#was everyone in on it?? was i the only one who didn't know?? why was i the only one heading to the fucking bomb abt to go off come on

[ifyouencounterwolf]

Normalize this normalize that, we as writers and ARTISTS need to normalize NOT to see any critiques/negative feedback of our WORKS as a critique of OURSELVES.

When your work is finished and posted, it is done. It marks the end of a unique creative process and is now by and large independent from you. No matter how much of a magnus opus you think of it, you will be creating something better in the near future. So how would that posted work serve you now? By getting the FEEDBACKS from your readers.

How did that make others feel? Did it do the job of disturbing people or comforting people that you have intended it to do? Do people feel something unintended from your work? Do people feel anything from your work? Those are things as authors, we needed to know about, in order to know more about ourselves, and that's not just about our current skill levels.

Believe it or not, there's no inherently bad feedback, the negative ones are not inherently different from positive ones. They are all. just. feedback. They don't define you as a person, they are not attacking you as a person. Even with the worst kind "I hate this so much hope you kys" you could either ignore or ask how they hate it and where do they hate the most. Hate supply is still supply as my narc self would say.

That is, unless you are creating something for money and engagement/attention, and getting criticized will destroy your so-called celebrity fame and break the illusion that you are a prodigy and you don't need efforts to improve like everyone else on this planet earth. But sis, that's your problem.

Writing is a way of communication and forming a discussion, conversations cannot happen if either side is not allowed to speak freely. That goes for both the bad readers who demand authors to stop writing certain topics that disturb them, and bad writers who demand special treatment from the world simply because they created something for free and they thought they have a certain moral superiority to the "free-loaders".

Yes. You did create something for free and you didn't ask for the criticism. But you did that out of love and passion didn't you? Because as human beings, we are privileged to have this creative mind and this desire to express ourselves through our artworks, we live inside our own world but sometimes we want others to take a look at it and therefore we write something or we draw something and they reflect our thoughts and experiences and imaginations.

So what do our readers owe us? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

No one had this moral obligation to only make compliments and really really really mild suggestions and they still have to live in fear thinking whether the authors are still going to get offended because they interpreted "Looking forward to updates" as a demand or "I thought I wouldn't like it but I did" as a jeer.

Damn, if I'm a reader I would just say FORGET IT. I like it or I don't like it, who cares about my opinion? One wrong word would get me in fandom jail.

Except we do fucking care. Do you know what a purgatory I'm living in when I wrote my heart and soul out and people are just not going to leave anything for me to know how I did?

The readers' silence and uncaring to artists is a much more cruel punishment than their hate.

We have talked so much about "don't like it don't click" as a gotcha for the readers, but how about "don't like it but still give it a chance and tell me about it even if you still don't like it"? Because I trust you as my audience, that you have sufficient levels of media literacy and you have good tastes, and you can engage with artworks responsibly... THAT'S WHY I POSTED IT.

I could have just shown my stuff to only a small friend circle and let them be the judge but I chose to put it out there. Because I wanted it to stir up something so I could engage in conversations with people who only know me through my work and I would prefer it to stay that way. If the conversation is just about my typos and my grammar be it that way. It's still better than nothing.

That being said, we should not make it a consensus that readers need to give only compliments or just shut up. We should make authors themselves decide whether they wanted to be criticized or not. Authors can absolutely set up boundaries on how their works should be engaged, authors could say that "I want feedback but please don't nitpick my grammar or typo" or "this is personal to me/I am a first time writer so please be more gentle with your feedback".

But if you don't say anything then consider your work a free game if you may. See who catches the most of your hidden details and symbolism and see who asks the most annoying questions. Damn. As a writer that would actually be my dream.

not to be controversial bc I know this is like…not in line with shifting opinions on fanfic comment culture but if there’s a glaring typo in my work I will NOT be offended by pointing it out. if ao3 fucks up the formatting…I will also not be offended by having this pointed out…

‘looking forward to the next update’ and ‘I hope you update soon!’ are different vibes than a demand, and should be read in good faith because a reader is finding their way to tell you how much they love it. I will not be mad at this.

‘I don’t usually like this ship but this fic made me feel something’ is also incredibly high praise. I’m not going to get mad at this.

even ‘I love this fic but I’m curious about why you made [x] choice’ is just another way a reader is engaging in and putting thought into your work.

I just feel like a lot of authors take any comment that’s not perfectly articulated glowing praise in the exact manner they’re hoping to receive it in bad faith.

fic engagement has been dropping across the board over the last several years, and yes it’s frustrating but it isn’t as though I can’t see how it happens. comment anxiety can be a real thing. the last thing anyone wants to do is offend an author they love, and that means sometimes people default to silence.

idk where I’m going with this I guess aside from saying unless a comment is outright attacking me I’m never going to get mad at it, and I think a lot of authors should feel the same way. ESPECIALLY TYPOS PLZ GOD POINT OUT MY TYPOS.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Never Been Kissed

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: You've never been one to kiss and tell.

A.N. - This one is for all my The Prophecy Girlies... also known as the most self indulgent thing I've ever written.

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

"Come on," Sam coaxes. "Tell us or take a drink."

You swipe up the shot set before you, downing it without so much as a wince. You cross your arms, keeping your chin defiantly raised as you settle further into the couch, "I'm not telling you anything."

“Boo,” Sam playfully heckles, his drink sloshing in his hand. “Come on, it’s not that big a deal. Just tell us.”

“Absolutely not, I already took the damn drink.”

Sam quirks an eyebrow, refusing to back down, “Unless it was someone here?”

“Oh my God.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Sam, I did not hook up with anyone in this room.”

“Yes!” Sam teases. “That explains everything! That’s why you drank!”

“Or maybe I just don’t kiss and tell.”

“You’ve been drinking all night. And there’s only one reason you won’t tell us anything - because it’s someone in this very room!”

“Settle down, Sherlock,” Bucky cajoles.

You swipe the glass from Sam's loose grip, “You’re drunk, Sam.”

Sam boops your nose, swiping the glass back, “I’m not the one that’s been drinking for every question.”

“And yet, I'm still not nearly as drunk as you are," you shoot back, setting your drink on the table. You pat Bucky's shoulder, standing up from the couch, "And now, I’m going to bed. Goodnight, children.”

“Come on,” Sam drunkenly whines. “Don’t be a sore loser!”

“I have a debrief first thing, and I’m the only one of you assholes that won’t need to be carried to my room.”

Sam shouts after you, “Boo!”

Not a moment later, you feel a warm hand tap your shoulder, “Hey, wait up! I’ll walk you up.”

“Oh, sure.”

As you walk together, Bucky leans in conspiratorially, “So… now that it’s just us… Who was it?”

You groan, “Not you too.”

“Come on! It’s me! You can tell me!” Bucky cajoles.

“It’s none of your business.”

"I’m not asking for details. I just wanna know."

"You’re pushy when you’ve been drinking that Asgardian stuff, you know that?"

"Come on. It really can't be that bad. I probably don't even know the guy... unless I do?"

You hold his gaze for a moment, silently pleading with him to just drop it, "Bucky... enough."

"Was it Sam? Steve? Come on, I won't judge you if it was."

"Bucky, stop."

"Come on, just tell me!"

"No! Now drop it!" you snap.

Bucky freezes, his eyes widening, "I'm - I'm sorry, I didn't think it was that big of a deal."

You start to storm off, tossing a sharp retort over your shoulder, "Maybe not to you."

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry." He jogs after you, resting his warm, gentle hand on your forearm to stop you, "Really. You don't have to tell me. I was just being a dick. You’re right, it’s none of my business."

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the guilt pooling in the pit of your stomach for yelling at Bucky. "I can't tell you."

His brows furrow, "What?"

This was it. This was when everyone found out your deep, dark, embarrassing secret. You take another deep breath, bracing yourself for Bucky’s laughter and ridicule, "I can't tell you... because it hasn't happened yet."

His worry and confusion only compounds. His neck cranes slightly, almost like he believes his super solider hearing failing him is more plausible than your complete and total inexperience, "What?"

You take another massive breath, your cheeks heating, "I've never - it never happened for me."

“Huh?”

“Please don’t make me say it again.”

"Wait, wait, but earlier - earlier Natasha asked you about your first time. You said - you said it happened later than people might think."

You couldn’t believe he really wasn’t getting it. It was something you had come to accept about yourself. There was just something fundamentally wrong with you. Something not quite right. Something unloveable - at least in the romantic sense.

Shame heats your face, and you have to clench your fists in some hopeless attempt to keep it together in front of Bucky.

You try to shrug as casually as you can, "It's not technically a lie. Most people don't think someone can make it this long without your first kiss happening."

“Wait, wait.” If he was struggling to understand before, this may have just broken him. “You haven’t had your first kiss?”

You swallow the knot in your throat, hoping the word doesn’t sound as strangled as it feels, “No.”

Your shoulders sharply rise with a forced intake of breath as you wait for it. You wait for the litany of platitudes. The halfhearted consolations and excuses.

While you’d never told anyone about this missed rite of passage, you had mistakenly confided in a select few. You never said too much. Never said that you hadn’t ever been kissed. You usually offered something offhanded about not really dating much.

They didn’t need to know just how deep your inexperience ran. It didn’t matter anyway. The response was always the same. Some surface level words of comfort or dismissal.

You could practically hear the words falling from Bucky’s lips.

'It'll happen when you least expect it.'

'You just have to stop looking.'

'Put yourself out there.'

'You should lower your standards.'

'You're not missing out on much.'

The words you know all too well never come.

He chews on his bottom lip, his own mental turmoil as clear as day on his face. He didn’t know what to say and that was clear. He opens his mouth and your brace yourself for impact.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

You freeze, a little shocked by his response. “Don’t be.”

“No, no, I was being a dick and pushing you to talk about something you’re not comfortable with. I should understand that better than anyone else here.”

“I just - I don’t really tell people. It’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?”

“Yeah, Bucky,” you scoff, a little too defensive. “It’s a little embarrassing. I’m a grown ass woman that’s never been kissed. I’m a grown woman that no one’s ever show the least bit of interest in.”

His hands stop mid air, “I’m sorry, what?”

“What?”

He quirks an incredulous brow, “No one’s shown interest?”

“No…”

His entire head twists with disbelief, “No one? Really?”

“I’ve never even been asked on a date before,” you confess.

“What?”

“Will you quit saying that?”

“Sorry, sorry! It’s just a little hard to believe.”

You can't help but roll your eyes, “Why is that hard to believe?”

“Because it’s you! Look at you! Someone must’ve shown interest at some point.”

You try to shrug it off again, desperately hoping that Bucky doesn’t see how much this actually does hurt, “No. It’s always just been me.”

“Not even like a schoolyard crush or something?”

“Well, I had crushes, sure. That doesn’t mean that anyone had them on me.” Bucky’s face remains frozen in that confused, disbelieving grimace for a beat too long after you’ve finished speaking that you feel desperate to paper over the emotional cracks. It’s fine. That’s what you’ve told yourself your entire life, and that’s exactly what you’ll tell him, “Listen, I’m fine with it now. I’ve come to terms with it. I’m content. Maybe romance just isn’t in-“

“Can I kiss you?”

Now, it was your turn to look confused and taken aback, “What?”

“Can I?” he offers again, his eyes flicker to your lips so quickly you can’t be sure you didn’t just imagine it. “Kiss you?”

You immediately begin to backtrack, taking a half step back to put some distance between the two that seems to shrink with every passing moment, “Bucky, you really don’t have to do that.”

“What if I want to?”

Your eyebrows pull together in disbelief. “Do you?”

“Yes.” His answer is so immediate and reflexive it’s hard not to believe him. “I want to. Please.”

His whispered ‘please’ is your undoing. You nod ever so slightly, your voice nothing but a choked whisper, “I won’t be good at it.”

“I don’t believe that.” At this point, he’s staring at your lips more than anything else. His flesh hand raises to your cheek, softly cupping it. “Just relax.”

Your breathing comes faster as his breath dances across your cheeks, “Bucky…”

“I want you to remember this.” You’re not sure he meant to say that out loud, but the words sent a pleasantly unfamiliar shudder down your spine.

And without another word, his lips gently brush yours. For a long moment, you just stand there, not moving an inch. Until your hand moves of its own accord to rest on his chest. It slowly trails up his shoulder and down to the nape of his neck. Your mouth hesitantly moves against his, slowly becoming more relaxed with each little breathy sound he pulls from you.

It feels like forever and a split second all at once. Especially when he slowly drags his lips away from yours. As he pulls away, he licks his lips like he’s savoring the taste of you while it still lingers on his lips.

He rest his head against yours for a long moment. His lips are puffy and glistening under the low light of the Compound hallway, “There. Now, you’ve been kissed.”

AnonymityIsFun MasterlistBucky Barnes Masterlist

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[liminalmemories21]

This prompt list is great! I can see so many of them going in different directions. How about #90, “Why didn't you tell me?”

@cecilyv and I are working our way slowly down the list. All these prompts were great. Thank you to everyone!

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He finds out Eddie's moving back to LA, and that Evan is homeless, and that holy shit had he not needed to be jealous of Eddie, all within two minutes of gathering up the nerve to knock on Evan’s door. It's a lot to take in.

Tommy takes a deep breath, knocks on Evan’s door. Waits what feels like an interminable amount of time before the door creaks open and Chris' face appears in the crack. His suspicious look transforms into one of his giant grins, “Tommy!” The smile that creeps across his own face matches Chris’. 

He really had missed the kid but definitely hadn’t been expecting him.  “Uh.  Hi.”

Chris leans on the door jamb.  “Are you looking for Buck?”

