#use the spite and anger and disgust as fuel

[chthonicstuff]

#there are things i still have power over #and fuck it all i will do those things #and i will do those things with fury in my heart but i will do those things

[deadlynavigation]

Ben Solo Is Dead

Warnings: Mentions of murder/death.

Author's Note: Based on my poll from yesterday :) Written with fem!reader.

(Navigation)

“So it is you, then.” Your words echo across the room, the syllables bouncing off the walls as they attempt to fill the emptiness that these chambers have been swallowed by.

The masked man glares up at you, face illuminated by your white saber held just underneath his chin. And though you would never do it, the threat is still imminent, still enough to force the man’s helmet off and reveal his face.

You swallow the pain of seeing your once-partner down before speaking once more. “Or does Ben not exist anymore? Am I looking into the eyes of a stranger- a monster?”

“Shut up.” Kylo mutters. But his spiteful words are made void by the flash of pain that occupies his dark eyes, letting you know that Ben is still in there, just buried beneath layers of pain and manipulation.

Forgoing Kylo’s words, you decide to keep talking, keep walking the fine line of whatever your relationship with him is. “You know, after the Temple was destroyed, I had always assumed you went off into exile. Followed Luke’s footsteps like the cowards you both were, hidden away from the consequences of your actions. Assuming what is best for everyone.”

Kylo tries to get a word in, probably a sharp insult, but you talk over him. You finally let the resentment from years past boil over.

“And I was left to wander the galaxy, making my way however kriffing possible. Do you know how hard that is, Ren? I had to hop from planet to planet, without anyone, helping where I could and picking up whatever else was needed. I went to bed for weeks on end without anything to eat sometimes. I didn’t have a ship for the first year of my new life.” You’re shouting at this point, and Kylo can see just how taxing the years have been on you. The scars, the miniscule lines, the shadows, all painting your face in a haunting sort of way.

You let him stare for one more moment, picking up on the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Good. Let your pain be his. Let him suffer this time.

“And after so long with scraps for jobs, I get this one offer. Just find the new Supreme Leader-” you spit the title out with disgust, “and tell him of Naboo, of how it requires First Order protection. And since no one else was taking it, I took it. Walked out of that cantina with my blade in hand and ready for anything- but how naive of me.”

“Y/n.” Kylo mumbles. You push your blade a little closer to his skin.

“But little did I know,” You pause, drowning in your emotions, “Little did I know that the Supreme Leader would be none other than-”

“Y/n.”

“None other than Ben Solo.”

“Enough!” Kylo shouts, knocking your blade out of reach with a wave of his hand. “Ben Solo is dead. I am what has risen from him, what has been built.”

You snort. “If Ben Solo was truly dead, I would not be standing here right now. Kylo Ren would have struck me down where I stand now, laughing over me while I choke on my own demise. Stop pretending, Ben.”

That’s it. Kylo has snapped. He lunges at you, tackling you to the ground before reaching for his lightsaber. But you’re prepared for this. You call your own saber to you, using it to press against his own as it comes crashing down at you. The red and white lights dance with each other until you push as hard as you can, forcing Kylo on the offensive. And if you remember correctly, he was horrible at holding his own- choosing instead to gain the upper hand on his enemies.

And as the two of you fight, with you rapidly gaining ground and Kylo slowly realizing that he’s been backed into a corner, your memory proves correct. In all these years, his technique still has not changed. It is fueled by a lot more anger though. Misery pierces you through the force when you try to access his emotions, and that is clearly translated into his desperate swings and forceful movements in the fight.

This dance seems to last forever, but the spell is broken when Kylo finds himself pressed against the wall and you blocking him in. Your saber is once again tucked underneath his chin, ready at any moment to slice through his neck in one clean swish. Kylo’s saber hangs uselessly at his hip- he knows that if he tried anything, he’d be fatally wounded within seconds.

“So you’re going to kill me.” Kylo says, still glaring at you. It’s not as intense, though, soothed by memories of your duels together back at the Temple. How swift you were in victory, how much adrenaline would rush through your veins. How the smug look on your face made him want to either punch you where it would hurt or kiss you until the suns went down. He could never make up his mind, and apparently he still can’t.

After a minute, you sigh and retract your glowing blade. “No,” you admit. “Because Ben is still in there, somewhere. And I’d be a fool to strike down the man I love.”

With that, you leave the room, running to the ship’s exit before any more Stormtroopers can pick up on your presence.

And Kylo is left speechless, weak in the knees, and regretful of his every decision up to this fateful moment.

It takes him almost an hour, but Kylo does eventually leave the room, striding down the halls with an almost hopeful aura about him.

He walks down about two hallways before Captain Phasma passes him, before quickly backtracking and adjusting her route to fit his. She’s picked up on his unusually hopeful attitude, and not knowing what had caused it would make her lose sleep tonight.

“Did something happen, Ren?” Phasma questions carefully.

Kylo glances over at her before nodding curtly. “Yes. Execute total ship lockdown. She should still be in here- she couldn’t have gotten far.”

“Of course.” Phasma holds down on her comm, letting the units know to shut down all exits and seal all doors. “May I ask, who has gotten away?”

“No one yet, Captain. Search the ship, bring the woman to me. The grey Jedi- she’ll have a white lightsaber and scraps for clothing.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader.” With that, Phasma salutes and turns the opposite direction, almost running into Hux as she does so.

Kylo, too caught up in his thoughts, only vaguely notes the incoming force signature before Hux catches up to him.

“Why in the galaxy are we on full lockdown, Ren?” Hux seethes, his anger a welcome source of entertainment for Kylo.

“There’s a woman on board. One I need to have a conversation with.” Kylo mutters, paying little mind to the General.

“Another girl, Ren?” Hux chuckles mockingly. “I thought we were done with that.”

“She apparently did not think so.”

[lostinforestbound]

What's that? More Dark!Rolan on the horizon?? Here we are! (As always, this is based of @slumpsnail's art and is also my main inspiration!) This is a prequel to my first Dark!Rolan post!

Death of a Master

CW: Physical Abuse, Intrusive Thoughts (Gore, Eye trauma, Killing), Acting upon Intrusive Thought

His eyes are wide and teary as his chest heaves, trying to catch breaths that don’t quite come. It hurts to breathe, the strike from Lorroakan’s staff almost breaking his ribs. His master is careful, coldly calculating each strike to make sure nothing will break but make it hurt all the same, to make him writhe on the floor.

If Cal and Lia were still alive and able to witness this, what would they say? What would his mother say? That he’s pathetic, letting himself be treated like an unwanted dog? No, they were always kinder than that, even when he didn't deserve it.

He’s too scared to cry out for help. He's too prideful. It would only lead to another strike either way.

Usually he can grit through the sessions, grind his teeth and say nothing. His motivation is fueled by stubbornness, spite, and rage. But gods, Lorroakan might kill him this time, especially if he casts detect thoughts again.

He’s been having dreams of killing him in different ways. Drowning, tearing out his organs, setting him ablaze, choking him; his imagination knows no bounds. Last night, his dream self gouged his eyes out, digging his claws into the sockets until he stopped screaming. These wayward, unwanted thoughts were haunting him as he walked, nipping at the edges of his mind when he least suspected it. He’s becoming terrified of himself, and he has no one to confide in. When did he become so comfortable with the thought of killing someone?

When he wakes, he always hopes that Lorroakan died in his sleep. Maybe then he would have peace. When his mentor uses a Command Spell on him to make him kneel, he hopes the animated armor who stands guard strikes him through the heart.

The weave crackles, and he recognizes the detect thoughts spell trying to reach to the deepest parts of his mind. Like a fool, he mentally blocks it out with a grimace.

That was the worst mistake he’s made thus far.

“You dare resist me?” Lorroakan spits as Rolan shakily gets to his knees, wanting to run.

“Master, forgive me-“ He gasps, but is cut off with a harsh hit to the jaw by the metal staff, sending him back down to the ground. As always, nothing is broken, but hells, it hurts.

Blood spittles out from his mouth and into the floor, knowing better than trying to stand. If Lorroakan sees him trying to get back up, he’ll hit him again. Part of him hoped that someone would walk in and interrupt, giving him a small break to regroup himself.

No one will help him. When has anybody ever?

He’s going to die here. Pathetic and alone with no one that will miss him when he’s gone. Another failed apprentice, another nameless wizard. What has he done so wrong in a past life that resulted in being tortured in this one? Why wouldn’t the gods listen to him when he prayed for his siblings safety, so long ago? What have Cal and Lia ever done that they deserved to be turned into shadows?

So many questions are left unanswered, and he’s nothing but a shaking mess. Usually he shook from anger, though in the face of death, fear clasped around his throat, threatening to choke him.

“All you ever ask for is forgiveness. Maybe if you done right by me for once in your useless life, you would not have to ask for it, Tiefling.” Lorroakan sneers, hovering over him.

“Forgive me, Master.” He repeats, voice rasping.

The staff drags across the ground as he circles him. “There you are again! Forgive me this, forgive me that…you disgust me, do you know that? I don’t know why I decided to take you on as my apprentice.”

His tongue is useless as he tries to come up with a reason that he’s good enough. His spells are incredible, he knows that deep in his heart, but he needs training to perfect them. He hasn’t learned a damn thing yet because of these punishments.

The realization hits him like a falling boulder, making his ears ring. Lorroakan is never going to teach him anything. He’s only here to be a plaything. Someone he can beat to make himself feel superior, more powerful.

He’s been a fool, and he barely hears the “let’s try this again” from his teacher.

He cries out when the weave forcibly enters his mind, a splitting headache tearing through him that renders him speechless again. His master is not even trying to hide that he’s searching for something to leech onto. A cold chill rushes through him as he pins down a thought, heart nearly stopping.

There it was, a nightmare he could not hide as it was still fresh in his mind. Lorroakan, dead on the ground with his throat torn open.

Rolan is paralyzed, and he does not see the brief fear that flashes across Lorroakan’s face when he sees the image of his torn apart self.

“How dare you.”

He frantically crawls back, breathing harsh with his panic. “Master, I’m sorry-“

“How DARE you think of me in this way?! Ungrateful, pitiful bastard, you have learned nothing!”

The staff is being raised once more, and the weave unintentionally crackles around Rolan’s hands. “Master-!”

“I have wasted my time with you. I will think twice before gaining an apprentice again."

Lorroakan swings his staff, a grin on his face. He has every intent to kill him here with the way he aims for Rolan's temple. Without thinking, Rolan raises both his shaking hands to block it with a shield, but his manipulation of the weave senses his true intent. Electricity hums around his hands and-

Die.

There's a loud crack, and he hears the staff drop after a moment. Something wet coat parts of his face and hands. When the pain never comes, he slowly opens his eyes.

Blood. It coats his body and the floor. It's everywhere.

He steadies himself back to sitting on his feet, and there was his master, a gaping hole in his chest and choking on air.

Finally, Rolan’s body has stopped trembling.

(Next Part)

[conellu]

My Heart’s A Rabid Dog Trying To Put It’s Teeth In You

Yoshikage Kira x Reader

Briefly mentioned: Koichi/Reader (platonic), Rohan/Reader (platonic/romantic)

Canon Divergent AU

Soulmate AU

Also Posted Here

You didn't hate him, you couldn't hate him, he was your soulmate after all. Whatever you did to deserve such a vile soulmate in a past life, you decided, had to be absolutely despicable.

You hated him.

You hated him.

You hated him.

You repeated the sentence in your head over and over again as you watched him loom closer, eyes fixed sharp on you in a way that made you regrettably feel warm. You didn't hate him, you couldn't hate him, he was your soulmate after all. Whatever you did to deserve such a vile soulmate in a past life, you decided, had to be absolutely despicable. He wore a warm, faint smile as he gently grasped your hands and pressed a gentle kiss against your cheek. Your stomach erupted into butterflies despite your anger towards the gesture, face blushing as though you were kissed by someone who wasn't a monster.

He hummed as he collected the dishes, glasses, and silverware, content with his life while you sat in anger and disgust. Your body screamed at you to join him, to be as close to him as possible at all times, he was your soulmate after all. Your stand had made occasional appearances tonight, as per usual, as your soul did not care that the man you were fated to be with was a monster - someone who destroyed countless families and lives for his own selfish gain. Your stand mingled with Killer Queen, evaporating into nothing every time you got a hold of yourself.

You stared daggers into the back of his head as though by spite alone he would die and you could leave, no longer bonded to him. It would be a lonely life, your soul would call out for his until your own death, leaving you to cry and whine at night. But, you thought, that would be a more tolerable life than the one you were living now. Unfortunately, soulmates could not hurt each other. This was the only reason Yoshikage Kira had let you live. Part of you wishes he coduld have killed you, wishes he made your body explode. Maybe you could join Reimi after your death and you could help again, you could fulfill what you wanted to do before meeting his eyes.  You could apologize to her and everyone that you got stuck with the one soulmate you wished you never had.

"Now, now dear..." He started, tone edging on parental as though you were just a child and he had to chastise you. "I made sure our dinner was your favorite. Are you upset because I am to find a new girlfriend tonight?" His stupid smirk was audible, fueling your disgust and hatred for the man. "Are you jealous?" He asked, turning towards you.  he leaned against the sink as he took in your facial expressions, revealing nothing but spite and hatred for him.  He supposed it couldn’t be helped, after all you did have to witness Sheer Heart Attack render Jotaro nearly dead (you thought at the time he was dead, Kira correcting you during one of your many breakdowns) and him repeatedly slam Koichi’s head into the ground.  Even though that had been a couple months ago by now and he had made his own progress as accepting you as his fated one.

The sudden eye contact made your heart skip a beat, regardless of your own hate for the man your soul ached for him. Of course you were jealous, deep within you, you craved to be his only. The feeling made you sick to your stomach and he knew it. He knew that despite your utter, deep hatred for him that you loved him.  Despite him being a prick, seeming to get enjoyment out of toying with you, he didn’t enjoy the sitation at hand. You didn't have a choice and, to be frank, neither did he.

He wasn't extremely pleased with the situation either, anxiety and anger had pooled in him soon after he met your eyes. His world burst into color and he knew he was screwed. Soulmates cannot hurt each other, so he was unable to use Killer Queen on you. Even the idea made him feel upset, despite his initial want to make your existence disappear. Living each and every day with an empty pit in his stomach, his being calling out for you in a pitiful attempt to bring you back, did not sound very pleasing to him. In spite of it all, his anxiety and anger disappeared rather smoothly. When he strung you along to his house, your body light in his arms, he assessed the situation fully. He was, in a perverted way, living the life that many wanted. Few people connected with their soulmates at his age, not to say that 33 was old but most of his peers had long since met theirs well before their 30s.  He had gave up hope around the time he hit 27 of finding his soulmate, perhaps he already killed them before realizing what he had done or they died in some other situation. But to meet your soulmate and immediately be able to live with them?  That was unheard of, regardless of the draw that two fated lovers feel towards each other there were common practices they would have to go through before living together typically.

Life at home was a sadistic imitation of a domestic life, you stayed in the house and made sure everything was clean, put away, and ready for him while he worked. He would come home to a clean house and to you, his dear soulmate. He would give you a kiss on the cheek before going to work and upon coming home, your stands would greet each other as though they had been apart for longer than a few hours. You would ask him how work was, inform him of what was for dinner (unless, of course, he had to get a new girlfriend, then he would fix dinner for you), and sit in relative silence until bedtime. Your nighttime routines entangled each other with ease, of course you didn't have much to do given the fact you were away from home and your belongings so you had little choice but to bend to his routine. While you two did sleep in the same bed, you curled up under your own set of blankets as far away from him as possible. Without fail, you would wake up clutching onto him and before you were able to process that you were, in fact, disgusted with your soulmate you would nuzzle into his neck and inhale his scent, smile against him and plant soft, barely there kisses. To be honest, the mornings had become Kira's favorite time of day rather quickly. Before he knew it, he considered it part of his routine and looked forward to it subconsciously. Before he could reciprocate, or even tighten his arms around your form in a burst of extreme pleasure to his soul, you would yank yourself away and get up, starting on the day's routine as he lay and watch you for a few seconds.

You also were not a bad sight, before your eyes connected he had thought your form was cute, even if you were just a roadblock in his way, though he had since chalked this up to his soul knowing you were fated to be before he knew it. Your hands were nothing amazing, had it not been for you two being fated he likely would not have gave them a second glace. Overall, Kira thought as he observed your cheeks start to darken with a blush at the eye contact and softening of his feature, it was as close to a perfect, quiet life he had ever experienced and he was certain that soon enough you would stop. You would give into what you soul craved, you would accept that you and him were fated to be together, fated to protect each other and take care of one another. You would, in time, complete the final step to his ideal quiet life, giving in to your urge to dote on him.  It was not simple wishful thinking on his part, nor was it delusion.  Soulmates would always end up warming up to each other if there was any animosity, there were a few books released by couples who experienced a hard time accepting each other at first before they realized there was no use in fighting fate.

"As if," you said, looking away from the man. You could feel your cheeks burn bright as his expression softening as he looked at you, the urge to stand up and peck his cheek and smile at him nearly winning you over. "You disgust me, Yoshikage Kira." Your eyes focused on a flower pot as you chewed at your bottom lip, you could feel him still staring at you and it made your cheeks burn even hotter as embarrassment flooded over you.  You were certain he loved toying with you more than he loved nearly anything else.  It would be a lie to say that hearing his full name grace your lips didn't start a fire in him, a mix of arousal and anger burying itself deep within him. Your whines for him, whimpers of his name, replayed in his head without a second thought.

