#whoever is sending him death threats

[librarisxng]

you have every right to like or hate jay park but sending him death threats? that’s so low of you.

[zeroducks-2]

What's up with batman and the erasing of queer history? Sry I try to interact with fanon as little as possible

There is no simple or short answer to this but to try and not make it a wall of text - Batman/Robin has always been a staple of the queer community, so much so that to this day there are "brudick" graffiti in big cities and lots of older gay couples have been using them as a reference for solid partnership which endures in spite of adversity.

Originally there was no indication anywhere that Bruce and Dick were in the roles of father and son, rather they were partners against crime, one the shadow of the other, and they would share everything both when it came to crime fighting and in their everyday lives. They're shown sleeping together, going on lake trips together, finishing each other's sentences and Dick being viciously jealous every time Bruce would "replace" him with any of the women he used to have flings with such as Talia or Selina.

Did DC mean for them to be read as a queer couple? No, of course not. Bob Kane and others wrote a partnership, an unbreakable bond which would allow these two men to overcome any obstacle together, and queer people read into it as queer people always do.

Someone else read into it though: Frederick Wertham, who called Batman a pederast and used Batman and Robin as an example of how the evil comics would corrupt young minds to send them on the way of perdition and sin. He wrote all of this and many more infuriating shit in his book Seduction of the Innocents, which was then the major influence in creating the Hayes Code, which is the reason why we never had queer characters in comicbooks and movies and anything really for decades (and we're still struggling today).

Wertham and the Hayes Code did not stop the queer community from loving Batman and Robin though, therefore what started happening was the more subtle shift towards Bruce and Dick having a father and son relationship rather than a partnership. You can see this clearly with Jason Todd for the first time: Bruce takes Jason in and treats him as his own son, the narrative calls them father and son, and there is no doubt in the mind of who's reading that Bruce perceives Jason as his child. It all went steadily downhill from there.

Nowadays, writers have Dick say character assassinating things like "I love you dad" to Bruce, Tim saying "we will save our dad" to Damian, and everyone in the fandom acting like this has always been the case and actually you're weird and you should be sent death threats for shipping Brudick, because "UMMM that is literally his son?!??!?!?". DC has been pushing the idea that these folks are a nuclear family for a while now, but whoever has actually read the comics knows it's not the case, and it used to be very different before.

Brudick, among queer people, used to be entirely uncontroversial. While Wertham raged about how it corrupted the minds of young men and the Hayes Code prevented queerness to be anything but vaguely hinted and coded in the text, queer folks didn't care and kept having matching Batman and Robin shirts.

Today queer people will call you a pedophile and a groomer and try to doxx you for posting Brudick art because apparently they're doing the fascists' job for them, either because they are genuinely misguided or because they think that if they're enough morally pure they will have a spot among the chosen ones, hell if I know. What I know is that they'd suck Wertham's cock and balls if he wrote Seduction of the Innocents today, and it's DC's fault too with their erasure of every found family dynamic among the batclan, and the way they've been pushing the idea of a "batfamily" instead, in which everyone has a strict role of son or brother or father, and shipping them makes you the antichrist.

[sanjisleggy]

the warlord and his bodyguard (sir crocodile x reader)

req: Could you do a Mihawk or Crocodile x Marine reader. Like it's her job to watch them on missions or be in contact with the Warlords. And whoever you pick fell hard for the Marine but knows he shouldn't. Maybe he flirts with her and she tries to remain professional because she could get fired or way worse. But the man is determined

a/n: aaaa!! this was one of my earliest requests but i held off on writing it since i wasn’t sure if i wanted to write for Mihawk or Crocodile :’) luckily since then i’ve got to meet Crocodile again in the impel down arc so i feel a bit more comfortable trying to write for him :D i tweaked the plot a little to fit the ideas i had so i hope the requester doesn’t mind!

contents: reader is a not a good marine (lol), Crocodile is kinda down bad, pining, reader has devil fruit powers, a somewhat graphic depiction of violence, near-death experience (not violent), some fluff, very little angst

wc. 2.3k

wanna be on my taglist?

i. 

“tell me,” the imposing figure says, his voice so deep you swear the ground beneath your feet trembles ever so slightly. “did the World Government send you to mock me?”

Crocodile taps his hook against the surface of his mahogany desk, his heavy-lidded eyes peering sharply at you as he awaits your response. though he may be one of the Seven Warlords, you find it difficult to feel threatened by him, having faced and escaped more dire situations in your past as a cadet. besides, it’s rather rare for your potential cause of death to be so visually appealing.

“i should say no but both of us know that isn’t truly the case.” your response seems to have caught him off guard, his eyes widening ever so slightly. to your surprise, Crocodile follows it up with a smirk, all the while keeping his lit cigar held firmly in between his teeth.

“so what is the reason you’re supposed to tell me?”

as though reciting a script, you share how out of the goodness of the World Government’s hearts, they’ve decided to begin a new initiative to improve relations between the Warlords and the Marines. “thus, every Warlord will be provided with a bodyguard.” you’re unable to hold back the contempt in your tone and Crocodile picks up on it instantly.

“think you’re too good for the job, officer?” he replies in a disinterested manner.

“no, the job’s fine,” you admit, seeing no reason to be dishonest, “i just think they could’ve at least tried to come up with a better lie. i am glad i was assigned to you, though, and not Gecko Moria or Donquixote.” you can’t help but scoff.

the Warlord’s laugh catches you off guard. the fact that the sound alone causes a stirring in your chest alarms you even more.

what an interesting woman you are.

“so what will it take to keep your mouth shut?” Crocodile gets straight to the point, already fully aware of how your daily duties include a report back to headquarters on his activity. in all honesty, he’d meant it partially as a joke or, perhaps, a final attempt at sending you a message: you’re no threat to me.

“i don’t know,” you reply, taking a few steps to get closer to his desk before you lean forward slightly to level your eyes with his, “what’re you willing to offer?”

the Warlord can’t tell if you’re joking–and he’s not sure how he feels about that.

ii.

two months go by and business at Rain Dinners has been the same as always.

contrary to Crocodile’s expectations, your sudden arrival hasn’t impeded his progress on the casino and Baroque Works. his initial concerns over an influx in Marine officers storming Rain Dinners or a Vice Admiral showing up to tear down his secret organisation quickly go unfounded when it dawns on him that you’re truly not interested in taking him down.

if anything, he’s been enjoying your company. you’re an intelligent person whom he’s surprisingly able to have pleasant conversations with. you seem to have a keen sense of perception, knowing when to simply watch events unfold and when to interfere–though the latter instances have been rare considering his status in Alabasta deters trouble-making in his place of business. 

after the first few weeks of having you trail behind him everywhere he goes, Crocodile finds himself getting used to being in your company. today, however, marks the first time the Warlord feels a need for something more.

though the Warlord is surrounded by beautiful women all vying for a crumb of his attention–a common occurrence when he makes his occasional appearance at his own casino’s bar–he can’t help but wonder what it would feel like if you’re the one sitting beside him instead. not the kind of man to let his imagination run wild, however, he quickly reminds himself that you’re standing a distance away behind him as you always do.

before Crocodile can fully return to enjoying his evening in the presence of the women around him, though, he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as a familiar sense of danger snaps his attention to the lady on his right side. within the span of a second, he readies himself to activate his devil fruit powers but before he can even fully register what she’s trying to pull, you make your move.

recognising the stained needle held in between the woman’s fingers as being composed of sea prism stone, your body reacts on its own volition.

“shave.” 

to nearby onlookers, a blurry figure shoots its way across the room before you reemerge right behind the wannabe-assassin. without any warning, you place your right palm against the back of her head.

“twist.”

with a sickening crunch that reverberates throughout the once bustling casino, the woman’s body from her neck downward begins to turn a full 360 degrees whilst her head remains completely still in the palm of your hand. as her corpse flops to the ground, you hear the combined sounds of onlookers retching and gasping–but no running. the only one seemingly completely unbothered by the cold blooded murder is the assassination target himself.

“i could’ve handled it myself,” Crocodile sighs, puffing a cloud of smoke from his cigar, “though admittedly i am impressed by your efficiency.”

“were you aware the needle was made of sea prism stone?” your question catches him off guard; and he’s only further surprised when you bend down to pick it up from the floor with your bare hand.

“poisoned? i figured,” he admits, “but made of the stone? truth be told i was not aware.” the Warlord’s eyes travel slowly from the tiny needle held in between your fingers up to your face. as expected, you’re affected by the sea prism stone–he can tell from the droopiness of your eyelids and the way you furrow your eyebrows. “i could kill you right now,” Crocodile adds, unable to help his curiosity in what your response might be to such a suggestion.

“feel free,” you reply, a tired smile appearing on your tired face.

“don’t be ridiculous.” he shoots a glance at a random employee and gestures to the corpse. once it’s been taken away, he nods at the now-available seat. “take a seat, drink with me… and throw the needle away.”

iii.

three weeks later, you come storming into Crocodile’s office unannounced. normally he doesn’t tolerate such behaviour–the guest he’d been hosting even flinches outwardly, as though steeling himself to witness your impending death–but once the Warlord’s eyes lay on you, all anger flies out the window.

“why’d you do it?” you ask, clutching a crumpled letter in your hand as you make your way to his desk. with a wave of his hand, he dismisses his guest and remains silent and still until the two of you are left alone in the large room.

now that he’d had some time to take a closer look at you, the expression on your face screams less anger and more confusion–contrary to the way you’d nearly kicked down his door to get in. eyes flickering to the letter in your hand, the familiar material of the paper reminds him of a particular event that happened just a week ago.

“something troubling you, Miss Bodyguard?” the Warlord asked while in the midst of handling a mountain of paperwork.

“my village is in danger,” you’d replied without hesitation, not seeing any need to hide the truth from him–it was a trait he very much appreciated in you. “we used to always get harassed by pirates but lately it’s gotten worse and the berry i send home isn’t enough to keep them away anymore.”

a part of him expected you to drop a subtle plea for help but you never did. once you’d answered his question, you went back to being silent, eyes trained on the crumpled piece of paper held in your trembling hands.

“what’s the name of your village? and on what island?”

“remind me what you’re accusing me of?” Crocodile replies in his usual monotonous tone.

“you sent people to my village,” you say almost breathlessly, unable to help the tears welling up in your eyes as your heart pounds within the confines of your chest. “you’ve been protecting them, haven’t you?”

“yes.” 

“why?”

i hated seeing you worry.

“you wouldn’t be a very efficient bodyguard if you’re constantly thinking about your home, would you?”

for a long while, you simply stare at him in silence, your widened eyes glued to his deep-set ones. your gaze is so intense it’s almost as though you’re trying to peer straight into his soul; for a split second, the Warlord wonders if you’ve perhaps passed out while standing up with your eyes open.

“thank you,” you say softly with a smile on your face–the mere sight of which sends what the Warlord thought had been dead and cold in his chest into overdrive. for the first time in years, his heart races not from anger or adrenaline but from something else he’d long forgotten the feeling of.

iv.

four days pass by and Crocodile once again feels a strange sensation in his chest but this time it’s from worry.

within the course of an evening, you’d gone from perfectly healthy to deathly ill. first you’d collapsed after dinner–nearly hitting your head on the cold tiled floor had he not been fast enough to catch you–before a dangerously high fever started to set in. without hesitation, as he carried you to your quarters, the Warlord demanded for the best of Alabasta’s doctors and nurses to make their way over immediately.

now as the moon hangs high in the desert sky, its light shining through your windows just enough to illuminate your room barely, you find yourself accompanied by the Warlord himself. sitting quietly in a chair set beside your bed, you watch him as he reads a folder full of documents, using only the moonlight casting in as his source of light.

you feel terribly hot and extremely cold at the same time as you lay under the weight of your comforter, a wet towel resting on your forehead. your throat feels dry no matter how much water you drink so you’ve long since stopped asking for more–now only drinking when he periodically offers a glass to you.

in your fevered haze, you faintly recall some instances after you’d collapsed: the feeling of strong arms carrying you away, holding you close to a warm chest; the anger in a familiar voice it barked orders at others; the feeling of a large hand caressing your cheek as you laid barely awake.

“she will be okay, thankfully we made it in time to pump all the poison out of her system,” the leading doctor shared with Crocodile outside your bedroom door after a grueling few hours of medical care.

“poison?” the Warlord furrowed his eyebrows.

“yes, Sir Crocodile, we found a large trace of various poisonous substances in her stomach. frankly, she’s lucky to be alive.”

“is my face really that amusing to stare at?” he asks in a tone that lacks any bite as he directs his attention to you.

“you are quite handsome,” you admit with a weak smile. he feels his face warm up and hopes it at least doesn’t show on his skin. “you frown too much, though.”

“oh, really?”

“yeah. especially tonight.” you slowly take in a deep breath only to start coughing uncontrollably when the air gets lodged in your throat. Crocodile responds quickly but without haste, handing you a fresh glass of water as you sit yourself up. you drink it all before continuing to speak. “you’ve been frowning in a sort of angry way ever since the doctors left… what’s wrong?”

the Warlord takes a moment to look at you. there’s a thin sheen of sweat covering your skin and the bags under your eyes look the darkest they’ve ever been since he met you, frankly you look terrible but at least you’re alive. as much as he wants to pretend he doesn’t know why your survival makes him feel so relieved, he’s too smart to be fooled even by himself.