He scratches his neck.  “Yes?”  Didn’t actually mean that to come out as a question, but –

Chris helps him out.  “Dad got his job at the 118 back.”  Adds unnecessarily.  “We moved back.”

He peers past Chris into the house, and it’s Eddie’s furniture, Eddie’s layout again.  “Right.  Makes sense.”  Except he knows Evan had given up the lease on this loft, so where– “Do you know where Evan is living now?”

Chris shakes his head.  “Not sure.”  Glances back into the house, and then leans in to say more quietly, like he doesn’t want Eddie to hear what he’s about to say, and Tommy has no idea what that means.  “He hasn’t been around much since we moved back.  I think maybe he and Dad had a fight?”  He looks at Tommy like he expects Tommy to know more, but he doesn’t.

He’s had the occasional text from Evan since the helicopter ride, since the funeral.  Had the feeling Evan was checking in on him, checking up on him, making sure he was okay.  Hadn’t really known how to respond, which was kind of why he was here now.  Figured that he might do better in person, or at least it would be harder to leave Evan on read if he was here, in front of him.

He shakes his head, and Chris looks disappointed in him, which thanks, he already kind of felt like a heel.  Has to shift his gaze upwards when Eddie appears behind Chris.

“Hey.  Chris was just telling me you moved back.”  Eddie makes a noise that approximates agreement.  “And you moved back in.”  It’s a statement, but also a question.

Eddie shrugs.  “Buck was just subletting.  House was set up for me and Chris.  Made sense.”

Right, except for the part where Evan gave up his loft to move here.  “Sure,” he says blandly.  “Any idea where Evan is now?”

Eddie shakes his head.  “I wasn’t invited to the housewarming.”

Ooookay then.  He’s not touching that one.  Backtracks to his truck.  Considers his options.  He could just call Evan.  That would be the sane and mature thing to do.  He calls Howie instead.

“So, Eddie’s back.”

There’s the sound of a fussy baby in the background, and Howie sounds frazzled.  “Yeah.  Couple weeks now.”

“Any idea where I can find Evan?  Since apparently Eddie kicked him out when he moved back?”

That brings Howie up short, and he’d apologize, except for how he kind of doesn’t want to.  There’s a pause.  “I’m not actually sure,” is what he finally says, and Tommy wants to grind his teeth.  “Hang on, Maddie will know.”

Maddie does not in fact know.  He’s going to give her – and maybe Howie by extension – a pass if only because they have a newborn at home.  

Calls Hen and gets the same pause, and then admission that she doesn’t know.  His dentist is going to have words with him the next time he goes in for a cleaning, but he can’t unclench his jaw. .

Doesn’t actually have Ravi’s number, which means he has to put on his big boy pants and actually call Evan.  Who picks up on the first ring.  “Tommy?”

He’d told Evan, ‘you call, I’ll always pick up;’ hadn’t been sure it would work the other way around.  Had never tested the theory until now.  And he’s been silent too long because Evan sounds a little worried when he says, “Tommy?” again.  “You okay?”

He should say something normal.  Instead he says, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

There’s a pause, and then a cautious.  “Tell you what?”

“That you’re homeless.”

There’s another pause.  “I’m not?  Homeless?  Or well, I guess technically I am kind of.  But, I’m not like living out of my car.”  Gives a half laugh.  “I think I’m too old to do that again.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks again.

There’s a silence long enough that he doesn’t think Evan is going to answer.  Then, “Everyone’s got their own shit going on. They didn’t need my drama too.”  Tommy opens his mouth, to interrupt, to tell him that he does, but Evan plows on, doing that half laugh that’s definitely false. “You didn’t either. You-- You’re not signed up for that anymore.” He huffs, Tommy can picture him waving his hand to dismiss the idea that it’s important. “ It’s not even interesting drama.  Nobody wants to hear about apartment hunting in LA.”

“I do,” he says promptly.

“Oh,” Evan says softly, like Tommy’s surprised him.  “Uh, really?”

“Really,” he says firmly.  Bites down on saying, ‘I always want to talk to you, I miss listening to you talk about whatever you’ve been reading.  I miss you.’

“Oh,” Evan says again, and still sounds surprised.  “Umm.  I was actually going to look at an apartment this afternoon – I think my realtor hates me, I keep not liking anything she shows me.”  There’s a pause and Tommy’s not sure what’s coming next.  Waits.  Tries not to feel too eager.  “Would you, uh, want to come with me?”

He says yes before Evan can hedge the question, or take it back, or say something that will make Tommy feel slightly homicidal towards Evan’s friends and family.

“That eager to see my apartment drama first hand?” Evan says, but there’s a hint of amusement in his voice now.

“Yes,” he says dryly.  “I cannot wait to witness the battle between millennial gray and boomer beige.”  He’s not even really joking, but it feels like a win when Evan laughs.

[nevershootamockingbird]

[ Image One: A screenshot of a reddit post that reads: "AITAH for "training" a guy "like a dog"?

I (23F) have recently started seeing this guy (26M). he's super pretty, but he's kind of emotionally unavailable and he's alluded to an unstable/ unhealthy childhood.

for context, i also work w socializing abused and neglected dogs at a local shelter and i think about how much time i spend w the dogs is impacting the way i interact w ppl.

when we were on a date i started subconsciously making mental notes abt him like the notes id make abt a dog. for example, i noticed when we went out to dinner and i noticed he ate really quickly and was very anti-sharing (resource guarding) but when i offered to pay and suggested dessert it seemed to make him really happy and a little calmer (food-motivated); he likes when i pick where we go/ what we do (eager to please), etc. so, ive started using the tactics id use on a dog w similar problems.

recently a friend (22F) pointed out that it's weird that i keep peanut M&Ms on me w the specific purpose of offering the guy one when i see him, and offering them again whenever i can tell he feels vulnerable. she said that im being an asshole bc he's a person, not a dog so i shouldn't be "training him like one."

i don't think thats fair, im not trying to control him or anything, i just want him to feel comfortable w me the same way i need the animals im helping to be comfortable w me. humans and animals aren't THAT diff after all, we all just want to feel safe and cared for. the guy hasn't noticed yet as far as i can tell. the problem is, my "technique" is yielding really positive results.

AITAH? should i stop?"

Image Two: A screenshot of a reddit post that reads: "UPDATES/ CLARIFICATIONS

for everyone asking me if i've seen the big bang theory ep w this plotline: i have not

for everyone saying they think i am autistic: probably, yeah. i haven't been tested but maybe i should

i do not have loose m&ms in my pocket bc then they'd get all melty and gross - i keep them in a bag in my purse

ik the title was clickbait-y so i want to make some things clear. i didn't think of it as "training" til my friend said it was like i was training him, and that made me feel weird (and it's why i made the post)

i am not and never have been trying to "modify" behavior. what i noticed in him and what i notice in animals were stress responses. we only get aggressive over our food if we believe someone's gonna take it away. we get defensive over our spaces if we reasonably feel like they'll be violated. applies to both animals and ppl. i was trying to establish trust the way i best know how to lol

if he never shared fries and never wanted to park next to a car w wide doors again, that'd be fine w me tbh. i know he's not a dog, so he's not at risk of being euthanized or something"

Image Three: A screenshot of a reddit post that reads: "ON TO THE UPDATE PROPER YAY!"

so, to all of the ppl who told me i should tell him what im doing - you were right and that's what i did. turns out i was VERY WRONG abt him not noticing what i was doing - he apparently put two and two together pretty quickly after i started doing it. he didn't tell me he was on to me tho, bc he liked it and was worried id get embarrassed and stop if i knew that he knew. so we talked it out and it ended up not being a very big deal at all and im probably gonna keep having m&ms bc they're good. that's all i got for yall lol" / End ID ]

sickens me to my stomach. how dare this guy get to live my dream.

[seungcheorry]

happy burstday to you - cherry version 🍒⚡ | 02. yoon jeonghan - svt anniversary

yoon jeonghan as the boy who accidentally threw the basketball at you, broking your glasses in the process

"oh, shit-", jeonghan flinches, immediately running to you. "i'm so sorry, are you okay?!"

you still have your hands over your face. your friend next to you is half trying not to laugh, half worried about you.

"the ball just slipped out of my hand, it wasn't supposed to even come near you, i'm so sorry!", he apologizes again, and when you finally look up at him, jeonghan also tries not to laugh.

your face is a bit red - he's sure not only from the ball hitting you -, but your glasses is also parted in half, your hands holding the pieces together.

"you broke my glasses", you state, deadly staring at him.

"sorry, i…", what is there to say? why is jeonghan kinda scared of looking at you right now? "are you okay, though? did it hurt you?"

your nose stings a bit, but you're gonna survive… well, maybe not from the embarassment of being hit in the face by thee yoon jeonghan, everyone's crush on school and captain of the basketball team.

"i'm fine", you sigh, getting up from your place. "i just gotta wash my face."

"i'll go with you."

and you wanna say he doesn't need to, that he should go back to practice, that he should go back to his friends who are calling his name now; they need him. you wanna say your friend can go with you - even though she hasn't said anything so far -, but jeonghan grabs you by the arm, gently guiding you out of the court.

it's cute, but also a bit awkward, how he watches you washing your face so closely, broken glasses on the sink. his eyes don't leave your face, like he's waiting for something to happen, and he even looks worried when you groan while washing your nose.

"does it hurt?"

"a bit", you sigh again. "never thought you could miss a single throw, but here we are now."

"well, technically i didn't miss… it hit you perfectly on the face."

jeonghan bites back a chuckle, especially when you look at him with those deadly eyes again. he bows to you, silently apologizing once again, and takes a step back (just to be sure, you know?).

"are you… what are you gonna do about your glasses? do you have a spare one?"

"no, i'll have to buy new ones."

"shit", he rolls his eyes. "i'm gonna pay, don't worry."

"you don't have to-"

"yeah, my dad will never leave me alone if i don't step up to do the "right thing", you know?", he actually uses air quotes. "it's okay, it's only fair. let's go buy new ones tomorrow, is that okay? can you like… see in the meantime?"

you feel the itch to smack his arm, but something or someone holds you back, perhaps god.

"i'm not blind, yoon jeonghan."

"oh, so you know my name", jeonghan smirks at you, grabbing your broken glasses from the sink.

"everyone in this school does."

"yeah, and everyone in the whole world will know it too", jeonghan turns around. "taking your glasses with me so you won't try to mend them. see you tomorrow after class."

you roll your eyes, a deep sigh coming out of your lips, getting ready for the busy day you'll have tomorrow - because yoon jeonghan is always a handful, you know that much.

but the way he texts you later that night, just to know how you're doing (which you answer to after demanding to know how he got your number) is weird and also... nice. or how he says you should get your eyes checked up, just so you can make full new glasses, all on him - aka all on his parents.

or, i don't know, how you agree to his idea and your mom takes you to the "eye doctor", as jeonghan calls it; and how you're surprised to see him outside the building once you finish your appointment.

"still blind?", he asks, playful eyes turning serious the moment he sees your mom behind you. "oh, hello, miss! i didn't see you, i'm sorry."

"perhaps you should get checked too", you say, and jeonghan laughs out loud.

it's also nice how he sits beside you at the court the next day, helping you decide on which glasses you should buy. his friends are calling him, asking him to come play - but he just wave them off.

"shouldn't you be practicing?"

"i will, after school", jeonghan nods. "but not basketball."

"gave up on your career so soon? i was your only victim, you're good."

"no, that's not it. i just... i got into this company, kpop company. i will officially be a trainee soon, i guess. to be honest i wasn't thinking too much of it, just dreaming big, but i met the other boys last week and... they're really nice. i have a good feeling about this."

but jeonghan never mentions his new adventure again to you. he waves it off, focusing on you and finishing his mission with you. he tells you which glasses he liked from the site you're currently scrolling through on your simple phone, rolling his eyes when you say you didn't ask for his opinion.

it's also nice when, through his new busy schedule, jeonghan can finally accompany you to the store, carrying his mom's credit card in his pocket and acting like he owns it all - which he doesn't. he tries a few glasses too, mumbling about how good-looking he is and how a great idol he will be someday. you roll your eyes, pointing at the ones you chose so jeonghan can just pay and be done with it, both of you - but on your way out of the store, he sees this ice cream shop and pays you one too.

"for the whole glasses incident, you know", he shrugs. "my debt with you is paid."

"yeah, but your parent's debt with the bank is not."

jeonghan laughs, but you won't admit how nice that sound is too. you just thank him for your ice cream, turning around on your hills and going home.

he sees you at school the next morning, winking at you and mumbling a "it looks nice" for your new look. you just roll your eyes once again, ignoring the way your friend is trying not to freak out because you're suddenly close to yoon jeonghan. but, to be honest, that closeness doesn't last long...

he disappears for two days, everyone talking at the corridors about what could have happened. a third day goes by, and rumor has it that he's sick; but you know it's not that. on the fifth day, the teachers let everyone know that jeonghan moved out of the city, and will be attending a new school there.

you don't think too much of it, just silently wish the stars that he can succeed on his new adventure - and that's all you do, forgetting him and just moving on with your life.

but years after, as the big kpop group seventeen gives an interview and yoon jeonghan tells everyone about this time at school when he accidentally shot a basketball straight to someone's face, you roll your eyes again, but suddenly remembers that you still have the glasses he - his parents - paid for you, just like he still has the ones he broke.

have you considered tipping me? | ko-fi 🍒

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[pankowcrumbs]

Love me X Oscar Piastri (Requested)

Request: Oscar Piastri x Reader The Reader loves him, but he has a mean girlfriend, with a happy ending.

