#spurned affection

[stampmark16]

i can't

🥺🥺🥺🥺 this's just for my heart plz plz plz plz

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: Someone made a wish, a vague one, with a lot of wiggle room, and Desiree granted it. Now Vlad is married to Maddie and they have two kids, Danny, and Elle. Their crazy best friend from college lives in a remodeled broadcast building with his daughter Jazz, when she's not away at college. Danny is a cheerleader and an A-lister at Casper High, and his little sister is a freshman rapidly gaining popularity by association. He would never associate with losers like Sam and Tucker. That's how it's always been, it's not a new thing. Except... some things don't add up. When Danny begins to have dreams about how things were before the wish, he looks more closely at all these discrepancies, and as per usual, all roads lead to the afterlife. But... who is Desiree, and how was she able to just alter reality like she did?

Author: @raaorqtpbpdy

[justaghostwithbones]

Original poetry; copyright mine.

[sadcatprince]

Thinking about pregnant Vlad just reminds me that Danielle still exists in my CollegeTrio AU... she's just Jack and Vlad's kid

Vlad has mixed feelings about the entire situation. He got that hysterectomy for a REASON he's not even sure how it happened. It probably something to do with the weird things his body does that he's been trying to ignore/repress for a decade.

[phantomphangphucker]

Phic Phight - Why Do I Still Live In This Town?

@Chrysanthemum9484

Trent just wanted to sleep, unfortunately some ghosts and one ghost hunter are having a verbal and physical fight right outside his damn window. Trent is not impressed. Not at all.

“How dare you! No one lays a hand on my Maddie!”.

“Phantom! Why does the vampire ghost think I’m his!”.

“Don’t worry about it, he’s working on it!”.

“Working on it?!? Is this an on going problem! And!- oh he just blew up a building! Crap!”.

“Shit shit! Plasmius! You fucking dumbass! And yes! He! Uh! Might have tried to kill your husband a few times!”.

“WHAT!”.

“I’m not letting a buffoon ruin my true love!”.

“The only true thing about you is that you’re a fucking FRUIT LOOP!”.

“Absolutely NOT! Phantom! I give you permission to lift me up so I can shoot him!”.

“No! He’s got a cat! He’s better! Your guns are insane!”.

“This one only shoots potatoes! … Jack drained the other gun!”.

“See! A BUFFOON!”.

“I love my buffoon!”.

“At least we can all agree he is a BUFFOON!”.

“Then join me!”.

“No! Fuck you you douche-canoe and your shitty hair and your ugly ass car collection! Stop giving me dead badgers!”.

“Then become my live one!”.

“I’M DEAD!”.

“You both should have STAYED DEAD!”.

“GET BACK HERE! I WILL END YOU!”.

“END YOURSELF! THAT IS A POTTED FICUS YOU DUNCE!”.

“I’ve seen your grades! I am hardly the dunce here!”.

“Ghost don’t have brains! You’re both idiots! It’s on the fake palm tree!”.

“Oh you are GOING DOWN!”.

“Why did you cover ME in goop!?!”.

“HA!”.

“That’s a good look on you! Phantom!”.

“EAT MY ENTIRE UNSALTED ASS! PLASMI-ASS!”.

Trent glares murderously at his bedroom wall, stomping over to the window and shoving himself out of it with squeezed shut eyes just in case, “WILL YOU ALL SHUT UP! I’M TRYING TO SLEEP! FUCK!”. He instantly gets gooped by Mrs. Fenton, as he expected.

“Sorry!”.

“Do you! Or do you NOT! What me to keep this thing from eating your house!”.

“I don’t care about his crackerjack house!”.

“I’ll make you pay to fucking rebuild it then!”.

Trent growls angrily, “I DON’T CARE JUST LET ME SLEEP!”.

“NO!”.

“I’m trying to get this wrapped up as fast as I can! Mr. Trent!”.

“I’ve got you now!”.

“ZONE DAMN IT! DON’T!- AH FUCK!”.

Trent falls on his ass, sputtering, as the building shakes. Phantom coming intangibly in through the wall to grab his leg, “you can’t stay in here, sorry”

Trent starts smacking and slapping him, “no! I will sleep in rubble if I damn well have to!”.

“Invest in FUCKING EARBUDS!”.

Trent gets pulled through the wall, he’s still covered in goop just now with some fucking drywall dust added in.

