#truly a dangerous match to society

[stingslikeabee]

3)  our muses take a shower together to wash blood off each other. // just a getting clean after a killin'.

smut prompts with plot . accepting

It was clear to anyone who visited the countess' estate that Melissa was an art collector; the ample building was tastefully decorated with beautiful tableaus, rare porcelain sets, a number of well-maintained musical instruments and exquisite rugs from abroad. It expanded into her own closet, too - jewelry, shoes, limited edition items released by fashion brands that the woman enjoyed and perfume bottles made up for another sizeable (and very private) collection.

Not all of that had been sourced through legal means, however - Melissa had her own contacts who would come to her first for a chance to peruse and acquire what they had procured, either through certain black market channels or simply by opening up a private viewing before bidding began. Such was the nature of a very profitable partnership with an auction house in Baltimore - the gentleman in charge of running the place had come to the countess very often, knowing she was generous in terms of offerings. Perhaps unfortunately for the general public, many beautiful items never saw the light of day away from the Forteguerri manor.

But the trusted alliance that Melissa had with the prior manager dissolved when he notified the lady of his retirement, moving away with his family to a small farm in Indiana. The replacement was a man named Jeremiah Williams, his junior by a few decades, and someone that the countess immediately disliked.

Jeremiah had the trademark signs of an ambitious young man who thought himself too clever - and it didn't take Melissa long to realize that the deal that existed before (and which had been so mutually beneficial) was now just a façade for a newcomer to use her art knowledge to test the value of his findings. He would visit the brunette, discuss prices and then leave - never to make contact again or to just vaguely mention they had been sold to someone else if there was a follow up call.

That happened a few times, which was enough to frustrate Melissa - but when Jeremiah did it to one of Robert Lecter's paintings (which the woman was now keenly watching for on behalf of Hannibal, of course), that had been the last straw. As someone who had done her fair share of questionable things, the countess could excuse certain things - but not taking her for a fool in addition to blatant rudeness.

It was one of the first times that Melissa selected the victim and planned for mostly of the setting - Hannibal provided input and assistance, of course, but he was happy to let his companion take charge for that occasion. The countess was careful to create a different scenario for a potential 'assessment' - all communication was done through non-official means and burner phones, there was no paper trail associated to the meeting (considering that the painting Jeremiah had this time was stolen property - so no police could be made aware or be involved) and the location was not her home but a more removed storehouse used by the Melissa for shipments from Europe.

Jeremiah suspected nothing up to the point where he was forcefully hit from behind, losing consciousness and then coming around half an hour later while being securely tied to a chair. Melissa was dressed as she normally did underneath the protective suit made of plastic, a creation from the man standing right at her side and equally prepared for the next steps of the countess' plans. It was just the beginning: first, the woman questioned their victim for the name of the person who acquired the Lecter painting, smiling pleasantly when it was yielded among tears and pleas for mercy.

Then, the true lesson of that evening began - and Hannibal carefully tutored his partner to execute her vision perfectly. Melissa had wanted to leave behind a scene that alluded to theft, treason and shifted the blame to the organized crime lords who had been laundering money through Jeremiah's side hustle - so cutting his hands off seemed like a very historical reference to the ancient punishment applied to those who engaged into similar activities.

It was far from a perfect attempt - not being a surgeon herself meant that Melissa's abilities in dismembering someone were somewhat lacking, not to mention more painful for the victim. Hannibal was nonetheless a patient teacher, helping her get the severed limbs as desired and then moving to the next part where they strangled the man to death. It was a joint effort - the countess made a point of being a part to it, looking at the lifeless body later with nothing short of satisfaction.

Now Jeremiah would no longer be rude to either one of them, including Robert Lecter's legacy.

Over the next hours, they dragged the corpse to someplace else entirely and with no connection to the Forteguerri, hanging him from a tree after the deed was done and placing the severed hands around his neck for dramatic purposes. Hannibal had provided valuable assistance in that regard, sewing them to the rope in order to create the visuals of a man who had brought it upon himself and no one else to blame for the tragic fate.

But it was not all - a large chunk of skin was removed from his chest too, opening the way for certain organs to be harvested by Hannibal for later (a shame to let a good heart and liver go to waste, after all). There was a final touch from Melissa, which Hannibal also helped with - making the right incisions needed to leave 30 pieces of silver inside his stomach, adding a touch of religious symbolism.

By the time they had cleaned the scene and returned to Hannibal's home (simply because no servants meant no questions asked), they had managed to properly store the newly acquired meat, plant the false evidence tying the execution to an aggravated mobster who lost money with Jeremiah's dealings and then get to a long, pleasing bath. Melissa poured them some wine and brought it into the bathroom while they made sure to remove all traces of blood from one another, even if the plastic suits had kept most of it off their skin.

Still, the countess was not complaining - she trailed hands over her partner's body slowly and carefully, leaving a soft path of kisses once the flesh was properly cleansed. Between the soft music playing from the bedroom, the candles around the tub and the sips from the lightly chilled bordeaux, it had been a perfect evening out - and it showed in how Melissa sighed contently while leaning against Hannibal's chest, resting inside the tub with him.

After the washing was done, they just sat in the warm water to enjoy each other's company - and among the commentary for the particular performance of the orchestra that was playing or the food that would have paired well with their drink, Hannibal's left hand moved over Melissa's wet skin. At first it seemed to have no purpose - but he slowly worked with her like clay on his lap, obtaining access to the neck for a light scraping done with teeth (which quickly turned into a smile when a moan was offered in reply).

"How do you feel, my dear?"

"Elated," the word came easy enough, carrying a distinct dream-like edge to it; it did not stop Hannibal from humming in acknowledgement, allowing his hand to travel further, finding a breast and idly massaging it while he spoke against Melissa's flesh.

"Anything else?"

"Hungry," the woman added like an afterthought, stirring in his grip and pressing herself back into the taut muscles of Hannibal's chest. Melissa's legs stretched into the open space of the tub before bending knees and bringing them up, over the water - and it allowed the pair to grow more aware of the subtle changes to their own bodies in relation to the teasing touches and topic of conversation.

"And what are you in the mood for?" the doctor queried again, although the answer was painfully obvious. It was true that Melissa genuinely worked up an appetite after their killings (something that had surprised and amused the lady herself); but Hannibal's fingers continued south, sliding further inward over the closest thigh before reaching for the middle of her legs, probing lightly before making a definitive move.

"You, of course," the countess replied with a breathy laugh, head falling backwards to his shoulder and shedding any notion of self-protection. Melissa was a willing offering, taking the first curious digit in with a delighted sigh and enjoying very much the building pressure against her back - the material evidence of their foreplay affecting not just the woman, but Hannibal as well, "Nothing else is as divine as you are, carissimo."

[yandere-sins]

Lingyang or Jiyan accidently releasing a more animalistic side when yn is threatened and needing help to calm down

I wanted to do something for both of them but this idea just shot in my mind and I couldn't get rid of it, so just Jiyan and I accidentally jumped over the comfort part (feel free to re-request if you want to see that kind of scenario, I do have an idea for it, but I was hit hard with a lot of inspiration for this kind of story, sorry!), but I totally agree with your thought here!

[Warning: Yandere, Kidnapping, Attempted non-con by intruders, Violence (Murder, Mention of blood and separated body parts, Description of monster traits, Stabbing someone), Depiction of shock and paranoia]

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

In all the time you were stuck with your captor, you never noticed just how beastial he truly was.

Jiyan was a lot of things. He was kind, friendly, and reliable. People flocked to him to admire the general, wanting to stand next to him for just a moment to bask in the glory he radiated. When he stood there, relaxed and with a faint smile, everyone felt safe, their worries simply washing away. You, too, had been blinded by the false sense of relief his presence promised, approaching him without a second of hesitation and without a spark of fear even when his eyes snapped to you, widening in inexplicable yearning. You let yourself be charmed by him, whisked away with the promise of togetherness, a once off chance to be with him. And you'd come to regret your decision to take his hand, to allow him to lure you into his 'monster den' even though you should have seen the danger signs.

Love at first sight, he called it as he pinned you to his couch. You didn't fight him—couldn't fight him. The pain of his fingers digging into your skin was enough to make you go rigid; how could you have fought someone as strong as him? He spoke of devotion and adoration even when he kissed you against your will. When he pulled you with him towards a secret elevator, he still assured you that this was for your best.

And even when he forced the bitter-tasting potion down your throat that made you drowsy and defenseless, he swore nothing would ever happen to you. Jiyan promised you'd be safe and protected as he caught you in his eyes while you lost your conscience. But that was a lie—everything was.

Jiyan was a lot of things, but he wasn't kind. A kind person wouldn't kidnap someone and force them to live isolated from the rest of society, no matter how much you pleaded and begged. He wasn't friendly either because when you fought him, he fought back. So many days were wasted in fear, screaming matches and hiding from him. So many times he'd force you to be with him, be held by him, let him love you. A nice person wouldn't do that. A friendly person wouldn't have hurt you this way.

But most of all, he wasn't reliable.

Because even when he swore up and down that you'd be safe in this underground prison, that he'd protect you from all that his twisted mind imagined would harm you outside this cage he had decorated for you, chained you up in, and confined you to a lifetime in solitude, even then some burglars managed to find you.

Jiyan's changes in his heart were terrifying.

But to be at some random strangers' mercy was even worse.

You thought they might help. That you could finally be freed. But when the intruders started to smile and leer at you, who was vulnerable and unable to run from them, all hope vanished. You screamed and cried, knowing there was no one who could hear you. Like so many times before with Jiyan, no one knew your whereabouts and this prison was supposed to be safe from outside and inside threats. You tried to fight them, begging them to stop like so many times before with Jiyan, but they wouldn't. In your fear and panic, you wished for the general to save you, even though you knew he wouldn't make it in time.

So, although unwelcome, the surprise was huge when, instead of having the hands of two unknown strangers rake all over your body, you felt their disgustingly warm blood soak into your ripped clothes. You couldn't look away from the slitted, brilliant eyes of Jiyan that seemed to burn with the fire of a dragon, furious and raging. And when you did snap out of it, you closed your eyes quickly to avoid looking at the severed heads and gruesome looks of death on the intruders' faces.