You two have had sex before, of course you had. You were soulmates, after all, and in close proximity often enough that sometimes you had to satiate yourself. It would never take long for either of you to cum, your fingers lazily in his mouth as he pounded into you with a grip on your throat. You would clinch around him soon after he would slip in, your slick pooling in your panties before he so much as got near you and either of you even initiated sex. His orgasm would come soon after, suckling and licking at your digits in his mouth while your other hand lay against his cheek in a show of absolute affection, absolute adoration. After having sex you would cry, he would leave the room to take a shower as your sat on the bed in disbelief at yourself. Sometimes you would throw up, so disgusted with yourself that you would be late getting into bed. Kira didn't reprimand you on those nights for straying from routine, allowing you to have time to yourself to digest what you did, things you said, your soft touches against his skin as though you loved him as much as you would proclaim at the height of your orgasm. Sometimes he would fall asleep before you returned, other times he would lay awake and wait on you despite his best efforts to fall asleep. You would come to bed, shaky and exhausted, falling asleep soon after pulling your blankets tight around you as though you would disappear if you could squeeze them around you right enough. The sight was enough to make his chest clinch even before he had fully accepted your combined fate, his body demanding that he comfort your sleeping form in some way. He would sigh and throw an arm over you, pulling you closer to him and burying his nose against your hair.  The first time he did this, it felt as though his body was acting on its own accord as he thought your behavior was annoying, but after he felt you relax against him in your sleep he did not want to let go.  His body wanted to protect you from whatever it was that was causing you distress even when that thing was him.

You would think about they would think, what would they say. You could see their faces clearly, disgusted with you. You could practically head their exclamations of disgust, of hatred, of betrayal towards you. Not just for being so foolish as to allow Kira Yoshikage to be so close to you, not just for you being too pathetic to get help (not that you could, your entire being was dedicated to keeping him safe and his being was dedicated to keeping you safe.  You had, on multiple occasions, picked up the phone to call someone to beg them to help you but you could not make your fingers move to dial), but for saying that you love him. That you love the monster that took away so many lives before you, that continued to take away lives as you lived together, that took away Reimi's life. You would sit hunched over a trash can while Kira took a shower and throw up until your throat burnt. If he exited the shower before you were finished admonishing yourself for a sin you were fated to commit, you would hurry behind him into the bathroom, head down and eyes filled with tears that dropped to the floor below you. You would stare at yourself in the mirror until you could no longer recognize your reflection as a face and saw it as just a collection of mishpas, misdeeds, mistakes that lead you to having Yoshikage as a soulmate. You would apologize out loud to your friends, beg their forgiveness and plead with them. You knew they couldn't hear you, of course, you knew the only being that could hear you besides yourself was Yoshikage who was sitting on the bed, warm glass of milk in hand and stealing glances towards the bathroom. He wouldn't say anything, what could he say that you didn't already tell yourself.  Speaking up in this moment would likely result in you becoming even more broken as your inner battle to run to him, to accept his words and touches, would be even harder.  Despite his own distain for the situation intially, he had grown to enjoy it when it was running more smoothly.

"Is that so, my dear?" Kira spoke lowly, taking his place back at the table across from you. You couldn't bare to look at him, knowing that if he held the same soft expression so close to you that you might slip up, you might allow yourself to indulge in the smallest affection toward the man.

Truthfully, you hadn't found the man unattractive physically. He was conventionally attractive, his voice like honey in your ears when he first talk before the battle began which caused an automatic shiver to run up your spine (which was, thankfully, undetected by the frantic Koichi because you couldn't dare have him even slightly pick up on the slight waver that graced your stance before you turned to face Yoshikage). Had he been someone different you would have unabashedly ask him to talk about anything and everything, his voice swimming around you and bringing you comfort despite the venomous words he spouted towards your short friend.

The memory of your eyes meeting kept you up some nights, still feeling like some unending nightmare. You watched as Koichi was beat within a centimeter of his life, stand unable to effect the adult man as he pummeled your younger friend. The scent of blood barraged your nose as you cried out, begging Koichi to get up, begging Kira to stop, begging Jotaro to get up, begging for anything to change. When he directed his eyes towards you snarling at your whimpering and whining and crying, time felt as though it stood still. The world exploded with color and your mouth was slightly agape as your eyes widened. His face changed in a similar way, snarl disapating into a confused stare with eyes staying transfixed on yours. You shook your head no in absolute disbelief, this had to be a nightmare. You were frozen with fear as he came closer to you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and a sharp frown. Were you going to die? Have the shit beat out of you? Were you going to explode as Shigekiyo had? Could he even hurt you? You had heard that soulmates are supposed to protect each other, but as Killer Queen loomed over his shoulder- it's eyes boring holes into your own stand, you thought that maybe that was just some lie. You should have ran, should have ran and ran and ran away until you found Josuke and Okuyasu, telling them the grim reality of everything that just transpired. But you stayed, as still as a mouse that had gave up a chase. His hand gripped your arm forcefully, right enough for you to whimper and draw your eyes away from his, down to your arm. He jerked you up easily, your legs automatically straighting to catch yourself from stumbling. You didn't say anything and neither did he as you both seemed to consider your next move, to consider each other's next move. He moved with you roughly before you could pull away, dragging you from the sight with an angry sigh and slight glance down at you. "I can't hurt you," he said angerly, "so you have to come with me."

His words made your brain go into overdrive, suddenly all to aware of what he meant, of his grasp on you, of the fact you were fated to be together. You yanked away from him, breath shaky as you tried to fight back the urge to cry and scream and collapse into an anxiety attack. He had his blood, Koichi's, on him. A fact that made your actions even more feverish in an attempt to break away from his grasp. "No." You said, barely above a whisper. No to what exactly, you were not sure. No to the entire situation was what you decided on upon replaying the memory in your head. No to Jotaro seemingly dead, no to seeing your friend being beat and left in a heap on the ground, no to realizing how bad your soul wanted to grab onto Kira and wanted to never let go, no to realizing that you failed and that you could never win. Even if you had been separated, your body would know rest until you gave in. Even if Josuke and Okuyasu had got there before that you would have betrayed them without intending to.  Your stand would have made its life goal to protect your fated lover, acting without your input and acting purely on what your soul wanted.

His grasp didn't falter as he walked with you, eyes going between the road ahead and down at your form. Your head was down, tears threatening to spill over as your hand that wasn't connected to the arm he had a grasp on grabbed tightly onto your shirt. Your knuckles ached with how tight you grasped your fabric, but you couldnt let it go, knowing that if you did your hand would reach out and over to him. He led you to his house without too much of a fight on your end, your stand would disobey any command that you struggled out through quivering lips and your body so tired with today's events.  To say annoyance radiated off of his body would have been an understatement, he was furious at how today went.

You mind raced as you realized you wouldnt be going home, you wouldn’t be allowed the pleasure of gathering your belongings.  You couldn’t collect the many photograpghs that adorned your wall of your friends.  You had considered Rohan your unofficial soulmate, a title he sneered at but appreciated all the same, despite his demeanor towards you, you two connected on a level you hadn't done with anyone before. You never sent a title on what you were, if you were anything more than just friends or something more, but you enjoyed his company (and he would never admit but he felt the same). But the heat that rushed towards your face, butterflies that blew up in your stomach, and the urges you felt towards to serial killer of Morioh blew it out of the water as soon as your eyes met again as he led you into his house and sat at the table.  This was the first time throw up raced towards your throat, you felt like a lovesick puppy just in his presence and he viseably relaxed despite the thoughts racing through his head.

He hated to admit it and would never vocalize it out loud, even after he came to terms with his fated life partner, but in that moment he wanted to kiss you. His soul ached to cradle you as your blood shot eyes looked up at him, despite knowing that he himself was the cause for your distress. Finding your soulmate is supposed to be a joyous occasion, both sides experiencing intense euphoria and elation at the feeling but both of you were experiencing none of that. You looked younger than him, you had to be younger than him of course if you were so close to Koichi that you cried for him as though he was your own brother.  He would later ask how old you are, a question you answered while finishing dinner one night after he had a shift at work.  He didn’t understand why he would have you as a soulmate, but with the day he was having before your eyes met, he wasn’t shocked that one of the bratty sleuthers was his beloved.

Kira jars you out of your memories with a "hm?" as he reaches across the table to gently hold your hands. He holds them as they you are a porcelain doll and will shatter, rubbing his thumbs ever so softly across your knuckles. For a second your body relaxed, your soul at ease at your fated lover's affection, you nearly smiled before you pulled them away.  He held a small grin on his face, today had been the most you’ve let your facade drop and he figured it wouldn’t be long until you couldn’t muster it anymore.  You would greet him happily at the door instead of looking away, a genuine interest in how his day went (though nearly every day was the exact same, you would be excited to hear regardless), you would allow yourself to touch him, your soft hands caressing his face so lovingly.

"Yes." You say, arms now folded across your chest as you tried to stare him down. The action doesn't phase him and it doesn't work on your end, the eye contact making you feel a mix of emotions. He stands up and you rise from your seat as well following him as he goes to the door, an action you do of your own accord. You look up at him, breath getting stuck in your throat as you realize he's leaving and will be coming back with a pair of dismembered hands and he'll keep them until they start to stink. You tell yourself this is why you hate it when he leaves on nights like this and not that it's because you will miss his presence. He leans down, pressing a kiss against your lips and holds your shoulders as he looks at you. For a moment, your facade drops. Your hands hold his face so gently, so sweetly, so perfectly that has he not required a new girlfriend he would have leaned into greedily, taking advantage of your mask falling off. Your eyes soften and you press your own chaste kiss against his lips.  Your eyes widen just like they did the first time you made eye contact with him, shocked at your own movements as though they were controlled.

"I love you," he says, pulling away from your touch, "I'll be back before bedtime." And he opens the door and leaves before you could respond with anything. Your fingers gently touch your lips as you watch him leave.  You know you should go get a shower, but you cannot move.  His shadowy figure disappears as he goes on the prowl for a new victim leaving you fully alone with your thoughts.  You forced your legs to move to the bathroom, trying to focus on one thought at a time but it was impossible.  Your thought swarmed with him, with your kiss, with how placid his appearance looked as your thumb caressed his cheek despite what he intended to do after he left, with anger and disgust towards yourself and towards him.  

[theswaggyrat]

Knotted Strings

Joel Miller x F! Reader // The Last Of Us cw ~ spoilers // angst // comfort // unedited tw ~ vulgar language // mentions of death plot - he was angry with you. then you were angry with him, and he was not good at communication.

Ellie grasped your hand in hers as you entered the town in which Bill lived. You had fumbled earlier, mumbling something about forgetting where he set his traps. It had been years since your last visit, and albeit Joel was generous enough to guide you around each trap, the nausea in your gut had not left.

You could see the ache in Joel's shoulders with every step, the crinkle in his eyes at the doubt coursing through his veins. There had been nothing the two of you could do when Tess got bit; and maybe that was the cause of the ill in your stomach. Yet it was so recent, you could hardly believe Joel was still pushing through. His loyalty for the woman went farther than you believed his hardened heart could ever go.

Ellie's fingers were soft from her time hiding with the Fireflies. Ellie's soul was soft from her time with the Fireflies. Joel, in a state of anger and grief, directed all of his newfound emotions upon the girl. You shunned him fairly quickly, to which he waved you off with a scoff and the usual shake of his head. The reaction was normal — you knew he wasn't to blame — but the girl was simply trying her best to live alongside them. She wasn't to blame either.

And acknowledging that fueled Joel's anger.

At first, you had presumed any anger Joel had towards you would soon vanish — you thought he was upset that you felt differently than him. Unfortunately, each misplaced step and stumble you made riled him up enough to curse you out multiple times. It was confusing before, but now infuriating as you recovered from almost tripping over a small rock.

"That could've gotten us killed," he hissed, gripping the handle of his gun tight enough to strain his fingers. "How many times do I gotta tell you, woman? Watch your step."

"Watch your tone," you grumbled, clenching your jaw as you pressed forth. From beside you, Ellie quieted, kicking at loose pebbles in the ground. They skittered off and cracked into pieces.

Joel grit his teeth together, slowing his walk and turning around to face you. "Am I the only one who wants to get us there alive?" He asked, eyes alit with spite, "or are you going to put on your big girl pants and help?"

Your fingers fell from Ellie's and you cocked your head at the man, completely and utterly disgusted by the word's that had fallen from his lips. "Excuse me?" A laugh erupted from your throat, echoing throughout the surrounding alleyways. "And who the fuck gave you the right to talk to me that way? You don't think I'm trying my hardest to get us to safety?" You questioned. Being beneath his hardened gaze left you uneasy. "It isn't our fault Tess-"

"Yo!" Ellie interrupted, "can we, um, pick this up later?" Her voice fell meek as angered eyes darted to

her figure. If not for her, you might have been doomed. A chorus of mangled screams sounded from a few miles behind. "You guys can argue like kids after, when we're alive."

Joel's eyes flit to you once more before he grunted and turned back around. "Let's go."

Finally, a down moment came where you could rest your head and soothe your uneased nerves. Ellie was peering into her bag at a stack of comics she must've stolen from Bill. On the other hand, Joel was discussing their problem with Bill. You wondered if he said anything about Tess's death.

Bill was not thrilled to lead you on this quest for a car battery, and was more so reluctant to allow you into his home — or base, whatever he wanted to call it.

Eventually, Joel shuffled away from Bill, hands stuffed into his jean pockets.

"We go now. We're going deep into town, so don't do anything careless," Bill stated bitterly. "And then you leave and you do not touch any of my things." His eyes drifted toward Ellie with his last statement, who huffed and jumped to her feet.

"Yeah, yeah. Got it."

Bill folded his arms over his armored chest and turned away. "Good."

You pressed your palms into the cool pavement and stood up. Wind hollered through the cracks in the old base, its whistle sending chills up your spine. Joel clenched his jaw before ambling over to you as you dusted yourself off. He took a glimpse at Bill and Ellie; the girl was off in the corner, toying with Bill's equipment, whilst the man himself was grumbling something furious about them as if they couldn't hear him.

"You good?" Joel asked, his voice quiet against the wind. You shrugged your shoulders, averting your eyes off to some pile of hoarded junk. His lips parted to sigh and the man grumbled, "come on, y/n. Don't be like this."

"Oh," you spoke, "so I don't get to be like this. But you can." Your soles scraped against the ground as you shifted a step away from Joel. "I don't get what your problem is. I know you've got an attitude-"

"y/n," he warned.

"-but something's up," you whispered, taking a more subtle approach to the issue as to not rile him. "If it's Tess, you've got to let it go. But if it's something else, please just tell me."

Your beg struck something inside Joel, his mouth twitching down painfully. His tattered plaid shirt reflected the dampened look in his iridescent orbs. Joel's eyebrows synched curtly, but then his eyes softened. "We can't talk about it here." Your eyes found his in a peaceful gaze. "We can't."

You nodded accordingly before responding, "then let's talk about it somewhere else."

Joel sat on an old musty couch, colored a dusty navy blue. It's furnishing had been scraped and ripped apart from it's days of abandonment. He patted the space beside him, to which you reluctantly accepted and plopped down. A loose spring popped up by your side, aiding you with assurance of a fortunate fortune.

"Do you..." Joel drawled, fixing his hands atop his lap. They were calloused with the work of time, bruised and beaten. The man searched for his next words expectantly, as if they'd just appear out of thin air. He was no good at communication, but he did not want to lose you. Not like he lost Sarah; not like Tess; and certainly not like Tommy.

"Joel," you called. His eyes darted to your own, a plea hidden within those entrancing orbs. "No one is judging you. It's me — you know me. Just say it."

He did know you.

"D'ya ever get scared you'll lose someone? So much so that you might else well be losing them anyway?" He murmered. It's meaning was slow at first, but eventually realization smacked you stark in the face. Joel noticed in the way your cheekbones sunk that you had gotten the message. He swallowed thickly.

Your hands found his in a silent connection. "I think 's just you," you teased quietly, "you suck at communication." The man grunted something rough before turning away from you, earning him your bubbly laugh.

"I get it." The pad of your thumb brushed against his chafed knuckles and you squeezed. "Unfortunately, I don't plan on going anywhere," you whispered solemnly. Joel returned his gaze, his lips crinkling up into a small smile.

"You gotta swear it."

"Oh, come on, Joel."

He offered you a pointed look. "Do it."

The couch squeaked as your weight shifted above it. "I swear it, Joel! I swear it."

Those soft orbs of his came circling back, encasing you within it's trance; telling you, "I love you", and you received the message well enough.

"Mmh, I get it," you sighed, "now you best get up and get to it before your puppy eyes start something you won't be able to stop."

He chuckled briefly and gave your shoulder a harsh pat. "Next time."

[springfallendeer]

Genetic Harvest (Transformers Prime AU)

So I've got an AU (its both a FNAF:SB AU and a Transformers AU) that borrows a number of details from Transformers Prime but doesn't exactly follow a lot of the lore. To keep this simple: Contains canon (Cybertronian) characters, multiple OCs, and includes FNAF characters (mostly fnaf OCs). Cybertronians have taken over earth and nearly drove the human race to extinction as a result of their war. Energon no longer exists as a natural resource due to being over-harvested (and as a result of both Primus and Unicorn being dead), so the race must find alternative means of obtaining fuel.