“you nearly died from an assassination attempt.” Crocodile hands you the folder he’d been pouring over while you rested. “i sent my best agents to investigate after the doctors told me you’d been poisoned.”

although your eyes burn with exhaustion, you managed to scan through all the documents with ease. you feel your already-weakened heart twist in a bizarre mixture of sadness, indignation and resignation as you learned the truth of your near-death experience.

“the World Government must’ve thought i was quite the threat to send Cipher Pol 8 after me, huh?” you say, laughing half-heartedly as you hand the folder back to Crocodile. “i guess i must’ve defected without realising.” you speak with an air of nonchalance that piques the man’s interest.

“knowing the World Government, you’ll probably have a bounty on your head once they realise you lived.” 

“i know,” you sigh, “the smart thing to do would be to leave Alabasta once i’m all better, don’t you think? i will miss keeping an eye on you, though.” the way you’re looking at him as you wait for his response is strangely playful and he feels the initial pang of disappointment morph instead into a tiny bit of hope. 

“join me,” Crocodile says exactly what he knows you want to hear. “i happen to have grown quite fond of being watched by you.” you smile widely and it sends his heart into a fit.

“join Baroque Works?”

“no.” he reaches out to grab your clammy hand, engulfing it with his much larger one; with an uncharacteristic gentleness, the Warlord brings it up to his lips before pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “not Baroque Works, join me. stay by my side.”

“i’d like nothing more.”

—

taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots @appalost

[utterlyotterlyx]

A Ballad of Storm and Shadow

Azriel x F!Reader

Part Six

Series Summary - Rhys had been content in taking the darkest secret of his family to the grave, but when the threat of Hybern increases, he has no choice but to send a message to another world and pray to the Mother that his call is answered.

Warnings - mentions of pain, mentions of death, mentions of torture, angstttt, sadness, fluff

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

This is a crossover series, some aspects will differ from that in the books. Physical attributes are described in this fic, it is essential to the storyline of the character

It had taken 17 hours for y/n to stir.

17 hours of Azriel sat at her bedside hating himself for allowing her to venture from the cabin alone and picturing himself grabbing her hand at the last second to stop her from leaving him.

17 hours of verbal beatings which would have been physical if it weren’t for his refusal to leave her side.

Aelin was furious, her wildfire blazing as blue as her eyes across each one of her limbs.

Rowan hadn’t spoken a single word, but his eyes didn’t leave Azriel for one moment, and he hadn’t unclenched his fists from the moment he had stepped foot into Prythian and scented the direness of the situation at hand.

Lorcan and Aedion also refused to move from the room, being her bloodsworn they had a duty to protect and serve her, and they felt as if they had failed in a sense.

Then there was Manon, the gold eyed witch queen with talons so sharp that they had drawn blood from Azriel’s arms when they coiled around him and demanded to know what had happened with a voice so venomous that he was sure she would drink his blood if she could.

In short, everyone despised him, and even Rhys was reluctant to offer a safe hand to his brother. Azriel understood, Rhys had only just gotten his sister back, and was feeling like a failure in his own way for sending her in the first place. Rhys was so ashamed of his request that he had allowed Aelin to preside over y/n’s care with Yrene, as well as the scouting missions she had ordered Rowan and Manon to embark upon to ensure that no attack would befall the city whilst y/n was injured and vulnerable.

The last 17 hours hadn’t been kind to y/n. Black poison poured from the bandages secured around her chest and abdomen, which meant that Yrene had to change them more often, and a fever so damning had taken over her body, causing the Queen of the Erilean Fae to sweat and shake uncontrollably whilst her body fought an internal war to win back her life. It was horrible to watch, and it all could have been avoided if Azriel had been there, flying below her and ensuring no one could pick them out of the skies, or if Rhys hadn’t sent them to begin with.

Azriel could picture it. A fond and vivid image of y/n flying above him. The rain would cause her raven black hair to stick to her skin, but it was the thin wisps of baby hair that stuck to her forehead that made the faintest of smiles to appear on Azriel's lips. Y/N seemed so unbothered up there, so... at home. Much like he found solace in the shadows, she found songs in the storms. A peace that could never be tainted.

That's what he willed himself to see when he looked upon her pallid, fever-stricken face. He willed himself to see the version of her that she would have wished. One where she was happy. One where she was plagued by serenity.

None of them could pinpoint how Hybern had known that y/n was in Prythian, or how they knew that she even existed in order to create the only poison that could be used to weaken and fatally harm her. Even Yrene had uttered that the ingredients were sparse even within Erilea. It meant that someone had spent valuable time collecting and crafting in order to inflict the pain onto y/n. Azriel swore to himself that whoever it was would die for it in the most curdling manner his mind could fathom.

It was within the thirty second minute that she stirred, her kaleidoscope orbs appearing beneath her fluttering lids and a small groan of torturous pain emitting from her lips. Azriel moved from the chair beside her to the mattress in a matter of seconds, disturbing the peace by shouting into the void for Lorcan and Aedion to call for Yrene, and the healer came quickly at their demands barrelling down the halls.

Yrene was closely followed by Aelin and Manon, the latter of which growled once she spied Azriel’s marred flesh tainting the purity of her queen. The red cloak of Manon swept against the stone beneath her feet, her claws were retracted but her teeth were poised to rip the throat out of anyone who got too close, Azriel included. Not wasting a moment, Yrene crossed the room whilst fastening her apron at her back, reaching out to lay her hand on y/n’s forehead and stealing it back with a hiss and the scent of burning flesh. “How are you holding her?” Yrene asked, perplexed, holding her burnt hand to her chest.

To Azriel, y/n felt hot, but not searing, not burning. From the beads of sweat that teared down her pallid cheeks, he knew that she was struggling to fight off the poison and the infection that came with it.

The Shadowsinger didn’t answer.

Instead, he kept his hazel eyes upon her face, tracing the slow beat of her eyelids and the quaking of her gasping lips as she attempted to form a word. “Y/N,” Azriel cooed gently, causing y/n to stop trembling for a moment, “To me,” he told her, pulling her darting eyes from the ceiling and to his face, “You need to save your energy and rest. Close your eyes and sleep. Let Yrene heal you.”

It wasn’t as much as a command as it was a plead, but she listened, shakily nodding her head and shivering into slumber, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

He felt the golden eyes of the witch queen on the side of his face, Manon couldn’t understand how y/n hadn’t noticed her at her side, she couldn’t understand how y/n’s eyes found Azriel instantly over her own. Azriel moved his gaze to meet those orbs of gold and speckled black, refusing the back down even if he did find her terrifying. “She needs Doranelle,” Manon spoke, not to Azriel despite him being in her eye line, but to Aelin who stood behind her, and to Rowan who was propped against the doorway.

“We’re stuck here,” Aelin reminded her, making it clear that she had already thought the same but knew it was impossible without y/n’s power to rip open the fabric of space and time to take them there. Aelin dropped to her knees beside y/n, the fire coursing through y/n’s veins battling against her own, and she ran her fingers down the side of her face, worry clear and fear prominent. “This King,” Aelin spat, “Knows what he has done. Your war will be coming sooner than you think, and he’ll seek to destroy her along with it.”

“I won’t let him,” Azriel growled, tone low and threatening, and eyes peeking through the thickness of his lashes whilst his hand kept entwined with y/n’s like he was her link back to the land of the living.

Aelin honed in on Azriel, drinking in the dark possessiveness in his eyes and the way his shadows flitted over the skin of her dearest friend, almost as if they were trying to shield her from the world.

It wasn’t like Aelin truly blamed the Shadowsinger for what happened to y/n, she knew first hand just how difficult she could be when it came to anything she felt determined to do. In all honesty, Aelin blamed Rhys the most and had told him plenty of times of the fact. Y/N was Rhys’ sister, he knew how important she was to other worlds let alone his own, and he willingly put her in danger. Such motions threatened the survival of Prythian, and by extension, Erilea.

The feelings of Aelin were probably why Rhys had stayed away, waiting for the rest of them to leave for the evening before spending the night at her side, reading and telling her stories of their father and sister to then only leave at the break of dawn when Lorcan and Aedion would arrive. Azriel was the only one who stayed every minute of every hour, refusing to be anywhere else, out of guilt or desperation Aelin would never truly know, but part of her was thankful for it.

Do you see it?

Aelin craned her head over her shoulder to find Rowan’s orbs fixated on the pallid body of his friend and former princess, a woman he had spent centuries protecting and training. His sight pulled from her to Aelin and he nodded, eyes flickering to Azriel who had turned all of his attention back to y/n.

Yes.

The yawning of Aedion who was sprawled across a chair in the far corner halted Aelin from probing Rowan further. The unimpressed guise of the chamber fell upon him, “Tired, Cousin?”

Aedion shrugged, motioning to Lorcan with a wave of his hand, “She’s funnelling our energy through the bond. Forgive us for feeling a little lethargic, Aelin.”

“What do you mean? She’s funnelling your energy?” Azriel asked, brows furrowed and trying to grasp the meaning in his mind.

Sighing, Aelin explained, “Y/N is incredibly powerful,” she smiled upon y/n sadly, “There are aspects of her power that she refuses to use, abilities of the darkness that she inherited from her mother, Maeve. She can absorb strength from those sworn to her and from those who offer their power to her,” Aelin nodded toward Aedion and Lorcan with her eyes softening, “Y/N is absorbing the strength and energy from Aedion and Lorcan, they are her bloodsworn, and her body is in such a bad way that it seems the dark spots of her power are grasping onto anything they can to keep her alive.”

“It’s happened before?”

Aelin smiled thinly, trying to offer some comfort to Azriel who was beginning to understand the pain inflicted upon the woman before his eyes, but before Aelin could reply, Manon’s voice echoed between them. “Once. She was in a much worse state after she destroyed Maeve, her power was drained for the first time in her life, and she was severely injured from what Maeve did before the battle. All of that put her into a state of comatosis. It took her weeks to wake.” From the heaviness of Manon’s recount, Azriel knew just how close they were, all of them, so he understood why they blamed him, hated him.

“I’m sorry that I let her leave the cabin. I’m sorry,” Azriel spoke, staring right into Manon and trying to decipher whatever emotion lay within those cold golden orbs.

Rising to his feet, Aedion crossed the room, nudging a lingering Rowan on the way, “It’s fine. Y/N is a stubborn thing, she’s pulled the wool over all of our eyes at some point.”

“Like when she sacrificed herself to secure my freedom?” Aelin asked with a smile, leaning to run her fingers along y/n’s arm.

“Or when she trailed the ilken following Elide and I and slaughtered them all without us even realising it?” Lorcan huffed with amusement, creeping closer to the bed with humour in his eyes and his arms firmly folded over his chest.

“Then there’s Skull’s Bay,” Rowan almost sang, the words being the first noise he had made since he had arrived in Velaris and the room hummed in fond remembrance.

“And we won’t ever forget how she took possession of that burst dam and swallowed Maeve along with it. She saved us all that day, even when she was barely alive,” Manon spoke softly, a speckle of humanity shining through her soul shrouded in stone, “She’s family,” was all the witch queen said, an olive branch of sorts, an explanation as to why she had been so difficult.

Noting the concern in Azriel’s eyes, Aelin lay a hand upon his shoulder, gentle but unyielding, “She’s survived worse, Shadowsinger. Don’t underestimate her, you won’t survive the humiliation.”

Silenced followed after that, well, silence for Azriel at least. Whilst he traced the contours of her face, the rest of the room spent some time reminiscing, talking fondly of Erilea which Azriel somewhat listened to but didn’t engage with. All he could really wonder was what place could be so worthy of someone so perfect, and part of him wanted to walk the streets of Doranelle for a moment so that he would be able to understand it.

Only when Yrene would periodically swim by would Azriel lift his eyes to give her a thankful smile that she would return with an unspoken warmth. It seemed as though y/n had a family of her own, just like he did, a family not of blood, but of unbroken bonds and unyielding wrathful friendship. They’d all die for one another, it was something Azriel could resonate with.

After an hour, the doors to the chamber opened and Feyre stepped in, fumbling with her fingers and eyes floating through the room until they landed on Azriel and Y/N, and she found her heart fluttering at the way he looked at her, it reminding her of how Rhys’ gaze embedded itself into her at all times.

The expectant void of words caused Feyre to float back into the room, “Rhys would like a meeting. We should discuss next steps in this war and in y/n’s recovery. Yrene can stay with her, it won’t take long.” Aelin rolled her eyes but stood, muttering something about a false king under her breath which caused Rowan to chortle a laugh as they passed by Feyre. “You too, Az.”

“I’ll take care of her,” Yrene told him softly once she realised the reluctance in his eyes and the way his fingers curled tighter around her hand, “If anything happens, I’ll call for you. I promise.”

Stiffly nodding, Azriel stood from his seat that was imprinted with his frame, he pressed his lips tenderly to the pallid and slightly bruised knuckles of y/n before laying her hand softly upon the mattress and following after Feyre, stealing one last look at the fussing Yrene as her glowing hands floated over y/n’s torso yet again.

