#I need him in ways that are disgusting and deplorable

[crybaby-bkg]

need older retired oliver to tell me I remind him of a daughter he never had and then proceed to stick his tongue down my throat. freak.

[missbellamere]

Vi x Male Reader SMUT

--

pairing: vi x male reader

tw: writing that's way too amazing and realistic

--

"bro wtf are you a man?" Vi said with a disgusted face.

you nod like the good boy that you are.

"ew bro I'm not into men." Vi said.

but you're desperate, you're an incel, you definitely can't pull anyone and you peaked in elementary when you were the fastest racer. this is your first and possibly only interaction with a woman.

"wait vi don't go!" You plead. "i'll tell riot to bring vander back to life, and not kill him immediately after! please I'll invest in stocks, I'm literally a stereotypical straight man!"

vi looked disgusted but thought about it for a second.

"ok fine." she said. "but you have to wear this blue wig, 4 inch boots, speak with a british accent, and magically become 6'1."

you did those things and she side eyed you HARD.

"never mind. this is so cursed and I'd rather date a mongoose. the actual animal."

vi then left you for caitlyn

a/n: don't need to remind me I'm the most amazing x male reader writer in all of tumblr

seriously... all of the non-satirical vi/caitlyn x male reader writers are SO BAD. it's pretty obvious that I'm not trying here but they actually try... and it's so terrible. the syntax, writing structure, and aesthetics are deplorable. hope yall enjoyed this cuz I thought it'd be funny to shit post

also is it kinda bad that this is my first ever Tumblr post

-from me, bellamere, who is NOT a straight male

[cupidkenji]

Slowing Down

Now playing: slowing down - the backseat lovers whisper in my ear that you need me Pairing: Nam gyu (player 124) x AFAB!Reader CW: smut, drugging, noncon (putting this as noncon but the MC is into it. However, they are under the influence so they cannot consent.), toxic ex bf trope, he's kind of manipulative sorry, p in v, praise, mocking, possessiveness, creampie, this is literally deplorable i'm sorry, kinda ooc, university AU Summary: Four months after breaking up with your boyfriend, your roommate asks you to pick her up. Of course he had to be there. Disclaimer: Reader is always written with a chubby/bigger person in mind but in this she's literally not described. WC: 3.7k part 2

this is disgusting and i'm sorry, please head the warnings. this is also not beta'd or proofread. i am tired and going to bed. sorry if this sucks. i wrote some pre-breakup HC if you want more <3

also check out this PHENOMENAL fanart if you want some visuals

The mildly run down apartment of a random university boy was an unfortunate place to find yourself when you had the option of being anywhere else. The brick walls were cracking and the water from the current rainfall made a sheen over the building that resembled porcelain. The glistening building was taunting and never ending as you stared up at the top floor, a single window open and seeping dim lighting out into the dark streets. Smoke was billowing out of it, bringing the scent of weed and the sound of laughter down into the depths of the road with you. You didn’t know how your roommate knew this guy, or why she came here if she didn’t have a ride planned, but you moved forward regardless. The front door was heavy, greasy and gray but lacking any security measures that were common for entry. There wasn’t even a front desk, just a desolate lobby that sat in front of an elevator. 

She’d told you where to find her in the text she’d sent twenty minutes ago, begging you to come get her and successfully misspelling words that you’d thought impossible to type incorrectly. It wouldn’t have been difficult regardless, even without the guidance. It was midnight, most people who inhabited the building were either out at their own parties or asleep. The only room that harbored audible life was the one she was pointing you to, and you were less than eager to walk into a room with a group of who knows how many intoxicated strangers. You didn’t even know her that well, just that she was keen to partying, and was usually able to find her own way home. You figured she must be truly desperate to resort to you, you didn’t have the heart to tell her no. 

The knocking you did felt like it bruised your knuckles. You hadn’t hit the door hard, but making any noise in the stillness of the hallway felt like a disservice. There was a penetrating calm in the building if you ignored the music leaking from your destination. It seemed wrong. When the door opened, smoke invaded your lungs quicker than you were anticipating, and you fought the urge to cough it up. The owner of the apartment had come to let you in. You recognized him vaguely from campus and knew of him only through stories you’d heard whispered between the girls he’d been with. You just wanted to go home. 

A giggly drawl of your name sounded out from behind him, and he stepped back from the doorway to let you lay your eyes on your roommate. You had no idea what she’d consumed over the past few hours, but she seemed loopy and out of it. You walked through the doorway with your eyes stuck to her, thinking about how the fuck you were gonna get her home in this state. She was practically rag dolling on the small loveseat that sat in the living room. She appeared in her own world, and you really didn’t want to haul her back to the car in front of however many people were in here. You hadn’t looked up, going and leaning over her for a moment. She looked right through you, staring at the ceiling with a permanent uptick of her lips carved on her face. She was giddy, and seemingly glued to the furniture. Her pupils nearly encased her irises and you knew she wasn’t moving anytime soon. How she managed to request your assistance in this state was beyond you. 

You heard the man who opened the door return to his seat behind you. It wasn’t loud, not like a party, you assumed there were maybe three people besides your roommate there. You were now in probably the most uncomfortable situation of your life - alone with three high strangers and a practically incapacitated roommate that was your responsibility. 

“Do any of you know what she took?” It was the only thing you could think to ask, turning around to face the crowd as you said it. If you hadn’t gotten your words out before you spun, you would have choked on them. Of course, among the three people that could have been sitting there, was your ex. Locking eyes with him now was equivalent to letting someone rip the air from your lungs.

You’d met Nam Gyu at the beginning of your freshman year, him being a grade above you. He’d made you feel things you’d never envisioned for yourself. Writing them off trivially as immature and placing yourself above them. For two years you grew intertwined with him, and when he got deep into his problems, you did everything you could to help him. Eventually, it was too much, and you left. The residual devastation had stayed draped over you for the past four months you’ve been apart. You were growing convinced you’d feel gutted forever. He hadn’t taken kindly to the split, pestering and persisting every moment he could spare. He seemed convinced he’d get you back, never failing to remind you of the experiences the two of you had. Just his presence dragged you back to the depths of it, and your knees nearly buckled beneath you. You’d missed his eyes, missed being close enough to see all of him. You did a good job of avoiding him, so he resorted to calling, or texting. You never blocked him, you couldn’t bring yourself to. 

You couldn’t read his face, you could only witness the flick of his eyes over you, feeling too exposed even in your covered state. “Probably something from the bag.” The man sitting to his right spoke, sporting purple hair and painted nails. You’d seen him on campus too. “She’ll be alright.” He didn’t seem fully sober either, something in the nonchalance and slight slur of his words keyed you in. At least he was comprehensible. You didn’t even look at him, caught in the pinpoint gaze that stayed locked on you. 

You took a shallow breath, stomach stumbling slightly at the thickness of the oxygen combined with the abundance of smoke. That was what you told yourself, anyway. “I’m supposed to be taking her home.” Your eyes flicked to the left. A smaller man took up that end of the couch they were sharing, glossy eyes and shy demeanor. He was caved in on himself, he barely seemed to notice you. 

The man of the hour chuckles slightly. “Good luck.” He motions to the girl with his head as he speaks. “She doesn’t seem to be moving any time soon.” 

You took a glance behind you, your roommate fully asleep on the loveseat. You were fucked. 

The purple haired man looked at you. “You can stay here for a minute if you want. She’ll sober up in a bit. Shit’s fast acting.” You were thankful he didn’t seem creepy. He also appeared in his own world, more concerned about his high than the random girls that were there for the ride. “She could always just crash here too, we’re all planning to.” 

You looked at your roommate for a second time, considering the options. You could feel the familiar eyes casting a shadow on you. Regardless of the assumed kindness of the men, you still didn’t know them. You had no idea how well your roommate knew them either. You hated to think about leaving her here and something happening. Technically it would be on your hands, and you didn’t want her to get hurt. “Yeah, alright. I’ll wait her out.” You sunk down in front of your roommate, sitting on the floor wasn’t ideal, but you almost felt like you were protecting her, blocking any harm by keeping her behind you. You heard one of them mumble something about drinks in the kitchen, but you were planning to stay rooted to your spot. Since Nam gyu refused to say a word or steer his eyes away from you, you took out your phone to kill time while you waited. 

When your attention was away from him, he spoke with his friends. You hated how deep his voice cut. It was so indescribably comforting to hear it again. You’d been declining his calls for this very reason, you knew the more of him you had, the harder it would be to stay away. After an hour, your phone was getting low, and your roommate was still passed out. The shy one had ducked away to a different room, presumably going to sleep, just leaving your energized ex and his friend who seemed to be getting drowsier as the minutes passed. You didn’t want to consume anything that might have been in that place, but inhaling nothing but smoke for the past hour had sucked the moisture from your throat. You reluctantly stood, drawing the eyes of only one of the men, and taking begrudging steps into the kitchen. 

Opening the fridge, you grabbed a random carton of tea after your search for water failed. You grabbed a disposable cup from the container on the table, you were grateful - you hadn’t wanted to look for glasses. Leaving your now full cup, you turned to put the carton back in the fridge. He was standing far too close to you when you turned back, resembling a jump scare from some cheesy horror film. You took a shaky breath, grabbing your cup and walking back to your spot. You didn’t want to talk. He followed suit a minute later, a soda can grasped in his palm. He continued his conversation with the man beside him like nothing had happened, and you envied that ability. Your heart was beating like it was going to stop. You drank your tea faster than you even wanted to, just doing something to fight the urge of looking at him. You could have sworn your resolve would be stronger than this. 

His eyes seemed to float to you more than they had been. You felt monitored, stalked, even. It was such a piercing sensation that a mild cold sweat started on your skin. There was something so personal about the way he looked at you. A devoted gaze of a predator, someone intense. It was something that drew you to him in the first place, something that wrestled within you. Fear and want in one. God, you wanted to go home. You spent maybe another twenty minutes on your phone, feeling the world get hazy around you. You hoped the invading mental fog was just a consequence of the late hour, of the smoke around you. You needed to move, so you stood up to throw your cup away. Your legs felt like steel rods, heavy and immovable. You don’t know how you dragged yourself back into the kitchen. Your skin felt like it was buzzing, too sensitive to the air around you.

You heard the couch creak behind you, the sound of confident footsteps as you stumbled and nearly fell. You were an imbalanced scale, tipping to one side when attempting to stand normally. Familiar hands caught you, and the feeling of him on you after so long pushed a small sob out of your dry throat. You didn’t have the strength to suppress it. “Careful.” He spoke low, so close to you that you could feel the vibration of his chest on your back. Your lips trembled as you looked around, things looked like static, marbling patterns blurring around you. 

“What’s happening?” You hated how pathetic you sounded, teary and weakened. “Did you do something to me?” You sounded so small; quiet and choking out your words instead of saying them. His hands felt so heavy on your skin. You despised the inherent recognition that your body held for him. You weren’t stupid, he’d probably drugged you. How fucking deranged did it make you that you were still getting wet for him, even in this headspace. You squirmed a bit in his hold, but all that accomplished was making his hands rub against your skin, getting heavier as his hands tightened to keep you in his grasp. You looked back at the couch, his friend had fallen asleep, and your roommate was out like a light. You were so fucked. 

“No, no. You’re ok.” He started walking towards the door of the apartment as you stumbled to clutch on to him. The world felt like a pool of molasses. “Let’s go back home, yeah?” He was still holding you, dragging you along with him and mumbling out the words like he was talking to a baby. “Not like you wanted to be here anyway.”

It was still raining when you got outside, the feeling of your clothes sopping up the water and molding to your skin was excruciating. The air felt prickly, like a cactus, and it made your poor roofied brain so confused that your body didn’t know how to react. It was bordering on painful as you sat in the passenger seat of your own car - him grabbing the keys on the way out and getting in the driver’s seat like he owned it. He didn’t even seem high. Your body ached, tingling like a shockwave, but your thighs were clenching in direct opposition to the sensation. Wires got crossed in your brain, and you were practically dripping into your underwear as your skin buzzed like you were on fire. You couldn’t sit still, shifting little by little and choking ever so slightly on some of your inhales. The drive was only ten minutes, but it felt like an hour. 

You watched him open the door to your place. You swore you’d taken his key when you left him. Maybe it was yours, you couldn’t remember him taking it out of your pocket. Your apartment was cold, and you heard him sigh as he shut the door. He’d been here a thousand times over the years, something he was clearly remembering as he returned for the first time in four months. You heard the thoughts ring out in your head, bound back and forth with a million different things. Your hand was flat on the wall, looking at him lost like you were waiting for direction, or answers, or just something from him. 

