#you would think these men were the main character of the show with how much fans obsess but no they’re all minor to the plots they’re in

[just-some-random-blogger]

"I didn't want to overstep"

My honest reacton

NOW *make a man out of your plays in the background* LETS GET DOWN TO BUSINESS

The splash of cold water against your ankle makes you grumble more. You hated getting your shoes wet. Or your ankles. You fix your hair scarf, worried that the sea breeze will make it come loose.

She is so me

As you look up, you see him. A man, with silver hair and a smug look on his face, riding atop a dragon. He is showing off, ducking low, the dragon’s tail dipping in the water before springing back up again. It is what is causing the breeze.

🙄 gago I hate him stfu

You marvel for a second, wondering how such a gigantic beast can be so nimble.

I WOULD LITERALLY HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON CARAXES AND LEAVE THIS PLACE

The man smiles. He winks at you.

The few captains and sailors that were on the docks alongside you have fled. But not you. Alone, silver hair in full display, you stand frozen in the same spot you had been before seeing him pass.

Main character things

Daemon would have so enjoyed to play such a game himself. His future bride was far too young to do little more than court under her parents��� watchful eyes.

🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢 YUCKKKK CAN HE JUST BE FUCKING NORMALLLLLLL CAN HE JUST BE FUCKING NORMALLLLLLLL YUCCKKKKKK

Your laughter was the first thing that caught his attention, a sound so girlish it seemed improper among the men carrying saws and woods for the ships.

We love to see it. DIVINE FEMININE

Daemon seethed. He hated sharing. With whores, it was to be expected, yet it didn’t make it anymore palatable. It was why he enjoyed taking maidenheads so much. Yet, he could ignore it if the woman was pretty or well-trained enough, like he did with Mysaria. To watch a whore with her lover, though, it was intolerable.

❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨 SHUT THE EVER LOVING FUCK UP????????? A MAN WILL WANT SOMETHING THEN THINK THEY ARE ENTITLED TO IT????? EAT SHIT AND DIE?????????

The man tickled your side, and you laughed again. You handed him the basket and kissed him on the cheek.

🧍‍♀️ oh. I personally don't fuck with strangers tickling me please goodness I hope it's addam

Whores were professional liars. You paid them to pretend to be someone they were not. But watching you with a man you truly loved would forever break the fantasy. There was no way he could believe the sweetest lies on your tongue, not when he knew what you looked like when truly in love.

Men shouldnt have rights

“I looked for you in the brothel, but you were not there.”

CRISTI WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS BULLSHIT I WILL RHAE ROYCE THIS FUCKING DEGENERATE

“I… Excuse me?” Your voice is shrill, more angered than panicked. “Do I know you?”

🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️STAB HIM????!!!!!

And oh, the nerve on you. The nerve to question him, as if he were just a passing man on the street and not a Prince of House Targaryen. The same nerve that drove you to stand your ground against Caraxes.

❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓ LICK THE BOTTOM OF MY SHOE YOU CAME TO ME???????? 🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱

“You should be more careful on how you address your betters.”

?????????????? DONT TALK TO SOMEONE BENEATH YOU????? 100 YEARS IN JAIL????

You shove him, hard. And Daemon feels his rage bubbling up, and raises a hand to do something he will most likely regret… But before he can strike you, the man you had been smiling at steps in.

HE WAS WHAT????? 🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪 IM GOING TO FUCKING GOUGE HIS EYES OUT

“And who are you? The husband? The brothel owner?” Daemon sneers, getting in his face. Your hand comes up in between them, fragile and unadorned. Yet, you hit with strength, palm flat against his chest. Daemon laughs and grabs it between his. You attempt to pull back, but his grip is much firmer. “Ah, cupping a feeling, sweetheart?”

??????? BEAT HIS FUCKING ASSSSSS STAB HIM AND BASH HIS FUCKING FACE IN ALYNN???????

“I do not care. Unhand her. We do things different in Driftmark.”

STAB HIM CORLYSSSS

“YOU DO THINGS different here, for certain.” Prince Daemon says, appearing at your window while you knead bread.

CASUALLY BREAKING INTO PEOPLES HOUSES????????? POLICE 🚓🚨

“I won’t hurt you, my lady. I didn’t mean to scare you, either.” His voice is gentle, as if dealing with a spooked animal.

STAB HIM GURL STAB HIM RIGHT FUCKING NOW

As a child, you used to watch Laena Velaryon and pretend you were her.

You are no lady. You are a bastard girl, and you have gone to bed nearly starving more times than you could count.

)))): my poor girl. My baby girl

“Any child of mine, even if natural-born, would never have to go hungry. Your father should be doing more for you, not hiding you three like a shameful secret.”

Am I supposed to be impressed? Am I supposed to pat you on the back?

“Here.” Prince Daemon pushes the parcel through the window. “Consider this my apology for my behavior. Rather uncouth, huh?”

Baho mo gago

Curious, you peer into one of the parcels. It’s full of cured meat.it would have cost him a pretty penny, having it already preserved for you. It is a luxury Addam, Allyn and you never get to have. Not since your mother passed.

))): I hate this so much for them

He says it is because he enjoys the walk. You are not entirely sold, but thinking it is to see you seems a bit conceited.

Be conceited diva WHO IS THIS DIVAAA

Daemon laughs. He uses his now free hand to tug you towards his side. You love when he does that. The gesture feels very protective. He never lets you walk too far from him, or on the side next to the ocean, so you never stumble or get soaked by an errant wave.

Ew

“Wouldn’t you like to go somewhere else?” You ask him, watching the waves lap at the shore. Then, feeling stupid for asking, you lower your eyes. As much as you feign blindness, you are not blind. He is probably ashamed to be seen with the likes of you. Even your father is. Why wouldn’t a Prince?

I believe all men should experience the pain of child birth and labor constantly forever

Your eyes feel warm, and your vision blurs. Gods, you hate crying.

“Close enough. A tad more lemony than the one at Driftmark, but I like it.” He smiles. You fight the urge to beam. He has been coming almost daily after bringing you the lemons, but it is the first time you allow him to taste your creation.

First of all fuck you second of all you're not cute third of all ITS HER FIRST TIME fourth of all I'm glad you can AT LEAST make her happy. THE BAR IS IN HELL

Your mother and you are different. She didn’t know your father was using her. You know Daemon is using you. And you intend to use him right back, milk him for all of his worth.

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔 MILK HIM BLEED HIM SUCK HIM DRY

What your father is like, too. How they use women as if they were little more than things, how they produce children and leave them to their fates.

Not all men EXPLAIN THIS THEN

“Do you listen to yourself?” You scoff, getting up. “Maidenheads, as if I were some great lady. I can handle it. Handle him.”

😬 yeesh famous last words

“To my room. The two of you have ruined my appetite.” But it wasn’t the two of them, not really. Daemon is ashamed of you, the voice in your head whispers. Ashamed of you, just like your father was. He only wants to use you, and once he has had his fill, he will discard you. Just like your father did to your mother.

MY POOR GIRL MY POOR POOR GIRL

Yet, your dark eyes were so kind, your face full of such happiness, Daemon dared not to sully you. Something in you screamed at his instincts to protect, something tugged at his heartstrings when he saw your face scrunched up towards the sun, and told him to gather you in his arms and never let anything touch you.

BROTHER EUGHHHH GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER GIRL RUNNNN ILL WWE ROYAL RUMBLE SMACK DOWN ELBOW TO THE FACE STEEL CHAIR THIS BOZO

Bedding you would ruin you. Daemon enjoyed playing the role of mentor, teaching you new things, helping you gain experiences you would never get as a bastard girl. Yet, you had such a tempting figure, with a mouth made for sin, and a body that begged for worship. You were a little girl, but you had all the self-possession and looks of a grown woman.

MY FUCKING GOODNESS CAN HE JUST BE FUCKING NORMAL IS IT SO HARD FOR HIM NOT TO FUCKING THINK WITH HIS COCK FUCK YOU DIE

“I was thinking…” Daemon says, watching your expression closely. “We could go to a tavern tonight.”

You think? Terrible idea btw fuck off

“It’s rowdy, but in a good sense.” Daemon cannot help it. Your curls are a bit mussed, from wearing the ugly headscarf for too long. He fixes them, fluffing them up slightly at the roots in the way he has seen handmaidens do for Laena. He then tosses the damn thing into the sea, for good measure, ignoring your outraged cry. “Drinks, music, people, greasy food. You will love it.”

NOTHING IS FUCKING SACRED LITERALLY KEEP YOUR HANDS RO YOURSELF MY SCARF IS MY BUSINESS YOU HAVE TERRIBLE MANNERS AND YET IM THE PEASANT FUCK YOU CHOKE ON YOUR GREASY FOOD I HOPE THE ROWDY CROWDS TEAR YOU APART

“I hate drinking.” You wrinkle your nose, cutely. He fights the urge to bite you. The face you make is too sweet, too tempting.

Why would you write him this way. Why is this endearing. HAJIMA STOP

“Because you have only drunk swill. I’ll teach you to drink real wine.” He tugs you into his side, and begins walking back into the city.

Ok alcoholic.

Still, you face it all bravely, as you had that morning at the docks. The two of you manage to get a cozy table in one tavern that Daemon had visited before. He calls for wine to be served, an expensive barrel from the Arbor he is sure they had kept around for years before anyone had the coin to buy it.

No cuz she's better than me I fucking hate being stared at I hatttttteere it she's so much better than me

“Come here, hunes.” His own voice sounds strange to him, low and demanding. When he calls you bunny, he is not exaggerating. Does the fox feel as wrong as he feels when becoming over his prey? Does his gums ache like Daemon’s do, with the urge to bite, to tear apart, to wound? Does he mourn the little bunny whose innocence he is about to shatter? “There is something I wish to show you.”

So you agree

You're a predator

You splutter, but Daemon holds you down, arms held by your side. He forces you to take and take some more, chasing the tart taste of the wine into the honeyed one of your mouth.

NDJDJD YUCCKKKKK (I'm into this shit) YUCCKKKK FUCKING HELL DIE RUNNNNN GIRL RUNNN

“Do you trust me?”

Absolute the fuck not. Eat broken glass

“I did not think it to be true.” A woman’s voice, one he knows too well, says. Rhaenys. Her face is a mask of absolute rage. She gives you a shove that sends you stumbling before Daemon can even get out of his chair. “You have much nerve.”

RHAENYSSSS NOOOO PLEASEEE NOOOO NOT THE VILLAIN ARC NOOO PLEASE )))): I DO NAWT BLAME HER BUT NDJDJNDKSKSKKSKS

“I am talking to you!” Rhaenys insists. You cower behind him. It only makes Rhaenys angrier. “No, not you, you stupid girl. You, Daemon.”

THE WAY I FUCKING SCREAMMMEDDS

BEATTTTT HISS ASSSSS

🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️BEATTTT HISSS ASSSSS

“Are you calling me a whore?”

Well I ain't callin yo ass a prude IF THE SHOE FITS DIPSHIT

He feels the slap before he even sees her move. His head gets forcefully turned to the side, and he hears you whimper. His cheek stings. Daemon has to blink back tears, Rhaenys has hit him that hard.

IM DOING A DANCY DANCE LITERALLY EXPLODE

What Daemon had done to you had seemed purposeful. You had not realized when he had stolen the kiss from you, giving you your first taste of fine wine, but you understood it now. Had Princess Rhaenys not been there, or had she been any less merciful, a much different fate would have awaited you.

😭😭😭😭😭 IM CRYING MY POOR POOR GIRLLLL

“Daughter.”

😃🔪🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕

“It’s a pleasure to finally have you join the family.”

BURN IN HELL ❤️

Addam and Allyn are still in the crowd, unacknowledged. They are your family, not this man who is grasping your hands with a calculating gleam in his eyes. Wondering, as all highborn do, how he might use you. How you might serve to further his own ends.

))))))))))))))))):

“I figured you wouldn’t have one of these.” Her smile is strained as she reaches for your hands. “Since you weren’t raised the proper way.”

FUCKING HELLLLSSSSSS DAMNNNNN MDIRNSJJSJSNSJSMSKANSNNSSJAJAKAKAKAKAKAKJANANAN STOPPPPPP

“I do not think I will.” Daemon cups your cheek in his hand, hands gentle despite the calluses on them. It was one of the things you had first liked about him. His hands were artisan’s hands, like the ones of your brothers, despite being highborn. He had seemed so different from the rest of the men you knew, back then. “Not when my betrothed is nearly weeping in her own feast.”

? I don't like you never have never will I hope you have a heart attack

You bloom under his praise.

I hate that for you.... *Sigh* congrats ig

There is no other word for it. It warms you, from head to toe, and your stomach fills with butterflies. A small smile forms, even through the tears that threaten to fall.

)))): I hate this for you so much baby girl

“There she is.” Daemon brushes his thumb over your cheek. “That’s my girl.”

? Ok? Get it ig. Fuck shit up for her. It's the only thing you're good for.

“Be mine instead.” Daemon whispers, and when you nod, he kisses your forehead.

Oh that's not

“I would protect you.” You say, and it warms something inside Daemon he wasn’t even aware that he had. “If only because killing a Prince is a crime worthy of the ax, and I wish to have nephews.”

😭😭😭😭😭 my girllllll. Get it ig. I'm glad she's happy. That's all that matters

THIS WAS A RIDE. I LOVE HOW MUCH I HATE HIM. I HOPE HE DIES 😃😃😃😃

On a real level, it made me think how fascinated I am in exploring themes such as gender class whatnot and how I as a writer myself am unashamed to admit 'yeah I write daemon fucked up, s'part of the appeal' while simultaneously just being unwilling to let him take the piss ya know HAHAHAH LIKE I WONT DEFEND THIS MAN HES FUCKED UP AND FICTIONAL DIEEEEE ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

The Brave (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: A collection of first times with Daemon.

Warnings: Bastard! Reader. Daddy issues. Corruption kink. Innocence kink. Age difference, power imbalance. Poorly translated HV. Angst. Enemies to lovers (Sort of?) Happy ending. Usual warnings for Daemon (Sexual thoughts, mature language, violence)

Requested: Yes! My first after Halloween, life has been crazy.

THE FISHERMEN SAIL too early for your liking. You know it has little to do with their personal preference, and more to do with the tides. It doesn’t mean you are happy about it, though.

Your job is to ensure all your ships are in good condition and ready to transport whatever those men bring home. Your mother had made a small fortune by expanding her father’s fleet, and after her passing, it was your turn to handle it. You preferred to oversee things personally, knowing that only an owner’s touch could ensure the quality of service you prided yourself in.

No one loved these ships more than you. Small and old they were, but they tied you to your mother. You lacked her knowledge, and sometimes, they made you far less money than you hoped for, but you insisted on keeping them. Your siblings had not shown such an interest, choosing other pursuits.

Allyn, much more practical, had preferred to learn the trade of a shipwright. He now worked under Lord Corlys. It embarrassed you to say it, but it was him and not you who was the breadwinner of your family. Some months, if not most, it was far more lucrative than your business with the ships.

Addam worked occasionally as a shipwright too, but he didn’t have a steady source of income. He was far too young to be hired anywhere, lacking the experience most lords wanted from those building their ships. Sometimes, he also helped you.

Today wasn’t one of those days. Otherwise, you would have forced him to come here in your stead. With a grumble, you jumped from the ship to the dock. Everything was as it should, so you had to move to the next one.

The sunrise makes Hull look even more beautiful, the city slowly beginning to rise under Driftmark’s watchful eyes. The white marble and ivory of the castle provide a backdrop for the goldens and pinks that color the scene. It would make you smile, were it not for the fact that the peaceful morning is ruined by every damn bell in the city tolling.

Visitors. Noble ones. By the amount of noise, they are announcing the visit of someone very high ranking.

The splash of cold water against your ankle makes you grumble more. You hated getting your shoes wet. Or your ankles. You fix your hair scarf, worried that the sea breeze will make it come loose.

You shouldn’t have bothered. A harsh gust of wind takes it fully off and nearly sends you caroling into the water. The dock shakes underneath you, the ships and water agitated by the same thing. You scream, as do the rest of the sailors who are near.

As you look up, you see him. A man, with silver hair and a smug look on his face, riding atop a dragon. He is showing off, ducking low, the dragon’s tail dipping in the water before springing back up again. It is what is causing the breeze. You marvel for a second, wondering how such a gigantic beast can be so nimble.

You had never seen a dragon up close before. You are not allowed to go near Driftmark, where the Princess and the Lord and Lady keep theirs.

The few captains and sailors that were on the docks alongside you have fled. But not you. Alone, silver hair in full display, you stand frozen in the same spot you had been before seeing him pass.

The man smiles. He winks at you.

You lower your eyes and do not stop running until you are safe at home.

DAEMON SEES YOU again when he least expects it. He has looked for you in every pleasure house on this island and has not been able to find you. The brave little maiden with silver hair, who had screamed bloody murder but stood her ground on the docks when she saw him approach.

You must be of Valyrian descent. There is no other explanation for your lack of fear. You were young and comely, so he had guessed that you must be a whore. It was what happened to girls who looked like you. Men loved pretending they were either a Princess or the daughter of some lord. And so close to Driftmark? They probably asked you to pretend you were little Laena Velaryon.

Daemon would have so enjoyed to play such a game himself. His future bride was far too young to do little more than court under her parents’ watchful eyes. If he could sneak a bit of a taste in advance, you wouldn’t catch him complaining about it.

When he had agreed to accompany Corlys to oversee the progress being made on the news ships for his fleet, the last thing he expected to encounter was you.

Your laughter was the first thing that caught his attention, a sound so girlish it seemed improper among the men carrying saws and woods for the ships. His head had turned instinctively towards the sound, and it was then that he saw you.

The dress you had on was a plain gray, as it was the headscarf you wore. But Daemon would know that face anywhere. He had sought everywhere for it. You were holding a small basket, next to some shipwright. The man looked older than you, already bald. You were all smiles and animated gestures, seemingly taken by him.

The man tickled your side, and you laughed again. You handed him the basket and kissed him on the cheek.

Daemon seethed. He hated sharing. With whores, it was to be expected, yet it didn’t make it anymore palatable. It was why he enjoyed taking maidenheads so much. Yet, he could ignore it if the woman was pretty or well-trained enough, like he did with Mysaria. To watch a whore with her lover, though, it was intolerable.

Whores were professional liars. You paid them to pretend to be someone they were not. But watching you with a man you truly loved would forever break the fantasy. There was no way he could believe the sweetest lies on your tongue, not when he knew what you looked like when truly in love.

Is it in bad taste to approach you when his future father-in-law is distracted by his sailors? Probably. But he cannot stop himself. Because the only thing Daemon can think of, the only thing that would make him feel better, is to bring you as low as he. Ruin your little fantasy as you had ruined his.

He marches towards where the man and you are, and gently cups your chin in his hand. The sudden interruption startles you, and you try taking a step back, but his sweet hold has turned into Valyrian Steel. There is no escape for little whores.

“I looked for you in the brothel, but you were not there.”

“I… Excuse me?” Your voice is shrill, more angered than panicked. “Do I know you?”

And oh, the nerve on you. The nerve to question him, as if he were just a passing man on the street and not a Prince of House Targaryen. The same nerve that drove you to stand your ground against Caraxes.

Begrudgingly, Daemon has to name the strange feeling taking place in his stomach. Awe. Admiration. You had fire in your belly, and steel on your spine. You were a truer Valyrian than many of his own family members.

They were weak. Soft. You were not. But you were still a mere peasant, and he couldn’t allow you to disrespect him such.

“You should be more careful on how you address your betters.”

You shove him, hard. And Daemon feels his rage bubbling up, and raises a hand to do something he will most likely regret… But before he can strike you, the man you had been smiling at steps in.

“Unhand her.” He says, voice firm. His expression doesn’t waver, the same steel you have mirrored in his brown eyes. Up close, he is much younger than Daemon expected, tall and muscular from what seems like a life of hard work. He tugs you behind him.

