouthed spoiled princess has suddenly gone quiet. what or who could be behind such miracle?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (20s/50s), pwp, p. in v., oral (m. and f. receiving), brat taming, dacryphilia, pussy spanking, fingering, humiliation kink, dom!joel, sub!joel if u squint, soft!joel (look at that switch sandwhich fr), brat!reader (she's annoying and v mean, you've been warned), denial is a river so take this before the world mourns joel miller again

word count: 5,391 words

side note: new layout my citizens! will eventually update all of the blog but as for now, enjoy this one and the masterlist. quick thing, i just wanted to say that i had a very shitty week and for the life of me, can't find a way to make ttdik pt. 4 not oversaturated with angst bc i wish all men a very pleasant die or how to connect what i've written so far. note that this was kinda rushed; i feel confident of some parts and not the whole thing. just hoping it works for y'all! (based on this request)

Joel Miller isn't who he used to be before.

Life in Jackson has made him... soft. This version of him, tired of a life of killing and running, tainted with blood and regret. But he's now an uncle and a father. Well, used to be. Ever since Ellie had found out the truth and wanted nothing to do with him, he had somewhat become downright pathetic. Joel could be both Jackson's most useful man, even at his age, while also being their biggest wretch. Ah, yes: Joel Miller, the man who lived in the house down the street, alone and certainly worth the townsfolk's pity.

Maybe that's why you couldn't bother to be nice to him. In your eyes, a man like Joel just didn't deserve your time or respect.

But it wasn't personal, really. He happened to, unfortunately, be in charge of your patrol. That, in your eyes, made him your enemy: a person to be defied and picked apart. And the worst part is, in his current position, Joel just didn't have the energy to fight you back.

"You want me to cross that wearing this?" your protest comes in the form of a whiny pitch. "Ew, no. I'd rather be dead"

At least dead, you wouldn't be a bother. He rolls his eyes, rubbing his face tiredly. The rest of the group watches the interaction in silence, expressions pretty much the same.

"I promise 'cha, princess. Ya' wouldn't want that"

The nickname should irk you, but you let it pass. It is no news to anyone that you are indeed a princess: Jackson's resident little spoiled brat.

Sheltered from early starts of civilization's downfall, maybe your parents had done more bad than good trying to protect you and settling early on in Jackson. You had grown to be a pampered bitch who made Joel's patience wear thin. Of course, to keep him busy and distracted, Tommy had assigned you to Joel. And while he'd rather not spend his days on a house too big for a person, he too wasn't exactly excited about having to deal with you on your patrol shifts.

(If you could call them that. You did anything but patroling)

You cross your arms, petty. "I'm not moving unless you carry me"

Maybe your need to defy him also came, partly, because of this: the way he's looking at you right now, a quiet rage simmering in those big round brown eyes that remind you of a kicked puppy, but when they burn, they seem like a forest fire, old remnants of the hunter that had been tamed by domestic life and a broken relationship resurfacing.

It excites you.

All your life, people seemed to bend to your will-- a force of nature: to your cruel harsh icy wind. You kept Jackson down at their knees, but it wasn't kindness, rather your shoe up their throats what put them to your feet.

Yet, Joel... he could be a loser to you, but he was probably the only one you'd met to be insane enough to defy you. The only man who didn't succumb to your fluttering eyelashes, pink lips and princess manners. No, he ignored the way you looked at him and your constant begging for attention, leaving the job to those men who seemed to follow your every step, ready to be themselves a carpet for you to step in. He'd roll his eyes and walk past you like you were the most bland, boring and uninteresting thing in the world: not worth a second of his attention. Joel simply wouldn't entertain your spoiled attitude past replying to a few snarky comments.

And that revolted and aroused you in equal parts.

It's not like you could escape your obligation, but perhaps, the bigger reason you chose to not skip patrol like you used to before his arrival, is to see Joel Miller's sinking ships for eyes try to wash over your rebel flame.

"Be free to stay then" he replies, but you don't miss the way his grip on his rifle turns white. "I ain't carryin' no one"

"I can carry you" one of the guys from your group offers.

(You can't remember his name)

"Sure" you chuckle, victory smile dancing on your lips at the sight of him looking above his shoulder in a barely stolen glance, thinking you won't notice.

But you do.

Joel Miller fucking hates you.

After five decades alive, he simply can't stand the idea of breathing the same air as a spoiled little brat like you.

Joel's seen destruction, loss, hopelessness and blood up close, and the thought of you walking around like the world owes you a favor fills him with vitriol.

He's been alive for fifty-six years so he's simply just tired. Too tired to give a damn about your attitude, despite how you manage to press all his buttons every time you open your mouth.

He still remembers the first time he met you, how you laughed like people did before all civilization was destroyed. You walked with a confident strut, boots clicking against Jackson's streets, every step made with determination. Like you knew just where you were going.

He envied you, in a way. After Salt Lake City, he seemed to have lost his path, all in the name of love. Then, that warm feeling had turned cold and cruel like all things in this world ravaged by pain, and he felt even at more loss than the first time he experienced grief.

But you? You lived everyday with a dismissal so cold it seemed like nothing could hurt you.

He missed that part of him who just survived: hardened by the world around him.

But Jackson tamed him. Ellie made him soft.

And then you brought up that old dark part of him: the putrid black liquid that spewed through the cracks of his new character that made him loved by Jackson. The same one that made people fear one of Boston QZ's most brutal smugglers. It was that vicious anger, red on his vision like the ichor that would splatter on his clothes or cover his bruised knuckles.

He hated you for it.

But that was in the past, and Joel Miller simply didn't care.

Yet, you made him care. Outright forced him to.

In a way, it seemed like you enjoyed this: the banter of contained rage and practiced patience, dripping as a leak until it overflew. You'd shot your bratty remarks and petty complains until he'd turn around and see you. Then, you'd smile, like that's all you needed to feel better. Far superior. And he hated it. Knew your little game, and fed into it, even as he told himself he wouldn't. Like a drug: a destroying addiction.

Joel didn't understand why you took the time to enrage him, having even heard once when he was late for patrol (he overslept), how you talked bad about the, in your words, Lonely Pathetic Man From The House On The End Of The Road.

Joel Miller has been patient. God knows he has. But he isn't religious, and was never the type to let things pass by.

No. Joel Miller was born with impel, and no matter how many love he had to give, the world around him constantly reminded him of the power hidden behind the exertion over others, how alive he'd felt with the gift he'd been given by heaven.

He isn't patient. He isn't a fool. He isn't pathetic: and Joel Miller will take matters between his rugged hands.

Tommy had arched an eyebrow first, looking at just his and your name on the patrol schedule.

"What's going on?" he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his brother.

"Found a cabin deep on the forest" curt, "I'ont need lot'a people to scavenge the place"

In the end, he agreed. Who didn't? You, obviously, the reason so many before him had gotten rid of their obligation of you. To flirt with you at the Tipsy Bison? Hell yeah. To have you in their patrol team? God, no.

"Where is everyone else?" you cross your arms above your chest, bracing yourself because of the weather. "Also, isn't this climate not patrol appropiate?"

Joel's not dumb, of course he knows that-- he can feel his aching joints shiver and bones creak because of the temperature. But he also knows he's sick of your shit.

"Ain't you little Ms. Know it all" he mocks, brushing past you, shoulders clashing with the same harsh force the icy breeze does to your face.

"And you're an asshole" you're quick to counter, "bringing us out here in the cold. If you wanted to kill me, you could've made it easier for both of us and done it way back in Jackson"

He rolls his eyes at your incessant bickering.

"Watch y'er mouth" is all he says, the brat hanging dangerously close to the tip of his tongue.

"I'd rather watch my step, thank you very much" you purse your plush pink lips, annoyed. "Have you seen the size of this roots? I will trip and break myself"

He chuckles at your hyperboles and the way you jump in a rather exaggerated manner, more in amusement than irritation.

"Don't think ya' can handle all'at?" Joel taunts. "Gon' break like a doll?"

Doll. It hangs in the air, like the snowflakes that fall into your hair and his eyebrows, the white fusing with his own.

"I'm strong" but it comes out weak.

"Don't seem like it" he's laughing at you again, a sharp annoyed edge to it. "With all that complainin' ya' do"

You huff, your incredulity condescing in the air.

"What's wrong with that?"

"With bein' annoyin'?" Joel quips.

"With voicing out my concerns"

He's walking ahead of you, yet you see his shoulders slump, like he does when he disagrees.

"Those ain't concerns, jus' moanin' and bitchin'"

It's still inside the fun banter you're carrying, harmless, but for some reason, it strikes you in the face.

"If you can't stand me so much, why don't you quit on me, like the others?"

You may seem cold, but there's that cut that always bleeds. Or it may be the need for something that blurs the line between you and those survivors out there who've outlived the worst a man can endure.

Like Joel.

You just can't help wanting it all.

Joel stops on his tracks at your words, response barely above a whisper:

"'Cause I ain't a quitter"

As if that could bring any sense into what had started the moment he layed eyes on you.

You finally reach your destiny in silence, the old cabin hanging by a thread.

"This looks like shit" you comment out loud.

Joel lets out a laugh, a deep rumbling sound coming out of his chest. For a reason, red dust makes it's way into your warm cheeks.

"No, doll. In this world, this ain't shit. It's decent"

You don't miss the way your breath hitches and heart skips a beat at the petname. He doesn't miss the way his tongue burns and his jeans squeeze at the sight of you: powerless.

God, Joel could go to hell for this. (But he'd probably be fine)

"Decent? You're one to talk" it spills out, your fear attacking the only way you know how when you're nervous.

Bite.

You hate feeling weak. You hate how your own game has turned on you.

It seems, Joel Miller isn't just a pathetic man but one who knows how to play.

(You knew this. But now, it's real, not the image you touch yourself to during nighttime, and it's equally both exciting and scary)

The red desire for hunger is there on his eyes. "What's that s'pposed to mean?"

You tilt your head, tone feigning innocence. "I think you know what I mean"

He paces around the room, like your floral scent is too suffocating and the cold isn't enough to shake the fire that burns inside him.

"Spit it" he dares, stopping midtrack. You remain silent, so he walks over to you, face so close, some spit lands in your face. "I said, spit it"

"I think you're pathetic, Joel Miller" yet, for some reason, your heart wavers. What were you even doing? Never had you doubted yourself once, sometimes even finding pleasure in the wicked cutthroat words you'd spew, but today, as his face stands dangerously close to you, his breath ghosting over your lips as his eyes roam over them and you count his wrinkles, it feels wrong.

"'S that what 'cha think, doll?" he chuckles, leaning forward. His lips barely brush against yours by mistake, yet it's enough to send shivers all over your body. "Wanna know what I think? I think you're da' real pathetic burden here. Fucken annoyin' and unuseful. All you know how ta' do is complain' and be a bitch"

"A bitch?" your voice is loud as your roar back, probably because it's coming into your face with the force of a train. But that's how truth feels, and it hurts like hell. "Did you just call me a bitch?"

He laughs, bitterly so, equally irritated as fascinated by how easy it's to see you crumble.

Joel made you out to be this unbreakable force, but at the end of the day, you're human, just like him.

"And y'called me pathetic, s' I guess we're even"

You look crazy: hair disheveled by the wind, chest going up and down and that same craze look on your eyes.

"Fuck you, Joel Miller" you seethe.

It's a simple comeback. No witty retort, no elaborated plot. Just four words, yet it's the way you said it, venomous, with such hostility, like his presence alone made you sick. Your skin crawl. Like the thought alone of being equals couldn't pass through your thick skull, and you had to get rid of just the concept; an ofense.

You pull back, realizing how truly close you were. You then march to the bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

With Joel, there's always a first when it comes to you.

(The first man to catch your attention. The first man to show lack of interest or amusement to your well-known tactics that worked every time. The first man to make your skin crawl like seeing yourself in the mirror. Like you would stare until your image would imprint on your brain, and you'd pick apart every small detail you don't like about you. That was Joel fucking Miller, rolling like thunder, ready to strike over your walls, like he knows where to hit to make you crumble, as if the façade you've built is as much in vain as the hate you carry even with the easy life that's been given to you)

He may be the first man to make you cry.

"Come here!" he shouts, roaring voice reverberating against the walls of the cabin. He swings the door of the bedroom open, finding your satisfied expression as you sit over the old worn out mattress, wiping your tears quickly with a harsh tug of your sweater, coat lying on the dirty floor.

"What?" you ask, as if you hadn't started the fight five seconds ago.

"Ya' think y' can shout and then leave like that?" he spits, "you fucken brat!"

A weird wild spark settles in the pit of your stomach.

"I can do whatever I want"

(The fire. It burns)

He scoffs at your childish response. "Not when y'er under my watch. Like it or not, y'r ma' damn responsability, kid"

Now it's your turn to sneer. "Don't call me that. I'm not a kid"

Of course you fucking weren't: he's got eyes. But goddamn, didn't you act like one all the time?

"Good" his voice adquires a weird tone to it, dropping. "Then strip"

It's like the air's been knocked out of your lungs.

You scoff. "Excuse me?"

"I know you ain't deaf" tone stern, "nor stupid. Are you?"

"Did you just call me stupid?" you raise your voice. Was he going to pull out every single insult from the book? Fair, you think, after you had told him to fuck off in the way you did.

(You were aware your words shoot to kill when you were mad. You had a lot of regrets about that)

"I asked 'cha if ya' were. If there's no answer, I s'ppose that's it"

"I'm not stupid" you counter.

"What?" he's asking you to say it again, like he hasn't heard you.

"You aren't deaf" you repeat his earlier words, eliciting a chuckle out of him.

The windows of the cabin rattle, the cold winter slipping inside the cracks. You shiver yet stand still, not wanting him to misinterpret your body language.

As if you'd ever surrender to him. As if.

"I'm sick of your bullshit" he seethes, "thinkin' ya' can make a clown outta me infront of everyone else, and then look at me like I'm sum piece of meat. Now it's your turn"

"My turn to what?" but this time, your voice wavers. You walk closer, eyelids fluttering.

His uneven breath condensces in the air with a shaky gelid exhale.

"Y'e don't know what you're gettin' into" he warns.

You smile at his barely contained temper. "I think I do"

Joel's body is completely surrounding yours in the bedroom. Before you register, he pulls you by your jaw with his hand.

"Still thinkin' that?" he mocks, thumb pulling your bottom lip down, forcing your mouth open. "Answer me"

But he's pressing his finger on your tongue. You feel yourself starting to drool.

"Ya' really want 'tis, don't 'cha?" his eyes darken, "droolin' like a fucken cockstarved slut. Now strip" his grip tightens, "I won't ask again"

Your body shivers, but no longer because of the temperature drop. A treacherous jolt runs in between your legs at the very first instance of someone putting you in your place. It feels too good to backtrack, but the last remaining drops of sanity plead you to quit.

"Joel" you say his name like a prayer, and he thinks he'd like to see you beg. "I was fucking around-"

"Don't make me repeat myself"

You sit on the edge of the bed, getting rid of your clothes. It's like your mind has stopped working and your body belongs to someone else.

But you want this. Fuck, you had begged for this: sharpening your knife to make your words cut deeper with him until the bleeding was too big to ignore.

