#then I turn on burning crusade

[mzcain27]

I need wow to like. Let me turn expansions on

[mintyys-blog]

Hellooo! Can I just say that I am in love with your writing? Your work is literally perfection 💕

On that note, could I request Viltrumite!Mark x reader, but reader either being taken back to Viltrum by Mark, or kinda being raised on Viltrum but still rebelling??

So either Viltrumite!Mark goes to earth, falls in love with reader, reader is super strong so he takes them back and they become his “pet” (and maybe they’re so strong/useful that the Viltrumite’s can’t just kill them) But they rebel by having fun, making a radio listening to music, painting, just still trying to enjoy human things. But Mark and the other Viltrumite’s are just confused af

Or reader is taken by a Viltrumite as a child/baby because they’re OP af (Nolan situation, but the Viltrumite adopts their partner’s previous kid). Is kinda raised on Viltrum, still has that human attitude and still rebels in the same way. Is expressive, listens to music, dances, sings, cooks, etc. But now the Viltrumite’s watches as a human turns one of their warriors into a loving parent. Same premise, Mark falls in love with reader, reader still finds ways to enjoy life, confusing Mark, etc.

(Idk what power they would have, maybe something like Yuki Tsukomo’s cursed technique, because she’s OP and I love her. Or maybe reader has like Kryptonian/Starfire abilities?? Idk, you can pick whatever you want. And if this is too weird or confusing then feel free to ignore this. Have a nice day ❤️❤️)

REBEL | viltrumite! mark grayson x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: kidnapping

Mark found you on Earth. Not cowering. Not running. Standing.

You were radiant—glowing with a heat that cracked the asphalt beneath your feet. Your energy flared like a second sun, brilliant and unpredictable. You didn’t need to throw a punch. The force that wrapped around your body like a second skin pulsed with every emotion. A living aura that bent reality around you, the result of a rare cursed technique shaped by willpower alone—like the universe answering your emotions with violent truth.

And when he tried to take you down?

You smiled. He knew then that he wouldn’t kill you. Couldn’t. And so he took you.

⸻

Viltrum was… sterile. Cold. Brutal. A world forged in discipline and blood. And yet, in the middle of it all, you glowed. Literally. Your power made your skin shimmer like starlight, your eyes ever-burning with that same dangerous emotion they couldn’t understand.

Mark brought you to Viltrum thinking he could break you in quietly. He didn’t call you a prisoner, but the word lingered unspoken. The Council debated your existence in private chambers, wondering if you were a threat or an opportunity. You didn’t care. You were too busy making noise.

Your quarters—technically a suite for a high-ranking soldier—became your sanctuary.

You painted the metal walls with glowing sigils, strokes of cursed energy infused in each color, humming songs from Earth as you worked. You carved a primitive speaker system into the walls, rigged it to play music from memory and vibrations stored in Viltrumite data drives. You danced barefoot through the corridors, trailing light, your hair lit with energy like a comet’s tail.

Mark found you spinning in the center of your room one day, music thrumming against the walls. Your mural stretched across the metal—planets with faces, stars bleeding laughter, and a massive figure in a blue and black suit painted into the sky, a gentle expression on his face. Him.

He stared at it for too long.

“What the hell are you doing?” he muttered.

You glanced over your shoulder, then smiled. “Reclaiming this place.”

His jaw clenched. “This isn’t Earth. You can’t just play pretend here. These people—my people—will tear you apart if they think you’re a threat or a joke.”

“I’m not pretending,” you replied, dipping a brush into light and slapping it across the wall like rebellion. “This is me. I’m not a soldier. I’m not a pet. I’m not some nameless asset in your crusade.”

“Then what are you?” he snapped, stepping closer, expression unreadable.

You turned, meeting his eyes, all the chaotic power in you burning beneath your skin. “I’m human. And that’s everything you’ve forgotten.”

⸻

Word spread fast. Viltrumites avoided your wing of the palace, unnerved by the strange energy in the walls. Some accused you of sorcery. Others whispered that your power could twist minds. You laughed. You built wind chimes from scrap metal and taught soldiers how to play poker. You cursed a general’s boots to squeak for three straight days.

The Council confronted Mark. “She’s mocking our world. Undermining control.”

“She’s not a threat,” Mark replied. “She’s just… different.”

“She’s undisciplined. She does not obey. That makes her dangerous.”

Mark didn’t have a response for that.

Because deep down, they were right. You were dangerous.

But not in the way they feared.

⸻

One night, Mark stood outside your door, staring at the soft music echoing through the hall. Something acoustic. A slow beat. A human song with lyrics he didn’t understand. When he stepped inside, he found you sitting cross-legged in the center of the room, surrounded by sketches and paint-stained cloth. You looked up at him like you’d been expecting him.

“You okay, soldier boy?” you teased.

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes scanned the room—your art, your light, your presence. Something in him clenched.

“You’ve changed this place,” he said quietly. “Changed me.”

“Is that so bad?”

“I don’t know yet.”

You stood, approaching him slowly. You tilted your head, and the starlight in your veins pulsed faintly, echoing your emotions. “You were born here, but you don’t belong here either, Mark.”

He didn’t stop you when you reached for him. Didn’t stop you when your fingers brushed his face, trailing warmth where nothing but blood and war had touched him before.

“You brought me here to break me,” you whispered, leaning closer. “But all I’ve done is show you what it means to be alive.”

Mark didn’t kiss you. Not yet. But he didn’t walk away either. He stood there in the low glow of your self-made sanctuary, surrounded by your colors, your music, your warmth. And something inside him—it stirred. Twisted. Something he didn’t want to name.

The next day, you were gone. Not missing. Not dead. Just… relocated.

They stripped your room bare. Took the paint, the music, even the rugs you’d made from recycled cloth. The walls were scrubbed clean, your mural painted over in stark gray. You woke in a sterile chamber deep below the palace, guarded by soldiers who flinched every time your power flickered.

Mark didn’t show up. Not for days.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t break down. You waited. And when they brought your meals, you thanked them. When they tried to interrogate you, you smiled and asked if they’d ever seen stars up close. When they accused you of sorcery, of manipulation, of corrupting their precious heir, you laughed and said they didn’t know what corruption was. Not really.

Mark finally came to see you when the Council threatened to execute you.

“She’s too unpredictable,” they told him. “She’s not a soldier. She’s not one of us. Either she bends to our order… or she breaks.” He stood in your chamber like he didn’t recognize you, arms crossed, jaw clenched. “You could’ve made this easier.”

“I wasn’t trying to make it easy,” you said calmly. “I was trying to make it real.”

“I warned you.”

“You did. But you also knew I wouldn’t stop.”

He exhaled slowly. “They’re going to kill you.” You stood, the light beneath your skin flickering. “Then let them try.”

He moved before he could stop himself, hand grabbing your wrist, grip firm—but not cruel. “Don’t.” You met his eyes. “Then do something.”

That night, you weren’t returned to your old quarters—but you were moved. Not quite free, not quite caged. The room was quiet, untouched, and large enough to pace. Mark posted guards outside, ones that reported to him. He didn’t say what he told the Council, but whatever it was—it worked.

For now. But you were still a fire. One they didn’t know how to contain. You rebuilt your radio. Pieced together wires with nothing but touch and memory. You played songs that echoed down the halls. You painted on stolen scraps of metal and used energy to etch patterns into the floor. You whispered stories to the guards who didn’t speak to you. You hummed lullabies that made them shift uncomfortably.

Mark kept coming back. He never said why. Sometimes he brought questions. Sometimes he just sat in silence, arms resting on his knees as you sang or told him about things that no longer existed on Earth. Things he never cared about until now.

“Why do you care about all this?” he asked once, watching you sketch a bird mid-flight. “It’s meaningless.”

“It’s everything,” you said softly. “It’s freedom. Emotion. Beauty. It’s the reason not to burn everything to the ground.” He didn’t respond.

But the next day, he brought you a paintbrush. One you hadn’t asked for. You took it without a word, fingers brushing his as you did. He didn’t move away.

One of the guards eventually reported that your energy output was growing—steadily, but without aggression. The Council demanded another evaluation. This time, they watched from behind thick glass as you levitated mid-air, body pulsing with raw, radiant energy, yet never attacking. Instead, you painted stars in the air, one by one, until the room shimmered with constellations.

“She could destroy us,” one whispered.

“But she hasn’t,” Mark said.

“And if she does?”

“She won’t,” he answered, voice low. “Not unless we give her a reason.”

You saw him watching you through the glass. His expression unreadable.

You floated down slowly and stared straight back at him. Then, without fear, you drew a simple shape in the air with your fingers. A heart. He couldn’t stop the twitch of his lips— a small smile coming on his face.

[val-of-the-north]

The "Hornsent deserved it" sentiments make me lose my goddamn mind

Short answer: No they didn't.

Long answer: Oh my gooooooooooood can we NOT do this shit, please???

There are two underlying sentiments to this line of thinking.

The Hornsent hurt Marika's people, thus Marika did nothing wrong, therefore they deserved to die badly

The Hornsent hurt Marika's people + Midra and some others, Marika is still evil, but the Hornsent deserved to be destroyed

Both may even come to the extreme of "Messmer wasn't cruel enough" or some other nonsense in the same vein.

-

Number 1

To tackle number one, we need to remember a little thing called Elden Ring's base game. The Hornsent's jar ritual is undoubtedly abhorrent, that much is true. But I urge you to remember the things that happened during Marika's reign. She:

Murdered all of the Fire Giants but one, subjecting him to a fate similar to hers but worse, forced into labor confined on the mountain among the remains of his people and culture. She mocked him, to boot. All of this because they might have burnt the Erdtree.

Enslaved the Misbegotten from birth "or worse" because their species just so happened to have made contact with the Crucible.

Rewarded her own loyal Crucible Knights with scorn because of it too, as they didn't fit her current society that they fought to establish.

Made sure the Albinaurics were seen as lesser just because they were graceless, which influenced the way they were treated. She even had her Inquisition, run by Rykard, torture them in needlessly cruel manners, as they appear to be their main victims.

Just in general, she allowed Rykard to run a sadistic Inquisition to torture heretics to the Golden Order in the first place, and she saw nothing wrong with it or their practices.

She entombed the entire Great Caravan over a false rumor, which is the sole reason why the Flame of Frenzy was even a problem during her reign. This has also scarred the remainder of their people greatly.

Made the lives of all Omen a living hell either by cutting their horns just as they were born which often kills them, hunting them down in as cruel a way as possible by using their trauma and body parts against them, or throwing them in a sewer to fester with evil spirits hidden from view. She also used to shackle them, including her two children, just to make extra sure they wouldn't crawl out.

Shunned anyone who saw a vision of the Erdtree burning, regardless of who it was, and chased them away from their homes.

Literally allowed the belief that shorter people are somehow lesser, for apparently no reason at all (her most random discrimination decision tbh). This forces them to band together and take up honorless jobs just to get by, and in turn, people start to spread rumors of their inhuman practices, which are likely all untrue.

Had people literally work as slaves for the nobility just by virtue of "being born into obscurity", whatever that means. As well as other accounts of slavery like the Fallen Hawks (likely tied to the defeated soldiers of ancient Stormveil).

Likely endorsed viewing anyone without Grace as inferior beings, which includes the Tarnished that only exist because she divested them of it. She has done nothing to ease their discrimination (despite potentially seeing them as a future asset of sorts), as even the members of the Crusade are more than ready to kill us, like Fire Knight Queelign.