This fic somewhat explores that concept. But its mostly about Shockwave killing people.

So TW for murder, torture, butchering, and what is best compared to as "bloodletting".

Heavy footsteps reverberate loudly through the cluttered space as the Cybertronian scientist approaches his freshly acquired test subject.

A lone, crimson eye stares onward. Unblinking and unwavering. Completely devoid of anything akin to emotion.

No curiosity. No anger. No spite. Nothing. The owner of the eye simply perceives his environment while taking countless mental notes on all that he sees.

Be it the subtle twitch of the Autobot warrior’s limbs as she tests the foundation of her restraints, to the more obvious squinting of her eyes as she sneers defiantly in his direction.

“Shockwave.” The captive acknowledges him by name.

Her voice is a mixture of pure disgust, and raw defiance. Her tone rich and obvious with hate.

The hate that an Autobot has for a Decepticon.

The hate that an empathetic being has for a creature completely devoid of such useless capabilities.

The hate that a captive has for their captor.

The potential sources of her disdain for him are as limitless as they are obvious.

“Elita-One.” The scientist acknowledges his prisoner in turn.

Unlike her, his voice is completely monotone. It lacks any semblance of emotion. There is no hate. No disgust. No arrogance, or even humor. Her name simply sounds from his voice-box as if pre-recorded by some sort of soulless AI program. Which only makes her sneer at him more obviously as she gives her restraints a more dramatic yank.

Unfortunately for her, the restraints hold firm.

Unless she can muster the strength to destroy them, she will be completely at the mercy of the Decepticon scientist; who she knows all to well to be incapable of showing mercy.

His every action is fueled completely by something that no other Cybertronian can strictly adhere to.

Logic.

Whether she begs him or not, whatever torture that he has in plan for her will not be put on hold unless there is a logical reason for him to do so. Such as keeping her alive for a longer period of time, to give him a greater chance of forcing her to reveal her secrets.

Secrets that she had absolutely no intention of revealing.

“Do your worst.” She states, directly challenging him through her words and tone as she lay helplessly strapped to the exam table.

“I won’t tell you anything.” She adds, further challenging him through her defiance.

“I have no need for information.” Shockwave simply replies as he makes his way further into the room. He pauses right in front of her, and goes silent for a moment to observe her reaction to his statement. “... You have been brought here to serve a greater purpose. One that will go on to benefit all of Cybertronian kind, should my experiments conclude as desired.” He states, before turning away.

His voice remains emotionless. His movements methodical and even.

There is no rush in anything that he does. Because he has time.

“Whatever it is you’re planning, I’ll never help you.” Elita-One responds in turn.

If she is not here to be tortured, then it would only follow that she is here to be of use. Perhaps to act as bait to lure out Optimus. Or maybe she is to be given some sort of proposition in hopes of buying her compliance.

She does not know. Nor does she care.

There isn’t a chance that she’ll submit to whatever plans this monster has in store for her.

“While your compliance would be appreciated, I do not require it.” Shockwave replies.

He makes his way over to his control panel. The central piece of equipment used to control everything present in his lab, as well as to communicate with the primary Decepticon base.

A few smooth strokes of his fingers and the otherwise dark lab bursts to life with light, revealing numerous additional prisoners.

Human prisoners. Six of them in total. They’re strung up by their wrists, assuring that their bodies dangle helplessly in the air.

All of them are women of a similar appearance. Everything from height, to weight, to physical body coloration is as close to identical as physically possible for completely unrelated humans.

Every one of them is conscious. They appear to be unharmed. Their silence has been assured through the use metal gags, which covers almost the entirety of the lower face while leaving the nostrils exposed. This allows them to breathe, while preventing them from being able to produce many audible sounds.

Regardless of their positive physical states, every one of these human captives are crying. Their cheeks are visibly damp and their eyes are visibly bloodshot from distress.

The Autobot begins to squirm more violently in her restraints.

Humans should not be here. They should not be used as pawns in whatever plans that the Decepticons had.

It was of the utmost importance that she escape so that she could disarm Shockwave and get his captives to safety.

“Let them go!” She demands, though deep down she knows that her protests are in vain.

“Impossible. They too are required in order for this experiment to be carried out.” Shockwave replies. He does not look at her. His focus is entirely on the digital keyboard placed in front of him.

He is imputing some sort of command prompt. One that, once entered, causes a set of large doors to open right behind the strung up human captives.

Once the doors are opened, a small room is revealed. One that likely has some sort of horrible purpose designated to it. Not that that purpose is obvious by looks alone.

With the room now accessible, Shockwave steps away from his control panel to approach his rack of prisoners. He calmly picks it up by its primary support structure, then brings it into the freshly opened room.

The humans are brought into the room right along with it. Their bodies sway helplessly from the momentum of being moved.

Shockwave removes their gags once they have been relocated. He tosses them into a conveniently placed crate that rests just outside of the smaller room. He then walks away from them as calmly as he approached.

“Leave them alone, Shockwave!” Elita-One demands as she continues to yank violently as her restraints.

The cuffs continue to hold firm.

They must have been reinforced with the purpose of holding far stronger opponents. She is completely incapable of breaking free.

“Their presence is required in order for this experiment to be carried out.” Shockwave repeats as he makes his way back over to his control panel, where he begins to put in another set of commands.

A glass barrier drops, separating the main room from the small room which contains the humans.

“Shockwave, if you hurt them, I swear to Primus-” The Autobot begins to utter a threat, only to go completely silent as she watches a series of robotic limbs drop from down from the upper area of the small room.

The majority of these limbs are armed with weapons. Blades. Perfectly suited for cutting into and tearing apart frail human flesh.

Behind the glass, the captives begin to scream, but no sound can be heard.

“Their pain will be short lived.” Shockwave states. He turns to watch as his machine carries out its horrific purpose.

Elita-One is also forced to watch. Though she watches in abject horror, whereas the Scientist observes... Well, without any emotion, as to be expected. He observes purely for the sake of assuring that his equipment is running appropriately.

Sharp blades pierce helpless flesh and slice completely downwards. The speed at which they move means that the first cut does not immediately bleed. So there are a few seconds after the injury is inflicted where all appears to be just fine.

But this is merely an illusion.

A horrible, gut wrenching illusion.

“Stop this!” Eltia-One pleas in shock and disbelief. Her voice cracks as easily as her resolve, once faced with the reality of what the Scientist means to do.

Her pathetic request is met with silence as Shockwave simply continues to watch the machine carry out its program.

He will not stop his experiment now that he has started it. Mercy is not required. Just the opposite. He must be ruthless in order to achieve his goals, regardless of who must suffer in order for those goals to be reached.

Both Decepticon and Autobot watch as the machine effortlessly disembowels the humans.

With the torso cut open, the pull of gravity causes thick ropes of intestines to spill out into the open air.

Blood pours from the wounds and the humans continue to scream behind the soundproof barrier.

Their pain is obvious on their faces. As is their fear, and their desperation for salvation.

Metal limbs grasp the intestines and pull straight downward. Then they release the bloody masses in order to reach upwards into the stomach cavity, allowing gravity to pull out what has already been loosened while additional organs are yanked free of their confinement.

One of the humans goes completely still before her organs can be completely removed. Most of the others lose mobility by the time their abdomens have been completely emptied of their digestive organs.

“Why are you doing this?!” Eltia shouts as she watches the humans quickly die of their injuries.

Injuries that definitely would have killed them, even if she had managed to escape her restraints and break into the room before the machine could finish scooping out their insides.

“The fewer contaminants, the better. The human digestive tract is full of unwanted waste materials, which are best disposed of prior to the liquification process.” Shockwave states.

He then turns away to look at Elita, who forces herself to look him in the eye.

It was either look at him, or watch as the machine goes on to scalp the human victims and spray them down with some sort of a corrosive acid.

“Likewise, human hair and skin are covered with contaminants, which must be removed in order to make liquification more efficient.” He explains, fully aware of what is happening just beyond his field of view.

He knows everything that the machine will do. After all, he is the one who programmed the machine to do what it is doing.

“I mean why did you kill them?! How does this benefit you in any way?!” Elita spits at him in turn.

She doesn’t want to know why these people have been killed the way that they have. She wants to know why they needed to be killed at all.

There must be a reason.

This is Shockwave. There has to be a reason for him to do what he’s just done.

If it had been Starscream or virtually any other Decepticon, she would know that their deaths were only meant to torture her. But Shockwave was incapable of such targeted malice.

It was a waste of time and resources to build an elaborate human killing machine just so that he could emotionally torture any Autobots that he happened to capture. So there had to be a logical reason behind his actions. One that could be explained, regardless of the emotional responses that the explanation might trigger.

“I require human genetic material.” Shockwave states, before he turns away so that he can resume watching his machine; which is now cutting the hairless, skinless bodies into more manageable pieces. “That response surely only gives you more questions.” He comments, rightly assuming that Elita-One will next question why he even needs to harvest genetic material from humans. “With natural Energon being a resource that has been rendered virtually extinct, we have all been forced to turn to alternative methods in order to attain vital fuel. As you know, the Autobots have devised a means of producing an artificial Energon substitute.” He states, now obviously intent on offering a full explanation behind what he was doing. “... As you will also know, your artificial Energon is of very poor quality. It provides little energy, and the energy provides does not last long. It is not suitable as a long term energy source.” He explains.

As he does, he then turns back to Elita while he points towards what remains of his human victims.

“After a lot of trial and error, we Decepticons have also devised a means of Energon production. One which appears to be more efficient, though the quality is of equal merit.” He states, only to be swiftly cut off by his captive.

“Get to the point you rusty pile of scrap!” Elita practically hisses as she struggles to keep her eyes locked on Shockwave. Its hard not to look at what is happening just behind him. She can still see the machine cutting apart the human remains thanks to her peripheral vision. And the sight is far from pleasant.

“... Very well.” Shockwave replies as he turns to observe his machine once more. “We have discovered a means of creating Cybertronian-Human hybrids. By liquifying fresh human specimens, various genetic compounds can be extracted and separated by type. We can then combine these compounds with Cybertronian CNA and store it inside of specially designed gestation pods. If all goes accordingly, the end result is a living hybrid.” He explains. As he does, he points towards the human remains, which have been piled up into multiple metal storage bins; which were apparently placed down by the machine. “These hybrids consume organic matter and convert it into Energon, which we are able to harvest for ourselves.” He adds, concluding his explanation before turning around so that he can fully face Elita-One; who stares at him with an expression that could only be described as fear and realization.

The explanation has made it clear why Shockwave needed to kill the humans. But that also explains why she has been captured. It explains what he meant when he stated that she had not been captured in order to be tortured for information.

She is no fool. She can read between the lines to understand the situation that she is in.

“Thus far, we have only produced one viable Hybrid. While its existence is a success, it is a flawed specimen. I have taken the data from its creation into account, and have improved upon the process. If all goes well, this experiment will produce a new and better specimen. And for that, I require fresh genetic material. If my hypothesis proves correct, then the ideal ratio for hybrid creation is exactly six human donors, and one Cybertronian donor.” Shockwave explains.

He then begins to approach the restrained Autobot, who is now incapable of struggling due to a mixture of shock and fear.

“Elita-One. Let it be known that your death will not be in vain. If this experiment goes according to plan, then you will have unlocked the means of saving all of Cybertronian kind, regardless of political affiliation.” Shockwave states, seemingly attempting to comfort the Autobot as he makes it clear that he intends to kill her in order to harvest the needed material for his experiment.

“You’re a monster!...” Elita replies, though her voice is quiet, and almost submissive in a way. The reality is that she is simply at a loss for words.

“From a purely emotional perspective, most definitely.” Shockwave replies as he makes his way around the exam table in order to retrieve the tools needed to dispatch his captive without causing extensive damage to her body. “But logic defies emotion.” He states, picking up what could only be described as a massive needle. One which he swiftly drives into her abdomen. Not in a stabbing motion. But almost angular to her metallic skin.

He then connects a hose to the end of the needle.

“What I am doing could be described as a necessary evil. I am assuring the survival of our race, while minimalizing the destruction that the process would bring to the humans.” He states.

Were his voice not so completely devoid of emotions, he might have sounded proud of himself.

“I hope you rot in the pit for this!...” Elita weakly replies. Not because Shockwave has broken her will, but because he has started to drain her body of the Energon needed to keep her alive.

“Perhaps I will.” Shockwave comments in turn, watching as the Autobot draws closer to death with each drop of Energon siphoned from her body. “But if my actions are judged by logic, rather than by emotions, then I am owed no such punishment. As it is, my actions will save our people. We will be required to do no more damage to the organics than is required for our on survival.” He states, watching as Elita-One gradually goes limp.

While he would have been willing to continue the debate, the Autobot is dead before the final words can even escape his voice-box. Which means that he is now free to dismantle her accordingly for the sake of extracting her CNA.

The process is much more tedious than that of harvesting humans, as he must meticulously take her body apart in order to access the soft alloys that lay hidden beneath her hardened armor. And even then, he will need to soak the harder parts of her body in a special chemical solution in order to fully extract all required genetic material.

Only then can he actually begin his experiment.

[ledaholland]

“What would you have me do?” She bellowed back at him. As she was and always had been, ever since Henrik dropped him on their doorstep like a dog without an owner, confused. You It never made enough sense to her, why such luck would only be met with disgust. Had he not been given a better life than his own as a human? Was that not what mothers and fathers were supposed to do, provide for their children, give them all that she did not have for herself. “So die, then,” she put her hands up in opposition, smacking them at her side. “Go die if this is too boring for you. I have never denied what we are. I have only done what I could to make this as comfortable for you and for Eve. Desecrating whole towns, serial killings all these things endanger us, they put you at risk.”

Even Eve received her eternal life with much better reception, though materialistic as it might be. She would never match the pinnacles of Gustav and his rage, not anymore. “You want me to be the answer to all of your problems then defy me at every turn.” He was petulant boy, like a natural disaster taking any life in his path. Feeding and hunting would never go away, and no one in the house save for their dhampir, could say they lived without ruthless murder under their belts. But he was different. There was a stubborn anger in him, a boredom only sated by death and destruction. This part of Leda had expired since then, and wherever she needed to kill she did so as ethically as she could manage.

For Gustav, it was a favorite sport. Irritation, provocation, pain, it all seemed the only thing to satisfy him. Even with her, it seemed a constant battle. He aimed to pull the worst parts from her, perhaps intrigued by what she might have been before. It gave him some sense of validation, she imagined, for the others to be as furious and reckless as himself. And at the current moment, such was working in his favor.

Little persuaded him to abandon his crusade. He’d always been that way, unable to forget something once he had his sights on it, determined to unnerve one in the most spiteful of ways. The human blood inside her could boil itself with her anger, fingers clasped tight and white knuckled. He seemed proud of himself, like he had gotten what he wanted. A sinister grin grew on his face like he’d just been handed a trophy. Leda felt the air shift, the space cleared in an instant, hands at each side of her face, lips pressed to her own.

She should have known this was what he wanted. An act of perversion. Even with no blood shared between the two, there was something so innately wrong with it. Her wild eyes closed at once and for moments, longer for them and quicker for most, she didn’t pull from his grasp. Something like a growl fell into his mouth before her nails pressed to his chest, turning in and drawing blood before pushing him again. “What the fuck is your problem.” Leda hissed back at him. “You’re sick..” She spat, fury fueling her body. Her face twisted in a way it didn’t before, eyes darkened and full of malice, hand reaching for the nearest object to haul at him.

“And I enslaved you?!” Leda had gone to turn her head and rid herself of the argument which served no merit to continue, no productive outcome from the last several thousand of the same - but his words were sticking and dredging forth the anger she worked so hard to maintain. To be a spiteful being was easy, made easier each second he spoke. Now her body had fully shifted to face him, nostrils flaring as her voice rose in anger. “You were a slave as a boy and what as a man? Now you have all the gifts and advantages - a new life - and you waste it on death and destruction and want to blame me, blame us.” Her eyes shifted as they glared. “You make nothing of yourself and spurn your resentment on anyone but yourself.”

He raged on, taking a chunk of the wall in all his fury, bloodied hands healing faster than the blood on them could dry. An intermission of her own opinion began as his flooded forward, screams echoing through the room and likely the halls. In true fashion of what she could only imagine real children were like, he threw everything in his arsenal at her, whatever would stick and stick in the most painful manner. The remark was sharp and as such it made her do something that perhaps was more indicative of her anger than anything else. Leda threw her head back, laughter filling her chest and then the air. “Were it that I would have asked for a son, it would not be you.”

Leda could not grow the inches it would take to meet him at eye level, removing her gaze and swatting at his shirt at some wooden debris that had flaked onto his collar. For a brief second the idea of it held a great sense of irony, the motion of tidying up what should be her son. Her hand met his neck in a single motion, thumb pressed into the curve of his adams apple, grip tight in a choke. She only wished the pain could be coupled with a loss of air, perhaps less was needed inside his head. “You can meet the sweet release of death if you seek it.”