“And who are you? The husband? The brothel owner?” Daemon sneers, getting in his face. Your hand comes up in between them, fragile and unadorned. Yet, you hit with strength, palm flat against his chest. Daemon laughs and grabs it between his. You attempt to pull back, but his grip is much firmer. “Ah, cupping a feeling, sweetheart?”

“Daemon.” And really, things were just turning interesting. Why does Corlys have to interrupt at the worst time possible? “Unhand her immediately.”

At his appearance, both you and the boy turn an awful gray shade that matches your dress and headscarf. Fear of their liege, perhaps?

But the boy’s jaw ticks, and your dark eyes lower in a manner that they hadn’t when facing him. Something else is at play here.

“I was just…” Daemon slowly retracts his hand, studying the surrounding faces carefully. You, sullen, the boy enraged. Corlys’ cold as ice. Neither of you speak, yet it is clear you are not strangers.

“I do not care. Unhand her. We do things different in Driftmark.”

And the tone Corlys uses is strange, for a man unbothered by the costs of power. What are two peasants to the favor of a Prince? Why does he know them? He had never struck Daemon as someone concerned by his subjects.

And then, a piece of your hair falls out of your headscarf. Silver against a dark background. And it is then he knows it. You are no dragonseed. Nor is the boy with the shaved head.

“YOU DO THINGS different here, for certain.” Prince Daemon says, appearing at your window while you knead bread. His presence is as unexpected as it is unwelcome. It is the first time you are home alone after the incident, not Addam nor Allyn willing to risk this stranger attempting anything worse than he already has. Three days had passed, and they had considered it enough. If the man had not approached you during that time, it meant he wouldn’t, right? Clearly no. He had just been bidding his time, waiting for both of your brothers to go. “Corlys's little secret.”

Your hands shake. You wished Allyn wasn’t so set on teaching Addam his craft, and hadn’t gone out today. Being home alone with a strange man around didn’t spell anything good for you.

A quick glance at the door reassures you that it is still barred. You take a not so subtle step back from the window.

The prince lip’s quirk upwards, not quite a smile, but betraying his amusement. Does he find your fear funny?

“I won’t hurt you, my lady. I didn’t mean to scare you, either.” His voice is gentle, as if dealing with a spooked animal. The title makes you scoff. No one has ever called you a lady, much less a Prince.

As a child, you used to watch Laena Velaryon and pretend you were her. Wondering what life would have been like if you didn’t have to hide, if your father acknowledged you. Wondering what it would feel, to be a Lady and never go to bed hungry, to be surrounded by beauty all day.

You are no lady. You are a bastard girl, and you have gone to bed nearly starving more times than you could count.

As if sensing your thoughts, Prince Daemon lifts one of his hands. He holds up a package, wrapped in bright white silk. Both he and his gift look deeply out of place here, near your window. In his fine clothes, in brighter colors than you can afford, he sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Any child of mine, even if natural-born, would never have to go hungry. Your father should be doing more for you, not hiding you three like a shameful secret.”

You do not take the parcel. You merely look at him and fight an overwhelming urge to cry.

“Here.” Prince Daemon pushes the parcel through the window. “Consider this my apology for my behavior. Rather uncouth, huh?”

You open it carefully. Two smaller parcels fall from it, both as carefully wrapped.

“You can wear the silk.” He tells you, gesturing to your hair. “And the rest…”

Curious, you peer into one of the parcels. It’s full of cured meat.it would have cost him a pretty penny, having it already preserved for you. It is a luxury Addam, Allyn and you never get to have. Not since your mother passed.

With rushed hands, you open the other parcel. A small sack of flour, lemons, and pages torn from a book. They are all expensive things, nothing like the flour you buy at the market to make bread or the bruised fruit you get when Addam craves something sweet. You squint at the pages, puzzled by their presence.

“Mix one cup of flour with… Is this..?” You ask him, astonished. A small smile begins to form on your face.

“The recipe for lemon cakes. For your baking.” He smiles back. He then gestures to your hands, still covered in flour. “I hear you enjoy it. Just… Save me a piece.”

“Thank you.” You beam at him. He gives you a bow, and leaves. You find yourself smiling like a fool the rest of the afternoon.

You cannot believe it. Prince Daemon has just given you the recipe for lemon cakes. As far apologies go, this is a great one.

Addam and Allyn go to bed with full stomachs. You go to bed with yours full of butterflies. No one has ever ensured such for the three of you.

“IS IT CLOSE enough?” You bite your lower lip, watching Daemon chew a piece of cake. His brows furrow a bit, and he lets out a small, throaty moan.

“Close enough. A tad more lemony than the one at Driftmark, but I like it.” He smiles. You fight the urge to beam. He has been coming almost daily after bringing you the lemons, but it is the first time you allow him to taste your creation.

He says it is because he enjoys the walk. You are not entirely sold, but thinking it is to see you seems a bit conceited.

“I got excited.” You scratch the back of your neck, sheepish. The batter had smelt and tasted so heavenly, you had just kept adding more.

Daemon laughs. He uses his now free hand to tug you towards his side. You love when he does that. The gesture feels very protective. He never lets you walk too far from him, or on the side next to the ocean, so you never stumble or get soaked by an errant wave.

It’s peaceful here. He often says he cares not for the ocean, but the two of you always walk the same route. From your home, towards your ships, then back.

“Wouldn’t you like to go somewhere else?” You ask him, watching the waves lap at the shore. Then, feeling stupid for asking, you lower your eyes. As much as you feign blindness, you are not blind. He is probably ashamed to be seen with the likes of you. Even your father is. Why wouldn’t a Prince?

Your eyes feel warm, and your vision blurs. Gods, you hate crying. You try to focus on something else. Your scuffed shoes. His boots. The sand under your feet. The urge to run away, and scream, and die from the humiliation of even asking.

Daemon sighs. He sits down on the sand, patting the space on his side. His clothes, despite their simple design, are very fine.

“Your clothes…” You mumble, without sitting.

“Bah, I have three other cloaks like this one.” As if proving a point, he takes it off, laying it down for you to sit. You feel even sillier at his patience. “Come. Sit down, jorrāeliarzys.”

You obey him because there is little else to do. You have already messed up, you don’t wish to make any other mistake. His company has become precious to you, a welcome respite from your brothers. Living with two boys, you are never alone. But every so often, you wish for more engaging conversation.

“I am not ashamed of being seen in your company. I just… I thought you preferred it here.” Daemon explains, softly tucking a stray curl behind your ear. “Would you like for us to meet in the city, instead?”

You think of meeting him in the city’s market. Of the rumors that would sure follow, of the names you would be called. Of your father finding out. You know what it would look like to him. That you are making the same mistake as your mother did.

You are not dumb. Daemon is not here to simply plan an alliance. Alliances are always sealed in blood, and your half sister is barely old enough to be considered.

Your mother and you are different. She didn’t know your father was using her. You know Daemon is using you. And you intend to use him right back, milk him for all of his worth.

So why does it hurt like this, why does it feel like something inside you is breaking?

You take the parcels he gives you without any shame. That night, as the three of you are eating a generous serving of venison, Allyn scowls.

“I don’t like it. Can’t you see what he wants?”

Addam’s fork freezes midway to his mouth. He looks down at his plate, as if he is truly seeing the meat he is being served for the first time.

“I am not mother.” You say, icily. The venison tastes bitter on your tongue, but stubbornly, you keep eating. Allyn is just angry that it is not longer him who is putting the meals on the table. “I know what highborn men are like.”

What your father is like, too. How they use women as if they were little more than things, how they produce children and leave them to their fates.

“All the more reason not to allow him to take your maidenhead.”

“Do you listen to yourself?” You scoff, getting up. “Maidenheads, as if I were some great lady. I can handle it. Handle him.”

Allyn looks at you, eyes full of pity. You cannot bear it. Your eyes sting again. You hurry out of the table.

“Where are you going?” Addam reaches forward, as if to grab you.

“To my room. The two of you have ruined my appetite.” But it wasn’t the two of them, not really. Daemon is ashamed of you, the voice in your head whispers. Ashamed of you, just like your father was. He only wants to use you, and once he has had his fill, he will discard you. Just like your father did to your mother.

Alone, in your room, you tear the headscarf he had given you to shreds. You squeeze the rests on your palm, you make a ball, you throw it against the wall.

The next morning, you have sobbed your throat raw. You still go to meet him in the afternoon.

SOMETHING IS WRONG. Daemon can tell when he picks you up that day. Your eyes are swollen and bloodshot, and your complexion an awful gray. The headscarf he had given you is nowhere to be seen, and you are back to your severe gray one.

Like a bad case of heartburn, the lie he had told you comes back to him, leaving an acrid taste in his mouth.

Daemon is not ashamed of you, but doesn't want to be seen with you either. The consequences for you would be too great. He had learned his lesson with Mysaria. The double stain would have made you a pariah, both because of your birth and because of whom you were bedding.

Because it was all that people would think about when they found out. No one would believe Daemon had yet to touch you.

He was unsure if he ever would.

You were an extraordinary girl, yet still a bastard. There was nothing to be done about it. All you could be was friends and lovers, and nothing more.

Yet, your dark eyes were so kind, your face full of such happiness, Daemon dared not to sully you. Something in you screamed at his instincts to protect, something tugged at his heartstrings when he saw your face scrunched up towards the sun, and told him to gather you in his arms and never let anything touch you.

Daemon had been like you, once. When younger. He, too, felt a lack of acknowledgement by those around you, and an urge to prove himself. His father had passed when he was still young, and Viserys had received all laurels. It would have never bothered him because he loved his brother, but Viserys had left him behind. Married Aemma. Had children. Gained the love of his people, found new friends.

Never once Viserys had looked at Daemon. No matter how hard he tried to reach for him, his brother always evaded his hand. Daemon had been left there. He, too, had stood on the shadows and feigned indifference, burning up with secret resentment.

The idea of you growing up to be like him was both appealing and horrifying. There was a sweetness to you, a naïveté that he had lacked even in his younger years. He wanted to preserve it. Shield you from the world.

Bedding you would ruin you. Daemon enjoyed playing the role of mentor, teaching you new things, helping you gain experiences you would never get as a bastard girl. Yet, you had such a tempting figure, with a mouth made for sin, and a body that begged for worship. You were a little girl, but you had all the self-possession and looks of a grown woman.

You would taste exquisite on his tongue, crumbling from his caresses. Your cunt would feel like wet velvet around him, and you would sound your sweetest when he was spearing you open on his cock.

And how would you smile, joyous and fierce, his brave girl. Some maidens cried, but not you. You were made of sterner stuff, a heart that burned brighter and stronger than the Fourteen Flames. You had stood your ground, terrified but unbowed, in front of Caraxes himself.

Such a face you had, all Valyrian empress. A sovereign nose, the fleeting shadow of your eyelashes, and a slippery laugh that always gave you an air of mischief. A face not made for sadness. It is what prompts him to do what will become either the greatest mistake of his life, or his greatest triumph.

“I was thinking…” Daemon says, watching your expression closely. “We could go to a tavern tonight.”

“A tavern?” The surprising offering shakes you out of your sadness. Your face changes from a sad little frown into a curious one.

“Have you ever gone to one?” Daemon tugs the hair scarf from your hair, softly. The silver curls fall free, in a lovely mess. You scowl, trying to get it back, but he holds it just out of your reach. It’s a lovely thing, to watch you give little jumps on your tiptoes, curls bouncing with the motion. “Ah! None of that, now. Answer my question first.”

“No, I haven’t. Addam and Allyn go from time to time, but it sounds too rowdy for my liking.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“It’s rowdy, but in a good sense.” Daemon cannot help it. Your curls are a bit mussed, from wearing the ugly headscarf for too long. He fixes them, fluffing them up slightly at the roots in the way he has seen handmaidens do for Laena. He then tosses the damn thing into the sea, for good measure, ignoring your outraged cry. “Drinks, music, people, greasy food. You will love it.”

“I hate drinking.” You wrinkle your nose, cutely. He fights the urge to bite you. The face you make is too sweet, too tempting.

“Because you have only drunk swill. I’ll teach you to drink real wine.” He tugs you into his side, and begins walking back into the city.

The walk to the city is awkward. Not because the two of you have nothing to talk about, but rather, because of the stares. Your silver hair, despite your simple clothing, commands attention. So does Daemon’s presence, and the arm he has around your shoulders.

He had not been wrong. This would cost you. A cost too steep for someone he sought to keep safe.

Still, you face it all bravely, as you had that morning at the docks. The two of you manage to get a cozy table in one tavern that Daemon had visited before. He calls for wine to be served, an expensive barrel from the Arbor he is sure they had kept around for years before anyone had the coin to buy it.

It’s delicious. But when he serves you a goblet, you take a big sip and begin to splutter.

“Mittys hunes iksā.” Daemon tuts. His silly bunny. “You are not meant to drink it such. You ought to savor it.”

“Savor?” You arch an eyebrow. “Tastes like dragonfire.”

And perhaps it's the choice of words, or the glint of your silver hair under the low light emanating from the torches, but something about you reminds him of the way he had loved Rhaenyra and admired Laena, the other Valyrian beauties in his life. They are not here, he cannot reach them. But you are.

“Come here, hunes.” His own voice sounds strange to him, low and demanding. When he calls you bunny, he is not exaggerating. Does the fox feel as wrong as he feels when becoming over his prey? Does his gums ache like Daemon’s do, with the urge to bite, to tear apart, to wound? Does he mourn the little bunny whose innocence he is about to shatter? “There is something I wish to show you.”

You eye him warily, but get up from your chair and move until you are standing in front of him. It's not enough for Daemon. It never is. He always wants you closer, closer to hold, to protect, to own.

He tugs you between his parted legs.

“Do you trust me?”

There is a slight furrow of your brow. The barest hint of hesitation. Yet, your voice is firm when you answer him.

“Yes.”

His girl. His precious girl. If you had been his, he would have never hurt you like Corlys had. Never allowed to become easy prey for men like him. You shouldn’t trust him.

Daemon shouldn’t be doing this, either. It is a good thing he has never claimed to be a good man.

He takes a sip of his wine, and leans towards you, capturing your mouth in his. At first, you fight him, the suddenness startling you. It’s only when he gives your lower lip a sharp nip, that you melt into the kiss. When your mouth parts slightly, he passes you the wine.

You splutter, but Daemon holds you down, arms held by your side. He forces you to take and take some more, chasing the tart taste of the wine into the honeyed one of your mouth.

Your obedience and compliance only makes him wilder, drives him to grasp at your hips, pull you closer. Just when you begin to lean into Daemon, dutifully swallowing the wine, someone jerks you out of his grip.

“I did not think it to be true.” A woman’s voice, one he knows too well, says. Rhaenys. Her face is a mask of absolute rage. She gives you a shove that sends you stumbling before Daemon can even get out of his chair. “You have much nerve.”

Your face turns ashen. You look like you are about to cry, or worse, flee. Daemon jumps up, and gets between Rhaenys and you.

“You were always a whore!” She screams, her index finger digging into his chest. You let out a sob, quietly. Daemon’s heart feels like it is being wrenched from his chest. At this point, the screams have attracted all the tavern's attention. Daemon doesn’t doubt that by this time tomorrow, the whole island will know.

You will be shunned. Just as he had feared.

“I am talking to you!” Rhaenys insists. You cower behind him. It only makes Rhaenys angrier. “No, not you, you stupid girl. You, Daemon.”

Daemon feels utterly stunned. Never in a million years he would have thought Rhaenys was referring to him.

“Are you calling me a whore?”

He feels the slap before he even sees her move. His head gets forcefully turned to the side, and he hears you whimper. His cheek stings. Daemon has to blink back tears, Rhaenys has hit him that hard.

He wasn’t even aware that a woman could land such a blow.

“You dare! You toyed with my daughter and this girl as you saw fit.” And Daemon cannot even get a word in because she is too angry. He feels his cheeks reddening, and its unsure if he is feeling embarrassment at being scolded like a child, or rage at her words. “But worry not. I will make this right.”

Rhaenys has a manic gleam in her eyes. For a frightening second, Daemon thinks he sees in her the famous Targaryen madness.

Instead of setting you both on fire, she lunges, avoiding Daemon, and grabbing you hands in hers.

“I shall not allow you to make the same mistake your mother did.” Rhaenys says, and she is gone before Daemon can answer anything.

THIS IS YOUR greatest triumph. Why, then, does it taste like ashes on your tongue?

You are wearing the finest dress you have ever owned, gifted to you by Daemon. Princess Rhaenys has forced both him and your father into complacency, and even forced King Viserys to allow your betrothal. Still, you feel adrift. Even betrayed.

What Daemon had done to you had seemed purposeful. You had not realized when he had stolen the kiss from you, giving you your first taste of fine wine, but you understood it now. Had Princess Rhaenys not been there, or had she been any less merciful, a much different fate would have awaited you.

The stink of shame that followed you around, the whispers of dishonor and the looks of distaste, would have been even more intense. You would have been ruined, known as little more than a whore. And your family no longer had the money that had shielded your mother during her pregnancies.

You had not known it. But Daemon must have. He had a reputation for taking maidenheads as he saw fit, Addam had informed you. You were a fool for not knowing, and a fool for believing he wanted something else from you.

The royal decree is read by a Maester, in front of all the Lords of near castles, the smallfolk of Driftmark and the Velaryons. Even in the first beautiful dress you own, you feel small. Out of place. The looks your half siblings are shooting you do not help you feel better.

Once the bill is read, Lord Corlys steps forward.

“Daughter.” He says, grasping your hands in his. He is cold. He is cold, and it makes your skin crawl, even when it is all you wanted as a little girl. It’s the first time he acknowledges you, and he is not at all like the man you imagined, when dreaming as a child of what it would be like for him to look at you. Because even a glance would have been enough back then. “It’s a pleasure to finally have you join the family.”

Addam and Allyn are still in the crowd, unacknowledged. They are your family, not this man who is grasping your hands with a calculating gleam in his eyes. Wondering, as all highborn do, how he might use you. How you might serve to further his own ends.

Your brothers could not be recognized as you were. You had shyly asked Princess Rhaenys, and if she thought you dimwitted before, she had probably confirmed her suspicions. They were men, she had explained, and a threat to Laenor’s rights once your father passed. You, instead, were nothing but a girl who had sullied herself, whose honor had been compromised so thoroughly you had turned even less important in the great scheme of things.

She was helping you because you had been taken advantage of by Daemon, Princess Rhaenys had said, but also to spare her daughter from your fate. Wife to a husband that would most likely betray you and sire bastards.

Lord Corlys was just happy to have another pawn to marry off and forge alliances. Freeing his daughter from a disloyal husband was an added bonus.

Every time you heard them, your hands turned into fist, and you could barely fight the rage from clouding your expression. You had not done the thing everyone was accusing you of, and yet were being judged for it all the same. Daemon, too, did nothing to correct them. Not even when the most scandalous rumors surfaced, saying you would wed him with a child already in your belly.

You had not let him touch you like that. You were not as stupid as everyone thought. As a daughter to a single mother, you knew all about scorn and loneliness. You would never doom a child to your same fate.

The day doesn’t pick up from there. The feast to follow feels just as empty, and you turn down an insincere offer from your father to be housed here. You cannot wait to run back to your brothers.

It would be impolite to leave so soon, though. Lord Corlys has thrown this feast in your honor and is making the lords and members of his household present you with gifts. You admit it is a clever strategy, to avoid having to spend money in your trousseau. Hence, you need to stay a little bit longer.

You get handed new quills and parchments, alongside a new seal for your correspondence by Laena.

“I figured you wouldn’t have one of these.” Her smile is strained as she reaches for your hands. “Since you weren’t raised the proper way.” It says a lot about the company you are in that it is the most polite greeting you receive all afternoon.

