#who thought DIFFERENTLY about his actions than you

[mattnott]

𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍

mattheo riddle x fem reader

SUMMARY. in which mattheo seeks power and needs your help to perform a blood ritual. WORDS. +6.3K (ups). english is not my first language.

WARNINGS. smut, mdni, porn w//plot, mean mattheo, aged up characters, friends to fuck buddies, blood play, blood kink, cuts, spitting, nipple sucking, oral sex f!receiving, pussy drunk mattheo, handjob, dirty talk, biting, marking.

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He was insane. Truly insane. Almost unhinged. Mattheo Riddle was the definition of impulsive thoughts turned into reckless actions, actions that always led him to trouble. He was raw, magnetic, and dangerously unpredictable, the kind of person who attracted attention without even trying. Every move he made, every word he spoke, every breath he took was saturated with confidence and superiority.

He didn’t just attract trouble; he craved it, needed it like it was the only thing keeping him seen.

Mattheo was like a storm no one could outrun, an enigma without resolution, and that was exactly what made him so intoxicating. There was something in his presence that pulled people toward him, whether in admiration or fear, and no one could quite decide if it was for better or worse. He wasn’t just hard to ignore; he was impossible to overlook. He demanded attention simply by existing, and it was maddening, the way he could dominate a room with nothing more than a simple glance.

It could have been for a lot of reasons. Maybe it was the way he acted like he didn’t have a care in the world, the sharp, biting comments he always seemed to have ready, words that stuck like blood on stone.Or maybe it was the fights, the way he seemed to throw himself into them too often, always coming out with the same satisfied expression. After all, he was the only son of the Dark Lord, and that alone was enough to draw all kinds of attention.

Whatever was the reason, chaos seemed to follow him everywhere, like he thrived on it. Perhaps he didn’t care at all. No outsider really knew, and no one ever tried to figure him out. Nobody had the courage to do so.

Either way, there were always whispers about him, cruel rumors about his personality and massive ego, some saying he was just like his father, or maybe even a darker version of him, while others came from students eager to get close in obscene ways, hoping to spend a night with their bodies tangled in his. 

Yet Mattheo didn’t show that he cared, always pretending to be focused on his own goals, moving through the chaos unshaken and unbothered, though deep down, the truth was different: he thrived on attention, bad or good, as if he needed it to keep himself whole.

But you had seen enough to know the truth. He was cruel, ruthless, and everything people whispered about him, perhaps even worse. And yet, here you were, trapped in his chaos, each moment with him drawing you deeper into the darkness.

You were trapped. Absolutely trapped.

Perhaps it was in the way he looked at you, his deep brown eyes burning with an intensity that stole your breath away, leaving you struggling to keep your heart from racing, as if he saw something inside of you that you weren’t capable of seeing. Or maybe it was the way his words stayed in your mind long after they were spoken, carving their way into your thoughts like a knife you didn’t want to pull out, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were already in too deep.

If you thought about it more, you didn’t know what had brought you here. The main factor to why you were so attracted to an ongoing fire.

Could be the adrenaline from his strange proposal, or the way you couldn’t stop thinking about him, his presence always glued to your mind. Could also be the need to be near him, the way your body moved toward his as if it had no will of its own, or perhaps it was the way he seemed to control your heart in a way you couldn’t even understand. It was twisted, even a little scary, but neither of you cared.

After all, you were friends.

You didn’t know when it stopped feeling like curiosity—just a lingering thought— but the doubt never really went away. Instead it became prominent, tight in your chest whenever he was around. There was something darker about him, something dangerous in the way he lived recklessly, only focused on his own desires, how he thrived on the attention he got, pulling you deeper without even trying.

And now, standing there, you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever came next, there was no turning back. No escape.

The Room of Requirement was cloaked in dark shadows, the silence broken only by the faint hiss of flickering candles. Their soft, wavering light offered a fragile sense of comfort, though it did little to ease the tension hanging in the air. The atmosphere was thick and heavy, saturated with the acrid tang of burning incense and something darker, almost unspoken.

Torchlight flickered across the cold stone walls, making jagged patterns that twisted and stretched with each almost shiny flicker. That night, the requirement room felt weird, unlike the form other students seemed to used—every corner seemed like an unsettling, cavernous form that resembled a muggle abandoned cathedral. It felt sacred in a weird twisted way, as if it were built to bear the weight of sinful actions that were too heavy to confess elsewhere.

The faint metallic scent in the air lingered, sharp and heavy, mixed with something even more heavy, felt almost like a warning. On the stone floor, crude runes spiraled out in precise, jagged lines, their edges glowing faintly as though alive and energetic, pulsing in time with the biting silence as if they were watching, waiting to know what was about to take place.

In the center of it all stood Mattheo Riddle, the one person who seemed to take up every space in your mind, his dark robes draping loosely over his strong frame, giving him an effortless air of power, his features, defined and almost angelic, partially hidden by his messy curls that always fell into his pretty eyes.

The flickering torchlight danced off his hair with every movement, making it seem almost alive; there was something strange about how his appearance seemed almost angelic, yet you knew Mattheo’s true personality, making him all the more dangerous, like a trap just waiting for you to step in.

He could look still, even controlled, but there was nothing controlled about this. Nothing about him was controlled.

Mattheo looked at the dagger in his hands, his gaze drifting over the blade, but it wasn’t the dagger that had his attention. It was you. Your eyes were on him, and it felt like he was being torn apart with just that look. It wasn’t like the attention he was used to—no fear or admiration in it.

No, this was different. It was more like an assessment. The weight of your gaze was almost suffocating, as if you were digging into him, getting under his skin in a way that made him feel stupidly exposed and making him feel a strange sensation tighten in his chest, choking his throat in ways he couldn’t understand, and he hated it.

He hated how you made him feel like this—torn between wanting to get closer and wanting to run away from that. And even if it was good or bad; neither mattered. He didn’t want to know. The only thing he knew for sure was that you almost had him entirely.

And for him, that was awful enough.

He never quite understood why his heart raced when he was in your presence, as if it might break through his ribs, his flesh, and fall directly into your palms, fully out of his power. At times he couldn't help but press his hand against his own chest, trying to stop it, trying to hold it back, but it only frustrated him further.

Nevertheless, there were times when he nearly wished his heart would simply give way and land in your hands so you could do with it whatever you pleased, whether that meant crushing it entirely or holding it tenderly between your fingers. He wasn't certain which would provide him with greater comfort, but he was certain that if you gave him that satisfaction, he will never be the same again.

Mattheo sighed and shook his head rapidly, making a dramatic gesture as he attempted to avoid your concentrated, evaluating stare on him once more. He concentrated on the tiny silver dagger in his hand, trying not to hold it too firmly in his palm, but nothing could take away the sensation, and even if it didn't cause him any discomfort, the pressure that made it was obvious.

He let out another sigh, this time frustrated, rubbing his forehead, but couldn’t help releasing another, this time a relieved one, when he saw your attention shift to the two circles drawn around him, almost like some kind of illustration, and he couldn’t help but smirk knowingly as he noticed the change in your expression; at the confusion in your eyes and at your furrowed brows as you tried to make sense of the strange symbols, carefully etched inside the circles on the floor.

Mattheo looked away, quickly shifting his focus to the symbol at his feet. In comparison with the other symbols, this one was far more complex, with each line and curve being meticulous and precise. As he raised his chin in satisfaction with what he did, Mattheo couldn't help but widen his smirk into a full grin, an equal amount of pride and arrogance coming across his expression.

This ritual, this moment—it was his, only his. Yet, for some reason, he felt a twisted satisfaction knowing he was going to share it with you. Even though you were there not completely voluntarily, you still had a place in it, whether you liked it or not. 

This time, it was Mattheo who looked at you with an intense, almost predatory gaze, his hand tightening once more around the blade in his palm as he kept his eyes on you. He was already preparing to take the first step toward the power he would gain from what you two were about to do. All he needed was your final confirmation and for you to step into the middle of the circle with him.

“Are you ready for this?” His voice broke the silence, low and almost a purr, making you look up at him. Ready? Fuck no. In fact, you were terrified. Every part of you screamed to run, to get as far away from this room and this stupid ritual as possible. But your body didn’t listen to your brain. Your heart didn’t either. Instead, you stayed still, frozen, your eyes locked with his own, already filled with amusement and something darker, like a challenge. 

You knew this was stupid. Hell, it was almost suicidal. A ritual to give him more power, cutting your own hand, spilling your blood, mixing it with his just to make him stronger. It was madness. More than that, even.

But then again, a part of you wanted it. A part of you wanted to leave a piece of yourself with him, to bind yourself to him in some twisted way. And for some fucked-up reason, you craved that. You wanted to be marked by him, to have a part of you inside him forever. Mattheo had already carved his mark into your mind, into the darkest corners of your heart, and now you wanted to do the same.

Stupid curiosity.

“Well?” Mattheo asked again, his voice dripping with amusement, though you could hear the faint edge of annoyance creeping in. He tried to hold onto his usual confident, relaxed demeanor, but it was slipping. “What’s it gonna be?” The same damn question. You wouldn’t be stupid enough to make him ask a third time. 

“I…” You paused, your voice cracking, and you couldn’t help but curse yourself under your breath as you felt his gaze digging into you, waiting for the answer he wanted. “I think I’m ready,” you finally said, taking a step forward, ignoring the part of you screaming to get the hell out of there. Yet your body moved faster than your mind, and before you knew it, you took an unconscious step closer to him, making his eyebrow quirk in amusement. 

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You think?” he repeated, his voice thick with mockery. He almost laughed; if it were not for the situation you two were in.

“Fuck—” you hissed under your breath, cursing yourself again, and Mattheo’s smirk stretched wider. “I’m ready.” You corrected yourself, the words tasting wrong. “I’m ready,” you said again, this time to convince yourself more than him.

Mattheo let out a low, almost manic laugh as his gaze remained fixed on the blade in his hand. The sound sent an unexpected shiver down your spine, and your cheeks flushed as his voice echoed in your ears. When he looked back at you, his eyes were softer than before, though the usual intensity remained, as if he was offering something that, despite not being comfort, somehow left you feeling relieved in a way.

He stretched his hand towards you, his voice calmer than before but still firm. “Let’s go. The sooner we start, the sooner this thing is going to end.” The sooner he would have control. Mattheo called you again, and you let out a soft sigh before taking that first step.

Each step you took was filled with hesitation, but your body didn’t seem to care. It moved toward the circle, fighting the doubt gnawing on your mind. When you finally stepped inside, you couldn’t hold back a small sigh as your hand found Mattheo’s. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, your cheeks flushing as you saw the same smirk on his lips, the reaction causing a tug on your heart. He didn’t need to say anything; you could feel how much he enjoyed this, how much he knew the effect he had on you.

Sometimes you wanted to punch him. 

As soon as you took his hand, Mattheo’s confidence wavered slightly; his heart pounded just by your touch. However, he couldn’t hide the dark amusement in his eyes as he watched your flushed cheeks and how your body betrayed you. It was too easy.

“This,” he said, gesturing to the intricate runes carved into the floor with the tip of his dagger, his grip tightening around your hand, not to soothe you, but to remind himself you were still there. “It’s going to hurt like hell.” He said it with such ease, as if the pain and the blood were just a minor part. You swallowed hard, the confirmation of what you already knew settling deep in your stomach. “At least for you,” he added with an eyebrow raised, his voice laced with amusement.

His words weren’t reassuring at all—not that you expected them to be. He didn’t care about calming you or making this easier to bear. That wasn’t his style, and it never had been. Mattheo thrived in chaos, in mess, and he wanted you to feel every bit of it. He wanted to pull you into the madness, to push you until you struggled to keep yourself together.

“You’re not exactly helping me calm down, you know?” you said through gritted teeth, barely stopping yourself from telling him to go fuck himself. 

Mattheo chuckled dryly, releasing your hand to stop you from gripping it, from finding any comfort in his presence. “Glad to know, sweetheart.” He said casually, like it didn’t matter at all. “But who said I want you to calm down?” he murmured, and you might have thought he was joking if it weren’t for the fact that you had known him for years.

You scoffed at his lack of sympathy. It wasn’t surprising, though; his attitude was one of the things that drew you to him, even if it wasn’t exactly healthy. You watched as he lit more candles, the flame dancing with every step he took, highlighting the sharp lines of his features. He was an insensitive prick, but dear god, he was a beautiful one. 

After a few seconds, Mattheo stood up, still holding the dagger in his hand. He glanced at you, and for a brief moment, something in his gaze made his heartbeat almost thud down his ribs. He took a few steps toward you, and your eyes met. His dark eyes were intense, unreadable, and the weight of the air between you made your stomach twist. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady, with a hint of mischief in his tone. The corner of his mouth twitched, the excitement creeping slowly.

“Take off your shirt.”

You blinked, shocked, and for a few seconds, all your fear vanished. “Excuse me?!”

Mattheo observed you, almost as if he were stripping you bare. “Your shirt,” he repeated, his tone annoyingly dismissive. He spun the dagger in his palm with flawless precision, taking a step closer as if your hesitancy pleased him. “Take it off,” he said almost coolly, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

You crossed your arms, feeling your heart race as your face flushed with heat. “And why, exactly, do I need to do that?” You snapped, your voice sharp. You had fantasized a thousand times about Mattheo asking you to do this, but you never imagined it would actually happen, especially not now, in this situation. 

“For the ritual,” he said simply, tilting his head and giving you a smirk that bordered on taunting, as though the answer should’ve been obvious. “I need access to your skin, sweetheart. The magic won’t work otherwise.” His words were smooth, but you couldn’t shake the feeling they held a hint of mockery.

You hesitated, studying him closely. There was something about his response that didn’t sit right, too casual in a way that felt almost taunting, like he wasn’t being completely honest. “You’re making that up,” you said flatly, letting your arms drop to your sides, your eyes narrowing as you searched on his face for a sign of truth. 

His smirk widened, and he continued to twirl the dagger between his fingers, his eyes locked on you. The sight of your flushed cheeks only seemed to make him think with his other head. “Am I?” He took another step closer. 

“Please, Mattheo, I know that’s bullshit!” you spat out, trying to ignore how his smug expression made your skin heat, though particularly of you couldn’t help but consider it.

Mattheo let out a low chuckle, stepping closer, the tension between you nearly unbearable. His voice dipped, rough and almost deliberate, as his dark eyes shamelessly trailed down your body before locking onto yours again.

“Alright,” he murmured, a smile laying wickedly on his lips. “Maybe it’s not entirely necessary. But it helps. A lot.”

The dagger moved lazily in his hand, the sharp edge skimming his palm without cutting his palm. His gaze never left you, steady and intense, like a predator watching its prey. “And we both know you want this to work out, don’t we, sweetheart?” 

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, a truth you hated to admit even to yourself. You wanted him to notice you—really notice you—the way his gaze seemed to strip you bare, peeling back layers you didn’t even realize you had. But the sharp flare of anger clawed its way up your chest, tangling with the strange pull he always seemed to have over you, leaving you somewhere between furious and helpless.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head, the disappointment cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. You weren’t sure if it was aimed at him or at yourself for falling into this moment—this trap. Probably both. 