“End! You foul thing! None shall touch my woman again!”; the vampire ghost is physically tearing apart a green plant-like ghost with his claws and teeth.

Mrs. Fenton hurls her gun at the vampire ghost’s head, “I am not your anything!”.

Phantom sighs and buries his head in his hands.

Trent glares at all of them, “well can I fucking SLEEP NOW!”

“You do you, jackass”.

“You can add the damages to the FentonWork’s tab! Sorry!”.

“Oh I’m not done yet!”.

“Shut up, Plasmius”.

Trent glares hard and just walks off to a bench, grabbing a shower curtain out of the rubble (it has laughing cat faces on it), and lays down to fucking sleep. Stupid fucking goddamn ghosts.

“BEWARE!”.

“FUCK!”, Trent gets flung off his bench and proceeds to mercilessly beat the Box Ghost with a tire iron he found on the ground.

End.

Prompt: "No! You do not hurt my (girl)friend and get away with it!" And <incert ghost name here>'eyes flashed dangerously.

[neopuff]

i finally read a glitch in time to celebrate the anniversary and i cannot believe no one told me about this

i am weak

[sunriseverse]

god he's soooo jealous it's hilarious. sir.

[zombiejette]

it’s because he’s actually attracted to suffering

Isn’t that funny how Vox is sexually attracted to two very different men

One is totally asexual and doesn’t even realize it

The other is LITERALLY the demon of lust and the porn king of hell

I wonder how this poor tv set is still running

[monstersholygrail]

Proper Appreciation

It had started innocently enough. You were lounging around and admiring your Dragon Hybrid Husband as he hovered over the fire in your shared den, preparing a meal for the two of you. Always so happy to provide for you and take care of you. To make sure you were eating enough and happier than you could’ve ever dreamed.

You almost couldn’t believe it. This dragon was your mate. He was yours as much as you’re his. Emotion wells up inside your chest, gratitude and affection blossoming within you as you stare at your husband. A husband who is totally unaware of your current oogling or the hearts currently present in your eyes.

Now, now, that just wouldn’t do. Is a mate truly at their happiest unless they know how utterly loved and adored they are? You think not.

Throughout your relationship with your Dragon husband, it’s been revealed that there are many differences between the ways that humans and dragons show their affection for another. You sneakily glide up to your husband and give his ass an appreciative slap, but it’s not until he whirls around, staring at you as if you’ve lost your mind do you wonder if dragons have this sign of affection or not.

“Mind telling me what that was?” Dragon husband asks, his face aghast. Even as he shivers at the echos of the sting left on his bottom. A blush creeps up on your cheeks as you scramble to explain.

“I thought you looked hot.”

“And that’s how you think to tell me? Is this another human custom I have yet to learn?” He saunters over to you, walking around the fireplace like a predator cornering their prey. The dinner he was making now long forgotten.

Heat blooms in your belly as fierce as a dragon while you gush with arousal. One look at your Dragon Husband and you’re absolutely fucking soaked.

“Kind of,” you say, your voice sounding breathier than you expected. Your husband’s eyes flash with a deep simmering lust. The fire inside him sparks to life and you know you’re toast.

“And is that how a human male show his appreciation for his mate in return?” He rasps.

He scoops your plump form into his arms with ease and before you can even manage to hold on he’s plopping you down on the pile of furs that make up your bed.

He throws your body around like it’s nothing, flipping you over onto your belly and jerking your ass high up in the air. And you swear you’ve never been so desperate. You know he can see your glistening folds by his low growls, your arousal dripping down your thick thighs and onto the chains of gold he adorns you with.

You startle when you feel his hands cup your bottom, pulling the cheeks a part to make room for his big aching tip. You can feel how affected he is by this too as he smears his pre-cum into your slick, mixing them together and teasing you. Clearly waiting for your answer.

“Yes! F-fuck, yes they do,” you whine, rocking back into his cock and trying to take him inside you.

Just as eager as you are, your Dragon Husband slams into your wet scorching heat in one solid stroke. His hips slapping against your ass at the same moment his hand does. You release a pitiful scream, full of need. A need for more.

His hips move in a blur, pumping into your fat cunt at a brutal pace, spurned on by the act of spanking you. It drives you just as wild as you rock back, meeting his every hard thrust.

Obscene noises of pleasure fill the room as he fucks you like a beast unchained. The loud squelch of his massive length stuffing you full meets the loud ringing of his hand meeting your ass. Your toes curl as the delicious sting mixes with the waves of ecstasy that course through you with every jerk of his hips.