When it all begins to become a bit much, and your eyes are stinging after a lady said you had no grace and no manners, you decide you need to run. But when you are stepping a foot outside the hall, Daemon appears by your side.

“Rather improper, isn’t it?” He asks, grabbing your hand in his. You try to jerk away, but he merely interlaces your fingers together. “A lady cannot quite run around unescorted as you used to.”

“Leave me alone, Daemon.” You say, still trying to free yourself. The last thing you want today is to deal with him.

“I do not think I will.” Daemon cups your cheek in his hand, hands gentle despite the calluses on them. It was one of the things you had first liked about him. His hands were artisan’s hands, like the ones of your brothers, despite being highborn. He had seemed so different from the rest of the men you knew, back then. “Not when my betrothed is nearly weeping in her own feast.”

“You heard all those people. I do not belong here.” You look up at him, fighting your tears. You feel like such a whiny child. What happened to you is something that only happens in fairytales, it's the stuff songs are written about. No bastard girl gets acknowledged by her father and marries a Prince.

“Who cares what those cunts think?” Daemon scoffs. “You are above them. You always were.”

You bloom under his praise. There is no other word for it. It warms you, from head to toe, and your stomach fills with butterflies. A small smile forms, even through the tears that threaten to fall.

“There she is.” Daemon brushes his thumb over your cheek. “That’s my girl.”

His girl. There is nothing you would like more.

“I never wanted to be a Lady.” You lower your eyes, embarrassed at the admission. You feel ungrateful for saying it, but it’s the truth. You had never imagined a home away from your siblings. The marriage will mean you will be taken away from them, and only see them if Daemon feels like it.

You do not own a dragon, after all. And you aren’t too sure Allyn and him will be the best good brothers.

He grabs you by the waist and gives a little tug.

“Be mine instead.” Daemon whispers, and when you nod, he kisses your forehead.

MARRYING YOU HAD never been in his plans. Yet, when he saw you walk down the aisle, dressed in Velaryon blue and looking awkward, Daemon was sure you were the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

You were not a lady or a princess, yet you and him were alike. Birds of the same feather. For the first time, Daemon could say there was someone who understood him.

Daemon had never been poor, nor had he been born a bastard, but he too, had lost his parents while young. He, too, was considered too wild by his brother. And he knew all about of trying to fulfill an impossible task while honoring the legacy of his ancestors.

Laena was a mere child by your side. Her innocence and Valyrian looks had appealed to him once, but after meeting you, Daemon knew no other woman could compare. There was an edge to you, beneath all the innocence and beauty. A fire that burned bright in your belly, and could not be quenched. An anger that both amazed him and scared him, and drew him in like a moth to a flame.

You would have been great if you had been born into his house. Great but terrible.

Or perhaps you wouldn’t have. Perhaps, if you had grown acknowledged by your father, you would have not been the lost little girl who dreamed of recognition and slept lulled by the sea. You wouldn’t have grown into the woman who got the recognition and understood she did not need it at all.

A shame that recognition had come at a price so steep. Recognition in exchange for rumors of dishonor, whispers of the shame of your existence and the shame you had brought on yourself. These cunts did not see you for what you were. Not some malicious creature, some silver tongued temptress. No. You were determined and fierce, brave and true. You honored your house’s words. Your ancestors would have been proud.

Yes, Daemon decided. He would marry you and take you away from here, from this horrible little island where people behaved like they were above you. The cunts should be honored that you were even looking their way.

The distance might even help those stubborn brothers of yours to forget all about the way Daemon had become part of their family. When the grudge was forgotten, he would bring you back, less the eldest skewered him alive.

Not because Daemon feared Allyn. Of course not. But because killing him would be such a nuisance, and you would cry, and… Ugh. He couldn’t stand to see you cry.

You were about to burst into tears right now. He could tell. Daemon grabbed your hands in his, uncaring he was breaking protocol, and pressed his forehead against yours.

“We can still marry on the beach, with only Caraxes as witness.” He whispers, gently. “Hells, I would prefer it. We can run still. The Septon has not spoken.”

You laugh, a bit watery.

“Addam and Allyn would drop dead, thinking we will not be wed.”

“Allyn looks like he would attempt murder.”

“Attempt?”

“I doubt he would succeed.”

“I would protect you.” You say, and it warms something inside Daemon he wasn’t even aware that he had. “If only because killing a Prince is a crime worthy of the ax, and I wish to have nephews.”

Daemon's mouth opens and closes.

“You little..!”

You laugh, but before he can lunge and throw you over his shoulder, the Septon clears his throat.

“If the two of you are done..?”

“Just get to the part where you handfast us.” Daemon says, giving him his best lecherous expression. “I have many things I wish to show my new bride.”

And there were. He had taken many of your firsts already, he wasn’t about to stop now.

[avvrice]

constantly thinking about that old post a creator made where they defended their decision to not make white male ocs not because they even hated white men but because they knew that one white man in a story doomed the rest of the characters to be irrelevant in the audiences eyes and it just gets more relevant with every passing fandom i see. like full offense but if i was a creator who spent years pouring passion and creativity into a project only to watch fans cling to a white male side character in favor of more fully developed and better written female and nonwhite characters i would actually strangle someone i’m not kidding

[renshengs]

beyond evil (2021) occupies a very interesting space in the larger expanse of crime shows. like, it is a Cop Show. it is undeniably a Cop Show even if the two main characters, who are both cops for very different reasons, are handled with significantly greater awareness and intention than usual.

it is also, impressively, a show that pierces the real ugly rot of 1) police corruption and its overlap with capitalism 2) atrocious real-life lawmaking 3) the poor handling of femicide in stories. i cannot express how abruptly shocked i was to discover that i did not hate the way this show was carrying itself, despite its crime drama genre, narrative about two homoerotic cops, and its murder mystery premise featuring a plot about a serial killer with solely female victims. here is a story that understands its purpose and is so clear-eyed about it that i did in fact tentatively suspend all my wariness about Cop Shows to watch it—and what i got was a scathing response to every serial killer and true crime documentary out there. a narrative that said: enough. enough. look at the way grief rots people from the inside out. look at the way loss ruins lives. do not forget the sufferings of the innocent.

far too many crime dramas possess an incredibly dehumanizing analytical tone to them that goes, “what if these poor women died in brutal gruesome tragic ways? anyway, look at these men and their heroic journey for justice!” it’s why i can’t fucking stand to watch them for the sake of my blood pressure. while beyond evil is not exempt from using such gruesomeness as a part of its horror aspect, the women in this show, particularly the women who were murdered, occupy such a heavy weight over the narrative that it is impossible to reduce them to what they’re usually reduced to: numbers in files, or cold cases. and because the purpose of beyond evil is to examine the ways grief and loss bring about destruction to people’s lives and communities, these women cannot be seen as numbers. they need to be vivid and real; the audience needs to feel their loss as deeply and gnawingly as the townspeople do. as we would in real life.

personally i’m still surprised at myself for liking a Cop Show this much—because the law enforcement sympathy is unavoidable in a cop show—but then i’m also shocked at how immediately this show establishes its awareness of police power. i don’t mean it gives a passing nod, like a brief disclaimer. i mean that you watch until the end and you’re like: oh! the entire fucking show is about police power and its consequences! this entire goddamn show is about cops’ potential for harm and how it destroys lives! the main character only ever became a cop out of desperation because he realized it would protect him from suffering further at the hands of the police. because he realized it was the only way for him to get access to both the information and the legal power needed to take his own steps to solve his sister’s murder. it’s not radical—it’s a cop show. but it is novel. a cop whose relationship with his own occupation is bitterly resigned at best and traumatic at worst.

this is far from an original thought, but truly i think what makes beyond evil worth watching is that it is so incredibly careful with itself. its meta awareness of its own genre heightens it to a tier above other crime dramas—it knows and rejects voyeuristic perspectives into the lives of people who’ve suffered real loss and tragedy, and so it makes the loss inescapable. every direction you look, someone’s life has been irrevocably altered by the murders you learn about in the story. it gives you no space to push away the murder—no, you need to sit directly in its field of impact. all the fucking time. you are not watching the town suffer, you’re suffering with the town. the story sucks you in and makes you live alongside the rest of them; it's why the first watch hurts so raw. because the story refuses to let you take a true-crime approach. because it refuses to prioritize the narratives of perpetrators over human lives. you are there, and you are hurting.

man. really, if you're going to watch anything, watch this.

[dilemmars]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“ DIE WITH A SMILE. ”⠀⠀───⠀⠀arcane.

⠀⠀𝖾𝗉𝗂𝗌𝗈𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗈.⠀( some mysteries are better left unresolved , 9.6k words. )⠀by dilemmars.

1.⠀⠀ PAIRING⠀⠀:⠀⠀violet x f!reader.

2.⠀⠀GENRES⠀⠀:⠀⠀based on the storyline and universe of arcane ( league of legends tv show )⠀; first love trope, started dating recently, stablished relationship, exes to lovers. basically you and vi were dating before the start of the story, then got separated.

3.⠀⠀WARNINGS⠀⠀:⠀⠀i will add the warnings that the tv show has: slight presence of sex and nudity, foul language, alcohol, drugs and tobacco. moderate scenes of fear and terror. high content of violence and gore. in this second chapter, there's going to be an explicit scene of bullying and violence towards reader, and mentions of prostitution. please do not read if you're uncomfortable with it.

4.⠀⠀AUTHOR 'S NOTE⠀⠀:⠀⠀second chapter out! i don't know why, but i found it kind of difficult to finish it because it took me a while to decide how i was going to approach the first part. and i also feel like it's super repetitive, so i hope you don't find it boring (an di'm sorry if you do! i'll try to write better) :(( then we have more arcane episode 2 content, and a bittersweet end. next chapter will be the end of the first act (and we all know how it goes), i would advice to prepare yourself for some angst. meanwhile, just enjoy 🤍

5.⠀⠀IMPORTANT⠀⠀:⠀⠀this is a work of fiction. i do not own arcane or any content produced or owned bychristian linke, alex yee, riot games or netflix. all rights belong to netflix and the writers of arcane. all plot events and character developments that are not related to the main character's story belong to the writers and creators of the series.

The whisper of the name of Vander, the hound of the underworld, and his fearsome reputation, had drifted through the gaunt streets of Zaun like a famished viper aching for nourishment, but it had also reverberated within the glassed walls of the brothel in which you had grown up. You had first heard it from your mother's lips, like the caress of a feather brushing your skin, when you were too young to remember what had been of the city before him. In your blurred memories, only a chaos of violence and children's games, and then just peace. Like so many secrets huddled under the beds and behind the wardrobes of The Gilded Lily, it was a mystery how Vander had managed to keep that invisible line between the two worlds intact for so long. The only important thing, however, was that it worked.

At the age of twelve, you had come to think that he could be your father. Like many children of prostitutes, you had never met yours. Like many unwanted results of endless nights of work, you hadn't been much more than a mouth to feed that couldn't monetise your stay at the brothel. At least, until you got older. You had spent your days wandering the city in search of mechanisms to fix, wanting to spend as little time as possible under the brothel roof, knowing that your presence was not welcome. Profiting from the rare tastes of the men and women who frequented the many decorated rooms downstairs —and the even wilder fantasies they paid for in the rooms upstairs— your mother had decided to keep you when she learned of the unexpected pregnancy, against the madam's insistent advice and the usual procedure on such occasions. 

During your childhood you had heard too many names whispered in the perpetual night of Zaun, always hidden in the poorly lit corridors of the place, but Vander's had never been one of the feigned moans that used to echo in your head even when you covered your ears. Only once, while your mother was getting ready for one of The Gilded Lily's most important clients, your nimble hands braiding and winding strands of her hair, had she muttered those six letters, in a hurried ‘If you ever find yourself in danger, call on Vander’. She had always become wary, anxiety creeping like a terrifying shiver up her spine, when you had to leave the building without a place to shelter. And on those occasions, after forcing herself to ask you not to return until after the early hours of the morning, you would lose yourself in the alleys of Zaun.

You still remembered that night, when her lips had left a quick kiss on your forehead, a carmine shadow that had remained on your skin until she had smudged it with her thumb, and then you had disappeared from her room, carrying that unknown name in your heart like a secret. It had been no accident that your mother had confided those words to you after seeing you come home with more than one bruise on your face, some nights even more, because she knew he could help you. And her instinct had not failed, because you had remembered his name precisely until you had needed to pronounce it.

Life in the brothel hadn't been so bad once you had familiarised to the overpowering scent of all the perfumes, the chaos of the attic rooms —with clothes of all kinds scattered on the beds, make-up products everywhere— and the unclassifiable noises behind closed doors that became a background melody once you got used to them. Still, and despite the fact that all the women and men who worked there had found it hard to consider you as one of their own, sometimes even treating you more like a pet than a child, you valued your independence too much to waste time getting annoyed looks for being in the way. You had often slipped into the alleyways adjoining the big building, after looking for the moment when the Madam locked herself in her office, and you had walked the dirty streets of the undercity with your head down under your hood.

That had been how you had discovered the tattered shop of the gentle Benzo, the owner of a cave full of treasures, who had grown fond of you. He had given you your first screwdriver, and taught you how to build any mechanism from scratch. He always kept useless pieces of machinery in a box with your name on it, ready for you to pick them up as soon as you could. At first it had been in exchange for you looking after the little boy who had been left outside his door years ago, who was only slightly younger than you, but it had ended up becoming a problem, even if he hadn't been aware of it at the time.

In Zaun people didn't need a reason to sin. It was as easy as breathing the foul oxygen that clung to your skin and poisoned you from the inside, urging you to steal, to fight for money, to kill if you had to. The need made you unpredictable, desperate. And that culture of poverty, applied to children, was lethal to those with fewer possibilities. Applied to you, well, let's just say it had meant a big target painted on your forehead that screamed you were too easy a prey for the most despicable ones.

It had not been the first time you had been attacked thinking you could have something of value in your pockets. You had heard the comments of adults passing by, whispering about the blood that ran through your veins, speculating about the amount of money you would have under your name just because you lived in The Gilded Lily. They had assumed you were the brothel's heiress, always messing around in the city streets with no sense of direction, ignoring the consequences, and you had dressed up in the mask they had woven for you, lifting your chin proudly as you listened to them, wanting to believe that fantasy. Until the first punch had come. Merciless, silent, followed by a low laugh and a threat. You had curled up as overly bold hands roamed your body in search of diamonds, when you could only offer nuts and bolts.

But they had grown even bolder, taking everything you had on you no matter how little it was worth, leaving you with less and less material and more than bruises.

That night they had simply gone overboard, for the fun of it.

You had tried to stifle a chuckle at almost bumping into a customer, too busy making a funny face at Ekko as a goodbye, while sneaking out of the shop door. No sooner had you set foot in the street, the cold air outside invading your lungs almost painfully, than you had received the habitual punch. Swift and heavy against your windpipe, knocking the breath out of you, bending your body forward. One of your attackers had laughed to your right when the bag you had been holding had fallen to the floor, spilling screws and metal pieces onto the cobbled floor, and hadn't even bothered to pick them up. They had finally decided to stop pretending that mugging you was not their goal. 

You had held your hands to your chest, your eyes following a screw rolling a few centimetres, before a second punch landed, straight in your face. A twinge of pain had coursed through you as you felt their fist hit a wound on your cheekbone that hadn't quite healed, and you had frowned, stumbling back. The third, aimed at your jaw, had been the one that had knocked you to the ground.

You had collapsed, gasping for air, curling into yourself on the cold floor, dazed. Your body had pulsed, your heart pounding, and you could only think that if you stayed still long enough, they would leave you alone. With your back pressed against the wall of Benzo's building, your ragged breaths had hit your forearms with every inhale, your arms protecting your face. But far from hearing their laughter fade down the alley, the silence had granted you a moment's peace before you were kicked in the pit of your stomach, a breathy and quiet pant spilling from between your lips.

You had drawn your knees even tighter to your chest, sobbing, and tensed your muscles, fighting against the weakening pain. You hadn't been able to tell if you were crying, thick tears sliding down your face, or if it was blood, but after a few seconds you hadn't cared. You had wanted it to be over as soon as possible, even if it meant being knocked unconscious. You'd had no idea how many there were, their voices, distorted by your fear and their amusement, shimmering in a mocking tone. You had closed your eyes as you had felt another kick to your ribs, and had cowered against the wall, wishing you were dead.

But then you had remembered your mother's words. Soft and crystalline in your memory, just as fearful as your voice when they gushed from your chest like salt water desperate to leave your lungs after a shipwreck, ‘I know Vander!’

The hand of one of them had paused against your shoulder at the broken sound, and you had frowned, praying that his name was threat enough to make them go away.

‘Do you?’ they had asked you, the poorly disguised fear in their voice feeling like a breath of fresh air.

‘Yes!’ you had replied, glancing out from behind your arms, breathing heavily. ‘And he's going to go after you if you don't stop!’

You hadn't let doubt creep into your gaze, even though you knew you hadn't offered a very confident view of yourself, cornered by three boys older than you in the middle of the street. The one who had prepared to unleash another kick had taken a step back, clenching his hands into tight fists, as if afraid of the consequences. But before you could even begin to get up, ready to run away, the one who had positioned himself on the opposite wall had slowly approached you, a crooked smile painting his face.

‘Do you actually believe her?’ he had muttered, crouching down in front of you, his venomous breath slipping fear into your bones, grabbing your hair so he could pull you  face to face with him. 

‘Why would Vander waste his time with someone like you?’ he had uttered, his eyes flashing with rage. You had dropped your gaze, trying to look away from him, wondering if you were paying for a crime someone else had committed, if the hatred in his eyes was really directed at you, who hadn't done anything, or if you were just the wrong person at the worst time. 

‘I,’ you had stuttered, and the curve in his lips had widened, ’I'm not...’

‘Do you genuinely think he would come to save you?’ he had insisted, tightening his grip on your hair, forcing you to look at him, and you had closed your eyes angrily, the emptiness in your chest cracking at his words, seeping doubt into your heart. ‘I don't think so.’

You had held your breath, expecting to receive a final strike, for the three of them to retaliate against you, but his crouching body had tensed over yours as the shop door had burst open, his blonde hair caressing his neck. Your chest had deflated, knowing that a stranger would not prevent the attack from getting worse, and you had simply waited for him to leave.

‘Well, I do,’ the man had murmured, and you had turned your head to look at him, surprised that he had intervened. The light from Benzo's had spilled onto the cobblestone floor above his large figure, his shadow lengthening over when he had stepped forward. ‘Leave the girl alone, Deck.’

The breath had caught in your throat, shooting a flash of pain into your ribs. No one had ever stood up for you. You had narrowed your eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of the man's face, but had only been able to hear the disbelieving snort of the boy in front of you as he addressed the stranger.

‘Do you really know her, Vander?’

You had then opened your eyes wide, Deck's annoyance a reflection of the surprise in your gaze, but you had remained silent. Whatever happened would be your fault, simply for tempting fate in such a way.

‘Does it really matter?’ he had replied, all darkness and gravelly voice, and you had seen him pull a match from his pocket, lighting it with a quick flick against the wall, the fire illuminating his rugged features. He had rested the pipe between his lips as Deck decided what decision to make, and you had heard him let out a soft hum as the blond had raised his hand in a quick gesture, releasing you to the floor.

You had leaned your head against the wall, protecting yourself, as the boy had hovered over you to get up. You had expected one last punch, a warning for the next time he found you and Vander wasn't around. But he had done nothing, walking away with his friends in the shadows of the streets. Then you had clutched your hands to your chest, letting a faint whimper slide down your throat, sobbing, and you had rested a hand on the cold stones of the ground to try to get up.

But then the pain had shot up through your abdomen like an electrified circuit, your legs failing under your own weight, and you had collapsed to the ground. You had thought it was not worth staying, not when the consequences of daring to involve Vander could be worse than what you had already received, but he had stood beside you, his gaze lost in the distance, waiting for them to be gone for good.