You couldn’t seem to properly catch your breath, chest heaving slightly as he moved towards you, his hands cradling your face to force eye contact. “I’ve missed this, you know?” He looked over the space he could see. It was brief, just enough to take it in without diverting his attention away from you for too long. “You haven’t changed anything.”

He pulled your hand off the wall, turning you around and forcing you to walk in tandem with him as he headed to your bedroom. He was right against your ear, speaking so low and knowing, your brain felt like a puddle in your head, only thinking about him and what he was going to do. “Most people go through breakups and they want to change everything, get something fresh.” Your stomach lurched as he opened the door, your own room causing a new feeling to stir in your gut. It wasn’t comfort, or fear. You couldn’t tell what it was. “What does it say that you left everything the same, huh?” He put his chin on your shoulder, holding you from behind in such a disgustingly intimate way. Your underwear was sticking to you at this point, you felt sick. “Did you really think you could stay away from me?” There was none of the usual malice in his tone, he sounded amused. As if he was scolding you for such a comical belief. 

Your back hit the bed, as gentle as the first time he’d ever laid you on it. The lack of standing was a welcome relief, and you could have wept with the feelings that swept over you as you drank in the sight of him standing above you. You tried so desperately to remember why you’d left in the first place, fighting through the haze to not lose your will. “Wait- you-” You didn’t have a clue what you were even trying to express. “No- I can’t.” 

He was heavy on top of you, hands drawing lines of fire as they dragged your shirt off. That exposed feeling you’d been sitting on all night cranked up severely as he stared at you, tracing his hands over you as he remapped old trails he’d been so familiar with. Nobody had touched you in four months. You’d been reeling so hard from the loss that you’d barely touched yourself. With your already limited capacity to process what was happening, combined with your recent celibacy, you felt like you were going to die, and it just made you all the more wanting.

“No?” He mocked, slipping the pants you were wearing down your legs. “Why’s that?” 

You were breathing heavy, lungs filling with the air that seemed too thick, bearing the weight of the tension. “We’re not-” You stumbled over your words as he kissed down your chest. “We’re not together anymore.” He nipped at you, leaving a stinging feeling that forced quiet groans from your mouth. “And you fucking drugged me-”

“And you’re fucking soaked.” He ran his thumb over the prominent wet patch on your underwear, pushing it aside to make bare contact with you. “You’ve always been easy, honey, but this is something else.” He takes his time sliding against you, making you preen at the contact. You were so caught between right and wrong. He’d touched you a thousand times, dragged the same sounds out of you he was doing now; but he didn’t have the right to do that anymore, he shouldn’t be doing it, not like this. The argument formed and died in your mushy brain, the feeling of the craving you’ve had for months finally being satisfied pushed all reasoning out of sight. It felt so good, and he was barely doing anything. A couple slow lines up and down, and you could practically hear it. He was right, and you were in borderline tears from how much you needed this.

You watched his clothes come off, wishing you could have helped, but rejoicing in the view of his bare skin. It was fucking pathetic how much you reveled in the sight. You felt like a lapdog, some pavlovian response firing up in your brain as you stared at him. Had you truly thought you could stay away? You could have changed the locks, or cut your hair, maybe reinvented your wardrobe. You had been devastated, yes, but maybe the reason you were never heartbroken was because you knew the split wouldn’t last. A dedicated devotee rarely deserts the altar, why would you be different? Why would you want to be different when he felt so fucking good against you?

You choked on a tiny gasp as he started pushing into you, your hands reaching to grasp his shoulders as easy as any instinct is. You hear the small noise that pours out of his parted lips, tightening around him as he bottoms out. You go practically brain dead at the feeling, mourning that specific fullness more than you ever thought you could grieve anything. He seems to sense it. “Don’t you miss me inside you, honey?” Even if you can barely process anything other than the feeling of him, you still pick up on that sleazy tone he can never seem to shake. Mocking and arrogant, always talking down to you somehow. “It was stupid to leave.” He starts moving his hips, calculated and slow - loving in a way that’s out of character for him. “You know you’re fucking made for me.” His words were breathed out in a sigh, audible content in his voice, as if he could stay like this forever. You realized with slight horror that you wanted him to. You wanted to be here forever. 

You were being driven so thoughtfully to the edge that you could barely keep up. The hand that wasn’t holding himself up was rubbing timed circles on your clit, his face finding home in your neck. If he wasn’t leaving marks, he was saying something that was only making you tighten around him more. “I didn’t want to have to do this, you know that.” You nodded, eyes watering from the intensity. “I tried so hard.” You just nodded again as he sucked a bruise into the underside of your jaw. You were scared to look at the damage when this wore off. “If you had just talked to me, we could have worked it out.” You couldn’t pick apart his words right now. Not when you were so close and he said them in that tone that just killed any critical thinking you had in you. 

“I’m sorry.” You could barely hear the words as you said them, whispered hoarsely as you tensed up. Your lips were trembling, a tear running down the side of your face and dripping onto the sheets. 

His hips stuttered at the sight, cursing under his breath. “I know, It’s ok.” He put his mouth on your jaw, mumbling his forgiveness so you could feel the vibrations, etch them into your skin. “Don’t hold it, honey, you can cum.” The permission made you lightheaded, air rushing from your lungs. “Just let me back in, yeah? I’ll forget it even happened.” 

You were so close that it was painful, his motions speeding up. You whimpered, small and meek. Your hands were shaking, hiccupping as a couple more tears streaked down your face. The thought of having him back was so enticing, even through the mild sedation that was still coursing through you, you felt like you were whole again like this. You came hard, so hard that you thought you might black out for a moment as it fully hit you. He followed right after, cumming inside you for the first time in your entire relationship, as if to physically demonstrate his intentions, to emphasize that you were made for him. You belonged together, something that he whispered with various other praises as his hips slowed to a stop. You sat with the weight of what just happened, what was most likely going to happen when you were sober. You couldn’t imagine being away from him anymore. It was hard enough holding out for four months, but after this? It seemed impossible. You realized that it hardly mattered, even if you wanted to leave, after tonight,

you doubt he’d let you.

[11queensupreme11]

I Need to know what the other siblings think of dory!! To they have beef with him like axiandros or to they just not care for him?

I need to know the yan opinion on dory especially hades!! To they like him bcs he is basically Percy 2.0 or they hate him for being Poseidon son?

BEELCY babies! I need to see how the other beelcy babies look like!

P.s. you are an ✨AMAZING WRITER ✨ your writing is chefs kiss✨

axiandros: he has the most intense beef with eudorios ever and the funniest part is that it's ONE-SIDED 😭😭😭 dory does not give a shit, he's too busy being smothered by his mother's affections to even notice his eldest bro silently seething in a dark corner LMAO 😭 just seeing dory ruins his day. he hates the way dory looks, acts, smells, BREATHES. dory could literally be walking down the hall and goes "morning, ax! 😄" and axiandros would mutter "disgusting, deplorable piece of shit 😠🔱" and poor dory's like:

"what'd i do????? 🥺" 😭😭😭😭

kymon: mildly irritated. there are very few places he likes to be in and that's either his bedroom or by his mother's side cuz that's where he's most at peace, but in comes fucking DORY again whining and whimpering for mother to pay attention to him 🙄 he rolls his eyes and shows the barest hint of annoyance whenever he sees dory ambling towards them and is already teleporting away because he knows his presence beside their mother only makes dory more annoying and he does not want to deal with that 💀

thalassandros: "can you fuck off, you little shit???????" no seriously, dory spent HOURS with their mother yesterday, it's his turn now, this is SO unfair ugh 😒 he would absolutely hit dory and tell him to screw off, only to get scolded by their mother but he doesn't actually mind cuz you know... mother doesn't actually BEAT THEM unlike a certain asshole (looking at you, bitch (poseidon) 🖕) plus, mom's paying attention to him now, so a win is a win lmao.

as for the yans......

hades actually adores eudorios! mainly because, in his eyes, eudorios is the sweetest of the posy kids. he's so much like percy and is NOTHING like poseidon. ofc, he has no idea that dory is actually completely insane, but oh well! 💀

beelzebub does not like eudorios. he literally gets the tingle every time that kid is around, and he KNOWS that dory's more evil than he looks. he may act all sweet and uwu like percy, but he knows the kid's actually super fucked up inside. tries to warn percy to be more careful, but she loves her son too much to abandon him or let beel get rid of him

loki is another one who knows the kid's unhinged LMAO 😂😂 literally took one good look at him and immediately sensed the insanity asdgvajdf lowkey entertained by percy's naivety but also hopes this doesn't end TOO badly

anubis likes dory a lot! eudorios is his favorite amongst the posy kids cuz he's just sooo nice and friendly! he reminds him so much of his beloved mate 💖💖💖 (reminder: gods don't have souls so anubis can't tell the type of person dory actually is 💀)

cú chulainn is..... somewhat okay with eudorios. he acknowledges that dory is definitely the nicest out of all of the posy kids, but he just can't help but feel that something's..... off with him, but he just can't put his finger on it. he keeps a close eye on him whenever he's around, but other than that, treats him decently

apollo considers dory his favorite amongst the posy kids just like many of the yans do lmao. he's just a sweet kid, what's not to like? he's always nice to him and his children whenever he's around. sure he's a little clingy towards percy, but she's his mom so it's only natural!!!

poseidon is THIS close 🤏 to bashing eudorios' head open. he has no idea where he and percy went wrong with him. he's infuriating and an embarrassment in poseidon's eyes (which is ironic considering he's literally like PERCY who poseidon absolutely adores 💀)

beelcy and poki babies are coming!!! dw. poki babies are mostly ready so they'll come first

[copepods]

the oc refs i made for artfight :) character descriptions below

Reluctant Abstinence:

A dedicated and curious iterator with a great interest with the physiology and neurology of scavengers. Her latest project heavily involves luring local scavengers into her structure and performing neural and behavioral experiments to see if she can make them more similar to her creators. Her primary experiment is The Student, a kidnapped elite scavenger who she’s trying to program with traits from the Ancients. She speaks to it often and tells it stories about her creation and upbringing.

She is close with her fellow local group members, but often forgets to check in with them in favor of her work. Prior to Mass Ascension, she was very close with her creators, and losing them hit her hard. She became much more withdrawn, and what before was a fascination with the fauna surrounding her superstructure quickly became an obsession. She’s quite difficult to contact if you don’t live nearby, so both Many Rocks Orbit and East-Facing Pillars keep Overseers in her can to get her attention if they need to.

She and East-Facing Pillars are romantically involved and used to be very close. Their shared respect for their creators and mutual dedication to the Great Problem brought them together, and she found EFP’s social nature to be a refreshing break from her work. Once they spend more time together, though, their differences began to grate on each other; EFP tolerates RA’s interest in scavengers, but doesn’t care much about it otherwise and finds it disrespectful to dedicate so much time to a task uninvolved with universal ascension. In turn, Abstinence regards Pillars as fickle and high-strung. She doesn’t bother to respond much to him anymore, in favor of her work.

She has a more positive relationship with Many Rocks Orbit, who tries to keep themself largely uninvolved in relationship drama. Orbit also dislikes her hobby, but would never say so to her face, so she finds it easier to converse with them about her work without facing constant judgement.

East-Facing Pillars:

Studious and dedicated to the Great Problem, although he is also nosy and easily distracted by interpersonal drama. He takes great pride in himself and his work, and views himself as the most competent and respected of his local group. He’s very close friends with Many Rocks Orbit, and often takes over tasks a group senior would do when MRO neglects them. He always has his nose poked in as many anonymous boards as he can, and the two of them spend a lot of time gossipping together.

EFP was also close with Reluctant Abstince, and the two are technically romantically involved, although RA is often reluctant to respond to any kind of messages these days, and while her interest in fauna used to be endearing to Pillars, it now seems annoying and somewhat embarrassing to him. He checks in on her still every so often, with increasing reluctance.

Many Rocks Orbit:

The senior of their local group, older than East-Facing Pillars and Reluctant Abstinence. They are quite negligent in their duties, as they find management work to be stressful, especially when it comes to resolving conflicts with others. Many of their work ends up offloaded onto East-Facing Pillars, who mostly doesn’t mind but occasionally objects to too much work shoved onto him at once. If he ever broaches the subject of Orbit handling their own affairs, they will stop responding to messages or steer the conversation elsewhere. They prefer to quietly iterate and converse with close friends, avoiding topics they regard as difficult. They are uncomfortable with many of the flora and fauna that have evolved in their creators’ absence, finding most animals disgusting, and they’ll use their inspectors to shoo out anything that finds its way into their structure. Despite their dislike of animals, they find unnecessary violence deplorable. They also think Reluctant Abstinence’s latest project is highly morally questionable, and have spent a great deal of time with Pillars complaining about it.