“Please, baby, please h-harder!” You beg, tears pricking at your eyes.

Your husband lets out a low hiss, his hand swinging down and delivering a hard smack on your ass. Your body surges forward at the force and you moan, body arching. The invitation more than clear.

“As you wish. My mate needs to know the true depth of my appreciation after all.”

With a renewed vigor, your husband picks up his back, pounding into your gummy walls with in-human stamina. His hands delivering blows in equal measure and his claws only adding to the sensation as they prick and tease at your skin with each smack.

The mix of pain and pleasure has the pressure in your belly growing tighter and tighter till you can’t take it anymore. The cord snaps and you don’t recognize the mewl that comes out of you as you cum so hard on his cock you see stars.

Your body shakes with the force of your orgasm and you lose all feeling besides the pleasure washing over you. You lay limp as your husband works you through the best release of your life. He cums deep inside your pussy with a roar that shakes your entire den.

The strength of his climax takes as much out of him as it did you as his tall form curls around you. Keeping his cock inside you to the hilt. Not wanting to put too much pressure on your red sore bottom.

Though He can’t stop himself from giving it a little squeeze, relishing the way you hiss and clench around his cock. His mouth hovers over your ear and his hot breath sends goosebumps down your arms.

“Think you got the message, mate?” He growls, giving your bottom one final little slap.

[ithinkthiswasabadidea]

I'm not anywhere really near or into Kingdom Come: Deliverance, but since the second game released recently, I've seen a lot of new attention on my social medias, particularly around Henry and Hans' relationship

And I, very obviously, love queer characters and relationships, and even moreso the canon ones, so I watched the IGN video explaining how one might romance Hans in the second game

Man. I was blown away.

By now I've played a handful of rpg's and romanced a handful of npc's, but not ONCE has the dialogue and action of a confession scene ever felt quite so real and as beautifully acted

I have almost zero other context about the games or characters, yet I haven't stopped thinking about that romance scene in days

That you build up the affection and genuine care for Hans through dialogue choices feels completely non-forced, and you can tell that Hans enjoys your presence and respects you immensely. Henry gently encouraging and helping Hans when he's uncomfortable, always concerned about his wellbeing. There's such a solid foundation of mutual trust that even I, as an outside viewer, can tell that both men truly would put their lives in the others hands

And then the confession scene itself? Henry coming to say goodbye, and because of the work that has been put in to convey Henry's feelings of care and devotion for Hans, it's Hans himself who starts the conversation. He tells a story that he 'doesn't have his own words for', displaying that he's uncertain about how this might go, but knowing that it needs to be said before Henry leaves. He's both deflecting and projecting, using this story as a way to cushion the segue into his own feelings, or the blow of rejection should it come. And as Hans imagines something terrible happening to Henry, he immediately gets emotional, voice shaking, knowing he'd be unable to help

There's a small moment as Henry reassures that he'll be alright, when he places a hand on top of Hans' and this small, delightfully hopeful smile appears on Hans' face. I take this to be the moment where Hans believes that Henry has understood his story, and his way of confessing his feelings, and that Henry feels the same way about him. Then Henry stands, moving to leave and Hans' smile drops. Perhaps Henry's confidence falters here, and before he can reciprocate his true feelings and kiss him, Hans is running on adrenaline and courage and pulls Henry into the kiss instead, before he can second-guess himself

It's awkward, uncertain. Hans has this almost crushing grip on Henry like he's barely sure what he's just done, just that he couldn't let him walk away without doing something . And when Henry turns his head and steps back, noises of shock and breathlessness, Hans jumps back like he's been burned and spurned. He's stammering and stuttering out an apology, quiet and upset, unlike his usual self

Hans' body language as he turns away, making himself smaller, making more space between them than is necessary, it displays how he thinks his actions have just been perceived - that Henry doesn't feel the same way, he just ruined a perfectly good friendship, he's made himself look weak. He rubs at his mouth like he wishes he could remove the feel of Henry's lips against his own, tries apologising again, gasping for air, screws up his face in anxiety or anger for his recklessness......

