#you poor unhinged bastard

[favvnsongs]

asdfghjkl lmfao has anyone called in a wellness check on dawson french yet or like, what

[br0kenangel]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐌𝐲 𝐝♡ve 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Unhinged Aegon x Therapist Reader part 3

Summary: after that night, no matter what you do, no matter what you say, no one believes you. You're done. You want to quit being his therapist but you still haven't seen the worst part...

Warning: paranoia, abuse, mental illness.

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

PART 1, PART 2, PART 4

It had been days since that night—days since the dead doves, the blood on the walls, the police visit to the Targaryen home. Days since Y/N last felt normal.

Now, the walls of her apartment seemed to close in on her. The curtains remained drawn, blocking out the light of day. The once-cozy space was now a prison, suffocating her with silence, except for the incessant scratching at the back of her mind. The feeling of being watched, of not being alone. Every creak, every whisper of wind against the windows made her jump.

She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t sleep. Her body felt weak, and her mind was clouded in a haze of paranoia. Her hair was greasy, her skin pale and blotchy. Dark circles framed her eyes—eyes that were wide with fear, darting around the room, always expecting him. Expecting Aegon to appear from the shadows. She had stopped showering, afraid that if she closed her eyes for even a second, he’d be there when she opened them. Her reflection in the mirror was foreign, ghostly, a stranger trapped in a body consumed by terror.

And her boyfriend…he was tired. More than tired. He was done.

"Y/N, for fuck's sake, you have to stop this," he snapped, his voice breaking the silence like glass shattering on the floor. He stood in the kitchen, staring at her with a mix of frustration and pity, while she sat at the edge of the couch, her legs pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them.

"You don’t believe me. You never believe me,” she muttered, her voice hoarse from days of crying, of pleading. "I saw him. It was him. I know it was him." Her eyes were wild, flicking toward the corners of the room as though Aegon might materialize from the shadows at any moment.

Jacob sighed, rubbing his temples. "Y/N, we've been over this a thousand times. The cops checked him out. There was nothing—nothing—to suggest he did anything. No evidence, no signs, nothing. He’s just some guy going through a rough time, and you're his therapist. You’ve taken this too far."

She flinched at his words, the sting of them sinking into her chest. "No…you don’t get it. You don’t see him like I do. He’s dangerous. I’m not safe. He knows where I live. He wants me." Her voice trembled as she spoke, each word a desperate plea for him to understand.

But he didn’t. He was tired of this, of her, of everything.

"You're obsessed, Y/N. Obsessed with this guy. You spend all your time thinking about him, talking about him, dreaming up this whole fucking scenario in your head like you're the main character of some horror movie. But this isn't a movie—this is real life, and you're making shit up!" His voice grew louder, angrier with every word, his patience long gone.

Y/N shook her head, her body trembling. "I'm not making it up. You have to believe me—please. I’m not crazy. I’m not—"

"Yes, you are!" He cut her off, his face twisted with frustration. "You’re fucking crazy, Y/N! Years of being a therapist have finally caught up with you. You’ve absorbed all the bullshit from your patients, and now you’re projecting it onto this guy. Aegon didn’t do anything to you—he’s just some poor bastard who had the misfortune of being assigned to you."

Her stomach lurched at his words. The pain of his accusation was worse than anything she’d felt before. It was like a knife twisting inside her, carving out the last remnants of hope she’d clung to. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.

"I'm not crazy," she whispered, her voice broken, fragile. She didn’t even recognize herself anymore.

Jacob slammed his hand on the counter, his eyes blazing with frustration. "Then why are you acting like it? Why can’t you just let this go? You're ruining your life—our life—because you’re so fixated on this guy. You won’t eat, you won’t sleep, you’re a fucking mess, Y/N! I can't keep doing this! Every time I try to help you, you just spiral deeper into this delusion!"

Tears streamed down her face, but she barely felt them. "I’m not delusional," she repeated, but her voice cracked, betraying her.

"Yes, you are!" He shouted, stepping closer, his face red with anger. "You’re making this shit up because you’re obsessed with him. Admit it! You’re obsessed with Aegon. You’ve let him get into your head, and now you’re the one who’s losing it."

"No!" she cried, her voice raw. "I’m not obsessed with him! I don’t care about him like that! I’m scared—he’s going to hurt me! I know he is!"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Oh, give me a break. You’ve been so wrapped up in this guy, you probably want him to do something, just so you can play the victim. Just so you can have some sick thrill of being the center of his attention. It’s pathetic, Y/N."

His words felt like a slap in the face, each one tearing at her like claws. She stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to believe that this was happening—that he was saying these things to her. The one person who was supposed to protect her, to believe her, had turned against her.

"I can’t do this anymore," he said, his voice quieter now but still laced with anger. "I can’t keep pretending that you're okay, because you're not. You need help. Professional help. Maybe you should check yourself into a fucking psych ward, because right now, you’re acting like a fucking lunatic."

Her breath hitched in her throat. The room seemed to spin around her, her vision blurring with tears. "How can you say that?" she whispered, her voice shaking. "How can you say that to me?"

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly done with the conversation. "Because it's the truth. And deep down, you know it. You're spiraling, Y/N. And I’m not going to stand here and let you drag me down with you."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. She felt as though the world had collapsed around her, the last piece of her sanity slipping away.

"Fine," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "If you think I’m crazy…then just go. Leave me."

He stared at her for a long moment, the anger still simmering in his eyes. Then, without another word, he turned and stormed out of the apartment, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving Y/N alone in the dark.

And for the first time in days, the silence felt more dangerous than ever.

Y/N stood in front of the mirror, her eyes red and swollen from sleepless nights. She hadn’t heard from her boyfriend in days, and each missed call had sent her deeper into a pit of despair. But today was different. Today was the day she would finally face Aegon.

Her hands shook as she brushed her hair, her fingers trembling with every stroke. Her reflection looked haggard—dark circles under her eyes, skin pale and sickly. She barely recognized herself, but she needed to pull it together. She had to pull it together.

"He’s just a man," she whispered to herself, her voice shaky but determined. "Just a man… I’m in control. I have to be in control. I can’t let him win."

Her eyes flickered toward the closet. She needed to choose something to wear, something that made her feel strong, confident. Something that would hide how utterly broken she felt inside.

She reached for a black turtleneck, one of the few pieces of clothing that didn’t feel too vulnerable, too exposed. The fabric clung to her body in a way that was both comforting and suffocating, but she convinced herself it was armor. Something to shield her from the weight of Aegon’s gaze. She paired it with dark jeans and boots, feeling the weight of each step as she slipped them on.

"It’s just another session," she muttered, pulling her hair back into a tight ponytail. "I’m going to confront him. I’m going to tell him it’s over. He can’t do this to me anymore."

She stared at herself in the mirror, trying to find some semblance of the person she used to be. Her hands gripped the edges of the sink, her knuckles white from the pressure.

"You're not crazy," she told herself, her voice stronger this time. "He’s messing with you, but you can stop this. You can end this. Just get through today, and then you’re done. You’ll quit. You’ll never have to see him again."

Her heart raced at the thought of being in the same room with him again, but she forced herself to breathe.

"In and out," she whispered, taking a deep breath. "Just…in and out. You can do this. You have to do this."

She tried to picture how it would go. She’d walk into the room, sit across from him like she always did, but this time, she wouldn’t let him get to her. She wouldn’t let his twisted words sink into her skin like poison.

"I’m the therapist," she reminded herself, pacing back and forth now, her boots tapping against the hardwood floor. "I’m the one in control. He’s just a patient. He’s just…" She trailed off, the image of Aegon’s wide eyes and the way he had silently told her to shut up flashing in her mind.

She shook her head, trying to push the memory away. "No, no… Don’t think about that. You’re stronger than this. You’re not scared of him. You can quit. You can walk away."

But her hands wouldn’t stop trembling. She stared at them, willing them to be steady. "Breathe," she muttered, forcing another deep breath into her lungs. "Just breathe."

She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, the weight grounding her for a moment. "You’ve got this," she whispered one last time, trying to convince herself.

But as she headed for the door, the creeping sense of dread wrapped around her, cold and suffocating.

Y/N sat at her desk, staring at the door, the silence of the room pressing in on her. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, and the knot of anger in her chest only grew tighter. She gripped the edge of her desk, her fingers turning white. She was done with Aegon. Done with his games, his manipulations, his stalking. Today, she was ready to confront him—she was ready to make him understand that she wasn’t going to be his victim anymore.

The memory of the dead doves, the blood, still haunted her. Every night, she barely slept, feeling like his eyes were on her, even when she knew she was alone. And yet, despite all of it, he had gotten away with it. He had made her look crazy, gaslighted her in front of the police and her boyfriend, made her question her own reality. But not anymore. Today, she was taking control. Today, she would end it.

Her jaw clenched as she imagined him walking through the door, with that smug, twisted grin. Her mind raced with the confrontation she had been playing over and over in her head. She would scream at him, shout at him until he admitted what he had done. Until he finally stopped pretending to be some innocent victim.

The minutes dragged on, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared at the clock. And then, finally, the door creaked open.