All of this was done in service to HER religion and order. Killing all the Fire Giants and burying the Nomadic Merchants alive? Oh, they could have ruined her age with those pesky flames of theirs.

Systematically oppressing Omen, Misbegotten, Albinaurics and the likes? Oh, they are impure creatures, unlike her people, blessed with the Grace of Gold, elevated from the rest. (Which is the exact same line of thinking as the Hornsent and their horns for crying out loud).

"Oh but the Hornsent stuffed her people into jars" yeah, and I am not arguing the contrary! It was a cruel, deranged practice, born of simple superstition that their victims would be reborn as "good people". But Marika's answer if you don't fit her vision of the world is to either get rid of you and your people through extermination, by literally hounding you from your rightful home, or by enslaving you.

Both sides are genuinely awful... but there's only one side that people are justifying, and it sure as hell isn't the Hornsent.

Marika's backstory is meant to make her less a god, which is all we have ever known her to be before the DLC, and more a human, which is what she once was. It gives her complexity as a character, it's meant to be the catalyst from which we learn why she took the path that she took. It is absolutely not meant to make us go "holy shit guys, Marika was the good guy all along???", because what she brought upon this world through her burning desire for vengeance has ruined it irreparably, and ruined the lives of most of the creatures who inhabit it.

This includes her ruthless, honorless, pointless Crusade against the Hornsent. Sure, it was her own son that started it, but it was for her sake. It was her who allowed him to wage it, he had her full support... until the thing turned to such a slaughter-fest that even she could not associate with it anymore due to how appalling it all was. And what better way to do that than to seal her own son away to wage war endlessly? And not just because his actions made her look bad, but also for the same crippling fear and prejudice that saw her kill all Fire Giants but one and scar the Great Caravan.

Gratuitous violence across the board, and for what?

(I want to make it absolutely clear that I don't mean you can't like Marika now. In fact, I'd say the DLC made her much more of an interesting character to me as well. I just cannot fathom seeing the entirety of Elden Ring and coming out thinking "wow Marika was the good guy" because she isn't. Heck, coming out thinking that she'd be disgusted with what her grandson Godrick is doing with grafting as if she isn't the queen of having zero empathy for those who are graceless or aren't her family, which the Tarnished he grafts are neither. She'd probably be very proud if anything. Marika is a monster. She became one the moment she obtained godhood, because no milestone would quell her. She did all the wrongs, so take this whole section as a refresher in case you had forgotten)

-

Number 2

Now, to tackle number 2... this one seemingly has more nuance, but falls for the tried and true pitfall of "the many must pay for the crimes of the few" which is exactly where it rots and collapses onto itself.

Apparently, because of the perpetrators of the Jar Rituals, ALL Hornsent, INDISCRIMINATELY, deserve to be destroyed. They all, each and every single one, deserve the Crusade and the absolute pointless ruin that it brought them. From the children, to the ones who were friends with people with no horns, to the ones who found their own practices grotesque, to the ones that weren't even tied to the Tower's religion and were just simply living their lives.

They ALL, EQUALLY deserve to be burned, to have their cities destroyed, to have their lives ruined. All of them. Ok.

Number 2 works with the assumption that the Hornsent are some sort of hive mind. Some sort of all-encompassing religious order who believes in their superiority. But that's just the Tower's religion. Hornsent are a people. And people are individuals, with their own opinions, their own lives. In fact, from the perspective of the average Hornsent citizen, they were attacked out of nowhere as they were living in peace, which likely means they weren't even at war with Marika before this event.

People also have the assumption that all of the Hornsent were benefiting from their society, which is blatantly false. In fact, outside the treatment of the Shamans, the people that we know the Hornsent have hurt the most are their fellow Hornsent. We know of quite a few of them suffering at the hands of their kin BECAUSE of their religious and cultural practices.

Being Hornsent isn't a "free from mistreatment" card. If anything, the large Gaols where they were imprisoned were built specifically to house them. The main prisoners we find in large numbers are commoners, the same types as the ones scavenging the ruins of their ravaged towns. They are often seen eating maggots off the floor and cowering in fear. All of them were Hornsent too, locked away for who knows what crime. Could have been big and important, small and insignificant, or even just a failure to do something properly (there's precedent), point is, it's clear the Hornsent weren't having a good time in there.

The jar rituals were used mainly as punishment for the imprisoned Hornsent themselves, as a way to have them become "good people". This was just as horrifying for the Hornsent prisoners as it was for the Shamans I assume. Look how terrified this Hornsent seemed at the prospect of sharing that fate. This is the reason why they chopped up Shamans in the first place, as ritual ingredients for a punishment meant primarily for their kin.

And there were more Hornsent who suffered because of the leading ideology. Curseblades were once shunned because they failed to become tutelary deities, and so they were thrown in the Jar Gaols. They were only let out so they could use their expertise and flowing movements to defend their homeland when Messmer invaded, otherwise they'd be rotting with the Innard Shamans and the other Hornsent prisoners the way Labirith is.

It's also worth pointing out that Midra's Mense was filled with Hornsent attendants who sided with their sagely master regardless of his lack of horns and what the Inquisition believed of him. If we were to operate with reasoning number 2, they too would deserve to be murdered in the Crusade because they just so happened to be Hornsent. Because ALL Hornsent deserve extermination for what happened to the Shamans.

And we also know that the Hornsent can find what happens in Bonny Village revolting. In fact, we know that from someone who was born and raised there.

This sounds nothing like someone who thought any of that was ok. So who is to say other Hornsent weren't like this too, especially those who DIDN'T live in Bonny Village? Those who risked being stuffed into those same jars themselves? We make waaaay too many assumptions about an entire race, and that in itself is foolish enough.

If there's someone to blame, it's the Tower's Inquisition. They are the religious order that governs the Hornsent. They have all the power in their society... and yet, would you look at that? Enir-Ilim, their sanctum, the one place where those calling the shots reside, is completely untouched. And what about Bonny, the most structurally fine Hornsent settlement, when you'd expect it to be a black stain of char by now. But nope, no sign of Messmer activity and the Greater Potentates are just running around naked, doing their thing as usual.

The Crusade isn't even a good tool of vengeance, the only ones suffering are the civilians who were likely the ones with a higher risk of ritual jar punishment anyway. If this isn't proof enough that the Crusade is a completely petty, useless revenge war that accomplishes nothing I don't know what else to say. I'll just leave with what the people taking part in it were taking pride in doing.

These are people who, without a shadow of a doubt, would have chopped up most of the oppressed groups described earlier and stuffed them into jars if Marika had told them to do so. (Heck, something like this was being done to the Albinaurics already, as we have seen previously...)

They have zero moral superiority, their deranged zealotry is the only reason they act in the first place. Not to mention that they have no connection to Marika's struggles or past, nor were they informed of them I bet. It's likely only Messmer truly knows the reason for the Crusade, and that's only because he is her child and shoulders all the blame onto himself.

"Those stripped of the Grace of Gold shall all meet death" is LITERALLY their motto. Do you really think they stopped at the Hornsent? They were just their main target, but judging by the way all of Messmer's soldiers, including Queelign and the other Fire Knights, and even HE HIMSELF, attack us on sight for the simple fact we are Tarnished and lack Grace in our eyes, I have no doubt in my mind these people were just rounding up and killing anyone who didn't conform with the Golden Order.

THESE are the people who should be allowed to play judge, jury and executioner with the entire Hornsent race. And people will genuinely, with a straight face, tell you "That's right".

-

To conclude... I think I actually hate reasoning 2 more than reasoning 1 lol, despite not liking either at all. At least 1 is understandable. Marika is a very interesting character, one that we have known for a few years now. We have an attachment to her, heck, sentiments of her being some sort of misunderstood/rebellious figure were already there before the DLC. In that regard, I understand the emotional response, even though I still think it's a wrong mindset to have. I have at least some hope that it is purely in the realm of fiction because it's a beloved character, nothing more...

Reasoning 2, on the other hand, attempts to be nuanced, or at least pretends to be. In reality, all it peddles is the "an eye for an eye" mentality which is much too common irl as well. Not only that, but it deals in monoliths. All people belonging to a group or race are equally responsible for stuff they didn't even commit, stuff that could have even harmed them, because their leaders decided to commit crimes against another set of people. And don't get me wrong, there will be even commoners from that group or race that will agree with and celebrate that bad deed, but just as many will not, but will be either scared, powerless, already being punished for speaking up through physical violence or elaborate shunning, or currently protesting and doing something to hopefully ignite a change.

But that reasoning only exists to perpetuate cycles; of war, violence, and hate for the most part. And sadly, this mindset is very prevalent, a lot of people fail to see the issue with wanton violence as long as it's to stroke that lust for vengeance. And vengeance is a theme that Elden Ring criticizes multiple times in a row, even beyond the obvious horror of the Crusade.

[pcharming7]

So there’s this new tabletop game called Trench Crusade that I’ve been reading up on, and here’s some of my favorite lore tidbits so far:

-The whole setting is an alternate timeline where the Knights Templar found a portal to Hell in Jerusalem during the Crusades and opened it, plunging the world into a forever war with demons that’s lasted into 1914.

-The church has made multiple clones of Jesus called Meta-Christs. There’s at least seven of them, and they’re harvested for their flesh which turns you into a horrifying mutant with superpowers if you eat it.

-The initiation ritual for the human fighters of Hell, the Heretic Legion, involves traveling to the gates of Hell and coming back without being burned alive. The only way for a human to survive Hell is to be a bad person, so even the basic infantry is made up of grade-H (for Hell) certified pieces of shit.

-The Heretic Legion has a unit called an Artillery Witch. They use magic to teleport bombs from factories and then throw them at people.

-The Hashashin still exist in 1914, and they use special drugs that briefly send their bodies into the future so they can attack from multiple places at once. They also build up toxins in their blood and then use said blood to make poison knives.

-In the official timeline there’s an event in 1477 that just states “The city of Argos is taken by God and it is no more,” and there’s no elaboration on what that means.

-There’s a lot of little alternate history moments that boil down to “it didn’t happen because Europe was too busy fighting Hell.” Protestant Reformation? European Colonialism? Who has time for that when you’re being attacked by a wolf with a chainsaw for a face?

-Not a lore tidbit, but it’s a genuine miracle that the creators aren’t those weird alt-right Crusades or Roman Empire LARPers, given the game’s general aesthetic and subject matter.

So yeah, Trench Crusade is absolutely insane so far. I’m still on the fence about it as a game, but the lore is all kinds of insane and I can’t wait to see how it gets fleshed out.

Official website because proper credit is important:

[milkywayes]

We all know the endless frustration of Garrus calibrating in ME2, but the whole situation just tugs at my heartstrings. Not just that he’s trying to keep busy to distract himself from grieving the incredible loss of his team, which he believes to be his fault by turian standards, but just:

“Shepard. Need me for something?” -> [hurriedly and dejectedly declines a personal conversation] -> “I’ll be here if you need me.”

That.

Something about the way he phrases it around need. It gives me the strong impression that he’s not just shutting himself down for his own sake so he doesn’t have to deal with messy grief and self-recrimination and burning, wounded anger before he can do something about it. He’s shutting himself down so he can work. He’s shutting himself down because once he starts actually grieving and processing, it’s over—his productivity, his clarity of mind, his usefulness to Shepard’s team on a suicide mission.

