#or ruin enemies' weak points

[darklcy]

𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐭.

────˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚─────

‣ vi x reader | arcane masterlist | 1.9k words | enemies to lovers, angst, not super fluffy but happy end, mentions of low self esteem

‣ you assumed she hated you, but maybe it goes deeper than that when a fight has you taking shelter in her childhood home

‣ welcome back vi lovers! the arcane s2 brainrot is here and im back from my hiatus! (i hope you enjoy i may be rough i haven't written in a while)

Vi was too reckless for her own good.

Self-sabotaging can only carry you through so much, her invisible trophy wall of each violent encounter growing by the day. It was frustrating to see her do this, and yet every time a splotch of bruises formed, or a new line of blood dirtied her cheek, the more her perseverance began to crack. 

The pressure was abundant on her shoulders, you could practically feel it yourself. Whether she pulled you in, or you jumped yourself, the burden was also yours to carry. 

Sometimes you wondered if she disliked you. A simple question of well-being, how are you, earned a chilling glare and passive aggressive comments she meticulously crafted to falter your ego. Maybe she thought you were too weak to understand her pain, or perhaps it was the way your concern pushed through whatever bite she spat at you. 

Or maybe she just didn’t like you.

A bit ironic, seeing her sustainable relationship with the Enforcer from topside, the last person you would’ve thought her to be acquaintances with. And if you observed closer, Vi seemed to carry herself differently around her, this Caitlyn from Piltover. 

Though, there was credit to give. Her marksmanship was unlike anyone you’d ever seen in the lanes. She was light on her feet and agile, shooting her targets with perfect precision. No wonder she bore a badge proudly. 

And you were anything but a fighter. Maybe that’s why Vi looks at you the way she does. She’d marked you as a liability, vulnerable to the dangers of the world. It upset you, the way her nose scrunched up with her glares and cold shoulders. 

Who was she to judge you anyway? Every time you choose violence, you come out broken and bloody, so what’s the point? Whatever. Screw her and her opinions. Who the fuck needs her anyway. 

If only you’d fucked off when she told you to. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in this mess. Here. In the ruins of Vi’s childhood home, with a bloody nose and bruised cheek. With Vi. Damn your determination to prove her wrong. Damn those thugs for surrounding her completely, for not giving her a second to get back up. There was no stopping what was to come, that was clear the moment your bags were strewn hastily to the ground and shouts were thrown at her perpetrators. A sock to the face immediately took to the ground. The punk wouldn’t stop pounding hits to your face. Damn you, Vi.

Your pain wasn’t for nothing when Vi dragged herself up and freed you from his grip, knocking his ass to the concrete with a bloodied lip. Your vision was blurry as she took off running with her fingers tight around your wrist. When you stopped to breathe is when you realized your surroundings, confirmed with a stone marked with the names Power and Violet. 

The neon sign that previously towered over this ghost town had been toppled over and destroyed; half the foundations of the house torn to dust. The sight made you frown. The only remaining wall was to your left, sheltering a twin sized bed mattress with a tattered sheet on top. A groan to your side beckoned you to look over, watching as she shuffled to the mattress. In the distance, you could make out the faint echoes of yelling, the vast cliffs muffling the words together into a vague holler. 

“It’s probably best to sleep here. They’re not gonna leave anytime soon.”

Vi grumbled, not missing the hint of annoyance coming from her. She was laying on her side now, back to you and arms circling her stomach. You didn’t respond, instead trudging over to the bed and stiffly laying down beside her, back slightly grazing hers.

Neither of you spoke a word. 

It was hard to tell what she was feeling. She never was one to vocalize her thoughts, especially with you. With Caitlyn, maybe.

“...I didn’t need your help.”

Your shoulders tensed up. 

“I had control of everything. You just messed it all up.”

The fabric of the thin sheets acted as a stress reliever as you gripped tighter and tighter.

“...What the hell was I supposed to do? Seriously,”

“Not interfere? Now we’re stuck here.”

Today was not the day to be dealing with her attitude. You were sore, bloody, and in the worst mood possible to be treated like this. It didn’t help that her words stung, the bitterness stabbing into your open wounds.

“Well, maybe don’t pick fights with a group of guys who are clearly bigger and stronger than you.”

She snapped her body up and looked down on you.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

You rolled over to your back, glaring up at her.

“They were clearly stronger than you! If I hadn’t shown up who knows what the fuck they would’ve done?”

“Oh yeah? And what good did you do? Take a few swings to the face?”

You rolled your eyes, sitting up to be eye level.

“I mean, yeah?! If I hadn’t taken those punches, you would still be on that damn street!”

Vi mockingly put a hand over her heart. “My hero.”

“Fuck off.” You moved to shove her in the shoulder, but her hand snapped around your wrist. Her glare intensified, eyes turning sharp and nose scrunching up. All your anger drowned in a pool of nerves while her fingers tightened, the skin of your hand turning red. She leaned in uncomfortably close.

“You really wanna go there?”

Her eyes bore into yours, not faltering eye contact for even a second. 

You could feel the tension in your neck beginning to ache. You would never win against her, but the thought was intoxicating. After a few quiet seconds, you yanked your wrist back, her fingers marking red indents into your skin. 

She scoffed, nodding her head while moving away from you. “That’s what I thought.”

You wanted to beat her. You wanted to win, just once. 

“What the fuck is your problem anyway.”

Her sharp eyes flickered to yours. It intimidated you every time, like she was the big bad bully in school, teeth grazing her lips as she fought back the retaliation.

You pushed through. “...All I’ve ever done was just try to help. Yet here you are, always pissed at me for no damn reason. What have I done to make you hate me so fucking much?”

Her eyebrows pinched together for a breath of a second. “...Huh?”

You threw your arms up, shuffling forward and standing from the cushion. 

“Every single day, you treat me like I’m some helpless child, like I’m a fucking idiot who can’t do anything. I’m an adult, Vi. Just because I can’t fight doesn’t mean I can’t do anything, for fucks sake.”

She watched you pace throughout the empty house, her eyes heavy as lead. You huff.

“It’s like, every time I try to do anything, you look at me like I’m some stupid child who keeps messing up. I’m tired of it. Either tell me straight up or leave me alone.”

Your spine met stone as you slid down to the floor, her carved name above your head. 

Pulling your knees up, your chin fell to your chest, arms dangling across your kneecaps to finally give your body some rest. Didn’t feel like a victory, but the weight of her burden dissipated just by a little. You’d never snapped back before, never given yourself the strength to stand up to her. Enough was enough. You can’t live like this anymore.

Vi remained quiet, whether she was debating on arguing or not, you didn’t care. The fight of sleep was winning, and your eyelids began to slowly surrender.

“...I wasn’t going to do anything, yknow.”

They snapped back open.

“Earlier, I mean. I wasn’t actually gonna hurt you.”

You don’t move to face her. Vi continues.

“I don’t hate you, you just,” She sighs. “You do things that confuse the fuck out of me, and frankly it pisses me off.”

You scoff. “Like what?” 

“Like jumping into that fight. That was a dumbass move, and you know it.”

“Oh my god. How is that a dumbass move- I helped you out, didn’t I? Besides, I put myself there, why are you the one pissed off? I should be pissed off.”

“Yes. Yes, you should!” She stands up from the mattress to tower over you, her voice beginning to raise.

“You should be pissed off, because you got socked in the face and now, you’re stuck here. Why did you do that? That was so stupid.”

A pinch pulled your brows together. “Obviously I know what happened, I’m literally here. What point are you trying to get at?”

Vi shakes her head and runs a hand through her spiked, greasy hair. 

“Oh my god, I can’t believe how dense you are.”

You watch as she saunters over to the same name engraved stone to slide down the rock, her knees knocking with yours. She’s silent for a moment as you stare at her profile, the hint of a smirk coming up her lips.

“It’s stupid of you to concern yourself with me. It’s my problem, not yours.”

You still didn’t get it.

“But why does that piss you off?”

She turns towards you now.

“I know what I’m capable of. I know what I’m getting into. You don’t. You walked into a fight that wasn’t yours to begin with, and in return, you got hurt.”

“So…you’re mad that I got punched in the face?”

A groan leaves her falling chin. 

“I’m mad that you were there to begin with. I’m mad that you got hurt on my behalf, and I’m mad that you’re dragged into this mess. It’s my shit to deal with.”

She pauses to take a deep inhale. “And…I took my frustration out on you, and I’m sorry.”

The tensed muscles of anger faded from her apology, her eyes carrying a softness you’d never seen before. She was being genuine. Open. Vulnerable. 

You sighed with her. 

“Thank you.” 

The quiet that fell over you two now was pleasant. It was nice seeing Vi like this, being used to her thirst for arguing. Your head leaned back against the rock as you let your eyelids close once more. 

“How bad is it?”

Her fingers touch you softly before you peer up at her. She gazes at the blood smeared under your nose with a grimace, her pointer finger stroking the welt on your cheek. 

“It’s fine. Could be worse.”

She shakes her head. “...It’s my fault you got hurt.” 

You scoffed. “It’s completely mine. I’m the dumbass who jumped into a fight that wasn’t mine, remember?”

You smile at her despite the twang in your jaw. Her hand falls back to her side.

“My hero.”

Her lips upturned, the scar on her upper lip flashing itself at you. You don’t miss the way she falters for a moment, relishing the close proximity her face is to yours. Her fingers twitch by her thighs to touch your cheek again, but instead she smacks a hand on top of your head, gently ruffling your hair. 

She stands up to make way back to the bed. “Come to bed. You need rest, too.”

You haven’t moved just yet, the whirlwind of her processing slowly in your brain. Your skin felt hot under your cheeks, but as you shakily stood up to join her, you found the burden of her turning into something else. 

Vi was different, now. Good different. You liked this different. Laying down beside her on the mattress, you don’t turn away from her.

[waokevale]

Some Dwarf headcanons, since they're extremely underrated and deserve more love. (And lore)

I imagine them to be humanoid, but at the same time, very creature-like. Don't get me wrong, I love the idea of them just being like Marvin from Looney tunes and straight up having a pitch black face, but I wanted to play with something different. :>

They have thin fur but it does very little to protect them from the cold.

They have night vision and are nocturnal.

They can see very well in warm light, but struggle seeing shades of green.

They regularly visit floor 100 to keep up their ancestors' tradition of Lava eel fishing.

Speaking of lava eels, I'd like to imagine they eat them whole, like that one quote from the Canon-Friendly Dialogue Expansion mod.

They can survive in insanely hot temperatures and are relatively unharmed by lava, but they struggle a lot during Winter.

They are ectothermic or 'cold-blooded', their internal body temperature is similar to that of a reptile, hence why they're especially uncomfortable with cold temperatures.

Winter is actually when their kleptomania is at its highest peak. Due to the scarceness of supplies and foregables and their need to eat a lot more to keep up their body warmth.

They sleep very little and can't hibernate, so instead they have to rely on eating a lot more food than usual, since they burn energy insanely quickly.

Unlike shadow people, they become independent from their guardian a lot quicker. They mature quicker too, but they live significantly shorter. (Still about 20 times longer than a human though.)

They used to keep many stonefish pets throughout centuries, but gave up on raising them after the 53rd one died. (Yeah those don't exactly live very long...)

They were created in a laboratory, which soon thereafter came to ruin. – They don't remember anything of this time and don't know the whole story of their origins.

They're one of the youngest living members of their species.

They of course consume minerals on regular basis; those are very rich in elements which Smoluanu require to survive.

To be able to easily break open said minerals, their teeth are extremely sharp. Almost as hard as diamonds, although they don't use them very often and would rather grind them up with tools.

Their bone structure is at least 5 times harder than that of a human, except for their skull, which is their only true weak point. Hence why they only need to wear protection for their heads.

They have rat-like paw-pads on both their hands and feet to protect them from rough terrain, though they chose to wear clothes over them.

Part of the reason why Smoluanu wear clothes and helmets is to disguise themselves from their enemy. No shadow fiend has ever seen a Smoluanu without their disguise, or so they say...

If it were to come to that a Smoluanu has been spotted without their helm by a void spirit, they would immediately have to kill them. If it was a group of brutes however and they were cornered, they'd be forced to blow both themself and their enemies up.

Dwarf has been collecting the helms of their fallen brothers and sires and keeping them on a shelf as mementos and as a sign of respect for them. They sometimes bring tokens, which remind them of the fallen person and place them inside their helm.

They hope that one day, they'll be able to recover the lost secrets of their ancestors' technology. That's why they appreciate when the Farmer gives them artifacts. It makes them feel closer to their ancestors' history and adds another puzzle piece to their theory about them.

For now though, they like to tinker and make small gadgets, usually nothing as ambitious as Maru, but they sure are trying. ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

That's all I have for now. 👍

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

Hii !! From the smut prompts (stop rolling your eyes, I know Im predicatable!) could I request "Accidentally Sending Nudes", "Sexting" and... a secret third thing (the choice is yours, go hogwild) for Jason x Fat Fem Reader? I'm leaning more towards sub!reader but shes def a little shit about it :3

Thank you in advance if you write it !! 🌼

See, this is why it pays to send in a request with me, because even if I don't answer it right away, I keep requests in my inbox for months and come back to them later!!! (This is from December 2023)

(Also this request is just plain fun) (because Star knows exactly what buttons to push to get me lmao)

DC Titans Requests - OPEN

How would Jason react to you accidentally sending him a nude?

(Jason Todd x Fem!Thick!Reader)

Warnings: set specifically in the Titans!verse - set during season 3/mentions of season 3 plot points; spoilers for major plot points of Titans (including character deaths on the show); this is kind of enemies to lovers? (enemies to fwb, I guess); the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; the reader is described as being fat/plus sized; passing mentions of Gar x reader (I couldn't help myself); dubious consent - because of the nature of the trope, Jason sees the reader naked without her explicit consent, and he decides to keep the picture without her consent - but it does spark a consensual sexual relationship between them; passing mention of using nudes for blackmail (that does not happen); this isn't really proofread; (generally, I consider this post to be a fucking mess because it was written in Tumblr but I was still trying to have fun with it lmao.)

...

Jason is minding his own business when it happens.

(For once in life, he is fully, completely, minding his own business.)

He's back in Gotham and he hasn't seen you in months - and if asked, he would say that he hasn't thought about you. He doesn't have time to think about you because he's been too busy with this therapy bullshit, training, trying to get back his title of Robin. Trying to get back in the cape. (And trying to get back in Bruce's good graces.)

But that's not exactly true. He's thought about you a lot.

(Most of those times have been with his hand around his cock, but again - he won't admit that.)

There is an occasional time that you cross his mind and it's because he's wondering genuinely how you're doing - wondering if you're well, how your training is going, wondering if you're doing okay under the Dickhead's reign. But he can't ever pluck up the courage to text you and simply ask. Because that would be admitting that he cares, and that would make him look like a weak little prick.

And that's why he's so damn surprised when you text him first.

He hasn't heard from you since he left the Tower (well, since he stormed away from Donna's funeral in what you called a 'toddler fit' - something that ended in a rather vicious text argument between the two of you). In fact, the last thing in the text history between the two of you is you calling him a 'giant, petty, whiny baby who can't deal with his own emotions'.

(You had no clue what had happened between him and Rose, so that did inform a lot of your opinion on the matter.) (And that was probably the reason why Rose still had all of her teeth after you had seen her at the funeral.)

But all of that was aside from the point.

The point being - Jason found himself smiling when your contact name popped up on his phone.

He has you in his phone as 'Pretty Girl' - along with a contact picture of you sticking your tongue out at him in response to having his phone shoved in your face with the knowledge that he was taking a picture of you. (That tongue always makes him think certain things, so even though you intended for it to be some rude thing to ruin the picture, it makes it so much better for him.)

(1) new photo

That instantly catches Jason's attention.

Perhaps you were sending him a picture just to flip him off, or sending him a picture of a dumpster to ask him if it reminded him of home - a common joke you used to make when he still lived at the Tower.

Jason grabbed his phone and opened the message, expecting another tired joke, and-

Holy fuck.

The last thing he was expecting - your naked body. Your gorgeous naked body.

(He likely would have expected a nuclear blast or for the Joker to clean up his act and actually become a decent, sane citizen before he expected this to happen.)

Jason brought his phone closer to his face, making the picture full screen in order to examine it better - he needed to make sure that he wasn't hallucinating, or that this wasn't some weird dream. But fuck, he definitely wouldn't be able to dream up this.

You were so perfect - so fucking perfect in a way that was so very real.

The picture was a fucking stunning side profile of your body - rolling curves, lacy underwear that could clearly barely contain your impressive hips with sweet little stretch marks jutting out from the fabric (jagged little marks across the softness of your skin that made Jason want to act up) - soft fat for him to grab onto, and the perfect teardrop shape of your breast, now bared to his eye in a way that he had only dreamt of before. Something that he had stared at through the oversized tee shirts you wore to bed without a bra, just wondering what you looked like underneath.

And fuck, this was so much better than anything he could have dreamt up.