Aegon stepped in, but something was different. He wasn’t the man she was used to seeing—there was no smirk, no defiance. He looked… broken. Shattered.

Her eyes widened in shock. His face was a mess of bruises, swollen and discolored, with dark bags hanging under his bloodshot eyes. His clothes were disheveled, stained with dirt and blood. He walked with a limp, his steps small and hesitant, like every movement hurt him. His hands were clasped tightly together in front of him, shaking as they fidgeted against each other. He kept his head down, glancing around the room like a trapped animal, flinching at every noise, every movement.

Y/N blinked, completely taken aback. This wasn’t the Aegon she knew—the arrogant, unhinged man who had stalked her, terrorized her. No, this was something else, something… disturbing. He looked like someone who had been run over, like life had chewed him up and spat him out, and now he stood there, fearful and fragile.

For a split second, she felt something almost like pity creep into her chest. But then she remembered who he was. What he had done. And the anger surged back to the forefront.

"What the hell happened to you?" she asked, her voice dripping with disdain.

He didn’t answer. He just stood there, eyes darting around, avoiding her gaze. His lips trembled, but no words came out.

She slammed her hands on the desk, the sound echoing through the room. "Aegon!" she snapped. "What the fuck is wrong with you? What kind of game are you playing now?"

At the sound of her raised voice, Aegon jumped, visibly flinching. His body curled inward like he was trying to make himself smaller, his shoulders hunching as his knees gave way. He dropped to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth like a scared child.

Y/N’s anger faltered for a moment, replaced by confusion and a creeping sense of dread. "Aegon, what the hell is going on?" she asked again, but this time her voice was quieter, uncertain.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he started muttering under his breath, his voice shaky and broken. "What’s the matter?" he whispered, his words barely audible. "What’s the matter, Aegon?"

Her heart sank as she realized he wasn’t talking to her. He was talking to… himself? His voice trembled as he repeated the words, like a broken record. "What’s the matter, Aegon? No. I’m not gonna hurt you. Come here. Come on. What’s the matter?"

Y/N felt her stomach twist as the phrases spilled out of his mouth over and over again, each repetition more unsettling than the last. It wasn’t Aegon’s voice. It was someone else’s, echoing through his broken mind.

She watched in horror as he hugged his knees tighter, his entire body trembling. "I’m not gonna hurt you, Aegon. See? That wasn’t bad," he whispered, tears streaming down his bruised face. "That wasn’t bad. That wasn’t bad."

It hit her like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t some act, some manipulation. Aegon had been abused—horribly, painfully, to the point where his mind had fractured. And now, as he sat on the floor, shaking and crying, he was reliving it. Over and over again.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She had never seen him like this. She had never imagined this side of him—the scared, broken side. The side that had been hurt so deeply that he could only repeat the words of his abuser like a mantra.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her hands shaking as she stood there, unsure of what to do. Part of her still hated him—still wanted to scream at him, to blame him for everything. But another part of her… felt something else. Something terrifying and sad.

She knelt down beside him, her voice soft and hesitant. "Aegon…"

He didn’t respond, just kept rocking back and forth, his tears falling faster now.

"I’m not gonna hurt you," he whispered again, his voice trembling. "See? That wasn’t bad."

She swallowed hard, her mind racing. "Aegon," she said softly, "I’m not going to hurt you either. It’s okay."

He didn’t seem to hear her. He was too far gone, lost in whatever memory had taken over his mind. His eyes stared blankly at the floor, wide and terrified, as if he were seeing something she couldn’t.

She reached out slowly, carefully, placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinched at the touch, his whole body recoiling, but she didn’t pull away.

"Aegon," she whispered again, trying to keep her voice steady. "It’s okay. You’re safe here."

But he wasn’t safe. Not really. Not with whatever had broken him, not with the darkness that clung to him like a shadow.

He rocked back and forth, mumbling, "Come here. Come on, what’s the matter, Aegon? No, no, no, I’m not gonna hurt you."

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine, her heart pounding in her chest. Whoever had done this to him—whoever had hurt him—had left a mark that ran deeper than anything she could understand.

For the first time, she realized she wasn’t dealing with just a stalker or a psychopath. Aegon was something much darker, much more broken than she had ever imagined.

She swallowed hard, trying to push the fear out of her voice. "Aegon," she said quietly, "It’s okay. You don’t have to be afraid."

But as his sobs grew louder, as he curled tighter into himself, Y/N knew that nothing she said could reach him.

The real Aegon—the one who had tormented her, who had done horrible things—was still there, somewhere. But so was this… this terrified boy, trapped in his own mind.

And she didn’t know which one scared her more.

Y/N swallowed down the terror rising in her throat, her hand trembling as she reached out to softly pet Aegon’s head. At first, he flinched, his body jerking away from her touch. But then, as if something clicked in his broken mind, he looked up at her—really looked—and his tear-streaked eyes seemed to recognize her for the first time. His lips trembled as he whispered her name, broken, like a child.

“Y/N…”

Before she could react, he clung to her, his body collapsing into her lap, his head pressed against her chest. He sobbed quietly, his whole body shaking, his hands clutching her as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded. She froze for a moment, completely caught off guard, but then instinct took over, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. His tears soaked through her clothes, and she could feel the tremors in his frail, battered form.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, stroking his hair, trying to calm him. “It’s okay, Aegon. You’re safe now.”

His sobs eventually began to quiet, his breathing slowing as she rocked him gently, her voice soft in his ear. “Shh… it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

For a long time, they stayed like that—her holding him, him clinging to her like a lifeline. The moments stretched into eternity, and Y/N could feel his grip slowly loosen as the storm inside him settled. He pulled away slightly, his eyes red and swollen from crying, but he refused to meet her gaze, his head turning away as he tried to wipe at the tears that continued to fall.

“Aegon…” she began softly, “What happened to you? Who did this?”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at the floor, his jaw tight, struggling to control the tears still running down his face.

“Aegon, please…” she pressed, her voice gentle but firm. “You have to tell me.”

For a moment, it seemed like he might respond, but then he muttered something, barely audible. “I… I hate it. When she… when my mother does horrible things to me.”

Y/N felt her breath catch. His mother? She had always known that Aegon’s relationship with his family was fraught, but this? There was something darker here, something that had broken him in ways she couldn’t fathom.

“But it’s okay,” Aegon continued, his voice shaking. “Because I love her. And that’s what matters, right?”

“No Aegon–”

"I didn’t mean to hurt you, Y/N," Aegon said suddenly, his voice softer now, almost childlike. "I was angry that night, but I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to hurt him. I didn’t like the way he looked at you. The way he touched you."

She swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "Aegon…"

He turned to her then, his bloodshot eyes wide and full of sincerity. "You can hit me, you know. I won’t stop you. You were so angry, I could see it. You can hit me if it makes you feel better."

Y/N’s blood ran cold. "What? No, Aegon, I’m not—"

"You can," he repeated, almost eagerly. "It’s okay. You’re mad at me. You can hit me." He smiled then, a soft, unnerving smile that made her stomach churn. "I won’t even flinch. I promise."

"Aegon, that’s not—"

“You can beat me if it makes you feel better,” he continued, his voice unnervingly soft, as though he were offering her a gift. “It’s okay. I’ll let you do it. I deserve it, right?”

The pit in Y/N’s stomach twisted. His words, his tone—it was as if he was trying to convince himself, not her. Like he was rationalizing the abuse he had endured.

He turned his head just slightly, enough to glance at her from the corner of his eye. “You’re like me,” he whispered.

Her body tensed at his words. “What… what do you mean?”

He wiped at his face with trembling fingers, still not fully meeting her eyes. “Even though your boyfriend hurt you… you still think about him, don’t you?”

Y/N’s blood ran cold. She felt the fear creeping back in—the terror that had been gnawing at her ever since the day the dead doves appeared at her door. The stalker. The horror. It was all coming back.

Aegon finally looked up at her, his eyes glittering with something dark, something sinister. “You love him… don’t you?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Her heart was hammering in her chest, the air thick with a suffocating dread.

Aegon’s lips twisted into a smile—that smile. The one she had seen before, the one that sent chills down her spine.

“I hate him,” Aegon said softly, his voice dripping with venom. “I hate the way he treats you. The way he talks to you. Hurts you. He doesn’t deserve you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She could feel her pulse quickening, her mind racing, trying to piece together what he was saying—what he was implying.

“Do you know,” Aegon asked, his tone disturbingly calm, “why he hasn’t answered your calls?”

Her stomach dropped.

She hadn’t heard from her boyfriend in days. He had stormed out after their last argument, refusing to answer her desperate calls or texts. She had been terrified, worried sick about him—about what he was thinking, about whether he’d come back. But now, sitting here, listening to Aegon, that fear morphed into something far worse.

He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have.

Her entire body went cold.

“What… what do you mean?” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

Aegon’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with something inhuman, something evil. He didn’t answer directly—he didn’t have to. The look in his eyes told her everything.

He leaned back, his voice light and playful now, like they were discussing a joke. “Did you open the gift I left for you?”

Her heart nearly stopped.

Gift? What gift? She hadn’t seen anything—hadn’t thought about it. But then, the morning came flooding back to her. The moment she had left the house, her mind too wrapped up in her terror and paranoia to notice anything out of place.