Then Henry makes his own decision and speeds back over to him, pulling him into an even more crushing embrace and kiss, before they make their way over to the bed

The acting direction here in this scene is just so delectablely real . It looks and feels like I'm a fly on the wall of a real life confession, where both men are less than certain about their futures, and even less certain about how their relationship is perceived in the others eyes. Hans is visibly scared of rejection when Henry turns his back, Henry is visibly coming to terms with what he wants in this moment

The reactions are the most natural thing in the world, especially in a game that strives for realism. There was clearly a great deal of care that went into writing and directing this relationship, and with how naturally it progressed to this climax

And I think that's where the divide is for me, when I think about the romance options in BG3 or other rpgs, because there is something more flowery and shiny about those romances that I've experienced. Like they're too perfect, too polished and rehearsed, no room to have any fuck ups or moments of imperfection. But it's the awkwardness and show of non-positive emotions and reactions, rather than immediate lust and experience, that really pins the Henry and Hans scene above the rest

There's probably more I could say, and I'm sure there's more that others who know these characters and the games could say, but I just wanted to get my thoughts into some words and hope that it strikes true with someone else

I don't think I've ever seen a romance scene in a video game, that has felt so genuine as this. A thousand kudos to the actors for Hans and Henry, and the writers and directors for this marvellously curated scene ❤️

[adelaidedrubman]

aaaaand everyone’s picked their card, time for the big reveal! the majority here did not guess the lie, sorry. but obsessed with almost everyone looking at #1 and deciding it was true y’all said if we know anything it’s that she’s a homewrecker and a deadbeat. anyways true/false breakdown below cut:3

1. TRUTH

not the complete truth, naturally, but the components are entirely accurate. she did have an affair with a married woman, broken off when she disclosed she was pregnant and didn’t think she was ready to leave her husband under the circumstances — but also wasn’t totally ready to end things with jessie, and really needed her support either way. jestiny was 200 miles away with a new burner phone by the next sunrise. (the ego shielding omissions being the situationship’s end was also brought about by jestiny being pseudo dumped slash relegated indefinitely to other woman status and having a massive chip on her shoulder about not being prioritized over her lover’s actual husband and future child despite her own unilateral refusal to acknowledge they were anything more than a fling or admit to having intentions for the future.)

2. LIE

this was the lie! the part about her secretly enjoying scrapbooking was true, but she doesn’t try to pass them off as her “adventure journals.” that would mean she actually got to the point of someone else seeing them. she avoids that altogether and dispenses with any need for (haha) image preserving lies by throwing her projects in the fire as quickly as she makes them, thus also reassuring herself any fleeting sentimentality she might experience she can destroy just as easily because she never gets attached to anything. fake deep indie movie love interest ass

3. TRUTH

technically true by way of tricky (illusory, michael) phrasing, to be fair. the #3 voters were correct that she was never employed or gained notoriety as a magician. but she does know and (competently!) performed a few parlor tricks on stage at a bar in missoula. not as a hired gig, but as the result of inviting herself up whilst heckling the actual professional magician master of fantastical feats headlining and proceeding to do a bit about his being a children’s party hack she couldn’t understand everyone making such a big deal over.

she did receive acclaim for this, and it was tremendous — not in the sense of being widely expressed, but in the intensity and longevity of the expression. while the general audience found her display a shameful affront to beloved regional icon eddie nixon (great-grandson of clutch nixon), her performance was enthusiastically lauded by the very man she was heckling. eddie was positively captivated by jestiny. so brash, so daring, so cavalier. no one had ever spoken to him like that before — he was clutch nixon’s great-grandson, for god’s sake. she was so refreshing. anyways they hooked up and had a month long fling, from which mr. nixon would spend the remainder of his life trying to recover. you might say her greatest magic trick was pulling a disappearing act with his heart.

TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE

i was tagged by beloveds @florbelles @imogenkol @katsigian @the-silver-chronicles @voidika @rhettsabbott thank you dears!!

RULES: post a 24-hour poll containing two truths and one lie about your oc. have your followers try to guess which is the lie.

sending tags out to @derelictheretic @belorage @lordundying @henbased @a-treides @nowandthane @josephslittledeputy @memaidraws @poetikat @ruvviks @wrathfulrook @galaxycunt @fourlittleseedlings @nonfunctioning-queer @captastra @confidentandgood @deputyash @blissfulalchemist @shellibisshe @strafethesesinners @shallow-gravy @direwombat @jackiesarch @firstaidspray @socially-awkward-skeleton @afarcryfrommymain @8bitpizzacoupons @strangefable @ladyoriza @clicheantagonist @cassietrn @stacispratt @mccarthycormac @afarcry5fromstraight @orionlancasterr @omen-speaker @risingsh0t @thefathersbride @voidbuggg @thedeadthree + anyone else who would like to play along please tag me!!