Jason's cock began to harden almost instantly, and laying in bed, he reached over to his nightstand for some lube, ready to milk that picture for all it was worth, when-

His phone buzzed again.

Pretty Girl: 'Delete that.'

Jason hadn't even considered that you had sent it to him by mistake. He had been far too busy enjoying to even consider the intention or the psychology behind it.

So, he took his hand off the waistband of his sweats and texted back the first thing that came to mind.

'No.'

(He didn't hear your annoyed growl on the other end, frustrated at his downright typical Jason behaviour.)

'It's not my fault you made a dumbass mistake. Besides, it's the least I get after all the nagging from you.'

Then, something else came to mind as the bubbles popped up, meaning you were busy formulating a reply - an annoyed one, no doubt.

'Who did you mean to send it to anyway? Who are you fucking whose name starts with J that's not me?'

(You hesitated.)

Pretty Girl: 'I didn't type in J.'

'???'

Pretty Girl: 'I typed in G. And it turns out the first contact that popped up was Giant Baby. That's you.'

Jason felt annoyed and insulted on all levels. The fact that you were going to Tiger Boy for dick instead of him, and the fact that you had used such a mocking contact name for him. But when he realised that such a pathetic string of events had caused him to accidentally see you naked, he couldn't be too upset.

'I'm still keeping the picture 😈'

Pretty Girl: 'You're such an asshole' Pretty Girl: ... Pretty Girl: 'You owe me one'

'Fine, I'll owe you one'

Jason shrugged it off, thinking he had won, until -

Pretty Girl: 'No, you owe me a cock.'

This made Jason's stomach jump. You couldn't possibly mean-?

Pretty Girl: ... Pretty Girl: 'You owe me a picture of your dick. You know - an eye for an eye type stuff.'

Jason wanted to ask questions - what did you plan to do with the picture? Should he shave his balls first? Did you want more than one?

But his cock got even harder at you asking for a picture, at you demanding to see his cock, and he couldn't properly think - he couldn't even reason that you might later blackmail him with the picture.

No, instead, he found himself ripping down his pants and turning on the bedside lamp for good lighting, pumping himself up to peak rigid hardness and grasping the base of his cock in hand. And then, without hesitation, he snapped a picture for you. He made sure to get his abs in the photo - a collection of his best assets, with his pants pulled down to mid-thigh, showing off his tight stomach, the deep V leading down to his dick, and his thick seven inch cock in hand surrounded by some well-kept dark pubic hair.

(He was proud of it - and that ego was one of the things that annoyed you most about him.)

He sent it without hesitation and then you began typing several times and stopped once again. Jason's stomach churned with nerves until -

Pretty Girl: 'Fuck you' Pretty Girl: 'I thought it would be smaller'

Jason had no clue how to respond to that, and he was busy racking his brain for some clever reply, when -

Oh. Oh fuck.

(1) new photo

You had sent him another picture. And this time it was definitely on purpose.

It was a view between the plump, beautiful thickness of your thighs - your hand was inside the pretty lace of those panties, and your fingers were visible working on your clit while your needy hole dripped wetness onto the fabric.

So you had liked what you had seen.

Pretty Girl: 'What would you do if you were here right now?'

Jason's brain short-circuited then. He thought of so many things - eating your pussy until you screamed, flipping you onto your stomach and fucking you until you begged him to stop, gripping onto those gorgeous thighs, pinning them to your chest and pounding into your cunt until you finally surrendered and said that you had liked him all along, fucking your smart little mouth to finally shut you up-

Pretty Girl: 'Come on, Jay. Don't disappoint me.'

Oh, he won't.

(Another thing Jason won't admit - he came back to the Tower just for you.)

...

DC Titans Masterlist

[nyxs2]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 10/?)

Any action can be justified, as long as the right words surround it. And, for your luck — or ruin — Silco was a master at turning manipulation into art.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 7,9K

Warnings: use of drugs as medicine (shimmer), description of injuries, suspicious medical operations, Singed is the warning itself, character near-death, threats, threats with weapons, explicit references to scientific experiments without consent, Silco POV

Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 9

Silco's Pov ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

The laboratory door was shoved open with such force that it slammed against the wall, the sound echoing through the cramped space and plunging everyone into silence. Silco entered, carrying the limp body in his arms, his muscles rigid, his eyes alight with restrained fury. Behind him, Sevika, always steady, now visibly shaken—a rare occurrence that Silco chose to ignore. He couldn't afford to consider the weakness of others when he himself was teetering on the edge of emotional collapse.

The metallic smell of blood and the dampness of rain still clung to his skin, a shadow of what he had just witnessed. The warehouse, that grotesque scene of carnage, remained vivid in his mind—a blur of bodies strewn about, blood-soaked chains, and her—his girl—standing at the center of it all, a living specter of death. He didn't know if the blood dripping from his arms was hers or that of her enemies. In that moment, it didn't matter.

He crossed the lab in firm, almost aggressive strides and placed the body on the metal table. The sound of the soft impact made his jaw clench; she looked so fragile lying there, in stark contrast to the devastating force he had witnessed minutes earlier. He brushed the damp hair away from her face, his fingers trying to remain steady but trembling ever so slightly.

He had considered every possibility when he enlisted Singed, more specifically his skills, for a potential operation before the night's invasion. If she were injured, immediate intervention would be crucial. He knew his own hands, steady enough to suture a superficial wound or apply a tourniquet, were not equipped for more complex procedures. Singed, on the other hand, had neither moral nor physical limitations preventing him from doing what was necessary.

And that was precisely what Silco needed now.

Sevika began strapping her arms and legs to the table, following instructions Silco had given before they even arrived, to prevent her from moving during the procedure should she regain consciousness. Still, seeing her restrained, vulnerable, made something churn in his stomach—something he ignored with practiced ease.

Silco stepped back, watching as Singed inspected the injuries. The doctor was meticulous, his deft fingers peeling back torn fabric to expose the wounded shoulder. The blood still flowed, though less now, congealing into dark patches that Silco had to look away from momentarily to rein in his rising anger.

"The shoulder wound is deep but not fatal." Singed began, his voice controlled and almost indifferent. His eyes moved over the rest of her body, examining the cuts and bruises. "The bruising is of no concern. The nasal bleeding suggests severe exhaustion. But..."

Singed's rare furrowed brow immediately caught Silco's attention. He stepped closer again, leaning over the doctor, his gaze burning with an implicit threat.

"But what?" Silco demanded, his voice sharp as a blade.

"There's something unusual here." Singed said, pointing to her hands, still bearing the marks of the chains' grip. "The adrenaline levels are far beyond normal, even for a combat situation. This isn't just physical exhaustion. She's pushed past the natural limits of the human body. Forced the muscles, the organs... even the heart. Anyone else would have been dead hours ago."

"But she isn't." Silco interrupted, his voice cutting. His eyes gleamed with determination, and there was something else — something deeper, more dangerous. "She will not die."

Singed lifted his gaze to Silco, his eyebrows knit in what seemed to be a mix of irritation and fascination. "It's impressive, to be sure. However, if you want her to stay alive, certain... methods may be required."

"Do whatever is necessary." His voice was low and grave, laden with an authority that brooked no argument. He turned to Singed, who approached with his characteristic inhuman calm. "Everything. No restrictions."

Singed cast a brief, analytical glance at Silco, as if evaluating the intensity of that command. "I believe I can stabilize her quickly." he replied, his tone almost casual. He began preparing his instruments, pulling a metal table stocked with medical devices. Before doing anything further, however, he held up a syringe containing a greenish liquid, a sedative, and handed it to Sevika, though his eyes remained fixed on Silco.

"But it will be... grotesque." Singed said, with the cutting precision that defined him. "And considering your... close relationship with her, you might not handle it well."

Silco's teeth clenched tightly. The insinuation was obvious, and Singed seemed to take a certain amusement in testing his limits. But this was not the time for confrontations. The anger simmered beneath his skin, as always, but he controlled it, only because he had to. That didn't stop him from issuing a threat.

"Choose your words more carefully, doctor."

Sevika, always the voice of reason, stepped forward. "The longer you waste time here, Silco, the faster she dies." The syringe was still in her hand, and the weight of logic in her words was enough to make him stop.

Silco cast one last lethal glare at Singed before turning abruptly, grabbing and dragging a chair closer to the table. He sat down, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped in front of his face, as if holding his fury in check through sheer force of will. His eyes, however, never left her body. Sevika, meanwhile, positioned herself behind him, keeping a silent vigil over Silco as Singed began to remove the bullet from her shoulder.

Silco remained still, but the tension in his shoulders was palpable. He wouldn't look away, no matter what came next.

Somehow, this was all he could do for her now: be there. And in the grim silence of the laboratory, he made a silent promise. If she survived, those responsible for this would pay with interest. And if she didn't survive... well, the promise would still be fulfilled. In blood.

The sound of the small projectile hitting the metal tray was like a hammer striking Silco's already frayed nerves. He watched impassively, though the slight tremor in his leg betrayed the mounting tension in his body. Every meticulous movement of Singed was a test of his patience; every second seemed to drag on. The needle pierced her flesh with almost inhuman precision as the scientist stitched the wound. Each pull of the thread made her skin twitch, and Silco felt as though it were his own shoulder being sewn back together.

When Singed reached for the next syringe, Silco already knew what was coming.

The purple gleam of Shimmer in the cold laboratory light was unmistakable. Silco felt his muscles tense even further. He knew exactly what would come next—he had witnessed it countless times before, and he himself knew all too well what it felt like, even if only briefly. The agonized screams, the contorted flesh, the muscles locked in unbearable strain.

He saw the needle pierce her vein. The purple liquid slid in, merging with her blood, vanishing from sight. Silco gritted his teeth, bracing himself for the inevitable. He knew what was about to happen. The scream. The desperate gasping. The body writhing, struggling against the unstoppable.

But none of that happened.

The room remained silent, so heavy that even the sounds of Zaun in the early hours of the morning seemed distant, muffled. Silco leaned forward, his brow furrowed. He watched her chest, waiting for it to rise and fall erratically, to show any sign of reaction. But she remained still, like a statue carved from marble. Silco caught a glance at Singed, a rare expression of confusion crossing the scientist's face. This wasn't what was expected.

When the man leaned down to check her pulse, time seemed to slow. It was a simple gesture, something that should have been over in seconds. But Singed lingered too long, his fingers pressing against her neck as his face remained impassive, his gaze lost in some distant point.

"Speak, Singed!"

When Singed finally did speak, Silco wished he had stayed silent.

"No pulse."

For a moment, Silco remained frozen, his eyes fixed on her face. There was something terribly wrong about seeing her like this, so still, like a broken doll. Her breathing, something he'd always thought constant and immutable, was now gone. And with it, it felt as if all the air in the room had been drained away.

He stood up without thinking, the chair behind him toppling over with a dull thud. His hands found the metallic edge of the stretcher, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Silco leaned over her body, searching for any sign of life, any movement, but all he found was cruel inertia.

But soon the shock was swallowed by a wave of fury. The rage surged like an uncontrollable wildfire, consuming every rational thought. He lifted his gaze to Singed, his eyes blazing with a dangerous intensity, like embers fed by pure hatred. Somewhere deep in his mind, he knew it wasn't the scientist's fault. He knew Singed had done everything in his power. But in that moment, logic didn't matter. He needed a target, something to unleash the anger that threatened to devour him.

Moving quickly, Silco advanced. His hand was already outstretched, ready to grab Singed by the collar and drag him to the ground, but he froze mid-motion.

Something stopped him.

A firm pressure around his neck.

Her hand.

That same hand which, just seconds earlier, should have been limp and lifeless, now gripped him with superhuman strength. He felt her fingers tighten further, nearly crushing his windpipe. The straps that had once bound her to the gurney were now shredded, hanging like torn pieces of cloth. Her arm trembled slightly, as though acting purely on instinct, but the power emanating from that grip was brutal.

The world around him seemed to shrink, becoming an indistinct blur of shadows and cold lights. The crushing pressure around his throat was all Silco could register. Every breath was a losing battle, each attempt to draw air another step closer to despair. He had felt this before. The grip of fingers around his neck, cruel and unyielding, awakened memories he'd rather leave buried.

Vander.

For a brief moment, he wasn't in the stifling, tension-laden laboratory. He was back at the river, cold water lapping at his face as calloused, determined hands tried to wrest his life from him. Silco felt the same desperation, the same primal panic that had taught him a bitter lesson: survival required more than strength—it demanded conviction.

But this wasn't Vander.

Her eyes, once so alive, now glowed with a cold, empty white, as though some strange force had torn her soul away and left only a violent husk. There was nothing human in that gaze, no spark of the woman he had known. Only raw, merciless strength, now squeezing his throat with the promise of imminent death.

Her fingers were claws, digging into his flesh. Pain radiated in waves, but Silco didn't look away. Even as darkness began to creep into the edges of his vision, he refused to blink, to give in. A sudden movement to his side caught his peripheral attention, even as his sight started to blur. Sevika. He saw her move, syringe in hand, and in an instant, she plunged it into the woman's neck.

The effect was almost immediate. The grip on his throat loosened, and Silco fell forward, gasping, gulping air in desperate, ragged breaths. He pressed a hand to his neck, feeling the sharp pain from the pressure her fingers had left behind. His lungs burned as they tried to make up for the lack of oxygen. When he finally managed to lift his gaze, she was collapsing, her body going limp as if the string holding her up had been cut. The arm that had once gripped him with such force now hung lifelessly at her side.

"Interesting." Singed murmured, leaning closer for a better look, the gleam of fascination in his eyes growing stronger. "Perhaps the shimmer triggered some dormant reaction in her blood. That would explain the initial absence of vitals and the sudden attack. It might have acted as a reagent."

Silco raised his gaze from where he knelt, his hand still resting on his neck as he struggled to steady his breathing. At first, he didn't understand what Singed was trying to say.

"It's the first time I've seen anything like this." Singed continued, his tone almost fascinated. "No rejection. On the contrary... it's as if her body has assimilated the shimmer, incorporating it naturally."

Silco didn't respond immediately. Instead, his gaze fixed on her once more. Now, her chest rose and fell with regularity, the rigid lines of pain and tension on her face softened by stabilization. The contrast was almost disconcerting, considering the deplorable state in which she had arrived.

He then noticed Singed's gaze on him, an inquisitive glint that Silco knew all too well. "Sevika." Silco said abruptly. "Return to The Last Drop. Make sure things don't spiral out of control while I'm here."

Sevika hesitated for a moment, the concern evident on her face, but eventually complied. She let out a low sigh before leaving, the heavy metal door closing behind her with a resounding clang.

"You found her." said the other man in the room, almost accusatory. "I thought she'd been dead... for years."

"So did I." Silco replied, his voice lower, almost introspective. His eyes wandered back to her. "We were both wrong."

Singed picked up a scalpel and pointed to the stitches he had made on her shoulder.

"Look." Singed leaned in closer, his tone almost too clinical, as though he were discussing a machine. "The tissue is already healing, and I believe her internal organs are beginning the same process. If her body continues to react this way, it's likely she'll be fully functional in a few days. It all depends on how sustained the regeneration is. But I recommend administering small amounts of shimmer to stimulate what's already in her bloodstream."

Silco nodded slightly, the motion short and nearly imperceptible. It was always Singed's universal solution, yet the idea of introducing more of that substance into her body unsettled him in a way he couldn't quite explain.

Singed, of course, either didn't notice — or cared even less.

"I assume you'd like to start the research immediately, correct?" Singed leaned over to organize his instruments, his voice almost casual. "Now that we finally have access to her, I can collect some blood samples. If I start the research now, I should be able to replicate her genetic formula within a few months. A significant breakthrough, considering the potential it could unlock."

The words lingered in the air, laden with a weight Silco did not want to bear. He ran a hand over his face, then through his hair, feeling the pressure pulsing in his temples. Years ago, he wouldn't have thought twice. Having access to what she represented was the key to something greater, something he desperately sought—to make Zaun into something Piltover feared. That was why he had searched for her in the first place.

And it was also why the crushing sense of failure when he heard of her death had felt like a blade piercing through his resolve. Days, weeks of anguish gnawed at him, but eventually, he moved on. He buried the weight of that obsession under layers of new plans, new strategies. Until that damned day at the brothel when he found her—like a ghost. Like a specter torn from a nightmare or a dream, she was there, alive.

That fragile, motionless body now seemed so distant from the storm raging in his mind. He was not a man prone to sentimentality or hesitation. Since taking control of Zaun, his choices had been driven by logic, necessity, and, above all, ambition. But now... now, it was different.

He had allowed something he had sworn never to do again: to care.

She should have been just another piece on the board, a means to an end. That's how Silco saw the world. Every person, every action, existed to serve him, to help him achieve his goals. But she defied that logic. There was something about her—her strength, her resilience, perhaps even her stubbornness—that had pierced through the walls he had so carefully built over the years.

And it infuriated him.