His usefulness to her, full stop.

Shepard has made clear from the start of their reacquaintance that she is depending on him. Someone I trust at my side. He’s got her six. His whole raison d’être, at this point, is to support her and be an asset to her mission. The only reason he is alive, right now, is because she needed him for her mission, and he knows it.

He will not let her down. Not like he let his team down—by ‘letting his feelings get in the way of his better judgment.’ He will not let it happen. He will be there if she needs him, he will be there to depend on, and he will operate as a repressed damn shell of himself in order to do that and be that person for her.

I’ll be here if you need me. Please don’t ask me how I’m doing because if you do, chances are I no longer can, and then what’s the point of me? But I’ll be here. You can depend on that.

And then there’s his action plan for Sidonis, and there’s a lot I could say about that would make this post way too long (turian society: living in service of the collective, the absolute taboo of ‘compromising your team,’ blame lying on the superior officer - and Garrus’ personal crusade: uncompromising justice) all of which play heavily into why he’s trying to execute the guy, but there might also be a note of efficiency in there.

One shot, and then it’s over, and he can be there fully for Shepard. One shot. One inhale, one squeezed trigger, and it’s done, and he can tie up the case and put all his energy into something else: their mission. It’s neat and clean… and not effective and bad for him in the long-term. He might not admit this to himself, and it might take a clear head to come to the conclusion, but the thing is—I’m not sure it matters to him. What matters is that he gets the affair dealt with swiftly so he can do his damn job. For Shepard.

Luckily for him, chances are that it does matter to Shepard. Because for all that he’s locked himself away, she sees him as a friend—or more. Because even when he’s turned her away every single time, she wants him to be better. Because she cares for him more than she cares about his usefulness.

[divinegrey]

𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 / 𝐜𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

hi folks! it's good to be back and stretching my writing legs again. starting off with a caitlyn prompt! this could be read as a stand-alone or as a continuation of another caitlyn fic, broken pillars.

prompt: heyya! i'm absolutely in love with caitlyn AND your writing, so i was hoping we could combine the two :DD maybe something along the lines of cait x reader, a continuation of "broken pillars"? reader was injured in the blast, and Cait helps them/her (whatever you prefer) recover. maybe reader sees how much ambessa is manipulating her, and they end up getting into a fight over what's right?

words: 1162

warnings: mentions of violence, light angst, happy ending

“Caitlyn, this crusade is only going to end in more violence. You can’t possibly not see that!”

The Kiramman library has become something more of a battleground, in recent days. You were finally discharged from the hospital after extensive care to the leg you lost in what has been dubbed one of the worst terrorist incidents of Piltover’s history. And in those days since you’ve been home, you’ve become privy to every single thing that happened, everything that Caitlyn went through in her attempt to find Silco. 

Now Silco’s dead, and the whole of Zaun is in disarray. It only took one woman stepping in at the right time for Piltover to begin mobilizing; Ambessa Medarda. 

“It will be necessary for the safety of Piltover, our safety that we find Jinx and put her into Stillwater. She cannot be allowed to remain free for what she did to you,” Caitlyn says, standing at all too far a distance from you. She’s unreachable, has felt utterly unreachable ever since the explosion. Between tending to you, you know the gaps of time when she wasn’t at the hospital was spent sitting beside the famed warlord of Noxus. 

You’ve seen the change happen before your very eyes. It makes you scared. 

Pushing your hands on the wheels of your chair closer, you try again. “Cait, please, just listen to yourself. You’re suggesting arming an entire battalion of Enforcers and leading them into Zaun will fix the problem. You tried the strike team, it didn’t work the way you wanted it to, but that doesn’t mean—” 

“Until Jinx is behind bars, we are not safe.” Caitlyn’s stare is steely, but therein lies the exhaustion found in the bags of her eyes. Neither of you have been sleeping all too well; she comes into bed late at night when you’ve tired yourself out trying to stay up, and she rises before you have a chance to kiss her good morning. Caitlyn turns, hands on her hips. “You are not safe. I cannot stand for it.” 

“So, what? You slap a gun into every willing hand and shoot every Zaunite that gets in the way?” You sigh, leaning back against the cushion with a sigh. “And you’re fine with that? I know you, you’re smarter than this.” You wheel yourself closer to her side, taking her hand. “I know that this has left you distraught. Your mother in a coma, me in a wheelchair, but we are both still here, Caitlyn. An eye for an eye. You took Silco out, the Undercity is in chaos. People down there are scared. The Caitlyn I know and love wouldn’t be putting together weapons; she would be putting together aid, a plan to unite Zaun peacefully as possible.” 

Caitlyn doesn’t look at you. Rather, the fire that burns in the library hearth, the flames reflected and dancing in her eyes. She squeezes your hand, the callouses from shooting for so many years evident on her fingertips. Her throat bobs with a swallow. 

“It makes me scared, Cait. To know that Ambessa is saying these things into your ear and it feels like I can’t even get through to you,” you start, rubbing your thumb over her knuckles. “I’ve been friends with Mel long enough to get a sense of what her mother is like, I’ve studied enough politics to know what Noxus prioritizes. Strength and power. They see that in Hextech. That is all they want. They don’t care if they have to start a war to get it, because that is what they’re good at.” 

Caitlyn blinks, and for the first time in days, you see a tear fall from her eyes. Her chest rises with a heavy breath. “I failed to keep you safe. I had an opportunity to pull the trigger on Jinx. Vi, she— she weakened me. I wanted so badly to believe there was a way to end all of this with everyone alive, and the cost of believing that was nearly losing you and my mother.” A small scoff. “If my mother will ever wake up.” 

“Look at me.” You tug on her arm, and only then does she turn to you. You make a gesture for her to sit down on an armchair and she follows, slumping with an exhaustion you both feel in your bones. You take your hands and hold them tightly. “You can’t burden yourself with every ounce of responsibility, Caitlyn. You are one of the strongest people I know, but even you will crack under that pressure. Please, just give yourself some more time, give Mel and I some more time to try and put together a plan. The Council is angry. Ambessa has power enough as it is, but what she sees in you is someone to exploit. Grief is a powerful motivator; all I ask is that you don’t let it motivate you into something you’ll regret.” 

If it weren’t for you holding her hands, you might not have noticed the shake in her fingers. You know your girlfriend well enough to understand that the shaking only comes when the stress has built up so much that it reaches her hands; a sharpshooter can’t risk shaking hands when they need to take the shot. With something of a forlorn smile, you bend your head, trying to catch her eyes. 

“Love, I promise, you didn’t fail me. Nor your mother. I’m still here, and I still love you so, very deeply with everything I have in my heart. So please, if there is any guilt or grief you carry about me, drop it. Because I am with you, until the end of time,” you say, pouring every ounce of devotion that you possibly can into your words. What you see in turn is the exterior of Caitlyn’s armor cracking, the tears falling, and you cup her face within your hands, bringing her eyes to yours. “I love you, Caitlyn Kiramman.” 

Her hands hold your wrists tight; it’ll take time for her to lay down her guilt, and you’re happy to stand beside her in the meantime. You kiss her, soft and tender, the salt from her tears on your lips but you couldn’t care less. You survived death and lost a leg, a grief that will settle, but you count your blessings where you can find them. Your family is still alive, Caitlyn is still alive, and her parents are still alive. 

It will have to be enough. 

“I love you,” Caitlyn whispers into your mouth. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Your heart is safe with me, and mine with yours. There is a light at the end of this tunnel; we need only find it, okay?” You stroke her cheekbone with your thumb, wiping away the tears as they come. She nods, resting her forehead against yours. 