Now she searched his eyes for the malice that remained, nostrils flaring as she looked at him with disgust. “You are your own punishment. You are your own curse. You want to hunt and kill? Go then! You’re so sure you know better, see what’s out there for you. Go out in your own and become the little creature you think you are now, scurry from place to place at night, feed off scraps in the street and see if it doesn’t suit you.” She released the pressure from her thumb but kept her hand in place, knowing retaliation would surely come soon after. “You are a spoiled little boy. You get everything in the world and you spit on it, curse me and him for a life in which you are free.” She released her hold, using the space she’d earned from grabbing his neck to maintain between them, pushing him off her with a frown. “You kill what is weak because that is all that you can kill. Your ire is right in front of you and you do nothing, because that is all that you can do.”

[missglaskin]

No but a perv reader and a perv aegon would be such a menace combo 😈 They’re just constantly fucking to the point that it’s difficult for them to make it through a whole meeting or dinner without running off to fuck. Not to mention the constant touches, looks, and even whispered dirty talk throughout the gathering. Alicent and Otto have to regret the two of you ever meeting 😂 I also love the idea of Aegon getting so pussy drunk 24/7 that you’re the one actually ruling the country because Aegon will do whatever you say as long as he gets to be between your legs. Maybe add Aemond into the mix and you basically have the throne and two Targaryen men at your beck and call so long as you keep them satisfied. Ngl you’re probably popping out kids left and right though but they’re brothers so you can’t tell whose kid is whose and it doesn’t really matter in the end. Hmm imagine Aegon eating you out as you sit the iron throne - or riding Aemond as he sits the throne because you know he’ll do literally whatever you ask once he’s fucked his cum inside you 🥴

The power that Y/N’s pussy holds 

And it’s bold of you to think that perv!Aegon and perv!reader will run off to fuck. The amount of times servants have walked on the two of them fucking. Over time, the servants stopped reacting and simply carried on with their daily tasks.

But seriously, the number of times they have been caught. Reader gripping the balcony rails as Aegon fucks her from behind. At the dinner table, the reader lies on the table; knocking over the food and silverware, with Aegon pounding into her. In the garden, the reader is on her knees sucking Aegon off. 

Even in the throne room; the reader riding Aegon as he sits on the throne. The guards must keep their eyes forward as their king will behead them if they dare to look. They also must remain stoic as they hear the loud moaning and the slapping of skin. Criston is just rethinking his life decisions. 

The power the reader holds Aegon is just astonishing. Aegon refuses to ally himself with a certain house, and all the reader has to do is spread her legs, and Aegon immediately complies. In spite of their disgust, Alicent and Otto use the reader to manipulate Aegon. 

Adding Aemond to the mix really fuels the competition between the two brothers. You are almost always overstimulated as a result. You’re not complaining, though. Aemond is much more giving than his brother. The prince doesn't mind if he’s discovered with his face between your legs.

Despite not engaging with as many sexual partners as his brother, Aemond's libido is quite high. In fact, there's so much frustration and anger bubbling inside of him; it comes to the surface in the way he fucks you. Aemond is just as pussydrunk as his brother; lifting up your dress to reveal your cunt is all the convincing he needs to do your bidding. 

Those two don’t pull out and Aegon, in particular, hates it when you take moon tea. In essence, you are popping kids out left and right. Since all the children are born with white hair and violet eyes, there’s not much room for anyone to accuse you. 

With your belly swollen, one would assume that those two men's desires would lessen, but it becomes an even more seductive sight. Aegon claims he will keep giving you children one after another as he is fond of your milk-filled breasts, sucking on your nipples at any chance. Initially hesitant, Aemond eventually gives in after some encouragement from his brother. As you never breastfeed your child, your servants wonder how you never have any leaks. You don’t have the heart to tell them.

[rosiehufflepuff]

☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓋𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒻𝓁𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇

☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️

DRACO X FEM READER !!

House : hufflepuff

Blood line : pure blood

Summary : you and draco has been friends for two years without anyone knowing however lately the secret is out , and people are shaming you about , you (a hufflepuff) is friends with the prince of the slytherin -draco Malfoy - which make him feel bad and ashamed leading to him push you away

Warning : it is little lengthy

Warning : self shame, angry! Draco, bullying, angst, TOO MUCH FLUFF, FLUFFY!DRACO

Year : fifth

Best friend ( maybe secret crush ) trope

——————————————————————————————

For two years we have been friends, two years you have been my safe place, two years , you both would meet in astronomy tower or the forbidden forest in  the night , on the weekends , hidden from the preying eyes of the other people , not cause embarrassment or disgust in fact both of you and Draco loved that this was your thing , a secret , the time for you and him only , it felt like the world was empty and no human was other than you both together and all weight that was on your shoulders would left away , you would spend time together , talking , laughing , reading , or you writing and Draco painting silently enjoying the peace you both had till one day this imaginative world , this world that was owned by you both vanished in thin air ....

A gossiper student saw both of you, resulting of the next day the entire magic craft school, to know about the friendship and it wasn’t just knowing and being silent , no it was vicious and fast like a burning fire scattering through a woodland , that it pushed the Slytherin boy over the edge of anger and spite , resulting in him scanning every inch of the school, running around threatening the students till he found the one and only lavender brown , fueled by anger , seeing nothing but red , the boy corned her in some empty class, he shoved his wand in the Gryffindor neck , if he hated Gryffindor before , it was underestimated now as he despises them with every inch of his body  .

To Draco , Gryffindor took the only opportunity for him to be in peace , to have control over his existence . They all were fortunate bustards , they were the heroes and painted him as the villain , he just wanted to be happy like them but they weren’t allowing it , to Draco they were the only genuine villains.

Nevertheless before the boy can do anything, Snape entered the class, seeing the scene in front of him, alarmed about the mix of anger, tensity and tears that crammed the room, the professor separated both of them by a spell of his wand , as he took the pale boy wand in his hand, shaming him for his doing and lack of control over his emotions with his gaze , ignoring the girl that crawled out of the class, as she thanks merlin for giving her another chance to live and probably now having the Slytherin house head as her favorite professor after this.

Of course this incident didn’t pass quietly, no, it reached Dumbledore , causing Draco to be called and putting Snape in the circumstance of defending the boy and only letting him go with losing 20 points from Slytherin and detention for two weeks , “of course albus would do that !! Any chance to push up his golden house “ draco mind filled with this belief as he raged out of the room, with heat filling his body to the Slytherin room ,all he wanted to be in his atmosphere immediately, away from all the preying gaze that he responded with glare directly making shy away in fear .

Throwing his body on the soft silky sheet of his bed , he couldn’t help but shove his head in hands , he knew!!!! he fully knew!!!!! , that the occurrence with the annoying Gryffindor girl will fuel the whole thing!! But he let his emotions out of control!!! He was so ashamed of his lack of control that he couldn't stop shaming himself till the sun rose up for the next day

His thoughts were correct ..... Merlin..... The following day, the whole school is either talking about the incident with the annoying girl or .... the second thing....... Which hurt him the most ... people were shaming y/n cause she was close to him? Draco was used to people believing terrible of him, .....truth......he wanted that to be his reputation but not that extreme ......... people were shaming her .... about how a Hufflepuff can be close with a nightmare like him .... and if she was a real Hufflepuff.........if she is going to be the first death eater from Hufflepuff.....

” Merlin... Doesn't this academy quiet ever......” draco couldn't help but whisper under his breath as he was done with this school.

Throwing himself in a seat of the slytherin ‘s eating table in the grand hall, hoping it would be quieter but Salazer........he was wrong

“ soooooooooo........ Malfoy!!!! what is with you and the badger girl “

Theo asked with smirk, earring him a sharp scowl from the pale boy, that brought shivers of fear that ran all over his body.

” first there is NOTHING , this school made a whole bloody mountain out of nothing!!!!!, next one more word about this on the table and I will hex anyone to the oblivious!”

the seriousness in Draco ’s words was exhibited , it was powerful that it shut the whole house members down, making everyone eat in silence, in the opposite side of the room, was the Hufflepuff table, he saw you, you have been friends for too long, of course he would be able to identify you so easily. His sharp cloudy grey eyes stopped on ur smiling figure, sensing outrage take over his body....... the words that was talked behind your back were something you never deserve it!!....... , to him .... you were like a flower and everyone tried to kill you from the roots and he was ready to do anything to protect you even stepping on his own heart ....

On your table things were quite different, everyone was cackling and chatting, no one bothered you or gossiped about you, cause as Hufflepuff, the morality of judging people without knowing them was odd, yes some questioned you and Draco friendship cause, well ...he is a git and you are wonderfully nice and cheerful ’so how did that happen? ’ to the rest of the house that was remarkable event

abruptly you felt strong gaze on you, as you notice who, you smiled and waved to the boy on the slytherin table, but his response gave you knot in your stomach, he frowned and got up from the table and walked away...’did I do something wrong ’ , that was weird reaction from the boy, he never behaved like that, sure he wasn't open, carefree and loud if he was he would be in Gryffindor but he was thoughtful with you, as he tried to act more with care as he didn't want to harm your feelings so this response stung a bit.

Then potions class came, you and Draco shared the class, he sat in front of you as he worked alone while you sat with your pal Luna Lovegood from ravenclaw, you finally had the opportunity to talk to your Slytherin friend and check on how is he doing .

so as soon as Snape turned to the board, you patted the boy shoulder to get this attention ” Draco...hi....” no response ” draco, are you okay? ” no response ” i fully know.. That you must be annoyed now but-” ” can we not talk now! I'm trying to concentrate on snape here ” he wasn't yelling but the sharp tone of his voice send you back down to your spot ” I'm sorry... ” even though, you know he must be mad, you couldn't help but get hurt, noticing the reaction on your face, Luna put her hand on yours as you both lock hands as giving you a smile assuring you that it is okay and she is here

she knew you and she knew Draco, it was fascinating to hear how you both are friends but yet she understood how Draco ’arse’ attitude was just a face for his household so she was happy that he got a friend like you in his life perhaps to free him but also she wasn't pleased about how he treated you now but all she can do was just to hold your hand to soothe your feelings .

But it wasn't only Luna who wasn't pleased no Draco himself, he heard the pain in your words and he was conscious of the Ice dripping in his tone, he hated how he couldn't control how feels, he trained all his life for that but he is failing that now ”wonderful malfoy , just incredible “

The potions class was done and you couldn’t be happier , you were out of this room finally Draco out of your sight ! ...you wanted to yell at him and be mad at him for hours, you wanted also to cry but no way in Merlin ’s bread you would cry for a boy , you always were tough emotionally and no way a icy tone will break you in tears “ we are not going to be this low now , hold it “ looking at yourself in the mirror of the girls bathroom , you took deep breathes as your walked yourself out, moving to your next chosen class which is magical music

this was your comforting class but now thanks to a current slytherin , you can’t put up with the music that plays but thanks to Helga kindness from her grave you have Luna with you a familiar face to look at when you crave to scream “ you look upset “ Luna calm voice cut your doze off , you sigh as you respond “ I’m Luna ..... and I shouldn’t be ... I understand his emotions but I’m furious... that he is dismissing mine !! Aren’t we friends !” “SHHHHH” Whispering louder than you aimed at , earned you undesirable scowlled looks , leading you to apologizing to the instructor and your class mates

“ well ..... why you don’t ask him ?? “ “ I want to......but it is hard finding Draco anywhere in Hogwart alone.........he always has people around.......” “ no he is ...” “ what ...wait ! ... what ? Really ??!”” “ SHHHHHHH” dismissing the glare from the male instructor , you and Luna continued the conversation “ Draco is a perfect , he can go out after the allowed hours as they quote to check on students “ “ yes I know this ..... “ “ but the point that is concealed that the Slytherin , use this privilege to spend time introverted in library .... I always saw him.......but...........I’m not his favorite person nonetheless yes ... that can be beneficial for you “

knowing what Luna meant, you nod slowly giving the girl big smile for her help “ Luna the words thank you , doesn’t explain how much I’m thankful for you “ both of you turned to the professor cause till now you both weren’t focusing with noticing how the teacher and class started to fed up on your missing notes, that was the best thing to do.

After finally the pain that you gave to your self and your fellow classmates with your messing notes in the music , you rushed to your dorm to change fast into more relaxed outfit that will suit the cold air that won’t only come from the late night but also from Draco himself , you changed to white shirt dress layered with V neck sage green sweater dress , skin colored stocking and beige combat boots , taking a deep breath to calm the anxiety that was slithering to your soul about meeting the slytherin after the incident, not knowing what his reaction will be as he sees you , you shoved this feelings in the very back of your soul , as you got out of the warm room, and faced by the coldness of the the schools hal, you fought the fear that tried to convince you back to your dorm , as you hurry to the library .

Reading a book in some quiet table alone in the very dark corner, that was your strategy for hiding from madam Irma prince, and somehow it worked as your presence went unnoticed by her or that is what you hoped so .

Soon the time passed soon it became the after hours , as you wait for the slytherin prince, somehow deeply inside , you wanted him to come and not come in same time ....

you didn’t know why but you felt uncomfortable about seeing him after the incident but the need to see him now and to converse with him about his attitude was a must for you.

glimpsing a white hair belonging to a faint dark body passing by, nearly like a ghost, you jumped up on your feet as you strode fast , trying to be calm as possible, you tug on the boy arm. Causing him to rotate, as he shoves his wand to your face with scowl before noticing you ”y/n!!!?! BLOODY HELL!! I almost hexed you!!! ” laying his wand away as his face softened a bit ” I'm sorry...but I need to talk to you.....” lifting up his eyebrow at you , questionably for a second before his Straight face appeared

“ we can’t talk anymore ...”

the words that you feared came scrambling hitting you like a train causing your mind to go blank for a sec before you speak again

“ what !!?? Why !!! We were fine till -“

“ yeah till! .... Till that gryffindor wrecked it ! And for that we can’t be friends anymore ... we can’t be seen together! ......Bloody Salazar, I need to report you to your perfect ! “

“ AND ALL OF THIS FOR WHAT !! CAUSE IM HUFFLEPUFF!! CAUSE YOU ARE SLYTHERIN !! CAUSE YOUR STATUE !! CAUSE THE PURE BLOOD SUPREMACY !! CAUSE SLYTHERIN IS THE ONLY HOUSE !! THAT IS ACCEPTED!!??”

Tears filled your sight, you didn’t care if whole hogwarts heard you , you were hurt , how did he toss you so easily after two years from being friends just cause his status , were you that cheap and meaningless to him? , were you just something for filling his unoccupied period ?.....didn’t he take you as friend or care about you? ...... Were people right about Draco and you are just naive...?

Your mind halts as your ears catch a heavy breathing sound , looking up to the boy in front of you resulting in your eyes growing enormous from the sight in front of you .....

You saw many emotions of draco , many than what most people think there are, but you never ever see him crying before , his gaze was wailing pain and hurt as his breaths was heavy in attempt to process his emotions ....

” you don't comprehend... I don't care about that... I deal with that day-to-day.... I'm the villain in the people eyes!! I was sorted in slytherin y/n... For Merlin sake!!! I'm a death eater in their eyes....no matter what !! ALL ’CAUSE THESE BLOODY BASTARD GRYFFINDORS... THAT WHAT WILL I ALWAYS BE... But you!!! You don't deserve that!! You don't deserve to be treated like that.....you are a good individual...”

” I don't mind draco!!!”

” BUT I DO!! .... You don't listen to what they say about you ......”

” who cares about what they mumble!! THEY ARE STRANGERS! ....Draco if you believe that I'm a good person......Then....You would know I would never mind about what people say and leave you for it !! I Care about my friend Draco here that I know!!!! anyone else no...hell with them to Godric’s fire!! ”

you went closer to draco, locking both of his hands in yours ” I would never quit on you, I will be here to support and...... draco you aren’t villain .... you are just a git that is all, but you are my best git and I’m here for you permanently “

you smiled looking at draco sobbing ’s eyes as you wiped his tears by one of your hands however not allowing his other hand to be out of your hand, squeezing it lightly as a way to confirm your message .

Peaceful moments passed by, with you both staying in your position, finally relaxing after some long day.

Till the slytherin decided to cut the silence

“ You fully understand that .... I wouldn’t ever report you to your perfect ..... “

“ yes I comprehend that, dear “

“ dear ? “

“Hey don’t get cheeky right now ... I just saw your fluffy side “

“ m’sorry, now shut it “

———————————————————————

MY FIRST EVER IMAGINE !! GO EASY ON ME !! I HOPE YOU ALL LOVE IT !!

[not-bcring]

from-across-the-stars:

Open RP - Ult. Hockey Player Gundham Tanaka

Gundham was used to the taunts from other players, everyone always looking to break the Overlord of Ice, the winger’s temper hard to ignite, but it always burned bright once struck. More often than not it ended in failure, Gundham able to keep a level head despite the chirps and cheap shots sent his way, leading him to pull out a victory for his team. This was obviously met with anger, the dirtiest players always seeking to find the cracks in the ice to exploit, and growing angry when their tricks proved futile. Most let it go and vowed to try again another time to get Gundham out of the game with a major penalty or worse, others…

Others took his stone faced indifference personally, insults always landing a little harder when their speaker couldn’t care less about you or your meager attempts to anger him. 

This often led to fights after the games, sometimes in the locker rooms, sometimes in the lobby of the rink, and sometimes in the parking lot when the winger snuck back to the rink after everyone had left to skate a few rounds in peace. 

It wasn’t a fair fights, two against one, but Gundham won all the same, almost as if he expected to be jumped. Knuckles split with a new bruise about his eye, he watched his assailants run off, seemingly disappearing once out of the reach of the streetlamp’s light along the sidewalk. Spitting blood off to the side, cheek having been bit in the scuffle, Gundham wiped the back of his hand across his mouth before calling out to the empty darkness. “How lucky for you, getting to see an encore without having to pay for admission.” It seemed to the world like he was talking to himself, but-

“You may come out now. I will not harm you, if you do not seek to harm me.” 