‘Thank you,’ you had murmured, taking a breath of air. Perhaps sweet words would soften him in case he decided to punish you in some way for mentioning his name.

The whisper of your voice had seemed to bring him back to reality, his body turning towards you, and he had made the attempt to move closer, stopping short when he saw the way your body was pressed against the wall behind you, completely tense. He had withdrawn his pipe from his mouth, the smoke spiralling upwards, and frowned. If you hadn't been so busy running away, you would have been able to make out the glint of insecurity in his gaze.

‘Hey, little one,’ he had uttered, advancing towards you in short, painfully slow steps, as if confronting a wounded animal, ’I'm not going to hurt you.’

You had looked up, your cheeks broken in tears, your shoulders shaking, and you had seen the way his eyebrows had risen in a convex curve, his lips pulling into a coy smile that had been intended to soothe you. And then you'd felt his hand on your arm, his palm sliding its rough calluses against your skin, and you'd frozen, pausing for a moment before remembering that it was Vander. Vander. If your mother trusted him —and she trusted very few people— you could afford to put your faith in him until he proved to you that you could trust him too.

‘You don't have to worry,’ you had told him, huddling against the cool surface of the wall, trying to muster a smile that would keep him from asking too many questions.

‘You sound like it's not the first time this happens,’ he had observed, crouching down in front of you, pushing your long hair away from in front of your face so that he could assess your injuries.

The absence of a reply had been your response, and answer enough to his assumptions. Of course it had happened before, hence why they felt so comfortable attacking you in such a public place. It had happened before, to a lesser extent. Before, in dark alleys. Before, maybe starting with a slap. And with each time you had offered no resistance the harassment had continued, more times, more pressure, more pain.

‘Come here,’ he had sighed, leaving the pipe between his lips and sliding his hand down your back, under your knees, to take you in his arms. You had let him lift you up, your hair cascading, and sighed against his chest, resting your cheek with your eyes closed. At least you would have enjoyed a quiet moment before you had to find a place to spend the night, the brothel doors closed to you until your mother finished with all the customers who came in asking for her.

You had been forbidden to disturb her, because if the Madam lost money, no matter how young you were, it would be you who would have to take her place to compensate for the absence of income.

But then you'd realised that Vander had been walking back towards Benzo's shop, and you'd frowned at the dull light of the lamps left on over the counter. You'd felt his flexed arms straining to keep you from falling as you'd started to squirm, ignoring the phantom fists that had pounded all over your body, ‘Easy, easy, kid.’

‘Vander?’ you'd heard Benzo, appearing behind the front desk with a grease-filled cloth in his hands, ‘I thought you'd already left. Who...?’

‘Deck and a couple of boys were harassing this little girl,’ Vander had explained, leaving you sitting on the stained surface of the counter, his hands gentle but firm on your shoulders to keep you from running away, and you'd winced when you'd heard Benzo mutter your name in surprise.

And then Vander had repeated it, looking at you, and you'd felt too vulnerable.

‘’M not little,' you'd muttered, deflating, crossing your arms over your chest with a stubborn snort, “and I'm fine.”

‘You're certainly not okay,’ Vander had replied, and you'd known his heart had decided to protect you against all odds in the way he'd uttered it, as if rage was consuming him. ‘And it's not the first time this has happened.’

‘Does your mother know about this?’ Benzo had asked you, pulling out a clean rag from under the counter, grabbing one of his bottles of alcohol. You had slid your gaze around the shop instead of answering, knowing that Ekko had to be somewhere, eavesdropping. You hadn't wanted him to see you like this.

‘What do you know about her?’ Vander had asked, setting the pipe down next to the bottle before taking the cloth in his hands and wetting it, making an effort to remain calm as he ran the fabric over your bruised skin, the cool air of his gentle breaths soothing the stinging of the wound slightly.

‘She's Raven's daughter,’ the shop owner had replied, and you had shuddered under the weight of his words.

‘Raven,’ Vander had repeated, and you had raised your eyes at the tone of his voice, far from the lust that used to accompany your mother's name every time someone said it. It held a past, just as it had done with Benzo when you had revealed to him who you were.

‘She was the one who told me to call for you if I needed help,’ you had hastened to add, hoping it was the right thing to say.

Vander's gaze had softened as he listened to you, nodding absently, ‘Of course she told you.’

You'd watched him relax his shoulders, his gaze fogged with memories, as he'd bent down to continue cleaning the cuts on your face, his hand resting on your cheek, his rag a caress on your skin, and you caught every movement, wishing you could replicate the care with which he'd treated you if you ever needed to treat someone's wounds. Then he had instructed you to pull your shirt up a little so he could assess the bruises on your ribs, without touching you at any point, and he had remained respectful even as he moved to place a bandage over the injury to your knee, trying not to tear the starred fishnet stockings you had put on that morning.

‘Your mom's right, you know?’ he had announced, once he had finished, his thumb undoing the dry trails your tears had left on your cheeks. ‘If you're ever in danger, you can come to me.’

His eyes had met yours in the grim glow of the room, the shadows on his face heavy on his skin, and you had flashed a mischievous smile, lighting up your dry lips. The whisper of Vander's name, the hound of the underworld, had roamed the filthy streets of your city like a hungry predator, and even reverberated between the sinful mouths of the prostitutes you had grown up with, but it had never sounded better than when it had left your lips that night. Loud, broken, crying out for help. Reflecting a desperation you felt in every bone, knowing it could save you from a doomed fate.

And no one had pronounced yours better than he had, stopping at every letter, giving it the attention you had never received. He had fixed something deeply flawed in you, proving that you weren't alone in that cursed city. After that night, your mother had never feared for you again. Vander had sworn to protect you, inviting you to the back of his bar when his kids weren't home to teach you how to defend yourself. And the next time someone had threatened to try to assault you, you'd been the first to punch.

It had not been hard, because Vander was a great fighter. And his adopted children had helped him develop the patience necessary to be a good teacher. Throughout your time with him, the whispers of his name had become quieter, dimming his legendary reputation and turning him more cautious. Sevika had told you it had been the riots he had led, the suffering he had seen in the eyes of his children for the consequences he had provoked. Perhaps you did not remember what the city had been before him, but the enforcers' apprehension towards the inhabitants of Zaun was proof enough that the fine line that had once existed between Piltover and the underground had begun to dissipate.

Especially after the unsuccessful incursion that Vi and the rest had pulled off the day before.

You had felt guilty, at first, worry lurking in the shadows as soon as they had failed to show up at the appointed time. And the emptiness in your chest had grown by the minute, uncertainty eating you alive, as you tried to keep your hands busy to avoid conjuring up dire possibilities. Then you had been flooded with relief, seeing them appear, all four seemingly well. And after the tense conversation with Vander, before Vi distracted you with her kisses, you had felt confused, a swirl of uneasiness growing inside you.

Even that morning, when you woke up, you were still restless. You had awakened to the soothing weight of Vi's sleeping body draped over yours, Powder finishing one of her projects in absolute silence in the bed next beside you. It had to be late, though it was hard to tell with the permanent ashen sky over the city, but the day before they had returned so full of adrenaline that they hadn't realised how tired they were until they had collapsed onto their mattresses. It was only natural, after such an intense day, that you had woken up at lunchtime.

You had carefully slipped out from under the covers, leaning on the edge of the bed to do a little stretching for your ankle. You'd been doing it for almost three weeks, but that morning was the first time that rolling your foot backwards hadn't made it stutter in pain, and your heart leapt in your chest at the realisation. It probably had something to do with the fact that you'd spent most of the day sitting, not really moving much, though you hated having to agree with Vander on that one.

Nevertheless, when Vi had proposed spending the afternoon in the abandoned basement you had turned into your meeting place, a couple of streets away from The Last Drop, you couldn't help but ask to join them. And Vi couldn't help but agree, giving in to your pout. With the cane Vander had made for you under one arm, and Claggor providing support under the other, you had walked steadily over the cobblestone streets of the undercity, making your way into the large playroom.

Vi had gone straight to her boxing ground, her body restless with pent-up energy and the need to always be ready to defend you all, and the rest of you had scattered around the room, looking for something to entertain yourselves with. You had let Claggor help you practise fencing footwork, slowly and surely, so as not to lose practice while you were injured. At least until you realised that Powder had taken refuge among the cables and mechanisms of the firing field, and then you hopped up on the counter to make sure you didn't miss anything.

Watching Powder shoot was always a delight, especially after a cocky Mylo didn't hit a single one, and you loved to referee. You had considered shooting as a valid method of defence when your first few weeks of boxing training had left your knuckles raw and too slow to heal, so you weren't bad at it. And although you had never stopped boxing —your name was written next to Vi's on the leaderboard— you had eventually developed a taste for sword fighting. Wooden or bronze swords, of course, because no one really trusted a sixteen-year-old girl with a weapon.

Just as the gun you held in your hands, checking that no one had tampered with its mechanism, had blank ammunition, fun enough to practice with but completely harmless. Thanks to Powder's colourful dyes, the only problem was how long it took for the paint stain to come out if you were shot.

‘Remind me why we bother with this dump,’ uttered Mylo, checking the gun as soon as you handed it back to him while curving your lips into an enigmatic smile, knowing that he was wary of your nimble hands.

‘Vander said to lay low,’ Vi replied, and you looked her way at the sound of her voice, swinging your legs from the table that separated the shooting field from the rest of the room. She was at the other end, in front of the boxing machine you had helped her fix a few years ago, and she paused her punches for a moment to respond, wiping the sweat from her brow with the outside of her forearm. ‘Enforcers never come down here, so this is as good a place as any.’

You nodded, forming a gesture of concern, but glanced behind the table to check on Powder. Her blue hair was moving to the rhythm of a tune that played only in her head, giving the finishing touches to the machinery that made the dummies on the shooting field move on simple rails, all of them painted menacingly and fluorescently by her, and you didn't bother to stifle a smile as you realised how quickly she was learning all the tricks you were teaching her.

‘Oh, what's the matter, Mylo?’ you heard Claggor say behind you. ‘You worried Powder's gonna beat you again?’

You glanced quickly towards him, wanting to know his answer, a chuckle slipping quietly from your throat, and you widened your smile as you saw him frown, clearly feeling attacked, ‘Hey, if she didn't keep fixing these things, I wouldn't keep missing.’

‘Suure,’ you muttered, scrunching up your nose playfully, resting your hands on the table and leaning back slightly.

‘It's true!’ he tried to defend himself, pointing his threatening finger at you. But before you could answer him, ready to start one of your teasing wars, Powder leapt to his feet, the cables of the mechanism in her hands.

With a sharp gaze fixed on Mylo, a wolfish grin curving her lips, she connected the ends, the lights going out behind her back once the greenish substance that started the game ran along the connected wires. You raised your hand as soon as she slid past you to stand next to Mylo, and Powder high-fived you enthusiastically, letting out a small giggle as you said, ‘That's my girl!

You turned slightly, watching the different figures glow in the shadows, and narrowed your eyes, focusing on all the targets. You weren't sure if Mylo would be able to hit any of them, but it was going to be difficult. Powder had been fiddling with the setup system so she could increase the difficulty level because she was getting better and better at it. Sometimes she would come to you on the rooftop of The Last Drop, where you usually hung out with your girlfriend, to ask your advice when she reached a point where she didn't know how to proceed. And you would always hold her hand and tell her everything you knew.

You had no idea how fast the game was set that afternoon, but you knew you were going to have a good time. You pulled your legs up onto the counter, crossing them so you could massage your ankle absentmindedly, and you didn't see Mylo getting ready to shoot. The first sound caught you by surprise, startling you, and you saw the pink ball of ammunition pass by the target without even brushing it. 

‘You guys know I wouldn't take you on a job you couldn't handle, right?’ mumbled Vi, and suddenly all your attention was focused on her, who had finished her boxing session and was taking off her gloves in an exasperated gesture.

‘Are you kidding?’ replied Mylo, his eyes riveted on the fluorescent dolls, and you didn't get to witness him continuing to shoot relentlessly, though you did hear him. ‘Maybe just don't take Powder next time.’

You couldn't even roll your eyes at his words, the satisfied hum of Claggor letting you know that, as you'd hoped, Mylo hadn't hit a single one. You stared at Vi, at the way her chest rose and fell after hitting the hard cushions of the boxing machine for so long, the perspiration covering the edges of her shirt, the unsure gleam in her eyes.

You heard Powder take Mylo's position in front of the firing area, you felt the warmth of her body next to yours as she prepared to shoot, and you heard every breathy sound she let escape between her lips before each bullet, but you didn't need to look at her. She wasn't going to miss. She never did. Mylo provided her with enough motivation not to.

What worried you was that the night before Vi hadn't wanted to tell you how she really felt. She never kept anything from you —you were both open books to each other. But you knew that the conversation she'd had with her father had awakened something in her. Something dormant, of course, because Vi had always felt that fire inside her when it came to protecting her people, but something you couldn't quite put your finger on. And that, added to the certain consequences the explosion had been caused in Piltover, kept you anxious about what the future would bring.

You rested a hand on Powder's shoulder as soon as she finished, a proud smile tugging at your lips as she looked up at you with satisfaction shining in her eyes, and you planted a kiss on her forehead under Mylo's bitter gaze, who had to put up with Claggor's teasing remarks. And as soon as Powder ran to the slot machine leaning against the wall, you jumped down, ignoring the two boys to walk slowly towards your girlfriend.

You rested your arms on the banister that separated the area where the boxing machine was located from the rest of the room, smiling softly at her, and reached out a hand to slide it down her forearm. Her eyes turned gentle under your attention, intertwining her fingers with yours, and you fixed your gaze on the bandages around her wrists and knuckles, trying to fix those spots where they had come loose with your other hand. Vi crouched down beside you to make your job easier, and sighed heavily.

‘We'll talk, right?’ you asked, your tone calm and collected. You weren't accusing her, you simply wanted to know that everything was okay.

But her reply was drowned out by the sound of shattering glass, your eyes widening, and you turned hurriedly as the glass that had held up for so many years shattered into pieces, a man's body slamming through it. He ended up unconscious a few steps away from you, while a group of Enforcers glared at you, analysing you with disdain, from the street. You all stood for a few seconds in complete silence, paralysed, until you heard the low, menacing voice of one of the topside cops announce, ‘Search them’.

It took you a heartbeat to cross the room, as fast as your ankle would allow, and position yourself in front of Powder with one hand resting on her arm. They advanced slowly, the glass cracking under their boots, while you raised your hands. They had nothing on your friends, it was impossible. They were simply making a routine round, asking easy questions, in case anyone knew anything about the explosion at Piltover. If you lied, calmly resisting their provocations, they would be gone in no time, and you could go home.

‘Go ahead, idiots,’ said Mylo, looking up and down at the Enforcer in front of him. ‘We got nothing.’

And then it all happened too fast. You didn't see Vi gesture to Claggor, but you knew it was she who had instructed him to pull the lever. The room was suddenly plunged into darkness, the fluorescent colours glowing from the shooting range dummies and the monkey doodle Powder had designed years ago and painted in the floor the only illumination, and Powder grabbed your hand to help you slide over the counter, both of you fleeing between the dummies.

You had no idea if the others were following you, to look back being too risky, just that you did your best to grind your teeth every time you stepped on your run and your ankle twitched to the side that hurt the most. Your breath caught in your throat when you felt a hand on your spine, and you stifled a scream, but Powder let go of your hand, sprinting towards the back door, and you let yourself be caught in his arms when you realised it was Claggor at your back.

Mylo was on the other side, running after Powder to get outside, and as you looked back you saw Vi close the door behind her and block it with your cane. You threw your arms around Claggor's shoulders to make yourself as small as possible, easying the task of running with you down the alley, and you all followed Vi, trusting that she would know which way to disappear. But then she stopped dead in her tracks, the suddenness of it causing you to fall to the ground, when she saw two Enforcers attacking a citizen. They stopped too, looking at you, and you felt Mylo's hands on your shoulders, helping you to your feet, as they ran to you. You saw the panic in Vi's eyes as you made eye contact with her.

You had screwed up. Big time.

The silence of the street was interrupted by your quickened breaths, but also by a loud whistling sound that drew your attention upwards. An old metal ladder creaked towards you as you heard Ekko mutter an ‘Over here!’ and you only had time to process his presence when Vi grabbed your hips and propelled you upwards. You clung on as best you could, scrambling upwards, grabbing Ekko's hand to pull yourself onto the wooden bridge that spanned between two houses, and stood beside him to help pull the rest up.

Mylo grabbed your arm, jumping to your side and pulling Ekko by the shoulders to run away, Claggor following soon after. Your heart stopped when you saw one of the Enforcers trying to climb after Powder, and you grabbed Vi at full speed so the kid could get to safety.

You paused for a moment once Vi had broken the ladder, preventing them from following you, taking a deep breath in the great pipes that connected Zaun's poorer neighbourhoods, and you held on to the wall, limping, as Powder walked alongside his sister. They had been discovered. The Piltover police now knew that it was four children from the undercity who had allegedly caused the explosion, and they were not going to stop until they had them punished. You had to tell Vander, and that was perhaps what scared you the most.

If an adult had to know about it, things's were getting way too serious.

The Last Drop was usually packed on any given weeknight, the music playing muffled under the constant murmur of conversation, and Vander always behind the bar, serving beer to all his customers. That night there were many more people, but the walls of the bar wailed in the silence that permeated the atmosphere, broken only by the cold voice of Sevika, who seemed to be holding back her temper.

‘We should hit them back,’ she said, leaving a loud thump on the wooden table. ‘We've got the numbers to beat them.’

Before her words, many of the attendees at the impromptu meeting Vander had organised murmured their approval, ‘Yeah! Let's teach them what it means to mess with us!’

You, leaning in the shadows, always relegated to the sidelines with the rest of the kids, listened with your heart in your mouth, knowing that the tension in the air went far beyond the occasional dispute that Vander had to resolve. Youall had confessed everything that had happened as soon as you arrived at the place, Vander's eyes shadowed by what you said, and he had no choice but to announce it to the rest of the Lanes' inhabitants.

Now he was leaning against the counter, on the wrong side of it, and Benzo was standing next to him, folding his arms, as serious as the bar owner. He pulled a match from his pocket, as you had seen him do countless times since you had met him, and lit his pipe calmly, creating anticipation among those around him.

‘You sure that's what you want?’ he asked, the smoke spiralling through the air, knowing what answer he was going to get. ‘We crossed that bridge once before, and we all know how that ended.’

It had been a long time ago, when the streets had whispered his name in awe. Your mother had ended up telling you the story.

‘You're just protecting your kids,’ protested a man you didn't know, frowning. And it hurt you to hear it, because you knew it was partly true.

‘I'm protecting our people,’ he replied, quickly, stoking his pipe as if he meant to attack someone. ‘I'd do the same for any of you,’ he continued, looking around at the rest of those present. ‘We look out for each other. It's the way it's always been. This will blow over, we just need to stand together’.

‘The Vander I knew, the one who built the underground,’ Sevika interjected, anger trembling in her voice, ’would not be afraid to fight.’

Vander took two steps towards her, standing face to face, ‘Do I look afraid?’

‘No,’ she replied, calm but menacing, ‘you look weak.’

Without waiting for an answer, she whistled, the sound attracting the attention of her people, and turned around, her coat floating behind her, some of those beside her following her outside. You sighed, knowing that Sevika was the only one who could dare stand up to Vander, and crossed your arms, leaning against the back wall. The conversation would die once she was no longer willing to fuel it.

‘Why isn't he doing anything?’ muttered Claggor, looking almost apologetic.

‘We kicked the Enforcers‘ butts with just the four of us,’ Powder replied, angrily, her scowl making her look even more adorable than usual. ‘Imagine what the whole of the Lanes could do.’

‘Jeez, even Powder wants to fight,’ exclaimed Mylo, opening the door leading down into the hall.