You wanted this. Craved it. Needed to satisfy whatever foreign feeling you'd now attribute to your rebellious and spoiled nature.

(You had never been denied anything, and even now, Joel knows this, but can't help and too give in)

"Not so loud now, are we?" he jests, "but 's worth the view, lettin' 'cha run your spoiled tongue off"

He hums with approval at the sight of your body, your pliant energy making his hard cock twitch in his pants.

"You like what you see, Joel?" you ask softly, despite your resistence.

He groans at that, calloused digits grazing the soft skin of your virgin collarbones.

"I do, princess" he answers, lifiting your chin up. "I'll show ya'"

He takes your hand into his bigger one, moving it right onto the spot between his legs.

"You've been bad, little spoiled brat" Joel's voice rasps as your thighs rub together. Y'er lucky I like that"

He pats your cheek. "Wanna make it up to me?" you eagerly nod, desperate for Joel's approval. You hate not having the upper hand, and a part of you thinks you'd get it back if you behave well. "Good girl. Now sit"

He sits next to you, patting his thick thighs. You salivate just at the thought, moving your body over his denim clad lap. "Right'ere"

"Look at 'cha" he parts your legs, a hoarse tks falling from his lips. Joel chuckles at the wet mess that's created. "So fucken wet and I ain't even touched yet"

You feel his rough digits ghost over your dripping cunt, just as his lips had done minutes ago. The teasing sets you on edge, thrill coarsing through your veins. Without warning, his big palm slaps against your cunt, and you feel yourself soaking your folds like you had never ever before.

"Fucken dirty whore. You ain't no princess, gettin' wet to 'tis" he mocks, "what would daddy say"

"Shut up" you sneer, but your body is full of hormones and treason.

"Not when I'm above 'cha, darlin'. Wouldn't wanna piss me off when I'm the one who decides if 'tis pretty pussy comes or not"

"What makes you think I'll take shit from you?" but it comes out as a whimper. Smack. A jolt runs straight from your pussy, stinging from the contact. "Didn't take it when we where in patrol, why should I do now?"

He laughs, darkly. It's haunting.

"'Cause you want 'tis. And I know you'll be a good girl for me to get it"

You feel yourself dizzy, head spinning as you land on the floor.

"Let's see if I get 'cha to shut up if that dirty bratty mouth of y'rs is stuffed full of ma' cock"

He pulls down his worn-out jeans, getting rid of his belt on a harsh pull. The clinking sound makes you rub your thighs together in a new found anticipation, instead of taking the time to run away from this, whatever the hell this is.

No. He's right.

You want this as much as he does.

(Isn't that the scariest part?)

"Ya' like what 'cha see, y/n?" he's smart to use your same words back, but it's the way he's said your name, like he was always meant to say it, or the angry throbb of his cock, what makes you drool at the red furious tip, dripping with rage and need.

"I think it's your dick who's more excited than me" you taunt, tracing the inner soft skin of his thick thighs. "Practically begging for me to lick it"

His adam's apple bobs.

"Tell me, Joel, when was the last time someone made this pretty big cock feel good?"

"Enough" his fingers grab your hair, pulling you harshly until he drags your mouth onto his cock. "I'm tired of y'er bullshit"

You aren't a stranger, he thinks, with the way you kiss his tip, tongue making a wet circle through the head of his cock. You take him into your mouth, pulling out in a second.

"W-what you do that for?" he asks, breathing rapidly. Strained voice.

You smirk.

"To watch you"

To watch how his eyes had closed as soon as your breath ghosted over his leaking cock, how he threw his head back and gripped the sheets viciously at just your shameless lazy circling. Joel Miller could be in charge, but God, wasn't he touch-starved?

(And for a reason, that was so fucking hot. And, in a way, adorable)

"J-just 'cause I'm-" he cuts himself off, probably out of need or out of embarrassment. "You're not in charge, so don't fuck around with your chances, slut. Imma show you y'r place real quick"

His grip tightens in your hair, forcing himself back into your mouth. Joel was punishing, with the way he's pushing your head down until it was at the base of his cock. You gagged for a moment, eyes closing at the weight of his thick girth on your tongue. 

"Takin' it like a champ, princess. Usin' that mouth of y'rs for good" and then, with a softer tone he adds, "like ya're made for me"

You moan around him as he starts fucking into your mouth, pulling you off quickly, saliva slipping out of your mouth as you gasp for air. 

"Joel" you whine his name, legs pressing together in order to get any friction. 

"Now you beggin'? 'S gonna take more than jus' that, doll" he taunts, but there's a certain wicked softness to the way he traces your cheek as you scramble an attempt. "Try harder, princess"

"I'm sorry, Joel-"

He moves his head, clearly dissatisfied.

"Not Joel. Ya' call me sir when I fuck you"

A mewl escapes your lips.

"Sir" comes out like a faithless prayer, begging to be heard. "I'll do anything, sir, please, touch me"

"Al'ight, but still, it ain't 'nough"

Oh.

The hot tears in the corner of your eyes shouldn't arouse him this much, but the watery promise makes his cock twitch.

"I-I'll do anything, I swear" you beg, the salty tears stream down your cheeks in cascades. "It hurts, Jo-" you whine, "sir, please. Just fuck me goddamit!"

Your once poised voice, now reduced to a whimpering begging mess. Your red rimmed eyes, beginning to puff. It's the way a gloss seems to coat over them, making you look like a doe-eyed deer and not the brat who challenged his every decision and word.

Fuck, isn't he aroused.

"Lookin' so pretty when you cry" he smiles, but instead of wiping the tears, it's his tongue that licks them off your face. "You beggin' that bad to take my cock"

You nod, eagerly so.

"Please, Jo- Just, please. D-don't make me beg" your face feels hot and wet again, "I-I can't take it anymore. Just fucking give it to me!"

"Easy, baby. Can't understand a thing you sayin'" Joel teases. "Where your manners at, besides?"

"Please, sir" he gently pulls you up, humming in satisfaction.

"Goin' crazy over my cock, baby? Y'sure have a nerve to call one pathetic if you gon' act like this, you little brat"

But he is the one moaning when his lips cature your mouth with a fierce impulse, like he wants to devour you whole and swallow your vocals, as to never speak up again.

(But then, he wouldn't hear his name on your sweet albeit snotty voice, and that's a privilege he can't forbid himself from, no matter how annoying you can get sometimes)

"Please" you whisper one last time. He wipes a stray tear with his rough thumb. "I'm yours"

"See, baby? It ain't that hard to shut that mouth of y'rs"

He guides you to the old bed while renewing the kiss, tongues now engaged on a battle for dominance, like even without using your words you'd still need to assert your power over the other. You moan into his mouth when your body slams against the mattress and Joel lands on top, his weight sinking you in the old bed, that creaks.

"I just want to be a good girl for you" you whimper.

"You sure of that? Not gon' be a brat?" and despite his harsh tone that seems to humiliate you, his wandering fingers are gentle with each touch, like if he were to put any more force, you'd break. Joel thinks it's not necessary with you: just with you begging for his cock, he's broken you.

"No, sir" and then you whimper as his mouth dives to the collarbones you had taunted him with before. Joel takes his time, inhaling the musk and savoring the sweet of your skin. Needy whines leave your lips, and he's having the time of his life seeing you surrender so easily, like you had no idea what limits to push, where they'd take you and how you'd pay for that.

"C-Can I touch you?" you whisper, hands itching to tangle on his grey parted hair. He chuckles at the eagerness and tenderness you don't seem aware of.

"S' you can be sweet if ya' want to, huh?" he leaves a fluttering kiss to your chin. "Needy and desperate too. Do ya' want to touch, princess? Remember to use y'r words"

"Yes, sir. I-I want to touch you"

"Thought I disgusted you, hmm? I take you've learnt y'r lesson now?"

"Yes, I've learned. Please, sir, won't do it again" you plead.

"I'll allow ya' to touch, doll" he gives you a smirk, "but 'ts all you get for now"

He lets your hands cling to his coat, taking it off. Then, you proceed to his buttoned shirt, fingers flidding with buttons until you grown annoyed and desperate, pulling the fabric over his head with need.

"Look at 'cha" but there's only adoration, proven so when he starts to kiss the trail of soft skin that goes from your neck to your stomach, making you squirm. "Easy, baby. 'M gettin' down there"

He finally reaches your core, kissing the inner side of your thighs with wet and sloppy lips. His hot breath tingles over your clit, and a beat later, his mouth presses into your cunt, your back arching at the cold contact of his chapped lips against the humid hot of your folds.

You muffle a moan, embarrassed at the whole situation.

"Ain't need to worry 'bout nothin', doll. Nobody can hear us" he grins, tongue flicking your clit. "Wanna listen to your pretty whimpers as I make 'cha feel good"

You cry out of pleasure, the sound escaping past your lips. Joel has a laugh.

"Good girl"

Joel rewards you with another series of minstrations on your bud, licks made with determination only the expert man knows of. He then slides one finger into you, slowly moving it in and out of your soaked trembling heat. 

"M-more" you beg, eager to get more fingers inside you. "Please, more, sir"

You buck your hips to try to get closer to him, meeting his thrusts.

Joel tuts, "What're you doin', spoiled brat? Did I tell ya' to move? You were doing such'a great job... guess I gotta punish you-"

"No!" you shout. "Do anything you want, but touch me, please- touch me!"

He introduces a second finger, raising his brow at the immediate way you clench around him. Joel curls them, robbing another moan out of you.

"Feels good?" you can't answer, as a hard thrust robs another moan from you. "But I'ont want 'cha to think we done, princess. Think I'd let you come, jus' like that? After all's happened?"

"Need you" you tug him closer with your arms holding onto his. "Joel, sir- please"

"Oh, princess" he smirks, "I think you don't know what you askin' for"

Joel grabs his hand around his length, coating the tip in your slicky juices, and then, he presses his length into you in one thrust.

"You're big-" you pant as he gives you time to adjust to his size. Joel then picks up an unrelenting pace that makes moans spill out of you like a fountain, the pace of his thrusts sending you closer and closer to the edge. 

"N-need to-"

"Don't" he seethes. "Ya' won't 'till I tell ya' can"

All you could do is moan, helplessly pinned between his body and the bed. Your whole body shakes in an effort to contain as his hips loose their rhythm, his groans louder as he gets closer and closer to the edge. 

"Al'ight. 'Cause you've been good" his cock drives through your walls with rhythmic melodies. "Cum, princess, but when ya' do, look at me"

You're seeing stars the moment your toes curl and his head falls to clash against your forehead.

(The beads of sweat roll down out of him like trails to follow, and his scarred rugged skin doesn't compare to your soft one, painted with the maroon of his bites and kissing at the skin of your collarbone. The dried up trails of tears. Your begging and desperate voice. His name on your lips)

It only takes a few more thrusts before he spills in you, cock twitching until every last drop of thick hot white cum is pumped into you.

Joel then pulls out gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead before flopping onto you, the mattress dipping even further. With his hand, he removes a stray strand of damp hair, putting it behind you ear with such tender kindness, your heart strings pull.

"In fact, I want ya' to look at me next time y'even think 'bout defying me. See if that mouth of y'ers can talk after 'tis"

A week later, you're back at patrolling.

"Anyone got anythin' to say?"

The group looks at you. You're about to open your mouth, but Joel cocks an eyebrow.

Just like that, and you're gone. Great job, y/n.

"Whatever" you sound meek as you push past him, yet he catches a glimpse of your warm cheeks. "Let's go"

The rest are too stunned to speak, the silence only cut off by Miller's laugh.

"Would 'cha look at that?" he whistles. "Ain't nobody tell ya' miracles don't happen anymore on this goddamn world!"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @chappellsroans

[22ayla21]

Harassment Part II

No matter how well-mannered the guys are, within the walls of Night Raven College, there are those who will start harassing guests from another world.

Warning: unpleasant content, mentions of harassment, if you are uncomfortable, do not read. Fem! Reader.

Third year Second year First year

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle will not tolerate even the slightest hint of inappropriate behavior. If someone dares to disrespect his beloved, he will intervene immediately, using his magic if necessary. Depending on the severity of the situation, he may impose severe punishment.

Realizing that there are well-behaved students in the school, but also those who do not adhere to proper standards, Riddle may propose a new set of rules regarding the respectful treatment of the girl. He may even organize a meeting in the dorms to make it clear to everyone that she will not be treated with disrespect.

After the incident, he will most likely become even more attentive to her surroundings. He may begin to accompany her when possible, or assign one of his trusted people (such as Trey or Ace and Deuce) to ensure that no one crosses the line.

Although Riddle is strict, he is not used to showing excessive emotion. If the harassment affects his lover, he may experience not only anger for the first time, but also a deep sense of personal responsibility for her well-being. This will cause him to question whether he is truly protecting her as he should.

After the threat is removed, Riddle may be concerned for his lover, but will express this in a more measured manner. He will ask if she is okay, and perhaps offer her tea to help calm her down. Internally, he will be very worried and will reproach himself for not preventing the situation sooner.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie is a man who does not like to get involved in problems without benefit. If he notices that someone is being pushy towards his beloved, he will most likely first observe the situation, trying to understand how serious it is. If the girl can handle it herself, he will simply keep the situation under control, but if he sees that things are going too far, he will intervene.

Ruggie knows how to work with people, especially if they are dumber than him. He can first approach the harassers with a wide smile and a friendly tone, as if he does not notice the problem, and offer them to "talk" in private. However, the conversation will be far from peaceful - he will subtly threaten them, using their weaknesses: "You don't want anyone to know about your failed exams, huh?" or "You don't want to lose your lunch next week, do you?"

If the situation is serious, but he does not want to get his hands dirty, he can involve Leona. After all, he is his right hand, and he knows how to present information correctly. He can casually say something like: "Oi, Leona-san, it seems like there's a guy here who's trying to flirt with someone else's girl. Do you think I should give him some advice?" Leona doesn't like to interfere, but if he's irritated, he can simply intimidate the offender or accidentally put him in his place.

Ruggie won't openly yell or hit people, but he will protect his beloved in any way he can - cunning, intimidation, manipulation, and hidden threats. He won't tolerate anyone causing her discomfort, but he will do everything so that he himself doesn't have any problems.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul is a person who knows how to keep a straight face. If he finds out about harassment, he will pretend that nothing happened at first, but in reality, he is already planning how to eliminate the problem. He will not make a scene, but will choose a more sophisticated method of punishment.

He may approach the offenders with a friendly smile and offer a "favorable" deal that will leave them at a loss. For example, he may create a contract that seems to give something tempting, but in reality will turn out to be a punishment - perhaps they will lose their vote for a week, or their special magic for a month or more.

If the offenders are important figures in the school (from rich families or influential clubs), he will not act directly, but will use cunning manipulation. He can spread rumors, frame them in the eyes of others, or convince the heads of other dorms of their unreliability.

If the situation gets out of hand, he can call Floyd or Jade. Floyd is a "fun" guy, and the idea of scaring or beating up bullies is likely to appeal to him. Jade, being more subtle, may "accidentally" arrange for these guys to have discipline problems.