「 ☆ 」    Kazuichi has always hated conflict; he doesn’t do well in it. Ironically, since he often finds himself in the midst of it, either thanks to his own stupid actions or the fickle whims of fate. This time it’s the latter, Kaz quickly taking shelter in the shadows when a fight breaks out in front of him. A smarter person would probably turn and run, putting as much distance as possible between them and the danger. For a moment, he had considered that. But Kaz never was the type who could run from a fight when it was someone else’s. Whatever happened next, he needed to be there for it. Annoying as it may be… but whether Gundham won or lost, he’d need someone around to make sure he’s alright.

Looks like Kaz is stuck being that person.

Wincing as he peeks out from behind a car, draped in shadows a comfortable distance away, he forces himself to keep watching as the violence unfolds. Gundham is pretty damn good at this and frankly, Kazuichi isn’t surprised. He should be impressed. Being good at fighting is cool, right? It’s manly. It’s what his dad wishes he was like. Part of Kaz is impressed. No matter how disgusted he also is, there’s no denying it’s remarkable to watch. But whatever positive feelings should be felt are overpowered by intense and familiar waves of jealousy. Even as Gundham gains a black eye, Kaz can’t help but feel inferior to the hockey player.

Dumbass brick wall of a man. Of course he’s good at fighting. Of course he’s dangerous. Of course he could beat the shit out of Kazuichi without so much as breaking a sweat. He’s that type of person. That type of MAN. Grimacing, Kaz struggles against the rush of desire to turn around and leave Gundham to his business. Whether it’s spurred on by fear or spite, Kaz knows that it’s an ugly urge. Fueled by terrible emotions that only further prove how shitty he is. Why is it that whenever he’s around Gundham, even if the other isn’t aware, Kaz never fails to be reminded of how horrible he is? Maybe because he ACTS horrible.

Even when Gundham hasn’t done anything to truly earn it.

Sucking in a heavy breath, Kazuichi emits a drawn-out sigh when he’s addressed. Welp. Looks like it’s his cue. Reluctantly stepping out from behind the car into the streaming light above, Kaz wrings the straps of his backpack. A sturdy thing, covered in doodles of stars that appear to have been put there by the astrologer astronaut, the jingling key chains of planets, rockets, and other space-themed memorabilia further making his passion obvious. Gaze awkwardly roams, Kaz not sure where he’s meant to look. Common sense says to meet the others eyes... but his sick stomach says to stare into the surrounding darkness instead.

❝  Doesn’t count as an encore if it’s the ONLY show of yours I’ve seen...  ❞  Kaz grumbles, shoulders hunching slightly as he stops a few feet away from Gundham, unsure if he should come any closer. Despite Gundham not seeming to pose any threat— he SAID as much —Kazuichi’s instincts still beg for him to be careful. He’s had his fair share of experience with athletic types. Usually they don’t mesh well with him... and they never care to try either. One slip-up and Gundham might decide that he’d like to knock a few of the nerd’s teeth out. Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened to Kaz.  ❝  I don’t really watch- hockey.  ❞ 

Name comes out with a bit more distaste than Kaz meant, the pink-haired male stiffening at his snippy tone. It’s not that he has anything AGAINST the sport... Specifically. But he has better things to do with his time than watch a bunch of meatheads beat each other up while sliding around on ice. Especially when it sends a foreboding chill up Kaz’s spine, not sure if he’s terrified or excited at the sight. Maybe both. Either way, he has enough to deal with on the daily. He doesn’t need to add any extra confusion. Shuffling his backpack and looking down at his shoes, the muffled sound of heavy items jostles around inside. 

❝  Ahem— Anyway, that uh- that was... intense.  ❞  Kaz says, coughing into a fist before finally meeting Gundam’s gaze. Shuffling from foot to foot, hand lightly tugs on his braid a few times in a nervous attempt to ground himself,  ❝  Are you.... good?  ❞  Question slowly falls from his lips, unsure as Kaz’s gaze as it flits up and down the larger man. Brows knitting at the sight of bloodied and split knuckles, Kaz grimaces before looking back at Gundham’s face.  ❝  Your hands are kinda fucked up. No offense.  ❞  Clearly struggling with the conversation, Kaz shrugs and rubs the back of his neck,  ❝  D’ya want something for that? I have like- bandages and junk in my backpack....  ❞  

They tend to come in handy.   「 ☆ 」 

[graceedcoup]

Please tell me you're very detailed headcanon about Asmo holding the family together and raising Satan, because I headcanon that too.

Hi! I appreciate this literally so much I'm gonna kiss you on the mouth. Have a beautiful day ♡

I'd like to start off talking about this by acknowledging the fact that this entire very long headcanon hinges entirely on the fact that I'm ignoring canon details that support the suggestion that Satan was born as a fully grown demon and not formed as an infant who had to grow through formative childhood developmental stages. I would rather believe the latter because I lov..E Ba-biEs *ahem*.. because its more fun to think about.

Before I start I would also like to say that this is part of a much bigger more complicated idea about the dynamic each brother has with eachother and their own personal childhoods and histories, which I've went into some detail about with Levi just recently. But that was all still when they were celestial beings.

Let's fast forward to right after the fall. The brothers are all war damaged, bloody, grieving, guilty, humiliated. Lucifer has just basically been strongarmed into permanently pledging his loyalty to someone he doesn't yet trust or like at all just to get a second chance for his sister who he will never see again and is still effectively dead to him, and to make sure his family has some security. Which I think may be the piece of fuel in the fire inside him that finally expels this fucking hairball of repressed emotion into a living breathing little... infant demon. That absolutely no one asked for. Cue Lucifer having the worst cast of postpartum you've ever seen and resenting the fuck out of this baby and everything it represents and every bit more stress its gonna pile onto him.

But never fear, thats why family is here! Except they're not. They've all got their own shit to deal with. Mammon is already taking care of the rest of his siblings 24/7. He can barley make time to eat or sleep. Levi is very badly hurt, having been a target in the actual battle because of his former status in the army of angels and having gone through a very dramatic change to his body even compared to the rest of his brothers, he can't move very much yet. Belphie is struggling very hard with his newfound vice, he can rarley keep his eyes open, and when he can, hes grieving, hard. He was extremely close to Lilith. Beel... is an entirely different person. Quiet is an understatement. Hes nearly motionless for days at a time in his misery and deeeep in survivors guilt.

And Asmo is also hurt. They all are but him, not quite as badly. Emotionally he's taken a big blow, he's confused, he feels hideous and disgusted by himself, his new body and these new... feelings. He looks for a distraction. Hes been looking for days but his big brother just coughed out a little brother and Asmodeus instantly has stars in his eyes. If any of them have any kind of maternal instinct, its this one. Love is, after all, his whole thing. That horrible little tantruming ball of pure demonic fury is his new baby brother and hes never been happier to step up to the plate. Lucifer is almost too eager to let Asmo hold him the first time and from that moment on those two are inseparable.

-> Taking a pause from this pseudo fic to point out the thing that got me thinking about all this in the first place was a conversation about halfway through season one where MC refuses to make a pact with Satan the first time because he's doing it to spite Lucifer. They ask the brothers what the fuck is going on with that and they all have a little sit-down where they talk about his birth. All the brothers present look kind of uncomfortable but share the story as clearly as they can. But Asmo looks like this and gives this line:

He looks downright excited and this is the only line we get about actually raising him we get. For some reason it stuck with me, idk why. Asmo just seems so proud to share about how they taught Satan to be a person. Back to how I think that went

-> Asmo quickly learns about his ability to charm other demons and just as soon as he learns how to control that he feels comfortable using a very mild form of it to calm this baby the fuck down. And it works! Thank his cold uncaring father it works. Satan smiles for the first time in his life and he sheds a few tears both in relief and at how unbearably cute he is when he's not screaming. As soon as this baby is manageable and his brothers aren't in nearly as much pain, they all start pitching in. Doing whatever it takes to calm him down, finding things to make him happy. They make the disturbing discovery that its mostly gore that makes him smile. And yanking other peoples hair. His first giggle comes with a tiny fistful of newly-black strands he won't let go of.

Even with his brothers contributing to his care, Asmo still has a major part in keeping him company. Lucifer pitches in the most after him but if his favorite caretaker isn't around hes fussy as all hell.

Asmo, being blessed with the emotional intelligence the rest of his family seems to lack, is responsible for calming the kid down and teaching him healthier ways to manage his anger and stress. He teaches him meditation and yoga and self care. Hes the only one of his brothers with both the interest and patience to teach him how to read, how to cook, how to mind his manners. His anger never disappears. Hes still more prone to outbursts than any of his siblings ever were. Hes still much more violent when he does snap. But he can control it better than he could the day before and he keeps improving. Week after week and year after year, Satan grows into somebody all his brothers are proud of.

And hes still bonded to Asmodeus the most. Despite their clashing personalities they manage to get along perfectly and spend quite a bit of time together.

Theyre paired off in Devilgram and even the main body of the story quite a bit. Asmos even is Satan's background picture during phonecalls. I'm not sure if I'm reading way too far into that wait I totally am or if the writers are even aware they're doing that but I think its sweet and ive been thinking about it for months. Thank you for the opportunity to organize it all into one place ♡

[ouyangzizhensdad]

what’s ur opinion on the whole ancestral hall thing because I’ve seen many takes on how wangxian were in the wrong and how jc was right to be mad but I always thought that his anger during that situation stemmed from a place different to that of what everyone seems to think 😶

Hi anon,

I do not hold all the cultural knowledge to be able to be a definite resource wrt how wangxian’s behaviour would have been perceived “in-universe”. So take my thoughts on the topic with a grain of salt, and please do not mind that I will focus more on what can be found explicitly in the text itself. 

My understanding from what others have explained is that bringing to the ancestral hall someone who’s not from the “family”, in this case LWJ, is generally disrespectful. Considering WWX’s inner thoughts, where he’s literally asking JFM and Yu-furen to witness their bows, I think that perhaps WWX was so caught up in the fantasy/idea of LWJ as his future spouse that he might not have registered as much how, in the current situation, LWJ was not family. 

It does however make me pause a little that, until JC’s appearance, the narrative does not seem to present the situation in such a manner that we might think that it was extremely presumptuous of LWJ to kneel alongside WWX, and accompany him in burning incense. Considering that LWJ is known to be someone who is very proper, and that WWX is not unaware of the rules of propriety (even if he does not always follow them), I do find it interesting that there is no hesitation from either of them. 

To make up for his thoughtless words, he lit up three more sticks of incense. Just as he raised them above his head, still apologizing in his mind, it suddenly got darker beside him. He turned to find that Lan Wangji had also kneeled down beside him.

Now that they were in the ancestral hall, for the sake of courtesy, of course he had to show his respect as well. Lan Wangji also took three sticks of incense and, sweeping his sleeve to the side, and ignited them using one of the red candles. His movements were proper, and his expression was grave. Wei Wuxian tilted his head to look at him, his lips curving upward almost uncontrollably. Lan Wangji glanced at him and reminded, “The ashes.”

The three sticks of incense that Wei Wuxian held had been burning for quite a while. A bit of ashes had already accumulated at the top, close to falling off. However, he still refused to insert them into the tripod, instead saying, “Let’s do it together.”

Lan Wangji didn’t object. And so, each with three sticks of incense, the two of them kneeled among rows of tablets and bowed down to Jiang Fengmian and Yu ZiYuan’s names together.

Once. Twice. The movements were exactly the same. Wei Wuxian, “That’s it.” He finally placed the incense into the tripod.

In the end. Wei Wuxian glanced at Lan Wangji, who’s kneeling as properly as ever beside him. He put his hands together and uttered in his heart, ‘Jiang-shushu, Yu-furen, it’s me again. I’m here to disturb you two again. But I really did want to bring him here and show him to you. Let the two prostrates we just did count as prostrating* to the Heavens and the Earth, and to the Father and the Mother. Please help me reserve the person beside me for now. I’ll owe you the last prostrate for now, and find some chance to make up for it in the future…’

I am not certain as well how WWX having left the Jiang sect affects his “right”  to be there. JC does seem to suggest that, as an “outsider” who was, still according to JC, “kicked out of the sect,” WWX doesn’t a have right to be there. I cannot tell whether that is an entirely fair assessment due to my lack of cultural knowledge, since JC demonstrates that he is not above bending the truth to fit his own narrative (ie when he says that WWX was kicked out of the sect when we already know at this point in the narrative that this is not what transpired). 

However, it is also important to keep in mind that a character’s anger, just like real people’s, is not always motivated by rational concerns or that these rational concerns might become entangled with other grievances, some of which might not be as motivated. JC’s initial reproaches directly indicate that he considers it a faux-pas at best and an insult at worst that WWX decided to come and take LWJ with him.

“Wei Wuxian, you really don’t take yourself as an outsider, do you? You come and leave whenever you want. You take with you whomever you want. Do you perhaps still remember whose sect this is? Who’s the owner?”

This is reinstated a little bit later:

Wei Wuxian threw him a sideways glance, speaking in a calm voice, “I’m only here to burn some incense. That’s enough, isn’t it?”

Jiang Cheng, “Burn some incense? Wei Wuxian, are you really that dense? It’s been so long since you were kicked out of our sect, and here you are taking unwelcomed people with you to burn incense for my parents?”

That being said, it is interesting to note that WWX calls these remarks “vulgar“ and “obliviously malicious”. Now, the question is, is it because he’s fiercely protective of LWJ that he takes these words so badly or because in this case it is transparent that JC is intentionally overly spiteful? 

Oher reproaches levelled against WWX, or the two of them, also have nothing to do with them burning incense in the ancestral hall. Indeed, JC brings up grievances he still hold against them, some of which we know are not exactly fair. As well, his own insecurities and issues fuel his anger, something directly acknowledged in the text.

Jiang Cheng mocked, “Look how forgetful you are. What does unwelcome people mean? Then let me remind you. It was because you played the hero and saved Lan-er-gongzi, who’s standing beside you right now, that the entire Lotus Pier and my parents went down with you. And that wasn’t enough. With the first time, soon comes the second. You even had to save Wen-gaos and drag my sister down with you. What a person you are! What’s more, you’re even so generous as to take the two to Lotus Pier. The Wen-gao’s strolling in front of my sect’s gates; Lan-er-gongzi came here to burn incense. You’re here on purpose to remind me, to remind them.” He continued, “Wei Wuxian, who do you think you are? Who gave you the face to take whomever you want into our sect’s ancestral hall?”

Wei Wuxian knew that Jiang Cheng had to settle this with him no matter what.

For Lotus Pier’s destruction, Jiang Cheng thought not only that Wei Wuxian responsible, but also that Wen Ning and Lan Wangji were responsible too. He wouldn’t give a friendly look to either of the three, let alone when they were walking right in front of his face at the same time inside Lotus Pier. He was probably infuriated.

[...]

“Jiang Cheng, just listen to yourself. What are you saying? Is it appropriate? Don’t forget who you are. After all, you’re a sect leader. Insulting a renowned cultivator in front of Jiang-shushu and Yu-furen’s spirits—where is your discipline?”  

 His original intention was to remind Jiang Cheng to at least hold some respect for Lan Wangji. However, Jiang Cheng was the most sensitive. From those words, he managed to make out the notion that he was not fit to be a sect leader.

Of import to the context of the scene, JC suggests also that WWX insulted the memory of his parents by “fooling around” with LWJ in Lotus Pier, suggesting that their hug (and romantic feelings) “dirtied their eyes and contaminated their peace”. He spells it out once more, a little bit later. 

Jiang Cheng pointed outside, “Mess around outside however you want, whether under a tree or on a boat, hugging or otherwise! Get out of my sect, get out of anywhere my eyes can see!”

Especially so because we get the contextualisation from the narration (one of the few times we are told things that WWX cannot be privy to) that JC had been following them for a while, stewing, until he exploded.

At once, he was almost certain that the two really were in that kind of relationship. He could not turn around and leave, yet he did not want to say a single word to the two, so he continued to hide himself as he followed them. Every single look and movement that passed between them seemed different in his eyes. For a while, the shock, absurdity, and slight disgust that he felt combined to overpower his hatred. It was only after Wei Wuxian brought Lan Wangji into the ancestral hall that the long-suppressed hatred was awakened again, devouring his courtesy and rationality.

I’m too tired to go check the original chinese to see whether the translation conveys well the connotations of the text, but like... “absurdity”, “disgust”, “hatred”, “devouring his courtesy and rationality”: as a writer, if I wanted to show that a character was engaging in a bout of rightful anger, that’s certainly not how I would present their emotional and mental state before they lashed out. 

Now, WWX is not blameless for the situation, as he is quick to react both because of his over-protectiveness of LWJ and his own insecurities regarding his feelings toward him, which make him loose his cool and start the escalation that JC is too happy to continue 

Wei Wuxian raged, “Hanguang-Jun is only my friend—what do you think we are?! I warn you. Apologize right now—don’t make me beat you up!”