He couldn't afford to falter. There was too much at stake, and he knew that any emotional attachment was a weakness that could be exploited. Yet, as he watched her, her features softened by induced sleep, Silco felt a pang of something he couldn't define. It wasn't just concern; it was possessiveness. She wasn't just important to his plans. She was important to him.

"Begin the research." his voice came out firmer than he expected, a stark contrast to the turmoil within him. "Keep this under strict secrecy. To anyone else, it's just medical monitoring until her full recovery."

Singed nodded without question, moving mechanically to prepare another syringe. The scientist didn't care about the emotional or political intricacies of the situation. To him, she was a case to solve, an experiment to conduct.

He didn't take his eyes off her. There was something almost ironic about how peaceful she looked now, lost in that dreamless sleep where nothing could reach her — not pain, not despair, not even him.

Silco was a selfish man. Ambitious. Those words had been used to describe him so many times that he had embraced them as part of who he was. But he was also a man of conviction. And that conviction drove him forward, compelled him to do whatever was necessary to achieve his goals, no matter the cost. He believed in it. Zaun needed to believe in it. And now, she would need to believe in it too.

He would convince her. He would show her that everything he did was justifiable, that the ends always justified the means. He would make her see that the true enemy wasn't him, but those who lived above — the wretched people of Piltover, who had oppressed Zaun for so long. They were responsible for everything. For her wounds, for the blood she had spilled, for the suffering that bound them together.

Silco leaned in, letting his fingers trace her face in a tender caress.

He would shape her. She would become something they feared. Something they could never destroy again.

Just like him.

[...]

Seven days.

Seven damned days.

Time seemed to have acquired a rhythm of its own, dragging on like dead weight. For Silco, every second since she had entered that comatose state had become a needle stabbing beneath his skin, a constant reminder of something slipping beyond his control.

Silco hadn't slept in four days. Sleep was a dispensable necessity, something he replaced with sheer determination and generous doses of whiskey and bitter coffee. His mind remained occupied with work—constant updates from Sevika and Singed, Jinx's occasional explosions that decimated critical parts of his operations, and the ever-growing pile of administrative problems that never seemed to shrink.

The weight of exhaustion seemed to triple as soon as Silco crossed the threshold of his office. The wood, so familiar, felt suffocating, as though it had absorbed his weariness. Each step toward the chair was labored, his muscles protesting the effort. When he finally sat, a heavy sigh escaped him, echoing in the silent room.

The lack of sleep was nothing new, but the last few days had tested the limits of his endurance. His mind, so sharp under normal circumstances, now felt like a whirlwind of disconnected thoughts, as if every idea had to wade through dense fog before taking shape. Fatigue pressed on his shoulders like an invisible weight, and irritation simmered beneath the surface, ready to explode at the slightest provocation.

He rubbed his temples with his fingers, pressing his eyes shut in a futile attempt to clear his mind. The torturously long nights blended together, with no clear beginning or end, and he wondered how much longer he could maintain this insane routine before his body finally gave out.

But there was no choice. Not while she remained in that state.

Thinking of her brought a wave of frustration and restlessness that he couldn't suppress. Her body was healed—the shimmer injections had done their job impeccably, regenerating even the smallest damages in record time. Singed, to Silco's annoyance, had been right about the treatment's effectiveness. But what Silco couldn't bear was the fact that, despite everything, she still hadn't woken up.

This waiting was wearing him down.

She now slept in his room—a practical decision, or at least that was what he told himself. Keeping her close made it easier to monitor any changes, allowed him to personally check every detail of her condition. But deep down, he knew it wasn't just that.

He had to admit, the sight of her there, in his bed, was something he would normally find... pleasant. Almost comforting. But under the current circumstances, the context made any such satisfaction impossible. She was there, but she wasn't.

Silco leaned back in the chair, letting his head rest against the backrest. His gaze fixed on the ceiling for a moment, and slowly, the burden of keeping his eyes open became a weight he no longer cared to bear.

━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

The ceiling was bare, devoid of any detail that might catch your attention, yet you stared at it anyway. Your mind was active, buzzing with questions, while your body seemed trapped in a state of lethargy. It was as if you were floating somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, your thoughts insistently blending together. How long had it been since your last concrete memory? Days? The warm sensation of an embrace was the last thing that lingered before the void.

You tried to move your hands, feeling your fingers curl with some difficulty, as if every muscle had rusted. A deep inhale brought the scent of the room into sharp focus: alcohol, cigarettes, and something metallic in the air—a clear sign of where you were. Yes, The Last Drop.

With effort, you shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. At first, your legs didn't cooperate. Your initial attempt to stand was clumsy, your knees trembling under the weight of your own body. But you persisted, and on the second try, you managed to steady yourself.

Only then did you allow yourself to take in the room around you. It was functional, simple, devoid of personality or any attempt at making it feel welcoming. Minimal, practical furniture—just enough to serve its purpose. However, the balcony caught your attention. As you moved toward the opening, you realized it overlooked the interior of The Last Drop—directly above the club. The bar, the dance floor, every detail below seemed meticulously positioned to be visible to whoever owned this space.

And you had little doubt who that was.

Leaning against the railing, your eyes scanned the scene. Lights pulsed in rhythm with the muffled music that reached you even up here. A sense of familiarity and unease traveled down your spine. This wasn't a place you wanted to be, but it was the closest thing to "home" you had left.

You then moved to a nearby mirror to check your appearance. You lifted the hem of the shirt you were wearing, revealing the smooth surface of your stomach. No sign of cuts or bruises—not that you had really expected any. But something felt off. Your body felt... strange. As if something had changed, something beneath the surface you couldn't quite identify. It was as though everything either responded too quickly or too slowly, like a suit tailored improperly. You tried to dismiss the discomfort, chalking it up to the simple fact that you had nearly died—again.

It was almost comical, in a way. Every time it seemed like death had finally come to claim you, something or someone always pulled you back.

You moved toward the door—or what you assumed was one. There were no clear markings, just a discreet handle breaking the uniformity of the wall. The wood creaked faintly under your hand as you pushed it, revealing Silco's office in all its familiar, somber atmosphere.

And there he was, naturally, at the desk. Silco, slumped against the chair at an angle that looked uncomfortable even for someone like him, someone seemingly accustomed to discomfort. His head was tilted to the side, his eyes closed, his body relaxed in a way that was almost unsettling. He was asleep.

You stepped into the room with light, almost soundless footsteps. Your bare feet made no noise, as if you were afraid of breaking the rare moment of calm. Only after stepping away from the door did you notice something that had previously gone unnoticed: the entrance to the room was nothing more than a false wall. A small, discreet pull handle blended into the surrounding irregularities. If you hadn't just come through it, you never would've noticed.

Clever.

Close to the office, functional for someone like Silco, but also strategic. A possible escape route, if needed.

Your eyes returned to him, caught in a sleep that seemed as rare as gold. He'd also been asleep the last time you saw him. You moved closer, hesitant, with the words he'd spoken when you fainted in the warehouse lingering in your mind like a persistent shadow. During those fleeting moments when you were semi-conscious, although it was more like sleeping, you could still remember. It was as though he was there, speaking to you. Not in dreams, but on the threshold of reality.

You could swear you heard him.

Silco had spoken, perhaps believing his words were nothing more than echoes lost in the void, but they stayed with you. In moments of delirium, you felt the weight of sentences laden with a concern he would never openly admit. And on a few rare occasions, you could almost swear you'd felt a touch on your face. Hesitant, fleeting, like a breeze barely noticeable before it vanished.

He had been an anchor. While you fought not to succumb to your own mind, he had remained there. And now, as you watched him sleep, that realization felt overwhelming.

You stopped a few steps away from the chair, unsure of what to do. Part of you wanted to touch his shoulder, wake him, tell him you were fine — or at least try to convince him of that. But the other part, the one still harboring resentment and distrust, hesitated. So, you decided to come up with a third option. But, of course, something went wrong.

It all happened too quickly for you to react. One second, you were adjusting the strand of hair that insisted on falling over his face, and the next, your hand was being gripped tightly, your body shoved against the desk. The impact reverberated down your spine, and something cold and sharp pressed dangerously against your throat.

Silco stared at you, his eyes blazing with fury, but there was something else there, an emotion hidden behind the intensity. Anger? Fear? Whatever it was, it swirled in a chaotic storm as wild as his uneven breathing. And then, as if an invisible thread had snapped, something shifted. The anger in his eyes was replaced by palpable shock, and then by something deeper: realization. The blade's pressure on your throat eased, still present but without the imminent threat from before.

A smile formed on your lips, defiant and slightly teasing, even as your heart pounded in your chest. "Is that how you welcome someone?"

Your hand, ignoring the danger, rose again, and your fingers gently brushed over the scars on his face. The rough texture of his skin told stories you didn't know, yet there was a curiosity in your touch, a silent acceptance.

"You haunted me even in my sleep, you know?" you continued, your tone softer now, almost a whisper. "I didn't know you were the talkative type when no one's looking."

And yet, Silco remained silent, his muscles taut as if he were waging an internal battle.

Then, with a movement that nearly stopped your heart, he drove the dagger into the desk, the blade embedding itself in the wood mere inches from your head. The sound echoed through the room, the vibration rippling across your skin like distant thunder. You opened your mouth to protest, ready to comment on how close he'd come to hitting you, but the words died in your throat.

Shock froze you for a second. The kiss was urgent, hungry, as if he were desperate for something only you could provide. His strength kept you pinned against the desk, one hand braced beside your head while the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. You felt his body against yours — the weight, the heat. He kissed you like a man on the edge of despair, as if that moment was the only thing keeping him alive. His lips moved against yours with an almost overwhelming intensity, stealing the air from your lungs before you even realized you were breathless.

He tasted of restrained fury and something profoundly human, something he likely wouldn't admit even to himself. Your hands instinctively rose to his shoulders, gripping tightly as you tried to reclaim some semblance of control over the situation.

But there was no control here. Not in this moment.

His hand slid up your back, his fingers pressing against your skin with a firmness that left no room for doubt. He was everything you could feel—the heat, the strength, the overwhelming weight of his presence. And yet, there was something more. Something that wasn't anger or need, but something deeper, more visceral.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Silco pulled his mouth away from yours, but not completely. He kept his forehead resting against yours, your irregular breaths mingling in the narrow space between you. The heat of the moment still hung in the air as he fought to regain a shred of composure. His eyes, those unmistakable, vibrant irises, opened—cloudy and unfocused—staring at you with an intensity that almost seemed to burn.

"Talking too much, dove." he murmured hoarsely, his voice rough and gravelly, still heavy with the intensity of the kiss. "Not that I expected anything less from you."

A faint, ironic smile tugged at the corners of his lips, revealing the arrogant bastard you knew so well. But there was something else there. An unexpected softness, a rare tenderness that caused faint wrinkles to form at the edges of his eyes, breaking the usual coldness of his expression.

You rolled your eyes and let out a low laugh, the provocation slipping from your lips with ease.

"And this is the part where you admit you missed me."

Silco's eyes flickered at your teasing, a mix of surprise and something deeper, almost gentle, flashing in their depths. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you, one brow arching in an expression that was equal parts exasperation and amusement.

"Missed you?" his voice carried a tone of disbelief that fooled no one. "You should be grateful you're still alive, you reckless woman."

Despite the harshness of the words, there was no real severity in them. On the contrary, there was genuine relief beneath his firm facade—a relief intertwined with something that resembled fear and gratitude. All of it mingling together in a cocktail of emotions that Silco probably didn't know—or didn't want—to express.

His hand, still firm on your hip, didn't ease its grip, as though he needed it to ensure you wouldn't disappear again. But the other rose to your jawline, tracing a gentle line along it with his thumb. It was an almost reverent touch, contrasting with the strength of his hold. His eyes traced every curve of your face, lingering on the details as if he wanted to commit them to memory, perhaps afraid this chance might not come again.

"I've got a pretty good guardian angel."

You teased back, making Silco let out a low, bitter laugh, shaking his head slightly.

"I think I might have missed your insolent mouth." The arrogance returned to his eyes, but this time it carried a peculiar warmth. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against the sensitive skin of your ear as he murmured, "But don't think for a second that means I'll go easy on you, dove."

His words were followed by a light nip at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the delicate skin. The gesture carried a hint of playfulness but also an intimacy that spoke of something deeper, something the two of you shared without needing to put it into words. There was a charge in the air, a mutual understanding that said more than any conversation could. He was Silco, a complicated man, and you knew that nothing with him would ever be simple. This tenderness hid something. It was laying the groundwork for something you already knew you'd hate.

"I wouldn't expect any less from you."

You replied with a touch of provocation, your words carefully chosen to echo his from moments earlier. The slight smirk on your lips was defiant, but you knew your attitude would only irritate him more. And it worked. Silco sighed, a deep and exasperated sound that seemed to convey everything without the need for words.

"For God's sake."

He pulled back slightly, relieving just enough of the weight pressing down on you for you to catch your breath, but not enough to allow any chance of escape. The arm he braced against the desk beside your head felt like a barrier, while the other rested near your waist, a constant, dominating presence. It was a minimal concession, but an intentional one—a reminder of who still held control of the situation.

The two of you remained like that for a long moment, the silence broken only by the uneven rhythm of your breathing and the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the office. Silco's eyes were locked onto yours, and it was impossible to ignore the intensity in his gaze, as if he was trying to extract answers from you with sheer will alone.

Finally, he broke the silence.

"Why did you run?"

The question came out low, almost a whisper, but it carried a tension that didn't need volume to be felt. He tilted his head slightly to the side, his expression a mixture of frustration and something you couldn't quite place. Perhaps disappointment.

"Why would you put yourself in such danger, knowing full well the risks? You're no defenseless damsel, so don't try to tell me you did it by accident." His tone was firm, but not without reason. "You made a choice, and you chose to leave. So I want to know why."

You knew this moment would come, but you never imagined it would be like this. The situation was so absurdly contradictory — an interrogation at his desk, with your bodies in alarmingly close proximity — that the context almost distracted from the implicit danger in his words. Silco had always been a man of control, and the idea that you had defied him to the point of running seemed to deeply unsettle him. A small part of you felt a flicker of satisfaction.

You opened your mouth, trying to formulate a coherent response, but nothing came. Part of you knew he was right. If you hadn't made that impulsive decision, the abduction would never have happened. Ultimately, you were to blame for putting yourself in this position. But that didn't absolve him of his share of the guilt.

"I don't know..." you said casually, diverting your gaze from his eyes for a brief moment. "A momentary lapse of judgment that went horribly wrong. That's all..."

The instant you saw the shift in Silco's expression, you knew you'd made a mistake. It wasn't a subtle change. It was as though a silent storm had swept through him, extinguishing any remaining trace of patience. The grip on your waist tightened, and you felt his fingers press into your skin like sharp claws — a silent warning. The glint in his eyes was unmistakable, a mix of disdain and admonishment, as if he were deciding, in that very moment, what kind of lesson he would teach you for your evasive answer. You knew this was only the beginning.

"I don't appreciate lies." he said, his voice smooth as silk but laced with a hidden edge. It was the kind of tone that made your stomach twist, a subtle warning that you were treading on thin ice. He leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against your skin, and you could feel the implicit threat in the proximity. "Least of all from you."

The weight of his words hit harder than you expected, their meaning hanging in the air, inescapable. He was dead serious.

"The last person who tried to deceive me..." Silco paused, his tone dripping with cruel irony. "Didn't meet a very pleasant end."

The pause he allowed was long enough for the gravity of his words to sink in, settling in your chest like a heavy stone. His grip on your waist grew even tighter, as if to reinforce the point that he could squeeze harder, both literally and figuratively.

"I'd hate for history to repeat itself."

You stared at him, refusing to look away, even as the weight of the tension between you grew heavier. Silco had this almost supernatural ability to turn every word and gesture into a minefield. The hostility that always seemed to simmer beneath the surface between the two of you was beginning to emerge — quiet but undeniable. It was a violence that didn't need words or actions to manifest; it existed in every glance, in every movement, and in the deafening silence that filled the space between sentences.

It was like a shadow in the corner of the room. Always there, always present. You knew it wouldn't disappear, no matter how many lights were turned on. If anything, the darkness only seemed to give it more space to grow.

"Are you threatening me, Silco?"

Silco's smile was a spectacle in itself, but not in any comforting or reassuring way. It wasn't a smile born of genuine humor, much less kindness. A tight pull of his thin lips, almost mechanical in precision, exposing his chipped teeth as each word left his mouth. There was something about the way that smile lingered on his face that sent a chill down your spine—a visceral reminder of who he was.

"Am I?" He tilted his head slightly to the side, almost innocent, but the sarcasm in his voice gave him away. "Oh, I thought I was merely offering a simple observation, dove. You know, a little advice, from one... friend to another."

He pronounced "friend" with a clarity that felt unbearable, savoring every syllable as if the word itself was laced with poison. The sound of it carried acidic venom, a curse disguised as courtesy.