MasterList

F1 Masterlist

I've known Oscar since we were kids in Melbourne, racing go-karts and dreaming big. He was always the one with the natural talent, the one everyone knew would make it. And he did. From karting prodigy to Formula 1 driver, Oscar Piastri became a name the world recognised. But to me, he was just Oscar my best friend, my confidant, the boy who once helped me build a treehouse in my backyard.

Over the years, our bond only grew stronger. Late-night calls, shared secrets, and countless inside jokes. But somewhere along the line, my feelings shifted. I fell for him. Hard. Yet, I never found the courage to tell him. Especially not after he started dating Amelia.

Amelia was everything I wasn't glamorous, poised, and always camera-ready. She fit perfectly into the world of glitz and glamour that came with being an F1 driver's girlfriend. But beneath her polished exterior was a sharp tongue and a colder heart. She often made snide remarks, belittling me in subtle ways that Oscar never seemed to notice.

"Y/N, darling," she'd say with a saccharine smile, "that outfit is... brave."

I laughed it off, as I always did, not wanting to cause a scene or make Oscar uncomfortable. But each comment chipped away at my confidence.

One evening, after a particularly biting remark from Amelia during a team dinner, I decided I'd had enough. I needed distance. I needed to protect my heart.

I started declining Oscar's calls, making excuses to avoid events, and immersing myself in work. It wasn't easy, but it felt necessary.

Weeks turned into months. I watched from afar as Oscar's career soared. Podiums, interviews, magazine covers he was everywhere. And Amelia was always by his side, smiling for the cameras.

Then, one rainy afternoon, there was a knock at my door. I opened it to find Oscar, drenched and holding a takeaway bag.

"Thought you might be hungry," he said, offering a sheepish smile.

I stepped aside, letting him in. We sat on the couch, eating in silence.

"Why did you pull away?" he finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. "I just needed some space."

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No," I replied quickly. "It's not you."

He looked at me, eyes searching mine. "Is it Amelia?"

I looked away, biting my lip.

"Y/N, I know she can be... difficult," he admitted. "But I never meant for you to feel uncomfortable."

"It's not just that," I confessed. "Being around you two, it hurt. Because I... I have feelings for you."

The room fell silent. I dared not look at him, fearing his reaction.

"I ended things with Amelia," he said after a moment.

I turned to him, surprised. "What?"

"I realised I was holding onto something that wasn't right. She didn't make me happy. Not the way you do."

Tears welled up in my eyes. "Oscar..."

He reached out, taking my hand. "I've been so blind. You've always been there for me, and I was too caught up to see what was right in front of me."

I smiled, a tear slipping down my cheek. "So, what now?"

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. "Now, we start a new chapter. Together."

From that day forward, things changed. Our friendship blossomed into something deeper, more profound. We faced challenges, as all couples do, but with open communication and unwavering support, we navigated them together.

Oscar continued to shine on the track, and I stood proudly by his side, not just as his best friend, but as the woman he loved.

And as we watched the sunset from our favourite spot on the beach, hand in hand, I knew that sometimes, the best love stories are the ones that start with friendship.

[gay-dorito-dust]

*Shuffles in* Prehaps, I could request John Walker with dark magic witch user dating hcs, please and thank you 🥹👉👈 If not, than maybe this prompt with Jaoquin!!

i just wrote joaquin as a bonus as i can't pass up writing him.

you probably didn't get off on the right foot, but that's neither here nor there, and after saving his ass on multiple occassions with your magic and the growing tension between the two of you a relationship was inevitable to happen. Even if it was in an unconventional way but no one is perfect and certainly neither were you or john.

John’s not so much a believer in magic, seeing as it’s not something he’s seen a lot in his life nor was exposed to, so needless to say he thought your magic was nothing more then parlour tricks for kids.

That was until he saw your dark magic in full display as you manipulated the shadows, shaping them into hellish demonic beings to hunt down and hurt your enemies on your behalf, or the time you had manipulated reality so that when someone tries to run away from you, they’d ultimately be warped into running into you time and time again until they cave in.

Your magic wasn’t pretty and he knew that, it was demented, forbidden, looked down upon and vowed to be eradicated for good by those who thought all who wielded dark magic were destined to be harbingers of destruction and evil.

However your personality shone brightly in a room where your magic had darkened it, the contrast between you as a person and your magic was so jarring that it in of itself was dangerously deceptive, and something that you could use to your advantages should you so wish.

Yet while John might not be a firm believer in magic or the mystic arts or whatever you wanna call it, but that doesn’t mean he’s no less impressed with the feet’s you are able to accomplish in due to your magic and control over it as well as execution as though it’s become second nature to you. Yet you do have days where your magic did act out and people got hurt, which resulted in you being publicly scrutinised for your seemingly ‘lack of control’

John had seen you scowl down at your phone multiple times, reading the same articles over and over again, so much that he had to take your phone off of you -something you did to him whenever he did the exact same thing- and sit down next to you and hold your hand within his own, his thumb rubbing the pulse in your wrist in a manner he hopes is soothing.

‘Why are you listening to the public opinion of others when you know what you’re capable of?’ He’d start. ‘You can fly, control shadows, manipulate reality and perception, absorb light and generate darkness from it, and so much more. They-’ he raises your phone in his hand. ‘-Can’t even leave the keyboard alone for a single second?' he's been where you've been, hell he still is but he didn't want some keyboard warriors words to get in your own head, make you think lesser of yourself becuase everyone was scared that you'd do when unleashed.

'don't give them power over you becuase you will spend your life appeasing people who's oppinons on you will never change, no matter how much you yourself have changed.' John finishes as you look at the way he held your hand, strong, firm and says all the words he couldn't dislodge from his throat, it was grounding and reminded you that the only opinion you should ahere by was your own and his.

for someone who considered himself a broken toy, John was all too well put together and a source of reassurance for you, a shoulder to lean on even if he did stiffen before relaxing afterwards, you were both learning and overcoming the hardships your relationship would undergo together, hands clamped tightly.

you even use your magic to tease john, whether it'd be by making his shadow tap him on the shoulder, or stealing his shield by making it seem as though it was waddeling away from him. forcing him into following after it until you have the shield in your posession , smirking at him while he looked at you unamused. 'you and your parlour tricks.' john would say as you shrug.

'you still fell for my parlour tricks regardless john. you're dating me remeber.' you replied as you kissed him on the cheek before giving him back his shield and walking away. John swears you'd be the death of him.

nightime is the when the worst swarms john's mind, leaving him restless and incapable of sleeping after waking up once and this is when your magic works it's...well magic. sure your magic is rooted in dark magic and it's fuled by your anger and hatred but you could still use it to manipulate John's dreams to ones that were more pleasent for him, to have him unlcench his jaw and lossen his shoulders and have his eyelids droopy enough for him to fall asleep for the rest of the night.

you always ask him if you could as you never wanted to use your magic without his conset, john would only hum and bring your hands up to his temples while resting his head agaisnt them, silently displaying his trust in you and allowing you into his mind to help him in a way he's never asked for before. you always make sure to never delve too deep within his mind, there was alot to unpack there and most of it wasn't anything that you should make your own buissness, and instead focus on reminding him of the good times you shared together and how you see him.

it might not be enough but it would do until you both decide to have a deeper conversation about it. There was a mutal understanding between the two of you that didn't need any words and never would as you understood each other on a deeper level then most, which often lead into bouts of over protectivness from one another on most occasions. not unexpected and not unwelcomed either.

if you ever were to overexert yourself in due to your magic -especially on a mission- he's stubborn in making sure you were okay as he made you food, make sure you were comfortable by fluffing your pillow and even insiting on endurance training so that it wouldn't happen again, for the betterment of yourself and him as well as future missions.

john was a secret worrier and thought the worse at the time as he hovered over you, checking your pulse but still being worried as he kept you safe until the rest of the team joined up with the both of you. he's a feral man on a mission to make sure nothing happened to you while you were in such a vulnerable state, wide eyes and his shield wielded like a weapon instead of something made to defend and protect.

he didn't care, he just needed you safe and would go to many lengths to ensue it.

he honestly loves whenever you used your magic, seriously you swear you've never seen a man's eyes become as wide as his as you manilpuated shadows to do your bidding with a flick of your wrist or using simple tricks to complete mundane tasks when you're feeling a little lazy to do so yourself.

he finds every bit of your magic fasinating even if it's origins aren't so favourable in the eyes of your fellow magic users. he's your reminder that your magic could never be evil if Joaquin is looking at you as though your had light emmiting from your palms instead of darkness and destruction.

‘Is there anything you can’t do?’ He would ask when you told him about how you could walk through shadows, trap people within prisons of utter darkness and audial illusions of their worst fears and memories, minor reality manipulation, consume light and even generate it into dark magic, teleport, telepathy, flight amongst many other abilities you have honed overtime and with experience.

You shrug. ‘I’m sure there’s somethings I can’t do but I won’t know until I get there.’ You tell him before adding. ‘But having such…power is draining and I don’t mean when it’s in terms of overexerting myself.’ You tried to joke but from the way Joaquin fell silent told you that it didn’t land how you’d wanted it to.

'you're doing your best.' is what he says in response.

'people still fear me joaquin,' you tell him, 'it'd been months and i'm still seeing no change in how people see me.'

joaquin's jaw clenched as he brings you into his arms, kissing your forhead as he rubs your back soothingly, not liking how you resented your magic because people didn't understand. joaquin understood you, admired you and sees you as a fountain of strength and power. 'then don't look at them, look at me when you feel lost, i'll always be there for you no matter what.'

'even if it means going agaisnt everyone that sees me as a disaster waiting to happen?' you asked him, burrowing your head against his neck, nosing his pulse.

'especially then.' joaquin promised as he continued to cuddle you against him in hopes it would give you comfort, give you something to remind you is real whenever you felt lost amidst your own power at times.

you swore he had magic within him aswell with how effortlessly he brought warmth and comfort to your life unlike anyone else in your life. he was bright, smart, warm, a sense of peace and hilarity that your life oh so desperately needed right now.

Joaquin was beautiful, calming and grounding for you as you wordlessly cling to him, safely knowing that you wouldn't be pushed away and instead brought into his embrace and melting into him as you felt yourself able to breath.

he might think your made out of magic but you thought he was the embodiment of magic even if it was small acts he did, he just radiated something beyond describing as it wouldn't do him justice.

joaquin would also ask if there was anything else that you haven't tried with your magic before pulling out a whole list as you both spent going through together, taking it as an oppertunity to spend time together however you could and treasuring it and the way he spoke as though he was on a time limit, how animated he is when talking about your magic and his over usage of hand gesutres of how he seen you use magic.

he was also your hype man too, whenever you did something cool with your powers, or just did anything in general, he's smiling widely and giddy as he possibly could. 'that's my baby!' he'd exclaim. 'looking good honey!' he'd add when he noticed that you had heard him.

sam finds the interactions between you and joaquin funny as he watched joaquin grab your hands and rub your palms where your magic resided, speaking sweet nothings to you, displaying an exciment when you made a bit of your magic weave between yours and his fingers.

joaquin even asks if you could fly with your magic, if you could then expect flight dates to be a very common thing between the two of you, even becoming healthy competition between you and him to see who could get to the rooftop of a building first, where waiting was a picnic blanket, fairy lights and food that was set up by joaquin hours prior. it's cute and you loved every second of it as it was just another thing about joaquin that you very deeply loved.

you even use flight competition to see who had to do what. ie; who had to do the dishes, who got to cook, who got more kisses and cuddles, who's the big spoon, and other things that many would probably be viewed as silly or unnecessary but neither of you cared, it was something that was yours and yours alone.

[evilkitten3]

hm.... i see what you mean, i think (tho i'll point out that there's been at least one transfer of power in-series during wartime, from tobirama to hiruzen, which actually worked out phenomenally well bc the first war ended and then there was peace for like a good two decades)

also. i know it's a typo but someone do me a favor and draw an isobu-sanji roleswap. make that turtle thing a pirate

anyway concerning yagura the brief momet we meet him is somewhat odd bc prior to that all the info we really had on him was the bloody mist stuff and we really don't know what the timeline was there. what we know for sure is that his reign was just as bad if not worse than the third mizukage's. how he behaved in the jinchuuriki-bijuu chat may just be evidence that he was under obito's control even before that

as much as i adore obito, most of the plot points that delve into his time as puppet master make very little sense (i find it's significantly better to leave details like that as ambiguous as possible, especially if you're a writer writing a character smarter than you), and that's twice as true for everything including kiri (esp when madara gets involved. you're telling me this old man started pulling strings in kiri while being unable to move from his life support chair on the off-chance that some dipshit kid got caught in a cave-in and just so happened to also be an uchiha? no. sorry that's bs. i have never seen a single analysis of madara's recruitment of obito that made sense and wasn't basically just spur of the moment)

obito's backstory suffers a lot from poor planning and the author trying to rearrange things he'd already written so they made some sense with the context of it having been obito all along, and it. really, REALLY doesn't work that well.

anyway, obito's initial plan was just madara's plan that he at some point started tweaking, but madara's plan ever involved starting a war. he even says he's not sure why obito did it and just assumes he had a good reason (spoiler: he did not). obito decides to team up with the akatsuki and build up strength before going for the jinchuuriki (this makes perfect sense but is also something the real madara would never do bc it would require relying on people he can't pretend are him), which is why the akatsuki don't really start doing antagonist stuff until naruto is ready to face them. also bc they have to go in order. for. reasons. which is presumably why obito didn't just start with the three tails as soon as it reformed, which we can infer is also why he kept yagura under his control until it was time to yoink that thang

when did obito decide he was going for world war four? who knows. i would believe that he decided to have yagura be Even Worse in order to keep him isolated so as few people as possible noticed or gave a shit that he wasn't acting of his own volition, but ao noticed anyway and ultimately yagura was one of the most Please Kill This Cunt Holy Shit guys in all of ninjaland, which could've caused obito some inconvenience but fortunately no one in mist was strong enough to take out yagura and no one outside of mist gave a shit

the only way i've been able to make obito's involvement in the massacre make any sense at all is by a) ignoring basically any non-manga content about it and b) assuming that his motive was solely to recruit itachi and he didn't really give a shit about anything else. bc while it might make sense to want to remove potential opponents who could maybe control the bijuu to his disadvantage, but i honestly don't think any old uchiha could control the bijuu whenever bc otherwise it would've made way more sense for obito to recruit the uchiha (esp the ones who. weren't loyal to the village anymore hello????)

should also be noted that the change in kage wasn't bc everyone just decided to have a new boss now. the third raikage died in the war, hiruzen stepped down bc he was old and tired and never even wanted to be here to begin with, the third mizukage would've also been old bc he was even older than hiruzen and we know basically nothing about him, the third kazekage got murdered by sasori so suna had a new guy in charge before the war was even over, and oonoki didn't feel like retiring i guess.

tbh i wouldn't be all that surprised if kiri had periods with no leader at all bc it kinda seems like shit was just in Constant Chaos over there

tldr: no obito did not have a good reason to do what he did in kiri or to the uchiha clan. he was just kinda being a dick

what's really funny about madara being narratively the "bigger bad" in relation to obito is that. obito is worse. like a lot worse. like i love him to death but he's objectively so much worse

madara's base plan required maybe 10 deaths (the jinchuuriki + nagato, later adding rin for some reason which i don't personally believe but it's technically canon so i'll include it). obito has like. the highest bodycount in the series. like this man is directly involved in multiple state-sponsored ethnic cleansings. like idk if even black zetsu has the kind of blood on his hands that obito does, it's that bad

but he was a really great guy!