Hearing this, Lan Wangji’s expression froze for an instant. Jiang Cheng laughed, “Well, then I’ve never seen ‘friends’ like that before? You warn me? Warn me against what? If you two had the slightest trace of integrity left, you shouldn’t have come here and…”

Seeing the change in Lan Wangji’s expression, Wei Wuxian thought he felt insulted by Jiang Cheng’s words. He was so angry that his entire body was shaking. He did not dare think about what Lan Wangji would think after being shamed like this. The rage from his heart rushed to his head as he threw out a talisman, “Have you had enough yet?”

The talisman was both fast and powerful. It exploded at Jiang Cheng’s right shoulder, causing him to stagger. Jiang Cheng didn’t expect Wei Wuxian to attack so suddenly. His spiritual powers hadn’t recovered completely yet, either, and so the talisman hit its target. Blood seeped from his shoulder as disbelief flashed across his face. Zidian immediately unravelled from his fingers, lashing out with sizzling light. Lan Wangji unsheathed Bichen to block the attack. The three began to fight inside the ancestral hall.

To me the text seems to suggest, as you did, that JC’s anger and lashing out is not actually about the incense burning in the ancestral hall in itself--that he let his hatred overpower any sense of courtesy and rationality, as the narration suggests. It is easy to ponder whether JC would have been that upset if, when he had gone to look for WWX, he had not found him being happy in LP with an ‘outsider’ like LWJ, but on top of it all, acting like he is in love with a man. Would his reaction have been the same if he had just happened upon them kneeling in the ancestral hall? Would his reaction have been the same if he still did not blame WWX, and so many others, for all the misfortunes that ever befell him and his family? As well, one could also easily wonder how in a similar situation a character who is not as prone to anger and flying off the handle like JC would have reacted to the same actions.

TLDR: I do not have the have the cultural knowledge to tell how much “in the wrong” the characters were, however I think it would be disingenuous to suggest based on what we are presented with in the text that JC’s reaction was 100% motivated and rational, particularly since the text literally includes the line “the long-suppressed hatred was awakened again, devouring his courtesy and rationality.”

[delimeful]

you will see a better day

donation drive commission for @starrykid with the prompt: Remus dealing with intrusive thoughts and the others helping him through it.

warnings: canon setting, intrusive thoughts (a fair amount), gore mentions, implications of thoughts of self harm, Remus Going Thru It

-

Before, whenever he had a Bad Day, it was just more fuel on the trash fire that was his brain. 

It was routine: Remus would wake up with a litany of grotesque images on the back of his eyelids, present every time he blinked or squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. These thoughts weren’t the fun kind of gross, the type that was fascinating or funny. They weren’t fun because he didn’t choose them, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get rid of them if he didn’t like them. 

Guess that was how everyone else felt about you. Remus mashed a pillow over his own face as though it would muffle his own mind. What a stupid thought. He was a luxury few could afford, thank-you-very-much!

Back then, as soon as possible, he would find someone else in the Mindscape to bother, because if he had to deal with the awful thoughts carving and chipping away at the inside of his skull, it was only fair to share. 

That was before, when things had been black and white and he could be a monster all he pleased because it wasn’t like anyone else thought differently. It wasn’t like Thomas thought differently. 

Until he did.

And now they were all in one muddled up Mindscape and the others were trying, making an effort to clot their own bad habits and setting a place for him at the table. It was slow-going, like shoving a square peg into a circular hole, but it was also the most he’d ever had. Until something splintered, he was going to soak in every minute of it. 

Or at least, that was his plan, up until he hit another Bad Day like a semi truck hit thrice-dead roadkill. 

Same thoughts, same pounding (heh) headache. The difference was, now he couldn’t go word-vomit all over the nearest Side until he felt a little less like he was drowning. He was working to keep the delicate peace in his own way, and that meant not bothering the others with his… himself-ness on days like these. 

He couldn’t stay in his room all day, though. For one it was boring, and for two, ever since they’d all agreed to try and cohabitate, Patton and Janus in particular were insistent on checking in if anyone acted strange. Cooping up in his room and not being his usual fantastically sickening and outrageous self would definitely pop up on their radar. If that happened, there was no way he could fool Janus outright. He preferred his own brand of frank honesty anyways, so clearly the only solution was to behave normally enough that nobody looked twice. 

His version of normal, anyhow. 

He groaned loudly and then dragged in a breath, manifesting a pair of slippers that looked uncannily like dead fish onto his feet. He would just have to put his excellent acting skills to use. 

—- 

Remus’s willpower was put to the test as soon as he reached the kitchen. A new record of his ability to destroy plans, this must be why Janus never told him anything. 

Patton was spinning himself in circles on one of the round stools by the bar counter, humming a cartoon theme brightly to himself. At the stovetop, Virgil was sedately flipping pancakes, an easy set to his shoulders that meant he had probably recently taken a long-overdue nap in Logan’s room.

Normally, Remus would already be halfway into teasing the hell out of him, but now his brain felt scrambled with panic. Virgil was particularly susceptible to getting dragged into the cycle of intrusive thoughts on days like these, which meant the anxious Side was the last one he wanted to run into at the moment. 

Two birds with one brick, his stupid hell brain suggested slyly. Send Virgil into a spiral and then it’ll be him who gets nagged, his fault for ruining the friendly atmosphere. 

Stop it. Remus’s face twitched into a self-directed snarl for a moment, and he forced the thought away as Patton finally slowed his rotation to smile dizzily at him. 

“Remus! Good morning!” 

Virgil glanced over his shoulder, sending Remus’s heart rate briefly into the triple digits. Be normal be normal be normal. “Hey, Re. Morning.”

He didn’t even notice. So much for being your friend. If you’re subtle enough, you could sidle up behind him and smash his face into the hot burner—

“WHAT’S UP, FUCKERS!” Remus shouted, teeth spread in a too-wide grin. He bounced into the kitchen, depositing an assorted handful of teeth (his preferred currency) into the swear jar before Patton could say anything, and planted himself on the middle bar stool. 

Patton scooted one stool closer to be next to him, because of course he did. Remus resisted the urge to start prying out handfuls of hair, his own or— no. Toned down, he was keeping it toned down. Buttcheek on a stick, this was difficult.

“Want to spin with me?” Patton asked, shifting antsily from side to side with barely contained energy. 

“Whoever pukes first wins?” Remus replied automatically, and felt a bright burst of giddy joy when Patton giggle-snorted instead of recoiling. 

“I think upchuck is actually supposed to mean you lose your lunch and the spinning contest, kiddo.” 

Of course it did. You were designed to be the loser, even if you try to change the rules. 

Remus knew that this time Patton had spotted the way his lips twitched down into a grimace, but before the fatherly side could say anything, there was the clink of ceramic plates on the counter in front of them. 

“No spinning and/or vomiting if you want to eat my pancakes,” Virgil demanded, wielding a spatula threateningly at them as he clicked the stovetop off. “We’ll never hear the end of it from Princey if he has to reconjure all the furniture.” 

Irrational, heated anger burned through him. Like Virgil could do anything to stop you. Social interaction was enough to give the guy a panic attack, he couldn’t tell Remus to do or not do anything— 

“You good, Re?” Virgil asked, and he jerked, avoiding the other Side’s gaze as though eye contact would expose his thoughts. After a beat too long, his mind finally caught up with the plate in front of him. 

His pancake was covered in a truly disgusting amount of cheese and ketchup, the way he always requested it back when they’d all been Dark Sides. Despite the fact that he always made a face back then, Virgil had made a point to remember, had done it without asking. 

Like ravenous wolves, his thoughts instantly turned against him. 

Pathetic. How could you think things like that about people who trust you? You shouldn’t even be here, pretending to be a person. You deserve everything coming to you. 

His hand made it halfway to the fork sitting innocently next to his plate before he remembered himself. Virgil was still looking at him, clearly having caught the motion, and Remus lowered his hand, white-knuckled. 

“Me, good? That’s a funny one, V-mo!” he tried to joke, but the odd edge to his voice made it fall flat. Virgil was outright frowning now, and out of the corner of his vision Patton’s eyebrows were drawing together.

“What’s wrong?” Virgil asked, his frame tight with tension and his gaze drilling into Remus. “Are you hurt?” 

“I could be!” Remus blurted, trying to keep his tone saucy but ending up with something closer to desperate. “You ever think maybe bashing my skull in would be better than having to deal with its contents?”

The two of them winced, and he knew he’d given himself away completely. Shit.

Virgil reached out, and then stopped himself before he could make contact. Can you blame him? Jumping into an electrified tank of leeches would be more comfortable than willingly exposing himself to you. 

Something of his internal diatribe must have shown on Remus’s face, because Virgil’s hesitant expression flickered into regret.

“Shit,” he swore, and this time Patton didn’t chide him. “I can’t-- I don’t want to send you into a spiral, Re. If I touch you, we’re just going to be stuck in a feedback loop of bad thoughts.” 

“Like how you’re perpetually stuck in 2009?” Remus offered, instead of listing all the ways he could feasibly remove Virgil’s eyes from their sockets. It would almost be fun, if it wasn’t his friend’s eyes he was contemplating prying out with a spoon handle. 

Virgil’s lips pulled up slightly. “Yeah, just like that. I’m gonna go get the others. They’ll be able to help you for real.” 

He sunk out, and Remus’s head started to ache more severely as terrible and often gory predictions for the future began to crowd his mind. He shoved his hands into the roots of his hair and tugged ferociously. 

“Hey, buddy, you shouldn’t pull on your hair like that,” a concerned voice chimed in. Remus had almost forgotten Patton was still there, sitting only a seat away. 

He pulled harder on his hair, both out of spite and to distract himself from the urge to summon a weapon and see if Patton would still look at you with so much pity if you shanked his ass and tied his intestines into little bows. 

“Hey, what do you call a seasick croc?” Patton asked, abruptly enough that Remus managed to shake his train of thought. He glanced up to look at the Heart, who offered him a tremulous mischievous smile. “A crocobile.” 

Remus snorted, and Patton’s smile seemed to firm up. 

“How about, why do ducks have tail feathers?” the moral Side asked in that same leading tone. 

Remus thought for a minute. “‘Cause otherwise they’d lose their balance in flight and go splat against the nearest window?” 

“I mean, maybe, but also!” Patton held up a finger for emphasis. “They have tail feathers to cover their… butt-quacks.”

There was a beat of anticipation where they both stared at each other, and then Remus threw his head back and outright cackled. Patton fist pumped in delight. 

“I thought you might like that one, kiddo,” he said, beaming. Before Remus could reply, possibly with an atrocious pun of his own, Roman strode into the room. 

There was a brief, awkward pause as the two of them made eye contact. Patton looked rapidly between them with concern, and Remus couldn’t blame him. Even now, their one-on-one interactions tended to end with vicious spats. They were too good, too practiced at pressing each other's buttons to settle into the newfound peace easily. 

“... Bad one?” he finally asked, as though he could spot the wrong-evil-awful all over Remus from a mile away. Remus felt his expression drop into an irritable glower worthy of Anxiety, but before he could retort, Roman was seating himself primly on the communal couch.   

He ran his hand through the hair at the nape of his neck in a nervous habit Remus constantly teased him about, and then straightened his shoulders and patted the cushion next to him. “I’ll… like when we were kids. If you want.” 

Despite Patton’s confused head tilt, Remus got it immediately, and ignored the screaming violence in his head in favor of bodily throwing himself over the couch, jostling the hell out of his brother and eliciting a Grade-A Bitchface from him in the process. Remus grinned maliciously in return.

“Do the one that looks like a snake,” he demanded, running a hand through his hair and lengthening it. Of course, in addition, thick clumps of hair ended up falling out entirely, leaving weird-feeling bald patches that might have been interesting if he’d actually intended to create them. 

“On purpose or don’t want it?” Roman asked, echoing a familiar question from their childhood. It had been a royal decree, before they grew so divided, that one had to ask before ‘fixing’ anything the other did, just in case it was on purpose. 

“How are you supposed to braid what isn’t there?” Remus grumbled, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he unwillingly imagined restapling his hair to his skull. “Don’t want it.” 

Roman dragged his fingers through Remus’s hair, lengthening it until it was long enough to do all sorts of stupid-complicated braids. He also made the new hair unforgivably glossy and apple-scented, but Remus could get him back for that later, when he was sure it wouldn’t be (nails through nasal cavities, a cloud of suffocating darkness, decaying hands pulling you down into freshly turned soil and burying you alive) disproportionate retribution. 

Two braids later, Logan appeared, rising up in the mindscape with his tie perfectly aligned but lab goggle imprints around his eyes. He only took a moment to absorb the scene, as though it was normal that everyone was crowding around Remus attentively. “Virgil informed me that you could use some assistance?” 

Remus snorted. “Maybe you can perform some impromptu brain surgery to stop me thinking? Hey, if you don’t use anesthetic, I promise not to squirm too much, doc.”

“I don’t believe that man’s ever been to medical school,” Roman quoted absently, still caught up in combining three braids together into one. 

Logan rolled his eyes. “Regardless of my unfortunately lacking PhD status, I believe brain surgery to ‘stop one thinking’ is also colloquially referred to as an induced coma.” 

“Perfect!” Remus cheered, and then yelped when Roman tugged on his hair harshly in retribution. Patton was making that half-pitiful, half-furious face that he always made whenever the emo talked bad about himself, strangely enough.

“There are plenty of adjectives I could use to describe such a solution, but none of them would be ‘perfect’, Remus,” Logan continued. “A more effective and patient-friendly answer would be addressing your irritating or harmful thoughts through the use of various mental health tactics.” 

Easy for him to say. “That might work for Tommy-boy, but I am the harmful or irritating thoughts, remember?” 

“Falsehood.” Logan declared, proving that no matter what aspect of Thomas they were, the Sides were all dramatic theater kid bastards at heart. “It has become increasingly clear that while we all formed to handle certain tasks or aspects, we are all increasingly complex at heart. None of us can be diminished to simply one trait. In the same way that Virgil is much more than the experience of anxiety, there is no logical reason to reduce yourself to the thoughts that you struggle with.” 

Remus shook his head, though he wasn’t sure what part of the assertion he was resisting. Logan folded himself into a sitting position and reached over for Remus’s hand, his touch grounding. 

“You’ve gotten through days like this before. You’ll continue to do so after,” Logan told him. 

“I got through Bad Days by making everyone’s day bad,” Remus retorted. “I’m not you, but I’m not stupid. Nobody wants me making it into a communal event.” 

“That’s what family’s for though,” Patton said, shifting closer from his own spot on the rug. “Listening. Helping. Having each other’s backs when things get tough!” 

Logan’s grip didn’t falter. Roman’s presence was solid at his back. Remus was beginning to wonder if he’d snorted something hallucinogenic recently.

“The sentiment is admirable, if a bit hypocritical,” a familiar voice chimed in, and Remus looked up to see Janus leaning elegantly against the kitchen archway. Virgil elbowed his way past, ruining the dramatic pose and flopping down on the couch next to Remus. He bumped his shoe against Remus’s leg in quiet camaraderie.

“Hypocritical?” Logan echoed, raising an eyebrow. 

“Unless you’d like to tell me that everyone here has no problems whatsoever asking for help or expressing vulnerability on their bad days,” Janus proposed, smugly. 

Logan inclined his head slightly. “Point.” 

“Regardless, that doesn’t make Logic or Morality incorrect.” Janus looked at Remus intently. “None of us are allowed to simply suffer in silence, anymore.”

“I didn’t exactly suffer in silence before,” he pointed out, sounding uncannily sensible. Probably from the nerd’s proximity. 

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem now, hmm?” Janus replied. 

Logan sighed at them all, collectively, in general. “Look at it from this angle, Remus. Your previous coping mechanism was generally detrimental due to your lack of options and isolation. Now, you have neither of those holding you back. With knowledge and assistance, you can only improve from here on out.” 

Now, that was doubtful. “And what if I don’t, huh? What if I just get worse?” 

“Then we’ll still be here.” Logan squeezed his hand, and Janus confirmed his words with a nod, and even though his mind was cluttered and overwhelming, they were all still there at his side without complaint. 

Maybe it wasn’t too much to ask, after all.

“Well, what are we trying first?”

[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

tangled up in blue

pairing: harry styles x plus size!reader

warnings: fluff, comfort, mentions of anxiety, kinda angsty

word count: 4.4k

synopsis: harry has a rude encounter with a fan

author’s note: sorry for another rushed ending, but other than that, i hope you enjoy xx all the love

masterlist

—

It’s his first day off in weeks, and he is taking full advantage of it. After such a stressful few months, he wants nothing more than to spend this short break with his girlfriend. 

It’s two in the afternoon before he gets out of bed, and that’s only because the weak little grumbling in his stomach became too much to ignore. With no real food in the house, Y/N called in an order to their regular place, as long as he is the one who picks it up. 

He decides to walk, since the restaurant is only a few blocks away from his home, but when he catches a couple paps trying to get pictures a little ways down the road, he knew he should have driven. He’s glad Y/N stayed home, since photos of her rarely get out, and he knows that she wouldn’t have been comfortable with it. 

He sighs, trying to not let them ruin his first relaxing day in a while, but it’s hard. Harry likes his privacy, and sadly, he chose the wrong career. He would never say that he hates what he does. He loves being able to bring joy and kindness to people who really need it, even if it is just for a couple of minutes. 

He just wishes he could have some more space and privacy and freedom to do his own thing. He wishes he could go out on his day off without being stopped or having people trying (and failing) to take a sneaky picture of him, which, again, is an absolute invasion of his privacy. 