After the incident, Azul may become more attentive and caring. He may subtly add little bonuses to her day, such as asking her to stay at the Monstro Lounge where she will be safe, or suddenly inviting her on outings to keep her away from unpleasant people. If he sees that his beloved is truly scared, it will hit his insecurities. He will feel like he is not good enough, since he could not protect her. This may lead to him becoming even more secretive, but also more brutal in his methods.

Floyd Leech

Floyd is a man of mood, so his reaction to the harassment of his beloved may depend on what state he is in at the moment.

If he is in a good mood, his first reaction may be playful and mocking. He may come up, put his arm around his beloved's shoulders, smile at the impudent one, and lazily say something like: "Oh, you probably don't know... but the shrimp is already taken~" His smile may seem friendly, but it will intuitively become clear that it is full of hidden threat.

However, if this person continues to pester, Floyd will quickly lose all humor. A dark light will appear in his eyes, he will literally freeze for a second, and then instantly be next to the offender, grabbing him by the shoulder or collar, squeezing with a force that can crunch the fabric. His voice becomes low, and the intonations are frighteningly slow. Depending on his mood, Floyd can either intimidate the bully or outright threaten him physically (but not in a way that would make him answer to the teachers later).

If he is already irritated, he will skip the mockery stage and immediately move on to intimidating behavior. He can grab the bully by the neck, wrist, or even press him against the wall with such force that he will stop breathing for a second.

"Huh? Who gave you permission to touch my shrimp? Come on, explain it to me while your ribs are still intact." At this point, his voice will be low and the pressure will be noticeable.

If his beloved tries to stop him, Floyd can immediately calm down, hug her and say: "You don't like it? Okay, I won't... But he won't bother me anymore, I promise~" However, he can send an icy look to the bully at the end, showing that he remembered his face. In any case, whoever dared to pester his beloved, that person would either learn a memorable lesson or be afraid to even look in her direction next time.

Jade Leech

Jade never shows his irritation or anger openly. He will continue to smile, speak politely and act as usual, but at the same time he will carefully watch anyone who approaches his beloved with inappropriate intentions.

If someone crosses the line, Jade will most likely not make an open scene. Instead, he will gently remind the offender not to do something he will later regret. His voice will remain soft, his smile - friendly, but the coldness in his eyes and slight hints will make it clear that he is quite capable of making a person's life a nightmare.

If someone really goes too far, that person will suddenly start to face minor (and sometimes major) troubles: their things will mysteriously disappear, someone will trip them up, and their reputation among the students will begin to fall for no apparent reason. And no one will guess that Jade is behind it - except, perhaps, Azul and Floyd, who will only smirk.

Jade can ask her with a slight smile: "Oh, my dear, what exactly will you do with these people? Perhaps you will allow me to help a little?" He will watch her reaction, checking how capable she is of standing up for herself - but if necessary, he will personally make sure that no one bothers her anymore.

Unlike her brother, who could immediately start a fight or start chasing offenders, Jade acts covertly. However, if his beloved is really in danger, he will not stand on ceremony - perhaps no one will ever know where that impudent man who allowed himself too much disappeared to.

Kalim Ali-Asim

Despite his cheerful and easy-going personality, Kalim cares deeply for those he loves. He would be greatly concerned if someone were to harm his beloved. This sense of protection would show in his actions, and he would try to intervene as quickly as possible to stop such harassment.

While Kalim may not be the most agile and is sometimes naive, he would try to actively intervene to protect his beloved, even if it meant failing or looking awkward. He would perhaps try to resolve the situation peacefully, but if that did not work, he would not be afraid to take advantage of his position or perhaps ask Jamil or other friends for help.

Kalim, being a man with good intentions, might not immediately understand the gravity of the situation. He might take action, such as speaking in a friendly manner to those who violated his boundaries, but his sincerity might not be taken seriously, especially when it comes to people with less well-mannered behavior.

Despite his naivety, Kalim has the ability to be decisive. He might engage in more decisive actions, such as reporting the incident to his teachers or older students. His desire to protect others, especially those he loves, would be motivated by a desire to not let anyone be humiliated or hurt.

He might display naive but sincere kindness, while not always clearly understanding how to effectively deal with such situations. It is important to note that his primary actions would come from a desire to protect and support, rather than a desire to demonstrate his power or status. He would console her, trying to strengthen her spirit, and encourage her so that she does not feel alone or helpless in this situation.

Jamil Viper

Jamil, who is used to avoiding attention and hiding his true intentions, might try to stay out of the way and remain on the sidelines at first. He would initially choose to keep a low profile to avoid making the situation worse or putting himself at risk, especially if he felt that interfering could lead to further complications.

Despite his calm exterior, Jamil is an intelligent and experienced man. He would likely use his knowledge and skills to eliminate the threat quietly and without unnecessary noise. This could involve using manipulation or influential people to quell the harassment without drawing unnecessary attention to himself.

As a man with a strong sense of responsibility, Jamil would likely feel obligated to protect his lover, especially if she is new to a world she is not accustomed to. Even if he would prefer to remain in the shadows, he might find a way to protect her, even if it means using his hidden abilities a little.

Jamil, despite his polite and calm exterior, may hide a deep rage inside. If harassment were to become overt, he would control his emotions, but he could probably act tough in the shadows, finding ways to punish those who violate boundaries. This could manifest itself in more subtle actions, such as provoking violators through manipulation or using social connections.

As a person who hides his true feelings, Jamil may experience an internal conflict. He may, on the one hand, feel the desire to protect his lover and show his strength, and on the other, he may be afraid of revealing his true potential and desire to be recognized. This can lead to internal tension, where his hidden ambition clashes with his desire for a quiet life without unnecessary attention.

Jamil may try to solve the problem with the help of influential people, such as older mentors or teachers, if the situation gets out of control. He could turn to someone who would be able to influence the offenders without revealing his own efforts.

Silver Vanrouge

Silver would probably react with his usual seriousness and restraint. First of all, he would be wary and extremely attentive to the safety of his beloved. Despite his tendency to fall asleep in unexpected situations, when it comes to Malleus or loved ones, he is capable of showing unusual determination.

If the harassment comes from students, he would try to politely but firmly intervene, warning them that such actions are unacceptable. However, if the situation gets out of hand, he will not hesitate and may become aggressive, revealing his hidden but strong side. At the same time, his reaction can be restrained and almost cold-blooded, with the intention of eliminating the threat without unnecessary emotions.

Silver will probably not make loud scenes or public conflicts, preferring to resolve everything within the framework of discipline and respect. If the situation continues to deteriorate, his tendency to silently threaten and give a cold stare will make his behavior intimidating to those who violate his boundaries.

After the harassment incident, Silver will take special care of his girlfriend with special attention and care. He will monitor her safety, offering support and reassurance that she is safe with him. His actions will be quiet but caring: he will accompany her wherever necessary and often show his attention through small gestures, such as supporting her in difficult moments or protecting her from possible threats. His care will be shown through protection, not words, and he will try to make her feel safe and protected.

[lovezbrownies]

Prey. (F!Yandere! Werewolf)

General Masterlist

Synopsis: You fell in love with the tall and strong deputy of the town, Selene Varrow, and end up regretting everything that led you to slowly fall in love with her, as she turns out to be a possessive, mean, horrible monster.

PAIRING:Yandere Selene Varrow x Gn!Reader.

Warnings: Some descriptions of r4pe, a beast acts like a beast, reader is naive and sheltered, predator prey dynamic, Selene is into it.

Selene Varrow was a force to be reckoned with—a woman who always got what she wanted, when she wanted. Strength and social influence shaped her world, ensuring that things bent to her will, and she intended to keep it that way. Yet, despite her formidable presence, Selene was well-liked. She genuinely cared for the people of her town, upholding her family’s legacy as a police officer with unwavering dedication. She had sworn to protect and serve, and by all accounts, she did just that. A good person. Truly.

And yet… something about her was undeniably off.

She was just like her father—a man who had appeared in town one fateful night, seemingly out of nowhere, only to fall swiftly and deeply in love with the sheriff at the time, Selene’s mother. Those silver-blue eyes of hers, sharp and predatory, always seemed locked onto something unseen. Her footsteps, eerily quiet no matter how heavy the boots she wore. The unsettling sharpness of her canines, just a little too pointed to be natural. And most unnerving of all, she towered over nearly everyone—only a few inches shy of her father’s staggering height. Even among outsiders, they were an anomaly, both of them built like warriors, their powerful physiques defying logic. Even after months without training, their strength remained, as if untouched by time.

The townspeople knew the Varrow family well. Selene’s parents were highly respected for their tireless work in keeping the town safe, and Selene herself had earned admiration long before she donned the badge. As a child, she defended her classmates from bullies; now, at twenty-two, having finally conquered the police force’s grueling entrance exam, she had stepped fully into her role. With her mother now retired, all eyes were on Selene—to see if she would live up to the legacy left behind.

And by the looks of it, she was well on her way.

Then came the new neighbors—you and your family—settling a bit farther from the heart of town but still part of it nonetheless. Unlike the longtime residents, you knew nothing of the Varrows or their significance to the town’s safety. That is, until your mother caught sight of one Selene Varrow and, much to your dismay, became far too enthusiastic about the idea of you making friends—or worse, finding romance—so soon after your move.

The second time you saw Selene was at the town’s day market, a far more peaceful and ordinary experience compared to the night market—a place you had foolishly ventured into against your older brother’s warnings. He had experienced its horrors firsthand on your very first night in town and tried to spare you the same fate, but in classic younger sibling fashion, you dismissed his caution with a defiant what does he know? and went anyway.

Like an idiot.

You came home that night flustered, mortified, and subjected to your brother’s relentless laughter. You still refused to think too hard about the perverse nature of what you had witnessed.

But that wasn’t important right now.

What was important was the striking woman standing at a stall across from you—Selene Varrow, impossibly tall and brooding, her basket filled almost entirely with meat and little else. You could see why. Even through the loose fit of her baggy shirt, her physique was unmistakably powerful—built, toned, and gleaming slightly under the midday sun.

And somehow, despite yourself, you couldn’t look away.

Would be nice to be held in those big arms…

The thought blindsides you so fast you nearly choke on air. You snap your gaze away, shaking off whatever strange spell had momentarily overtaken your brain. But before you can fully recover, your mother, ever the meddler, catches sight of Selene as well—and, of course, wastes no time embarrassing you.

"Look! A girl your age, honey! Go on, introduce yourself! You never know what could happen. Maybe you two will fall in love—"

"Ma, come on!"

You hiss the words through clenched teeth, but she merely waves you off with an infuriatingly knowing grin before moving on. At least she eventually drops it. She claims she still has a few things left to buy and tells you to wait for her by the entrance—it’ll only take a moment, she says.

Liar.

You’ve been standing there for an hour. And when you finally cave and sit down, another thirty minutes drag by, each second stretching longer than the last. People keep glancing at you as they pass, their expressions shifting between mild amusement and outright pity. Shit, this is embarrassing.

You curse whatever higher power decided you had to be the one dragged along today. Why not one of your brothers? Your mom had four other kids to choose from—why you? You barely knew anything about living out here, and being the youngest (and most thoroughly pampered) had ruined you for anything remotely resembling hard work. You weren’t built for the heat of the countryside, let alone its relentless labor.

And yet, here you were. Suffering.

You exhaled sharply, shoulders slumping, your patience hanging by a thread as the weight of the sun bore down on you. It felt like you were melting, your body sluggish from the heat, beads of sweat collecting at the nape of your neck and rolling lazily down your spine. With a pathetic attempt at relief, you hung your head low, trying to blow cool air onto your flushed face—an effort as pointless as it was desperate. The air was thick, warm, clinging to your skin like an unwelcome embrace, and you swore the longer you sat there, the more your soul threatened to leave your body.

Then, suddenly, a shadow passed over you.

Hope surged through your chest, and you all but snapped your head up, eyes bright, your suffering instantly forgotten at the prospect of salvation. Your mother had returned—finally! You could already picture yourself flinging yourself at her, wrapping your arms around her in uncharacteristic appreciation, peppering her with dramatic kisses in gratitude for saving you from the slow, agonizing death of being boiled alive under the merciless countryside sun. You would forgive her for taking an eternity, for leaving you here to suffer while she disappeared on some mythical shopping spree.

But the face that met your gaze was not hers.

It wasn’t even remotely familiar.

The relief in your expression died an awkward, painful death as realization settled in. Standing before you was her—the woman from earlier, the one who had momentarily bewitched you with her towering frame and unshakable presence. The one you had, in a moment of weakness, imagined being wrapped up in—held by, caged by, those ridiculous arms of hers.

You nearly keeled over from secondhand embarrassment at the thought.

Selene Varrow stood still, utterly unreadable, her silver-blue eyes scanning you with something that could have been vague amusement or complete indifference. It was impossible to tell. Up close, she was even more imposing, her sheer size making you feel as though you were being dwarfed by some ancient sentinel rather than an ordinary woman. You were fairly certain that, unless she lifted you Simba-style into the sky, she would never—could never—look up at you. The idea alone made your stomach churn.

She said nothing.

Instead, she reached into the basket slung over her arm, her movements slow, deliberate.

You stared, half entranced, half alarmed. Your mind, overheated and slightly delirious, began spinning ridiculous scenarios at lightning speed. Was she about to pull out something sinister? Was this how it ended? Had she come to put you out of your misery, to spare you the indignity of sitting here like a lost puppy waiting for a mother who had clearly abandoned you for good? Would she strike you down where you sat, ending your suffering with one swift—

She pulled out a can of soda.

Ice-cold. Covered in beads of condensation. Glistening in the sunlight like a gift from the heavens.

She held it out to you, silent, waiting.

Your gaze locked onto the drink, momentarily stunned. The can practically called to you, as if whispering in a soothing, divine voice: Drink me, my child. Replenish your strength. Rise again.

Your throat tightened with emotion. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

Without a second thought, you reached out and greedily snatched the soda from her outstretched hand, fingers curling around the chilled aluminum as if it were a lifeline. You barely restrained yourself from holding it to your forehead in sheer relief. “This is for me, right?” you asked, already cracking the tab open before she could answer. “Thank you—seriously, you’re a lifesaver.”

The first sip was divine. The cold liquid slid down your throat like salvation itself, wiping away the oppressive heat and momentarily tricking your body into thinking you had been blessed by the gods themselves. You let out a long, exaggerated sigh of satisfaction, your muscles relaxing for what felt like the first time in hours. If Selene had requested your firstborn child in return for this favor, you would have signed the contract right then and there—no hesitation.

And yet, she remained silent.

She merely nodded, her expression unreadable as she watched you with the kind of patience you weren’t sure whether to find comforting or unnerving. Now that she was standing this close, looming over you, you could finally get a proper look at her.

She was striking.

Her auburn hair was cropped short, an effortlessly tousled mess that looked like it had been styled by the wind itself. You noticed the remnants of an old dye job—purple streaks done in a peekaboo style, now faded into a pale, washed-out hue. It had clearly been a while since she last touched up her hair, and for some reason, that tiny, almost mundane detail made her feel even realer—less like some untouchable force of nature and more like someone you could reach out to.

But it wasn’t just her hair that caught your attention.