You didn't look up when you heard their body parts fall to the ground with squelching sounds, the warm blood soaking everything. You didn't even open your eyes when you felt Jiyan's uncomfortably familiar arms wrap around you. You sobbed silently into his shoulder as he lifted you up, reeking of blood and death, because you were too afraid to make a sound.

Because what stood before you, cradling you against his chest and holding you as you cried was no man—but a monster. A beast much like the Tacet Discords that haunted the lives of all citizens of Jinzhou. His hold might have been meant to be a comfort, but his arms were rigid with terror, and he held his breath ever so often as he kept hyperventilating in anger. But holding you, even he seemed to calm down, his face rubbing against your head and his chest rumbling with a purr. If not for your presence, you were sure he'd have turned into a terrifying beast, mauling these intruders for whom you held no sympathy. Gnawed at their bones, destroyed every last inch of their bodies, and swallowed them whole.

Just like he wanted to do with you.

You remained still even if you wanted to fight for your life at that moment. You waited for Jiyan to put you down, wipe the sweat-soaked hair out of your face, and place an apologetic, desperate kiss on your forehead before he turned away, muttering, "I'm sorry."

"I should have never left you. I'm sorry you had to go through that; please forgive me."

He was sorry for what happened, maybe even for scaring you with the reveal of his true self.

But that monster wasn't sorry for keeping you locked here, especially now with the death of two people hanging over your head like a sword ready to strike. Cursing this place for all eternity, and haunting the nightmares you'd undoubtedly experience from now on.

You knew you had to be first.

If you didn't, that monster would kill you too, ruthlessly and cold. Brutal and heartless.

Jiyan had already proven that he couldn't be trusted. That he wasn't kind, wasn't friendly, and wasn't reliable in any way. And now that he had to lick off the blood from his deformed hands, who was going to say you wouldn't be the next victim that this beast could devour?

There was something almost therapeutic about pulling the long, elegant hairpin from where he put it that morning and lunging forward to stab it between his ribs. You could feel his heart beat against the metal as the beast cried out in pain. Perhaps betrayal, too.

This time, you looked at him as he gave you the treacherous eyes of a puppy. When he grabbed the pin, holding it in place, you watched as blood dripped from the wound, mixing with the red puddles on the ground. His words were stricken with grief over your betrayal when he asked you, "Why?" and when you looked into his eyes, he suddenly didn't appear so monstrous anymore. He looked like a wounded man. One you came to know quite well, albeit unwillingly.

But you.

The way you stared at him unblinking, your reflection so clear and miserable in his eyes... your skin had paled from the horrors you experienced, the wrinkles deeply etched into your face like that of a haggard witch. You lost weight from refusing to eat and were clothed in garments you could have never afforded by yourself. You stabbed him without thinking twice. You didn't seem like yourself anymore. You didn't even feel human.

Perhaps Jiyan wasn't the man anyone thought him to be, but even so, even a beast like him could still love you at your lowest. Still care for and save you when it seemed impossible. Still apologize for his mistakes, exactly like a human would.

And you thought to yourself that maybe, watching as he went to patch himself up, preparing to forgive you once again for acting out as he had to pull the hairpin he gifted you out of his ribs,

maybe you had become the monster instead.

[thetxtdevil]

Something in the Dark

Vampire!Yeonjun x Reader

summary: Handcuffed to the vampire mafia leader’s bed was not on your bingo card this year :/

content: smut, mafia au, vampire/mafia leader dom.yeonjun, fem.reader, kinda ot5 x reader?, one death, blood, bloodsucking, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome?, restraints, fingering, oral (f.rec), edging, (small bit of) nipple play, penetration no condom use, aftercare

word count: 1.2k

Handcuffed to the vampire mafia leader’s bed was not on your bingo card this year :/

It was your fault you got in this mess, what was a sweet innocent girl doing in the wrong parts of town? Looking down a dark hazy alleyway hidden from the bustle of society. It was because your nose couldn't help to seek the cause of a cry. Finding a group of men beating and sucking? The living shit of someone who “wronged them.”

You thought you were going to pass out with the amount of blood shed from one guy. Colors of crimson everywhere on the man and the gang, their mouths, hands, and clothes.

Frozen on the spot not knowing what to do in the middle of a group of vampires. You could not run, they’ll out run you. Can't say anything, they already know what you’re thinking. And overall, they already could smell you, especially the oldest, the leader of the clan, Yeonjun, who already had his eyes on you the moment you took a step into the alleyway’s view.

"What's a pretty girl doing here?" Yeonjun struts towards you. His presence made you gasp as you hit your back on the brick wall. The vampire's scarlet hair was bright and matched his red irises. His nose runs along your neck and you could feel his lips turn to a smirk. "How about this, instead of us killing you, we'll take you hmm?"

They also couldn’t let you run away spilling info about the mafia's last whereabouts and that they were bloodsucking vampires. So the choice was clear get kidnapped or else you'd end up being that guy on the ground.

Forced to be their walking blood bank and maid. Counting cash they "earned," cleaning their weapons, cleaning their mansion and making dinner for the 5 men which meant you had to keep a healthy diet and stay hydrated. You didn't know how much longer you can live like this.

Today seemed like a good to escape. Early in the morning, sun coming up but the vampires haven't returned from their nightly routine. Locked in Yeonjun's room, like you always were when they were gone, you look out of the the window deciding if the bushes outside would be a good cushion to jump in. Little did you know Yeonjun was behind you this whole time in the shadows. Grabbing you by the waist when you got close the edge of the window, and throwing you onto his bed. He hisses at the sting of sun rays hitting him resulting in a fast swoosh of the curtains leaving you in the dark. You scramble on the silk sheets of the bed trying to crawl away but another grip on your body pins you down.

That’s how you ended up being handcuffed to the bed. In the dark, helpless under the gaze of the vampire. Candles automatically light revealing a menacing grin from Yeonjun. You whine with tears streaking down your cheeks. "Aw precious, don't cry even though you were bad," he hovers over you once again trailing his nose along your neck "why would you want to leave? You've been doing well for us."

Squirming under the vampire's soft touches you try to answer him thinking why you were escaping. Instinct? yeah thats a given. Freedom? well then you'd always be hunted down. The more you thought of it the more you realized that although these men are very dangerous, they haven't done anything truly bad to you. They do suck your blood but never drain you to death, they calmly correct you if you did something wrong, they're not so bad right?

"Right, see there you go princess." Your eyes widen, Yeonjun was reading your thoughts this whole time. His plush lips start to peck the soft skin of your collarbones, "and don't forget how much pleasure you feel when we suck your blood, we can sense it." A pathetic moan slips from your lips in response to his soft bites to your shoulder. He was right you did get frenzied when you had their bodies so near and how the lightheadedness made your panties feel uncomfortable. I just want to be loved, you thought. "I'll show you how much I love you then" Yeonjun answers.

His lips connect to yours passionately making your heart flutter. The organ pumping blood was so loud and tempting to the vampire. Yeonjun smiles against your lips kissing your jaw down back to your neck. Tilting your head to the side accustomed to their bloodsucking tendencies. Yeonjun takes his time offering light pecks having you fight your restraints wanting to touch him. The vampire's fangs sharpen while a wondering hand moves down your nightgown and in between your legs.

His long fingers tease lightly brushing your cunt. Rolling your hips to his hand he recoils pushing your hips down hard. A quick bite down puncturing your neck as blood feeds the man stopped your squirming, body laying there for all of you to give. Yeonjun's fingers get back to your wet folds pushing your panties aside instantly pushing a digit in your hole. Your back arches hitting his chest as a long drawn out moan so sweet to the man's ears.

It wasn't long until you're lightheaded, loosing vision from the blood loss and the feeling of Yeonjun's fingers pleasing you. The vampire unlatches from your neck "damn you taste so good." He kisses your lips once more before removing your ruined panties, going down lapping up your slick cunt with his red lips. Your body felt like it was glitching every time Yeonjun's sharp tongue fucked you with his digit, every time his plush lips kissed and sucks your clit. Body shaking, thighs giving out only to have the vampire tease and remove himself from you.

You whine, sore red wrists fighting the cuffs again. "Jun please." Your begging tugs at the man's undead heartstrings. He loved you like this, arms up helplessly, your naked legs squeezing shut, nightgown bunched up so close to showing your breasts. Yeonjun leans down uncovering your tits to lick and play with your nipples. His red hair covering his eyes that were watching your slacked jaw. He lines his lengthy cock to your weeping hole holding your hips down in a bruising grip.

Slamming hard into you, your whole body bounces against the silk sheets. Nothing but moans and his name coming from from your mouth. Yeonjun forcefully stretches your legs around his shoulders. Pressing down to an angle that has you seeing stars. After another fang puncture to your tit you come on his cock. Yeonjun's inhumane thrusts has you crying at the overstimulation just to have him abuse your pussy more. Opening your eyes to see the man shudder his last thrust before cumming inside.

He lets go, removing himself to look at you entirely. You looked spent, blood streaking down your neck and breasts, bruises scattered in many places of your body. He walks away leaving your still locked up, tears about to spill as you watch the curtains move with the wind of the open window. Tired, your eyes about to drift to slumber until you felt a cold cloth on your sensitive parts.

The scary vampire mafia leader cleans you up. Licking off your blood before it dries, fixing your nightgown, and then releases you from the handcuffs. Your hand fly to his face caressing the pale skin. Although naturally dangerous, the smile he gives you was full of love. Maybe its not bad to live here after all...