He would never snap at anyone, well, no one except the paparazzi, not only because he was taught early on that he shouldn’t do that, but also because he wasn’t that type of person. While he still may not be used to the significance of his stardom, he still understands that he is a role model to many people, and he needs to act as such.  

“I have an order to pick up,” he says to the hostess, who just stares at him for a second, jaw dropped slightly. It’s not the usual woman who gives him his orders, so he gives her a moment. She bounces back rather quickly. 

“Uh, what’s the name?” She asks, trying not to draw any unwanted attention toward him, which he appreciates. 

“Y/N.” 

She taps away at the register, tells him the total, and he pays. 

“I’ll go check and see if your order’s done. If not, it should be just a couple of minutes.”

“No problem.” He smiles. 

“Harry?” 

He turns to see a nervous looking girl with a bright tee knotted around her middle and a pretty pearl necklace tight around her neck. She brushes a tuft of brown hair over her shoulder, fiddling with her fingers. She’s only a little shorter than him, but she still doesn’t meet his eye. 

“C-could I get a picture?” 

He honestly doesn’t want to. 

He knows that one photo will lead to dozens more, and he just wants to get his food, go home, and cuddle up with Y/N, but she looks sweet, and the hopeful look in her eyes makes him cave.

“Sure,” he says weakly, taking a quick photo. 

“How’s Y/N?” The girl asks when she puts her phone away, desperate for a little more time with him. A beaming smile takes over his features, and he sits on a stool at the bar, feet tucking behind the bottom bars. It’s not very often he gets asked about her, but whenever he does, he takes full advantage of it; that is, of course, if the person seems genuinely interested and not just asking him for the sake of conversation. 

The public was a little less than understanding or supportive of their relationship when it was, forcibly, made known. Being friends and neighbors since childhood, Y/N has been a present figure in the early parts of his life. They grew further and further apart after he left for The X Factor, to the point where they didn’t even speak to each other. It was tough because she wanted absolutely nothing to do with the life that he led, and he couldn’t just give up everything he worked so hard toward. 

They reconnected some years ago when he was visiting home, and she had a break from uni. It was a slow build to what it is today, mostly because Y/N was hesitant about everything that came with being with him, like distance between them, negative publicity, and, of course, his fans, but, as she always said, he made everything worth it. 

When their relationship was leaked in the press, they had to prematurely address the rumors. Not that Harry is embarrassed or ashamed of her, quite the opposite, really, but he just had one too many relationships fall apart due to the pressure the media put on them. He didn’t want to put Y/N through that; he didn’t want to see her to realize that, perhaps, he wasn’t worth the negative attention. 

“She’s great,” he says. “We’re gonna go hiking later this evening, hopefully get a good view of the sunset.” 

“That’s nice,” she smiles, happy that he’s happy, and he breathes out a sigh of relief. It’s refreshing to meet someone who is actually 

His smile fades when a girl behind him scoffs. 

“That’s surprising.” 

He wants to believe that she’s not commenting on his conversation, but he knows better than anyone that she’s listening in; hell, he could feel the eyes of everyone in the diner the second he stepped inside, but just because he’s been doing this for years doesn’t mean that he’s not immune to the voices and the stares. He’s gotten pretty good at being able to ignore them, and he tries his best to do the same with her. 

The brunette, who also seems to have noticed the girl behind him, flushes red, pity apparent on her features. He gives her an uncomfortable, closed mouth smile, trying to focus back on their own conversation. 

“I mean, have you seen her?” The girl behind him continues, laughing lightly. 

It makes his chest ache, anger settling deep in his stomach, burning and vengeful. Never has anyone made such blatant comments about her; they normally say that sort of stuff behind the safety of a screen and certainly not right in front of him. He knows what people say about his love. They make negative comments every little thing about her, the biggest one being her weight, and he never says anything because Y/N thinks that it would make everything worse, but she’s not here to hold him back. 

He turns to face the girls behind him. The one whose back is still facing toward him, leaned in close to the other, as though that’s enough to hide what she’s saying. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

They’re both young, but surely old enough to know better. One of the girls, with brown hair with a pink strip in the front, blanches when he catches her eye, an apologetic look on her face; she looks close to tears, even, stuttering hopelessly. 

“Dee—” 

“I didn’t expect him to be a chubby chaser.”

“Excuse me?” 

The girl with bright red hair, Dee, he assumes, finally turns to face him, a shameless smirk on her face. 

“I am so sorry,” the brunette begins, but her friend, fueled by desperation and spite, cocks her head to the side, chest puffing out beneath a “Treat People with Kindness” shirt, the rainbow colored words taunting him. 

How ironic. 

“I mean… am I wrong?” She asks, looking at him expectantly. 

“How dare you?” He seethes, standing fully, towering over her seated figure. He knows he shouldn’t be giving her the slightest bit of attention. That’s exactly what she wants, to get a reaction out of him, and he’s playing into her game, but he honestly doesn’t care. A heated red paints his skin, trailing up from his neck to the tip of his nose. He can barely breathe, let alone speak clearly, frustration and anger choking him. 

He struggles to find his voice, but when he does, he can’t stop them from spilling out, malice and disgust dripping with every word. 

“I have never been so disappointed and ashamed in someone who claims to be a fan of mine. How can you wear that shirt while passing judgement on someone I love very much, who you have never seen or met? And I pray that you will never meet her because she doesn’t deserve such vile things being said about her.”

He turns to see the hostess with a large paper bag in a stunned silence, and he takes it from her wordlessly. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters to the sweet girl, ashamed that he snapped like he did, but she gives him a proud smile and moves, so he can leave. 

—

Someone apparently recorded the encounter, and the video is trending on Twitter by the time he gets home. Jeff is the one who told him about it, sending him a link and a long message about how much of a PR nightmare it’s going to be. Especially when the reception is less than positive. While some think he was being too nice, others are saying that he shouldn’t have lashed out (their words, not his) at someone who is a fan and supports him, but Harry knows that there is no winning. Everyone always finds something to say about things that are clearly none of their business. He even saw a few comments about Y/N, how she should fight her own battles and not have Harry do them for her. 

They make him feel nauseous. 

“Hey, babe,” he says as he enters their apartment, Munchy, Y/N’s cat, weaving and purring between his legs. Whenever he gets home, he can feel the stresses of the day shrink to nothing, and he’s finally able to relax. A smile creeps over his face when he sees her, leaning against the counter with a mug of tea cupped in her hands. She hasn’t changed out of the boxers and the large yellow tee from that morning, but her hair is still wet from a shower, the scent of her fruity soap strong. 

“Hey,” she says softly, and he leans in for a kiss, only for her to turn at the last moment, lips unfortunately pressing to her cheek. She takes the bag from him. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says, tugging the takeaway boxes from the bag, not even offering him a glance. 

He knows that she’ll tell him what’s really wrong in her own due time, so he can’t push her; that makes it worse for everyone involved. However, he has gotten pretty good at coaxing it out of her. All it takes is a little patience and affection, and she’s putty in his hands. 

He presses kisses to her temple, tracing his lips down the length of her tender skin to the shell of her ear, nibbling playfully. He dips his hand beneath her shirt, feeling her stomach tense beneath his touch. After such an exhausting day, he just wants to be with her, feel her warmth and love. He’s never really been able to find comfort or safety in any of his past lovers, and when he found that in Y/N, he never misses an opportunity to shower her with affection, teasing and biting at her skin. He just wants to melt and forget about his problems, to just be there, in the present, with her. 

His little bubble is popped when she shoves his hand away, probably harder than she really meant to, but it hurts him, nonetheless. She turns and gives him a weak little smile, her eyes, glassy and unable to meet his gaze. She looks like a shell, nervous and empty, and he knows exactly why she’s acting the way she is. She must have seen the video and probably the nasty comments people left about her. 

“Baby—” 

“Let’s eat, yeah?” She changes the subject, pulling out some silverware from the drawer.  “This one mine?” 

“Yeah, your usual,” he says softly. 

They eat in an awkward silence, old sitcom reruns playing in the background, tension thick in the air. He can’t focus on anything but her breaths, shaky and shallow with anxiety. He knows that this entire situation is weighing heavily on her mind, and he needs to get everything off his chest. He wants to pull her into his arms, stroke her hair, and tell her to not listen to anything anyone says, that she’s it for him. 

It's going to happen, all in due time; he’ll get nowhere if he doesn’t go at her pace. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she mutters suddenly, picking at her food. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I don’t want you putting your career at stake by standing up for me.”

He understands; he knows what it feels like to constantly be worried about what other people think, to have it impact every single decision you make. He’s mulled over everything he’s done for the past decade, but, at the same time, he’s her boyfriend first. He could honestly give a damn about his public image if it meant he had to stand by a listen to people say those nasty things about her. 

“You would do the same for me,” he says, and she sighs. 

“It’s not the same thing.” 

“I don’t understand why we're arguing about this,” he says abruptly, placing his food onto the side table and turning fully toward her. 

“I’m not—” She breathes out quickly, standing up. She tugs her clothes down, loosening them, and she crosses her arms, feeling vulnerable for some reason. Harry has never passed any judgement to her for the way she looked, knowing full well that she’s struggled with her weight her entire life, but this entire situation is making her feel insecure and weak and anxious. She feels like he is going to think that she’s being too sensitive about it, melodramatic about the severity of their comments. 

“I’m not trying to start an argument. I just don’t think you understand that there’s going to be a lot of backlash for this.”

She’s embarrassed that he even needs to stand up for her. He should be with someone who is used to being in the spotlight, and, most importantly, he deserves to be able to go out with someone without people commenting or staring. He shouldn’t be with someone who makes people wonder why he’s with her, of all people. 

It’s not only her physical appearance that people comment on; she’s seen fans talk about how Harry doesn’t go out anymore, how she is never present at any concerts or any other special events, even though they don’t know she has severe social anxiety and a career that keeps her from being with him all the time. She truly wishes she could be all of those things for him, but she can’t, and that’s what breaks her heart the most. 

Harry deserves nothing less than the world, and he settled for her. 

And with everyone else in the world questioning why he chose her, of all people, why wouldn’t he think the same? 

“There would be even more backlash if I had just ignored it, right?” 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she says, “but, it’s not like it’s going to stop people from saying—” 

She can’t even say it, their all too familiar words leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. No matter how many times Harry tells her to pay no mind to their comments, she can’t help it. She truly hates how much other people’s opinions about her impact her, with paralyzing fear and doubt filtering through her thoughts on a daily basis, but she can’t help it. 

“Saying what?”

“You know,” she whimpers, eyes glassy. “No matter what you do, there will always be people who say that I don’t deserve you. There will always be people out there who think I’m ugly o-or too fat for you and—” She chokes on her words, tears finally breaking through. A weak sob leaves her lips, faint and broken. “It’s not like it’s not true, so there’s no point in fighting it if it’s going to ruin your reputation.” 

She starts to pace, one hand tucking into the curve of her waist while the other pinches the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache forming.

“Whoa, hey, okay,” he stutters, standing. He holds onto her arms, hands rubbing over her cool skin, trying to comfort her, but she weakly pushes him away again, rubbing her nose. She pulls at the bottom of her shirt and wipes away her tears, leaving it wrinkled and wet. She sniffles, struggling to keep the panic from growing any further in her chest, heart racing painfully. 

She moves into their bedroom, and he follows close behind, their food long forgotten as she tries to control her breathing. 

“What’s this really about?” He asks. She pauses, her shoulders visibly sinking, and she sits on the foot of the bed, hooking her feet on the footboard. She cradles legs to her chest and tugs her shirt over them, forehead pressed against her knees. 

She’s exhausted at this point. Ever since she saw the video and the comments, she’s been torn. She’s grateful that Harry said something; it made her hopeful that maybe it would make them stop, even if it was for only a day, but when she saw people actually defending the girl who said those terrible things about her, all of that pride was pulled away, leaving nothing behind other than debilitating anxiety and bone-chilling fear. 

She just wants the day to be over, as if that will make everything go away. 

She knows that they need to talk about it, but she’s afraid. She’s afraid of what this conversation could lead to; he could realize that he doesn’t want to deal with everything anymore or that he doesn’t want to deal with the strain that it puts on his relationship with the public. 

The bed shifts as he kneels beside her, hand pressing against the small of her back.

“Y/N, please, don’t shut me out,” he whispers. She whimpers when he kisses her temple, an attempt at trying to ease her out of this miserable hole she’s dug for herself. She finally looks up at him with swollen, burning eyes, tears threatening to fall. 

“I just don’t want you to wake up one day and realize that I’m not worth all of this. You shouldn’t even need to say anything to people.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have to say anything to them, but that has absolutely nothing to do with you. I have to say things because of all of the judgmental people in the world, who body shame the woman that I love, a woman who they know absolutely nothing about.” 

“I don’t want you to start believing them, and I just don’t want you to regret me.”

“Why would I ever regret you?” 

“Why wouldn’t you?” She snaps, her lips quivering. “I’m not like the others.” 

“That’s what I love about you.”

“I’m not cut out for this,” she cries.

Hurt passes over his features, and the words die on his tongue. A pinch of fear starts in his stomach and spreads up to his heart, which races painfully, chills rushing through his spine. 

“What are you saying?” 

She doesn’t answer; she can’t. She didn’t mean for it to slip out. It’s usually just a passing thought when her insecurities come at full force. She’s never actually said it aloud, for fear of its repercussions. She doesn’t want to lose him. Even if she isn’t cut out for this sort of lifestyle, he is worth absolutely everything. 

“Y/N,” he says, cupping her cheeks. He wipes away her tears with his thumbs, but more fall to replace the ones he tried to clear. He hates how much this has affected her, and he hates that it’s his fault, too. She holds onto his wrists, fingers trailing up and down his heated skin, from his calloused hands to his elbows, their gaze never breaking. 

“I love you. Nothing anyone says will make me feel differently. Would you still love me if I gained a ton of weight or if I was just skin and bones?”

“Of course,” she says quickly. 

“This is no different,” he smiles. “I do regret many things in my life. I regret some choices I’ve made, I regret things I’ve said, and I regret being selfish. But you?” He shakes his head. “You will never be one of my regrets. You are beautiful inside and out. You make me want to be better, you make me look forward to every new day, and you give me strength.” 

Her heart swells at his words. Harry has always been a very emotive man when it came to her. He was never ashamed to let her know exactly how he felt, probably because of the years where he felt hopeless and couldn’t express himself fully. He leans in a little closer, his forehead resting against hers, and she can feel her worries tapering off with every shallow breath. 

“My love, you have no idea what you do to me,” he whispers, rubbing his nose against hers. He brushes away her tears, leaving her skin sticky. “Not one fuckin’ clue about the nights where I wanted nothing more than to be just with you, to be able to see you and laugh with you. Remember the night before my audition? And I asked if I could kiss you because I’d never kissed anyone before, and I didn’t want to seem like an absolute dud.” 

She nods. 

She pondered over that night for years. He was rambling and nervous, but she didn’t hear anything after he asked if he could kiss her, her mind going completely blank. Of course, she said yes. She had a crush on him for years, how could she say no? Even if it was just once, if it was just one fleeting moment in her life, she held onto it with everything she could. 

It was her first kiss, too, and she was so nervous with trembling hands and clammy skin. It seemed too good to be true: the boy she’s liked since as long as she could remember was going to kiss her; perhaps, there was hope for them after all. 

When they pulled apart, his hair messy and cheeks rosy, she thought that he was going to kiss her again. From the look in his eyes, he seemed like he was completely enamored with her, at a loss for breath with a soft gaze, but he didn’t. Her mind was playing tricks on her because all he said was “thanks”, and he laid back down, on his side, not even facing her. The hope she felt was crushed. Then, he left the next morning, and they never spoke about it again. The memory of that night leaves her heart aching. 

“Bullshit, all of it. I jus’ wanted to know how your lips would feel against mine, how soft and warm your body would feel. For months, I would think about that night, and I wished I could go back and tell you the truth, that I loved you. You have no idea how grateful I am to have you back in my life, to have you here, by my side, to hold and love.” 

As she gazes into his eyes, she can feel the truth in his words, the dedication, and the pain, most of all. 

He doesn’t want to lose her like he did all those years ago. 

He felt the same during those years apart, hopelessly wandering into the arms of various lovers to try to replace what he felt for her. He’s spent nearly an entire decade, searching for that one person to fill the void in his heart that Y/N claimed when they were just kids, much like she had with him. He yearned for a person, who would support and loyalty him just as she had, but they never cared as deeply as he did, nor did they feel and love just as strongly as he did. 

“I love you for everything you are, not just your heart or your mind but also your beautiful body, babylove. Don’t let anyone tell you any differently.” 

His lips tease over hers, just barely touching before she finally catches his lips after such a painstakingly long moment of silence after his confession, and they both are overwhelmed with the feeling of absolute relief, like they’re finally able to breathe.

He guides her onto her back, his knee nestling between her legs, blue sheets bunched up around her waist. He gently eases his hand below her shirt, fingers faint on the soft and pliant skin. She combs her nails through his hair, scratching and teasing. Her body alive and heated beneath his touch, they melt into each other, forgetting everything wrong with the world and focusing solely on each other, the pinch of teeth biting lips and the rush of chills down her spine. He feels up her thighs, tender touch on her soft skin, but she pulls away from him, fingers still latched in his hair, hesitation clear on her features. 

