#woman's literally begging to be put out of her misery

[cometblaster2070]

Speaking of Ashlynn having to deal with the Gay Bullshit, I really don’t think we can leave out Raven (and Rosabella, who we’ll discuss later) who is rooming with prime gay bs, you know?

I mean, Raven’s already had it up to here with talks about destiny and fulfilling it and shit. She’s heard Apple go on and on about how their story is supposed to play out.

I can’t even imagine how many times Apple must’ve recounted how she would be lying in her glass coffin with crying dwarves and animals around her, before Daring would heroically sweep in and save her with his true loves kiss.

And then comes Dragon Games. And Apple gets poisoned. Daring fails to wake her up. Darling Charming, his sister, is the one to break her curse.

Oh, good god, Raven thinks, horrified, I’m never going to hear the end of this.

And I would like to bet good money that she doesn’t.

Raven, who is getting a minimum of 30 minutes of sleep, hearing Apple talk about how she doesn’t like Darling that way, and sure, maybe she thought Darling was like really pretty, but not in that sense; she didn’t like girls, promise! And it’s not like Darling was really her true love, even though she didn’t mind the idea all too much and-

And Raven Queen sits there, with bloodshot eyes, an aching head, and a heart too kind to tell her confused friend to shut up and let her sleep at 5 am after talking about her crush for 3 hours, while saying she doesn’t like them, wondering what she did to deserve this.

Raven can’t look Darling in the eye for 3 days straight after she hears Apple talk about strong and muscular Darling is for a good hour or so.

Once Apple finally realizes she might actually, really, like Darling, I’d like to imagine it gets much worse for Raven. She contemplates if jumping out the window would be less painful then to hear Apple gush about Darling one second and then say how she doesn’t deserve her in the span of 2 minutes.

Apple: Oh, Raven, she’s just so wonderful. If only I could be good enough for her, then I-

Raven, looking ready to commit murder: Apple White, you beautiful, fucking angel, if you don’t go tell this girl that you like her in the next 10 minutes, I am going to end up marrying her.

[shotmrmiller]

you know what yeah! make the boys be obsessed with reader and reader just dodging their attempts like “ew no military boys are huge cheaters no thanks” and they just short of getting on their knees begging her to give them a chance and reader just like “yeah right you just want a quick fuck and then disappear huh? loser” (johnny really loves how he’s being ignored and ridiculed by this woman, it’s different from when all the women in the bar always seek him out or gave him attention back, he’s likes a challenge)

true!

it's the feisty reader who sees the boys as nothing but a fat cock (fuck the military is literal here) and they're in love cuz they're the ones who always fall for the one that gives em even a crumb of attention and ofc reader is the unlucky one.

thought that the big man with the old school beard and fishing hat could use some pussy to put him out of the misery he seems to be in (he's just thinking about how laswell got yoinked right from under his nose) but now he's:

proposing (he's ready to plagiarize your signature on the marriage certificate)

moving you to his nice house by the lake (away from it all. he's all you'll ever need.)

children (he'll grumble but your cat(s) can come)

etc.

and johnny def has a thing for being degraded. he gets treated with respect at work all the time it's nice to see someone's lip curl when he tells them that he's a sergeant.

that disgusted noise they do that comes from the back of the throat shoots straight to his cock i'm afraid. GL getting rid of him, he's like chewed gum to hair.

[maralarsen]

Does he love me? >⁠.⁠<🎀

~Theodore Nott x reader~

WARNING: cursing

Fluff/Little angst

° | friends to lovers| °

° |Summary: Theo starts to be too nice and the reader wants to solve it

° | I'm starting to feel that my stories are boring even though I've only written 3 of them and one of them is supposed to have a sequel

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Who ever thought that the important books would be the highest," I jumped to grab the book on the elixir, but of course like the two attempts before and now I missed. "Sh*t!" I sinned, "pretty girls shouldn't swear."

I turned at the sound of a rather familiar voice. "Theo stop kidding and help me," why am I jumping for a book when he just reaches out and has it right away.

"Try to ask," he said with a smirk.

"I can see how much you enjoy watching me struggle with my height, Mr. Supreme!" but he just smiled and sat down on the nearest chair. He probably won't really help me if I don't ask.

Well, I'm sorry, but I'm not one of "his girls" who will ask him for something. I've known Theo long enough to not be naive that he likes me even though I had him. It's too much to say that I she could admit that at all.

But I'm not going to ask him for one stupid book.

CHAIR.

God, why didn't I think of that sooner. I walked over to the chair that was next to him, on which he was sitting, and moved it to the bookshelf.

"Why don't you just use a wand?" he asked me. "Because I probably forgot it?!" I reached for the book and took it in my hand, "ha, finally!" I raised my hands in the air as a sign of victory and I jumped from my chair to push her to her place.

"What are you planning for the evening?" I turned to face him, "I definitely don't intend to sleep under the image of God." I answered his question truthfully.

I wasn't the type to go to a party and then go to sleep and wake up in someone else's bed in the morning.

"Too bad, I thought you would come today," I raised an eyebrow at him, "and why?" he smiled at me and got up from his chair and slowly walked towards me.

He brushed a stray strand of my (c/h) hair out of my face and tucked it into place, behind my ear. "I don't even know myself, I had a feeling that you would say yes this time," I looked at him in disbelief, I was shocked by his actions.

There was always a friendly atmosphere between us and none of us ever crossed it. Why he suddenly behaves like that is strange to me.

"But as you can see I said no," I pulled away from him and left the library with the book in my hands.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week later:

Interactions with Theo became more and more frequent.

Touching hands more often while walking. Hugging more often when saying goodbye. More frequent peeking during class. And more often compliments.

It didn't bother me because one side of me screamed after every touch of his, but the other warned me against this and shouted to be careful.

But as it usually happens with a teenage girl in love, the first page won me over. I longed for his touch, for his caress, for every compliment. He was literally making me a desperate pile of misery. Well, I didn't show anything on the outside. At least I tried, I don't know if it really worked.

I wanted to talk to him about this. Because all he gave me was a sweep. I didn't know what to expect from him. Is he serious or just kidding?

This is how I ended up in Pansy's room. "Pansy please give me some advice," I begged her with desperation in my voice. "I think you should go see him…ouch!" she tried to give me advice while doing her makeup for today's Slytherin party.

Unfortunately, this combination ended with a pencil sticking into her eye. "Are you okay?" "Ow. Hey, I just pricked myself, shit." she put the pencil down and sat on the bed next to me. "Listen, go after him," "but what if he..." I started playing with the laces on my sweatshirt.

"No problem! F*ck you woman, you're only young once, so f*ck him if you love him. And also everything points to the fact that he loves you too!" I looked at her.

"But what if I don't love him, what if it's just an infatuation that we'll regret later?!" I threw up my hands. That's what I was most afraid of, that it was just an infatuation, nothing more than a little romance. And I will hurt him and our friendship.

“Listen, (y/n/n)! If you didn't love him and it was just a romance, just an infatuation, you wouldn't be despairing over it now. You wouldn't care. And something tells me he feels the same way. At this time she's always on the astronomical tower smoking." I smiled at her and hugged her.

"Why did I deserve you Pans, thank you!" she grabbed my hands and said: "You'll thank me later now run," definitely I didn't hesitate any longer and ran to the door.

I literally ran through the corridors to get to the astronomical tower as soon as possible and catch him there. When I finally got there, I stopped in front of the stairs. What if he rejects me...NO! Enough of the doubt it's now or never!

I confidently walked up the stairs. I saw him leaning against a pillar smoking. My self-confidence left me the moment he noticed me and put out his cigarette. "What are you doing here?" he asked me. "Theo, we need to talk!" he raised his eyebrows "Did I do something?" Yes you did! I walked closer to him "Damn you realize what you're doing to me. The unexpected affection. Why Theodore, why now. If you just want me in bed then do it right now stop. Because you won't get me there even though I love you so much that I'm afraid to admit it to myself. God, you can't even imagine how much I was bothered by all those girls clinging to you and..." it was so fast that I didn't even have time to react .

One moment he was leaning against a pillar the next his lips were on mine. It was a kiss worth a million unheard words. A kiss that confirmed mutual affection.

He pulled away first with his right hand on my waist and his left on my face. When did he manage to put them there? "F*ck! You don't even realize how long I wanted to kiss you. Feel your lips on mine. I love you. And I'm finally not afraid to admit it. I've loved you since the day I saw you for the first time, even though as an 11-year-old I didn't even realize it and didn't know what love was. Hence all the affection. That's why now. Because when I saw you in that library. That's when I realized that I don't want anyone but you. Only you and your personality." when he spoke, I couldn't believe his words. I had never seen so many emotions in his eyes in my life.

"Theo I don't know what to say," I dreamily looked into his stormy blue eyes.

"Don't say anything just love me. Love me like your life depends on it because I already do," he loves me.

Theodore Nott loves me! Me!

Now I wanted only one thing: "Kiss me." Please!" I begged him. "Are you seriously begging? You (y/n) (y/l)?" "Yes please. And now please do it!" He smirked and his lips met mine, but now with more softness than if they were made of glass and he has to take care of them and protect them so they don't break.

I kissed him back and my hands tangled in his hair and they pulled him closer. He pushed me against the wall in return. I finally felt complete as if I had always belonged in his arms.

I pulled away from his hungry mouth "I love you! Theodore Nott," "I love you too (y /n) (y/l). More than you can imagine," I smiled at him and pressed my forehead to his.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

• English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for the mistakes

• If you have any requests for a story, write to me ☺️

[alicentflorent]

That’s the exact flavor that a lot of Rhaenicents like. Alicent is nothing if she is not begging at Rhaenyra’s feet her being her biggest cheerleader. They don’t actually care about our the character otherwise. They’ve been waiting for Rhaenyra to take Kings landing just they can see Alicent actually on her knees begging her for mercy.

Ultimately most of the blame goes to the writers who turned Alicent into a punching bag and their sole device to project lessons of karma, misogyny and hypocrisy on and not any of the more deserving characters. As proven by the new write up of viserys’s character this season. How do you intentionally show us that he is not only an awful father, but husband and king as well. Have multiple characters think this and completely rewrite history the next season about a man who said “Look me in the eyes” to his 10 year old that literally fucking lost his eye minutes ago. How do you say Alicent had a loving marriage when she dreaded visiting this man at night, went catatonic underneath him and he knows she doesn’t like it, knows she’s absent mentally and he still forces her to look at him while he rapes her?

The writers constant need to put Alicent into her place and then knock her down a few more pegs still. At this point it’s gratuitous and heavy handed. We get it, Alicent is not the right kind of woman. She can’t right a dragon, fight with a sword or shoot a bow. She doesn’t secretly wish she were a knight or a man. She’s not a guys girl. Therefore we shouldn’t root for her. We get it, we got it season 1 pre time skip that saw a completely innocent girl aged 14-18 whose worst crime at the time was gossip, be pimped out by her own father. Married to an old and ailing king who would never love or respect her. Endure his nightly rapes and become a mother at 15 and would spend most of the next 5 years pregnant who would never love his children. Show her support to her ex best friend who has ignored and treated her with hostility for 3 years and be laughed at and treated like an outsider by her husband and his gross child grooming brother who deserves nothing but the worse.

Daemon gets a redemption arc which will only fuel the Stans baby girlification of him while not only will team black hate Alicent, now a lot of team green hate her too. Opening her AND Olivia up for more misogyny and hate.

Those “take all of their misery and give it to______” memes are popular in this fandom but the writers really took that to heart. They take everyone’s misery and gives it to Alicent. Take an absolutely horrible character, take the horrible shit that they do and pay it back to Alicent 10 fold.

Take the worst man you know- a murderer, a child groomer, a proud misogynist, a woman beater. Have this man be directly responsible for Alicent’s 4 year old Grandson’s murder but make it Alicent’s fault for having sex with the man she’s had feelings for since she was 14 years old. She has this consensual, pleasurable sexual relationship- her first consensual relationship with this man who is devoted to her. A sexual abuse victim of 2 men finally feels comfortable enough with a man that she has sex with him with no clothes on, in the daylight and at night- sometimes in the same day. Shes not going away in her head during. She’s not being blackmailed. It’s not without religious guilt but it’s something she wants, she even initiates and takes lead.

They take this relationship, these consensual encounters with the man who she considers her “Lover” and they flip it on them, on her. They completely change the scene from its book counterpart and make it her fault because she was being a “whore” and a “hypocrite”. She was having sex while her Grandson was being murdered- an event she had no idea that was going to happen. It’s framed in a way that it’s her fault. Not Daemon’s, not B & C’s, not Aemond’s, not Viserys for planting the seeds for 2 decades- longer than that when you consider all the times we welcomed Daemon back at court after doing things like grooming his daughter and murdering his wife (and people say Alicent covered up for Aegon? What would they expect to happen when Daemon gets away with everything including murder? When Ironrod is the master of laws and can barely muster up respect for Alicent, wtf do TB think he would’ve done with Aegon? Castrated? The wall? Lmao, Alicent’s slapping, yelling at him and attempted disowning is more of a punishment than those men would give to Prince Aegon Targaryen who they were all planning a usurpation for)

It’s something Alicent needs to feel guilty for while the responsible parties are either unaffected or given scenes to make them sympathetic or a redemption journey. They keep showing that damn dog but Jaehaerys has become he who shan’t be mentioned.

Helaena has to forgive her mother who apparently nicked one of those glass candles from the Hightower as a small child, taught herself how to use it with that Hightower sorcery, used it to look into the future and saw when, where and how blood and cheese would take place but just decided not to stop it because she had a dick appointment.

Yet she’s coming to Daemon in his 3 eyed Raven dreams to tell him that he knows the role he has to play in saving the world- when he said a few episodes that he would walk away from his family if they loss. He also sent the Blackwoods to rape and pillage the Brackens and other Riverland families. Apparently he is deserving of redemption, for the fans to go “See, he never wanted to rule! He just wanted his family’s love and approval!” “He is in full support of Rhaenyra”

You know who else wanted her family’s love and approval- anybody’s love that she didn’t have to give parts of herself away for? This mildly bitchy woman who is actually one of the softest characters in the series, Alicent fucking Hightower. After her life ended at 14 years old, she’s spent the last 20 years in misery, she’s given all of herself to everyone else. Surely she has redeemed herself for the crime of not being the one to have Aemma sliced open and marrying her daughter’s 14 year old friend. She is the reason that Rhaenyra wasn’t caught off guard and murdered at the order of her father and council. Surely after losing for so long, she’ll get a win and the love she never had but nope, she is never going to get it.

Instead she gives up on her family aside from her daughter and granddaughter (and honestly, I can’t entirely blame her.) instead of just leaving, finding the son she saved and telling him to bow out. She goes to Rhaenyra for no logical reason at all, hands Rhaenyra the castle AND most of the people she loves on a silver platter and gets nothing in return but more humiliation, called a whore again, no guarantee of safety for her daughter, granddaughter or innocent youngest son and a clown nose.

Alicent is smarter than this! Or she was.

The people in the writer’s room hate her so much and that’s why they could never make me hate her.

You’ve summed everything up perfectly! Great point about daemon being given a redemption arc while Alicent is punished by the narrative for not fitting Condal and Hess’ idea of an ideal woman which is super problematic. Good comparison on Alicent covering up Diana’s rape vs Viserys and to a lesser extent, adult Rhaenyra covering up all of daemon’s crimes including Rhea Royce’s murder (and sitting at the table with viserys as he mocked rhea’s family and threatened to take their claim) and Rhaenyra presumably won’t hold him accountable or acknowledge the raping and pillaging daemon arranged in her name and forgive him for also murdering a 4 year old in her name. Alicent was definitely wrong for keeping dyana quiet and not doing more to help her but none of those men on the council including Otto would have done anything to Aegon over the rape. Otto might’ve yelled at him in I’m mad that your choice of victim is speaking out not that you’ve done this terrible thing kind of way. The only time daemon was held accountable was when the riverlords demanded justice for the war crimes and Oscar Tully, a child, ordered daemon to execute the Blackwood who committed those crimes on daemons orders (there’s also a reason we didn’t see the children being killed and women being raped, it’s because it would be harder to view daemon as redeemable just like seeing Aegon’s traumatised, named victim has much more of an impact than if we just heard Erryk say that Aegon sexually assaults serving girls)

Back to Alicent, they can never make me hate her.. if they think a woman needs to be humbled and revert back to her teenage self after a season of what felt like one long humiliation ritual, sex scenes that didn’t make the Final Cut and made Olivia feel uncomfortable and instead of ending all of this in some kind of catharsis for Alicent they have beg for forgiveness and mercy from the other female lead who will call her a whore and a hypocrite to appease fans who have been saying Alicent is a hypocritical judgmental whore who needs to be put in her placefor day one. This meeting with Rhaenyra will lead to the deaths of every single person Alicent loves (her sons, including innocent daeron, her daughter who she spent the season trying to protect, her father, her lover, her brother who is also innocent as in he hasn’t been involved in any of the usurper politics and only seemed to join this war out of duty) and I’m sure they’ll constantly remind the audience that Alicent took down team green and Rhaenyra’s hands will conviently stay relatively clean.