“And yet,” he said, taking another step toward you, “here you are.” He mocked you, making you bite your tongue to stop yourself from telling him to fuck off. 

The space between you two was basically nonexistent now, and Mattheo fucking hated it. Hated that it was him moving closer, like he couldn’t help himself. Hated how his body had a mind of its own, reacting to you in ways that made him feel like an idiot. The thought of you, without your shirt, without anything, was driving him insane, his imagination running wild no matter how much he tried to shove it down.

Fuck. He could already feel the strain in his pants, his cock pressing uncomfortably against the fabric. It pissed him off—how easily you got under his skin, how fucking hard it was to keep his cool around you. 

“Fine,” you bit out, your voice rougher than you felt, and Mattheo’s smile twisted with satisfaction, practically waiting for you to do it. You exhaled sharply, trying to ignore the way his eyes were glued to you. Your fingers lingered at the hem of your shirt, heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to find the guts to go through with it. 

Mattheo’s smirk only deepened, his eyes never leaving you, and for a moment, it felt like he was inside your head, reading you like a damn book. His gaze dropped low, just enough to make your skin prickle with awareness. You seemed so fucking soft. “Need help?” he asked, voice dripping with mockery. 

“Shut up, Mattheo” you snapped, yanking the fabric over your head in one swift motion, a shiver running through your whole body. Shit, you’re not wearing a bra.

The second the shirt left your body, the air felt heavier, but you felt the coldness against your exposed skin and nipples. Mattheo’s expression shifted, his smirk slipping for a moment as his eyes scanned over you, taking in more than you were prepared to show. You cursed yourself for not wearing a bra under the thin fabric, your chest bare under the dim torchlight and his searing gaze. Mattheo swore the zipper on his pants was going to break any second.

You couldn't help but feel trapped by his piercing stare as his eyes remained on you, shamelessly tracing your hard nipples. He seemed oblivious; nonetheless, his eyes burned with need as his mind wandered, thinking about the taste of his tongue on your nipples, sucking and biting until all you could think about was the feel of his wet tongue. He held the dagger tightly, only reacting when the blade cut into his flesh.

“Well,” he began, attempting to put the thoughts flowing through his head to the back of his mind, his voice rougher than before, “guess you were more ready than we thought.” He mocked you again, but it seemed like he was also mocking himself.

You could feel your cheeks burning, a mix of anger and something else boiling inside you. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to block him out, but the moment you saw the way Mattheo’s eyes were fixed on you filled with desire, your hands fell to your sides, betraying your own brain. You wanted this. You wanted him to see you, to really see you.

But as you realized you were staring at him in the same way, you quickly shook your head, trying to push down the desire and need, force some control back into your own voice. “Just get on with it,” you ‘snapped’, trying to hide how much it stung, how much you craved that attention. 

Mattheo’s smirk returned, but this time it was sharper, full with devilment. He took another step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours, and gestured toward the circle with a lazy flick of his hand. “As you wish.”

His expression didn’t shift, his confidence simmering just below the surface as he stepped even closer to you, trying not to look at your bare chest. His eyes flickered to the symbols on the ground, their faint glow reflecting in the depths of his gaze. Without a word he reached up and tugged his shirt over his head, casting it aside without care. He didn’t look at you but still waited for your reaction. You had already drawn one from him—only fair if he returned the favor, right?

You, on the other hand, swallowed hard, your gaze shamelessly tracing the lines of his abdomen and bare, muscular chest. The candles and torchlight cast sharp shadows across the scars etched into his skin, and you held your breath without meaning to. When he glanced forward slightly, his eyes still on the ground as he did so, he had to stifle a chuckle at the sight of your clenched fists, trying to control yourself.

This was going to be fun, at least.

For a brief moment, neither of you spoke or moved. The silence stretched thin, both of you consumed by the same thoughts, the same dirty images racing through your minds. Your chests rose and fell heavily, both of you struggling to regain a normal breath. It was fucking madness. 

Mattheo quickly composed himself, standing at the point of the small symbol on the ground, making sure you mirrored his position on the opposite side. Your bare chests were almost touching, the air thick with tension, your hard nipples brushing just slightly against his skin. He gave a low sigh, words slipping from his lips in a language you couldn’t understand, his voice deep and commanding.

As soon as the words left his mouth, the symbols on the floor pulsed to life, glowing with an eerie light, while the candle flames flickered wildly, as though responding to his words. 

He looked at the dagger in his hand, a proud glint in his eyes before letting his gaze drift up to your face. His eyes lingered on your features, the softness of your eyes, the way your lips parted just enough to drive him insane. He almost couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to touch you, but he stayed still, his jaw tight. “Are you ready?” he asked, his lips moving without sound. “I am,” you mouthed back, the hesitation in your eyes impossible to miss. But he ignored it, choosing to focus on the way you stood there—no turning back now, and honestly? He didn’t want you to cover up. 

Mattheo gripped the dagger with steady hands, his brown eyes flickering briefly to the runes as if making sure everything was aligned. Without a second thought, he pressed the sharp blade to his palm, slicing through the skin with quick, practiced precision. The blood surged from the cut, dripping thick and dark onto the glowing runes below. They reacted violently, flaring brighter, more alive, as if the blood was feeding the symbols, feeding him. 

You held your breath, knowing you were next. But you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at the ground, watching his blood drip onto the floor beneath both of your feet.

After a few seconds, he lifted his chin, pride in his eyes, his curls moving like the magic around the circles. He grabbed your hand without a word, pressing the dagger into your palm, his gaze never leaving yours. He was waiting, daring you to cut yourself just like he had. 

You felt his blood drip onto your wrist, the warmth of it sending a jolt through your veins. As the dagger pressed into your palm, a breath caught in your throat. The weight of the blade was more than you expected, and for a moment, your eyes lingered on the crimson stains left by Mattheo’s cut, almost hypnotic, tempting you.

Your heart quickened, your pulse echoing in your ears. You hesitated—for a moment. His eyes found you once again, a look that urged you to continue. The hesitation lingering in your heart suddenly dispersed; you wanted nothing but to mark him as yours.

With a deep breath, you pressed the blade to your palm, hissing softly as the edge cut into your skin, making you feel even more bare and open than you already did. The pain was sharp, fleeting, quickly replaced by the blood spilling down your skin, as the runes reacted violently to your action, their glow flaring in response. 

It was instantaneous. The moment your blood touched the floor, the room seemed to exhale, the light flaring brighter and the air humming with a charged, almost electric energy as the ritual began. But the reaction was brief, for Mattheo’s focus shifted.

Mattheo’s gaze was fixed on the cut on your hand, his eyes wide and unblinking, as if he was mesmerized by the crimson blood streaks trailing down your wrist, mingling with his the drops of his blood already on your skin. His jaw clenched, and you swore you saw him swallow hard as he continued to look, his chest rising and falling with a depth of intensity you’d never seen in him before. 

“Mattheo?” You called softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your heartbeat quickening against your bare chest. Yet, it was enough to break his attention.

His eyes naturally met yours once again, vulnerability flickering in his gaze, though the rest of his expression remained unreadable, like a contrast to the hunger simmering beneath. But Mattheo didn't step back. Instead, his calloused fingers brushed against the blood on your wrist, smearing it slightly. The contact sent a jolt through you, and for a moment, neither of you remembered how to breathe.

“Mattheo…” you called out again, but this time it was almost a plea for him not to stop. He obeyed your unspoken request, his fingers tracing your skin as if exploring new territory, so gently that it almost made you forget the lingering sting in your hand. 

Mattheo’s hands moved deliberately, spreading the blood from the deep cut on your hand. He seemed oblivious to the matching wound on his own skin as he dragged the crimson trail up to your neck, smearing it across your skin. Without warning, his lips pressed against the spot, his tongue tracing the blood. He let out a low groan at the taste, and you couldn’t suppress your own when you felt the warmth of his tongue against you. 

“It’s so sweet,” he murmured, his teeth grazing the skin of your neck, the crimson of your blood staining them as he pulled you closer, pressing you against him in a way that felt almost inhuman. “So fucking sweet.” His teeth continued to drag along your skin, while his hand slid down your arm, seeking more of your blood. His fingers tightened around your palm, squeezing to draw out more of the liquid, making you groan in a mix of pain and pleasure as the burn surged through you. 

“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” Mattheo whispered, biting your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin painfully. He didn’t care about the grunt of pain that escaped your lips, not when more blood joined the one already staining your throat. Right after his first bite, you moaned, your thighs rubbing together in an attempt to ease the wetness in your cunt. 

Mattheo chuckled in satisfaction, bringing his bloodied hand to your stomach, the crimson spreading across your exposed skin like a mark. “You like it, don’t you?” he murmured against your throat, pressing his lips to the marks he had left with his teeth. But when he noticed you hadn’t answered, he bit your neck harder than before and squeezed your stomach, causing more blood to spread across the area. 

You swallowed hard, locking eyes with him as you tried to form a sentence, but the only words that escaped your lips were a barely audible, “Yes, fucking yes,” which only made him laugh harder. He tightened his grip on your skin, sending a sharp sting through your own body. 

“Of course you do… such a fucking slut,” Mattheo chuckled again against your throat, his teeth sinking into the spot once more, making you moan. He mimicked the sound, feeling his pants tighten around his cock as he tasted your blood again on his teeth. His tongue throbbed with desire, savoring the metallic taste. Holy shit, he could cum just from the taste of your blood. “But you taste so damn good.” 

He seemed to have completely forgotten the ritual, and you, too, had let it slip away. You didn’t want to remember, not when his blood stained your skin, not when your own blood marked him, and not when his mark lingered on you. 

Mattheo pulled back slightly, looking at your state and the way your plush lips were parted as you stared at him, your eyes filled with the same desire he showed. 

Without warning, Mattheo grabbed your cut hand with the one resting on your stomach, his blood mingling with yours as he guided your hand to your neck, then down to your breasts, trailing the blood like a map. Before you could react to the sting of your hard nipple pressing against the cut, Mattheo moved faster, pulling your nipple—now smeared with your own blood—into his mouth. 

You let out a loud moan as you felt his tongue teasing the tips of your bloodied breasts, the taste of your blood on his tongue making him swirl around your breast more eagerly. The sensation only made him harder beneath his robes, each moan of his growing louder as he savored the taste of you. 

You were lost in the pleasure of his mouth, concentrated with the way his tongue lapped like a hungry animal. The way his hands pushed your now bloody breasts together enough for his head to dive between them as he continued to whisper praises, words of hunger. You didn’t hear nothing but the sounds of his mouth nor saw how he desperately reached for release, your body causing him to react out of character.

“Fuck...” he murmured, his hand releasing the softness of your skin as he reached down towards his pants. Fast, uncoordinated, he released his cock from the restraints, his bloody hands wrapping around his cock that dripped with precum. His movements grew faster, driven by the growing intensity of the taste of blood on his tongue.

You looked down, catching a glimpse through the small crease of his neck as he dragged his palm over his hard cock while sucking on your nipples. You couldn’t help but moan louder, your bloody hand gripping his shoulders as you tried to ignore how your body was responding—the wetness between your legs that you knew he could feel. 

“Your tits…”Mattheo moaned even louder, dragging a moan from your lips in response. Fuck, he was so close.

“Fuck, your blood tastes so fucking good.” He moaned louder, and as he sucked harder on your nipples, his mouth closing around the bud tighter. Your chest was now covered in his bites, the marks of Mattheo Riddle, almost like a sign of ownership. Your body quivered against his hold, rubbing pathetically against him as you felt the tingle flutter in your stomach. You were close, lost in the daze, you had no idea whether it was from pleasure or the lost of blood—or both. You were desperately clinging to his shoulders, his name falling from your lips like a spell.

The hold on his length tightened in his hand, and he came instantly. Another hoarse moan escaped his throat, and he pulled away from your chest for a moment, gasping for air. You gripped onto his shoulders once more, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. So sudden, so quick you fell against his hold as your body convulsed with pleasure.

Mattheo leaned against you, allowing himself a moment to relax. But when he noticed the blood still running down your throat from where he had placed your hand, he couldn’t help but let out a growl. He yanked your hair back harshly, making you gasp and exposing your throat, your scream barely escaping as he did so. 

“Mattheo…!” You tried to speak, but he didn’t care; he never did. He only pushed you further against him, your nipples pressed against his bare chest as he licked your throat, letting out another groan as he tasted the metallic flavor again. His tongue traced the line of your throat, dragging the blood up to your chin, before he licked it off obscenely, making you sigh at the sensation. 

Mattheo’s hand in your hair tightened, and in one swift motion, he turned you onto your back, pulling your hair even harder as your back arched against him. “Open your mouth,” he commanded, an order you immediately understood. You obeyed without hesitation, and before you could react, he spat into your mouth and thrust his tongue inside, kissing you deeply.

The kiss was rough and erotic, the fire burning from the inside making it impossible to avoid it. You could taste your own blood on his tongue, and it only made your cunt wetter, the intensity overwhelming. It was too much—more than you’d ever imagined.

You had pictured moments like this, where you and Mattheo would kiss, tasting each other’s tongues, but this was different. It wasn’t the fantasy you had dreamed of; it was raw, wild, and rougher than anything you could have ever anticipated. His teeth clashed with yours, and your tongue tangled with his, as he unleashed his most primal side. He was giving you a taste of the part of you he had consumed, and you were trapped, just as you always would be.

You didn’t care about the pain in your scalp, only the hand that held you.

Mattheo’s hands were rough, touching everything he could. His mouth marking you over and over as he swallowed every small noise you released. He was warm, too warm, a sting feeling in your mouth as he sucked and bit into your lips, the softness of your skin tethering as his mouth was once again filled with the sweetness of your blood.

He was about to lose his mind.

Mattheo sighed against your now split lip, “Stop me… Tell me to stop, and I will.” He wouldn’t; you both knew it.

You held him against you tighter; you were already too deep into him—all you wanted was to devour him, mark him enough to show everyone he belonged to you, only you. You wanted to inflict a pain he would never forget, a pain similar to the pain he caused you, so you did. Your hands wrapped around his neck, your mouth tracing his lips, then his cheeks, then suddenly the warmth of his neck. Mattheo gripped you hard; he made no sudden movement, anxiously awaiting your motive. You bit into his neck, sucking the flushed skin as your teeth marked him with the same strength he did to you. 

Another soft flow came into your mouth, you gasped, the metallic taste odd in your mouth but enough to send your heart thundering.

Mattheo whimpered, his dominant facade slipping as he sickly enjoyed the way you took control. You were so sweet, so delicate—you were completely the opposite. The idea he corrupted you twisted a sick, powerful thought in his brain. You were his. 

Your tongue reached towards his mouth again, finding yourself eye to eye with the man you wanted nothing more than to control. “Don’t ever stop; I need you.”

Mattheo grinned, his lips bloody, his brown eyes becoming dark as he suddenly pushed you towards the runes that glowed against your body. The symbols glowed, vibrating with the blood that dripped onto it. As he stood over you, he wished to capture the moment forever. You looked so fucking pretty.

