#this hate and rage for the person controlling you and your circumstances

[bigdumbbambieyes]

i heard the Lolita 1997 audio that’s Dolores screaming at Humbert and immediately imagined:

Billy being caught with Steve by Neil and immediately losing it, yelling and taunting his father for his gayness, for the way he loves a boy when he isn’t supposed to, watching the way Neil’s face turns red and his father is so close to snapping because Billy’s disrespect and disappointment is reaching new heights

so in the height of his breakdown, Billy screams through tears and a raw, trembling voice, as if he’s begging, ‘murder me! murder me like you murdered my mother!’

and if it weren’t for Steve, Billy would’ve died that night

[signanothername]

saw your recent post about Nightmare's room for Dream, and it reminded me of a fic, where due to Dream still physically and mentally being 6 in the stone, Nightmare was preparing for what to do now as the 'older brother'

which made me wonder

I'm betting Ink or someone from the Omega Timeline found Dream first when he was freed from the statue

What would've happened had it been Nightmare? When faced with this small six year old who is nothing like he remembers, would Nightmare's true self and corruption be mentally first fighting on what the hell to do?(The mental image of this is a bit comical)

Aw that’s adorable dhhxhxhxh

So funny enough, I kinda already made 2 comics that explored what Nightmare’s reaction will be to a small 6 y/o Dream before, just under completely different circumstances

But here’s the thing, while i have explained before how Nightmare’s corruption works in my eyes, I don’t think I was really clear in my explanations, so I’m taking your ask as an excuse to explain it better >:) (i’ll get back to your main question I promise hdhdhdh i just wanna help you connect some dots when it comes to Nightmare’s behavior)

So something to keep in mind is how Nightmare’s mind isn’t truly strong enough to fight off his corruption/corrupted thoughts from controlling him and guiding his actions, and while Nightmare is in absolute control of his mind, his corruption has shaped it in its own twisted way, that’s why he’s an absolute fucking bitch, that’s why Nightmare can be extremely cruel to those around him

Think of his corruption as a parasite, it feeds off Nightmare’s own pain and in turn it’s what makes Nightmare feel that pain (and his own emotions) magnified times a thousand

So when say a normal person who isn’t corrupted feels anger for example, they would feel that anger through stages from it being a mere mild frustration that turns to anger and then full blown rage (depending on the situation of course), but even then a normal person would be able to control that frustration so it doesn’t escalate to anger and in turn never turns to rage, or even if this person were to immediately jump to rage, then they’ll be able to calm themselves down by venting that anger a bit

Nightmare on the other hand,

A- doesn’t go through those stages for his emotions, he immediately experiences the most intense form of them

and

B- those feelings never go away, they linger and fester inside him like an infestation as it is what his own corruption feeds on

He feels angry? That anger is a full blown rage inside him, he feels sad? That’s crushing depression for him, he feels hate? That hate is nothing but raw loathing for everyone and everything around him, he feels fear? It’s fucking paralyzing to the point Nightmare seeks power so he won’t have to feel afraid, he feels happy? It’s tainted by his now sadistic behavior as Nightmare finds sick satisfaction and glee in hurting those around him

Of course, how he deals with that changes as he grows and learns and adapts, so such emotional intensity/ instability is extremely apparent on him as a newly corrupted 6 y/o who feels all alone and lost in the world while it shapes his personality and who he becomes as an adult with a lot more control over his actions/reactions (corruption + bad experiences that shapes his mind = Mean Girl Bitchmare)

What I’m trying to say is that his corruption contributes to his emotional instability, and that corruption knows what to feed on exactly, it makes it so Nightmare feels dependent on negativity so he won’t have to experience what it’s like to feel powerless again, it feeds on his fear, pain, anger, hatred and it extends to Nightmare’s sadistic cruel actions that in turn brings more negativity, which in turn makes him stronger and by extension the corruption stronger which contributes to magnifying his emotions even more, which leads to more cruelty and so on, it’s a never ending torturous cycle that no one is aware Nightmare’s in.. including Nightmare himself, Nightmare is as much of a victim to his corruption as those poor souls who have to deal with Nightmare cause of it

The corruption magnifies Nightmare’s emotions too much for his mind to even be able to process them let alone regulate them, (and Nightmare already has problems understanding his own emotions to begin with) and in turn that corruption only got to his mind as well

Imagine it this way, Nightmare’s mind is plagued by his now corrupted thoughts, he can’t truly think clearly through the thick suffocating corruption, trauma, and horrifying experience in his first 500 years of corruption, it’s like looking through a broken mirror, the pieces of the mirror are still there, and they still show his reflection, but they’re too distorted and messy to form a clean and clear reflection, Nightmare looks at himself in that mirror, but all he sees is scattered pieces of who he used to be (he can no loger recognize his reflection) and so as Nightmare keeps trying to put the pieces back together, it’s more and more clear that not only do they now show the reflection of he used to be, but also who’d he become, the shattered mirror pieces reflect both his corrupted and passive self in a distorted messy way (that’s who Nightmare is now)

Ok if that’s the case, how come Nightmare has kind moments that contradicts his own corrupted state of being? Cause despite his corruption, he’s still Nightmare, I can never emphasize that enough

Despite the cycle he’s in, despite the state of those shattered pieces of who he used to be, those pieces that has his passive self STILL EXIST alongside his corrupted pieces, Nightmare’s own mind, thoughts, emotions and identity beyond that corruption still linger inside him, even if if in a sort of a limbo state

Ok with that all in mind, what the fuck does that have to do with a 6 y/o Dream? Everything

Just like I showed in the comic before, Nightmare would be too blinded by his own pain and hatred (that’s magnified by his corruption) to actually slow down and realize that Dream is 1- literally still a 6 y/o in mental and physical capacity, and 2- is just as in much pain and with such as much trauma as he is

Nightmare hates Dream with a passion

But the thing is, as I showed in this comic here, apart of Nightmare still deeply cares about Dream, even when Nightmare’s in absolute denial about it, I dare say Nightmare doesn’t even realize how much that lil part of him cares

And that would reflect on how he deals with Dream, Nightmare would be conflicted alright, but his corruption would win first and foremost and as such, he’ll deal with Dream with cruelty (that he later realizes was a mistake)

I will not lie, I’ve yet to decide on what I love to think happened to Dream as a statue, but allow me to say that it’s one of 4 options, I like to believe it’s either

A- Nightmare kept him in Dreamtale beside the corpse of their mother

B- took Dream with him to his own castle where he kept him in a safe space

C- left him in a remote part of the multiverse in an empty universe devoid of life (which later got populated)

D- a combination between A and B and C in a linear timeline (i think option D is my fave so far, but I haven’t made a final decision yet :’D)

That being said, the moment Dream breaks out his stone prison, I believe Dream would be too confused and scared to understand what’s going on, hell, would probably think the Apple incident happened just yesterday, not that 500 years passed (you can imagine Dream’s shock later) only to start frantically searching for Nightmare and when he does find his twin? Nightmare doesn’t look like Nightmare anymore, where’s his golden crown? Where’s his tunic? Why is he so much taller? So many questions, and Nightmare’s not in the mood to answer

Nightmare would definitely be shocked to see Dream out of his prison, a big part of him hates that Dream escaped it, Dream doesn’t deserve to be free, another part of him (the one that cares) is relieved cause turning him to stone was never the plan, and then the more dangerous corrupted part of him is sadistically gleeful, he could finally get a proper payback and to have the golden apple from such a weak, small and helpless child

Dream would start talking about how he wants Nightmare back and you can imagine how pissed Nightmare would be at Dream’s daring audacity to bring up the apple incident

Their first interaction after Dream is finally freed is not at all pleasant (the fact Dream is still a 6 y/o physically and mentally doesn’t deter Nightmare’s cruelty)

Nightmare eventually realizes he should’ve been a lot more merciful on his twin when he first broke out his prison, yet that sadistic gleeful part of him can never be quelled (unbeknownst to Nightmare that the glee he feels at Dream’s misfortune is just his trauma shaped in a twisted manner due to his corruption, he feels like Dream hadn’t suffered like he had, so Nightmare will make Dream suffer himself)

And the rest is (kinda) history :)

[finisnihil]

Some people need to learn the difference between like/disliking a character on a personal level v. a writing level. I dislike some characters on a personal level but I do love their writing and characterization on a meta level and any of my bullying of them is mostly for jokes. Meanwhile there's also characters who I adore on a personal level but abhor the writing of because it feels like their concepts or potential as a character were squandered.

I've said it before i'll say it again when you let your personal bias on a character infect your analysis of them you get mischaracterization. Part of media literacy is seperating authoral intention from reader response and thinking about if anything about the character or their interactions can cloud your judgement of them on a surface level.

For example, in the 2.1 quest of HSR I saw some Aventurine lovers absolutely jump on a hate train for Sunday because in their eyes, Sunday was villainous for his actions against Aventurine and deserved to be put down for it. But, when you stop bastardizing Sunday in an effort to validate and sanitize Aventurine's motives you see the two are actually equally complicit in hurting the other. Sunday did try to turn Ratio against Aventurine and he did cast the whole Truth or Die spell but when you actually critically analyze Sunday and his role in the interaction he is more sympathetic and he makes more sense.

Aventurine was going into the interaction, an interaction regarding the IPC's increasingly aggressive attempts to recolonize Penacony after losing it as a prison planet, bragging about using the horrific murder of Sunday's sister to exploit him. Aventurine has never once hid his intentions, he's sympathetic but that doesn't change the fact he's trying to rip Penacony's freedom away for the IPC. We've seen what the IPC does to planets, no matter how corrupt the Family is, the IPC will be worse without a doubt. Aventurine is a morally grey character, he took the gamble of lying under the spell and he understood the stakes when he did it. Trying to bastardize Sunday in order to try and act like Aventurine didn’t have the autonomy to fuck around and find out is really disingenuous to both characters.

As for Sunday, Sunday is incredibly sympathetic too. We know he’s under crushing pressure by everyone around him to hide things for the sake of public image and we know he’s sacrificed a ton for his sister. Sunday is reverential of Xipe but we see him being actively wary of the Family. He knows there’s a traitor, he knows the Family is rotting with ill intent, he knows Death is on the loose. Robin and him are doing their damndest to handle these problems within their circumstances and we’ve seen their notes! They aren’t ignoring the problem, they’re even trying to get outside help from both the Astral Express and Aventurine. We see the Lightcone of their childhood in an otherwise clinical and impersonal office, one where he built her a toy stage and became her first audience. He cares about Robin more than anything and you see his rage and grief being suppressed yet slipping here and there and causing him to make sloppy mistakes, such as using the Truth or Die spell to lash out at Aventurine when he feels cornered with no control over the situation. When he confronts Gallagher he finally cracks and just… breaks. You see him lose it to the point he doesn’t even notice Death behind him until it’s too late. Despite being likened to songbirds, Robin and Sunday both died quietly in their gilded cages. They are the canaries in the coal mine.

Sunday and Aventurine are meant to parallel each other, they both lost their sister in a gruesome event outside of their control because they couldn’t protect her. Sunday couldn’t protect her from the cage he let himself be trapped in so she could fly free and Aventurine couldn’t protect her because he was too small and too young and too lucky. One is a younger brother and one is an elder brother.

The only major difference between them is who we experience the story through. Aventurine is our eyes for most of 2.1 so therefore Sunday is the one put in the antagonistic role. Antagonists are characters who’s motives and goals oppose the protagonists. Because of this, we have to flesh out Sunday’s character via subtext because we don’t have the luxury of his POV to be blatant like with Aventurine. If the roles reversed, if Sunday was our eyes, I bet Aventurine would be the one getting the flack instead.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Hi! Could I request full HCs for MC getting in trouble/arrested for something they didn't do, but nobody believes them? Eventually they're proven innocent but maybe even the M6 might have a little flicker of doubt for a moment?

The Arcana HCs: MC gets falsely arrested

Julian

If you've ever worried that he can't relate to you in the past, he certainly can now! He's been in handcuffs plenty of times -

On a more serious note, he's not giving up on you for a second. Every moment that he's allowed to be by your side, he's there, and he's taking the best care of you that he possibly can

He doesn't doubt you for a second (he remembers what it was like) but he does doubt himself

What if this is secretly his fault? What if he did something he doesn't remember doing, and you got mistaken for him? What if he made someone angry so they framed you to get back at him?

Will suggest lying to take your place multiple times and might actually try it if you and Portia don't stop him

Might also suggest actually committing some kind of legal infraction of his own so he can at least join you in there

So relieved when you're acquitted that it's all he can talk about to everyone he meets for the next two months. Rubs it in the face of every friend who ever doubted you

Asra

They're annoyed, more than anything. And shocked. But mostly annoyed

Not at you, of course! No, he's annoyed at the fact that you're being confined somewhere that he can't be for you and that you're being treated so poorly

When you tell them the charges against you aren't true, they believe you completely, but truthfully they're less concerned with your innocence and more concerned with your wellbeing

Can and will attempt to break you out regardless

Would much rather blip you out of where you're being held and start a completely new life from scratch somewhere else then let the process drag on and on, watching you be silenced and doubted

Never misses a single visit

Never lets you feel like things are out of control. As long as you want to subject yourself to this, it's your decision, and as soon as you choose otherwise, say the word and you're both out

Immeasurably proud of you when you stick it out and are acquitted

Nadia

Furious. Absolutely furious. Seething with rage

A person of your character? Who holds the trust of the Countess herself and the admiration of the city?? Accused so recklessly???