[0silver0dreams0]

Love against hatred

Part of my story Yandere House of the dragon x ModernReborn!Reader

When affection turns obsessive, even hatred cannot extinguish love. A lover, consumed by longing, refuses to accept rejection as the end. To him, hatred is not an end but a challenge — a sign that feelings still linger. While the beloved sees betrayal and pain in every glance, the lover envisions a future where their bond is restored. With unwavering devotion, he will stop at nothing to bridge the divide, for in his eyes, love against hatred is still love — and worth any cost.

✦ Jacaerys Velaryon was never one to shy away from his emotions. From the moment he could understand the concept of affection, he had felt drawn to you, his cousin. Your grace, your wit, your strength — they all captivated him, like a moth hopelessly drawn to a flame. As children, your laughter had been his favourite sound, your approval his greatest reward. Yet, as the years passed and tensions between your families deepened, that love turned into an obsession, a need to protect you, to have you near, despite your growing disdain for him.

✧ Jacaerys had always admired your poise and strength. To him, you were the embodiment of everything noble and pure, a light in a world often tainted by ambition and betrayal. When you were children, you had been his confidant, the one person who could make him laugh, who made the burdens of being the heir to the Iron Throne seem lighter. He remembered how you used to smile at him, how you used to hold his hand without hesitation. But those days were long gone.

✦ After the fateful night when Aemond lost his eye, everything changed. The bond that had once united you both was shattered. You blamed his family for the pain inflicted upon your brother, and that blame extended to him. The warmth in your eyes turned to cold indifference, then to outright hatred. Yet, Jacaerys could not bring himself to let you go. If anything, your rejection only fuelled his determination to win you back.

✧ Your hatred hurt him, but it also fascinated him. How could someone so perfect harbour such a fierce, burning loathing? He told himself that it was born from misunderstandings, from the poisoned words of those around you, that Aemond and Alicent were at fault. If only he could make you see his devotion, his unwavering love, you would surely come to love him again.

✦ Jacaerys would watch you from afar, his dark brown eyes lingering on you with a mixture of longing and frustration. He hated the walls you had built between the two of you, but he respected them enough not to tear them down outright. Instead, he sought to find cracks, little moments where he could remind you of what you once shared. A fleeting glance, a stolen conversation, a carefully chosen gift left at your chamber door.

“She hates me,” he would tell himself late at night, lying awake and staring at the ceiling. “But hate is not indifference. At least she still feels something.” It was a twisted comfort, but it kept his hope alive.

✧ In his mind, your hatred was a challenge, a test of his love. He would endure it, weather it, and prove to you that he was worthy. No matter how many times you spurned him, he would not falter. To him, your rejection was not a door slammed shut but a wall to be scaled.

✦ His tendencies manifested in subtle ways. He ensured that no one else could come close to you, quietly sabotaging potential suitors and watching them retreat in confusion. He would find reasons to be near you, orchestrating encounters that seemed coincidental but were anything but. Even in the council chambers or the training yard, his thoughts were never far from you. From a distance, he watched over you, guarding you in ways you never noticed but always ensuring your safety. Rhaenyra, whether knowingly or not, only fed these tendencies. She often spoke of how much he cared for you, how his devotion was proof of his strength as a man and a future king. Her words validated his obsession, turning it from a private torment into something he felt was righteous and inevitable.

✧ Yet, despite his obsession, Jacaerys’ love for you was genuine. He wanted to protect you from the harshness of the world, to shield you from the political machinations that had driven your families apart. He dreamed of a future where you could forgive him, where your laughter would fill the halls of Dragonstone once more.

✦ But for now, he endured your hatred, clinging to the hope that, in time, love would prevail. Even if it meant waiting a lifetime, even if it meant enduring the sharp edges of your scorn, Jacaerys Velaryon would never stop loving you. To him, your love was worth any price, even the pain of your hatred.

Because, in the end, love against hatred was still love — and that was enough to keep him going.