He leaned over, his knees staining with the blood smeared against the cold tiles. His fingers moved quickly, desperately. He watched as your body spoke to him, reacting to every touch. Your breasts covered in his marks, his blood and yours on them that caused his cock to twitch violently.

He wanted more than the taste of your breasts; he wanted to taste the juices that gathered in the silk of your panties. He wanted to feel the way your cunt twitched and throbbed against his mouth, and damn, did he want nothing more than to have you fuck yourself on his tongue. The sweetest angel from Hogwarts all displayed for him, to hell with the ritual; now he just wanted to swallow you whole. 

Without warning, he hoisted your legs onto his shoulders with an almost violent urgency, a deep moan escaping his lips as he leaned closer to your wet pussy. The intoxicating scent filled his senses, making his bloodied hand tighten around your thigh, gripping it as if commanding you to choke him; a command you had no intention of disobeying.

Mattheo looked at your face, the dried blood around your parted lips, your cheeks flushed from everything he was doing to you, and your dilated pupils watching him anxiously. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, and you instantly bit your lip. Fuck, he was about to get hard again. 

“Please, I need you, Mattheo,” you begged, rubbing your hips desperately, trying to get closer to his flushed face. You needed his mouth, and he was more than willing to be a good friend and give you exactly what you wanted. 

“No need to beg like a slut, sweetheart,” he said, moving closer to your pulsing cunt, the light from the dunes making your wetness glisten even more. You held your breath as his warm breath ghosted over your slick folds. “I’m eager to give you what you want,” he murmured, leaning even closer, his nose brushing against your arousal as he took in your scent. Just as you were about to beg him to do something, his tongue was quicker—teasing, tasting, and finally giving in to the need to lick you.

Mattheo followed his instincts and hunger, his palms gripping your thighs even tighter, leaving bloodstained marks on your skin just as he had on the rest of your body. The sting of his own cut burned with the pressure, but he didn’t stop, sliding his hands to your hips as his tongue moved swiftly against your folds, savoring and memorizing every inch of you.

You could feel Mattheo’s cheeks pressed against your thighs as he buried himself in your pussy, suffocating himself in your scent and taste. He mentally begged some higher power to let him one day die like this—only after his hunger was completely satisfied. Your back arched, heat swirling in your stomach as Mattheo licked your pussy with reckless desperation.

He was ravenous, savoring every part of you, and when your nails dug into his scalp, he let out another growl, pushing himself even deeper between your legs, making you moan even louder.

“Fucking yes, sweetheart,” he murmured against your pussy, sucking harder as your cries of pleasure filled the room. “Keep moaning like a slut, keep saying my name.” He bit down on your flesh, making you moan even louder, your legs trembling around him. He chuckled darkly, the vibrations of his laughter sending shocks through your body and making you cry out even more.

Fuck the ritual, fuck the power—the only power he craved was the power he held over you.

“Mattheo,” you moaned even louder, rocking your hips against his face as your fingers tangled in his hair, pushing him closer. “Right there, oh my—!” you cried out, feeling him lose himself between your legs, consumed by his thoughts and the blood still staining his lips.

Mattheo’s fast, steady movements continued, his almost feral tongue lapping at your cunt as his hands roamed your body. He could feel his cock harden at the sound of your sweet moans. Fuck, the taste of your blood mingled with your arousal was divine—almost too much for him to bear. 

He continued kissing your clit, desperate to savor your full taste, his tongue messily exploring your folds, drinking in every drop he could. All you felt in the moment was him. The sounds muffled as if underwater. Your fingers dug into his scalp, causing him to flick his tongue against your bud faster, his fingers circling it, his grin plastered with pride as he heard you cry loudly.

“Such a pretty one you are,” he muttered, his words slurring into the juices of your cunt.

You only released a jumble of words, your bare back arching as you squirmed beneath him. You were on the edge, and you could feel it—both of you could. The anticipation was electric, and you were both eager for the release. All he wanted was to make you cum.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured against your folds, the scent of your cunt making him dizzy. “Come for me.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than you let out a final scream, the orgasm hitting you hard as your body arched, feeling your cum dripping from your pussy.

Mattheo groaned against your cunt once more, lapping at your release as he lost himself in your flavor. Quickly, he grabbed your cut hand, spreading its blood over your pussy to mix with the cum. When he felt it was enough, he ran his tongue over your folds, savoring the metallic taste of blood combined with the sweet remnants of your orgasm, only stopping when not a drop remained, and you pushed him away.

The runes still flickered on the ground, glowing brighter with the smell of your release in the air. Blood stained both your bodies, marking each other, marking the new connection between you that neither of you wanted to escape. Mattheo stood there, watching you, his brown eyes observing, shining with pride watching your state. His eyes traced the blood on your skin, lingering on the cut on your hand, before meeting your eyes again. 

“We didn’t finish the ritual,” you managed to say, your voice soft, timid once again compared to the wildness you held as you let Mattheo control you, your body still shaking from one of the best orgasms you ever experienced.

Mattheo’s smirk grew, just a little as he continued to look at the mess he had done. “It’s fine, sweetheart. We can always try again.”

He was right; after all, friends helped each other.

© 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚝₂₀₂₄ — 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎.

— please be nice, it’s 4 am it probably has some mistakes!

likes and reblogs are appreciated 🫶🏻

also a big thank you for my favorite beta readers @earth4angels & @astrxq , without them i couldn’t write all this!! i love you both off you forever

venting: sometimes, i hate english because my hard lines in portuguese don’t make sense and seem so repetitive :(

[starfilmz]

close to you | rafe cameron

summary: you and rafe are together and no matter how long you two have been together, he still gets jealous. even if you’re admirers are 80% girls.

a/n: basically the jealousy trope but girls. bc i love girls :D

navigation

rafe cameron wasn’t the type to get jealous. at least, that’s what he told himself, day in and day out. but when it came to you—his girlfriend, the one person who had him wrapped around her finger—he couldn’t help but feel a pang of something every time a group of girls swarmed around you.

it was always the same. the way they’d giggle, whisper behind their hands, and act like they had some secret world he wasn’t a part of. he didn’t mind the guys; they were easy enough to brush off. a few sharp words and they’d back off, retreating into the background where they belonged. but the girls? it was different. they didn’t look at him like they were trying to size him up or steal him away. no, they acted like he wasn’t even there.

and that, to rafe, was a problem.

“you look good today, yn,” a girl would say as she sidled up beside you, eyes lingering just a little too long.

"thanks," you'd smile, not noticing the way rafe’s jaw clenched. you were always polite, always kind to everyone, but it did little to ease the tension in his chest.

he’d stand there, arms crossed, waiting for the moment to pass. but it never did.

“i can’t wait to see you at the next surf competition, yn! i’m sure you’ll crush it like always.” one of the girls would chirp, grinning like she had just made the most profound statement in the world.

rafe’s fingers dug into his palms as he glanced over at you, a possessive, yet proud look flashing across his face. he had to remind himself that it was because of you that all these girls were so…obsessed. you had that effect on people, on both guys and girls alike. it didn’t matter how many times he told himself he should be happy for you, that you deserved all this attention—there was still that sharp edge of irritation whenever you were in the spotlight.

“yeah, can’t wait to see you in action again,” another girl added, leaning in a little too close to you.

rafe resisted the urge to step in, though the thought of it brought an all-too-familiar feeling of frustration. you weren’t just his girlfriend—everyone knew that by now. yet somehow, you seemed to be this magnet for attention. people loved you. especially the girls.

but it wasn’t just the compliments or the giddy talk of your next competition that bothered him. it was the fact that these girls seemed to have no problem showing up at boneyard parties just to catch a glimpse of you.

“i heard yn's gonna be at the party tonight. i’m so excited!” one of them said to her friend, eyes practically sparkling. “i’ll be there early so i can get a good spot by the bonfire.”

rafe rolled his eyes, his hands curling into fists. you didn’t even notice them, didn’t care about any of this. you were just trying to enjoy yourself, trying to live your life, but it was like everyone wanted a piece of it. and most of all, they wanted a piece of you.

finally, rafe couldn’t hold it in any longer. as the girls continued to talk and laugh around you, he walked up, his presence undeniably commanding. he slid his arm around your waist, pulling you close, his face a study in controlled frustration.

“let’s go,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear. the girls hesitated, looking from him to you with a mix of confusion and intrigue.

“rafe, don’t,” you whispered softly, reaching up to touch his arm, trying to calm him down.

he gave you a tight smile, but there was something unspoken in his eyes. his possessiveness wasn’t something he liked, but when it came to you, it was almost uncontrollable.

“i’ll catch you guys later,” he said, his tone colder than usual, and with that, he guided you away from the crowd.

as soon as you were out of earshot, you let out a soft laugh. “you’re a little dramatic, you know that?”

“i don’t like them around you,” he admitted, his voice low but serious. “it’s not like i think you’ll do anything, yn. but you’re mine. and i hate how they act like you’re some prize to be won.”

you raised an eyebrow at him, a teasing smile on your lips. “and i’m supposed to be okay with you making a scene every time some girl talks to me?”

“you’re my girl,” rafe repeated, his eyes narrowing with that familiar intensity. “why would i want anyone else thinking they can just get close?”

you shook your head, a playful smile curving your lips. “you know i don’t belong to anyone, rafe. but i’m with you. only with you.”

he snorted, the tension in his shoulders easing a little. “that’s not the point. the point is—i’m not sharing, not now, not ever.”

“we’ll see about that,” you teased, pushing his shoulder lightly as you continued to walk away from the crowds.

rafe couldn’t help but laugh, even though he was still a little irritated. at least, for now, you were his—walking beside him, oblivious to the crowd and the chaos you left in your wake. he could live with that, for now.

“just don’t let them get too close next time,” he grumbled, eyes scanning the horizon as if daring anyone to make another move.

you rolled your eyes, but there was something in your expression that softened. “okay, rafe. i’ll try. but i can’t promise anything.”

“yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but the smile tugging at his lips said it all. for now, at least, he had you all to himself. and that, for him, was more than enough.

[illuminatedferret]

"At this point, I might as well just tell it to you straight. I've got a whole bunch of opinions about you." "Uh... well... I knew that already. For ages now," Xie Lian said. "Oh really?" Mu Qing said coldly. "Then do you know that I often thought you relied on your status too much- that even though you were His Highness the Crown Prince, even though you had good fortune, your skills weren't that much better than mine?" "..." "I also thought that you probably only liked doing all those good deeds for show, because you wanted all the praise and flattery. And that you only helped me because of that- I was the perfect subject for you to demonstrate your sympathy and kindness on. To be honest, some of my opinions haven't changed, even now." (Vol. 8, pg. 54-55)

This does not sound like a guy who has/had a good opinion of Xie Lian.

This sounds like a guy who thinks Xie Lian is an arrogant nepo baby who does good deeds for the optics. And while he mentions Xie Lian's circumstances, it's all couched in what Xie Lian is doing with them. If there is a place in the novel where I'm meant to take away that Mu Qing's issues with Xie Lian were actually with his circumstances, please point it out to me. Because from where I stand, it looks like Mu Qing spends most of the novel with a pretty poor opinion of Xie Lian. He definitely feels resentment over the (original) differences in their stations, but that resentment very clearly rolls over into his resentment regarding Xie Lian and what he sees Xie Lian doing with his station.

Not only that, we see him react positively more than once to Xie Lian suffering/doing bad things. He's a little "cheered" to learn Xie Lian's living in a shack (1.219). He's in an "excellent mood" when Xie Lian is put under house arrest, and he's "uncontrollably excited" to think Xie Lian is responsible for the Gilded Banquet Massacre (2.183). He's smug and passive-aggressive when they're talking about Xie Lian's past as General Hua (1.323) He also accuses Xie Lian of only offering to help 'his general' re: the fetus spirit in hopes of sabotaging his case (5.55). All this is to say, we see throughout canon that this guy does not think highly of Xie Lian. They parted ways on bad terms, and Mu Qing spent 800 years convinced Xie Lian hated him. It took him seeing Xie Lian again after 800 years and being hit in the face again and again with how good he is to finally start admitting both his negative opinions and that despite them, he still admires Xie Lian "more often than not." (8.55)

You also mention how Xie Lian and Mu Qing might have been different if they'd swapped places. But they do swap places!. Xie Lian spends 800 years scavenging for scraps with the worst luck possible. Mu Qing spends 800 years in the heavens, one of Thee most powerful men in the Three Realms. One stays kind and generous, the other stays skeptical and paranoid. Childhoods can be formative, yes, but there comes a limit on when we can attribute everything to a difficult childhood rather than a person's character, and the feasibility gets really stretched when we're talking about characters who have been alive for over 800+ years. TGCF definitely focuses more on nature rather than nurture, for good reason. It's a central theme of the novel.

TGCF makes it clear: to change or to stay the same are both choices. Staying the same is not a default action- often, (especially under pressure) it is an active choice someone makes. Mu Qing had 800 years to unpack his issues and grow as a person. He didn't. I find it both lazy and boring to throw everything about Mu Qing under the label of 'virtually sealed' because he had a difficult childhood, especially when we see none of said childhood. On top of that, you're assuming Mu Qing likely would have been a better person had he been in Xie Lian's position, but the opposite is just as possible- who's to say being a prince wouldn't have made him worse? Look at Qi Rong. Xie Lian's parents are permissive as hell. That Xie Lian turned out how he did speaks to his character, not the people around him. And in canon Mu Qing may dislike being compared to the Crown Prince he once served, but I imagine that if their positions were swapped, he would have hated even more being outshone by a mere servant.

Also, forgive me if this is unwelcome, but I feel like your argument would be much stronger if you relied on textual evidence from the book from phases of Mu Qing's life that we actually see- for example, I do believe that watching Xie Lian crash and burn in Book 2/4 definitely discouraged him from ever sticking his neck out for someone else. It would discourage me! But talking about Mu Qing's childhood as crucial for understanding him when we get maybe a few sentences about it isn't very compelling. Mu Qing is an interesting character with a lot of depth and complexity, but reducing him down to 'he couldn't help it, and it was always about their stations anyway' does him a disservice.

There's something to be said about how Mu Qing and Jun Wu both held these ideas about Xie Lian and who he really is as a person- specifically, that his kind and forgiving nature is a lie, and deep down he's actually just like them. These are ideas Mu Qing and Jun Wu spent centuries believing, refusing to be convinced otherwise until they had no other choice.

But that's where their similarities end. Because while Mu Qing resents Xie Lian for his good character, he also honestly admires him for it. Jun Wu, on the other hand, 'loves' Xie Lian, but grows angrier each time he's reminded of how different they really are. And so I think it's very fitting that when Mu Qing finally swallows his pride and admits his preconceptions and faults to Xie Lian, it's on the Heavens-Crossing Bridge, the literal wreckage of Jun Wu's hopes and dreams.

[alientee]

Shimmer Head

Ekko x reader

6k+ words

Fem reeader

Hazbin hotel Easter egg included. Addicted song describes reader.