[bullet-prooflove]

You’ve created a monster 👿 and because you told me to request you best believe I’m gonna %1000 come thru! So BETCH I am on my knees begging you to please do a part 2 or better yet even a full update 😆 of your Nero/Cam girl series please! I would love her reaction to him confessing his feelings for her and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WOMAN PLEASE GIVE US THE SMUT WE DESERVE FINALLY!!! You are literally torturing me with these two because every time I read an update you post of them Im left yelling in frustration because the sexual tension is legit torture when you leave us with just a tease of them!!!

So please put me out of my misery and don’t let me endure another moment of torture because I just might break

💛💛💛

Keep up the awesomeness and can’t wait for your next update Queen

Companion piece to Day Off

This did not go the way I planned...

“I love you.” He tells you. “I’ve loved you since the moment we met.”

You don’t believe him; Nero can see it in your expression. You turn your head back towards the sky, your fingertips slipping from his so that your palm comes to rest upon your stomach. There’s a tension in your shoulders that resonates through your entire body.

“Is that what you say to all the other girls?” You ask him, your voice a rasp as you stare up at the clouds. “Is that why they sell themselves for you?”

“What?” He spits the word out like a curse because never in a million years did, he expect this from you.

There’s an agony blossoming in his chest, and he tries to shut it down, to be rational but truly you’ve shaken him. He can’t understand how he could have been so wrong about a person.

“I know when I’m being played Nero.” You say quietly, toying with the silver rings on your fingers. “I know what it means when a man says that he loves you, I know what’s expected in return.”

“That’s not what…” He trails off, his lips clamping together as he forces himself up into a sitting position, his elbows coming to rest on his knees as he inclines his head towards you. “You’re fucked up you know that?”

You lay there still sprawled on the grass; your arm thrown up over your head like in one of your boudoir shots on the website.

So fucking tempting and so fucking infuriating all at the same time.

“Do you think I’d be doing this job otherwise?” You ask him as you flick your sunglasses down from their place on the top of your head so that they cover your eyes. “Do you think I’d be selling myself if I was ‘normal’?”

Something happened to you, he feels it in his bones. Someone turned you out and once that happens you can never go back. You re-live the ways you’ve been used even when you step away from the life, it carves itself into your psyche. This he realises must be the compromise. The camming.

You don’t hook anymore, but you sell yourself in a different way and it erodes at your soul little by little until there’s nothing left but an emptiness right where it used to be. He thinks that’s what he’s looking at right now, that vastness. Someone reached into the depths of your spirit, and they tore it to pieces. He sees exactly who you are, and he loves you for it, the problem is your experiences have always been transactional, no matter what he says you’ll never believe him.

“I can’t do this anymore.” He tells you with a sigh. “It’s too much. I can’t be around you.”

There’s no way to win, he understands that now. In your mind, he will always be a pimp and you will always be a whore, trying to claw your way out from underneath him, even if it wasn’t him that put you there in the first place.

“Alright.” You say, your voice devoid of emotion. “I’ll get myself out of Diosa tomorrow.”

[lincolnmkicks]

i don’t want to claim i have a wholly unique experience wrt dndads bc i decided to listen to this podcast bc i loved anthony’s previous writing in borderlands 2 BUT borderlands 2 is one of my fav games of all time and i want to shed some light on smth i very rarely seen talked about: the biggest narrative comparison between dndads and bl2 through willy stampler and handsome jack.

SO right off the bat im gonna mention anthony is fairly explicit about both willy and jack being attractive. it’s literally in jack’s name, his title after becoming ceo of hyperion, and he also managed to date—even if only for a little while—the in-universe most attractive woman in that corner of space (moxxi). anthony also makes it a point to talk about how frustratingly hot willy is all throughout the podcast, both seasons 1 and 2.

the intent is pretty clear. abusers aren’t all “conventionally unattractive,” and sometimes people have pretty privilege, and anthony by way of making both willy and jack attractive is forcing us to confront internal biases about who and what kind of people are abusive.

also the password being “i love you” for the box that supposedly held ron’s anchor that could only be activated by willy’s voice saying it? stolen directly from borderlands 2 (granted anthony wrote that so it’s not stealing but you know)

next up, they are not the exact same character-wise. willy pretty much hates his son from the get-go, there is never a time we see him hold genuine love for ron without a catch of some sort, and even the “genuine love” we see from willy is quite literally just tolerating his presence long enough that he can position him perfectly to murder him. jack, meanwhile, would probably kill anybody who tries to hurt his daughter. in fact, he damn well tries because we kill his daughter.

i’m gonna need to get a little in depth about angel real quick, so bear with me. angel is this mysterious voice in your head in both bl1 and 2, a guardian angel so to speak, and she helps you throughout both games. in bl2 it’s revealed that she works with jack, and for a time we believe she’s simply an ai he created to help him find/charge the vault key to awaken the warrior (long story, but the goal of a borderlands game is usually to open an ancient alien vault which has tons of loot but also contains vault monsters, the warrior being one jack wants to use to in essence colonize pandora).

angel is forced to betray us about a third of the way through bl2, but she reveals she feels extremely guilty about it and wants to help set things right by giving us the vault key. she tasks us with making our way through a bunch of security measures intended to kill anybody who tries to get near her, only to reveal, yeah she’s not an artificial intelligence, she’s actually jack’s daughter, hooked up to a vast intelligence network as a child to be jack’s eyes and ears across the planet as well as being constantly pumped full of an alien substance called eridium to help her charge the vault key. the reason she wanted to help us get to her was because she wanted us to literally put her out of her misery.

control core angel (the level where you fight off waves of robots sent to stop you from assisting angel in killing herself) is… sad. it’s just sad. dameon clarke does a killer job playing a sociopath like jack when he’s laughing about scooping people’s eyes out with spoons or telling you he’ll pay you to kill yourself, so it’s not much of a surprise that he’s also good at playing a man begging you not to hurt his baby girl. yeah, the whole time you’re fighting off the enemies in control core angel he is screaming at you, insulting you and threatening you, sure, but as you whittle down angel’s health, destroying the injectors literally keeping her alive, he begs you to forget all of this, and not hurt an innocent girl.

eventually the fighting stops, you succeed in allowing angel to die, she thanks you, jack begs her to stay with him because they can still fix this… and her last words are calling him an asshole.

bl2 has been out 10 years and people to this day debate jack’s love for angel. was it ever real? was he being genuine in control core? was he playing a part? trying to evoke your sympathy? did he truly think he was doing what was best for her? had he fallen so far? were all those security measures because he wanted to keep his daughter safe or the macguffin of the game? he’s still an incredibly interesting character to discuss and examine, his relationship with angel being one of my favorite bits of one of my favorite games.

willy would never. willy is forthcoming about needing daddy magic, knows his power comes from being a father, comes from the impact he had on ron’s life. meanwhile willy couldn’t give less of a shit about ron. he was a mistake, he is nothing, and willy was content with killing 13 year old ron to get some semblance of peace. willy is uncomplicated in his sliminess. maybe more complicated with his relationship with scary, but still nowhere near as divisive and mysterious in his motivations as jack.

jack is decidedly funnier than willy, mostly because borderlands 2 is a funny game, but after angel dies there’s an anger boiling just beneath the surface. dameon clarke grits out threats through clenched teeth, he relishes in torturing one of our allies, he rescinds a bounty on our heads bc he wants to kill us himself. nothing else we’ve done to hurt jack’s plans has made him react like this. but nothing else we’ve done has hurt jack’s plans this much. is that quiet, threatening anger, that vibe you get when your parents are angry but can’t express it until you get home, is that jack’s grief for his daughter, or anger that you tried to really mess up his plans?

jack is unknowable, because we aren’t his kid. angel tells us “he tries to guilt you and make you feel like it was your fault, don’t listen to him!” and the implication is clear. angel’s been strapped to a hyperion information network since she was like 7 years old, forced into a chair looking out over pandora for jack’s benefit, jack’s gain. but he still calls her “my angel”, he seems genuinely sad when he has to re-remember she’s dead in tales from the borderlands, he’s a father who lost his way seemingly.

angel was poisoned slowly, decaying over the years bc of her father. ron wasn’t worth the effort.

willy we know. ron is angel in this scenario. and maybe jack believed he held love for angel, but angel sure as hell didn’t like it. angel was poisoned slowly, decaying all her life by her father. ron wasn’t even worth the effort.

idk if any of this like. makes sense or if it’s just luci rambling about borderlands but the difference in anthony’s writing for two shitty dads with some similarities is crazy frankly.

[percontaion-points]

Heartless chapters 5 & 6

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Chapter 5

Chapter Five – Jasper

I honestly don’t know if I should be this happy to get a POV switch, so that maybe some things can be explained. 

I suppose that my answer depends on how much of a raging dickweed that Jasper continues to be. 

And Cal watching it all with eyes that glowed like the devil’s asshole. 

What the fuck does this even mean? If your bootyhole is glowing, I might recommend going to see a doctor. 

“How can you say this, Jasper? After everything that’s happened? You want to just pretend like we’re back before Hunter Moon?”

Seems like such an odd time for her to suddenly grow a spine. I wonder how long this is going to last. 

“I asked you, Jasper. I begged you to trust me, and to let me choose. But you said no.”

 The raw hurt was painted all over her face, and I was glad my wolf wasn’t around, or he’d have neutered me, for sure. “I know. And I didn’t listen. But when everything went down in the woods, and I pictured you being dragged off by the Denners, or worse, I knew I didn’t just want to keep you safe. I wanted you to need me. As badly as I needed you. Real mates, they’re two halves of a whole, Vail. They keep each other safe. And the truth is, if I don’t let you choose, I’m fucked. Because there’s never going to be anyone else for me, sweet wolf.”

Putting an anti-shift collar around her neck and a tracking device in her back isn’t how you get a woman to love you, asshole. You deserve to be kicked down a long flight of stairs. 

“This isn’t a claiming mark,” I told her, just in case it really was jealousy I could scent on the air. “It’s kind of the opposite, actually. My wolf… I guess you could say, he’s put me on notice.”

[...]

“You think that’s funny? You want to laugh in the face of my misery, Omega?”

Honestly, the dude is an embarrassment to alphas everywhere. He literally couldn’t even keep a singular girl safe for a FUCKING WEEK before everything went to shit. 

He’s had so many chances, and he’s blown every. Single. One. 

I flashed them a grin that was pure wolf, even if mine was still sulking under a rock. “Win-win.”

Chapter 5 summary: Jasper sulks around about how much his life has been sulking as he goes to find Vail. He gets angry when he finds her in the library with Theo, and tells the other dude to get out. Theo leaves after Vail tells him that it’s okay. 

Anyway, Jasper says a lot of stuff, but Vail is done with him, and is quick to call him out on his constant shit. He then confesses to her that his wolf took off after seeing how she’d been claimed by Callum, but again. Vail laughs in his face and all but tells him that this is karma for the shit that he’s put her through. 

She then recites some stuff about how she and Callum were meant to be, but Jasper isn’t quite sure if he believes it or not. 

He then asks her to come with him, and is surprised when she actually does. The room he takes her to is dark and dank. Both Reed and Callum are there as well, having answered Jasper’s alpha summons. He pointedly tells them that they’re going to enter into… basically a reverse harem four-some so that they can all share Vail. No, Vail doesn’t get a goddamned opinion about this. Why would you ask such a stupid question?

Chapter 6

“You get that, Little Freak? You’d be signing yourself up to three alphas. And none of this daisy chain bullshit your friends promised you. It’d be raw, hard fucking, until Jay had you properly bred.”

Considering how often that people keep threatening to do that in this series, there has been a sad lack of any of that. 

And I think that it makes the book worse for the lack of it. Their constant threats mean nothing if they aren’t actually going to follow through. 

Like either put up or shut up.

And the three little charms attached to the chain: a wolf, a bear, and a perfectly formed cat.

Chapter 6 summary: Callum is quick to give a “fuck you” to Jasper, and whisks Vail from the room. As they’re leaving, Callum pointedly tells Vail that being mated to those two would mean having to pump out twice as many litters. But since she’s a cat, he doesn’t actually want that shit clouding up the important werewolf lines.

He then takes her into his room where he threatens to rape her. However, Vail is quick to call him out on his shit; it hasn’t even been two goddamned pages since he pointed out that her werecat genes are unwelcome in the lineage of any werewolf. 

They then get called up to the principal’s office. As Callum pulls away from her, he grumbles that Grandpa Marrow wants “proof of life”. So they go to the meeting room, where all of the heads of the families have gathered, along with Reed and obviously Jasper. The principal tells Vail not to speak unless he himself gives her permission. 

Then this scary looking dude comes in. What follows is… I’m not going to lie. It’s a lot of incomprehensible political garbage. None of which is really important. Before he leaves, Cyrus the Marrow enforcer ends up tossing this bracelet down onto the table. Nobody is happy about Cyrus’s actions, but they let Vail have the bracelet. On it are three charms: wolf, bear, and cat. I’m pretty sure that this is significant. 

[persephoneacts]

“Okay, y’know what? I usually hate when customers ask me for recommendations. It’s like fuck, Debra, I don’t know your life. But you look like you might keel over if I don’t put you out of your misery, and I don’t need you dying on me and for people to start thinking I'm the Ted Bundy of the Baking industry.” 

She flashed him a smile, making it clear that for all intents and purposes she was joking. Persephone had a penchant for sarcasm, her dry humour usually going amiss as people stared back at her like she was the rudest, most uncivilised individual they’d ever encountered. Admittedly, that was probably also true, but she didn’t think it had anything to do with her sense of humour. 

“Anyway, the vegan brownies. They’re vegan, so it’s unlikely they’ll kill you, though I guess you’ll just have to take my word on that,” she shrugged. Turning on the spot, Persephone retrieved a still-warm plate of the brownies in question, sliding them on top of the glass display to give him a better view. “And they’re salted caramel, too. I know that’s probably considered kinda basic, but they’re sorta the best. Like, my literal kryptonite.” 

Pausing, she mulled over that analogy, lips curling into a pout as she begrudgingly thought of Billy and the way that he used to chastise her whenever she misused comic book terms. She’d leafed through pages of Wonder Woman and Black Cat comics back in her teens, muddling the two universes up much to the dismay of her older cousin. She’d enjoyed them, but not enough for them to leave a lasting impression, and she tended to avoid things that reminded her of her family these days. Still, an incessant niggling in the back of her mind told her that now was exactly the time to be pedantic. 

“Well, I mean that in a makes-me-so-weak-that-I-keep-going-back-for-more way, and not in a you’re-gonna-die-an-untimely-death-if-you-eat-these weakness type of way,” she clarified, cringing at the sound of her own voice. She sounded like such a nerd, all of a sudden. 

In truth, Persephone made a habit out of not engaging too much with customers – the idea of prolonged conversation with a middle-aged man while he bought shortbread in abundance genuinely made her skin crawl a little. Yet, the more the man in front of her rambled on, the more amused she was. She found it strangely entertaining to watch him trip over himself, wishing for the ground to swallow him hole, seemingly incapable of just not talking. 

His introduction somehow felt entirely on brand while also deeply confusing. Though Persephone didn’t really care what his name was, amusement got the better of her as she laughed at the visible way that Bradley seemed to shed himself of any last semblance of dignity that might have remained. 

“Thank you for that dazzling introduction, Bradley by the way,” she grinned.  

Persephone wasn’t really in a habit of handing out her name to strange men – or anyone, for that matter. Be it at work or a random party she’d been dragged to, it always left her with an unsettled feeling lodged in the pit of her stomach. If people didn’t already know who she was – immediately eyeing her with a look of either intrigue or open disgust – they normally pieced things together when she dropped the P word. If the look on Bradley’s face when he’d first gotten to the front of the queue was anything to go by, he definitely already recognised her – unless he’d just been staring because he found her hot, but she somehow doubted that. She could only assume his nervous disposition had something to do with his growing discomfort at being stuck in her presence. 

Unsure how to broach the topic of her name – she didn’t want the entire store hearing her – she tapped absently at the name badge on her apron, drawing his attention to the cursive scrawl that read Sephy. She’d begged to have her nickname down as her identifier and, with the insistence that her full name would only bring the establishment negative attention, it hadn’t been a difficult battle to win. 

“You can call me Seph. Or Sephy, or... Rando Girl Who Served You At Whisk and Wonder,” she shrugged, keeping her voice low.  

It felt strange talking to Bradley. Persephone wasn’t really in the habit of making friends these days. And usually, when she did, it was either an introduction through another friend, or a random encounter at some rager that Maggie or Charlie had pulled her along to. She was entirely out of practice, feeling like a fish out of water. What if he thought she was flirting? Was she flirting? God. Had she really sunk so low that her taste in men had been reduced to weirdly sexy nerd with too much limb to make sense of? 