"Friends?" you teased, tilting your chin upward and leaning closer to him again, letting the weight of the suggestion hang in the air between you. Silco didn't back away. He allowed the proximity, but the gesture was accompanied by an almost imperceptible movement: the hand that had rested on your waist slid away, as if he already knew what was about to happen.

Your eyes caught the detail, but you refused to be deterred. The hand resting on the table moved subtly, almost instinctively, until it neared the dagger Silco had embedded in the wood moments earlier.

"I thought we were past this part."

And then, in one swift, precise motion, you pulled the dagger from the wood and spun it, pointing it directly at his neck. The blade's gleam caught the room's light for a split second, but any sense of triumph you might have felt evaporated just as quickly. Before you could even process what was happening, you felt the unmistakable cold steel of a gun barrel pressing against your chin.

"Getting predictable, dove? I thought you were better than that."

Silco's voice was a low, sharp whisper, dripping with that infuriating confidence that always seemed to follow him. He tilted the revolver slightly, forcing your chin higher. The gesture was as casual as it was cruel, a clear demonstration that he was in control of the situation, even with the blade dangerously close to his throat.

But you didn't back down. On the contrary, your fingers tightened around the hilt of the dagger, and you felt the blade press even closer against Silco's neck. One slight movement, and it would all be over. You saw his throat bob as he swallowed, the subtle tension in his muscles betraying that, no matter how composed his face remained, he could feel the danger.

"You're far too confident, aren't you?" Your voice came out low, carrying an almost theatrical calm. You pressed the blade harder against him, feeling the faint resistance of his skin. "I could kill you right now... you saw what I did in my apartment, didn't you?"

"You could." Silco replied, tilting his head slightly as if offering you a better angle. "But you won't."

"And how are you so sure of that?"

Silco, being Silco, seemed to revel in the danger. He leaned forward slightly, closing the distance between you until you could feel the heat of his body against yours. Your heart raced, and it wasn't just from the threat of the weapon pointed at you. It was the entire moment: the suffocating proximity, the piercing gaze, the way he commanded every second of the situation.

"You don't hesitate." he whispered, his lips dangerously close to yours. "So, I wonder, why did you hesitate that night?"

The words hit you like a blow, catching you completely off guard. He knew. How, you had no idea, but he knew what had happened that night, just before your escape. You blinked, trying to process it, but before you could form a question, the distinct click of a revolver being cocked snapped you back to reality.

And then he fired. Without hesitation.

The dry click echoed in your ears, and your body flinched instinctively, taking a moment longer to realize there was no bullet in the gun. But Silco didn't seem to care; in fact, a faint smile formed on his lips, as if he'd merely proven a point.

"You had my loaded gun and no one to stop you. What made you change your mind?"

"How did you—"

"Just answer."

Curiously, something inside you gave way. Without fully understanding why, you let the dagger fall from your hand, abandoning the weight of the threat you'd raised against him. Perhaps it was the fact that Silco's gun no longer seemed like a real intent to harm, but rather a statement of control. That gesture, that silent lesson he always managed to deliver, disarmed you in a way you hated.

You weren't one to stay silent, much less back down. You always had a retort ready, a sharp provocation, something to keep the dynamic balanced. But now, in this moment, there simply wasn't the will to act like a defiant brat. Not when the tone of the conversation felt so serious, so charged with tension.

Still, the feeling was uncomfortable. You were on dangerous ground—not in the line of fire anymore, but treading on thin ice, and you knew that any wrong word could send it all crashing down.

"I... I don't know." You sighed deeply, turning your head to the side, unable to meet his gaze any longer. The admission slipped from your lips with a weight that felt disproportionate to the lightness of the words. "But this time, I'm telling the truth."

That sentence felt far too intimate, more intimate even than the position you were in.

"I wanted to do it... but I couldn't. I just... couldn't. It seemed easy the first time, but now... I froze. And I have no idea why."

It was a lie. You knew exactly why. But some truths were better kept locked away, hidden behind unbreakable walls.

Silco remained silent, and then, slowly, he moved the revolver to the side, setting it down with a gesture that seemed almost casual. He took a few steps back, finally releasing the tension between you. It was a relief, and yet, an unsettling emptiness. You took the opportunity to sit on the edge of the table, the weight of your own confusion now resting heavily on your shoulders.

"Is that what caused the outburst that made you run?"

"In part. I just wanted... to disappear." You admitted, though the bitter taste of honesty was almost unbearable. Part of you hated to confess it, but there was no room for lies now. "To get away from you." The words came out softer than you intended, almost as if confessing a sin to the devil himself.

You expected an outburst of anger, perhaps some sarcastic remark, but what came was completely different. Silco leaned in slightly and raised his hand, gently touching your chin with a disconcerting tenderness. You instinctively braced yourself for a rough grip, something that matched his cold, ruthless demeanor, but the touch was soft, almost... careful.

He forced your face to lift, compelling your eyes to meet his. The look he cast in your direction was rigid, controlled, but there was something deeper beneath that mask of ice. It wasn't anger that you found there, but an almost palpable disappointment, a kind of emotion that seemed misplaced in a man as dangerous as him. It was that, more than anything, that made your heart race—not out of fear, but something far harder to define.

"Don't ever do that again." The words were spoken with a chilling calmness, but the tone was absolute, unquestionable. It wasn't a request; it was a command.

You should resist. Every fiber of your being screamed at you not to submit, to hold onto some shred of control over your own narrative. But the moment his gaze pierced through yours, any trace of resistance was crushed. You simply nodded, too drained to defy him.

When Silco extended his hand, you hesitated for a moment, but soon took it. The gesture was surprisingly natural, almost intimate. He pulled you up to your feet and, in silence, led you back to that false wall. The groan of the door as it opened echoed in the space, but his attention never wavered from you.

"You need to rest." His voice was more controlled now, but it still carried a note of authority that couldn't be ignored. "Your body's been through too much. I don't want you passing out again."

"And you? You need sleep too. You look like you haven't closed your eyes in days." You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe. "Besides, this room is yours, not mine."

Silco raised an eyebrow, his expression slightly skeptical as if weighing your words. "Are you suggesting I sleep with you?"

"Well..." you began, tilting your head and letting the smile spread across your lips. "You kind of already do."

The tone was unapologetically playful, a deliberate provocation you knew he wouldn't let slide without a reaction. Silco's expression shifted, and he huffed, rolling his eyes. Despite his apparent irritation, something in his demeanor betrayed him—he wasn't truly bothered. Maybe, just maybe, he was even amused, though he would never admit it.

"But yes, I do want that."

He remained still for a moment, the silence hanging heavy between you like a drawn curtain. Then, without a word, Silco stepped forward. You felt the immediate shift in the atmosphere—subtle but undeniable. Your body reacted instinctively, stepping back as he advanced. Silco didn't need words to convey the control he wielded. You held his gaze, but it was hard not to get lost in the sharp contrast between the blue and orange of his eyes. It was like staring into an abyss and feeling a strange, reckless urge to leap.

It was only then that you noticed the low, definitive click of the door locking behind him.

Silco stopped in front of you, his presence filling the space like a looming shadow—threatening, yet strangely captivating. He tilted his head slightly, assessing your expression with an almost clinical interest, but his eyes... his eyes told a different story. You had the distinct sensation that you had walked willingly into some sort of trap, one you had set for yourself, heedless of the consequences. And he seemed ready to savor every second of it.

Part 11

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Yes, we will have smut in the next chapter, just wait. Now with all the information thrown in the previous chapters, have you figured out why Silco was interested in her years ago? I made a small arrangement on how the story will unfold and in theory it will have approximately 30 chapters, but it can change either more or less. Which means we will have a long way to go.

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[physalian]

10 Character Dynamics the World Needs More of

Me handing out character dynamics like free samples at the Mall Food Court: “Take one! Or two! You’ll love it!”

I don’t care how many times these tropes have been done – write more of them. Write all of them. Fill out your author bingo card one by one.

1. “No one gets to kill you but me, Old Friend”

This. Right here. Primo rival content that I *live* for. All the juicy history between two old frenemies, the character drama, the backstory, the titillating unknown of what drove these two to rival status, bitter enemies that respect the heck out of each other, to the point that hell hath no fury should one get knocked down without the other’s consent.

And, of course, the moment where it seems all bets are off, when the rival comes to save their ass only to hand it back to them at a later date. The angst! The shipping fodder! Need I say more?

2. A bigger, badder villain, and their minion

You, reader, spend countless hours hating the guts of the big bad villain. They’re evil, they’re vile, they’re sadistic, heartless, irredeemable bastards. They killed your favorite character for shock value. The big bad moustache-twirling antagonist… is actually not the biggest fish in the story.

Either they’re coerced into doing evil as a puppet of the Bigger Bad, a tragic villain in their own right, or they have some reservation, some line even they won’t cross, someone else’s boots they have to kiss, someone who features in their nightmares, as they feature in the heroes. They end their stories dispatched without a thought by the Bigger Bad, or redeem themselves in death by taking out their masters. It never gets old.

3. A leader and their lancer: besties

You know what’s better than leaders and lancers who have zero faith in each other and are constantly bickering about who should be in charge? Leaders and their right-hands who adore each other (platonically). They have each other’s backs, they know each other’s greatest strengths and weaknesses and are each other’s perfect covers.

They can communicate with looks and vague gestures alone, they compliment each other’s flaws and misgivings, build up the rest of the team when they’re down on their luck, and should misfortune strike either, they pull out all the stops and show off exactly why they’re not to be trifled with, so that even the villain is afraid.

4. “I don’t even know who you are”

Oh, but you will. This one twists the knife, robbing the avenging hero of the importance in this world they’re desperate to maintain. They are their own hero, the sun revolves around them… but not to this one asshat that ruined their life and doesn’t even remember doing it.

An entire identity built upon the finding, fighting, and overcoming of this wrongdoer, every other goal in life cast aside for this one impossibility. Either the villain toys with the hero to make them irate, or gets suckerpunched by some pissant fueled by vengeance and spite and divine purpose to dole justice where justice is due.

6. The jaded badass and their naive ward

If the last 8 years of media is anything to go by, we still love this trope, whether it’s in a galaxy far, far away or a fungi-zombie post-apocalypse, or in the twilight hours of an era of legendary mutants. The best part of this trope? You get two often contradictory character types in one body. The pessimist, PTSD-ridden master of old with no living friends left and at least one dead love interest *and* beneath all that, still lies an atrophied heart of gold just waiting to be nurtured and revived.

The naive ward gets a hard lesson in how crappy the world can be, but also in how there’s still some goodness left, if their guardian cares about them. The jaded badass in turn, learns how good the world can be, that there’s something still worth fighting for beyond the next bottom of a bottle.

6. The enemy of my enemy (is my friend)

Similar to the ���old friends”, this trope is often a result of the minioned Big Bad realizing they don’t want to be evil anymore. Or, bitter old rivals, sides of a war that have been fighting for generations, ideological polar opposites, fundamental polar opposites all come together when: Some evil schmuck managed to scare them both.

Doesn’t matter on what shaky ground this temporary alliance is built, or how long it lasts, equally-competent badasses on both sides finally work together and compliment each other’s strengths, and compensate for their weaknesses, in a way their teammates never could.

7. The irredeemable villain’s only wholesome connection

Not so irredeemable anymore, now are they? This trope messes with your head, taking a character you know has done heinous acts of terror, but who cares unflinchingly, unabashedly, about one thing – either their lover, their pet, their relative, or their kid.

This exists independently of the heroes and is not the same as an “oops I guess I’m your father” reveal. I’m talking this character who everyone is convinced cares about nothing and no one but themselves and their ambition still has a place in their soul for something they want to protect, they want to be loved by, or that they must spare from their atrocities.

8. Platonic Heterosexual Friendships

These two have seen each other at their most vulnerable. They’ve shared fears, dreams, desires, know each other’s deepest, darkest secrets. They’ve seen each other exhausted, frazzled, dressed up, dressed down, bloodied and broken and like a raw, open nerve. These two would die for each other, they would live for each other, and yet.

They’re not in love with each other. They’re wholly comfortable in each other’s spaces without lust and desire mucking up the atmosphere. Neither is the one, neither wants to be the one. They remain together not for the bonds of romance, but for the bonds of friendship, and nothing could be stronger.

10. The Ace and their best friend, the Self-Proclaimed Slut

These two respect the f*ck out of each other. One never mocks the other for lacking desire and in return, they’re never mocked for their promiscuity. They’ll never walk in each other’s shoes, but they don’t need to, to understand that’s just how some people are. They’re each other’s safest spaces when the world doesn’t take either of them seriously.

They’re each other’s biggest defenders against the bullies, presumers, the holier-than-thous who think they have it all figured out. They’re the perfect compliment to give advice on everything from relationships to the best outfits for an outing because there’s *zero sexual tension* between them. Or, maybe, if the stars align, they’re something more.

10. The redeeming villain, and their staunchest skeptic

This villain has lost everything – their home, the respect of their people, their worth, their evil ambition, their identity, and has begun working their way up from rock bottom doing everything in their power to show the heroes that they’re serious. They make amends, they break their bones proving themselves, they’ve swayed everyone they’ve wronged in the hero camp.

Except one. The one character that was probably their first defender, and got burned for it. The character that was naive enough to think this villain could be saved, and was wrong. The character that won’t be duped again without some serious drama and soul-bearing between them.

Now tell me which ones I missed!

[lou-struck]

Snatched Up

Keigo Takami x reader 

~ Your quiet afternoon of tending to your little rooftop garden when suddenly you find yourself face to face with a villain on the run from your boyfriend. 

W.C: 2.3k

Warning; Kidnapping, violence, a bit of self defense, mention of injuries but pretty pg.

It feels like it’s been years since you last made it up to the roof, the harsh early winter months made tending to your little garden impossible, but now as the worst of the winter storms have subsided, you are ready to get back into the swing of things. 

The steel door to the rooftop is far heavier than you remember it being, but as soon as you step out, the chilly late winder air surrounds you as you look over what once was your lush little rooftop garden. 

The beds are mostly empty save for a few weeds and a few little green scapes from the garlic you had planted in the fall peeking out from the dirt. But seeing just the tiniest bit of life in your beds warms your heart as you grab your little bucket and gardening gloves and prepare to get to work.

The job is easy this time around, by the time you finish plucking the little green weeds, only the button of your bucket is covered in leaves and roots. Tossing the little scraps into your little composter, the blaring sound of sirens riding the wind reaches your ears. Although you may be too high up for people watching, your curiosity brings you over to the stone railing as you stare down at the flashing lights from the city below.

Dozens of emergency vehicles zip around the block, horns honking loudly as a few sidekicks stand in the middle of the jammed intersections directing traffic away from your building.

“What’s going on down there?” You murmur, fearing an accident. Instinctively, your hand slides into the pocket of your jeans in search of your cell phone, but find only cloth. 

‘You must’ve left it on the charger’ you think to yourself as an unexpected waves of weariness hits you. 

Something feels off.

Your gut is screaming at you to get off the roof, to get somewhere safe. You start to head back to the elevator access point when suddenly you see a long shadow in your path that definitely wasn't there before. 

This shadow shrinks until you make out a human shape. It moves closer to the door as your ears pick up the unmistakable sound of boots crunching gravel. You are no longer alone up here. 

The door to the penthouse is pretty stubborn and far too loud for anyone to open it without you noticing. So whoever it is got there from either scaling the building or flying in. Someone like Keigo who likes to mess with you when he swoops by the rooftop on his patrol. 

“Is that you Birdie?” You ask hopefully, wondering if your feathered boyfriend decided to touch down to say hello. But when the figure comes into view, your heart sinks. The man standing directly in your path is definitely not your boyfriend. He wears a deep scowl and steps toward you with unbalanced steps, wobbly steps.

You look down and notice that his legs looked to be made of solid metal coils almost like springs.

Did he jump all the way up here?

“Definitely not a bird, Cutie.” he pants scanning your form until his gaze lands on your neck, where a brilliant red feather hangs attached to a dainty silver chain.  Your body tenses up under his menacing gaze as the spring man reaches out and grabs your necklace, “this is nice, super familiar. Where did you get it?”

“Craft fair,” you lie, but you can tell he doesnt believe it for a second, he stares you down with his philips head looking eyes.

“No, try again?” he says, twisting the chain a bit tighter against your neck.

“That’s where I got it,” you lie again, if this man is a criminal, letting him know who you are could be disastrous. Especially for Keigo, a man who has few weaknesses and lots of enemies.

“Really? Because I’m sure that little feather looks very familiar. Almost like it belongs to a certain pro hero who just so happened to just ruin my day.” he grits his teeth as he tears the delicate chain from your neck, dropping it to the floor as if it were worthless. 

The feather twitches slightly as it falls to the floor. Dropping just like your stomach, panicked, you take a large step away from the Villian. “What do you want?”

He shrugs, “I just wanted a place to lay low for a bit but I think you’ve given me a better opportunity.” His arms are as cold as metal as he grabs you roughly. His hand flies to your mouth, the taste of iron tingles your lips as the man smirks. “I don’t think Hawks is gonna give me any trouble if I have their cute little partner as my hostage.”