The Lure: A creation of Reluctant Abstinence, used to gather live creatures for her to experiment on or use as spare organic material. It’s become incredibly unpopular with the scavengers surrounding RA’s city. The Lure doesn’t seem to care much, though, and it takes joy in completing tasks for RA, who it sees as its mother. The Lure is intelligent and quite curious, and Reluctant Abstinence has begun on the side to teach it to crudely write glyphs in her language.

The Student: Reluctant Abstinence’s latest pet project. she’s observed the intelligence scavegers have, and believes they’re capable of becoming the next great civilization. The Student is a test run to see if she can imprint the ideals and behaviors of her progenitors onto a living scavenger. surely there will be no consequences from this?

The Student was once highly regarded in their pack as a great warrior. Nowadays, they have a shy and nervous disposition, and spend most of the time missing their family. They reside in a lab chamber that was formerly used by the Ancients as an interface to connect with Reluctant Abstinence.

(Shifting Towards Red is a newer iterator from a different group that i havent conceptualized much yet :,3 )

[streets-in-paradise]

Tormented Longing - Maximus Decimus Meridius x Empress!Reader

Gladiator (2000) Oneshot

Warnings: Reader is in love in a devoted, frankly delulu way ( not exactly like Commodus, but you will see.). This may not make sense with the movie, in the sense that it doesn't follow the events strictly, but I love drama lol. It's one of those " doesn't make much sense, but wanted to see it written. " scenarios @wildsaltair and I were talking about.

Summary: Fate grants you a reunion with the great love you believed lost when you consult the school of gladiators searching to buy protection from the schemes of the loathed husband it enforced on you.

Note: Somewhere I can't remember, because my browser is a mess of history entries, I read of someone who wanted to have gladiators as personal guard and that triggered in my mind this concept.

As it would be expected, your visit to the school of gladiators could potentially cause a scandall. Following the disorganised style of the ruling of your husband, you guessed one more excentricity could not make more harm. After all, he was shaking the values of Rome from their very own foundations. No one escaped him, and the need for appearances between you was running out.

As the wife that Marcus Aurelius had once chosen for him, Commodus accepted your marriage of convenience with the hope of pleasing him. Your wedding was the only moment in which he recalled any kindness from his father, his approbation of you feeling his by extention. ironically, the moment that ruined your life was the logical consecuence of the failure of one of his masterplans. Scheming against the lover of his sister, your friend, he digged his own grave when the crave to get him out of her way brought you closer to his.

He knew of your tormented love for Maximus and tried to encourage you of betraying Lucilla to keep him for yourself. That brief instant of temptation was paid with the highest price, some curse from the gods unleashed a chain of events punishing you equally with your enforced union. Not long into the marriage you found out that your sacrifice had been in vain, given neither you or the emperor's daughter got to keep the man you wanted. You also discovered with horror what kind of feelings pushed Commodus to that unfortunate alliance with you.

Depraved desires, not the logical concern of a brother.

In his sick mind, he believed to experience the same kind of longing you did, and the only reward of your marriage for him was dragging you down to share his misery. If he would never have Lucilla, you would never have Maximus. Promise that he accomplished to the cruelest extent as soon as he got rid of his father. Your noble general, faithfull as he was to the murdered emperor, refused an alliance with his killer and paid with his life.

Knowing that you would mourn him like a widow, Commodus taunted you with the news as soon as he got the chance. With the grudges of the past long forgotten, Lucilla was your only comfort. Touched by grief as you both were, she still managed to remind you of your priorities. With his brother in power having no more need to cather the opinions of their father, your life on itself could be in danger.

Of course, you still were a working facade for the most morally deplorable aspect on the disgusting side of him, but power could make him question your uses. You believed Commodus wouldn't be foolish enough to make of executing his wife one of his first commands of his rule in Rome, but that didn't mean you couldn't expect some unfortunate accident to happen.

What you needed was protection, and his praetorians weren't going to grant it. There was nothing the Senate could do for you, so you had to act on yourself. With the announcement of the games in honor of the deceased emperor, a demeaning joke made in private towards your husband that slipped from you as product of your ragefull grief for Maximus making you momentarily careless of death brought you the solution.

You told Commodus that watching the matches would show him a bit of what a real man was, as if you played to replace him with one of the gladiators, and that gave you the idea of buying your own commitive of protectors. Unusual, maybe, but desperate times needed of desperate meassures.

If you wouldn't be the Empress of Rome, Proximo would have laughed in your face when you explained yourself to him.

" Lady, this men aren't guards. They are entertainers. Doing business with your husband will make me rich, ... why would I risk that? "

" I'm only asking for a handfull of them and I'm not even demanding your best." You argued in return. " I need a protective escort that would answer to me, for safety measures. "

He was terminant to deny your excentricity.

" That is not of my concern. "

" Can I at least take a look at them? It's all I ask, for now. "

With reluctance, your wish was granted. Guided towards the cages you advanced in pridefull strunt and the slaves raised following your eyes. Only one remained in his place, careless or perhaps resentfull of your attention. For him you stopped, intrigued by his attitude and perhaps something more.

" That one is off limits, empress. " His owner warned you, noticing the sparkling interest he had awakened in you. " The Spaniard is the most expected novelty I have to offer. "

His words fell on deaf ears, marvelled as you were with the resemblance with your first and only lost love. An authentic ghost of the past haunting you. Could the gods have made two men so identical, or were they fooling you? Was that man like the phantom Helen made of cloud that some said had followed Paris to Troy while the real remained in hidding? Or had the men of Commodus killed a phantom?

" Forget our deal, I will give you whatever you ask for a moment to speak with him. "

The gladiator kept his cold demeanour, refusing to engage in eye contact with you, untill your almost broken whispers towards him forced the situation.

" ... A man I once knew was from Spain. He never knew, but he was the love of my life. "

Only then, he stopped staring angrily at the ground so he could show his face to you.

" Go back to your husband, Empress. "

The utterance of your rank felt as a spit of disdain landing in your face, but the surprise overcame everything. You were smiling with tearfull eyes, ready to jump over him as a wife that welcomes her brave husband home from war.

Maximus lived and fate had brought him back to you.

His attitude was understandable, even if it was a bit unfair to you. Not only you have played no part in the complot against him, you remained pointlessly faithfull to his memory like a pathetic lapdog. Lucilla had once married a good man that left her with a son after passing, but you were entrusted to a monster you could never love. You were still his in spirit, even if you accepted long ago he could never be for you.

" He doesn't command in my heart, he never will. "

In respect of your rank, the meeting was allowed in the most comfortable settling the place could grant you. By your specifical request, and ignoring the safety hazard that a very angry Maximus implied, you tried to keep him free from chains.

" Claiming my life is not a suitable vengeance, you would be doing his work for him." You warned him as soon as you were allowed enough privacy. " He doesn't have the slightest care for me, I am only the facade of his sinister desires, but if it would please your rage I would gladly give my life for you. "

You exposed your neck, awaiting for some imaginary sword to slit your throat or his hand to squeeze your air out, but the confusion that your willingness to die upon him produced him was enough to make him desist of anything.

" How can you say such things so lightly, when so much between us has changed? You are not that sweet friend of Lucilla giving me lovely glances full of sorrow before I would follow her. My wife and son were tortured and murdered by command of your husband! "

His recriminations hurted you, but how could he had he reacted otherwise? He had no idea of what happened with you after life separated you.

" Can't you see it? Time stopped for me the day I married Commodus without facing your rejection for respect to my friend. The one thing we have in common is obsessive devotion, only never for each other ... I never stopped loving you, I would do anything in my power to make your suffering stop. I can't give back what he took from you, just as no one can return me the youthfull years of misery standing him, but before rushing into conclussions there is something you need to know. "

Falling on your knees before him, you exposed yourself completely in a heartfelt speech.

" You are my sun, the happy corner where my thoughts go hidding from the horrors of my life. Commodus lives frustrated on the impossibility to fullfill his horrendous wants, but all this time I had the comfort of knowing my love is pure. If i daydreamed of being your wife, I never wished any wrongs for the woman you have once chosen. "

The raw honesty left him with very little space for doubts. Fragility you have saved for years was tenderly left on sight for him to judge if your feelings for him were real.

Little did it matter to him at the moment, but that didn't mean it didn't give him new thoughts and couldn't yet inspire him any pitty.

" What am I supposed to say? Do you expect me to be myself or perform for your delusion now that I have no other choice? "

Having your ways get mistaken with Commodus' offended you, but you endured it.

" I want you to understand that all I ever wanted was your happiness. Nothing more, and nothing else. I want you to stop seeing me as your enemy, but can't find a proof of my sincere devotion to satisfy you. If of something I can be blamed, is of loving you more desperately than Lucilla ever did. She survived without you, but I made you a part of me. "

The part of him that felt your sorrow finally won. Lifting your chin delicately with a caress of his thumb, he granted you a first calm approach making you stare into his eyes.

" Keep this meeting as a secret and your loyalty will be proven. I need nothing else of you. "

It made you smile, hopefull to the small victory.

" That was already granted, my love. Nothing greater would you ask from me? If your presence in the arena wouldn't be so required due to the excellent fame you adquired, I would be already trying to buy you in order to find some way to release you. "

The extreme measure to save his honor was a considerable risk that would end bad for you, so a question wandering his mind came out of him without second thoughts.

" Is there anything you wouldn't do for me? "

The mockfull callout made you raise up, regaining only glimpses of your dignity.

" Do you want to escape? I would gladly run away with you. Do you want the head of Commodus, detached from his body? I have no idea of how that could happen, but I will find the way of getting it for you. I don't even need you to love me back, only to let me fill you with the affection I have kept for so long reserved for you."

He remained strictly indiferent to your provocations, but you left him few space for choice. Your hands were cuping his cheeks when you dragged him close enough to barely sense your lips against his. He kept his mouth closed, forbbiding you entrance for a full mouth kiss, but after three carefull pecks he realized you were about to cover his face with those short kisses and stopped you inmediately.

" What do you want us to be? The legendary tale of the gladiator that turned an empress into a slave? "

You wouldn't admit it, but you liked the implied epicity in his reprobatory replication.

" I endure Commodus the same way his father did: ignoring him and pretending you are mine. He wanted you for a son and I want you for a husband. Indulge me as you did for your emperor. "

[gonehuman99]

My Reason 4

Yandere Miles Miller x reader (2.4k words)

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3

Tw: DUBCON

Warnings: dark Miles Miller, dubious consent, power imbalance, mentions of drug use and trauma, emotional manipulation, oral (female receiving)

Summary: Miles Miller is the kind of man who prays before he touches you. But he touches you anyway. Fleeing a broken life, you find a different kind of cage in Miles — a hotel clerk whose quiet kindness masks a possessive obsession. What begins as shelter turns slowly into surveillance, into dependence, into something that doesn’t quite feel like love… but doesn’t feel like safety, either.

★★★★★

Your knees hit the ground near his makeshift bed. He grabs your shoulders, pulling you closer. You can't make sense of what's happening. Your heart starts to beat a little faster. You glance around the room more. The picture of the woman to your right starts to look… familiar. A slight resemblance to Miles?

His head is in your neck. You can feel a faint dampness in the curve where his face rests. His arms wrapped around you. You can feel his chest rising, a noise coming from his chest—a slight whimper.

You pat his back, half comforting and half signaling to him to back off. He's so desperate for you. In a way, you are almost disgusted. He's crying. Yes, you comforted him at his lowest at the very beginning, but now it’s unappealing. Maybe it's the new context of the situation. Now you find him deplorable.

You can't help the gesture on your face—a wrinkle in between your eyebrows. Your lips are threatening to curl and reveal a flash of teeth.

You grab his upper arms, prying yourself away. Just far enough to look at his face. His eyes are wide and foggy. His chin shakes. His shoulders are hunched, making him seem smaller.

“Miles…” you say slowly. “What's going on?”

He swallows. “I… I need it. I need an escape,” he whispers to you.

You shake your head. “An escape from what?”

“It helps me forget. Forget the things I saw.” he looks away, seeming to focus on a crack in the ground. “The things I did”.

For the most part, you knew he was in the war. You knew he felt some guilt, but you were never given all the details. You never wanted to pry, fearing he would block you off. On the rare occasions you did talk about the war, his jaw would wind tight, and a film of haze would cover his eyes.

“I'm not the man you think I am.” his voice is barely audible.

You're right, you think; I didn't think this was what you were up to, but you don't say that to him.