“So, how about that brownie?” 

He wasn’t sure what he’d been hoping to achieve with the Ted Bundy rant, but as far as results went, it could have been a lot worse than the blonde staring at him like he’d just spoken Klingon to her. At the very least, she hadn’t immediately picked up the phone to call the cops on him, so he supposed that was a win.

“Yeah, super bad,” he agreed, faintly.

If Maia could see him now, she’d probably die of embarrassment. He glanced over his shoulder to where his little sister had found them both a table, a group of pouting teenage girls giving her the stink eye as she tapped away at her phone, completely oblivious. Knowing exactly how Maia could be, Bradley could only surmise that she’d stuck her elbows out and gotten scrappy when trying to acquire the table for them. God, what a pair the two Prestwicks were: one of them waxing lyrical about Ted fucking Bundy and the other starting a turf war in the otherwise quaint little bakery.

When he eventually turned back to Persephone, there was a tight smile on his face as he waited for her to work her way around the realisation that the stick man come to life in front of her with a pistachio allergy had just ordered a dessert which was chock full of nothing but. As if it would somehow help her process the news quicker herself, he reached up with his hands to massage his own temples, eyes scrunched shut as he attempted to will away his impending headache. It had been a long fucking day, as most days were when a person woke up and remembered they were Actual Human Disaster Bradley Prestwick.

As Persephone briefly went over their inventory, not without pointing out that there were a number of sweets available that wouldn’t send him straight into anaphylactic shock, Bradley nodded in understanding.

“I mean, given everything that’s just happened in the past two minutes, it’s not like a death wish would be totally unwelcome right now, would it?” he pointed out with a small sigh.

Scratching the back of his head as he surveyed the range of desserts that wouldn’t immediately kill him, he felt a little helpless as he stared through the glass. He felt like he’d suddenly lost his appetite but not ordering something seemed out of the question.

“Uh, what do you recommend?” he asked. “Just so you know, I’m sort of… dairy intolerant as well. But I can push through. I can eat something made with milk and not like, need an Epipen, so whatever you have that sells the best just… throw it right at me. Not literally! Or you can. If you want. I’ve probably earned that.”

He pressed a hand over his mouth again as if to physically prevent any more word vomit. However, as soon as he dropped his hand back by his side after roughly chafing the space between his thumb and forefinger against his lips, the unthinking, mindless admissions didn’t stop.

“I’m Bradley, by the way,” he introduced himself. Maybe she needed it for the order. Probably not though. Why the fuck did he think she wanted to know his name?

[liquorisce]

his wicked heart [2]

by me and @heartvu

rating: E | 18+

summary: Many years ago, Mikasa Ackerman was saved by the demon, Eren Yeager. Since that night she's devoted herself to him, worshipping and praying to him as a god. So when a sacrifice was demanded, naturally she is the first to volunteer.

chap 1 | ao3

He’d put her to sleep after that. 

It was a simple trick for a demon of his rank, something humans whispered about, but in reality, rather than compelling the overly obstinate human species to behave appropriately, lulling them into a drowsy haze was much easier. 

The girl confounded him with all her talk of grandiose servitude and it threw a wrench into his plans of consummating the sacrifice ritual as quickly as possible. 

The “consummation” was just another fancy word; the founder— One of the “Gods” with too much time on his hands— was rather fond of them. According to Eren, this whole ritual of sacrifice was a tad bit tedious by now, and the only reason Eren abided by it was that it wasn’t worth the conflict within his hot-blooded group of demon siblings. 

While he didn’t care much for the sanctity of tradition, even he realises how uncommon it is for someone to volunteer as a sacrifice. He had never paid much attention to it, but all the sacrifices were generally the same: the ones with the darkest souls who committed the most wretched crimes, forced to bear the burden of humanity’s deal with the Nine Demons. It’s simply what was easiest.

By the time they were forcefully brought to the ritual chamber, their stench would be steeped in fear and misery, seasoned in the kind of self-pity that he doesn’t have the taste for. However, this year was his, and despite his surprise that she ended up here, for the past 11 months, he stood by in the shadows as he watched her beg the shrine keepers to volunteer, to be chosen. This young woman, with a whole life in front of her, that she seemed so desperate to throw away, pleaded with her old keepers to choose her.

Regardless, the Attack demon had always done what he wanted; it was literally part of the lore. Brash, impulsive and hot-headed— Eren enjoyed living up to the reputation. So he never waited patiently for his 9 years to consume a human. Humans as a species were rotting at their very core; murder, abuse, and acts of sheer villainy that he was equal parts fascinated and repulsed by seemed to be the day-to-day for humankind, so why not engage in some clean-up? 

Wasn’t that why the nine demons were created by the founder in the first place— to protect humankind by doing the founder’s dirty work? Snorting, he distracts himself from his ideological purism and looks at the girl he’d carried with him from the human realm. 

She’s a small thing even for a human, and her ridiculously opulent robes make her seem even smaller as she floats in them. She’s breathing deeply into his neck, as she sleeps peacefully in his arms. Aside from the mildly annoying fact that she sleeps with her mouth open and a little bit of her saliva dribbles onto his bare shoulder, he can’t deny that there is a certain charm to her. 

A wasted charm in the underworld, he muses grimly, because the human world could definitely use more of it. He holds her firmly around her thighs as they enter the Paths— a sort of middle dimension before he can descend into the underworld. It was a good thing he’d put her to sleep during the journey because the difference in the atmosphere often makes weaker spirits dizzy. His own lower demons couldn’t survive the journey without passing out. 

He arrives at the little dock on the riverfront, his eyes narrowing at the decidedly empty ferry boat. “That idiot has one job…,” he grumbles, scouring the riverbank in annoyance. 

Sure enough, his loyal demon servant had been snoozing on the floor of the boat, his little tail peaking out and giving it away. 

Eren proceeds to noisily step into the boat, his heavy form— while not enough to break it— shaking the boat unpleasantly. 

“Whaa,” the red-headed demon snaps up groggily. When he gathers his bearings, his cheeks burn to match the colour of his hair. “My lord,” he squeaks, in an utterly non-demonlike fashion. “I didn’t see you,”— 

“Clearly,” Eren snaps, his sharp irritation enough to silence the blithering demon. “Make haste, Floch. And don’t speak unnecessarily, the girl is sleeping.” 

Floch nods, embarrassed at displeasing his liege. As he rows to the opposite river bank, to the cave that leads to the underworld, his eyes dart furtively to the sleeping girl in the Attack demon’s arms. Eren never provided more information than what he needed to know— and quite often that was nothing— but he wonders if this girl was meant to be “the sacrifice.” 

He’s nothing more than a lower demon, a creature whose existence is defined to serve one of the nine celestial demons, but he’s never seen the ritual or encountered a sacrifice before. And never Eren’s. This was the first time he’d seen Eren bring a human— and she was definitely a human, her scent made him sure of it— to the underworld. And having heard many loud proclamations of his lord’s hatred of their species, he’s surprised to see the care with which he cradles her in his arms, his arm almost protective around her waist as he stares listlessly at the waters, lost in thought. Her arms clutch his neck tightly even in her sleep, her beautiful face almost at peace as she is unwittingly brought to her demise. 

She slips a little from his grasp as the waters roughen close to the opposite bank, and Floch sees Eren’s grip tighten, his eyes coming to rest on her face, a curious look on his features as he holds her closer to him. Surely he’s just eager to consume her, Floch rations. Surely that’s it. 

…

Mikasa sleeps like a baby. It perplexes him, to say the least, that despite all the jostling and overeager greetings from his minions, she’s still out cold in his arms. The difference in the atmosphere should’ve been enough to alarm most humans… not that Eren has any real understanding of it. 

He watches the rhythm of her chest rising and falling, the breath entering between her small, wet lips, the sweet ignorance of her sleeping expression. He’d meant to scare her, make her beg for her life, force her to run away in self-preservation. But here she was, asleep between the linens of his bedroom chamber. And here he was, above her, wondering what in blazing hell, he should do with her. 

Fuck it, he thinks, and then decides to stop overthinking this. He’s never deliberated much over human life— granted they were usually lowlifes— and he doesn’t see why this should be much different. Perhaps he could just end it right away, rip into her throat whilst she is still asleep, ending her life with little pain or fear. She wasn’t the kind of human who deserved a good scare before death, at the very least. 

He could carry her lifeless carcass to the stupid sacrificial pagan ritual that Zeke seemed hellbent on preserving for all eternity, and carry out the consummation there. He had no desire for the bloody theatricals that some of his peers— Porco, in particular— seemed to prefer, anyway.

But just as he sits next to her on the bed, trails a finger across her jaw, down her pretty neck and begins to hesitate about his decision, there’s an unwanted intrusion at the door. “My lord,” a small feminine voice squeaks at the door, utterly annoying and completely unnecessary at this moment. His irate green gaze snaps up at the quivering servant demon in front of him. “I ran you a bath,” she says, “Because you always hate the lingering stench of the human realm.” 

It was clear she was only doing it to please him, to earn his approval but Eren’s lips thin into a line, staring at her as if she needn’t exist altogether. So she adds meekly, “… if it would please you, my lord.”

“Hm,” he grunts. She isn’t wrong; Eren hated the stench of the humans he devours with a passion. He consumed them terrifyingly fast, and licked their blood clean from his fingers, only because he didn't care to bring that awful stench of humanity home with him. But it wasn’t like that with this girl. She didn’t smell like the thugs he cleaned off of the streets any more than her biology allowed her to; this little priestess smelled of divinity. 

He looks at the sleeping form of his human sacrifice once more. “Just as I was about to get it over with,” he huffs to himself, as he gets up. “I hope you’ve made it scalding hot the way I like it, Louise.” To which she whimpers in agreement and scampers off to check the water temperature. 

…

When Mikasa wakes up she’s hit with a feeling of disorientation. She distinctly remembers a rather charged encounter between her and the Attack demon, both fearsome and thrilling at the same time. If she recalls correctly, there was some bodice-ripping involved, even— exciting stuff! Now, as she opens her eyes she finds herself in a somewhat antiquated room, in the centre of a large, regal bed, the air around her thick and heavy with a distinct otherworldly pressure. 

The only thing that convinces her that she isn’t dreaming is the ripped robes that she clutches together to cover herself, frayed from where the Demon had clawed them open and bared her body to him. There wasn’t much to the room, a large gilded mirror on one side, and a little chest of drawers, a table on one side of the bed with a jug of… some liquid, she confirms, something with a blue tint and a heady aroma that was most definitely not water. 

Her throat is parched, largely because of the feeling of the air around her with this indescribable heaviness, so in a highly unintelligent move, she moves to take a sip from the jug. The part of her brain that still has some good sense finally begins to freak out— is this how she meets her end? Not by the hands of some mystical demon whom she had an unhealthy obsession with, but instead by drinking some poisoned liquid that was strategically placed by her abductor? She’d barely spent any time with him yet!

Where was she, even? Had she walked into some elaborate booby trap placed by stalker perverts who had uncovered her obsession with the Demon and used it to kidnap her? Wait, was she sold off by the shrine to a trafficking ring? 

While her brain works in overdrive, she hurriedly slips off the bed, uncaring that her dress— regardless of how tightly she clutches at it— is ripped open in the most indecent places, rushing out of the room, and into the corridors, hastily looking through every door for an exit. Until she stumbles across a marbled bathroom, with a large, luxurious black granite tub in the centre, two large horns poking out of it. 

“Running away so soon?” He drawls, lifting his face above the water, his piercing green eyes catching her skittish grey ones. 

“I,”— She’s not sure how to answer that, just staring at him dumbfounded, like she’d never seen a demon bathing before. (She hadn’t.) “Um,” she finds herself staring shamelessly at this being in front of her who was clearly bathing, an activity that normally demands privacy. “Yeah, kinda.” 

“What happened to,”— his tone turns mocking, girlish— “I want to serve you, for the rest of my life.”

She blushes, embarrassed, somehow feeling ridiculous but also conscious of the fact that he was naked and bathing right in front of her. 

“I didn’t realise it came with terms and conditions.” 

“I…” she stutters, tongue-tied. “It doesn’t,” — 

He smirks. “Come here, priestess.” 

Despite everything; the blatant embarrassment on her face, the hesitation, she comes to him, stands next to him near the bathtub. “You’re my sacrifice,” he emphasises— even though she knows this part already, it’s the only part she knows— realising a new fondness for a term that he’s rarely cared for before, his teeth baring. “There are no takebacks for this type of thing.” And before she can brace herself for it, he pulls her into the tub with him, ruined robes and all. 

She sputters, water spraying from her face, hair completely drenched and sticking to her cheeks and neck. Her robes were utterly ruined but she continues to clutch at them in a futile manner— dainty white silk clinging perfectly to her wet curves. “What was that for?!” She asks, her tone slipping, decidedly impolite as her cheeks puff up and turn red. 

“A whim,” he shrugs, looking at her coolly. “Satisfying my whims should be part of your servitude, should it not?”

He has a point. “Demon…,”— 

“Master,” he corrects, a gleeful urge bubbling up to watch her follow through on her devotion. “… You will call me master.” 

“Master,” she repeats, the word weighing heavily on her tongue, binding in a way. She liked it. But as much as she likes him, or calling him master, or being with him naked in a tub, the way he calls her his sacrifice makes her shiver. Probably far too late, she finally asks the question weighing on her mind. “What does a sacrifice have to… do?” 

He looks at her curiously, amazed at how someone so desperate to be a sacrifice would have no idea what it entails. For a moment Mikasa thinks he will rebuke her for the question. “Come closer, maiden,” he murmurs, deciding to have fun with her cluelessness, his voice rich and deep and incredibly enticing. 

“Legs on either side of my lap,” he orders when he sees her hesitating. “… If you want answers from me, then you will do as I say.” 

It’s easier when he tells her what to do, when he isn’t looking at her like she should know better or do better, so she does as he says. She waddles across the large bathtub that was clearly built for taking creatures of his size. 

It occurs to her then that this is the first time she is actually noticing him up close— the way his legs are so long and his thighs large and thick, the way she struggles to sit astride them. There are little details the sculptures of him never managed to capture, the little marks on his chest, the ridges on his horns. When her eyes travel down his submerged torso, she’s reminded that he’s wearing nothing, covered just by water and the bashfulness of her own eyes. 

Looking away hastily, she plops herself on his legs and looks at him with uncertainty. “Please tell me, Master,” she says sweetly, and Eren is struck by how easily the word slips out of her mouth, how naturally submissive she sounds. “Take your robes off,” he says, ignoring her plea, but this time his order is gentler. He’d seen everything he needed to see when he’d tried to scare her off earlier, and now even more with the way the robe clings to her body obediently. But the mild humiliation with which she looks at him, teeth worrying her lower lip and eyes downcast, make it worth a repeat. 

She’s delightfully obedient, pulling off the drenched fabric shyly, exposing creamy skin and bountiful curves. No one’s ever seen her this way, bare without a stitch of closing, parts of her body she’s been told to keep covered up as long as she can remember. “Only harlots show their skin,” the head priest had reproached her once, when she lifted her robes to cross a particularly large puddle and avoid getting the fabric wet. She wonders what he would think of her now, her shoulders, breasts, stomach, her most private parts so dreadfully bare in front of such a holy creature. And even worse– how her nipples hardened under the Demon’s gaze. 

Oblivious to her inconsequential internal dilemma, Eren runs a thumb across the self-imposed bite marks on her lip, and it shakes her out of her modest thoughts, parting her lips fetchingly. 

“You came all this way without knowing what you signed up for?” He murmurs, watching her shudder. 

“They only told me my life would belong to you.” 

His jaw hardens, caring more than he should about things that really didn’t concern him. He didn’t have to feel angry that the priests deliberately manipulated her unreasonable devotion to sucker her into giving up her life without her knowledge. “What’s your name, priestess?”

“Mikasa.” Blushing, she can’t believe that she’s actually here, feels giddy that the object of her devotion would actually notice her enough to ask for her name. 

“Not very smart are you, Mi-kasa,” liking the way her name rolls off his tongue. “What did you think I would do with your life?” I already saved it once.

She cringes at his beration, shoulders slumping, eyes downcast. “There’s only one thing Demons want humans for,” he says, his voice making her shiver. With a gentleness that didn’t match his stature, he brushes a wet strand of hair behind her ear. He bends to place a kiss on her jaw, before whispering, “... and that’s to consume them.” And his tongue slips out to lick at the sensitive spot where her earlobe meets her cheek. 

He can feel her sharp intake of breath, the conflicting shudder that runs through her body, the way her legs– already spread across his lap– tightened around him. She smells like vanilla and sandalwood and purity, although the slightest essence that wafts through his nostrils tells him she is capable of impure thought as well. 

“You want to eat me?” Her voice comes out dazed, more focussed on his proximity, his mouth, and the large hand on the back of her waist than the implication of his words. 