[idkyetxoxo]

Eleven | Ignite Me | Little Star

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 2.7k

Warnings - Violence, misogyny, angst?

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"I need you to go on a mission for me."

Rhys leaned against the edge of his grand oak desk, the rich mahogany darkened by the shadows cast through the tall windows behind him. 

His violet eyes, normally brimming with sharp amusement or cool command, were dulled, ringed with fatigue. They mirrored my own exhaustion and worry etched into both our expressions like twin reflections.

I nodded, swallowing hard, forcing the anxiety that threatened to strangle me back down. 

I gestured for him to continue, even though my instincts screamed otherwise. I hadn't trained in years. I hadn't used my power in years. Not truly. Not since... well. That didn't matter now. 

My shortcomings were mine to bear, but I would not—could not deny my brother. Not when I would move entire mountains if he asked me to.

"There's unrest brewing in one of the Illyrian war camps," he said, his voice low but steady. 

"Tension's been rising for months, but now it's nearing open rebellion. There are whispers, dangerous ones, circulating. Accusations, lies, slander about the Night Court interfering too much in their affairs. They think we're weakening their traditions, threatening their autonomy."

He paused, jaw tightening. "I need someone to go. Under the guise of a routine visit. Someone who won't raise suspicion but who can observe, assess how far the rot has spread."

"Why me?" I asked, voice soft, careful. There was no accusation in it just honest curiosity.

Rhys didn't answer right away. He pushed off the desk and crossed the room, resting his hands on the back of the chair opposite mine. "Cass would barge in like a battering ram. He's too loud, too blunt. The commander would be halfway to drawing steel before lunch."

I smiled faintly. Fair enough.

"If Feyre or I go, it'll send a message—we'd be admitting we know something's wrong. That could trigger an even bigger backlash. And Mor's still out of the city."

"What about Az?" I asked.

The room darkened not with the absence of light, but with the presence of something older, deeper. 

The shadows came first, curling through the corners like sentient smoke. Then Azriel emerged from them, silent and still as death, arms crossed over his chest. His chin dipped in a quiet greeting, the only acknowledgement he ever offered unless words were absolutely necessary.

"I'll be accompanying you," he said simply, his voice a soft rasp, the sound of secrets.

Rhys's grin returned, faint but wicked. "It's no secret Azriel terrifies just about everyone he meets."

A flicker of something close to amusement ghosted across Azriel's face, a barely-there twitch of his lips that could almost be mistaken for a smile.

"You'll go to ensure the 'female recruits are receiving proper training,'" Rhys explained. "That's the official reason. The camp in question is... more traditional than the others. Resistant. They've been quietly ignoring our reforms, especially when it comes to training females. Azriel will be there because we both know Lord Kain would rather eat glass than take orders from a female—let alone you."

I raised an eyebrow. "So Az is my muscle?"

A short huff of breath escaped the shadowsinger—his version of a laugh.

Rhys chuckled as well. "You, my little star, don't need muscle. Not when you've got enough power running through your veins to make even me flinch now and then." His grin softened. "We're siblings in more ways than one, remember?"

I smiled at that. A lie, but a good one. Convincing enough to pass. 

My brother didn't exactly know how dull my magic had become, how useless I was now.

"Then I am at your service, High Lord," I said, standing with a practised grace I barely felt inside anymore.

Rhys stepped forward and pressed a kiss to my temple, his touch warm and lingering. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't believe in you."

I gave Azriel a wave as I turned to leave, his shadows already trailing me like a second escort. I didn't look back. 

Instead, I headed for my room because I had a mission to prepare for. And whether I believed in myself or not... Rhys did.

 "Lord Kain. Where are the girls?"

The words left my mouth in place of a greeting, flat and edged with ice.

I stood tall at the edge of the training field, arms crossed, boots planted firmly in the frost-hardened earth. 

My leathers were immaculate, polished to an uncompromising shine and my posture made it clear that I wasn't here to play games.

Lord Kain turned at the sound of my voice, his face twisting into something between disdain and amusement. The irritation rolling off him had been thick since the moment Azriel and I had winnowed into the camp. 

He hadn't tried to hide it. He didn't care to.

"Well," he drawled, folding his arms with mock casualness. "The High Lord sends his sister to check in on a few recruits. How interesting." His gaze slid over me like a sneer. "Have you not got anything better to do, princess?"

Behind me, Azriel didn't move, but his shadows curled forward, whispering along the ground like they could sense the disrespect, eager to respond in the only language they knew, violence.

I didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. My expression remained as carefully sculpted as a marble statue, cold, unreadable, bored. 

It only made Kain's upper lip twitch in further aggravation.

"This would go much more smoothly if you simply told me where the girls are," I said, voice even, silken with the quiet authority of someone who had no interest in his posturing.

He scoffed, nostrils flaring. "They have chores," he spat the words like a challenge.

"It's already afternoon," I replied calmly. "Their chores should have been done by noon."

"That may be," he said, tone sharpening. "But they'll come out when they're done. Those were the terms, weren't they? Unless you're here to change them... again."

My jaw tightened just a fraction, but I kept my tone level as I spoke. "They'll come out now. They'll train while we have lunch and discuss, clearly, what terms you seem to have misinterpreted—or willfully ignored."

There was a beat of silence, thick and humming with tension.

Kain's mouth curled into a sneer. "Whatever you say, princess," he mocked, drawing out the title like it was a slur. He gave a nod to one of the warriors standing nearby before stalking off, his broad shoulders tight with contained rage.

I waited until he was out completely of earshot before exhaling a slow breath through my nose. "He was this close to snapping my neck," I muttered, turning toward Azriel with a dry laugh.

Azriel didn't share it.

His eyes were dark, his expression carved from stone. Shadows coiled tight around his boots like hounds straining on a leash.

"He should learn to watch his tongue," he said, low and dangerous. "It'll cost him his life one day."

The promise in his tone wasn't empty. Azriel didn't make empty promises.

I waved a hand dismissively, already walking toward the largest of the tents—the warlord's meeting space and my temporary domain for the afternoon. "Mhm. I'm sure there's plenty more misogyny waiting to be endured before the sun sets."

Azriel trailed a step behind, silent, his shadows already peeling away from him to slither through the camp like smoke, seeking out secrets and soft spots.

The dining tent was stifling, despite the breeze outside. The air inside was thick with spiced meats and tension, both equally hard to stomach.

I sat across from Kain at the long wooden table, Azriel at my right, silent and still as a shadow, his presence enough to keep the rest of the gathered warriors at bay. 

The other commanders, hand-picked by Kain no doubt, sat further down, pretending to eat while they listened with sharpened ears.

Food had been laid out, smoked lamb, roasted roots, dense bread, a bottle of something strong poured sparingly. 

Kain hadn't offered me any, of course, and I hadn't asked.

"I must say, I didn't expect royalty to find the time to visit a backwater camp like ours," Kain said as he tore a hunk of bread in half, voice casual, words laced with disdain. "Must be a slow week at court."

I speared a piece of lamb with calculated grace. "The strength of the Night Court rests in all its corners," I replied coolly. "Even the ones most neglected."

His smile was tight. "Neglected, huh? I'd say we're just left alone. Some of us still prefer to run things our way—without constant meddling."

I gave a delicate shrug. "And yet, here I am."

Azriel said nothing, but the slow scrape of his thumb across the handle of his blade was answer enough.

"I'm sure you believe you're keeping things in order, Lord Kain," I continued, sipping water, not wine. "But reports suggest otherwise. Constant injuries. Poor equipment. Untrained recruits. Females who were promised a chance to fight being made to scrub tents."

"Reports," he snorted. "You mean whining. From soft, pampered soldiers who don't understand how things are done in the mountains. These females—you can call them recruits all you want, but they're weak. Soft. They're a distraction."

"They're Illyrian," I said softly. "Same as you. Same as any male at this table. If that's how you speak of your own, I'd hate to hear what you say about your enemies."

A flicker of silence passed. Sharp and brief.

Kain leaned forward, hands splayed on the table like he was trying to loom without standing. "We train warriors here, not bleeding hearts."

I smiled sweet, sharp and deadly. "And yet, I don't see many warriors. Just a lot of noise."

His eyes narrowed at that.

Azriel didn't move, but his shadows hissed at the edges of his shoulders. Kain noticed. Everyone did. But the warlord only stood, brushing crumbs from his tunic.

"If you'll excuse me, I have real matters to attend to." He didn't wait for permission. Just turned and stalked out of the tent, tossing a glance over his shoulder that promised this wasn't over.

As the flap swung closed behind him, I leaned back slightly. "He's hiding something."

Azriel rose wordlessly, a silent promise in his shadowed form. "I'll find out what," he said, and slipped into the dimming daylight without another word.

I watched him go, then pushed away from the table myself.

The true purpose of our visit might've been uncovering what Kain was plotting—or hiding but my reasons went deeper. 

These girls... these recruits... they weren't pawns in a game. Not to me.

I wove through the camp slowly, taking in everything with an experienced eye. The uneven terrain of the training ring. The warped dummies. The shortage of practice weapons, wooden blades cracked and splintered from overuse. 

The scent of overworked bodies and underfed ambition. It was a battlefield disguised as a camp, and not a well-maintained one.

Near the back, I found them.

A cluster of young Illyrian girls crouched beside a water barrel, scrubbing pots and pans with red-raw hands. Mud on their boots, braids fraying. 

They looked up as I approached, wary, eyes darting past me to check for a watching male.

I smiled gently before crouching to their level. "What are your names?" I kept my voice soft and even.

They hesitated, eyes flickering amongst one another. Before one brave voice—barely above a whisper answered. "Mira."

I nodded encouragingly. "Mira. Beautiful name. You were promised combat training, weren't you?"

She blinked slowly, fearfully, as if her answer could change the trajectory of her life. "Yes."

I stood firmly. "Then you'll get it."

Their faces didn't light up, not yet, but something flickered in their eyes. Hope, maybe. Or disbelief. I could work with either.

I hadn't come all this way just to play diplomat. I came to remind them what power looked like when it wore a woman's face.

And I had every intention of leaving this place better than I found it—whether Kain liked it or not.

The path back to the main tent was quieter than it should have been. Too quiet.

The sun was lowering, casting long, spindly shadows between the training dummies and rows of tents. Most of the camp had migrated toward the mess hall or the sparring ring, voices distant. Here, among the supply crates and discarded weapons, it was deserted.

I should've known.

The moment I turned the corner past the armoury tent, I felt them. A whisper of wind, a crunch of boots behind me. 

I stopped. Too late.

Rough hands seized me from behind, one on my arm, the other curling around my throat. Another body stepped into view in front of me. A warrior. Illyrian. Grinning like he'd already won some prize.

"Well, look what wandered too far from the High Lord's leash," he sneered. "Thought you could just waltz in here and start tearing down centuries of tradition?"

"Let me go." My voice came out calm, too calm. I tried to twist in his hold, to channel the heat under my skin, the power I knew lived inside me.

But it didn't come. It hadn't in a long time.

It was like trying to breathe in a vacuum. My body remembered power, but my heart didn't believe in it anymore.

Another male stepped out of the trees. And another. And another. There were four now maybe more, circling like wolves.

"You're not welcome here," one growled. "We fight our way. We train our way. You and your court can't change what's always been."

"She needs to be taught a lesson," another spat.

I swung my elbow back hard, landing it against ribs, but it barely made the male flinch. 

I reached—desperately for my magic. For that starfire in my blood. The twin flame to Rhys's. The power that once made whole cities tremble.

Nothing.

The male behind me shoved me forward and my knees hit the dirt, hard. More hands yanked my arms back, pinning me in place and pain blossomed across my cheek as a fist struck.

I tasted blood.