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

taglist: @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling

[hobie-enthusiast]

— cw; making out, suggestive themes, implications of death

thinking about hobie brown who would impulsively get a new matching piercing with you after a night out in the city. he brings you to a friend of his who does his piercings, someone he trusts. he tells them to do whatever they want, as long as the two of you match. he offers his hand to you to squeeze when you’re being pierced, and after, he’s absolutely obsessed with how you both look.

thinking about hobie brown who’s protective of the things he loves, especially you. He doesn’t trust many people, especially those he doesn’t know. it's little gestures, like pulling you close to him by the arm or waist or walking on the side on the street the road is. he couldn't imagine something happening to you, he has a strong urge to always keep you safe. that's probably why spider-man always happens to show up when you get into some trouble alone.

thinking about hobie brown who drops several hints he’s spider-man. he doesn’t like lying to you, and even though he isn’t, it feels like he is. so he waits for you to ask or put the pieces together. if you never do, he doesn’t outright tell you. he would never want you to think he’s doing it to impress you or be famous. not that you would think that. but if you do, he’s honest and even offers to let you be his partner-in-crime, its perfect.

thinking about hobie brown who always wants to hear about your interests. even if it’s something he doesn’t know or understand the excitement over. he wants to hear every detail you know. he wants to know and understand where your excitement comes from and what you love about it. he will just sit there with such a love struck grin, eyes never leaving you or your lips moving so passionately.

thinking about hobie brown who lives for post-show make out sessions. after his band plays he always takes you to the back of the venue, holding you close to him as he kisses you like there's no tomorrow. he's addicted to you; the way your hot bodies press together, the way your lips feel on his, the way he can make you unravel from his hands settling on your waist. it's like a drug he's never going to get enough of, especially when his leg slots so perfectly between your thighs to rile you up. after he's always a panting mess, eyes lidded as he laughs, yet the laugh is a low chuckle from the way you practically drag him home.

thinking about hobie brown who would not hesitate to interrupt a canon event to save your life. whether it's in his dimension or some other variation of his, he doesn't care. the second he notices your life in danger, he's saving you. he can handle a heavy and hard scolding from miguel. hell he can ever handle being kicked from the spider-society for good. but nothing comes above saving your life, and he is a firm believer in that.

thinking about hobie brown who is obsessed with the way you play with his hair. his favourite way to fall asleep is in your lap, your hands tangled in his wicks, treating them and him like the most precious thing in the world. it's like some sort of spell you put on him, and he will never get enough of it. you start scratching his scalp or weaving your fingers through his hair? he's asleep in minutes. he's very protective of his hair and who can touch it, so letting someone he loves see him so vulnerable is always enough to relax him and coax him into getting proper sleep.

truly just thinking about hobie brown.

[boy-in-red-dress]

HEAR ME OUT, so I made a list of Ford and Bill's character traits and how they compliment each other. Ford and Bill's relationship is a rather interesting and twisted dynamic which is one of the reasons why I like them a lot. So let's start with my interpretation of the two characters...

Stanford Pines

He a deeply intricate character, shaped by a life that have left him both brilliant and broken. Born as one of two twins, Ford’s life has been a constant struggle with self-worth and identity. His intelligence and curiosity set him apart from others, but they also isolated him, creating a sense of loneliness. This isolation was only deepened by his complex relationship with his twin brother, Stanley. Ford’s need to prove himself became a driving force in his life. Yet, it was never simply about proving his worth; it was about escaping the deep-seated feelings of jealousy, shame, and guilt that had haunted him since childhood.

Ford's brilliance, however, is matched by his flaws. His obsession with knowledge and understanding the unknown led him down dangerous paths, often pushing away those who cared for him. The rift with his brother, born out of both love and rivalry, is a central part of his character. Which is why (if you've read some of my work on ao3) I put the fact Ford thinks about Stan often.

Despite his vast intellect, Ford’s emotional intelligence often lags behind, making him susceptible to manipulation and leading him to make decisions that are sometimes cold and calculating. He is a man who is willing to risk everything—even his own humanity—for the sake of discovery and the pursuit of what he believes is right and what could do good for the world. This single-minded determination, while admirable, also reveals his vulnerability. His self-imposed isolation and his relentless drive to prove his worth have left him with a fragile sense of self that is easily shattered when confronted with his own limitations. Speaking of his limitations, that's where Bill comes in. To make Ford go beyond the limits of his human capabilities.

Bill Cipher

He's a being of pure chaos and malevolence, contrasts Ford's character in almost every conceivable way. Where Ford is driven by a desire for knowledge and understanding, Bill is driven by a desire for power and control. Bill’s complexity lies in his unpredictability and his capacity for manipulation. He is a master of deception, able to twist the desires and fears of others to suit his own ends. Unlike Ford, who is bound by his human emotions and flaws, Bill is unrestrained, reveling in the chaos he creates. He lacks empathy, seeing others only as tools to be used or obstacles to be destroyed. His lack of morality and his enjoyment of others' suffering make him a truly terrifying entity to come across.

BUT. They have similarities, too. Stay with me.

1. Intellectual Curiosity and Ambition

Both Ford and Bill possess an insatiable curiosity and a relentless drive to uncover the secrets of the universe. For Ford, this curiosity is rooted in a genuine desire to understand the unknown, to push the boundaries of human knowledge, and to make his mark on the world. His intellect is one of his defining traits, and it’s what led him to explore other dimensions and study the mysteries of Gravity Falls.

Similarly, Bill is driven by a desire to know and control everything. His curiosity, however, is twisted by his malevolent nature; it’s less about understanding and more about exploiting knowledge for his own gain. Bill’s intellectual prowess is evident in how he manipulates others, devises complex plans (or impulsive plans), and navigates the multiverse with ease. His fascination with the workings of the universe mirrors Ford’s own, but where Ford seeks to understand, Bill seeks to dominate and corrupt.

2. Rejection of Limitations

Both characters reject the limitations imposed on them by their respective worlds. Ford’s entire life has been a struggle against the boundaries set by society, by his family, and even by his own humanity. His six-fingered hands marked him as different from a young age, and this difference fueled his determination to transcend the ordinary. Ford’s rejection of these limitations led him to create the portal, opening a gateway to other dimensions, and ultimately, to his fateful encounter with Bill.

Bill, too, rejects any form of limitation. As a being from the Nightmare Realm, Bill refuses to be confined by the rules of any single dimension. His very nature is one of rebellion against order and constraint. He sees limitations as challenges to be overcome, often through manipulation and force. This shared disdain for boundaries creates a unique parallel between the two: Ford, the man who defied his world to expand his knowledge, and Bill, the demon who seeks to break the rules of reality itself.

3. A Sense of Superiority

Ford and Bill both harbor a sense of superiority, though it manifests differently in each. Ford’s superiority is intellectual; he knows he is smarter than most people around him, and this often leads him to act alone, believing that only he can solve the problems he encounters. This mindset can make him seem arrogant or dismissive, particularly when dealing with those who don’t share his level of understanding.

Bill’s sense of superiority, on the other hand, is rooted in his power and knowledge. He views himself as above all others, not just because of his intelligence, but because of his status as an interdimensional being. Bill sees humans as insignificant creatures to be toyed with, and he revels in the chaos he can create among them. His superiority complex is part of what makes him so dangerous; he genuinely believes that no one can match him, which drives his desire to control and manipulate.

4. Isolation and Loneliness

Both Ford and Bill are, in their own ways, deeply isolated figures. Ford’s intellectual pursuits and his strained relationship with his brother have left him lonely, often feeling like he is the only one who can understand or solve the mysteries he uncovers. This isolation is both self-imposed and a consequence of his choices; Ford often distances himself from others to protect them or to keep them from slowing him down.

Bill, despite his power, is also a fundamentally lonely being. His existence as a demon is one of isolation; he is a creature of chaos in a universe that generally strives for order. His interactions with others are almost entirely manipulative, and he lacks genuine connections. This loneliness could be a driving force behind his desire to dominate and destroy—if he cannot be understood or accepted, then he will make the world bend to his will instead.

5. Obsession with Control

Control is another trait that both Ford and Bill share, though their methods and motivations differ. Ford’s obsession with control stems from his fear of the unknown and his need to protect those he cares about. After his experiences with Bill, this need becomes even more pronounced, as Ford understands the dangers that lurk beyond the veil of reality. His attempts to control situations, however, often lead to unintended consequences, and his desire to keep everything under control can sometimes cause more harm than good.

Bill’s obsession with control is far more malevolent. He doesn’t just want control—he wants total domination. Bill thrives on bending others to his will, on twisting reality to suit his desires. His manipulation of Ford is a key example of this; by gaining control over Ford, Bill was able to bring chaos to the world in ways that would have been impossible otherwise. For Bill, control is both a means to an end and the ultimate goal itself.

Conclusion: A Complex Relationship

The similarities between Ford and Bill make their relationship all the more complex and tragic. Ford’s intellectual curiosity, his desire to break free from limitations, his sense of superiority, and his isolation all made him an ideal target for Bill’s manipulation. At the same time, these shared traits create a twisted mirror image between the two—Bill literally represents the dark potential of Ford’s own qualities, turned towards destruction rather than discovery. That is if you look at it that way.

Together, they form a complicated pair: Ford, the man who seeks to protect and understand, and Bill, the demon who seeks to control and destroy. Their similarities make them more than just adversaries; they are reflections of each other’s strengths and flaws, locked in a struggle that is as much about their own identities as it is about the fate of the world. This dynamic is what makes their interactions so compelling and their conflict so deeply resonant, as each tries to outmaneuver the other while grappling with the very qualities that make them who they are.

I want to lick these senior citizens— WHAT WHO SAID TJAT

[sadnymi]

「 ✦ Fresh Out the slammer. ✦ 」

[Mattheo riddle × reader] [TTPD Masterlist]

Summary: Y/n made a decision she thought was right, but it ended up costing her the only real thing in her life. Now, instead of finding peace and stability, her life has turned into a nightmare a slammer. She ran away, only to realize her mistake and now she knows there's only one person she can turn to—the only person her heart truly loves.

Warnings: angst,fluff,smut,strong language.

Words:5k.

The dress shimmered like moonlight on water, a cascade of champagne silk that clung to my curves in all the right places. I stood frozen, a statue sculpted from fabric and societal expectation. Perfect. Flawless. Engaged.

Yet, the reflection staring back at me held no spark of joy, just a hollow echo of a smile. It wasn't sadness, not exactly. More like a numb acceptance of a life carefully mapped out, not by my own desires, but by the whispers and needs of my family.

Charles, my fiancé, was everything a respectable young woman could desire. Handsome, wealthy, with a lineage as distinguished as his manners. On paper, we were the perfect match – a union that would solidify our families' positions in high society.

The party buzzed around me, a symphony of congratulations and well wishes. I played my part, radiating a picture-perfect fiancée. Laughter bubbled on my lips, practiced and polite. This was the new normal, the life I'd been groomed for. A gilded cage.