Growing up, your parents and the people around you were conservative in their view. Those who participate in such activities are considered criminals in your hometown, and you held the same opinion, but now, someone in front of you made you feel different. This man didn't make you think criminal; rather, you felt immense pity.

“Say something…” he finally lets your arm go, his shaking hand grabbing at yours. “Please…”.

What can I say, you think?

“Help me,” he says urgently. “I don't want to be like this,” his voice breaking.

A weight settled in your chest. “Ok…ok. I think we can do something about this”. You give a short nod.

His shoulders seem to relax, and a small smile touches his lips.

______

Miles was different. He disappears and then reappears, seemingly clearer, and then gone again. You told yourself he was getting better; you want him to get better. Meanwhile, the hotel clings to you tighter. Your responsibilities are growing. Now, you're the one cleaning and making coffee. You didn’t think it was possible that the hotel could be even lonelier, but with Miles gone…

A ringing and the sound of the large brown doors being opened. You see a woman. Clean looking, polished compared to you. You wore the extra uniform that was kept behind the desk. It was ill-fitting and tight at the same time. She carried two large pieces of luggage by her side, and even though she looked more polished and clean compared to you, she reminded you of yourself; she carried an uncertainty and a bit of hope on her face.

Her heels click as she walks on the stones leading to your desk. She pauses as she eyes you.

“Welcome,” you introduce yourself as you force yourself to remain as cheerful as you can.

“Hello, I'm Claire... I'm looking for a room”.

“Of course.” you leave your desk. You give the same speech that Miles spoke when you first got here.

She nods, and her eyes dart around the lobby before they settle on your face. “Are you always alone here?”

You tilt your head. You open your mouth before closing it shut. Never, at any time since you arrived, did you think to openly question the loneliness.

“I mean,” she says gently, “it must get lonely. Managing this whole place by yourself.” She glances around, maybe to see if someone else might appear.

You shake your head and continue your smile. Deep down, it unnerves you. How can she read you so well? “Well, ma’am, I can help you sign in. The hotel has two options: California and Nevada”.

“I'll take California,” she says softly. It's the pricer option. You get her ready, and she signs the ledger. “You do a wonderful job at maintaining the place.” Her tone is sincere, with a hint of concern. You can't help the chill that runs up your spine.

You have never had a chance to see many guests. Maybe there is something that unnerves them when they arrive, but they always leave as quickly as they come. She turns around, her heels clicking on the worn stones. A brief connection vanished with her. You were alone again.

______

A day after Claire leaves, things turn back to normal. That's how you figured it was.

You finish mopping the grounds. And then you knock on the door right behind the desk, the door that hid Miles when you found him. You tug on your uniform. When you don't hear a response, you sigh, “Good night, Miles.”

You leave the coat and walk out of the lobby. The night makes you feel paranoid. The sounds of the crickets make you feel like you are in one of the few horror movies your parents allowed you to watch.

You get ready for bed—with a nightgown on. You stare up at the ceiling and roll to your side. You feel exposed and watched. You steady yourself and sleep alone on your mattress.

______

A dip in your bed and the low creak of the springs stir you. Not enough to jolt you awake but enough to pull you from the depth.

You feel a presence beside you.

Your eyelids are heavy. It feels impossible to keep them open. Each time you do manage to keep them open, the figure grows clearer.

Its Miles.

His pale skin glowed even in the dark. He reaches out a hand, his fingers brushing over your cheek. You try to pull away, but your body is so heavy.

The bed groans. He sits on the edge with you, his fingers continuing to brush your cheek. His breath is hot as he leans down. He's almost trembling. As you get more awake, you start to notice the look in his eyes. He looks rabid, an animal in a cage. He bites down on his lip. He looks like he is trying to hold himself back. His fingers continue to trace your jaw. He's gentle, but there's a certain urgency to his movements.

Your body is almost fully awake. You squint, trying to focus on him. You open your mouth, then close it; you lean away from his touch and force your hand to grab his hand and pull it away from your face.

He lets out a choked whimper and jolts back. He's breathing ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He fidgets on the corner of the bed.

“Please…” he whispers, “don't pull away.”

"Wha... what are you doing?" you manage to say groggily.

Using all your core strength, you finally lift yourself up. You turn on the light next to your bed. Miles flinches from the brightness, and he comes into full view. He's sweating, his skin glistening, his hair is a mess, and his shirt is crumbled. He looks unhinged.

"Miles," you whisper as you lay a hand on his shoulder.

“I need you,” he says hoarsely.

“What do you mean?”

"I'm trying to get better, I really am... but I..." he shakes his head. "When I'm near you… it's the only time the noises stop."

“What noises?” you scoot closer to him. He looks to be on the verge of tears.

The noises. You can infer their meaning, but you don't voice that out loud. You don't want this, at least not like this, but you know what’s coming, and you don't pull away from Miles when he leans in to give you a kiss.

He’s holding your hand as your lips make contact. He pushes you down with a soft shove; it's not a lot of force, but your back practically bounces down the bed.

His lips are soft. The first time you did this with him, he was trembling. It felt like you were the one giving him something, but now his hands are everywhere, trembling not with fear but with desperation.

His hands land on the straps of your nightgown. You took your time to lower your own bra straps when you first got together, but now Miles almost yanks them down.

He pulls down, and you suck in the air as the wind hits your exposed chest. Your arms fold instinctively, but he takes hold of your forearms, prying them down.

He quickly unhooks it and tosses it aside. You gasped. His mouth lands on one of your buds, the flick of his tongue a wet pressure you recoil from as he sucks on them. Your pulse pounded. He moans into your chest, and you tangle your fingers into the back of his head, grasping at the soft hair, pulling not to encourage him but to pry him off.

His moans grow louder. He finally pulls away with a wet pop, his lips swollen and red—a cold, damp film on your chest where his mouth had been.

He looks feral, his eyes dilated and unfocused. He pulls down harder on your nightgown. “Please… I need more”.

Reluctantly, you shift onto your knees on the bed, slowly peeling the nightgown off, letting it fall before slipping out. You remain only in your panties, the only modesty left.

Meanwhile, without taking his eyes off you, Miles begins unbuttoning his shirt, pulling so hard that one of the buttons flies off. He gets off the bed to take off the rest, only remaining in his loose blue boxers. His erection already tenting underneath the fabric.

He climbs back on the bed, kneeling between your legs and crawling towards you. He grabs one of your calves, anchoring himself as he presses a kiss.

He's digging his fingers into your flesh. His eyes are fixed on your panties, and his breathing is heavy and uneven as he presses kisses along your calf. He moves up and kisses the inside of your knee, pulling them apart. Higher and higher he goes until he reaches your inner thigh.

You don't say anything. All of this is way too much. You want this to stop. Maybe under normal circumstances, this would be fine, but this isn't normal. Miles doesn't seem right.

“You…you want this, don't you? You do. You have to.” he rasps. He hooks his arm beneath your thigh, lifting it slightly as he buries his face in your crotch, inhaling deeply. He presses his face into the fabric of your panties, kissing and sucking through the material.

His nose pushes against your clit. His hot breath dampened the thin material.

“Miles, look at me. I don’t think this is a good idea. You don't seem well”.

He freezes, his face still buried. Then, slowly, he lifts his head up. His eyes meet yours. They're glassy, his eyes so dilated the blue in them almost gone.

You shake your head and sigh. You grab his head, trying to pull him up, but he doesn't budge.

“No,” he growls lowly. It's as if someone flipped a switch. His grip on your thigh tightens, and he shakes his head. “You said you’d help me. That you’d make me feel better”.

"Miles... I meant that I can help you get better. Not that I would make you feel better." you shake your head.

He ignores your words, pulls down your panties in a swift motion, and before you can react, he buries his face in between your legs. You gasp, and your head falls back toward the ceiling. His tongue pushes inside you roughly. He's kissing and licking like it's the only thing that's keeping him sane.

You scoot back, pushing with your elbows and heels to move back from his advances. His hands grip your hips tighter, holding you in place. His tongue is relentless. The slurping and his muffled moans filled in the silence of the room.

His hips rock into the mattress, humping it like a dog as if he couldn't control himself. His nose presses against your clit with each movement.

You feel yourself get wetter, and he spreads your legs farther. The creaks of the springs intensify with his speed. You can tell he's getting close.

And then it comes. You orgasm, and you feel your walls clenching. Your hands shoot down to grab Mile's hair, pulling. A loud moan is released from you.

Miles groans against you, his tongue still deep in you. Perhaps the sudden pull of his hair spurs him to chase his own release.

He gasps, and a slight tremble of his body tells you he's finished. He collapses in between your legs; he slowly lifts his head away from you. A wave of disgust washes over you.

He doesn't look at you, but you can see the red from his neck creeping up to the back of his ears. He slowly starts to pull away, his body shaking slightly. With his back turned away from you, he pulls himself into a ball. His knees to his chest, he begins rocking.

You can't help but let your eyes wander to the wet stain on the bed. You grasp at the sheets next to you, covering yourself. You continue watching him. There was something about the way he moved that made you pause. He reminds you of a small child. Maybe there was a reason no one was around him. Why, he seemed to be alone even when other people came to this hotel. He was just too needy. No one was forcing you to stay chained to this hotel. You left home for a sense of freedom, so why stay here?

[frostbitemutt]

Hi resending the low honor rdr1 John marston request! There seems like such a big difference between the low and high honor characterization. Ty again!

I agree, Low honor John is.. he's something. Not something good for sure. Sorry if this is discombobulated i had a lot of thoughts, so many in fact i might just make a dif set of hcs for em.💀😭

Yandere! Low honor! John Marston (RDR1)

Warnings: Yandere trope, gender neutral darling, sexual harassment, attempted sexual assault, cat calling, stalking, breaking and entering, murder, violence, sadism, threats, mature themes

Main traits: |sadistic/perverted/violent/possessive|

✘ Deplorable. Disgusting thing of man you have to put up with. A simple no ain't gonna stop him either. You could stab him and he'd still keep going and spitting out filth at ya. Don't be shocked if he enjoys it too.

✘ If you read my jack headcanons, John ain't too much different, I mean the boy's gotta get it from somewhere. It's him. To your displeasure.

✘ He doesn't need any big reason for the obsession to start, he's a sleaze, if your looks happened to get him hot and bothered, he's pestering. Typically people tell him to fuck off and he moves to the next innocent person going about their day to verbally harras.

✘ Yet you bite verbally and he thrives off it. It's like you infected him with rabies, except those rabies are a crude selfish obsession. It's got him foaming at the mouth. It don't matter if you're man or women neither both or in-between. He's commenting on whatever is in his view.

✘ His sexual comments are typically geared to whatever bodily features you have. Especially considering the time period. His approach may be more subtle if you're the same gender presentation as him, after all, homosexuality in the 1910s? Yeah.. at the same times he's an outlaw. So I could see him not giving a shit as well and being just as openly vulgar.

✘ It dosen't just extend to words.. he'll try to corner you. Cage you against walls, fences, counters. Laughing with sick pleasure when someone tells him off or you kick him in the crotch. If anything he might like you hitting him. Freak.

✘ All you screams and cries are music to him. He'll gleefully present himself to you smeared in blood. He'll hold a knife to your throat and a gun to your head. Making gruesome threats be won't follow through with.. but its nice feeling you squirm. He'll drag his knife along your skin and lick any nicks made. Maybe he'll even make some marks to show you're his.

✘ Only he can be vile to you though. Another person prying open your window? Pistol whipped over the head. Guy gave you a compliment? Followed behind on his horse and shot dead in the back of the head. Partner? Filled with bullet holes and laid at your feet. John happily taunting you.

✘ If you bring up he's a married man.. he dosent deny it. Nor at all. You should feel lucky he has his eyes on you instead of the wife he's had a child with. Of course you have more respect for yourself than that.

✘ He blames you for his actions. If you didn't look the way you did he wouldn't be feeling these things. You wouldn't be tempting him to be unfaithful. You know what you're doing. You tease.

✘ He starts stalking you about from a distance, like a wolf stalking a rabbit, blending in through the crowd, sitting on shop stairs, riding at a distance. You spot him? He just gives a sick grin and little whistle. Getting a kick out of seeing you jolt and speed walk off.

✘ It won't stop at the town. He'll find out where you live. Ramsacking it when you're gone. Or hell you just have to be asleep. He's stealing anything that's been if your mouth, stealing your clothes cough cough underwear, even cutting off a piece of hair with his knife as a keepsake. Don't ask what he's gonna do with these things. You don't wanna know. Trust me.