Only time will tell of what happens to Piltover and Zaun, but you breathe easier, knowing you have your partner at your side. 

~~~~~

A/N: thank you for reading! anon, i hope this was what you wanted!

[candywrithee]

*soft yandere themes implied

Imagine being a technically? villain in mlp but they just couldn't stop courting you. Prince Solaris gifting your opposing kingdom gifts to "mend both of your relationship". Prince Artemis giving you the sweetest dreams because even you can't stop him from dreams. Or maybe you can, no one knows.

Prince Caden and (fem)Shinning Armour agreeing with each other to pursue you. After all, two is better than one! You could easily just ruin things in the crystal empire and all they do is shake their heads and softly bringing you away to possibly lock you up as time out.

Dusk Shine and Butterscotch would be so scared to even try without a bit of help. Dusk Shine could definitely willingly try and hand you anonymous gifts. Butterscotch's animals would be scared at first but if you are ever so soft to animals, they wouldn't be after seeing you around them. Doesn't matter if you avoid them, they know you can be soft. They had to drag Butterscotch to talk to you. Bonus points if you can tower over him.

Bubble Berry is very (genuinely) happy around you. You could dumped a whole cake on top of him and he'll just eat it off thinking you want to party with cake. Just imagine the chrysalis and fluffy videos. That's you two.

Applejack is... Trying his greatest with the help of his family that is. The cutie mark crusaders are on the case! He's down bad like his dad with his mum. Like father like son I suppose. Bunny shaped apples and apple desserts all the way.

Elusive is a handful but definitely not shy. Sweetie belle is really struggling with rooting for her brother or for Applejack because of last statement. Elusive gifts you the flashiest things, even ones that doesn't really cover themselves in diamonds. I'm sure you can tolerate his efforts. Ego? 50/50.

Rainbow Blitz, I'll admit is not the best partner candidate. But he's the element of loyalty for a reason. He gets points because of his loyalty to you. He's the athlete boyfriend that wants to show off every second to just impress you. He the one that says "This is for you!" while pointing at you at his every game.

This turns more into a boyfriend thing so let's be mean.

You burn every gifts sent to you, and even slam the door on everyone if they appear in front of your place. You yell at Butterscotch and his animals when they get so overwhelming. You push them harshly that they fall when they get so close. You purposely sabotage them or make them trip like at Rainbow Blitz's.

You can do so much, what's stopping you?

But they're delusional enough to think you have a good soul deep down your dark heart. I mean just look at Stellar Gleam! (Don't feed their fantasies or do, I don't care.)

[theres-a-body-here]

Scumtober - Day 2 (Size Difference)

Reinhardt WiIhelm x Male!reader

The scent of burnt candle mixed with the smell of alcohol filled the air; it was clear that Hana had gone all out for her birthday celebration. You're sure the others are enjoying themselves, but you've never been the party type.

Your scene is way more calm and quiet, so staying near the back and watching the others socialize from there seemed like the best play for tonight.

But it seems like loud has a way of following.

Walking up beside you, Reinhardt hands one of the cups in his hands to you with a warm smile, "Guten Tag mein Freund! I thought you might need something to drink." 

The cup seemed to disappear in his big hand, his giant form dwarfing even yours as he stood next to you. Reinhardt watches as you take the cup, your hands making brief contact. At that moment you realized that these cups were rather large, barely being able to hold the whole thing in a single hand.

The old crusader leaned in closer to you, his arm brushing yours lightly. "I am glad you could make it tonight," he says, raising his voice over the loud music and taking a sip from his own cup.

"At least one of us is," you mutter, taking a sip of your own. Despite not putting any effort into projecting your voice, he seemed to have caught it.

You see a slight furrow in his brow at your words, "Ah, well…", he starts to speak, hesitating slightly, "if you do not wish to be here…"

He takes a big gulp from his cup, letting his gaze drift towards the other guests before focusing back onto you.

His expression turned serious now, "If it would make you feel better, we could leave early?"

Silence fell between you as you meet each other's gaze.

Feeling your fingers tracing along his stomach, Reinhardt couldn't help but let out a soft moan at the sensation, his muscles relaxing under your touch. His eyes were shut, head leaning back as he let you explore his body.

Soft whispers left his lips in German, too low for you to hear properly, though they sounded sweet.

As you grabbed his hand, pulling it up to hold your palm to his, Reinhardt opened his eyes lazily, watching as you examined both of your hands.

A small smile graced his lips as he spoke up, "Ja, mine is quite larger.", he says, sounding a bit prideful.

"Everything about you is larger," you huff, pushing him onto his back, eliciting a grunt from him as he lets you do so easily. "It's not fair."

He folded his arms behind his back, exposing his muscular torso to you fully. "Ah~ my apologies mein Liebling", he said in a playful tone. "I did not mean to be so imposing."

Chuckling, you climb onto him, straddling his chest.

Reinhardt groans, a light blush appearing on his cheeks, "And how does your Crusader look from there?" He asks, his voice lowering slightly.

"He looks...less intimidating," you mutter, feeling like those birds you see on rhinos.

Smiling softly, Reinhardt moved his hands from beneath his head to gently grip your thighs, squeezing them tenderly. He then moved one of his hands to your belt buckle, slowly undoing it while looking into your eyes.

A low hum escaped his throat as he worked on it, clearly enjoying every second of it.

As he finished undoing your belt buckle, he lifts your legs up with one hand, carefully sliding off your pants with the other, leaving you in just your boxers.

A soft sigh leaves your lips, a bit embarrassed he was manhandling you so easily. His eyes glance downwards briefly to admire your newly exposed legs before looking back up at you.

He hooks your waistband with his thumbs, motioning to pull them down. However, instead of doing it alone, your hands reached out to cover his, helping him remove your boxers with ease.

As they join your pants on the floor, he gives a small smile, grabbing at your hips and pulling you higher up on his chest.

Your face burned up as he did so, causing your cock to bounce slightly, dragging across his skin. Holding you firmly in place, he looks at your hard-on that was now a few inches away from his face.

Reinhardt leans forward slightly, his hot breath washing over your cock as he breathes deeply, taking in your scent. A shiver ran down your spine as he held you in place with strong hands, pausing for a moment before finally pressing his lips against your cock, placing a soft kiss on the throbbing shaft.

"Rein…"

Hearing you moan out his name and reach out to grab at his hair sent a jolt of heat throughout his entire body, causing him to shudder. He pulled back after placing a kiss on your cockhead, looking up at you.

"Sweet boy," he coos before planting another kiss onto your cock, followed by another, and another, peppering wet kisses across the length of your shaft. Each time he kissed it caused his already hard cock to twitch, precum beading at the tip.

He barely hears your little whines as he pressed his lips against your cockhead again, slowly parting them as he took you inside of him.

You gasp as you felt yourself slide into his mouth, your hands maintaining a strong grip on his head. A low moan escapes your lips as you struggle to stay upright.

Grunting at the sudden movement, he wrapped his arms around your hips, holding you close as he began bobbing his head back and forth, working your length in and out of his mouth.

Each thrust pushed your cock deeper into his mouth until you bottomed out, the tip of your cock hitting the back of his throat. He hummed softly in approval, the vibrations strumming through your dick as he held you there.

"F-Fuck," you whine, tugging on his hair a bit harder than intended.

His hands gripped your hips tightly as he controlled the pace at which you fucked his mouth, changing between slow sensual thrusts and slamming your hips into his face harshly. It wasn't long before his mouth became sore from all the movement, but he paid no mind.

"Rein, I'm gonna…" you moaned, tugging at his hair as you felt yourself getting close.

Reinhardt suddenly thrust your hips forward, forcing you all the way down his throat. He swallowed convulsively around your cock, triggering your orgasm immediately. With a loud moan, you cum down his throat, filling it with rope after rope of hot cum.

Once you were done cumming, he slowly pulled back, releasing your cock from his mouth with a pop. Cum dripped from the corners of his lips as he smiled up at you.

Pulling you down to meet him as he gets up from laying down, his large hand gripping the back of your head firmly as he crushes his lips against yours. You let out a muffled whine, your hands holding on to his chest as you open your mouth to let him in.

You could taste yourself on his tongue as it wrestled with yours.

Pulling away from the kiss, he kept his large hands on both sides of your face as he squished your cheeks playfully. "Mein Schatz," he chuckled softly. "You taste delicious."

Scumtober 2024 Masterlist

[endofthelinegang]

pill bottle

omg not frank in the last episode poppin them pills, anyway here you go

The room stank of sweat and whiskey, the kind of place where the walls had heard too much. Frank sat hunched over at the edge of the bed, head heavy in his hands, elbows braced against his knees. The bottle near his boot was empty, but the little orange one in his palm wasn’t.

Your chest ached just looking at him.

"You think this fixes anything?" Your voice was quiet, but it carried. "You think if you put enough bodies in the ground, it’s gonna bring them back? That putting bodies in holes takes your family out of theirs?"

Frank’s head snapped up like you’d struck him. "Don’t—" His voice was a growl, warning, but you weren’t stopping.

"Or what? Are you gonna hit me now, Frank? Go ahead. Add me to your body count. It’s the only thing you’re good at anymore."

His nostrils flared, and in a blink, he was on his feet, the chair screeching back and slamming against the wall. "You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about."

"I know exactly what I’m talking about!" You threw your arms out, shaking, voice breaking. "I know you wanna believe this—this crusade of yours means something, but it doesn’t. It’s just violence for violence’s sake! And you know it!"

Frank took a step forward, close enough that his breath fanned against your face. "You think I like this? Do you think I want this? You think I get to just walk away?" His voice was low and lethal, and his hands curled into fists at his sides.

"You already did!" you shot back, voice cracking. "You walked away from anything good the second you decided you were never coming back. You let yourself turn into this because it's easier, right? It’s easier to be the monster than admit you’re broken."

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "You think you’re so damn smart? You think you got me figured out? You don’t know shit."

"I know you, Frank. I know the man who used to give a damn. I know the man who didn’t drink himself stupid or pop enough pills to stop his heart. But that man is gone, isn’t he? And all that’s left is the wreckage. And you love it."

His breathing was harsh now, every muscle in his body drawn so tight he looked like he’d snap. "You don’t know a goddamn thing about what I love."

"Don’t I?" You swallowed hard, wiping your eyes angrily. "Because I’ve been here, Frank. I’ve been right here, watching you destroy yourself, watching you turn into something unrecognizable. And you let it happen. You let it happen because the truth is, you don’t want to come back. You don’t want to be saved. You just want to burn."

His jaw twitched. A muscle jumped in his cheek. The silence between you was suffocating.

"You walk out that door, you don’t come back," he spat, voice thick with something worse than anger. "You leave me in this—this hole, you don’t get to crawl back in when you feel guilty."

You laughed, but there was no humor in it, just heartbreak. "You think I feel guilty? I feel sick, Frank. Watching you do this to yourself, watching you slip further and further away, knowing I can't stop you. That’s what makes me sick."

He exhaled sharply through his nose as the words landed right in his ribs. His throat bobbed, but the anger still crackled under his skin, barely contained.

You turned, forcing your feet to move toward the door, heart-shattering with every step. But before you could reach it, a strong hand clamped around your wrist, yanking you back hard against a solid wall of muscle.

"Don’t," Frank rasped, voice wrecked, rough. His grip wasn’t bruising, but it wasn’t letting go. "You don’t get to go. You—"

His breath hitched, something breaking behind those dark eyes. He swallowed hard, chest rising and falling like he’d just run miles. His fingers flexed around your wrist before his grip loosened, but he didn’t let go.

"Stay." One word. Raw, unguarded. A plea, not a command.

And just like that, you couldn’t move even if you wanted to.

[irisintheafterglow]

hii i would like to request the premise of a feral gojo over reader getting hurt or in danger 🤤 please don't feel obligated to write tho only if u feel like it :3

cross them, cross me (gojo x you)

wc: 1.29k

cw/tags: brief but explicit violence including descriptions of blood (satoru beats the shit out of a curse lmao), swearing, angst/fluff with a happy ending, established-ish relationship with pet names baby and sweetheart