He frowns, her question slightly unsettling him. What he wants wasn’t exactly the issue here– but more that this is what it's meant to be. “Master,” she starts, nervously, “... then…” 

“Out with it, priestess.” 

“If you only want to eat me then… why haven’t you eaten me yet?” 

He glares at her, his mind totally boggled. Did this girl have no sense of self-preservation? He just informed her of her bleak fate and all she asks is why he hasn’t carried it out yet? Huffing, partly annoyed at her brazen questioning and partly mystified at how he does not in fact have a clearly thought out answer. “Is it…” she purses her lips cutely, “another whim of yours, Master?” 

Rolling his eyes and internally sighing, he tilts her chin up to look her straight in her glassy grey eyes. “You promised me many things, sweet girl,” and he lets his eyes roam her body shamelessly, the dip of her collarbones, the swell of her breasts that rest on the water. “Maybe I just want to sample what I’m owed.” 

His roving eyes make her flush, a heat from between her legs that flows up her skin and creeps onto her face. Her lashes are lowered, lips dry as she speaks, mouth barely inches from his. “... How can I serve you, master?”

She braces herself, a flutter of exhilaration in her tummy, prepared for something like what he’d insinuated earlier, when he pushed her to the ground roughly and hinted at claiming her virginity. It was decidedly immodest of her to fixate on those words, but she couldn’t deny that his threat (offer?) had taken root in her mind and made her think thoughts that she’d never thought before, imagined things she hadn’t known her imagination was capable of. 

She can feel him stir, his member between her legs brushing against her thighs and making her feel hot over, a molten sensation between her own legs. But to her utter surprise and mild disappointment, he simply says, “Bathe me.” 

“What?” 

His eyes sparkle, almost challenging her. “... For someone who’s meant to serve me, you sure do ask a lot of questions.” He hands her a bottle of a fragrant-smelling soap-like substance and a towel that had been placed by the side of the tub. “Is it too difficult for you? Should I call for someone else?” 

Pouting, slightly offended, she grabs the towel and soap hastily, clearly understanding that he was mocking her. “I’d be honoured to, Master.” 

It shouldn’t be hard, she tells herself. She’s spent enough days washing different Attack titan sculptures, cleaning them till she shone, surely now that she had the opportunity to get to work on the real thing, it wouldn’t be too different. 

But it is, it’s different in the way that she’s actually touching him this time, his broad shoulders, his hard chest, the little button of his nipple. It’s different in that she couldn’t zone out and hum her prayers to herself happily as she went about her job, but this time she feels his gaze acutely on her… testing her perhaps. 

It’s awkward and intimate; her hands travel up his chest and onto his neck, and he’s so… large that she needs to lean forward to reach it. And in doing so, she can feel her mound brushing against his growing hardness. She lets out a small gasp, her eyes fluttering up to meet his. “Is there a problem?” He looks at her with amusement, mirth shining in his eyes at her obvious embarrassment. 

She shakes her head rapidly, averting her gaze consciously. “... Well go on then.” Brushing his long hair to the side, she leans her upper body forward to brush more thoroughly against his neck, her breasts pressing against his chest. “Is this o-okay?” she mumbles, her body crushed against his, nipples pebbling against the solid walls of him. 

His nonchalant agreement rumbles through her, making the growing heat between her legs even worse. And after a moment he says, somewhat casually, elbow on the side of the tub, resting his head in his hand, “I think my neck feels clean enough…” 

“R-right…” She gulps, avoiding his smirk, having clearly understood that there was only one place left to go and that was in the direction of his legs. She clambers off of his lap to the other side of the tub and takes extra care to start with his feet, rubbing his toes– the attack demon has big feet she gleans, and large toes that she pays more attention to than required. She makes her way up his calves, fingers jittery as it reaches his thighs, anticipation crawling in her stomach and heating her skin. “So should I…” She trails off, a flustered mess as her hands stop just short of where she had felt his hardening member some minutes ago. 

“I do believe that was part of the assignment.” 

Nodding seriously– yet simultaneously falling apart on the inside– she reaches further towards his center, stopping to soap her hands generously before making contact. It’s utterly ridiculous and contrary to what she wants to achieve, but her eyes squeeze shut as her fingers brush against where he has hardened, so velvety smooth… and impossibly big. 

Innocent and virginal though she was, she could compare it with her lessons of human anatomy and medicine, recognising the length of his shaft that ended in a smooth tip, making out the ridges of his veins. Her heart thuds in her chest as she can feel himself somehow grow even larger in her hands, filling the space between her fingers, her grip firming around him. Perhaps she’s dreaming it but she thinks she can hear a soft groan escape his lips. “Master,” she asks, adjusting to the weight of him in his hands, feeling him twitch. “Is this okay? Am I doing it correctly?” 

Eren looks at her through heavy-lidded eyes. “Did they not train you for this type of thing? Are you utterly inexperienced?” 

She can’t tell if it’s disapproval, but his words make her cringe inwardly. “I have never been with a demon, Mast—”

“I’m perfectly aware that no demon has ever touched you before,” he says with sudden, marked annoyance. “... what about human men? My body is not so different structurally from them.” 

“I was told only the worst, most immoral woman would lie with a man she could not call her husband.” A repeated chant from her superiors even though she’d always personally doubted it. Tons of giggling girls who visited the shrines twined their fingers with the hands of boys they were not married to. They didn’t look horrible or immoral… they just looked cute.

He regards her for a moment, silvery eyes stricken with doubt as her hands still massaged him, a movement she continued like it was most natural. Her inexperience was only a mild convenience at best. Truth be told, he enjoys the way she touches him, it was novel, small hands brushing him tentatively. She’s quite nice to look at too, all curves and milky skin and pink flushes when hesitation overcomes her. The more it sinks into him that no human had seen her this way, the more it fills him with a deep satisfaction. None of those rotting humans deserved it, she was too good for them. So drunk with anticipation, he tells her, “Then listen carefully, priestess. Because I will teach you how to please me only once.” 

She nods eagerly as his large hand settles over hers, rough palms enveloping her. Chest bending forward, lips at her ear, he whispers, “First, hold me tighter. I’m no man, I do not need to be treated delicately.” And he presses down, making her squeeze him tightly. 

There’s a small wetness at the tip of him, slipping against her palms and making it slick and it makes her startle. “Master, there’s something wet—” 

A hum rumbles in his throat. “It’s called precum. Means you’re doing something right.” The corners of his quirk up slightly, before he orders, “Don’t unwrap your fingers, move them up and down like this.” And he guides her hand along the massive length of him. Before he had fully eclipsed her hand in his, she had covered less than half of his length in her fist. Now with his massive palms, he looked so in control of his member, stroking it leisurely and watching her intently. 

She leans forward, concentrating on her task, trying to go faster because she can feel him grow even larger, twitching in her palm. It’s an adorable sight, brow furrowed, lips parted slightly, licking her lips as she works. It only makes him harder. “Slow down,” he growls. “Follow my pace, I’m too dry to go any faster.” 

“How do you mean… dry? Is that a bad thing? There’s already precum, you said—”

“If you want to go faster than this, then we have to get it really wet, Mikasa, just my precum isn't enough.” When she looks at him confused, he gestures her attention back to his cock. “Come here, spit on it.” 

“What?” She looks at him aghast. “I would never offend you that way, Demon—” 

“It’s ‘Master’,” he reminds her, roughly, fed up with her ridiculous human notions of propriety, “So just do what I say.” And because she hesitates, he threads his hands into her hair, and brings her mouth to him, hovering over his cock. Feeling her heavy breathing, he rubs her head softly and says, “Relax. Just dribble your spit over the head.” 

She does what he says, albeit with trepidation, lips quivering near his cock. Pursing her lips, she lets her saliva fall down her chin, making a mess of her, and after her frustration (and his smirking) she spits on his tip, the saliva making him glisten. 

A small shudder passes through him. “Good,” he murmurs, “... Now use your fingers and slide it down my cock.” 

He’s not sure if it’s something he imagined, but her eyes darken slightly when he expresses his approval, her confidence growing slightly as her delicate fingers spread her saliva down to his base, just above where he was underwater. And without him even prompting, she spits on him again, getting him even slicker. 

If anything, this pretty human girl was a quick learner. 

“Does this,” she wets her lips as she asks him, “... feel better?” She moves her hand up and down, using the exact same pressure and pace that he taught her. 

Hand resting at her neck, he looks at her with growing fondness, her eagerness to please growing on him. The way she looks intently at his cock, taking in every sound, every shudder, every drop of precum that she smears down his length, makes a foreign feeling settle inside of him— a feeling that makes him wonder why the hell he’s taking it so slow, and why he hasn’t gotten her on top of his dick yet. 

Maybe it’s because she’s so small, and there’s no way she could possibly take him— but that’s never stopped him from taking his little lower demons before. 

“Go on, take it in your mouth,” he murmurs, dick hard and throbbing with just how close her lips were to him. All he’d have to do is push her down the smallest notch and he would feel her pretty pink lips on him. 

Anxious grey eyes look up at him, inches above his cock. “You’re so big, Master. I don’t know how I could possibly…” And her eyes fall to the sheer length of him. 

“And you’re so small, Priestess. You’ll probably struggle with it.” His tone is mocking, challenging almost. “But look at you, you can’t stop looking at it, can you? I know you want to taste it.” 

An embarrassed flush creeps up across her face, guiltily looking away. “T-that’s not true.” 

“Lying to me, Mikasa?” He tilts his chin up so he can look her in the eyes, dark green pools boring into her. “Don’t bother with it. I can smell you, you know. Every time you rub against my thigh, I can feel how wet you are between your legs. It’s alright to admit that you want to suck my cock.” 

She shudders at his crude words, lowering her lashes in mortification. She was so embarrassed she was ready to prostate herself in front of him in apology. “Are you ashamed of me, Master? No good woman, much less a priestess, would embarrass herself this way with such lewd behaviour. I’m sorr—,”

“Look at me when you talk to me,” he murmurs, and her gaze flickers to him instantly, obediently. “Is this what they taught you in that pitiful place?” His thumb brushes against her lower lip as he regards her grimly. “Instead of teaching you how to please me, they taught you to be a prude?”

His words are so harsh, tears begin to form in her eyes. “It seems whatever I do, I am simply incapable of pleasing you, Master.” 

He leans towards her and presses his mouth against her cheek, tongue peeking out to lick her tears. “Your tears have such a unique flavour to them and I enjoy it. But that isn’t what I want from you right now.” Lips ghosting over hers, he says, “If you are to be my sacrifice, then I need you to unlearn everything you’ve learnt in that shitty human world. If you want to please me, then I want you to give in to these feelings you’re feeling.” 

Leisurely, he runs his hand along her back, sending a shiver down her spine, the eager, damp spot behind her leg only getting wetter. “You’re not a priestess anymore, Mikasa. You’re a slut. A natural, unholy, completely shameful slut.” The words ought to make her cringe but coming from Eren, it sounded like praise, like something he was enraptured by, like she was finally what she was supposed to be, and it made her feel lightheaded. “Your body craves my cock, and I’ll teach you to embrace it. But give into what you want and suck my cock like you’re meant to.” She can feel his smirk growing against her skin. “And maybe then you’ll please me, after all.” 

She nods, shakily, her body giddy with anticipation as she hovers above him, breath warm against his tip. Tentatively, she touches her tongue to him and takes in the flavour of him, a dark feeling pooling in her belly. It makes her want more. Swirling around him, her lips stretch to cover his girth. “Not too much teeth,” he instructs her, and she accommodates him appropriately, mouth forming an o-shape while her tongue laps at him. 

Eren’s hands cradle her head, pressing her softly downward, urging her to take more of him. “You’re struggling aren’t you, sweet girl? You’re just human after all, not built to take this cock, hm?” 

His words are a direct line to her centre, making her feel things she’d never thought she’d feel, a sensitiveness spreading through her body, tingling. She might be just human, but she’s his human now, and she wants to prove it to him, wants to show him just how devoted she really is, how she can take him if she really tries— but she ends up sputtering as she comes up for air, lips red and messy, a string of spit connecting between his tip and her mouth.

She looks to him apologetically, but she’s met with a dark fire in his eyes, gazing at her mouth in blatant arousal. “Try again,” he breathes roughly, pulling her towards him. 

Taking a gulp of air, she brings her mouth to him again, warmth surrounding him deliciously as she laves her tongue under his base while sucking hard, managing to reach at least a third of his length. He lets out a low grumble of pleasure, thumb caressing her cheek as she works him. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, “Trying your best to please me even when your tiny little mouth could never take me fully.” 

It wasn’t a conscious choice of words, but he was starting to believe his previous suspicion— His sweet little priestess had a praise kink. He could feel her shudder around him when he called her good girl, his thigh soaked under the juices of her cunt where she rubbed against him. “Use your hands,” he urges. “Use your hands like I taught you, Mikasa.”

Closing a fist around him, she jerks him into her mouth, sucking as far as she can go, his deep groans telling her she’s doing it right. “Just like that, sweet girl, keep going.”

When she comes up for air, spit running down her chin, he looks at her like a wild thing, eyes so dark with arousal they looked almost black. “Sit on your knees, Mikasa,” he tells her, pushing her onto her back on the other side of the tub. His form looms above her, taking his full height, gloriously naked skin dripping water as his cock rests near her cheek. “You still want to please me?” he asks, jerking his cock furiously into his fist. 

Mikasa looks up at him in awe, his hand setting a harsh rhythm and a much quicker pace than she was trying, so large around his even larger member, it makes her throb in the most secret parts of her, wondering if he’ll ever want access to that part of her, and how she’d ever make him fit. “Yes, Master,” she says, and almost subconsciously, she tilts her mouth towards his cock, lips parted and eager for him. 

He feeds her his cock briefly, letting her tongue play with his wet, sticky tip. He’s immortal, but looking at her in this state makes him feel like she will be the death of him instead of vice versa, her innocent enthusiasm fucking with his mind and making him come apart much faster than he normally does. And with far less effort on her part than any of the other female demons in his house have ever had to put in. The more he sees her tongue on him, the more he wants to see how she looks with his cum all over her, filling her mouth and leaking across her chin, wet and messy— 

“Now listen to me, Mikasa,” he breathes, voice rough and jerky just like his movements. “You made me feel so good, I’m really close.” And because he knows he needs to be explicit with her otherwise she won’t understand, he places a thumb between her lips and parts her mouth, murmuring, “I’m going to come inside your mouth. You’ll be a good girl and drink it all up for me, won’t you?”

And her eyes light up like stars, hunger burning inside of them, barely mumbling a ‘yes, master,’ before she’s eagerly wrapping her pretty mouth around him. He jerks into her with one fist while holding her head in another, and just as she looks up at him, innocent and pretty and so fucking obedient, he jerks into her mouth, spurting inside of her, a deep groan of pleasure escaping him. 

As eager as she was, she was utterly and adorably unprepared for it, the taste of him foreign and not entirely unpleasant, not knowing whether to swallow or not and hence choking and sputtering, cum spilling out of her mouth and onto her chin, dribbling down her neck and between her breasts. She was a complete and total mess, gasping for breath, hair plastered to her face as she sank to the floor of the tub. It’s mortifying and she can barely understand it, she followed his instructions and tried her best, yet here she was knocked onto her bottom and having made a fool of herself. She feels utterly, terribly, inconsolably, dejected.

When she looks up at him, however, she sees something different, a lazy look of pleasure dancing across his features, his mouth curving into a self-satisfied grin. “Not going to clean yourself up?” 

She colours, embarrassed at once at her ineptitude, her clumsiness, and she covers her face stuttering, “I-I’m… I’ll do it right away.” And she splashes the remaining bath water on her cheeks and her chin, trying to wipe away the white liquid, but only to feel it sticky and lasting on her skin. Regardless, she decides to take advantage of his seemingly cheery countenance, and asks, with curious pink cheeks,“... was it good, Master?” 

He cocks an eyebrow at her. He could tell her it was good, that it was fucking great actually, and he’d come faster than he had ever before, and that it was all because she was so innocent and earnest and unique that he couldn’t really resist himself. But by now he’s also learnt that his priestess is weak for words like that, eating up his praise, and the deviant side of him doesn’t want to spoil her with it. So he lifts her up in his arms in one fell swoop, body naked and quivering and sticky, and tells her, “... It will be when I’m done with you, Mikasa.” 