“Please,” he whispers. “Jus’ wanna make you feel good.” He kisses her beneath the curve of her jaw, the warmth of his breath leaving her heart racing. “Wanna make you feel loved, make you feel as beautiful as you are.” 

There’s not many things Harry can find safety with. Since his life in the public eye, he’s had to make a lot of sacrifices. It’s difficult to find considerate strangers, safe refuges, and genuine friends, but he knows that he can always find solace with her, in their home, together, blanketed in warmth and tangled up in blue. 

—

[tessadoesstuff]

Fueled By Spite, Chapter 1

Trying Something New! Posting the fic itself here instead of just the link.

Before you click read more - this is a VERY Pro-jedi anti Kylo Ren & Admiral Hux fic. Read at your own peril.

Chapter 1 of 3

"Let me go! I'll beat his karking Shebs in!" Ponds strains against Mace's force grip to lunge at the two intruders. He's clearly determined, as even as Mace tries to keep them apart, Ponds still is almost gaining ground. Mace can feel the hatred radiating off his commander.

"See! Even now, they control your actions and take away your free will! The Jedi see you only as puppets to be controlled, flesh droids. They care about nothing an no one, their emotions as false as any of their lies-" The redheaded admiral continues again, and Ponds stops in his fight to instead just stare in shock.

"What in the sith hells?" Is what Ponds spits out in response to that, and Mace knows that he's not the only one in the room who can't believe what these intruders are sprouting. "Where do you think you have the right?" Ponds yells again, and his rage crashes again like a wave over the room. Mace rides it out - it's nothing he hadn't heard before, but it's... refreshing to have someone come to his defense like this.

“Yes! Channel that rage, use it to slaughter the ones who would hold you back! Embrace your anger!” The whiny darksider calls out to Ponds. It is perhaps the most obvious darkersider comment Mace has heard in a long time. He wishes the Sith Lord would be this obvious about being a Sith. Mace does not appreciate these attempts to do… whatever these attempts are trying to do to Ponds.

“Would you kriffing shut your karking mouth?” Ponds screeches in response, Force fluctuating with his sheer rage, and then he flawlessly executes the three sharp movements that Mace has been teaching his men to break free of a darksider’s force hold. Mace feels the impressed surprise from his fellow council members, but he is a little busy attempting to grab Ponds again as the man crosses the room towards the redheaded fascist admiral.

Help? Mace sends at Depa, who’s seated closer to Ponds now, and she manages to hook him into her own force hold, pulling him closer to her, even as Ponds takes a swing at the admiral. He isn’t close enough to land the hit, but it has the benefit of sending a look of surprise across the redhead’s face, and he steps back away from Ponds, fear spiking in the force. His darksider partner sends the admiral a look in response to his fear. The look is punctuated by equal parts distaste and pure sexual hunger, and Mace can’t stop his gut reaction of disgust to that particular situation from bleeding into the force. Given the way the force twists with discomfort from the whole council, he’s not the only one.

“That’s right, I am far more powerful than you ever will be because I allow myself to love, unlike you twisted, unfeeling, repressed Jedi!” The darksider hisses at him, and at this point, Mace is impressed that the dark-haired man can even string those words together, although Mace isn’t sure he knows what they mean. They kind of all contradict each other. Mace doesn’t respond, he just folds his hands into a platform in front of his chest and leans forward to rest his chin on his hands. He never takes his eyes off the darksider.

Never let it be said though, that Obi-Wan and his commander were not every bit the trolls that the rest of their lineage is, Mace, thinks, as Commander Cody’s response to that is to whip his helmet off, lean over, and plant a kiss straight onto Obi-Wan. Mace works very hard to keep a straight face in response to that. Obi-Wan snakes a hand around his commander’s head, pulling them closer together in a move that Mace is sure is not comfortable, but certainly looks like it’s very… involved. In total contrast to the revolting hunger of the previous interaction between the admiral and the darksider, there is a gentle underscore of respect and care in the kiss between Obi-Wan and Commander Cody, despite the obvious joke the two are making. Clearly, the darksider has different feelings, as he makes a noise of disgust and protests.

“You know that he can’t really love you. The Jedi are so blinded by their light that they can’t love. It’s become just as poisonous as the dark.” What the kark? Mace has questions. That’s just… not how the force works. The light is selfless acts, and the dark is selfishness. One is a constant battle to do the right thing and the other a blinding spiral of mistakes. Unfortunately, before Mace can do more than clear his throat to interrupt, the darksider continues. “They don’t know how to love. They hate love. They believe that love is corrosive, evil, and they will never allow themselves to feel it properly. They will never love you.”

There is a spike of pure rage, and then a crack of metal and flesh, and the whole council realizes their mistake. With Depa holding Ponds back, no one has a grip on her commander anymore. To be fair, Mace had naively assumed he could be trusted to be the responsible one. The darksider falls to the ground with one hit, and there’s a scramble by the Jedi present to grab Grey, many of them even getting out of their seats to do it by hand.

“Ren!” The admiral cries but doesn’t actually make any more to help the darksider – Ren, apparently. There’s just a burst of muffled petty satisfaction. “We’re here to help you and the galaxy be free from the Jedi’s tyranny!” He continues, and Mace will admit that at this point, it feels a little like he’s being trolled.

“Do you know what this is?” Grey responds, holding up a datapad displaying what was familiar to Mace even at this distance as a senate certified from. It was too far for Mace to make out details, but he's pretty sure he recognizes the blood-red seal that was on all of the orders that sent his men, Vode and Jedi alike, back out to another deployment. The admiral makes a decisive noise. The spike of violent intent from Grey has Shaak Ti physically lunging to catch him, but she isn’t fast enough. Grey slams the datapad across the admiral’s face, and the redhead crumples to the floor with an angry groan. “These, are the approved adoption papers that my son and I signed. My son, the Jedi Padawan.” Grey grinds out, and Mace feels a swell of love for his grandpadawan. It’s strong enough that it probably came from at least him, Depa and Grey. Mace also knows the papers are a joke. There is no legal adoption that has taken place. But the point is non the less effective.

Shaak Ti collides with Grey at what is clearly a well-calculated angle, sending them both toppling on top of the two intruders while still looking almost accidental.

“Well then. Now that we have this settled, I propose we find our guests somewhere to sleep of their… education and move onto the next item on the agenda.” Obi-Wan proposes from where he is lounging in his chair in the only way a member of his lineage could. Dramatically. Mace feels a headache building.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26507122

[mysterioh]

BUSTED - b.b. part 2

PAIRING: PROFESSOR! BUCKY X READER

SUMMARY: Nat asks you about a certain contact by the name of “Bucky Boo Bear 🐻💖💕💗” and gets the surprise of a lifetime.

WORDS: ~2K

A/N: hi! thank you for all the love on part 1! it was genuinely not expected but very much appreciated! here’s the second part and I hope I was able to make it to everyone’s expectations. 💕

PART 1

"First of all, how dare you?"

"How dare I like math?" Bucky asked with a smug grin that had the redhead fuming.

"How dare you defile innocent girls with your devilishly handsome looks!" she yelled in his office. "Have you seen this face?" she asked, squeezing your face with one hand and shaking it back and forth. "This is the epitome of chastity!”

“I’m amazed you know such big words, Romanoff,” he chuckled.

Nat groaned in replied ready to slap the smug grin off his face. She leaned over on his desk with her palms flat against the wood and daggers shooting from her eyes. Unfortunately, it'll take a lot more than that to intimidate him. 

“You know, I always thought you were a good professor. Distinguished, intelligent, a total hardass at times, but good nonetheless. But now? You’ve lost all my respect!” She said and you gave her an unseen roll of the eyes.  “How dare you take advantage of my friend like this?”

“Nat…”

“You stay quiet!”

“You do realize the feelings are mutual here right?” he asked, “I’m not forcing her into anything.”

“She’s half your age!” she exclaimed. “You can’t just start dating your students!”

“Nat, would you keep it quiet!” you hissed. “What if someone hears?”

“You damn old pervert!”

“Actually, I’m twenty-seven. So that makes me only six years older,” he stated nonchalantly. “Not like I’m expecting you to be good at math or anything.”

“I know how to add, moron,” Nat deadpanned. “I might be failing your stupid class but I know basic math.”

“You can’t call me a moron. I’m your professor,” he replied, growing increasingly annoyed by her belligerent behavior.

“Screw you and your title you gross math geek,” she hissed. “Targeting sweet and innocent girls for your disgusting fantasies.”

Bucky chuckles only fueling Nat’s anger. “She’s not as innocent as you make her out to be.”

You glared at Bucky as he looked at you with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Am I gonna have to tell her or you?”

“Tell me what?” Nat asked looking at you with a raised brow.

You looked away from her, your cheeks a bright red. “Nothing, there’s nothing to say here.” You said, warning Bucky to not open his pretty mouth.

Bucky gave you an evil look. “She’s the one who started it.”

“No, I didn’t, you liar!”

“Come in,” Bucky called from his desk, eyes fixated on the screen of his computer. 

You poke your head in through the door and smile when he looks up. He returns it. 

You walk inside, confidence oozing from the way you sauntered over to his desk. Maybe it was just him, but there was a sultry air to your strut and suddenly his thoughts weren’t very professional. 

“Hi, sorry to bother,” you said. “I’m really having trouble with 6.3 and was wondering if you could help?” 

“That’s kinda my job,” Bucky chuckled, motioning you to sit in the chair next to his desk. “Let’s see that problem.” 

You chuckled while opening your notebook to find the problem you were stuck on. “So it’s on areas of revolution. I don’t really understand why you would use the Cylindrical Shells Method instead of the Disc Method.” 

You push the notebook closer to him and before he even reads anything he can’t help but admire how neat your notes are. Always made grading ten times easier.

“Alright,” Bucky pulls out a blank piece of paper from one of the several stacks on the side of his desk. “Let’s start by graphing this baby.” 

You pulled your chair closer to his cluttered mahogany desk and right next to his chair to get a better view. Bucky works out the problem, but it’s hard for him to focus. 

On any other day, he could do them with his eyes closed, but next to you he sounds like a nervous tutor on his first day. 

The scent of your perfume is intoxicating. The accidental brush of your hand against his fires him up. The way you bite your lip and furrow your brows in confusion had him fawning inwardly.

You couldn't help but sneak glances at him while he worked. His voice was like a jazzy tune, deep and soulful but smooth and sweet like honey. 

Those little glances morphed into something else and you're stuck staring at him, admiring the nitty-gritty of his features.

Eyebrows knitted in concentration. Steel-blue eyes determined to find a solution. His chocolate brown locks tied back lazily into a low bun with a few rebellious strands shaping his face. Oh, what wouldn't you do to leave a trail of kisses along the sharp angle of his bearded cheek, traveling your way towards those perfectly perfect, plump—. 

"Something wrong?" he asked. 

Your cheeks heated a bright red. "N-no!" You stuttered, quickly averting your eyes from his amused gaze and towards the desk. "U-um, I think I should go!" You quickly began to gather your things haphazardly while Bucky just looked on confused. 

He never said he minded. He didn't really want you to leave. Just not yet. 

"I'll see you in class, professor!" You said flustered. "H-have a good day." 

You turned on your heel to leave but freeze the minute his hand catches yours. His hand was surprisingly warm, fitting ever so perfectly in yours. It felt like you were unconsciously floating off into space. Your thoughts were filled with warm and fuzzy feelings and suddenly, the urgency to leave fades away. 

Bucky brings you back down to earth with a gentle tug on your hand making you turn to look at him, and it's the prettiest thing you've ever seen. 

Him looking up at you. His eyes twinkling in the light peering through the blinds of the window. Lips parted slightly, itching to say something that should never be said in this situation. 

"You don't have to go," he shook his head, the errant strands of his hair jostling as he did. "Can't you stay just a bit longer?" He whispered. 

In a matter of seconds, the schoolbag dropped, Stewart's Calculus was dead in a ditch, and private tutoring just got a bit too intimate. 

Next thing Bucky knows, he's caught in a whirlwind, dazed and confused by the way you're kissing him. The sweet taste of strawberries you had for a snack on the way there still lingered on your lips and had him craving more. Your gentle fingers traveling up his arms and the way you pull on his lower lip in mischief has him going insane. But even as the turbulent storm within him runs rampant, he still has some sort of sanity left. 

"We really shouldn't be doing this," Bucky murmured against your neck. Your heart aches against your ribcage at the sound of his husky voice against your skin. 

"We really shouldn't," you replied breathless, playing with the buttons of his shirt.

Papers with mathematical scribbles were scattered on Bucky’s desk along with a few on the floor. What had started as an innocent review session quickly turned into something else.

It was bound to happen eventually. The lingering gazes in class. The out of place compliments when returning quizzes. Always picking on you in class just to make sure you were listening. You always had a feeling that there was something more underneath all of it and sitting in his lap in the solace of his office was more than enough evidence to prove that your theory was correct.

"This is highly unprofessional, Miss L/N," Bucky stated as his hands slid down your sides. He nipped at your sweet spot.

"We can stop if you want to?" you asked innocently as if what you were doing was pure in its essence.

He leaned back in his leather chair and pulled you closer by wrapping an arm around your waist, making you straddle his hips better. Your body was taut against his with your hands resting on his chest. The look in his eyes denoted desire and you knew he had no intention of stopping.

“And what if I said I don’t want to?”

“Then I’m not going to stop you.”

"You do realize there is no turning back? This is going to change everything."

"Change is a good thing, Professor," you smirked bringing your lips closer to his, your sweet breath tickling his lips. Bucky growls lowly at the name.

"You're a bad student, Y/N."

"You're not so righteous yourself, Prof." you chuckled. "You have wandering hands," you said, alluding to his hard hands hidden underneath your sweater.

Bucky chuckled with a red blush tainting his bearded cheeks. He pulls you into a deep kiss, releasing seven weeks of pent up tension. The feel of your hand caressing his cheek and your core tight against him had him sending to another realm. There was an inkling of fear in him, but the need for you was far greater.

Who was gonna find out anyway?

"You started it?" Nat shouted at you.

"N-no!"

"I'm about to pull out the receipts," Bucky butted in.

"You will not do anything!" you shouted at him.

"Don't shout at me I'm your professor," he retorted.

"And I'm your girlfriend," you whispered at the end. "So I'll do what I want!"

"Babe, you're so bossy." Bucky chuckled. "I think that's really hot."

"Shut up, Bucky!" you shouted, hot and red.

"I can't believe I just heard you say that," Nat gagged. "This is beyond disgusting." She turned over to you, her red locks bouncing behind her. "Y/N, what's your mom gonna say about this?"

"Oh, Mrs. L/N is so sweet," Bucky said just to spite her. "She makes the best baklava."

Nat gaped at you. "He met your mom?!" You smiled sheepishly. "And he ate her baklava?!"

"Yeah, it was really good."

"How dare you eat her baklava?" she asked completely offended

"Well, she offered." Bucky shrugged.

"So your mom knew about this before I did?" Nat asked.

"You know my mom, Nat, she's always nagging me about getting a boyfriend."

"So you decided to pick your professor for the job?" she asked incredulously.

"Would you keep it down?" Bucky asked. "I'm tryna keep my job here."

"Should've thought about that before you started dating your student, math freak."

"Next insult and I'm knocking five percentage points off your grade."

"You can't do that!"

"Watch me," he threatened with a playful smirk.

She pouted at him then towards you. "Dump him right now!"

"Woah, woah, wait a second here," Bucky shouted in defiance.

"I'm not gonna do that, Nat. I really like him." You said.

"Why? He's a loser who gets turned on by math!"

"Well I like this loser!" you pointed at him.

"Don't call me a loser!"

"Fine don't ever talk to me again," she said as she strutted towards the door. "I never want to see you again."

"Nat, we live in the same house." You rolled her eyes at her. She was such a dramatic at times.

"Not anymore. I'll throw your stuff out the window for you to pick up. You can live with your stinky boyfriend from now on."

"Nat!" you hollered as she slammed the door behind her. You shake your head feeling a headache rising.

"She's really something," Bucky commented.

"I think it's the red hair," you said, making him chuckle.

You walk around his desk and take a seat in his lap.

"Sorry," he said.

"About what?"

"You just lost your best friend because of me."

"No," you chuckled, fixing the collar of his shirt. "She's just a bit dramatic. She'll be fine in an hour or two."

"How do you live with that?”

“You get used to it after twelve years.”

Bucky shook his head in amazement. “Wanna come to my place this weekend?" he asked with twinkling blue eyes.

"Can't," you sighed with a smile. "I have a Calc exam on Monday and my professor likes to make them incredibly hard."

"I can help," he offered with a smirk. "I'm very good at math."

"Something tells me we're going to be doing a lot more than just math," you chuckled.

"Maybe take a break or two," he suggested, dipping into your neck and peppering kisses along the curve of it.

"Highly doubt that," you replied as you pushed him away.

He frowns at you as you get up.

"I've got class in ten minutes," you replied. You turned to pick up your bag.

He catches you by the hand and gives it a kiss. "See you later then?" he asked with big puppy dog eyes.

"You are so clingy."

"I like spending time with my girlfriend. Is that so bad?"

"No, I guess not," you chuckled giving him a peck on the lips. "I'll see you tonight then. But not for too long since it's a school night."

"Nerd," he deadpanned.

"Says the guy who gets a hard-on from integrals," you retorted.

"I just like math, okay?"

"That's seriously not normal."

@marshyrebelcloud​ @chuckennuggets1213​