Then, across the crowded room, my gaze locked with a pair of dark eyes. A jolt went through me, a spark that had nothing to do with champagne or diamonds. Mattheo. There, in the shadows by the doorway, stood the one man who disrupted all carefully laid plans. His lips were curved in a smirk, a knowing amusement that sent a shiver down my spine.

He wasn't celebrating. He was observing. Analyzing. Like some predatory toying with the carefully orchestrated scene before him.

Exhaustion, emotional and physical, washed over me. I needed a moment, a single breath outside the suffocating air of expectations. Slipping through the French doors, I stepped onto the cool balcony overlooking the city lights.

And then, there he was, leaning against the railing a few feet away. Mattheo, his gaze following mine as he took a long drag from a cigarette. I clutched the glass of juice in my hand tighter, the cold seeping through the crystal.

"Care to share the joke?" I finally managed, my voice low and laced with a touch of bitterness. He didn't turn towards me, but his voice, when he spoke, was a smooth caress in the night air.

"Just admiring the performance, love," he drawled. "You play the part beautifully. Almost makes you believe it yourself."

The words tumbled out of my mouth, a torrent of frustration and a desperate attempt to mask the truth even from myself. "What are you doing, Mattheo? Making fun of me?" My voice rose a notch, defensive and angry.

"He's a perfect man. His family and mine have been friends for decades! Don't go acting like you care about some fairytale love story." I knew I was overplaying it, the words spilling out too fast, a frantic attempt to convince someone – maybe myself – that Charles was the answer.

He didn't flinch at my outburst. "No, not that," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "It's just… I don't get it. Why settle for 'perfect' when you could have something real?" His gaze held mine, a challenge and a question all at once.

"Real?" I scoffed, the bitterness dripping from my voice. "What's real? This?" I gestured at the glittering party scene below, the forced smiles and hollow laughter. "Or a life filled with… with what? Uncertainty? Danger?" The words hung heavy in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the life I'd always secretly yearned for, a life that somehow always seemed to revolve around Mattheo.

"Maybe," he conceded, shrugging a shoulder.

My breath hitched. His words were a direct hit, piercing through the carefully constructed walls I'd built around my heart. "I…" I started, but the words wouldn't come.

Frustration bubbled over, a cocktail of anger and confusion. "This is for me to decide, Mattheo! I don't need him, I want him! He'll be a good husband, a good father, a good partner. " My voice grew louder, the carefully constructed facade crumbling with each word.

"Sure, love," he said, that infuriating smirk twisting his lips once more.

"Dammit, Mattheo!" I exploded, tears stinging my eyes. "Either be happy for me, at least pretend, or leave!" The words were out before I could stop them.

Regret washed over me as quickly as the anger had risen. The light in his eyes, playful just moments ago, vanished, replaced by a flicker of pain I couldn't decipher.

For the first time that night, he looked at me seriously. No smirk, no amusement, left me speechless. "I think I'll leave then “.

And then he was gone, disappearing back into the throng of partygoers. The air felt suddenly colder, the weight of his absence a physical blow. My heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs, a mix of anger, fear, and something far deeper twisting in my gut.

A desperate urge to chase after him, to call him back, flooded me. But pride, stubbornness, and the carefully constructed image I'd spent all night portraying held me frozen in place.

I watched him go, a lone figure swallowed by the crowd, and a single, tear finally escaped, tracing a glistening path down my cheek.

The engagement ring felt like a lead weight on my finger. It was supposed to be a symbol of happily ever after, but all it brought was a dull ache in my chest. Charles, my fiancé, had proposed on a gondola ride in Venice, a picture-perfect moment straight out of a romance novel. The only problem was, the picture was a lie, a carefully staged facade.

The cracks began to show soon after. Charles, always so attentive during our courtship, started developing a curious habit of "forgetting" dates and appointments. His phone, an ever-present extension of his hand, would suddenly become a mystery when important calls came in. Excuses piled up like unwashed dishes, each one chipping away at the foundation of trust.

One particularly galling instance involved a charity gala. Charles had promised to accompany me, a public show of unity for my family's foundation. As the guests arrived, resplendent in their evening wear, I stood alone, a nervous knot twisting in my stomach. An hour later, with half the night gone, he sauntered in, a sickeningly self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. His excuse? A "business meeting" that ran long. The lie was obvious, the scent of his cologne a dead giveaway – the same kind of perfume that clung to the woman flitting at his side the previous weekend.

One blustery Saturday, we planned a picnic by the lake. Charles, however, turned up two hours late, reeking of butterbeer and with a smear of lipstick on his collar. My accusations were met with a dismissive, "Oh, Y/N, you're being paranoid again."

Selfishness was another of Charles's defining traits. He saw everything in terms of "me" and "mine." My interests, my dreams, were relegated to mere footnotes in his grand narrative. One weekend getaway we'd planned, meticulously tailored to my love for hiking and stargazing, was abruptly rerouted to a luxurious spa resort "because stress relief is good for everyone, darling." My protests were met with feigned sympathy and a dismissive pat on the head.

The final straw came at a Ministry charity gala. All night, Charles was glued to a group of Aurors, completely ignoring me. I stood alone, clutching my champagne flute feeling like a pretty ornament on his arm. As I excused myself for a moment of fresh air, I rounded a corner and saw him, laughing carelessly, his hand resting on Astoria's waist. They were kissing, a passionate embrace that ripped the last shreds of hope from my heart.

Tears blurring my vision, I confronted him later that night. "How could you?" My voice trembled, the anger barely masking the deep well of hurt.

He sighed, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. "Y/N, darling, don't be dramatic. It was just a kiss. A silly little thing."

"Just a kiss?" I cried, the dam of my emotions finally bursting. "And all those lies? The neglect? Charles”

His face contorted in anger. "You," he snarled, "are supposed to be the perfect fiancée. All smiles and beauty. You're just a pretty face, Y/N, that's all. Your role is to stand there and look pretty."

“I deserve better than this!"

He grabbed my face, forcing me to look at him. "You deserve exactly what I'm giving you, Y/N," he said, his voice cold and hard. "A comfortable life, a prestigious name. Do you think your father will be thrilled if you call off the wedding? Think of the scandal, the gossip! That's all that matters, after all."

His words cut deeper than any wand. In that moment, I saw him for who he truly was – a self-serving, arrogant man who only valued me as a trophy, not a person. The anger surged through me, hot and cleansing.

"I don't care anymore about what any of you want!" I ripped his grip on my face, my voice a ragged scream. "This doesn't matter anymore!"

With that, I spun on my heel and fled, leaving him and the shattered remnants of our engagement party behind. Tears streamed down my face, a mixture of anger, sadness, and a newfound sense of freedom.

Escaping the suffocating confines of the argument felt like breaking free from a Dementor's grip. My phone buzzed incessantly, a frantic symphony of missed calls from Charles and my furious father. Ignoring them, I switched it off, the silence a balm to my raw nerves.

There was only one person I craved, the one face that flickered behind my tear-filled vision – Mattheo. He'd been a constant presence in my mind, a forbidden flame that refused to be extinguished.

With newfound resolve, I hailed a carriage, the rocking motion mirroring the turmoil within me. He might not want to see me, might not even care. But right now, there was nowhere else I'd rather be. Nobody else who understood the storm raging inside me the way he did.

Love. It was a terrifying, exhilarating word, a truth I could no longer deny. I loved him. We'd never spoken the words, not truly, but in stolen glances and secret smiles, a connection had bloomed, defying all societal expectations.

The ride seemed to stretch on forever, each passing minute mirroring the frantic beat of my heart. Finally, the carriage drew to a stop before the imposing gates of Mattheo's mansion. As I stepped out, a heavy rain began to fall, mirroring the tempest within.

The grand entrance, familiar yet intimidating, recognized me with a soft hum. It creaked open without a touch, a silent welcome that sent a tremor through me. Taking a deep, shaky breath, I approached the heavy oak door that separated me from him.

"Mattheo," I whispered, my voice barely above a choked sob. "It's Y/N. Please, I… I need you."

Silence. The only sound was the insistent drumming of the rain and the frantic pounding of my heart against my ribs. Doubt gnawed at me. Maybe he wasn't there. Maybe he didn't want to see me.

Tears welled up again, blurring my vision. Just as I turned to leave, defeated, the door creaked open. Light spilled out, illuminating Mattheo's tall figure framed against the warm glow.

Relief washed over me, so intense it took my breath away. His face was etched with surprise.

But before I could decipher it, his surprise melted into a mask of cool indifference. My tears, held at bay for a moment, finally spilled over, cascading down my cheeks in a torrent.

Ignoring the shocked silence, I threw myself into his arms, clinging to him as if he were a lifeline in a storm-tossed sea.He reacted instantly, his strong arms enveloping me, lifting me off the ground with surprising ease. His warmth seeped through my cloak, a familiar comfort amidst the chaos.

Buried in the crook of his neck, I poured out the events of the evening, the anger, the hurt, the suffocating realization of Charles' lies. He held me silently, his touch a silent reassurance. I clung to him, feeling a sense of safety I hadn't experienced in a very long time.

Finally, the sobs subsided, leaving behind a raw vulnerability. I pulled back slightly, wiping a tear from my cheek.

The room spun as he set me down on the plush couch, a soft cushion beneath my tear-streaked face. His strong arms cradled my shoulders, steadying me. Then, cupping my chin, he tilted my head up with a gentle yet firm touch.

"Y/N," he said, his voice a low rumble laced with concern. "What happened? Did someone hurt you?"

His worry, raw and unconcealed, was another dam breaking within me. Shaken sobs wracked my body again, each one a release of the pent-up emotions.

"I…" I choked out, voice thick with emotion. "I just… needed you."

He didn't pry, just nodded understandingly, a silent promise of safety washing over me. "Let's get you out of these wet clothes first, love," he murmured, his touch surprisingly gentle.

He helped me remove my soaked dress, the cold fabric clinging like a memory I desperately wanted to shed. A blush crept up my neck as he handed me one of his oversized shir. I slipped it on, the familiar scent of him – a mix of expensive cologne and something uniquely Mattheo – wrapping around me like a comforting embrace.