note: ah feral gojo my beloved. i think i got a little carried away with writing the violence aspect but what can i say! he really did go feral when you got hurt! anyways, hope you like this anon and thank you for the sweet ask <3

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated :))

The sound of bones crunching between his fingers is euphoric.

One by one, he takes the Curse’s limbs in his free hand, the other effortlessly holding it by the neck against a wall. Its desperate wriggles and squirms are futile and pathetic. With a tightened grip, the wretched body parts in Satoru’s palm wither and become a limp slug of skin. He’d tuned out the Curse’s howls of agony minutes ago, the world around him falling silent as he focused all of his energy into making the Curse beg for death. The phrase “seeing red” was familiar to him, sure, but the hue tinting his vision now was a deep shade of crimson. Whether that was from the blood or his own concentration, he didn’t know and he didn’t care. 

“What, did you give up?” His taunting smile turns into a snarl when the Curse fails to answer him the first time. It slumped itself against the wall, but he woke it up with a firm slap across its face. It wasn’t allowed to die, not yet. Not until he’d had his fill of its cries. “Learn your lesson yet?” It coughs out a plea for mercy, but he isn’t satisfied. Times like these were the only time his power truly went directly to his head. 

“Gojo.” Nanami’s voice temporarily breaks him from his trance, but Satoru doesn’t bother glancing his colleague’s way. His hand still remains around the neck of the Curse, scathing blue eyes burning holes into its face. “It’s time to depart.”

“I’m not done yet,” he hisses, embedding the Curse’s face further into the wall. The suit of his coworker is pristine and unscathed; his own uniform, on the other hand, was soaked in blood that wasn’t his own. No, he wasn’t done yet. Not until every Curse within a ten mile vicinity knew exactly what would happen to them if they attempted to harm you again.

“They’re asking about you,” Nanami states impatiently with a quick look at his watch. “And I’m working overtime.”

“Five more minutes,” Satoru commands and Nanami has no choice but to obey, releasing an exhausted sigh and leaving his superior to his crusade. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, realizing that the Curse must have died while he wasn’t looking. He examines the lifeless creature with pure disgust, flinging it so intensely at the wall behind him that its innards splatter like wet paint. “You are below me,” he says to no one in particular, but he can sense the frightened energy of the weaker Curses inhabiting the building. “Touch them and you will meet the same fate.” 

Once he’s exited the abandoned hospital, taken down the Curtain, and found the alley corner where he’d instructed Nanami to watch you, all remaining malicious intent in his body disappears. You’re scowling at him, your default expression when in his presence, and it reassures him that you’ll be okay. 

“What took you so long?” You wince and try to adjust yourself against the wall, swatting his hand away when he crouches and tries to help you. “I thought Nanami said there was only one Curse in the building.” He shrugs and you give him a skeptical look, slightly less potent than usual due to your injured state. “Toying with a Curse while I’m bleeding out? That’s a new low, even for you.” He knows you mean it in a joking matter, but the darkness that passes over his face after he laughs doesn’t escape you. It unnerves you, a little bit, trying to imagine what he was doing to the Curses when you weren’t there.

“What can I say? I was just trying to make you miss me,” he replies with only the tiniest hint of hesitation. He’s put his blindfold back on, you notice, but the subtle dip in his eyebrows tells you that he’s not revealing the whole truth. “I’m gonna lift you now–”

“I can walk on my own,” you protest, rooting a hand on the concrete and trying to push yourself up to no avail. You fall back against the wall and glare at his silently patronizing expression. “I just need a second.” 

“We don’t have a second. We need to clear out before the police get here,” he reminds you and you wave him off. “C’mon, just let me help you.”

“I can do this on my own,” you reiterate while simultaneously failing to stand. “It’s because you’re watching me. Just turn around.”

“If you wanna see my butt, just say so,” he grins and you roll your eyes. “But, really. I’m gonna lift you now, so try not to wiggle.” His arms extend to cradle beneath your legs and lower back and you’re surprised to feel the fabric of his uniform, not Infinity, when your hands try to push him away. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” you stammer in panic. He pulls away immediately and his teasing expression softens. You let him brush the dirt from your cheeks with one of his hands, the other coming to cover yours on his chest. His heartbeat is unwaveringly steady, his body warm beneath your fingers. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. We’re okay,” he reassures you. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you now.”

“It’s gonna hurt when I get up,” you whisper back. “A lot.” 

“I know it will, but it’ll only hurt for a few seconds.” Your exhales are too uneven. He had to get you back to the school if he didn’t want you to continue losing blood. 

“Seconds? What about the car ride back?”

“Oh no, baby. We’re not taking the car.” He shakes his head and gently laces his fingers with yours. “I’m warping us back so we can get that wound taken care of faster.” His grip on your fingers tightens, a crack in his composure revealing a glimpse of his own anxiety. “I just need you to let me help you.” After a few more moments, you nod and he doesn’t hesitate, scooping you into his arms before you can even register the searing pain in your side. The world goes white for a few seconds, just as he said, but then your head finds his shoulder and the pulse in your ears quiets. 

You wake later in the day to the sun casting an orange glow through your bedroom window. As you sit up, the pain in your side is still present but significantly dulled. When your eyes adjust to the light, you finally notice the figure slumped in your desk chair, a respectful distance away from your bed. 

“Satoru.” His eyes fly open and he’s in front of you within seconds, searching your face with concern and running his thumb over your knuckles. You give him the smallest smile you can muster and he reciprocates with a blinding grin. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, adjusting his position so that your legs can swing off the side of your bed. He rests on one knee in front of you, holding one hand in his, the other continuing to caress your face. “How are you feeling?”

“A little shitty,” you admit. “But, not nearly as shitty as earlier.”

“I’m glad,” he smiles. ��Need me to get you anything? A snack? Two snacks?” Your laugh feels warmer than the setting sun and you shake your head, lightly tugging him to stand up and crawl under the covers with you. “I guess this works too,” he mumbles against the top of your head, pulling you close until you’re snug against his body. 

“What were you doing in the time you were killing that last remaining Curse?” He hums thoughtfully and you swear his muscles flex protectively around your body. 

“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. For now, we both need rest.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[delusionalalien]

[Embrace You, Devour You] [Chapter 5] YANDERE!Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader x YANDERE!Variant!Invincibles

Not much mark on this chapter, but i have to write this part because it is basically the catalyst that triggered the entire events that will follow. Mostly acted on by Vanessa and that becomes a whole other problem as well. WE ARE CLOSER TO THE MAIN STORY THOUGH AAHAHAHHAHAHAHA

Note: again, before y'all decide to cancel me in the near future, i am updating tags regularly in each chapter because i ain't putting all my energy into typing and editing the tags for the previous chapters. PLEASE READ THEM!!!!

Reader is turning 14 soon , Mark is 13

prologue

previous chapter , next chapter

T.W / Tags: Slow-burn, Soft yandere, pining, mark is bat shit crazy but he good dw, baby-trapping, teen pregnancy, yandere variants, mark a lil pushy, breeding kink, jealous Mark Grayson, talks of abortion, misunderstandings, possessive Mark Grayson, murder, gore, child-murder(variant!readers), attempted suicide, murder-suicide(variant!readers), OOC, prob need more tags, Heavy Physical Bullying This Chapter

Your day started off bad and it also ended much worse.

You stand in the ruins of a city, arms crossed on your well developed chest. your white and grey tight skin suit littered with gashes from the fight between you and a kaiju.

The beast roared for a second to make its presence known, both of you in an intense stare down waiting for the other to make its move. Your hair adorned with a white streak to similar to your mothers.

You didn't wait, you didn't want to give it time. So you flew right onto the monsters snout and gave it a good punch with your bare knuckles. It staggered a few meters back and you didn't give it enough time to recover as you held your hands out, the tingling feeling of your powers making it effect on the beast as it whimpered.

It's face began to contort followed by its body curling into a ball midair before it turned into a flesh sphere. It fell somewhere in the city for the GDA to find.

As you lower yourself back to earth, you were met with the praises of civilians.

"Empress Crusader! We love you!"

"Empress! Look here!"

The praises got into your head, flipping your hair coolly as you walked through and they part for you like the red sea.

At the end of the crowd, stood there was Mark, he was older and he was wearing his civilian attire. His blue sweater with two lines across and his yellow undershirt peeked out from underneath his sweater. You see him smile at you, clapping at your victory.

"Wow (Name) you were really great back there!" he says as he took you by the hand.

"Thanks Mark!" You blushed, hold his hand tightly on yours as you both leaned closer to one another.

"So, do you wanna hang out in my place later?"

Mark smiled as he eagerly accepted.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

You two leaned closer, nose brushing as you two slowly close the gap. Lips nearly touching as you close your eyes.

Then without warning the sky turned red, the wind picked up as you pushed Mark behind you to protect him. The clouds morphed and turned into a face, a gnarly and grotesque face appears, glaring at you from below.

"Who are you?" You yelled, covering Mark as he cowers from behind you.

"Ms. Aguilar..." The face spoke

"How do you know my name!" This time you were in a defensive stand, ready to take action.

"Ms. Aguilar..." This time the face spoke angrily.

"Wake up..."

"huh?"

"WAKE UP!"

You jolted awake from your nap. The pencil firm in your hand flew off the table, the papers you were sleeping on wet from your drooling. You scanned the room in a panic, your ears picking up the snickering from the other side of the room.

Right, you were in your first class doodling about your hero costume on some spare papers you had on your bag, then somehow you fell asleep in the middle of his class.

Mr. Harrington raised a brow at you, one hand on a ruler he had been using to slap the whiteboard at the front earlier in class and the other on his waist before he slapped the ruler on your desk again.

"Awake now Ms. Aguilar?"

You nodded vigorously and wiping away the drool from your mouth.

"Sorry Mr. Harrington, I didn't have enough sleep last night." You sheepishly smiled, cursed Demon Manslaughter and its great amination because by the time the anime was done, you only have 3 hours left to sleep.

Glaring at Rebecca's goons from across the room when you see them fake sleeping clearly mocking you while a friend of hers laugh.

"Detention after (Name), don't even think of skipping." He points his ruler on you before he made his way back to the front of the class, continuing where he left off.

You let out a groan. Fuck high school.

-

It's been a year since you have your unrequited crush on your next door neighbor.

A year since you both finally became freshmen in high school.

A year since you lied about liking Todd.

And you don't know who, but someone told her that you like Todd.

You should have seen it miles away. The way she bat her lashes at Todd, the way she smiled like he was the most important person in her life, the way she changed based on his preferences.

God, you should have known that Rebecca White, your long time bully, had a fat fucking obsession crush on Todd Jefferson, the number one douchebag since elementary.

You were pressed harshly underneath the school benches, held by her goons on each arm as she slapped and clawed at your face, saying some shit that Todd would never look at you and what not. You we're incoherent, your ears failing you when one of her goons punched you right in ear in an attempt to knock you out earlier.

You can hear muffles of what she was saying, blood rushing out of your nose, your cheeks red from the constant assault of her hands, you felt sore all over. No matter how many times you try to pry away from her friends, you were always pinned right back up on that very same wall.

You cried out when Rebecca's friend punched your stomach, you we're just minding your business, heading to detention after parting ways with William and Mark. Mark offered to stay after school to wait for you but you shooed him off and told him to wait at your house so you both can play video games. Now you wished you let him stay, you wished you didn't waved at him when he entered that bus.

You puked out the food your father made for you. Head hanging low. You see the chunks of what he made, the ones he stuff in your bag and you remember your mother kissing you in the head before she and your father saw you off to school. Promising you that it'll be a fun day.