Absolutely unacceptable

That said, she remains completely calm on the outside and allows things to proceed. She's been a fierce advocate of establishing a new, effective justice system, and she intends to see this through

Does her best not to extend her influence far enough to count as making the process unfair, but still ensures she gets to visit you at least once a day

There is a point as the evidence is assembled that she does find herself wondering, for a brief moment, if you really are guilty. If you forgot, if there were extenuating circumstances you can't tell her

And she hates herself for it as soon as she sees your face again

So smug when you're exonerated that the people who argued against you nearly make a run for the hills

Will make a point of publicly proclaiming your innocence after

Muriel

Triggered. Triggered. So. Very. Triggered

Hadn't heard anything about the incident itself until you were arrested, so he didn't know what to think until you told him you were innocent. Once you did, though, he believed you

He knows when someone's lying and when someone's telling the truth, and he needs to make sure that others can see your honesty

He also knows that he's not the person best suited to publicly helping you. Regardless of his circumstances, he has his own history in the cells that still make his stomach turn to walk past

He'll talk to Asra. He'll talk to Nadia. He'll put himself through hours of conversation with them and whoever else is determined to exonerate you, supplying every detail he has

And he'll brave the personal hell of seeing you live out the daily misery of his worst memories, behind the same bars, staring at the same stone walls, to be with you as the hours drag by

Beyond relieved when you (and he by extension) are freed and he can hide away in the woods with you to recover

Portia

She actually assumed the charges were true until you told her otherwise - you're her partner in crime for life, she's just wondering what pieces are missing to justify you and why she wasn't included

Until you tell her you're innocent, and she's furious

There is NO WAY you're getting falsely imprisoned on her watch. She will march to hell and back and drag whoever she needs to with her to get you out

Pushes nonstop both to have you acquitted and to sway public opinion about you. It feels like a hopeless task at first, but she doesn't give up and she has enough friends to pull it off

Might miss a visit or two, but never goes longer than a day without stopping to see you and always smuggles treats and comforts past the guards for you no matter how often you tell her not to

Actually manages to stage an impressive protest in your favor the day the decision is made

Takes you home and dotes on you nonstop afterwards ... and then victory marches you all around town to thank the helpful friends

Lucio

He tries to help you. He really, really does

He argues with the guards, screams at the people who sent for you to be arrested, and makes the racket of a lifetime

Which, unfortunately, only makes things worse

(Neither does him admitting to all of his own criminal history, in his attempt to argue that if he got forgiveness then you should too)

He's relieved when you tell him you didn't do it, and he clings to that belief like his life depends on it. You're the good thing in his life. Nobody takes away or denies him that good thing

All that pent up frustration needs an outlet of some kind, and that results in him hounding the assigned investigators instead into letting him help them

And help them he does - not with the books and papers, but with long nights and rabbit trails until the true culprit is found

One can imagine how proud he was to drag them by the collar to where you were, shaking the confession out of them and leaving with you. He deserves so many kisses and cookies for this -

[la2yn0va]

Could you do feixiao X Male Reader her finding out about his background he was experimented on to be an super assassin his one of the few survivors that were kidnapped as children (or whatever age if you don't feel comfortable) the kids became extremely dangerous strength, speed and senses off the charts they ended up having their voices removed so they use sign language or write and they aren't able to express any emotions not even body language they are often described as soulless unless they have a special face mask on and if that mask breaks in a fight they go berserk rage mode until the one who broke their mask is unrecognisable the survivors modified their mask so that it's a half mask that works same as the original mask but now people can now see if they can see some emotions like top half mask people can see them smiling or frowning same as the bottom half mask people can see emotions in their eyes

Feixiao always had a crush on you. From your ‘cool and loner’ demeanor, to the way you fight, to your clothes and eyes. She couldn’t help but love everything about you.

And better yet, you’d always beaten her in every competition you two had. From the events that came to the yaoqing, to the battlefield, to the spars you two had, you always beat her. And that made her love you even more.

But then, there was your eyes. Your soulless blank eyes, how your mask only covered your lower face, your stoic and stiff posture. It was concerning how robotic you were.

She noticed how the cloud knights were wary of you, as if they were terrified of you… much like her. Honestly, she hated how they just feared you with no good reason. But… she couldn’t help but desire why you were acting like this.

Why’re you so robotic? Do you only act like that around her? Do you hate her? Hell she didn’t even know what platoon you were in.

So, she digged into your life, your files that the previous general had. And what she found shocked her to her very soul.

Child experimentation, ripped out voices, molded into perfect super assassins. To think general yueyu knew of all these events was…almost unbelievable.

Then she saw writing in red letters ‘If m/n’s mask is broken. Under NO Circumstances should any cloud knight intervene with his wraith besides the general or the shadow company’

The shadow company.. so that was your platoon. Feixiao couldn’t control her shaking legs, the sadness she felt for you was immense. As a general she should’ve known about this right? But… as your friend… did you even consider her a friend?

She put the file back, deciding that she didn’t need to read anything more to understand your life. She swallowed, as the realization slowly crept up on her. The fact that her love would never be reciprocated.

However, she didn’t allow these thoughts to consume her. She can do something, she HAS to do something, she CAN save you, fix you. It’s her responsibility as your general and friend.

She changed her entire personality around you. She isn’t commanding or authoritative when acting as your general. She’s more gentle and loving when being your friend.

Feixiao one day decides to take you on a hang out trip (date) to try and find something you’d like, anything. She takes you to an arcade, movies, the park. Seeing if these child activities would awaken the child that was destroyed all those years ago.

Luckily, her hunch was right. She sees your well trained….your brutally imbued demeanor slowly crack. Your body language was more relaxed, your eyes ever so slightly widened with… joy? Or interest.

At the end of the day, feixiao takes you to a cliff side, where people got to see the best view for stars and a rainbow that was rumored to appear.

Feixiao: Just a little further m/n.

Feixiao said, holding your hand as she softly helps you towards a railing, away from anyone. You didn’t know why she was doing this…but…something about it was…intriguing. Feixiao had done something you and your platoon had accepted. She made one of them…feel. Well, as much as a person can feel after not feeling for hundreds of years.

Feixiao: M/n. Look!

She pointed up, making you look up to see the sky glowing beautifully with artificial stars. The same tingle that you’d been feeling since she’s taken you on this expedition appeared once more. The tingle made your lips quiver positively, your eyes opening further than ever before.

You were so caught up on this tingle that you didn’t notice feixiao staring at you. A smile of joy on her face as her eyes sparkled while looking at him. She decided to play her final card, moving her hand up to caress the visible skin on your face, making you turn and face her.

Feixiao: M/n… I’m gonna try something with you. Can I remove your mask?

Remove…your mask? Why? What could she possibly want to try? Was she gonna…. Crack your mask? As if she read your mind, she spoke.

Feixiao: I’m not gonna damage your mask m/n. I just want to do something to your face. Can I?

Something to your face…? To say you were interested wouldn’t be wrong. A part of you so small, so minuscule, so insignificant had become an annoying itch in your mind, a buzz in your ears that told you to ‘trust her’

The buzz and itch immediately annoyed you, it was so loud, so irritating, so….tempting. So, you nodded and feixiao smiled. She carefully removed your mask. Seeing the scars on your jaw and lips.

Her eyes widened for a second before returning back to those…strange stare with a smile that seemed to tug you closer to her. She caressed your face gently before bringing you in close and… making your lips mush with hers.

The feeling of your lips against hers made something in you begin to tickle and tingle. Your eyes widened a bit more then they normally did this whole day, and for once, your body froze, not knowing how to react. She then removed her lips from your which…left your body with a strange feeling.

Feixiao: I’m sorry m/n…I’m pathetic… I couldn’t hold myself back any longer….i-I love you, m/n.

She said which made your mind put the pieces in place. ‘Loves’ you…? Is that why she did this… she cared? The words she spat out made the buzz grow louder, this time, it seemed to have grown a tentacle or sorts, as you felt your hand lift up to hold her thumb.

Feixiao’s eyes widened at this before smiling, the smile that made your eyes shine once more like they did years ago. But only once. However, desires long thought to have been destroyed from your very soul seemed to return, as her smile made you feel…. Happy.

-The End-

[katbrando]

▹NSFW (minors dni) • 5.1k • diego brando x afab!reader ▹content: modern au, diego is a cheater AND a bottom, pegging, hate sex, slapping, choking, rimming, face-sitting, degradation, spit (lots of spit) ▹synopsis: diego and you have a pretty toxic relationship to begin with, but after you find evidence of him cheating on you while out of town, you decide to put him in his place. [ read on ao3 instead ]

The silence that followed your boyfriend’s phone being gently placed atop the kitchen counter was thick, maybe rivaled only by the sheer bulk of rage that was currently settled on your tense shoulders. Atmospheres like this certainly weren’t uncommon between the two of you, usually spiraling into screaming matches that ended in unresolved tension eventually fizzling out as if nothing had gone wrong at all. In most of these circumstances, it was both of you at fault; differences in opinion and outlook tended to blow up into something far more dramatic than necessary, but that was inevitable when you were dating Diego Brando.

“Darling –” he’d started, of course, by trying to lighten the situation with a term of endearment associated with the numerous romantic dinners he’d taken you on as apology for previous grievances, but you’d stopped him dead in his tracks with a single finger pointed just inches away from his broad nose.

“Do not.” The same finger quickly moved to press directly in the center of his phone, reawakening the screen to show the current source of this particular confrontation, a message from a random number with obvious sexual intention. “Who the hell is texting you right now?”

This, of course, was a rhetorical question. The answer to that question was made clear to you just last night when the exact woman in question had contacted you personally. “Your man is cheating on you.” A single Instagram DM that would’ve otherwise seemed ludacris, but paired with a damning photo of Diego himself laying amongst someone else’s bed sheets. It was hard to know where to place your anger, but after realizing the message wasn’t meant to taunt, moreso to inform and warn, you’d understood what needed to be done.

“I don’t know, love,” Diego lied through his teeth, his sharp canines poking out as he plastered a smile on his face, “probably a wrong number or something.”

In most cases this would be an understandable possibility. Not only was Diego an exceptionally beautiful man, but his career as a jockey made him well-known within a specific sphere of people. And these people were committed, often cult-like in their actions. Learning to deal with jealousy and uncertainty was part of the package when you signed up to date such an established athlete. Was it worth it? That, you’d been struggling to answer as of late.

Your relationship with Diego certainly wasn’t perfect, it hadn’t been for a while, but the idea of him cheating still seemed inconceivable. As a partner, Diego was ruthless in his loyalty, though it was not lost on you that he’d had a past of sleeping around and taking advantage of his good looks. You’d thought, maybe, that was all in the past, but lately with his uptick in popularity it seemed he was spiraling back into old habits, feeling a bit too untouchable.

“I’m not a dumbass, Diego,” you countered, a laugh bubbling up in your throat as if to try and quell the anger, “so you can stop treating me like one and tell me why the hell some random person is sexting you.”

“I can’t control the fact that people want to share their fantasies with me.” Diego folds his arms across his chest and shrugs, letting out a chuckle of his own that only furthers a boiling point for you. “If my number was leaked again, I’ll get a new one, it’s no problem.”

“You and I both know that’s not what happened here. Get real, or I’ll kick your ass to the curb.”

Something in your tone must have struck something in him, because at those stern words Diego seemed to visibly stiffen. Was that fear in his eyes?

The sound of your own breath became unbearably loud as you watched your boyfriend try to find words, his pillowy lips parted but offering up nothing. Absolutely pathetic.

“Are you cheating on me?”

Even if Diego was a good liar, you’d be able to see through him easier than most others could. And the way his eyes darted to the side told you everything you needed to know before he could even say anything.

“Well, clearly you’ve already made up your mind as far as the answer to that question, so why even bother answering?” He grumbled, his little pout making it hard for you to decide if you’d rather slap him across the face or kiss him so hard you both forget this entire situation.

“I’m taking that as a yes.” You took his phone in your hand and tried to decide what to do with it, finally resolving to chuck it at the floor, letting it land with a thump on his foot. “I have proof either way so you’d be an idiot to try and argue with me.”

Diego’s stare immediately dropped to the floor, his fingers drumming nervously across the surface of his bicep as he looked at his phone. It beeped again, another notification flashing across the screen, but he didn’t pick it up.

“So is that it, then?” He finally murmured after several seconds of silence. “Are you going to scold me? Kick me out?”

“Are you not going to apologize?” You scoffed, taking a couple steps closer to him, tone threatening. “You’re a real piece of work, Brando.”

“Love, I wouldn’t expect you to understand the difficulty that comes with being in the spotlight.” Diego started, and you knew exactly what frustrating turn he was about to take. “If I turned away every single person who approached me, anyone who wanted a piece of me, the media would make me out to be a bloody prick. Do you know how hard it is to maintain a balance of charm and disinterest? When your career depends on it?”

“You are a bloody prick!” You shouted in response, jamming a finger against his chest before shoving at his shoulder. “Since when does your career require you to sleep with random people when you’re in a relationship?”

Visibly trying to recover from the sudden action of being shoved, Diego met your sharp stare again with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. His nostrils flared, and it wasn’t immediately clear if that was a sign of his own rage bubbling up or something more carnal. Either way, he stayed silent, his demeanor practically begging for more.

“Tell me you aren’t happy, then, go ahead.” Your provocation continued as you got closer to him, shoving him with both hands this time. He briefly stumbled back but remained stock still. “I can dump you right now and you can go get your dick wet with whoever the fuck you want, your choice.”

“I don’t want that,” Diego grumbled, narrowing his eyes, “I made a mistake.”

“A mistake!” You echo, laughing again at the absurdity of Diego’s entire reasoning. “Do you understand how pathetic you look right now?”

“Throw me out, then, go ahead. Clearly you’re not willing to have a discussion about this.”

“There’s no discussion to be had, Diego. And throwing you out would be way too easy.” You pause to take a deep breath, your voice lowering significantly. “Maybe I should just beat the shit out of you and teach you a goddamn lesson.”

Diego gulps, his breath noticeably hitches. “Why don’t you, then?”

“Because I know you, I know that’s what you want me to do.”

Diego’s lips quirk up into a smirk, just barely, and that action alone makes your mind up even before he replies in a smarmy voice.

“Then aren’t we both on the same page?”

A slap reverberates through the quaint space of your shared apartment, Diego’s hand immediately coming up to rest against the reddening skin of his cheek. You take in the sight of his eyes blown wide and his mouth parted in shock for mere seconds before you close the distance with a bruising kiss. Nothing about it is gentle, your teeth dig into his lip as a frustrated growl spills into his mouth, and though Diego does his best to assert dominance with his tongue you put up a good fight as both your hands shove at his shoulders again.