Taglist:

@ursinaw @dakota-rain666 @laura-naruto-fan1998 @pookiedragonfire @jjggdfvvy @maryldrsstuff @1soultaken @ceramic-raven @eissaaaa @moodyblueberrytree @xadaboo @labryel @zoeyburton @hopingtoclearmedschool

[imakemywings]

Things that make me insane about Minthara's romance(s):

"I wanted this, for myself." Even in the midst of her total brain fog by the Absolute, she knows she wants to be close to Tav. Even when she's been manipulated not to merely serve, but to serve in ecstasy, she wants to be near Tav and that is the one thing she chooses to pursue for her own ends--which are purely pleasure and comfort.

This could have easily been a victory bang one night stand, which might have tracked with her being the "evil" companion, but it clearly meant more to her from the very beginning. She stays with Tav after the sex, she snuggles, and she willingly bears her heart to Tav about her fears and anxieties regarding the Absolute and her place on the surface.

If Tav pries into her thoughts while she's sleeping, they see "the scars of a life spent anticipating betrayal." Life in Menzoberranzan trained her to expect a knife in the back constantly, and she remains paranoid about this even on the surface. But even so, she takes this moment with Tav, seeking to overcome her own fears about intimacy.

The skill check you have to pass to convince her not to kill Tav? 2. She is looking for a reason to not have to kill Tav, even if Tav spoke complete heresy to her. She wants to let Tav live, she wants to see them again at Moonrise.

Obviously, the big sad puppy eyes when she turns to see Tav during her castigation in Moonrise. Worst moment of her life and who steps through the door? The one person she has wanted to be close to maybe since she left the Underdark.

The way the two gnomes torturing her call out her "longing for acceptance and affection from a mortal," which confirms that her night with Tav always meant more to her than just a hook-up. She wanted more than just physical intimacy--she wanted something emotional. And that is what is being highlighted in her torment as one of her worst failures--that she, essentially, wants to be loved.

Related to the above - after Orin is killed, Minthara sort of laments that if not for Tav's strange act of mercy in saving her from Ketheric and Z'rell, she would have been just one more casualty in Tav's quest to destroy the Absolute, and "nobody would remember me."

"You came. I prayed that you would." I am howling at the moon. Minthara, the paladin, prays for Tav. For Tav to come rescue her. Minthara, who spurned Lolth, who has realized the Absolute was a lie, prays for Tav to come and save her.

The interplay between Minthara and a Dark Urge's respective relationships with Orin--how Orin's brainwashing and torment was what set Minthara on her quest for revenge against the Absolute, and how Durge was perhaps the very first of the cult's victims and all the amnesia they've struggled with throughout the game the result of Orin's torture.

Related to the above - if Minthara is the one kidnapped by Orin in Act III, that once again Orin has taken Minthara captive and once again Tav will free her.

The way Minthara tries to pry into Tav's mind again in Act III, only to quickly withdraw and apologize for not asking first. Minthara! Apologizing! That instead of letting it go, she still asks if she can be allowed to look into Tav's mind, because she is so desperate to see how Tav sees her. If Tav says they'd rather just use words to tell her, Minthara insists that the parasite connection is more true and accurate, and she wants to see that.

That she is hoping Tav sees her like a lover, and is openly disappointed if that's not the case. (Tie back to point 6.)

The way she begs to see herself through Tav's eyes, because "without Lolth, without the Absolute, without my home, I do not know myself." Her sense of self is so tenuous that she turns to someone else to help her understand herself--and that person is Tav, possibly the only person in the world she trusts.

The adoring look she gives Tav after some of their kisses, followed by the throaty "thank you." Thank you! She thanks Tav for their gestures of affection! (Tie back to point 6.)

That she is quietly poisoning Tav to build up their resistance in case they ever go to her homeland.

"I have never needed anyone, but I want you."

The way she is so all-in once her romance is locked in. Tav can become the Slayer, become Bhaal's chosen, become a mind flayer, choose to enslave the brain, choose to destroy the brain, go to Avernus--no matter what they do, Minthara is with them. They are her Person.

Related to the above - if Tav does become a mind flayer and tries to leave her on the grounds that they're a monster, she says "So am I, my love. Let us be monsters together." She "mourns" the loss of the parasite, because she yearns to share minds with Tav in their new state.

If a mind flayer Tav tells her they need to figure out who they are alone, without her, she pleads for just one day to change their mind.

If romanced by a Karlach origin who chooses to die rather than return to Avernus, Minthara is in tears as she promises to stay with Karlach until the end.

If Tav proposes they return to Menzoberranzan and conquer it after defeating the Netherbrain, Minthara casts off Baenre and declares "their" new house will be named after Tav.