Her face was as sharply defined as a statue’s, all hard edges and smooth planes, her features chiseled enough to cut through bark. Her skin was a deep, sun-kissed tan, no doubt the result of years spent working under the open sky. You could almost picture her out in the fields, sweat glistening on her brow, sleeves rolled up to her elbows as she carried something absurdly heavy without breaking a sweat. Of course she was naturally built like that—she probably hadn’t needed to set foot in a gym a single day in her life.

But her eyes.

That was what truly stole your breath away.

A piercing silver-blue, the kind of color that felt almost unnatural, like something out of a legend. They were sharp, unyielding, trained on you with quiet intensity, and for a brief moment, you wondered what it would be like to meet that gaze for too long—to stare until she either softened or punched you for being a creep.

Your gaze drifted lower, catching on the scar that cut across her left brow, trailing down just far enough to touch the beginning of her eyelid. It was thick but short, an old wound that had clearly healed well, yet it had left its mark. The way the scar tugged at her skin caused her left eyelid to droop ever so slightly, giving her a perpetual look of quiet calculation, as if she were constantly watching, always thinking, never letting her guard down.

Something about it only made her look even more… striking.

You swallowed thickly, realizing you had been staring a little too long, your thoughts running far too wild for someone who had just met this woman.

Get a grip, you told yourself.

And yet, some irrational part of you was already hoping you’d run into her again

You barely managed to tighten your grip before the soda nearly slipped from your fingers. The condensation dripped onto your palm, ice-cold against your sweat-warmed skin, but it wasn’t nearly enough to ground you—not when your entire world had suddenly narrowed to the woman standing before you.

She was watching you.

Not just looking. Watching.

Her silver-blue eyes held an eerie sharpness, as if she were peeling back layers of you with just her gaze, dissecting every subtle shift in your posture, every nervous twitch of your fingers. The intensity made your pulse stutter, an unfamiliar weight pressing down on your chest. You had been staring at her all this time, openly, shamelessly, but now that she was returning the favor, you felt exposed.

And then, just as effortlessly, she shattered the silence.

"Selene."

The name cut through the air with a quiet authority, her voice smooth yet firm—deep in a way that sent something curling low in your stomach, completely unbidden.

You swallowed thickly, momentarily thrown off. "What?"

She moved with an unhurried confidence, lowering herself onto the sun-warmed concrete beside you, one arm resting loosely over her bent knee. Even seated, she still towered over you, her frame exuding a raw, restrained strength—like a coiled spring, waiting for the right moment to release. You forced yourself to breathe evenly, the scent of sunbaked pavement and the faintest trace of metal clinging to her clothes filling your senses.

"My name’s Selene." A pause. Her gaze didn’t waver. "I work down by Varrow’s Metalworks. You heard of it?"

It took a second for the words to register. Varrow’s Metalworks.

Oh.

The realization clicked into place almost instantly.

Your family had purchased quite a few things from there—sturdy furniture, well-crafted tools, things built to last. You distinctly remembered the shop’s owner, a kindly older man with a build much like hers, though softened by time. He had mentioned a daughter once, in passing. Now that you were seeing her up close, the resemblance was impossible to ignore.

"You’re his daughter," you said, more a statement than a question.

Selene gave a slow nod. "Yeah. My old man runs the place."

And somehow, just like that, the conversation happened.

It started small—basic, polite. You asked about her work, she answered in short, precise sentences. She asked how you were adjusting to town, you gave vague, carefully edited responses, omitting certain… night market-related horrors.

But somewhere along the way, the conversation began to unravel, stretching into something easy, fluid.

Selene spoke in a way that was direct, measured. She wasn’t one for unnecessary words, nor did she waste energy on filling silences that didn’t need to be filled. But she listened—so intently that it made your skin prickle, as if every offhanded comment, every absentminded remark you made, was being quietly stored away for later.

It wasn’t that she was emotionless.

No, she simply wore her emotions differently.

She didn’t laugh at your jokes, but you caught the smallest shifts in her expression—the faintest twitch of her lips, the brief, subtle exhale through her nose. She didn’t smile, but her focus never wavered, never drifted, never gave you any indication that she wanted to be anywhere else.

She was enjoying herself.

And somehow, that was enough.

The sun had begun its slow descent by the time you realized how much time had passed. The market’s once-bustling energy had dulled into something quieter, the steady hum of conversation and distant footsteps blending into white noise around you. Yet neither of you made any move to part ways.

The air between you was comfortable—charged with something you couldn’t quite name, but comfortable nonetheless.

And for the first time since moving here, you thought that maybe, just maybe, this town wasn’t so bad after all.

Selene remained utterly unfazed by your frantic squirming, her grip as unyielding as steel. You may as well have been a mere inconvenience—a cat flailing helplessly in the arms of someone much stronger, effortlessly keeping you in place. No matter how much you twisted or tugged, her hold didn’t loosen, not even slightly. The worst part? She wasn’t even struggling. Her strength was casual, natural, like holding you in place took no more effort than breathing.

Oh god, cuddling her would be a nightmare.

“H-Hey, wait! What about my mom? She’s gonna be worried!”

Your voice cracked slightly as you scrambled for any excuse, grasping at logic like a lifeline. Yet Selene moved as if she hadn’t even heard you. Without a word, she took your bags and slung them onto the motorcycle’s handles, her motions efficient, practiced. If you had grabbed flimsy plastic bags, they’d have torn the moment the engine roared to life, scattering your groceries across the road. But luckily, today of all days, you’d chosen the eco-friendly route, opting for cloth bags instead.

Selene swung a leg over the motorcycle in one fluid motion, her movements smooth and assured, like she’d done this a thousand times before. With one hand still wrapped firmly around your forearm, she gave a single, decisive tug—one that sent your body lurching forward against her with an embarrassing yelp. Before you could so much as think of resisting, she lifted you effortlessly, not even breaking stride as she dropped you down in front of her onto the seat.

Oh.

Oh no.

You froze, suddenly hyperaware of the situation—of the firm press of her chest against your back, of the way her arms settled on either side of you as she gripped the motorcycle’s handles. You were effectively caged in, trapped between her body and the machine beneath you. Heat radiated from her, her warmth pressing against you in ways that made your mind short-circuit, unable to process anything beyond the feeling of her presence.

Selene didn’t say a word. Didn’t even acknowledge your flustered state. The only sound was the deep, mechanical purr of the motorcycle as she started the engine, the vibration rumbling beneath you, sending an involuntary shiver up your spine.

Then, she shifted.

You felt the weight leave one side of your body as her left hand disappeared from your peripheral vision. There was a soft rustling, a quiet grunt, and before you could even turn your head to see what she was doing, you felt something press down onto your head.

A helmet.

You blinked.

Selene had just… put a helmet on you.

Slowly, as if in a daze, you reached up, fingers brushing against its cool, sturdy surface. She had adjusted it snugly, ensuring it fit properly before retracting her hand. The realization settled in your gut, heavy and strange—had she planned this? Had she expected to take someone with her today and prepared accordingly?

Or…

You swallowed.

Had she prioritized your safety over her own?

The thought sent a sharp jolt through you, equal parts unsettling and… something else. Something warmer.

Because if that was the case—if she really had placed you above herself, even for something as simple as a helmet—then Selene Varrow, the tall, brooding woman you had barely just met, had just done something unexpectedly, alarmingly romantic.

And that thought alone was enough to make your heart hammer against your ribs.

Slowly, you turned your head, hesitant, hoping—praying—that Selene wasn't actually risking her life for yours. But as you tilted your head to the left, the weight of her presence shifted. Before you could even process what was happening, she rested her head gently against your left shoulder, her breath warm against your skin.

"Yer ma’s gonna be fine. I’ll have someone tell her about us, don’t you worry, darl."

Her voice, low and soft, sent a shiver skittering down your spine. It wasn’t just her words; it was the way she spoke them, like she was wrapping you in a blanket of certainty, her breath just a whisper against your ear. Goosebumps prickled across your skin as you felt the soft rustling of her hair against your neck, the lightest touch of her presence making you aware of just how close she was. She didn’t even have a helmet on—how could she be so carefree, so reckless?

Your heart was racing, your mind scrambling for something to say—something, anything—to do—but before you could even think of a response, the motorcycle's engine roared to life, the force of it vibrating through your entire body. You were pressed back against Selene’s hard chest as the bike shot forward, a sudden burst of speed that knocked the air from your lungs.

Oh my god, why am I getting turned on?!

This was not the time. You were being kidnapped—or rescued, if you wanted to be optimistic about it—but instead of fear, all you could feel was this strange rush of heat. Were you really that easy to manipulate? Give you a cold can of soda, look at you with those intense, silver-blue eyes, and bam—kidnapped. Just like that.

As the bike swerved around a corner, Selene’s hand was suddenly on your midsection, firm and sure, holding you in place. It wasn’t the first time she’d done it—each turn was met with her hand securing you, a protective gesture that only made you feel more trapped. The feeling of her palm pressed against your side was almost too much, your body instinctively reacting to her closeness, the heat of her touch igniting a flood of embarrassment that you didn’t know how to contain.

You prayed to whatever gods were listening that Selene didn’t notice how flustered you were. The wind stung your face, making your cheeks burn, and you hoped to god she couldn’t feel the frantic pace of your heart. She must be used to this—used to the speed, to the power of the motorcycle—but you? You hated motorcycles. They were death traps, and every second you spent on one only solidified that belief.

The vibrations of the engine rattled your bones, each bump in the road sending a jolt of discomfort through your body. The wind whipped around you, howling in your ears, and you could already feel the cool bite of it settling in your lungs. You were almost certain that by morning, you'd wake up with a sore throat, maybe even a cold, but that thought was drowned out by the overwhelming sense of dread and, strangely, awareness that this was exactly where you didn't want to be.

But it didn’t matter. The world blurred past you, a whirlwind of shapes and colors, and all you could focus on was the firm grip of Selene’s arm around you, holding you so tightly you were sure she could feel the frantic thumping of your heart.

And yet, as much as you hated this, as much as your mind screamed at you to get off this damn motorcycle, something in you couldn’t deny the way your body responded to her presence. The way her warmth bled into yours, the steadiness of her chest behind you, and the deep rumbling of her voice—Selene—which continued to echo in your mind.

You couldn’t have been more relieved when your feet finally touched solid ground. The world felt stable again, the ground beneath you a welcome anchor after the chaotic ride. Had it not been for Selene’s strong arms, you were certain you'd have ended up kissing the dirty earth. But you weren't about to admit that. No, you wanted to keep some semblance of composure and avoid presenting yourself as the terrified mess you truly were. No way were you going to break down in front of her.

You straightened up, trying to regain a shred of dignity, despite the trembling in your legs.

"So, how'd ya like it?" she asked, her voice rough and casual, though there was an undertone of amusement in it.

"Gr-Great..." You forced the words out, but they came out far weaker than you'd hoped. You didn’t sound confident at all—more like a small, excited child who had just been let loose in a candy store. Your voice cracked under the weight of the adrenaline still coursing through you.

You saw it then—the tiniest smile, the curve of her lips just barely lifting as she looked at you. Oh my god, she’s laughing at me. You felt the flush of embarrassment creep up your neck, the heat of it spreading across your cheeks. You felt ridiculous, a total loser, no different than the spoiled brat from the city that you feared you must look like to her. A moment of weakness, and she must be thinking how amusing it was, how laughable you were.

What you didn’t realize, what you couldn’t possibly know, was that Selene wasn’t laughing at you. Not in the way you thought. No, the amusement on her face wasn’t at your expense—far from it. In fact, she found something strangely endearing in your innocence, in the fact that you were so sheltered, so unaware of the world beyond your bubble.

It excited her. The thought of showing you what real life felt like.

She had a certain darkness inside her, something raw and primal. A part of her, a very large part, was eager to devour the naive little lamb that was you. She could almost taste the sweetness of corrupting you, of drawing you into a world where the rules didn’t apply, where nothing was forbidden. She had a thing for breaking the innocent, for tearing down the walls of naiveté—an urge she didn’t often give in to, but with you? Oh, you were perfect for it.

Selene had a wild side, something untamed, like a werewolf who preferred to chase after the smaller, easier prey. And you? You were small in her eyes, an easy target, the kind of person who didn’t have a survival instinct strong enough to resist her.

But she knew better than to rush things. She wasn’t about to force anything on you before you were ready. And besides, it wouldn’t be satisfying for either of you if she did. She wanted to savor the moment, let things grow naturally. She could be patient, and she was.

It took months of getting to know each other, of patiently building something real, before the two of you finally made it official. Slowly, carefully, she worked her way into your life, her presence growing more intoxicating with each passing day. And when you finally started dating, when it became real, Selene knew it was only a matter of time before she would show you just how much more fun life could be—on her terms, of course.

But for now, she was content to let the anticipation build.

It was one late night, the air still thick with the residual hum of adrenaline from the long ride on the motorcycle. You had begun to warm up to the experience, the exhilarating wind whipping past you no longer felt as terrifying. You could trust it now, because you trusted her—Selene��s strong, steady presence behind you, her muscular arms wrapped around your waist like an unspoken promise of safety.

The strange anxiety you once felt was slowly being replaced by a new kind of thrill, a rush that surged through your veins every time the engine roared to life. You’d even gone and bought another helmet, though Selene had never worn one in the first place. She had only ever carried it with her in hopes of bumping into you one day, hoping to take you on a ride along. And as fate would have it, everything had fallen into place, just as she’d wanted.

As you leaned back against her, breathing in the scent of her leather jacket and feeling the warmth of her body, a strange thought crossed your mind. How had you never noticed her before? How had she somehow been watching you all this time without you ever knowing? It made sense when you thought about it.

Selene had been admiring you from the moment you and your family had first stepped into town. She had kept her distance at first, but always made sure she was somewhere nearby, always subtly positioning herself where she knew you would be. And each time, she tried her best to catch your attention, to seem intriguing and impossible to ignore. She had been so careful with it, walking the fine line between appearing desperate and staying composed. But for some reason, you hadn’t approached her. You hadn’t even tried to casually brush past her.

And that irked her. But in a way that only made her feelings for you grow even stronger. It was both frustrating and oddly endearing. How cute, she thought, that you couldn’t even bring yourself to take the first step. How much she wanted to show you what she was truly capable of. It was almost as if she could sense your hesitation, your fear—and rather than backing off, she only wanted you more. You were hers, and she’d prove it to you, slowly and surely.

Now, as you lay in her arms, drifting in and out of sleep after what was undoubtedly one of the most thrilling nights of your life, Selene had plenty of time to reflect. The cool night air brushed against her skin as she gazed down at your slumbering form, a soft smile playing on her lips. She had done it right this time, hadn’t she? She’d finally gotten what she wanted. You were here with her, wrapped up in her arms, safe in her embrace, feeling no fear. But something tugged at her, a realization that came slowly but surely.

Maybe I should’ve been the one to approach you first, she thought. To assert myself as the one who takes control.

That’s how things were done in her family, after all. Her father had never hesitated to assert his dominance, and it was with that same forceful nature that he had taken her mother as his own. Selene could still remember the way her father had looked when he first laid eyes on Stacy Lock—her mother, now Stacy Varrow. There was something raw and animalistic about him, the way he had stalked her mother from the woods, the way he had never backed down, no matter how much Stacy had resisted him.