‘So why aren't we?’ protested Vi, exasperated.

You remained silent, as did Ekko, leaning against your arm, and sighed again. Claggor followed Mylo once he went downstairs to lie on the couch. You put your arm around Ekko's shoulders, caressing his hair, and noticed how unusually quiet he had been. Vi also noticed, raising an eyebrow in his direction, ‘Spill it Ekko’.

‘Huh, oh, okay,’ he stammered, and it made you frown. You knew Ekko was an expert at finding out secrets, but often conversations between adults made little sense to you. It was rare that he had any information about Piltover at all. ‘Well, um, Vander's got a deal with the Enforcers.’

‘What deal?’ you asked, exchanging a glance with Vi.

But Ekko shrugged. 

You sighed a third time, drawing a smile from both of them, and ended up laughing too, covering your mouth with one hand. It was wrong to look so happy when something so serious had just happened just a few feet away, but it was also a way of dealing with it. Your heart was pounding as if you were on the edge of a cliff, on the verge of an event that could turn out to be catastrophic, but you just wanted a moment of peace. 

You pulled your pocket watch out of your waistcoat as Ekko walked past you to meet Powder downstairs, and checked the time. You knew that if no client showed up unannounced, your mother would have a free moment in a few minutes. You hadn't been in the brothel for almost three days, so it could be a good time to stop by and stay for a bit.

You looked at Vi, deciding what to do next.

‘I might sleep over at my Mom's tonight,’ you commented, pouting.

She nodded, taking your hands in hers, ‘We'll be fine.’

‘I know,’ you replied, moving closer to her and leaving a fleeting kiss on her lips. ‘They're always safe with you.’

She kissed you back in the shadows, burying her bandaged hand in your hair, and stifled an annoyed huff when she had to pull away from you. She leaned her forehead against yours, biting her lip, and then let you go, disappearing up the stairs. They could do with a rest, you knew. Better a quiet night, and face the problems the next day.

You walked through the streets of Zaun, hair hastily pulled back in a bun, but at a slow pace, when you left the bar. You tried to rotate your ankle every few steps, grimacing when it hurt but determined to make the effort to walk without limping. When you reached the entrance to The Gilded Lily you dodged some drunken clients, sneaking up the stairs until you reached your mother's room. You kept your ear to the door, listening for any sound that might indicate you couldn't stay there.

When only your mother's sweet voice sounded, humming a made-up melody, and you knew she was alone, you tapped the surface of the door twice before stepping inside. Your mother's gaze lit up as she recognised you, rising from her vanity chair to hug you, ‘Hi, baby!’

‘Hi, Mom,’ you smiled back, taking refuge in her arms.

‘Did you come to get those pieces you left behind last week?’ she asked, after kissing your cheek and sitting back down, taking the lipstick stick between her slender fingers.

‘What pieces?’ you asked, and frowned as you followed the direction she pointed as she continued to prepare herself, wiggling her fingers absently.

Your mother's wardrobe. Raven was one of the prostitutes who got the most clients —the one who made Madam win more money among her girls— and that had earned her some privileges at the brothel. In addition to being able to raise you, to allow you to grow up in her room and not have anyone complain when they had to take care of you, she was also allowed to have the only room with a built-in wardrobe in the building, apart from the owner's. When you were little, you used to hide there quite often. Since you couldn't fit anymore, you only kept your clothes and a big box with projects you were working on.

But you didn't remember leaving any behind the last time you spent the night there.

You opened the heavy doors, and it felt like getting another hug from your mother. All the clothes she had stuffed in there, with exotic silk kimonos, long linen dresses and velvety nightgowns, smelled like the cheap fruity cologne you had once gotten her on the black market in town, and then kept getting because she had loved it. You smiled when you saw the chaos of fabrics jumbled among all the shelves, and bent down to open the drawer where you kept your things. 

Inside was a jumble of metal, tools, multiple loose papers with drafts of diagrams and a complex mechanism wrapped in a rag. Your eyes widened in surprise when you remembered that you had indeed left the invention hidden there, and you pulled it out at full speed, sitting cross-legged on the floor and checking what you had left to do the last time. You didn't notice the way your mother was looking at you through the mirror, admiring the way you were working, so focused on the gears in your hands.

You didn't even notice the clock hand ticking, too focused on the artefact you had designed a few months ago, changing parts you thought you had misplaced, modifying data in the designs you had spread out on the floor. You became again the child you had once been, hiding in your mother's wardrobe with heavy headphones that isolated any noise from the outside, oblivious to reality. Since you had met Vander's children, you had kept most of your gadgets in the workshop they had let you keep in their house, but going back to work on the floor of your mother's room felt like coming home.

You remained in that state of abstraction until you felt your mother's lips pressed against your temple in a warm kiss.

‘Imma go downstairs, baby,’ she said, and you just nodded.

She was going to have a quiet night, then. Whenever Raven appeared downstairs it was always to relax and flirt with curious first or second-time visitors to The Gilded Lily, too shy to wander into one of the upstairs rooms. You were glad. As your mother got older she didn't lose beauty, let alone charm, but she got much more tired. She deserved more time to rest.

You remained working on the small portable radio until your back began to complain, and you had to get up to stretch a little. 

And then you heard it. A soft, stifled sound coming from the window. You frowned, leaving the device on the cloth it had been wrapped in, and walked across the room. Of the two panes of glazed glass that served as shutters, one could not be opened because you had nailed it against the frame years ago, so that you could place a made up air-purifier box on that side of the sill and allow your mother to get cleaner air from outside.

As you opened the other, however, and looked down, you caught a glimpse of your girlfriend's pink hair camouflaged under her hood, ready to throw another pebble to get your attention. You smiled at the sight of her, motioned for her to wait there, and crossed the carpet as quickly as you could. You paused for a moment as you reached the door, and retraced your steps to pick up the almost finished radio and tuck it into one of the pockets of your cargo trousers, but you headed back out into the hallway, descending the stairs of the brothel by sliding down the banister, as you had done so often when you were younger.

As soon as you stepped onto the street you walked the few metres between the entrance and the alley around the corner, and walked towards Vi with a smile tugging at your lips. She had been leaning against the wall, her hands in the pockets of her slacks, but she pulled them out to wrap them around your hips as soon as she had you close enough.

‘You couldn't wait until tomorrow to see me, couldn't you, pretty girl?’ you asked, grinning against her lips.

‘I wanted to see you before I went to sleep,’ she whispered, her gaze downcast, her fingers playing with your belt buckles.

‘Hey, did something happen?’ you asked, worry swirling in your chest, sliding your hands up to cup her cheeks, your thumbs caressing her freckled skin.

‘The enforcers came,’ she replied, her muffled voice sending shivers down your spine.

‘My God,’ your hands tightened against her face, and you frowned. ‘Are you all okay?’

‘Yeah, yeah, nothing bad happened,’ she said, trying to reassure you. ‘Vander managed to warn us in time for us to hide.’

But her explanation failed to calm you in the slightest. Vi looked pale, almost sickly, as if whatever had happened had scared her to death. You felt the nervous twitch of her fingers at the waistband of your trousers, fiddling with the fabric almost anxiously, and a void opened ravenously in your throat. You didn't like seeing her like that. It was unnatural, not being able to enjoy her jokes and her teasing remarks, that the gleam in her eyes didn't greet you when you looked at her, and that her stiff shoulders seemed to slump under the weight of a responsibility that wasn't hers.

‘Listen,’ you began, trying to make eye contact with her, ’we'll be alright, okay?’

‘I know, I promised,’ she replied, leaning against the touch of your palm.

‘I already know we'll be alright,’ you added, stubbornly. ‘What I mean is, it'll all pass. We'll go on with our lives as before, because the enforcers will get tired of looking around, and we'll hide great, yeah? I can promise you that.’

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘Uh-huh,’ you nodded, memorising every detail of her face. ‘I'll find a place to hide Powder, and I'll help her practise to make her little bombs work. I'll show her what I do to make my inventions work. And I'll tie Mylo to a chair so he doesn't screw up anything. I wouldn't worry so much about Claggor. And you can come to the roof of the Lily, and do some boxing with me. We'll steal food from Madam.’

‘Wow, you've got it all figured out, huh?’ she finally smiled, sighing.

‘You know I'll always want you to have the option of stepping back when it all gets too much,’ you whispered to her.

‘I know,’ he replied, leaning her forehead against yours. ‘I'm glad I have you. I'm glad Powder has you.’

‘Don't be silly, I'll never leave you’ you replied, shaking your head slightly, your eyes closed. ‘Besides, Powder has you, she doesn't really need me.’

‘Pow-Pow's my little sister,’ she explained, her breath brushing against your skin, ‘she needs the other girl in the group so she can have some time away from me. She adores you, I'm glad she has that.’

‘Well, I know for a fact she looks up to you a lot, so...’ you replied, sliding your head down to rest on her shoulder, remaining hugged against the brothel wall. ‘She still needs you. She will always need you.’

Silence swirled around you, and you felt a soft hum exhaled between Vi's lips.

‘Besides, I'm working on a radio that will allow us to spy on the enforcers,’ you announced, leaning in.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ you confirmed, pulling it out of your pocket. It was a small metal box, which fit in your hand. ‘Wait until I press the button and say something nice.’

You connected the two loose wires, and the radio started up with a soft buzz. You frowned as you tried to remember which was the button that recorded and which was the one that played back, and finally pressed the one you had painted blue. Both were buttons you had taken from your mother's old clothes, and Vi smiled as she realised. You nudged her arm to get her to start talking.

‘I love you, cupcake,’ she whispered, and you covered your mouth with your hand so she wouldn't see you blush. ‘You'll always be my girl.’

You stopped recording, shaking your head, but didn't say a word, pressing the second button. Vi's voice echoed between you, somewhat canned, repeating word for word what she had just said. When you looked up, Vi already had her eyes on you, delighted.

‘This is awesome, cupcake,’ she murmured, her voice watery.

‘Oh, don't be like that,’ you reproached, checking the device. ‘It still needs improvement.’

‘You're a genius,’ she attacked again, sliding her hands up and down your back.

You put the radio back in your pocket, embarrassed.

‘You could add it to the mechanical crow you have at home,’ she proposed, clinging to you, ‘so you could spy even more closely, and no one would notice.’’

You opened your eyes wide in amazement, and patted her on the shoulder, ‘That is genius!’

Her giggles echoed through the alley, and you swooned against her body, ‘I need to write that down as soon as possible,’ you said, dead serious, ‘I'll stop by The Last Drop tomorrow to see if it would be possible to implement the radio into the design I have done.

‘I love you, cupcake,’ she repeated, and you grabbed her by the the collar of her sleeveless hoodie, bringing your lips together in a kiss.

‘I love you too, pretty girl,’ you replied, pulling away from her. And then you added, a little louder, just to tease, ‘I love youu, Violet!’

You kissed her goodbye with another peck, resting your hand on the wall behind her head, and let her lips move over yours, hungrily, for a few more minutes. But when Vi moved her leg between yours, her mouth sliding down your neck, and your heart began to pound in your throat, you decided to stop once more.

‘You should go get some rest, Vi, baby,’ you whispered, your breath hitching.

‘I love you,’ she whispered again, and you melted against her, ’I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.’

‘I love you too, my love,’ you sighed, as she parted her lips from your skin, ’but it's getting late.’

You felt her hand slide down your abdomen, up to your chest, and you held your breath. But she simply pulled your pocket watch out of its pocket, glancing at the time. Her shoulders tensed again, leaving the watch in your hand, and she murmured a soft, ‘Yeah, it's pretty late.’

‘See you tomorrow,’ you whispered, taking a step back.

She made an affirmative noise, peeling away from the wall, and you turned to head back to the brothel. With your girlfriend's voice stored in your radio, you climbed the stairs, adrenaline coursing through your system, barely aware of the pain in your ankle, and dropped to the floor as soon as you reached your mother's room, picking up a blank sheet of paper to begin designing a new model of your robot.

It wasn't until a few minutes later that your heart began to race again, when Raven came in quietly, and you were startled by her stealth.

‘What did you go out for?’ she asked you, taking off her black lace jacket.

‘Oh, Vi came to see me,’ you replied, pausing your pencil over the paper. Your mother knew who she was and what relationship you had, you weren't worried about what she could say.

‘That's weird,’ she uttered, your heartbeat quickening in your mouth, ‘she usually never comes. I thought something bad had happened.’

And then your heart stopped for a moment. Something bad had happened. The enforcers had discovered them. But Vi's gaze had remained opaque the whole time she'd been with you, and though it had seemed to you that she was still frightened by what had happened, perhaps you'd misinterpreted it. You knew those grey eyes better than you knew yourself. She had been scared about what was going to happen.

‘Do you think she would do something foolish to protect her family?’ you asked your mother.

‘Oh, baby,’ she murmured, a drop of sadness spilling over her face, ’she'd do anything to make sure you're okay, just like you would for her.’

You closed your eyes for a moment, frowning, angry that you hadn't noticed sooner.

When you opened them, you stood up and walked out of The Gilded Lily, determined to find Vi.

⠀⠀𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍.⠀( send an ask or comment under the series to be part of it , just if you're going to interact with it ━reblogging with feedback. )⠀@im-just-a-simp-le-whore , @celestialzdiviner , @corpsebridenightamare , @louissst28 , @astr1dblogs , @notsolarry , @starlostastronaut , @yoonkinii , @padsfirewhisky

ㅤㅤ© dilemmars ★ do not copy, translate, repost or share this work as yours on other platforms ! consider leaving a comment or reblogging.

[jessamine-rose]

*gasp* It's me ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!

🍵 𝒲𝐻𝒪𝒟ℛ𝒜𝒩𝒦𝐼𝒯? ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚: A Yandere!H:SR x Reader Otome Game

✧ romanceable characters (© hoyoverse): Professor Veritas Ratio, "Your friend" Kakavasha, and "Gallagher" [for now]

✧ content warning: yandere themes, mentions of racial/species discrimination (your character is SEA/Filipino-coded), (y/n) uses they/them, the story takes place in a modern hybrid alternate universe where each planet (Belobog, Penacony, etc) is considered a country.

PLAY THE DEMO HERE (available for download on PC & Mac AND online play for any devices, though download is preferable to avoid pixellated graphics & misaligned textboxes)

You (name changeable) are a hardworking and full-pledged human cafe owner in Penacony City. Your Dreamjolt Cafe has been a go-to for residents and tourists alike. But your loved ones' lives took a sharp turn for the worst when you decided to take a much-needed vacation back to your homeland, Perlas. While your family eagerly awaited your arrival, you disappeared en route. Where did you go? How did this happen? Who did this? Was it...

☕ the prickly yet fascinating Prof. Veritas Ratio, your self-proclaimed avian-hybrid regular,

☕Kakavasha, your longest fellow human friend who always seems to have a secret or two;

☕ or Gallagher, your hound-hybrid roommate whose past is as peculiar as his loyalty?

☕ or are there two more you're forgetting?

... so...

𝒲𝐻𝒪 𝒹𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝒾𝓉?

Please support this game by reblogging the post & sending asks/comments! I put a lot of time and effort writing, drawing, and learning to code for this. Thank you so much, my beloved yandere!H:SR community and of course, @dreamjolt-hostelry, for being supportive friends!!! - @beloved-brynn

✧ Characters, Background Art and UI Credits

Hoyoverse assets sourced from the-astral-express-archive. I just tweaked em a bit!

Canva freestock images... Haha...

✧ Intro video, sprites & CG art Credits

Me!!! Hi <3 I hope you enjoyed them! I can't believe yall made me learn adobe after effects a bit for this-

✧ Music Credits

The main menu theme (the first song upon booting the game) is made by @naraven!

The rest of the royalty free music soundtrack (such as the music used for the video above) is sourced from Vodovoz Music Productions!!! Please show the creator some love!!! I was actually vibing so hard while listening to them lmao

✧ (Fan)Story

lol hi again!!! man. i feel like Argenti.

If you wish to support my work and want to see more of this in the future, please buy me a coffee! So I can at least prove to my parents that my work is at least worth one dollar ;;;;

[atzfilm]

𝐚𝐭𝐳𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦'𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 .ᐟ

all works of writing/summaries are not owned by me, and all credits go to the respective writers! this list will be updated periodically with stories i have read ♡ i thought that as a writer myself who consumes talented stories on this site, it would be good for me to show you all a fraction of what i read myself tehe (i read majority poly!teez/mc so that category will be filled!!) ☆

— note: 90% of these fics will contain mature themes, since it's all i read! please read the specific author's notes before reading!

❤︎ - personal favorites

ᴍᴜʟᴛɪ

— ❤︎ mists of celeste (??/reader, several pairings) by @hongism

genre: scifi/space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut, fluff

summary: sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you.

notes: as an atiny on tumblr.com, i feel like it's a rite of passage to read moc. it's one of the best written works i have had the privilege of reading. it's gripping, it's heartbreaking, it's filled with yearning and love, and has you hoping that the characters survive this ordeal. san i love you most you can tell by the masterlist alone that she has crafted a whole space pirate universe intricately and with the utmost care. she deals with the trauma of the characters so so well and i cant lie ive cried a lot reading it jdhdksjddj, it's the fic that made me start reading ateez ff, i mean, i started reading before even knowing ateez and i had to have a separate tab open to remember who was who. that alone can tell you how much of a work of art this is. omg, im blabbering, but please read this.

— hotel california (ot8/reader) by @mint-yooxgi

genre: yandere, demon!au

summary: checking in to a hotel ran by yandere!Ateez, the boys decide she can no longer leave

my notes: im not too sure how i came across this work, i think it was an endless scroll of me trying to find something to read, but nevertheless, this story. i have not finished it yet (a great and utter pity) but from what ive read so far. im actually very concerned on how much ive read of this in one night 😨, i think the plot is so so unique, i love a strong mc who does not take any shit whatsoever, i love gaslighting demon!ateez 🙂‍↕️. i had to stare at the wall several times while reading,, felt like jim in the office truly. UGH it's just so good??? i can't recommend enough!! PLEASE READ.

— ❤︎ the answer (ot8?/reader, side pairings) by @berryunho

genre: cult au, thriller

summary: life is great until your best friend goes missing your senior year of university, leaving little more than an apology and goodbye. Months later, you’re determined to find out what happened to him and discover a situation much more complicated than you would have ever anticipated - as in - Kim Hongjoong doesn’t like the word ‘cult.’ He prefers 'sect.'

my notes: i first discovered this fic on ao3 and somehow found out lauren had a tumblr blog but i digress – i found this one night and was so excited that i found something so so unique and different and i am pretty sure i didn't sleep until 4am reading everything omg . it's truly so funny and i adore the main character more than anything, the snide remarks truly encompass and make you feel their emotions? cult leader hongjoong is something else... without spoiling hfjdjf. i beg lauren often for a spoiler because it's just that good. please read.

— OUTLAW (ot8/reader, side pairings) by @staytinyville

genre: wild west!au, smut(?), angst

summary: you thought you would be spending the rest of your life tending to the hotel your family ran. while you knew it was common to see bandits come and go in your town, you felt safe in your home. at least safe enough with a weapon at your disposal. however you were no match for eight men who were known to most as outlaws around the plains. hawt kind of adventures did they go on?

my notes: i started reading this a while back and have yet to finish, but so far the premise is so so so interesting and i love readying cowboy aus rjkfjkdrfkj ITS SO GOOD!!!! I CANT WAIT TO CATCH UP

— sway with me (ot8/reader, wooyoung/reader) by @luvt0kki

genre: sci-fi/space/futuristic!au

summary: former noble turned space pirate, wooyoung was now part of one of the most revered and hunted group of pirates of the galaxy. sure he’s only known them for six months but there’s only so much you could do in a ship when you travel from one planet to the next. the ship was their home, his home…and the members of this crew were friends that he felt he was fated to meet.

my notes: tokki already knows all of this but,,, i started this a month or so ago? and i read the first chapter and i legit lost my mind,,, in the calmest way possible... the first chapter is gripping and it sets a environment that i very much would love to live in??? it's just so so well written, and the reader is very much my type NDFAKKJ ANYWAY... it's told from the pov of wooyoung and i love it??? so MUCH?? please read ok bye

— one more rep (woosan x reader) by @cheollipop

genre: smut, f2l, trainers woosan

summary: san got a little too excited watching you exercise in purple – his favourite colour – and wooyoung was nothing if not a tease. turning their attention back to you, they didn't expect to see you equally worked-up.

my notes: ???? i actually read this a few times,,,, this fic yall.... i cannot... the mental image of woosan in the gym makes me delusional enoughdsjkaskfjksd PLEASE.