Azriel trailed behind the group, lingering at the side of his High Lady as they all sauntered through the halls of the House of Wind. Whilst pacing through the fortress, Azriel couldn't help but allow his gaze to float between each one of the other-worldly beings. Beginning with Aelin and tracking how her arm slid around Rowan's waist, to Rowan who placed a tender kiss upon her brow, to Aedion and Lorcan who were bustling shoulder to shoulder, clearly being too large for the width of the halls, and then there was Manon, red cloak swaying at her back and moon-white hair braided over her shoulder whilst her eyes darted past every doorway like she could see beyond them.

Yes, Azriel was very sure of y/n's safety being almost a guarantee.

With all of his watching and observing, he didn't notice the eyes of Feyre drifting over his face with a quirked smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, "You don't leave her side. Why?" Feyre asked quietly, catching how his eyes thinned slightly as he searched his mind for an answer that would appease her.

"I feel guilty," he tried to say, but the heaviness of his voice betrayed his words.

Feyre gently slipped her arm around his, resting her fingers on the indent of his elbow and pulling him into her side softly. "No. I don't think that's why," she gave him a pointed look, one loaded with knowing, "You feel something for her, despite only knowing her for a few days. What draws you to her?"

A more adequate question would be what didn't draw Azriel to y/n?

"I wasn't sure at first. If you had asked me why I couldn't concentrate at the High Lord's Meeting then I would have told you the truth. It was because of her. Not because she was new, or because I thought she was a threat..." Azriel trailed off, his voice softening and shoulders falling lax, like all tension had floated away, "It was because looking at her made me feel like I was finally home. There is a warmth within her, and a darkness that mirrors my own. She is fierce and tortured, but gentle in ways no one would ever be able to begin to understand. Y/N has spent her life fighting, being used for what she can offer but not being appreciated for who she is, and I think that I understand that."

"So, you seek to protect her?"

"No," Azriel sighed, looking to Feyre with a sparkle in his eyes that she'd never though she would ever get to witness, "Well, yes. But I seek to give her a life free of torment. A life of love and one void of the restraints of her station. I seek to be her freedom, Feyre."

The High Lady of the Night Court found herself blushing from sheer excitement. Feyre had noticed it the moment y/n had waltzed into their lives, limbs exposed and hair flowing, eyes glowing with the light of a thousand storms; she had seen something spark, a cog falling into place after so long tumbling around without purpose.

"Does it help that she is the most beautiful thing to walk the universe?"

Azriel scoffed, "Her beauty is incomparable to what lies beneath it," he told Feyre, glancing sidelong with a smirk, "But I suppose she isn't half bad to look at."

Feyre tried to conceal her chuckle behind her hand as they both entered the dining room that Rhys had converted into a meeting room for the sake of convenience.

It was clear that sleep had escaped him, and what was even more pristine was the fact that Aelin could not have cared less about it as she took her place at the head of the table, further solidifying her position as leader of their little merged group. Rhys didn't contest, instead he simply moved to the opposing end, motioning for Azriel and Feyre to take a place either side of him.

A usually convivial dining table now swimming with discontent from two sides.

Aelin assumed her usual position. Legs propped against the tabletop. Arms folded over her chest. Dagger gleaming in the pale lights and reflecting upon the ceiling. A warning. A dare.

"Have you figured it out yet?" Aelin's head curled to meet Rhys' sight, "Have you figured out how this world knew of her and the only thing that can weaken her?"

Silence consumed the room like thick onyx poison, drowning and dimming all forms of barely there happiness. Rhys shuffled in his seat. He had to send himself on such a mission since he knew that Azriel refused to leave his sisters side, and he had come up empty handed.

The location of y/n's downfall had been left void of any traces of armies and magic, the only sign of this incident occurring being the blood soaked earth where Rhys had stood for an hour cursing himself for even thinking about sending her away when he had only just gotten her back.

If he could, he would go back and rip the order from his mouth. He'd carve out his own tongue to keep her hidden.

"No," Rhys spoke roughly with a throat that hadn't been quenched by water in what felt to him like days. "I assure you that such knowledge has never reached Prythian. I sent word to Helion and Thesan, enquiring if such a poison were in any of their libraries. There isn't."

Lorcan scoffed and glanced to Rowan who had his lip curled upward into a snarl from his place beside Aelin, "And you believe them?"

Sprinkles of magic littered the air, casting a faint shimmer that filled the spaces of the open arched windows whilst the faint sound of laughter from the mouths of little ones echoed upward to the House of Wind.

"I do," Rhys gulped. The High Lord of the Night Court ran a hand down his face that was soaked with exhaustion. "Helion and Thesan aren't only High Lords of Prythian. They are friends of the Night Court, and their lives have been dedicated to research and healing. They would never withhold such information."

"Forgive me for not believing a word of it," Aelin muttered, fingers tracing along the hilt of the dagger on the table. "Your enemy knew that she would come. He knew she would come looking for him, and he knew exactly how to ensure her death. If it weren't for that last burst of power that brought Aedion and Lorcan to her position, she'd be gone." Aelin leant forward in her seat, feet falling flat against the ground and venom laced in her words.

"You foolish man. Sending not only your long lost sister but our queen into the belly of a beast without being able to ensure her safety. Your world isn't the only one at stake here. If she cannot recover from this then your world will perish, and our world will have lost its fiercest warrior."

Manon chuckled, pulling the attention of the room to her, and Cassian who was placed beside her leant away from the talons she was running the pads of her fingers down lazily. "In other words, if she dies here, we'll ensure that you do too. Or well, I will," Manon flashed her iron teeth at Rhys, causing Feyre to shift uncomfortably in her seat as her fingers became entwined in his own, allowing her power to ebb and flow from her essence in response to Manon's threat.

Remembering his position, Azriel's eyes manoeuvred over Manon, then Aedion and Lorcan whose fists were clenched but possessed tired eyes, before landing on Aelin and Rowan who were struggling to contain themselves. Tendrils of shadow scattered over his shoulders, dancing wildly in a brisk wind from an opened door, sauntering up and down and shaking in rhythm with a silent, reverberating thumping that was grasping at and rattling his bones.

"I think it would be wise to refrain from talking to my brother like that," the room collectively snapped its gaze to the doorway, and Aelin rose to her feet instantly.

Before them all stood a pale but healing y/n. She was grasping at her side but walked forward with a pride Aelin had never seen before, not in someone who was hours ago so close to the grave. There was something dark about her, the power itself or the contrast of her hair and eyes against her whitened skin Aelin wasn't sure. But what was clear was that she knew something, the truth and ire dancing in the dimness of her eyes. Something that could change the course of all of their fates.

Y/N's silver skirt kissed the ground as she stopped at Rhys' side, laying her hand atop his shoulder and squeezing it weakly, "I can understand being protective," y/n moved her eyes around the room, slowly raking over each one of her Erilean family, "But don't be mistaken into believing that threatening my blood is big or wise. I decided to take to those skies alone. It is my doing and mine alone."

Azriel felt his heart stop when her eyes finally found him, and he stood instantly, offering his arm and seat and feeling a sense of completeness when she accepted his touch and found comfort in the sensation of his presence behind her.

"Y/N-"

"I'm not finished," a voice of dread and death cut through the plea that fell from Aedion's lips, a voice of a ruler, a voice of one of the most deadly beings the universe would ever know. Inhaling deeply, y/n closed her eyes for a moment, as though she was preparing herself for something, and in sensing her discomfort and hesitation, Azriel lay his hand at the top of her spine, allowing every emotion and ounce of pain to wash through his veins.

Y/N visibly relaxed.

"In my sleep, the attack played in my mind over and over again, not like a nightmare, but in a way to make me see the truth. To push me to see beyond the pain," her eyes were downcast, but she moved backward into Azriel's hand, feeling a blanket of certainty and warmth coiling around her frame. "When I was flying over their camp, I felt the power of the cauldron. It was a drowning feeling, it made me feel confused almost, and I felt a certain type of dread. I was scared."

Y/N's eyes dragged down the table, settling on Rowan with eyebrows tight and fear visible within her irises. "There has only ever been one form of power that has ever made me feel like that. Maybe I was too wrapped up in what was happening to realise it."

"What are you saying, y/n?" Rowan urged, knuckles turning pale from his grip around the arms of his chair.

Without thinking about it, y/n's fingers faintly traced over the scar that had held Azriel's attention in the cabin. A morbid reminder.

"Dorian and I had a theory. That souls from our world didn't pass on into the afterlife but rather fell through the plains separating Erilea from other worlds. It had only ever really been a theory, but it was something that we couldn't stop thinking about. It haunted us in a way."

Because they had both lost a parent.

"But being here now with a poison in my veins so putrid and complex that no one from this world could have ever known of it. I realise what is happening." Aelin leaned forward, gaze flickering over the face of her friend until their eyes met. "There is only one person who knows how to make it. Only one person who would find joy in seeing me dead. Only one person who would seek to ensure the upmost pain. Only one person whose power terrifies me."

Aelin's eyes blew wide. "No," she spoke a hush above a whisper, "It can't be. She's dead. You killed her."

"What's going on?" Rhys entwined his fingers with those of his sister, feeling her fear bristling against the walls of her mind like a battering ram, splintering and wrecking the cage of her consciousness.

Realisation was floating about the room, to all those bar the Inner Circle. Rowan's head hung low, his eyes closed and nostrils flaring with each inhale and exhale, and Aedion couldn't lift his eyes from the tabletop.

"Maeve is here. My mother has come to punish me by devouring your world. Only when you're all dead will she kill me, and then can she conquer Erilea for the final time. Who knows, she might even keep me alive long enough to watch Doranelle and Terrasen burn." Y/N turned to Rhys, bottom lip almost wobbling, "I'm sorry. This is happening because of what I did."

Rhys dropped to his knees before her, taking her burning face in his hands and stroking his thumbs along her cheekbones. "We'll face it. We'll face her. And may the Mother grant her some mercy when I get my hands on her." He read the depleting light in her eyes, knowing that whatever energy she had been granted was wavering. "Let's get you back to bed. We can face this tomorrow. We still have time."

The High Lord of the Night Court went to hook an arm beneath his sisters arms, but she wrenched herself away to the side, still under the touch of Azriel, and looked upward to him. It was a silent plead, the widened watering eyes and a gentle shrug that lifted her shoulders.

Azriel moved instantly, scooping y/n into his arms and hugging her tightly into his chest, propping his chin on the crown of her head as he wordlessly carried her away.

Author's Note

I know it's been ages and I'M SO SORRY

Taglist

@riorgail @fandomarchiveilyd @booksandbud4me @acourtofbatboydreams @sidthedollface2 @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @tenshis-cake @rcarbo1 @snoopyspace @superspideyparker @acourtofbooksandshadows @i-am-infinite @hannzoaks @evergreenlark @quinzzelx @laurzwrites @astrxbabx @michellexgriffey @cherry-cin @jesskidding3 @nerdyalmondlawyerauthor @raginghellfire @i-know-i-can @lilah-asteria @azysmate

[azaharinflames]

I still don´t get what they thought they would achieve with Brad but it seems to never have crossed their minds that people would actually NOT care for the character. It is wild how much screentime he got, in a mid-season finale no less, and this public ass kissing of cast and the official account after he left is so weird. Nobody piled hate on the character or the actor they just were not interested, so why the need for this outpouring of support all of the sudden?

When the next character making eyes at either Buck or Eddie comes around and this lot decides to stay silent again we will all have our answer without a shadow of a doubt. That they hang the LI out to dry because they are scared shitless of Buddie backlash, but will jump into action for the next bit part player who just wasn´t as popular as they thought he would be.

I really started to dislike them, not gonna lie. I like Tommy, I like bucktommy but I will cheer on who ever comes next for Buck or Eddie just out of spite now. Because whoever plays them will be treated like shit by the fandom and will get no help from the mean girls clique that is the 911 production

Hi, Nonnie! Thanks for the ask. I see what you're saying, and overall I have to agree.

Here is my take. I try to play devil's advocate and give grace as much as possible. But earlier today I went on Twitter, and I saw a hate tweet (disclaimer: I've blocked hundreds of BD accounts by now, and I have blocked many, many words to not find a new one, but a BT account I follow had quoted it, so I saw it). In it, they were essentially laughing and having a party at the goodbye comments Callum had received, because that 'confirms' for them that the cast hates Lou. That they knew before, but now it's confirmed.

And the thing is... I've said it before, Lou is not a defenseless little boy. He's a grown man that, in my opinion, has a great head on his shoulders and knows very well what he's doing. And he's a busy man. So I honestly don't think he gives two craps about some losers on Twitter claiming his co-workers hate him - he knows better (he knows what happened), and he's the one with a career in acting and loving fans, so. Does he deserve the harassment? Hell, no. But I don't think he cares if some loser claims the cast hates him.

However. This behavior is only enabling hate. Not addressing the hate the LIs go through and the harassment the actors receive isn't just 'ignoring the hate so it goes away'. Ignoring that behavior and then showing support for other guest stars tells the deranged fans that they are good to go. That their bullying and hate is allowed, justified.

Is that the truth? Well, no. But it is what has happened. Because all the people being this hateful and sending harassment or death threats fully believe the show has their backs because nothing has told them otherwise.