[saintobio]

SY YN is gonna be my favorite yn of all fics I’ve read. Her character is complex. She’s very human and very relatable. She’s weak and strong at the same time. She’s proof that a kind and generous person is also capable in doing foolish mistakes yet brave enough to own them. There are only two things I see she made a mistake is first, she didn’t divorce Gojo immediately after finding out Sera and continuosly hoping for Gojo to love her at the end and second, her hiding Sachiro and faking the abortion. That’s it. Can’t understand the hate to yn and would like her to end with Toji cause that’s what she deserves. I am really disappointed with Utahime. But knowing yn, she’s definitely hurt because she feels like, Utahime chose Gojo over her, their friendship isn’t that much value for Utahime to disrespect and betray her like that no matter what Gojo and yn’s status is. Of course Gojo has a fair share of it too. He’s always the same, he always do what what he think isn’t right but still do it anyway. Always delaying in communicating things. I need to calm my nerves. Geez

Anonymous said

the previous ask about yn calling gojo her husband yn baby i really love u pls pls pls just get over gojo properly saint can u write me in as yn's bff I CAN FIX HER i can be her bestest friend in the whole word her therapist her maid her girlfriend her platonic soulmate whatever it is she NEEDS a proper support system that can steer her on a better path and not be associated with gojo, aside from her own family and toji. im taking back what i said about gojohime happening being painful, what's more painful is yn being this way. i hate how almost no one sees how she's literally coping terribly with everything and i also hate how she's refusing to get help from someone she knows or a therapist... it seems like she's giving up on life and sachiro is literally her only lifeline. i hate seeing her as a mess rn and for the future chapters of sy... saint i'll beg on my knees for yn's happiness and sanity 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽 plsplsplspls my god this fic is always making me cry because i feel so sad for yn and in a way, im always in her position to feel that no one is on my side, everyone is against me and just kept on bottling my feelings till it explode later on :"))))) i wasn't fond of reading jjk self-insert fics but i came across sn and fell in love with yn's character. from the start of sn till now, im always on her side (though i do criticise her for some of actions because im aware that she do make mistakes) and yn is literally one of my four comfort characters in life aaaah she's the only reason why im willing to put myself in misery (from the fic) again and again im so sad

Anonymous said

I will always be on yn’s side, like wtf no one but her and sachi should have a happy ending, like I really hope Gojo’s relationship with uta crumbles, he needs to grow and learn on his own and not get his dick wet with every woman that gives him attention 🙄

Anonymous said

Saint, im gonna be completely honest. I dont think I can read chapter 8 🥲 and why do I imagine yn getting a literal broken heart medical diagnosis after all this ends. I dont think I can hold on to gojoyn endgame SY7 is so painful I have puffy eyes for the past couple of hours now. i dont think I can go on anymore (tho of this is a lie bc I have you on my notifications and I just wanna hurt someone) I just want yn to have eternal rest and see her mom. I have mixed emotions bc omg idk, i just dont know. Your heavy angst is godtier writing that I literally have no idea what to feel but cryh the fuck out of my tear glands. I just hope we can all get through this (especially yn, poor girl)

Anonymous said

i knew people were going to question why yn broke down after finding out about satoru and utahime. okay… as someone who experienced having a close friend and an ex suddenly getting together… it’s different if it’s someone you know and trust. i know she told satoru to move on, but of course, she never told him to move on WITH MY BEST FRIEND. i also read someone say before that toji and satoru aren’t even friends but utahime and yn are… and not only friends but BEST FRIENDS. so before anyone compares it, IT’S DIFFERENT. give yn a break… y’all have been invalidating her feelings ever since sn. 💀

Anonymous said

I don't think yn feeling betrayed when utahime and satoru got together is invalid at all, I mean if my best friend got together with my ex husband who is also my baby daddy, I too would feel betrayed. Especially with all this drama is going on, the least she could have done is wait for satoru and yn to sort out their feelings and then try her turn with satoru.

Anonymous said

This chapter hurt so bad. Y/n definitely has every reason to be sad or hurt. There’s a difference between dating ur exes rival than sleeping with your exes best friend in my opinion. Utahime’s loyalty lies with Yn. In which she just broke by sleeping w her ex husband knowing all the damage he caused her (vise versa). Toji doesn’t owe gojo any loyalty so in my lil head it’s different . IM SO MAD FOR YN SHE HANDLED THAT BETTER THAN ME LMAOAOOAOAOAOA I would’ve been throwing hands cuz wtf.

Good chapter as always saint 🥲 you always know how to pull at my heart strings .

Anonymous said

ofc yn doesn’t own utahime or gojo and they can do whatever they want, but friendship requires loyalty too and imo, that means not hooking up with an ex on an ongoing basis and hiding it. i don’t think it’s fair to expect yn to keep being friends with utahime after that, especially considering yn said she wanted to get rid of anything that reminded her of gojo and move on. yn in the story is definitely a better person than i am lmao if i was in that situation i doubt i would care about him breaking utahimes heart.

also, just something i was wondering!! utahime mentions she’s falling in love with gojo — how long have they known each other at this point, and are her feelings more infatuation/wanting to fix him than actual love? sorry if you already answered this somewhere and i missed it.

yn is very emotionally flawed, we can’t deny that. she also makes questionable decisions, but her character is just innately unselfish that you feel bad for her sometimes 🥲 at least that’s how i feel when i have to write her pov i’m always like “damn, it’s ok girl you got this”. anyways, still so glad to see yn defenders in the ask box!! :)))

*edited bc i forgot to answer the last question. for a couple of months now, like 4-5? it’s not actual love. just infatuation and “i can’t stop thinking abt you” type of admiration

[idy-ll-ique]

Breaking The Rules.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader (sort of Winter Soldier x F!Reader too)

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: like,,, lots of murder

Requested: nope

Summary: The Winter Soldier attacks the building where Y/N works and comes face-to-face with her. Surprising her and himself, he lets her go, breaking the rules, not following his orders. Y/N is so thankful about his mercy that she is now the world's biggest Bucky Barnes stan. What happens when their paths cross again 7 years later?

Author's Note: Hiya peeps! Okay so I don't really know if I've done a good job writing this but I tried my best so,,, enjoy!

---

The Asset is not thinking.

The Asset is not made to think.

Casually stroking his gun as he walked into the plain building, he watched the people inside the room pause for a minute. Then the screaming began. He simply stood there, the scene unfolding in front of him as people ran; inside rooms, out the building as they jumped out of windows to avoid him. He let them.

Finally having had enough because HYDRA demands some kills, Soldat, he cocked his gun and started out by fighting the security guards that had an ounce of bravery in them as they approached him with their own guns. He killed them easily. Then he moved further into the building, ending the lives of anyone who tried to get in his way.

What was his purpose of doing this? There was none. He was programmed to kill, and the program had no specific targets. No targets, only kill. He walked up the stairs of the building as more people, who had not been dead, escaped. Then he ended up on the floor where she was.

Y/N was going through a stack of papers, wearing headphones, when she heard a scream. It had been so sudden and loud that she startled badly, the papers flying from her hands as she turned around, ready to give the person a piece of her mind only to be met with the prettiest blue eyes she had ever seen in her life. The breath left her lungs and fear overtook her.

The person in front of her; she had heard of him. They called him The Winter Soldier. He was covered in black leather, his silver arm shining in the sunlight that entered through the window on her right. She quickly glanced at it; she was 10 stories above ground. He had a black mask on (more like a muzzle, she thought) and a peculiar look on his face.

She looked around the room, her eyes filling with tears when she saw the bodies of her coworkers, the friends she had made at the workplace, littered on the floor. Damn you, stupid headphones. She discarded them. He had killed them all. The Winter Soldier didn't really have a say in what he did, she told herself, he had been programmed to act like that.

Nothing but a murder toy for HYDRA.

And she hated them for that.

"Don't cry." She looked back at the Soldat, her eyes wide in confusion. Huh? Why would he say that? She blinked away the tears and started raising a hand to wipe them off when he suddenly raised his gun. Her hand paused mid-air and she held her breath, waiting for him to finally put her out of her misery as her eyes unconsciously watered once more.

When he saw her hand, though, her palm was facing him. Ready to rub off the tears, he noticed, and he lowered the gun. "Don't cry," he repeated and Y/N, as absurd as she found the situation to be, did as he ordered. She wiped the tears off and rubbed her hands on the jeans she was wearing, staring at the man. He stared back at her.

When he first entered the floor, he had done what he had been told, until there was no one alive in the room. Or so he thought, until his eyes landed on Y/N. She was wearing some sort of a device over her head, completely oblivious to what was going on. Was she deaf? Did she not hear the gunshots?

As he approached her cautiously, someone screamed behind him. And he saw how the papers flew out of her hand she whirled around, her big, doe eyes blinking at him until recognition sparked in them. Then she cowered. For some reason, as he looked at her, he couldn't bring himself to harm her. She looked… adorable, almost. So he did what he did best.

Stared.

Her eyes were darting around the place, and they watered when they landed on the bodies on the floor. He gulped quietly under his mask, something inside him stirring uncomfortably as he watched her cry. And suddenly, he couldn't help himself. "Don't cry," he blurted out and she looked back at him. He stared. She blinked rapidly and started raising her hand.

Thinking she would raise a hand on him, he immediately held up his gun as a warning but realized that she was simply drying her tears, new ones in her eyes as she looked at the gun. And he suddenly felt very apologetic. "Don't cry," he repeated and allowed her to wipe her tears. But he was surprised to hear her speak.

"Please don't hurt me."

She was shaking, arms going around herself, but she wasn't crying. At least she was not crying. He didn't reply, only stared as a foreign, almost forgotten word came to mind. Pretty. She was pretty. Soldat or not, how could he bring himself to harm a pretty thing like her? He raised his gun again when he remembered his orders; kill, do not show mercy.

The pretty woman started crying again, this time her tears were much more prominent. "Please, please don't do it, please… I have done nothing to you, don't do it…" she pleaded, fingers intertwined as if in prayer. Kill her. But he ignored the order and lowered his gun again.

"Pretty," he stated and her brows furrowed. Y/N blinked at him, pretty? Did she hear that right? He called her pretty, right? "Pardon?" she blurted out and his head tilted to the side. "Go." His voice sounded strained and for a moment, Y/N wanted to embrace him, to comfort him but hurriedly dismissing the thoughts, she turned on her heels and ran out the building.

The Asset stared at her as she ran.

He had not been programmed to think.

Then why had he?

---

"Guys, I'm telling you, it was so surreal—"

"Oh my God, Y/N, will you stop—"

Steve, Sam and Bucky glanced at the group of ladies that ended up at the bar next to them. A few years had passed since the incident between Bucky and Y/N took place and he was back to normal. No longer the Winter Soldier; he was an ally of the Avengers now. Steve glanced at his friends, lips curling into an amused smile.

"What do you think they're talking about?" he whispered and Sam snickered quietly. "Why don't we listen?" Bucky simply shook his head, but was also kind of intrigued at this surreal experience that Y/N talked about. Y/N… that name sounded kind of familiar to him, but maybe it was a common one, what did he know?

"He called me pretty!"

"We know he's hot, Y/N, but seriously, the Winter Soldier did not call you pretty."

The three men froze and their eyes darted amongst each other. "He did," Y/N whined, "I'm telling you!" Bucky almost dropped his glass but managed to hold on, his jaw dropped. Thankfully the ladies were not aware of the men shamelessly eavesdropping on their conversation. "Wait wait wait, what is this about you and the Winter Soldier? I've not heard that story."

"Ugh, Sam, you've done it now!"

Steve and Bucky glanced at Sam with smirks and he rolled his eyes. "Samantha," he snarked but the super soldiers only shrugged in reply. "Okay okay, this was like… 7 years ago. I was in my office, working, when our building was attacked. By him." And Bucky, try as he might, couldn't remember shit.

"Dude, I was wearing headphones so damn strong that I didn't hear literal gunshots echoing around the room, like what?"

"Seriously, Y/N? You know we won't say anything if you tell us you're lying."

"But I'm not lying," Y/N insisted, "I heard a scream and finally took off the headphones. When I turned to see who had screamed, he was literally standing in front of me." Hazy memories slowly flashed in his mind; a plain building, those red-black headphones and the fluttering of papers. He gulped his drink down.

"And didn't kill you like he had been trained to? I still think you're lying. Or maybe you just have severe trauma and you made up a story of the handsome Bucky Barnes calling you pretty." Bucky nearly laughed when Y/N's face turned red but then guilt started weighing heavy in his stomach. He had put her in danger…

"I don't have trauma, don't joke about stuff like that! Anyway, I was like, scared shitless. I thought I was gonna die, I started crying but he told me, don't cry. Like huh?" Bucky didn't remember that part. Steve and Sam were now definitely drawn to the story, their eyes set on their glasses as they listened.

"I didn't want to anger him so I wiped my tears but he raised that goddamn gun again and I started crying again. He repeated his words and I started pleading, as we've all seen in action movies." Snorts drifted between them. "Please don't hurt me, let me go…" Y/N mimicked but Bucky's heart rate suddenly spiked. The same voice, the same tone…

He had had a nightmare the previous night.

She was the one he heard.

"Okay, so after I'm done begging, you know what he fucking says? Out of all things, he literally called me pretty. Like just— just that one word came out of his mouth. I'm literally still so confused," she spoke animatedly and the friend who had not heard the story before gasped. "Seriously? No way," she scoffed.

"Yes way!" Y/N got impatient. Why did no one ever believe her? She got that it was an outlandish story, but it was real! Y/N wished the Soldat was here; not to kill, of course, merely to confirm the fact that he had, indeed, called her pretty. But that man was long gone, replaced by someone who was stable-but-not-so-stable, undoubtedly handsome and with a new metal arm. This Bucky was much better than the dangerous Soldat.

"Then he told me to go. He sounded so fucking soft, you know? I have so much respect for Bucky Barnes, I mean, look at him. He went through so much he didn't deserve, and sometimes I just wanna—" She made a choking gesture, "—everyone who hurt him." Her friends chuckled but he could tell she wasn't lying. She really did care for him.

After all he put her through…

"I'm serious! Look at him! He looks like a lost puppy. How can you not care about him?" Y/N whined and her friends shook their heads. "You just have a big crush on the man, accept it." Bucky rolled his eyes as Steve and Sam smirked at him. He nudged them both, keeping silent. "You know what? I wish he was here right now. He probably doesn't even remember but if he did—"

"I remember it, doll, only vaguely…"

Y/N's group froze as their gazes followed the voice, landing on the three Avengers beside them. Her friends were mortified, Y/N even more so. Did he hear the story? "D-Did you… hear…" she stammered and Bucky pursed his lips. "I'm sorry." The apology fell out before he could stop himself and Y/N, ever the Bucky-apologist, instantly shook her head.

"It was not your fault. HYDRA did that to you. You didn't deserve any of it, mark my words." She sounded like Steve, he noticed and smiled gently. After all he put her through… she still stood by his side. "Thank you, doll, that really means a lot," he said sincerely and Y/N grinned at him. "You're welcome!" And before she could turn to her friends, he spoke up again.

"I meant what I said."

"Hm?" She looked at him, head tilted in confusion. "When I called you pretty, I meant it. You are pretty, very much so." She went red under his intense gaze and shied away, forcing Steve, Sam and her friends to burst into boisterous laughter. "Th-Thanks," she mumbled and Bucky craved her more.

"Join me for a drink?" he questioned and her eyes widened. He mistook it for fear and immediately lowered his head. "Sorry, I overstepped—" He froze when she took his metal hand, holding it gently, looking at him with the same eyes he had thought to be adorable 7 years ago. "Of course I'll join you." A genuine smile bloomed on his face and without a care in the world, he led her away from her friends.

She was going to be his.

Forever and always.

The only woman caring and wonderful enough to accept him, broken and everything.

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A/N: Leave a like if you enjoyed, thanks for reading! Love you all 🖤

[cower-before-power]

Naked Attraction

Summary: A typical day in your art class turn into anything but when you’re introduced to your nude model for the week- a devastatingly gorgeous man named Levi.

Pairing: Modern AU Levi Ackerman x F!Reader

TW: Nudity, swearing, suggestive content, age gap (reader is 20, Levi is 30), dick jokes, reader is thirsty and lewds Levi hard, perhaps poorly written stuff about art and drawing because I literally know nothing haha

(minors please do not interact, just to be safe)

Link to A03 here

A/N: Hello all! This is my entry for @ghost-party’s Meet Cute Collab with my darling husband Levi. I’ve never written for him before so I was a little nervous haha, I hope I did him justice! Thank you to everyone who reads, likes, comments, and reblogs- you are all wonderful and I appreciate your support! I hope you enjoy, my sweet potatoes!

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“Morning,” Jean greets you with a crooked smile and a steaming cup of coffee. It’s the good stuff from the café by his apartment, your favourite thing to help your brain shift into creative mode. “You’re later than usual.”

You grab the cup from him, sighing as you feel the warmth bleed into your hands. “Overslept. Barely had time to get dressed and brush my teeth.”

Jean’s eyes rove over you as you sink into your chair, humming to yourself as you sip on your drink. “I can see. Do you know you’re wearing two different shoes? And I think your sweater is on inside out. Why do you still even have that ugly thing anyways?”

“Thank you for your comments,” you roll your eyes. “I know I look like a hot mess and I don’t need any words from you, Mr. I Asked The Nude Model Out And Got Shot Down.”