"You're just a girl playing warrior," one of them sneered. "Your kind doesn't belong here. You never did and nothing you say or demand can change that."

I closed my eyes, not in fear. Fear would've meant I still cared about surviving this. No, what curled in my chest was worse. Shame.

Because this wasn't who I used to be.

This wasn't the girl who had once scorched battlefields in the name of her court. Who had walked into enemy territory with her chin held high, who had danced with gods and come out alive.

That girl had died somewhere along the way—quietly, invisibly. And I'd let her.

And now? Now I couldn't even save myself.

Another hit came. I barely registered it. My lip split open and my vision blurred at the edges as the voices around me dwindled.

Silence followed. A different kind. A deadly kind.

A shadow moved. A gust of wind that carried no sound, only finality. And then—

Screams. Short. Cut off.

The hands that held me vanished and I fell forward, catching myself on trembling arms. I blinked the haze away just in time to see it. See him.

Azriel.

He stood just ahead of me, his wings spread wide in the dying light. Shadows dancing at his back like death. Blades sang in his hands, one curved, one straight. One still dripping red.

He moved like a wraith—like darkness incarnate.

He didn't fight. He ended. Swift. Brutal. Beautiful in the way only something deadly could be.

Each movement of his was efficient, precise. Lethal. There was no sound from him. No grunt of effort, no yell of rage. Just the dull crunch of bones and the wet whisper of blade through flesh.

Within seconds, it was over. Four bodies lay on the ground. Blood pooling dark beneath them.

Azriel didn't even look winded. There was not a drop of blood on his leathers. Not a single hair out of place.

He turned to me then, shadows still flickering faintly around him. His gaze raked over me, slow, clinical, burning.

I pushed myself up slowly, swallowing the thick lump lodged in my throat.

I hated that he'd had to come. Hated that I hadn't been enough. Again.

He knew it. Of course he did.

"You don't need saving," Azriel said, voice quiet but firm, stepping closer to me. "You need remembering."

I looked down at my bruised hands, at the dried blood flaking across my knuckles. "I want to stop being afraid," I whispered. "Afraid of being powerful again."

Azriel's eyes softened, just a flicker. And then, he smiled. A rare, real thing. Sharp and full of dark promise. The shadows settled around him like a crown.

"Then you'll terrify the world once more."

He offered a hand and I took it.

For the first time in years, I felt the fire within me stir to life once more. Not raging yet but waking slowly. Ready and mine.

A/n - Yes, I did indulge in a little forced proximity, sue me x There’s just something delicious about Azriel trailing in the background while reader is the one walking into the lion’s den.

Of course, I couldn’t resist letting Az have his moment too towards the end because overprotective Az? Always a yes!!

Next part is fluffy and sweet and Cass makes an appearance so look out for that (forgive me for the pain please) <33

Little Star tag list - @jaybbygrl @writtenbypavani @fall-winter-heart97 @coeurdeveea @lilg101010 @krazykangaroo712 @moonlitlavenders @lil-lupa @jasmineee05 @pinksnowtiger @yourdarkrose @nerdybee123 @bookwormysblog @thoughtfulcoffeeflower @suspicious-stain-in-spain @anainkandpaper @theflowerswillbloom @queenoffeysand @historygeekqueen @lexi-in-wonderland @tele86 @saamanthaag3 @whydohumansss @xlosttdreamss @bookishwondersworld @plants-w0rld @i-am-infinite @ly--canthrope @lreadsstuff @urfunnyvalentin3 @dnfhascorruptedme

[softsunnyy]

when two people are obsessed.

i think this series is a warning in itself, but well. This contains:

🚨 insecurities, some angst, rough sex, tying him, not letting him (and you) cum, babytrapping, jealousy, obsession, thoughts of him cheating on you, using a vibrator on him, sub and dom Quinn, and i think that's most of it. 🚨

as always, poorly written.

you've been staring at the same photo for 15 minutes; frozen, feeling a pain in your stomach that makes you want to get out of bed and leave the house to find Quinn.

he went to a party with his teammates, and you were fine, trying to live with the idea, even though you weren't too happy about it. And you tried, really tried not to look at the tracker so often; not to constantly search for the insta stories of the people at that party, but you did it anyway.

and those who search can find things they might not want to know.

like that photo, where you see his reddish eyes, his huge smile, his slightly raised shirt, his messy hair, and his arm around his friend's shoulders, who looks even drunker than him.

but everything would have been relatively fine if it had only been that. If it had only been a photo of your stupid drunk boyfriend.

but who is she? who´s the girl next to him, standing too close for your liking?

her dress is short, her smile´s too big, and one of her hands is near his chest, near him. And you wanna rip her hand off, find out who the hell she is, and ruin her life, make her regret ever touching him, ever even looking at him.

and him, oh, what did he do? why would he do that? he knows you'd see him, that you'd freak out, that this would be too much for you. So, why put you through this?

you try to think, to reason, but your body is frozen, your mind is foggy, your hands are clenched tightly, and you feel like your teeth are going to explode from how tightly you're clenching your jaw. You're upset, you're paranoid.

is this what he wanted? did he do it on purpose?

you don't know, and that bothers you even more, so you spend the next few hours planning, gathering inspiration, thinking about what to do to make him pay for this. So that he learns his lesson.

and so you fall asleep, not noticing when he arrives, stumbling, too dizzy and barely aware of his own existence; making so much noise that he's surprised he doesn't wake you, and then lying down next to you, as if he deserved it. As if he hadn't done anything wrong.

so, when you wake up, the first thing you see is his body, as he's on the bed, snoring softly, and asleep enough that he doesn't feel your movements, like when you get up to get the things you need, or when you return, tying his wrists to the headboard with his own ties, then slipping one of those thick necklaces he bought for you around his neck, securing it with delicacy.

and you feel annoyed again, seeing his exposed chest, since he apparently decided taking off his shirt before sleeping was a good idea; But before doing anything you made sure to take off his pants and underwear, letting the cold air hit his cock, watching him shudder in his sleep, completely unaware of what's happening in his body right now.

and you wanna punish him, to make him pay. You want him to suffer for the awful time you had the night before, watching him let another woman touch him, as if he belonged to everyone, as if he didn't belong to you. So you took that familiar chain in your hand, tying it to the clasp of his collar, doing a small test, gently tugging at it, watching how each slightest tug makes it tighten even more around his neck, taking away a bit of his air.

then you took off your clothes, taking your time, feeling the warmth begin to reach your body little by little, seeing his expression so calm, unaware of what's about to happen. And you see how his chest rises with each breath, how his eyelashes rest delicately, brushing his cheeks; and you see how his cock hardens just a little and how his skin prickles with goosebumps in the cold air.

you just know he´s gonna look beautiful gasping for air, and you wanna see the way his eyes will be wide open, his face growing redder and his neck marked by the leather. Still, with his rock-hard cock, surely dripping with pre-cum, wanting to bury himself in your walls, take you, as if he's earned it.

because he doesn't know what he did. Because he'll surely wake up not understanding, not remembering. And the thought alone makes your blood boil, filled with jealousy, with fury.

and now you put your hands on his chest, scratching, leaving red lines up to his v line, watching his pale skin change color, irritated. And the sight is arousing, so you watch yourself do it a couple more times, too lost in how your nails dig into his skin, marking, scratching, harder and harder, until small dots of blood appear on his skin. And you see him stir, a little disturbed, but still dreaming, and the mere thought of waking him from the burning is enough to make you lean in, replacing your hands with your mouth, leaving bites, from his pelvis to his collarbone, some harder than others, knowing it would leave bruises, which would later turn a deeper shade of purple, and make it painful for him to even move.

and his white skin is now marked, in a mix of your drool, the wounds, and the bites. But that doesn't wake him, not completely. You only see his cock harden little by little, as if feeling pain is a turn on for him.

still, you try not to linger too long, forcing yourself to leave his chest so you can climb onto one of his thighs, panting softly at how cold his skin is compared to your hot, dripping, completely soaked pussy, solely from the sight you have now.

and you begin to move, subtly at first, for your own enjoyment, but it's not enough, so you start to roll your hips, rubbing yourself like a whore, making your juices fall, while your clit is stimulated, drawing small moans from you.

and you remember it, you remember the photo, the way her hand was on him, and she was smiling, triumphant, as if she'd taken everything from you and felt no remorse. That made you move faster, fiercer, your brows furrowed, and your hands unconsciously clutching his chest, digging your nails into him once more, but this time causing enough pain to make him wake up. And Quinn gasps, trying to move his hands to rub his eyes, but immediately noticing they're tied. This makes his eyes widen, staring at you as if you'd betrayed him. As if you were doing something wrong.

“what…?” he tried to ask, but was interrupted by the intense burning sensation in his body, as well as the feel of his soaked leg, now heated by your arousal, dripping onto his skin, making a mess. He whimpered, in pain, and tried to read your expression, but nothing came to mind. His mind was too foggy.

“well, look who decided to wake up,” you said, in a dry, mocking tone, stopping moving, lifting your body a little and letting a thread of your fluids join you to his skin for a few seconds before you rolled off him completely.

your gaze is terrifying, and Quinn tries to remember, to think, but everything distracts him, and his mind is so lost that he can't put his thoughts together.

nothing. It's like he woke up completely stupid, and you're not helping him. Your actions are only confusing him more.

and he watches you walk to your closet, pulling out a box he knows perfectly well, making him gulp nervously.

he watches you take out a small object, but you don't give him time to ask, to beg, because you return to him, this time sitting on his lap, being careless with his cock, which is getting harder by the second.

“did you have fun last night?” you asked, wanting to hear his answer. You want to know how much he remembers. How much he's capable of telling you.

and you see the doubt on his face; the way he tries to think, until he decides to speak, hesitating.

“i did… yes.” He decided to be honest. A normally smart choice, though now it only makes your mind go red, thinking once again about the thousands of things that could have happened while you weren't around.

Quinn sees your jaw clench, how you seem to be trying to contain yourself before turning on the small vibrator in your hand, starting on a low intensity, but still not moving it.

“you know, i tried not to mind you leaving. I really tried,” you started, finally moving your hand, bringing the vibrator to one of his nipples, watching him shudder, and hearing his whimpers.

his nipple hardens, aching, overly sensitive as the vibrations hit his skin, tickling him, making him try to pull away.

it's too much, and you're just getting started, he knows.

“but there's something i don't like, Quinn, and that's watching a whore even lay eyes on you.” He tries to remember, to think of what you mean, but he can't, and you press the vibrator a little harder, now touching a different button, making him feel stronger vibrations.

his nipple is slightly reddish, his skin burns, and his cock is too hard, so much so that it hurts, making him squeeze his eyes shut.

“i don't know what…” you increase the intensity once more, and he can't finish his sentence, moaning, groaning, and making his hands into fists.

“that's the worst part. You don't even remember.” Your words are laced with venom as you shift the vibrator, moving it to his other nipple, watching it harden immediately. Quinn can't even speak, too lost in the sensation. His nipples are now numb, overstimulated.

“i really don’t know…” he whimpers, opening his eyes to try to look at you, to make you feel sorry for him, but he can’t. He only receives a cold stare, while you move the vibrator in circles, circling his nipple.

and his skin feels on fire, as if everything were burning, as if he were in hell itself, although at the same time it's too exciting. Thick white stripes emerge from his tip, showing how sensitive he is; his veins showing, and he's too swollen, yearning to slide into your walls and fill you with his cum.

“please…” he tries to beg, but you're not surprised. You don't even blink, though your eyes are too revealing, and he knows you're enjoying this, how you have him right where you want him, without even being able to move.

and for a moment he thinks you'll show mercy when you decide to remove the object from his nipples, giving him a break. But no. That wasn't your plan.

“you're gonna eat me. And you're gonna do your best,” you commanded, and he nodded, willing to do anything you want for your forgiveness.

besides, eating your pussy would never be a punishment for him... right?

at least that's what he thought, until you positioned yourself on his face, your pussy dripping as you grabbed the chain of the collar in your right hand, your left hand still holding the vibrator.

and you don't give him much time to think, sitting down, feeling his tongue immediately on you as you begin to move your right hand, pulling at the chain, slowly tightening the collar, until you can feel him sucking your clit wildly; desperately.

then you lean down, resting your tits on his chest, and stretching your left arm to bring the vibrator to the tip of his cock; the vibrations make him moan against your skin.

and he acts almost on instinct, devouring you, running his tongue between your folds; sucking, playing, teasing you, and swallowing every drop of your fluids as he feels you stimulate his cock and cut off his air, making it increasingly difficult to think.

and he feels dizzy, increasingly lost, and he can't even rest his hands on your body for support, because you decided to be a bitch and tie his wrists to the headboard.

and you moan, you enjoy it, letting him do all the work, trying to control the sensations, his desires. Not knowing what to do, and doing everything on automatic, seeking your pleasure because he knows you're in control.

and you move, riding his face while he eagerly devours you, like it's his only way of asking for forgiveness.

but no, you're not going to fall for that.

so you let him continue, watching his cock turn slightly red, his veins too prominent, his balls tense, and his legs spasming until you know he's at his limit; removing the vibrator, watching weak white stripes emerge from his tip, a failed orgasm. The first of several you had planned.

and you feel him choke, how he can barely swallow your juices because of the lack of air; but you don't stop, not until you feel the knot forming; when you feel how excited he is about eating you out. Because now he's trying to enjoy it, to take advantage of the situation.

and no. That can't happen. So before you can cum you pull out of his face, dripping, your hole throbbing and your clit swollen.

your pussy hates you for this, and you feel sore and sensitive from not being able to cum, but it's all worth it when you turn around and see his face, his chin glistening with your juices and his heartbroken, haunted, betrayed, and offended look, as if you'd taken away his favorite toy.