Settling back onto the couch, he cupped my face again, his thumbs brushing away stray tears and a lock of hair that clung to my damp cheek. "Now, tell me everything," he said, his voice low and steady.

Taking a shuddering breath, I spoke. Words tumbled out, a torrent of pent-up emotions finally finding release. I told him everything – Charles' lies, the crushing disappointment, the suffocating loneliness of a horrible engagement.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, clutching his hand like a lifeline. "I was so afraid. I thought feelings, love, they would make me weak. So I thought Charles, with his perfect reputation and his predictable life, was the safest option. I didn't want to end up like my parents, constantly fighting, their love a battlefield. But this... this is worse. An empty shell of a life. And the hardest part…" My voice hitched, threatening to break again. "I lost you in the way. And I missed you, Mattheo. I missed you almost all the time."

"You will never lose me," he said.

Surprise flickered across my face. Never lose you?

"I never wanted you to leave," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. "That night of the engagement, I… I wanted to run back to you. Run back home."

The tension in the room crackled as I stood, my body fueled by a newfound courage. My gaze swept across the opulent room, searching for escape, for a way to bridge the chasm that had grown between us.

Then, I met his eyes. A storm of emotions brewed within him – surprise, vulnerability, a flicker of something that made my heart skip a beat.

"I love you, Mattheo," I blurted out, the words tumbling forth with the weight of a thousand unspoken confessions.

He held my gaze for a long, agonizing moment, then looked away, a muscle clenching in his jaw. He turned towards the window, the rain now a gentle patter against the glass.

"You're not going to say something?" The silence stretched, threatening to suffocate me.

He finally turned back to me, a wry smile twisting his lips. "Well, I've spent my entire life only loving one thing, Y/N. Only one thing. And it was you. So yeah, I don't know what to say now."

My mouth opened, ready to respond, a million questions swirling in my head. Images of a younger us flooded back – a scraped knee, whispered secrets, and a childish declaration that love was a fool's game.

"No, no," I stammered. "I remember when we were kids, and I said I didn't believe in love, and you said you didn't too. You said—"

He cut me off, a playful glint in his eyes. "Well, I lied."

My heart skipped a beat. "You lied?"

He walked towards me, his smile turning tender. "You were terrified of the idea, and I may not have believed in love then, but I believed in loving you, Y/N. So I would have done or said anything you wanted me to."

Shame clawed at me. How could I have been so blind, so wrapped up in my fear that I missed the love that had been right in front of me all along?

"I'm so sorry, Mattheo," I choked out. "I'm so sorry. I don't deserve your—"

He cut me off, pulling me into a tight embrace. "Stop being so harsh on yourself, love," he murmured, his hand stroking my hair gently. "Look at me."

I lifted my head, meeting his gaze. His eyes, usually filled with a mischievous glint, now held a tenderness that made my breath catch.

"You rest now," he said, his voice a soothing balm. "And if you're still in your word tomorrow…" He trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

"I love you, Mattheo," I repeated, my voice firm and unwavering. "And tomorrow, and the day after, and every day after that."

He smiled, a genuine, heart-melting smile that sent a warmth radiating through me. "Okay then," he said, his voice husky. "If you're still sure tomorrow, I'll be here. I'll always be here for you."

He leaned down and kissed my forehead, the soft touch sending shivers down my spine. As I burrowed into his oversized shirt, a new sense of comfort and belonging washed over me.

Holding the pillow to my chest, the scent of his cologne lingering on it, I drifted off to sleep. Two things were crystal clear in my mind. One, I loved Mattheo with a fierceness I never knew existed. And two, never again would I let fear or societal expectations dictate my heart. He was mine, and I was his. And nothing would ever tear us apart again.

The morning light streamed through the window, painting the room in a soft golden glow. Sunlight and the lingering scent of Mattheo's cologne pulled me from sleep. The events of yesterday flooded back – the storm of emotions, the confessions. Was it real? Had I imagined it all in the heat of the moment?

Uncertainty gnawed at me. Should I stay curled up in this bed, a safe haven from whatever awaited me downstairs? But the thought of not seeing Mattheo, was unbearable.

Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself, 'It's Mattheo. My Mattheo.' The fear ebbed slightly, replaced by a nervous flutter in my stomach. Ten minutes later, after a pep talk in the mirror and a failed attempt at straightening my sleep-tousled hair, I crept downstairs.

The kitchen was bathed in the warm glow of the morning sun. And there he was, leaning against the counter, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand. Relief washed over me, as welcome as the familiar aroma of roasted beans.

His eyes lit up as he saw me. "There you are," he said, a smile playing on his lips. He crossed the room in two strides, handing me a steaming mug.

My heart did a little skip. It was my favorite blend, a subtle smoky aroma that always reminded me of cozy mornings at home. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips. "Thank you," I murmured, accepting the mug. "That's perfect."

"I'm so sorry for showing up like that yesterday," I stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I thought… well, I thought you'd be mad. That you wouldn't want to see me."

He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "Mad that you came to me? Y/N, I'd be mad if you didn't. I'm glad you're here."

The weight of anxiety that had been building in my chest began to loosen. But with the tension gone, my nerves started playing up. In a desperate attempt to fill the silence, I launched into a monologue about the weather, the latest Quidditch news (which I barely followed) and the peculiar new flavor of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans I'd tried the day before.

I could feel his eyes twinkling with amusement, but he didn't interrupt my rambling. Instead, he leaned against the counter, a smile playing on his lips. Finally, he took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

"Y/N," he said softly, his voice sending shivers down my spine.

"Yes?" I squeaked, my eyes locked on his.

"Calm down, love," he murmured, his thumb brushing my cheek. "You're safe here. And you don't have to talk if you don't want to." He paused, his gaze holding mine. "Just stay. Just be with me."

My fingers traced the familiar lines of his face – the strong jawline, the slight furrow between his brows that always appeared when he was thinking, the little scar above his left eyebrow from that time we tried to ride a rogue Hippogriff in third year. I missed it all – the details, the imperfections, everything about him.

As I looked up to meet his eyes, a wave of emotion washed over me. It was a cocktail of relief, happiness, and a lingering nervousness that fluttered in my stomach. This was the same feeling I used to get whenever he was near, but this time, it wasn't laced with fear. It was pure, unadulterated excitement.

"Every time you look at me like that," he murmured, his voice husky, "I lose control."

My heart skipped a beat. "And is that a bad thing?" I leaned in closer, the space between us shrinking with each passing second.

He shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. Our lips were a breath apart, the tension crackling in the air. Then, he closed the distance.

The kiss was electric, sending shivers down my spine. It was filled with a raw emotion that neither of us had dared to express before. But just as quickly as it began, he pulled away.

"We can't," he said, his voice strained. "You're still confused with what happened, and I can't take advantage of that."

A pang of disappointment shot through me. But then, a cold realization dawned on me. He thought my confession, my affection, was a way of coping, a distraction from the fallout of yesterday.

"Mattheo," I said, cupping his face in my hands, forcing him to meet my gaze. "You would be crazy if you thought I didn't mean what I said. I'm in my right mind. I meant every word. I love you. I have for a long time, even when I told myself I didn't."

And then, without further preamble, he closed the gap. His lips were on mine again, this time with a fierce intensity that left me breathless.

He picked me up, setting me on the kitchen table. The cool wood beneath me was a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body. He trailed kisses down my neck, making me shiver with pleasure.

“Your skin is so soft against mine. I could spend eternity just touching you."

I ran my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. "Don't stop," I moaned, as he nibbled on my earlobe.

He chuckled, the sound sending vibrations through my body. "I have no intention of stopping," he said, his voice full of promise.

He continued his descent, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire on my skin. He reached the waistband of my pants, teasing me by hooking his fingers under the fabric but not pulling it down.

I squirmed under him, desperate for more. "Please," I begged, my voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up at me, his eyes full of desire. "Please what?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Please touch me," I said, my voice filled with need.

He didn't need any more encouragement. He pulled my pants down, exposing me to him. He leaned in, his breath hot against my skin. He kissed my inner thigh, teasing me even more.

I moaned, my hips bucking towards him. "Please, Mattheo," I said, my voice filled with desperation.

He finally gave in, his tongue darting out to taste me. I cried out, my fingers digging into the table. He licked and sucked, driving me wild with pleasure.

I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge. I wrapped my legs around his head, pulling him closer. "Don't stop," I begged, my voice barely above a whisper.

He picked up the pace, his tongue working its magic. I could feel myself tightening, my orgasm building inside me.

And then I was there, my body shaking with pleasure. I cried out, my fingers gripping the table even tighter.

He didn't stop, his tongue continuing to lap at me. I moaned, my hips still bucking towards him.

Finally, he pulled away, looking up at me with a satisfied smirk."You taste like heaven. I could spend hours between your legs." he said, his voice full of affection.

I smiled down at him, my heart filled with love. As I pulled him up for a kiss.He lifted me off the table, carrying me to the couch. laid me down, his body covering mine.

I could feel his hardness pressing against me, and I wrapped my legs around him. "I want to feel you inside me today and everyday I want all of you," I whispered, my voice filled with need.

He kissed me, his lips hot and demanding. He reached down, positioning himself at my entrance.

He looked at me, his eyes full of love and desire. "Do you want me to show you how much I've been thinking about you?" he said, his voice full of conviction and i nodded.

And then he thrust into me, filling me completely. I cried out, my fingers digging into his back."You're so big." I say and he shuts my cries with a kiss.

He started moving, his hips thrusting in a steady rhythm. I met him thrust for thrust, our bodies moving in perfect harmony.

“want to hear you say my name over and over. Let me know who's making you feel this good." He reached down, his fingers finding my clit. He rubbed in circles, sending waves of pleasure through my body.

"I want to mark you as mine, leaving my scent and my love all over you." He whispered in my ear, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine. He placed soft kisses on my neck, nibbling gently on the sensitive skin there.

"The way you look at me when I'm inside you drives me wild, love." He murmured, I could feel myself getting even wetter at his words if that was even possible.

His phone rang, interrupting the moment. He looked at the ID and smiled. "Turn around for me, my love." He said, his voice low and commanding. I did as he asked, turning around so he could take me from behind.