✘ It'll all come to ahead when he decides to strike. He's tried of just chasing and getting a small taste. He wants to devour you whole like the greedy beast he is. He'll break into your home, barge into your room, startling you awake. Enjoying whatever chase and fight ensues. It'll all end with you hogtied and dragged off to his horse.

[satosuguwifee]

But Mama I'm in Love With a Criminal — Toji Fushiguro x F!reader

Synopsis: And when a certain man ends up saving you after a party and you start thinking about him in an irrational way?

Contents: Strangers to ???, angst.

wc: 1831.

Sounds of people shouting, flashes of colored lights everywhere... That's all Y/N could see and hear tonight. But calm down, this isn't a horror scenario! In reality, she had finally decided to accept her friends' invitation to have fun at the nightclub in the neighborhood near her work, something she had been neglecting for some time.

But today she decided to fulfill her need for fun, she accepted that she needed an adrenaline rush in her life.

She moved her body, a big smile on her face as she absorbed the rhythm of the music and laughed while having fun with her friends who were already altered thanks to the alcohol and some had even disappeared because they had found their targets for the night. S/n had decided to drink a little because she was driving tonight, so she walked up to the mini bar counter and asked the barman for a glass of whisky.

She was still bobbing her head to the beat of the song, humming along quietly even though if she shouted the lyrics no one would hear her either, and then took the drink in a single gulp as soon as it was handed to her. Y/N grimaced a little at the burning in her throat, but quickly smiled before running off in the direction of her group to enjoy a bit more before her reality returned.

A few hours later, Y/N and her friends decided to leave because it was already past 2 a.m. and if they stayed any longer, the city would become more dangerous not only because of muggers but also because of curses. So they all said goodbye and Y/N walked to her car with one of her friends to give her a lift.

As soon as they arrived at the former's car, Y/N helped her friend into it when she saw that her condition was worse than her own. She then got in and laid her back against the seat, sighing as she smiled at nothing. She really needed some fun in her life, as she couldn't remember the last time she had been so light.

A knock was heard on the glass of her door, and her blood ran cold as soon as she saw the silhouette of an unknown man who appeared to be drunk. He was holding a pistol while mumbling unintelligible words, and as soon as the woman came back to her senses, the door had been abruptly opened and she was pulled out of the car by her hair.

- You want to die, you bitch! I told you to get out of the fucking car! - the man's thick, disgusting voice reached her ears, and she grimaced in pain as her hair was firmly pulled before he threw her to the ground.

She couldn't say anything, her body was paralyzed and all her blood felt cold, as did the shiver down her spine. Reality had arrived in a totally abrupt and dry manner, making her feel like the most deplorable person ever again. Her lucidity only returned when she saw that same man get into his car, remembering her friend in the passenger seat.

Thinking she had nothing left to lose, Y/N got up from the ground and started trying to pull the man by the sleeve of his dark shirt, so that he would move away from the car.

- Please, you can take the car and everything you want, but spare my friend and me!

- SHUT THE FUCK UP!!

The man turns to her and hits her in the face with the handle of his pistol, causing the girl to fall back to the ground with a new mark that she is a loser and unlucky. He then got into his car and, with no one to stop him, he started the car and left the other girl behind.

- No, no, no, no! - Y/N screamed with all her might as she stretched out her arm in the direction of the car, which was getting further and further away.

She slammed both hands on the floor, searching for the strength to try and do something about it! But her mind was blank, she couldn't think of anything, nothing! Y/N began to cry with despair, the tears wetting her cheeks and she found herself on the ground at that moment, hoping that a miracle would happen.

Just as she looked up to see her car, a shot rang out and at the same moment her car began to lose stability until it crashed into the wall of a building. The woman got up and ran to the scene to help her friend, despair evident on her face and in her short, rapid breathing. Until she noticed another man coming out of an alleyway, holding a pistol just like the one who had confronted her earlier.

She stopped her steps, her heart racing with fear when she saw him. He was much more muscular and taller than the other one, and what's more, he had hit the kidnapper with the car in motion! What could he do to a simple girl like her?!

The man whistled at the sight of his gun, a debauched smile on his lips as he walked over to the car, opening the car door and the man's body falling to the ground, blood dripping from the side of his head.

- Did you really think you'd get away with it? You really are an imbecile.

His voice could be heard by the woman, who seemed more terrified than before and sickened by the smell of blood and the sight of a corpse in front of her. She took an instinctive step backwards, and the killer's sharp gaze went in her direction, his smile still on his face.

Y/N found herself with no escape, life was just playing with the timing of her death and she accepted that she wouldn't escape this time. She then fell to her knees on the floor, bowing her head as small tears flowed again. She just wanted to get out of her boring routine, but look what she got: her early departure to heaven or wherever.

Heavy, long footsteps approached her, and her back shrank as she opened her eyes and saw a pair of martial arts shoes in front of her. She quickly felt a chill in her stomach and swallowed, her lower lip trembling as her nails sank into the asphalt. What was taking him so long? Did he want to catch her off guard?

Until she saw her friend falling in front of her, still asleep as if she were hibernating. Y/N opened her eyes wide and then they gradually moved upwards, past his legs, thighs, torso until they reached the face of her... Savior? In one way he really is.

- Thank you... - she whispered in a shaky voice, still not believing everything that had happened in the last few minutes.

- Someone like you shouldn't be out of the house at this hour, doll. - his hoarse, thick voice says, the same smile never leaving his face as he cradles the body of the man from before on his left shoulder.

- I'll remember that next time.

She whispered, and soon the sounds of police sirens could be heard in the distance, coming closer to where they are. The black-haired man continued to stare at her, his sharp green eyes still on the calm but still alert figure of the woman on the floor, who shifted her gaze to her sleeping friend.

And then, without another word, he disappeared into the shadows of the same alley he had come from and Y/N looked up to try and catch one last glimpse of his silhouette. However, all she could see were the flashes of colored lights again, the only difference being that she wasn't in a cool or fun mood...

In fact, it was the opposite of that...

- Miss, please accompany us. - she felt the policewoman's hands on her shoulders, and she quickly nodded before getting up with her and getting into the car, and soon they had her friend beside her, starting the car as she saw other cars pulling up.

She was too dizzy to concentrate on any words or images in front of her, and she just collapsed with exhaustion against her friend. But not before she had one last flash of her savior in her mind... Who was he...?

- So you can't remember the other man?

Y/N shook her head negatively, as she clutched tightly onto the coat her mother had given her the moment she arrived at the police station, her mother now waiting for her daughter outside the interrogation room.

- I'm sorry I can't help, the alcohol has messed with my memories a bit and I feel a void when I try to remember something.

She says as she carefully places her hand on the left side of her head, feeling the bandage made there. The truth was that the woman remembers everything perfectly, from the moment she was thrown from her car to the appearance of that other man.

For some reason, her heart told her not to finger her savior... On the contrary, it told her to protect him because she owed him a favor. She sighed softly, not believing that she was protecting a murderer who took the lives of innocent people!

Although that kidnapper wasn't an innocent person... Well, she doesn't want to think about it anymore.

- Can I go home now? My head hurts a lot and I'm not feeling very well. I'm sorry I can't be of any help.

- Of course, miss... Please call us immediately if you think in anything that could help us.

Y/N nodded before getting up and being escorted to the reception area, where her mother was waiting with her hand on her heart and a look of despair that seemed to ease as soon as she saw her daughter coming towards her.

- Come on, let's go home. You must be exhausted...

The younger woman nodded without complaining, since she didn't want to be alone in her apartment after having suffered through this event, which would surely leave her on the back foot when she decided to drink and return so late at night.

As soon as they both arrived in the older woman's car, S/n sat in the passenger seat and stared out of the window while her mother talked about something with her daughter that she wasn't paying attention to. Until, as they passed another alleyway, her eyes widened when she saw the same man from before staring at the car.

She swallowed and quickly turned back to her mother, who was babbling on and on about something she wasn't even paying attention to. Her fear now was that the guy would think she'd fingered him to the police...

Yeah, life isn't playing games with her...

[inkykeiji]

all wrongs do me right

characters: kawata souya x fem!reader x kawata nahoya

genre: smut with the tiniest sprinkle of angst

notes: i haven’t been able to get the kawata twins out of my head since the first episode of season three so here’s an icky lil piece about souya jerking off to nahoya fucking his girlfriend! as always please heed the warnings and stay safe! | title credit: taste of you by rezz ft. dove cameron

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, souya is a nasty little virgin, traces of twincest if you can read between the lines, stuffy humping, masturbation, voyeurism aka jerking it to a poor unwitting couple (or are they? muahaha), implied rough sex, slight daddy kink with nahoya

words: 2.5k

Souya feels fucking sick. 

It’s something bitter and thick, something that coats the lining of his stomach and sours the back of his tongue, something that furls into a thick, hard lump and lodges itself in his throat. 

It’s something he can’t fucking help.

Souya has barely spoken more than a handful of words to you—you, always so sweet, so nice, so kind to him; you, always desperately striving to include him in activities and conversations despite his unintentionally sharp edges and inherently callous tone; you, always gracious, never shameless, even in the face of his accidental offense—but he’s stained his stuffies and his sheets to you more times than he can count. 

Tonight will be no different. 

He should feel fucking disgusted in himself, he’s sure—he does feel fucking disgusted in himself, he thinks. But it’s not enough to stop him. 

Nothing ever will be. 

Even though his bedroom is all the way across the expanse of the flat, he can still hear you, every single time. 

He swears if he listens hard enough, he can even hear that precious little gasp, caught somewhere between surprised pleasure and sharp pain, as his twin brother pushes his cock into you for the first time that night. 

If he shuts his eyes tight enough, he can even imagine your back arching off the mattress as Nahoya fills you, each vertebra bending with each inch shoved into you, spine forming a perfect curve, hips inadvertently pushing downward, eager to meet Nahoya’s.

You must look so gorgeous—at least half as gorgeous as you sound, if not even more so. Souya wishes he could see you, just once—he thinks that would be enough to satiate the gnawing and clawing at the bottom of his ribs, maybe. 

Maybe if he had a photo or two, or a short video, he wouldn’t be forced to resort to such deplorable methods every night; maybe he could even jerk off discreetly, stain his bedspread to the thought of you quietly and without any of your help, instead of encroaching on your privacy like this. 

Maybe.

Maybe not.  

Because as much as he wishes it wasn’t, and as much as he tries to trick himself into believing it isn’t, this is a compulsion, an addiction, a creature raging out of his control, growing stronger and stronger with desire, with desperate need, every day. 

Maybe he’s stupid to think it could ever be satisfied with anything less than your cunt. Maybe he’s stupid to think that it could even be satisfied at all, that this voracious, all-consuming craving isn’t eternally greedy, perpetually needy, that it’s hunger isn’t boundless and it’s yearning won’t grow once it gets a single taste of you. 

A loud whine draws him out of his rumination, his cock twitching against his old stuffed shark in response, and he bucks his hips against it twice, smearing a webby streak of precum across the fuzzy material, its fur gone all clumped and crusty from too many nights like these. 

That whine in particular never fails to inspire a full flock of butterflies to flutter in his tummy, a half-stifled whimper of your name heavy on his tongue. 

This is how it always starts; some aimless humping, lazy and languid with no real tempo, briefs already kicked to the foot of his bed in a crumpled little heap, hips squirming and writhing in erratic little motions as he rubs up against his stuffy—just teasing, really, exactly like what Nahoya’s currently doing to you.

It never stays like that for long, though.

Because Souya just can’t fucking wait—too eager, too desperate, too hungry to ever take his time with it at all, to indulge, to savour, to draw it out—and it always materializes into Souya curling a fist around his cock much too early, his other arm wrapped firmly around his stuffed shark as his hips roll and his hand works, the head of his cock grinding against the plushie, a leg thrown haphazardly over it. 

It’s really fucking perverse.

But your moans are already climbing in pitch and frequency, too, meaning Nahoya has already traversed past his tantalizing and is moving on to something a little more satisfying. 

As expected.

By this point, Souya’s such a seasoned pro that he knows the general pattern and rhythm of your whimpers and moans and mewls, the general pace and timing of his brother’s fucking, that he can stroke his cock in the same manner. 

If he focuses hard enough, closes his eyes and hones his concentration, he can almost imagine it’s him fucking you instead. It wouldn’t be all that different, would it? His cock’s half an inch shorter than Nahoya’s, but it’s a little girthier, which Souya thinks probably makes up for it.  

He’s sure it wouldn’t feel all that unusual to you; not when he has Nahoya’s style and pattern of fucking so memorized that he’s sure he could imitate it pretty well, given the chance. How much different could it be, really? They are twins, after all—he bets with a blindfold on, you might not even be able to tell the difference at all.