With his back now pressed tightly against the wall, Diego attempts to part for breath but he loses the battle as you firmly grip his chin in your hand, forcing him to keep kissing you. You only allow him the luxury of breath once your other hand is grasping a fistfull of his hair, effectively holding his head in place even as you pull away.

“I can’t stand you,” you mutter, squeezing his chin tighter, digging your nails into his skin, “maybe the media should know that you’re a cheating scumbag.”

The fear that flashes in Diego’s eyes at that threat further fuels your rage; of course he’s more concerned about his reputation than the state of your relationship.

“That –” he starts, whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as you spit directly into his mouth.

“Stop talking, for the love of god.” Your demand is punctuated with another tug on his hair as he clearly savors the feeling and taste of your own saliva settling on his tongue.

To the public, Diego Brando is a shining example of pride and dominance in the world of horse racing, even his small stature is something he’s looked up to for. Something you’ve always taken satisfaction in has been your ability to render that side of Diego completely powerless, knowing the exact words and actions that have the capacity to bring him to his knees with his eyes glazed over in desperation. That is the Diego you fell in love with, and he’s the one who’s currently staring at you as if you’re the end-all and be-all.

Cheater or not, you know in your heart that he’ll always come running back to you with his tail tucked between his legs, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t going to make him pay for this mistake. By the time you’re done with him, your name will be the only thing he remembers how to say.

In a series of exasperated movements, Diego allows you to clap a hand across the nape of his neck and shove him towards your bedroom, his hands awkwardly hovering in the air as if even accidentally touching you will earn him capital punishment. “Pants off.” You demand, admittedly a little charmed by the way he stumbles backwards against the bed and begins fumbling with his belt.

As you dig through the nightstand, you can feel Diego’s eyes boring into you. By the time his pants and underwear are thoughtlessly discarded onto the floor you’ve located the tools for further punishment, tossing them onto the mattress just inches away from where Diego is sitting. It’s cute the way he glances over at his favorite dildo before staring at you again with bated breath, but he’ll have to be patient. And patience is something he’s not very good at.

“Do not touch yourself.” You move to stand in front of him, your legs on either side of his as they dangle off the side of the bed. When his hand hovers over your waist you give it a firm swat. “Or me. Understood?”

“Yes, love,” he mutters, breathy and desperate, both his hands falling into his lap.

You refrain from demanding he not use pet names, seeing as the way they roll off his tongue just makes him sound even more pathetic. Anger rushes through you again as you imagine whether or not he used the same words when he cheated. Inevitably, he must have, it’s part of his undeniable charm. You don’t voice this frustration, but you grip his chin in your hand again and give his head a firm shake.

“I won’t hesitate to toss you out the door, butt ass naked, if you don’t obey what I ask of you tonight.” A pause. “Understood?”

“Yes, love,” he repeats in the exact same lust-soaked cadence, eyes already glazed over with desire.

Your eyes search his face for a moment, finding no hint of foul play nor anything but obedience. Only then do you give a single nod and step backwards to continue your demands. “Get on your hands and knees.”

Diego obeys without hesitation, positioning himself so that his ass is fully presented to you and his face is resting against the sheets, turned just enough to continue watching your every move. Even just the sight of you looking at him in such a lewd position is enough to make him groan and shimmy his hips, though just barely. He likely knows that playing it up and egging you on might be pushing it too far.

For a moment you take in the sight of him, both with intent to test his patience and to appreciate the view. Diego has a nice, plump ass, thanks to his career as a jockey. It’s always been one of his greatest assets, and unfortunately he’s keenly aware of that. Currently a pale ivory, dotted sparsely with freckles, but it’ll look much nicer when it’s beet red and sore. Your eyes travel from the cleft of his ass, past his taint, down to where his cock hangs, and when it twitches under your stare you roll your eyes.

“You’re such a slut,” you mumble, stepping closer and dragging one hand along the underside of his right thigh, “you know that?”

Diego doesn’t reply, just keeps staring at you with those hazy cerulean eyes as if he’ll die if you don’t keep talking down to him. Not responding to the question earns him a spank, swift and harsh and underhanded against his right cheek. He immediately hisses in pain and grips the sheets with both hands, the skin of his ass already reddening to match the flush across his face.

“I ask a question, you answer.” You give the same spot a gentle caress before spanking him again.

“I’m a slut,” Diego groans, “I know.”

“That’s why you can’t stand the idea of settling down and being an obedient boyfriend, hm?” Another spank, another grunt spills from Diego’s mouth. “You just had to go fuck someone else, even though I’m right here. You’re so pathetic.”

“She’s nothing like you,” Diego attempts to wiggle himself out of the guilt, “I didn’t even cum.”

You know that’s a lie. Diego’s so easy you can make him climax just by looking at him a certain way, and you know this from experience. As much as you’d love to consider this a special skill that only you’re capable of, you know better than that. Give Diego two minutes with someone willing to suck him off and he’s toast.

“Don’t lie to me, I doubt you even lasted five minutes with her.”

Diego chances a laugh, weak and breathlessly, and you take the opportunity to give him several more spanks, this time alternating cheeks until they’re both turning beet red. Each motion is partnered with a firmly spoken and degrading name, driving him further and further into desperation. His whole body is shaking by the time you take a break, observing the entirety of his backside and noting that he’s already hard.

“If you cum without me telling you it’s okay, I’ll toss you out the window.” It’s a threat you obviously wouldn’t seriously follow through on, but Diego’s expression tells you that he’s taking it completely seriously anyway. You’ve never seen him grasp the bedsheets so tightly.

“Yes, love,” he breathes, thighs twitching, “I’ll be good.”

“You’re nowhere close to being ‘good’, not right now,” you scoff, placing a hand on each of his cheeks and digging your nails into the warm, rosy skin, “just do what I say and I’ll think about calling you ‘good’.”

Diego says nothing, but whines desperately at the feeling of you gradually spreading his cheeks, his hole puckering as soon as your eyes hungrily trace over it. You lean closer to let a thick trail of spit fall from your lips, landing directly above his entrance and rolling downwards before your tongue meets it and evenly distributes it across the surface of his sensitive skin. He takes a shaky breath, music to your ears as you languidly lick up from his taint and press a kiss to his hole.

One thing you know for certain is that no other woman gets to do this with him; Diego’s flings are consistent in that he’s always topping, quickly getting off and putting no feeling into what he’s doing, never anything as intimate and drawn out as this. In a sense, yes, putting him down and having your way with him is meant to be a punishment. It’s also serving as a reminder that nobody else in the world knows how to make him feel like this, not like you can.

“Fuck –” Diego whimpers as soon as your tongue delves into his depths, your hands spreading him further and further. You won’t scold him for crying out, not when it makes him sound so feeble.

“You like that?” Your breath fans across his ass as you whisper, and when you lay your tongue flat against his hole again and give him another spank he fights to hold himself up. “You’re filthy.”

“S’good…” his voice is barely audible, his eyes rolling back with every stroke and prod of your tongue.

“Why would you ever fuck anyone else when you can have this?” One of your hands slides across his cheek, pointer finger meeting where your mouth currently hovers and dragging teasingly against his saliva-soaked asshole. “Stupid whore.” You punctuate the insult with another glob of spit landing in the same spot.

“Never again,” Diego weakly insists, pressing his ass further back, aching for more attention, “I only need you.”

That statement, clearly dripping with need, makes you roll your eyes again.

“Y’know, you’re more appealing when you keep your mouth shut.” His hole eagerly takes your finger to the first knuckle, even as you slowly pump it and sink increasingly deeper. His whole body is shaking and his mouth is hanging open, drool coating the sheets where his head rests. Again he offers no response, obediently letting nothing fall from his lips besides hushed sounds of pleasure.

For a while, you fuck him with your fingers, letting your middle join the first and curling to meet the spot you know will drive him further and further to the edge. It’s a true test of his self-control, and honestly you’re impressed by his ability to keep himself from falling apart. Perhaps he has learned his lesson. As soon as he easily takes three of your digits without any hesitation, you decide to move on, but as soon as your fingers leave him he nearly collapses helplessly.

“Please –” he starts as soon as he hears the sound of you removing your bottoms and fiddling with the harness you’d previously pulled from the nightstand. You give his ass another smack as a wordless warning.

As if you’d have any intention of stopping at this point; you’re enjoying yourself far too much for him to ruin it. As soon as you’re fully strapped, you climb atop the mattress to settle behind him.

Further testing his obedience, you forgo the lube and instead drag your strap against the cleft of his ass, letting your spit coat its surface as you tease him. Diego’s hips move to meet the actions, greedy for more as he fights to remain silent. And it’s a fight he’s steadily losing, seeing as he keeps whimpering pleas that aren’t lost on your ears.

Just to play with him, you reach around to blindly locate his cock, cupping his balls and feeling a rush of power when he gives a guttural, shocked moan at the sensation. Eyes blown wide again, he refocuses his stare on you and gives you one of the most pitiful looks you’re ever seen.

“What?” You tease him, flicking his tip and returning both hands to spread his ass. “Go ahead, beg me for it.”

“P-please –” Diego starts, choking on another moan; you can hear his nails puncturing the sheets. “Fuck me, please.”

“Why should I? You think you really deserve that?”

At that, Diego groans with irritation, his entire body heaving as he takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself down. Always so huffy when he doesn’t get his way, but lucky for him he won’t have to wait much longer.

Another thick glob of spit leaves your mouth, landing just above your strap and making gliding between his ass an easier process. For good measure, you give the toy a few strokes to distribute the moisture before pressing its tip against his hole. Diego’s thighs twitch and he holds his breath, waiting for you to fill him up.

“Before I fuck you,” you lean down, much to his dismay, to whisper against the space between his shoulder blades, “I need you to tell me what a filthy cheating slut you are. Tell me what you did.”

Diego fists his hands further into the sheets and grits his teeth. From this angle he can’t quite make direct eye contact, but his eyes still desperately try to look back at you as he finally mutters admittance.

“She gave me a handjob, sucked me off a little, that’s all,” he says, his cheeks further reddening with shame, “nothing more, I promise, love.”

In such a vulnerable and brainless state, it would be unlikely of him to lie. And honestly, you trust him, but it still doesn’t make the entire thing any less enraging.

“Why did you do it?”

“Was lonely,” he whines, shutting his eyes, “while traveling, out of town…”

“You were lonely?” You scoff, palm meeting his ass again, making sure his skin stays just as sensitive and rosy. “That’s a pitiful excuse.”

“You weren’t there, love, if you had been, I –”

“Enough, be quiet.” His excuses are giving you a headache, so you straighten up again and distribute more spit to his asshole until you think he’s ready to take you. Whether he is or not, he’s going to get his ass pounded.

Diego gives a short yelp as soon as you push into him, his hole swallowing up the entire tip and eagerly stretching to accommodate as you sink further, slowly. It’s a beautiful sight, his full, rosy ass being fucked by your strap, his thighs twitching and his upper half shaking at the feeling of being filled by you. You reach forward to brush any hair out of his face and gather it up in your fist, tugging his head to the side so he can make better eye contact with you.

“You look so pathetic right now, Diego,” you coo, your hips finally connecting with his ass as he takes the entirety of your strap with a shaky breath. “Imagine if your fans saw you like this. Face down, drooling and whining, ass being fucked by your girlfriend.”

Diego shivers and offers no reply, he’s too close to falling apart and you’d rather him say nothing anyway. You imagine his cock is probably desperately leaking right now, begging to be touched, but he stays vigilant with his hands still buried in the sheets beneath him.

To his credit, Diego takes it like the champ, letting you fuck him hard and steadily faster, moving his body to meet yours and creating a satisfying smack sound with every snap of your hips. At some point the sight of his blissed-out expression is a bit too much for you to bear, so you lean down and press your lips to his shoulder blade as you continue moving in and out of him. Your kisses are fleeting and short-lived, teeth sinking into the supple skin and biting down hard. Diego gasps as you taste blood on your tongue, he knows you’re going to leave a nasty mark.

When you pull back and see the evidence of your actions, you huff a satisfied laugh and move to a new untouched spot. As you continue marking him, your hand finally gives his cock the attention it so desperately wants, his hips not knowing which way to move between your fist pumping his shaft and your strap still fucking up into him. There’s no way he’s going to last very much longer, based on the whimpers and obscenities that keep breathlessly spilling from his mouth.

“I’m –” he warns, and you immediately cease all contact, sitting up straight again and quickly unsheathing yourself. Diego looks up at you as if you’ve just committed the unholiest of crimes, and to him that must be exactly how it feels.

“Not yet, you’re not.” You fold your arms across your chest and eye him, trying to decide how to make his life even more difficult. “Lay down, on your back.”

Diego, face flushed and body glistening with sweat, gives you a pained look before huffing and obeying, his head hitting the pillow and his hands landing just inches away from his leaking cock. It almost looks like he might cry as he watches you remove your harness and toss it to the foot of the mattress.

“Love, please –” he whines, writhing slightly against the sheets, his body aching for you, for anything you’d be willing to give him.

“You’re going to put that filthy mouth of yours to good use, for once.” He watches closely as you climb atop the bed again, straddling his upper half, your pussy dangerously close to his face.

You prod at his mouth with your thumb and he allows it to enter and press firmly against the surface of his tongue. He sucks on the digit, eyes half-lidded and staring up into yours. You utter a request for him to open, sliding the pad of your thumb across his lower lip before leaning down and spitting directly into his mouth again. Diego immediately moans and without looking you can feel his hips lifting, as if trying to fuck up into the air.

“Taste good?” You ask, giving his cheek a little slap as soon as he groans confirmation. “This’ll taste even better.”

Diego already knows what you’re doing, but he refrains from touching you as you turn around, sitting directly against his face with your palms resting against his chest. You hadn’t realized just how wet you’d gotten from fucking him, and his tongue eagerly laps up against you to further coat your entrance with moisture. His ministrations are less enthusiastic than usual, so you remind him who’s boss with a pinch to his nipple.

“Eat up, Diego, this might be the last time you ever get to do this.” The threat draws a noise from out of his throat, muffled by your body pressed tight against his face. “Ungrateful bitch.”