He put the phone on speaker and pulled my hair to the side, exposing my neck. He sucked and bit gently on the skin there, marking me as his. I moaned at the sensation, my body trembling with pleasure.

"She's with you right?" The sound from the phone was Charles, my ex-fiancé. I moaned at the thought of his call while we’re doing this, and Mattheo put his hand over my mouth to muffle the sound.

"Yes, she's very much with me, Charles." Mattheo said, his voice confident and sure. He thrust hard into me, making me scream into his hand.

"I don't want any rivalry, just stay away from my fiancé." Charles said, his voice filled with anger. The moment the word fiancé got out of his mouth, Mattheo thrust into me again, harder this time.

"I want that rivalry, it's fine with me. And she's your ex-fiancé, I can see no ring in her finger anymore."

"What was that? Was that Y/N? Can I talk to her?" Charles said.

"No, you can't. Not now, not ever “Mattheo said, He turned me around so I was looking at him. He pulled his hands away from my mouth and leaned down to kiss me.

"If I saw you near her, if I saw you in the same place as her, even by accident, if I saw you breathing the same air as her, you're a dead man, little Charles." Mattheo said, his lips touching mine. And then he ending the call.

He kept thrusting into me until I knew I was close. "I'm so close, Mattheo." I said, my voice breathless.

"You're such a good girl, taking me so well. Cum for me, baby." He said. I did, my body trembling with pleasure. He thrust into me a few more times, then cum. He pulled away, his cum on my stomach.

"One day, I'm gonna cum inside you." He said, his voice low and commanding. The thought turned me on so much, my face was red by now.

"Oh, you like that? Like the thought of me putting a baby inside you?"I nodded, unable to speak. He pulled me so I was on top of him, hugging me so tight.

He played with my hair as we lay there, our bodies still trembling with pleasure. "I love everything you say, I want everything if it will be with you." I said, my voice filled with emotion.

Now that I knew better, forever was no longer a scary word, but a beautiful vow. I would never lose him again.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

[icarusignite]

For Whom the Bell Tolls Masterlist

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Strong! Reader

Tropes: World War 2 HOTD AU, nurse x soldier, trauma bonding, childhood sweethearts, star-crossed lovers

Wattpad / AO3

Summary:

"The tragic hero is complete. You can call him unhappy (miserable, utterly broken) even before he is dead. For an instant, he is something divine, and then he dies, because there's nothing else left to do. The center of every tragedy is the image of a human being who has already died but keeps talking, someone whose face is a mask."

In the years preceding the inferno of the Second World War, the world dances precariously on the edge of destruction, teetering between disintegrating old empires and the looming dawn of new ones. In the heart of this volatile era, the Targaryen family rises to power through the might of their ironclad empire, the Targaryen Ammunitions Conglomerate. The story is set against a backdrop of a world torn between tradition and modernity, where the echoes of old wars linger in the corridors of power, and the spectre of new conflicts casts long shadows across the lives of those entangled in its web.

Viserys Targaryen, the Chief Executive Officer of Targaryen Ammunitions, is a man haunted by the ghosts of his past. Decades before the world would be set ablaze, he cements his legacy, but at the cost of his own soul. The death of his first wife leaves him shattered, clinging to the last vestiges of humanity through the love he bears for his only daughter, Rhaenyra, his chosen heir. 

But even Viserys cannot escape the machinations of those around him. Drawn into a marriage with Alicent Hightower, his daughter's former college classmate, he finds himself ensnared in a web of deceit spun by her father. Otto Hightower's ambitions reach far beyond the bounds of mere familial ties; he seeks to control the empire itself, and the Targaryen family, once bound by blood and loyalty, begins to fracture as ambition and betrayal take root.

Rhaenyra, a woman of fierce independence and unyielding spirit, is forced into a life she never wanted. Pressured by her father and the demands of his legacy, she is coerced into a marriage of convenience with Laenor Velaryon, a man whose own struggles mirror her own. Their union is one of necessity, where neither partner truly belongs to the other, yet, in their shared discomfort and understanding, they find solace, forging a partnership that defies the world's expectations. Laenor, hiding his true nature in a society that would cast him out, finds safety in the match, while she, in turn, secures the power and stability she needs to maintain her position as her father's heir.

Years pass, and the couple's inability to have children leads them down a different path—a path that brings them to the doors of Harrenhall, where the recently deceased Harwin Strong leaves behind four orphaned children who have been disowned by his brother Larys in his greed for their fortune. Rhaenyra, with a heart as relentless as it is kind, cannot bring herself to separate the siblings, despite the dangers it may pose to her own ambitions. She adopts them all, bringing the Strong children into the fold of the Targaryen family.

As the eldest of these children, you are burdened by the weight of the world. At just ten years old, you have been forced to grow up far too quickly, stepping into the role of mother and protector to your younger siblings in the absence of your own. Your heart is a fortress, built stone by stone, your mistrust of the world as deep as the abyss. When you and your brothers are taken in by the Targaryens, your siblings find joy in the luxuries and love showered upon them by their new family, but you cannot let yourself believe in the comfort being offered, waiting for the moment when it will all be torn away.

Your fears are only compounded by the cold reception you receive from Rhaenyra's half-siblings, the children of Alicent Hightower. The second of these, Aemond Targaryen, is a boy who has grown up in the long shadow cast by his half-sister. Neglected by his father, who lavishes affection upon his new adoptive grandchildren, he harbours a deep resentment toward the Strong siblings. In his eyes, you are all usurpers, interlopers who have stolen all that should have been his and his alone. 

Nevertheless, the two of you find an unlikely ally in each other. Aemond, who despises the hollow privilege of his lineage, finds in you a kindred spirit, someone who understands the bitterness that festers in his heart. You, in turn, see in him a mirror of your own disillusionment, a boy lost in a world that seems intent on breaking him.

As the world outside your gilded cage hurtles toward cataclysm, your connection blossoms into something deeper, something tender, but just as your hearts begin to entwine, calamity, as it always does, intervenes.

Tragedy strikes the family, one blow after another, as the winds of war begin to howl across the continent. The fragile alliances that Rhaenyra has built start to crumble, and as Viserys struggles to hold his empire together, the rifts within his own family threaten to destroy everything he has worked for.

It is all made worse when a terrible accident steals away two precious loved ones, and in the aftermath, guilt weaves its thorny tendrils around Aemond's heart. At the tender age of eighteen, burdened by the weight of his own self-reproach, he severs all ties with his family, abandoning the name that has become a symbol of his anguish. He takes up his mother's maiden name, hoping to cast off the shackles of his past and live free from the burdens that have haunted him.

But in his flight from the wraiths of his former life, he leaves behind the only person who has ever understood him, to pick up the fractured remnants of their family. You are left all alone, as you have been for so much of your life, to mourn in silence, and the grief that once bound the two of you together now festers into a simmering resentment. Aemond does not write, nor does he respond to the countless letters you send, each one a plea for reconciliation, a desperate attempt to reach him across the chasm that has opened between you. 

Eventually, you receive word that he has been drafted into the conflict. The news shatters the fragile remnants of your dreams, the ambitions you once held of becoming a historian now buried beneath the rubble of a world on fire. You abandon everything and follow him into the inferno, earning the nursing certifications that place you at the very heart of the battlefield, where life and death are decided with every breath.

In this vast and chaotic landscape, the young lovers keep missing each other, like ships passing in the night, always just out of reach. Time and again, they come within moments of reunion, but never actually do. Until, at last, they are thrown together once more when a severely wounded and half-blind Aemond Hightower is brought into the makeshift clinic where you have been stationed.

The reunion is a storm of tears and apologies, a raw and unfiltered outpouring of the pain that has been carried for so long. For a few precious months, you have each other once more, as you tend to his injuries, nursing him back to some semblance of health. In those fleeting moments, the two of you cling to each other like drowning souls.

But fate is a fickle mistress, and there is nothing she loves more than to slit the throats of young lovers, and you are not spared the annihilation that has been written for you in the very stars, centuries before you were even born, a destiny that neither of you can escape, no matter how hard you try.

"You're going to die in your best friend's arms. And you play along because it's funny, because it's written down, you've memorized it, it's all you know."

CHAPTERS: (coming soon)

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter3

Chapter 4

A/N: This isn't going to be a full-length fic. It's going to be a collection of one-shots almost, or snippets jumping around the timeline to tell the most important parts of the story, so maybe 10-12 chapters at most. This way I won't bore yall with unnecessary filler chapters and still get to tell the story I want. The summary is about as much as you'll on the background tbh, this is meant to be an AemondxReader centric story. It's inspired by Atonement and every other WW2 movie I've ever watched.

Comment to lemme know if this is something you would be interested in and if you'd like to be added to the taglist.

Alternatively, add yourself to the taglist!

[mbruben-stein]

Attack on Titan: Levi Ackerman dating a s/o who is like Violet Evergarden would Include.

Their relationship would develop very slowly and gradually. Both Levi and his s/o are extremely reserved, guarded individuals who have difficulty processing and expressing emotion due to their traumatic pasts as child soldiers. Trust and intimacy would not come easily or quickly for either of them. It would take a long time and a lot of patience on both sides for them to open up to each other.

They would bond over their shared life experiences, traumas, and difficulties reintegrating into normal society after leaving military life behind. Both know the horrors of war and violence from a young age. Both struggle to feel human at times and question if they even deserve happiness and love after the blood on their hands. Being with someone who truly understands helps them heal.

Levi would be endlessly patient with his s/o as she tries to comprehend emotions and relationships. He knows it's not her fault that feelings confuse her. When she says seemingly tactless or insensitive things, he doesn't take it personally, knowing she means well but lacks the social skills to express herself properly. He gently guides her when needed.

They are a power couple when it comes to combat and missions. Both are elite soldiers with superhuman skills. Levi trusts his s/o to have his back completely, knowing her capabilities. In battle, few can match their deadly synchronicity. They make the perfect partners on the most dangerous assignments.

Behind closed doors, a soft domestic side emerges, previously buried under years of hardened exteriors. Levi enjoys pampering his s/o in little ways - brewing her favorite tea, giving her shoulder massages after a long day, reading to her in the evenings. These quiet, tender moments are precious to them both.