Her blood ran cold as her mind raced with horrible possibilities. The gift. What if it wasn’t just some harmless object? What if it was—

No. No, no, no.

She stood up so fast that she almost tripped, her eyes wide with panic. Aegon was laughing now—a soft, eerie laugh that filled the room, the sound making her skin crawl.

“Oh, Y/N,” he cooed, his voice mocking. “You really should check your door more carefully in the mornings.”

Her mind was spinning, her heart racing. She had to get out. She had to leave. She couldn’t stay here—not with him, not with his laughter ringing in her ears, the sick grin spreading across his bruised face.

She grabbed her keys from the desk, her hands shaking so badly she nearly dropped them. Aegon was still sitting there, watching her with that horrifying smile, his eyes gleaming with delight.

“You’ll thank me later,” he called after her as she bolted for the door.

Her mind was screaming, her heart pounding in her chest as she tore through the office, slamming the door behind her. His laughter echoed in her ears, following her down the hallway, filling her with a terror so deep she could barely breathe.

And as she ran, the only thought in her mind was the horrifying possibility of what she would find when she opened that gift.

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[just-some-user-hunny]

Daemon: *watching his daughter landing with cannibal for the first time* WHAT WERE YOU EVEN THINKING? STUPID GIRL

Reader: STFU YOU OLD CUNT

Random lord: she is sure yours my prince, a true rogue princess indeed, only one can tame a dragon like cannibal

Daemon: hehe 😌👉👈 fr?? I know she is my little princess isnt she?? 😌

Reader: ew

This is literally what goes down 😭😭😭

Daemon is a mixture mortified and impressed if his child were to claim a dragon as terrifying as the cannibal. Yes, he'll scold you as an enraged over-controlling father, but he's also in awe that his child claimed such a dragon. Yes. He is mad, but he's impressed too. He's the unhinged football parent who would cheer you on, looking deranged on the sidelines.

You can bet that he won't stop himself from bragging about his child and their dragon in court, in front of the greens, whatever your relationship is with them. He'd be puffed up with pride.

He'd subtly rub it in everyones faces. That his princess has a terrifying dragon that no-one has ever been able to claim, because of course she did. She's his daughter after all, she is made of his fire and blood. No-one shall deny you of your heritage now, so what if they're a bastard! They have a dragon, and you don't.

Poor reader as well. Especially once they are in their teen years as well, because that in itself is an awkward flurry of emotions and discomfort. The last thing you need now is a boastful father who parades your name and title around like it's a world wonder. Meanwhile reader is busy tending over her big scary dragon who's gentle to only them, not interested in whatever Daemon is trying to preach or rant about.

[theirishwolfhound]

I do love the idea of an unhinged reader. Not like brutally unhinged but... like the kind that is harmlessly annoying and is just a brat to Task Force 141.

Like the mother fuckers nickname is Menace and they're somehow still alive after everything so they make it everyone's problem.

They're great at what they do, amazing even— but no team wants menaces like Menace, not even the heavens nor the hells want the damn person.

This is the same Menace who wears a devilish half-mask, but only above their mouth so people can see their shit-eating grin (think similar to the ghoul mask above) as they leave small firecrackers under the lids of toilet seats, or so people notice the way their lips curl up in mock disgust when someone is talking.

Menace who only goes through with the SAS training to one up another soldier they despised, enough to have sicked a pack of squirrels on that they personally hand fed a few days after— they even bonded enough with the little fuckers that when they were finally transferred out to be someone else's problem, the squirrels would steal the remaining soldiers foods.

Laswell, whose grand idea of knocking the boys down a peg since she's tired of their shenanigans includes getting this Menace of a person to join 141 with faint threats of blackmail— to which Coporal Menace respects, leading Kate to being the only one who is not subjected to the dumpster fire that is about to happen, but is only encouraged by her wife.

Price, who in his right mind, nearly rejects the idea of this misfit joining because of their turnover rate but gives in when Laswell tells him it would be worth it— that her wife likes them and they're an excellent solider after all.

Immediately upon arrival, Menace lives up to their name— pissing on the side of the building as if to mark their new territory before deciding it would be a good idea to rile up the behemoth of a man by asking Price: "Didn't anyone tell the poor bastard that Halloween was four fuckin' months ago? Look at 'em he looks emo."

It wasn't until then that the poor Captain realized how much of an untamed brat his new corporal was— only to be further set in after the first two weeks on base.

Sure Menace got along with Soap, but they were far too alike for Menace's likings and Gaz, sweet sweet Gaz, gave them a few too man odd glances and playfully snide remarks for their liking— meanwhile Ghost had made them scrub the bathroom from top to bottom with a small sponge, and well they could already see the forming regret in Price's eyes.

So Menace did what they did best.

It started out simple: silently attaching balloons on strings to the back of their clothes without them noticing, flipping all of the furniture upside down during the middle of the night, purposefully mocking every single move of one of the operators for a full day, sugar in the salt shaker or salt in the sugar dish, you name it they did it.

Glitterbomb the captain? Oh yeah, and there's still glitter in his mustache.

Tied the two sergeants' doors together so that neither could open it? Done and done, they were locked in their rooms for a good hour until someone cut the rope.

Move the lieutenant’s furniture two inches to the right so that he would constantly stub his toe? Yeah, you can practically see him fuming after every trip to his office.

And what irked the lads the most? Menace kept getting away without being caught— managing to even out sneak Ghost, which the only reason for it is: Menace knowing they don't know what they look like without that mask. So obviously they take it off and blend in with the many other people on base.

They made a fool of their sergeants, their lieutenant, and their captain and it was time to get back at the cunning prankster— but Menace grew suspicious. Usually they would have been booted out by a normal team by then, but what Menace came to realize a bit too late was that Task Force 141 was not normal.

And reality came to a head when Menace was called to Price's office to collect something— only for that something to be a bucket of ice cold water falling onto their head and for the captain to tell their now soaking wet and cold Coporal: "Game's on, brat."

PT 1 | PT 2

[drakaripykiros130ac]

The Driftmark scene as a whole was a hot mess, courtesy of the showrunners.

So, based on the changes they made from the book, they attempted to make Alicent and Aemond the clear victims (which they’re not, not even in the show).

A 5 year old child, after being called a bastard, threatened with death, and forced to watch his demented uncle prepare to bash his 6 year old brother’s head with a rock, made a move to stop him using a knife and ended up slashing the guy’s eye.

The intention of the 5 year old was to stop this madness. It wasn’t a premeditated thing. It was the reaction of a child.

Now, moving forward to the great “assembly”, we have Alicent who found herself to be everyone’s spokesperson and although she wasn’t there, she somehow knew exactly what happened.

There were no witnesses to this child fight. The result: two girls who were bleeding, a boy with a broken nose and another who unfortunately had his eye slashed. All this shows is that the children fought, the fight escalated and one child ended up permanently damaged.

And then, you have a full grown mid-30 year old woman demanding the 5 year old child’s eye in retribution. When no one was listening to her insane ramblings, she picked up a knife and like a lunatic, lunged herself at the opposite party. At this point, we don’t even know if she was going after Lucerys or Rhaenyra. Afterwards, in a fit of rage, this mad woman slashes the arm and wounds the heir to the throne.

To recap:

1. Alicent thought herself entitled to retribution even though no one witnessed the child fight, and therefore no one could pass judgement.

2. A few dozen people witnessed Alicent hurting Rhaenyra and no consequences followed.

And I’m supposed to be convinced by this scene that what? That the Greens are poor misunderstood victims of Viserys and Rhaenyra?

The only thing this whole scene tells me is that Alicent is an unhinged b*tch.

[demialwrites]

Rufus x Pregnant Reader

His initial reaction to the news is to go quiet and start furiously turning the wheels in his head

He's proud, of course, but now he has to worry about someone using you against him

There's bickering about how much he can restrict your freedom for your own safety

The smug bastard thinks he's right, of course

You end up compromising on a Turk on guard 24 hours a day. They're spread thin already but they're willing to take on the extra stress for their boss man's unborn baby

He's a little jealous that they get to spend more with you than he does and is slightly grumpy during work hours

Anyone who does attempt to use you to influence Rufus, or the company itself, disappears and may be found hiding, having been harassed violently by the Turks. You may never even hear about it

You had better be careful about any complaint, however small, because he'll buy something and have it delivered in an attempt to fix it without consulting you first

Poor Reno or Rude have to sort through the Shinra-labelled boxes for you when they really start to pile up

Rufus is unfazed by any of your mood swings. As long as you're safe, he'll brush off anything said in anger

If it's a boy, just don't suggest to name him after Rufus' father. He doesn't care otherwise

If it's a girl and you let him choose, it'll be embarrassingly unique

Hojo is not allowed to touch you with a ten foot pole

If any of the directors send gifts, only Reeve sends something that's not ridiculous. Also, Tseng is mostly like to gift you a baby monitor

As you move along in your pregnancy, Rufus starts to change his behaviour at work. He clamps down more and more on his subordinates' unhinged behaviour

He's starting to think more about the kind of company he would like Shinra to be for his child's future

He's extra motivated to be different than his father and provide a better childhood than he himself got

That doesn't necessarily mean he knows what that might look like so you'll have to guide him, if he lets you

He doesn't clear his schedule on your projected delivery day because he can just drop whatever he's doing and leave

[summerpearlgirl]

Polin Fic Recs - Amazing World Building

The world building is insanely good. I gasped and got transported while reading these.