You try to fight, you really do, your fist pounds against his rib cage but all you hear is the sound of clanging metal. It must be something to do with his quirk. His cold, cruel laughter fills your ears. “Cute, but you’re gonna have to try a little harder to get rid of me.”

Your stomach churns with dread as you realize that with a quirk like his, escaping this man will be close to impossible. You steal another glance down at the feather at your feet and notice that the feather has hardened, sticking out of the ground like a knife. 

Keigo must be close, he must be at least a little aware of what’s going on. But the real question is, will he make it in time?

You try to stay calm, you try to not agitate this clearly unhinged individual, but locked in his iron grip, you see the coils in his legs begin to tense up and he leaps away from your building. As he leaps from rooftop to rooftop, your garden fades from view. 

The loss of the familiar sight is what breaks you, cold tears sting your eyes as you realize that being calm, cool, and collected under pressure isn’t really your thing.

You have flown with Keigo several times, but this isn’t anywhere near as relaxing. There is no soothing beat of the wings or controlled soaring, you’re just being launched rather uncomfortably by this spring guy.

If he wasn’t still covering your mouth you would be screaming your head off, he set you down on the roof of an unfamiliar building. You can’t be far from your little paradise, but now it feels continents away. 

He shoves you down with a laugh and stares down at you with a delighted gleam in his eyes. “I wonder how much birdbrain would pay to get you back? You’re cute for sure, but I'll have to figure out what makes you so valuable…

The way he says that last word makes you sick. “Let me go, or else.”

“Or else what?” he laughs heartily at your threat. “You’ll call your little boyfriend?”

Slowly, you get to your feet, winding up, you send a strong kick to the man’s side. When you first started seeing each other Keigo insisted on teaching you some basic self defense skills. At the time, you thought it was pointless, but now, as your foot comes into contact with the man's side, you find that he isn't entirely made of metal.  He staggers back and wheezes “Why you little~ you’ll pay for that one.” He raises his hand to strike you as a red blur races between you. A single red feather latches around the man's wrist pulling it back. As another latches on to the hem of your jacket, pulling you away from the man. You stagger and sink to the ground as a new figure lands on the gravel between the two of you. 

Large red wings flare out from their back, gleaming like knives under the intermittent clouds. But your boyfriend doesn't look like he is ready to fight, he looks lethal, like the weapon the commission trained him to be all those years ago. 

There is no witty banter as Hawks analyzes his opponent, he doesn't say a word as a flurry of sharpened feathers are sent toward the villain. They tear at his clothes and slice thin, painful scratches on whatever flesh he has. He cries out briefly, as they pin him to the ground. 

A spring quirk like his needs momentum after all, and Hawks threw it off the moment he landed on the rooftop. A small army of support heroes and sidekicks burst through the access door as the Villian is quickly handcuffed. 

“You really should take better care of your things, Hero.” the man coughs from the ground. Although he has been rendered immobile from Keigo’s feathers and the quirk cancelling handcuffs, he still thinks he has enough skin in the game to try and land some low blows.  “This one couldn't really put up much of a fight, if a nobody like me was able to steal them away so easily you may find yourself with a cold bed one of these days.”

Keigo’s eyes are hidden under his dark visor, but you can tell that he isn't even looking at the helpless prey at his feet. With the threat eliminated, he turns on a time and looms over you, his body painfully stiff. “Did he hurt you?” he pants.

Your mouth goes dry as all the adrenaline from the past few minutes fades away leaving you feeling weak, but at least safe. You tremble as you look up at your hero, your Keigo. “I~”

“Did he hurt you?” Keigo asks again, this time far more forcefully than before. There is anger in his tone, but your chest tightens as you realize that it isn't directed towards you but himself. 

Little bits of stone cling to the fat of your palm as you raise your hand gently up to his face. He doesn't stop you from removing the golden visor from his face. His glassy, honey colored, eyes are filled with enough sorrow and guilt for a lifetime. “I’m okay.” you murmur, ignoring the various scrapes and bruises you accumulated since this afternoon began. 

His arms wrap around you like you're made of glass, about to shatter at any moment. "I thought I lost you," he wavers. His anxious breathing tickles your neck. "I felt it when he ripped the feather away, but I should've been faster. You never should've gone through this."

It's you who deepens the embrace, your fingers dig into the fabric of his flight jacket until the flesh turns tight and painful. "But I did," you mumble, voice muffled from his collar. "And you saved me, Kei."

"Still, I should've called you, I should've let you know that there was a villain on the loose by your apartment but I didn't." he says. Briefly, you look over his shoulder to see the villain being taken away by the support staff, this time, he is the immobile one, helpless as he is dragged away from a place he had hoped would be safe. 

Gently, your hand trails up from his back to his shoulder, squeezing the tense muscles reassuringly. "There are going to be things you can't tell me Kei, I know that. But the important thing is we are both safe.”

“Safe,” he murmurs, blinking his eyes back into focus. “You’re safe. But how did he end up on your roof? He was on the run after him and one of his buddies tried to rob a liquor store.”

"This was a coincidence," you say, recalling the look of opportunistic elation on the Spring Villain's face when he saw the feather."I think he was looking for a place to hide out when I was on the roof and he  saw the feather and came to the conclusion on his own. I should've been more careful with it but he surprised me."

“Rotten Luck,” Keigo says, knowing that you aren't explicitly targeted helps calm down his racing mind, but now that a villain has figured out where you live, your days at your cozy little apartment are numbered. “But I heard you gave him one hell of a kick, it looks like those self defense lessons paid off a bit.”

“Just a bit,” you chuckle, “but I think I’ll leave the ass kicking to the real heroes, I've had more than enough action for awhile.”

His eyes soften as he runs his thumb over your scraped knuckles. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m alright Kei, just shaken up a bit.” you say.

“How about we head back to my place?” he offers. “I could make us some dinner, maybe put on a movie?”

“Could I shower?” you ask hopefully, after the afternoon you have had, you definitely could use one, and with the heated tiles and multiple rainfall shower heads, Keigos is just the one you would want to unwind in.

“Whatever you want baby,” he answers, scooping you up gently into his arms and getting to his feet and turning his attention to a passing sidekick. “I’m clocking out for the day, just send whatever paperwork over to my place.”

“Right away sir,” they say, before returning to their job of cleaning up the scene of the crime. 

He steps out into the clearing and spreads his wings. He looks down at you and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” you say instinctively tucking your face into his jacket to protect yourself from the wind. His heartbeat hasn’t slowed since rescuing you, but the sound soothes you as your head rests against his chest, ready to face the sky for the second time today. 

“I’m ready.”

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network@sleepyyshroom, @isaacdaknight @qardasngan @dog55teeth @atigerandabear@anjodedesgostoeerros

[sweettoothy]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃𝐒 𝐄𝐍𝐃

╰ SHOW ﹕ ARCANE !

︵ WARNING(S) ﹕╰ swearing ⸝ violence ﹕ sex

︵ relationship ﹕ Vi x fem!fragile!reader x Caitlyn

NOTE: I shocked myself with this, hope y’all enjoy ^^ also since (y/n) is somewhere in another universe she can’t control this body she’s in, thankfully I hope that helps and doesn’t confuse anybody.

⟣・S2・PAINT THE TOWN BLUE︰

THE SOUND OF laughter echoes in your ears as loud music boomed with constant chatter of criminals and civilians alike. You bobbed your head up and down aggressively as you worked on some sort of machinery, nails long and colored your (f/c) to added to the outfit you were wearing. Your fist aggressively hits the table that you were seated at, your hair dyed an orange color with bright red highlights.

“Pass me another one!” You shouted, arms littered with tattoos and you also wore a pair of goggles, something felt different about you. weird, most likely.

Like a change. And nothing felt good about it either.

“(Y/n).” A woman shouted over the loud music that you played while you drunk from a jug, your boots clank against the floor as you scream the song from the top your lungs, making the woman behind you cover her ears in annoyance.

“(Y/n)!” The woman shouted once more.

The world here looked different, more…ruined and torn. but the city was still active.

You were inside zaun. piltover was taken over and destroyed by the topsiders who went berserk cause of a leak. It was like a zombie outbreak but wasn’t, caitlyn and vi were still alive too but— they kept their distance from you for whatever reason.

“(Y/N)!” The woman shouted louder, throwing the music box onto the ground.

You burst out laughing and slipped off your goggles, turning towards her. “How can I help you dear friend? did you wanna check out my explosives again? or the money I stole from—“

“No!” The woman retorts, “it’s kris to you. do you know you stole from the same people we’re enemies with?!”

You deadpanned, showing off your pearly whites. “And so on, and so on..even if did steal from them, it shouldn’t matter. we’re enemies may I remind you? so what if millions of dollars were taken from them. piltover is gone all thanks to ME! so you’re welcome.”

Kris growls. “You know they’ll be after us, correct? because you couldn’t keep those filthy hands off that launcher. glad your parents aren’t here to see this…I know they’d be disappointed.” She mumbled lowly under her breath.

One of your eyes twitched when she said this, “you don’t know anything about me.” you say through clenched teeth.

“You’re weak.” Kris retorts. “Weak people make mistakes all the time-- they’ll never get it right.”

You tilt your head, your hair falling against one side of your face as your teeth chatter against themselves with impending anger. “I’ve done what I did for us. you don’t see any enforcers bombarding you with any weapons-- now do you?! I’ve done everything I did to get zaun to this point with you. so I’m not weak, you are because you had me do your dirty work! the entire council I killed was for your sake and zauns so get it right!”

Kris gaze softened. “I know, kid. I just..I’m worried for your well-being okay? I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire.“ She says, rubbing the skin above her eyepatch.

You blinked a few times before holding back your tears, “I’ve always looked up to you, Kristy. I wanna help.” you tell her.

Kris opened her arms for you to hug her, and when she did you rushed into her arms and held her close.

This version of you wasn’t as fragile— you seemed strong, headset on ending anything that would get in your way.

A few sobs escaped you.

You felt like the same little girl again when you had witnessed your parents die— Casandra kiramman being the cause of it— sending those enforcers to kill your parents even though they had done nothing wrong.

And then when you first saw her daughter, caitlyn, you knew you had to get your get back. so the fall of piltover was satisfying for you.

Kris wasn’t sure what was going through that mind of yours but she knew you had a good heart. a good heart like yours would say otherwise, though.

“ITS BEGINNING TO FEEL…” You sang in a raspy voice as you spin around in your chair, holding a very dangerous bomb in your hand. “A lot like christmas!” you stomp your foot against the ground hard, the muscles on your body straining as you picked up a heavy box, this version of you seemed stronger, less angry and more..happy. A soft hum leaves your lips as you grabbed your gun, waving it around as you started having visions of a blue haired girl and a pink haired one— her sister wearing an enforcer outfit— the one you didn’t hesitate to kill during the accident in piltover— well, you didn’t kill her, you almost did.

Vi didn’t hate you but she was scared that you might try hurting powder again, her younger sister that was now in a coma because of you.

Caitlyn hated you. despised you.

Of course she hated you. you killed her mother, hurt her girlfriend’s sister— you were a monster, in her eyes.

A monster…her mother created.

A monster she created.

A monster vi created.

They were no angels in your eyes, just demons. the demons you were headset on ending.

“Don’t move.” A soft voice says. “You’re under arrest.”

You don’t turn around as you felt something press against the lower end or your back, it felt like a shotgun but way worse.

Vi stood in front of you, blocking the doorway as she makes sure you don’t leave.

You chuckle. “Wow. what a way to sneak in.”

“Stop talking.” Caitlyn demanded. “Turn around and let vi cuff you.”

You snort, stepping back as you stared at a trembling caitlyn, her gun now aimed at your chest. “I don’t wanna do something I’ll regret. so move!” she demanded.

You stare her directly in the eyes, not bothering to move.

“Just do what she says, (y/n).” Vi pleaded. “You’ve already done enough damage.”

Turning to vi you see she had moved away from the doorway. “You don’t know anything. I thought you understood me, but the second I saw you with her, I thought-- ‘oh she’s just like the rest’. and you are. nothing but a bluebelly in a sock. that’s all.”

“The girl I knew-“

“Knew.” You cut her off. “Yeah. who you knew. that’s not me anymore.”

Caitlyn kicks the bottle of shimmer to the ground, which was full to the hilt. “You’re doing her dirty work again? she’s no savior, (y/n). you killed my mother because of what she had asked you to do?! Kris is just another—“

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” You shouted, your head beginning to hurt. “You have zero respect, I made a name for myself. so put some respect on it!”

Caitlyn sees you start to lose it as you hit your fist against the ground repeatedly, collapsing to your knees as tears fall down your eyes—

Tears of shimmer.

Voices felt like they were talking to you left and right, telling you to end it all with everyone inside. But you had to finish it.

Standing up slowly you don’t turn to face vi and caitlyn, your fingers twitching. “Get out before I do something I won’t regret.”

“(Y/n).” Vi spoke, hesitantly making her way towards you and placing her hand on your shoulder. “I know you’re in there. I know you have to—“

“VI!” Caitlyn screams when she sees you head butt her heard, vi yelps and clutched her now bleeding nose.

Reaching into your bag, you grabbed your launcher which was colored red and orange, the belt around your pants loop loosened a bit from falling to the ground. “I’m tired of talking to a bunch of hypocrites who won’t listen.” you say hoarsely.

“Just…” You trail off. “Fucking die. get out of my life. leave me alone!”

You were about to pull the trigger but caitlyn tackled you to the ground.

The two of you struggle for dominance but you get the upper hand while using your shimmer that had already invaded your mind and your veins, you grab caitlyn by the hair and slam her head into the ground.

“Cait!” Vi shouted before she rushed towards you and threw you towards the ground, “stop! you—“

Your eyes dilated as you looked at vi, she looked way too much like the girl you had met when you were younger— it’s like everyone in your life either left you or abandoned you— that’s why you were so happy Kristy too you in.

Like a real mother.

She was the only one you had.

“GET OFF ME!” You screamed and threw vi to the ground and off of you.

You straddle vi’s waist and wrapped your hands around her neck, cutting the air from her lungs. Vi struggles to get you off her, thrashing around in your grip— nails digging into her flesh.

Vi starts to cough, face going blue.

The mascara that was around your eyes were smeared from the tears that you had just cried. Caitlyn finally came to her senses and saw what you were doing, hurrying to her feet she rushed towards you and hit you in the face with her knee.

You let out a cry of pain and fell to the ground, blood rushing down your nose.

This was caitlyn’s chance. She had you right where she wanted you— she was ready to take her anger out on you since you were the cause of this after all.

Caitlyn uses her fist and connects it against your face, punching you repeatedly as tears fall down her eyes, vi coughs as she clutched her neck, gasping for air.

You felt tears brim your eyes, legs shaking as caitlyn continued to hit you, the blood from your nose now splattering against your chest and face. You clawed at caitlyn’s face, scratching her cheek.

But then…she stops. Her eyes landing on your orange and red ones as she sees your bloodied face, the tears that were falling down your eyes which was shimmer making her regret hurting you.

“Your mom did this to me.” You cried. “So the way she hurt me I wanted to hurt you. make sure you didn’t have any parents.”

“But why?! I had nothing to do with what she-“

“I SHOULD’VE KILLED YOUR DAD WHILE I HAD THE CHANCE!” You shouted, “then maybe you’d really feel how it felt to lose everything, you bitch!”

Your mouth finds her finger and you bite down hard, feeling something crack.

“Shit!” Caitlyn shouted and pulled away from you, a few tears escaping her eyes as she saw you lay on the ground.

“We have to go.” Vi tells her. “We can’t save someone we’ve already lost.”

Caitlyn stares down at you, anger fueling her. “I’m not letting her get away again.”

You stare at the bomb that lays beside you, “yeah…me either.” You then rushed over and grabbed your launcher, aiming it at the two of them.

“I’m not gonna deal with this again.” You spoke hoarsely, blood still dripping down your nose and onto your face. “I’m done being your puppet.“

Pulling the trigger you see the bullet leave the launcher, vi covers caitlyn and the both of them hurry out the window.

The bullet misses and hits an abandoned building.

“No!” You screamed. “No, no, no! that’s not how it was supposed to go!”

You had missed the shot again.

“Eyes on the target.” An enforcer says from a walkie while sitting on another building.

Caitlyn stares at a bloodied you and turned to vi, nodding.

“Take the shot.” She tells him.

The enforcer pulled the trigger on your gun, aiming for your head. but you saw this and dodged—

Sadly…

Your hand didn’t.

The bullet shoots off two of your fingers, making you look in shock— the blue electricity from the crystal flickering. You stare at your hand, tears escaping your eyes.

Did they go too far…?

You ran off, disappearing from their sights.

This was only the start of something worse

END OF CHAPTER FOUR

[vigilante24ish]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1553

Chapter 23:

With little time to spare, everyone rushed to find thick branches or tree roots they could somehow detach.