"what? you think you have the right to enjoy and cum after what you did?" you raised an eyebrow, trying to hide your heavy breathing. And Quinn just shook his head; his face slightly red from the lack of air.

and you decided to loosen the grip on his neck just a little, watching him gasp, trying to fill his lungs once more.

you sit back down on his lap, right over his cock, watching it slide between your folds, spreading both of your fluids and teasing you, making you both gasp, sensitive.

the sight is obscene, and you know Quinn will spend days complaining about the pain in his body, and how much you took advantage of punishing him, as if you were getting rid of every time you've been angry with him.

but does it really matter?

not to you, so you don't hesitate, taking his cock in your hand, hearing him gasp, his skin burning against yours, as if your mere touch were a welcome to hell.

and at first you play, spreading his fluids with your finger, seeing his tip so shiny, calling you to suck it, to swallow everything he has to give you. But you don't give in to temptation, taking his cock to your hole, feeling how you throb, how your body cries out for it, so you can heal your heart, and everything you felt when you saw the photo.

you wanna remind him who he belongs to. Who he chose. Because there's no going back now. No way to get away. You won't allow it, even if you have to do crazy things to keep him by your side.

you'd do whatever it took to have Quinn forever.

and with that thought, you sit once more, sliding his cock inside your walls, expanding them, opening you just the way you needed to, causing a moan to escape your throat, momentarily breaking the dominant character you'd created, drawing Quinn's attention.

he looked at you with hungry eyes, as if you were his prey again. As if for a moment he'd regained control.

but you're not gonna give him the win so easily, so you try to distract him, starting to bounce on his cock, watching as his breathing becomes heavy and his legs tense.

and he tries to be patient, because he doesn't want to break his ties, doesn't want to make a mess by grabbing your hips and making you move faster, the way he'd normally force you to move. But you don't help him, and it seems like you move slower on purpose, enjoying how desperate he is, how this is making him even more sensitive.

because you both feel everything.

you can feel every inch sliding in and out of you, his tip gently hitting your sensitive spot. And he feels like his cock might explode, suffocated by your pussy, which welcomes him like it's home.

and he can feel you throbbing, squeezing him tighter and tighter with every hit he delivers to that spot inside you that makes you arch your back and lose a little control.

and Quinn wonders if he should beg, if his desperate eyes aren't enough, or his bitten lips, or his hands completely red from the effort.

he needs to know what to do to make you move faster. And soon, though he doesn't get a response, he notices you starting to get desperate, bouncing faster, your tits moving, and your hands trying to grip his body.

his cock hammers inside you, making you feel dizzy, full, so satisfied that for a moment you almost forget your plan. However, the knot forming in your belly reminds you of it. And you try to be alert to when he starts to get nervous and tense, until he does, giving you the signal to stop your movements.

frustrating both of your orgasms once again.

and he grunts, his gaze annoyed, and this stops feeling like a game.

what the hell could have been so bad that you feel you have to make him pay like this? it frustrates him that he can't remember it well, since your words weren't even enough. Nothing comes to mind.

and you wait, you wait until the pain is so much that he begs again, imploring you to move, to forgive him, to let him come.

and he asks for your forgiveness, but you know it's an empty "sorry", because he doesn't remember yet. So you wait a bit before moving again, this time rolling your hips, feeling him hit your cervix because he's so incredibly deep inside you.

“you did this to yourself, you know that, right?” you said, breathless, staring at the small bulge forming in your belly because of him. “We could have been enjoying, you could come inside me as many times as you wanted, but you decided to be a whore, and leave, and let another woman near you.” Your words were laced with venom, and you couldn’t help it, slapping him across the face.

but he doesn’t react badly. You know it by the way his cock throbs inside you, feeling bigger.

and he really tries to remember, but only has vague memories.

“why would you do that to me, love?” you ask, a slight insecurity too evident in your voice. “How can i trust you every time you go out from now on?” you said, trying to make him feel guilty, even though your words held some truth.

and you see him swallow, nervous and distracted, searching for the right words, only to pathetically beg you to forgive him, to trust him.

begging you to believe how much he loves you.

and that sentence makes you move fiercely again, riding him, drawing a moan from him as you bring your face close to his neck, kissing his collar, then leaving bite marks just above it, too close to his jaw, where his beard is starting to grow.

and you have him whimpering, increasingly sensitive, wanting to fill you with his cum, until your hole can't hold it all and you start making a mess.

the thought alone is printed in his mind, making him try to break the ties, failing miserably as he tries to shift his pelvis a little, so he can move with you, even though you don't let him.

and too soon he feels close again, and his cheeks turn red. He doesn't think he can hold it, and he truly prays silently that you don't notice.

but you do, and you stop again.

and he grows desperate, moving his hands violently, trying to break the ties once more, watching his skin turn bright red from the friction of the fabric against his wrists. And still, nothing seems to work.

and he feels you smile against his neck, licking his wounds as if you hadn't made them yourself, as you roll your hips again, this time slower, deeper, knocking the air out of him.

and you know he needs you. God, you've never seen him so broken from not being able to come, and you know that normally he would have used your body until you fainted, but he can't, and the mere thought of what might happen when you're satisfied is arousing, making you keep going, rolling your hips and stopping when you feel he's about to come.

you do it again, and again, and again. Not noticing how each time the ties loosens his grip more and more, while you moan, taking advantage of his body, and using his cock like it's your new sex toy.

and you're lost. He knows it, from the way you drool, with your eyes closed and your breath against his skin. So he takes advantage of that moment to loosen his ties completely, bringing his hands to your waist, turning you so fast you don't have time to react; feeling him slide off you as your face hits the pillow.

you feel him position himself behind you, pushing his way between your legs, not giving you a second to think before burying his cock deep inside your pussy, drawing a sob from you at the intense burning sensation in your hole.

and he shows no mercy, moving fast, hard, using his hand to tug at your hair as his chest touches your back.

you know he's searching for his own orgasm, but you can't stop yours from building, making you moan louder, desperate, feeling him hammer inside you, hitting your cervix, and taking over every part of you like he's in charge again.

and you let him, you let him take over again, because you can't resist it. God, you don't even know how many hours you've been playing with him, taking him to his limit, until you've exhausted your body too.

and it hurts, he moves so hard that your hole burns, and all you can hear in the room is your loud moans, along with his and the sound of his hard cock sliding into your completely soaked pussy.

and your knot appears at just the right moment, and you know you should probably reveal the final part of your plan to him. Your idea that could change things. But you don't.

he has to be yours forever.

so when you cum, you moan his name, feeling him start to cum inside your pussy. Thick. Heavy. More than ever, quickly filling you, though he doesn't intend to end there. And he moves again, overstimulating you both, but with an idea in mind that won't stop him.

he's going to abuse your body like you abused his, but he's going to make you cum so many times you pass out.

and he's going to use you so much your body can't handle it. And he'll keep fucking you, filling you as many times as he wants, even if your body has given up.

and maybe you should have warned him in the first round... but it's too late now.

he doesn't need to know that you officially stopped taking your birth control pills. Even with all the times you skipped them, you always found a quick fix.

but now? he doesn't need to know.

he has to be yours forever.

and you'll be able to rethink that part of your plan when hours and hours have passed, and the two of you, more relaxed, talk about what happened at that party, and he apologizes wholeheartedly.

but... will you tell him?

[rivalswrites]

Shiver me Timbers

Before you read, please be warned that I'm writing based on my impressions of them not only in the game (though it's the biggest inspiration), but some of them with the movies/shows in mind too.

Starting off the Ultron train strong with my own fic, I will be going through requests and picking what to write later :)

Summary: Ultron discovers for himself that human reactions are a lot cuter when you actually like the little flesh bag.

Content Warning: Ultron get a little touchy, but it's nothing sexual, he just a little curious (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.)

Masterlist

The group slowly disperses after getting into the Baxter Building, everyone eager to get into their temporary rooms and rest: probably shower as well for most, battle most definitely builds up a sweat. You stayed behind, too tired to make the entire trip up, rather deciding to dramatically flop down onto the big couch in the communal room. Your arm coming up to rest over your eyes to block out the lights, the room quiet other than a fan blowing and your gasps of air that were slowly going back to normal.

“Pathetic” the robotic voice came from close by and so suddenly that you jumped slightly and quickly moved your arm to see who had spoken. Ultron stood on top of the coffee table, probably to show some sort of dominance in the situation, and looked down at you with his arm crossed.

“Oh, it's you.” You muttered, moving your arm back over your face. Your breathing and heartbeat had to restart the process of slowing down, a quick pump of adrenaline flowing through your veins from his scare.

Ultron continued to look down on you, observing before continuing his speech. “You humans, being so drained of energy after such a small fight.” His belittling words didn't affect you much, used to his comments by now. “That is why you'll never be able to achieve pure evolution, like I have.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever big guy,” you waved him off with your free hand, letting it rest on your stomach and even raising your shirt a little to try and get more cool air onto your body to help cool yourself down. “Small fight my ass” you whispered to yourself, taking a deeper breath after.

It was all quiet again, as you had assumed he'd lost interest and went off to do something else, but he was always so quiet that you could never tell. He was like a cat, you huffed out a chuckle at the thought, a mean cat he would be.

Cold metal braced itself into your stomach, causing you to jump from the sudden change of temperature and weight. “Jesus!” you exclaimed, you would've sat up if it weren't for the metal pressing down in such a way you couldn't do so comfortably. “What the f-” you start, moving your arm away from your face to get a look, only to be shocked by how close Ultron’s face was. It wasn't close to your face, no, it was closer to your torso where his hand sat.

“You're taking such long breathes, yet short ones at the same time” he observed, his hand on your stomach following the motions of your breathing.

“Thats- don't you know all there is to human anatomy? You should know what happens when adrenaline pumps through the body, usually from fear!” You raise your voice on the last word, trying to tell him indirectly that he had scared you, and you knew that he had understood because of his intelligence.

He lets out a hum, the metallic voice actually sending a vibration through his hand and onto you. The coldness of his hand and the hum of his voice onto your body caused the reaction of a shiver, goosebumps even popping up around his hand. Curious with the reaction, he drags his hand up more, pushing up against your own hand that hadn't moved, your shirt being pushed up more just by a little. He watched your breath slowly mellow out after he stopped moving his hand and let it rest just about your bellybutton.

“I thought you didn't like humans” you muttered, simply watching him as he sat almost eerily unmoving. “I don't” was all he replied with. His hand slowly moved from completely resting the whole palm on you to tracing a single finger down your side, brushing the back of his finger against where your kidney would probably be. Another shiver raises up your spine, but also a chuckle from when he brushes against a specific spot.

His finger paused after you let out a small laugh, turning his head slightly to look at your face before moving his finger to brush against the same spot. The same reaction occurred, you let out a slightly louder chuckle. He repeated the process a couple times until he seemed satisfied, by then your face slightly flushed from being tickled.

When he had his fun he went and rested his arms on you, crossed over each other and resting on your stomach like it was the most casual thing ever. His head went and followed, resting on your side and faced away from you: and then he just sat there.

Wow, he really was like a cat, no respect for others space.

[keirareidss]

from eden - a.h

♡ summary: hotch finds something so magical about one of his agents pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader warnings: mention of guns, so much yearning its crazy, Hotch is absolutely down bad for reader wc: 3.2k

Babe There's something tragic about you Something so magic about you Don't you agree?

Aaron Hotchner was enamored. He was a man captured by a siren's song. He was being dosed with poison at every glance, every touch, the essence of you travelling through his veins, shortening his breath.

You had been hired in his unit about two weeks ago and he knew, from the moment he shook your hand, feeling your soft skin, spotting your pretty colored nails, you would be his undoing.

Right now, in his office, he couldn't take his eyes away from you. Just down in the bullpen, you were sitting at your desk, across from Spencer's and next to Emily's, looking simply ethereal. You tossed your hair over your shoulder and Hotch's breath caught. He forced his gaze back to his work. The work that he hadn't touched in two hours. He'd been pre-occupied.

He'd gotten three cups of coffee already this morning and it was only 10 AM. He hadn't even been drinking them, just walking past your desk in the hopes to steal just an ounce of your attention. Just so that, maybe, he'd get the chance to feel the piercing sensation of your eyes on him if only for a split second. In fact, he was craving that feeling again, so he stood, grabbing him nearly full coffee mug and leaving his office.

"Damn, Hotch. That's your fourth cup of coffee this morning. Up late last night?" Derek asked.

"I was." He said shortly. It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't for the reason Derek was thinking. He was up late thinking about you. Images of you played through his head until he was sliding his hand into his boxers and stifling his moans in his pillow as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"A lot of paperwork then?" You asked and his gaze slid over to you. Something he had been trying to avoid because once he started staring at you, he couldn't stop. It was entrancing. He cleared his throat.

"Yes." You give him a small, empathetic smile, knowing how much paperwork he typically has. You feel a pang of guilt every time you add a file to the stack on his desk. He turned to go to the kitchen, facing the struggle of looking away from you. He dumps his coffee out in the sink, refilling his mug. He faintly heard you giggle at something Morgan says and he, selfishly, wishes that he was the one who caused it. Or at least the one it was directed at.

Knowing Derek, it was probably a joke at his expense but he didn't care. The laugh of yours made every negative thought clear from his head immediately. He wished he could bottle the sound, put it in a cologne bottle, and spray it on every morning to get the reaction it made him feel every time he heard it.

He headed back to his office, chancing a look at you and spotting that gleaming smile on your face. His heart fluttered and his steps faltered before he quickly righted himself, speeding to his office and shutting the blinds. He couldn't take the chance of his gaze getting caught in your orbit again, sucked in, unable to leave.