1. In Fragments We Fall by smj

Mature. Regency. Complete. 80,729 words. S2 post the Queen's threat to Eloise, Penelope comes forward, sacrificing all to save Eloise. Politics. Strong Penelope Featherington. Protective Colin Bridgerton. Espionage within the Napoleonic War. Both Pen and Colin being sly & sneaky bastards. Slow burn.

2. Poor Puzzled Moon by everlarktoast

Explicit. WWII setting. Work in progress. +26,000 words. A story of fear, loss, friendship, family, and love during the second World War. Strong Penelope Featherington. Protective Colin Bridgerton. Oblivious Colin Bridgerton. Slow burn.

3. Only You by ktbeets

Explicit. Regency. Complete. 66,655 words. Penelope and Colin wake to find the entirety of London abandoned. All humans are gone except for them. A journey of physical and spiritual survival. ANGST. Lots of unhinged hand holding. They work together as a team. Oblivious Colin Bridgerton. Slow burn.

4. london boulevard by phantomphaeton

Mature. Regency. Complete. 227,034 words. 10 chapters from Colin's POV. Followed by chapters from Penelope's POV. This story has many layers. Investigations, hustling and late-night revelry. Female friendship. Slow burn. European grand tour. Girls just wanna have fun. Convenient plot device that ensures there are no accidental pregnancies. Inspiring song suggestions can be found in the notes. Only AO3 members can access this fic.

5. My Jolly Sailor Bold by rottentiger

Explicit. Regency in the Ocean. Work in progress. +35,000 words. Penelope is a mermaid who rescues Colin from a shipwreck. Hurt/Comfort. Innocent but sassy Penelope Featherington. Aware Colin Bridgerton. Keeps to the principle that in the world of Bridgerton, death is less important than horniness.

[redbleedingrose]

Rhys in grey sweatpants, I had that image put in my head now I want to spread the gospel 🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️

Just him with his sleep hair and voice in nothing but his grey sweatpants 😮‍💨

UMMMMMM

Rhysand is totally the best dressed of all the males in the night court and possibly Prythian.

Only Eris rivals him in the clothing department and I stand firm on that statement.

He just knows what gets you going. He knows the colors that suit him and he is not afraid to work it.

I feel like for the most part, Rhys really plays the role of high lord well. And he dresses the part too.

All of his clothes are freshly tailored and laundered. He never really wears the same outfit twice. And when he meets you???

He makes sure that you have all the clothes that you could ever want or need. He also insists on matching most days. You basically are THE moment in Prythian, everyone who isn't you wants to BE you. And it is all thanks to Rhysie's impeccable fashion sense. All your clothes make you look like the star of the night, pun not intended.

And all of your shoes and jewelry he has designed for you? Don't even get me started. Each outfit needs its own individualized look and feel and vibe. And he makes sure that is there for you. He is always there to help you put together your look.

Playing dress up for him is sooooo much fun. He has you doing twirls in your dresses and gets on his knees to help you put your heels on. He kisses every portion of your exposed neck whenever he clasps on your necklaces for you. You are treated like an utter princess around him, never having to lift a finger beyond your desire.

He also loves to help you with your earrings. And he is so gentle with it too. His pretty violet eyes focusing on your ear lobe as he ever so carefully puts in your earrings. He makes sure that they don't feel to heavy or cause any irritation to your ear as you are sensitive to different kinds of metals. When he is done, his eyes focus back on you with this look of utter pride that you are his. You are his mate. His high lady. His everything. And he is just obsessed.

You are lucky if you can make it to ANY event on time because this male will find any excuse to show you just how obsessed he is.

Back to Rhys' fashion sense...

He really rarely wears clothes that are "lounge wear." TBH, I feel like he started moreso a little after meeting you because he sees what it does to you.

Rhysie is the kind of male who can look good in practically anything. But in lounge wear??? send freaking help he is the hottest male to have ever EXISTED!!!

His gray sweatpants are one of your favs on him. He is always wearing it with a tight black or navy blue t-shirt that clings to his chest and shoulders and biceps. You can basically see the outline of his abs whenever he wears those shirts (which you will be riding later so help you gods).

And omg just think of all of his tattoos exposed on his corded forearms. And think about those muscles flexing while he fingers you speechless.

Anyway, poor rhysie needs to replace his sweatpants any time he wears them because they always end up stained from you riding his thigh.

But he knows that.

Thats why he wears them, slutty smug bastard. The smirk any time he pulls them out and surprises you by wearing them is enough to know that he knows exactly what he does to you. And he is proud of it too.

His formal clothing is not to be forgotten.

His tight fitting dress shirts where he leaves the top two buttons open so that you can see his smooth tan chest underneath??? The dark swirls intricately peaking out and climbing up his neck??? The small silver chain he wears??? The one that has your name engraved over and over, all along the metal because he belongs to you??? Because he knows that every part of him, his heart and soul, is all entirely owned by you???

The only ring he wears is his wedding ring too.

Sigh, I need a Rhys.

This was terrible but I love Rhysand so you are gonna get my unhinged thoughts about him always.

[chibsandchill]

A blood red setting sun

Fandom: HOTD (House of the Dragon) 

Pairing: Aemond x GN!Dragonrider!Reader (reader’s house is not specified)

Warnings: Death, toxic relationships, Aemond needs therapy (like a lot), sui§ide, Dark!Unhinged!Aemond, bad language, blood and gore (described), unreliable narrator (Aemond), grammatical and spelling errors. This is a dark fic

Summary: Rhaenyra changed her mind and sent you instead of Daemon to guard Harrenhall, and a battle between you and Aemond one-eye ensues far above the Gods Eye. Inspired by Love crime by Siouxsie and the Hannigram cliff scene. 

Masterlist

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Alys clung to his back, her breath warm on the side of his neck. It made his skin crawl, 

he loved it. 

That feeling of wrong that washed over him every time they touched. The disgust that sprung down his spine when he joined himself with her. How his breath caught in his throat when she kissed him, when she pressed herself against him, 

the instinct to flee. 

It was familiar, 

unlike with you, 

when everything felt right. 

Aemond shifted forward in the saddle once he spotted the charred ruins. Alys moved closer, her rounded belly pressing against him to the point of discomfort. Disgust rolled in his stomach at the thought that she carried his bastard. He tugged her closer still, chasing the feeling, and yet, despite his efforts it ebbed away, just like it always did. He chased and chased like a dog with a bone, 

but even that would abandon him. 

Aemond scoffed and pushed her arm away. He would push her away, off his dragon were it not for the fact that he was addicted to her. She was a witch, 

his Alys. 

His. 

It rushed through him again, the loathing. It set his nerves on fire, his chest aching and heart screaming in protest, 

oh how he loved it. 

“There, my Prince.” Alys whispered in his ear. It made his skin crawl. Oh, how he loathed her touch. 

But true indeed, there you were. Waiting for him by the ruins and the great old tree. Your dragon stared them down when he ordered Vhagar to land. No respect, no… fear, either of you, he thought, for both dragon and rider neither flinched nor moved away when he landed his Queen of Dragons recklessly close. 

“Kinslayer!” You named him. “You came at last.”

He helped Alys down from Vhagar. Her touch chased away the delight he felt at hearing your voice again. “I hear you’ve been seeking us.” 

“Only you.” 

“Hm.” A smirk grew on his face. “I rarely leave my Lady’s side.”

You frown at the sight of the witch’s belly. “Clearly. I see Aegon’s lesson stuck after all. Tell me, Lady,” you turned to Alys, “did he cry as he spilled himself inside you?”

Your fire excited him. He found he didn’t even mind that it was his past you used to tear at the frayed edges of his wounded heart. It was you he had cried to that day Aegon had taken him to the brothel. He had cried as the old whore forced him to his peak, 

a whore who looked like Alys. 

Perhaps that’s why he chose her. So he can relive it time and time again. So that when he dreams he can hide in your arms again, where you press him to you to the point of pain. It grounded him, 

unlike now, 

Aemond felt untethered, like a kite who’s string had been cut and was left to waste away in the wind. 

His witch stood tall. Perhaps a bit too tall. Rigid. “Hardly.”

“Ah,” you lean back against the tree, “you’re upset about the gift I left you, witch.”

Alys tensed and wrapped her arms around her stomach. Aemond wanted to look at your hands but he refused to tear his eye from yours. Were they bloodied with Alys’ bastards? Or had you scrubbed and scrubbed until your hands bled. Were your arms marred with tiny scratches as they fought back? 

How did it taste? 

How did it feel to have your soul tainted with their blood? 

Could you still taste the iron on your tongue as he did? 

You were the same, 

tainted, 

doomed. 

You had left them all in a pile. Poor Alys could barely recognize them, much less identify what pieces belonged to which of her children. She had cried that night as he took her. He had licked the tears from her face and her misery warmed him. 