Then, they proceeded to wrap it with cords, leaves, or vines; each adding their little own touch to them. At the same time, Lilia was commenting on how she hated the brooms and flying due to how often media associated with witches.

The only one not participating was you, who simply kept guard; ready to blast magic at anything that moved.

When everyone had done the couple ritual, where two witches enchanted and exchanged brooms; only then did they notice you with no broom in hand.

"Wait, Y/N doesn't have a broom," Alice pointed out, earning the coven's attention.

"Can't we make her one?" Teen asked, surprised by the fact that you had remained quiet and broomless.

"Only if we were am even number. We can't give her one of our own brooms, " Jen explained.

You waved your hand dissimively to ease the worries of your coven. "I don't need it either way. I can use my magic to fly, " you explained, earning different expressions from them.

Teen smiled in excitement. "Wait, you can fly with magic?"

Jen scoffed. "Of course you can,"

Alice seemed interested. "If it is a spell that allows you, we should be fine,"

Surprisingly, neither Agatha nor Rio seemed to agree with the idea.

"Absolutely not," Agatha argued. "We need to stick together, and she can't match a broom's speed."

Rio nodded faintly. "Better her riding with someone. She can join me. "

"Safest option is with me." Agatha disagreed, arguing with Rio while you stood not so far away; having no saying even though the topic was about you.

Before anyone else could comment or extend the argument, one of the Salem Seven appeared almost out of thin air; close to Alice and Teen.

The protection witch, though, acted fast and used the broom to smack and attack the corrupted witch; sending them on the ground.

Just then, Lilia took notice of something by the end of her peripheral vision.

"Agatha!" She exclaimed as another Salem Seven witch had appeared and now too close to its original target.

This time, you were faster to react.

Sliding on the muddy ground, you managed to cover the distance between your lover and you. As you pushed your legs to stand up, you extended your left hand and wrapped it around Agatha's waist; pulling her closer to your body that was positioned sideways but also further away from the enemy.

At the same time, white magic had gathered in your right hand, and you extended it forward; placing it on the chest of the cursed witch.

Your magic worked like a powerhouse, causing pain to the mind hired witch while also sending them flying back; quite a distance.

The force and momentum of the attack had even caused a weak wind current that moved some of your strands back while you stood there, holding Agatha by the waist.

Agatha had not expected the blind attack from her sworn enemy, so to speak, and neither your interference. Yet here she was, both hands grasping your upper arm as the sudden pull had her losing her balance; resulting in her slightly leaning back.

She stared at your profile for a moment longer, surprised by your attack but also the position you two were in; momentarily forgetting the grave danger that was approaching.

"How did you do that?" Alice questioned, the first to break the odd silence and also ruin your little mood.

You helped Agatha stand properly and did not fail to glance at Rio first, taking notice of the face she pulled. It was her silent way of saying 'not bad' along with the lines 'I am impressed'.

"I find hurling and throwing your magic from afar rather risky and also makes it easier for the enemy to dodge or block" you explained as you turned to face her, your hand still wrapped around Agatha's waist and her hands still holding your upper arm for dear life. "Instead, unleashing your magic in close quarters has a higher chance of success, and the impact is more powerful."

Teen looked at you as if seeing their idol live on stage, his dark eyes glowing with interest. "Wow," he exclaimed, unable to find where to start his questions.

Jen cleared her throat, having enough of the unnecessary talk. Mind hived witches were after them, and she would love to get as far as possible from the danger.

"Think we can finish this later," she commented. "We need to go,"

"We still haven't decided who will fly with Y/N.

"She can fly with me," Teen said, lifting his hand halfway as he spoke. "I have never used a broom before... I mean an enchanted broom cause I have used normal brooms at home -"

"Enough, kid," Agatha said, lifting her hand to silence him. "Let us go. She flies with you. "

Rio looked at Agatha, clearly not fulling agreeing but said nothing. Instead, she watched you walk towards the teenager, the two of you exchanging a smile.

"Let's do this," you told him as you both held the broom in your hands.

Wasting no more time, you all started to run towards one direction. One by one, everyone jumped on the brooms and mounted them; quickly gaining height.

"Wait! How do I-"

You interrupted the Teen. "On my mark, mount the broom," you instructed, and as Lilia took flight, your chance arrived. "Now!"

Without hesitation, he jumped and mounted the broom. His hands held it for dear life just as you managed to mount the broom right behind him.

"Wow!" He exclaimed as the broom slowly started going up while also gaining more and more speed.

At the same time, you could hear Lilia laughing from joy and Alice having the time of her life, both exprtely navigating the broom.

The ones having he easiest time were Agatha and Rio, who have also taken the lead and had the most experience flying on brooms.

It was hard, at first, with the low branches, and the boy had stated to worry; feeling the loops and sudden moves would throw him off, even if your hands were around his waist.

"Oh, God!" Teen exclaimed.

Lilia was amused. "Try praying to the Divine Mother, kid," he advised the future witch.

Just then, an opening was presented, and one by one, the coven flew up; heading for the night sky.

Teen hesitated, seeing the claw like branches and the fact that he had to fly almost straight up; his mind reminding him of what gravity would do if he tried.

"Please, divine mother," he prayed and dared to closs his eyes as he tried to guide the broom up.

He felt a cold ethereal touch on top of his hands and then the sudden feeling of your stomach dropping while the pressure and change of air hit you all in once.

Thankfully for him, the up way was short and before he knew it; the broom was vertical again, and he could feel the cold night air against his cheek and curly hair.

Opening his eyes, he was left in awe at the beautiful sight of the Red full moon right next to everyone.

He looked down, noticing how small the trees looked, how normal the road seemed, and how fast you were going.

It was then he saw an extra pair of hands placed on top of his, remembering this ethereal feeling of magic he felt when he prayed to the Divine Mother for the first time. He turned to look above his shoulder, seeing you leaning against his back and having a smirk on your face.

"You're welcome, kiddo," you told him, making him smile faintly as a thank you. "Eyes forward and don't you dare close them again"

He nodded. "Yes ma'am"

As the coven flew in formation, Agatha took a moment to breathe the cold air and be reminded of the sense of freedom she had been denied for so long. Broom flying was always so freeing, offering a sensation few things could truly match.

But then she dared to look at her right and saw Rio, in all her supernatural glory, riding that broom; her face screaming confidence and raw power as the wind blew back her hair.

Conflicted and defeated, Agath tried to look at her left and take some comfort in the blood red moon when she noticed you and Teen gaining speed.

You giggled faintly as you were trying to instruct the boy how to hold the broom and how to command it.

At that moment, you seemed to be happy and relaxed, clearly enjoying teaching him. He was also chuckling faintly as he absorbed everything you told him, doing his best to make you proud and show you that he was paying attention.

Agatha could not help but imagine you, being the same to Nicholas had he ever the chance to grow. Spending time with him, teach him the brooms, the stars, and so many things.

Her heart felt heavy, and she did not dare to trail further down that path. Instead, she looked forward again and tried to focus on anything but you with the boy and Rio.

Chapter 24

[mearcairz]

Hello tumblr let me take a moment of your time to put you onto my worst enemy

looks like a normal tree right? WRONG

these things are sent straight from the bowels of HELL with the SOUL PURPOSE of ruining my entire week

LIKE LOOK AT THEM WHY DO THEY MOVE LIKE THAT

now, i can already hear you typing,

“Xavier, the evermeans are one of the weakest enemies in the game, you are a coward and your bloodline is weak”

and while i do see your point, you are objectively WRONG and i am going to show up to your house WITH A HAMMER

Listen, when im trying to enjoy a nice little stroll through the virtual forests of Hyrule, yknow trying to get myself immersed with the game, the LAST thing i need is THE WEIRD COUSINS OF THE ENTS FROM LORD OF THE RINGS BURSTING OUT OF THE GROUND AND SCARING ME NEARLY HALF TO DEATH WHILE IM TRYING TO ENJOY MY BOWL OF CHICKEN RAMEN AT 3 IN THE MORNING

I hope you can all see my frustration with these ABOMINATIONS TO GOD and i will NOT be taking any constructive criticism GOOD DAY SIR

[prettiestlovergirl]

YOU CAN BE THE BOSS

tw: MDNI; fem!reader; slytherin! reader; unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it); rough sex; degradation kink; hair pulling; dacryphilia; begging; some drinking; dom! mattheo; bratty! reader; french! mattheo; impact play.

concept: you and mattheo have been enemies with benefits for a while now, but after you score higher on a test... he wants to make sure you still remember your place with him ;) song: you can be the boss by lana del rey

a/n: still pushing the french! mattheo agenda bcos bilingual men make me go weak in the knees (and ruin my panties). my french is still shit, they do not teach you kinky pet names in high school french class! so bear with me you guys. enjoy, my lovelies! 𓆩♡𓆪

mattheo riddle was the bane of your existence and the source of all your most recent orgasms.

you couldn't stand each other! he thought you were an insufferable know-it-all and you thought he was a cocky asshole. if it were up to you, you'd have never had to interact with him again.

then, after one late night in the library, it was like a flip had switched on in you both. you still couldn't stand each other, sure, but suddenly you both seemed much more bearable to the other when his cock was bruising your cervix.

and thus began the new phase of your relationship: taunting and teasing each other in public and then fucking out your grievances in private. it was the perfect system, really.

today, you had been particularly insufferable to him. you'd scored exactly two points higher on a charms test and hadn't stopped gloating. you needed to be brought down a peg or two, and mattheo knew just how to do it.

you were both in the common room, the quidditch team having thrown a party to celebrate your house victory in the game against ravenclaw.

you were certainly cocky today and you knew it, your small academic victory had made you a bit giddy. normally, you wouldn't have cared, but mattheo was so annoyed by it, you couldn't help but rub it in! how were you to know that there'd be consequences to your actions?!

when your eyes finally landed on mattheo, he'd been holding a red solo cup and talking with theo in the corner. he looked hot, not that you'd ever tell him that. he didn't need his ego getting any bigger.

you were used to him pouncing on you almost immediately after you spotted him, so when your eyes landed on him and he didn't even look over? you instantly knew that it was him being petty.

well, if he wanted to be petty, two could certainly play that game! he wanted you to come crawling to him and beg him to fuck you? you'd rather die! well, not die, but you know.

mattheo could feel your eyes on him, but he made no effort to look your way or give you any attention. if you wanted him, you had to put in the work tonight. if you wanted to be stubborn, he was more than willing to go home alone and leave you to suffer.

the next hour consisted of you trying to gain his attention in a multitude of ways. you flirted with blaise, danced with theo, even left a perfect imprint of your lipstick on draco, and nothing. little did you know, he kept a tally of every little act for... later use.

he continued to ignore you, despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to grab you and fuck you right there in front of everybody. you weren't his girlfriend, but you were still fucking his, and you were absolutely gonna pay for your teasing.

after another 20 minutes, you were done. he was sitting back on the couch, the usual picture of cocky and casual that both turned you on more and simultaneously made you want to slap him across the face. it was a fine little line you walked daily.

you walked up to him, arms crossed over your chest as you narrowed your eyes at him. "fine! you win." you hissed, only to be met with his stupid smug smirk.

"i'm sorry? not sure what you mean, ma douce, (my sweet) what exactly did i win?" he questioned, giving you a fake n innocent look. "i win at so much, gonna need you to be more specific."

you should have just walked away. he was too cocky, it made your skin crawl, but fuck you needed him. "this! this stupid little game your playing, you win, i give up, lets go. now." you felt like a child, wanting to stomp your foot on the ground and beg for his stupid attention.

"ah, well, since you asked so nicely." he grinned, taking his sweet time getting off the couch and setting his cup down. he didn't grab your hand or look back to see if you followed him up the stairs; he knew you would.

"you are such a sore fucking loser!" you huffed once the door was closed, making him laugh at your annoyance and frustration. "so fucking dramatic." he smirked, hands already slipping under your skirt to grab your ass.

you moved to kiss him, but he turned his head away, instead choosing to place his lips on your neck. "dick." you whined, nails scraping over the nape of his neck while his teeth sunk harshly into your skin. "who? me. i'm being nice, don't want to ruin your pretty make-up, môme" (brat) he scoffed back, rolling his eyes at your dramatics.

you dug your nails into his skin as retaliation, but it only resulted in him spanking your ass so hard you yelped out. "un tel putain de gosse" (you're such a fucking child) he murmured as he brought his hands up and unbuttoned your school shirt.

his hands moved quickly to push the fabric off your shoulders, but his mouth moved slow and rough as he let his teeth graze over as much of your bare skin as he could. he might have been annoyed with you, but fuck did he love seeing you covered in his work.

you were getting desperate for more and he knew it, the slowness of his actions entirely purposeful. "mattheo, please." you begged, head leaned back as he smirked against your skin. "please, what? you know i like it when you use your words."

"i hate you." you grumbled, hissing lightly at the pain of his fingers digging into your waist. "sorry, 'm sorry!" you huffed, biting your lip before going on. "please fuck me. now." you half begged; half demanded.

"that's more like it." he smirked, spinning you around and smacking your ass once again. "get on the bed, salope (slut). on your stomach" he commanded, and you happily complied. you laid down on the bed, ass up in the air just like he'd told you to.

"putain (fuck), look at you." mattheo sighed, lifting your skirt up with his hands while he dragged your panties down just under your thighs. he used his hands to keep your spread open, admiring your already glistening pussy.

"you've been so cocky all fucking day, flirting around, bragging. what would they all say if they could see you now? all soaked and desperate." he cooed, dragging his thumb all the way through your folds.

you whined a bit, hips attempting to grind against his hand the best you could before his other hand came back up and spanked you harshly. "gotta stay still, ma douche (my sweet). don't wanna see your pretty little head get hurt." he teased, rubbing over your warm skin.

"s-sorry." you nodded, instantly whining as he pulled away from you. you kept facing the wall, but you could hear his belt being undone and him stripping right behind you.

mattheo groaned as he wrapped his hand around his cock, moving it up and down a few times as he admired the view of you all ready for him.

you wiggled your hips a bit, desperately waiting for him to put you out of your misery and fuck you. he chuckled at your desperation, smacking his cock against your ass just to hear you gasp and moan out.

"tease!" you huffed, grabbing the bedsheets gently as he started to slowly, teasingly, rub his cock through your wet folds. he was just trying to make sure your wetness was spread evenly, that's all! he was being a good fuck buddy.

"fuck, mattheo, please!" you begged, closing your eyes as he continued to tease and mess with your puffy cunt until you were close to tears.

"i had to watch you walk around, flirting with all my fucking friends like a fucking salope. (slut) now you're here, whining and begging for me to do you a favor? doesn't work like that, ma douce (my sweet). you take what i give you, got it?" he asked, spanking you again for good measure.

"'m sorry! 'm sorry, i know, but please, mattheo! need you!" you begged, his hand moving to hold your hip down to keep you from squirming while your arousal dripped all over his cock.

"you gonna be a good girl f'me? if i fuck you real nice, are you gonna keep running your mouth downstairs?" he asked, to which you immediately nodded. "yes! yes, i'll be so good, won't say a word, promise, just please!" you whimpered.

"well, if you promise." he teased, and thrusted all the way into your soaked pussy. he groaned as your walls fluttered around him. you'd fucked dozens of times at this point, but he never got tired of feeling your walls squeeze his cock.

he moved painfully slow, tearing out whines of anguish and frustration from your throat as you gripped his bedsheets. "what's wrong, ma douce (my sweet)? i thought you wanted me to fuck you." he mocked, squeezing your ass tightly.

"please, please, please!" you whined, desperate tears starting to drip down your cheeks as he pulled almost all the way out before slowly and roughly thrust all the way back in. you could feel every inch of him filling you up over and over.

"'m just doing what you asked, ma douce (my sweet). or do you need even more from me?" he scoffed, squeezing and massaging your ass as he continued his slow thrusts.

you instantly nodded, not caring that he was mocking you n calling you greedy. you were too fucking desperate and needy for him and all your tears only seemed to make him want to tease more.

"tellement putain de gourmande." (so fucking greedy) mattheo smirked, punctuating his words with another slap to your ass before finally giving in to your pleads for more and speeding up his thrusts.

"fuck! yes, thank you, thank you, fuck yes!" you moaned, his hips snapping roughly into yours as his free hand gathered your hair into a ponytail, tugging you back and making your back arch.

"such a needy fucking brat, what am i gonna do with you?" he scoffed, looking over your teary face as you continued to moan and whine as he fucked you rough and hard.

you couldn't speak, mind already so hazy from the way his cock stretched your walls. he pulled you into a sloppy kiss, swallowing your moans and squeaks of pure fucking bliss.

he tasted like the malt liquor he'd been drinking from before and you swore you were getting drunk off the taste. he sunk his teeth into your lower lip, groaning against you as he bullied your pussy again and again with no remorse.

your walls fluttered and clenched around his cock, signaling just how close you were to cumming. "mm, please, make me cum, please!" you whimpered against him as he pulled away from your lips, hand still tightly fisting your hair as he fucked you.