Jean’s ears turn red, and he shoots you a dirty look before busying himself with arranging his pencils. “Shut up.”

You snicker to yourself as you set up your own area. Last week’s model had been a soft, pretty brunette that had instantly made Jean all starry-eyed, like a teenage boy with his first crush. It was generally considered a bit taboo to ask out the nude models, but he’d thrown that aside and gone for the kill after she’d slid back into her clothes. She’d laughed and patted his cheek like he was a naughty child asking for candy before dinner. Then proceeded to walk out and climb onto the back of her boyfriend’s motorcycle (but not before making out with said boyfriend for a good 5 minutes, minimum).

Jean had been left with red cheeks and no date, and you’d been left with great blackmail material.

“I wonder who will be our victim today,” you decide to take mercy on your poor friend and change the subject. “Most likely a guy, since we had a woman last week.”

“We’ll know in about 5 minutes,” Jean looks up at the clock on the wall. “Old Cueball is never late.”

Sure enough, in exactly 5 minutes your very bald and very punctual professor casually strolls through the door. A short man in a green coat is following him, presumably your newest subject. You crane your neck, trying to get a better look at his face, but all you can see is dark hair falling like a curtain over pale skin.

“Good morning class,” Professor Pyxis greets you, tossing his briefcase down on his desk with his usual nonchalant air. “I see you are all ready, so let’s get right to it.” He gestures to the person beside him. “This is Mr. Levi Ackerman. He’s your model for the week.”

The class murmurs in curiosity as the mentioned Levi Ackerman turns to face the room.

You swear your heart actually skips a beat.

Steel gray eyes observe the room from a face that practically begs to be immortalized through art. Every line is hard and strong, covered in clear skin that looks like it would slide under your fingers like the smoothest silk. Your eyes drink in his features greedily, from the regal bridge of his nose to the proud edge of his jaw. You decide your favorite thing though, is his cheeks. They are utterly cherubic, round and full and dusted ever so lightly with the lightest shade of pink.

He’s possibly the prettiest man you have ever seen.

“Hey, I know him,” Jean whispers, cutting off your entranced thoughts. “That’s Mikasa’s distant cousin, the one I told you she found on Ancestry.com last year. I’ve met him once, he’s got a stick so far up his butt, he’d need surgery to remove it. Never would have pegged him for the type to do this sort of thing.”

You vaguely remember a previous conversation involving Jean’s childhood friend and some long lost relatives.

“He doesn’t look that uptight,” you muse, too busy admiring the way his lips glint temptingly under the fluorescents to really process Jean’s words. “He’s beautiful, like something out of a Renaissance painting.”

Jean opens his mouth to reply, but Pyxis begins to speak.

“As usual, draw whichever side of him is facing you, all angles will be graded equally,” your professor plops himself down in his chair, already scrolling through his phone to find the playlist for the day. “Completed drawings to be submitted to me by the end of class on Friday. Please remember be respectful and courteous to our guest. Mr. Ackerman, whenever you’re ready.”

The man nods to your professor, already slipping out of his coat as he steps up onto the platform in the center of the room. You watch, mesmerized, as he proceeds to shed himself of his clothes. It’s rigid and methodical (he folds his clothes like he’s worked his whole life in a department store), but somehow oddly endearing. Every inch of his body that is revealed is consumed eagerly by your shameless stare, and you sincerely hope you don’t start drooling. By the time he carefully removes his final items, you feel like you are vibrating in your seat.

Holy fucking shit, he’s built like a god. Like Michelangelo himself carved him out of a block of the most pristine marble. You trace your gaze down the column of his throat, over the strong shoulders and sinewy arms, the impressive set of abs, the thighs that look like they could crush your head and you’d be nothing but happy about it. It takes a minute before you’re able to make yourself look between his thighs, and when you finally do, you have to looks away immediately. Good grief, even that is stupidly handsome. You can’t help but wonder if it would feel as nice as it looks.

Your face heats from your lewd thoughts, and you grip your pencil so hard it almost snaps. Beside you, Jean snickers.

“You okay over there? It looks like you’re about to explode.”

“Can it,” you hiss, glad that the ambient music Pyxis chose will probably keep your conversation private. “I can’t help it that I’m looking at the most gorgeous dick attached to the most gorgeous man I think I’ve ever seen.”

“You haven’t seen mine.”

“I don’t own a microscope.”

“Ooooh, see if I buy you coffee tomorrow, bitch.”

You stick your tongue out at him before turning back to your easel. As you move, you catch the gaze of Levi, his expression unreadable. Warmth creeps up the back of you neck, and you duck behind your sketchpad in embarrassment. You seriously hope he didn’t hear you, he’d probably report you to Pyxis for being creepy. You decide to lock all your stupid horny thoughts deep within the recesses of your mind, and take a few deep breaths to clear your head.

It works, and as you touch pencil to paper, the desire to create overflows inside of you.

Unsurprisingly, you become utterly engrossed in your work, your pencil sweeping over the pad with almost a mind of it’s own. Levi is the perfect model; you swear he’s not even breathing as he majestically hold his pose without even a quiver. The contours of his body spring to life on the page, and you can’t stop the joyful smile that blooms on your lips as you work. It’s times like these, when everything is so perfect, that you truly realize just how much you love making art.

Before you know it, Pyxis announces class is over, and you’ll resume with Levi tomorrow. The man of the hour begins to re-dress as your fellow classmates pack up their supplies and file out. You absent mindedly wave to Jean, who is practically sprinting out the door so he can make his next class all the way across campus. You’re still engrossed in your drawing, staring at it with critical eyes. It good, one of the best starts you’ve had all year, but now that the high of creating has worn off, you can see where you need to improve.

“You’re very good.”

You gasp and jump, whirling around to find Levi standing behind you, eyes fixed on your sketch. How did he even get there? You hadn’t seen him or heard him.

“Oh, uh, Mr Ackerman!” You squeak, your heart racing like you’ve just run a marathon.  “T-that’s very nice, I mean, thank- thank you very much!”

“It’s Levi,” your muse says, seemingly unbothered by your stammering. “Yours is going to be the best one here.”

You blink stupidly at his bold statement. “Did you look at all of them?”

“No,” Levi’s voice is firm, a tone that brokers no argument. “But you had the most joy on your face while you worked. That much passion doesn’t churn out stuff that looks like shit.”

“Oh, that’s only because you are such a great model,” you gush, insides turning warm at his praise. “You stayed so still and you looked so damn regal and you’re just so pretty and-” Your eyes go wide as you realize the absolute words vomit leaving your mouth, mortification slithering up your spine.

“I’m pretty?” Levi raises an eyebrow. “You think I’m pretty?”

“No!” You shout, and the man’s other eyebrow joins the first. “No wait, yes! I mean, fuck, I mean you are probably the most handsome man I’ve ever seen!”

Levi’s eyebrows have now practically become one with his hairline. You wring your hands, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow you. “I-well- come on, people must tell you how good looking you are! I can’t be the first.”

“No, but you certainly are the most enthusiastic about it,” Levi deadpans.

Oh, someone just put you out of your misery now.

“I’m sorry,” you offer, cringing internally at your complete ineptitude to hold a conversation with an attractive man. “I....get carried away sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” Levi’s stoic expression softens just a little. “It’s kind of nice to hear, actually. Usually I’m told I’m good looking, but ‘far too short’.”

“That’s bullshit.” you say vehemently, honestly shocked people would deny this man his godhood over something as trivial as height. “Who cares if you’re shorter? It doesn’t detract from you. What’s that phrase again? Good things come in small packages? Well, not that you’re small, I’m not saying that, I just meant-”

“Yes, you did seem to find my package....good,” Levi interrupts, and you swear you see the corners of his lips twitch upwards.

Your eyes widen in horror as your brain replays your hushed conversation with Jean. “You heard that?!”

“I’m told I have exceptionally good hearing.”

“Oh fuck me,” you groan, burying your face in your hands. “I am literally so, so, sorry. That was completely out of line. I have no excuse other than it’s clearly been too long since I’ve gotten some, but that’s no reason to make you uncomfortable. Please, if there’s anything I can do to to make it up to you, I’ll do it!”

“Have tea with me.””

Your head shoots up, surprise coloring your features. “What?”

“Tch, you heard me,” Levi tuts, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out his phone. “I haven’t got free time till Saturday-stupid Shitty Glasses wanting to trade shifts-but if you want to go out, give me your number and we can work out the details.”

You stare at him with your mouth open, unsure if this is really happening or you’re vividly daydreaming again.

“Umm, are you sure?” You ask, wondering if you should pinch yourself to see if you are indeed imagining things. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m wearing two different shoes and my sweater is inside out. Believe me when I say these sorts of fashion statements happen more often than not. Plus, I practically salivated over you like some sort of horny middle aged suburban housewife who hasn’t been laid in years.” You pause to take a breath, once again unable to stop the words from spewing forth like a fountain. “And I’m so awkward! I mean, are you comfortable in this conversation? And I can’t stop talking once I’ve gotten going, and I say the weirdest shit, and, and-”

“I like you,” he says simply, as if he’s just declared something as obvious as 1+1=2. “I couldn’t give a flying fuck about all the stuff you just said, you’re just... you, and I like it. So, do you want to go on a date or not?”

“O-oh,” you suddenly feel shy, your tummy filling with butterflies at the look of sincerity on his handsome face. You’d never met anyone quite like Levi Ackerman before, and you weren’t about to pass up the opportunity to get to know the man behind the drool-worthy muscles.  “Uh, yes, please, I would like that. Very much.”

An almost relieved expression crosses Levi’s face, and he hands you his phone to type in your number. You notice the time as you do so, and sigh sadly as you hand him his device back.

“Well I better go,” you say reluctantly, suddenly fervently wishing it was Saturday already. “I’ve got another class in 15 minutes.”

“I’ll walk you there,” Levi says briskly, slipping his phone back into his coat. “To make sure you get there safely. Someone might murder you on account of their eyes being assaulted by that garish sweater. ” The corners of his lips twitch upwards once again, and you grow warm all over, from both his gentle teasing and the knowledge he isn’t quite ready to say goodbye yet either.

“Excuse me, I thought you said you didn’t give a ‘flying fuck’ about my attire,” you huff, but you’re grinning as you quickly pack up your bag.

“I don’t care it’s inside out, but you have to know that is the ugliest fucking color know to man,” Levi says, holding out his hand. Your brain malfunctions slightly for a moment, until you realize he’s offering to carry your bag for you. The butterflies inside you whip themselves into a frenzy as you pass him your stuff, your hand just grazing over his. Handsome, funny, honest, and sweet? How is this guy even real?

“I’ll have you know, this sweater is an absolute delight. When it’s inside right,” you stick up your nose, but unable to stop he laugh that slips past your lips.

Levi rolls his eyes in an almost playful manner. “Doubtful .”

You’re not sure where it comes from, but a sudden rush of confidence fills you. “If you’re so offended by it, maybe you should just rip it off of me.”

The tips of Levi’s ears turn a delightful shade of pink. You’re sure your own skin is hot enough to cook an egg on.

“Wear it Saturday then,” Levi’s ears may be flushed, but his eyes flash with something that makes your spine tingle. The insinuation of his words has your gut clenching and your mind whispering fervent prayers to please please please make Saturday get here faster, I don’t ask for much, please!

“Only if you wear your modeling outfit,” you manage to say, trying your best to sound coy when you feel like you might combust into a pile of lust and giddiness. “I’ve never seen someone wear it so well, and I want a closer look.”

If possible, Levi’s eyes grow even darker, and you just know Saturday is going to be one of the best damn days of your entire life.

“Deal.”

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Taglist: @clovertitan @millenialfanfictionaddiction @stigandr-the-cat @axoxtxhxh @bowandcurtsey​ @chaotic-nick​ @manjiroarchiviste​

[therealvinelle]

I know this is like taking a bat to the beehive but... I really wanna hear your opinions on the whole... Imprinting thing

(Note before we go any further: this meta is written purely about the shapeshifting aspect of the Quileute characters, I don’t at all get into the racism in Twilight or any kind of social commentary. This is a purely watsonian meta. Others in this fandom have already addressed the racial dynamics at play, far more eloquently and knowledgeably than me. If I say something in here that’s in any way offensive, that’s not my intention and I’m open to criticism.)

Ooh imprinting.

I touch upon it here, basically I hate it.

The imprinting is part of this theme where the shapeshifters lose their free will and autonomy, and I find it tragic, cruel, and unnecessary.

First of, the fact that they have to phase at all.

They’re made warriors to protect their tribe. There’s no choice involved, only genetics and magic irrevocably changing their lives, and at a ridiculously young age, too. Sam is the oldest of them, and he is 19.

Violence is an inherent part of what they become. Their purpose is to protect the tribe, by fighting vampires. Not only is this insanely dangerous (we see Jake get so injured by a single vampire that he’s bedridden for weeks), but if they succeed, they will have killed. In the singularly brutal manner of tearing apart and burning someone who looks a lot like a human, who talks and might beg for their life, at that. And I remind you, most of these shapeshifters are literal children. They might not see vampires as people, but all the same, killing one can’t be good for their mental wellbeing. (Thought: Perhaps an argument can be made for Laurent’s death having a part in the turn Jake’s personality took? Some, though not many, of the symptoms for PTSD do fit. I don’t know enough about PTSD to pursue this train of thought, but it occurred to me just now, in particular he becomes quite aggressive and prone to outbursts after that incident, so into a parenthesis it goes)

Not to mention how inhumane that responsibility is. Vampires in the Twilight-verse are terrifying, and the shapeshifters might have the power to fight them. But (and this is where I plug one of my all-time favorite animes, Puella Magi Madoka Magica, as it asks the question “Is it okay to sacrifice yourself for others?” because that’s... well there’s a parallel to be made to the shapeshifters. It’s on Netflix!) does that mean they should? Is it really their responsibility? Again- they’re kids!

Then there’s the time Sam lost control, and accidentally mauled the girl he loved. And it’s so cruel to both him and Emily. Sam never chose to have to control himself in the first place, he never chose shapeshifting. He didn’t choose to imprint on Emily either, and he didn’t choose to lose control that day. At no point in the series of events that led to Emily being mauled did Sam have any real choice, and yet he will shoulder the guilt for what happened for the rest of his life.

These kids get superpowers, and several of them seem to enjoy being shapeshifters, but the fact remains that they now carry this huge responsibility to protect their families and homes, doing so is incredibly dangerous, they lose out on their regular lives, and they can’t opt out of it.

This all sucks, but then we get to the fact that they are deprived of their free will, as their alpha can issue an order they physically can’t break. The alpha becomes alpha because of bloodlines, not because of a democratic election. Jake got a mockery of a choice in that he could choose to become alpha himself, or let Sam continue, which was really just choosing between a rock and a hard place. There is no limitation to what this order can be, from “don’t say X to person Y” to “let’s kill someone you love”. Jake has to struggle to break that last one, and he’s only successful because of the bloodline thing letting him become his own alpha.

Oh, and there’s the massive invasion of privacy when they have a hive mind. Cool concept, less cool to have it be reality. Leah is the poster child for how a hive mind can backfire, and they can’t opt out of this.

I’m not good at gifs, but the shapeshifters just make me think of that gif of someone flicking a lightswitch on and off, “WELCOME TO HELL!”. Of course, Twilight in general is a pit of despair for everybody, so I suppose that gif really is... well it sums up all of canon.

So, we have these kids aged 19 or younger, as of Breaking Dawn they skew as young as thirteen, their lives are turned upside down by something they can’t opt out of, they must shoulder this huge responsibility to protect their homes and families from the terrifying threat of vampires, and on top of all of that, they must obey orders that are so irresistible, they can compel them to harm someone they care for.

With all of that in mind, you’d think that the shapeshifters had enough on their plate. That through all of this they would at least retain their selves, and be able to look forward to a future where they could stop phasing, and go on to live normal, human, lives.

Yeah, NOT IF THEY IMPRINT.

I’ll just quote Jake’s description:

Everything inside me came undone as I stared at the tiny porcelain face of the halfvampire, half-human baby. All the lines that held me to my life were sliced apart in swift cuts, like clipping the strings to a bunch of balloons. Everything that made me who I was—my love for the dead girl upstairs, my love for my father, my loyalty to my new pack, the love for my other brothers, my hatred for my enemies, my home, my name, my self—disconnected from me in that second—snip, snip, snip—and floated up into space. 

I was not left drifting. A new string held me where I was. 

Not one string, but a million. Not strings, but steel cables. A million steel cables all tying me to one thing—to the very center of the universe. 

I could see that now—how the universe swirled around this one point. I’d never seen the symmetry of the universe before, but now it was plain. 

The gravity of the earth no longer tied me to the place where I stood. (Breaking Dawn, page 237)

Everything that made me who I was disconnected from me.

Jake’s love for his father, his home, his very own self, it’s all gone now. And while I have thoughts on the authenticity of this imprint, whether it was organic, the description above is apparently how imprinting feels. It’s along the lines of what Sam, Jared, and Paul all describe.