He wanted to thank you for it, 

for the high. 

Could you do it again? 

“I had thought murdering children was Daemon’s brand of cruelty.” 

“As did I, kinslayer.” You worried your lip between your teeth, face a perfect mask of indifference. “I do believe the saying to be ‘an eye for an eye’, not ‘an eye for a life’. Let’s not forget about sweet Lucerys,” you pouted and stepped closer. “He was Rhaenyra’s favorite, you know. Was it worth it?”

Always, he wanted to say. 

Aemond the One-eyed kinslayer with a heart as black as the night he slayed his nephew. 

“No.” 

“Liar.”

Perhaps a little. 

“And how is the whore of dragonstone, hm? I hear they heard her screams all the way to Dorne.” Aemond placed Alys in front of him, pressing himself against her. “And her daughter? A sign from the gods. My sister is more beast than woman. It is not so surprising then to find our uncle rutting into her so.” 

“You think I am here for her?” You laughed. 

Aemond bristled at the sound. He stood before you, a warrior, bloodied and proven, 

and you laugh. 

“No, Aemond,” his trousers tightened despite Alys pressing back against him, “I am here for you. It is time we end this. It is time we see who will win this deadly game. Say goodbye to your whore.”

Alys twisted in his arms with outrage, but Aemond said nothing. He wanted to disobey, if only to see what you would say, 

what you would do to her, 

to him. 

Would you tear the bastard from his arms? He tightened his arms around Alys. Would you? Could you see it in his eyes? The desire? 

Take her, he urged you in his mind. 

Take her. Take her. Take her. Take her. 

Take me. 

In his dreams you called him ‘yours’. 

Eager to chase it all away, Aemond forced Alys around and pressed his lips against her hard and fast without an ounce of kindness. They were already bruised from last night and she twisted in his hold to get away, 

but he wouldn’t let her. 

She saw much in the fire, his Alys. Surely she saw into his very core and knew the beast that waited there, ready to devour all that tries to take what belongs to another, 

what belongs to you. 

Piece by piece Aemond fed Alys to it. 

Who did you feed to your beast, Aemond wondered, or had you left it starving until he returned? Did you wait for him like you swore? He refused to believe you had. He did not. So you did not. What if you had? If he touched you would the beast take him? Would it turn against him? 

He wanted to try.

If you consumed him, 

he would be glad. 

You had lain with another. You must have. Or else… He refused to believe you had not, refused to believe that you had not betrayed him for that meant that it all was for nothing. 

He could see it in your eyes. You taunted him with it. A piece of you had been given to another. It must have been. It had been. He could see it. He saw the lack of it. You lacked it. You could not give it to him. It was gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. 

Just like you. 

Where did you go? 

He tore his face away from Alys and pushed her out of the way. 

There. 

You were mounting your dragon. 

The die had been cast, it seemed. Now to see who would survive this dance of theirs. 

Aemond clambered up the chains to Vhagar’s saddle. 

“Kinslayer!” You interrupted him as he was about to fasten the chains around him. He looked up, and there you were. Upside down in your saddle. He scowled. “Don’t bother with the chains. This won’t take long.”

“Soves!” Aemond barked at Vhagar, who grumbled and growled in protest at his tone, but the she-dragon obeyed. 

Your dragon was smaller and swifter than the old she-dragon, and quickly the pair of you disappeared in the clouds above. Because of her size Vhagar was much slower and had taken to ascending in ever widening circles, forcing them out over the vast lake. The waters of Gods eye shimmered like molten copper under the setting sun. It was rather peaceful, Aemond thought. 

And then, 

your dragon emerged from the clouds from his blindside. Teeth like swords wrapped around Vhagar’s throat and talons ripped and ripped at her soft underbelly. Vhagar twisted in your dragon’s hold, tearing herself further at his teeth in her desperation to be free. 

“Vhagar!” He shouted in horror. 

Her roars of pain echoed across the land. She turned and turned, lashed out with her tail, her claws. 

“Dracarys!” Aemond commanded her. “Dracarys!” 

Fire spouted from her maw, so bright that it looked like the clouds themselves caught on fire. 

Your dragon let go so that he could get a better grip but Vhagar banked to the side and the two dragons grappled at each other. Talons tore at hide until blood rained down on the fishermen below. 

And yet, through it all, you remained quiet. Such was your bond with your dragon. It needed no words. 

Vhagar’s claws caught on the soft underbelly of your dragon, and her teeth on his wing, but the she-dragon was dying. Her great wings slowed down, her fire a mere ember glowing in her throat. Your dragon bit at Vhagar again with renewed vigor, undeterred by her talons cutting straight through entrails. 

“Oh, kinslayer!” Your voice echoed in the wind. 

He looked up and only managed to draw his dagger as you leaped from your dragon. You slammed into him and your sword through him. Aemond gasped and sputtered. You were touching him. 

Skin against skin. 

Your face against his. 

Blood coated your teeth. 

You had never looked more beautiful. 

He barely noticed Vhagar’s dying shrieks, or that the three of you began plummeting towards the water. 

The feeling of her, 

it rushed through his veins, 

burned up his skin. 

Your chest heaved, but you smiled at him. You smiled and pressed yourself closer to him. Would you impale yourself on your own sword to get closer? Bleed into him as he bleeds into you. For what was this but you killing yourself? You and he were the same. 

Then you gasped, and Aemond was broken from his trance. 

You were still falling, 

falling together. 

But his dagger? You had fallen straight onto it. Red gushed out onto his hand. Horror filled his chest. He brought his hand up to his face. He wanted to cover his eyes and pray, pray, pray until he woke up in his bed and this was all a bad dream. 

He hardly felt his own pain over the pain in his heart. The beast rattled at the bars of the cage, breaking his ribs to crawl out of her chest and be reunited with you. 

Aemond’s eyes flew open at your touch. Calm acceptance waited for him in your eyes. He knew then that you also knew that this would never end in any other way. You were never meant to survive the war, for what was there to live for if not the other. You were always meant to burn together, 

die together.

Happiness. You were happy, 

happy with him. 

He could see the water now. It would be your grave. But you would be together. He wondered if you knew what would happen when you decided to jump from your dragon. Had you seen his dagger? Was this your design all along? To die together at each other’s hands? 

The one piece of you that you could give to no other. It was his. 

His. His. His. His. He was yours. 

Yours. Yours. Yours. 

You brought his blood coated hand to his mouth, and without looking away he licked at the wetness there. You pressed it harder against him and he licked and licked until it was gone and his face was stained with you. You. You. You.

You threw yourself against him again, your lips pressed against his. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. But it was perfect. He chased your lips as you pulled away. You had never looked as beautiful as you did then, lips smeared with blood and wide-shot pupils. 

You clutched at his tunic, to bring him closer or push him away? Aemond didn’t know. You pulled and then you pushed. 

And then, 

blackness. 

Aemond looked up. 

A blood red setting sun. 

Water filled his lungs. He didn’t feel cold and it was okay, 

because he had you in his arms, 

and now you would never be apart. 

[ryuuza-art]

Soulstober Stories part 4:

Sensing the end was drawing near, I wanted to draw out the experience as much as I could & went exploring.

10. Celestial Emissary

I only discovered the Upper Cathedral Ward late in the game, but I was still forced into stealth thanks to it being littered with powerful foes. So imagine my dismay while fighting my way through the celestial mobs (with whom I'd already had a few unfortunate encounters) to see one of them blow up to several times its original size! Fortunately, "slow and deliberate" won this fight after a couple attempts, but that just left me wondering if there wasn't more.

11. Ebrietas

And more there was!

A truly formidable opponent. Her attacks are devastating, whether you go in close or stay at range and with her obvious Lovecraftian roots, the vast altar room arena and ethereal soundtrack, it felt like fighting a god.

12. Amygdala

I basically stumbled upon her, shortly after being abducted yet again and blundering around, trying to avoid the wrath of the Wandering Madnesses, being crushed by boulders, or getting repeatedly poisoned. One I had to come back to a fair few times throughout my first playthrough, before I was truly equipped to tackle her with any success. A thoroughly intimidating foe, not just for her size, but because her weak spots were mostly out of reach, so I had to chip away at her while trying my best not to get flattened or eviscerated. "Poor bastard" indeed. I remember letting out a cheer when I finally took her down!

13. Martyr Logarius

I really enjoyed Cainhurst, in all its bloodsoaked glory and found the lore fascinating. Logarius, however, felt like a punishment. Narrow corridors.and wide ranging spells never mix, especially when you can still fall to your death if you make one wrong step. His tracer skulls and raining swords are forever etched into my memory. I took absolute pleasure in jeering upon his defeat.

14. Micolash, Host of the Nightmare

"Ahh, Kos, or some say Kosm..."

Now there was nothing left but to finish what I started.

From the opening cutscene, I was immediately enamoured with Micolash - if you know me at all, he is*exactly* my kind of unhinged! Chasing him down while also dealing with his skeleton marionettes, was as simple as herding cats, but I enjoyed hearing his musings throughout the battle, his wild cackling as you knock seven bells out of him, set to eerie, dizzying strings. He's still one of my favourite bosses to this day!