Levi helps his s/o rediscover pieces of her lost humanity. He encourages her hobbies and interests outside of work. Seeing the small, beautiful things in life through her fresh eyes - a breathtaking sunset, a vase of her favorite flowers - reminds Levi there is still goodness in the cruel world they live in. Her innocence and wonder thaw his heart.

Physical affection is rare but meaningful between them. Neither are used to casual touches, so things like holding hands, kisses on the forehead, leaning on each other feel extra intimate and vulnerable. Hugs are reserved for emotional moments, a silent affirmation of "I'm here" when words fail.

Levi's squad would be surprised but supportive of the relationship. They'd never seen their grumpy Captain show a soft spot for anyone before. But seeing how he is around his s/o - the gentle looks, the protectiveness, the subtle ways he accommodates her needs - they know the love is real, even if neither are the type for public displays of affection.

Arguments are rare, but when they happen, both tend to shut down and go silent. Levi has a hard time articulating his feelings beyond irritation. His s/o struggles to identify why she's upset. But they always talk it out eventually, even if it's hard. Neither likes letting things fester.

On the difficult anniversary days - the fall of Shiganshina and Wall Maria for Levi, the death of Family members/friends for his s/o - they turn to each other for comfort, solidarity in their grief. "It's okay to not be okay today," they remind each other, riding out the painful memories together until the clouds pass.

Levi makes a point to praise his s/o frequently. He knows she received very little appreciation or positive reinforcement in her military upbringing. Whenever she does well at work or makes progress in her emotional growth, he's sure to voice how proud he is of her. Coming from a man of few words, the compliments mean everything to her.

While Levi was initially hesitant to be physically intimate, not wanting to make his s/o uncomfortable, he's consistently blown away by her enthusiasm and openness once they do become intimate. "I want to be as close to you as possible," she tells him earnestly. "I want to make you feel good." He melts at her guileless affection.

In the peaceful moments in between missions, they often sit together in comfortable silence, Levi sipping tea and his s/o practicing her writing. No words need to be spoken; they simply enjoy the relief of being together, alive, and safe for now. The future is uncertain in their dangerous world, but their feelings are constant and sure.

[lovearion]

everyone else: mc is a danger to society!!!!!

cain: */seduces mc by talking about dark rituals and shit

he truly is the only one who can match lane's freak 🙏

[rosalind-hawkins]

The Promised Sequel to Skin to Scales has arrived!

Title: Present Danger

Chapter: 1/5

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Joey Wheeler x Seto Kaiba

Additional Tags: Scientific Experimentation, Transformation, Bickering, Developing Relationship, Bottom Seto Kaiba, Referenced Abuse

Chapter Word Count: 2,006

Fic Summary:

Joey is excited to get back to his normal life, but just as Kaiba warned him, nothing will ever be truly normal for him again. Joey's struggle to reintegrate with society is matched only by his struggle to understand the infuriating (and infuriatingly attractive) personage of Seto Kaiba. Understanding takes time, and Joey's still learning how to be patient with his benefactor.

I'm really hoping that you all enjoy this story! I've made a lot of progress on the future chapters already, so it shouldn't be too long of a wait between chapter updates. I'm really making these boys earn the romance in this series.

This chapter is featuring the monster card Volcanic Rat:

[slightly-sigilant]

I actually don't know if I'm going to finish this at this point so I'm just going to post it and free myself of the Obligation Of Finishing Things

at left: Dr. Lukas S______, the Scorched Physician. Correspondent, with a focus on the practical applications of twisting reality like a pretzel. formerly a lecturer at Benthic, until he was kicked out for being too crazy even for them (read: for bursting onto campus after a long sabbatical, screaming incomprehensibly about "the great tyrannies" and "the lies in the light.) widely considered mad, bad, and dangerous to know

at right: Sir Nathaniel C________, the Forbearing Scholar. Correspondent, with a focus on understanding the Correspondence at the deepest level - something between mathematician, lawyer, and poet. the eldest son of a prelapsarian noble family. formerly of Summerset, and well-respected despite his area of research, until he shocked everyone by "running off with that Benthic madman"

their relationship is something hard to define - not romantic, not sexual, but deeply intimate regardless on both an emotional and physical level. (in modern terms, it might be considered queerplatonic.) society gossips like to speculate on how a disgraced, deranged, disreputable madman like Lukas managed to "seduce" someone as even-keeled and outwardly respectable as Nathan, but the simple truth of the matter is that Nathan was also always kind of a freak. Lukas wants to use the Red Science to turn himself into a monster, Nathan wants to use it to turn himself into the FLondon equivalent of a sapient holographic cube. Nathan double-checks the law-language on Lukas's newest contraptions, Lukas helps Nathan drill open boxes of sunlight. they Get each other. truly, a match made in the Neath.

[thedeafprophet]

Character Summary: The Malignant Assassin

Aurora 'Rory' Winn

Pronouns: She/they

Ambition: Bag A Legend

Profession: Licentiate

Main Skills: Dangerous, Shadowy, Monstrous Anatomy

Main Quirks: Ruthless, Heartless, Forceful

They say…

Whispers in the night speak of an assassin who will find you no matter where you hide. If she meets your eyes be mindful - you may already be doomed.

Further Write Up Under The Cut

(Warnings for some period typical sexism/expectations, murder, and some spoilers for Bag A Legend ambition)

Backstory

Though she'd be hardpressed to remember the location of such, Aurora was born on February 2nd, 1874. Aurora's birth parents cared deeply for their daughter, but care does not automatically equal abilitiy. Like many children of the time, her parents were unable to afford to take care of her, and at the age of 4, 1878, Aurora was surrendered to an orphange. Her parents always intended to come back for her once they had the means too, but that was not to be.

Aurora was 6 years old when Arthur Winn, a weapon's manufacturer stationed in Birmingham, and his wife Lenora came to the orphanage. The two had been unable to have biological children of their own, and, with Lenora's great desire to be a mother, the path lead them here, and to Aurora.

Aurora's relationship to her parents was... strenuous, to say the least. A couple on shakey terms, trying to follow closely on societies terms, with no prior knowledge on raising a child couldnt have led to anything else. Lenora was overbearing, Arthur often distant and aloof, and Aurora was caught in between, complicated, and confused. Aurora was brought up in a way to fit the demands of a proper lady, yet no matter how she tried to fit herself within the mold, one cannot meld themself into a shape they do not belong in.

Sometime in her teens, Aurora first was introduced to fencing - her mother was against the prospect, but somehow her father was encouraging, and thus the tutorage began. Aurora took to fencing immediatly, an outlet for the budding rage and anger that was beginning to boil inside her, practicing form and poise as she pracitced with her blade. She attended any competition she was allowed in, though even still, there was limits due to her very nature of birth.

Perhaps it was this budding rage and violence brewing within that led to a chance encounter on the surface, or perhaps it was simply concidence. (surface veils fic by R)

Regardless, there was incidents, places of sharp blades being where they shouldnt have. Of course. no word of this would ever trace back to Aurora, her parents would ensure that.

Things came to a head within her family at last when Aurora was in her 20s - many years of refusing suitors and marriage could only be put off for so long, and her mother was at her wits end. Aurora's cousin would be the one set to inheiret from her father, and without ensuring a proper match for Aurora, Lenora could do nothing to ensure the future of her daughter. She won't be around to cover for Aurora forever, and auroras getting older now too-

Aurora tried, she truly did. But she just couldnt bring herself to go through with it. Before she could be wed to anyone, Aurora fled without word to her family, disapearing off into the night, following a call of wherever her feet would take her.

Aurora came to the neath in 1899, at 25 years old.

Game Timeline

Rory's introduction to the neath was... interesting. On her own for the first time, truly without limits or guidance... well, she didnt quite know what she was doing. It wasn't long before she found an outlet for her rage, from fighting and duels to hunting and killing.

From being a hired enforcer to becoming a murderer, it was only a matter of time before Rory truly became a bringer of death. The licentiate's path, a killer for hire, spoke to her in a specific way. Once blood began to spill, she couldn't see it stopping, a red path at her heels marking her very nature.

Her aim to hunt the vake came between all that - or did it inspire it? Either way, that path had been set. A true testement to her abilities that would be, to kill what no one else had managed

The first loss had dealt a brutal hit to her ego, but fueled her only more with spite.

It was during this that Rory met April, a companion and true help in her aim to kill the vake. It was more then that though, that made Rory so fascinated by April - someone so smart, so interesting, so passionate, so moved... Rory didnt know what to do with these feelings. She didnt even know what they were. But they were strong nonetheless, and only led Rory to a greater want to be near April, to let her tend to her wounds.

To have someone she promised she would return to. That she wouldnt be another one lost in the mission of the hunt.

As the hunting progressed, Rory lost more and more of herself into that rage, into that calling, the urge to kill and maim and destory only fueled by the blood she had ingested. Her nails were claws, her teeth sharp points, sense honed to keen levels, always on the prowl.

Even when the vake lay dead at her feet, all pieces hunted, stalked, severed; Even then, the urge called to Rory.

But with nothing left to hunt, no further worthy adversary, what more was there to do?

Lost adrift within the bounds of urge, Rory only worked further into assassinations, that perhaps if she spilled enough blood, that would be enough. It never was.She remianed lost in the call of the hunt and the violence, no further adversaries left her to chase, alone in her monstrous nature, forgetting anything else she could have ever been.

If one becomes a monster in order to kill the monster, how much of the person remains? When does the line between the self and the call severe, where does on start and the other begin?

Perhaps, in time, something of the human could be saved.

[frickingnerd]

dating barok van zieks

pairing: barok van zieks x gn!reader

tags: wholesome fluff, established romantic relationship, angst (about van ziek's backstory / family + reader being endangered)

barok is a high ranking member of society, due to his job as a prosecutor, as well as him being a son of the van ziek's family

you won't be able to match up to his status and you will often be seen as someone who's below him by other people

however, barok doesn't care about status. at least he doesn't when it comes to dating you!

he knows you're not dating him for money or reputation. and he'll defend you whenever someone talks ill about you!

on top of his status in society, barok also wears the title of the reaper. he's feared by most, yet you know that he would never hurt anyone!

but since you're the lover of the reaper of the bailey, you often find yourself dragged into trouble, when assassins attempt to take your life

barok tries to keep you safe by only letting you go outside while he's around you, but even then he can't always protect you

barok isn't very affectionate, since he hates to let people know how much he cares about you. if they knew, that would only put you in more danger…

so barok only shows you affection when the two of you are truly alone!