— like a dream (yungi x reader) by cheollipop

genre: bf!yungi, smut

summary: with only the orange hues of the lamp illuminating the room, they have you for the first time, and it feels just like a dream.

my notes: yunho and mingi are my weakness,, so the both of them together.....

sᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ

to be added!

ʜᴏɴɢᴊᴏᴏɴɢ

— horizon by @pxedpiper (ft. ateez/f.reader)

genre: pirate!au

summary: once a princess of a kingdom you loathed to call yours, you have somehow found yourself aboard a pirate ship, stuck on the ocean waves. now you try to figure out how to escape them, but as you continue to journey with them, you find yourself wondering if you even want to.

my notes: i just found this the other day but remembering reading it a while ago! it's so so well written and i enjoyed it sm 🥹

ʏᴜɴʜᴏ

to be added!

ʏᴇᴏsᴀɴɢ

to be added!

sᴀɴ

to be added!

ᴍɪɴɢɪ

— safe haven (mingi/reader) by @atxxzist

genre: bodyguard!au, fluff

summary: your father has had enough of your shit, and hires Song Mingi; his best friend's son, to be your personal bodyguard

my notes: is it possible to fall down the mingi hole deeper than i already have? maybe! this fic pretty much lives in my head,,, endlessly,,,, i love mingi. i love this au so much and i especially love bodyguard aus, i think it's one of my favorite genres and this deepens it.... PLEASE READ.

ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ

— rough rider (wooyoung x afab!reader) by @choism

genre: smut

summary: In which you meet a hot twink at a club who has a slightly unhealthy obsession with the 2000's and y2k bimbocore.

my notes: i......... there's no way i can describe this fic... if u yearn for wooyoung the way i do. read this.

— what happened to slow down? (bf!wooyoung x reader) by @ja3hwa

genre: smut

summary: coming back from a house party, you and woo couldn't seem to keep your hands off one another. everything was happening so fast. you two didn't even make it to the bedroom.

my notes: insert a photo of someone throwing a phone and screaming crying, then picking it up to read the rest. thats me kjrfakfajkf

ᴊᴏɴɢʜᴏ

to be added!

[urdreamydoodles]

hi! i love your work, everyone feels so in-character and accurate!!! i think anyone even glancing at this blog can really tell how much care and love you have for these characters and its absolutely beautiful.

would you be interested in doing a request with the x-men (preferably Logan, Remy, Kurt, Colossus, Cable, Deadpool, and Magneto please?) where reader is a mutant and their main power is that anyone they touch is instantly filled with joy? and the more physical contact they have the more intense the happiness is, to the point where a shirtless cuddling session might accidentally make one of the x-men cry tears of joy.

X-Men x Fem!Reader

Your mutation is to make people instantly happy by touch

As your partner experiences the effects of your unique mutation that brings instant happiness with a simple touch, they find themselves captivated by the warmth and joy you effortlessly radiate.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Colossus, Cable, Wade Wilson, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier & Scott Summers

Good day, my fellow comic book lovers. Yes, I'm back, with even more ideas than before and even more inspiration. I hope you are ready. (And I'm happy to fulfill your request, the idea is amazing. I hope you like it.)

Logan Howlett

- Logan was initially cautious about letting you get close; he didn’t believe that anyone like you could actually find something worth loving in him. He'd tried pushing you away, though you always found ways to make him let his guard down, usually through gentle persistence and that warm smile of yours that could melt adamantium.

- Your powers were unique to him. With his lifetime of pain, his usual cynicism, and a gruff personality, he never expected to find solace in anyone, let alone through something as simple as touch. The first time you brushed his hand during a mission, he noticed a calm he hadn’t felt in decades. It made him think that maybe he could deserve this—deserve you.

- Over time, he started coming to you when things got rough. A hand on his shoulder after a long day, a brush of your fingers on his arm—these small moments were something he’d never admit he was beginning to crave. It amazed him how you could peel away layers of his anger, leaving him more vulnerable than he’d ever allowed himself to be with anyone else.

- Logan had an unspoken rule about keeping his shirt on during your cuddling sessions. He couldn’t figure out if he was afraid of overwhelming himself or you. But one evening, after a particularly hard mission, he came back to you, worn down. This time, as he lay beside you, he let you slip your hands over his bare chest, fingers tracing his scars with reverence.

- The feeling was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. At first, it was a gentle warmth that soothed his spirit. But then, the joy kept building, wave after wave crashing over him, melting away decades of pain. Logan tried to keep his composure, but the intensity of happiness was too much. Before he knew it, silent tears were streaming down his face. He held onto you tightly, burying his face in your shoulder, overcome by the rarest kind of peace.

- After that, Logan stopped trying to keep his distance, feeling like he could let himself be vulnerable with you in a way he never had before. He still rarely showed his softer side, but when he did, you were the one person who got to see every part of him.

- You two shared an unspoken bond in the way he’d wordlessly reach for your hand in a crowded room, or how he’d find you at the end of a long day, needing just a few minutes of your touch to feel whole again. You became his peace, his center, the calm in his storm.

Remy LeBeau

- Remy’s charm was legendary, and he couldn’t resist trying to impress you from the moment he met you. He’d flash you a smirk, tell a joke, or drop a flirtatious line just to see you smile. But when he learned about your powers, he realized it was more than just fun and games. You weren’t someone he could win over with his usual swagger; you touched something deeper in him, something he wasn’t sure he wanted exposed.

- The first time he felt the effects of your powers, he didn’t know what hit him. Your hand brushed his arm, and suddenly, he felt a joy that he hadn’t known since he was a kid, free of the troubles and betrayals that life had thrown his way. For a man like Remy, who hid so much behind his humor and bravado, it was shocking. But he found himself craving that touch, that happiness, in a way he hadn’t expected.

- Whenever the weight of his past sins would catch up to him, he’d come to you, leaning into your embrace, letting your warmth dissolve the guilt that usually gnawed at him. Remy often joked that you were his “lucky charm,” but it was more than luck—you were his reminder that maybe he deserved to feel something good after all.

- One night, you both were curled up on his couch, your hand tracing patterns on his chest, your bare skin against his. It started as a pleasant warmth, and then, without warning, it grew into an overwhelming wave of euphoria. The happiness was so intense that it caught him completely off guard. He chuckled at first, saying, “Cher, I think you mighta broke ol’ Remy,” but then his voice hitched, and he couldn’t help the tears that slipped down his cheeks.

- For a man who always prided himself on staying in control, it was a vulnerable moment. He laughed softly, wiping at his eyes, but you just held him, letting him feel it fully. Remy realized that in your arms, he didn’t have to be the smooth-talking charmer, the rogue who had everything under control. He could just be Remy.

- From that day on, he let himself be honest with you about his past, his regrets, and the mistakes that haunted him. He knew that with you, he could find the joy he’d always chased in all the wrong places. Your touch was a balm to his soul, something he knew he’d never take for granted.

- You’d often catch him looking at you with a softness that no one else ever got to see, and when he’d pull you close, it was as if you were the one thing in his life that made sense. In you, he found a kind of love and joy that filled all the gaps he’d spent years trying to ignore.

Kurt Wagner

- Kurt was enchanted by you from the start. With his deep-rooted faith and complex past, he saw you as a gift, something almost divine. Your presence seemed to bring light into his world, and he found himself drawn to you in a way that went beyond simple attraction.

- The first time he felt your powers, it was as if his worries and insecurities melted away, replaced by a gentle, all-encompassing happiness. Your touch brought him a kind of peace he hadn’t known since before his mutation became visible. For Kurt, who always struggled with acceptance, your touch was a reminder that he was worthy of love, just as he was.

- He cherished every small gesture—the way you’d run your fingers over his skin, your gentle hand in his when he’d had a tough day, the way you made him feel seen. It was as if you understood the parts of him he rarely shared with anyone else, parts he kept hidden even from himself. With you, he didn’t have to hide.

- One night, as you lay side by side, you rested your hands on his bare chest, skin to skin. The feeling started as a soft, warm glow that spread through him. But then, it deepened, filling him with such overwhelming joy that he couldn’t contain it. His vision blurred as he felt tears welling up, and he turned his face into your shoulder, his voice catching as he whispered, “Mein Liebling… I have never felt this happy.”

- The tears that followed were unexpected, but he let them fall, finally allowing himself to experience the joy you gave him without holding back. In that moment, he felt an intense gratitude—for you, for your touch, for the love that made him feel more human than he’d ever dared to hope.

- From then on, he became even more openly affectionate, his love spilling out in everything he did. He would trace gentle patterns on your hand, whisper sweet nothings in German, or look at you as if you were the answer to every question his heart had ever asked. He felt blessed, and he’d tell you so often, his voice filled with awe and reverence.

- You became his sanctuary, his safe haven from a world that so often judged him. With you, he found not just happiness but the acceptance he’d longed for. Kurt would hold you close, his tail wrapping around you as if to anchor himself to this joy he’d found, promising you silently that he would cherish every moment.

Piotr Rasputin

- Piotr is gentle and considerate, always cautious with his strength. When he met you, he was amazed by how someone so powerful could be so soft-hearted. At first, he worried about your powers, fearing he might become too reliant on the joy you brought. But soon, he found himself yearning for your touch after long, grueling battles, especially when he could let his guard down around you.

- When you first held his hand, he was hesitant. He’d always been a bit self-conscious about how different he looked, but you just smiled and took his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Your touch brought him a gentle warmth, melting away the insecurities he often carried with him. With you, he felt seen and accepted in ways that no one else had ever made him feel.

- Piotr isn’t one to ask for too much, but he found himself drawn to your touch like a magnet. After particularly rough missions, he’d quietly seek you out, hoping for a moment of comfort. You never made a fuss, just let him sit beside you, holding his hand or leaning against him as the joy you radiated worked its way into him. It became a cherished ritual, something that made the hardships of his life feel bearable.

- One night, Piotr finally allowed himself to lie beside you, skin to skin. At first, it was a gentle happiness that filled him, but the longer you stayed close, the more intense it became. The warmth grew into an overwhelming bliss, and for someone as stoic as Piotr, the depth of it caught him off guard. His breathing became uneven, and before he knew it, he was crying—tears slipping down his metallic cheeks as he held you close, speechless.

- He felt almost embarrassed afterward, but you just smiled, wiping his tears and reassuring him. That moment marked a turning point for him. He realized that with you, he didn’t need to hide his emotions, that it was okay to let himself feel. You brought out a side of him he thought had been lost long ago, one that still hoped, dreamed, and loved with a full heart.

- After that night, Piotr grew even more attached to you, finding peace in the quiet moments when you’d lie together, sharing warmth and joy. He’d often spend those moments in a comfortable silence, simply holding you, feeling grateful for the happiness you’d brought into his life.

Nathan Summers

- Nathan has seen his share of hardship and pain, coming from a war-torn future where joy is rare. He was wary of you at first, seeing your powers as a potential weakness in a world that demands toughness. But as he got to know you, he realized that the joy you brought him wasn’t just a temporary distraction; it was something he hadn’t realized he’d been desperately needing.

- You first touched his hand during a quiet moment, and he felt a strange peace wash over him. He was stunned. Joy was a feeling he hadn’t associated with himself in a long time, and he wasn’t sure what to do with it. But after that first taste, he found himself seeking your company, your touch, whenever he felt the weight of his responsibilities bearing down on him.

- Over time, Nathan came to cherish the sense of calm you gave him, though he would never admit it outright. Instead, he’d make excuses to see you, dropping by under the guise of “checking in” or “needing advice.” You’d smile knowingly, reaching out to him, and the tension would melt away from his face as your touch brought him a happiness that felt out of reach otherwise.

- One night, Nathan finally allowed himself to be vulnerable, lying beside you without his usual armor, letting himself feel the full effect of your touch. As you traced your fingers over his scars and metallic arm, the joy started to overwhelm him. It was so pure, so intense, that he felt his defenses shattering. His throat tightened, and he could no longer hold back the tears that streamed down his face.

- You didn’t say anything, just held him close, letting him process everything he’d buried under years of battle and hardship. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt light—almost as if he’d been granted a glimpse of a different life, one filled with peace and contentment. He hadn’t thought it possible, but you made it real, even if only for a moment.

- After that night, Nathan began to trust you with parts of himself he’d never shown anyone. You became his safe haven, the one person who could ease the storm that constantly raged within him. He’d reach for you whenever he needed grounding, finding solace in your presence, and for once, he allowed himself to believe that maybe he deserved to feel happiness, even amidst the chaos.

Wade Wilson

- Wade was fascinated by you from the start. He was used to people either fearing him or finding him too much to handle, so when you treated him with kindness and didn’t shy away from his scars, he was hooked. At first, he thought he’d be immune to your powers, but your touch affected him in a way he couldn’t explain—and for once, it left him speechless.

- Wade’s sense of humor often masked his pain, and he’d joke endlessly about how “lucky” he was to have a “happiness generator” like you. But deep down, he was in awe of you. You brought him something he hadn’t felt in years: genuine joy. He often found himself seeking your touch after missions, feeling the chaotic noise in his mind quiet as your presence filled him with peace.

- Wade was so accustomed to hiding behind his jokes and bravado that he didn’t know how to respond to the warmth you gave him. You’d touch his hand, or hug him after a tough day, and the happiness would radiate through him. For someone used to constant pain, both physical and emotional, it felt almost surreal.

- One evening, he finally allowed himself to let go of his usual defenses. You sat close, tracing gentle patterns on his scarred skin, and the happiness flooded through him, stronger than ever before. The joy grew overwhelming, melting away the hurt he’d carried for so long. Wade tried to crack a joke, but his voice wavered, and suddenly, he found himself laughing and crying at the same time, his heart pounding in his chest.

- He tried to brush it off, saying something about “emotional overload,” but you just held him, letting him feel without judgment. Wade had spent so long hiding his vulnerabilities, but with you, he didn’t feel the need to. He clung to you, grateful for the comfort you provided, for the happiness that didn’t demand anything from him but to just be.

- After that, Wade made it his personal mission to keep you smiling. He’d bring you flowers, tell you absurdly bad jokes, and remind you constantly of how much he cherished you. You were his anchor, his light, and the one person who saw past the madness to the man he rarely showed anyone. In your arms, he found a joy that, for once, he didn’t need to laugh away.

Erik Lehnsherr

- Erik’s life has been filled with loss, pain, and a single-minded pursuit of justice for his people. When he met you, he saw your power as a beautiful contradiction: something gentle yet capable of profound influence. Your ability to bring happiness through touch initially seemed trivial to him, but he soon learned its incredible value, especially as you softened the edges of his hardened heart.

- The first time you touched Erik’s hand, he resisted, fearful of showing vulnerability. But even the brief contact sent a surprising warmth through him. He’d spent so long submerged in anger and grief that this unexpected peace felt foreign. Over time, he began to seek out these moments, allowing himself to feel the comfort you provided in small doses, though he’d never admit how much he craved it.

- Erik wasn’t accustomed to softness, and at first, he found himself pushing you away whenever he felt the effects of your powers becoming too strong. But gradually, he began to allow himself more of this joy, savoring the brief relief you brought to his restless mind. You became his oasis in a life filled with darkness, a reminder of a gentler world he’d almost forgotten.

- One evening, after a particularly difficult confrontation, Erik finally allowed himself to be vulnerable, lying close to you, letting his guard down completely. As your touch filled him with happiness, the intensity grew until he could barely breathe. The joy was overwhelming, washing over years of pain, and before he knew it, he was trembling, tears streaming down his face as he held you close, finally allowing himself to let go.

- Erik felt embarrassed afterward, but you reassured him with gentle words, wiping his tears away. He realized then that, with you, he didn’t have to be the hardened leader all the time. For once, he was allowed to be just Erik, and you cherished him for it. This vulnerability only deepened his love for you, making him fiercely protective of your presence in his life.

- From that moment on, Erik allowed himself to indulge in the joy you provided, even if only in private. He’d come to you after every struggle, finding solace in your embrace. You became his sanctuary, and though he remained resolute in his mission, he held your love as a reminder that beauty and goodness still existed in his world, grounding him in ways he never thought possible.

Charles Xavier

- Charles has always been a compassionate leader, dedicating himself to helping others. When he first discovered your power, he was fascinated by the effect you had on others. He viewed your ability to bring joy through touch as a remarkable gift, one that held potential beyond the typical mutant powers he encountered. Over time, he found himself drawn to you, grateful for the solace you brought into his life.

- The first time you touched Charles’s hand, he was pleasantly surprised by the calm that washed over him. Years of telepathic stress and the weight of his responsibilities melted away, if only for a moment. He quickly realized that your presence was unlike anything he’d experienced before. You were a beacon of peace, something he hadn’t realized he needed so deeply.

- Over time, Charles found himself coming to you more often, especially after long days spent guiding and protecting his students. You became his retreat, a safe place where he could rest without the weight of the world on his shoulders. He admired your strength and cherished the way your touch brought him a rare sense of tranquility, allowing him to recharge and continue his work with renewed purpose.

- One evening, Charles allowed himself to truly relax in your arms. As he lay beside you, your touch grew more intense, filling him with such profound joy that he felt all his worries dissolve. The happiness was so powerful that he could no longer hold back the emotion building within him. Tears slipped down his face as he clung to you, overwhelmed by the depth of the joy he felt.

- You held him close, letting him process the weight of his emotions. Charles hadn’t allowed himself to be this vulnerable in years, and with you, he realized that he didn’t have to carry everything alone. Your love reminded him of the beauty and kindness he fought to preserve, rekindling his faith in a future where mutants and humans could coexist.

- After that night, Charles became even more devoted to you, finding strength in the joy you brought to his life. He would often reach for your hand during moments of doubt, feeling your touch ground him. You were his reminder of what he was fighting for, a symbol of the peaceful world he envisioned, and he cherished every moment spent in your embrace.

Scott Summers

- Scott is disciplined, focused, and sometimes emotionally reserved, the weight of his responsibilities often making it difficult for him to relax. When he met you, he was hesitant, unsure if he should allow himself to get close to someone so gentle-hearted. But you quickly won him over with your kindness, and the joy you brought him became a welcome contrast to the structured, intense life he led.

- Your touch was a revelation to Scott, who was so used to suppressing his emotions that he hardly recognized the calm happiness you stirred in him. At first, he tried to downplay it, insisting that he was fine without it. But he found himself seeking your presence more and more, grateful for the way you helped him unwind and escape the pressure of leadership, even if only for a while.

- Scott isn’t one to openly show vulnerability, but with you, he felt a rare sense of peace that allowed him to let down his guard. You’d hold his hand or lean against him, and he’d feel the stresses of the day melt away. Slowly, he came to cherish these moments, finding that your touch grounded him in ways he didn’t know he needed.

- One night, after a particularly intense mission, Scott allowed himself to be fully open with you. He rested beside you, letting your touch wash over him without any resistance. The joy you brought grew until it became overwhelming, filling every part of him with a profound happiness. He found himself overcome with emotion, tears slipping down his cheeks as he realized how much he’d been holding in.

- You comforted him, holding him close as he processed the depth of his feelings. For Scott, this was a turning point, showing him that it was okay to rely on someone, to let himself feel happiness without guilt. You reminded him that he was more than just a leader; he was a person worthy of love and joy, something he often forgot.