[estellan0vella]

Love In Print│Bang Chan

Chapter Seven: Horrified, Bewildered, And Thoroughly Disgusted SS: 2 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 2.3K Content Warnings: discussions of sex dreams in detail (Minsung), Minho is unhinged and has no shame, mentions of oral in a dream, mention of masturbation, mentions of sex (mxm)

Previous Next Masterlist

Ayame stumbles into her apartment, the faint smell of rain clinging to her clothes as she tosses her bag onto the couch. Her heels go flying with a dramatic groan as she kicks them off, and she barely registers the sound of popcorn crunching until she looks up and sees them.

Hyunjin, perched on the arm of the couch like some kind of gossipy cat, tilts his head dramatically, his perfectly styled hair falling into his eyes. Minho is sprawled across the couch, a bowl of popcorn resting precariously on his stomach, his socked feet up on the coffee table. And Seungmin is cross-legged on the floor with his phone in hand, looking like he's been waiting all night for a fight to break out.

They all stare at her like she's the main act of their favourite reality show.

"So..." Hyunjin starts, twirling a strand of his hair like the judgmental diva he is. "Did poor Seonghwa figure out that you're not even remotely interested in him?"

Minho doesn't look up, tossing a piece of popcorn into his mouth. "He definitely didn't. The guy's had a crush on her for years. No way he noticed she just dragged him into her master plan to keep Chan from finding out she lied."

Seungmin snorts, still focused on his phone. "Honestly? He probably thinks tonight went great. Poor bastard."

Ayame glares at them, holding up a hand. "I am not entertaining this conversation." She walks past them toward her room, her hair still clinging to her damp neck.

Minho tilts his head, his eyes narrowing as he calls after her. "Then what's with the dramatic entrance, Maknae?"

"Fuck off," Ayame huffs, closing her bedroom door behind her.

She immediately yanks off her blouse, the damp fabric clinging stubbornly before she tosses it into a corner. Her skirt follows, and she grabs an oversized T-shirt and a pair of soft, worn shorts from a drawer. She flops onto her bed, scrubbing at her damp hair with a towel and letting out a long, frustrated groan.

A light knock on the door makes her freeze. "Pabo, can I come in?" Minho's voice filters through the wood, softer this time.

She groans again but doesn't argue. "Yeah, sure."

The door creaks open, and Minho steps inside, his usual smirk replaced with a curious, almost concerned expression. He leans casually against the doorframe, crossing his arms as he studies her. "Alright, spill. What's got you stomping around like a pissed-off squirrel?"

Ayame glares at the ceiling, refusing to meet his eyes. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," Minho says, stepping closer. His tone softens as he sits on the edge of her bed. "You can tell me, Aya. What happened?"

She stays silent for a moment before finally muttering, "I made out with Chan."

Minho freezes, his jaw dropping as his brain visibly tries to catch up. "Wait. What?"

"In the elevator," Ayame mutters, covering her face with her hands. Her voice is muffled but clear enough for Minho to hear. "Before I went to meet Seonghwa."

The silence that follows is deafening. Ayame peeks through her fingers to find Minho sitting completely still, his expression blank. Then, as if a switch flips, he stands abruptly, pointing a finger at her. "Stay right here."

"What-?" Ayame starts, but Minho is already striding out of the room.

He returns moments later with a glass of water in one hand and, inexplicably, a bundle of sage in the other.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Ayame asks, sitting up as he dips his fingers into the water and flicks droplets at her face.

"By the power vested in me," Minho declares dramatically, his face a mask of exaggerated solemnity, "I cleanse you of Bang Chan's cursed energy. Be gone, foul corporate spirit!"

Ayame sputters, swatting at him. "You're insane."

"No, I'm your only hope," Minho counters, lighting the sage and pacing around the room like a priest performing an exorcism. The fragrant smoke curls through the air as he waves it over her bed with all the seriousness of a man banishing actual demons. "By the sanctity of overpriced quarterly reports, by the agony of HR complaint forms, I banish Bang Chan from your soul!"

Ayame bursts into laughter, doubling over as she clutches her stomach. "Minho, stop! You're killing me."

"Good," he says solemnly, pointing the sage at her like a sword. "Because if he kisses you again, I will."

"Release her, you devil in a suit!" Minho cries, circling her bed with theatrical flair. "This is a sacred space, yes, full of bad decisions and late-night regret, but sacred nonetheless!"

Hyunjin pokes his head into the room, his face a mixture of confusion and delight. "Are you doing an exorcism? Can I join?"

"No," Minho snaps, not missing a beat as he flicks more water at Ayame. "This is my mission. You go cleanse yourself of Changbin."

"Fair," Hyunjin mutters, retreating.

Ayame collapses back onto the bed, laughing so hard her sides ache. "You're fucking insane."

Minho grins, setting the sage aside and sitting back on the edge of her bed. He pats her knee lightly. "Feeling better, Maknae?"

"A little," Ayame admits, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

"Good," Minho says, his tone suddenly serious. "Now, listen to me, no more making out with Miroh trolls. It's bad for your soul. And mine. My soul can't handle your bad decisions."

Ayame nods solemnly, though her lips twitch with amusement. "I'll try to resist."

Minho flops dramatically onto Ayame's bed, sprawling out like he owns the place. His limbs are everywhere, one leg hanging off the edge, an arm thrown over his face like he's fainting, and he tugs her into his arms with zero grace. His fingers absentmindedly stroke her hair, his exaggerated sigh making her roll her eyes.

"By the power vested in me as your oldest, wisest oppa," Minho begins, his voice filled with mock solemnity, "I officially declare that it's completely okay to feel uncontrollable lust for hot people. Like, seriously. The number of times I've thought about fucking Jisung in every position under the sun? Unreal. Astronomical."

Ayame snorts, her body shaking with laughter as she turns her face into his chest. "Oh my god, Minho. Distract me. Tell me more about your tragic thirst for Jisung."

Minho smirks, tilting his head back dramatically. "Alright. So last night? I had this dream, tequila and sage couldn't even touch this one. We were in the break room, mundane, boring, normal break room, but then Jisung bends over, right?"

Ayame raises an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. "And?"

"And he's wearing fucking assless pants," Minho says, his tone grave, like he's revealing the plot twist of a thriller.

Ayame bursts out laughing, clutching her sides as she wheezes. "Stop. You're lying!"

"I wish I were lying," Minho says, his voice rising in emphasis as he sits up slightly. "But no. There he was, that perky little ass staring me in the face, and next thing I know, I'm railing the absolute shit out of that slutty-waisted bastard right there in the break room."

Ayame collapses back against the bed, her laughter bubbling uncontrollably. "You're a menace. A fucking menace."

"Oh, I'm not done," Minho continues, waving a hand like he's swatting away her disbelief. "There was another dream where he wouldn't shut the fuck up. He was going on about fonts or something so obviously, I stuffed his mouth with my cock."

Ayame gasps, smacking his chest as her laughter doubles. "What the fuck, Minho?!"

"I'm serious," he says, deadpan. "I woke up, took three tequila shots, saged my entire apartment, and still had to deal with that shit."

"Why are you like this?" Ayame manages between fits of laughter, tears streaming down her face.

"It gets worse," Minho says, as though recounting a war story. "There was the time I dreamt about him riding my face. I had to burn my fucking underwear after that one. Couldn't risk the cursed energy spreading."

Ayame sits up, her mouth falling open in disbelief. "You burned your underwear?"

"Burned," Minho repeats solemnly, as if this is the only logical reaction. "Do you know why? Because subconscious Minho decided that Miroh's slutty graphic designer not only has a fuckable face but also an ass that deserves its own national anthem and sleep nutted."

Ayame is wheezing now, clutching her stomach as she tries to breathe. "Minho, stop! I can't- Millions of your little heirs, gone!"

"Gone!" Minho exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. "Millions of Minhos! Dead in my boxers! Sacrificed to the unholy altar of Han Jisung's chubby cheeks and that sinful fucking waist."

Ayame can't breathe, her laughter loud and unrestrained as she collapses back onto the bed. "Oh my god, you're deranged."

"Maybe," Minho says with a shrug, leaning back like he hasn't just delivered a monologue about his wet dreams. "But you know what's more deranged? You making out with Satan's hellhound in the elevator."

Ayame groans, burying her face in his chest. "Don't remind me."

Minho strokes her hair like she's a grieving widow. "Do you need me to sage you again?"

"No more sage!" Ayame says, her voice muffled against his shirt.

"Alright, fine," Minho says, his voice teasing. "Then answer me this. Would you fuck him?"

Ayame freezes, her face buried against him. After a beat, she mutters, "Maybe I just need to get it out of my system."

"Exactly!" Minho exclaims, pointing a finger at her like he's cracked the code to life. "Hate fuck the hot thirty-year-old. Restore the balance. Yin and yang. Equilibrium."

Ayame groans louder, throwing her arm over her face. "Stop making it sound logical!"

"I'm just saying," Minho replies with a smirk, patting her head. "Sometimes the solution is simpler than you think."

"Shut up," Ayame mutters, though her lips twitch with reluctant amusement. "You're the worst."

"And you love me for it," Minho shoots back, flopping dramatically back onto the bed and pulling her into another overly protective cuddle. "Now let me hold you while you mourn your dignity."