You cried not out of pain, but for your parents, for anyone to hear your pleas as you beg them for mercy.

"Holy shit Becks, her ear is bleeding."

You can make out one of her goons. Rebecca didn't stop no, seeing you writhing in pain entirely at her mercy gave her a power boost. How pathetic you were in her eyes. If anything, you understood she was turned on at the sight of you in her mercy.

"You always acted like you were fucking untouchable with that little gang of yours, where the hell are they now huh?!" slap after slap, your skin was becoming raw, red and bleeding.

"Let.. me go." You attempted to swing at her, but your arms we're pinned to the wall.

Another punch to the gut causes you to choke on the bile that rise in your throat. You let the contents of your food fall from your mouth, gasping in pain and finally you were let go.

You unceremoniously fell into your own stomach fluid. The smell clinging to your hair and you sob as your open wounds soaked in the puke that you laid on.

Before you can even lift yourself up, Rebecca kicked you right in the chest. Hard.

You feel yourself choked. Gasping as you gripped on your stained shirt for a sense of relief.

"Fucking know your place you sleepless freak."

With that they left. Not when one of them send one last kick to your stomach. You choked on a sob, tears blurred your vision as you see them walk away from you.

Rebecca White, she was rich, unstoppable, her parent's success makes her invulnerable to expulsions or even consequences for her actions. Back then she only ever did shove you out the swings or push you when you were in her way.

You wondered, why haven't you told on her to your mother. Was it shame? or was it because you thought you can handle whatever she brings to you?

Or perhaps you were afraid for her?

You don't know, you don't want to think.

So you cried, you cried for the pain to stop, your cheeks to heal, you cried for someone to find you, anyone really, you begged for the universe to find the strength in your arms to get up, for your legs to move.

Hell you were begging for a miracle, for your dormant powers to come and save you.

fucking move already, you cursed, but instead you gasped, your chest hurting and then there was a crack, your ribs caved in under the pressure.

You were crying for so long you hadn't notice the sun was setting, and the school lights closing.

You laid there, in the cold, waiting for someone to open them again, anyone to find you.

Pleading.

"Mommy..."

Was the last thing you muttered when you ultimately passed out in your own digested vomit.

-

Amber grumbles in annoyance. Her volleyball was left at school, her friends were using it after class during practice since the school haven't ordered any new ones.

She was relentlessly annoyed since it was her volleyball that was left at school. A gift her mother on her birthday.

Amber notices a few teachers hanging out the entrance, ready to leave when they spot her jogging over.

Amber explained to them briefly of her situation, Mr. Harrington nodded, agreeing to accompany Amber to get her ball back as they open the open the lights back up only for the gym.

"Where did your friends leave it?" Mr. Harrington questions Amber who was running up and down the benches, looking for the blue ball.

"They said they left it at the bench over here," Amber says, "I guess it rolled under."

Amber crouched, scanning for her ball and spots it rolled into the corner.

"Sweet! I found it!"

She celebrated, then she froze, face going pale as her mouth gape when she caught sight of someone's shoes still quite clearly attached to the person under the benches just a few steps away from where her ball was.

"Amber, are you alright?"

Amber didn't speak, mortified as she points at the body.

Mr. Harrington looked and his blood ran cold. Instantly he rushed to under the benches yelling at Amber to call the other teachers and for an ambulance.

It wasn't long before an ambulance appeared.

and for the news to reach your father.

-

Vanessa returned home, lights turned on the stove recently shut off, with the cupcakes still inside. The television buzzing in the living but nobody home.

She found it odd. Eerie, she doesn't return home to nobody in it once in her life when she had you. She was on her toes, alert for any signs of break ins that might have happened yet nothing, the house was dead silent, the ac in your room was off.

Why weren't you home?

Her phone rang, startling her from her thoughts. She scrambled to pick it up.

Nicolas was calling her.

"My love, where are you? Where is (Name)?" she paced around the living room.

Nicolas sharply took in some air trying to calm himself at the end of the line but broken sobs followed and he couldn't hide how entirely wreck he is now.

"I'm fine, but (Name)-"

"What happened to our varóbushik?" Vanessa feels her heart racing, "Tell me where you two are, now!"

Dead silence at the end, but Vanessa can make out that Nicolas was trying his best not to break down while he was talking to her.

"...we are at the hospital, mahal, Debbie and Mark are here too..."

Hospital?

"Changed into civilian clothes okay? They took her to a normal hospital, we'll be waiting, I love you..."

She hadn't even noticed she froze. Hospital, the one thing she never wants to see you in.

She made efforts, brought you medicine and with the help of your father fed you only the heathiest meals meant for someone as precious as you.

Yet you were at the hospital?

Vanessa sat down, taking it in. Breathing in and out, like Nicolas taught her when they were young, when he caught her in a panic attack not far from your age.

Her fingers were numbing. What the hell happened to her baby, was she even breathing normally? Was her kid even alive?

There was worry, then it boils into anger.

She dialed a number on her phone, stomping her way and changing into normal clothes, ignoring the way the objects that were levitating in her anger with clenched fist, rationality slipping as the seconds roll by while hearing the phone ring in her end.

"Crusher?"

"Mr. Stedman, i wish to ask a favor."

Nobody harms her baby and get away with it.

Sickness, Alien or Human.

-

Note: Damn i should probably add Platonic!Yandere!Mother in this too Jesus Christ

[ilidaeandquill]

All Is Fair in Death and War - Character Analysis/Notes

Narinder - Anger

For the sake of my sanity, we’re going to pretend this gif primarily focuses on Narinder.

Quick fun fact: On my Goat/Extra Hard save file, Narinder got the Jerk trait (which I refuse to correct for obvious reason). I'm going to make any and all interactions with him as a jerk canon in AIFiDaW.

So anyway here's him bullying Goatfrey for their crush on Shamura before he steals their money (I know my cult is ugly I'm redecorating it).

(Keep reading for character breakdown) First Chapter: All Is Fair in Death and War - Chapter 1 - IlidaeAndQuill - Cult of the Lamb (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own] (THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 1,000 HITS FLMGKDSNG - If you read it, I hope you enjoy!!)

Primary Motivation: Narinder has two opposing character motivations: to reclaim a semblance of divinity without the Red Crown, and to assure the safety of his traveling disciples Baal and Aym. These two motivations directly contrast each other, and with the additional plotline created from rescuing the Bishops, he struggles to decide which one to prioritize. Lots of internal conflict with this one.

Character Traits: Prudish af. Concise with his 'work' (killing, he's literally just killing people) but sees no reason to assist others without probable payment. The sting of his betrayal, both from the Lamb and his siblings, runs too deep.

Theme Songs (Lyrical): "Death" - Matthew K Heafy, Sean Long & Mike Malyan, "you should see me in a crown" - Billie Eilish, "Gladiator" - Jann Theme Songs (Instrumental): "Sins of Hyrule" - ROZEN, "Aurora in Faerieland" - James Newton Howard Additional Narilamb song from his p.o.v. because the devs did it and I want to too: "LET THE WORLD BURN" - Chris Grey

Voice Claim: Cobra Bubbles - Lilo and Stitch Dialogue Pattern: He speaks formally when he's focused but gets sloppy with his dialogue as he loses himself to anger/irritation.

Outfit Inspiration: Regal and stealthy - a true assassin's garb. Most of his clothes are stolen, as he refuses to wear the cultist uniform given by Lambert. He does prefer heavy robes but sticks to lighter garments for crusades/daily activity.

Narinder is a strong supporting character (and if we want to get technical, he's Lambert's love interest, but I hate assigning that title to characters - I don't want a character's romantic plotline to determine their importance in a story) and the primary representation of the Anger stage of grief. This is seen through his personality traits/reactions to story events, but also through his pyromancy. His fire, representing his anger, literally burns him alive every time he uses it. He must learn/develop a way to safely use it, or risk losing himself to his rage.

Additionally: his anger is represented through the fact that he is angry at the world/fate. With my own grief, I often get angry, thinking it "wasn't fair" that my dog, of all creatures, got heart disease and died young. I portray this same anger through Narinder. His imprisonment wasn't fair. His loss of godhood wasn't fair. And, the unconscious, yet most important thing, is what happened to Baal and Aym was not fair.

"Ratau turned to watch the sparing brothers again. His fingers curled around his hands, nails digging far into his flesh. “Yes, but… This is inhumane. My lord, they know how to fight! We both see that! Be fair with them, please.”

“If the world was fair, none of us would be here.” The One Who Waits flicked his hand, and Ratau disappeared to his mortal realm." - That whole segment comes from his anger - it's not fucking fair what happened to the three of them. And oooohhhh writing that anger for him is soooooo satisfying.

Random Trivia/Facts: - Despite his regal tastes, Narinder's favorite food is plain baked salmon (with some spices ofc I'm not a monster). - Narinder was the first character I was able to give a distinct motivation. His internal conflict between reclaiming godhood and setting his disciples free was way too intriguing; I had to develop that first. - That said, the only way for him to add to the theme/move towards acceptance is if he goes against his initial desire of reclaiming divinity to help the ones he cares for. This is to say that I, the author, am trying to balance his development like a fucking tightrope walker. - KLEPTOMANIAC (If only for petty reasons). - He might be a pyromaniac too idk. - In "Yngya's Repose," Narinder fell in love with the Lamb shortly before their destined duel over the crown. In AIFiDaW, Narinder is still (somewhat) in love with the Lamb, he is just too angry to let himself feel anything other than the hurt of betrayal. - To add to that: In the scene where Narinder falls for the Lamb (Year 3: Autumn) - he specifically falls in love with Lambert because they were kind to Baal and Aym. There were a few other factors outside that, but seeing Lambert treat his disciples as their own was the final push he needed to fully fall in love. - And then he had to fight them to the death isn't that fun? :) - Narinder's parenting teaching style with Baal and Aym is largely inspired by Moro and San (Princess Mononoke) and Maleficent and Aurora (Maleficent).

Thank you for reading! Narinder is a super complex character; my only hope is that I give him the writing he deserves. He is, of course, featured in "All Is Fair in Death and War," but his primary appearance is in the short prequel to that: "Yngya's Repose." I hope to make a podfic of that story soon so people who don't have the time/ability to sit down and read it can still enjoy the story :)

Theme

The Goat/Goatfrey - Narinder - The Lamb/Lambert - The Curse

Leshy - Heket - Kallamar - Shamura

Jalala - Rinor - Fena - Aym & Baal - The Mystic Seller

[runningfrom2am]

leveling the playing field

summary: you didn't meet the requirements for the plinth prize, only to find out that you're not just missing out on that- you're missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime. your friend wants to help, because maybe you can help each other.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.5k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows. anyway no warnings for you guys today besides maybe this is boring lol

masterlists // nav // requests

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a/n: young coryo has me in a death grip rn guys this could be a problem-

next part

Fists clenched at your sides, you storm up to the front of the hall, staring intently at the Dean. You knew your odds were better pleading with Dr. Gaul, but that was a task far from your mind. "Miss Y/L/N, I don't have time for your petty complaints at the moment." He dismisses you before you even reach an appropriate distance to start your discussion.

"I was waiting for this." Festus chuckles, commenting on how none of the chosen mentors had a chance to process anything or even speak before you were stomping down the centre aisle, between all their seats, and up towards the podium where Dean Highbottom now stood.

Coriolanus found his gaze following you, despite his better judgment telling him to focus on the subject- scratch that, problem, at hand: his assignment of the mentorship of Lucy Gray Baird. She was fiery, that's for sure, and upon first impressions, she reminded him of you.

"You think I couldn't handle it, is that it?" You almost shout, discarding all formality in favour of getting answers. 

"You knew the qualifications, Miss Y/L/N." The Dean sighs.

"I got one B over a year ago! God, hold a grudge much? You're miserable!" People are staring now, noticeably, but you don't care. You're used to getting what you want, and the one time you don't, it comes back to bite you in the ass over a year later.

"Then you should have done better. Drop this or I'll demerit you." He states in response, clearly hardly caring. You huff, face red as you storm off again, making a point of slamming the door open so hard it hits the wall with a bang.