- After that, Scott became incredibly protective of you, seeing you as a constant source of strength and peace in his life. He’d come to you after every battle, every difficult day, finding solace in your touch. You were his reminder that, despite the constant struggle, there was beauty and happiness worth fighting for, and he held onto you with a newfound appreciation for everything you brought into his world.

[bratscave]

This thought is about Batman specifically. It might a bit out of character?

(tw: dubcon)

So, there's this civilian, always hitting on him, teasing him, just getting herself into trouble to see him. It's a game for her.

Now, Batman or Bruce, he's pent up. He has a gaggle of kids and Gotham to look after. He doesn't get time to fuck or jerk off. So this is just getting on his nerves, even though he's known to have immense patience.

One day he snaps, he just hauls that civilian up into a dark alley. One that he knows is secluded. He ends up eating the civilian out until she's seeing stars and then promptly using her like a fleshlight while rubbing her clit almost raw.

At the end, he dresses her back up, drops her off at her apartment complex with a plan B pill and is back on patrol, feeling much, much better.

Also, I really love your work!

— i can totally imagine this omg

It started out as a joke. Your life was boring, you were mostly buried in your journalist work. Until Bruce Wayne started making headlines, and your company wanted as many articles on him as soon as possible. It became your job — obsession even, to keep up with Gotham’s most elusive billionaire. You, and your annoying snarky comments on his nepotism and his suits, his womanizer activities. Your writing style was something the average reader of Gotham couldn't look away from, not even bruce himself. He'd never admit that he actually reads your 'shit'. You were so incredibly infuriating yet he couldn't stop thinking about you. When he has his little one night stands after the galas you show up to, he thinks of you. pounds harder into said-woman at the thought of you under him. And when he sees you smoke on the large balcony, he thinks about how it would feel like to see those plump lips of yours, wrapped around his dick. He'd never admit that though. You had mumbled another jab at him the second you noticed his lingering gaze, which led to him dragging you across the main hall to the luxurious restrooms. It recks of those typical rich men cologne's, not the ones that bruce wears —not that you knew exactly what dior perfume, he was wearing. The exact one that you now scent while he's kissing down your neck, it's quick, it's rough. rough enough to surerly leave evident marks, in a matter that he knows everybody will see once you walk out. You'll become exactly something that you critize him for being. He slips your dress of, so fast like he has no damn time. Even though he doesn't event want to get back to the gala, he just wants to make you feel how you make him feel. annoyed and well- very horny. He lifted you up onto the marble counter like you weighted fucking nothing, his hands gripping your hips with bruising strength. Slipping your panties off, his fingers cold against your wetness. His mouth followed, finding your core with a primal hunger all while his groans vibrated against you. And how he loves the sound of nothing besides whimpers and whines coming from your direction, they are sweet noises, noises he'd love to hear more of. When he finally slides inside you, it’s with a harsh thrust that makes you cry out. His movements are powerful, driven by a raw need that leaves no room for gentleness. He’s using you, each thrust a release of the pent-up frustration he’s felt from your taunts and the constant grind of his dual life. His fingers continue to work at your clit, rubbing it almost mercilessly. And he's an asshole about it, taunts about how 'loud you are', muses about the fact that all your damn morals went out the window the second you saw some good dick. When he finally finishes, it’s with a low growl of satisfaction, his grip on you loosening just enough to let you catch your breath. He dresses you with a rough efficiency, handing you the Plan B pill with an almost clinical detachment. The look he gives you is cold, but there’s a flicker of something darker behind his eyes. Something that suggests that this will definetly not be the last time. Oh, and he loves that little complete dumbfounded expression of yours. He'd pay millions to see that rare one again.

[portraitofadyke]

I think Our Flag Means Death is a very unique show in a way that they don't care to cater to mainstream media. And yes, by mainstream media I mean the general straight people.

I think it's very important that we have feel-good shows like Heartstopper. A few years back, a tv show about two queer boys in high school would be unthinkable. But its plot generally revolves around explaining queerness. Sure, it's nice. It's definitely the show I would watch with my family if I were a teenager and wanted to come out again (I had to watch glee with my mom to do that. not optimal). It's the show where teenagers find love and themselves, but sexuality is constantly discussed, explained, sanitized. It's the show straight people will watch. And that's good. We do need shows like that.

But Our Flag Means Death doesn't even bother trying. It's a show about mostly middle aged people, most of them not white, most of them queer in one way or the other. It's really a game of spot the hetero, like someone said. And the characters are not sublte about it. They have sex for fun, something most characters don't have in tv shows, definitely not queer characters. They make dick jokes. They are not all conventionally attractive and they know it, and the writing doesn't care. They are all people before they are queer representation.

Stede's storyline in s1 is in a part about discovering himself and his sexuality, but it's not obnoxiously repeated. Instead, it's played in a natural way. Stede's storyline is ALL about finding himself, yet it's not just about that. Just like Ed's storyline, it's about toxic masculinity and allowing himself to have fine things and self-hatred and finding his place in a world, something most of us can relate to. Hell, none of us were even sure the main characters were going to kiss and end up together, we were all so sure it's a queerbait. But this show doesn't bait its audience. It's not afraid of weirdness. It embraces it instead. There is a nonbinary character. No, they are not a mermaid. Call them jim. That's it. Yes, Lucius and Pete got engaged. Everyone there knows what mateolage is, congrats. Olu and Jim never break up and then Archie shows up, then Zheng, and we all know. We all know.

Two men nearing fifty have a deep, romantic moment where one of them appears as a mermaid, and it's treated as the profound scene it is without ridiculing it. This would never fly in a 'mainstream' media. It would have to be downplayed. Here, it saves Ed's life.

The show tells you racists suck, but it doesn't tell you in a condescending, finger-waving way catered to the white people. Instead, it sets your ship aflame and burns you alive, runs a knife through your hand, puts poison in your drink and kills you.

This is a show for adults, for queer people of all kinds, and it does not give a fuck if anyone else gets it. It's so rare to find a tv show that caters to us, yet alone a tv show that's genuinely good and caring and so well loved.

This is a show that basically straightbaited its audience in the first season, that's how much they don't care.

Idk, I just feel that it will take ages for another show like OFMD to exist in a world full of MCU and media that tries so hard to be liked by everyone it loses its personality and charm. Rant over

[supernotnatural2005]

'Giddy up Cowboy' (Drabble)

Paring: Dean x Reader

Summary: The power of impression leads to wondrous things.

Word Count: 822

Prompt: ‘Character B tries to impress Character A’

Warnings: Dean riding a mechanical bull 🥵🥵

AN: This is another square completed for my @jacklesversebingo 24 card. It's a short one I know but, I think it fit perfectly for this prompt 😄

Main Masterlist

Bingo Masterlist

“Don’t you just love a man who knows how to ride one of those things?" You sigh dreamily, watching man after rugged-looking man try their damnedest at riding the mechanical bull.

There was just something so downright sexy about watching a guy flex his thighs and roll his hips in time with the sway of the machine. If you didn’t know any better, it seems as though you may have discovered a new turn-on for yourself.

“Um, not really Y/N.” Sam chuckles before taking a drink from his beer. You smack his arm in jest because he knew you were being rhetorical. You cease, however, when your attention is soon re-captured by another man stepping up for his turn. 

Meanwhile Dean frowns at you, his eyes glancing between you and the men making complete fools of themselves, in his opinion. Not one of them had been able to stay on for a full minute. There was nothing impressive about that, so he couldn’t see as to why you thought so. 

‘Because you just hate the fact she’s gawking at other men.’ Came the niggling voice in the back of his mind. A voice that hadn’t shut up about you for months now. 

Again, the new guy was flung from the machine, this time before even 30 seconds were up, and Dean scoffs. Apparently it was loud enough for your attention to turn to him. 

“What? You think you can do any better, Winchester?” You tease, and he rolls his eyes. 

“I think even Sammy here could do better than these goons.” Dean sasses back, and Sam frowns, knowing that wasn’t meant to be a compliment. You squint your eyes at Dean, too suspiciously for his liking, and he distracts himself with a pull from his beer. 

“Then why don’t you hop on? Show these goons—"you imitate his deep voice, "what you’ve got?” You challenge him playfully, almost like you didn’t believe he would. 

Fine, he thinks stubbornly. Maybe this time you’ll actually notice me; comes that voice again. 

You had been a casual hunting partner with the boys for a few months now; your knowledge, skill, and witty humour brought a fresh new light into their lives, and they both enjoyed having you around. Dean maybe more so, for other reasons. 

Finishing the rest of his beer in one big gulp, he stands from the table with a cocky smirk. “I’ll show you how a real man does it, sweetheart.” Sam cringes at his brothers statement, and Dean has to admit it was a cheap line, but it got that smile out of you. The one that made your eyes shine.

As Dean pays the operator, he looks over at you one last time and sends you a wink before he steps up onto the mat and effortlessly mounts the bull. He blows out a breath, suddenly nervous. He couldn’t make a fool out of himself now, not with the mouth he’d given you. 

Dean gives the guy a thumbs up once he’s situated, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. His only thought; she’s watching, like a mantra in his mind. He hears the whirring of the machine spark to life, and no sooner as it did, does the bull begin to rock. 

At first, it’s a gentle forward and backward motion until it begins to spin. Dean clenches his knees tighter and rolls his hips, matching the same motion as the bull. He holds his left arm out for balance as the bull begins whipping around at a much faster pace. He grips on for dear life, the cheer from the crowd gathered drowning into nothingness as he puts all his concentration into staying on. 

It feels like a lifetime before he finally hears the operator announce he’d broken the 90 seconds before the bull gradually begins to wind down to a stop. An eruption of cheers, mostly from the women in the crowd, surrounds him as he hops down. Even some of the guys who’d failed shake his hand impressed as he steps off the mat. He nods politely as he pushes his way through, ignoring the women trying to get his attention—his eyes only searching for you. 

You’re standing at the back of the crowd, having moved to get a better view, your smile dazzling and eyes alight with wonder. 

“So. Was I better?” Dean asks, a little breathless from his effort but also incredibly curious. You take a step closer to him, your lips pulling up into a smirk as you come toe to toe. His breath hitches as you place a hand on his chest, and he’s certain you can feel what the simple action does to his heart. 

“You did great! But I think I can ride him better.” Your eyes glisten with mischief as you lean up on your toes to whisper in his ear. 

“And I’m not talking about the bull.” 

AN: Again, I know it was a short one but I have much more planned for the rest of my squares, maybe a series in the works 👀 As always I really appreciate any feedback! Let me know what you though 💕

[dusty-daydreams]

I think Bridgerton ruined itself when it stopped giving scandals their proper weight.

In the scene between Colin and Cressida in the final episode of season three Colin seems pretty convinced that Cressida just needs to spend the off season or perhaps a year or two being quiet in the countryside and then people will forgive her and let her back into society.

This feels ludicrous- because that’s not how societies based on reputation work.

However, for all that Bridgerton claims to be about the dynamics of reputation, it shies away from consequences.

This is perhaps most clearly seen in Eloise’s story. At the end of season 2, Eloise is ruined - outed as convorting with not only men unchaperoned but working class political radicals. Her name, and to a large extent her family’s name should be mud. Should be poison.

Then in the first episode of season 3 Eloise is out and about at society events with no comment on it at all.

If the show actually did what it claimed too - be telling a romance story in a setting where scandals can make or break you, Eloise would not be welcome back in society.

Another example of Bridgerton failing the follow through with the scandals is how they decided to partially write Anthony and Kate out of the show.

The writers were confronted with a problem - Johnathan Bailey has outgrown this show - so how do we write him out?

They decided first to send him and his wife on an illogical second honeymoon and then they decide that Anthony ‘overprotective’ Bridgerton would be fine taking his pregnant wife across the world on a multi-month journey.

This is all especially illogical when the answer to their problem comes in taking the scandals of last season properly.

They could have easily had Anthony and Kate decide to stay home at Aubry Hall and spare his family the direct association between himself and the HUGE scandal that was their relationship last season. They could still have had Anthony and Kate pop back up to do the scenes they need to as the couple “visiting the family in London” but if the scandals consequences were taken seriously, it would make sense why they aren’t in the show that much, they just decided to avoid society and stay home in the country.

Which brings me to the reason why they seemingly decided to abandon the scandals having consequences.

Because the biggest scandal monger suddenly became the main character this season. Which meant that if her actions had REALISTIC visible negative consequences it would be hard to root for her.

Which means that Bridgerton sacrificed its Stakes and its Drama so that Penelope Featherington would be likeable - because they weren’t willing to have her put in the work to truly improve

[1800-page-not-found]

Being drunk and complaining how you think your bf is prettier than you (genshin men x fem reader) PART 2

GUESS WHOS BACK FOR PART 2 EHEHEHHEHEHH

anyways my bad for delaying this for so long lmaoooooooo

in my defense i am lazy so

ALSO...i kinda um derived from the main like 'complaining how hes prettier than u' and its more like 'ur so fucking pretty' BUT its still good pls read it plspls i beg u

Characters:(seperate) Harbinger Scaramouche era, Wanderer Scaramouche era, Gorou, Xiao, Baizhu, Kaveh

Let me feed u again with some gorgeous men

Scaramouche was a bit annoyed. After all, as a harbinger, he had no time to deal with such idiotic things. But when he found out you overheard some unsightly humans whispering about this, he was furious. Especially because you had to be drunk to admit this to him. Did he not give you all of his heart? So why do you still not trust me? And how dare someone make you feel so insecure. "No, no," you shook your head, solemn. "I-I didn't want to bother you about such things, its alright Love, I'm fine." you cupped his face with your hands and smiled at him, assuring him it'd be ok. "E-erm.." he stuttered, flustered by you holding his face. I mean, someone as pretty as you is his girlfriend. His! "If you'd like, I do have some spare time.." he paused, looking for a reaction. Your face lit up. Drunk you was quite bold and honest. "Really?! Does that mean i have you all to myself?!" you jumped up in glee. You pulled him out your home in Snezhnaya, going to who knows where and doing god knows what. After you exhausted yourself and fell asleep in his secure arms, it was time to punish. Those foul beings never walked the entirety of Teyvat again. Waking up, you had no recollection about what you did when you were black out drunk, but your lover's public display of affection grew, from shyly holding hands and sneaking his arms around your waist to kissing you in front of everyone, and also calling you pretty, beautiful, etc.

(down below is before the Wanderer gains his memories)

The Wanderer was the equivalent to a dandelion seed that never stopped floating. But when he found you, it was like finding firm ground to grow and blossom. You made him feel things that made him whole. You showed him all sorts of emotion. One day you came home (he moved in your home) drunk, tripping over yourself. Wanderer rushed to support you as you leaned against the wall. "hehehe!" You giggled, wrapping you arms around your neck. "Y/n!" he stammered. "Gosh," You sighed, staring lovingly into your lover's eyes. "How did i get such a beautiful boyfriend?.." He was flustered, face red and all. "You're so much prettier than me and everyone...what if someone snatches you away from me!?!" you started to worry. "Y/n my love, it should be i who is afraid, you're so kind to everyone and unintentionally charismatic...theres even a fan club of you..." (he totally didnt start a fan club about you)

"Gorou baby, why are you just so cute?.." you held his face and leaned in, staring deeply at his features admiring them. Gorou wasn't accustomed to this type of affection, or affection in general. "W-what? Cute?! I-I'm not!" He was very red, closing his eyes in embarrassment after noticing his tail wagging. "My cute little general...I just wanna keep you all to myself!" You laughed, holding Gorou by the waist in one arm and holding a cup of beer in the other. "Y/nnnnnn...." he covered his face with his hands, he didn't want you to see him like this...you'd just call him cute again!

"Ohhhhhhhhh Xiaooooo over hereeee! Hehehe" you laughed, waving your arms drunkenly at Xiao as you clutched a whole bottle of dandelion wine given to you by a bard who was your friend. Xiao sighed as he walked over to you. "I didn't know an immortal would have such low alcohol tolerance...that damn bard.." He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose annoyed. "You're so gorgeous Xiao...my gorgeous boyfriend. So so pretty...hmmm" you collapsed forward, but fortunately, a blushing mess of a Xiao caught you and carried you bridal style (heheeh) to your home. "What nonsense are you spouting...I'm not...gorgeous or pretty..." Affection and love were new to him. make sure you give him lots of it in the future!

Baizhu, as someone who is ill, did not drink any form of alcohol that night. You however...drank both shares of alcohol given. Thus you were very, very drunk. "Baizhuuuu...." you slurred. "Yes dear?" He replied softly, smiling. "You're just...toooo pretty. Prettier than everyone hehehe!" you giggled like some high school girl in love as you looked up at his rather stunning face as you laid on his lap. "Oh my... getting flirty now are we? I think you're the most stunning and intelligent woman i've ever met!" Changsheng grimaced. "You guys are so lovey-dovey it's going to make me vomit!"

As a rather broke architect, Kaveh usually wasn't able to drink such a high-quality wine. And you, a rather wealthy individual who practically ran the fruit industry in Teyvat, travelled a lot. So this fancy dinner kaveh had cooked up and the luxurious wine you had brought back as a souvenir made a perfect romantic time at your house. I forgot to mention. The two of you were really, REALLY drunk. "God that awful man! I can't believe I have to be his roommate!" You laughed. "You could always stay with me you know. Ah but i suppose you'd get lonely...whatever! Anything my pretty boyfriend says I'll agree hehe" You stared at his face, admiring his beauty. "I mean, gosh smart and pretty?! I got soooooooooo luckyyy" Kaveh was very bashful towards your flattering comments. "I'm not pretty! I'm handsome!" He argued. "Right, right...you're handsome! Super duper handsome!" You laughed. "Stop teasing me!" He was practically a tomato! "Awwww is someone shy? I should do this more often!~" The teasing went on for a record breaking one and a half hours! I wonder if you can break the record again next time?

[sundrop-writes]

Hiii !! We were kinda talking about this earlier (I feel like a lot of my Teen Wolf asks are gonna start like this) and it got me thinking

What do you think are the preferred romantic pet names the main pack has? Both what they call their s/o and what they like to be called ?

(would be cool to know about Derek and Isaac too, but up to you !!)

This is such a great prompt omg

Requests for Teen Wolf are OPEN - please read my Rules before requesting!

What would the pack like to be called, and what would they call you as a romantic partner?

Included: Stiles, Lydia, Allison, and Derek. (I didn't include Isaac because I am still getting a feel for his character... what do sad kicked puppy boys call their partner?? aside from Mommy)

Warnings: this is mostly fluff; there is some mild sexual references; I tried to keep the reader as gender neutral as possible; mentions of past Derek/Kate - I think that's it?

Stiles loves pet names in a relationship. He would be the king of calling his partner babe or baby - it would roll off his tongue so easily, every other moment, he would be calling you 'babe'.

"Babe, can you pass my phone?" "Babe, what you wanna do for lunch today?" "Baby, have you seen my keys?"

(This also goes to show how excited Stiles is to be in a relationship. He has so much affection for you and he loves you so much, and his brain is always so excited and vibrating with 'I love them! I love my partner so much! I have to let them know!' So it's nicknames and PDA all the time.)

Your name would almost never leave his lips - unless it was an ultra serious situation and you were in severe danger. Save that, it's babe or baby. (And sometimes the others mock how much he calls you this, but he doesn't care because it means he has a hot partner that he gets to hug and kiss and fuck, which is not something to mock in his opinion.)

What do you call him? You know that he likes being called 'baby' too - but you call him any nickname and he doesn't complain about it. Pookie is one of your favourites, and you call him by that a lot, but you do call him by his name a lot more often than he calls you by your name. The two of you are a very affectionate couple (which can be annoying to the people around you) and this includes lots of pet names.