Diego’s tongue delves deep between your folds, sliding out only to toy with your clit and further wet the surface of your cunt. The sounds he’s making are obscene, one glance down at him and you can see a sheen of spit and juices coating his chin. His breath comes in gasps, almost as if he’s forgetting to breathe amidst the sheer pleasure of eating you out. Your eyes trail down from his chin to the length of his throat, watching his adam’s apple move as his mouth continues working.

As soon as your palm presses against his throat, Diego’s body reacts with brief shock but he doesn’t stop you. Gradually, you curl your hand around its surface, squeezing and immediately sensing the tension in his ministrations. His cock twitches against his abdomen as you continue choking him, you’re almost certain that one touch to his tip would push him overboard.

After a few seconds, Diego chokes against you, his mouth faltering and sputtering as he continues trying to please you despite lack of oxygen. Eventually you take pity on him, releasing his throat and grinding down harder against his face as he gasps for breath. Your own need is starting to overwhelm you, making you lay down against his torso and finally wrap a hand around his cock. Diego’s hips buck upwards as you touch him, and you allow him to fuck into your fist as you keep your mouth open and ready for his inevitable release. The aggression and enthusiasm with which he’s devouring you is driving you to your own precipice, your breath becoming shaky and labored.

Your climaxes are nearly simultaneous, your walls tightening around his tongue as he continues sucking at your clit, his cum spilling out between your lips and coating your chin. He makes no action to move you from off of him, but as soon as the last bit of his cum has been squeezed out onto your tongue you quickly flip around again, leaning down to kiss him with as much force as you did earlier.

The kiss is messy, his tongue lapping up at his own release, letting it mingle amongst your shared spit. When you part for breath you offer him no time to recover before spitting again, making certain that every last bit of his filth is resting in his mouth and not yours.

“Swallow.” You weakly command, only satisfied when Diego does so, opening his mouth to prove he’s obeyed. “Disgusting.”

Boneless, Diego lays there, staring up at you through hazy half-lidded eyes. And still, his hands stay at his sides, not once touching you, just as you’d demanded. You figure that earns him at least a little bit of praise.

“See? This is what happens when you’re a good boy.” You give his cheek another light smack, watching as his head rolls weakly to the side with the force of it. “Now get out.”

It takes a moment for the words to really hit him, but once you’ve climbed off the bed and started putting your underwear back on, Diego makes a pathetic little noise and pouts.

“‘Get out’?”

“Yeah, you heard me.” You raise an eyebrow, picking up his own boxer briefs and tossing them at his head. “You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“I… wh –” Diego sputters, voice briefly muffled by his underwear smacking him in the face. “Love, I thought –”

“If you think I’ve forgiven you then you’re sorely mistaken.” You laugh triumphantly, watching as he sulks and pulls his clothes back on. “That ass is gonna have to get fucked a few more times before I even think about letting you off the hook.”

Diego’s pout briefly shifts to an obnoxious smirk. “Promise?”

“Ugh,” you loudly groan, clapping both hands against his shoulders and guiding him out of the bedroom. “Enough. Goodnight.”

You quickly shut the bedroom door as soon as he’s out, hearing him chuckle and mutter a declaration of love. Biting back a smile, you take a deep breath and begin cleaning up.

Unfortunately, you love him too.

[aphroditelovesu]

Can you write for yandere Criston Cole and yandere Harwin Strong ?

❝🐉 lady l: of course, anon! I'm really in love with these two characters and since it wasn't specified, I decided to make a short and quick hc of them as a romantic!yandere, I hope it's ok! If you want to request something else, feel free!! Sorry for any mistakes I missed :)

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, jealousy, mention of murder, a little of fluffly too 'cause i want to.

Ser Criston Cole

Criston Cole is the very definition of the word loyal, like a loyal dog that will follow you around like a loving and well-mannered puppy. He is very loving towards his darling, he wants to make you feel like the most sublime being that ever existed. Because to him, you are that and much more and he will make you love every part of yourself, even the ones you don't like.

He is a natural stalker, wherever you are he will be there. It's a little scary honestly how much this man knows about you, even the things you don't remember from your own childhood Criston somehow knows. There's nothing about you he doesn't know, Cole can find out all of your secrets and he might get upset if you try to keep something from him.

You are soulmates, right? There's no reason for you to try to hide anything from him. There are no secrets between you, you never need to feel embarrassed in front of him, he is a very understanding lover and will try to help you in any way he can. Just say their name and they won't bother you anymore. Do you need comfort in the middle of the night? Criston will be holding you in his arms and trying to comfort you. Weird cravings? He will fulfill them. Anything you ask is yours. Just ask and Criston will get it for you.

One of his favorite couple activities is the simplest of all: you lying naked on top of him while you talk about something. It may sound strange, but Criston loves the feel of your bare chest against his. He likes it because you are vulnerable and on trusting him and completely oblivious to the dark truth about your lover, you don't know what's going on in his head and he's grateful for that. Criston doesn't want you to be afraid of him, in fact that is his biggest fear. He must love and protect you at all times, you need never fear him.

You never have to be afraid of him, Criston would rather kill himself than allow himself to harm you. He would never, under any circumstances, be able to lift a finger to hurt you. Hurting you would be the same as hurting himself, you are everything to him, his life, the reason for his entire existence and he can't live without you anymore. If anything were to happen to you, Criston will be even more ruthless and violent, than he already is, in getting his revenge, and after getting it, he would kill himself. Not even death can separate you.

He is very jealous, getting to be possessive many times and he doesn't even feel guilty about it. And why should he? You belong to each other, he should not hesitate to defend your love. He will be violent and not discreet at all, showing jealousy of you and it is very possible that it will end in someone's death. He just wants you all to himself. Is that too much to ask? Criston wants so badly to be the only one to be able to look at you, see your beautiful smile and be gifted with your presence. You have no idea how much he wants to steal you.

There are many flaws in him that make him a complicated person to deal with, but if there's one thing that makes him literally docile and controlled, it's you. He will get into fights and kill many, but if you ask him not to, Criston will be on his knees in a matter of seconds, asking your forgiveness for going too far. Please don't hate him, he just can't control his yandere impulses for you. Every bit of common sense he has left is thrown to the side when you are in danger or are being harassed by someone and he is lost in his withering rage. But you need to know one thing about him, Criston will never hurt or harm you. He will only be happy if you are happy and, as his loyal knight, Criston Cole will make sure you are happy with him.

''You and I belong together. We were always meant to be together and we will be together forever and ever. You have no choice.''

Ser Harwin Strong

Harwin Strong is a perfect lover, he is everything you dream of in a loving relationship. He has his soft side that is only shown to you, he is so gentle when he touches you and loves to shower you with kisses and caresses all over your body. He worships you, idolizes you like a goddess/god and he is your most faithful follower, everything about you must be worshipped, from the ground you walk on to the roots of your hair. You are so perfect for him.

He is overprotective of you and your relationship, no one else is allowed in and he will get quite irritated if anyone tries to ''warn you about him''. As if Harwin could hurt you, you know you can trust him blindly, he would never do anything to harm or hurt you, he'd rather die than do something like this to you. Nothing and no one can hurt you as long as he's by your side. He promises you that.

There is nothing in this world that can hurt you and get away with it. Harwin isn't known as Breakbones for no reason, although he may be all love and affection towards you, he still has a murderous and dangerous side on him that kicks in when you're involved. All threats to your life will be quickly dealt with, he wants you to be able to sleep well at night without you feeling scared, and even if you still do, don't worry, Harwin will be there to comfort you. He will always be by your side, hugging you tightly, stroking your hair gently and drying any tears that come up. He will never leave you alone.

He absolutely loves holding you in his arms like you're a helpless princess, it's so adorable to see you curled up against his chest. Any chance to hug you that comes on his way he will take the chance. Some might consider it silly, but having you in his strong arms calms him down, you can calm his nerves and make him so vulnerable, his guard down as he allows himself to be wrapped up in the embrace, and he knows you will be safe while you're with him. If you and him are both naked that's even better, but in this case, it won't just end in a hug.

You can trust him with anything, literally anything, there are no limits to Harwin's obsession with you. Ask him anything, please ask, and he will be more than happy to comply with your wishes and demands. Strong wants to be your confidant, the only person you can trust, and he is your confidant, best friend and lover. He would gladly sacrifice himself for you, nothing matters more than your genuine happiness and although it will hurt him if the only way you can be happy is without him by your side then he will have to accept it. Even if it destroys him from the inside, you continuing to smile is the only thing he hopes and wants. He will still take care of you and protect you from a distance, so please keep smiling at him.

Harwin is jealous and possessive, many times when he gets jealous he becomes violent, but not with you, but with whoever made him jealous. He won't regret beating someone to death, they deserved it, but he will feel bad if you're upset that he killed someone, in which case Strong will apologize and try to make amends with you. He won't feel any kind of guilt, but he will be upset and even irritated if you fight him over an asshole which just makes him sure they deserved the death they got. Harwin gets jealous so easily it's ridiculous but he can't help it, he hates seeing someone too close to you. Why do others not understand that you are his? Can't you see he's furious about these interactions? Well, maybe he has to be tougher on marking you as his.

It can be quite complicated and even problematic to get involved with someone like Harwin Strong because of his violent and jealous nature, but his strengths are greater than his faults. His fierce loyalty to you and the way he cares for and protects the ones he loves, you. He would never cheat on you or purposefully hurt you, he is wholly yours and always has been, everything about him belongs to just you and no one else. He tries to control himself with his murderous impulses and he succeeds most of the time, but if he's provoked he won't have any control because that's just the way he is. Strong wants to be the best for you and he is always trying to impress you in every way and all he wants in return is your love. Harwin Strong will love you in the most intense and dangerous way, but it's a sincere and deep love that can never be erased.

''I just want to see you happy, make you happy. I want to be the best for you. I want to love you until the day I die. I swear never to hurt you.''

[porschesbabydaddy]

Very Important and Very Scientific Kinnporsche Driving Skills Research

As you all know, my number one priority during this rewatch was to answer the burning question that I’m sure we all have on our minds: which of these bitches can drive? Below are the results of that research, and also my own personal opinions regarding driving skills and abilities.

Characters who have canonical driving evidence

Kinn (seen driving in eps 5 and 12)

Vegas (seen driving a motorcycle in multiple eps)

Kim (seen driving in ep 13)

Porsche (seen driving a motorcycle in multiple eps)

Big ( seen driving a motorcycle in ep 5)

Ken (seen driving a motorcycle in ep 5)

Chan (presumably drove in ep 12 to bring Korn to Porsche’s house)

Arm (seen driving in ep 3)

Pete (seen driving in ep 5 and seen behind the wheel in ep 6)

Characters with no canonical driving ability evidence

Tankhun

Chay

Pol

Characters who I believe can drive (regardless of canonical evidence), ranked from best to worst

Chan: Shocking no one, I think there are very few things that Daddy Chan can’t do, and do well. He taught the main family boys how to drive, to varying degrees of success

Kim: You think that little control freak is willing to let anyone else drive him around? He took supplementary driving lessons and everything, just because he’s extra like that. Chay thinks he looks incredibly sexy behind the wheel, which is even more of a reason for him to drive as much as possible

Vegas: Vegas has never met a petty skill that he doesn’t have to beat Kinn at. He drives a little recklessly but he has the skills to handle it and I think that’s very sexy of him

Arm: Arm is a very middle of the road driver. He’s not the guy you wanna have behind the wheel if you need to do evasive manoeuvres or fancy tricks, but he’ll get you where you wanna go and really, who could ask for more? If he was my Uber driver I’d give him five stars (and maybe my number idk)

Pete: Pete is an okay driver, but he absolutely hates doing it. Once he leaves the main family you will not catch him behind the wheel of a car, that’s what he has Vegas for

Kinn: Sure, Kinn can drive, but should he? Probably not. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s had to drive himself since he took the road test, and it shows

Big: As with Kinn, being ABLE to drive doesn’t mean he SHOULD drive. His road rage is legendary, and very few people are comfortable being in the car when he is behind the wheel

Characters I believe can’t drive, regardless of canonical evidence

Porsche: Porsche is on this list because while he can handle a motorcycle like a dream, if you try to make him drive a car he will have a panic attack. It’s a combination of Trauma™️ and just a lack of opportunity to drive a car. When he has to be in a car, it’s best that he remains a passenger princess

Chay: When would he ever have the opportunity to learn? Porsche may have offered to teach him to ride his motorcycle, but why bother when he has his Hia to drive him wherever he needs to go

Pol: Personally I think he just never got his license before becoming a bodyguard, and mysteriously avoids having to get one whenever it’s brought up during his evaluations. It’s fine though, that’s what Arm and (pre-coup) Pete are for

Tankhun: Tankhun took his road test at the insistence of his father and then immediately purged all knowledge of how to drive from his brain. Gorgeous gorgeous girls should NEVER have to operate a motor vehicle

Characters who I believe technically can drive, but aren’t allowed to

Ken: Worse road rage than Big, he is only allowed to ride a motorcycle and even then only in extreme circumstances. He is the type to follow you to your destination and beat your ass if you piss him off in traffic

Macau: He got his license and promptly had it confiscated by Vegas within a week. Macau has never met a reckless driving stunt that he didn’t immediately want to try out himself. He thinks speed limits are a gentle suggestion and he isn’t interested in hearing them

[gumjester]

SO THIS IS THE GRIPE WITH EPIC WINTER

I HAVE RESISTED IT! I HAVE RESISTED MY OWN RAGE! I HAVE SEEN PEOPLE TALK SALT ABOUT EPIC WINTER AND I AGREE WITH THEIR POINTS AND I DO NOT WISH 2 ADD NEEDLESSLY 2 THE DELUGE.