"that's it, that's ma douce (my sweet). be a good fucking girl and cum on my cock, yeah? cum all over my fucking cock." he commanded, watching as your legs shook on either side of him while you coated his cock in your creamy slick.

he let go of your hair and you practically collapsed against the bed, face smushing into the sheets. he continued to fuck into you, groaning at how much tighter you felt now that you came.

you whined as the overstimulation started to set in, but you were unable to squirm with your legs all jellylike and his hand keeping you in place. you sobbed in pure bliss, staining his sheets with your mascara and tears.

"fuck, that's it fuck." he grunted, biting his lip harshly as he slowed down. "fuck yourself on me, ma douce (my sweet). make me cum." he demanded, drawing another whiny cry from your lips.

"c'mon, you want to be a good girl, don't you? thought you were sorry for being such a brat, huh? fuck yourself on me." he cooed, kneading your ass while you pouted but nodded and forced yourself back up.

you rocked your hips back against him, working at a sluggish pace as you were still too blissed out to function normally. the alcohol n orgasm n cock still filling you up left your brain numb and blank.

after a few more rocks of your hips, he pulled out of you and started to tug his cock until his cum shot onto your back. he watched as your swollen n gummy cunt leaked with your juices, panting as he watched you collapse and he laid down beside you.

you both laid there until you both caught your breath. your eyes were heavy n you were already starting to doze off when he nudged you. "c'mon, lets get you cleaned up." he smirked, pushing himself off the bed.

"whatever you say..." you mumbled sleepily.

ᵈⁱᵛⁱᵈᵉʳ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᵇʸ @ᵐᵘʳᵘᶠᶠⁱⁿ

[strwbabydoll]

pairings: boyfriend!mafia!Harry x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

summary: Harry's known for being ruthless in the way he does his job, a day out with his girlfriend takes a horrible turn.

content warnings. IMPORTANT: hurt no comfort. blood, guns, knifes, and death. please read with caution

authors note: this has to be the darkest story i've written and i just want to say please read with caution, don't read if you are uncomfortable with any of the warning written above. minors please don't interact. this may or may not have a second part following the aftermath.

----

It wasn’t supposed to end this way. 

Everything seems to go wrong one after another and Harry blames himself. If he hadn’t been so reckless, had been paying more attention he would’ve seen it coming. He figured they’d come for him eventually, there’s no denying that part. He had enemies, there’s no doubt about that. It just comes with the job, or the title he would say. Being a head boss of his huge mafia crew, he’s bound to have enemies because of the fact that he’s relentless in his ways. 

He doesn’t waste time with questions that most people ask before killing someone, he gathers the information beforehand and watches them before making his move. He’s mean in his acts, likes to torture them and prolong the pain before quickly putting them out of the misery (he just doesn’t like to hear their screams.) He’ll beat them and laugh while doing it, mocking their cries while he tortures them. He’s well known around the United States, his name sending fear through most people that hear it. No one wants to deal with him, to end up on his bad side, while other mafias will send their catch to him sometimes if one of their employees doesn't want to do it. He’s popular with the other bosses, constantly being invited to any events and to teach but he declines, it’s simply a waste of his time. 

While his hard exterior scares off anyone in sight, there’s one person who broke down his walls and quite frankly is  the complete opposite of him. While he’s all black and grumpy, she’s soft and sunshine-y, all bows and giggles and sweet smelling perfume. She doesn’t hang around him while he’s “Mafia Harry,” usually out shopping or baking or whatever because she can’t stand blood or seeing anyone get hurt though she understands why he does what he does. His men think he’s crazy half of the time, the amount of times they’ve walked into him smiling on the phone (when he’s not bossing his men around, barking orders over the phone or beating someone to a pulp) or chuckling to himself at certain points of the day is concerning to them. 

He doesn’t talk about his personal life to them aside from his closest man on the team, EJ who has heard bits and pieces about Harry’s girlfriend, his other men don’t get paid to listen to him gush on and on about the girl of his dreams. They whisper amongst themselves about how he’s smoked too much or needs to cut back on drinking and drugs and whatever else he does, they think it’s all gone to his head. None of them bring it up to him though, they know better than to do so. After all, he is the one that signs their checks and he treats them well enough that they don’t want to mess up any chances of keeping their job. They just don’t understand how their grumpy and uncaring boss can be so smiley and happy, especially before he has to take care of someone. 

He keeps her away from his job for a reason, there’s no need for anyone to see her, to know that he does in fact have a weakness. He doesn’t want to take a chance of a mole coming in and reporting to their boss about her. His main focus is protecting her and making her happy, always having her sporting his favorite smile. Besides, she’s too pretty to be around all the gruff men and blood and screams. He doesn’t want to tarnish her in any way, he loves her just the way she is and he refuses to be the one to ruin her view of the world. He doesn’t want her to end up like him, all grumpy and somewhat pessimistic of the world and always on the edge whenever he leaves the house. He wants her to keep laughing and cooing at cute animals they pass by, wants her to feel comfortable enough with him to always be able to shut her brain off and just follow him aimlessly. 

He’s a busy man, constantly having to answer phone calls and texts and emails and double checking surveillance videos to make sure they have the right guy, but he tries his best to leave work at the door when it’s just the two of them. He wants to be able to just enjoy the time together and not have to worry about who he needs to find next, wants to be able to look at her smiling and be content with that. He wants to enjoy their time together, doesn’t want to be distracted with his work duties and the constant sound of his phone dinging. 

They normally would just hang out at the house, watching whatever tv show either of them were interested in or just lounging around. That’s one of the main things that he loves about her is that she’s content with just existing with him, his past partner wanted to go out all of the time and party. He didn’t necessarily mind it, but he prefers to just unwind and relax on his off days; he just wanted to have a sense of normalcy, the peace amidst his chaos and his storms. That’s what happened when he met her. It was a cute little meeting that Harry still brings up quite frequently and is one of Y/N’s favorite memories of them. 

Harry was having a bad day, it all seemed to go wrong. While he’s always grumpy, he woke up especially grumpy that morning and of course he tried his best to not take it out on his employees, but of course still ended up being overly sarcastic with them, grumbling about whatever they did that upset him so he decided to make a trip to just breathe. He grabbed his jacket, hat and sunglasses and quickly let EJ know he’s leaving and he’s in charge for the meantime. He walked for what seemed like hours before he landed on a small coffee shop, a small run down looking building with plants in almost every corner and empty space. He figures this might help with his grumpy mood so he walks inside, the smell of coffee and different pastries fill his nose immediately, the sound of the different conversations happening all at once and the soft piano music coming from the speakers fill the space and his ears. 

He ordered a drink out of his normal, one that was recommended by EJ’s girlfriend actually, a tall white chocolate mocha with just a drizzle of caramel and it has to be iced. Those were her words exactly, it won’t taste as good if he doesn’t order it exactly how she says it.  The lady looked at him weird, a concerned glance that only says she knows how to do her job so she’d appreciate it if he didn’t doubt her abilities. He only gives her a nasty glare in return, one that flusters her so she walks away mumbling to herself as she starts making the order. He then walks to one of the nearby walls, leaning against it as his eyes scan the room and taking in the different personalities, mainly doing this to be aware of who else in the room with him (as if anyone who’s in the mafia would be ordering coffee, let alone from the same cheap looking building that he’s in,) but still just in case. 

Not even a couple minutes later, his order is being called out and he walks up to the register once more, hoping this will help his grumpy mood. He wasn’t paying as much attention as he should’ve been though, otherwise he would’ve known that this wasn’t his order actually. As he went to grab the cup of coffee, another hand reached out as well, one that was smaller and softer. Painted nails and a few rings on the fingers, and he immediately looks up with a scowl ready to tell the person off. It was his drink after all, what were they thinking? When he looked up, he was met with a soft apologetic smile and the prettiest of eyes, her hair held back with a big bow and an outfit to match. She smelt like heaven if that was a smell, sweet smelling and strong; a scent that matched her aura perfectly, although Harry wouldn’t call it her aura, he didn’t know the right word to describe it. 

He couldn’t go off on her, it’d be cruel and he’s not that mean, so he just stares at her. She immediately begins to fidget with her hands and he can tell he’s intimidating her. 

“I’m so so sorry! I just assumed this one was mine because I was here before you, but you can go ahead and take it!” She says through a breath, her eyes wide and face flushed. He furrowed his eyebrows at her, he doesn’t understand why she’s giving away her coffee if it’s true. He’s not gonna just take someone else’s coffee no matter his mood. 

“No, no go ahead. If you were here first then I’m not gonna just take it.” He says as he pushes the cup closer to her, he can feel the unnecessary glare from the worker at the whole interaction and it only irritates him further. 

“Are you sure? You seem very…um…. Grumpy and I’d hate to make your day worse.” She says as she pushes the cup towards him. 

This is all very silly, the whole situation. He’s just trying to be a gentleman and she can’t grasp that. He then grabs the cup and puts it in her hand, forcing a smile to seem as if he’s friendly and not trying to hide his frustration. 

“I’m serious, I don’t even know if I’ll like mine, it was a suggestion from a… friend of mine I guess. Enjoy it before it gets watery.” He says, but he doesn’t understand why he’s being so nice to her. Maybe because she’s pretty? But he doesn’t want to date her, he can’t afford to waste his time like this anymore.  She ends up telling him her name and asking a couple of questions to try to make small talk and unfortunately for Harry she’s fairly easy to talk to. They talk until his drink is ready, and then some more out the door as they walk to their destinations and then she has the confidence to ask for his number, which of course (and against his better judgment) he agrees. 

After that it’s pretty smooth sailing, conversations whenever they have the time, and of course a little white lie whenever she asks about what he does for work. Months later, Harry found himself asking her to be his girlfriend and of course she said yes. They usually spend their time lounging around and just existing in each other’s company, but today Y/N wanted to go for a little walk around the town. Normally Harry would be against it, especially when it’s right after he just took care of a member of a rival mafia who’s higher up on the scale and he knows he has several mad enemies looking for revenge. But Harry had thought that he’d been doing a good job hiding her from the public, having her dress as one of his men or wearing some sort of disguise after he told her the gist of what he actually does, so he doesn’t think much of it. He agrees but tells her they can only be out for half an hour, no more just to be on the safe side. She squeals excitedly before tugging on her shoes and throwing on one of his jackets and basically drags him out of their apartment. 

She shows him a couple of her favorite spots in town and gives him her favorite orders and practically begs for him to try, he will always try anything she wants. They talk quietly, wrapped in their own little bubble of bliss and this was Harry’s biggest mistake. He’s usually very attentive whenever they’re out and about, but he allowed himself to be distracted listening to her talk. She’s excited as she talks about some outfit she wants to get for the pet they don’t have, her eyes all bright and full of excitement. The air is warm against their skin and the clouds begin to roll in, dark and menacing and this is where Harry should’ve begun to take a hint. 

Things seemed too calm, aside from the storm beginning to roll in. It seemed too quiet, and then the rain began to fall. Small droplets of water cooled their skin and Y/N smiled brightly at the sky, silently thanking the universe because she always likes walking in the rain. It just always seemed so romantic to her. Harry didn’t think too much of it though he was still cautious. His eyes still scanned over the sidewalks and streets, trying to stay alert of his surroundings. He watched as Y/N tugged her jacket closer to her, a signal that she’s getting too cold but she’s always been too stubborn to let him know, she just enjoys being outside too much. 

He just assumed that time would be on his side with all of it, and had enough time to somehow throw the Gallegos family off of his tracks long enough to not have to be on edge anytime he’s out. He hates it whenever he feels as if he’s putting Y/N in harm's way, hates the feeling it gives him knowing he’s the reason she can’t just walk down the street or just even exist in this world. He’s too scared of someone linking her to him and then taking her away. Y/N says she doesn’t mind all that much, this is the happiest and the most taken care of she’s been in a really long time. As long as they’re both happy and safe, then she could care less. 

Harry didn’t see it coming. The breeze was picking up and the rain was coming down harder, thunder began to boom in the sky. The storm was coming, and it was coming fast. Everyone was scrambling to get indoors or to their cars and Y/N’s just smiling but still walking fast, she hates being too wet for too long. They were bumping into one another and Harry walked a beat behind her, just in case she happened to trip or anything. There was a slight commotion happening in front of them, the sound of gasps and the shuffling of feet as they were pushed to the side. Before long a man is running at them, a hood hiding his face and wearing baggy clothes. Harry still doesn’t think too much of it, maybe a burglary or he upset a store owner, but he’s still cautious. He walks closer to Y/N, his face turning mean in an attempt to deter the man from bothering them. It’s useless though, a good attempt at best but the man moves closer and Harry frowns. He wraps an arm around his girl and begins to move her onto the other side but the man is already right beside them, still moving. 

He’s an arm's length away and before anyone can realize it a knife is entering Y/N’s side and she’s groaning and leaning over. Harry can’t believe it, he frowns deeply and his eyes scan over her. He picks her up and begins to make his way through the crowd to find an empty spot, to make sure they’re safe before anything else happens. There’s more gasps and murmurs around them, more than likely the bystanders either assume he did it or they’re just shocked. It’s not every day that you see blood pouring out of someone. Right before Harry can get them into an alleyway and when he clicks on his ear piece to alert EJ about what’s happening, a gunshot sounds and the bullet goes into Y/N’s head, her blood splattering over his clothes and onto his face. 

He hurries into the alleyway, tears streaming down his face as he stares in disbelief. 

“EJ here, what’s up boss?” EJ’s voice comes through Harry’s earpiece. 

“EJ, they found me. They hurt her. I need you to get into all the security cameras on the strip and find out who did it, search for snipers as well. One Knifed her and someone else shot her,” His voice cracks on every word. He gently sets her down onto the ground near the wall, once he feels as if they’re far enough. Hidden enough by the shadows of the buildings but with just enough light to see the damage. 

It seemed as if the sky screamed with Harry. 

The rain was pouring down heavily, the clouds dark and the wind was unforgiving as it blew harshly against the trees and the ground below them. The lighting strikes were loud, bright flashes of light burst from the sky randomly and loud rumbles of thunder were deep in his ears. Mother Nature has to be upset as well, crying with and for Harry and his loss. He can’t believe it, the love of his life. Gone. Her breathing is shallow and her eyes are just barely opened, she doesn’t have much life left. 

“You fucking promised! You can’t leave me! Don’t hurt me like this… please” Harry’s voice cracks as he sobs over the body in his arms. 

“I’m so sorry, mama. I’m so fucking sorry, you didn’t deserve this and it’s all my fault. I knew me being in your life was a bad idea but I couldn’t help it. You made me so fucking happy, the happiest I’ve been in a while. You deserved nothing but happiness and smiles, you shouldn’t have to worry about hiding. I was selfish and I’ll forever blame myself, I should’ve let you go. I’m so fucking sorry. I love you, please. You can’t leave me. I need you.” He cries, his words are muffled into her neck, somehow hoping him speaking into her body will magically bring her back to life, keep her alive. He can’t hear anything aside from his own sobs, everyone else doesn’t matter to him at this moment. He’s sure that EJ is trying to talk to him, but he can only focus on the fact that he’ll never be able to hold her again. 

He’ll never be able to hear her laugh again. He holds her tighter to him, his tears landing in her skin and he screams. He screams and screams forever, he doesn’t care that he’s gaining attention from the people walking by. He doesn’t  care that they’re calling the police and ambulances, doesn’t care that he could be attracting his enemies. They took the only thing he truly cared for. He knows he’ll never be able to love again. There’s a few people trying to help, ask if he needs anything. Offering to take them to the hospital, even the paramedics can’t get to her. He won’t let them take her away from him, he can’t bear it. He can’t imagine a life away from her. They’re trying to convince him that she needs to go to the hospital, trying to take her from his hold. He just holds her limp body tighter, crying harder and yells at them. 

Eventually they’re able to calm him down enough to remove her from his hold and they begin to transfer her to the ambulance. 

“Don’t bother taking her to the hospital. Just take her to the morgue. She’s dead. There’s no saving her.” He says as he wipes his tears, everyone just stares at him. 

“Please.” He says and just walks through them, he doesn’t have it in him to argue. Right now, he has a mission. He’s determined to get revenge. 

He now has no reason to not hold back anymore, and he plans on finding each and every one from that group. 

He’s not going to play nice, and he’s going to take his dear sweet time. If they thought he was crazy and ruthless already, he’s going to prove that he’s insane now.

[smileyoongle]

Pairing- VampireKing!Jungkook × Human!Reader

Genre- Arranged Marriage AU (Sort of?), Enemies to Lovers, Soulmate AU

Summary- Jeon Jungkook was known to be a tyrant, destroying anything and everything to get what he wanted. And this time, he wanted you.