Lydia is not always a huge fan of being called pet names - in the past, being called things like 'sweetheart', 'baby', or 'honey', have just been things men have called her to objectify her or condescend toward her, so she doesn't like you calling her those things. However, the first time you called her 'angel', it sparked something inside of her and she absolutely loved it. She loves it when you casually call her angel in conversation ("Can you help me with this translation, angel?") and she absolutely adores it when you call her 'my angel' - she loves the bit of possession in the words and how the nickname is sweet and shows how much you truly love her.

If she calls you by a pet name, it is something complimentary and demure. She often calls you 'darling' or 'lover', and slips in 'my love' in casual conversation all the time. If she is talking about you to other people, she will often add complimentary adjectives onto these nicknames. ("You guys wouldn't be talking about my precious darling Y/N, now would you?" "Yes, tonight I have a date with my sweet lover. Why is that any of your business?")

She loves letting people know how good you are, and getting possessive over you in her own way.

Allison isn't someone who naturally gravitates toward calling you pet names. She would call you by your real name at first in the relationship, until something particular happened that made her choose a special nickname for you.

It could be something like - you trying extra hard to win a teddy bear for her at a carnival and nearly dislocating your arm throwing tennis balls, and then she easily shows you up at the game in a minute. (Because her aim is so much better.) And you shyly admit to her that even if it's a cheap little teddy bear, you wanted to have a cute gift to give to her - you wanted to give her a nice memory. So from then on, she calls you Teddy or 'my sweet bear', or 'my teddy bear' - because she says that you're the best gift she could have. (And she does have the little brown teddy bear on her bed as one of her most prized possessions - but technically, she's the one who won it.)

You sometimes call her Alli, and you're the only one who's allowed to do so. (Anybody else who has tried it has gotten smacked.) You also sometimes call her honey, which she thinks is cute because it means she's the honey and you're 'the bear'. But the two of you use each other's real names more often than pet names, and you usually only use pet names in private, behind closed doors, as a private, intimate form of affection.

Derek would pretend to hate pet names. He would be so anti-pet names when the two of you first start dating. And when it comes to what he likes to be called, he really doesn't like nicknames or pet names. If you called him 'babe' or something along those lines when the two of you first start dating, his whole body would freeze up and he would glare at you, and he would either storm off or it would start and epic argument.

Because those kind of nicknames remind him way too much of his time with Kate. (Which obviously ended in disaster.) Kate called him every single pet name in the book as a way to convince him that she truly loved him and sweet talk her way into his heart, so hearing it from you just gives him terrible flashbacks, and when he explains this, you easily understand it, and never call him by any pet name ever again.

But also - he loves the sound of his name coming off your lips. He truly, deeply loves it when you call him Derek. Sometimes you call him 'Der' or 'Big D' (mostly as a joke), and he likes those nicknames because they are uniquely yours, only things that you get to call him, and it makes him feel special, owned by you, loved by you. But to him, there is no better feeling than hearing your voice say his name.

Especially when you're pinned under him and moaning his name loudly - that's when he likes it best. But he also loves it during soft moments, when you whisper it to him before kissing him goodnight, your voice sleepy and sweet. He loves knowing that you feel safe enough with him to fall asleep in his arms.

As far as what Derek calls you - he definitely doesn't so typical pet names. Still, he associates all the usual (babe, sweetie, honey) with Kate's faux affection, and he doesn't want to do that to you, so as well as simply calling you by your name, he gives you a very unique nickname that absolutely steals your heart.

Moonflower.

He doesn't fully understand why you love him, and he considers himself to be darkness, and he thinks that you are the most beautiful, sweet thing in his life, so he calls you his 'moonflower' because he thinks that you are the one pure thing that can grow and thrive in the darkness he inevitably brings. You are a flower that grows in the moonlight, rather than the sunlight. This becomes such a special nickname to for the two of you to the point where you draw a picture of a flower in the silhouette of the moon and he gets a tattoo of it on his ribs, showing how much you mean to him.

(He is down bad for you, that's for sure.)

...

Teen Wolf Masterlist

[mit0bee]

Hii! Could you write Silver and Jamil with a s/o who is touch starved? In the sense they're not opposed to affection, but aren't that used to it and get kind of startled, but crave it nonetheless? Thank you so much, have a great night!

WHY IS THIS ME???? ill def be making a pt 2 because i love this so much

Twisted Wonderland Boys with an S/O who is touch starved

Stuff you should read: touch starved s/o, a tinyyyyyyyyyyy bit self indulgent because me too anon me too, bulleted post, i didnt use actual grammar/punctuation because i am lazy, once again no beta we die like men Characters: Silver Vanrouge, Jamil Viper, Malleus Draconia, Leona Kingscholar, Sebek Zigvolt, Lilia Vanrouge

SILVER VANROUGE

Silver first found out about your touch starved-ness when he accidentally fell asleep on your shoulder

When you shrieked softly in suprise, he shot up, thinking that he might've hurt you.

When you explained to him that you were just not used to physical contact, he sighed in relief.

i kid you not he genuinely thought he somehow headbutted you

And oooooooooohhhhhhhhhhh boy when he learned that you craved touch, the boy was so ecstatic (for his standards)

from then on, he was always somehow holding your hand, or had his head resting in your lap or something

(at first, he would ask you or warn you before he would touch you, just so you wouldn't be too suprised or startled, but if you were okay with it, and as you got more comfortable, he'd just go for it)

if you were okay with more romantic displays of affection, he'd nap during lunch with you in the courtyard, with you somehow in his embrace

hes such a pookie i swear (im sorry his is so short idk how to write silver *sob*

JAMIL VIPER

Jamil actually found out from a silly little walk to Sam's

he went to hold your hand, and you pulled away, surprised

he thought you were mad at him and when i tell you this man tried to think of a reason why you would be mad at him

when he couldnt think of anything, he decided to just come out and ask if he did something wrong

and then you explained it to him

like silver, he sighed in relief

but not a little sigh

a big one

like muscles relaxing and everything he genuinely thought you were mad at him.

so when you slowly brought your hand to his, lightly squeezing it, you almost killed him

my dude ASCENDED like he actually would die with no regrets

when he figures out that you actually crave touch, he isn't as ecstatic as silver, but hes fairly excited

he'd definitely enjoy showing that he loves you through small physical touches (hand holding, maybe having your arm around his, ect)

Again, like silver, he'd tell/ask you when/if he was going to hug you or something

he wouldn't ALWAYS be touching you, but he would be in private

he himself is kinda iffy on pda but he'd hold your hand or something, nothing like kissing or full on big hugs, but hand holding is a big one for him

you two probably came up with one of those cute systems where its like "two hand squeezes means ily" or something

MALLEUS DRACONIA

he found out when, on one of your nightly walks, he tried to hug you and you just...froze in the hug

he just comes straight out and asks, he doesn't want to assume you're mad at him, but he did do something wrong, he wants to apologize

"Child of Man, is everything alright? You froze."

when you explained that no, nothing is wrong and that you just were a little touch starved, he nodded thoughtfully

"Well then, would you be okay if I request a hug, instead?"

^^^ (all of these men are so polite omg)

when you say yes, he is very happy

if he had a tail, it would wag

you know those cute pictures of rlly tall people hugging their shorter friends, s/o's? thats what this becomes. he is just leaned over, hugging you

"tsunotarou....shouldn't you let go now...?"

give him a second

when he learns you crave physical touch HE IS LITERALLY SO HAPPY

i hc that one of his main love languages is physical touch, so he is VERY HAPPY that he gets to show you just how much he loves you

once again, is another who would start with telling you when he will touch you, but his telling phase ends fairly quickly compared to silver and jamil

his main forms of physical contact are those elegant ones like where he has a hand on the small of your back

he would ALWAYS BE TOUCHING YOU.

more than silver

tfym he cant come to your ancient curses class with you when he has potionology? he already knows everything he needs to know anyway, so why cant he hold your hand a little longer :(

will 9/10 times end up sleeping over at ramshackle big spooning you (the big spoon in me wants to big spoon malleus but maybeeeeeeeeeee ill save that for another post)

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

he puts his head in your lap, and now youre shifting around?

come on herbivore smh smh you cant move so much hes trying to sleep!

when the thought eats a little too much at the back of his mind, he finally asks you whats up

when you explain it to him, he sighs and STAYS WITH HIS HEAD ON YOUR LAP.

but the only reason he keeps his head in your lap is because he knows his herbivore, and he knows all the signs that you're truly uncomfortable with something, so he knows that you don't mind

he breaks the cycle of asking. like i said before he knows his herbivore well, and he knows your boundaries and the signs that your uncomfortable even better, so he knows he won't overstep

i feel like he never had to figure out you craved attention, hes an observer, and just kinda always knew by your lingering touches, even after the shock of the touch

his favourite forms of physical touch are to lay his head in your lap, and basically anything (sexual or non sexual) where your body is on/close to his

hes another one whos main love language is touch, so he is too seen skipping his classes to hang out with you/to pull you from yours to the botanical garden

SEBEK ZIGVOLT

hes very aggressive with his affection, so when you shied away from his hug after training, he did a Jamil and tried to think of any reason you'd be mad at him

hes kinda sulking for the rest of the day until he decides to just come to ramshackle to ask you

"sebek wtf are you doing at my door its the middle of the night- WHY ARE YOU WET?!"

"I COULDN'T SLEEP THINKING YOU WERE MAD AT ME! PLEASE TELL ME WHAT I DID, SO I CAN PROPERLY ATONE!!!!!!"

"............what.................?"

you had to run and grab a towel because this idiot decided to WALK over while it was RAINING

when you explained everything to him, how you were just surprised, he understood immediately, so, he joins the Polite Cult (tm) and asks you to give you a hug

when he finds out you crave touch, he is a man on a MISSION

he WILL make sure you get what you want becuase he LOVES YOU SO MUCH

(just dont use your power over him when hes trying to protect malleus. he will become crisis'd about what to prioritize)

he loves to hold your hand sosososososo much its such a little gesture that can mean so much

hold his hand.

LILIA VANROUGE

he went to taze you (yk when you put your hands on someones waist and just pinch/tickle them while going ZZZZZT? yeah that) and you almost died of shock

hes seen many things, when your a prehistoric artifact like him, you know whats up

so you didnt even need to explain, he just kinda knew the second you screamed

hes also like leona in the sense he just knows you arent necessarily uncomfortable or anything

but he still tries to limit the amount he scares you but COME ON....your back is faced to him! its the perfect chance to scare you!

he, again, knew you needed more physical touch, so he's always stuck to you whenever he can be

not like skipping class level like malleus and leona, but he still is with you 90% of the day

another one to come to ramshackle with you, but he wont tell the others where he is so everyone thinks peepaw went missing

get peepaw to take his meds please hes a little deranged

--------------------------- I LOVED WRITING THIS SM but i was cramping the entireee time :( m.list @mit0ee 's work, please do not steal!

[robilover]

silver wolf who loves fem reader so so so much? silver wolf brain rot era has not left me since 26/04/2023 😭😭 basically hcs of her love for reader? and she’s basically willing to do everything in the universe for her (maybe some nsfw of silver wolf being a bit possessive bcos she’s jealous [i personally think she’s a possessive lover 👀😵‍💫]) how do you personally think silver wolf wld be (nsfw headcanons)? HELP my request is so vague 😭 but i hope you’ll do it either way 😭😵‍💫

did you know that silver wolf is my very first limited 5-star? I also got her light cone because I was so in love with her😭 had to skip seele just for her hshaja

Lovestruck!Silver Wolf SFW and NSFW Headcanons !

pairing(s): silver wolf x fem!reader

cw: silver wolf is a streamer, smitten and possessive silver wolf, strap-on use, implied fingering, marking, dom!silver wolf, men and homophobes dni.

SFW

silver wolf strikes me as someone who just loves to spoil her girlfriend with game credits. she definitely did not hack someone’s bank accounts—

to me, her main love language is gift giving. she always shows her love to you by giving you little trinkets that are either from games, or anything that makes her think of you.. especially when it comes to games.

if she hears you saying that you want this character, or that weapon of theirs, battle pass, or anything at all, you suddenly get them.

she’s a very skilled hacker, so why not put them to good use? even if you’re against them, she wouldn’t care at all.

aside from giving you stuff you like, she doesn’t mind holding you close in her arms. she loves your warmth.

whenever she plays, she always calls for you to sit beside her.. or even her lap. why, you ask? well, she thinks that you bring her luck to her games and gacha pulls. she thinks of you as her lucky charm!

she occasionally gives you kisses whenever she feels like it. when she somehow gets her hands off of her keyboard or phone, she puts one of her hands (or both) on your body. may it be your cheeks, your waist, your hips, your thighs — anywhere. she just can’t help but want to touch you as a way to take a break from her games.

there are times that she just cups your face and tells you how cute you look, even poking your cheek with a chuckle. that little gesture would make your face heat up.

most of the time, you would catch her staring at you. what you don’t know was that she’s already gushing about you (she does that 24/7). you’d already see her faintly blushing and you would ask her why her face is red. she brushes it off by saying that it was hot in the room before turning away to get snacks from her food stash.

nsfw under the cut, read at your own risk!

—

NSFW

silver wolf may not show it much, but she is possessive towards you. she absolutely hates it when people hit on you, may it be in games, in her streams, or in real life.

if she sees someone hitting on you in game while you’re both playing, you could see her gripping her mouse/game console/phone so tightly, almost like she could break it if she continued to apply force on them. she would mutter under her breath on how she’d hack their accounts if they don’t stop.

if she’s on stream and you could be seen by the camera, her chat goes crazy over you—basically thirsting over you. it would make her grit her teeth as she tries oh-so politely to tell her chat to calm down, it’s just her beautiful girlfriend and you’re all hers.

if she couldn’t handle it anymore, she abruptly ends her stream and turns to you, as you were just laying on her bed. she would look at you with hunger and immediately removes her headphones and pounces on you, which resulted in you squealing.

when she’s possessive and jealous, she tends to be rough.

you would have bite marks all over your body—your neck, collarbones, shoulders, stomach, thighs—basically anywhere that she has access to. after all, she loves to show everyone who you belong to.

silver wolf loves it when you moan her name. it encourages her to fuck you so hard until you could barely even form a single word other than her name. for her, it’s an ego booster.

she would make you cum countless of times using her fingers. and if you’re overstimulated enough, she decides to use a strap-on. a big one.

she’d pound into your cunt so harshly that the room would be filled with your loud, whiny moans and skin slapping against skin. she’d grunt and groan at your moans, her face buried into your neck as she places kisses on your skin to make you whine under her.

she would grumble how you’re hers and no one else’s between thrusts and grunts, her hands grasping tightly onto your hips.

silver wolf surprisingly has quite the stamina, that the both of you would last for hours on her bed.

once she’s satisfied, she becomes awfully and surprisingly? gentle.

her aftercare would be gentle kisses on the marks she left on your skin, whispering praises into your ear at how well you took her and that she loves you so much. she also loves how fucked out you look that she sensed that you could barely register anything that she says.

in the end, she cuddles you close to her heart while whispering sweet nothings into your ear until you fall asleep in her arms (probably passed out) <33

[starnana7]

every time I remember that the hit show supernatural made God, the literal God from the Bible, canonically bisexual but couldn’t do the same with a random guy who hunts monsters it actually makes me feel physically ill.. like blasphemy is okay but we draw the line at making the main character a little bit queer because it would “upset the heterosexuals men”? okay ig… and it’s so funny to me that they tried SO bad to make dean like really really straight and macho and a manly womanizer (I mean dude has literal porn brain and is obsessed with cars and is a film nerd) And still is the number 1 bissexual boy.. I mean no one that into cowboys is 100% straight 🙄 and if they actually wanted him to be that much of a cishet guy WHY would they make him have a codependent homosexual friendship with his best friend for more than a decade ?? and we have so much subtext to corroborates it that it’s actually insane.

and it’s also rlly funny to me that sam would be the most obvious choice for a queer storyline. like i’m not sure this is true but i heard somewhere that he actually was supposed to like be lgbt and that it’s implied in the show he’s pan bc he basically have sex w/ everyone and doesn’t care (like monsters and stuff). i wholeheartedly disagree bc sure he hited a demon and a werewolf and a kitsune and God knows what more But it still were just women and for me he’s still just straight 💀 we do have gabriel however and i would say that’s a valid argument but i don’t actually like them together because of the whole torturing-sam-every-tuesday-over-and-over-again but it’s still a good take ig. again this is just my opinion But anyways doesn’t matter my point Is that sam always felt like a freak and wanted to be normal and like was more open minded and “less-macho-toxic-behavior” than dean. he was a theater kid and talked about his feelings and all. STILL THO dean went and become The bissexual icon (Not Sam, Dean!!). and the fact that he was more manly actually only emphasized to his sexuality (and him being closeted) and sam being the straight one, and bare with me here. as sam winchester once wisely said “well you are kind of butch they probably think you're compinsating.” (to dean asking why people always assumed they were gay) and like this is so true, sam always felt comfortable in himself and like his nerdier and less cool strong man personality. But dean, oh, dean, no, no, no. and it could all be linked to john. we know how much dean wanted to gain his father approval and respect, all he ever wanted was for john to be proud of him. so he’d listen to the same music as john, same clothes… and so on. but when we really see a glance of him, we realize he’s actually much more “““girly””” (sorry for the term i lacked a better one) than he shows, Especially when compared to sam—who’s supposed to be the more girly one (again sorry for the term lol) or whatever. dean canonically likes taylor swift, chick flick films, actually liked when a woman made him wear underwear, the bailarinas shoe were “speaking to him” in that one ep of cursed objects, and so on. and every time he makes fun of sam for doing something not-manly-enough (like drinking lemon water or drinking from tiny coups) he eventually goes and do the same thing 😭 and i’m 100% sure that the writers just thought “haha funny scene this really straight deadly man does something not so convencional/more feminine(?) haha comedy relief time!!” but it actually just made him have a whole perfect queer background developed in the series. specially with the fact that He Does Overcompensate. why is he always flirting with women, why is he so butch and scary, always talking about straight sex and so on? because he’s really just deep in the closet. and it makes so much sense with john being his father, with him having to hunt two lesbians nuns in his 17 bday, always having to be strong and macho and cool and perfect—and therefore straight. even without cas, dean really does immaculate the bissexual experience and i’m so sorry but this is just true.

and now pointing to the subtext that i mentioned in the first paragraph (lol i can’t believe i’m making a whole rant as to why dean winchester is a confirmed bisexual), that whole confession to that priest where he says he wants experience new feelings, new people, FOR THE FIRST TIME. that always that the show mentioned a gay couple it ALWAYS focused on dean—not sam, DEAN. the gay hunters, the gay couple on the bar that the cupid “made”, the two cosplayers partners… the fact that every time that dean liked something it was borderline fangirl (gay) obsessive (the dr. sexy episode, that wrestler fighter). he Had a gay thing—and was all flustered about it. he flirted with a guy throughout charlie. THE MALE SIREN. the male siren like after that ep i was 100% convinced that man was not straight. he had a hot demon sumer with crowley?!!! and it’s so funny to me that not one of these things involves castiel, so if they really wanted to make dean be that straight why would they do that?? and only to dean, not even once to sam. Like. and not to mention all the homoeretic tension with benny??? sam never had a male best friend like that.. all of that and i didn’t even entered on destiel. Because this then really just confirms that he is Not straight. even if he wasn’t In Love with cas, they had something going on and the fact that if cas was a girl it would 100% be canon and filmed and Everyone would ship—and I really mean everyone—it just makes me go fucking insane. they could’ve had it all. the fanfic episodes, the parallels between dean and cas and “real couples”, ruby and cas duality and the fact that sam indeed had a relationship w/ her. Anyway i’m a # bi dean truth believer and i know this bc same boy # happy pride month to my fav bissexual boy in the whole world

also to anyone that says that “destiel” was unrequited love yes it kinda of was but only bc dean was so deep in the closet, he did love cas. he was indeed a bissexual man. i’ll die on that hill.