Warning: suicidal thoughts and actions, drug use not by choice though.

Im sorry it took so long yall I’ve been crocheting blankets for Christmas and life has been lifting with work

You were an anomaly, or at least that’s what Silco called you. Apparently he saved you at birth; one calm walk through Zaun's lanes, and your mom was an overdosing shimmer head who was getting her last fix before she pushed you out. You survived. This was something Silco never thought possible; even when you looked like a shivering, whining skeleton, you were strong, a survivor, and from that day on, you were his daughter.

As life went on, you got stronger, faster, and a little more insane; your eyes changed, looking like a wild mix of two different colors. You changed so much it confused you every day to see yourself. How the voices in your head would go from telling you to slaughter everyone to offing yourself.

Silco had you microdosed with shimmer ever since you were a newborn till now, and you handled it each and every time. You were his creation, his wild card. Even as a child, he had you by his side with torture, robbing, and meetings. You’ve done it all. There were days the voices really did get to you; sometimes it was better to hurt yourself rather than to crash. You can remember the times Silco had to stop you from hurting him and yourself. The scars on your arms, the bloodstains left on your clothes, the burn scars from throwing bone down without any care, ready to give it all up. Either you survived, or Silco was just in time.

So when you first met Jinx, your first thoughts were, This poor kid, she’s just a dreamer.

But she followed you around everywhere, calling you sis, saying she’d never leave your side, she’d never leave you no matter what. Not like her sister did. You didn’t believe her; how could you? No one but Silco ever saw you; he’s the only one that loved you.

Until she followed you to a club one night.

You spin around in the chair, listening to the grungy punk music, drunk, horny prowlers, angry wannabes, and goofy dancers mixing into the crowd. You sit in your chair in the corner of the club, drink in one hand, revolver in the other. One bullet, one drink—it was all a game to you. The gun clicked three times, and you took three shots before it was snatched from your hand. And lo and behold, it was your new shadow coming to ruin the fun.

“Hey, what gives, Blue Jay!”

“How are you going to be the big shot legacy Silco says if you're dead, dumbass!”

“It’s none of your business!”

“We’re family now, so yeah, you are!”

“You going to love me even if I try to kill Silco in his sleep?”

“I’d still love you even if you killed me with him.”

Family, huh?

“Fine.”

For the first time you didn’t take your game too far, or get fucked up and pass out behind the bar; you didn’t even have a mental breakdown.

At least the voices got quiet for a while.

After a while you started to think of Jinx as a sister. Someone you could confide in, someone who gets you. Was Silco the best dad? Nah, but he was all you had. Now you know he had Jinx too. You thought everything was ok; you could be happy with your found family; even if you were broken, you still had people to fix you up, so everything was fine.

At least you genuinely believed everything was alright.

Until Jinx’s actual sister showed up, calling her Powder, the hugging, the crying, the family reunion was cute. You haven’t seen Jinx this vulnerable in a while. Everything was calm until some Piltie came out, and then the moment was gone. Jinx threatens the redhead with the gun, and boom, the Firelights had you all surrounded.

“Jinx, if you want your sister back, you gotta be smart about this.” The silence you got back let her know she was thinking up something stupid.

Smoke and ash covered the air, bullets flying and fighting at every turn. The firebugs just didn’t know when to quit, always trying to get into business that isn’t theirs. It was fun knocking them off their boards every once in a while. You’ve faced them before with Jinx killed a couple of times; you didn’t kill any of them, though. Never had the guts to really kill innocent people; you didn’t want to know what the voices would say if you did. You didn’t want to lose yourself all the way.

As always, Jinx is shooting bullets every which way in the sky, which wasn’t bad, but using bombs to blow up the platform is very bad. Your body hurt, your ears were ringing, and you could barely breathe. You tried calling out for Jinx but got no answer. You finally dragged yourself up; you can see some fire bugs down, but you couldn’t see Jinx. Couldn’t see her sister. Didn’t even see the body lying dead somewhere.

Huh, you were all alone.

Then it dawned on you: Jinx did it on purpose. She really was a genius, truly. She blew up the platform, making a distraction; a lot of people were down and out. Nobody could see what was happening; some too injured to chase.

Looks like she could only carry her sister to safety, though.

You’ll never leave me no matter what, huh?

Hehehehehe, yeah right!

You could finally breathe again and got the strength to stand up. It was all just so funny, really.

Bunch of bullshit hahahahaha

You didn’t notice anything going on around you, the shuffling of people standing; you didn’t feel all the cautious eyes on you. Not that you cared; all you cared about were the voices screaming at you so loud you could swear your ears were bleeding.

Walking towards the edge of the platform is easy. Turning around and giving a mock salute to the firelights with a smile on your face was easy. But dropping to your death knowing the last thing playing in your headphones was your and Jinx's song, it fucking burned every lyric you tried to sing just turned to ash in your mouth.

But at least now the voices would stop forever. The air rushed through your ears and then nothing.

Out like a light

You woke up in an eerily dark room; honestly, it was predictable. Down to the moldy smell, the silence, and the creepy guy in the corner with a mask. And you honestly should’ve been more mad at yourself for getting saved; you couldn’t even die in peace!

“Why am I alive, dammit!”

The silence was so annoying; there’s no need to try and be intimidating. You’ve seen worse. You hate people who try those tactics; you can’t torture someone who’s already tortured every day. Geez, just kill them if they don’t tell you what you want.

“Look, I’m not going to tell you shit, so just kill me already!”

And then the mask comes off. You don’t know him, but you knew him, apparently jinx’s past. The boy savior, she calls him; he looks just like she said he would. You also remember what she told you about him. “Better watch out; the boy savior likes to think he can save everybody.”

Ok, you can deal with a wannabe hero.

“Your on shimmer. You are an addict; Slico has you do his dirty work, and he gives you your next fix. Am I right?”

You’re really fucking wrong. Scratch that; you didn’t want to deal with the wannabe hero.

“So how about you tell me what I need to know, and you get to lay low somewhere secret and get off that shit before you try and die again while Silco just replaces you?”

The voices started to get louder, your throat tight and blood dripping from your palms for how tight you started to squeeze them. His words were like acid on your skin. Just who did this asshole think he was?

“First of all, dipshit, I’m his daughter! Ok, not some random street rat shimmer head he feeds. Second of all, shimmer makes people stronger. I should know; came right out of my druggie mom, still living and breathing, full of shimmer! I’ve been injected with it since Silco adopted me! He says I’m perfect; he says I'm his legacy. I don’t do his dirty work; I help him make Zaun better! So you're dead fucking wrong, wannabe!”

Now he’s looking at you like you’re crazy…. And you're used to that.

“This is better? Our people are dying all around us. Kids are abandoned! People are sick and starving. How is this better?”

“Blame Piltover! Duh!”

“It’s Piltover. And Silco, are you crazy??!!”

That word. It always did something to you. You didn’t care when people looked at you like you were... but calling you crazy? Different story. Something that made all the voices laugh, an itch in your brain that told you to break, hurt, destroy, kill, and show them your insane.

“FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU! Hahahahahahahahaha. All of Piltover and Zaun is going to burn you, and your fucking bugs are going to be ash! I’m not crazy. I’m perfect. I’m perfect he said”—

Your music!?! Where were your headphones?!!?

You were so numb, in a really dark place, you never fully remembered how your episodes went. When that singed guy injected you with your first microdose of shimmer, all you remembered was the screaming and Silco whispering how proud he was. But Ekko would remember it all even in his dreams. How you banged your head against the pole you were tied against over and over again. Crying tears of shimmer while laughing hysterically until blood dripped on the side of your head. Only to end up sobbing.

The voices screamed and screamed and screamed. Until they stopped, they never just stopped without music or silco. And you never had this heavy feeling over your ears without your headphones.

Oh, it’s this Ekko guy. What is he doing? Why is he holding his hands over your face? Why is he looking at you like that?

“I’m sorry. You’re not crazy. I promise, okay? Breath for me nice and slow.”

This was nice: everything quiet, everything nice and warm. This is new, huh?

“Hey!? Wai”—

Out like a light again

“She’s a danger to the base!”

“We can help her. She’s not like Jinx! She’s the product of a bad situation. She’s not with Silco because she wants to be; it’s because it’s all she knows.”

“She’s a mess; keeping her here is like bringing bullshit to our door!”

“He’s been injecting her with shimmer since she was an infant! We can’t kick her out!”

“Can y'all shut up sleeping here?”

Bat Guy and Ekko just stared at you.

“Look, I don’t care what you do to me; can I just have my damn headphones? The voices, ya know, they’re telling me to escape and kill everyone here. Soooooo, my earphones, pretty please.”

The boy wonder hands them over and puts them over your ears. And even with no music playing, everything feels peaceful. The whole time, he and Bat Boy are still going back and forth; this time you couldn’t hear it, though. Finally you get silence, if only for a moment. You almost bit Ekko when he moved one of them back off.

“Look, let’s compromise: you get a little freedom, supervised. And we get one shimmer shipment location… not the factory, just the shipment.”

“No bullshit babysitters; it’s you or nothing.”

“...fine.”

You could’ve told him to fuck off and die. Make him eat his sappy little words. But after the way he held your ears, he looked like a kicked puppy for making you freak out. How softly he said sorry. It was different; it was new. You didn’t do soft, not that much.Silco always told you to play your enemies, so maybe giving a little bait wouldn’t be too bad.

“Fine, boy wonder, I’ll give you a shipment that’s all.”

“Thank you.”

There he goes, looking at you like that again.

Like some kind of puppy. What a sucker.

Ekko took you outside, but you didn’t want to socialize, so he kept you both at a good distance from the others. While taking you out of the base, you didn’t want to look at anyone. If you saw any leering faces and judging eyes, you knew you’d lash out.

Oddly enough, you didn’t want to smack the fuck out of Ekko's face. Maybe a little bit, not a lot. You didn’t know what it was, but Ekko was calming; his presence was like a warmth in the dark murk of Zaun. You didn’t understand how he could be so... normal with all of this around him.

Maybe it was the fact that he actually took you out of the hideout and onto a roof to look over Piltover. You could’ve knocked him out, taken his board, and run. Why is he so stupidly trusting? “How do you do it?” He raises an eyebrow. “Do what?” You raise one back “Be so happy-go-lucky when we live in a place like Zaun.” That made him stop his steps, and he looks serious; you haven’t seen him unless he’s talking about shipments.

“I have to make a change for the people who can’t help themselves; I want to give people something to live for; the firelight is my way of doing that.”

And there he goes again, making your mind feel funny again. It sounds like he means it; everything Ekko says always sounds genuine, but somehow you can’t bring yourself to believe him.

“Alright then, help me by teaching me how to ride one of those hoverboard things.” Ekko’s eyes get wide, and his mouth even opens a little. “You want to learn? I’ve been trying to get you to do that for a week. What changed?” You didn’t want to let him know the real reason, so you decided to play it off.

“Just thought I could kick your butt at something, boy wonder,” he scoffed. You knew he hated the nickname; it was too fun teasing him to stop, though.

“Alright, alright. If you’re so confident, then I’ll teach you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you end up falling off a few times.”

“I’ll be a pro; just you wait and see.”

You were in fact not a pro. Your knees were scuffed, and the dirt on your clothes was a testament to just how many times you hit the dirt. “Sorry this is taking so long; I feel fucking stupid.” Ekko grabs your hands and pulls you up, grabbing the board. “Don’t; it takes everyone a minute to learn this is no different. How do you think I feel? I made it; I had to test it and fall a lot.” You give him a nod, deciding to take the board back with a little more confidence this time. “What a boy genius you are,” you got a snort in return.

“Now, remember, hoverboards are pretty sensitive. You have to find your balance and keep it steady. And be careful not to lean too far to one side or the other, or you’ll tip over.” Ekko watches you carefully as you mount the hoverboard, his arms crossed over his chest. The hoverboard begins to move forward as you lean, slowly at first, but steadily gaining speed.

You could hear Ekko yelling behind you, “There you go, you’re doing great! Just keep your balance and focus on the path ahead.”

“What about turns!? What if I fall??”

“Don’t worry; I’ll be right here to catch you if you fall.”

You got the hang of it after a while; you both went back to the base riding your hoverboard and even racing some of the kids. It was a good time, no responsibilities, no expectations. It still hurt you; there was no Silco, but at least you had distractions.

Ekko seemed to show up when he wasn’t asked; it’s like he knew when to butt into people's business.

He was there during your worst moments of loneliness. When the darkness was too much, when the voices kept repeating the insults louder and crueler. Telling you to kill yourself, that you're nothing, worthless, not good enough, burn the firelight base to the ground, and watch everyone around you die. You’ll only end up alone anyway. The smell of ash and blood, you could remember it by heart. Tears pouring out of your eyes continuously, you didn’t even sob. You had nothing to be sad about in the moment. You just naturally cried, and all you could do was scream, hoping I’d stop. Sitting in the dark waiting for it all to end. Thinking, hoping that just maybe one day you’d be blessed enough not to wake up.

It wasn’t until you felt Ekko's heavy gloves on your shoulder. Asking if you were ok, if you needed anything, if you needed him. Looking at you like you're the only thing that mattered in the moment. Moving to sit next to you, his shoulder lightly touching yours. “You don’t have to talk; just know I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere.” Those days were hard, but it always felt nice to have Ekko lying on the floor next to you, no words, just his company.

He even let you into his little workshop. His words: “You don’t have to knock. If you need me, just come in” You’d hand him his tools and use all the knowledge you had on tech to help. You used to make a lot of trinkets that helped your day-to-day life. You didn’t like to make weapons like Jinx, but you could make a mean bomb. You’ve even fallen asleep to his tinkering and his little nerd-out moments. “You're such a dork.” He wouldn’t even take his eyes off his invention.

“Shush if you're not going to help.”

“Touchy touchy. Here, let me look, boy genius.” When you actually put in effort to help him, he’d look at you from the side of his eye, and you’d pretend like you didn’t notice the small smile creeping up on his face. Sitting by his side until late at night, making new things to help out in the base. Both your giggles and the metal clanking were the only things heard at 3 am.

And that’s how it was for a month. Ekko is coming in, trying to coax you into giving up Silco; you give him a little info, and he folds and gives you what you want for the day. You had a good thing going. So why’d he want to ruin it now? You were fine seeing the kids; you made small talk with one of the firelight girls, but that’s it. Everyone else you dealt with in passing. So why was Ekko so set on you interacting with more people?

“How about we hang out with the group for a bit?”

“I’m fine; I hate people.”

“Look, I’m just trying to—“

“I don’t need help! I don't need friends! I—I need my dad; I need…. I need to feel in control. It still feels like I’m a fucking prisoner even if you say I’m not.

Ekko doesn’t talk for a minute; you can tell he’s trying to choose his words wisely, his white locs covering his face. “I don’t know what you see in Silco, even if he took you in…. You can’t tell me you truly see the good in what he’s doing.

You didn’t answer him. Afraid you’ll say something you’ll regret by lashing out. He didn’t get it; he didn’t get you! Silco was your dad; Silco helped you ignore the voices; he loved you even if he had a funny way of showing it.