Maybe. Maybe not. He sure would like to find out, though.  

A stab of guilt sears through his stomach, chased by sick thorns of pleasure sprouting in his gut, the fisting of his cock accelerating. He’s not sure Nahoya would take too kindly to Souya thinking of you in such a manner. He’s not sure he cares. 

Because it all feels so good, head gone cloudy with a thick haze of hedonism, smothering any flickers of remorse, consuming them and adding to the sheer exhilaration of it all.

Pathetic little noises keep leaking through the gaps of his teeth and the seam of his lips no matter how stubbornly he tries to silence them, pulled from his throat with each swift tug of his hand.

He can’t hear much of what Nahoya’s saying to you, his voice too muted to be anything other than an indistinct rumble undertowing your precious little sounds, but whatever it is, you’re eating it up. 

“Please, please, pl-please,” you’re begging in response to whatever his niichan just said, needy and strained, and his cock throbs violently in his palm. 

“Please, please, please,” Souya’s rasping out in tandem, stroking his cock in hard, fast, thorough yanks, in perfect time with the fractured words his brother is fucking out of you. 

It’s really cute, how increasingly sloppy you get the more Nahoya fucks you, twining your words together with threads of saliva, all slurred and messy. Nahoya gets that way when he’s close, too. Souya thinks it’s kind of nice, the way the two of you match like that.

It’s all so insanely hot, and every once in a while Souya gets extra lucky, fortunate enough to capture a smattering of words from his big brother—never anything more than a handful, just tatters of a single sentence—but his stomach swoops every time he hears that assertive amusement dyed with patronization, Nahoya’s voice husky and edges of his letters gone wispy with breathlessness, Souya’s cock pulsing hotly as another rush of blood surges southward. 

“—Wanna be—little fucktoy?”

“I wanna,” you’re gasping out. “I wan’it s’bad!” 

Christ, how can someone be so fucking sweet and so fucking sexy at the same time? It’s an intoxicating combination, one that goes straight to his cock, one that twists a feverish warmth in his gut and pulls his muscles stiff and taut. 

“Yeah, yeah, take it,” Souya mumbles into his stuffed shark, the rocking of his hips speeding up as he hastily fucks his fist, words tapering off into a gravelly whine, almost as if he’s pleading. “Ta-Take m’cock.” 

Nahoya murmurs something else, voice too low for Souya to make out anything other than the notes of sadistic glee steeped in his tone, but you cry out an affirmative in reply, the yelp jostled by Nahoya’s snapping hips. 

“S’good, Daddy, s’good, your cock is so good,” you nearly sob, chanted out like it’s a fucking  prayer, garbled and soaked with spit, fading into an airy little mewl. 

“Fuck, f-fuck,” Souya’s hips stutter, that heat in his belly blazing, curse snarled out through his nostrils in a harsh, stammered breath. “Ha-ah, fuck.”

The expletive breaks on his tongue, jagged and high, and Goddamn it, Goddamn it—

He has to keep it down, for God’s sake—he knows this, knows that, logically, if he can hear you two, then you two can probably hear him, too. 

The thought sends a vile thrill shooting through his gut, palm squeezing the head of his cock, the ball of his thumb rubbing across it in slow, lopsided circles, doing little to stifle his rapidly building orgasm, fervour coiling in his belly. An exceptionally loud grunt—much too loud to be discreet, that’s for sure—pries its way past his lips, rough and ragged and full of razors.  

And God, he’s so gross, he’s so fucking gross, and can you hear him? Huh? Can you hear him? He hopes you can hear him. 

Can you hear him, fucking himself to just the sound of you? Can you hear him, humping away at his old stuffed animals like the dirty little virgin he is, pretending it’s your body, your hip, your thigh? Can you hear him, fragments of your name slicing his tongue, tangling in his drool, never the full thing, shards bitten back and swallowed down to fester in his heart, to feed the animal living inside his ribcage?  

Can Nahoya?

What does Nahoya think? How does Nahoya feel about his baby brother jerking his cock every time his niichan fucks his girlfriend, without fail, like fucking clockwork? Would he be disgusted, or did he get that same sordid gene Souya did—that knack for the naughty, for the nasty, for the downright nauseating? 

They are twins, after all. 

Another spear of guilt pierces his chest, radiating sparks of euphoria through his limbs, wicked little flares that leave his blood fizzing and tummy smoldering, adding to the dull, dense heat collecting in the pit. 

He should feel worse about all of it, he thinks. He should feel worse about the utter disrespect he’s showing to the both of you, but he doesn’t. It’s hard to feel anything at all other than the push and pull, the tug-of war between rhapsody and repulsiveness, one only working to fuel and heighten the other.  

Thick cords of drool are dribbling from the corners of his mouth now, panted out with his hot breath and his whimpered words, rolling along his jaw and dripping, slow and sticky, to puddle in the ridges of his pillowcase. Are you this filthy, too, when Nahoya fucks you? 

You’re getting close now, he can tell, moans catching on Nahoya’s rough, fast thrusts and shattering into choked little gasps.

You’re trying to get his name out, and God, it’s so fucking cute, adorable little Naho-Nahoy-Naho!’s spilling from your throat in a single continuous stream, juddered by his big brother’s plunging hips. 

Would you sound just as pretty trying to get Souya’s name out? 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Nahoya’s panting out, voice still tinged with that trademark teasing tone, almost as if he’s egging you on, a question of if that’s all you got infused into his words.

A threat is uttered, something about hurrying and making a mess on Daddy’s cock, and Souya coughs around the spit pooling beneath his tongue, wheezing out strands of saliva smudged and gauzy across his stuffy. 

Because Christ, you’re so obedient, so keen to please, a chain of jagged affirmations pouring past your lips punctuated with the sweetest sounds of effort, your dedication to his big brother so fucking sexy, your dedication to his big brother rivaling his own.

A growl rumbles behind his ribs, and Souya shoves his face in his stuffy, teeth sinking into the cotton flesh in an attempt to muffle the sound. 

His jaw already hurts from being clenched so tightly, a stiff ache that has settled deep within the straining hinges, something he’ll spend half an hour massaging out tomorrow morning.

But right now it doesn’t matter, not when that ball of heat is roiling in his gut, curling tighter and tighter and tighter with each quick pump of his fist, teetering on the edge of an explosion. 

It’s as though he can’t jerk himself fast enough, hips twitching in quick little motions, sloppy and irregular and so, so fucking eager, into his own grasp, fucking his slippery palm.

His breath stutters as he tries to quiet himself, desperate to hear you cum, harsh erratic exhales huffed out against the synthetic fur of his shark humid against his upper lip, leaving behind tiny beads of condensation. 

A whine splinters in his chest, eyes shut tightly as tears crystalize at the corners, his lungs swelling painfully with stagnated breath while his teeth burrow further into the plush of his stuffed animal, a pitiful attempt to starve off his impending orgasm. 

He doesn’t want to cum before you, not again. 

Drops of sweat are streaming from his brow and catching in his lashes, his curls saturated with salt and clinging in cute little swirls to his temples and the nape of his neck.

You’re so close, moans climbing higher and higher, louder and louder, faster and faster, and only a few more moments now, he only needs to hold out for a few more moments and then—

And then you’re crying out Nahoya’s name, breathless and beautiful, and Souya’s spilling his seed all over his knuckles and his sheets and the soft fur of his stuffy, hot and sticky and so, so much, groaning in time with his brother as he fills your cunt with his cum, Nahoya’s slurred out good, good, y’did s’good for me, baby forcing another weak spurt of cream to cascade over Souya’s fingers, cock jolting painfully. 

He doesn’t stop jerking his cock until it’s too much, until each drag of his fist sends heavy tremors of overstimulation rippling through his flesh, until his thrusts are nothing more than pathetic little ruts, every brush of his cockhead against his stuffed animal causing him to suck a hiss through his teeth. 

It starts to creep over him then, that dense film of shame grimy on his skin, that leaden block of guilt acrid in the pit of his stomach, nausea swelling in his chest and up his throat to sit, biting and bitter, on the back of his tongue. 

It’ll fuse to him as he sleeps, seeping into his tissues, through his blood and his bones to root, to rot, at the very core of his soul, infesting and infecting, every bit of his being. 

And when he sees you tomorrow morning, bright and beautiful despite being stained with his brother’s hands, bruises and bite marks peaking out from beneath Nahoya’s baggy t-shirt, it will reignite, that creature re-awoken, starved for any small piece of you it can devour—a soft smile, a sweet giggle, the brush of fingertips as they pass syrup or the knocking of knees beneath the table. 

And Souya’s not sure he’ll ever be able to tame it.

[starlightiing]

I reckon I need to stay off some social media re: George Russell because the amount of actual sewage shit that spews from the mouths of backseat (couch) driver fans makes me sick.

George is either regarded as a PR robot, or a whiny, overemotional joke. He's whiny or he's a dick. He's lucky when he does well, or deserves to lose his seat when he does poorly. There's no middle ground for this poor man. It's all. Sewage.

I've seen too many "he deserved to crash" and "he only called for a red to retain points" and "lol did you hear his onboard he's such a baby" from people who would probably shit themselves right there in their pants if they'd been in the same scenario. He was scared for his LIFE, and if you can't hear that in his yells, I don't know what to tell you. Not to mention this is the guy that jumped out of his car and went to assist a driver trapped in his car after a horrific crash....do we not remember that? Do we make fun of him for valuing human life, too???

I try really hard not to fall into "love is blind" mode with my faves, so I'm trying to see George from an outsider perspective but I just don't see it? I don't see any reason for people to viciously hate him and wish for his downfall the way they are. Then he's being scrutinized for not posting much...but if you read the deplorable comments on anything his team posts, why would you want to keep posting? I don't care who you are ....famous or not.... there is only so much the human heart and soul can take and people are viciously attempting to bully him. For no reason.

I guess it's so easy for people to sit on their couch, in their very private life devoid of cameras and microphones being shoved in their faces, with no glass panes set up around every move they make to be seen by the world, to criticize every move these drivers make.

The lack of respect for them in general is seen every single day, but moreso recently by wishing crashes on people who have beating hearts and actual lives outside of their jobs with people who love them. Disgusting. Also, by filming them (re: George) using the restroom and posting it online and joking around about it. Also, wishing career ends on these people who have worked so hard their entire lives for this and who personally did nothing to you.

TLDR; The way people are treating George raises my blood pressure and it's almost sickening to admit I'm an F1 fan among the bubbling cesspool of filth that comes out of some "fans" mouths.

At least yall on tumblr are, as a whole, not like that. I see a lot of "I don't like George, but I'd never..." and I mad respect the hell out of that honestly. Thank you for not wishing death, dismemberment, injury, or anything else so horrible in nature on drivers who have done nothing to you. At least you guys have some sense.

[chaifootsteps]

I absolutely love how Viv liked a "gotcha" tweet about someone rightfully criticizing how much Val has been woobified and adored by the fandom, rather than getting his head blown off with a 12 gauge shotgun because "he's hot". Like, the person who qrt'd the tweet has a William Afton/Springtrap PFP and the Stan is like: "your pfp is a child murderer"

Yes. A cartoonishly, over the top child murderer in a fucking rabbit suit, who is also a genius in robotics and lures children to their deaths only to stuff them in robotic suits to... *checks notes* control them? (FNAF movie version anyways)

Give me an example of a very specific serial killer who has done exactly that, and who people sexualize and woobify.

Also, yes, both characters aren't real. But what Val does to Angel? Very real.

Rape is real.

SA is real.

Abuse is real.

Control through fear, guilt, shame and power dynamics is very real.

Not to mention, Scott does NOT sexualize or endorse his actions in any way. That man has gotten springlocked, made to suffer in an empty building in for years, crushed and burned and tormented by the children he murdered.

Can we talk about how much Viv likes hot Val art btw? It's genuinely so disgusting to see her liking tweets defending Val. I'm a CSA victim and the last thing I'd want to see is someone sexualizing my 3 rapists like that.

And I don't defend anything William does either. He's an evil mfer who gets rightfully and painfully punished multiple times.

Yes, let your villians be villians. But they need to be punished accordingly.

I want to see Val getting torn apart. But I doubt Viv will do it. She seems to love him too much. And who's gonna SA Angel if Val dies? Can't have her fetish fuel character die can we?

Seriously. Compare how the 2 characters are treated by their creators. Look through her damn likes.

Then look at what Scott intended for this monstrous character.