During the epilogue, she seems rather keen to leave, and no matter what dialogue option is chosen, she admits to a romanced Tav what bothers her: she's afraid no one there likes her.

[komelliko]

manipulative!boss!sunday x timid!secretary!reader

summary: Sunday wants to invite you to dinner. ...Correction: Sunday will invite you to dinner. Even if there are a few loopholes to get through first. wc: 1.1k

part 1 / part 2

---

Sunday finds it quite unfortunate that the salvation of the world must sometimes be assured through cruelty. It wounds him when he must be cutthroat, must be stern in his ways, but he does it all the same. Even the gravest of sins shall be absolved in the eternity of the dream he chases, and Sunday knows no man to enact this sin besides himself.

...In short, manipulation is no stranger to the head of the Oak Family.

You're nearly tripping on your heels again when your boss runs into you, lighting up at your presence in a way you have to decidedly ignore. It's unprofessional to dwell on it—You hate even the notion of being unprofessional. After all you've worked towards, every hour you've busted your ass off to get to work as secretary for one of the most important people in Penacony, the thought of ruining it by being unprofessional makes you want to fill a bathtub with SoulGlad and let yourself drown in it.

"Good morning, Mr. Oak," you greet him, once he's within speaking range. There's a million papers and manila folders in your arms, all cobbled together with clips and staples, and you hold them at your chest almost like a sort of shield. Hours upon hours of your work rests within this stack of papers, thousands of words worth of reports and number-crunching and printed out messages between Family Heads. Sunday makes a point to look you right in the eye, and it's a gaze you swear you'll never get used to.

You don't know what the look in his eyes mean—Sunday takes great pleasure in keeping the meaning from you.

There's a plenty good amount of things he prefers to keep to himself (as is only proper for someone of his responsibility), and the images his mind likes to conjure only flip past like cards in a rolodex as he sneaks a glance at the body hiding behind the papers. He smiles, but not any bigger than he would smile to anyone else. Not yet.

"Good morning, [Y/N]," Sunday coos. "Working out of the office as usual, I see? Please, if there's any reason for you to avoid it I must know."

Flush with embarrassment, you shake your head. It's just easier to make sure everything gets done when you're always walking, you find. You hate being kept places, being forced to sit and hear the second-hand of a clock constantly chatter behind your back. When you're walking, your heels set the pace instead, at whatever you need it to be. You're only indebted to your own ethic, which you hold in high regard.

"Oh, the office is perfectly fine, Mr. Oak," you stammer out, fingers drumming on the stack of papers. "I just like the stained glass on some of the third floor hallways of Dewlight. The, uh— The fountains add a nice atmosphere, too." You panic, adding "It's a really wonderful building, sir. I'm honored to work here."

Sunday nods. He'll have to order for new windows and a fountain to be put in his office the second the moment arrives. A meeting with Whittaker Nightingale was in order, clearly—He'd understand the situation.

"Please, dear, if anyone here should be honoured it's me," Sunday smiles. He passes to stand beside you rather than in front of, catching a glimpse of the way your hair falls over your shoulders. "Can I discuss something with you for a moment, if you'll allow?"

Sunday takes the initiative to place one hand on the small of your back, the other clasped behind his own. The touch makes you flinch—You grab tight onto your papers, hoping they won't spill out in a burst from the way you nearly jumped in place. "Gosh, Mr. Oak, I don't really think this is necessary—" On the outside, his face is stern, perhaps even disappointed with your tendencies to act like a stickler. Internally, he's more concerned with how often you spurn his affections: At his core, however? He wants to hold his hand against you until he dies.

"Please," he whispers, almost commanding you. "Walk with me." Sunlight streams in through the windows of the Dewlight Pavilion, pockets of gold dancing on the marble floors.

"You've gotten in touch with the Alfalfa family, as I requested?"

Panicking, you leaf through the papers you had kept clutched to your chest to search for any notes or documents relating to that. Unfortunately, your anxieties are valid: You did not. Sunday doesn't let on that he's lying to you. He asked you to reach out to some bureaucrat working for SoulGlad, but nothing to do with Oti or any of the Alfafas. But you're forgetful, and he loves that about you. Not as much as he values your eagerness to please, though.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Oak. It must've slipped my mind." You spent the whole day organizing the catering for the Charmony Festival, and your papers corroborate this.

"Please, I could never fault you," he smiles. "It'll be taken care of tomorrow."