“He’s not the best dad in the world, but he’s my dad. He helped me when I had no one. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Ekko didn’t answer you; it’s like he wanted to argue, but he knew you needed this.

“Just... just give it a chance; you may find your people.”

If he heard your scoff, he didn’t react to it.

I don’t have people; all I have is my dad and myself, even when I don’t love myself.

Ekko’s soft words pulled you out of your thoughts.

“You have me too.”

“Until how long, hmmm, till I run out of information?”

“That’s no—“

“Hey, Ekko, tell me how I survived the day I jumped.”

Ekko went back silent; he was giving you that look again, and you hated it. It’s like he saw everything within you, and it made you feel naked, like you couldn’t hide.

“Oh that… flew down to save you.”

“Why?”

“When you smiled at us before you fell, I thought you were asking for help.”

You giggled at that; only Ekko would think of saving his enemy who tried to off themselves in front of him. “Your something else, Sunflower.”

“Sunflower!? What kind of flower is that? We don’t have those in Zaun.”

“Alright, take me out or whatever it is you want.”

“D-don’t say it like that. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the kids.”

You never knew Zaun could look like this, or even have a tree, and now the name firelights makes sense: nothing but a lush green tree with the fireflies all around it. It’s peaceful, plush; it’s nice. You got a few looks here and there, but it’s fine; ekkos here, and you weren’t forced to hang out with who you didn’t want to.

And that’s how you spent your day bonding with Ekko and even the kids; they weren’t as judgy, and you appreciated it. Even when they had questions, it didn’t feel pointed. “Why do you always wear those things on your head?” your headphones; you never took them off, never could bring yourself to part from the one thing that helps stop the voices, no matter how battered and dingy they are. “They’re headphones. They help me when I’m scared or upset.” “Oooooh, I get it; my mask helps me! Makes me feel stronger!” “Good, use your strength to become the best firelight you can be.”

That’s how the day started and ended: you playing with the kids, running around, playing tag and hide and seek until the night came. The kids gathered around, using common objects around them to make a little band; music brings a lot of the firelights together, and somebody brings an actual scrap-made speaker playing louder music. Some even start to dance. And in this moment you couldn’t help but think maybe Ekko was right; maybe these people were ok.

You grab the overworking leader by the arm and pull him with you. “What is it?”

“Come on, Ekko, let’s dance!”

“Dance?”

“Yeah, you scared boy wonder?“

“Not at all, but um… why?”

“Who doesn’t like dancing!”

That’s when the music hits and nothing else matters. Ekko moves effortlessly, his body flowing in perfect harmony with yours. He keeps you close, his chest pressed against yours as he twirls you around. The world outside seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble. Your body’s moving in rhythm as the music gets Ekko pulls you closer, one hand resting on your waist while the other takes hold of your hand, spinning you. He begins to sway gently, guiding you in a slow dance. Holding each other’s sides, swaying back and forth. Every minute you got to look in Ekkos's eyes, seeing him smile at you like that did something to you; he really was something else.

You couldn’t let those eyes shake you, though. You knew it was only a matter of time before it all went to hell; no one really gives a damn about you, no one except Silco. But maybe if you were a better daughter, he would’ve found you by now.

Ekko could only look at you in confusion when you walked away from him, away from the gathering. He thought it was a good moment that he was finally getting through to you. But he wasn’t one to push, not when he knew what you’d been through, but he followed you up the stairs to the treehouse.

And when he found you, the silence was heavy but comfortable. That’s how it was with you too, and you’d never say it out loud, but he made you feel safe.

“Do you want to stay here?”

You timidly glanced into his eyes before you took a deep breath. “I don’t know,” you looked away, closing your eyes, trying to stop yourself from getting out of hand. Ekko hummed, leaving more silence in between you both, and then he asked another, “Even if you know Silco loves you, it isn’t healthy.”

You opened your eyes as a bitter taste remained in your mouth. Your face contorted into different expressions as you debated with yourself on whether or not you would share.

“My mother was a shimmer addict; she had me right as she overdosed. And Silco found me; I was different; I survived even with a small, premature body full of shimmer. He said I was unique, that I could change all of Zaun. I believe him. I’ve done a lot of great things… at least I think so. Even if you don’t agree with him, he saved me.

“But you're not okay—

“Don’t tell me what I am! I’m perfect as I am; he said so! I may not be normal, but I am living instead of surviving, Ekko! Can’t you see that?”

“I do. But you know what else I see? I see how happy you are riding your board; I see how sweet you are with the kids, especially when you steal yarn from the top side and crochet stuff for them; I see how you care for Raven when you think she’s not looking by finding her favorite things to surprise her without letting her know it was you; I see how you truly care for the people you're loyal to. You touch people's lives and leave light in your wake. I see how beautiful you are inside and out. You’re your own person, not what Silcos made you! You can do better than what he has you doing.”

“Is that what you’ve come up with in your mind? That I’m just this lost, misguided girl who was groomed to be fucked up? News flash! Boy Wonder, I’m in Zaun. I was going to be fucked up regardless of Silco! Who do you think I am, huh? Don’t act like you know me, 'cause you don’t! Stop trying to change me into something I’m not! I’m not some knockoff version of Jinx you can fix just because I decided to be nice a few times. What?! I’m your little powder passion project. Couldn’t save her, so you’re trying to save me because we both have family, daddy, and abandonment issues?!”

You knew it was a low blow, but even though she left you, you couldn’t help but think about Jinx’s words, taking them to heart, and everything she told you. “He likes to think he can save everyone.”

He narrowed his eyes at your response; you could see him clenching his fist and clenching his teeth. His eyes no longer looking at you with acceptance or worry like you were used to, only irritation

“I wasn’t trying to change her; I thought she was in danger. I didn’t know she went with that piece of shit willingly…. I thought I could save her; I needed to because she was my friend.”

“Ohhhhh, that’s right, you’re the boy savior!”

His eyes went from a glare to cold and lifeless.

“Fuck you. You know nothing; you only know Jinx's pain but not mine. You’re right about one thing, though: you and Jinx are similar. So I don’t know why I was stupid enough to try and help you; just like her, you don’t deserve it.” That just pissed you off more.

“I didn’t ask you to help me! I didn’t ask for you to save me from offing myself! I didn’t ask for you to try and fucking fix me or my life!”

“I’m not trying to change you; I’m trying to give you something better! A chance! Silco didn’t give you a chance; he used you! Your work, a tool! If you survived on shimmer this long since birth, you're proof that his product can lead to something greater than he thought. But it’s at the expense of you and your health.” His voice lowers, his breathing heavy. “Please… tell me you see it. You have to know that keeping you on shimmer as long as he has wasn’t to help you. Only him.”

In the back of your mind you knew; you always knew. And yet the faith he put in you gave your heart love you’ve never felt before. How he always stated he was proud of you, said you were the best thing to happen in his life, that you're his legacy, his daughter. But what was the cost for your heart, suicidal thoughts, breakdowns, nightmares, and dissociation? A mother that never wanted you, a father that loved you but not enough to see your pain, only your potential. “Hey Ekko, thank you. For saving me and making me realize. I don’t want people to end up like me... because I’m not ok.”

“Then let me he“—”. He didn’t get to finish before you pushed back, making him crash into the tree behind him. You jumped from the stairs on the tree; you didn’t care about the fall because it’s the freest you ever felt. You could hear the other fireflies yelling, but the adrenaline and the wind in your ears helped you ignore them. As soon as you fell, you pushed forward, not caring about the pain in your legs and ankles. Grabbing a hoverboard before speeding off and out of the hideout.

When Ekko got up, he didn’t chase you, nor did he call out for you; all he could do was watch. Scar rushed up to him, looking at him expectingly. “She’s going to go back to Silco!? We have to catch her before she rats us out!?” Ekko didn’t react to his words, only looking forward to where you had run. “Ekko!” And when Ekko finally looked at Scar, he just shrugged. “She’ll be back when she’s ready.” “She’s not coming back." Ekko, she’s been waiting for an opportunity to escape, and we let her!”

Ekko just shook his head, picking up something off the ground. “She’ll be back.” “How do you know!?” Ekko moved his hand in front of Scar, showing him what he picked up. “She left her headphones.” Scar just scoffed. “That doesn't mean anything.” Ekko just shook his head. “Trust me, if you knew her like I do, you’d know it meant everything.”

You wandered around one of Silco's biggest shimmer factories, where most of his shipments go. You walked around the rooftop, pacing back and forth. “I’m addicted to the madness~” You turned on your headphones, singing along, tuning out the noise below, scummy workers and henchmen everywhere. “Let me leave my soul a-burning; I’ll be breathing it in.” Sneaking down through the crawl spaces, you laid out bombs everywhere you could stick them. You set up trap after trap after trap after trap. You knew this place like the back of your hand, so it was easy to get in and get out.

“I’m addicted to the feeling, getting higher than the ceiling~” This place had meaning to you… this was the first place Silco took you when he felt like you were ready to work for him. The first place where he showed you the ropes was the same place he had you start your injections. The same place you had your first breakdown. This felt like a goodbye to the past, the pain, everything that made you feel inadequate. You don’t know what you’d be without Silco; you knew the voices would never fully leave, but at least with this you could let your dad know you were ok and that you were going your own way.

“Just concede and give in to your inner demons again~” You hit the button, and it all blew up—the building, the workers.

And you too. Hopefully, Silco can forgive you for not saying goodbye.

It’s been 3 months; Ekko waited for you to return. But after a while he could only assume you’d either gone your own way or something terrible happened. Missions still happened with no sign of you with Silco's goons, and there’s talk about the huge explosion that happened, so he couldn’t pinpoint what had happened to you; all he had to give him comfort about your departure was your headphones. He never touched them, only keeping them by his bedside with your memory lingering with him whenever there in his sight. But today at 12 am, he finally had the courage to tinker with them, hopefully fixing them up.

He was concentrating so hard he didn’t hear the door open; it was Scar. “Your stray is back,” and as soon as he came, he left.

“Hey sunflower,” he jumped and turned around so quickly you thought he’d fall out of the chair. He did slip a little as he rushed to hug you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to laugh.

“Missed me?” He squeezed your torso, chuckling a little. “Missed your humor, not your bullshit.” You poked at his side, making him jump. “Lies, you missed that too. Everyone else is boring.

He pulls you over to his patched-up couch, both of you plopping down. You lean into his touch, laying on his shoulder. Neither of you said anything; you didn’t need to. You don’t know what you expected when it came to his reaction. But you’re glad Ekko didn’t pressure you to talk about anything or question what you’d been doing. You’d tell him one of these days. The withdraws, breakdowns, you almost ending it all. But right now you just wanted to enjoy his company; being alone for months took its toll, so it’s good to be back in a warming presence.

It took everything in you to not go back to Silco, to everything that was easier. But you pulled it off, and you hope Ekko could see that you really are trying. “Was it you?” He spoke so softly you thought you just imagined it, but Ekkos looking into your eyes let you know it was real. And you knew what he meant; your explosion was nothing but destruction, but you wanted to leave that behind you. So you said the only thing that was closest to the truth. “I’m following my own path now, Ekko.” When you looked back at him, it almost took your breath away. Those stupid, big, brown eyes looking at you with so much warmth you could’ve melted right then and there. It made you sick.

“I’m happy for you... So you’re just visiting?”

“Geez, trying to kick me out already, huh?” He shook his head. “Of course not. I just…. I want you to be happy and go your own way, even if it’s not here with me.” You looked away, biting your cheek. “So what if I wanted to be happy here?”.

“Then I’d make a space for you right now; you’re always welcome.”

“Even in your room~”

“Yeah, you can stay with me if you want.”

You felt all your thoughts falter and come to a stop once the words were out of his mouth. You paused and looked at him, face red. “Easy there; we don’t want everyone jealous that the big boss in charge is playing favorites.” He pulls you so close, too close. His nose and forehead touching your own. You don’t know this Ekko, Ekko who always was too shy to flirt back, who was always the gentleman, who only gave fleeting touches like he was afraid to break you. “You are my favorite; you’ll always be someone special to me.” You couldn’t help pushing his buttons, not wanting him to see your face reddening.

“Leaders shouldn’t show favoritism, ya know. I’m going to need something for me to keep quiet; wouldn’t want to hurt the kiddies feelings, would you? out of all the things you expected Ekko to say, you didn’t expect what he’d do.

Ekko leans down, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. It’s slow and tender; the brush of his lips is so soft. He takes his time, savoring the feel of your lips against his, pouring all of his love and affection into the kiss. He leaned back and smiled warmly as he continued to gently caress your cheek. He looked at you with a soft, affectionate expression, his gaze filled with adoration thatyou’d noticed before. You just never had the guts to call him out on it.

“Is that enough to keep you quiet?”

“It's a start.”

[feinv]

hey cuties!! missed u so so much and i wanna know ur thoughts on low honor and high honor arthur,, like what's the difference??

high honor arthur vs low honor arthur.

cw. nsfw under cut. female reader.

well, it’s not a surprise that high honor arthur dedicates his days trying to do good in his world. he is self-conscious about himself, no matter how many times he gets called a good man, he always brushes those comments off. frankly, he thinks he is damned and will never be forgiven for his sins. he doesn’t believe he deserves anything nice. and he especially doesn’t believe he deserves you.

but you are with him, so he has no other choice but to be a better man for you, one you truly deserve. this man is so whipped, and after his failed love life he is eager to make it work. he is not exactly experienced in relationships, is awkward from times to times, doesn’t know when is the right time to hold your hand, to kiss you, to get intimate with you.

how soon is too soon? he just doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so he would rather constantly ask you and look like a virgin who never felt a touch of a woman than to ruin the special connection you two have :(

he is extremely sweet to you, treats you like a literal princess and makes you feel like you are living in a fairy tale. i wrote here a long time ago how he always takes care of you when you are on your period and here how he treats you in general! ultimately, he is going to settle down with you in a small house you two will call a home. he will do all the hard work but also help you with house chores as well. as much as he doesn’t trust himself after what happened with eliza and isaac, he still wants a family with you.

it’s a whole other story with low honor arthur.

he knows he isn’t a good man, and he isn’t trying to be. he knows he is damned and a sinner, and he also knows that all he wants is to corrupt you in every sense and ruin you for anyone else.

i wrote here and here about how low honor arthur treats you in general. he is still nice to you, his smiled reserved only for you, but with his sweet words, his rough actions always follow behind. you best believe his first answer to anything is violence. he tries not to be an asshole to others in front of you, but to be honest he always fails.

i picture low honor arthur to be more traditional in regards to gender roles. he is more of a feminist than other cowboys in his time can ever be, but in his mind it’s only right if he does the dirty job of haunting, killing, cutting wood and so on, while you take care of the house you two share.

high honor arthur always takes his time with you during sex. he refuses to lay you down on anything other than his mattress, an actual bed, or a soft grass. always relaxes your entire mind and body before he makes sweet love to you. this man is a switch and he prefers to submit to you just as much as he likes taking control.

low honor arthur just takes you on every surface he can get. trust this man to consider slowing down only when you are about to pass out from euphoria. there is no stopping if he starts. he is dominant. always. in every situation.

high honor arthur’s love is sweet, gentle and caring, while low honor’s is just rough, brutal and corruptive.

this is what me thinks.