Babe There's something lonesome about you Something so wholesome about you Get closer to me

The bullpen had cleared out. Everyone had gone home except for Hotch... and you. You? Why were you still here? Hotch stood from his chair, descending the stairs and approaching your desk. He knocked twice on it with two knuckles, a little tic of his you noticed when he wanted your attention. You turned your chair, leaning back in it to look up at him.

"Hey, Hotch. What's up?"

"What are you still doing here?" He asked gently.

"Working? What else would I be doing?"

"You should be at home." He said and your lips curved up into a smile that went straight to his heart.

"So should you, boss." He couldn't deny the effect that title had on him when it came out of your mouth.

"Don't worry about me. Go home."

"I always worry about you. I'll go home when you do." Oh god, you were going to kill him. He was going to go into cardiac arrest. If he were a different man, a better man, he'd waste no time in asking you out. He would have locked you down ages ago. But he isn't a different man and his isn't a better man. And he doesn't ask you out. Instead, he says this,

"That's not sensible."

"No? Maybe it'll teach you a lesson." You were speaking to him like you were sharing a joke that he was in on. Your sly grin made him stammer.

"What- what lesson is that?" You stood up, your scent invading his nose, your eyes piercing straight through to his soul.

"To take better care of yourself. Set a good example for your team. Lead through actions." You said, your chin tilted up. If he leant down any further, he could brush his nose against yours. He should step back. That could be the professional thing to do. And Hotch was all about professionalism. But, then why was it that all he wanted to do was step even closer? To grab you around the waist and pull your body closer into his. To fit the two of you together like puzzle pieces.

"Think about it." You said, turning to head to the kitchen to refill your water bottle. Hotch noticed how you never drank coffee. Of course he'd noticed, he noticed every little thing about you. When he overheard Spencer asking you about it, you'd said that it makes you anxious and gives you headaches.

"So you're sacrificing being awake during the day to not get headaches?" Derek chimed in, rather rudely, Hotch had thought but he didn't comment.

"That's not what I said. I just get a good amount of sleep at night."

Now, if you were implementing this new 'I go home when you do' rule, then he was going to be the reason for your sleep depravity. You'll start going home later and later, getting less sleep and not having any caffeine. You'll be a zombie. Either that or you'll end up having coffee and be anxious and in pain. He couldn't have either of that.

"Alright. We'll go home." He decided once you'd come back to your desk. You tilted your head at him.

"Really? That's all it took? The potential declination of the wellbeing of one of your employees? Wow, you really are a gentleman." You teased. Not just one of my employees, Hotch thought. You put your bag on your desk, starting to pack up, looking at Hotch expectantly when all he did was stand next to your desk. He snapped out of his infatuated haze and quickly spun around, heading to his office, hiding his blush of embarrassment at being caught.

You grinned, shaking your head as you looked away from him. He soon came striding out of his office, jacket on, bag in his hand. He took yours from you, carrying it as he followed you to the elevator. He walked you all the way to your car before handing your bag back to you.

"Thank you Hotch." You said, boldly stepping forward and kissing his cheek. He stood there, frozen in place, feeling tingles run down his spine as you got into your car. When your engine revved to life, he blinked, stepping away. He didn't stop thinking about you as he walked back to his car. Only once he was inside, sitting in the drivers seat, did he reach up and touch his cheek, feeling like a schoolboy in love.

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

Hotch had started noticing something different about you. Not only had you started staying later at work with him, but you'd started neglecting your personal health. You were eating less, stressing more, and Hotch didn't like it.

But it felt familiar. He remembered his early days, years ago when he was a spry young FBI agent. He'd thrown himself into his work, putting his personal health on the back burner. And it seems you'd picked up a few of his old habits. It was like looking into a window to his past, though, it was reflecting back to him the woman he deeply cared about.

It wasn't just that, it was happening in the field too. You had less regard for your safety in the field. You walked straight towards danger without another thought and every single time, Hotch was sure his heart stopped. He knew it was another habit of his that you picked up but he couldn't stop it. You were right, he needed to start leading through actions.

You were currently on a case in Montana and the entire team, along with a swat team sat outside the unsub's house. There were hostages inside and Rossi was on the phone with him, trying to talk him into submission.

"Hotch, send me in." You said suddenly.

"What? No, absolutely not."

"Come on. I'm strong, I can hold my own. I can talk him down."

"The answer is no." Hotch says firmly. You clench your teeth in frustration, about to retort when a shot rings out.

"Everybody down!" One of the Swat members shouts and you all duck behind your cars. You curse before springing out from behind the car, sprinting towards the house, your boss calling your name.

"Damn it, agent, get back here!" Aaron shouts, his voice tinged with worry, but you don't notice. You pause at the door, one hand on the handle, the other pulling out your gun before you burst inside.

"Hands in the air! Back away from the hostages!" You ordered, aiming your gun at the unsub. He holds his hands in the air, surrendering. You step forward slowly until you get close enough to cuff him. "I got him." You speak into your walkie and soon, Hotch comes in, the swat team behind him. They take the unsub off your hands as Hotch pulls your aside.

"What the hell was that?"

"What?"

"Do you know how irresponsible that was? You could have been shot. You could have been killed." He scolds you.

"The hostages could have been killed."

"Listen to me. You are not to do something like that again. I can't lose you." You're about to retort when his words sink in. I can't lose you. Hotch quickly moves past it, pulling you outside the house before checking you over to make sure you're not injured.

This case may have made his heart beat way faster than normal and he may not have slept for the next few nights, plagues by dreams of you getting shot in the line of duty, but this wasn't the worst of it.

Your next case was enough to give Hotch nightmares for months on end. It was enough to make his breath catch and his heart stop completely. You'd caught up with the unsub before anyone else but you hadn't been able to apprehend him before he could pin you to the ground. The unsub was wrong in the head, didn't think like other people.

When he had you on your back, he pressed both of his shins on top of your biceps, keeping you down. He straightened his arm, his gun pressed directly against your forehead. You didn't flinch, staring up at him defiantly, almost daring him to shoot you. Before he could, Hotch rounded the corner, lifting his gun and promptly shooting the man in the shoulder. He fell off of you and you moved back, letting Hotch step forward, cuffing the man. He had the unsub on his feet when Derek came into the alleyway.

Derek helped you to your feet and you dusted yourself off, giving him a smile as if you hadn't just almost died. It irked Aaron, the way you were acting. As if this didn't affect you, he knew it did. It had to be. He went home early that night to make sure that you got home early as well, as per your rule, but after lying in his bed, thinking about you, for about three hours, he couldn't take it. He got up, shoving into his coat and heading to your apartment.

When he got there, he knocked on the door until you answered, clad in your pajamas and fuzzy slippers.

"Hotch? What are you doing here?"

"I need to make sure you're okay." He answered truthfully. Normally, he wouldn't admit that to anyone, not even you, but it was different this time.

"I'm fine." You chuckled, as if he was being absurd by checking up on you after you were held at gunpoint.

"Oh, are you?" Hotch asked sarcastically.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Promise."

"Why?"

"What?" You tilted your head, confused.

"Why are you fine? You just had a gun held to your head less than two hours ago and you didn't flinch. That's enough to traumatize most people for their whole life."

"Well, I'm not most people." You said defensively, crossing your arms over your chest.

"I know." He whispers.

"What do you want from me, Hotch?"

"I want you to tell me how you really feel. I want to know what's really going on."

"Nothing's going on!" You laughed humorlessly. He said your name in that scolding tone of his and you sighed. "Just... I'm fine, Aaron. Just go home." You started to shut the door but he stopped it with his hand.

"No, wait-" He said your name again. "Please, just-"

"I told you I'm fine Hotch." You shut the door in his face and he sighed, listening to your footsteps retreat. He turned, leaning his back against the wall, sinking to the floor. He sat outside your door, picturing you moving around inside, getting ready for bed. He eventually fell asleep in the hallway of your apartment.

Babe There's something wretched about this Something so precious about this Where to begin?

"What do you think they're talking about?" Spencer asks. The team was gathered around his desk, it had the best view of Hotch's office, watching the show.

"It looks like they're arguing." Emily said.

"They're definitely arguing. Look at the body language. Shes curled into herself, arms crossed, he's leaning towards her intimidatingly." Penelope says and the team looks at her surprised. "What? I know stuff."

~

"Why don't you trust me?" You asked. You'd been having this argument for nearly twenty minutes now. Hotch was firm on his stance of keeping you out of danger which really meant out of the field.

"I do trust you-"

"Really? Cause it sure as hell doesn't feel like it. It was one incident, if this were anyone else on the team you wouldn't be acting like this."

"That's not-"

"Don't even try to deny it Hotch, you wouldn't and you know it!"

"Because they're not you!"

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?!" You were both raising your voices now.

"It... it means..."

"Just- what is your problem with me?"

"I don't have a problem with you." Hotch said, furrowing his eyebrows. How could you possibly think that. If there was one person on the team he never had a problem with, it was you. Even when he was mad at you, his problem wasn't with you it was with the person who hurt you or with himself for letting you get hurt, or his own damn feelings for making him feel so strongly about you. His problem was never you.

"Then why can't you look at me?" You asked, your voice soft, almost weak and Hotch couldn't hold back the truth.

"Because you have ruined my life. It's been affecting my work, my personal life. You're constantly invading my thoughts, everywhere I go I see something that reminds me of you. I shouldn't be feeling this way about one of my employees."

"Feeling what way?" You asked quietly. He bowed his head.

"I don't know. I don't know how to describe it, it's like... it's like you consume my every being. When you're away from me, I can't focus. I dream of you at night, I don't- I don't know what I feel."

"I do." He looks up at that, desperately wanting you to help him figure out what this is and hoping, pleading that you feel the same way. "It's love." You said. He shakes his head slightly.

"How do you know that?"

"Because I've felt that. I know what it's like to be enraptured with another person."

"How?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He willed you to say it. To say what he had been so desperate to hear.

"Because I've felt it with you." His breath caught and he felt a pang in his chest. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. You stood up and he immediately wanted to reach out and grab you. To stop you and pull you back and never let you go. But by some sort of luck that he would never understand, you didn't leave. You snapped all the blinds of his office windows shut and then moved closer to him. He stared up at you as you made you way between his legs, leaning back against his desk.

"Tell me." You said softly, giving him the gentlest look he thinks he's ever received in his life.

"Tell you what?" He responded, his hand finding the inside of your knee, stroking gently.

"Tell me you love me too." He stood up, now standing between your legs as you opened them to make room for him. He crowded you against the desk, cupping your jaw in his large hand.

"I love you too." He said, your name reverent on his tongue. You let a smile worm its way onto your face and slowly tilt your head up towards his. He followed suit, leaning down until your noses were touching. He tilted his head, brushing his lips against yours. "I love you. I love you." He repeated, relishing in the feeling of finally saying it. Of pushing past years of worry and pain to finally admit to you your importance to him.

"I love you too-" He cut you off, pressing his lips firmly to yours. You bit down on his bottom lip and stole his breath yet again but this time, he wasn't so upset about it. No, he'd prefer this be how you take his breath away from now on. In fact, he would give it to you without a second thought. Because you were finally his. He had you in his arms and he was planning on never letting go.

a/n: my favorite trope is 'if it were anyone else you wouldn't do this' and 'because they're not you'. I just HAD to put it in here.

Taglist: @cinnamoncunt, @dramioneforevertilltheend

[sha-brytols]

veilguard discourse in general is very frustrating because. ok. so there's this thing i was taught in debate class (please don't laugh) right. it's a sort of Offensive version of the motte-and-bailey strategy (tactic where you make a controversial argument that's easy to refute, and then when refuted switch to the Same argument but phrased in a more innocuous and reasonable way, in an attempt to make it seems like your opponent is just unreasonable) that goes like this:

your "opponent" makes a case for their argument. your goal is to discredit as much of their argument as possible. so what you do is you take the broadest and vaguest possible interpretation of their stance, and represent it in a way that makes it seem completely unreasonable, even if this is an exaggeration or misrepresentation of their actual stance. you use this not to change the minds of the people who disagree with you, but to create a false impression of your "opponent's" beliefs to third parties listening to the debate. this is used in politics a lot, and that's because it's Effective. the most difficult and frustrating truth of human discussion is that literally anything anyone says at all can be interpreted to mean absolutely anything. i can say "i think cats are cute" and you can twist my words as "i fucking love cats more than anything" and then you can go on to make a case for why i'm a crazy cat lady. and it's effective because when you're arguing in the realm of intangible things like opinions, feelings and beliefs, you can't really Prove your case. like i can't Prove that i don't like cats more than anything. there's no data i can provide for you, no physical record of me saying "My Official Stance On Animals Is That Cats Are Just Okay". you have to go based on what i tell you, and how i present my case. and that is incredibly vulnerable to manipulation.

and i say this because this happens a LOOOOT in online discussion. you know that meme that's like "you can say i like pancake and somebody will say so you hate waffles?" that is the essence of this strategy.

if i want to defend my reasoning for disliking veilguard, i can say something like "i gave this game as much of a chance as i could, i 100% completed it and got everything it had to offer and i just didn't find it enjoyable. i even replayed the whole thing again in hope that the experience of replaying the story would lend me a better appreciation for it, and it actually made me dislike it even more" which is the honest truth. and what i will get in response is:

"so you basically spent over 100 hours of your life playing a game you didn't even like"

"maybe you were just burned out? have you considered that?"

and so on. but what if i said the OPPOSITE? what if i said i tried it out and it got to a point where it was so unbearable that i couldn't even continue to play the game at all? well:

"so you hate a game you didn't even try to finish? that makes no sense. how do you even know if you'd like it if you hadn't finished it?"