Is it the intention of the show? No.

Is it still what they're accomplishing by their lack of response? Yes.

I don't overall dislike the cast as people because I don't know them. But the representation of themselves they're giving right now,? Not exactly a fan of that.

Also, as for Brad... I just have to laugh. They fully thought the Facebook moms would fall deep in love with him, and didn't take into account their hearts were already taken by Tommy, and that they'd be heartbroken enough for Tommy to not care for a character that doesn't have nearly the same charisma or depth.

Anyway. Thanks for letting me rant, lmao.

My inbox is always open for venting, ranting, and to discuss any topics <3

Take care!

[freeluigihesbae]

𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓰𝓪𝓭𝓮 - 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 1

summary: you and luigi are competing to kill the same target and that leads to some tension that has to be fought against

𝗌𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗈: 𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗀𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝖻𝗒 𝖺𝖺𝗋𝗒𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗁

𝗍𝗐: 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 '𝗇 𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾

~

"Keep your hands right there." You stare into Luigi's eyes, a threat threaded through the lasers you were glaring into him, but neither of you could actually see.

Your head is tilted, your eyes straining to look at him as he mimics your posture, walking in a circle.

It's been going for a minute or two now, you both on opposite sides of each other ignoring the man tied up in the chair in the middle. Gunshots in his legs have gone unnoticed, having been littered by you both as you now fight to assert dominance through death.

Whoever puts the bullet where it matters wins.

Luigi smirks, giving into your threat and taking his hands away from his gun holster before putting them up and cocking his head to the side.

"What's my little baby gonna do if I don't let her win? Hm?" His tone is infuriatingly smug as he gets exactly what he wants, watching you become even angrier.

In rage, you send another gunshot into the man's leg, but neither of you pay attention to how he's keeling over himself, waking up only to feel the pain of a fresh new wound. Luigi watches the way you hand grips the gun, breathing in and out thinking about the precision and dedication to your craft and breaking life down to pieces.

"You like that Luigi? You like it when I hurt people?" You smile tauntingly, stalking him in the same circle that he stalks you in, seeing how his resolve falters. "You're too scared to answer my question so you respond with another one?" Luigi flexes his jaw before wearing his dominant mask again, never letting go of the thrill of banter.

"I thought men were braver than women. Care to prove it?" You quip and Luigi runs his hands through his hair. "Keep talking like a fuckin' smartass and-" he's half-muttering and speaking out loud, frustration building up in his system as he suppresses the thoughts coming to his mind.

The ones that no, aren't about winning and killing the guy bleeding to death in front of you both, but about using his hands to win you over and win over you physically.

To make you weak and drive you to the edge of a pleasure so good, it feels like a death you'd want.

"Or else what, Mangione?" You smirk, stopping as you turn to look at his frame which has now frozen to look at you. He rolls his head back and around to stretch before he draws his gun out, but you're quicker by drawing it too.

He's pointing it at you while you have it pointed at the bleeding body.

"I could kill you right fucking now and all you care about is winning." Luigi gnaws his teeth, straining the words out as you smirk more, partially unbeknownst to his desires.

"Of course I do. I'll never let you win Mangione. Not now, not ever." You respond with equal vigor, watching how his ego is getting bruised or so you think. He licks his lips, making them wet before keeping the gun on you but folding his hand inwards as he gets closer. You watch, your heart rate rising as you manage to keep a straight face, thinking this is just a show.

"Do you ever think about how I already won?" He smiles while pressing the gun onto your breast-bone and you gasp, tightening the grasp on your own gun, fingers shaking as the move is sudden for you.

You fight your own moral compass, whose arrow is flailing itself in all sorts of direction, trying to come to terms with the fact that the each second he gets and stays so close, you want him even more. You like riling him up but you never knew you wanted him to snap, the way he's about to right now.

"I'm not here for games." You try to speak some sense into him, trying to ignore the fact that you want this as much, if not more, than he does. You're not even sure if he wants to fuck you, but you're 99% sure and that's enough to drive the words spilling out of your mouth.

He presses the gun harder and you tip your head down in pain, letting yourself fall back onto a table behind you.

"I asked a fucking question. Do you ever think about how I already won, Maria?" Maria. He rarely said you name but when he did, it sounded like it was meant to be inside that pretty mouth.

And come out of it too.

He watches how your eyes widen a little more when he says your name.

You drop your gun, taking in tiny breaths as you sit yourself up on the table like he asked you. In truth, yes, silently he was. He was when he pressed the gun into your chest and increased the pressure even though he knew the table was cutting into your thighs.

He wasn't asking. He was demanding.

"Good girl." He whispers loud enough for you both to hear and you don't dare to look into his eyes before running the gun up your neck and finally at your chin. Luigi applies enough pressure at the right angle to press you onto your back, watching you arch.

"Maria," He starts his sentence after your back is fully settled onto the table, hair sprawled in every direction with your legs straining from the awkward position. He laughs at your wide eyes staring straight ahead of you but avoiding his contact.

You can see from his peripheral vision how his eyes rake over your entire body, savoring the way your curves dip and rise perfectly. He's looking at an art.

Not a piece of art. An art. The art was you being you. The art was you existing.

He smirks when he watches your lower back and hips tremble, trying to keep themselves afloat as your back threatens to arch and slip off of the table.

His hands comes swooping around your calves as he lifts you with ease and folds your knees, placing your feet on the table and making your body move upwards. The action pushes your head back, neck exposed in his sudden decision.

You should be putting your neck back down and saving yourself the pain, but you don't. Something about the way he can see you, feel you, and control you to want to do this for him makes you aroused. You want to tease him in the very little power you have.

"I told you what it is, but you chose to stay." He bends down and whispers into your ear, listening to the whimpers you let out as you struggle to keep your neck arched. Your eyes close in a feeling of euphoria slowly building. "You chose this pain." He bring his gun back and presses the trigger to your chest. You scream and let your head shoot up but he's laughing.

His gun is empty.

You pant, reeling from how he might've killed you but instead of making you fear him, it makes the arousal sear through your body.

"Do you know why you chose this, Maria? Why you're letting me fuck you up?" Luigi nearly spits in your face, triggering the humiliation he badly needed to see you. You blink and bite your lip, still taking in deep breaths.

"'Cause you don't know me, you just know my name. And the thrill of my unknown makes you more of a whore than you ever thought you'd be." He speaks every word of a truth that seems to echo in your ears and who knew? The opulent intelligence and string of sick philosophy makes you moan.

He places the gun in your hands before gripping your wrist and lifting your arm up to point it at the man in the chair, who is wheezing. You look back at him, eyes glossy from pleasure as you question him.

"I thought you wanted this Luigi." You speak with a weak voice, trying to give him the chance. Instead, his other arm comes down before squeezing your neck enough to choke, but still listen to his words.

"You're right. I wanted this." A finger taps on the side of your neck which is only squeezed tighter and your back comes up, hitting the side of his body as you squirm.

"But I can't let anyone watch me while I claim it. Not even a dying man." Your finger tightens around the trigger as his grip around your wrist tightens and you squeeze out a breath.

"You pull that trigger and I will fuck you so hard I'll make sure I give you a taste of death at least this once before you die in my arms." He hovers over your face, staring as your eyes flutter but you turn your head to the side, determined to take what you deserve.

"I'll never let you go with once, M-Mangione." You stutter out, eager to tease him even in this position. He lets out a laugh before coming down to kiss your inner forearm.

"You wish is my command while my desire is a request for which I know your answer is a yes." He chuckles before his hands loosen around your neck.

"Maria, pull the fucking trigger before I put a bullet in your head." He whispers into your ear and you bite your lips before turning to meet his head, slightly moving your arm to take the shot. You let his tongue dive past your lips before the trigger clicks once again.

A gunshot resounds and neither of you turn to check because your prize is his lips and body.

And now, you are being rewarded.

~

@officialdilfenthusiast ur a slut and ur mine <3

taglist: @madkohi @poohkie90 @chariytz @nosebeers

[alicethedracoraptor]

Ooook ! I thought I was never going to do this one day but this is really serious and something must be done.

This person thinks she's Pelle's only soulmate but in an obsessional level. I saw some of her posts and this is just extremely disrespectful for him.

However, I'm not making this post just for this reason. Because she's actually a danger for other users and even for herself.

For herself because she showed posts of her cuts but the worst part is that she's sending threats (including death threats) and doxxing to whoever has a "crush" on Pelle or just shows pity for him !

I already blocked her after reporting her. The doxxing and threats are just unforgivable.

The screenshots speak for themselves.

[bonefall]

Who’s Juniperclaw again? Also the quote about ruthlessness? Staring curiously

Canon!Juniperclaw is tigerHeartstar's nephew, son of Dawnpelt and brother to Strikestone and Sleekwhisker.

He was the first deputy of ShadowClan after tigerHeartstar's return, until he tried to pressure SkyClan into leaving the Lake in AVOS by poisoning their food. No one was hurt any worse than "bad tummyache," but he was exiled anyway. He then died rescuing Shadowkit from a flooded river QuickTime event.

We found out that he went to the Dark Forest in TBC. He was allowed to become the guardian of the tunnel between the Place of No Stars and StarClan's Hunting Grounds, in the hopes of finding redemption.

For BB this is all a bit different;

I've been waiting for a while for the perfect opportunity to rise to rework Juniperclaw's story.

I REALLY like the idea of his poisoning, his exile, and his placement in the Dark Forest... but the back half of AVoS is baddd.

Plus, it's just too bloodless. If he's going to get DARK FOREST over this, I expect a body count.

So now, his actions lead to at least 3 deaths. Leafstar is one of them, Sparkpelt was ALMOST another but Hollylark uses xeir powers to die in her place, and Flickerkit dies shortly before his birth.

ANYWAY JUNIPERCLAW

I feel like he wasn't expecting the death toll to be so devastating.

This event is being moved to Squirrelflight's Horror. Juniper's plot was that he was going to do this poisoning to blame it on The Sisters.

He just wanted SkyClan off ShadowClan land, he figured if he convinced Leafstar that the Sisters are a threat that needs to be dealt with that she'd move

He didn't think it would kill three people, just make them sick! Maybe just ONE of Leafstar's lives! And how was he supposed to know ThunderClan's leader's daughter would have a bowl?!

This plan probably works, but the guilt EATS Juniperclaw alive. He got exactly what he wanted-- a battle patrol against expectant queens.

I can't see this secret going on too long, someone rats him out and he crumbles. He can't live with it anymore.

But in Waspstar's eyes, an exile was a light punishment. Exactly what xey expected out of Heartstar, so openly biased for her family, not taking the death of SkyClan's leader as the murder that it was.

Xey dealt with this by sending a message; all "honored" guests could come and pay their respects to Leafstar.

Juniperclaw isn't invited explicitly... but the message reaches him. It is implied. So he comes, hoping to offer his sincere regrets.

I'm trying to figure out the cat equivalent of "Being taken out back and shot" is lmao

Professional mob boss kind of hit. Someone takes out the pistol with a silencer and ends his existence in the back alley as the loud party inside drowns out the sound of the shot. Do you understand me

Whoever the "hitman" was, Waspstar is the one who ordered it and xey take full responsibility.

The kill was clean. Not messy. Juniperclaw didn't suffer-- unlike his victims.

Juniperclaw goes to the Dark Forest like canon, but in BB he isn't the only border guard. He's buddies with Mudclaw and Appledusk.

The line about ruthlessness I mentioned offhandedly is this one from KA Applegate. I'm pretty sure it's from Animorphs.

"People don’t understand the word ruthless. They think that it means ‘mean.’ It’s not about being mean. It’s about seeing the bright, clear line that leads from A to B. The line that goes from motive to means. Beginning to end. It’s about seeing that bright, clear line and not caring about anything but the beautiful fact that you can see the solution."

It's become a popular paragraph as of late, because it slaps.

[shadowystan]

YANDERE! celebrity x f!reader – he's so pretty, so popular (you really don't wanna be his sweetheart)

No but YANDERE!celebrity with a toxic fanbase.

It's not him you should be scared of. Not his bodyguards or his influential family; not his obsessive ex or crushing best friend.

The fanbase.

Jealous fans would cloud your life. If you have social media, you'd be hacked a few thousand times a week. If you block them, turn off your comments and go private, you'd get doxxed. Plain and simple.

It's upsetting. It's suffocating. And it's downright terrifying whenever you're out in public. Death threats at your face, stalkers outside your door. No peace of mind, none whatsoever.

But of course if you're pretty enough...

YANDERE!fans who want nothing but the best for their idol. Only someone as dazzling as you could deserve him.

(It's set in stone. You have no choice.)

YANDERE!fans who're the epitome of degeneracy. Writing dirty, smutty fanfiction on the side while making ship edits with you and their celebrity. It doesn't matter how many times you've streamed live, asking them to quit it because the both of you weren't official or how much it makes you uncomfortable.

YANDERE!fans who instead of agreeing and respecting your wishes, go as far as to send you everything. Gone are the rules of RPF. They're spiteful, they're overbearing and most of all, they want you to know you have no power.

YANDERE!fans who litter whoever you try to date with messages of "kill yourself <3" or "jump off a roof. respectfully." on their social media comments or DMs.

YANDERE!fans who spread elaborate rumors about you when you do something that remotely doesn't meet their standards.