HOWEVER.

there is one thing!!!! i have not seen people discuss and it is the thing that pisses me off the most. i am NOTHING if not a keeper of Lore!!!! so here this is: my manifesto.

i feel like i am not making a bold claim when i say that in order for the moral and story of ever after high to function appropriately, destiny must not have any intrinsic, immovable influence over anyone's life. you can choose to follow your written destiny, of course! you can also choose not to follow your written destiny. i feel as if this is very much baby's first observation about ever after high. destiny is simply the societal expectation placed upon people to uphold the existing system, and if you do not follow it, you do not disappear forever in a wormhole. destiny is not the decider of your fate; you are. this is dare i say! the point of the show!

epic winter!!!!!! destroys this idea entirely!!!!! actually, you could make the case that dragon games does as well! but more on that in a second!

epic winter looks at daring, a boy living his life after the storybook of legends - the artefact that supposedly is the one thing that binds a person to their destiny - has been destroyed without him ever laying a finger on it, let alone signing it, and decides that today, he will fulfil his destiny! the one he wasnt even aware he fucking had, lending him absolutely no agency in this matter!! ...!!!?!?

SO RIDDLE ME THIS!!!! WHAT'S THE POINT THEN!!!!! what is the point of ANYTHING raven or the rebellion has done or anything they believe about writing your own story if destiny is, in truth, very concious and intentional and likes fate very much actually and will funnel ur sorry little ass into a story regardless? the workings of destiny were apparently not contained in the book, so raven's actions on legacy day meant nothing and seemingly did all her actions thereafter, just sweating herself 2 death in her little exercise in futility because you have no control actually :) fate exists and it can make you the evil queen whenever it wants! or the swan princess! or little miss muffet! just because destiny might not manifest in the way you expect does not mean that it is any less worth fighting against, and i find the idea that destiny is suddenly perfectly acceptable in this instance because daring ending up actually liking rosabella, objectionable, to say the LEAST.

and while we're here, a note on dragon games! i think it can be somewhat excused from this philosophical tangle because the whole instance of apple fulfilling HER initial destiny (getting poisoned by the apple) was completely intentional on faybelle and the evil queens part. they capitalised on her existing nature and pushed destiny upon her. as for the kiss well!!! that's what i consider the tip of the iceberg before epic winter plunges fully into the ice-cold depths of this arctic shitstorm. daring is not subject to the same circumstances as apple. the snow king has no idea who he is when he curses him, and rosabella does not know he will be the beast either when she first starts speaking to him!! its all so terribly, hauntingly organic. everyone is a pawn, orchestrated entirely by fate, and the original moral core of the show lies blugeoned in some dark corner, reduced to ruins by the all-consuming inevitability of destiny.

god . i hate epic winter`

[amive2567]

Ingredients: Shoto Todoroki x gn!Reader, Izuku Midoriya x gn!Reader, Hitoshi Shinsou x gn!Reader

Contains: violence, mention of murder, mention of Stockholm syndrome, illegal gambling, just illegal stuff; don't take notes kiddos, yandere behavior

Type of order: macarons (headcanons), galaxy milkshake (au/ villain Au)

Hitoshi Shinsou:

He's a bounty hunter on the run, but also kinda like robin hood

He killed the rich/villains in the way and gave his money to you or donation organizations

He is always on the run, so he can’t spend his time with you

He doesn't want you to know about his doings, but he always keeps you safe from everyone that wanted to hurt you

Tbh he hid in the dark and snatched those “not so good” people away from you

He works together with the Kurogiri

His mind control was pretty helpful

Winning their trust, controlling them, and boom dead

At the end of the day, he made a lot of money and he would gladly spend it on you

With that, you could live a lavish life

He may be always on the run, but he still visits you about 5 times a week, always in another disguise

He came in for cuddles, dinner dates, or gaming nights

You knew that bringing up his work would only cause arguments, so you just rolled with it

He would kill everyone if it meant keeping you safe and sound

You are the most precious thing in his life

You are the only one who sees him vulnerable

As long as he is by your side, nothing will ever happen to you

 Shoto Todoroki:

A corrupted speculator, he started in high school and gambled with the money he stole from his dad. 

Online, of course.

He always wins and people were are by his skills

Never lost a bet and earned an immense sum of money

If he won his conqueror would never be seen again

He spends a lot of his money on you, to get you little gifts or flowers

You knew what he does as an earning and you understand it somehow, even though you were anxious at first

but he will protect you at all costs, even if it meant to freeze someone to death

Even though he loved his job, he loved you more, so he spend as much time with you as he could

even though he is feared by most, he is pretty clingy and sweet when he's with you

His job wasn’t always as fun as it sounds, he had to deal with death wishes and gang fights

Due to these circumstances, you had to move now and then

But you didn’t care, you would go everywhere he goes

Izuku Midoriya:

After all, might told him he can't be a hero, he wanted to full fill Akatsuki's dream and jump off the school, but he thought about it one last time

Rage filled him and as he turned around from the building he ran in one for all

OfA gave him a powerful quirk to help him to tear down the hero-society

He wants to have everything under control

He always got ruled over by everyone, and now he rules over everyone 

Only kills heroes with bad intentions like endeavor and other fame-hungry heroes

Has an All might hate page, because he crushed his dreams

He helps ofa as a double agent, he feels like he needs to pay him back

Izuku is a Yandere you are his obsession and no one can have you except for him

You can't escape 

He will give you everything to satisfy you 

Loves you deeply and adores you to the core 

If someone harms you he will go feral and extremely protective of you 

He creates a sort of Mafia to get the hero-society down 

Will fulfill all your needs 

New car? No problem 

Traveling to Hawaii? He will book the best flight 

If the member of the Mafia take a wrong look at you, they are instantly dead, shot in the head in the center hallway of the Mafia 

He will take revenge if someone does him wrong 

You are the only person to see his caring side 

He loves you and you learned to love him to (thanks stockholm syndrome)

 



[queerfanfiction]

LUCIFER X READER REQUEST!

Hey, there! How are you?

I was wondering if you could write a Lucifer x Reader fanfiction where reader is an exorcist who keeps troubling Lucifer's plans of spreading hell till "hell is all there is" to the point the ruler of hell decides they have to deal with her personally.

How it develops is up to you! Thank you so much for your time 💛

Possessed

Prompt is shown above. :)

Word count: 3.4k Content warning: some blood, violence/branding, corruption kink?, finger sucking, just generally Lucifer being a little bitch they/them pronouns used for Lucifer and God

Lucifer half heartedly attempts to remember which soul the demon in front of them was tasked with corrupting. They can’t be bothered to coddle failure. Hell had rules.

“Kneel before your Lord,” Mazikeen commands in the direction of the insolent demon. Lucifer hears shuffling and bony knees hitting the black, marble floor of the throne room.

“What a pleasure to have you back so soon. Eager for another soul, perhaps?” Lucifer’s voice rings out, back turned to the interaction, denoting anything but pleasure at the exchange. To be truthful, Lucifer enjoyed making their subjects squirm beneath them.

“No, my Lord. There has been a complication. The soul I secured is to be exorcised.”

“Then you have not secured it,” the ruler of Hell denounced.

Lucifer finally turns to look upon the demon knelt before them. “Rise.” When the demon carefully stands upright, Lucifer still maintains a good measure of height above them.

“Demons have tempted mortals effortlessly for eons. What power has an exorcist in this venture?” Lucifer’s tone was even as they soliloquized.

Mortals and their complications…they seemed so inconsequential, so unimportant. Mortals are but tiny ants let loose upon the Earth, so far away, and yet Lucifer could smite them—crush them right then and there. Lucifer could end every problem by crushing their faith, turning them onto a hellish path instead.

Fearful to speak out of turn, the demon listens to Lucifer carry on, “Devils and fiends have not struggled to secure a soul due to an exorcist since 1572.”

Stammering, the subject in front of Lucifer exclaims, “My liege, I have attempted to derail the purification and have not been successful.”

“You disappoint me” is articulated before the demon can finish speaking. With a wave of Lucifer’s hand, a dark pit opens up behind the pleading follower of Hell. Mazikeen strides forward and kicks the beast into the cell below. Once finished, Lucifer summons another demon to resume the task.

—

In the coming weeks, two more intended souls were wretched away from Hell’s grasp. With their hands atop a circular table of fire, leaned forward in seething rage, Lucifer mouthed, “What is the meaning of this?”

Utilizing demons lower in the Hell’s hierarchy proved inadequate, a waste of time, resulting in failure. Lucifer would tend to the matter themselves. With another wave of their fingers, Lucifer materialized an image of the most recent soul in question, waiting to review who this challenging exorcist was. As they watched, they considered the circumstances.

True, formidable exorcists are few and far between; most are diluted versions of powerful characters lost to legend. Recalling past exorcisms throughout history, most were vicious attempts to control and punish women. That, or political propaganda weaponized in religious divides that only strengthened Lucifer’s numbers.

In watching the latest soul through the conjured mist, Lucifer spots you enter quietly and approach the wooden, four poster bed with a possessed body on it. You give the young woman lying there a drink of water and stroke hair away from her eyes that was kept glued to her forehead by sweat. You refuse to let the exorcism irreparably damage the body caught in the conflict. You step away to begin reciting your prayers and rites.

“God arises; Their enemies are scattered and those who hate Them flee before Them. As smoke is driven away, so are they driven; as wax melts before the fire, so the wicked perish at the presence of God.”

Lucifer then watches the exorcist’s eyes go white, glazed over in a trance pulling them from their corporeal form, leaving a shell behind momentarily. Your innate power radiating through even the mist Lucifer is peering through. In a murmur that was barely audible, Lucifer vocalizes, “Interesting…”

Curiosity overpowering anger, Lucifer decides they want to meet you face to face. Rather, they will demand an audience. They appear silently in the corner of the unusually barren room, eyes not moving from the form of the exorcist before them.

After a few minutes, Lucifer grows disinterested in the lack of change since or acknowledgement of their presence. In defiance of this face, Lucifer leans into theatrics, morphing the atmosphere before them. The interior walls begin to rot, the wood of the bed posts collecting corrosive shades of grey and black. Several spots in the corners of the walls and floor ooze with pitch black tar, bubbles popping and hissing, eating away at the perfection, at the peacefulness that once was present. Darkness looms, heavy, greedy, waiting to sink its teeth into its victims.

Light begins to seep from your pores until the very room seems to ceast to exist. Lucifer, obstinate as ever, makes no attempts to shield their eyes until the glare, the pure brightness threatens their vision.

Celestial magic. Just who are you, exorcist? Lucifer contemplates with a grimace at being confronted with the divine. Wings flap, and Lucifer vanishes before your eyes open, though you felt their presence.

You breathe softly, lifting your eyelids to the room before you. Nothing out of the ordinary, as if Lucifer’s influence had never bled into the space to begin with.

Back in Hell, Lucifer patrols the open marbled ledge repetitively, lost in thought. If Lucifer could not return to the Silver City, they would remake Hell on Earth, corrupt until Hell is all there is. What good was God’s kingdom if there were no followers, no believers?

Lucifer vows to start with you—to discern your specific ability to beckon souls away from the tempting lure of malfeasance and damnation. Lesser demons could not halt your exorcisms, as they were all in a struggle of strength and faith. Lucifer would tempt and seduce you instead. Who could resist Lucifer Morningstar, once God’s favorite and the most beautiful of all angels? Having decided a course of action, Lucifer kept tabs on you, learning your routine. Manipulating a mortal’s soul into your workload, they planned to intervene in your next exorcism.

Mazikeen takes note of Lucifer’s drifting attentions. No longer is the Lord of Hell opting for their usual entertainments or pleasures. No swordsmanship. No tournaments. No feasts with the assembled Lords of Hell. When Mazikeen of the Lilim witnesses Lucifer’s spying on you, she implores, “What will you do, my Lord?”

Deducing your importance in God’s Plan, sinister, Machiavellian features emerge on their face as they admit, drawing out the final syllables, “Something that will make God absolutely livid.”

—

Lucifer once again materializes off to the side as you prepare for the exorcism taking place in an hour. The exorcist heaves a knowing sigh and gently rubs at the back of her neck, feeling the tense muscles underneath.

“Collar too tight?” Lucifer’s voice flows outward, its cavalier tone wrapping against your face like a delicate ribbon.

“I had wondered when we would meet,” you forced out in a steady rhythm. You had to focus on not being effected by Lucifer’s bewitching voice.

“Not surprised or moved at our encounter? I’m wounded.”

You mustered the restraint to ignore the bait and turn your back to the archangel, a daring action. Offended that their prey was foolish enough to deny them, Lucifer moves closer to you.

“I wished to identify who exactly was diverting my souls. I didn’t expect to discover a pretty thing like you.”

“They are not yours, Lightbringer. They belong to our Sovereign of Heaven,” you oppose, as if the conversation you two were having were about as something mundane as the weather. A glint of animosity was present in Lucifer’s eyes.

In the vaulted church dormitory where the exorcism was now occurring, you gesture to a few of the extra bodies in the room to help restrain the flailing, possessed subject before you. News media liaisons, Catholic priests and other members of the clergy, family members to the possessed person were present. This crowd was a stark comparison to many of your previous private exorcisms.

The young boy in question had been unwilling to cooperate thus far—something your heart broke over. No. You should clarify…the demon speaking through the boy had a commanding hold on him. The boy himself was innocent and deserved to be fought for valiantly. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his mother weeped into someone’s chest.

Lucifer walks among the room slowly, and it seems that only you are able to perceive their presence here. An uneasy feeling overtook you, but you soldiered on, determined to aid the poor soul in question. Even with the added hands, the boy is writhing around and screaming.

Preparing your cross for its duty in the ceremony, you begin, “I exorcise thee, creature of salt, by the living God, by the true God, by the Holy God, and—“

Lucifer creeps behind you as you whisper your prayers, muttering obscenities into your ear, raising the hairs on your neck and arms. “You’re a good little disciple, aren’t you? If you were mine, I’d make sure you knew that you were pleasing me in this life rather than expect you to wait for salvation.”

Suppressing a chill, you conclude, “…by the God who by the prophet Eliseus commanded thee to be cast into the water.” Your eyes glance around the room to determine whether or not anyone noticed how challenging completing the rites was for you.

Frustrated at the unforeseen control you displayed, Lucifer’s irritation grew hot and radiated outward. A scream tears through you as you feel your skin burn and slough off in the center of your palms, revealing a demonic sigil. Not just any mark; it was Lucifer’s. Lucifer branded you.