A/N- Hi guys, this chapter is not essentially a chapter in the series. It is more like an explanation of the current world order in the series' timeline. Please remember, there is going to be no taglist for this series, so keep your notifications on. Okay bye :-)

The Exodus: Unveiling the Origins and Consequences of the Night-Walker Dominion

By Elara Claxon

July 14th 1324

Three thousand years ago, the world witnessed a cataclysmic event known as The Exodus. It was a day when Hell, overwhelmed by an unprecedented number of sinners, could no longer contain them. In an act of desperation, the Devil unleashed these tormented souls upon the Earth, transforming them into vampires. They emerged from their graves, giving birth to an era of terror and bloodshed. These night-walkers, driven by an insatiable thirst for blood, wreaked havoc across the world, decimating entire populations and forcing humanity into hiding.

For years, humans struggled to survive, constantly on the run, seeking refuge from their relentless pursuers. In the midst of this chaos, they began to uncover the weaknesses of these creatures and devise means to counter their strength. It was during this dark period that two self-chosen leaders emerged—Theron for the humans and Aristarchus for the vampires. These leaders, whose names have since become legendary, met in secret to negotiate a fragile peace.

At the time, the world was divided into thirteen nations. Theron and Aristarchus brokered an agreement to partition these nations based on mutual understanding, creating a semblance of order amid the chaos. For a while, this uneasy truce held, allowing both humans and night-walkers to coexist in their respective territories.

However, not all vampires were content with the division. A faction of them, hungry for absolute power, revolted against the established order. They waged a brutal campaign, overthrowing the human-controlled kingdoms one by one until only a single human nation remained. Today, the world is divided into twelve vampire kingdoms and one human kingdom, a stark testament to the aftermath of the great night-walker revolt.

To govern their expanding dominion, the monsters established a ruling council known as the Domini, composed of the seven oldest and most powerful night-walkers. These ancient beings, with centuries of wisdom and strength, assumed control over the night-walker kingdoms. They decreed that one vampire would be chosen as Emperor, tasked with overseeing all thirteen kingdoms. Despite this, the human kingdom remained autonomous, refusing to acknowledge the night-walker emperor’s rule.

The Domini also codified a set of laws and principles in a tome called "The New Order." This book became the cornerstone of vampire governance, outlining the rights and responsibilities of both the Primas and the Foundlings. Primas, the pure-bred who were awakened from the grave by Hell or some miracle, held a revered status. Foundlings, created from turned humans, were often treated as outcasts within their own society.

In recent times, tensions have reached a boiling point. The humans, determined to reclaim their lost territories and sovereignty, have incited revolts across the vampiric kingdoms. These uprisings have led to widespread destruction and loss of life on both sides. Cities lie in ruins, and the streets run red with the blood of humans and night-walkers alike.

The world now stands on the brink of another great upheaval. The delicate balance maintained by The New Order is crumbling under the weight of renewed conflict. As humans fight to regain their power and night-walkers struggle to maintain their dominance, the future of this fractured world hangs in the balance. The Domini, once thought to be the unassailable rulers of the night-walker kingdoms, find their authority challenged at every turn. The ancient treaties and laws that once held the world together are now mere relics of a forgotten era.

In this tumultuous landscape, the fate of humanity and night-walker-kind alike is uncertain. The echoes of The Exodus still reverberate through the ages, a grim reminder of the chaos that can ensue when the balance of power is disrupted. As both sides prepare for the battles to come, one thing is clear: the world as it once was will never be the same again.

Stay vigilant, stay informed, and may we never lose hope.

For information, or to report news, please find us at:

23 Shadowed Alley, Raven's Cross, Valoria

The Eyewitness Post | Keeping the Light of Truth Alive in the Darkest Times

[watarfallar]

Desert Duo treats because it's a week until Christmas

Grian: I’m going to get so much done today. Scar: I’ll hold you to that. *8 hours later* Scar: So how much did you get done? Grian: One thing. Scar: Well, that’s one more than usual.

Scar: So my therapist was talking to me and she said that I really just need to break down my walls and let people in. Scar: So I’ve decided to break the fourth wall. Scar: *looks at camera* Hi there. I use humor as a coping mechanism.

Scar: Hey, are you alright with swearing? Asking for a friend. Grian: Yeah? Scar: Bitch.

Grian: *Gives a bouquet to Scar* Scar: You know I'm allergic. Grian: That's the point.

Grian: Is this mistletoe? Scar: Uh, no, no, that is basil. Grian: Too bad cause if it was mistletoe I was gonna kiss you. Scar: Yeah, no, it’s still basil.

Grian: What have I done wrong?! Scar: Everything. For your entire life.

Scar: If it’s any consolation, they got me here on a very misleading text message. Grian: Technically, you are about to be screwed in the biology room.

Scar: What is wrong with you? Grian: Many, many things… Grian: And most of them are your fucking fault.

Scar: Live fast, die young, leave behind a pretty corpse! That’s what I always say! Grian: You should say something else.

Grian: My back hurts. Scar, walking into the room: Take the spine out.

Scar: Everything will be ok. You can not stop it. Scar: Everything will be fine. You have no choice. Grian: What the fuck kind of pep talk is that? Scar: Ominous positivity.

Grian: Scar, what did you just do!? Scar: I took your advice. I stopped running from the problem and I tackled it head on. Grian: I meant try emotional honesty, not murder!!

Scar: I’ve become a bread crumb dealer to four crows at the lake. They pay me with a bit of everything. Like shiny things, fabric, or pens. But recently they paid me with a 20 dollar bill they found somewhere. So I decided to buy them some more expensive bread. They loved it. So they understand what to do. Give me money. I’ve probably racked up about 200 dollars at this point. Is it morally wrong though, I mean. They’re the ones who steal the money from others. Or perhaps they just have a big pile laying somewhere. Should I keep on doing this? Grian: You sound like the start of a Batman villain.

Scar: Detective! The man belonged to some kind of cult that worshipped a divine forest creature with antlers and that’s how he met his end. Grian: Dear God! Scar: Yeah! Exactly!

Grian: You've got to act tough, Scar! Show 'em you can't be pushed around! Show 'em they can't mess with you! Scar: Right. Yes. Tough. Got it. Scar, standing up on their stool and slamming their hands down on the bar: I'LL TAKE A CHOCOLATE MILK.

Grian: Fight me! Scar: gets on one knee and pulls out a ring Scar: Fight me for the rest of our lives.

Grian: Don’t preach to me about romance, Scar. I had a three-way in a hot-air balloon.

Scar: What’s sexting? Grian: I'm not having this conversation with you.

Grian: If I ever had a child, I imagine they would be a lot like you. Scar: Aww, thanks— Grian: Which is probably why I’ve never reproduced.

Scar: What’s your greatest weakness? Grian: Interpreting the semantics of a question, but ignoring the pragmatics. Scar: Could you give an example? Grian: Yes, I could.

Scar: Okay, but what if we went to dinner not as friends this time? Grian: AS ENEMIES?! Scar:

Scar: I desire moisture. Grian: Please just say "I want water" like a normal person.

Scar: Babe, you're so funny! Grian: We have 1492 days until your tragic premature death. You will break my trust three times before that happens, but I forgive you. Scar: Awwww, that's sweet of you!

Grian: I didn’t want to do it, no one else wanted to do it, so I made Scar do it!

Scar: You got a date yet Grian? Grian: No… Scar: Well you do now! Get your ass up and hold my hand!

Grian: Dammit, you ruin everything! Scar: You're welcome.

Scar: They called me the B-word. Grian: Motherfucker doesn’t start with ‘b’.

Scar, talking about Grian: WHAT THE FUCK I WAS ARGUING WITH HIM AND I SAID “OOH YOU WANNA KISS ME SO BAD” AND GUESS WHAT? HE DID. HE KISSED ME. WHAT THE FUCK WHAT DO I DO.

[maruyaaya]

talking about my neoptolemus/telemachus wip bc idk how to shut the fuck up!!!

SO the dynamic between neoptolemus and telemachus in my wip is essentially that neoptolemus is in love with telemachus from their first meeting, but he’s convinced that telemachus is too good for him and that he destroys everything he touches so he masks that with cruelty and pretends that he hates telemachus. telemachus is at first, drawn to neo and really likes him, but then neo starts being cruel in his attempts to push telemachus away and that gets telemachus to genuinely hate neo. it’s like a one-sided enemies to lovers. neo wants really badly to hate telemachus, but he can’t find it in him to not love this boy who he thinks shines like the sun. telemachus, on the other hand, just hates neo and he blames neo for ruining this friendship that they could have had.

their relationship basically flips back and forth between neo saying some unintentionally soft shit and when telemachus is like “what” neo just immediately says “but you’re also a weak dumbass so. fuck you.” neo is such a girlfailure in this fic he doesn’t know how to handle emotions AT ALL. he’s grown very special to me in the course of writing this fic which is very funny bc prior to starting this fic, i actually did not care for neo in the slightest before i started writing this fic. i only cared abt him as an extension to achilles bc achilles is my fav greek mythology figure ever. THEN AGAINST ALL ODDS, neo charmed me while writing this fic. like these are some tweets from my priv twt where you can see me progress from not caring at all abt neo to seeing him as my little babygirl son

so yes, i was charmed by my socially awkward son neoptolemus. he’s such a little freak. my favourite headcanon is that maybe in another less angsty fic than the one i’m writing rn, neo wants to flirt with telemachus and bc he’s emotionally inept like his father, he decides the best way to do that is to ask telemachus to spar with him and bc he hates losing, he goes all out and beats telemachus up. it’s like

neo, internally, after punching telemachus in the face: yes, our courtship is progressing magnificently

telemachus, clutching his bloody nose, trying to figure out why neo hates him:

LIKE THEYRE SO FUNNY TO ME!! i love them sm.

but anyways back to the specifics of my fic. they don’t get to be quite as silly in my fic. essentially what happens is that neo hears of odysseus returning to ithaca and decides to visit. there, he meets telemachus and is immediately charmed because he’s such a little loser. telemachus invites neo back to the palace for dinner and neo ends up getting in an argument with odysseus that ends with him going “I WILL TRAIN TELEMACHUS.” and odysseus does not want that to happen so ofc, telemachus says he wants neo to train him.

and the plotline is basically neo and telemachus’ relationship progressing as neo trains telemachus. it’s full of a lot of really sexually charged sparring and angry arguments.

some of you may be wondering why i refer to neoptolemus as neoptolemus always and not pyrrhus even though pyrrhus is his original name. well in my head, pyrrhus is the name that he’s given at birth by deidamia and neoptolemus is the name he takes up when he goes to war because he feels like he’s become a different person. neo struggling between his two names is actually going to be quite a plot point in this fic

because this fic is just as much a character study of neoptolemus as it is a ship fic between neo and telemachus. i spend a lot of time exploring his relationship with his parents and also his relationship with odysseus. it’s neo’s desire to piss off odysseus in the first place that gets him to stay in ithaca with telemachus. i really want to spend a lot of time exploring neo as a character bc so often, people write him as just being needlessly cruel, but i feel like it’s important to remember that he was just a kid when he was brought into war. he has this legacy from achilles that he needs to live up to, but he’s never even met achilles and how are you supposed to live up to the legacy of the greatest of the greeks? how would it ever be possible to make someone like achilles proud? neo’s grappling with his self-worth and identity a lot during this fic.

so far this fic is about 22k words and it’s very special to me. in the vision i’ve created in my head, we’re about 1/4 done but i make no promises because you all know me and how awful i am at sticking to the word counts that i imagine. it could be much shorter, it could be much longer. i don’t make plans. i just sit down in front of my google docs and bleed.

i’ve also been making plans for a little modern au neo/telemachus fic BECAUSEEE i really want to write that little neo and achilles exchange that i mentioned in my last post abt neomachus (teleneo? idk what their ship name is but i like calling them neomachus). my vice is creating wips and never finishing them tho so idk when (or if) i’ll write that modern au.

i guess i’ll end this little infodump off with some fun exchanges between neo and telemachus that i really like in this fic. they’re just so special to me <3

i will absolutely talk abt this fic more in the future as i continue writing bc im so obsessed with it rn. i will do my best to finish it asap but every time i think more about it, it gets longer.

(ALSO the title of the fic is “someday i know you’ll come to your senses” which comes from the song senses by mico who is, yes, the guy who plays telemachus in epic the musical. what can i say? i like it when things come full circle (it’s also a really fucking good song. everyone stream internet hometown hero by mico))

(none of these excerpts are edited or anything btw. if there are any typos please keep that to yourself or i might die of embarrassment)

edit as of 15/01/25: THIS FIC HAS BEEN POSTED!! you can find it HERE!! :D

[exp3rian-x]

A-Z Artist/Writer ask prompts

I noticed that a lot of people (including myself) don’t know what to draw or write sometimes, but having some one ask is a great motivator!

I created this super cool and super awesome ask list!

This was created for Undertale and Undertale au’s in mind

Tw : some violence

Letter A

1. Avoid an attack

2. Assuring themselves or someone else they’re going to get out

3. Admire from afar

4. Attempt to reason with an overly aggressive monster

5. Argue with a monster who refuses to listen to reason

Letter B

1. Bandage their wounds after a battle

2. Bargain with a bunny in Snowdin for discounted items

3. Block an incoming object (rock, can, trash, etc)

4. Brush hair

Letter C

1. Crouch behind something to avoid being seen by an someone

2. Cross a narrow bridge, carefully balancing to avoid falling

Letter D

1. Drifting off to sleep

2. Dusting their shoulder off

3. Dusting a monster

Letter E

1. Examine markings on a wall, do they look familiar? (yes/no)

2. Exit a room after solving a challenging puzzle

Letter F

1. Fight off a group of enemies with an attacks

2. Find a hidden item after solving a puzzle

3. Fleeing a dangerous monster fight

Letter G

1. Give a monster a compliment to convince it to spare them

2. Grip their weapon tightly, ready for a fight (tense)

3. Gather firewood for a campfire and makeshift shelter camping in the forest

4. Go buy healing items and equipment

Letter H

1. Heal their HP with a food item

2. Huff in annoyance

3. Helping a hurt monster

4. Hopping over a trap that springs up in the middle of a hallway

Letter I

1. Ignite a torch to light the path ahead in a dark area

Letter J

1. Jump rope!

2. Justify their actions

Letter K

1. Knock on a door to ask for directions to the next area

2. Keep their distance from a dangerous monster(hiding)

3. Kill a human

Letter L

1. Look around the area for hidden clues to solve the puzzle

2. Lift a heavy object blocking the path with difficulty

3. Laugh with a monster who just told a funny joke

4. Listen to the eerie sounds of the underground, making them scared staying alert and awake longer

Letter M

1. Move a block to complete a puzzle in the Ruins

2. Meditating

3. Mark the map, noting important locations they've discovered

Letter N

1. Negotiate with a monster

Letter O

1. Observe a monster’s attack pattern

2. Offer a monster a piece of food

Letter P

1. Pick up a weird thingy from off the ground after a battle

2. Participate in a (friendly) sparring match with a monster

Letter Q

1. Quickly solve a puzzle (junior jumble)

Letter R

1. Rest at a save point to recover after a tough battle

2. Reach for a healing item when their health is low in battle

3. Rush into a room to save a monster from danger

4. Read a strange book in the library, learning a secret(WD Gaster related prompt ?)

5. Reset

Letter S

1. Spare a monster after a battle

Letter T

1. Try to start up a conversation with someone to gain information

2. They take the elevator down to the next level in Hotland

3. Talk to a monster to gain insight into their background and the underground

4. Trying to use a new weapon found

Letter U

1. Use a healing item during a fight

2. Unlock a door with a key they found earlier

3. Upgrade their DEF at the shop in Temmie Village

Letter V

1. They visit a bar in snowdin getting a snack

Letter W

1. Whistle to get the attention of a nearby monster(taunt)

Letter X

Nothing yet…

Letter Y

1. Yell for help when they find themselves in danger

2. Yearning for the surface, hoping to one day escape the Underground

Letter Z

1. Zip across the room, dodging attacks and obstacles

2. Zone in on a monster’s weak point

3. Zip through a narrow gap to escape a pursuing enemy

What would you like to see me draw?

[frawggie]

Another HC of mine after rewatching the High Rollers DnD episode with the BG3 crew:

Astarion and Tav (or Durge) get to a point of closeness that he begins to teach them hand signals. It’s somewhat a mix of sign language, but more like an evolved form of a 3rd Base Coach’s signals, like so:

It ends up becoming extremely handy more often then not because they often are sneaking into places they don’t belong, need to keep the element of surprise, etc.

One day they (and the entire crew of companions) are trying their damned best to enter some ruins teeming with enemies without being spotted. The enemies are pretty weak, but it would be a hassle to just face so much numbers head on.

So they split up into two groups to form a pincer attack. Astarion takes one group, Tav takes the other. When they get into position, Astarion and Tav begin signaling each other, but now can’t come to an agreement as to how to execute the ambush.

They are furiously signaling one another. It’s a flurry of speaking with hands and facial expressions. Eyes are sassily rolling; lips are mouthing cusswords and more. It devolves into them flipping one another off while still signing about the plan (that’s how they silently express extreme displeasure).

The companions are so enamored by the silent bickering that they begin snickering at this looney toons ass argument. They completely lose the element of surprise as the enemies pick up on the group now howling with laughter.