The air was soothing. The atmosphere lively. You heard the chatter of the birds, the laughs of the couples, the giggles of the teen girls-

"-Let's say she assaulted someone!"

What?

Leaning slightly to the left, you nonchalantly readjusted the dark spectacles framing your eyes. Hoodie pulled over your face and a lone piece of lettuce peeking out of your lips, the thought that someone might recognize you left your mind for the briefest of times.

And you focused on the task at hand. Eavesdropping on the conversation happening two tables to your side.

They were being rather loud. And concerning. Quite concerning.

"-That's too much, Sana." A puff of air left your mouth, a reassured smile curling in it's stead. At least Sana had wise friends-

"I mean how bad would it look for Iseul's reputation? He can't be dating an assaulter!"

You froze.

Iseul. Iseul. Iseul. Iseul Iseul Iseul Iseul-

That damned name.

A bunch of collective "oohs" and "aahs" splattered. The teenagers nodded in agreement, being particularly vocal.

"Let's say she bullied one of us!"

"Or that she has been to prison!"

"We caught her shoplifting?"

"Boring!"

A fry was thrown at whoever said the last word. Useless bickering followed by rolls of their eyes, the girls easily overcame the little hindrance and got back to brainstorming.

You sucked in a breath, spoon limply hanging off your fingers.

They were definitely talking about you.

Whatever. Whatever. Whatever. It's not a big deal. This is normal-

"We should break into her house or something. The address is leaked anyway."

The table screeched, you stood up.

Legs having a brain of their own, you paced out of the restaurant, the memories of the girls fibbing and bickering and planning like no tomorrow kept echoing through your mind. Like a broken record. Since when had your life turned to such shambles?

God. Why were things like this for you?

Releasing a shaky breath, you gulped, burying the insecurity deep inside of you. Whipping the lopsided glasses away, you stop caring for a moment.

You don't care. For sure. But then your hands are moving and they're looking through your pockets, seeking for something and my goodness, since when did your phone start feeling so heavy?

Unfamiliar and hesitant, you went through your contact list, heart beating so fast that you felt like it'll rip right out of your chest. Your lips quivered, flushed skin feeling hotter and hotter by the second. A fever? Or was this anger?

You shivered, ignoring the tears and the salt and the aching, aching feel of your soul. You fiddled for a moment – just a moment – but then you're harshly pressing the call button and wiping snot off your nose before placing the phone to your ear and waiting like a madwoman. Impatient and uncalm and-

"My love! You called!"

Him.

Him. Him. Him. Him.

How you hate him.

"I'll-I'll do it,-" You spluttered, very much on the verge of choking on your own spit and mumbling strings of curses at him and them and every single person who's so, SO mean to you- "I-i'll make it official. We.. we will! Just..- just please.."

You've perished. You've perished until this second, this moment and you'll continue perishing but-

"J-just.. make them stop."

Don't you deserve a break too? With everything he puts you through?

A tsk from his side was heard. Iseul sounded amused, almost cross with you. Almost pouty. Almost smiling.

"Really now? This easy? Things were only just getting fun."

You wanted to gut YANDERE!celebrity. Brutally.

[cod-thoughts]

Day 15 of 31 days of COD

Word count: 4.4k

Relationships: NikPrice, team as family

Tags: secret admirer, supportive team, getting together.

“What’s this, Cap?” Soap’s teasing voice broke through his thoughts as he strolled into the office, arms crossed over his chest. “You got yourself a secret admirer, haven’t you?” Price scowled, though there was no real malice in it. “Don’t start.” Soap leaned in, examining the cigars with exaggerated curiosity. “Second gift in two months, eh? Someone’s puttin’ in a fair bit of effort for you.” Keep reading under the cut or on AO3

January

The first package arrived on a cold, grey afternoon, delivered without much fanfare to Captain John Price’s office. It was just a bottle of his favourite whiskey—the kind he hadn’t seen in months. No note, no name, just a familiar amber liquid sitting there, waiting for him.

He turned the bottle in his hands, inspecting it carefully. Had he ordered this and forgotten? It wasn’t impossible—he had enough on his plate to misplace the odd delivery. Yet something about it felt different, almost intentional. Thoughtful, even.

For a moment, Price considered the possibility that someone might have sent it deliberately. He immediately dismissed the thought. Why would anyone go through the trouble of sending him a gift? His past relationships, when they happened, had always been fleeting—too short and too strained by the demands of his job to allow for any real connection. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given him something simply because they cared.

As he poured himself a glass that night, the warmth of the whiskey settling into his bones, Price allowed himself a rare moment of contemplation. He had spent so long being alone, so long not expecting anything from anyone, that he couldn’t even imagine what it felt like to be on the receiving end of someone’s kindness.

The bottle sat there, a small mystery. And as much as he tried to brush it off, the thought lingered.

February

February arrived, cold and unforgiving. The missions had been relentless, and Price found himself wearing down, the weight of command pressing on him more than usual. So when the second package appeared on his desk—a box of premium cigars—he almost laughed out loud. It was as if someone knew exactly what he needed, right when he needed it.

Still, no note. No name.

“What’s this, Cap?” Soap’s teasing voice broke through his thoughts as he strolled into the office, arms crossed over his chest. “You got yourself a secret admirer, haven’t you?”

Price scowled, though there was no real malice in it. “Don’t start.”

Soap leaned in, examining the cigars with exaggerated curiosity. “Second gift in two months, eh? Someone’s puttin’ in a fair bit of effort for you.”

That’s what unsettled Price the most—effort. He wasn’t used to it, not in this way. He could count the number of times someone had genuinely put in effort for him on one hand. His relationships had always been strained, with people pulling away because of the demands of his work. Long deployments, missed calls, and the constant looming threat of death—it wasn’t conducive to romantic entanglements.

Who would care enough to send these gifts, month after month? And more importantly, why?

Soap’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Whoever they are, they’ve got good taste. Better than most of the blokes around here.”

Price forced a chuckle, but his mind wandered back to his past. No one had ever taken the time to learn his likes, his preferences—not like this. He had always been the one putting in the effort, trying to make it work. But in the end, no one had ever stayed.

Why would this time be any different?

March

By March, Price had begun to anticipate the monthly arrival of these mysterious gifts. This time, it was a leather-bound journal, the cover smooth and worn, the kind of thing that felt like it belonged to a man with stories to tell. Price wasn’t much for journaling, but as he held the book in his hands, a thought struck him: someone knows me.

That realisation was unsettling. Price had always kept people at arm’s length, not because he wanted to, but because it was easier that way. Less messy. Less painful when they inevitably left. But whoever was behind these gifts clearly knew him in a way no one else had ever bothered to.

And that made him wonder.

Sitting alone in his office one night, the journal in front of him, Price let his thoughts drift to Nik. He’d known Nik for years, long enough to understand the depth of their connection. They’d shared missions, laughs, and more than a few drinks. There had always been something unspoken between them, a bond forged through fire and war.

But Price had never dared hope for anything more. Why would he? Nik was... well, Nik. Confident, charming, and always surrounded by people. Why would someone like that ever look at him, an old, battle-hardened soldier who had more scars than smiles to offer?

Price shook his head, banishing the thought. It couldn’t be Nik. That was wishful thinking. And Price wasn’t the kind of man who entertained fantasies.

Still, when he flipped open the journal to the first page, the thought of Nik lingered, just for a moment.

April

April brought another surprise—this time a bottle of cologne, an old brand Price hadn’t worn in years. The scent was familiar, comforting even, and it stirred memories he hadn’t touched in a long time. It reminded him of a younger version of himself, back when he still believed he could balance a personal life with the job. Back when he thought there might be someone waiting for him after the missions ended.

But no one had waited. The demands of his role had always been too much. Every relationship he had tried to maintain had fizzled out, the distance and danger too overwhelming. People moved on. They always did.

So why was someone—this mysterious sender—so persistent? Why put in the effort when Price himself had given up on the idea of anyone caring?

He caught Soap giving him a knowing look from across the base. “Another one, eh, Cap?” Soap grinned, his teasing never-ending. “Whoever it is, they’ve got your number.”

Price shrugged it off, but there was a part of him that wondered more deeply than ever, why him?

That night, as he sprayed the cologne and let the scent settle around him, Price couldn’t shake the feeling that whoever was sending these gifts wasn’t just playing a game. This was something more. Something... personal.

And for the first time, he let himself admit what he had been trying to ignore for months now: he wished it was Nik. He wanted it to be Nik.

But that was just wishful thinking, right?

May

The fifth gift arrived in May—an elegant pocketknife, the blade sharp and precise, clearly chosen with care. Price tested its weight in his hand, admiring the craftsmanship. Whoever was behind this knew him well. Too well.

He sat in his office, staring at the knife, the weight of everything suddenly pressing on him. There had been no one in his life who had ever put in this kind of effort for him. No one who had taken the time to know him in this way.

In the quiet of that moment, Price couldn’t help but feel the sharp sting of self-doubt. Why would anyone go through this trouble? For him of all people? He was an old soldier with more ghosts than friends, more bad memories than good.

He thought back to his failed relationships, to the people who had grown tired of waiting for him to come home, who had stopped returning his calls when he was deployed for months on end. The people who had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he wasn’t someone they could build a life with.

So why now? Why would someone, after all these years, decide he was worth the effort?

Price sighed, running a hand over his face. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was some kind of elaborate prank. Maybe the team was in on it. Maybe they were testing him, trying to see how long it would take for him to crack.

But deep down, he knew that wasn’t it.

And more than that, he wanted this to be real. He wanted to believe that someone saw him, that someone cared enough to send these gifts.

He wanted it to be Nik.

June

June was hot, the air thick with the promise of summer. The sixth package arrived quietly, as usual. This time, it was a rare, out-of-print military history book—something Price had given up on finding years ago. The sight of it left him speechless.

He flipped through the pages slowly, reverently, his heart pounding in his chest. This wasn’t just a gift. This was... something else. Something meaningful.

As he sat there, holding the book, Price felt a strange mix of emotions. Gratitude, yes. But also a deep, aching sense of longing.

He had spent years keeping people at a distance, convinced that his life wasn’t one that could accommodate things like love, or connection, or happiness. He had accepted that a long time ago. But now, with these gifts arriving month after month, that wall he had built around himself was starting to crack.

And in the quiet of his office, with the book in his hands, Price finally allowed himself to admit the truth. He wanted it to be Nik. He needed it to be Nik. He had spent years pushing those feelings down, hiding them behind layers of duty and professionalism. But he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

He had been longing for Nik for years—far longer than he had realised.

But what were the chances that Nik felt the same? What were the chances that the man who had always been just out of reach might feel something for him, too?

Price sighed, leaning back in his chair. He couldn’t let himself hope for too much.

But that didn’t stop him from hoping anyway.

July

July brought an unexpected lull in the chaos. The missions had slowed down, the team taking a rare breather between assignments. Price had more time on his hands than he knew what to do with, and that only gave him more room to think.

When the seventh package arrived—a finely crafted wristwatch, sleek and understated—it felt almost too much. Too personal. The kind of gift someone gives when they’ve spent years understanding the recipient, learning their habits and preferences.

Price turned the watch over in his hands, watching the light catch the polished metal. He couldn’t ignore the significance anymore. The time, the effort, the thoughtfulness behind each gift... whoever was sending these knew him intimately.

More intimately than he was comfortable admitting.

Sitting alone in his quarters, Price’s mind wandered back to Nik once again. It had become a constant in his thoughts lately, the idea of Nik being the one behind the gifts. He had tried to bury that hope, to convince himself it was ridiculous. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake it.

He wanted it to be Nik so badly. He had never allowed himself to entertain the thought before, had never dared hope that someone like Nik could feel anything more than camaraderie for a man like him. But these gifts had stirred something in him. They had made him realise how much he longed for that kind of connection—for Nik.

He had never told anyone how he felt. Not even the team, who had become a close friends over the years. Price had always been too guarded, too careful to let anyone see that side of him. And now, after all this time, he found himself questioning whether he had made a mistake.

What if Nik did feel the same? What if this entire time, Nik had been waiting for him to make a move?

Price shook his head, pushing the thought away. He couldn’t let himself hope for that. He couldn’t afford the disappointment if he was wrong.

But the watch ticked softly in his hand, a constant reminder that someone out there cared. Maybe it wasn’t Nik. Maybe it was someone else entirely.

But whoever it was, they were getting closer.

August

By August, the anticipation of the monthly package had become a familiar rhythm in Price’s life. He found himself looking forward to it, even though he told himself he shouldn’t. He was too old for this kind of thing—too set in his ways to be swept up in the excitement of a secret admirer. And yet, there he was, checking his desk more frequently than usual, as if hoping the package would arrive early.

This month, it was a hand-stitched wool scarf—simple but well-made, the kind of practical gift that Price appreciated. He ran his fingers over the soft fabric, imagining cold nights on the field, wrapped in warmth that someone had chosen just for him.

It was... touching. Too touching. And it made the doubts creep in again.

Why him?

He couldn’t stop himself from thinking about the past, about all the times people had drifted away, growing tired of waiting for him to come back from a mission or call late at night. People who had told him, in so many words, that he was too distant, too focused on his work to ever make a real relationship last.