William Varrow had lived most of his life in the wilderness, far from civilization, but when he’d seen Stacy for the first time, something inside him had shifted. She was, to him, the most beautiful woman to ever walk the earth, and there was no way he would let her slip away. Stacy, however, had been cautious. She had liked him, yes—but she had also seen the dangerous glint in his eyes, and she wasn’t ready to give in just like that. She refused him, tried to keep him at arm’s length.

But that only made him want her more.

Selene could only imagine how it had played out in her father’s mind. He had been enraged, his pride wounded, and so, in his primal fury, he’d taken matters into his own hands. He had forced his way into her life, refusing to take no for an answer. He hadn’t cared about consent or anything like that—only that Stacy would be his. And in the end, she had become his, but not without a cost. It had been a messy, violent courtship, one that had left scars on them both.

Selene wondered, briefly, if she should have followed her father’s example. Maybe she should’ve been more forward, more insistent. She could see it now, the way she might’ve forced her way into your life, made you her own with the same intensity her father had used on her mother. But she also realized something else.

She knew you weren’t like her mother. You wouldn’t have accepted it. Not like that.

No, she couldn’t treat you the same way her father had treated her mother. It wouldn’t have worked for you, not when you were still so fragile, still so innocent.

So instead, Selene waited. She was patient. She would let things progress at their own pace. She would make you see what she could offer. In the meantime, she’d keep you close, savor the feeling of having you just within her grasp. And eventually, when the time was right, she would show you the kind of life you could have with her—a life of adventure, of excitement, of something more than the safe, predictable world you had always known.

And when that moment came, she would have you, body and soul.

Like clockwork, William Varrow had made himself an inescapable force in Stacy Lock’s life. At first, it was subtle—an eerie sort of inevitability. The sudden appearance of a metalworks shop, its iron-wrought sign gleaming under the town’s midday sun, his name carved into it with a kind of permanence that suggested it had always been there, waiting. Then came the house, the one right next to hers. The previous owners, an elderly couple who had lived there for decades, were found dead in their home. A wolf attack, the townsfolk whispered, shaking their heads in pity, though the details were… strange. Their throats torn open, their bodies slashed apart in a way that no ordinary animal could have managed. But no one questioned it too much. These things happened in the woods sometimes, didn’t they? The next thing Stacy knew, the house belonged to William. And so did the space around her.

It wasn’t just his presence, but the way it wrapped around her, suffocating and unshakable. He was everywhere, just close enough that she could feel the heat of his eyes when she turned a corner, just near enough that his voice, deep and knowing, reached her ears no matter how much she tried to ignore it. And the town loved him. They sang his praises like he was some kind of blessing in disguise.

"Come on, Stacy! He’s got a good job! He’s strong! And he only has eyes for you—don’t you see how lucky you are?"

They nudged her, grinning, their excitement infectious and heavy, as if this was all some grand romance unfolding before them. As if William hadn’t orchestrated every moment of it with the patience of a predator. Stacy was young. Naïve. And when he got down on one knee in the middle of the town square, with every expectant gaze pinned on her, the weight of their approval pressing into her chest like a vice—what choice did she really have?

Saying yes sealed her fate.

The honeymoon was brief, more an illusion than a reality. The first few nights, she could almost believe she had married an ordinary man. He was attentive, devoted in a way that made her skin crawl if she thought about it too much. But then the full moon came, and with it, the truth. Her husband—the man in her bed, the man in her home—was something else entirely. A beast of flesh and claw, a thing that split itself open under the moon’s glow and emerged monstrous. And Stacy? Stacy was his.

But time wore the sharp edges down. William softened, his hunger tempered by the predictability of routine, by the weight of family. Seven children. Seven strong, healthy children. But not all of them were human. Stacy loved them all, of course she did. How could she not? But the ones who took after William—the ones who bore his wildness in their blood—she could never look at them without remembering the truth of what their father was. And she couldn’t love them quite the same way she loved the two who had been spared.

Selene never forgot that.

She saw the exhaustion clinging to her mother like a second skin, the way Stacy’s hands lingered longer on the two normal ones, the way she held them just a little tighter, a little closer. The way she looked at the rest of them and saw him.

Selene refused to have that kind of life. She refused to be another version of her mother—tired, trapped, resigned.

She wouldn’t settle for someone forced to be with her. She wanted a partner who wanted her back, someone who chose her. She wouldn’t demand love; she’d make it impossible for you to not give it to her.

And at first, she thought she had you right where she wanted. She had been watching you from the moment you and your family set foot in town. How could she not? You were different. You weren’t like the others. She made herself a fixture in your life, just like her father had done to her mother—always in the same places as you, always hovering just close enough for you to notice. And you did notice.

But for some reason, you never approached her.

You never brushed by her accidentally on purpose. You never let your eyes linger just a second too long. You acted as if she were just another part of the town’s scenery.

It made her furious.

It made her soft for you.

It made something deep inside her ache in a way she didn’t understand.

Now, with you nestled against her, your head tucked into the curve of her shoulder, fast asleep after what was undoubtedly the most exhilarating night of your life—riding on the back of her motorcycle, clutching her waist, trusting her to keep you safe—she knew she had been wrong about her approach.

She should have done this from the very start.

She should have taken her place in your life. Should have shown you that she was the one you needed. Should have pressed herself into your world in a way that made it impossible for you to even consider living without her.

Like her father had done.

Except—no. No, not exactly like him.

Selene had watched her mother over the years, seen how Stacy had settled into her fate rather than embraced it. If Selene had to use her claws to carve her place in your heart, she would—but she’d make sure you wanted it.

And maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t even have to try that hard.

Because, god, she had seen it. That day. The first time you really looked at her.

You had been miserable in the heat, fanning yourself as you waited for your mother to finish talking to her father, your leg bouncing with barely-contained impatience. The sunlight had made your skin glow, sweat pearling at your temples, catching in the hollow of your throat. You looked so small in the heavy summer air, so unbearably delicate. She had watched, utterly enraptured, as you sighed and wiped at your forehead, brows furrowed in exasperation.

And then—then your eyes met hers.

For just a fraction of a second, just long enough for the world to narrow down to only you and her.

Selene felt it then.

The shift. The spark.

And so did William.

Her father turned to her, that wolfish grin splitting his face as he clapped a heavy hand against her shoulder, shaking his head in amusement.

"I ain’t gon’ sit ‘ere ‘n watch you throw away this opportunity!" he had laughed, voice dripping with certainty. "Go for it, kid!"

As if you were already hers.

As if he knew something she didn’t.

And maybe he did. Maybe you had been hers from the start.

Maybe you just didn’t know it yet.

Here’s a more immersive and descriptive version of your passage, with longer, richer paragraphs to better capture Selene’s possessive devotion and the dynamics between her, you, and your family.

William had a way of making himself indispensable, of weaving his presence into someone’s life so subtly that by the time they realized, he was already settled in, grinning that knowing grin. Your mother never stood a chance. With his deep, rumbling voice full of charm and weathered wisdom, he spun a long-winded conversation around her like a well-crafted snare. He told her of all the best places in town, the cozy bakery with the flakiest pastries, the farmer’s market that sold fresh preserves and homemade soap, the hiking trail with a view so breathtaking it would make a city-dweller believe in magic.

And you—poor, unsuspecting you—were left stranded, fanning yourself as the summer heat clung to your skin, waiting. You shifted from foot to foot, half-listening, half-hoping for an escape that never came. It was a stroke of luck, really, that William had such a talent for buying time.

Yet, despite all the time he bought her, Selene still hadn’t mustered the nerve to approach you. An hour and a half passed, her father stealing glances at her as he continued his effortless charm offensive on your mother. She could feel his patience wearing thin. Then, her phone buzzed.

‘if u dont hit on that little thing im gonna punch their mother.’

Selene nearly choked on air.

That was the push she needed.

Since that day, it had been a year. A wonderful, agonizingly slow, and utterly perfect year with you. She had wormed her way into your life with the same relentless devotion her father had once used on her mother, but this was different. You were different.

Every single week, without fail, no matter how packed her schedule was, Selene made sure to see you. At the very least, once a day. Sometimes she could only spare a few stolen minutes, sometimes she could stay for hours, but she never let a day pass without reminding you that she was there. That she was yours. She didn’t care how pathetic it made her look—some lovesick country bumpkin head over heels for the spoiled city kid. If that’s what you were, then fine. She would gladly play her role. She would show you why the countryside was better, why you didn’t need the bustling streets and towering buildings when you had golden fields, winding rivers, and her.

So far, it had been great.

And best of all—you still hadn’t figured out what she truly was.

She was grateful for that.

You had been raised in comfort, shielded from the wild, from the things that lurked in the shadows beyond the safety of streetlights and locked doors. You were so delicate, so sheltered, and she adored every single fragile part of you.

Even the way you jumped at the tiniest things made her heart squeeze in something close to delight. A beetle scurrying too close to your shoe? A moth flitting near your hair? A grasshopper daring to exist in your presence? You would shriek and press yourself into her, clutching at her arm, your voice high and frantic.

"Get it! Selly, get it!"

And oh, Selene would melt. The nickname. The trust. The way you turned to her first, without thinking, instinctively believing she would protect you. She would chuckle, low and indulgent, and fold immediately, grabbing the offending insect and hurling it so far away it might as well have landed in another state.

You were precious. And fragile things needed to be guarded.

Your family had done their best. You had plenty of overprotective older brothers, each one puffing up their chests, crossing their arms, trying to look intimidating whenever she was around. They made a show of being ready to throw hands if she ever hurt you—an adorable attempt, considering she towered over them, making them look more like minions than actual threats.

Selene found them endearing. Amusing, even. They had spent years keeping you safe, fending off anyone who might hurt you. She respected that. She even appreciated it.

But their time was over.

Now, it was her turn.

And unlike them, she didn’t just fend off humans.

She knew how to scare away the real predators. The ones that didn’t come in the form of jealous exes or handsy admirers. The ones that crept in the woods at night, with glowing eyes and teeth too sharp for a man’s mouth. The ones who might take one look at you and see prey.

She wasn’t going to let that happen.

You were hers, after all. And the rest of the world was going to learn that soon enough.

Yet somehow, despite all her efforts, despite the careful way she had drawn you away from the others, isolating you like a lamb from the flock, a smaller prey—a mere insignificant insect—had still managed to crawl its way toward you.

Annabelle ‘Belle’ Winde was a pest.

A persistent, aggravating little thing that refused to see reason, refused to be intimidated, refused to accept that you belonged to Selene. No, Belle tested her. She pushed. She prodded. She wanted to peel back the mask, to rip away the carefully maintained facade Selene had constructed just for you. She wanted you to see the monster beneath—the one with sharp teeth and hunger in its chest, the one Selene had so patiently hidden from your delicate little heart.

Before you and Selene had even become an item, Belle had taken it upon herself to warn you, constantly muttering under her breath, slipping you wary glances, cornering you when she thought Selene wasn’t around. She’s not what you think. There’s something wrong with her. Stay away.

But you had laughed. Smiled. Brushed her off.

And now you wished, more than anything, that you had listened.

Selene’s mask had started to slip. Not all at once, not in some dramatic, catastrophic reveal—but in pieces. It began when a stranger, some poor soul who had only been asking for directions, made the mistake of looking at you too long. Selene had turned feral in an instant, her rage snapping through the air like a whip, her shoulders coiled tight with the barely restrained urge to tear into flesh. If you hadn’t been there, hadn’t thrown yourself between her and the unsuspecting woman, you were certain Selene would have ripped her apart with nothing but her bare hands.

The confrontation had led to a fight—one that escalated so fast it left your head spinning.

The walls of her small, ramshackle shed, the place she called her room, felt suffocating, the air thick with anger, possessiveness, obsession. Her presence loomed over you, wild and unhinged, her chest rising and falling too quickly, her nails digging into her own palms as if she were trying to anchor herself—to hold back the storm raging inside her.

You had had enough.

For weeks, her possessiveness had become unbearable, creeping into every facet of your life like a slow-moving toxin. At first, it had been subtle—gentle even. A hand on the small of your back when someone got too close, a casual but firm interruption whenever someone tried to steal your attention for too long. Then, it had gotten worse. You couldn’t speak to anyone without feeling the weight of her gaze drilling into the back of your skull. Couldn’t interact with a passing neighbor without her mood souring for the rest of the day.

She had made it clear that no one was safe.

Not friends. Not acquaintances. Not even animals. She had nearly lost her mind when a stray cat had brushed against your legs, tail curling affectionately around your ankle.

The only ones exempt from her suffocating jealousy were her family and yours—everyone else was a threat. A rival.

You had tried to understand. You had tried so hard to rationalize it. Maybe she was just insecure. Maybe she had been hurt before. You had done everything you could to reassure her, to soothe whatever wounds she was keeping buried beneath the surface. You had held her face in your hands, thumb brushing against her cheek, whispering that you were hers and hers alone, that no one else could ever sway you, no matter how attractive or charming they were.

And for a while, she had seemed to believe you.

But it never lasted.

Because eventually, her own paranoia would creep in again, sinking its fangs into her mind, twisting her thoughts into something dark, something ugly, something hungry.

And now, standing there, watching the way her golden eyes glowed unnaturally in the dim light, you knew you had reached a breaking point.

Selene’s voice was low, a growl lurking beneath her words. Her pupils had dilated, and there was something off about the way she was breathing—like she was fighting some primal instinct, something clawing at the edges of her restraint.

"How do I know you’re not just saying that?" she snapped, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. "So you can go behind my back and fuck other women?!"

The accusation hit like a slap, and your stomach dropped.

She didn’t believe you.

She never had.

Selene knew she had taken it too far. She knew—the moment your eyes had widened in disbelief, the moment your face had twisted with hurt, the moment you had turned and ran, your pathetic little heart breaking right in front of her. But she had been too consumed by rage to stop. Even as the door slammed shut behind you, even as she stood there, fists clenched at her sides, her entire body trembling with the force of her emotions, she had let it fester—let it burn in her chest, white-hot and all-consuming.

Of course, the next day, she had made it up to you. She had swallowed her pride, softened her voice, wrapped her arms around you and whispered apologies against your skin, her breath warm and sweet, laced with that same intoxicating scent that had once made you dizzy. And for a moment, just a moment, you had believed her. But nothing changed. She was still suffocating. Still watching you like a hawk, still refusing to let you breathe without her knowing exactly where you were, who you were with, what you were doing.

So you ended it.

It wasn’t easy. Not with the way she had looked at you—her expression unreadable, her silver-blue eyes gleaming with something dark, something dangerous. But you had stood your ground. You weren’t some thing to be owned. You weren’t an animal, a pet to be punished and rewarded as she pleased. You were done.

And after that? Well, you had started making up for lost time.

You met new people. You rekindled old friendships—most notably with Belle, whose warnings no longer seemed so ridiculous in hindsight. She had taken it upon herself to watch over you, slipping you little trinkets and charms with a knowing glint in her eye. “To protect you from evil,” she had said each time, her voice light but firm, her hands pressing the small items into yours like they were shields, armor against something lurking just beyond your perception.