Ayame snorts, snuggling closer. "What dignity?"

"Exactly," Minho says, grinning as he strokes her hair. "Rest in peace."

Minho props himself up on one elbow, his grin wide and wicked as Ayame lies sprawled beside him, her head sinking into her pillow. Her eyes are half-closed, exhaustion settling over her, but she hums in mock encouragement. "Alright, Oppa, blow my mind. Let's hear whatever you want to tell me now."

Minho's eyes glint mischievously, and he leans closer like he's about to share the world's most scandalous secret. "Okay, picture this. Jisung gets his arm stuck in the vending machine."

Ayame snorts, rolling her eyes but clearly intrigued. "Classic porn setup. You're already unoriginal."

"Wait for it," Minho says, raising a hand like he's presenting a masterpiece. "So, I walk into the break room, and there he is, bent over, struggling to get his snack out. Dream logic kicks in, and suddenly, I'm railing him against the vending machine, his arm still stuck. No build-up, no context, just straight to porn-grade action."

Ayame blinks, her mouth hanging open slightly as she processes. "What the actual fuck, Minho?"

"I know, right?" Minho sits up, gesturing wildly. "It was so fucking vivid. His ass was perfect, round, firm, like a goddamn peach. And his cheeks were flushed, all red and needy-"

"Stop!" Ayame cries, smacking his chest, but her laughter betrays her horror. "What the hell is wrong with your subconscious?!"

"I don't know," Minho admits dramatically, clutching his chest like he's mourning himself. "I jerked off immediately after waking up. The most shameful nut of my life. Jizzing over a Miroh troll. I stared at myself in the mirror afterwards, asking where it all went wrong."

Ayame groans, laughing despite herself. "You need therapy. And probably an exorcism."

"Probably," Minho agrees, leaning back against the headboard. "But you know what's worse? It's his fucking cheeks. They're so-" He searches for the right word, his hands gesturing wildly. "Inviting. I just need to fill them with my cock once, and then I'll be cured. Cleansed of the curse of Han Jisung."

Ayame stares at him, her brain short-circuiting. "I don't even- How do I respond to this?"

Minho leans closer, his grin spreading. "Exactly. You can't. Because I'm right."

"You're something, alright," Ayame mutters, shaking her head as she adjusts her pillow. "I hope he hears about this somehow and files the HR complaint of the century."

"Bet you're not thinking about Chan anymore, though," Minho says smugly, waggling his eyebrows.

"No," Ayame deadpans, narrowing her eyes at him. "Now I'm horrified, bewildered, and thoroughly disgusted. Thanks for that."

"Mission accomplished," Minho declares, throwing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into a sideways hug. His tone turns teasingly conspiratorial. "Also, fun fact: I would piss on Jisung if he asked."

Ayame's head whips toward him, her jaw dropping. "What the actual fuck, Minho?"

"Hey, if he asked nicely!" Minho says defensively, his laughter bubbling over. "Don't kink-shame me. Or him."

Ayame pinches the bridge of her nose, her voice muffled by her exasperation. "Sleep, Oppa. Now. Before I call HR myself and make you write a report on yourself."

Minho grins, settling down beside her like an affectionate cat, his head resting on her shoulder. "Fair warning, though, if I poke you in the back with my hard dick while we're sleeping, it's probably because I'm dreaming about him again."

Ayame waves a hand dismissively, her tone dry. "It's happened before. Our friendship has weathered bigger storms than your morning wood."

"True," Minho says, nuzzling closer. "You're my favourite human."

"And you're my worst," Ayame mutters, though her lips curve into a faint smile. "Now shut the fuck up."

Minho presses his face into her shoulder, sighing contentedly. "If you hate fuck Chan, let me know. I'll buy you both a cake that says Congrats on the Hate Fuck in edible glitter."

"Shut up," Ayame groans, but she's laughing now, the sound muffled by her pillow.

The room settles into a comfortable silence, their chaos and teasing replaced by the soft sounds of their breathing. Ayame closes her eyes, her body finally relaxing as Minho shifts slightly, draping an arm around her in the kind of easy, platonic affection that's seen them through years of bullshit. Sleep overtakes them both, the laughter fading into a peaceful quiet.

Taglist: @fackeraccount @ot8girlfie @nightmarenyxx @reimaybeidk

@ismelllikechlorine247 @drewsandsebastianswife @my-neurodivergent-world @rhonnie23 @hanji-coffee

[reiwanwan]

How peaky men fart ‼️

So….today we will be discussing the different ways that I personally think these peaky men fart, maybe I will make this a series like “Unhinged peaky blinder headcanons” And if you have your own unhinged headcanons that you want do feel free to ask! my request are very much open

Tommy 🤍

- most people are convinced this man doesn’t fart, but it’s a natural human function so of course even tommy shelby needs to let one out

- Dead serious expression and completely unfazed

- His farts have no sound and they dont even stink so no one even knows if he farted

- He also has pretty privilege and he knows that so he uses it to his full advantage

- Because of that he has the ability to fart loudly and no one would even bother to think it was him because pretty people dont fart

- In the scenario where if he let one out silently and it did stink he would probably just light a cigarette afterwards to cover up the smell

Arthur 🧡

- Loud and unapologetic

- Disrespectful.

- Absolutely no consideration for the people around him

- He would let it rip and laugh and say that it was the “sound of victory”

- He farts the loudest and is very proud of the volume of it

- He wont fart around ladies though

-Buuut if you were a guy, I’m sorry but you are going to be his victim

-He is kind enough though to let you know if he’s going to fart

John 🩵

- Now this one does NOT let you know when he is going to fart

- Always blames it on someone else

- Has the WETTEST farts and you’re always having to ask him to check his boxers because you are so sure he shit himself

- He does the classic “pull my finger” joke with his kids

- If you were laying down next to this man i’m sorry but you are getting dutch ovened and you will suffocate

- After he lets you out he apologises and says “must be the cabbages you made earlier”

Alfie 🤎

- Another loud farter here, second to arthur

- Also lets you know when he’s going to fart

- You guys could be walking together and he will stop you, “Hold on treacle…” and then proceed to rip ass.

- Will continue holding your hand as he farts

-If you seem embarrassed he will turn it into a whole monologue when he’s done and when you guys continue walking

- Gives long-winded explanations about how it is “A normal human bodily function”

- “you see love…holding it in wouldn’t be healthy because you see right…it’s a sign of a proper, working digestive system, its how god meant it to be”

Michael 💙

- Oh boy please don’t ever call him out he will get defensive and his ego will be CRUSHED

- Really feels like farting is emasculating and will insist on holding it in till he gets home to let it out

- Polly can always tell when he needs to fart for some reason and will tell her stubborn son that he is allowed to fart

- But in the case where he desperately needs to fart, he will excuse himself and go outside

- And boy does he let that one go wild because he’s pretty sure that fart cured all his stomach problems

- His farts doesn’t smell too idk why I just feel like he wouldn’t have stinky farts

Finn 💛

- Everyone pushes the blame onto him if they fart

- Especially arthur

-John would blame it on finn if he was sitting next to girl that he fancied. “Ughhh finn you nasty bastard…letting one out next to a lass?”

-Tommy would fart and then blame it on finn if someone smelt his own silent fart and everyone around will he quick to believe him

-Poor Finn

-If he farts he will be very embarrassed

-but understands its normal so he would try not to make a big deal out of it and man it out lol

-If people do start laughing at him though, he will join and laugh along just to save face even if it did actually hurt his feelings just a wee bit

That is all lovely human beings please do let me know what you guys think of this. The reason for writing this purely because I was super bored and my imagination goes wild and also because I thought that it would be completely hilarious lmao xx

[novankenn]

Spin-Off Snippets from "A Mafia Au"

Inspiration / Original Post / Follow-up Post

Blake plastered a plastic smile on her face, and pushed a cheery attitude as she wave while Jaune left, with a blush Pyrrha, who was now wearing a matching Pumpkin Pete Hoodie, aside from the emblem on hers was neon pink. Once they were out of sight, she sighed, and started to make her way to the door.

She froze when a rather string hand clamped down on her shoulder. She cursed at herself for tossing away her weapon. While she was a skilled assassin, and very effective with unarmed-combat, she was considerable more effective with a blade. But she tenses her muscles anyway, and prepared to fight.

"So... you're my co-worker?" the slightly unhinged voice floated through the air to Blake's ears. "What's you name?"

"Blake. Blake Belladonna?" she replied while turning her head just enough to see with whom she was speaking. The sight of the deer faunus woman standing next to her, made Blake shiver. The young woman looked good. She appeared to be in decent shape, had a nice figure, a small set of antlers protruded up through her orange-brown hair, plus a warm smile... but it was the eyes. Her eyes looked cold, dead, soulless.

"Well, Blake my name is Deandra Thistle, but my friends call me Deery... you can call me Deery."

"Hi, Deery?"

"So I saw you serving those two customers there." Deery continued without giving Blake a chance to speak. "You did good work, but you need to become more professional, and you SHOULD be wearing your uniform."