Why would this time be different? Why would anyone choose him, knowing the life he lived?

His mind went, inevitably, to Nik once again. Nik, who had always been there, steady and reliable. Nik, who knew what this life was like, who understood the long silences and the constant danger better than anyone. They had been through so much together, forged a bond stronger than anything Price had ever known.

But why would Nik be interested in him? Why would a man like Nik—charming, confident, and always surrounded by admirers—choose him of all people?

It didn’t make sense.

But as Price wrapped the scarf around his neck that night, he couldn’t help but wish, more than ever, that it did make sense. That somehow, by some miracle, Nik had been the one behind these gifts all along.

It was a dangerous hope—one that could leave him broken if he was wrong.

But Price had spent so many years fighting battles, facing death head-on. Maybe, just maybe, this was a risk worth taking.

September

September was unseasonably warm, but the ninth gift arrived right on schedule. This time, it was a framed photograph, an old black-and-white shot of a war-torn city Price recognised from one of his earliest deployments. The image was hauntingly beautiful, a reminder of where he had come from and how far he had travelled since then.

Price stared at the photo for a long time that evening, lost in thought. He didn’t know how whoever was sending these gifts had gotten their hands on this picture, but the fact that they had gone to such lengths... it felt almost overwhelming. This was someone who knew his history, his life. Someone who had taken the time to understand not just the man he was now, but the man he had been.

And that made Price feel... vulnerable.

He wasn’t used to this. Wasn’t used to someone caring so much, knowing so much about him without asking for anything in return. It made him feel exposed in a way he hadn’t felt in years. His instincts told him to pull back, to retreat, to put up the walls he had built so carefully over the years.

But he didn’t want to pull back. Not anymore.

His thoughts wandered, as they always did now, to Nik. He had long stopped trying to suppress the feelings. The truth was undeniable: Price had been longing for Nik for years, probably since the first time they had worked together. But he had always kept that part of himself locked away, convinced that nothing good would come of it.

But now? Now he wasn’t so sure.

These gifts... they had opened something inside of him. Made him realise how much he wanted to be seen, to be known by someone. And not just anyone.

He wanted, no needed, it to be Nik.

And as he stared at the photo that night, the weight of the past pressing down on him, Price made a decision.

He needed to know.

October

The tenth package arrived on the first day of October. This time, it wasn’t an object but a handwritten letter. Price’s heart skipped a beat when he saw it. The neat handwriting, the way the envelope was sealed with care—it felt different. Final, somehow.

He sat at his desk, staring at the letter for what felt like hours before finally opening it. His hands were steady, but his heart raced as he unfolded the paper inside.

The words were simple, but they hit him harder than any mission, harder than any battle he had ever fought:

John,

I have waited too long to say this, but I cannot keep it to myself anymore. I hope these gifts have shown you that you mean more to me than just a comrade or a friend. I have wanted to tell you for so long, but I did not know how.

I will be waiting for you at our usual spot tonight. If you feel the same, meet me there.

Nik.

Price felt like the ground had fallen out from under him. He read the letter again and again, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining things.

Nik.

It had been Nik all along.

The man he had been longing for, the one he had convinced himself would never look at him that way—he was the one behind the gifts. He was the one who had spent all these months, all this time, showing Price in the only way he knew how that he cared.

Price’s hands shook as he folded the letter and placed it carefully on his desk. His heart pounded in his chest, louder than it had during any firefight, any mission.

This was real.

And for the first time in years, Price let himself feel the hope, the excitement, the joy that had been building inside him all these months.

Tonight, he would meet Nik.

Price hadn’t been this nervous in years.

As evening fell, he found himself pacing the narrow confines of his office, the letter from Nik tucked safely in his pocket. He had read it so many times now that the words were etched into his memory, but the weight of it still hadn’t settled. Nik. It was Nik. All those months of secret gifts, all the small, thoughtful gestures—it had all been him.

And Price was supposed to meet him. Tonight.

His mind raced, his thoughts an unpredictable mix of anticipation and self-doubt. Was he reading too much into this? What if he’d misunderstood Nik’s intentions? The letter had been clear, but still, a small, stubborn part of Price refused to believe that someone like Nik could feel that way about him. Not after all these years. Not after everything.

Price paused, running a hand through his beard, trying to steady himself. There was no way to know until he saw Nik. He just had to show up. He had faced death a hundred times over—this, this, should be easy.

But it wasn’t.

And of course, just when he was about to head out, Soap strolled in.

“Cap!” Soap’s voice was far too cheerful for Price’s current state of mind, and he winced inwardly. “Heard you’ve been actin’ a bit... distracted today. Got somethin’ on your mind?”

Price shot him a look, but Soap was undeterred, leaning against the doorframe with his trademark smirk.

“Not now, MacTavish,” Price grumbled, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. “Got somewhere to be.”

Soap raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Oh aye? Somewhere important, I take it? Not like you to be in such a rush.”

Price could feel Soap’s eyes on him, and he knew what was coming before the words even left his sergeant’s mouth.

“Wait—” Soap’s grin widened. “It’s tonight, isn’t it? Your mystery admirer finally reveals themselves?”

Price stiffened. He didn’t respond, but the silence was enough of an answer. Soap’s eyes practically lit up, and he let out a low whistle.

“Bloody hell, Cap,” Soap laughed. “So it is someone on base. I told Gaz it had to be! You’ve been all secretive about it for months.”

Price sighed, pulling on his jacket and shooting Soap a sharp look. “If you’ve got any sense, Sergeant, you’ll keep your nose out of it.”

Soap held his hands up in mock surrender, but the grin never left his face. “Aye, aye, Cap. But the lads are gonna have a field day with this one, I’m just sayin’. It’s been the hottest topic of conversation.”

“Not my problem,” Price muttered, but he could feel the heat rising in his face.

Soap chuckled, but there was a surprising note of sincerity in his voice as he added, “Good luck, Cap. Hope it works out the way you want.”

Price shot him a quick nod before turning on his heel, leaving Soap behind and heading out into the cool evening air. His heart was pounding, and his nerves were jangling, but there was no turning back now. Nik was waiting for him.

---

The rendezvous point was a quiet spot just outside the base, an old observation tower that they sometimes used to get a better vantage during drills. It had become something of a regular meeting place for Price and Nik over the years—just the two of them, sharing a quiet drink and watching the world go by.

Tonight, though, it felt different. Everything felt different.

Price arrived first, the evening air crisp against his skin as he leaned against the old stone wall of the tower. He glanced at his watch, noting that it was just after dusk. He had left a little early, partly because he wanted to compose himself and partly because the thought of seeing Nik had him more rattled than he cared to admit.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Nik appeared from the shadows, his silhouette unmistakable, moving with that easy confidence that always made Price’s chest tighten. When he stepped into the light, Price could see that familiar grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Evening, John,” Nik said, his voice warm, rich with amusement as he closed the distance between them. “I did not think you would actually meet me.”

Price huffed, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “Couldn’t exactly ignore an invitation like that, could I?”

Nik’s grin widened, and for a moment, they just stood there, the silence between them thick with unspoken words. The easy banter that usually flowed between them seemed to falter, both of them caught in the gravity of the moment.

Price was the first to break the silence, his voice low, almost hesitant. “It’s been you, hasn’t it? All those months... the gifts. It was you.”

Nik’s smile softened, something more vulnerable flickering in his eyes as he nodded. “I thought it was obvious by now. Thought you would have figured it out before I had to spell it out for you.”

Price let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, shaking his head. “Didn’t let myself believe it. Thought it was too good to be true.”

Nik took a step closer, his gaze locked on Price’s. “And now?”

“Now...” Price hesitated for only a second before he continued, his voice quieter. “Now I don’t know what to say.”

Nik laughed softly, the sound rumbling through the cool air. “You do not have to say anything, Johnathan. You never were one for words anyway.”

Before Price could respond, Nik closed the last bit of distance between them, reaching out to gently cup the side of Price’s face. His touch was warm, grounding, and Price’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“For once,” Nik murmured, his voice low, “just let yourself feel.”

And Price did.

He leaned into Nik’s touch, feeling the tension that had been coiled so tightly inside him finally unwind. He wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, they were kissing—slow, soft, and filled with the weight of everything they hadn’t said. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t hurried. It was patient, as though they had all the time in the world.

And in that moment, it felt like they did.

---

When they returned to base, Price expected things to go smoothly and quietly.

He was wrong.

The second they stepped back inside, Soap was waiting for them in the hallway, leaning casually against the wall, clearly having been waiting for their return.

“Well, well, well,” Soap drawled, his smirk impossible to miss. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Price shot him a withering glare, but Soap wasn’t deterred. In fact, he looked even more pleased with himself. “So,” he continued, crossing his arms, “how was it, Cap? Finally kiss the bloke?”

Nik, ever the devil, grinned at Soap, unbothered by the teasing. “Let me just say it was worth the wait.”

Price groaned, feeling a flush creeping up the back of his neck. “I swear to God, Nik...”

“Oh, relax, Cap. You’re too easy,” Soap laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Just glad you finally did somethin’ about it. We were all gettin’ tired of waiting.”

“We?” Price arched an eyebrow. “Who’s ‘we,’ exactly?”

As if on cue, Gaz and Ghost appeared down the hallway, exchanging knowing glances. Gaz grinned when he saw them, giving a little nod of approval. “Took you long enough, Captain. We were all starting to think it’d never happen.”

Ghost, though silent, tilted his head in a way that made it clear he knew exactly what had gone down. His eyes flicked from Price to Nik, and for a moment, there was an amused glint behind the balaclava.

Price sighed, running a hand over his face. “Christ. You lot don’t miss a thing, do you?”

“Not a damn thing, Cap,” Gaz said with a grin. “And trust me, we’re happy for you both.”

“Yeah,” Soap added, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “You deserve this, Cap. Both of you.”

Nik gave Price a sidelong glance, his grin warm and full of affection. “Looks like your boys approve.”

Price rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “Yeah, well, don’t expect me to thank them for it.”

But the truth was, as much as the teasing was relentless, Price felt something else beneath it—a quiet approval, a sense of contentment that settled into his chest. His team was more than just soldiers; they were his family. Price allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could have all of it.

Nik. The team. The future.

It wasn’t just a dream anymore.

It was real.

[simp-ly-writes]

Office Love (pt.3)

Can be read as a standalone. What if you quit one day and became an author instead? What would make your paths cross again and would you go back to the Vee's, to Vox?

Pairing: Vox x ex-employee!Reader

Warnings: 2155 words emotional angst, mention of blood and canon-typical language.

A/N: okay, maybe this will be the last chapter.... hahha! (thank you all for the support!)

Masterlist | Taglist | un-edited.

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist (PT.2)

"I quit!" you yell, ripping pieces of your hair out in frustration, as you shove your belongings into a cardboard box from around your office. Vox stands there shocked in the doorframe before quietly closing the door behind himself, moving to stand in front of your desk as he leans forward into your personal space.

"You what?" Vox asks with a low voice, you hear the wood of the desk creak from underneath his vicious grip yet you do not allow his threats to get to you. His screen threatens to blue as black and white bars appear where his mouth usual is projected.

You throw a finger towards his face before shoving him out of the way, box in arms as you kick the door open and storm down the hall, Box-tie now undone and sleeves rolled up, Vox chases after you, heart racing as you near the elevator.

One of Vox's assistants comes running up the stairs, back early from a meeting with Velvette, her mouth opens and closes as she whips her head between the two of you. Vox's hands are bloody, bits of wood are stuck in his palms while he shouts after your departing form. Numerous cubical workers look up from their stations at the noise.

"Amanda!" You turn on your heel, eyeing the woman and the buzzing phone in your hand, you feel the one in your own doing the same. Dropping the box at your feet, you quickly open the device as Vox debates weather or not to use his powers on you, they would only hate you more if they found out you did...

Your phone was blowing up with various texts in the group chat. Valentino and Velvette were sending a waterfall of messages, your phone was heating up between your hands as did the stare from a quickly approaching Vox. Clicking the phone off even though your heart ached form reading the prior messages, you threw the phone towards Amanda who scrambled to catch the device in time.

"You are in charge!"

"W-What?" Amanda looks up from the phone with wide eyes before beginning to protest, "No, no, no what are you doing! I don't have a death wish- wait, where the fuck are you going?"

"I quit," you say with a wide smile, picking up the box just as the elevator pings open. Velvette and Valentino stumble out and in this commotion and the various shouts of your protesting co-workers. "You what?!" the other two Vee's shout as Vox shoves them aside, stopping the elevator, leaving you stuck as Amanda blocks the stairwell.

"Whoever bought out your contract, I will pay double- fuck it, triple. You just tell me what the hell is going on," Vox voices out, looking down at you. Velvette stands beside, "You would be stepping back on your career if you went with the other guys, stick with us-"

Your smile turns to a large scowl as you shove Amanda aside, whispering a sorry while handing her your agenda from the top of your box as Vox rips the book out of her hands, following you down the stairs, only stopping to shout down to you, "Tell me, please darling. What has you like this? You are not one to quit just like this..."