You had always humored her, smiling at her antics, letting her drape you in protection. And why not? The gifts were cute. Stylish, even. The supposed magic was just an added bonus—if it was real, of course.

You hadn’t realized how real it was.

Hadn’t noticed the way Selene had been trying to reach you for weeks, her frustration growing with every failed attempt.

She had tried to break into your home—only to recoil the second she got too close, her stomach twisting violently, nausea rolling through her like a wave. There was something wrong—something unnatural about the air surrounding your house. A stench that made her hack and spit, that made her instincts scream at her to run, to stay away. It was everywhere, clinging to the very walls, lacing through the wood, seeping into every corner, a vile, invisible barrier that no human could detect.

But she knew.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, it was on you, too. The scent covered you entirely, draped over your skin like an impenetrable cloak, keeping her at bay. No matter how desperately she tried to get close, no matter how much she ached to touch you, something repelled her, forced her back, denied her the one thing she wanted more than anything.

At first, she had thought you had done this. That somehow, some way, you had figured out what she was—had taken precautions, had made the conscious choice to keep her out.

But then she realized the truth. It was that motherfucker, Belle. The witch. More accurately, the bitch.

Of course. Of course it was her. The annoying little gnat who had never trusted Selene, who had tried to tear you from her grasp even before you had started dating. She had known, hadn’t she? That conniving little bitch had known exactly what Selene was, and instead of warning you, she had worked in the shadows, subtly poisoning you against her.

Every charm. Every trinket. Every bracelet and keychain, every earring, every little thing she had given you—it had all been part of her plot.

And that’s when Selene decided.

She took note of all your new accessories, every new ward that had been placed on you, cataloging them carefully, waiting for the perfect moment.

And when that moment finally came, she struck.

It had been too easy.

You had dressed up for a neighbor’s wedding, a vision in your carefully chosen outfit, completely unaware of what lurked just beyond the tree line. You hadn’t even noticed when she followed you, stalking from the shadows, waiting for the right time to pounce.

Now, here you were.

Crawling backward through the mud, your elegant clothes ruined, the rich fabric clinging to your trembling form. Your hands scrambled against damp earth, your breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps. You barely registered the cold seeping into your skin, too focused on the beast looming ahead of you—the one with thick auburn fur, streaked with faint remnants of violet dye, its powerful limbs tense with anticipation, its glowing silver-blue eyes locked onto you with a hunger that made your blood run cold.

Selene.

The same eyes you had fallen in love with a year ago.

She bared her fangs, her lips curling into something between a snarl and a grin, her voice coming out in a guttural, lilting drawl that sent ice down your spine.

"Yer mine, sweet pea."

She took a slow, deliberate step forward, massive paws sinking into the damp earth, her tail flicking in amusement at your feeble attempts to escape.

"And I’ll show it to ya, I’ll show you how a feral woman acts when she’s been unfairly punished."

A whimper left your lips, and Selene chuckled, low and throaty, her gaze dark with intent.

"I’m gonna fuck yer brains out."

And then, she lunged.

[webbedmirror]

High King Phantom looked at his surroundings with narrowed eyes. He rarely responded to summonings, however, this one came with offerings—sacrifices—. It perked his interest, and not necessarily in a good way. The summoning circle was sloppy, the summoners were dressed in cheap matching cloaks, they seemingly were in a random abandoned apartment, and most importantly, he was surrounded by bodies.

Seven bodies surrounded the king, seven bodies sacrificed to Danny.

"Your majesty," a person—seemingly the leader— greeted with a bowed head, "It is an honor to be in your glorious presence." Glowing green eyes stared them down, but they did not receive a response. Ever arrogant, the mortal continued talking, "We have used three sacrifices to summon you, and we hope to use the other four to strike a deal with me."

Phantom could not help but sneer. "You want to use the other four for a deal? You lot already seemed to be idiotic and somehow manage to anger me further." The summoners flinched, some preparing to flee. The king would not allow that to happen, a light tap of his foot and the floor was covered in frost, freezing the summoners in place.

"These people are dead, they are under my domain, they are my subjects. You want to give me something that is already mine?" Phantom yelled. "Even if you offered them to me when they were alive, what use would I have for them? I have trillions if not quadrillions of undead under my rule. Do you understand what that means? That is over a thousand times more people living on your planet. What do four or fuck— seven lives mean to me? Your sacrifices mean nothing to me, all you've done is needlessly kill your own kind!"

His words left the summoners speechless; it seemed they underestimated the king's power. They couldn't help but cower, a chilling, heart-pounding fear now embedded in them.

"Where is the tome you used?" Phantom was met with silence. "Do not make me repeat myself!"

"It- it's over there, your- your majesty," someone spoke up, shakily pointing a finger to a bag in the back of the room.

Phantom telekinetically brought the bag towards him, carelessly throwing things out the bag before finding the tome. He flipped through the book, quickly scanning it before freezing it solid. He raised the book high and then threw it onto the floor. Both the ice and book shattered like glass, becoming such small particles that one couldn't even hope to recover and put back together the tome.

"Now then, what should I do with you all?"

"I can take care of the rest," a new voice spoke. Phantom looked at the knight—or perhaps, hero, but the lingering of Lady Gotham on the man made Phantom prioritize the fact that he was a knight— dressed in black and blue.

"This is my issue, knight. I have the right to deal with in any way I'd like."

The knight walked closer to him, steps confident despite the icy floor. "You may be right, but you are on human land, you aren't judge, jury, or executioner."

[]

Nightwing was late-late again, too slow, too sloppy, too careless, and people died, again and it was his fault. Bludhaven was his territory, his city, and he couldn't even properly defend it.

The vigilante forced himself to not look at the dead bodies, faces crumbled in pain, tear tracks still on their faces, and instead looked the king of the dead in the eye.

"What do the rules of humans mean to me, when I am more powerful than a human could even wish to be?" A seemingly light tap of the foot resulted in the tile beneath him to crumble and the room filled with the screams of the summoners.

He'd made a blunder; sleep deprivation was not helping him speak to high-ranking alien entities. "That doesn't make us any less significant, nor does that mean you need to invalidate our culture and government. I hope if you are a just ruler, that you would respect our planet and the way it governs."

The king frowned, glowing green eyes stared at him intensely. "Get them out of my sight and we'll see how I feel."

Nightwing nodded, putting the criminals in handcuffs under the king's scrutiny. Once the king had evaporated the frost, he tied them up and put them in another room whilst talking to a police operative. While the vigilante took care of the criminals, the ghost took care of the sacrifices. A wave of magic surrounded the bodies, one by one, and their faces changed into a peaceful look. Seven orbs surrounded the king, and he looked at them with a soft sadness that surprised Nightwing.

The king's eyes focused back on Nightwing. "You will make sure those people are prosecuted properly?"

Nightwing nodded, "Of course."

"Then it's time for me to leave. Thank you for your help."

"Wait!" the hero bowed his head. "I know this is probably not the best time, but you're the king of the dead right?"

[]

The knight looked back at him, full of desperation. "My baby brother died not long ago, I just need to know. . ."

Phantom softened, "If he's a knight like you, he should be fine in my realm."

"He was." the knight clenched his fists, "I just. . . I need to know for sure that he's okay, that he's going to stay okay, and that I'm sorry."

"I can keep an eye on him, ensure his safety, and pass along information so long as you are alive in exchange of you passing along the final messages of these seven and ensuring that they receive a funeral of their liking." Unfortunately, as much as he sympathized with the knight, so long as he was within the summoning circle he could not do things for free. Whilst he could break out of it, it would be a waste of energy and he was sure the knight would agree to the terms.

"Thank you."

"We have a deal, Sir . . ?"

"Nightwing. It's a deal, King. . ."

"Phantom. We have a deal."

For the first time in a while, Nightwing smiled-soft and watery, nonetheless, a smile.

"Then, goodbye, Nightwing. And do take care of yourself, you look like shit and I don't want you to become my subject before you complete your end of the deal."

[End.]

Wahoo! It's been a while since I've written something original-ish like this so do forgive any inconsistencies or mistakes. This is a oneshot and I most likely won't add onto it so I'm just going to spill some of the background/ideas/would-be-plans for this :]

This is set while Jason is dead but before Tim meets with Dick

Speaking of Tim, I feel like Dick would be nicer and not so guilty for pushing him to become Robin

Shortly after he comes back to the realms, Danny goes to find Jason and passes on Dick's sorry as well as receives the message Jason wants to give to Dick

If this were a multichapter fic it would be slow burn friends to lovers Death Defying

I'd imagine that Danny & Jason get a brotherly bond

Clockwork essentially tosses Danny at Jason's grave when it's time for Jason to resurrect

Jason won't (initially) have his memories of being dead, but like post resurrection he doesn't have a lot of memories in the first place sooo

Whilst Jason is dead, he is located in Infinite Realm!Gotham under the care of Lady Gotham so Danny doesn't have to monitor him 24/7 and only visits him every 2 weeks or to pass along messages

Danny and Dick bond in a weird fucked up way of Dick "It took me a month to learn about Jason's death because I was off-planet and Bruce didn't tell me anything" and Danny "It took months for my sister to learn I was dead and years for my parents to learn about it and we lived under the same roof so you're off to a better start."

Oh, Nightwing isn't thinking straight because of Jason's death and his lack of coping mechanisms. I don't think I did a great job of showing that but that's why he's making a deal without hesitation

[nevarrhoe]

mea culpa (m.m) - 2

SUMMARY: "mea culpa" (exclamation - noun/legal term)

used as an acknowledgement of one's fault or error.

↪ in which matt murdock accidentally falls in love with the district attorney's daughter.

warnings: smut, angst, swearing, fem! reader

masterlist

It was a little hard to stop thinking about Matthew Murdock over the next few days. 

Nevermind the fact he’d left hickeys all over your neck - it was the fact he was texting you every few hours with absolutely indescribable fantasies that made it difficult to think about anything else. Your blood would run cold every time your phone buzzed, just on the off chance that one of your friends, or god forbid your father, see your phone screen. It put you on edge in the best way. This entire thing was already beyond fucked up for more than one reason and yet, you wanted more. So much more. 

Can’t wait to taste you again. 

Can’t wait to hear you scream my name again. 

Hope you haven’t been thinking about anyone else. 

And it was funny, really, because Matt was a perfectly respectable man from the outside. Quiet, unassuming, a dry sense of humour - you never would have taken him of all people to be the one to make you feel so fucking alive. It wasn’t just how good he was in bed, but rather the thrill of it all. Nothing got your motor running like a situation’s potential to disappoint your father but hey. That was for your therapist to deal with. 

Of course, your father had asked several questions about where you’d disappeared too after the gala on Friday. He was more concerned about it had looked for him, and to have his daughter run out on a big charity event. Your mother had been less worried about that part, and more about her vintage Chanel suit. You’d settled both their worries by a) telling your father you’d had stomach problems (because who was gonna ask about that?) and b) promising to send the Chanel off to a dry cleaner. 

It was on a slow Monday afternoon - exactly three days after you’d met him - that Matt sent you a not so dirty text. It was so casual, in fact, that it caught you more off guard than any of the filth he’d sent you over the weekend. 

Wanna grab lunch? 

“Are you okay, honey?”

You blinked, eyes shooting up to your best friend. Okay, maybe not a best friend - those were hard to come by in high-society. She was your most tolerable friend. It had been her idea to get martinis for lunch. Your idea of fun wasn’t exactly sitting around with five rich girls and their daddy’s credit cards but it wasn’t like you had work to do, right? 

Part of you so badly wanted to tell them about the escapade over the weekend - about how much better an older guy was than all their ridiculous, frat-house boyfriends, and how good he’d made you feel. But did you trust them? Not with your damn life. And for risk of being cut out of your father’s will, you figured it was something to keep to yourself. 

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat. “I gotta ditch. My dad needs me to get something from his office.”

Grabbing your jacket - a tan Chanel parka, naturally - you slid out of the booth and straight out of the restaurant. Matt’s number was dialed into your phone before you even hit the street. 

“Matthew, hi!” you greeted him. “I’m down for lunch.”

“Perfect,” you could hear the smile in his voice. “Wanna come by my office?”

“Sure. Want me to grab takeout?”

“It’s okay. I already have lunch here.”

“Okay. Text me the address.”

–

The Nelson & Murdock office wasn’t too far from where you’d been. Hell’s Kitchen wasn’t exactly your stomping ground but your Uber had dropped you off right outside, and you had a taser in your bag. Not to mention the years of Krav Maga and karate that you’d done in high school and college. You could have been a damn vigilante if you wanted to. 

It was the shorter, Nelson half of Nelson and Murdock that saw you first. He seemed taken aback at first - maybe by your expensive appearance, but also maybe because every other person in the room was a middle-aged man there for free legal advice. By the looks of your Chanel bag and red-soled shoes, he figured you probably didn’t need any legal advice for free. Especially not from him. It seemed much more apparent that you had the likes of Jeri Hogarth in your pocket should you need any legal assistance. 

“Hello. Hi.” Foggy greeted you with wide eyes. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Uh, no,” you turned around to face him, sticking out your hand. “You’re Nelson, right?”

“I am Nelson,” he replied, shocked look still not faltering. “How do you know my name?”

“I’m a friend of Matt’s,” you explained. “I don’t suppose he’s around?”

Speak of the devil. Your conversation was cut short by Murdock’s entrance. He looked hot in a suave sort of way; tie loosened around his neck, top button undone and sleeves rolled up. It was the first time you’d seen him since you’d left his apartment early on Saturday morning and frankly, you didn’t know how to act. Most of the men you slept with didn’t invite you to their offices for lunch - hell, most of them didn’t have offices. 

“Hey, Murdock,” you gave him a small wave.

“Hey - come in,” Matt shot you a grin, ushering over to his own office in the corner. 

It was neater than you’d thought it would be; there was a laptop perched on his desk, with a braille translator and a stack of legal files. They were probably the same legal files your dad had, just..the other side of the story. After all, Nelson and Murdock were known for looking out for the little guy. That was much more admirable than daddy dearest and his famously corrupt evidence. 

“Your shirt fits better today,” you commented, shrugging off your jacket. “That’s a real shame.”

“Is that a comment about my arms or the way I dress?”

“I think you know that it’s about your arms.”

You pushed aside the files, hopping up onto Matt’s desk. He had you caged in within a second, broad hands gripping your hips and guiding you up into a kiss. It was a little softer than the ones you’d shared on Friday night - there was less heat; a causal air to it. You didn’t think it was possible to miss the lips of a man you’d fucked exactly once. 

“So,” you murmured against him. “You said you had lunch here.”

“I do,” Matt gave you a shit-eating grin. “You.”

“Matthew!” you hissed, hitting his shoulder. “Did you seriously invite me over here just for a fuck?”

“Not exactly!” he quickly replied, raising his hands in surrender. “I wanted to check in with you and see how you were.”

“Oh, okay,” you raised an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. “I’m not too bad. I was having lunch with some of my friends when you texted-”

Matt suddenly attached his lips to your neck, teeth gently nipping on the same mark he’d left a few days ago. You didn’t mean to let out a moan, but how could you not? 

“Matthew!” you exclaimed again. 