—

At your next scheduled exorcism, of course the fallen angel was present. You prayed for strength, knelt beside an altar with your hands raised slightly above you, gripping a rosary and matching cross. From this angle, the blistered burns healing on her palms were semi-visible.

“You wear my mark well,” Lucifer praises.

You stomach drops, and you hope Lucifer’s powers don’t include the ability to notice your heartbeat begin to pick up. Evenso, you do not speak and continue practicing stillness as your work.

“All you need to do is ask,” you posit to the formidable being behind you.

“Ask what?”

Calmly, you explain, “To be saved.”

Taken aback, Lucifer briefly allows shock and discomfort to show on their face. They were expecting you to break down, allow their influence into you.

They compose themselves, give you a wry smile, and laugh in your face. “You think I want to be saved?” They spit at your feet and are gone in the next moment, not bothering to stay to protest the exorcism.

Two more sessions where you work to exorcize a demon from the same individual pass without any intrusion from the Lord of Hell. The gnawing curiosity to know what Lucifer was thinking came over you as you washed dishes with a sponge at your kitchen sink. The warm water your hands were submerged in felt relaxing—almost safe. Letting the plate you were holding fall under the water and sink down, you close your eyes and haphazardly thumb the tender areas of your palms.

You allow yourself to picture Lucifer in all their glory, their curled, blonde locks falling over their forehead reminiscent of a beautiful cherub statue. How the corners of their lips turned slightly upwards when they were amused or challenged. When their piercing blue eyes call outward for a subject to meet them. The way their hands converge and play upon each other like they are in a graceful dance. Their full, parted lips… You let out a small moan.

“You’re naive for thinking I can be saved,” a soft voice intervenes.

Your eyes wretch open, feeling like a small child caught in the act of disobeying. Your cheeks gain a bit of color, and your hands reach up to the cross around your neck. It was as if thinking of the fallen angel and touching their marks on your skin had manifested them. Coming back to yourself quickly and trying to find something to say, you relent, “Maybe.”

A moment passes. You consider how gentle Lucifer’s voice sounded; you’ve never heard it like that before. You are wary of what the softness means, but you didn’t want to jeopardize the possibility of hearing it again. After giving it some thought, you finally propose, “It is naive not to hope.”

This meeting is the first time Lucifer has visited you outside of your work as an exorcist. It makes you nervous. You knew you were called upon to do God’s work—to expel demons. You even knew this would encourage demonic forces to seek you out. Demons were nothing new in your life, whether religious or not. But Lucifer Morningstar taking an interest in you? That was dangerous.

Why did the Lord of Hell insist on dragging out your death? With a flutter of their porcelain hands they could destroy you and everything you’ve ever touched.

—

Each time Lucifer laid their eyes on you, they wanted to have their way with you, make you submit to them. Your defiance in acknowledging the sovereignty of Hell, continuing to spur on Lucifer by your exorcisms, only made them desire your submission even more. The rapture and ecstasy that Lucifer would experience when you choose to worship at their feet over God’s could rival the Silver City itself.

Seducing a truly pure soul—a deeply faithful believer of God—would keep Lucifer high for hundreds of years. Many have described Lucifer as a deceiver, a hinderer, wicked one, imposter, accuser, ruler of darkness, and finally devourer of angels, demons, and mortals. What is a human exorcist in comparison?

Noting subtle signs of attraction in your physique and behavior when they were present, Lucifer was delighted to ramp up their tactics.

They began trailing their fingertips across your shoulders, locking eyes with you hungrily from across the pews, and using filthily sexual language around you, often commenting on the curves of your body or how supple your breasts looked. At one point, Lucifer pressed the front of their black leather ensemble against your back as you practiced a sermon at the podium.

When this occurred late one Saturday night, you were desperate to maintain control of your limbs, to not act upon any of the thoughts that intruded and overstayed their welcome. To stave off temptation, you turned to your most cherished Bible quotes for strength.

“Needing to rely on your faith, little exorcist?” Lucifer purred while circling you like a stalking dire wolf. One of their surprisingly soft wings caressed your face. “Suggesting you otherwise want to sin, yes?”

Your press your eyes closed as hard as you are able to and keep reciting verses. You articulate outwardly,

"Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you. Matthew 17:20.”

With a chuckle, as if there is an inside joke at hand that you are not privy to, Lucifer counters your verses with their own excerpts from the Bible.

“Your navel is perfectly formed like a goblet filled with mixed wine. Between your thighs lies a mound of wheat bordered with lilies. Your breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle.”

Lucifer’s voice was melodic and mesmerizing, taking extra care with each word uttered. They continued with a smirk, “Song of Solomon 7:1-3, if you want to recount it later in bed alone.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, you turn on your heels towards Lucifer. Your eyes found theirs in determination. You hold their gaze while you indicate your resistance, “Isaiah 41:10. So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

Unwilling to accept defeat and discerning your dwindling control, Lucifer’s hooded eyes, full of desire, did not leave yours. Their advances felt positively tortuous to rebuff. Their voice rang out again as they stepped towards you,

“Your stature is like that of the palm; your breasts are clusters of fruit. I said, ‘I will climb the palm tree, and take hold of its fruit.’”

Nearing the end of their verse, sounding more like poetry than the religious text you knew and studied, Lucifer stopped inches from you, lowering their head until their lips were hovering above your own. Time warped. The closeness happened so quickly, like a pounce, yet it could not happen fast enough as the sensual words floated around you both—charging the air.

Assured you would soon feel the weight of Lucifer’s mouth on your own, you shut your eyes guiltily. You knew you would let it happen.

Nothing. Not yet. A whimper arose in your chest.

After moments of painful anticipation with only Lucifer’s hot breath against your own, you spontaneously finished the distance. You acted without thought, acting on urge alone, as if there was a space in the world at that moment where you weren’t a committed exorcist and they weren’t the fearsome Lord of Hell.

Lucifer’s lips tasted sweet, unlike anything you would have imagined from the cautionary tales told throughout generations regarding the figure. Adrenaline coursed through you, aiding the fire and urgency of which you moved against their mouth, deepening the kiss before Lucifer could.

Contrary to the verse just proclaimed by the fallen angel, it was you who climbed up onto the other, searching for a way to bring your bodies closer. You wrapped your legs around Lucifer’s torso, miraculously missing their wings with your feet. At this, Lucifer heaves your body toward the closest wall in the parish, wanting to trap you between them and the rough stone.

Grabbing onto Lucifer’s neck and shoulders made the wounds on your hands ache. However, you pushed forward, finding more pleasure than pain in running your hands through the tall devil’s blonde hair, tugging every so often to elicit a pleased groan from them. Wanting more, wanting to give back in kind the torture you received these last few weeks, your kisses turn into nips until you bite harder and lean backwards. Your teeth scrape at and pull Lucifer’s bottom lip to mark it deep red with blood.

Instead of fury at the act, Lucifer breathes a chuckle, seemingly approving of your decision. Their eyes seemed glassy and intoxicated at the sudden assault you displayed. Their fingers reach up to touch the blood. Instead of wiping away or discarding the blood, Lucifer had other plans. Two bloody fingers found their way into your mouth, almost gagging you. Without missing a beat, you begin to swirl your saliva around the long fingers before lightly sucking each digit clean.

Invigorated, Lucifer wraps their other hand around your neck, applying pressure to each side with their fingers and thumb, wary to not crush your windpipe. Finding the right balance in exerting their inhuman strength in sexual acts with mortals was certainly an endeavor. …Not that they often mingled with those so unworthy.

Lucifer wanted to burn the image of you squirming in their grip along with their fingers invading your mouth over every edge of the earth and then recreate it nightly. At that moment, their wings wrapped around you, securing you in a warm, silky cocoon—able to feel the strong muscles of them holding you up. Lucifer needed their hands back to begin to undress you, hurried in their actions. As you watched their hands work at your collar and subsequent buttons, you felt entirely hidden away from the world and surrounded only by the mesmerizing once-angel. You were thoroughly captivated and wondered if this was Lucifer’s plan all along. You then wondered if that even mattered.

“Let’s move this to another place of worship, shall we?” Lucifer advanced with a grin and an air that could have been synonymous with a checkmate in a chess match.

—

Lucifer had won. Defiled you. Tainted your earnest and sincere pursuit for the holy, had possessed that which expels. Still, they could not cast you aside. They would have to deal with you and the exorcised souls sooner or later; this Lucifer knew. They have not yet spread Hell to the ends of the known universe. They aren’t even close, but Lucifer now had you. Hell could wait a bit longer.

“Go ahead with your exorcism tomorrow. You’ve earned it.”

[bestworstcase]

Hello and good day. I hope that this isn't too much to ask, but what are your thoughts about Adam? It has always been my belief that Adam and Yang are mirrors to each other. Well, Adam has a lot of things to connect with Team RWBY, moreso with Yang, I think. Just wanted to hear your thoughts about Adam, I guess. Thank you.

i rattle him around in my brain from time to time. a lunar eclipse. he and yang are absolutely character foils; power vs strength, cruelty vs compassion, spite vs love, revenge vs justice. he refuses to control his temper, yang is defined by her meticulous control over her anger. moonslice and burn are almost the exact same semblance, even. a dark mirror.

he’s also doing… something… thematically salient to summer rose. which is what i’m picking over in that linked post. i’m not sure what it is yet but the setup is pretty evident.

tbh i think the narrative is far more sympathetic to him than most of the fandom cares to admit. the triumph and vindication burns bright when adam realizes he’s lost in V5 and runs away—that’s the moment where the narrative framing is like “fuck yeah, the bastard got what he deserved.” but when he dies? there’s just exhaustion, pain, and relief that yang and blake survived. it’s not played as a proud or happy moment. it just sucks so much that they had to go through this ordeal and it’s pitiable that he chose to waste his life on this. blake breaks down crying and all she and yang can do for a moment is cling to each other.

like. -> “there’s no cause to celebrate/another soul consumed by hate and spite/another destroyed life/there’s no pleasure, there’s no joy/it’s just the story of a boy who lost his way/into shadows strayed/he’ll see the light of day/nevermore”

he chose over and over and over again to be cruel, letting his anger rule him. chose to be vindictive, chose to pursue vengeance over justice. chose to hurt people. every time he was offered an out, he refused to take it and brutally punished the people who gave him second chances. sienna, blake, yang. in the end, he left blake and yang with no other choice but to kill him before he killed them. but… the narrative still mourns the person he could have been, if he’d made better choices, if the world had been kinder to him.

there is no question that blake and yang made the right call. they did everything they possibly could to avoid killing him, and they had every right to defend themselves when he refused to stop.

BUT,

it’s sad that they were forced to do that. it still weighs on blake’s conscience as a terrible ordeal and a choice she never wants to have to make again. because killing another person—no matter the circumstances—is horribly traumatizing. and that’s why the narrative refuses to frame his death as a triumphant moment. (the same thing happens with jacques’ murder in V8: it’s sudden and shocking and unjust and there is zero satisfaction in watching him die. and it’s terribly unfair to weiss, who specifically chose not to leave him to die. rwby is a story where every life matters and every death is sad.)

great character. the final battle between him and blake/yang is done really well and one of my favorite fights in the show mostly bc it brings the foiling between him and yang into really sharp focus. “what does she even see in you?” is such a raw fucking line because the things blake sees in yang are exactly the things she once saw in adam: he’s so consumed by his obsession his vengeance his spiteful rage, he’s strayed so far from the person he was that he can’t even recognize her when she’s staring him in the face.

i do think that when adam was 16-17 at the very start of his character short, he was genuinely a lot like yang. angrier and more aggressive, because his mentor encouraged him to be that way, but i think his ideals were true and his commitment to the cause of his people was genuine.

he was only a kid the first time he killed someone—sixteen, seventeen, about the right age to be enrolling in one of the huntsmen academies. and i truly do not think he meant to kill that man; he saw a dangerous person running towards his already-wounded leader with a gun and reacted. and this?

this is a lot.

no matter the circumstances, killing another person is traumatizing. after this happens, adam slowly straightens up and sheathes his weapon, then just stands there frozen, staring at the body, until the other assailants make noise and he startles. his face falls when ghira says “that wasn’t necessary.” he’s slow to turn around, but he does, and he listens quietly to what ghira has to say to him. he didn’t mean to. he can’t be older than seventeen. he is in shock—he doesn’t know how to react, how to feel, and like any teenager would, he looks to trusted adults for guidance. (much like yang looks to ironwood and qrow after she hurts someone by mistake.) ghira starts to scold him (not ideal), but sienna cuts him off and calls adam a hero, and then everybody starts to fucking cheer; “that was amazing!!”

this moment, while adam was reeling and unsure, this is when adam desperately needed to hear from an adult in the middle. ghira is right that using lethal force wasn’t necessary; sienna is also right that adam likely saved ghira’s life by taking action. what adam really needed to hear was “you were right to take action, but this man was not such a grave threat that he needed to die. why did you react the way you did?”—not to be scolded or lionized, but to be treated like a teenager who made a bad choice for a good reason and given support and understanding so that next time, he would know what to do better.

instead he got swamped with praise and the came away from this experience having learned that Killing Humans is Cool and Awesome and Heroic, Actually.