You huff out, continuing to stomp your way down the flights, "Thats the thing, Mr. Vox." You start saying as the TV man's heart aches at the title and tone. "It's been a long time coming, I like working for you, shit- I LIKED YOU! But I can't live like this! I can't live with having to be bossed around the clock, in and out of the office. It feels like I never got the opportunity to switch off, to take a moment to step-back and freeze, breath, and enjoy those nights with you. I'm just so tried, I'm done boss. Please..." your voice trails off as you reach the final flight of stairs.

Vox had moved through the wired security cameras in the area to stand just behind you. His hand started to move towards you, wanting to pull you closer to him for one last time yet his hand died at your tired stare, your energetic and playful mask slipping as he cursed to himself. I should have know, the lack of touches, lunch breaks, shitty pranks...

He watches as you exit the building and the camera's flashing wildly in his face. Velvette is spamming call after call, he feels himself drowing in the dull buzz that rings in his ears, deciding to walk up the various flights of stairs in his thoughts before Valentino pulls him back into their apartment.

"Okay, Vox-baby," Velvette snaps, eyes casting between the viral #SingleV covering her home page and the sullen-faced overlord. "What the fuck did you do?"

Vox only shakes his head, continuing to internally curse himself internally as Valentino blows a cloud of smoke in his direction. "I warned you, pleasure and business do not mix unless you are in my neck-of-the-wood, darling~"

"Fuck you, Val," Vox states while kicking off his dress-shoes and throwing off his vest. Valentino only chuckles before a sadness finds it way across his spider-like features, "I will miss them truthfully, they complete our little team here but oh well, that Amanda bitch will do just as fine I'm sure. Do you think I could borrow them for a shoot?"

"Do whatever you want," Vox states before teleporting himself into your shared room, his face falling into your spot as he wallows. Velvette and Valentino look between one another with worried glances, this was not good for business.

--

↳ In the next few tears you would to take up work under a pen-name, becoming a famous author under one of Hells biggest publishers. You kept an anonymous identity, only sending your assistants under strict contracts to meetings- worried that a certain group of overlords would still be hot on your heels

↳ You had secretly kept in contact with Amanda, having become close friends when she gained time off work, updating you on everything going in and out of the Vee empire

↳ Amanda told you that she barley saw Vox, he would make his public appearances for cable television networks and Velvettes publications yet various gossip websites just as Amanda admitted to you- he kept to himself

↳ On her first week of being fill-in you, she stated how many times Vox would unconsciously yell out your name from his office with a hand open and spot cleared on his desk. Your heart ached at this information and yet these growing pains only got worse as she told you more and more throughout the years.

↳ Amanda was getting sick of always being compared to you, for good work that was never enough and bad work that you wouldn't dare present to him. You, you, you, in everyone's minds within that building as you hugged the poor girl who cried and whispered about quitting as well

↳ You ended up offering her a position with you and soon you both were never apart. Your next book release was your biggest hit yet, your mailbox was stuffed full with various offers yet your hands shook at the triple V emblem pressed onto a pad of paper

--

Calling on of your assistants in, their jacket flapped behind them with the speed as they tipped their hat to you with a grin, "What can I help with you boss?" "Be a doll and call the Vee's on my behalf- I would love for my book to go to the silver-screen!" you announce as editors cheer behind you

Smiling while popping a bottle on your balcony, your thumb rubs over Vox's signature with a smile, the various times you had to forge this exact print. A knock on the french doors behind you has your wine threatening to rock over the side of your glass as you allow Amanda to join you

Pouring out an extra glass for her, you nod through the daily report and all the answers your assistants have provided in their meetings, yet your eyebrows rise as she slows her speech and her voice becomes higher pitched. "Just get to it dear," you wave a hand at her while taking a sip out of your glass as Amanda chugs her own and you chuckle lightly at the performance. "Mr. Vox refused to talk to me or any of the other assistants- he insisted on talking to the author directly for their "creative input" or something like that"

Shaking your head with a small smile, you whisper control freak, underneath your breath as Amanda throws her head back in laughter before agreeing, "A pity he won't be talking to me still... in the morning call back and say you are reading from a script I have provided." Amanda nods her head before calling you both inside for dinner.

--

↳ The next morning when you are preparing yourself for a first date back on the town, your robe is falling off your shoulder as you squint into the misty mirror while addressing your hair. Your record player sings a tune from the attached bedroom as you hum along

↳ Soon a pair of footsteps are calmly walking into your room as you call out from the washroom, cursing softly about product falling int your eye, "you look wonderful," Vox claims with a breathy tone as you freeze in your spot, craning your neck to the side to observe the man leaning against the door frame, "as wonderful as I dream of and remember each and every day."

↳ You are unknowing of how to feel, a cocktail brewed in your system of perfectly mixed horror and affection. The line just threatening to be shoved. "Hello, Mr. Vox" you state with a professional smile watching as Vox's eyes keep flickering to your exposed skin

↳ A rapid pair of footsteps and hurried breathing call from the other side of your door, "I tried to stop them boss!" Amanda cries out as you yell back, "Its alright dear, I have things handled from here- tell Evan to take his lunch early today!" "Will do!"

↳ "Quite the company you have built here..." "Yes, and I am quite proud of my work as well if you are ever wondering for my return still," you voice while shoving the man aside, walking into your closet to the various suits that line the walls. You feel Vox's stare on you as he swallows loudly and strides after you, sitting on a bench within the large room

↳ "Please, baby," Vox calls to you, his palm facing upwards atop his thigh. "Please come back, you don't have to work, fuck lift a finger, I-I..." Vox's voice cracks as you pan your eyes over to him, "We are going to be working together, are we not?" you question with a raised brow

↳ Vox stumbles to reply quick, "Ah, Y-Yes, we are- I just... I miss you, miss us-darling-I am in love with you," "Vox" you reply in a breathy tone, dropping the shoes you were torn between wearning as you walk to stand in front of the man. His hands ache to pull you closer to him as you notice this pain flickering in his wires and hold his hands

↳ "Vox-dear, I love you too- just not enough to go back to us being like that, I need this film, Vox. I don't need a relationship with wires attached again..." "Well it's a good thing that Velvette is going to be head of production and producer with you as director of course. I have no hands on his project," he states while squeezing your hands.

↳ "you drive a hard deal," you tease out, dropping his hands to sit beside him, leaning your head against your shoulder as you hum out in contemplation, looking at your fingernails that deserve a new design. "I will need a promise on your side" "Anything." Vox states while resting a hand against your knee, "promise me that if I spend another night with you that we will be equals when the sun rises each morning."

↳ "Thats it?" Vox says as sigh out heavily and begin to stand, rolling your eyes, "No, No, No! That I can defiantly do, yes, yes, yes," he says while grabbing your hips, pulling you back down to him. Twisting to place your hand in his, you both shake on the deal with a laugh before a horrifyed assistant of yours comes stumbling into the room like a deer in headlights, "Get the fuck out," Vox yells in their face, chuckling as they flee and you slap his chest, "Don't talk to my employees like that Mr." You laugh, watching as his hands rise from your hips to up as if he were getting arrested

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist (PT.2)

↳ Taglist: @jtcat305 @amarokofficial

[n-evermores]

#1 Baby, It's Cold Outside

【１２　Ｄａｙｓ　ｏｆ　Ａｌｄｅｎ　Ｐａｒｋｅｒ】

#2 , #3, #4, #5

Pairing: Alden Parker x f!reader (fluff)

Summary: One safehouse, no heater, and one bed. I suppose Parker will have to not only protect you from whoever is trying to kill you, but keep you warm too.

Word Count: 1300+

Warnings: None really, just Parker fighting for his life at the end

A/N: This could have been the smuttiest of smut I've ever written, but I decided to keep it PG. I know...a crime. Anyway, send me your favorite Christmas song or a prompt and I'll add it to my list. My anons are turned back on for those of you who are shy lol.

You wanted to say this was the worst Christmas yet, but honestly it was almost better than going visit your family for the holidays just to have them wonder why you’re not married yet. 

“No boyfriend?” Your old aunt would ask. 

“I wanna see a ring on that finger next Christmas.” Your uncle would say. 

It was frustrating how they assumed you should just be married, yet they didn’t realize must now demanding your job was. Not to mention, how dangerous. The predicament you were in right now was proof of that. 

“I’m sorry you have to spend Christmas like this.” Parker said as he poked at the fire. You watched him as he now warmed his hands in front of the flames, garnering all the warmth the wooden hearth had to offer. 

You sat in the small armed chair adjacent to the fireplace with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders and a hot cup of cocoa in your hands. “It’s you I feel bad for.  Weren’t you going to spend Christmas with your dad?”

Parker sighed, “Yeah, but he’ll spend it with my sister instead. He’ll be fine.” He noticed you weren’t convinced and he cracked a smile, “Besides, I get to spend Christmas with my favorite agent,” He paused, “Don’t tell the others.”

You chuckled and mimicked a zipping motion across your lips, “Not a word.” You glanced around and your smile faded, “But still. No heat in this cabin? Possible psycho trying to kill me. The stakes are high, unlike the temperature.” You closed the blanket tighter around you as your body shivered.

Parker noticed and swept over to the bed to grab another blanket and walked over to wrap it around you. He lowered himself in front of you to tighten the blanket around your chest and looked up at you through his lashes, “I’m not going to let this guy hurt you. I promise.”

Your eyes gentled on his face and you smiled, “I know. But I can handle myself. This safehouse in the middle of nowhere is unnecessary.”

“He tried to kill you twice. He sent multiple threats to you—“ 

You cut him off, “I know, I know.” you shook your head dismissively. 

“Just let us keep you safe. Let me.” He implored, hazel eyes pleading with you. You relented a sigh before giving a small nod of assent. “Good. Now you’re in my bed.” He said, motioning for you to get up.

“You’re not sleeping in this chair.” You countered, “I’ll take the chair. It's the least I can do.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. You take the bed.”

“I don’t think your bones can handle sleeping in this chair all night. How are you going to keep me safe If you’re stiff like the tin man?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Are you calling me old?”

You felt your cheeks flush and you gave him a wry smile, “If the shoe fits.”

“For that,” He pointed to the door, “You can sleep outside in the snow.”

“But I’ll freeze to death.” You pointed out and Parker rolled his eyes. He grabbed you by the waist and picked you up easily, settling you near the fire without any difficulty. You felt your cheeks flush at the way he handled you. 

“Now. You take the bed. I’ll be fine. Besides, the chair is closer to the fire and someone needs to watch it all night.”

You wanted to protest but instead you tossed one of the blankets over to Parker and trudged over to the bed. You didn’t realize how exhausted you were until you felt the soft mattress beneath you. It was late and you could see the moonlight filtering through the window, dust particles dancing in the beam of light. The wind billowed against the old door, the hinges rattling almost hauntingly as snow fell in droves. 

You snuggled beneath the blankets and glanced over at Parker in the chair. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He responded softly and you closed your eyes, your body shivering despite the pile of blankets over you. 

“I can hear your teeth chattering from over here.” He said suddenly.

“It’s so cold.” You curled into yourself, pulling the covers up to your chin. He didn’t exactly look warm either, and you could tell he was uncomfortable in the chair. “Parker, don’t take this the wrong way or anything. But maybe you should join me.”

He opened his eyes and looked at you through the fire lit room. “You mean sleep in the bed with you?”

“I won’t say a word to the others if you don’t. I’m cold, and you’re cold. Isn’t it like survival 101 or something?” 

“If we were to go by the book, we would have to remove our clothing and that is not going to happen.” 

You were thankful for the dark because you knew the embarrassment was evident on your face. “Just come sleep in the bed. We’d both be warmer. And less likely to get sick.”

He considered your idea. Finally, he stood and began walking over to you, “Alright, but we keep our clothes on.” He chuckled, making light of the situation as usual. 

You laughed before scooting over to give him room, “Deal.” you said as he crawled into the bed with you. He settled in and you turned to face him. It would be a lot more effective if you cuddled, but you didn’t want to embarrass him or make him uncomfortable. He watched you shivering next to him and he reached out to wrap his hands around yours, rubbing them together to keep you warm. 

“You’ll warm up soon.”

“Next time my life is being threatened, we’re picking a safehouse with a working heater.” 

“Hm, I  can agree to that.” Parker said and you instinctively shifted a little closer to him. You could tell he was just as cold, but a lot better at hiding it. 

“Parker, I’m really cold. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.” You admitted, your hands were the only part of you warming up, and that was because Parker was still rubbing your hands together in his.

You could see his brows crease and his eyes flit over your face as if he was trying to make a decision about something. “We don’t tell a soul about this. They’ll hold it over our heads endlessly.” He said as he pulled you closer. Your breath hitched as his hand gripped your waist and slid you across the small gap between you until you were flush against him. You instantly felt relief as the warmth radiating from him slowly began to warm your insides and you couldn’t help but tangle yourself around him. 

He groaned slightly, “Easy.” He chided lightly as you wrapped your leg around his hip in a position that was quite erotic in any other situation. 

“Sorry. I’m just so cold.” You apologized, but didn’t regret it one bit. The trembling began to subside, and you felt your insides grow hotter from the contact with his body.

“I know, me too.” He admitted before tightening his arms around you. You buried your face in his neck and clung to him like a koala bear. Honestly you couldn’t deny how good it felt. You couldn’t remember the last time someone held you this way. It was comforting knowing it was Parker of all people. You trusted him with your life, and you knew he would keep you safe in more ways than one.