# arthur morgan masterlist. | main mlist. | join the taglist.

[eiralunaire]

Damian Wayne had turned twenty, and although his life had been marked by training, discipline, and his unwavering fight against crime, lately something else had been occupying his mind: **you**.

Years had passed since he met you, and what began as a practical companionship evolved into a friendship that, for Damian, became indispensable. You had been a constant in his life; someone he could talk to without the pressure of being the "perfect heir" or the unbeatable warrior. With you, Damian didn't have to be anything but himself.

However, over time, casual conversations began to take on a different tone. The sound of your laughter disarmed him more than any enemy, and the way you saw the world with a perspective so alien to his own made him question things he had previously taken for granted.

One night, after patrolling Gotham together, the two of them rested on top of a building, watching the horizon. Damian was unusually quiet, and his gaze, which was usually fixed on the city, this time remained on you.

“What are you thinking about, Damian?” you asked, noticing his silence.

He hesitated for a moment. Normally he had quick and precise answers, but with you it was different.

“You,” he answered honestly, though his tone was low and laden with confusion.

You raised an eyebrow, smiling with a hint of disbelief. “Me? What about me?”

Damian looked away, an action that to anyone else might seem insignificant, but to him it was a sign of vulnerability.

“It’s strange,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I’ve never allowed myself to feel… this before.”

“This?” you insisted, tilting your head in curiosity.

Finally, Damian turned to look at you, his green eyes more intense than usual. There was something in his gaze that you hadn’t seen before: a mix of longing and inner torment.

“You. You’re different. You’re the only person who makes me feel… human. Not just a warrior, not just Talia’s son or Ra’s al Ghul’s grandson.”

The weight of his words fell between you like a bomb, but there was no awkwardness, just a strange peace.

From that night on, Damian began to spend more time with you, looking for any excuse to be close. His attraction to you wasn’t just physical, though he couldn’t deny how much he was fascinated by your gestures, your voice, or even the way you moved. It was something deeper, something that terrified and intrigued him in equal parts.

For the first time, Damian Wayne, the relentless and serious Robin, found himself doubting himself. Feeling emotions so human, so common, was uncharted territory for him.

—I never thought I'd need someone like you in my life, —he confessed on another occasion while the two of you shared a coffee on a quiet night. —But now that you're here, I can't imagine you not being here.

The decisive moment came one rainy night. You had ended up soaked after a mission, and Damian took you to Wayne Manor for shelter. Leaving you a towel and a cup of hot tea, his gaze met yours, and for an instant, the world seemed to stop.

—This is crazy, —he murmured, taking a step towards you.

—What thing? —you asked softly, although you already knew the answer.

—The way I feel about you.

Before you could answer, Damian closed the distance between you, resting his forehead against yours. His breathing was heavy, as if he were holding back a torrent of emotions that threatened to overflow.

—I've spent my whole life trying not to feel, not to need anyone. But with you... I can't help it. I want more.

In that instant, silence was enough to communicate what words couldn't. From that moment on, things would never be the same between you. Damian Wayne had found something he never thought he'd need: love.

Part two

[klarolinexluv]

Something has really stuck with me that some Anti Regulus Black person said and I want to share my thoughts on it.

Basically, they said that we, or people that like Regulus have been giving Regulus Lilys characteristics and traits and relationships instead of giving them to Lily and are using this to replace Lily.

From my pov, I can understand how that comes across. Moonwater, in canonical type universes, usually come together over their love for literature, something, that as far as I understand was how Lily and Remus used to become friends in fics.

When I think of this situation, I don’t see it as Lily being replaced, I see it as Remus having more friends then just the Marauders and Lily. I see it as Remus making friends.

In all the fics I’ve read, majority of them, Lily and Remus are always already friends! 9 times out of 10, if Remus has a POV and he is interacted with Lily or thinking about Lily, he refers to her has his best friend.

Idk who needs to hear this but Remus can have more friends than just Lily and the Marauders! In fact, EVERY. SINGLE. CHARACTER. Can have more friends then just the friend groups that they have been assigned to from the fandom.

I personally love the idea that Regulus and Remus get close because of their shared interest in books and knowledge. In fact, I love it so much when this happens. I also love when Remus is the one to introduce (formally) Lily and Regulus. Because they have shared interests! They all have shared interests and that’s what they bond over.

If we just forget about ships for a moment - Jily/Jegulus - Regulus and Lily would and could actually be really close friends. At their cores they are very similar and have similar morals and codes.

Like my girl Lily defeated Voldemort the first time. You cannot tell me that she did not have some deep interest and understanding of Dark Magic that is really not talked about enough. I mean, she was friends with Snape for a LONG time! Even against all her Gryffindor friends and dorm mates advice and opinions. She was friends with Snape for a long time and they definitely studied dark magic together. The only reason they stopped being friends was because Snape called her a slur and began siding with people that would have gladly seen Lily and people like Lily 6 feet under.

And then Regulus! He may not have made the best choices but when it mattered the most, he chose to do the right thing and go against Voldemort. He is the first to have done so! My guy was smart. He definitely knew so much magic that he has likely forgotten more than anyone would ever even know.

Regulus and Lily are both so smart and they would have bonded over their shared intelligence, their love for knowledge and books. Remus was probably terrified the day he realised he was the reason these two evil geniuses even started talking.

Maybe instead of saying that Regulus is being given Lily’s characteristics and traits, maybe think about how this would affect the two characters when put in the same room.

I personally think that they would argue for a long time and then Lily would probably say something that gives Regulus pause and then Lily would gently press on that and then Regulus would go have a long hard think and then come back and hesitantly ask Lily questions that Lily would happily answer and then they would be tentative friends!

Regulily have so much in common but they also have a lot of differences and I don’t think enough people see that because they are too focused on ships rather than the characters themselves and their motives and actions.

I’m not shy in admitting that I fuck with romantic regulily. They are my guilty pleasure ship and I am not shy about saying that.

Regulily, platonically, romantically, it doesn’t matter. They have the biggest grounds for friendship and growth.

Regulus and Lily can teach each other so much and I honestly think it’s the biggest missed opportunity when they are pinned against each other rather than working together.

I fear I’ve gone WAY off topic.

In the context of relationships, the jily vs jegulus idea. I feel like I need to hold people hands when I say this because the two ships are very different.

WARNING! OPINIONS!

To me, Jily is a rivals to lovers relationship. I don’t think they are grumpy/sunshine purely because I don’t see Lily as the grumpy trope. I very much think that Jily are academic rivals. Where James just naturally understands everything and gets good marks whether he studied or not and Lily has to study heavily before she understands a topic enough to pass, like Lily to me has to study throughly before everything sticks and she understands the topic so much more than is really required for her coarse work.

I also don’t think Jily was James falls in love at first sight and Lily hates him for years until she gives in and goes on a date with him. Sure it’s a bit cute but i definitely prefer James developing a crush and not telling anyone other than his friends. I very much fuck with James being uncharacteristically shy about his crushes on people. I fuck with James losing his ability to talk or function around the person he fancies and it comes off as arrogance and a bit of a joke when he is actually being genuine.

I love the idea that Lily falls for him slowly, like initially, she thinks she hates him, she loathes the fact that he doesn’t need to study and he can just goof off and do whatever and still get perfect grades, I think Lily gets jealous of James and thinks she despises him because she thinks he is trying to make fun of her when all he is trying to do is talk to her and get her attention.

I love the idea that Remus is constantly trying to talk James up to Lily, “he’s really not that bad once you get to know him.” And “He’s harmless, Lils.” And things like that but Lily has NONE of it!

I think Lily starts to fall for James when they are paired together for a project that is a big mark on their finals. I think Lily goes into this thinking that she is going to hate it when actuality, James is kind and thoughtful and helps her when she struggles. He doesn’t make fun of her, he sits down quietly and gives her tips and tricks that he discovered when he studies privately, (this would be when she finds out that maybe it doesn’t all come as naturally to James as she thought) and then they end up getting the best grade in their year on the assignment but they don’t stop hanging out, they don’t stop studying together. Lily slowly falls for James because of his mind and they form a friendship and then James would ask her out one day and Lily would find herself stunned because if he had asked her a few months ago, she would have harshly declined but in the moment, she finds herself blushing and agreeing without a hint of hesitation.

And that’s how I imagine Jily.

Now, Jegulus.

Jegulus is enemies to lovers, they are grumpy/sunshine. I very much think that they did hate eachother. They did not like eachother for many reasons and they would argue and fight in the halls.

I’m very much into jegulus but I don’t think I’ve seen a fic that has written them as actually enemies to lovers in a canonical setting.

Jegulus to me is very push and pull. One step forward, two steps backwards.

I honestly think that sure, when they met at 11 and 12 when Sirius had his little brother trailing after him and introduced them to each other, they both had the moment of instant connection that they both immediately denied and dismissed and buried under hatred.

James and Regulus see each other as competition. Regulus sees James as the one that stole his brother. James sees Regulus as the brother that doesn’t deserve Sirius.

Because Sirius told James all about his little brother all through first year and James was exited to meet him for a long time until they met and instantly realised that Regulus is a two faced snake and doesn’t deserve Sirius.

Because Sirius told Regulus all about his best friend in every letter, in every stolen moment during the holidays. Regulus was exited to meet James for a long time until they met and instantly realised that James isn’t the golden ray of sunshine that Sirius claims him to be but a brother stealing asshole.

I honestly think that Jegulus is THE enemies to lovers.

I don’t think Jegulus even had a civil conversation until after Sirius ran away. And even this conversation started as an argument. I think that they only reason the argument stopped and they started genuinely talking to eachother is because Regulus’ mask broke and James saw the hidden emotions underneath that Regulus was trying to hide.

I think that James held onto prejudice for a long time. He saw all Slytherins as evil and then didn’t think about that for years until he sees Regulus crack and then James has to rethink everything he has ever thought.

That’s how I think Jegulus starts and I don’t think they ever really talk about what they are or what they are doing for a very long time, to the point (if we are talking in a canonical sense) that they break and fall apart. To the point where they end up on different sides of a war.

ANYWAY! (this is really long and if you've read this far, just know that you are my favourite person in the entire world and I adore you to the ends of the universe).

Regulus and Lily, though they share many characteristics and traits and fundamentally different people. Even in the context of the people they are shipped with, even in the context of their friendships.

I love them both so much and I think saying that Lily is being replaced by Regulus is incredibly wrong and also perhaps a little misogynistic.

They are both incredible characters, who should not be defined by their relationships.

Like I said before. In the context of war, both Lily and Regulus were the first. Regulus may have failed to complete his mission and Lily may have succeeded in killing Voldemort… but at the end of the day both of them did not do anything in the long run. Voldemort was still able to return, the horcruxes still need to be destroyed and Harry still had to finish what the people before him started, Harry still had to fight a war he had no part in starting.

[its-no-biggie]

thinking about teruhashi, and her relationship with saiki after she finds out about his powers......

cause like. teruhashi is so convinced that people only like her because of the perfect facade of effortless beauty and grace right. but saiki isnt fooled by the facade and actually appreciates how much effort she puts into her image. like in the episode where they go to the nasty ramen shop and she loses respect from nendou and kaidou but gains respect from saiki. so like, i think teruhashi would definitely have a crisis about saiki being able to hear her thoughts at first, but once she got over the shock she would probably give up on trying to make him like her. she'd just be convinced he'll never like the version of her that isnt perfect. especially since hes already been seeing that version of her for so long - even if teruhashi could somehow project a perfect version of herself to saiki by policing her internal self as well as external (which, holy shit would that be unhealthy but you know she'd try) that ship has long sailed. she obviously wouldnt lose feelings for him but she would stop actively pursuing him since he can see right through her.

but even if she accepts that saiki knows who she is inside, teruhashi probably wouldnt be comfortable completely dropping the act around him for a while - but since she would know he can hear her thoughts, they could finally interact directly without that barrier between them yk? and saiki also has a history of dropping his facade around people who know about his powers, so i think theres some really cool potential there of like. we've both been pretending for so long but now we cant pretend around each other anymore and its weird and different but not in a bad way. kind of like theyre starting their friendship over from the beginning.....

and i think they would get along like a house on fire. all of saikis friends are isolated in one way or another, but saiki and teruhashi have a uniquely similar flavour of it: elevated to near-god status by the traits they were born with. the difference is that saiki tries to pretend to be normal to blend in (unsuccessfully), while teruhashi intentionally widens the divide between herself and normal people. thats probably why saiki admires that about her - he sees the effort she puts in to maintain her image because hes doing something similar. and especially if this is a scenario where somehow only teruhashi knows about saikis powers, it becomes like a little secret they both have. they see each other in public, while theyre both putting on their little performance to maintain their ideal social standing, and have a mental conversation about how irritating it all is (and maybe tease each other about how different they are internally vs externally). she can ask him for tips about the people around her to get on their good side, and in return she stays away from saiki while there are people around to not draw attention to him. symbiotic relationship.

and then of course. combining their powers. i actually have a post about this where the dynamic is more like teruhashi manipulating saiki into going along with her schemes (but he secretly doesnt mind), but revisiting it now i think that dynamic isnt quite right...... teruhashi definitely gets involved in more situations than saiki does, so that would be kind of similar to how aiura drags him into things. but they might have more of a transactional situation, almost like saiki and his dad have? its kind of an interesting middle ground - teruhashi is not as concerned with doing the right thing as aiura (so there wouldnt be the element of ideological conflict), but in her desire to be seen as perfect, her actions tend to be pretty selfless (unlike saikis dad who asks for saiki to teleport him to work and stuff). not to mention teruhashis desire to stand out paired with saikis desire to blend in - he could use his powers without standing out if there was someone else there to bask in that attention. and teruhashi would thrive as the face of saikis powers, seeing as it would only elevate her "blessed by god" status. its really not difficult to imagine a world where theyre a powerful duo - even in the original they kinda put their powers together like this, and i think that could be even more fun if teruhashi was in on it yk?

but also it would help them both accept that they dont need the facade to be liked...... because the person they cant pretend around still likes them....... well saiki kind of has an arc like this in the show but hes still basically on the starting line. we dont even get to see him revealing his powers to his friends. so i think its one thing to rip the bandaid off but its another to come to terms with the fact that the person does still like you after they find out about the real you...... and that could be a cool thing to kind of mirror with these two i think! and especially where they both have preconceived notions about each other - saiki wont say "offu" because im not doing enough to appeal to him. teruhashi only has a crush on me because she thinks im a regular guy. but then teruhashi stops trying to impress saiki and saiki stops trying to appear normal to teruhashi and theyre both surprised to find that they actually have good chemistry and like being around each other. i like that kind of development, of revealing your "uglier" side to someone and it only brings you closer. they could be haters together..... you see my vision......