“No, go on!” he stopped for a second. “I’m listening. You were having lunch with your friends and…”

“And you texted and I was bored, so I left and - Jesus fucking Christ, that feels so good.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “You left your friends to see me?”

“I would leave my dying Aunt Betty’s bedside to see you,” you said. Without a second thought, you grabbed him by the tie and pulled him back towards you. “Enough catching up. I’m good to have lunch now.”

He gave you a grin and a few moments later, his hands found your way under your ass. Matt shoved aside the pile of legal papers and moved you further onto the desk, lips back on your neck and working a thousand times harder than they had before. Instinctively, you tangled a hand in his hair and just let him have at it. 

The build-up wasn’t as tense as it had been the first time you fucked, but that was because Matt knew you better now. He pretty much had you memorised; the ticklish spot on your neck, the most sensitive spot on your hips, the way you liked his nails to dig into your back just enough to hurt. That was just a testament to him. Who else would remember that? Who else would take the time to learn what you liked after just once? 

“Not that I don’t enjoy this,” Matt paused for a second. “But my lunch break isn’t that long. If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna have to be quick.”

“You’re real cheap, Matthew Murdock,” you scowled. “Do you invite all girls over here for a fuck disguised as lunch and then rush them?”

“No, not all of them,” he shot back. “Some are more breakfast kinda gals-”

“- oh shut the fuck up.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him back into a kiss. Matt couldn’t help but smile against you - at how badly you wanted him, how you chastised him but still didn’t stop him. 

It was in that moment that you thanked every deity there was that you’d chosen to wear a skirt that day. But frankly, you wouldn’t have given a fuck if Matt had ripped your Versace mini-skirt to shreds. He would have been okay with that too, especially if it meant you have to borrow a shirt of his to leave in. 

Still, Matthew Murdock was nothing if not respectable - at least enough so not to destroy your designer clothes. Instead, he simply pushed it up, large hands making their way to your ass cheeks and giving one of them a light slap. You froze when he did - how many clients were out there in the waiting room right now? Even with the blinds closed and the door shut, how many of them could hear what was going on? 

“Problem?” Matt paused. 

“There are people out there who could hear us-”

“- not with the air conditioning on. Foggy always has it going. Don’t worry.”

You scowled. “How do you know that?”

“Just do.”

Matt wasted no time in resuming his activities. Grabbing you by the hips again, he lifted you with ease and spun you around so that he was the one on the desk, and you were in his lap. The friction of his hard-on in his trousers against your core was almost unbearable and he could tell you were desperate by the way your grip on him suddenly tightened. 

“Look at you,” he grinned. There was something about the way his voice dropped four octaves every time he was about to fuck you. “You’re calling me sloppy but you’re gagging for it, aren’t you?”

You let out a small grumble, shaking your head. “I thought you didn’t have time to tease?”

“You’re lucky that I don’t have time to do a lot of the things I want to do to you, sweetheart,” he said. “Everyone out there would be able to hear me fucking you if I didn’t have to be back in twenty minutes.”

“Matthew,” you growled. “I don’t care how long you have - if you’re not inside me in the next thirty seconds, I’m going somewhere else.”

“I didn’t think there would be many men around at this time willing.”

You let out a derivative snort, acrylic nails dragging down his neck and hand settling ever so gently on his throat. “You think I don’t have plenty of offers? You’re not the only man who can make me scream.”

It was almost like your words awakened something in Matt. In a flash, he’d pulled you off the desk and positioned you against it; there was the sound of his belt and a second later, his dick was inside you. Rock hard and beautiful, and the perfect length to have you clenching around him in mere fucking seconds. 

He wasted no time in pounding into you from behind, one hand tangling his fingers with yours on the desk and the other wrapped around your throat. You had complete and utter trust in him and maybe that was why you placed your own hand over his and encouraged him to squeeze harder. 

Matt’s movements were rapid and consistent: time was of the essence after all, and there was no way in hell he was going back to work until you came. 

It didn’t take much, to be honest. Not when you had his gruff voice muttering things in your ear. It was hard not to make noise then - Matt moved his hand from your throat accordingly, clutching it over your mouth in an attempt to muffle your moans. What an ass. Not to mention that it only made you even fucking louder. 

“Do they make you feel this good?” he teased. “Do they?”

He managed to hit the right spot over and over and it wasn’t long before you felt that knot in your stomach. It was a plunge; like a plane falling out of the sky, anything that caused a sharp drop in your gut. The room was practically spinning around you as you came undone, red acrylics digging into the skin of Matt’s arm for some kind of relief. 

“There we go, sweetheart,” Matt murmured. He softened his pace, slowing down for a minute to revel in his own high. “Good girl.”

He released his hand from your mouth, chest heaving against your back for a minute as you both came down from your respective orgasms. A broad arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you. Matthew Murdock was a gentleman, even when he was rearranging your guts. 

You slowly turned around to face him, pulling him into another desperate kiss. 

“Are you free tomorrow night?” Matt softly asked. 

“Yeah, I am,” you ran a hand down his chest, faltering for a second. “Why? You gonna take me out for dinner?”

“Yeah, but an actual meal. It’s not a euphemism, I promise,” he gave you a grin. 

You returned the gesture for a minute, a wide smile on your face - but then it faltered. “Matthew, I would love for you to take me on a date, and I adore spending time with you but…”

“But what?”

“My dad,” you groaned, dropping your head into his shoulder. “If anyone catches me with you, I’m done for - as hot as that is.”

Matt couldn’t help but chuckle. “Okay, fine. What if we just hang out at my apartment and get take out? You can dress like a slob and no-one will see us.”

“Yeah, that sounds great,” your smile quickly returned. “But I am not dressing like a slob. I wear Chanel or I wear nothing.”

“I would much prefer it if you wore nothing.”

[rawliverandgoronspice]

Ive seen a post like this before but totk dehumanizes ganondorf way more than botw ever could and he's not even a human in that game. that's how bad totk wrote most of its characters but especially him

Yeah I fully agree. BotW Calamity Ganon is a very good videogame villain, very internally consistent in its motivations, a mighty threat you must take seriously and who will kill people indiscriminately without punching them in the spine and making a Gmod face about it, and the very concept of being so (willingly) degraded due to dark magic, violence and repeated failure until there's nothing left of the man beyond the vicious hatred... very, very good. Also, malice in the French translation being "rancor"...... *muah*

I think the whole "Destroy Ganondorf" as a final objective (or worse in French, "Abattre Ganondorf", which is a word reserved for pests and cattle, understandable for Calamity Ganon yet very dehumanizing when applied to a person) kind of sums it all up. The game still doesn't see him as a person, he's just the game designer obstacle between you and the credits roll. This game is just so game-designer-brained is ways that are hard to properly convey --and I have nothing but profound respect for skilled game designers, but like. Sometimes, meaning is important and good too, and also keeps your game from feeling like a direct-to-DVD sequel.

[colorfulwastelandvoid]

Quick Thoughts p2

I’ll make this quick but your hatred/dislike or lack of engagement with characters does not make you nuanced, correct or an activist. You’re just insufferable.

Hating every character from Piltover, is neither sticking it to the rich man nor the fight against real world classism. It’s a lack of engagement in the canon of a show yall claim to love. Wishing death or the indifference to it on the black female character because she is a politician is not progressive. Saying that she’s hot and nothing else or just tying to her socioeconomic status and manipulation( something of which she did like twice in the first part of season 1) is playing into racial tropes and is just ignorant, even when a black person does it. The lack of respect the fandom has to the man the created Hextech in his studio apartment is baffling. To remove his agency and autonomy just to stick in your ship and hate on his canon love interest is insulting. This shouldn’t be controversial but for some reason it is; he did what he did because he believed it to be the right choice. He’s impulsive, emotional and stubborn. He agreed with her(he also didn’t listen to her), and didn’t listen to his own mentor because he thought he knew best. He even apologizes for this to her at the end of season 1 and admits she was right.

Calling the wlw ship oppressed x oppressor is incredibly shallow in fandom and dangerous outside of it. People are allowed to/ do fall in love with whomever. We as humans will always exist outside the government/ political environment we are confined in and should be able to and do to find love regardless of race,class or creed. If you’re American you should be aware of the Loving v Virginia case. Calling one of them a class traitor for finally choosing her self and working with the best she got to take down her sister is counterproductive.

There is something insidious in the way the fandom only lets the female and POC characters exist in their lowest moments and tear them apart. Yall really are kin to the most stereotypical League of Legends player. What happened to character growth? Also if the story happened the way I see some of yall wanted to then there would be no story. Cause all these would not be doing anything or growing.

A lot of the fandom wants to sound like nuanced, progressive leftists, but in actuality yall look and sound like bigoted conservatives who have yet to do the emotional self reflection to have these conversations, but want to sound smart.The last thing I’m gonna say here is this:

Arcane is to white ( it’s not just white people, I will concede on that point) leftist the same way Handmaid’s Tale is to white feminists.

Ps so this wasn’t all that quick. Maybe cause I’ve had to create a new TikTok account to post my edits so I’m seeing a lot of the dumb bigoted takes again on my fyp. It’s irritating that I gotta go and reblock accounts and tags on TikTok now but anything to keep me from cussing people out.

PSs Also if yall come swinging in my notes or reblogs I will just block you. Hell if you disagree at this point you’re getting blocked cause yall playing on phone with the same dumbass reasons some of which yall been spewing for 4 years. This isn’t really meant to be a discussion but me just stating stuff, if that makes sense. Me and my rambling I guess.

[19summerdays]

THE OWL HOUSE: AMITY

In my previous post, I talked about how amity it's treated when it comes to lunter.

And how they treat her like she's nothing but a person who's between their favorite ship or just a bad character in general.

My brother sent me some of these, and some of these I came across myself.

In my post, I talked about how people will make amity this jealous girl in between they're perfect "straight" ship.

Amity is nothing more than annoying lesbian to these people.

I don't understand why watch the show if you're just going to be homophobic. There are millions of female characters who end up with men and you choose the one who is relationship with a woman because she's bisexual but also treat her partner like she's getting in the way of the relationship.

It's so distasteful and disrespectful, I don't understand how people live like this.

"It's just people having fun"

By being homophobic? By messing with representation?

this one is the obviously trying to dagger people.

Then there's this person who's trying to lie on the internet. That dana is a self insert who's shipping herself with a minor when it was obvious that she dyed her hair to celebrate the first season of her show.

This Pacific poster attacks people for not shipping lunter but also says that the fandom is toxic but also by information from other people that this particular person send a rape fanfic of lunter to people who don't like the ship.

I have no proof besides my brothers words but this person has shared their dislike towards lumity and amity because amity is toxic and a bully and like I said before, hunter is literally a kid's soldier that most likely kill people before.

I also heard they don't like interacting with people who kin or like amity.

So all i'm saying is that I don't like this ship and I don't like the shippers, because they always have to disrespect amity in different types of way.

Amity is one of my favorite characters in this series. And the way people treat her, it's so disgusting.

Edit:

I also forgot to mention there are lunter shippers that ship amity with hunter

I also got sent this screenshot.

This person, for example, they already said they don't respect people like us so they ship amity with a man (hunter)

To make her "normal", also I don't want to show the art.

[mxtxfanatic]

I saw some people say how similar Xie Lian and Wei Wuxian are in terms of character, and idk why, but I disagree? I don't know how to explain it, but Wei Wuxian seems less likely to let people step on him than Xie Lian? I feel like Xie Lian is too nice to people who don't deserve it sometimes. Wei Wuxian won't hesitate to defend himself. Perhaps that's the difference? They both are morally righteous, that's for sure. But I feel like Wei Wuxian has more self-esteem than Xie Lian does. What do you think is the difference between Xie Lian and Wei Wuxian?

I don't think this is a matter of self-esteem at all. I view Xie Lian as simply being more mellow than Wei Wuxian, but they both have topics they'd fight about and topics they'd let roll off their backs. Wei Wuxian doesn't care at all that others call him evil or make up things about him, whether to his face or otherwise. The only thing he'll engage on is whether someone insults his skills (he is offended when his intentionally bad flute playing is taken as his actual talent, he argues back when Madam Yu says he has "no improvement" whereas he was happy to ignore her comments before that), his appearance (he argues with the scammer about how he drew "The Fearsome Yiling Patriarch"), or his loved ones (Lan Wangji, Jiang Yanli). He doesn't find slander worth fighting against, for the most part, because he doesn't care about stranger's opinions, let alone their opinions about him.

Xie Lian is the same just with less hot buttons than Wei Wuxian, but I believe that that's due to him being much (much) older and also now being anonymous. The people who know of his skills actually know him irl to know that's not a topic they can disparage him on, whereas any regular person he meets on the street just assumes he's also a regular nobody. He has nothing to protect from slander because, quite frankly, there is none that's worth it. He's not gonna fight someone over calling him "bad luck" anymore than Wei Wuxian is starting street brawls over people calling him "evil." Now, Hua Cheng who does have a current reputation and experiences slander is absolutely Xie Lian's hot button in the same way Lan Wangji and Jiang Yanli are for Wei Wuxian. Qi Rong insults Xie Lian and Xie Lian doesn't care because he doesn't respect Qi Rong or his opinions. Qi Rong moves on to insulting Hua Cheng and Xie Lian makes him eat his teeth twice before the man can even complete a sentence.

As for people who try to mess with them without knowing their identities, again, I feel like Xie Lian is simply more mellow and therefore their approaches are different. Wei Wuxian charms his way into people's good graces through flattery, gift-giving, and good conversation. He's usually the one to initiate contact. Xie Lian, on the other hand, tends to keep to himself, meaning others are the ones who try to pull him into their messes. For nice people, he is polite but distant, and for mean-spirited or duplicitous types, rather than charming them as Wei Wuxian does, he simply out-embarrasses them. Insult Xie Lian and he'll lean so hard into it that you get secondhand embarrassment and either leave him alone or befriend him out of amusement/pity.

[yanmler]

How about the arranged marriage Yuu who DIDN'T want to be married but ultimately doesn't care because there's nothing they can do about it now? (Bonus if the partner is nice and likes Yuu but respects they didn't want to marry them?)

Since there were no clarifications, I think this is an addendum to the post "wait, are you married?", we can consider this as the second alternative part. I don't really like repeat requests with the same characters, so this part is much shorter than the previous one.

Characters: Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Jack Howl, Epel Felmier, Sebek Zigvolt (70 words max I think)

Warning: male yuu!reader, ooc(maybe), platonically, hcs, yuu remembers his past, but does not love his partner

(English is not my native language sorry for any mistakes)

Ace Trappola

Finds out by accident and is SO confused. I'm sure it was like, "Huh? Didn't I tell you? Yeah, I'm married."

The way you don't care and how calmly you talk about it makes him laugh. I repeat, now this is your personal joke with him.

Not everyone would know about this, but half of your friends/acquaintances could have heard about this news. He would like to know more, but he can understand that you don't go into details.

After all, it wasn't a significant moment for you, was it?

BUT if other students start pestering you, he'll still joke about how they're trying to take a married man away from his family *gasp*

The way such words slip between the two of you so calmly leaves other people stunned. Half of you understand, and the other half may condemn such behavior, but believe me, your best friend is ready to talk to anyone who even slightly looks at you askance.