You could feel his heart pounding inside his chest. It was beating a lot faster than what was considered normal. You lifted your head slightly to look at his face, trying to make sure nothing was amiss. His expression was impassive except for his shaky breathing which seemed to echo throughout the small space. 

“Parker, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He replied hoarsely. “Just go to sleep.” He demanded lightly and you buried your face in his chest and closed your eyes. 

“Merry Christmas.” You murmured into his grey hoodie.

He didn’t answer at first, but you felt his hand soothe over your hair and a very light kiss placed on top of your head, “Merry Christmas. Y/N.”  He whispered, drawing comforting circles into your back.

You were no longer cold. In fact, you felt hot from the almost tantalizing way your bodies touched. If you weren't being chased by a raging lunatic, this Christmas would most definitely be at the top of your list.

[chronicbeans]

Wally and a Puppeteer Reader (part 5)

The silly man's actions are finally being noticed by the higher-ups oh no

Tw: Obsessive Behaviors, Scopophobia/Eye Imagery, Idol Worshipping, Mentions of Death Threats, Mentions of Stalking

🎥 You look around at everyone that the boss has gathered. It is practically the whole camera crew, all of the directors, all the puppeteers, and the few extra voice actors. The boss, who prefers to just be called 'Boss' by their workers, is standing in the center of the crowd they have gathered, looking at everyone with a keen eye.

🎥 Finally, they begin to speak. "I am sure everyone knows why we have gathered here today? I have heard your complaints. The eerie letters and drawings (Y/N) has been getting, Eddie's puppet having a bunch of colorful envelopes dumped on him by the time we return in the morning to work for three nights in a row. I have even heard that Frank's puppet has had a whole dictionary placed on top of him. You know, the one we use to try to come up with rhymes or ways to explain topics to kids? I have heard your pleas, so I have brought us all here to come up with a solution that would satisfy us all."

🎥 Eddie's puppeteer looks around, an anxious look in their eyes, before they raise their hand. The boss calls on them, prompting them to stand and speak. Their tone is frantic as they explain "I am most worried about the... the odd messages. Recently, it isn't just (Y/N) who has been getting them! I've gotten some odd ones, requesting me to mail things to people. They always come with an extra note that's meant for the person who I need to send it to... I did so, because the notes addressed to me contained these... Grizzly threats against me..."

🎥 Wally's voice actor stands up suddenly, pointing to the puppeteer. They speak in a harsh tone, asking "Did you get any mail for me? Any notes addressed to me?" The person in question simply nods, muttering "Yeah... I just leave them by the door to your recording booth."

🎥 The voice actor continues, their eyes moving to the boss, a glare in them "I TOLD you, Boss! Now I have the proof! Whoever this little freak is that's been bothering us has been sending notes to practically everyone here! Every morning so far, ever since a few weeks ago, I've had these envelopes outside my recording booth. When I opened them, they were filled with horrible threats against me AND my family! I don't know how they found out about my kids, but they did, and they have been threatening them! Sometimes, there are even drawings taped all along the walls of my booth that, although scribbles, I can tell are meant to be me or my family dying."

🎥 You slunk in your seat as more and more people begin talking at once, their voices growing louder and louder the longer they talk. From letters to drawings, everyone has something to pitch in. Someone even mentions how they had paint dumped onto them, hence the red stain on the carpet by the filing cabinets. Eyes being painted on the walls by the large Home set is a new one, but not necessarily something you are shocked by. A lot of your drawings recently include eyes, which only makes your paranoid feelings of being watched so much worse... The boss' eyes widen as they raise their hands, shouting "Everyone calm down! This will be dealt with! That's why we're here, right? Stay calm!"

🎥 After a few deep breaths, you raise your hand. After being called on, you ask "I told you to check the cameras and ask the security guards. Have you found anything?" The boss grows quiet, before scratching the back of their head and answering your question "Well... The guards have gone missing. The only remaining one quit, saying there was a ghost or something. The cameras didn't hold much useful information. They didn't show anything, but I have noted that as of a few months ago, they have been turning off around the time that filming stops. The tech guys have been on the case, but found nothing wrong, so far."

🎥 You are about to ask another question, when Wally's voice actor speaks up again, their tone just as agitated as before "Why not have us all take a holiday while this is sorted out? We have no big projects set up, just some regular episodes! The public has plenty of episodes to keep them satisfied right now! I'm sure like... Three days won't harm you! A group of volunteers and I could just stay overnight to try to catch this freak and figure out why they are doing this! Less money from your pockets from property damage, hiring new security guards on the spot from desperation and having them fail horribly, and halfhearted repairs to the cameras." They then look around, asking "Who's with me on this idea? The boss has still got to hire guards and fix the cameras, but we can rid ourselves of this nuisance faster!"

🎥 After a few moments of silence, some people from the crowd raise their hands. You recognize them as the puppeteers for Eddie, Poppy, Julie, and Frank. There are also a few camera operators, and one director. You are about to raise your hand, when Wally's voice actor stops you. They pat you on the shoulder, saying "Look, I know you wanna get rid of this guy as much as everyone else, but I must say... You are in the most danger here, in my opinion. Whoever this is, they are after you the most. You are their target. I may not necessarily like you, but I am not heartless enough to let you come waltzing in here at the dead of night to confront this person. Plus, you got a kid you're caring for, right? You should just get some rest, if the boss agrees with this."

🎥 As all eyes turn towards the boss. They clearly are conflicted. If the rumors being spread around the set are true, they are a bit of a penny pincher, willing to do anything to make a quick buck and not lose any money in the process. However, it seems like their better conscience gets the best of them as they say "Fine. I'll give you all a holiday. For the people who decide to show up, take care of the puppets. I don't want to return to see them in bad shape. Keep me updated. You have THREE days to find and catch this person. No more, no less. This meeting is over. Have a nice holiday."

[angelic-android]

Is Valentino being a moth a specific punishment? (cw sexual abuse, Valentino stuff)

(I shouldn't even have to say this but I've been on the internet long enough: obviously this isn't written to apologise any of Valentino's actions, pointing out evil people's suffering doesn't justify anything and is just for the fun of analysing)

I'm probably late to realise this but if the theory of some sinners getting a punishment (beyond being sent to Hell) is correct, Valentino's punishment is very likely his saliva/smoke being an addictive aphrodisiac. As far as we know, some sinner's physical forms are a mocking representation of what they were in their lives (e.g. Angel Dust's whole family being spiders) or a reference to how they died (Alastor turning into a deer) and since some moths have the ability to produce aphrodisiacs too, I would count that trait as part of Valentino's physical form. (We admittedly don't know much about other moth demons, Vaggie not being a canon moth demon anymore and all, though).

But hey, you might think, isn't his saliva something Valentino uses to his advantage? Isn't it exactly what he uses to control Angel Dust (and others)? How can that be a punishment?

Well, imagine him wanting a relationship with literally anyone. Valentino is entirely unable (whether he is unwilling or not isn't important here, both takes are very interesting) to have a close physical/romantic/sexual relationship with anyone because

1) whoever he kisses cannot consent in any meaningful way -> even if he cared about how people he sleeps with feel about doing so, he can't know for sure if they really want to or if he made them want it

2) while we don't know how much time/use it takes to become addicted to Valentino's aphrodisiac, we can safely assume that it will happen sooner or later (perhaps I'm interpreting the Poison song a bit too literally, sue me, but) -> if someone wants to spend time with him or be intimate with him he literally cannot know if it's because they like him or because they need another hit

3) other people who are affected by or addicted to his saliva (and with that, to intimacy with him) might not care if Valentino himself is willing to engage in anything with them -> Valentino's demonic traits put both him and others at a higher risk for sexual abuse

I can absolutely see his saliva being an initial punishment that he managed to use to his advantage. Depressingly, those features probably made him into the monster he is now.

Anyways that's it. Thank you for coming to my Ted talk. Please let me know your thoughts and theories. Please don't send me death threats for looking at a horrible character as a three dimensional being.

[brucewaynehater101]

Inspired by "Jason adopts Tim" fics on AO3, prompts by puppetmaster13u & others on here and that one AO3 fic where because Bruce told Jason pre-death he can take whatever is his and Robin is his it's fair game to nab Tim and the AO3 News Article fic where Red Hood decides the best revenge is tricking the world into thinking he's the Third Robin's dad, some of your posts—

—and my love for inhuman folks

Jason resurrects and he isn't human anymore. Dealer's pick on what he is precisely but he has become much more wary of just how fragile the lives of humans are

How fragile his own life may still be

+ he's got trauma piled on top of his fresh instincts and confusion on what happened after his death

Thus when carving his place as Red Hood, he is more vigilant in making Crime Alley a place where people don't just survive, but live and maybe even thrive.

Putting down threats like predators for good in death. But doing so too much will get Batman breathing down his neck

So he takes some inspiration from Batman after his death and before Tim to inflict some fates worse than death, and rubs it in the Bat's face whenever they face of against each other. "It's not killing B"

He tries—and due to trauma—fails to bring himself to kill Joker. Which crushes him with every crime the Joker (that he in a fucked up sense allowed) commits onwards

Onto the next best thing, acquiring wealth and asking for public donations all over Gotham to build up a sufficient bounty on Joker's head to draw in the most competent killers of them all

Whoever can kill and bring the Joker's remains as evidence gets the money, and the bounty price builds up over time

He'll even add more to the bounty time to time

Jason overworks himself on his Crime Alley to the point his own men compare him to a more benevolent Batman, one who doesn't need an emotional support child

"Could you elaborate on that? I had to spend time out of Gotham for a time and don't know what happened during that span of time"

Batman gave Robin to another

But he didn't revoke Jason's ownership, did he?

Humans are oh so fragile

He knows from experience

In classic not-human logic, that makes the new Baby Bird his now, no? Especially with Batman so incompetent as to depend on him

Titans Tower is not found with Tim bloody and broken

Titans Tower is found without Timothy Drake, and countless leads implicating several yet all seemingly frame job dead-ends

Penguins and Red Hood and Luthor. Joker and Two-Face and beyond

Red Hood is found in a meeting room by his men with a Third Robin—the Robin the city owes guilt and more to—in the Crimelords arms

"B always said that I could take what's mine whenever I want, and he never said it never extended to his . . . My kid. He's mine now . . . "

Words spreads in Gotham City. It spreads indeed

It's fitting, it's fitting. Inheritor of another's name, this Robin, this Red Hood is

Joker Junior and every other tragedy only solidifies Jason's resolve to keep and care for the kid

It's funny. Jason has barely felt human since he woke up from death, since he started overworking himself for his people

Now, with a baby brother in his life? With somebody to care for under his roof? Those domestic times he swore were killed alongside the Second Robin?

This is bliss

Jason feels a weight off his chest when his Merry Men sends a message that the Joker is dead, and the bounty has been sent to the killer

When Jason discovers the Fourth Robin, too dead and revived? when he finds her alive at all? Girl is getting snatched and doted on, especially if he finds her after she's had her baby

And I wouldn't be surprised if he tracked down her kid so she could have raise her baby herself and provided all the resources and support nessecery for it

[Daughter and grandchild acquired!]

When Damian comes and the Robin mantle is passed down onto him— yoinked by Jason again!

Damian is fuming because he wasn't told that this was part of being Robin!

=======

"If you're right that Batman is trapped in the timestream, that everyone is wrong about him being dead, before presenting this to the Justice League I think this should be a family discussion.

"Because I know otherwise I'd do everything in my power to let him die for real. Ensure nobody is the wiser that Bat could've been saved.

"And at least one of the Bats will disagree with me. And this is a scenario where everybody needs to have their input accounted for."

Oooh! All of this is fantastic, but I especially love the end.

The end combines a healthier approach to the BruceQuest with a trope I love: leaving Bruce in the timestream because fuck that guy. Regardless of what they decide, I'm glad Jason at least indicated it was an option.

I wonder where Dick and Cass are in all of this. I'm also curious about how Jason would react to the We Are Robins movement. Does he adopt every Robin or just those acknowledged by Batman?

[mohabbaat]

how tf is taylor going to sing "but daddy i love him" (blech) at the eras tour like lmao r you really gonna talk about how ur fans are vipers when they paid for your concert? and the hypocrisy that she's totally fine with her fans sending hate and death threats to her exes and each of their exes and even innocent bystanders like joe's costars BUT the second they start calling her out for dating a racist islamophobe weirdo shes gonna get mad? like the only one bitching and moaning here is taylor herself lol. its even worse because she pushes herself into feminist conversations and movements (TIMES person of the year cover for #MeToo) and hails herself as a social justice icon while still refusing to speak up about actual issues while associating happily with terrible people like matty healy and jackson mahomes

bro her fans don't even care. she literally said they bitch and moan constantly, and most of them are like "queen!!! go of!!! you deserve to date whoever you want!!!", like you do realise she is dissing you right?? because you dared to call her out for dating a racist, creepy weirdo??? also, like even after so much backlash she didn't break up with him by choice. he ghosted her. if he hadn't, they would still be together. she truly is a poster child of white feminism who does not care about her poc fans and people need to realise that as soon as possible.