[recluserat]

Hey, It's the Dwayne/Michael anon again. I'm curious...what do you imagine the dynamic to be between these two? As in, who makes the first move? Who's the most assertive/dominant in the relationship? Who confesses their feelings first? etc etc. And how did you think up this ship? Sorry if it's too many questions, it's just that you've gotten me hooked on these two lol

ooooooo anon, welcome back! I love these questions but I am going to be so honest with you that prior to seeing this ask I had not thought this hard about the ship. I have been going purely based off vibes and the gut feeling that those two ppl need to be kissing posthaste. That being said, I love this ask bc it made me actually sit down and think about the way I view these two as both characters and as a couple so here are my new answers: 1. Whenever I think of the two of them the ship dynamic that comes to mind is "silent and stoic x perpetually confused". At the same time though, I think Dwayne is an instigator who will nudge Paul and Marko with little comments and then sit back and watch the drama unfold. Meanwhile I feel like when it comes to the vamps, Michael doesn't really know what's going on but he keeps managing to get himself wrapped up in their shit. He likes to instigate as much as Dwayne does but he's not smooth enough with it to not be dragged along and also his big brother instincts kick in sometimes and he feels like he should back them up. Only sometimes though. Other times he's perfectly happy to sit back with Dwayne and laugh at the others. 2. I think that Dwayne would flirt with Michael first, but once Michael registers that this man is flirting with him he's 100% committing to it and will flirt harder than Dwayne. Dwayne has been around Santa Carla for a while and is like... Apex Predator Mode so I think he wouldn't be afraid to flirt with someone who catches his eye. Meanwhile Michael is new to town, probably not going to be making any moves on strangers straight off the bat yk. But once Dwayne opens that door Michael is fully tossing himself through it. 3. I have so many different Dwayne/Michael stories swirling around in my mind right now that I can't for sure say who I think would definitively always be the one to confess first, but I have imagined the different ways they would do it. I think Dwayne would do his best to use his actions rather than his words, acts of service/physical touch stuff first. He would give Michael special treatment ie. always buys him food on the boardwalk, give him first dibs on anything he wants, always finds excuses to be close to Michael and have his hands on him in some way whether that's fixing the collar of his jacket or just resting his hand over Michael's shoulder while they're standing around. If he HAS to verbally say it I think it would be quiet. Something short and straight to the point while also being flirty, smting like "You know you drive me crazy" or smthing while being all up in Michael's personal space. Meanwhile, with Michael I think he would also do the whole physical touch thing, but less consciously. He starts gravitating to Dwayne without even noticing - parks his bike next to him, sits with him on the couch, always looks to Dwayne first when one of the other guys makes a crazy suggestion to see what Dwayne thinks. I think that whenever Michael does verbally confess it would be big, and somewhat aggressive. Fists full of Dwayne's jacket while his voice is raised talking about how he felt watching someone else put their hands on him, sloppy kisses, that sort of thing. I like to picture the level of emotion that Michael had in the movie when he confronted David on the boardwalk with the whole "where's Starr?" thing. But because he's Michael I think he wouldn't even realize that he liked Dwayne like that until that big explosion. TBH, I'm not really sure where this ship came from. I feel like with TLB there's only so many ships you can do that involve Michael and the vamps. I've read a bunch of stuff on Ao3 and the most common ships I see are David/Michael, David/Starr, Michael/Starr, and poly vamps+michael. I love rare pairs and Dwayne is my favorite character so one day I was just kinda like... what if.....????? and started writing about the two of them together. Thank you for this ask! I have so many more ideas for Dwayne/Michael stuff now that I have to go write down somewhere

[galaxy-stardust]

Simon Ghost Riley x you

Part 4

"I'm leaving"

After that night, nothing was the same.

I had thought I was in control—thought that I could keep this secret, this dangerous attraction to Ghost, buried deep within me. But every time I closed my eyes, his presence consumed me. Every time I walked through the halls of the hospital, my mind was torn between pretending to be the dutiful wife and wanting to give in to the man who had marked me, body and soul.

Ghost and I began meeting in secret. Every stolen moment, every whispered conversation behind closed doors, was more electrifying than the last. He never pushed me for more, but the tension between us grew each time we saw each other. He never asked about my life, my marriage, yet it was clear from his actions that he wasn’t looking for anything casual.

At night, I would sneak out to meet him in dark, hidden corners of the city, away from the prying eyes of my husband. We never went to the same place twice, never lingered long enough to be seen. But when I was with him, I forgot everything else. There were no responsibilities, no obligations. There was only *us*.

And when I kissed him—when his hands roamed my body, when his lips devoured mine—I felt wanted in a way I hadn’t in years.

But then came the day I was dreading.

I was sitting at my desk, going through the usual paperwork, when my phone buzzed. It was a message from Ghost:

*I’m leaving.*

I stared at the screen, my heart skipping a beat. There was no explanation, no detail. Just those three words.

I quickly typed back: *When? Where? Why?*

A few moments later, another message appeared:

*Mission. Can’t say more.*

My chest tightened.

I had known this moment would come. The man who lived a life so dangerous, so full of secrecy and risk, couldn’t stay in one place for long. But that didn’t make it any easier.

I slipped out of my office, my pulse hammering in my ears as I made my way to the emergency exit. We’d always met in the shadows, but this time, it felt different. I needed to see him before he left, needed to know that this—whatever it was—was real.

As I rounded the corner near the hospital’s back parking lot, I spotted him leaning against his motorcycle, waiting for me in the dim light. The mask, that damned skull mask, hid his face as always, but I could see the stiffness in his posture, the tension that radiated off him. He was waiting for me to say something.

“I got your message,” I said, my voice trembling despite my efforts to stay calm.

He nodded, not offering a smile, just a simple acknowledgment.

“I don’t want you to go,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

His blue eyes met mine, unreadable yet filled with something I couldn’t quite decipher. “It’s not about what we want,” he said, his voice gruff, like he was struggling with the words. “It’s about what I have to do.”

I stepped closer, my heart aching. “I… I don’t want this to end, Ghost. I don’t want you to leave.”

He pushed off from the motorcycle, his hand reaching for me. The moment his fingers brushed my skin, I felt a heat surge through me, but it was different this time. There was a certain finality in his touch. He wasn’t just pulling me close; he was marking me, reminding me of the boundary we couldn’t cross.

“You knew this wasn’t forever.” His voice softened, but there was still that edge, that command in his tone. “I never promised you anything. This was always meant to be temporary.”

“I know…” I whispered, feeling the sting of reality cut through the fantasy I’d let myself fall into.

He cupped my cheek gently, his thumb tracing the outline of my jaw. His touch was both tender and possessive, like he was memorizing the feel of me before he left. “You’ll be fine,” he murmured. “You always are.”

I nodded, my throat tight.

“I’ll be back,” he said, though it sounded more like a warning than a promise.

I reached up, my fingers brushing his mask. He didn’t pull away, just stood there, letting me touch him in my own way.

For a long moment, we just stood there, a silent understanding passing between us. The world felt like it was on pause.

And then, without another word, he turned and walked away, his boots echoing in the night as he climbed onto his motorcycle and vanished into the darkness.

I stood there for what felt like hours, my heart heavy, my mind consumed with the reality of what had just happened.

And then I remembered—I still had a life to return to. A husband, a routine. And I knew, deep down, that when Ghost left, part of me would go with him.

Part 5

[glitter-stained]

I'm writing a Jason Vs Dick fic for a secret santa exchange...

The prompt has the fic set during the Battle for the cowl arc - Jason is the villain. He's delusional (the dyeing his hair thing never really happened - he dyed his black hair red) and seriously messed up. It is a pretty dark fic.

Basically Jason knows on some level how badly messed up he is. He wants Dick to be his Robin, because he believes that it was Robin Dick who saved Bruce from darkness. He wants Dick (who is already juggling too much responsibility) to do the same for him... Be the light to his darkness...

Saw your posts about the BTFC arc in particular and mentally ill villains in general.

Any suggestions on how to handle the BtFC Jason?

...don’t ?

No, wait, listen. I know I said “write what you want as long as it’s self-aware”, it’s just you’ve chosen to write an absolute nightmare of a minefield to be self-aware about. I believe it’s possible to write Btfc fanfics that aren’t psychophobic, I just think it must be incredibly hard; Btfc is my second least favourite comic because all of it is soaked and drenched in psychophobia and I wish with all of my heart for dc to continue ignoring it and hopefully bury it under layers and layers of retcon until it’s less significant to Jason’s modern characterization than Waldo the clown (no hate on Waldo, he was much better than anything about Btfc though). So, I can give you advice for sure, I’m just concerned it will not be enough, because I wouldn’t trust myself to write a non-psychophobic Btfc fic, but you sure can try!

The core issue about Btfc (and any villainous characterization of Jason) is that, at the difference of other characters like the Joker, there’s a strange kind of coherence to it. For all we talk about Jason sometimes acting OOC, he’s reliably showing symptoms of BPD, like, to me, it’s pretty blatant. The difference between UTH and BiB or Btfc isn’t that he has BPD in one and not the other, it’s that BiB and Btfc are much more brutally psychophobic renditions of BPD than UTH (though UTH isn’t fully clean either). In other words, Btfc is a violent caricature of Borderline Personality Disorder. I’m not sure if this is on purpose, because on the one hand, it’s so consistent I feel like someone at dc told the writers “Jason has bpd” and they all ran with their caricatural representation of the disorder, or (because I don’t wanna underestimate dc’s ignorance regarding mental disorders) if they just read about him, thought “hey, he kinda fits into that subtype of stereotypical mental illness I have in mind” and projected their stereotypes about BPD about him without even knowing those are BPD stereotypes. The end result is the same: bpd on a spectrum from “almost well written” to “nastiest rep I’ve ever read”.

Now in Btfc (just as in UTH or BiB tbh) I’d say Jason is splitting, having an episode in which his BPD symptoms are flaring up completely. This can absolutely include brief psychotic episodes, and tbh the part you mentioned about dyeing his hair I can totally get behind. And because you’re writing Jason in the middle of a particularly intense episode, you can’t make the economy of considering the question of moral responsibility. If Jason is committing morally reprehensible actions as a consequence of the disordered patterns in the context of the episode, whether we’re talking about splitting or delusion or disordered thought patterns, you have to consider the question of responsibility, and on a spectrum. You also have to identify who is deciding those actions are morally reprehensible (is it Dick? The law? You, the author? The anticipated reader? All of them?) and whether you expect this judge is passed on the action, the person, or, who knows, even the disorder itself. And of course consider the implications of that fact. (For example, it’s completely possible for Dick, in the context he’s grown and developed in, and considering the insane stress he’s under, to be psychophobic as fuck; and obviously, writing a character doing something doesn’t mean that you support it, but if Jason is the villain and Dick is a hero and Dick is being psychophobic you should pay attention to whether the narrative is implying that Dick is right to be psychophobic about it.)

[ghostieblr]

Definitely Not Adorable Behavior

based on a reel i saw on instagram lol. changed the narrative a bit to fit the characters.

Stiles' eyes track Merlin's, towards the corner of the massive ballroom, where two men are standing with their hands crossed against their chest. Their side-profile are almost identical: crisp, tailored black suits, accentuating their biceps, broad shoulders, and tantalizingly shaped body figures. Even their heights seem to be the same; the only notable difference from this angle is the color of their hair: a dark, deep, raven onyx versus a golden halo.

"They're arguing about something."

"Yes," Merlin sips his drink, the one he's claimed several times into the evening to be a disgusting piece of beverage, and winces. "I don't know why I keep drinking it."

"That's because Arthur brought it for you," Stiles tells him with a knowing smile. "And you won't deny him the pleasure of serving you, no matter how awful the taste might be."

Merlin looks at the gaudy, unneeded, and entirely unnecessary piece of diamond ring that Derek gifted him for this evening. It's almost the same size as his engagement ring, and it sits prettily enough on his left hand's pointer finger. Merlin catches his eye with a gentle smile on his own face.

"Arthur and I share something special," he begins, voice lilting into the foreign accent Stiles hasn't been able to place yet. It sounds like Welsh, but different than the one he knows. Older. "For a long time I thought my devotion to him wouldn't be reciprocated, and it was fine. I was fine with it. But as always, the clotpole had other ideas." Clotpole. What the hell does that even mean? Merlin's chuckle brings him back to what he is saying, "—told him, and so, now Arthur thinks he must make it up to me."

"Or he just loves you very, very much, but has awful taste."

"That, too."

They'd turned towards each other for the conversation, the din of the hall loud enough to keep it private from prying ears, but now they turn. Someone just gasped, and they're both most definitely into drama from the sidelines.

"Oh my god."

"Are they— ARTHUR!"

"DEREK SEBASTIAN HALE!"

Both men freeze. The old lady who gasped turns to look at them, as does the rest of the room, but Stiles isn't paying them any heed, and neither is Merlin. No. Their focus is entirely on their idiots.

Arthur's left hand is fisted at Derek's tie, and his right hand is frozen near his waist, crooked fingers looking for purchase. Weirdly, Stiles likens this action with looking for a sword in its scabbard, tightened securely near hips.

On the flip side, Derek's got his right hand centimeters from Arthur's nose, while his left one must be aiming to intercept Arthur's sword-hand or whatever.

And their faces. Oh Jesus Christ, their faces.

Red with anger. Mouths open in a feral cry of war. And eyes? Stuck on Stiles and Merlin, fear melting their rage.

Both him and Merlin stride towards them, Merlin's glass of questionably purple drink handed to one of the catering staff, and it's as if their movement reminds Arthur and Derek that they're caught. They jump apart, though they do share a look of commiserating grief over being caught.

Bastards. United against spousal anger.

Merlin and him don't say anything in this hall with interested ears and human eyes and multitudes of equipment ready to immortalize this scene; they simply take their respective husband's hands in their own and drag them out towards the parking lot, which happens to be mostly empty. Still, they go in deeper towards a secluded corner.

Once there, Stiles stares their Derek down, hands back at his sides. Merlin does the same.

"So? Care to elaborate what the fuck that was about?" His question is met nervous breathing and another commiserating look. "Oh, so now you're both buddy-buddy, but inside the hall you two were — what, enemies?" He snorts. He can't help it; Derek and him have faced literal monsters, and yet Derek was about to fight a posh, young man for... some reason?

Before either of them can speak, Merlin narrows his eyes. "Wait. Was this a ruse?"

"A ruse? What do you mean, Merlin?"

"Your royal pratness, by that I mean a very elaborate scheme to leave that dull place with questionable drinks and—"

Arthur's face goes from confused to dull. "Did you not like the Favor?"

"Favor?" Merlin question's, and Stiles shoots Derek a look to shush. Why the hell is he finding this so funny?

"That's what the drink was called. And it was purple. It wasn't nice? So I..." Arthur's gaze turns wide. "And you still drank it all! I even brought you a second glass of it, why didn't you tell me you didn't like it?"

Merlin rubs the back of his neck, a sheepish gesture. When no answers seem forthcoming from him, Stiles steps in.