(i have a secondary thought here that the white fang’s fatal weakness—under both ghira and sienna—is treating children like adults. if adam had been an adult when this happened, he wouldn’t have been so dependent on his mentor and his leader to guide his reaction and an adult would be better equipped to hold “that wasn’t necessary” and “he saved your life” as non-contradictory ideas. similarly, ghira and kali respecting blake’s decision to stay with the now expressly militant white fang when they left sounds great until you remember that she was twelve years old at the time and then they didn’t contact her in any way for the next five years. it is… probably not a coincidence that adam’s splinter group skews young.

not that teens can’t be good activists but good activism does require pragmatism and emotional maturity and an understanding of nuance, and if you throw a teenager into a high-stress organization where they’re involved in often-violent direct action and give them zero guidance beyond “here’s how to fight!” because they’re assumed to have adult-level maturity and critical reasoning, then… yeah, you’re going to end up with an extremism problem. the kids are not going to just magically know the difference between tactical violence and violent revenge.)

anyway, i really like his character short. i think the narrative is very sympathetic to the boy he used to be and the thread of sienna inadvertently enabling and reinforcing his violent tendencies is interesting. my sense is that in the beginning she sort of used adam to score a point against ghira in their clash of opinions over the direction of the white fang, and later made a habit of being overly indulgent with him and turning a blind eye to his excessive violence—like.

during the fight in the SDC building, sienna rips through the AKs just as ruthlessly as he does, but once the human security personnel arrive, her tactics immediately change. she uses her whip to snag a man’s gun and yank it out of his hands, flicks bullets away, disarms, trips, disarms, trips, disarms, trips. the only time she uses the bladed dart, it’s to disable her opponent’s weapon. meanwhile adam is hacking and slashing behind her. she stops him when he moves to kill an man who’s disarmed and on the ground. faced with living opponents, sienna holds back and fights strictly to disarm. adam is not like that, and she knows it and presumably doesn’t approve—she doesn’t kill anyone herself, and intervenes to stop him from killing—but it’s also clear that there were never like. Consequences. she never took him to task for crossing these lines. as his leader she had a responsibility to do so, but she kept letting it slide until it was too late.

(tbh i think the biggest disappointment i feel regarding her death is well never find out why she cut adam so much slack. did she want to believe he was better than that? had she known him for so long that her memories of what he was like as a teenager blinded her to the adult he was becoming? was it that she found him too useful or realized he was too popular to chastise, finding herself in the same trap she once sprung on ghira? did she, like blake, convince herself it was just “accidents” or “getting carried away” and ignore the warning signs that it was a deliberate pattern? was she like the albains, fully aware that he was dangerous and unstable but confident that she could control him? there’s so many possible reasons she might have had and i think it’s unfortunate that her motives and her side of the relationship didn’t get explored at all.)

also this is stupid and doesn’t matter really but he’s not a fucking bull 😭 those are goat horns. he’s a goat. A GOAT!!

[dia-reads]

I WANT TO HEAR ABT THE LOST SISTER. smth is going on w it i can’t identify

the importance of the lost sister in the stranger things narrative

okay so i got one like on that post. this is happening now.

the lost sister has always had one of my favourite plot lines in the entire series, and i'm tired of people saying it was useless or that they skip it on rewatches. especially in the byler fandom, where everyone seems to be insanely gung-ho on the idea of el getting independence from a break up with mike.

el may have started out as someone with very little freedom, but she's still a very independent character in her own right. you could argue that her independence wasn't there during the entire series, however, a key moment in gaining that power over herself was in the lost sister.

so by skipping it, avoiding it or not posting about it in general, we miss out on one of the best parts of el's arc in stranger things.

the most obvious and easily analysable part of this episode is el's relationship with kali.

kali prasad is el's narrative foil. they come from similar circumstances but have contrasting personalities and values. kali's view on their childhood is simple. she wants revenge against those who wronged her family, and attempt to hurt her friends. el's motive is practically identical, but this is where the 'morals' and 'values' come into play.

kali is willing to kill without thought or remorse. el is not.

and before you say "but dia, el has killed people! she doesn't hate it!" i feel the need to point out that el has never felt like she's ever had a choice. she kills because she's in danger, she kills because she has never felt safe her entire life, she kills because it is what she was trained for. she kills, because it is all she knows how to do.

but with kali, el is offered that choice. kali gives her the gun, and tells her to kill a man. people say kali is manipulative, but i don't see this at all. she gives el every bit of information she has on this man, his views, his crimes. she never threatens to punish her whether el follows through with the deed, or not. she is the first person who says el is her family, and does not hurt her.

that's crazy. just saying.

so we see el, dressed in black and makeup a mess. she is playing pretend again, trying to fit in somewhere at last. she holds the gun, feels rage and anger and thoughts of 'he deserves it'. but, ever our heroine, el hesitates.

she grants him mercy. she lets him go.

regardless of how the rest of the mission went, this is a very important moment for el. she makes this decision, not influenced by anyone around her. she takes control of her fate, her destiny, and she didn't need to sacrifice anything to do that.

i could continue with points like the entire power training thing, the meaning of family, the advancement of the plot. but that's obvious stuff, it doesn't take much effort to figure that out.

there is so much good in the lost sister. all you have to do is dig a little deeper and take off your shipper goggles to see it.

[the-monkey-ruler]

Do you think that if Wukong had not killed the Six-Eared Macaque, the Six-Eared Macaque could possibly have been punished and then tried to be redeemed? I feel that since Heavenly monkeys are one of a kind, it might be one of the reasons why Buddha reacted the way he does after Wukong killed him. It's the way he reacts that makes me wonder what Six-Eared Macaque's fate would have been if it weren't for Wukong killing him.

Although I know that metaphorically, Wukong had to kill the evil part of himself.

That is just it! In the story, metaphorically yeah, Wukong has to kill him. I've talked about this before but Wukong facing off the Six Ears is legit him looking at the worst parts of himself, seeing the murder, the rage, the lack of empathy, everything, and telling himself that he is better than that. The whole ID versus Ego kind of battle of the mind of which one is going to win out and whether Wukong is able to control his murderous thoughts or let them win. But also Wukong looks at the worst side of himself and knows that not only can he overcome it but that he can become a better person. Knowing you are able for great good but also great evil and the need to keep yourself in check else you start going down a dark path. Wukong faces the reality that he is capable of horrid atrocities and needs to hold himself accountable and understand the consequences of his actions.

Wukong had to face his worst inner traits and say "I'm better than that" and he IS! Wukong looks at himself the selfishness, the ruthlessness, the lack of empathy and he hates that about himself but the only way to change it is to confront it head-on and personally stop it. He always trying to do better and that is why it is symbolized in a fight to the death.

But hypothetically, if the Six Ears was NOT a metaphor for facing your inner demons... I think he could be redeemed.

Because Wukong was redeemed as well.

The thing about Xiyouji is that it shows that no one is past the point of recognizing that you need to change and while isn't easy, anyone can self-reflect. Anyone can reach that point of knowing they can change and anyone can be a Buddha... even a monkey.

So with that being my belief of what the story is about I think that perhaps Six Ears could have turned that new leaf as well if given the right teacher and the right motivation. I don't think that Buddha had plans for the Six Ears because he would also know that Wukong would kill him. Even when you know something is going to happen you can still be saddened that it does happen, and I think that is why Buddha expressed his disappointment at Six Ear's death even if it was inevitable.

I don't think the Six Ears was even meant to be redeemed but rather that his needed death was still upsetting to the Buddha considering that Buddhas should not kill.

We see other demons on the journey being taken in as well like the Black Wind Demon, Red Boy, and the Hundred-Eyed Demon Lord. These demons were taken in by heaven and given positions to work under them so this wouldn't be out of the ordinary if given the right circumstances. Two of these demons were redeemed by Guanyin herself and she used the fillets to motivate and highlight their need for self-control. Perhaps If Guanyin didn't use the Prohibitive or the Golden fillets beforehand then it could have been used to monitor the Six Ears.

JTTR did suggest a secret fourth headband Strength for AU ideas so that would be a fantastic suggestion here I would say. He would be either under a buddha or bodhisattva if this was the case (most likely Guanyin since she would have the headband) and he would have to start his own path of self-reflection if he is to even reach enlightenment. Considering he is similar to Wukong then perhaps he would first have to go through a similar punishment under a mountain would be fair but if we compare him to the other demons that were redeemed on the journey it would also be understandable if that was skipped as well.

But those are my thoughts if this was the case as it could be a fun idea!

[themissingnumbers]

HOW IT FEELS TO DISAPPEAR: DESCENT

FIRST || PREV | NEXT [Retort.]

You look down as the ghostly man motions to your Eevee, watching the thing trembling horribly. You swear, though it's impossible through the fur, you see its face pale.

Your gaze rises back to him, and you start to feel yourself shaking for a different reason. The ghost's words stir something in you. Like a spark onto dry foliage, you feel it ignite, you feel it burn, and you feel it spread. A blazing heat that overwhelms you, running like magma through your veins, forcing tension into every muscle in your body. You grind your teeth, you clench your fists, you start seeing red. The unbridled anger boils so intensely that your head starts to hurt.

It takes every ounce of restraint- and a quiet voice of reason in your racing mind telling that the man may not even be tangible- to stop yourself from throttling him.

Instead, that vicious fire spills from your lips.

"Can't YOU do better?!" you snarl, stepping forward and tucking Eevee's bag behind you. Your voice breaks as it raises to a yell, toeing on a scream;

"ANY better, you old JERK, than wasting YOUR time- your MISERABLE LIFE, sitting there- doing NOTHING, but TAUNTING and DEGRADING some helpless, SICK little goddamn POKEMON?! You- You MONSTER, I don't care who or WHAT you think you are, I SWEAR TO THE GODS, I'LL KI-"

"You'll what?" he exclaims over you, laughing in your face as the words die in your throat. You can feel your cheeks flush, and you open your mouth again-

He wags a finger, still snickering.

"You haven't even begun to grasp how powerless you are here."

Your hands sting from how tightly your fists clench, your nails digging into your palms.

"Yeah, right," you spit. "I'll show you. Just like I showed EVERYONE. You don't know who I am."

"Ha. You're funny, girl." he rasps. "Go on fighting then, you poor little spitfire..."

Your glare burns into him as his form starts to fade, the old man laughing as he vanishes from your sight. With a whisper on the wind, you hear one last taunting remark from his nauseating voice.

"At least you're somewhat right about one thing... Nobody knows who you are."

You stare at the empty space where he sat, breathing heavily.

"Coward," you huff. You grasp tightly to the strap of your bag, turning it so Eevee rests under your arm again. It looks up at you, ears still flat... But it nuzzles up against your side, as if trying to silently soothe you.

Its small gesture of comfort seems to work. You feel the white-hot rage melt away, and you take a few deep, shaky breaths.

You had come to hate getting like that... A sense of guilt starts to fill the hole that the anger left in your chest. You'd made a promise to yourself- to Miss Hazel, to your brother, to the Oaks, but mostly to yourself- that you'd get that temper under control.

Absently, you start to walk as your mind starts to wander, almost forgetting the circumstances you'd been thrust into. Your thoughts leave you feeling like you're watching yourself in the third person.

Anger hurt; Made your chest sting, your eyes burn, your head throb cause you always clenched your jaw too tight. It hurt other people, too; bitter words that tore people down, and the risk of hard-to-control impulses that you'd regret at best, that'd end in tears and trouble at worst. Through the time you'd lived in Pallet- the only time of your life you really remembered, it had become your least favorite emotion.

Step, step, step. The dirt crunches under your feet. Eevee's fur grazes your arm as it situates, trying to get comfortable. It all seems so distant.

The part that hurt most was how nobody liked you when you got angry. ... You can't find it in yourself to blame them, though. The memories come to you dully. You already struggled to make friends; your own otherness in the community had already made things hard enough. But you remember the first time you'd lashed out. Someone had been bullying Red, you recall faintly. The thing you really remember was Hazel telling you that you were lucky you hadn't broken the kid's nose.

... After that, suddenly, the other kids in Pallet Town started to avoid you. That bully might have been a jerk, but he never hurt anyone. You ruined your chances for any connections. Even Hazel couldn't look at you the same for a while. The memory leaves a lump in your throat.

You watch the movement of the fog in front of you. Try to trace shapes with your eyes, moving forward automatically like a robot.

You'd always wanted friends. You felt... Lonely in Pallet Town. Most of the kids in the small community were little boys, or older teens who wanted nothing to do with someone your age. As far as you knew, you had no childhood, too- nothing to connect with anyone over. The only person you were close to was your brother- you called him your brother, anyways- Red, and he was nice, but a bit of a brick wall sometimes... The League challenge inspired a new hope in you when you heard about it. A chance to leave- to travel the region and make something new of yourself. Nobody beyond this tiny community knew who you were. All you had to do was swallow your impulsiveness and be... better, you had thought with a sparkle in your eyes. Nobody liked you when you got angry. But everybody liked a sweet and friendly, strong and independent, darling and cute and charming little girl. Right? You could be all of that. You could be the best anyone had ever seen! So you set your mind to it. You could do anything, everything you wanted to if you believed. You pushed all that nasty, ugly, black and oozing stuff in you away. You learned to smile despite anything you might have thought. You began to forget what your anger felt like.

Your gaze has dropped to your feet by now, focusing on little things. The slight give of the dirt under every step you took... The way your black slippers flopped and bent with the movement of your feet... The way the fog parted around your movement, as if you were wading through a creek. You're not really paying attention to where you're going anymore- haven't been for a bit. You at least know the fence is still funneling you on a straight path.

You hadn't expected, out of all of the kids in this town... Especially your brother, someone you knew was far more capable than you... That somehow, Professor Oak would chose you to gift with the essentials for a League newbie. You honestly thought it was a joke, especially after everything you'd done prior- the first outburst wasn't the last, you recall with a pang of regret- why would anyone in their right mind choose you of all kids? But... It was all true. A Pokedex and a rare, soon-to-be powerful Pokemon to accompany you on your journey. It seemed like even the Professor's grandson- given the same gifts by virtue of blood- had expected Red, not you. You recall him waiting in the lab, having snatched up a Squirtle. Later on Blue had told you he chose it, somehow knowing Red would've picked Charmander. He had wanted to get an upper hand early. You, however, had chosen Bulbasaur. It was so cute, and it's little bulb... Heck, the grass typing in general- it made you nostalgic in a way you couldn't quite place, evoking the memory and image of the Viridian Forest. Blue had been furious- it put him at a disadvantage compared to you. But, it was too late to take his pick back. (He won the first battle you two had, anyways...) ... Even though you couldn't begin to fathom why you'd been given such an opportunity, it really had changed your life. Your efforts had been worth it. You made friends and allies, and after taking care of Team Rocket, it seemed everyone loved you. You had come so, so far. Things were finally looking up.

Eevee starts to chirp at you. You don't process its noises.