I don’t think I can put into words just how devastating I find imprinting, I think the above quotation speaks for itself. And as with all other shapeshifter things, there is no choice involved.

We see its devastating effects in the Emily, Sam, and Leah debacle. Sam and Leah were serious together, so much so that they were engaged. Sam had fallen for and chosen to be with Leah. Perhaps they would have broken up eventually, but Leah was still the choice he made. Then he imprints on Emily, and all that is for naught. He had to break up with Leah, who if she hadn’t phased never would have learned why, Emily and Leah’s relationship is ruined, and Emily must forever live with the knowledge that if Sam had his free will intact he would be with another woman.

Then there’s Jared and Kim. Kim crushed on Jared, but Jared never noticed her. The fact that they were in the same class is damning: if a boy is attracted to a girl, he's gonna notice her. Jared never did.

Quil imprints on Claire, who is a toddler. That’s just a recipe for misery and disaster all around.

And I’ve only touched the shapeshifter side of things. They lose their autonomy and freedom, but the imprintées draw the short straw too. They’re now responsible for this other person’s happiness. Sure, having someone who’ll be whatever you need them to be sounds nice (well, it sounds horrifying, but I’m playing ball) on paper, but you can’t opt out of them being like that. The imprintée can’t say “Sorry, not interested,” and she certainly can’t shut the imprinter out of her life, not without irrevocably ruining the imprinter’s life. The imprinter needs her. She’s the center of his earth now, but she didn’t choose to be.

Imprinting is a liferuiner for everyone involved.

Then we have the question of what imprinting is even for. I’m afraid I agree with Billy, that it’s for procreation. We see Sam, who was dating a woman about to phase (even if Leah isn’t infertile, she’s a warrior now. She can’t run in the woods and fight vampires, and gestate and nurse a child at the same time) conveniently imprint on her cousin, who as cousin to Leah is from a shifter bloodline. Claire, as Emily’s cousin, has those same genetics. Paul imprints on a woman from the Black family line. Jake is the outlier, but either Renesmée���s gift helped that imprinting along, or he imprinted because of the offspring they could potentially have (I firmly believe it’s the former because the latter... NOPE. Also, I can’t imagine whatever magic drives imprinting would want vampiric progeny for the future generations. Regardless of Renesmée’s person, her biology is wired to desire human blood. That’s exactly what Jake is supposed to protect people from. Bad match.).

I just.... ughhh. God, I hate imprinting so much, and on every level.

To me, everything about the shapeshifters is about free will, autonomy, and the loss thereof. And it would have been beautiful if their story was about reclaiming that, but it isn’t. None of this, with the exception of the alpha orders, is even acknowledged.

So, in summation, yes I hate imprinting, but it’s only the horror cherry on top of a very sad and problematic cake.

[redorich]

I literally woke up, checked tumblr and was like oh shit...that cliffhanger was terrible and I need to know what happens next!

Anonymous said to redorich: Ther Hermitcraft vs Dreamsmp war really is just gonna be a 2 hour long Dreamsmp cringe moment compilation huh. Also I like what you wrote! That fight fic was EPIC, but I do wonder why tf does Dream want Tommy back rn? I guess to solidify his status? Like, look at me I’m the righteous son! I’ve saved this infant child!

Anonymous said to redorich:

how could you end in a cliffhanger my day is ruined- /j /lh (but in all seriousness, HOLY SHIT DUDE IM SO HYPED UP FOR THIS YOU HAVE NO IDEA - Art Anon (the one who asked if you liked art of your work and such :>)

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The dreamon whispers in his mind. He can’t tell which thoughts are his own. His fingers twitch on the handle of his axe, whether he’s faced with friend or foe. Dream wants to be this insidious person he’s become. He can’t remember why he was ever kind.

Tommy, that obnoxious prick. He’s the only one that ever consistently said no to Dream. It infuriates him. He loves it. He wants that again, for someone to tell him no, you’re wrong, you’re being a dick. The dreamon doesn’t like it, but it does like breaking Tommy’s spirit. Dream has to have Tommy back.

In the end, the kid makes it easy on him: he comes to Dream. Philza’s there too, which is a complication, but Dream knows he’s better than Philza. He can kill him if he needs to. Tommy won’t forgive him for it, though. The thought is delicious.

They face each other on the balcony of the HEP tower. Dream killed all the snipers hiding up here. No doubt they’ve respawned.

“They don’t really care about you, Tommy,” Dream smiles indulgently. Stupid child. “They think you’re a novelty. They pity you, because you know blood like I do. Don’t you miss it? These ‘hermit’ assholes-- they go on and on about how everyone is equal, but it’s bullshit. Where’s your admin?”

Philza shifts uncomfortably from his position behind Tommy, swayed by Dream’s rhetoric but unwilling to compromise on his son’s wellbeing. Tommy snarls. He doesn’t know where Xisuma is, but he knows exactly what the admin is doing.

Dream barks out a nasty laugh. “If the hermits really liked you, if your admin really cared, he’d be here. But I’m here, Tommy. I fight alongside my men. Look around. All the death, all the destruction? I did it all for you.”

Dream slithers closer, still smiling. Phil raises his sword minutely, and Dream stops approaching but doesn’t back away.

“I’m your only friend, Tommy. I visited you every day in exile. Remember the trident I gave you? We had good times together.” Dream’s voice grows hard. “Then you lied to me. You turned your back on me. I have been nothing but patient with you. I’ve given you so many second chances. This is your last one. Come back home with me.”

Tommy meets his father’s gaze. He can barely see past the water in his eyes. His breath catches in his throat as he holds his arms up, silently asking Dream for a hug. Tommy needs this, he needs this to happen.

Knowing that he’s won, Dream grins triumphantly. He wraps his arms around the young man, then chokes. Philza meets the possessed man’s shocked gaze over Tommy’s shoulder as blood flows freely down the blade of his sword, seeps into Philza’s palms as he yanks out the sword that he’s buried in Dream’s chest through his son.

“What--” Dream rasps, trying to pull away from Tommy. The boy’s hands around his back are suddenly a vise grip, nails like claws digging into his shoulderblades.

The hermit admin, unseen til now, swoops down with his elytra and shouts in a language that Dream doesn’t understand. The dreamon knows it, though. As the tall, armored admin flicks through debug screens, the floor glows purple with Aurebesh runes. Dream’s skin feels like it’s melting.

The sky goes black, then white. Consciousness returns to Dream in patches. A short woman with flowers in her brown hair is splashing the two of them with healing potions-- Tommy is still holding him up. All at once, the gravity of the situation hits him.

“Hold your fire!” he roars. Half of his men are dead anyway.

He grips desperately at his hair. “Oh God, what have I done?” He feels physically ill. “Tommy, kill me. I only have one canon life, it’ll stick, I deserve it for what I did to you.”

Tommy hears Philza suck in a sharp breath. The man that he once loved like another brother, the man he’d fought wars both with and against, the man who took everything from him, is laid out in his arms and begging for Tommy to take his revenge. It would be so easy. Tommy wouldn’t even need a sword. Technoblade wouldn’t have hesitated, if it was him here instead of Tommy. Even Tubbo would feel enough pity to put Dream out of his misery.

Tommy remembers when he lost his first canon life to Dream in a duel for his nation. He remembers seeing Wilbur’s unstable features light up when Dream gave him eleven and a half stacks of TNT. He remembers exile, and everything that came before it.

Tommy also remembers when False caught him stealing her cobblestone, and she gave him a shulker box full of it. He remembers when Impulse saw Tommy’s war room, and wept for Tommy’s childhood. He remembers the proud look on Grian’s face when they pranked Doc together. He remembers, at every turn, expecting rejection, and receiving kindness.

“No,” he says, and is taken aback by the firmness in his own voice.

Dream’s face twists in an ugly sneer, more inwardly directed than a jab at Tommy. “So that’s what I get, huh? You’re going to leave me alive to suffer?”

“No,” Tommy repeats. “We’re going to fix things. We’ll make them better.”

“That’s impossible,” Dream says incredulously.

Tommy smiles. “Not impossible-- just hard. You’re up for a challenge, yeah? I believe in you.”

The sun sets on dead bodies and rubble. The moon rises with a gleam of hope.

[afterglowlws]

This shot right here makes me feel things. Kara has only wanted ONE thing, one person for months now. All she’s ever wanted was for Lena to love her. All of her. The arrogant hero Supergirl, the amazing reporter Kara Danvers (that Lena inspired her to be), and the loving friend Kara Zor El. In this moment, Lena finally see’s things from Kara’s perspective and doesn’t make Kryptonite. In this moment, Lena doesn’t resent her. And you can literally see Kara melt on the spot. She’s so happy she’s in literal TEARS. She has the woman she loves right in front of her, being the world saving genius she is, and she can’t help but just cry in disbelief...disbelief that she just might be getting what she’s always wanted.

Not only that, Kara barley even looks at the man she used to have a whole relationship with. She asks him for quick advice and then doesn’t look his way again. She’s just fixated on Lena. Fixated on the woman standing in front of her, wide smile and eyes sparkling with love, just taking in the sight she hasn’t gotten to see for months. The sight she so desperately wishes to see every day. She’s so overwhelmingly happy she just can’t hold back the tears. She probably daydreamed this scenario a million times, just to be crushed at the thought of it never being possible. That Lena loving her may never be possible. It’s itched at her for months. And now it’s here staring her in the face, and all she can do is just smile and cry.

But then Reign kills Lena, and kills M*n-El moments later. Kara doesn’t get up to help him, save him, or even look at him. She just held Lena in her arms, something she hasn’t gotten to do in a painfully long time. She knows in her mind it’s not real, but her body feels Lena’s touch and can’t distinguish the difference. She’s in so much pain all she can do is beg Mxy to get her out. And that, my friends, is the gayest thing I’ve ever heard.

Someone please put me out of my misery I shouldn’t be this emotional over one singular shot

[danddymaro]

Take My Hand |Loki x (Asgardian) Reader x Bucky Barnes

Quick and easy because as much as I would love to make a whole series, I don't have the capability to do so regularly and not disappoint.

With that being said this might just be left open as a single shot so I don't have to pick lol.

Word count: 5097

A/N: Have I mentioned I love drama?

-  because I love drama. 

Loki is a serious drift between romantic and platonic, and I just... I just love it, because you're like, hmmm. 

Is there something there?

Am I overthinking it?

Who do I pick?

Long-term friendship W/ Loki

Reader is Asgardian (as mentioned)

Bucky is in a half and half state. He’s somewhat good, but dealing with his stuff.

A lot more Loki W/reader. 

 Take My hand

She was a perfect woman, and he wholeheartedly believed it. 

In his eyes she was the embodiment of everything he could ever ask for, but, even then, that didn't mean he couldn't be a stupid man.

‘It’s really for the best,’ He told himself, all in order to convince himself that what he was about to do was for the best. 

‘ - Because right now...it’s not the best time for any of this,’ He thought to himself, biting his lower lip as he felt her reaching for him for warmth.

‘-It’d been in the heat of the moment,’ He inwardly spoke, wanting to take away any special meaning that the moment could hold.

‘yeah,’ he went on, wishing he could go back in time before they let themselves get carried away.

‘It’s just that...’ he went on, in a desperate attempt to convince himself that it was just like with any other time, and any other woman.

Though, in truth, as much as he tried to fight it, it was anything but insignificant. Far, deep within his being he did not want to forget the lovely moment now that it had occurred.

It was then that (f/n) pressed her cheek to his chest, her ear landing just a few inches off from his heart.

Her arm was then draped over his stomach, allowing her hand to land at his side, the woman seeming fully contempt with life as they cuddled.

‘It didn’t mean anything,’ He added with a long exhale, trying to convince himself as much as he could, hoping that if he repeated it enough, it would somehow become easier.

‘(f/n),’ He started, ‘Is this how you are with everyone else?’ He then wondered, asking himself if the cuddly nature was meant just for him, or for just anyone that lay next to her.

 ‘(f/n),’ He then added, his heart weighing down, ‘If I tell you a lie....would you just believe it? Will you just believe it...not having expected anything else from me but a single moment?’ He added, the same muscle tightening as the woman seemed to be at compete ease. 

The sentiment was infectious and as he felt her melt, it was hard for him not to do the same. Even if his mind was far too plagued by a tornado of torment, his body got the message.

Naturally, the tension in his body melted, and it only made things more difficult, because it just meant that his heart was responding to her embrace, knowing that this time, it was different.

‘I know I’ve got a nasty reputation right now,’ He started, ‘ but it’s because, really, I don’t care about seeing them the day after.’ He silently admitted to the (h/c) haired woman.

He’d somewhat gone back to his old ways, though, not quite entirely because it was hard to fall back into being the same charmer he used to be when he’d gone through such a long-termed torment.

 But, at the very least, he was graced with good looks, and it did plenty for him when he lacked the proper social skills to woo a woman.

He’d shamelessly had little hook ups here and there, and that was just what they were, and nothing more.

‘They know what to expect, and for me,  it’s a routine.’ he thought idly, finding the arrangements he had  better than spending the time alone in silence with his own thoughts.

‘I care about you a lot.’ He thought with certainty, pointing out what separated her form everyone else. ‘I think...that maybe... I might have actually fallen in love,’ He then corrected himself, finally admitting it. 

‘If I think about you so much,’ He started, knowing it wasn’t right how frequently she came to mind, well aware that what he felt wasn’t something that he could feel for just anyone.

‘if you’re the first thing that comes to mind when I think about the good things in life...’ he then trailed off, filling it the rest with a silence that reached his mind.

‘ (F/n), I choose you.’ He declared. “ I’d always choose you,’ He thought with determination. ‘I just hope you know...that right now, (f/n), I’m choosing you. 

Above me. 

Above everyone else. 

I’m choosing what’s best for you, and not what I want instead,’ he thought with lament.

‘ Right now, I’m no where near where I want to be.’ He went on with the same sorrow. 

‘ There’s a reason I never stay overnight. 

There’s a reason I don’t get too close to any one else...because it’s better for people to think I’m some asshole than some crazy psychopath.’ He told himself, not wanting to share his misery with the lovely woman.

‘You deserve more,’ He thought with certainty. ‘You’re meant for better things,’ He told himself, never forgetting her origin, knowing that she’d always be much more than he deserved.

She was a literal goddess, and he was just some broken down old fool.

“(f/n),” He started before closing his eyes while he let a deep breath leave his nostrils,

“(F/n),” He then said again, letting his mouth do the work, disconnecting himself from it all to make it more believable, because if she saw the misery that threatened to overtake him, she’d have doubt.

She stared at him with widened (e/c) colored eyes, the happy glow to them fading as he continued to speak, giving her an excuse to why he couldn’t stay, and much more, why he wasn’t one meant to settle down.

"- You understand....right?" He questioned her, and throughout his speech, it took all the power he could muster to not look back at her heartbroken expression, even though  it felt like his duty to ease it.

‘When you’re upset, I feel like I have to put you at ease,’ He thought with tenderness, knowing the pain was there, and that it existed on her beautiful face.

  He knew he'd caused it and instead, chose to cower, biting his tongue as he heard her take in a long, strong breath through her nostrils.

She’d long let go of him, and had chosen to distance herself the more he spoke,

"Of course," She responded, the hand that clutched the covers shaking before she released the fierce grip, finally collecting herself enough to hold back her melancholy.

She believed his deception because until then, she hadn't had a reason to distrust him.

Until then, he’d always been honest with her.

"I understand." She said with a soft, blue breath, her (e/c) colored eyes watching him as he slid from beneath the covers, soon throwing on his clothes in a way that was far too collected for a man that had regrets.

There was no stumble, nor fumble and she looked on with melting shoulders.

Quietly, (f/n) handed him his shirt, offering him a soft, yet broken smile, thinking she had mastered the false expression, though, failing the final test.

"You ok?" He asked her, his voice coming out soft and kind, because he never meant to hurt her.

'No...' She inwardly wept.

"Yeah...I get it," She said instead, her eyes fluttering close as he neared her,  laying a soft kiss on her hairline.

"- I'm heading out now," he informed her, his right hand gently patting down (h/c) colored hair, the affectionate act causing her to shrink as she nodded in acceptance.

'Please...don't,' she silently begged.

 'Not yet. If you're going to go anyways, just stay a little longer,' she added as she watched him go, wondering if she’d been the only one to hold back on calling him, or if he was used to being pleaded.

It didn’t take long for her to finally let loose of the harsh grip she had on herself, choking out soft sob after he left, properly reacting to his rejection once he was out of sight, and problobly off to his same routine. 

And that was the part that hurt most, that in the end, she was just like all of the others.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Please...” (f/n) breathed, her voice down and tired as she tried to keep the conversation with the man civil.