Coriolanus never understood fully why the Dean let you parade around with this attitude directed at him, but never so much as lifted a finger to punish you. If he had made a scene like that, he would have been expelled on the spot. "I should go after her." He turns to look at Sejanus as he's getting up, quickly gathering himself to follow after you. He had little interest in staying anyway.

"I'll go." Coriolanus stands, placing his hand on Sejanus' chest to stop him. "You stay. I'll sort her out."

"Coriolanus Snow, off to sedate his girlfriend again." Arachne teases as he walks off, leaving Sejanus to defend his name in his stead. He'd much prefer talking you down to uselessly explaining to the other kids in your class that the two of you were nothing more than friends. It was a wasteful endeavour. You were just the only one who's presence he could stand in a social capacity.

You made it outside, pacing the large front steps of the academy, fighting the urge to rip off your skirt and burn it right there. Along with the rest of the building.

"Y/N." You pause when you hear the door close behind someone, looking up to see your friend.

"Coryo." You reply, continuing with your fruitless crusade at this point.

"What happened to not caring about the prize?" He asks, stepping down so he's level with you on the staircase, getting in your path so you can no longer pace.

"I don't care about the prize." You grumble, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's not about that."

"I doubt that." Coriolanus raises an eyebrow at you. You had told him at length you didn't care about the prize when you found out you weren't even in the running, because your parents could pay your tuition anyway. He envied your privilege, but he had never envied you.

"No, it's not." You insist. "I got one less than stellar grade one time and now I'm missing out on this opportunity- effectively throwing away any shot I have at Gamemaker."

"That's dramatic." Your friend replies. "I think you're better off than me."

You scoff. "Oh, boo hoo, Coriolanus Snow. I'd take Lucy Gray in a second."

"Just because she can cause a scene doesn't mean she'll last a minute in the games." He replies.

"Duh, it's not about winning. It's about the experience, it's about-"

"Being on TV?" He asks, and despite his serious expression you know it's a joke.

"Even you know I'm not that shallow. I'm not Arachne." You can't help but smile. He does too, for just a second. "And frankly, I'm offended at the insinuation."

"Then enlighten me, Y/N Y/L/N." Coriolanus prompts, and suddenly your demeanor changes in a way he would deem hardly noticeable if he hadn't known you for years.

You sigh, dropping your tense shoulders. "My father will be up in arms when he finds out." You answer, voice in a whisper despite being alone out here. "I'm an embarrassment to my family name."

"That's impossible." He shakes his head quickly. "You're their pride and joy. A gem of the Capitol."

"Ah, but for how long?" You reply, poking his chest. "Until the oldest Y/L/N child doesn't get a mentorship? Until my brother does in three years and I am an irrelevant face in the University halls and he is winning the Plinth prize?" The small smile on your face fades as you look down, thinking over the consequences for the first time.

"Perhaps, but one day that will come back to bite anyone who doubted you when you're the new head Gamemaker. I'll be sure of it." He nods, and your smile returns. 

"Coriolanus Snow, future President of Panem, I salute you." You giggle, raising your hand in a salute. You had heard his cousin say that to him once, two or three years ago by now, and you were not prepared to let it go. You can tell it was something he believed, despite the misshapen buttons on his dress shirt and the weight he'd steadily lost over all the years you'd known him. Who were you to deny him his ambitions? Everyone else was fooled, so you would act as though you were as well. The same way he had habitually ignored the bruises on your arms and under your makeup the day after you brought home that B grade last year.

He just nods in response, jokingly tugging at his vest in pride. 

"I hate to tell you that I will have to decline your generous offer." You say, and he looks confused. "I don't need your charity. I'll make it so you'd be a fool not to hire me, Mister President."

You sit down on the stairs, looking out at the city. He joins you a moment later, dusting off the ground beneath him before letting his clothes touch the surface.

"So, how are you feeling?" You ask, sick now of talking about yourself.

"Honestly, not great." Coriolanus answers. "She'll be first down, and I'll be out. We're about at odds with each other, I have no shot at the prize now."

"I don't know, Coryo." You smile a little, bumping his shoulder with your own as you try to reassure him. "Lucy Gray has a or two fight in her. I can tell."

"She reminds me of you, a little bit." 

"Is that a bad thing?" You chuckle.

"No." He shakes his head. "You never back down from a fight. Even if you should."

You laugh, turning a little to hide the burning in your cheeks. "I suppose I could see the resemblance. I'm no stranger to telling someone to kiss my ass."

"That's true." He nods, smiling but not quite laughing. You're not sure you could remember seeing him laugh, not since Felix fell down the stairs in the lecture hall a few years ago and screamed like a girl. "Maybe you could help me."

"Help you? How?" You ask, brow furrowed as you look over at him. Whatever it is you'll agree. He knows too much about you for you to deny him anyway, and it's not like you really had anything to lose. If you couldn't have the Plinth prize, you'd want it to go to Coriolanus.

"With Lucy Gray. I don't even know where to start, what to think, what to do." He explains.

"Well..." You think about it for a second. "If you want her to listen to you in any capacity, she'll have to trust you. So be nice. And maybe convince her to sing again. People were talking, that's what you want. It's the best you can do."

He nods, sitting up straighter. "Thank you, Y/N. I have to go." Before you can respond, he's gone back into the building behind you. You sigh, calmer now, despite dreading the prospective task of having to go home and face your father.

"Mister Snow, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Dr. Gaul asks, readjusting her gloves without looking up at the boy as she throws what he assumes to be some kind of food into a blacked-out tank in front of him.

"I'd like Y/N Y/L/N to be my partner in the mentorship," Coriolanus states, making her pause.

"Why?" She asks simply, resuming her task.

"I believe she would be an asset for Lucy Gray."

"They do have a similar... spark. Don't they?" Dr. Gaul nods a little bit to herself. "But what makes you think that this wouldn't be an unfair advantage?"

"It wouldn't be an advantage. More like an experiment." He answers, effectively piquing the doctor's interest. "We can observe the benefits and faults of two mentors versus one, moving into the next games, and the effect of choosing based on compatibility, rather than random, careless selection."

Dr. Gaul hums, wiping off her leather gloves with a cloth as she thinks it over. "And this would have nothing to do with your relationship and sympathies towards Miss Y/L/N, correct?"

"No." He shakes his head. "Miss Y/L/N certainly doesn't get any sympathy from me." It's not a lie, at least he doesn't perceive it to be. You would be an asset to his cause, to his deliverance of the prize, and likely the most pleasant person to work with, ironically.

"I will think about it." Dr. Gaul states. "But the prize will not be awarded to her in any capacity, you must understand."

Maybe he does feel bad for you. He's entitled to that prize, no doubt, but it's hard to picture a world where you wouldn't be the runner-up; even if that is his reality. "I understand." He nods, before turning to leave.

"Oh, and Mister Snow." Dr. Gaul draws his attention once more, causing him to stop and look back at her. "Don't let her charm you."

"Y/N!" You look up from your textbook toward the door, knowing your brother will be opening it any second after he calls you. Surely enough, he does. "Coriolanus Snow is here. He wants to speak with you."

"Can you show him up to the library?" You ask, quickly wiping your reddened eyes.

"He's there with dad already." Your brother tells you and you sniff, nodding a little bit. "Thank you. Tell them I'll be right there."

You quickly throw on a sweater, double-checking in the mirror that you don't look like you were just crying before leaving. Besides a little bit of redness around your eyes and blotchiness on your chest covered by the sweater, you should be okay.

"Well, thank you for extending your influence on my daughter's behalf. I owe you a great deal." You hear your dad speaking from down the hall as you get closer. "Though, I wouldn't fault you if you changed your mind. I understand she will be a burden on you."

"No, sir. It would be an honour to work with her." You hear Coryo say as you step into the door frame. 

You knock gently on the open door, alerting them both of your presence. "Y/N." Your father says, nodding toward your friend. "Coriolanus has pulled some strings to try and help you maintain what's left of your reputation."

You sniff and nod, looking over at Coryo as he stands across from your dad in your library, posture perfect like a soldier standing at attention. His professionalism will always impress you, it never falters in the presence of others. "Thank you." You make an effort to smile at him, which he politely and uncomfortably returns. "Could you give us a moment?" You request, returning your attention to your dad.

He nods and shakes Coryo's hand before bumping into you as he exits the room, pausing before leaning down to whisper to you.

Coriolanus watches, your eyes widening for just a moment while your dad speaks to you and then you nod, thanking him quietly before he leaves. You stand there awkwardly staring at each other for a second while you listen to his footsteps descend the stairs, and then hear the door to his study close. As soon as it does, you're quickly walking up to your friend and throwing your arms around his waist, your head leaning into his chest.

He freezes for a second before hugging you back. "Thank you, Coryo." You whisper. "I won't let you down."

"Are you okay?" He asks, resisting the urge to just rest his chin on the top of your head and pull you closer. It's been ages since he's been hugged like this, and though it's meant more as a comfort to you, it's consolatory to him as well.

You nod, snapping out of it and quickly pulling away, taking a respectful step back. "Yeah, yes. Sorry." You clear your throat, quickly readjusting your sweater.

"Don't be." He shakes his head quickly, brows still furrowed as he looks you over. He doesn't know what you came home to, but he has a strong theory as to what the cause of your tear-stained cheeks could be, and it certainly wasn't an empty fridge like his. 

You stare at each other for another moment before you look away. "Uh, so, you spoke to the Dean?"

"No, he despises me." He answers. "Dr. Gaul was more sympathetic to the cause."

"Dr. Gaul and 'sympathetic' have never been used in the same sentence before." You tease.

"Well, she likes us for some reason."

"Thank god." You chuckle, slightly shaking your head.

"But... seriously, are you okay?" He asks again, this time blatantly looking you over. While embarrassing, it does feel nice to see that someone cares, that someone noticed. The remnants of pity behind his eyes makes you almost ill.

"Fine." You nod in confirmation. "Would you like something to eat?" You offer, leveling the playing field.

taglist: @keziahcore, @kitscutie

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[literaryvein-reblogs]

hiii, i am writing my first book/novel. its highlighting d***th, romance, mystery, politics, pretty questionable characters w revenge, thriller and lots of women n power play. its my first book and im not that educated about such themes. but this rough plot i have in my mind is so beautiful that underperforming this excellent trope would be a shame....ive never written before so could you please what to do to actually write this kinda theme to my heart's satisfaction. I've never written a freaking chap before and now im really lost

Writing Ideas: Revenge Tropes

some tropes related to revenge, thriller, women, and power play

Afterlife Avenger: This trope involves the circumstance where a character explicitly still chooses to pursue conflicts against whatever's left of their hated target long after they've passed.

Best Served Cold: Named for the French (or Sicilian, or Klingon, or drow, depending on who you ask) proverb, "Revenge is a dish best served cold." At least in the case of drow, it also means one can have well-planned revenge and drive them mad with fear as a bonus.

Crusading Widow: The death or murder of their significant other motivates the character to seek revenge.

Defeat as Backstory: A protagonist (or some other character's backstory) in a story begins by having been defeated either before the story began, or early on in the story (often in a prologue).

Dying Curse: With his dying breath, a character wishes ill fortune upon his killers, or some other personal enemy.

Pay Evil unto Evil: In real life, the sort of thinking behind this trope is called "retributive justice".

Revenge Through Corruption: Instead of inflicting physical harm, the villain attacks the mind and soul.

Villain-by-Proxy Fallacy: When someone goes after not only a crime's perpetrator, but those who supplied the perpetrator or were otherwise marginally connected to it, whether or not the people involved had anything to do with the actual crime.

Woman Scorned: A woman who's been dumped, cheated on, or otherwise done wrong by her significant other (or, in some cases, merely thinks she's been).

Examples

Alexandre Dumas's The Count of Monte Cristo, probably the greatest revenge story of all time.