"did you really give it a chance? or were you just looking to dislike it?"

and so on. there's no winning because any response you give can be twisted into a point of argument, and that's the entire purpose. the purpose is not to have a discussion, the purpose is to Discredit you. because the essence of this insaaaane drama is that no one actually wants to discuss their opinions, they just want a big circle of Stupid Dumb Idiot Babies to rally against to validate their beliefs. and that's not just one side. that's everyone. that's the only reason a matter of critique and opinion is being spun into discourse. people get to make these broad sweeping generalizations of their "opponent's" opinions and then they get to say whatever they want about those people, without ever actually addressing the substance of their opinions and beliefs. because what they are really after is a reason to believe that the people who don't like the thing they love (or like tbe thing they hate!) are just a bunch of stupid assholes, and their tastes are superior.

no one LIKES hearing that the thing they like is bad. it creates this inherent urge to justify why you like it because there's this implication that you have poor taste, or you're just uncritical and dumb. so people take it personally, and then the discussion turns away from the substance of the critique, and into a debate about the people doing the critique instead. and i hate it and i think we should all just shut up and make out or play pillars of eternity idfk.

[business-as-usual-bats]

Damian: Todd, the whole family has been summoned, you must-

Jason: I don't have to do shit. Go to hell.

Damian: -tt- I, for one, am not surprised, I will inform the others of your cowardice.

Jason: yeah, yeah. The family disappointment per usual. I'll go back "home" when Alfred calls me himself. Now fuck off, I have a criminal empire to run.

Damian: If you care, it is Drake who called the meeting, not father.

Jason, hesitating: Yeah, well, he knows how I feel. Whatever. We can fight it out later if he's pissed.

Damian: I will waste no more precious air on a buffoon such as you *disappears*

Later

Damian: Drake, as duty I must inform you that Todd will not be here tonight. He is far too home-phobic presently.

Tim, freezes in place, because he called the family meeting so he could come out as bisexual and actively dating a man: You mean homophobic?

Damian, rolling his eyes: if that is the proper terminology, yes

Tim: what, uh, what else- I mean, did he say anything else?

Damian: the typical drivel. "Go to hell" "Family disappointment per usual" He said if you don't approve of his decision, to challenge him in battle.

Tim: he... wow. I didn't think he'd...

Tim: Holy shit. Wait. Does that mean, do you- you know why I called the meeting? You know? Who else knows? Does everyone know?

Damian: imbecile. If everyone knew, then what would be the point of the meeting?

Tim: right. Stupid question. How do you feel about it?

Damian: -tt- Father and Grayson will be disappointed but not surprised. Gordon will be silently annoyed. Pennyworth might share sympathy but no doubt conceals his true opinions on the matter. Cain and Brown will shrug it off. Thomas might not care, but he is rather unpredictable. It is of little consequence.

Tim: okay. And... and you?

Damian: why should I care? We make our choices and must live with the consequences. I do not pretend to understand as I would never choose to estrange myself from father, or otherwise actively ruin the bonds I spent so many years forging simply to preserve my own comfort.

Tim: estranged??

Damian: I presume that is the goal. That or torture father with guilt and grief for eternity.

Tim: d- don't you think that's a little dramatic?

Damian: indeed. Grayson would claim it would 'tear the family apart' or such nonsense. I am the only sensible one in this useless household.

Tim: well, thank you for... debriefing me on the situation, Damian.

Damian: -tt- try not to waste our time more than necessary in the meeting tonight, Drake. *leaves*

Tim:

Tim: this is red robin on coms line 12, repeat, this is red robin on coms line 12

Tim: The meeting scheduled for tonight is cancelled. False alarm. I'll send updates if anything changes. And I'm

Tim:

Tim: i have some business to address these next few weeks. Going low contact. Red Robin out.

Tim:

Tim: *starts crying*

[dreamweave01]

I need Raph being insecure about his Krang half and doubting Kendra’s love for him because of it. (”how could she love a monster like me? I dont deserve her…”)

I need Raph accidentally harming Kendra when he has a panic attack or something.

I need Raph being afraid and certain that Kendra os gonna be scared of him because of it; hate him, be mad at him, cut ties with him. (Donnie is ready to attack Kendra if she breaks Raph’s heart.)

But Kendra isn't mad. She's only worried (and a bit shaken).

Im a sucker for angst 😭

(no pressure, Do whatever you want; this is your au and I have no say in it)

- Paranormal Anon

.

.

And this is why the turtles have to be careful what they watch for movie night. Dang those triggers.

I'm completely unashamed to admit that I just spent several hours working on this instead of working on anything else I was supposed to. Who woulda thought Kendrael angst would hold me in a death-grip?

I think timeline-wise this would happen some time after the next arc. I like how I tell myself I'll stop jumping ahead of where I'm at in the story, and then ideas like this get thrown at me from out of the blue and suddenly I'm incapable of thinking about anything else /pos

Aaand now it's time for rambles ->

What I really liked about this thought was that it allows me to show a side of Raph that he absolutely hates about himself.

Everyone has this side to them that they bury deep inside, never to see the light of day, and for big Red over here, it's his natural tendency to lean towards 'fight' in a fight-or-flight response.

Really, it has nothing to do with the Kraang and everything to do with the ninja training as a kid. He and his brothers were born with the intent to be soldiers, and while yes, Splinter did everything in his power to give them a wonderful childhood - and did a darn good job too might I add - learning how to defend yourself led the turtles to trust their abilities to fight.

Now you could say, "But DW, what about in the movie when Raph told them to retreat blah blah blah-" That was a specific situation that called for specific actions. If there had been any chance they could've won that fight and if Splinter hadn't been injured, I'm willing to bet Raphael wouldn't have called for a retreat.

My point is, these boys are fighters. They take on a problem head-on, and unfortunately, that natural tendency is center stage of Raph's trauma.

The Kraang turned him into a soldier, their personal pet that didn't hesitate to follow orders.

None of it was Raph's doing, none of it was even close to being his fault, but the thing that terrifies him the most is that he'll lose control and hurt the people he loves. Again.

That 'again' makes it even worse, because he knows he's capable of it. He knows he could kill them because he has before, there's no doubt about it in his mind. Yes, he's the sweetest most gentlest giant in the world, but that doesn't take away the fact that he's a mountain of battle-trained muscle and has the power of a freight train, if not more. So he does everything he can to keep that fighter inside of him under wraps at all times, refuses to even risk letting that side of him see a glimmer of the light of day.

But he's not perfect, and there are moments like the one above where he's so heavily triggered into that fight-or-flight response, he goes into a tunnel-vision and doesn't even realize what he's doing because at this point, it's instinctual for him to defend himself. It always has been.

And when he snaps out of it, that's when the fear takes him, that overwhelming guilt that feels like it'll swallow him up whole.

And poor Kendra! She knows that Raph and his brothers have been through a lot - Mikey's mentioned things here and there to the rest of the friend group - but seeing in person just how hard it was? Exactly what Raph's experiences have done to him?

It's really hard to see someone you love and care so deeply about going through something so unbelievably horrible.

But she knows a thing or two about guilt, the fear of hurting people again, and you better believe she's going to do everything in her power to show Raph that nothing, and I mean NOTHING, could ever push her away from him.

She will always love him, no matter what he looks like, what he's been through, what he does.

Guys, this is why I love them, agh, they're so precious-

[yuurei20]

Sorry if this was asked before but do we know why Lilia's dream doesn't seem to follow the same pattern as everyone else's dream? It seems strange for him to be reliving a moment of war in a dream that's suppose to exclude all things deemed bad and does this mean Malleus knew what happened back then? Some of it, like how Lilia actually found Silver, seems like things he wouldn't entirely know either. Why would Lilia's dream be the only one not happy despite Malleus doing this for him?

Hello hello! Thank you for this question! 🦇

This is a most interesting thought, and Silver asks himself the same question! (also, we see on-screen the moment where Lilia's anti-Malleus protection drops and the dream adapts accordingly 👀 more below)

Silver reflects,

I've been thinking about something ever since we entered Father's dream. Malleus's spell is what's showing him all of this, right? So why is it all so horrible? If we take Malleus at his word, his magical slumber is supposed to give people dreams that are perfectly tailored to make the dreamer happy. It would make more sense for Father's dream to be one where fae and humans don't fight. Where Malleus's parents are alive. A dream where Briarland remains a great nation. Malleus also said that he's monitoring our dreams and reigning over them. If he knew we were here, it stands to reason that he'd try to remove us, like he did in Sebek's.

Later, Silver realizes why the Fae-Human war of 400 years in the past is the subject of Lilia's dream:

I've been wondering all this time why Father's dream was filled with so many terrible things. But...now I finally understand. This was the happiest moment in Father's life. All the fighting, the injuries, the losses...all of that suffering lead up to this. The moment that Malleus was born.

As you say this is an interesting paradox, as--according to the rules of the dreams, created by someone who cannot comprehend the concept of happiness derived from pain--Lilia should not be able to feel losses or suffering at all.

Ortho: "I thought Malleus's dream worlds were designed to provide the target with whatever form of pleasure they wanted...but maybe it's more of a system to remove displeasure the target doesn't want. Sadness, anger, and the like.”

And it is possible that you have landed on exactly the explanation: Malleus didn't actually know what happened 400 years ago.

But Malleus presumably doesn't know about the death of human Ortho, or about Vil's struggles with Neige, or about Jamil's and Kalim's and Azul's and Floyd's and Jade's inner turmoils--how could he?--and yet, those details are all personalized to each dreamer beyond Malleus' comprehension.

As Ortho explains, “It's the dreamers themselves whose imaginations form those happy dreams."

Malleus doesn't actually have to know details from the dreamers' personal lives: it is the dreamers themselves who are unknowingly crafting their own prisons. Malleus' influence is the removal of negativity.

So why is Lilia alone different? It is possibly because of: ✨imagination!✨

Ortho realizes that Malleus cannot manifest or defend against what he doesn't know, and Silver guesses that Malleus isn't interfering in Lilia's dream--is unable to set the "no sadness, no pain" regulations--because it takes place before he was born.

Sebek makes a similar connection: "Perhaps there's some reason that Malleus can't monitor Lilia's dream."

Malleus cannot imagine things that took place before his own birth, and he cannot control things that he cannot imagine. He put Lilia to sleep but it was Lilia who made the dream, and it just happened to be a dream that locked Malleus out.

And we even see the exact moment in Lilia's dream where the "pre-Malleus" barriers of Lilia's dream come down: when the dream overrides the reality of the abuse Lilia suffered after saving Malleus' life, replacing it with the senate praising him as a hero, instead.

But this wasn't a one-time exception or from Malleus successfully forcing his way inside, it was because Malleus had finally been born, enabling the "no sadness" rules to be implemented for the very first time, as the only thing keeping him out was Lilia dreaming of events from before his birth.

No birth = no imagination = no rules, yes birth = yes imagination = yes rules? 🐉

And this brings us back to Idia's explanation of what it is that Malleus is doing:

Idia describes Malleus as a "server admin" using copies of himself to handle players committing TOS violations.

The "copies of himself" wording might make it sound as though Malleus Draconia lookalikes exists in every single dream, but it seems that this phrasing wasn't meant to be literal copies of Malleus, like what we saw in Idia's dream. Malleus could not show up in a dream like Jade's, for example, without causing a paradox that would break things down.

But the Malleus-copy in Idia's dream might not have been only Malleus himself. It might have also been human Ortho 👀

Ortho: Unlike with Epel and Rook, the GM is by the dreamers side at all times here. Considering circumstances were much the same with my brother...that might mean even Malleus is wary of housewarden-class mages, and keeps them under tighter surveillance.

The GMs--the Malleus copies--are the characters like Neige for Vil, etc. Idia refers to them as clones, but they are not visually multiple Malleuses.

As Vil and Rook appear in Epel's dream Idia says outright, "The Malleus clone GMs must be on their way to do course-corrections now that the user is deviating from the dream."

Ortho follows with, "it seems to take whatever form makes it easier to keep a target immersed in their dream."

And while Lilia had multiple NPCs in his dream (Baul, Henrick, Maleanor, Knight of Dawn, etc.), there was never a point when one of them tried to convince Lilia to stay asleep, which we have seen happen to every single other dreamer up until this point.

Baul is even surprised by the darkness. Unlike Neige and dream-Kalim/Jamil/Azul/Jade/Floyd, Baul is not self aware.

Lilia's dream maybe did not have any Malleus clones in it, because Malleus could not get in.

Lilia's despair at Maleanor's death and his loss of Egg-sama does summon darkness within his dream, but the darkness of Lilia's dream is curious: when Lilia is dragged into the abyss the darkness it does not take the form of anyone he knows, or even speak to him.

The darkness simply appears and Lilia succumbs to it, much like it responded to Sebek's happiness at the thought of remaining in Lilia's dream forever, and Silver's breakdown with the revelation of his lineage.

The darkness pursues the soldiers constantly throughout all of Lilia's dream, even when nothing particularly terrible or wonderful is happening. Sebek wonders if it is under Malleus' control but he does not actually know, and neither do we!

Maybe the darkness of Lilia's dream was an effect of Malleus trying and failing to force his way into a world beyond his comprehension?

It is possible that, with Malleus' ability to infiltrate Lilia's dream compromised by the limits of his own imagination, Malleus was never able to enforce the rules of the dreamworld, thus turning Lilia--the person he wanted to save--into the one person capable of experiencing pain, loss and sorrow, beyond Malleus' control 🐉 Maybe!