But, it was fruitless, because as much as she wanted to avoid the conversation, he was detrained to dig deep, going as far as to follow her through the entirety of the empty facility. He  remained hot on her trail with quick, long strides that only ceased when she decided to finally stop and turn towards him with the same defeated gaze she’d wear whenever she was shamed and beaten.

“You are a god!” Loki barked back at her, his emerald eyes shadowed over and dimmed as he roared out the words. 

He spat them at the woman to remind her what was her true title, because he detested how fiercely she tried to play home with a realm that she didn’t belong to.

“You shouldn't be played a fool by an insignificant, Midgardian, lowlife,-”  

“- Loki please,” She cut him off with a weak voice, desperately trying to both calm and silence him.

'Not now,' She secretly pleaded, not wanting to hear the harsh speak, especially with the news she’d just received.

She hardly found the strength to plead with him, and at that very moment, she was certain that it was the last bit of resistance she had left, the hollow feeling that she'd been consumed by only weakening her furthermore as the days progressed. 

Left as nothing more than a walking husk, she cowered, and it was something he could see.

 Her attempt was futile as well as her will to reason, and it only seemed to fuel his means to speak in such a heated tone, because the (f/n) he knew wasn’t so frail. 

 “You still defend him?!” He questioned her in complete astonishment, the tone borderline mocking.

In response she said nothing, and the woman only stared at her feet in disgrace, swallowing down a small wad of spit that would be her defense.

She couldn't find anything to say, or justify herself, and her silence was her only answer at the moment, the only one she could provide. 

 Because what was she to say? 

Yes, she was a fool.

Yes, she simply strung along.

 Yes to all the accusations, however, "Please…" she said softly, slowly lifting her gaze to meet his, finally finding it in herself to look directly at him.

 She couldn't bear to listen to more, because despite everything that happened, it hurt her to hear the demi-god speak of Bucky in such a way that demoted him into nothing but worthless rubble.

 No matter what had happened between them, nor how much bitterness was left in between to savor, she still loved him too much to sit through any ill talk of him. Aside from that, the way Loki threw her own foolishness In her face burned, scathing the warrior that lay dormant.

“No pleading me woman!  I have sat back and watched you gravel and lower your status to an expendable waste of time and space here on Midgard!” He said loudly.

Her self-esteem was already at an all-time low, and his words only stung more, causing her to visibly shrink, her shoulders sinking as she accepted his venom.

All sympathy was left aside as his rant ran, and she wasn't surprised because she knew how heated and stubborn he could be, and by then she was well aware that she might as well speak her feeble plea to a brick wall.

'I know,' She quietly mused.

 He watched her take in the insults with the same grimace and the sight didn’t soften his harsh glare in the least bit, nor deter his speech, and it was then that he made his final decision, 

“I am not pleading you, nor am I requesting this,” he stated lowly, and  the way he looked at her almost frightened her because she knew he had something severe to come. 

Bracing herself, she looked up at him, (e/c) colored eyes wide and teary, waiting for what was to come.

 “I demand you return to Asgard with me today.” he finished, each word spat out firmly. 

His chin was held high as his eyes dared her to defy him, and at that, her heart came to a sudden stop.

“Today?!” she breathed, “ Loki- No, No, No, I can't simply leave like that.” She said frantically, nearly on the verge of tears, the panic she felt rising, momentarily shielding her from feeling the full strength of her sorrow. 

“You can't?”  He said, raising a brow,“…or you won't?” he asked her, silence ensuing after his low murmur.

"What stops you?" He questioned her, wanting to hear her say it, itching for her to face the reality of her decisions.

She tried her best to put on a brave front, but failed miserably and soon enough, tears began to fall down her face. Quickly, she hung her head to hide her worthless state, however, hiding her tears did nothing to stifle her sniffles, letting him know she was breaking down. 

“ Loki..." She breathed.

‘I can’t go now,’ She thought to herself with weakness.

"- I'm pregnant…” she sniffed, her voice as soft as silk, completely delicate and woven with the finest fibers of desolation and helplessness. Through her (h/c) colored bangs, her ( e/c) eyes Scanned his face, only to find It unmoved, the expression giving her unease. 

“And your point is?” He said with a low growl, annoyed. 

The news didn't faze him, nor did it lessen his piercing glare, and it unnerved her, “Did you not hear me?” She questioned him, struck by disbelief. 

  Didn't he just hear her? 

Did he even understand what the implications of her being in such a state meant?

She couldn't just leave, it wasn't right to do so.

“I heard you,” he said placing both hands behind his back, breathing in a soft, mellow sigh that loosened his tense body, “In Fact,” he began,  “I knew before you mentioned it to me.” He said coolly. 

"Y-you knew," she said shocked, though not entirely convinced, "That's impossible..." she murmured with uncertainty written all over her person. 

she stared straight at him for a form of proof that indicated he could be lying, but she got nothing in return, only the same arrogant look he'd mastered. 

“-Three weeks." He said simply, " You are three weeks pregnant,” he said before giving her a satisfied look that was in response to her expression of shock.

"Don't be so surprised,  the question on your face is insulting.” He huffed, “ Need I remind you, that to fool a trickster is of unlikeliness my dear? " he said smugly. 

"Then if you knew, then why give me such an ultimatum!" She furiously bellowed.

Why put her through the pain? 

Why tear her child from a father? 

Why try and force her into leaving?

The questions burdened her as she faced him, but the growing fury she felt forced her to retain them, not knowing where to start. 

He huffed out a dry chuckle before closing the space in between them, slowly stepping closer.

 "As I said before. I am not asking you to come with me, I am telling you, and trust me when I say you will comply," he asserted.

By then his taller figure loomed over hers, making her feel even smaller than before, the sudden burst of passion she had dying out as he towered over her.

"Are you really going to force me? " She murmured dejectedly, knowing that any hope of defying him wouldn't happen if he was fully intent.  

" Only if I must, " He said calmly, seemingly cooled down.. 

She became crestfallen, the woman withdrawn and small by then, “Please don't make me...” she sniffed, looking up at him with hurt (e/c) colored eyes.

 "Think about this, the child will be born on a bed of silk and surrounded by the finest. In Asgard, they will have a lasting life, one of prosperity, of higher thinking and understanding. 

They won't be held back by petty wars and battles, the very ones you attempt to stop. 

What more could one want for their own?" He reasoned with an almost too kind smile, lulling her onto his side, hoping to easily strum her along. 

He then opened his mouth to speak again before she could deny him, using his silver tongue,

“Do you truly believe a child here would not suffer ?" He questioned her. 

" You, more than anyone know how much corruption and danger there is here, especially for a person such as yourself….one who has so many foes." He reminded her.

 " - With that said, would you would allow your child to live here, risking thier life? ” he asked her.

She was wedged between a spear and the wall, because as he stated out the facts, she was well aware of how much more favorable the other realm was, however, there existed a factor that bound her to the place she now called home, 

"My child needs a father. " She said softly, so much so he couldn't have heard her at any farther distance. 

Instantly, the emerald-eyed man turned from her, making an attempt to not capture her heartbroken gaze, and  yet again silence filled the room, the space disrupted by the long, hiss he let escape.

" Oh," he breathed, " And here they have one, yes? " He dared to ask.

The question nearly killed her, because the dagger that had already been wedged in her heart was moving, digging deeper, and rotating in a way it ensured there wouldn't be any healing.

‘ he wouldn't... I know he wouldn't reject a child of his own flesh and blood.’ she thought with a glimmer of hope, trusting the man she'd given herself to.

His heart was good, and she was convinced of it.

She desperately wanted to believe it, however, Loki was a man that knew how to crush one's dreams, the soft-tongued man always aware of what words to use, because he’d mastered the art of manipulation.

" - The man who rejected you, who used you, who humiliated you in the vilest way he could… He is worthy of being a father? " he questioned her, finding a weak point.

'He doesn't want to be with me,' She then thought to herself. ' he doesn't want that life....so of course, why would he be willing to stop? 

For me...For a child that comes from me...

One he never planned...

Why should I force him...right?’

“ Do you believe that if he cared for you, he would toss you away so easily, without even a glance at your way. 

- Watching you suffer, seeing you slowly crumble… and do nothing?

I could never sit by and watch you suffer.” He then told her. 

“How is it that he can?” He then asked her, watching her swallow hard.

“ Much more , Do you truly believe a man such as himself would be safe around a child? Again I ask -

Would you put your own child at risk? “

Her eyes went wide and she sucked in a strangled breath, taking in the words with a fastly thudding heart, 

“You’re wrong !” she said stubbornly, “He wouldn't harm his own child, to any child. To any one!” she rambled. “He wouldn't ! he isn't like that, not anymore Loki!” She said with panic.

'No...you can play with every insecurity I have,' She silently spoke, ' but that is not one,' she thought with confidence.

 “ of course HE isn't, but what about the Winter soldier? what about the ruthless assassin that lies dormant?

What of that feral beast he becomes ?

Is he not unstable still?”

She shook her head with a certain look to her eyes, pride swelling through at the gaze, “ You can't play on a fear I long let go of. I know he is strong enough. 

He is different." she said with borderline arrogance. 

He then sighed, the breath sounding exasperated.  

"Return to Asgard. whatever fool that crosses your path could take the role." He finished, beginning to walk away, not willing to negotiate any longer, growing weary of the conversation.

 "If a father is what you need then find a suitable one once we arrive," He advised her. “You’re still in your early stages,” he reminded her, letting her know how easy it’d be to just push the responsibility onto some other fool.

Her eyes became wide at his solution and her nostrils flared in anger, a sudden burst of fury striking her,

“I will do no such thing !” she growled, quickly pulling him back.

With her quick hand shot directly at him, she managed to grab his shoulder and spin him around roughly. And it was at that moment that he found himself facing a different woman, one he recognized. 

Fire blazed in her (e/c) colored orbs, and by then the tears no longer flowed, slightly pleasing him.

The display of a knowing smirk made its way onto his face as he watched her, preferring her in her current state.

" That is deceiving,  and a much more, a disgusting act. I could never do such a thing !" She said in between gritted teeth, "And for you to expect it from me, I'm appalled." She further seethed.

"You, are simply unbearable," He snickered.

"So are you, darling," she bit back.

‘Just when I think we’ve become strangers...we come to this point again.’ he thought to himself. ‘A change in scenery. A different year and stage in our lives, and yet, it’s all warmly familiar,’ He added, by then certain that he and the woman were destined to be at each other sides.

‘Alright,’ He decided, knowing what had to be done.

"Unbearable woman..." He breathed, " I have another proposition." he informed her.

She nearly tore out her hair at his words, frustrated, because, Could he not just understand?

she couldn't just leave,

"NOTHING YOU SAY COULD POSS-"

"Then I will be that fool…per se."

" …what? " She breathed stepping back from him, anger having disappeared. Instead, she stared at him in awe, as if he had grown a new head entirely.

“Idiot...” She murmured, “Just what are you saying!” She questioned him, still in shock, not knowing how to really react.

" You heard me, I will take responsibility of you both." He said with a low voice, his eyes cast down as he spoke, looking almost hesitant to word his proposal for a reason other than doubt of his own. 

Truly, if there was any reason he looked away, it was because there was a vulnerability to him that he didn’t want to show so openly. 

'Why are you doing this Loki ?’ She gloomily wondered.

“- Why?” She questioned him, “ Just why are you so pent on me leaving with you?” She asked him while taking a step closer to him. 

Her hand reached out to him, her palm gently taking hold of his cheek, easing him to properly gaze at her. 

 “Why?” she breathed, questioning him yet again.

“Could the god of lies and deceit finally tell me the truth?" She challenged him, the words making his lips twitch with the most delicate touch of amusement.

 "- Why not? " He said simply, still not looking towards her, his eyes stubbornly drawn away.

"B-Because !" She argued, not finding where to begin, 

‘ Because I don’t want to hurt you.

Because you deserve so much more. 

Because I love you too much to damn you in any way.’ 

Finally finding it in himself, he pulled up a soft smile, “I see no fault in my plan.” He assured her, the confident comment not easing her.

“It's marriage Loki! A family!” She cried in frustration. “It’s an eternity!” She went on, no longer convinced he knew the true implications of such ties.

“- I understand what it means fully well,” He started, “ And it seems that you do too, so could it be that you simply wish to not bind yourself to me in specific?” he said looking insulted, a hint of playfulness hidden in his words, the childish speak further wounding her, because the lightheartedness he showed only highlighted his true devotion.

His sweet banter only showed how sure he was. 

“No... it's just... what about you?” She whispered with a crooked smile, an imperfect expression that tried too hard to properly showcase all of her inner musings from sadness and loss, to confusion and joy, and even hints of frustration.

“-What of me?” he asked her back, his tone just as sweet as hers. 

“Don't play the role of a fool, because it doesn't fit you well,” she rebutted, the words making him crack a true smile. 

“Do you not see it as sacred as I do?” She said with glittering eyes.

‘To me...this means devoted love. 

This means there is no end. 

This is something my heart has always yearned for,’

“Yes.” He answered her without a shred of hesitance, no second thought hidden between the spaces of the words.

“Then why me…?” She questioned him, “ Why make the sacrifice for me?” choking on her own words when she asked the one question she had begged to be answered.

“ why take me from my home here?” She continued to ask him. “Why put me before your own desires?” (f/n) said while beginning to shake.

“This is my desire,” He said as his hand rose to cover hers, all while his head leaned to her palm even moreso, 

“ I wish you could truly grasp at how special you are. 

How rare it is to find a woman such as yourself, in just about any part of the universe, even while scouring entire realms," he proceeded, grasping her little limb before lacing his fingers with hers, and suspending them in the air between them.

“That child of yours, they will take on my name, and whatever glories are bestowed upon them will be preceded by both of our titles, hopefully with pride,” He said with a small chuckle.

She could detect no lies, and at that, her hand squeezed his, 

“ A child is an extension of you, and so, I could never deny them. They will be mine, just as they are yours.” he spoke before releasing a low, airy chuckle, 

“Perhaps then I can show Odin how a true parent is to treat their son,”

He finished with a snide remark. 

“Son..?” She questioned him, lightly tilting her head as she gazed at him, “A son?” she repeated while envisioning such a child. 

‘Would our son hold resemblance to their father...or would they somehow hold all of me instead?’ She idly thought to herself, envisioning the same beautiful blue eyes that now caused her sorrow being possessed by her child.

“ Yes dear,” Loki said with certainty, “ A son. A boy. wouldn't that be marvelous?” He questioned her, seeming enthralled by the very idea, so much that he slid his free hand down to her upper back, the other that linked with her own held dearly as he took a step to the side, performing a lax spin that was of a poorly preformed waltz, and it reminded her so much of the little dances they preformed as children.

“ Then what if it's a girl?” she interjected, “Would you still be as willing to accept them? ” She said while smugly awaiting his answer, wanting to see him weigh in every possibility.  

“What do you mean if it's a girl ?” He said while stopping their spinning, “ Then there will be a princess born, and she will be a proper lady,” He responded without question, mindlessly falling in sync with her little steps. 

“Oh, and mother will just adore her. We will teach her all sorts of magic and quick Wit.

  She will have both our bronze and brain,

  Your righteous convictions, your every strength...they will be celebrated.

And every weakness she develops will be assured by me,” He swore to her, seeing only a bright path in the wake.

“She will be a gem formed in the same mine as her perfect mother,” He said proudly, but not soon after did his frown overtake him, abruptly stopping their little waltz,

“Which in turn...will mean she will be sought after by just about every man in Asgard,” He mumbled lowly, breaking off from her with a bothered downturn,

“And of course, none will ever be worthy of her, “ he said with a present scowl.

Momentarily, she stared at him, her sight, and mind alike completely taken by the prince who she could only then, describe as precious.

“ Traces of doubt nested within me, until just now, “ She admitted, “You're serious aren't you..?” she asked him with a small chuckle, her (e/c) colored eyes gazing at him with an even brighter light.

“ And I keep asking myself...why?” she said softly, shaking her head all the while, and it was then that his entire face melted into a sweetened softness that was further accented by the gentle smile he presented.

“ You have been with me through and through, just like a shadow, but unlike one, you don’t stand behind me.

You don’t cower yourself, and, instead, show me devotion while everyone else looks away.

 You’ve defended me, despite the many times I've paid you back with everything but the truth. “ he said with shame.

“(f/n), with you, I’ve felt true love,” He admitted to her.

“What we have, to me, has always been treasured.

It has always been cherished. 

I was never doubtful of what it was,” He further confessed. “I do not want you to look at that man more than you have to.

I do not want you to live in the same place he calls home.

- I cannot stand your suffrage.

Do you understand me?

You've always been one to find reason behind my actions and against all logic and reasoning.

You’ve always tried to save me, so now, shouldn't I do the same with you?” He questioned her. 

“(F/n),” He airily murmured, “Would you take my hand, and disappear?” He then asked her, pulling back to just the touch of fingertips.

With an upturned palm, he offered her a sweet smile as he repeated the question a second time,

“(f/n)...Would you take my hand?