Deuce Spade

FIRST, WHAT? SECOND, HOW? Even if you don't care at all about this arc of your life (lol), he will happily listen to how it all happened, because he still doesn't fully believe that this could happen.

What surprises him most is the casualness with which you even mention it. Something like, "Oh, yeah, right."

If you want, he will keep it a secret, but if you don't care, he just won't advertise it. If someone is interested in you, he will think or do something only after you tell him how you feel about it.

Is everything okay? Fine. You are not interested? No problem, he will try to help you.

I think for the most part this topic will rarely be raised (due to your attitude towards it), because, in your opinion, even if you don’t love your partner, they are a very good person, and there is no reason to discuss them.

Jack Howl

It's a pity that this happened without your consent, but after your assurances that everything is fine, I will take this topic more calmly.

You're not interested in talking about it? Okay, then no one will mention it. Because you're very good friends with him, you can tell him something casually, but most likely it will be a dry story.

A secret? No problem, he's keeping quiet. Not a secret? Cool. AND THAT'S LITERALLY EVERYTHING, regardless of your attitude to this topic, absolutely no one will find out from him. "It's not customary to talk about other people's personal things" - that's how you can describe absolutely everything related to this topic.

Does your partner love and respect you? This is the main thing. If a person does not force you to be indebted to them even in such a situation - this is true love.

Did one of the students like you? Do absolutely whatever you want. I don't think he'll get involved unless you ask him to, that's all.

Epel Felmier

He's honestly in shock. Your reaction just finished him off. "Oh, yeah, I'm married" - AND THAT'S IT?

He will definitely ask something else, but I think overall it will take a few minutes. More questions will be about your point of view, how you reacted to it then and now. What do you think about it and what feelings does it evoke in you.

I'm sure he'll forget about it for a moment, and then accidentally remembering it he'll stand there with a face like "🙉🙊". Sorry, but this is really hard to believe.

But he also won't tell anyone, because if you want - tell anyone, but he just doesn't need it, no matter if it's a secret or not. He just doesn't care about telling other people anything about you without your permission.

I think the reaction to someone trying to show you attention will also depend on how you react to it. But in any case, he treats this person a little more suspiciously, just in case, you know?

Sebek Zigvolt

STOP JOKING ABOUT THIS THING ✋️ IN WHAT SENSE IS THIS NOT A JOKE? Now you have to tell him everything, because otherwise he simply won't believe you.

He realizes that you don’t care about your partner, but he may feel sorry for them (a little). He may not fully understand his attitude to this and can ask his Diasomnia group THEIR point of view (given that you will be aware of this, he is not going to discuss you behind your back, you are still his friend)

Is someone interested in you? Well done, let them continue to stay at a distance. I think he would be the least pleased if someone were to court you simply out of respect for your status, but he would hardly say so until you showed that you were truly not interested in that person.

Honestly, I think he's still curious about it, but how you feel about it might dampen his desire to figure it out a little. If you're okay with it, then so be it.

Please do not edit, translate, repost my works on other platforms, also without my permission and @ or take my art without art credit

[wardrobe-warrior]

TW... Queerphobia

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Hello @fivecornerroom, Welcome to tumblr, also lovingly called the hellsite. You must be new, because I'm sure you ment to reblog this, as these are comments I'm sure you meant with your entire chest, because why else would you say them. If you think it's so important to correct me, shouldn't that be public. My post is.

So I fixed it for you. Going forward the sign that looks like the recycling sign is the reblog.

Also here is your basket you put it on top of my light. I'm not sure why, because certainly you weren't trying to cover it. Right?

Anyway now that I have fixed that for you, we can have the conversation you seem so eager to have.

Firstly @roundearthsociety is correct. As they already told you, I said nothing about them being lovers. Tiny linguistics lesson, Gay-especially on tumblr- is used as an umbrella term for every sexuality that is not straight. All I said is that they were not behaving in a straight manner.

Secondly it is generally advised that you site your sources when making such statements. You seemed to have forgotten so I'll help you out, again. I believe you are referring to Leviticus 20:13.

As to the subject matter of Leviticus 20:13, it is an interesting verse to build your views on. Firstly there are some translation questions with regard to it. Both linguisticly and culturally. Secondly, how much of the Levitical code do you follow? Most Christians I know do not follow much, or any of it as we believe Jesus is the fulfillment of the law (Matthew 5:17).

Also, let's say you are right, for a minute. Let's say nothing's been lost in translation. Let's say that I was saying David and Jonathan were lovers. David wasn't exactly great at keeping the levitical code. In fact we're told pretty dang clearly in 2 Samuel 11 about him commiting adultery. We all know that's a big no no. Any one who knows the 10 commandments knows that. It's also covered in Leviticus 20, the chapter you're referencing. Jesus himself covers it (Matthew 5: 27-28).However he is still called a man after God's own heart (Acts 13:22). Please reread my original post, I wasn't justifying squat. I was making a statement on how things read.

But whether you are right or wrong, there's not much love or compassion in what you said. And we both know you could have said it better. Please think before you post.

I am trying to show love on this page. Whether you are part of the "God is love" crew or the "love is love" crew, you are welcome here. Bigotry is not. My user name is Wardrobe Warrior. I will fight for my siblings.

If you want to continue this conversation, please feel free to do so, but do it in a respectful manner.

( And yes, I put the screenshots in exactly as they were with all my tabs and such that were open, so you can see that I did not alter them)

As Paul said, "Grace and peace to you in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ" (Philippians 1:2)

There is no Heterosexual explanation for David and Jonathan

1 Samuel 18: 1

"As soon as he had finished speaking to Saul, the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul."

(https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1%20Samuel%2018%3A1-11&version=ESV)

I'm sorry, soulmates?

2 Samuel 1:26

"I am distressed for you, my brother Jonathan; very pleasant have you been to me;     your love to me was extraordinary,     surpassing the love of women."

(https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=2%20Samuel%201%3A26&version=ESV)

That last line there is so definitley straight. I can think of no straighter thing to say.

[rin-sith]

Following especially the latest season of Prodigy, I would just like to give a shoutout to Chakotay.

I actually liked him even back in Voyager, although he could definitely have been written better in that show. But then Prodigy came, and despite his limited screen time, that show did him SO well I can still barely believe it. And no, I'm not talking about how unexpectedly hot he looks in a cowboy hat ... That's the bonus cherry on top if anything.

If Prodigy proved anything (besides that it is now one of my favorite Star Treks of all time) is that Chakotay's earned that captain's chair, and so, so much respect.

I love how we get to see him be the selfless, dedicated, strong leader that he is and has always been, entirely disconnected from Janeway or any other legacy character. Now more than ever Chakotay and Janeway are just equally hardcore, badass captains who would give their lives for the greater good in an instant, and that's part of what makes them so great. Their equality, despite the different ranks, really came across in Prodigy more than ever before, which I loved to see.

Honestly, whenever I see Chakotay dismissed as a doormat or "best off as second in command" I just kind of rage a little. Even back in Voyager, it was pretty clear to me that he wasn't (for example, some people seem to forget that he was a captain originally and only became a first officer for the good of the Maquis crew.)

And now that we have Prodigy ... Even though we don't really see much of it on screen (which is a shame), I like reminding myself how, since the launch of the Protostar, he went through 12 (!) more years of (self-)sacrifice and (leadership) hell and managed to come out of that seemingly stronger and more certain of his place and himself than ever.

Even the events of "The Last Flight of the Protostar" aside ... Just think about how many life-altering, defining, difficult choices and sacrifices he had to make in those 12 years.

In the timeline that was averted, he sacrificed his only shot to get back home through the wormhole (the Protostar) to save the Federation from the weapon on board.

In the new timeline, he sacrificed himself by choosing to stay on that planet where he and Adreek landed, also for the sake of protecting the Federation from the weapon on the Protostar.

Chakotay was technically stranded in the Delta Quadrant twice (once with Voyager, once with the Protostar), and despite how abysmally things went on his first command, he never sacrificed his integrity or his dedication to Starfleet's values. He becomes a little grumpy over 10 years in solitude, but honestly, who wouldn't? And then the first thing he does after being rescued is take over Voyager-A and continue his service ... That's some dedication if I've ever seen it. I think he may have wanted to prove something there ... and honestly, he couldn't have succeeded more.

And no, he did not "teach" Dal that his place was "the second in command" ... On the contrary, he very likely showed Dal through his own competence and perseverance that Dal himself was simply not ready yet for such a responsibility.

He's just an extraordinary captain who has gone through things and made choices that very few others could have made. Choices like sending the Protostar back in time, that had the fate of the entire Federation depending on it.

I adore Prodigy in general, but one of the things I adore the most is that it finally shows us more of why Chakotay is not second to Janeway or to anyone. He's his own leader, his own character, and his own captain who deserves so much more acknowledgment.

Although, I still feel that we were robbed of some of Chakotay's best moments by not showing us the arrival of the Protostar on Solum and later the events preceding its (presumably) emergency landing on that planet where it stayed for ten years (honestly, I'd love for future Prodigy seasons to have maybe a flashback episode or two about the Protostar's maiden voyage and Chakotay's arrival on Solum and maybe later on that planet where he was stranded.)

Anyway, long rant over ... All I wanted to say was that Chakotay has more than earned the command of Voyager-A; seeing him in that chair made me very happy, I won't lie.

And I really hope if/when Prodigy gets more seasons, he'll be a more major character because he deserves a more central role.

[ilynpilled]

jaime turning women down constantly more bc he is very monogamous and in love with someone else right now for the first time and is also kinda scared of actually having sex with someone other than cersei is sm better to me than “i respect the kg vows of chastity so intensely rn actually because i changed into a good and serious person” or whatever lol

[cent-scratchnsniff]

something bad did indeed happen to that man. spent abt 25 minutes trying to find a better picture of that one (1) offical piece with his eyes open that wasnt compressed or tiny

[dykedvonte]

A Defense of Benny Gecko

Benny is more of a capable leader and person than people give him credit for.

Seeing as no one challenged his position as head Chairmen for 7 years and even then he only loses the position if he’s caught, killed or forced to leave. Yes, it’s also likely House wouldn’t have allowed him to be killed but he sure as hell would of found a way to remove him if he was causing too much unrest within The Tops power structure. Even Swank and Tommy don’t outright dislike him and more so are concerned with his recent secretive and shady behavior, emphasis on recent.

Taking all we know into consideration, Benny likely knew the future direction that he wanted to take Vegas but was so caught up in the plans to acquire Vegas that he didn’t think of how to make his dream a reality. Something he admits to in canon. I see this being used as the main argument that Benny doesn’t know what he’s doing at all but I see it more in the same vein as you can’t really plan something from nothing. The transformation of Vegas is a sensitive thing that he can’t really work on until he has it. The only reason he ran to the Fort prematurely is the Courier who was causing so much of a stir he would’ve likely been found out much faster, making all that planning for nothing if he didn’t take that chance.

Benny is careful (well a lot more careful than he is regularly depicted in fanon), the Courier being able to trace him was dumb luck on their part and his hair being noticed at the Fort is a realistically small oversight that even Caesar is disappointed in because he admits Benny got farther than he should’ve been allowed by his legionaries. The fact he can plan an ambush on the Courier or tries to quickly and concisely clean up lose ends that don’t lead back to him shows he’s not just acting on impulses or in the moment decisions. Or rather he’s quite good at thinking them out, whether they work depends on how you play really. This is all to say it’s 100% believable that Benny could lead an independent Vegas (house was basically setting him up to do that). If he had known explicitly that House was setting him up to replace him, he likely would’ve bought more time by getting in closer, learning more of the system to then flip House’s edge to his favor. Again something he was doing already but likely without the knowledge of House’s feelings on him personally.

No matter what, Vegas’ future was tied to Benny; House’s plans for him, having to get the chip and if he had somehow succeeded. It’s also interesting that of all the people vying for control of the dam/Vegas, Benny’s plans are the only ones actually oriented towards a new future, not a recreation of something long past.

[makotonaegiunderstander]

something I’ve been thinking abt is how many people think Makoto is immune to despair. I don’t think he is. I think becoming the ultimate Hope was BECAUSE he felt despair. He wouldn’t have fully reached that point without Junko. Makoto becoming such a beacon was his last attempt to avoid completely falling and it wasn’t because he didn’t feel despair, it was because he was too damn stubborn to allow everything to go to waste and he refused to sacrifice his beliefs for someone else’s. His inner monologue tells me he DID experience the same new low the other suvivors did in the final trial, but at the point where he had the choice to give up and die, he looked at the others and he looked at Junko and he couldn’t allow it to happen, not out of self preservation, but because the idea that Junko would have control over their lives made him FURIOUS. and that utter refusal to die kicked in, wether luck or otherwise, and he made the concious effort for one last push while something in him was breaking. He had to be broken in order for the Ultimate Hope to come through so aggressively, bc it could only exist in the face of the Ultimate Despair. He snapped the same way she did, but in the other direction. In what could have been his final moments he chose to embody everything Junko wasn’t, and every single optimistic and luck fueled ideal in him suddenly charged forward and pushed him. It was a combination of the final straw and a choice. Makoto isn’t immune to feeling despair, he’s just too stubborn to fall into it of his own volition. I think that’s why I like that scene in DR3 so much. People were SO SHOCKED Makoto actually fell for the tape, that he actually became despair for a moment. I saw people getting mad or disappointed, saying it was pathetic and Makoto seemed to fall from some sort of pedestal for them. Honestly part of me wonders if that sort of mentality, which clearly people had in universe, affected Makoto a bit. Like he started to see himself as less of a person, subconsciously. Prompting him to take more risks, less self preservation, act way more bold. It seems he has to be reminded a lot not to put himself in danger by his friends, to not do something too reckless. All over the place I would see in regards to that scene either this frivolous ‘oh this was just angst drama with no meaning behind it’ or ‘he can do better than that. he’s so weak’ or ‘come on, there’s no way he’d fall into despair, he’s the Ultimate Hope!’ This kind of mentality, which was kind of ironic considering Ryota was there the entire time saying the same thing and treating Makoto the same way. Like Makoto was superhuman. Like Makoto didn’t feel despair the same way ‘normal people’ did. In a way that was also how Munakata saw Makoto. Makoto stopped being a PERSON to the world when he became Ultimate Hope, he became a concept, a belief system, much the same way Junko ascended beyond herself. But the difference is that treating Makoto that way is the opposite of the reason Makoto became such a representative for hope. He wasn’t doing something no one else could. He was doing something everyone had the chance to, he just… was a little more optimistic, a little more stubborn, a little more ‘gung-ho’ about things. He just took the lead where no one else did, where no one else knew they even COULD in the face of Junko’s unstoppable force. She had overcome the biggest threats and obstacles in the world, what could one person do? And the answer Makoto found was, anything. Everything. It doesn’t all rest on Makoto, he’s just the one that was inspired to try to do what seemed like the impossible. But as evidenced by the change in his friends after that trial, it’s clearly not something only Makoto is capable of. The others pulled out of despair thanks to Makoto, but it was their choice to do so.

“But… this world is so huge, and we’re so small. What can we do…? No, we can probably do anything. Yeah! We can do anything!”