"Uniform?" Blake let her eyes wander, and shivered. Deery she assumed was wearing the uniform. White flat sneakers, no socks. Orange-pink cargo shorts, which showed off her calves. She had nice calves, Blake thought for a second, before taking in the remainder of the uniform, which was a purple-blue tee shirt with the Pumpkin Pete logo on the left breast.

"Did they give you a uniform?"

"No?"

"Bastards!" Deery swore. "Okay I think we have some spares in the back, but it's just about closing so, once we cash out, we'll get you one. Sound good?"

"Cash out?"

"Yeah. Run end of day reports. Count the cash in the tills, balance the debit machine. Cash out." Deery eyed Blake with her cold soulless eyes. "Did NO ONE give you any training? Who hired you?"

"Bob?"

"Gods damn it Bob! As if I don't have enough on my plate, you send me people to train and on-board too! Son of a bitch!"

"Sorry?"

"Not your fault Blake." Deery patted Blake's shoulder. "We'll get you all set after end of day. Head to the counter. I'll lock up."

"Okay?" Blake was scared. Her a world class assassin. I hired killer was scared of a retail-wage-slave. It was the eyes. Definitely the eyes.

Cash out and end of day went smoothly, though Blake didn't understand half of what was being done. But after that hour of work, she found herself sitting in the staff room, as Deery handed her a uniform, before sitting down.

"So any questions?"

"Um... I don't think this will..."

"PLEASE DON'T!" Deery cried as she grabbed hold of Blake's hands with vice like strength, while tears fell from her now sorrow filled eyes. "PLEASE Don't leave! I'm here alone... all day... I... I... I need help!"

"It can't be..."

"This place is open from mall open to mall close! That's ten hours, not including opening and closing that I'm ALONE!!!" Deery started to bawl, using her ungodly strength to pull Blake from her seat, and into Deery's crushing embrace. "I need help! I can't even take bathroom breaks!"

Blake didn't know what to do. Of course she could kill Deery, and from the sound of it, doing that would probably put the poor girl out of her misery, but that wasn't how Blake conducted business. She prided herself on never having any colleterial damage on her jobs.

"Maybe I can try for one more day?" Blake whimpered out, as Deery was slowly starting to suffocate her.

"Really?" Deery sobbed out, releasing Blake from her deadly embrace. "Really?"

"Yes?" Blake replied, still trying to catch her breath and get the feeling back into her limbs.

"YES!" Deery cheered, jumping from her seat, and pulling Blake off her knees into another crushing hug. Blake was starting to feel like the antler's were fake, and Deery was in fact an Anaconda Faunus. Luckily this hug was not a tight or long.

"So nine... am?" Blake asked hesitantly.

"Wait." The soullessness returned to Deery's eyes. "What training did you have, and what is you schedule?"

"None, and I don't have one?"

"Damn it Bob!" Deery snorted, and then took a calming breath. "Did they tell you anything at head office?"

"No?"

"Okay. Put your stuff in a locker, the key will be taped on the inside of the door."

"Okay?"

"Then we are going to have a little staff slash team meeting at Junior's."

"We are?"

"Yep. We are."

(A/N - I never do much with B lake, so I figured why not. World Class assassin scared into working retail by a desperate and soul broken "co-worker"... what could go wrong? )

[meowmeowriley]

Hi Zuko here! I grew up in the country and one thing you learn young out there is “Don’t fuck with prey animals” (especially the big ones). An animal that hunts needs to balance risk vs reward so if your scary enough your not worth the risk. Prey animals don’t have that problem and will absolutely fuck you up given the chance regardless of how scary you are (I’ve heard of chickens killing their owners), and having a giant rabbit shifter (holy shit Flemish rabbits are BIG) with the intelligence of a human and the fuck it we ball drive of a prey animal is fucking terrifying! I’m so excited to read your fic when it comes out poor MacTavish lol.

TLDR: Ghost as a rabbit man is actually terrifying and anyone who’s smart should be scared.

Have a great day.

ZZZUUUUUUKKKOOOOOO!!!!!!

*me waiting for you to drop by again

Rabbits are actually fierce little bastards, they're fast, their hearing is exceptional, and their eyesight is actually a lot better than people think. If rabbits weren't prey animals, they'd be terrifying. Honestly the more I think about this fic the more I really feel like a rabbit is the perfect animal for him because 1, no one would see it coming and 2, if you know rabbits, you know how fucking frightening that makes him 😂 and I do love me an unhinged horrifying monster Ghost.

I haven't decided if his whole family are all flemish giants, or if they're all different breeds of rabbit. Maybe the different fathers produce different breeds of offspring? He only has one sibling with the same father as him, so that could work. Idk yet, but that's okay, I'll figure it out.

Anyway, missed you friend! Good luck with the honor! Please chime in with any and all bunny!Ghost ideas!

That goes for anyone actually, I'm running low on asks, I need more for my hoard!!! Please I'm begging!!!

[mythology-void]

posting my thunder saga thoughts that I scribbled down while I was listening fair warning they're unhinged and make zero sense

SUFFERING x DIFFERENT BEAST (I couldn't tell when the first one ended)

intro very synthy

Penelope?

PARDON??

jump in the water??

Sirens?? perchance

Daughter?? WHAT IS THIS

ok wtf is going on

Oh noooo 🙄

Scylla..... eeeeEEEe

Suffering is a poor name for this song

OH WHAT THIS SHIT

Let's cut the charade is fucking crazy

WE ARE THE MEN MADE MONSTERS JS FUCKING CRAZY

12 years.. guess we're sticking with this one

clever little bastards aren't ye

spare us 😔

Cut off their tails DAMN throw them in the water DAMN GODDAMN BRO CHILL JESUS FUCK

Kill them all feels unnecessary

the screaming hurts my soul a bit

ok beat drop

SCYLLA

voice reveal

"Not much to say" hahaha

EURYLLEKCOUS YOU FUCKING WHAT

nah bro

Scylla is whispering all deviously and it's concerning

"Light six torches"

HELLO THE RUNS?? HER VOICE IM GONNA KMS

holy FUCK HER VOICE

DUDE

NO WAY JTS A DUET THE HARMONIES IM SHAKING

AHAHAHAHA THE STRINGS MY BELOVED

MUTINY

HSHEJAHABAKNSJEK

the way he spat "Captain"

DUDE THE VOCALS I CANNOT

TF YOU MEAN FORCED YOUR HAND

LOWER YOUR WEAPON

TF DO YOU MEAN ITS NOT STILL GOING

WAIT WHAT HAPPENED

wait what happened with the fight

Don't touch them pls

NOT THE CALLBACK TO LRO

"ODY" IM GONNA CRY

The home of the sun godddddd 😔😔😔

WHO DO YOU THINK HE'LL SEND im deceased please take me home I'm having heart palpitations

"Please don't dooo thisssss" AAAAAAAAAA

"I need to get hooooomeeeee" IM GONNA FUCKIN CRY

"I'm just a man" SHUT. THE FUCK. UP

the "eurylochus NO-" had me on my knees shaking wtfffff

IM GOING TO DIE

I CAN'T EVEN SPEAK oh god here it comes

THUNDER BRINGER

TH THUNDER KM GONNA DBKSNAK

HOOOOOOO WEEEEE BABY HERE WE GO

THE ELECTRIC GUITAR 🎸🎸🎸

GSJBSJABSKSBSKDHRBD

THUNDER BRINGER HEREE TO WRINGGG YOUR EARS ⛈️⚡

IT JUST KEEPS GETTING WORSE

LUKE HOLT MY HUSBAND

HIS VOICE OH MY FUCKING GOD

WHY DO I THINK THEY'D LOSE

ITS SO SCARY BUT SUCH A FUCKIN VIBE

"But we'll die."

"I know." IM GOING TO CRY

the fake scenarios in my head rn are going CRAZY

why are the ending vocals so serene do you realize what just happened

[onepiece-polls]

One Piece Crack Ship War - Round 1 Side F

'Birds of a Feather' art by @seaofashes

Propaganda under the cut.

Birds of a Feather: I was enjoying a peaceful night of sleep and woke up going HANG ON because for some reason...yes I dreamed of these two and it has potential you guys. Any Doffy ship is gonna be a little crazy and a little unhinged because... He's Donquixote Doflamingo what do you expect. I love Pell so much, he's absolutely beautiful and incredible and these two are polar opposites. Doffy, representative of the Flamingo a bird of paradise, is cruel and angry and aggressive and just mentally ill in the stereotypical bad way but idk we still like him for whatever reason. And Pell, representative of the Falcon a Bird of Prey, is just so kind and caring he is stern and fights for what he believes in and it's beautiful. They are very yin and yang to me and I think this dynamic could be so interesting and that somehow in the chaos they could find balance and middle ground. Pell please domesticate that Flamingo bastard we would owe you so much actually.

Braidbeard: OKAY LISTEN TO ME. These two old men? Met in their youth and got together with the sole purpose of adopting every single daddy-issues brat in the Grand Line. Zeff beats the shit out of Whitebeard every time they have a meal because of his piss-poor table manners, but then he also brews WB's favourite sake. They love each other very much but suck at showing it, except when it's time to embarrass their children, at which point they have a whole arsenal of sappy pet names. Also Roger officiated their wedding.