They aren't comparable.

https://youtu.be/1LuyIp9bPFQ?si=H7iSpxbbpKImvS_o

And to be clear, I don't think there's anything wrong if someone in the fandom likes Valentino as a character, even if he is the most disgusting, deplorable piece of shit you've ever seen. But when you as a creator are actively woobifying him and shutting down people who want to see him fed into one of those machines at the junkyard that crush cars, that's a problem.

[blughxreader]

Heya! The story person again, let’s call me (Dead Men’s) Bells for now

So here’s my general plan: I want to write a novel if I can manage, with all the terrible horrible bullshit Andre would do in there.

“The Will to Break”

Generally I’m planning to focus on the slow and steady mental break down and dehumanization that would go down, really get into the desperation of it all.

Some thoughts I’ve had so far (nsfw, no con, degradation):

“You’re fucking filthy aren’t you? I didn’t know a bitch could get this wet while being electrocuted.” I felt his fingers swipe along my underwear, pressing down against me. I clawed at the collar around my neck, but I couldn’t feel my fingers let alone unlatch the damn thing. I hate him. I hate him. I hate myself more. The pathetic sound I make when he slides his fingers in disgusts me. Shame wells up and sears my chest. I’m crying unbidden and he’s fucking laughing. He grinds against my thigh and I sob at how hard he is, at what comes next. His fingers move in me like a brand. And I wish I could voluntarily pass out.

“Stop- please Andre, please.”

But he doesn’t listen. He never listens.

Something like that!

Anyhow what names would he call you? Should I reel it in a bit?

Whenever I get the doc going (prolly in a week or 2) feel free to ask for editing permission!

AAAAAA a NOVEL? Bestie you're incredible.

Please that premise sounds impeccable.

Just a note on his character (that's hard to convey through my usual writings/art), is that he's totally smitten with MC. Yes, he does really deplorable things, but in like a cuteness aggression sort of way.

in the beginning, he's like

60% "you're mine, I can do what I want to you, I want your mind on me 24/7, I get sexual and emotional gratification knowing you're dependent me" and the secret 40% "shes so fucking cute i need her now in every possible way."

and the latter percentage increases exponentially the more he gets to know the MC.

So i really love what you have so far!! It shows he's a nasty piece of shit that's totally obsessed with this girl's every reaction.

To answer your question, he's very patronizing. He will use cute names like "sweetheart, honey" to coax a reaction, then throw it back in her face by calling her his dog, slave, pet, whore, etc.

He doesn't raise his voice, either. Just goes straight to the shock collar (to constrain) or embarrassing and slow punishments.

Don't reel it in at all, it's perfect. Best of luck and have fun! I'd love to see what you come up with <3

[delighteddistractions555]

S3 Head Canon (Just a fun theory!)

Sooooo, how come it took so long for Nezha to catch up to the gang during the Samadhi Fire Ring Quest?

Nezha was dead.

Definitely, undoubtedly, inevitably, eventually doomed for Diyu.

His magnificent temple he had built brick by brick, reduced to mere rubble. He himself, now no stronger than a retired dog toy. The map, long whisked away by that damn, blasted Sun Wukong… Nezha held his side as he steadied himself against a pillar. Or what was left of it. Or maybe it used to be part of the wall? That didn’t matter now, time to retreat before they showed up. As they have done once every year before. 

No freaking way would he let them see him like this…

Nezha summoned an emergency healing lotus he always kept on hand. The damage was quite extensive, so it didn’t completely heal him. Yet it was enough to help him stand on his own two feet again. He lacked the energy to restore his temple or hide it with his shields and illusions. So off to his secret bunker instead. He uttered the key incantation before being teleported away to a hidden hideout only accessible to him. Hopefully. If they had no idea where to look. They certainly could get in despite the Third Lotus Prince’s fortification of his hideaway. 

The frazzled brunette collapsed onto the couch, before grabbing a pillow and screaming bloody murder into it. “SCREW YOU SUN WUKONG YOU BLASTED, ACCURSED, WRETCHED, IRRESPONSIBLE, SCANDALOUS, DISGUSTING, DEPLORABLE, UNREPENTANT, DISGRACEFUL, INCORRIGIBLE, IDIOTIC, MORONIC, SPOILED, REPULSIVE, OUTRAGEOUS, INEPT, INCOMPETENT, SIMIAN!!!!!” He roared ferociously all in one go. Meanwhile, several hundreds of miles away, Sun Wukong paused his cloud as he caught wind of the enraged war god’s cursing. “Oooohhhh crushed peaches, he sure hates me now. I’m sorry my friend but the world needs to live, even if I will no longer be there…” He said sadly as he resumed his journey back to the Monkie Kid crew. 

At least a half an hour of unrestrained cursing into victimized pillows later….

Nezha groaned as he sat back up. “Wukong, WHY?!?! I have no idea what the heck you are doing but you could have at least NOT BEEN SO DAMN VAGUE AND INFURIATING AS YOU ALWAYS ARE!!!” The poor prince held his aching head in his bruised hands. Completely wrecked inside and out for his utter failure to once stop Wukong from getting away with EVERYTHING. Oh, and to keep the map safe. Yet he did not have the time to mope or to heal. He forced himself to stand as he limped over to his desk. He had to track down Wukong, he had to stop him from dooming the world. Preferably before they found out.

He had just sat down in his chair and stretched out a slightly shaking appendage for a quill. Only to hear a small noise that nearly gave him a heart attack. Bang! Bang! Bang! The bunker had no physical entrances or exits, so whoever was outside must be banging on the walls. No, no, no, no, no, no, NO. It had to be them. No one else could have possibly tracked him down and found his bunker. Oh if there is a higher being than the Jade Emperor and possibly more merciful…. Fortunately there was. Unfortunately, the higher being pushed Nezha to a fate he would never willingly choose.

A magical sword cut through the wall, despite the heavy-duty enchantments in place and the thick material. Cutting out a lotus shaped entrance before the cut pieces of the wall crumbled away. Stepping from the debris were the last two people he wanted to see. Nezha stared at them. They stared coolly back. The Third Lotus Prince screamed as he tossed a book at the shorter and less favorite one. Muzha, the Second Lotus Prince and renowned Wooden Scholar, found himself bricked a second time --by a book.

“ACK!!! NEZHA!!!” Muzha grumbled as he picked up the ill-used book while rubbing his forehead. “GET AWAY FROM ME!!!!” The youngest Li brother hissed as he attempted to get off his chair only to faceplant on the floor. Considering he wasn’t even at 17% of his full strength at the moment. “Go away you idiots….” He mumbled from the floor before being scooped up like a child by Jinzha, the First of the Lotus Princes and the flipping “golden child” of the Li family. 

The eldest smiled kindly as he adjusted a very unhappy little brother in his grasp. “Now, now, Nezzie. We know you're not feeling well at the moment. However, maybe you can please tell us what happened to you so that we can help you recover?” Nezha stared hard at that ridiculously perfect face of serenity and concern. “Frick off. I will take care of myself.” Jinzha’s shining smile didn’t falter an inch from being brushed off. He patted his younger sibling’s forehead as he chirped, “Guess will have to ground you for the next two weeks until you recover~”

The mighty Marshal of the Central Altar could not have been more offended and horrified. “YOU WOULDN’T DARE-“ Nezha screeched as Jinzha lightly laughed, “Oh! But we would! Because you are our baby brother and we love you~” He ruffled the youngest’s hair before carrying him off with the latter flailing like an indignant cat. Muzha returned the book to the desk before following his siblings out. Sealing the entrance he made to Nezha’s bunker before he walked out. As the two older war gods calmly glided off with the younger war god held hostage. Nezha scowled, “If one of you dare say-“

“This IS for your own good.” Both Jinzha and Muzha said at the same time.

“AAAAAAAUUUUGGGHHHHH!!!!!!”

[lonleydweller]

🥀Yandere Javier Escuella hcs (Rdr1)🥀

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Warnings: Yandere trope, spoilers for rdr1/rdr2, obsession, unhealthy/forced "relationship", kidnapping, stalking, blackmailing, abuse of power (government), violence, war mentioned, murder, hanging mentioned (javier)

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● Javier.. oh Javier. He sure does change dosen't he? A former friend, brother in arms, and later on stalker as you found out. As the events of RDR2 play out, you two drift, and discover.. if not contront his depravity. The final mission happens, chased by the Pinkertons and him as you flee with Arthur and John, or perhaps by yourself. You manage to evade him by some miracle, scampering off somewhere else to hide in a new life away from him.

● You managed to get your own place, perhaps marry, start a family similar to John. Maybe you go uncles route and stick with the Marston's, offering help around the house and ranch unlike the old lazy bum. The old life now left behind at Arthur's pleas, old friends now buried, new enemies far away.

● Javier's off on his own path, returning to his home country of Mexico, hiding up in the mountain. Not well enough as seen in the newspaper. Soon under the government's he once so hated thumb. Obliging for his own safety and safety of the family he has left there. Abandoning his previous beliefs and morals as a revolutionary, an outlaw, a bounty hunter. Distant from who he once was, a begruding pawn for the government's dirty work.

● Even with new lives, new family, new homes, and new names.. the past catches up. To all of you. You and John are separated from your homes and whatever family you have. Held above your heads at the demand of the government to find your former gang and put them down. Bill, Dutch, and Javier.

● You and John make your way through Amadillo, Gaptooth ridge, Hannigan stead, collecting bounties, wiping out gang hideouts, pursuing Bill who flees to Mexico with the help of Javier. Letting Javier know they're being hunted. The hunters being John and you. You. Normally Javier would run and hide. Yet your name reignites a raging fire that never was fully smothered.

● Javier hides it from the people around it but he's loosing his shit inside his head. Rooting through the few keepsakes he has of you, shoving old faded photos into his pocket, stolen items into his gunbelt, he'd find you. He'd find you this time. Even if you've changed your appearance as he did his. There are plenty of features people can't change.

● He slinks through crowds. Holding up your photo, looking at people who resemble you, hearing the talks of the townsfolk. The very ones who look at him in fear and disgust. A coward of man. Once respected for his revolutionary efforts. I wouldn't put it entirely above him to threaten information out of people passive agressively with his position of power.

● Hell he'd probably alert them of what's happening. Trying to negotiate with the very people that have him like a dog on a leash to help him get you. He dosen't want you dead. No, no. He'd prefer if there wasn't even a scratch on you. He needs you alive. He might even do it under flase pretense of you having sensitive information.

● If he can't convince the higher-ups above him, he'll probably convince some of his fellow soilders, they're slopping around doing he same dirty work. Fact some of them are worse than him. More depraved. Meaning they'd be up for the deplorable act of getting you for him. Offering them something in return. Essentially putting a bounty on your head.

● This offer, true or not, may ad well even be given to townsfolk and sheriff. Any information on you or your capture in exchange for the safety of the town.

● If you find him first, having come to capture him dead or alive, he tries to plead with you. Guilt trip. He loves you.. he truly does. He always has. He still does. You were friends weren't you? The stalking? He's changed since then. He swears.

● He's lying of course. If you aren't swayed by his attempts he resorts to petty snide remarks. Insults. Backhanded compliments. Turning into a stand off of sorts. He may even attempt to disarm you and fight unlike what he does when encountering John. Despeate to keep you. Not to flee. He won't flee from you.

● Alternatively if you're captured by officers, townsfolk, or ambushed and brought to him. He's much more smug. He has the upper hand. Cowardly. A false confidence that comes from having backup. He spouts the same claims of love that he had years ago. Except with the assertion that you're stuck with him now. No where to go.

● If you're lucky John will pull through and put a screeching halt to all of this. You'll know when you hear a familiar scratchy voice yelling at the top of their lungs and gunfire. Javier may attempt to flee. Drag you round with him.. but at the end of the day he's being hunted by two people. One of them a man with a family to loose if he dosen't get javier.

● As he's being loaded into the car of some feds he takes the opportunity to shout some last vulgar words at you. The last words you'll hear from him. The last time you'll see him in person. Left to be a name that appears in the newspaper. Hung up by his neck, feet to never touch the earth again.

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@adalwolfgang, @helpfandom

[serenescribe]

I'm a *tad* obsessed with the idea of fae Lilia raising a completely different species son Silver, specifically jellyfish mer Silver. I am curious to see how you would interpret fae Lilia finding baby jelly Silver.

it's been a long while since the last long fic request :') slowly chipping away at them. uni is killing me. i hope you enjoy!

a side note: this was started beeeefore the latest update? actually started it before uni but then didn't get back to it till recently oTL

The thronging crowds of shoppers press in around him, making it harder for him to traverse through the crowd. Still, Lilia tries his best to shove his way past them, twisting his shoulders and ploughing through any gaps he can find. On instinct, one hand reaches up to pull down the hood of his cloak, masking his face further; it isn’t as though he’s in any danger here, or wanted in any capacity, but one should always exercise caution while exploring the boundaries of a black market.