... You can hardly remember the last time you'd gotten so angry, come to think of it. Your journey had taken months, right? And you'd started working on it way before... A deeper guilt stabs you in the gut as the face that had always made you lash out so horribly comes back to you. ... How had Blue ever become your friend? How had Professor Oak ever forgiven you enough to entrust you with these things? It doesn't seem right, in your mind. You're struck by a strange pang of self-doubt. You start to think that it should've been impossible for you to have gotten that chance. You wonder if you ever really-

Bonk.

You walk face first into a wooden door. That's one way to snap you out of your thoughts... You rub your forehead, which took the brunt of the collision, and blink hard, willing yourself to focus enough to make out what you're looking at.

... This door and home seem... Odd, in a way you can't place. You frown, briefly wondering if you'd somehow gotten turned around and wound up back where you started... You distinctly remember leaving the door open behind you, though. This is shut tight- and unlike the image of your own desolate home, there's lights on inside.

You look left, then right. The fence stands as sturdy as ever. Seems like there's no other way to go... Eevee tucks itself further down in your bag, at you knock.

No answer. You chew on your lip, and slowly reach for the doorknob. You hesitate briefly- but grab and turn anyways. It's unlocked. You open it up slowly, peeking inside. ... Although the lights are on, it seems empty, so you head in, treading carefully and turning to quietly shut the door behind you.

When you turn back around, the house isn't empty. Another ghostly figure- white and faintly seethrough, just like the old man down the path- sits at the table in the middle of the room. Their back is turned to you, and it seems like they're working at something with their hands- you can't fully make it out, but... They may be sewing some kind of jacket...?

You assume this ghost is some older woman, based on the longer hair, the dress, and what looks to be the bow of a tied apron. Somehow, she doesn't give you the feeling of unease the older man did... But there's still something unsettling about this place.

It's... Familiar.

It's missing decorations, and in place of the kitchen seems to be a few bookshelves. But the locations of the door, the table with four seats, the television, and the staircase...

It reminds you too much of your home.

Even Eevee is looking around, as if confused. You try to swallow down the unease that this uncanniness gives you, moving forward to look around. As you approach the table, the ghost doesn't seem to notice you, which a part of you is silently grateful for...

You notice as you approach the table that a book is laying on the corner closest to you... The plain leather cover reminds you of a diary, and while you're struck with curiosity, you look to the ghost nervously before touching anything.

This time, she looks back. You briefly feel your blood run cold as bloody red eyes meet yours... Before the woman simply sighs, turning back to her craft.

Having met her eyes, even in passing.. You get the same uncanny familiarity from her that you get from the rest of this house.

A part of you wants to explore everything- what else might lay upstairs, what lies in the diary, and who this woman even is... But the other part is screaming at you to hurry and get out.

Just lingering in this place is starting to make you feel weak, as if you don't belong here, and the very house knows and wants you gone.

You only have it in you to satiate one of your curiosities.

[likesunsetorange]

from what i have outlined, this would be from the first chapter, it's a little long (~2.5k words) but i wanted to include the whole scene, so hope y'all enjoy! (also unedited so don't fight me if there's any typos lol)

anyways, happy new year's and i'm super excited to share this au with y'all this year!

cw: mentions of drugging a person (mostly just the benadryl thing lol)

Eren hated the club. 

Strobe lights irritated his eyes because they always caused him migraines; the pungent aroma of alcohol and the sensation of sweat clinging to his body always made him feel disgusted; and the excess amount of people, bodies crammed against one another, was enough to make his eye twitch with rage. 

Eren shouldn’t be here. He hated the club. He would never be here out of his own volition. Especially after 3 AM, when he should be fast asleep, sinking into the four hundred thread count sheets of Mikasa’s guest room bed, Caro tucked beside him taking up half the bed like she was a human and not a dog. 

But here he was shoving through crowds of drunken bodies, his head pounding, his vision blurry, and he was almost certain he was borderline hallucinating all because of her.

Eren tried to give Mikasa the benefit of the doubt—he pitied her situation, how could he not? A life that consisted of people constantly controlling your each and every move, and here comes yet another person that your family is forcing to do just that onto you. He tried to give Mikasa her space—he only made polite small talk in passing, accompanied her to her destinations of choice from an appropriate distance, and didn’t bother her whenever it wasn’t necessary. But despite his best efforts at trying to maintain the peace, her disdain for him was evident, she didn’t bother to hide it—from the constant scowls, her constantly exasperated demeanor, and the frequent insults she threw his away under her breath (Re: Jersey trash)—but at the very least, he hoped that she could to tolerate him eventually seeing as though Eren would be living with her for the foreseeable future, and it would both of their lives easier coexisting harmoniously. 

But hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and Mikasa had made it abundantly clear that she felt she had been slighted. And even if Eren was only a pawn in her family’s doing, she wouldn’t partake in any of their little games, and if that meant Eren became collateral in the process, then so be it. 

Eren was partially to blame, he should have known better, Levi had warned him beforehand that Mikasa was not one to be trifled with, and he should’ve seen it coming from the shift from a mere displeasure by his presence to a sudden interest in his overall wellbeing.

Eren had been easily fooled by the way her usually razor-sharp steel eyes had finally looked at him with a softness he had yet to witness from her, leaving him in a little bit of a daze. The way her perfectly plush lips mouthed his name, different than anyone else ever had—the N at the end soft, almost as if she was omitting it all together. And how could he not feel the tiniest pang in his heart when her light grey eyes looked up at him with so much tenderness when she asked: “Eren, are you feeling okay?” 

Mikasa claimed she noticed his energy beginning to run low and she heard his sniffles increase over the last few days, the adjustment to the New York City air probably weighing heavy on his body—assuming it would only be a matter of days before he drew ill. And Mikasa seemed so sweet, so intensely saccharine, when she told him she’d cancel all her plans for the rest of the day, not wanting to force him out the house. 

Mikasa went the whole nine yards— ordered takeout for the two of them, even making conversation with him that was more than their usual small talk, seeming genuinely interested in Eren for once. He couldn’t help but admire her newfound amicability, hoping that at the very least they could be cordial despite her overall displeasure with the circumstances. He even found himself enjoying her presence, finally getting to take her in outside of the few glances he ever got in passing. Mikasa truly was something like no other—even in her cute pink silken pajamas, he couldn’t deny she had to be one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen. But she was technically his boss, so he'd tuck those thoughts away and at least be thankful that God had taken his time to make someone like her.

Eventually, after a bit of arguing on her part, Mikasa sent him to bed with a handful of pills Eren didn’t bother to ask about the contents of, insisting he take medicine before he got any worse, even if he did feel okay. She bid him a good night and well wishes, placing a gentle caress to his arm, a soft look on her face before she even offered him an apology for how bad she had treated him over the last week. It seemed like things were finally looking up for the two of them, so Eren returned her kind looks and thanked her for all her help, going to sleep with the faintest hint of a smile on his face, lulled quickly to sleep by a medicine-induced haze despite it only being 8.

And so Eren couldn’t even be that mad—she had truly put on a class act—Mikasa had played him, and she had played him well. His mom always told him he was so easily flattered—a sucker for pretty women who bat their pretty lashes, gave him sweet smiles, and made him feel good—and Mikasa Ackerman had done so little for him to melt like putty into her hands. 

He found himself waking up in the middle of the night, almost incoherent, his vision plagued by small black spots and drenched in sweat. Eren struggled to maintain his balance as he stumbled through the house, Mikasa nowhere to be found, locating a box of Benadryl Extra Strength tucked away in one of the cabinets of Mikasa’s kitchen. Three tablets were missing, contrary to the recommended one tablet dosage, and Eren was certain that Mikasa had all the hopes those three little pills would have knocked him out for the remainder of the night.

It took all the concentration in Eren’s body, fighting against the exhaustion that plagued his body from all the medications coursing through his veins (how he managed to wake up he was still unsure) and the small black dots that danced across his vision, to try and figure out where Mikasa was. He somehow managed to log into her MacBook (her password thankfully being her birthday) and managed to track her phone to some club in SoHo. 

The anger began bubbling up within him as Hannes drove him to where Mikasa was, enraged at the fact that not only did she try and drug him, but she had put on a front, pretending to be nice, for the sole fact that she wanted to go out and party. Eren regret giving her the benefit of the doubt—Mikasa was exactly who he she showed herself to be, a spoiled rich girl who would do anything to get what she wanted.

So as Eren threaded through the crowd of people, scanning the masses for her. It was only a matter of time before he caught wind of her signature ribbon at the bar, the strobe lights making it gleam different shades of the rainbow. She turned around shortly after, his eyes meeting her gaze, her lips turning up in smugness at the sight of him before taking another sip of whatever pink concoction she had in her perfectly manicured hands, as if she was almost taunting him. Years of attending Catholic school lead Eren to have a preconceived notion that the devil was this depiction of all things evil—something that was worth cowering in fear at the sight of. After years of seeing depictions on and portrayals on TV and all the stories from myths and legends, Eren always believed the devil would be vicious and scary, but no, the devil isn’t some demon, or succubus alike.

No, the devil is 5’6”, wears shiny satin ribbons in her hair, drinks fruity pink cocktails, and sports a smile that’s so sickeningly sweet it could convince a man to do anything. And if Eren hadn’t been seething with anger, through vision that was clouded with Benadryl-induced hallucinations and scarlet colored anger, hell, he’d even say she was cute.

Eren was in front of her before he knew it, his larger figure caging her in between the bar, Mikasa looking up at him innocently, feigning on the side of ignorance to the situation.

“Hi, Eren,” she quipped, her lips still upturned, the pink of her lips sparkling under the strobe lights from whatever gloss she happened to be wearing. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” she added innocently, stirring her drink as if Eren’s presence was taking away from her fun.

Eren could feel his eye twitch, it had been so long since he had felt so angry, but it seemed as if in the week since she had met him, Mikasa had become an expert of just exactly how to get under his skin. He took a deep breath before he spoke, his jaw clenching through every word, wasting no time for her silly games. “We’re leaving, Mikasa.”

“You’re no fun, don’t you wanna stay a while? C’mon, Eren, loosen up a bit. I think you could use a break,” her free hand running along the slope of his arm. Eren could feel the chills run down his spine, but this wasn’t the time—he was angry, and he needed to focus.

“First you spend the entire week insulting me and treating me like absolute shit, then you pretend to be nice to me even bothering to give me a sorry ass apology, and then you drug me? And you couldn’t even bother to use something useful? Benadryl? Your parents are drowning in money, and you decide to knock me out with over-the-counter drugs?” His words coming out more in disbelief than in anger, his voice growing louder as he tried to speak over the music blaring through the speakers.

All Mikasa did was roll her eyes, setting her drink on the counter behind her, apparently growing bored of all her little games. “Sorry for being considerate and not drugging you with actual drugs, Eren. Next time I’ll remember to go for the hard stuff—don’t worry.”

“Glad you’re so sweet, Mikasa. I should be so thankful I have a boss as considerate as you,” he glared. “Now let’s go.”

“No,” she responded, crossing her arms, her eyes returning to the signature glare Eren had grown accustomed to over the past week.

Eren could feel the migraine settling in, the noises and lights being the starting point, and Mikasa’s failure to comply being the cherry on top. He closed his eyes and took one last breath, trying to prevent the anger from getting the best of him. Eren took one step forward, putting only a few inches in between him and Mikasa, forcing her back against the bar counter. His face was anything but amused, but Mikasa seemed to not be relenting.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Mikasa, your choice. Now let’s go,” he repeated, but Mikasa only doubled down at his words, standing firm in her place, steel eyes locking with green, her mouth pinched into a scowl.

Eren shook his head, upset about the circumstances as a whole, but also that it had come to this. With a swift movement, Eren had his arms wrapped around Mikasa’s waist, lifting her up onto her shoulder. His arms moved to secure her legs in place, her head and arms hanging behind him.

Mikasa let out a shriek as Eren made his way towards the exit a string of expletives coming out of her mouth. Bystanders watched in confusion, unsure whether or not to interfere in the pair’s altercation. Eren simply waved off their concerned looks, mouthing She’s drunk, to which most people nodded in understanding and resumed their drinking and dancing.

“You fucking jackass—let me go!” Mikasa yelled from above him, squirming in his tight grip as he approached the club exit. “Plus I need my fucking coat it’s fucking freezing outside!” 

“Should’ve thought about that before you fucking drugged me. And tough shit, you have daddy’s credit card, just buy yourself a new one, princess.”

Eren readjusted her on his shoulder, his grip only tightening through Mikasa’s attempted escapes. He gave the bouncer a nod as he walked out, the man apparently unphased by Mikasa’s antics. “I swear to God, Eren. Put—” Hit. “Me—” Hit. “Down—” A final blow. 

He winced in pain as Mikasa’s small hands threw punch after punch against his back, her hits stronger than he could have anticipated. But Eren could see the car, only fifty feet away, and he wasn’t willing to let her win, at least not this round.

“What did we learn today? We don’t do what? C’mon Mikasa, enlighten me. Please,” he replied, ignoring her requests, and pretending she wasn’t leaving palm shaped welts along the length of his back. He took her silence as a means for him to continue, “We don’t sneak out of the fucking house when there are active hits against our family members, and we don’t drug our body guards, just so we can get drunk at the fucking club. Hope this could help.”

“You’re a sick bastard, go back where the fuck you came fro—” her words cut off by Eren roughly placing her back onto the ground. She stumbled as she tried to regain her footing on her heeled boots, her hands instantly going to shield herself from the cold New York air. Eren lugged off his jacket, roughly placing it on her, not wanting to hear anything else come out of her mouth.

“Are you done with all the insults, or do you wanna stand in the cold and keep yelling at me?”

“Fuck you, Eren.”

“You’re not really my type, princess.”

Mikasa scowled before releasing a pained huff, throwing his jacket onto the floor. She stomped the few feet to the car door Eren held open for her, sending one last glare his way before she slammed the door in his face. 

The entire drive home, he could hear her muttering how much she hated her family, how she was pissed off at the fact they hired him, and how much she hated the pathetic excuse of a mall cop they hired from sorry ass Jersey to be her bodyguard. And rather than take offense to any of her insults, all Eren could think about was how much that feeling of hatred was beginning to feel extremely mutual.