[kafus]

☕ for Ayano, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the feasibility of a truly conscious ai, none of the shit that companies try to sell us, I'm talking something that is effectively a synthetic human.

hello! this feels… pretty high brow for the sort of technical stuff i do. i’m not knowledgeable enough on the specifics of how current artificial intelligence functions to talk about that sorry of thing in the detail i’d like to. but!

abstracting away from technical specifics for a moment, in a sense, humans are also like computers, just… endless and deeply complex ones that degrade biologically. like a motherboard, we are also constantly sending signals to different parts of ourselves to perform various actions and tasks. there is cause and effect inside of us, one input leads to another output…

the issue is just how complex people are. the human brain and body is so complicated that the scope is hard to actually conceptualize or imagine. and as well as that, we are less rigid than computers, there are so many biological factors that contribute to the state of our body and mind that just would not impact a computer. i don’t know if we’ll ever be able to build a computer that matches the complexity of people, i think we’d have to understand the human brain much more than we already do, and even if we could… well that’s a big can of ethical concern worms.

interestingly, it’s also worth noting that the signals our body sends are much slower than the speed of a computer. if we could hypothetically recreate human consciousness in a robot, they would have the ability to think and react much faster than we can. which has… implications. i think it’s more nuanced than “oh no robot uprising” but that is a dangerous game to play

anyway, i’m too uneducated to know if this is actually theoretically possible in terms of technical specifics, but even in the abstract, the idea of a “synthetic person” is really complicated, and also has an endless amount of ethical concerns i didn’t get into here. the reality of such a thing unfortunately would not look like the fantasy of robots happily living in our society like is portrayed in a lot of fiction, though i don’t think it’d be apocalyptic for humans either. i think generally this concept is best entertained in fiction where people can explore how they relate and attach to machines safely and without having to sift through all that nasty ethical stuff.

[inventedfangirling]

pran-so-cool to pran-so-brave

We all talk about pran so cool to pran in love and yes of course everybody needs to talk about that growth all the time forever and ever cos really it gave us one of the most beautiful and respectful love stories of all time, but i also wanna take a teensy second to talk about how pran so brave too.

Jumping into a body of water to help a drowning person not easy. putting your thoughts and feelings into a song and then singing it out loud, not easy. Confronting years of lying and suppression and hurt, standing up to an overbearing parent is definitely not easy.

Dealing with insecurities, voicing those insecurities, working to overcome those insecurities not easy. confronting your feelings, taking a leap ready to get hurt if that happens, and then deciding to stick through one person no matter the hurdles also farthest from easy. Pran has done so many brave things over the course of his young life but right now i just wanted to focus on what he did in episode 10 in this scene.

Like seriously picture this, you're out with your boyfriend, grocery shopping have a wonderful time teasing and goofing off with each other and then bam, his bitch ass of a dad appears and see's you in a not entirely uncompromising situation.

And then without even thinking of where they are or how they are literally just kids, this man begins to get aggressive with them.

I can't even explain just how triggered this scene or just the gif of it even makes me...that said i need to talk about it because just can't get over the significance of what pran did here.

On paper he is just standing up to defend his boyfriend from an aggressive man but of course in reality he is actually putting himself between a fully grown adult man and his own adult son (who lets not forget is physically stronger than Pran). I need me and you and everybody to process the fact that Pran is at heart (and brain development wise) still very much a child. He is barely 20 and he is gay and he is in public with his boyfriend in a conservative country (i know there is no homophobia in the bb universe but still!)

And suddenly he is outed and then this aggressive loud man who is his boyfriend's dad and his family's sworn enemy comes and starts being aggressive with Pat with whom he has as far as Pran knows had a pretty smooth at least non violent relationship (that we know of) so then do we realize how incredible is it that Pran immediately put himself between Pat and Ming??? Not only is he physically no match for Ming. But in how society would view it, he really had no place there? and because there hasn't been a history of Ming being aggressive with Pat, Pran needn't have done what he did, since in his mind such a grim possibility is not looming large.

And yet the moment he saw that Pat was possibly in danger, that very instant he comes in front of Pat, trying to calm the situation down? I'm just...that's just....so so very brave of him?!! My brain truly cannot comprehend the inexplicable amount of love Pran must have towards Pat to exhibit that level of protectiveness without even taking a second to think of his own safety or anything against Pat's own father??? Pran who hasn't had the best most healthy relationship with his own parents was standing up for Pat against his father!

And then to be shoved aside like that to the side, in such a violent manner, being looked at with so much contempt, with all those people watching. And then going back home to stand up to his mother only to get shouted at and slapped??

And then years of distance and time and growth later, he comes back and he actually brings a gift for that very man who as far as we know didn't even apologise to Pran or Pat for what he did to them there. a man who for years had kept them away from each other, filling ideas of hate into their minds (with ample help from dissaya ofc) and disrespecting and demeaning both of them??

Pran really took all that hate that was directed at him and he returned it in the form of love, he did it for pat's sake, but he did it none the less.

He really embodied "i will be tender hearted despite despite despite" and he did it while he was growing professionally and personally.

I'm sorry but look at that smile???? only the vilest spawn of satan could hate him my heart is about to burst rn.

He fr took some of the sourest lemons life offered him and along with pat turned it into a lemonade so sweet even 20 rewatches can't wash the sweetness off of it and i genuinely can't help but marvel in awe. I seriously need to sit down and think about this for days weeks ever cos really it is just something else. Pran is just something else.

He shows us how we're more than our trauma, how our choices are what define us and that even if it's difficult we can make that journey, and that we can do it with love.

[animebw]

Man, what a shitty way to end the season.

Well, that's Superstar Season 2 finished. And for whatever reason, the thought I keep coming back to is this one line from Bojack Horseman where he calls himself "A xerox of a xerox of a xerox." When something is copied over and over again, each new copy gets a little duller, a little vaguer, a little less certain of what it used to be in the first place. Love Live has been going on for over a decade now, with new installments almost every year. It is no longer the firework bursting spectacularly in open air; it's the leftover ash from that fireworks as it descends of the sky, still vainly trying to shine just as brightly as before.

And it feels tired.

For all the wonderful energy of Superstar, all the gorgeous art direction and animation and direction, it feels so, so tired.

There are absolutely things I like about this season. Even things I love. Keke and Sumire's episode alone prevents me from calling this a bad season of Love Live. Not to mention how wonderful Shiki and Mei are. But every new iteration of this series feels like more and more of its magic is draining away. School Idol Project was nothing short of a miracle, a lightning-in-a-bottle conflagration of optimistic euphoria that made me believe in the power of idols like nothing had ever done before. But Sunshine struggled all throughout its run to match up to that miracle, and it only really managed to do so when its movie finale came around. Nijigasaki swung for the fences to try something fresh and interesting, but all it resulted in was a crushingly hollow disaster. And even with Superstar bringing back SIP's director, Jukki Hanada in the writer's chair, it only ever feels like it's playing the hits without justifying its own existence. It has no idea how to make this new self, this new chance, a worthy contender to stand on the same stage as its ancestors. And if even the best creative team to ever work on Love Live can't figure out how to keep Love Live from stagnating... then what hope is there for anyone else?

Truthfully, part of me wonders if Hanada is just tired of it all. He's been writing original scripts for this franchise for over a decade, and even with someone else handling Nijigasaki, there are still very few gaps between the entries he has a hand in. That's a long time to write the same kind of story, trapped in the same kind of formula, no doubt with countless corporate mandates to prioritize lest he "tarnish" the pristine image of idols with anything too dangerous or exciting. As much as I love Hanada's work, I can't help but think that sounds like the most soul-crushing cycle to be stuck in. And if you think that's just me projecting, well... do you remember that other original music anime Hanada just came out with? The one that's all about angst and punk spirit and shouting in defiance of society's norms? A series that, in contrast to Superstar, feels truly electric and explosive and bursting with the undeniable spirit of something born of passion too powerful to contain? Where one of the co-protagonists' backstory is her old band was forced to rebrand with specifically idol aesthetics to stay marketable in a world with little place for the scrappy, raw, unapologetic honesty of the rock music they started out with?

Yeah, suffice to say, I wouldn't be surprised if Hanada saved all his best ideas and creative passion for the start of something new and special instead of spending it all on his third rodeo at a steady paycheck.

So where does Superstar go from here? I honestly don't know. We've got a third season coming up just this October- a first for this franchise- so there's no telling what to expect. Personally, I hope it leans fully into that cartoon-world magical-girl energy I talked about before; the more it can stake its own identity, the better chance it will have to justify itself when all is said and done. But more than anything, I wonder how long it will be before Love Live just... stops being special entirely. Until the magic is truly all used up and the horrific emptiness of Nijigasaki becomes the rule rather than the exception. Until this series that truly made me believe in something starts to leave me feeling just as hollow about idols as I was before I picked it up.

And that is far too tragic a fate for me to accept.

The first Love Live was special. It will always be special. And I think Sunshine was, eventually, able to earn its place by SIP's side. But Muse themselves knew that sometimes, the only way to be special is to put everything you have into a single beautiful moment and leave everything else behind when you're done. I'll still watch Superstar season 3, and hopefully it's good, but after that? It might be time for me to leave this franchise behind. The memories of this series at its best will always matter more then endless failed attempts to measure up to that high bar. Cherish the magic we've made, and don't let time and exhaustion steal that away from you.

To those who found me through my Love Live posting, thank you for being here. I hope you enjoyed my thoughts, positive and negative alike, and I hope you stick around as my journey through anime's history continues. I will always celebrate Love Live for what its best efforts mean to me; whatever the future holds, that will never change. I can only hope whatever comes next for these creators will be just as singular and special. But Superstar season 2, for all its charms, is getting no higher score than 5.5/10 from me. The dream is coming to an end soon; and I, for one, am ready to wake up and see what new sights await in the light of day.

Speaking of, I think I have another poll to make...