"It was thoughtful, I guess, since I'm gonna assume purple and that name means something to you both?" They nod in assent. "Right. See, thoughtful gifts are nice... but not always. Like, maybe you like it, but Merlin wouldn't. And it's not a bad thing at all, you just need to communicate."

Merlin rolls his eyes. "Says the man who hates the diamond ring gifted to him."

Stiles hisses, "Hey!" at the same time Derek asks, voice small, "Stiles?"

He turns towards his husband, moves closer. "Hey, it's nice. It's a very good gift."

Arthur says, weirdly with glee, "Which you don't like!"

"I love the thought behind it though!"

"But you don't like it," Derek repeats, eyes on Stiles', daring him to lie again.

Stiles cups his face, rubs his thumb against his stubble. "No," he admits. "I don't."

"I think we have gone a bit off-track here," Merlin says, after a while. Stiles turns to see the other couple in a similar position: in an almost-embrace, an intimate moment shared. "Why were you two at each other's throats?"

A third look is shared between Derek and Arthur. Then, Derek says, "It was about what that lady asked us."

"Yeah."

Merlin and Stiles wait for further elaboration, one which doesn't come. Now they share a look, and take a step to move away from their respective embraces. That, apparently, does the trick, and Arthur continues from his monosyllable answer, neither of the men letting Merlin or Stiles leave their personal space in the process.

"She asked us, 'What's the most expensive thing you've ever eaten?' and we told her. We disagreed at each other's answer, though."

"This was done over a trivial question? Derek. What the hell."

"I wonder how bigger your head can grow, Arthur. Really?"

Derek leans in close to him and tells him, in almost his Alpha voice, "My answer was you."

Stiles blinks. Huh? "Huh?" And then, "Oh my god—"

"And I said you," Arthur adds. "Of course, my Merlin is more expensive than your husband."

"I said this, and I'll say this again: Stiles is literally wearing the most expensive set of clothes right now on this side of the coast, he's wearing two diaomond rings, and that's just today's outfit."

Both Derek and Arthur push him and Merlin behind them, and move closer to each other, gearing up for a fight. Again.

"Unappreciated gifts don't count, and my husband is wearing a neckerchief made of the most pure gold, and that's just one of them!"

Stiles and Merlin look at each other.

"I had no idea this suit was that fucking expensive," he tells the man, who is eyeing up his own neckerchief in betrayal.

"You said this was just the color gold!"

"Merlin, we're leaving. Let's go."

"Yes. They can duke it out between themselves, while we enjoy this evening with people who tell us the truth."

They turn around, and start walking back towards the ballroom. Behind them, the fight never occurs. Instead, pounding footsteps follow them, and really, this evening did not go how Stiles had envisioned it to be.

(Lydia tells them a week later that "Derek Hale and Arthur Emrys begging their partners for forgiveness in the charity gala" is still a solid opening hit for a conversation, and Merlin rolls his eyes before his eyes glow gold and his favorite chips appear in his hand.

Because apparently, they're the Merlin and Arthur: Magic itself, and the Once and Future King.

Stiles' own eyes glow a deep purple, and both him and Lydia now have their favorite drinks in their hands.

Meanwhile, Derek's authority and Arthur's ego clash over something else equally trivial in the kitchen. Hopefully their bickering won't get in the way of dinner.

If it does... oh well. A Spark and The Sorcerer can cook something, can't they?

And no, both him and Merlin have decided that in no way, shape, or form, are they telling their husbands that the fact that their arguments occur mostly over being the 'better husband' is adorable. Nope, never, ever.)

[cupidbedsy]

worth the risk ; walking on sunshine

➪ summary: luke wants to ice skate with phi for christmas, but she's nervous about getting an injury

➪ warnings: none... i think !

➪ word count: 0.7k

➪ file type: 12 days of au's: christmas edition (walking on sunshine) blurb

➪ cupid's notes: no notes! simply enjoy :)

© cupidbedsy ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

“Lu, I’m not so sure about this.”

“C’mon, sunshine. This has been on my bucket list since I found out I was getting called up.”

“Skating with me? Baby we’ve skated together before.” Ophelia looked down at Luke, who was kneeling in front of her, tying skates onto her feet.

“Not just skating, you idiot. Skating here, in front of the Tree.”

Ophelia’s gaze wandered over to where the Rockefeller Tree sat, in all 74 feet of its glory. Her eyes seemed to focus on every single light it was adorning before she looked back down at her boyfriend, “M’just nervous. You know what coach would say if she found out.”

“Well, it’s a good thing she won’t.” He patted her thigh, standing up and holding his hands out for her. She slid her hands into his, using them as she got up from the bench, leaning her head against his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her, one hand playing with her hair and the other across the small of her back. He kissed her temple, murmuring against her hair, “I would never let you fall, you know that.”

She blushed and nodded, grateful for the cold that surrounded them which already made her cheeks pinkier than normal. She used Luke’s hand as a guide as they stepped onto the ice, mind racing with thoughts about how horrible this idea was. Coach would surely kill her if she found out that she got injured going ice skating, especially if she knew that she had thought it was a bad idea and did it anyway. 

The thought scared her more than she liked to admit, tightening her grip on his hand even as she fell into the rhythm of skating. Luke looked at her, pride shining in his eyes as she was skating on her own, barely needing him as support. 

They skated around the outside of the rink, Luke playfully shoving her in the slightest bit, sending shockwaves of fear through her before she shoved him back, which only resulted in him laughing. 

“You know, you’d be a shit hockey player.”

“And you’d be a shit softball player, I think we can call this argument even.”

He grinned, simply spinning her into his arms as they came to stop just short of the exit. Ophelia’s cheeks were still just as flushed as they were before, pink dusting her cheeks and her nose turning red. He wrapped his hand around both of hers, letting them rest between their chests. 

She took a deep breath, staring up at him, unable to look away. This would mark their first Christmas as a couple. Sure they had spent plenty of Christmases together since they first met, but this was different, of course it was. She wasn’t sure what he had in store for the two of them when she first flew out to New Jersey, but it certainly wasn’t this. 

Luke leaned in, kissing her softly, as they were passed by by a multitude of people who were for sure giving them looks for just stopping in the way of their paths, but neither of them could find it in them to care. She thought this was worth the risk of her injury, if it meant staying like this with him for a little while longer. 

When Ophelia pulled away, her forehead rested against his, a shy grin making its way onto her face as she noticed the tips of Luke’s ears turning pink from the cold. Luke smiled back at her, pulling her along to the exit and sitting her down on the bench, repeating his actions that he did before; bending down and untying her skates, placing them beside her as he did the same with his own. 

“What’s next on your itinerary, Luke Warren Hughes.”

She giggled at his groan, walking down the street as she cuddled closely into his side. He gave her a soft glare, “What’s with the middle name?”

“Nothing, just like to annoy you.”

“Well in that case, I guess you won’t be getting any hot chocolate.”

“What-” She was quick to pout at his word, protesting softly, “Noooo. I want hot chocolate.”

“Gotta make it up to me sunshine,” he tapped his cheek, looking down at her expectantly.

“Ass.” She muttered, but leaned up to kiss his cheek anyway.

꒰ WALKING ON SUNSHINE TAGLIST ꒱

@winterbarnesblog @kei943 @digitalhughes-jpg @rowdyluv @bunbunbl0gs @hughesfilm @fantillisgirl

WALKING ON SUNSHINE MASTERLIST ; AU'S ; 12 DAYS OF AU'S

TAGLIST ; NHL MASTERLIST ; NAVIGATION

[kaibutsushidousha]

What are your thoughts on Fate’s Camazots?

He's an unstoppable guy who fought for eons and achieved his people's dream, but his fight was meaningless because his people weren't there anymore to applaud him. He's a Beast because he caused humanity's extinction on a big technicality, and his logos is Oblivion because the only way to withstand his unendable grief is to forget the specifics of what he lost. The warriors of Ka'an are as much of a faceless mob to him as they are to the player.

Camazotz's psychological damage is quite visible. He's forgetful because memories only bring him pain. He's long-winded because he's more used to monologue than dialogue. He only assigns reasons to his actions after the fact because he stopped having an objective after ORT died.

Another visible sign of trauma is his apparently fractured self-image. He alternates a lot between referring to himself in first or third person. The generally agreed interpretation here is that he uses first person when referring to the king as an individual and third person when referring to the "god" who holds all of Ka'an's souls within himself. Speaking in third-person, he introduces himself as "the powerful Camazotz", and in first person he is "the weakling who couldn't save the world if not by sacrificing his every subject", and I think this contrast says a lot about his "dual identity".

As much as it pains to make a character post about Fujimaru, there's no choice here, Camazotz's story is very much about Fujimaru. Camazotz is the example of what could go wrong for Fujimaru, and he's very invested in not letting that happen. His whole goal throughout the chapter is to give Fujimaru the death he couldn't have and take over the burden of mankind's last hope, as his second chance to protect a world that still has people in it.

Fujimaru, Camazotz, and Nitocris all fight primarily by manipulating spirits of the dead, and the difference between them is that Fujimaru and Nitocris remember the names of each spirit they control, while Camazotz literally dies when forced to remember his. Camazotz's interactions with Nitocris are all a bunch of discussion about memory as a form of self-punishment, and I think that's really (vaguely gestures at my Sagrada Reset translations).

But I'd say my favorite thing about his how his unyielding drive to protect Pan-Human History in Fujimaru's stead is combined with a complete disinterest in learning anything about that history. This results in amazing dialogue that's both charged with meaning when you get to know the weight of Camazotz's loss and his coping methods, and one of FGO's best out of context screenshots ever.

[mrradmccoolman]

just wanted to add onto here cuz i thought this was an interesting post- while the system is certainly an important part of what influences the choices characters in the movie make and why they are the way they are, it's also important to remember that living in a system doesn't excuse your actions when you contribute to that system.

to clarify, i don't believe OP is trying to say Mr. Perry's actions were justified. i do, however, think that part of what makes the movie so heartbreaking is that living in a system =/= being powerless in that system. this is ESPECIALLY important when it comes to Mr. Perry because he is a white cishet man in the 50s. unfortunately, people who benefit from a system- in this case people like Mr Perry, Nolan, etc- are more likely to listen to others exactly like them because they see minorities as lesser. because of that, it's the group in power who is extra essential when it comes to making real change, because they have the ability to make things different. yes, Mr Perry is part of a system, and he certainly has reasons behind why he does the things he does, but i would actually argue that those reasons are not good enough to provide adequate reasoning for his actions.

i do also want to make it clear that i don't believe Mr Perry doesn't love Neil. abusers (as i would consider Mr Perry abusive) are not single sided which is why Neil makes the choice he does. if he didn't love his father and place value in his opinion, things would have been different. would he have had more control? no, but perhaps he would've viewed things in a different light. Mr Perry treats Neil the way he does because he loves his son- or, because he loves who he perceives his son to be. he is cruel to neil because he believes it is what is best for him. now, pride and reputation are also factors as to why Mr Perry acts the way he does, but i do believe he loved his idea of Neil. in fact, he loved that idea so much that he was willing to sacrifice whatever it took to preserve it- even at the cost of his son's freedom and life.

i guess the point im trying to hammer home is that we absolutely can, and in fact should, fault Mr Perry for the choices he makes. he wants his son to succeed, and be better off than he was? sure. it was his parents first child? sure. nobody expects them to have the ability to be perfect. they do, however, have the ability to be better. by taking the blame away from characters who perpetuate the system they are in, we lose sight of how to make things actually change. Mr Perry had so many other options, yet he frequently belittles and talks over his son, insults him, bars him from the things and people he loves, and ultimately exerts so much control over his son's life that Neil feels so incredibly trapped that he believes the only way out is to kill himself! if that doesn't show how Mr Perry, albeit a complex character like you said, is at fault for his son's death, then im not sure what does.

i hope this doesn't come off as too agressive- im not trying to be rude here, or even say that your opinion is wrong- im just really passionate about this movie and wanted to provide my own two cents on it. im absolutely willing to go in more detail/have a discussion about this for anyone interested. thank ypu!!

Reminder guys! Mr. Perry was a complex human being with complex motives! We can hate him all we want but at the end of the day, he was just a father in a society that relies on status and we can't fault him for wanting his son to be better off than him! Sure, he went about all of it wrong but Neil was an only child, this was his parents first rodeo, they were doing the best they could with what they got. Sure, both Mr. and Mrs. Perry should've given Neil the space to follow his passions but in the 1950s art was seen as an useless journey in the attempt of making money and they were not financially stable enough to support that. They wanted Neil to be able to live comfortably, not scraping paycheck to paycheck just for a hopeless pipe dream. We can hate them, we can hate Cameron (tho I don't), we can hate Nolan. But at the end of the day, when all is said and done, it is the system that destroyed the boys, it is the system that put them down, it is the system that lead Mr. Perry and Cameron to do what they did. Does that excuse it? No, absolutely not, but it explains it. And as people who are still pushed down (though to a lesser degree) by said system, we should carry a little bit of sympathy for those who fall victim to it, both in rebelling against it and in leaning into it.

[jacksmusesdrv3]

I know I've twisted myself into a goddamn pretzel the past five or so years trying not to be 'too much' and backing off when I am

but

A good deal of why I started the #dr literacy tag is precisely because of this- I am beyond tired and fed up, with the kinds of things that people have ignored and left on my back- whether it's to do with Kokichi, or V3 overall. It's easy to deflect and call me 'delusional', and five years later never even consider the implications of having called me that over what I've been trying to grapple with, much less apologise to me sincerely and genuinely try to understand where I'm coming from and why it's so hard to discuss in the first place- not to mention why it's so easy to make mistakes not least because the way Kodaka plays with themes can be decidedly insensitive (and I was clearly out of my depth with that when I started this blog)

This isn't about all of you. A good number of people here have been wonderful about this, even if they don't understand all too well. But frankly such people are the exception rather than the rule, and the rule is that people don't bother to interrogate their own biases about Kokichi, or really grapple with the way him and V3's narrative might be constructed with bias. And this unwillingness to accept ambiguity and nuance results in some genuinely hurtful behaviour towards people who try to point out that, maybe, not everything was even his fault, or that his character and situation is far more layered than it appears on a first run of the game. Or even a second, or third.

So I'm gonna need people in that camp to swear that you'll do better about this going forward. No really. This situation I've been in didn't come out of nowhere, and while I've beaten the proverbial horse to death that I haven't always been fair or reasonable either, that does not mean I should just back myself into a wall and take the status quo that is 'Tsumugi is telling the truth and Kokichi is just a clown' as a 'fact of canon'. Because there's a very good chance that that might not even be true, and that there's even more tangled messes Kodaka left in the text to unpack that you never even thought of, and that really NEED extra care and nuance to fully understand.

I know you're probably sick of hearing this from me by now. But this is an issue that can never be helped until it's faced head on, and the effect of basically being pathologised over it (due to *checks notes* autism), is seriously damaging- the inability of people to address things as serious issues and themes rather than 'just the pet theory that came out of my nutty head', is something I cannot, on principle, force myself to accept. So please just think about the way you're approaching issues in the future. I will try to do the same.