For as long as Lilia can remember, he’s been searching for an old friend of his since the end of the war, travelling to different corners of the world in hopes of finding some inkling of his existence. Such a quest has brought him here, to a black market tucked away in the corner of a tiny island, but unfortunately for himself, Lilia has ended up empty-handed.

He’s trying to leave the area, pushing and shoving his way through the endless sea of patrons, when a sudden shrill cry stops him in his tracks. Lilia’s ears twitch. His head snaps to the side, following the source of the sound, only to come across a small group crowding around a rickety wooden stage. A tall man dressed in a patchwork suit jacket and a rumpled collared shirt talks to all of them, gesturing animatedly with his hands.

But it is what the man is gesturing at that snatches Lilia’s breath.

Because next to him, curled up in a too-small tank filled with muddied water, is a tiny little mer. Little tendrils of its tail tangle together as the creature presses thin fingers against the glass panes of the tank, auroral eyes flicking from side to side with a fervent desperation that Lilia feels in his soul. It is too young to be here, too small; Why in the name of the Thorn Fairy is this child here?

And for some reason, against the logic that tells him he should turn and leave, return to the Valley and carry on with his next mission, his next search, Lilia finds himself stepping towards the stage instead. He slips through the mob with silent steps, eyes fixated upon the petrified mer — a jellyfish, he recognises, his knowledge of aquatic animals rising to mind.

Within a matter of seconds, Lilia has gotten close enough that he catches wind of what the man is saying: “—a beauty, isn’t it?” he crows, tapping a dirty fingernail against the tank, causing the little mer child to shrink away. “We caught it out on the sea this mornin’, and we ain’t gonna let it go for anythin’ less than two thousand thaumarks!”

Disgust chokes his throat like a slimy wad of muck. How utterly deplorable, Lilia thinks, a rare flash of anger sparking through him. He still does not understand what has drawn him so much to this strange creature — the mer with dull silver hair who hugs itself, little bubbles floating through the water as its gills flutter, so impossibly tiny and small—

…Ah. He understands now.

In some way, looking upon this child, Lilia is reminded of Malleus. His mind whisks him back to a different time, when he had been tasked with raising the boy through his infant years, his childhood years, until he matured enough that Lilia no longer needed to keep an eye on him at all times. Is it no wonder, then, that his heart seizes at the sight of this blatant mistreatment? Regardless of whether the creature is fae or not — and it is not, evidently a child of the sea — it does not deserve to be sealed away like this.

Lilia could very well afford the mer. Two thousand thaumarks is quite the sum, but for someone who has been in the service of Briar Valley’s royalty for centuries like he has, he has more than enough money to afford it. But at the sight of the sleazy seller, who reeks of rotting fish and keeps toying with the child — banging his fists against the glass, sticking his grimy hand inside to grab its fragile wrist and yank it partially out of the dirty saltwater, yelling loud enough that its fins press against its head, clearly terrified—

The mer’s eyes flick towards him, locking with Lilia’s gaze. A fervent desperation flickers within them. It presses its hand against the glass again, scrabbling against the surface. A silent plea for help — and one that Lilia shall answer in the only way he knows how.

When night falls, Lilia strikes.

The auction for the jellyfish mer has been scheduled for tomorrow – a greedy move on the part of the fisherman selling it, to maximise profits as much as possible by drumming up heaps of attention. But it had worked; by the time evening fell and the terrified little child had been carted away to a dinky tent nearby, a sizable crowd of murmuring buyers had formed. Lilia had caught sight of some of them flipping through their stacks of thaumarks, counting their funds carefully.

He only has one shot at this. He has to make it count.

Closing his eyes, Lilia allows his magic to cloak him like a thin veil over his skin, shielding him from view. Stealth is his best option here; while he is more than capable of slaughtering everyone involved in kidnapping that young mer, Lilia does not wish to bloody his hands any more than he has to. His days of bloodshed and violence are long behind him, and as much as he wishes to teach the mer’s kidnappers a lesson, he figures that losing the child shall be punishment enough for them.

Besides, it wouldn’t do good if word got out that the general of Briar Valley was off slaughtering humans in another country.

With silent steps, Lilia steals past the guard — a man who keeps dozing off, jolting upwards every few seconds — and slides into the tent with scarcely a whisper. The interior is dank and dim; there is another guard there, this one alert and awake, arms crossed as he surveys the dirty tank left on the floor nearby.

A crushing feeling overtakes his heart at the sight of the mer. The young child curls into itself, tucking its chin into its chest, floating tufts of hair shielding its eyes from view. It looks lifeless, the only sign of its survival being the faint fluttering of gills. Something in his chest twists at the sight, a certainty settling within him. Lilia knows that what he is doing is right.

With the flick of a wrist, he conjures a small mist of magic, watching as it wafts over to the guard and swirls around him. Within a matter of seconds, though he fights to stay awake, the man has passed out, collapsing onto the ground — and it is only Lilia’s reflexes that allow him to cushion the fall, more from the need to avoid attracting attention than any care for the man. Slowly, he lowers him to the ground before releasing the invisibility spell, brushing off his hands on his cloak as he turns back towards the tank to see—

Wide eyes, hued with shades of baby blue and lavender and pink, gaze at him from behind muddied glass. Fingers press against the tank, and Lilia winces at the sound of a warbling trill.

In a flash, he darts forward, pressing a finger against his lips. “Shh!”

But he is too late.

Even as the child slaps its tiny webbed hands over its mouth, eyes widening as it realises what it has done, Lilia knows the guard outside must have heard it. There’s a creaking sound, heavy footsteps dragging across the ground, accompanied by a languid sigh, and it is only his quick reflexes, honed after years and years of war, that allow him to escape notice.

In a flash, Lilia has flung himself upwards, clinging to a corner of the tent, tucking himself in as closely as possible. If he’d had more time, he’d have thrown the same invisibility spell over himself but alas. All he can do is shrink back as much as possible, limbs wrapped around one of the poles holding the tent upright, and praying that the guard is stupid enough to not notice the shadow he’s casting across the floor.

He holds his breath, watching as the burly figure enters the tent.

“Oi,” the guard grunts sharply, narrowing his eyes at the mer in the tank — who thankfully avoids glancing over to Lilia, smart enough to avoid betraying his location. He ambles up to the tank before glancing off to the side. The man stiffens, having found the slumbering body of his fellow guard. “What the—”

Alright, that’s enough of that.

With the same spell he’d casted earlier, Lilia knocks out the second guard. The only caveat is that this time, the guard falls to the ground with nothing to cushion his landing, smashing into a nearby crate with a rather loud CRASH!

Lilia flinches, adrenaline igniting his veins. Dropping from the pole, he barely spares the scene a glance, racing back to the mer instead and lifting the heavy glass lid off its tank. “Can you breathe outside of the water?” he asks, constantly glancing over his shoulder for any signs of someone coming in, ears pricking as he strains to hear the barest bit of sound. As soon as the mer nods, Lilia’s reaching into the briney water as the mer raises its arms, thanking the fact that he’s wearing thick cloth and gloves, if only for the fact that the mer’s tendrils wrap around his limbs as he lifts it out and cradles it close to his chest. “Stay quiet,” he hisses, using his other hand to conjure the same spell from earlier, hoping it’ll hold through. “The last thing we want is to attract any unwanted attention.”

They slip out of the tent just before someone else arrives — another one of the fisherman’s nameless cronies, with the fisherman himself ambling after in ragged loungewear. Lilia holds his breath, skulking beneath the shadow of a tree, each step careful and calculated; he would teleport if he could, but he isn’t sure how that would affect the child, weakened and frail as it is.

So he sneaks away slowly and steadily, leaving the commotion behind, the pitching screams and demands for everyone to search for the missing mer, to get their product back — such an inhumane term that it makes Lilia want to puke. And the further he gets away, the faster he gets; before long, he’s sprinting, the spell melting off of him, out of distance from the captors for now.

The mer clings to him, snuggling close. Lilia holds it tight against him like a lifeline, a swell of such fervent protectiveness rising within him, washing over his mind and soul.

“Here we are,” Lilia breathes. His chest rises and falls as he catches his breath. Ah, he is certainly growing old, more winded from this than he would have been in his prime. His boots dig deep gouges into the sand as he walks towards the shoreline, the night’s sky twinkling overhead, reflecting in the waves to form a sea of stars.

Initially, he’d headed straight for the nearest beach he could think of, all before arriving and already spotting a small group of stragglers searching around. It had taken much longer to travel to a different corner of this island, but it had been a necessary precaution in the end; the last thing Lilia wanted was for the mer to get recaptured after being returned to the sea.

The waves lick at his boots as he walks into the ocean, far enough that the water reaches his knees. “There you go,” Lilia says kindly as he leans down, pulling the little mer away from his chest, returning it to the sea. A soft smile spreads across his lips as he watches the child reach for the water before plunging in with a splash, its form a tiny shadow amidst the lapping waves before its head breaks back above the water.

“Isn’t that better now?” Lilia croons, a warmth wrapping around his heart as the mer nods eagerly, beaming brightly at Lilia, the moonlight shining down on its silver hair. “Good, good,” Lilia says, slowly straightening up. He yawns, stretching his arms above his head, a cracking noise accompanying the motion. “Oh, I hadn’t expected to do this much today,” he murmurs to himself before shaking his head. Giving the mer one last smile, Lilia says, “You take care of yourself now, hm? Don’t go getting caught in any nets again, khee hee.”

And that would have been the end of everything. Ideally, Lilia would have stepped out of the water, using his magic to dry himself off before teleporting to the pier at the other side of the island and waiting for the first ferry to start him on his journey home. The mer would have been relegated to little more than a story to recite to Malleus upon his return, a thrilling rescue he’d mounted in the midst of what would have been another ordinary trip.

But what Lilia didn’t account for was that the child would get attached.

Before he can even make it a few steps away, there’s a rapid-fire outburst of frantic trills and clicking before something heavy barrels right into his legs. Lilia stumbles, losing his balance and crashing down with a screech and a mighty splash. Water soaks through his clothes, his cloak; Lilia spits some of it out of his mouth, blinking the salt out of his eyes, all while something curls around his leg tightly, refusing to let go.

“Little one…” Lilia stares at the mer child, its arms wrapped around his leg, squeezing with a vice grip that a lesser human would not have been able to withstand. Where was all this strength while you were trapped? Lilia ponders briefly, before dismissing the thought. He leans forward, gently prying webbed fingers away from his pants, pulling the child off of him. “Your home is here,” Lilia insists, gesturing at the sea around them. “I live elsewhere; I cannot possibly stay.”

Another round of distressed clicking and trilling. The mer stares at him with big, pleading eyes, swimming forward between his legs to cling to the front of Lilia’s shirt. “Little one—” Lilia tries again, because how can he stay? He has a place to return to, obligations to attend to, people waiting for him. But the mer child ignores him, pressing itself against Lilia with a stubborn determination that surprises him.

“Surely your family should be coming to find you soon,” Lilia tries, only to be met with the shaking of a head, silver hair slicked against its forehead. He raises an eyebrow. “An orphan?” Lilia mutters — words intended for his ears only, except he knows the mer has heard him from the way its grip on him tightens. “But— dear, I cannot possibly bring you home. I live very far away from here, and not anywhere particularly close to the sea!”

But no matter how hard Lilia tries to protest, to gently push the mer off of him, to leave it here — because this is its home, here in the sea; what will become of it, if Lilia were to smuggle it into the Valley, bring it on such a lengthy journey? — it refuses to go. And as time ticks by, the hours passing until the sunrise begins to bleed on the horizon, Lilia finally concedes.

“What a headstrong child you are,” Lilia muses, ignoring the sopping wet cloth clinging to him as he stumbles out of the sea, giggling mer child held in his arms. He gazes at it— no, him, at the child in his hold. “Do you have a name, little one?”

The mer blinks at him. “I’ll take that as a no,” Lilia sighs. Ah… what could a good name possibly be? It’s something he ponders over during the entire trip back, using his magic to mimic a glamour over the mer such that everyone shall see him as only a human child.

But it’s not until he’s sitting in his cabin late at night with the mer curled in his arms that it hits him. Moonbeams streak through the porthole, reflecting off the boy’s shimmering hair, washing it in a silvery light.

“Silver,” Lilia decides, testing the name out on his tongue to find that it feels right.

Silver, this mer he rescued by chance, the one who clung to him, who didn’t want to let go. Silver, who is his.

Leaning back in his chair, Lilia closes his eyes and smiles.