In the original version of Beauty and the Beast, the Prince's widowed mother goes off to fight a war and leaves a wicked fairy to help him rule. When the Prince comes of age, she tries to seduce him and turns him into a Beast when he refuses her advances.

In Moby-Dick, Captain Ahab makes it clear throughout the book that he'll pursue Moby Dick to, into, through, and out of Hell, and even then he still won't be satisfied until the whale suffers forever for its slight against him.

Crime and Punishment: One of the antagonists of the novel, Porfiry, works as a police officer and interrogator, which usually would qualify as a good-aligned job. As you further witness this officer's tactics in catching criminals, you see him commit to bribery, thievery, death-threats, and psychological torture to force an admission. Furthermore, he seems to actually enjoy it, toying with amateur criminals like a cat torturing a wounded mouse. The justification, of course, being that the victim of this was a murderer, and therefore deserves it.

George R. R. Martin's Fire & Blood: After the war, Lady Joanna Lannister has a beef to pick with the Greyjoys, who've taken up raiding the coast, including killing a few Lannisters. She decides the best course of action is go to the Iron Islands and kill every man, woman and child she can find. She just settles for burning a lot of things and abducting one Greyjoy, gelding him and turning him into her fool.

Feyd Rautha Harkonnen receives a Dying Curse in Dune. After killing a combat slave in the arena, his opponent's final words are "One day one of us will get you." Given that this fighter is not just a slave, but one of the soldiers from the army of the Harkonnen's blood enemies, the Atreides, this may be prophetic.

In A Song of Ice and Fire, Arya Stark's conflation of justice and personal vengeance leads her to Villain-by-Proxy Fallacy. While many of people on her death list certainly deserve to be brought to justice, such as the Tickler for torture and Weese for abuse, others were merely acting on orders, such as the Hound, doing their jobs or are just guilty by association. Cersei Lannister is on her death list for being involved in the execution of Ned Stark, but Cersei wasn't complicit in that activity, and even spoke out against it. Same with Ilyn Payne, who was just doing his job as the royal executioner. The real mastermind of Ned's death, Littlefinger, is not on the list. Meryn Trant is on the list for killing Syrio Forel, but there isn't any evidence to confirm the crime. Polliver and Dunsen are on the list for flimsy reasons, like stealing. She has Chiswyck murdered for the crime of not being as funny as he thinks he is (granted, Chiswyck was joking about a gang rape, but that isn't the reason Arya cites as his crime). The conflation of justice and vengeance, and how that conflation leads to this trope, is one of the key themes of the entire story.

Queen Dido in The Aeneid, who prophesies that her and Aeneas's people will meet again in war (the Punic Wars — her future, Virgil's past). Particularly tragic in that it's made fairly obvious that he'd have stayed with her if he'd had the choice.

Sidney Sheldon's The Best Laid Plans: Leslie Stewart plots to ruin the career of Oliver Russell when he leaves her at the altar to marry a woman whose father promises to further his political career.

The Hunger Games: The Pay Evil Unto Evil trope is discussed all the way through Mockingjay, and reaches its culmination when President Coin suggests either executing all Capitol citizens or forcing their children into the Games.

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Hi, here are some tropes I found related to the themes you described. You can find more in the source linked above. Study how it is portrayed in different types of media, and in your favourite films/books, to gain inspiration for your own story. You can take the rough idea/plot you already have, and try to incorporate techniques and tropes used by other authors, but then deviate from borrowing those ideas when your story starts to flow naturally. All the best with your writing!

[cyberstole]

𝒜 𝒟𝐎𝐖𝐑𝐘 𝒪𝐅 𝐵𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐛𝐲 𝐬.𝐭. 𝐠𝐢𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐧

a series of dialogue prompts from the 2021 dracula re-telling.  feel free to change pronouns as you see fit ! cw; gore, sexual themes, emotional abuse, & toxic relationships

❛ i never dreamed it would end like this. ❜ 

❛ there is no horror left in this world that can surprise me. ❜

❛ eventually, even your death becomes its own sort of inevitability. ❜

❛ i was so happy to be your marionette, at first. ❜

❛ am i sick to still think on you softly, even after all the blood and broken promises? ❜

❛ this is my last love letter to you, though some would call it a confession. ❜

❛ war is never valiant, only crude and hideous. ❜

❛ good. when life fails you, spite will not. ❜

❛ i will raise you out of the dirt and into queenship. and, i will give you your vengeance. ❜

❛ i wanted to break them, even more slowly and painfully than they had broken me, leave them bleeding out and begging for mercy. ❜

❛ water your mother’s flowers with their blood. ❜

❛ in this world, you are what i say you are, and i say you are a ghost. ❜

❛ bloodlust brings on a delirium that’s difficult to describe. ❜

❛ i have loved you too long to imagine you do anything without an ulterior motive. ❜

❛ i’ve never been looked at before. like that. ❜

❛ what is more lovely, after all, than a monster undone with want? ❜

❛ i was your little mouse, kept in a gilded cage until it was time for the cat to play. ❜

❛ i knew nothing except the strength of your arms and the scent of your hair. ❜

❛ your priest’s bedtime stories cannot account for us. ❜

❛ to know oneself, one’s limits and abilities, is its own power. ❜

❛ i was alone, and i was scared. i had no home left to speak of. ❜

❛ and god, how i adored you. it went beyond love, beyond devotion. ❜

❛ i wanted to dash myself against your rocks like a wave, to obliterate my old self and see what rose shining and new from the sea foam. ❜

❛ you turned a strong-minded girl into a pulsing wound of need. ❜

❛ what would you have me do, as ruler? ❜

❛ are you sure you aren’t a holy man come to lecture me on the sins of excess? ❜

❛ i was well-acquainted with violence by then. ❜

❛ but I had never outgrown my thirst for vengeance. ❜

❛ in my mind, i was god’s lovely angel of judgement, come to unsheathe the sword of divine wrath against those who truly deserved it. ❜

❛ you mocked my lofty aspirations, cynical as ever. ❜

❛ when will you give up this ridiculous crusade? ❜

❛ there was a darkness in your eyes and a tightness to your mouth i hadn’t noticed before—or perhaps hadn’t wanted to. ❜

❛ i would never leave you, my love. not for the entirety of my second life. ❜

❛ you seemed to me a fire burning in the woods. i was drawn in by your enticing, smoky darkness, a darkness that still stirs memories of safety, of autumn, of home. ❜

❛ it was like grasping at a flame. i never penetrated to the burning heart of you, only came away with empty, scorched fingers. ❜

❛ whenever we were apart, you left your essence caught in my hair, in my clothes. i scented the taste of it on the wind, I shivered and ached for it. ❜

❛ i was happy to spend countless lifetimes chasing the warmth coming off you, even though the haze was clouding my vision. ❜

❛ my piety was a sporadic, half-feral thing, sometimes lashing out at god with teeth bared, other times nuzzling against his loving providence like a kitten. ❜

❛ i felt my heart tumble down through my ribs and hit the ground. ❜

❛ it tortured me, how perfect you looked. i wanted to pull you behind the carriage and drain you dry. ❜

❛ i wanted to crawl between whatever was blossoming between the two of you and live there. ❜

❛ you’ve found cruelty to be an effective tool. ❜

❛ do you want her for your own? ❜

❛ ours is a solitary existence. it would be good for you to have a friend. ❜

❛ it’s as easy as breathing. one foot and then the other. and don’t overthink it. ❜

❛ you must never overthink any good and pleasurable thing. ❜

❛ you must sit with me tonight at dinner. i must have you close. i want us to be the best of friends. ❜

❛ i think i shall never marry, my lord. i will simply take lovers and never let any man shackle me with wedding vows. ❜

❛ am i to be bidden to my own bed like a dog invited to beg at the master’s table? ❜

❛ desire makes idiots of all of us. but you already knew that part, didn’t you? ❜

❛ there was an uncontrollable fire in you that was hard to look away from, much less resist. ❜

❛ all vampires find some way to stave off the monotony of an endless life, with hedonism or asceticism or a rotating door of lovers. ❜

❛ i’m talking about us, you and i. let’s be honest with each other, for once. ❜

❛ love was no girlhood game. it was an iron yoke, forged in fire and heavy to wear. ❜

❛ laying with you made me feel so vibrantly alive. it was almost enough to make me forget that i was already dead. ❜

❛ this is about your obsession with justice, isn’t it? ❜

❛ i was suspicious, and even more dangerously, i was curious. ❜

❛ i was the love that started it all, wasn’t i? ❜

❛ it has been a long time since i have felt clean. ❜

❛ like christ, i had become intimately acquainted with violence and the sins of the world, but i had not come away unblemished. ❜

❛ but it was not god who spoke.it was you. ❜

❛ you could have kissed me or slit my throat and either would have made as much sense. ❜

❛ i don’t know what I had been thinking, supposing i was strong enough to leave. ❜

❛ you made it into an art form, this quiet sort of violence. ❜

❛ i want to live. but i want to live in the world, not on the outskirts of it. ❜

❛ love is violence, my darling, it is a thunderstorm that tears apart your world. ❜

❛ love makes monsters of us, [ name ] and not everyone is cut out for monstrosity. ❜

❛ [ name], our sunlight, our destroyer. my prince cast in marble and gold. ❜

❛ he was as inevitable as a revolution, and heralded in just as much violence. ❜

❛ potential. you always loved that word. you were drawn to potential like a shark to blood. ❜

❛ look around you. what sort of life is this? ❜

❛ i craved you like maidens crave the grave, the way death burns for human touch: inconsolably, unrelentingly, aching for the annihilation in your kiss. ❜

❛ i still wanted to believe I was living in a fairy tale, that i laid down every night with a prince instead of a wolf. ❜

❛ before your time dear, just some dreadful victorians. ❜

❛ it took every ounce of self-control i had not to pin him down and tear out his throat. ❜

❛ the world has no place for us, we are wanderers by nature, lions among lambs. ❜

❛ we cannot exist only for each other. ❜

❛ i had never allowed myself to want this because i assumed it wasn’t a possibility. ❜

❛ i love you. look at me, [ name ], my jewel, my wife. i love you. don’t do this. ❜

❛ i was tired of waiting expectantly at your tomb every night for you to rise and bring light into my world once again. ❜

❛ i made you into my private christ, supplicated with my own dark devotions. nothing existed beyond the range of your exacting gaze, not even me. ❜

❛ i apologize if you were expecting contrition, my lord. i don’t have any to muster. ❜

❛ here's your demon, do what you will with him. ❜

❛ i think, someday, i would like to fall in love again. ❜

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Feel free to ignore this but I kinda thought since you aren't feeling well maybe you'd like to read someone else's yandere headcanons! I love corazon so I'll start with him! I fully see him as platonic yandere for law, and would definitely be more of the "oh God everything sucks all the time I gotta keep these people.i care about safe" kind. Like maybe he meets a romantic darling while undercover with doflamingo, maybe they're working for his brother but in a less pirate-y way. Maybe baby 5 or Buffalo liked them so now they're a pirate nanny or something. And corazon is like. This person is way too kind and caring to be stuck with these people. But they love the kids to much to willingly leave, so now he HAS to abduct them when he leaves with law for a cure! They'll totally come around, it'll work itself out! I also see him as a big crier. Lots of guilt, but never enough to actually let his darling go. Its too dangerous. Someone would hurt them. He and law and darling should just find a cure and then run off and live a safe and happy life together. I'm biased cause tall husband, but I would definitely end up folding.

Imagine being nice to a couple of kids because you aren't a jerk, only for the kids to turn to Doflamingo and be all like "Can we keep them?!"

And then the warlord says yes and this is now you're life. You probably have the funniest origin story for how you joined in the entire Donquixote family.

Reader probably gets close to Corazon because they're trying to bond with Law and aren't taking no for answer. Law practically has his hackles raised at reader, meanwhile they're just trying to give him cookies or something. And with how horrible a lot of people are to Law, this makes the reader extremely endearing to Corazon. They probably agree to come along with Cora and Law when Cora is trying to find a doctor for Law because they've likely been making their own attempts to take care of the poor kid.

Reader is definitely conflicted when Corazon starts burning down hospitals left, right, and center. On one hand, the doctors absolutely deserved some form of retribution (reader probably throws hands with a doctor at least once during this crusade because how dare you talk to one of their babies like that FIGHT ME). On the other, even they have to admit that this feels... a touch extreme.

A Corazon lives AU is really funny because just imagine Law trying to begin his life of piracy all while his doting parents are right behind him and cheering him on. It's very embarrassing when Corazon is casually setting himself on fire in the background while reader is happily offering snacks to Law's "new friends". He's trying to be a scary pirate please stop handing out brownies to every potential crewmate he finds.