Sunday bites his lip as he feels the back of your shirt brush against his hand. If he was any less of a man with any less of a reputation to uphold, he'd have it comfortably in the back pocket of your pants. He goes on, to get to the real purpose of this informal meeting with you.

"Would you be interested in discussing things over dinner?"

Your breath stalls for a moment.

"I— I'm sure sending today's report electronically should be just fine, sir."

Sir. It's a word he's been addressed by many lips, but every utterance pales in comparison to this singular moment.

"It would be my pleasure."

"I'm not sure I even have anything that would suit the occasion," you confess.

"I can arrange for something to be sent to you."

A particular nausea pools in your gut: a feeling so light, so painlessly ignorable that even worrying that it's gas feels like an overreaction. Meetings over dinner are professional, and at a rank like Sunday's, it's entirely reasonable that you conform to a certain dress code—one that he knows much better than you, no doubt. Sending something for you to wear would only be logical if it meant preserving that image of his.

(And he had been peculiar about dress in the past: No heels could be too tall or too short, pants were preferred but knee-length skirts were permissible, Oak insignia patches visible on every blazer, such and the like. Surely, this was nothing new.)

"If you find that to be within your purview, Mr. Oak," is what you manage to respond with. "...I'll make myself presentable."

"Don't fret too much over it, [Y/N]," Sunday smiles. "I fully trust in your abilities to uphold our reputations." 'Our'.

You force yourself to not dwell on it.

---

A/N: If anyone has feedback, please share it with me!! Obviously some artistic license has to be made for the premise to work but hopefully it's nothing too egregious :,)

[innerfare]

I Love You - Part 2 

Summary: Who says I love you first? How do you say it?

Characters: Shanks, Beckman, Crocodile, Mihawk, Corazon, Marco

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

——— 

Shanks: The two of you have known each other for years before the words ever leave his lips. You’ve been through so much, and you never felt the need to put a label on it. But one night, you’re both swinging in a hammock on a beach, you in his arms and him sipping a bottle of booze, and he says out of nowhere, “you know that I love you, right?” You think he must be drunk but he insists he’s not, telling you it struck him recently that he’d never told you before and he really should in case something happens. He wants you to know how he really feels and how much you mean to him. 

Beckman: He’s always visiting you on your home island, either finding excuses to plot a course straight to you or sneaking away for a few days. It’s only as he’s leaving one evening that it strikes him: he loves you. It takes him a very long time to decide to tell you. Given his lifestyle, a relationship isn’t exactly easy, and he would be putting you in danger should anyone learn your association to him. Plus, he enjoys his freedom. He works it over in his head for months, to the point Shanks even asks him about what’s bothering him, though Beckman doesn’t fess up. But he just can’t get you out of his head. He can’t sleep, he can’t eat, he can’t even focus in a fight. One late night, he returns to his cabin to find Shanks waiting. His captain has puzzled out what has the first mate in such a state, and Shanks tells him to go take care of his business. Beckman agrees and turns up at your doorstep at three in the morning with some flowers he picked on the side of the road because he felt awkward showing up empty handed. You lead him into your kitchen and make him something to drink, thinking something horrible has happened, only for him to confess his love for you. He’s not shy about saying it after that, always making sure to tell you when he greets you and says goodbye, as well as several times in between. 

Crocodile: He despises the word love, would never even utter it except to mock people who use it. He thinks it’s weak, thinks men who profess love are sniveling and pathetic, thus the reason he despises himself for feeling it. The emotion creeps up on him slowly but surely, and he beats it back and bottles it up for as long as he can, staying up late at night with a bottle of whiskey because laying in bed makes him think of you and your mischievous smile. Only when he is locked up in Impel Down does he finally, begrudgingly admit to himself that he feels deep affection for you, which he painfully admits to you one night after he breaks out, bracing himself for you to reject him, laugh at him, or spurn him in any way. When you tell him you feel the same way, he decides that is that and sees no reason to ever repeat it, your mutual and abiding affection one of his most closely-guarded secrets. 

Mihawk: He doesn’t tell you when he feels it, however overwhelming the feeling may be, so you’ll definitely be the one to say it first. This man is the king of unspoken affection. He’d sooner die than draw his sword and cut through all the tension that seems to follow him. That being said, he does say it in other, more subtle ways, primarily referring to you as, “my love,” and leaving it at that. When you finally tell him you love him, he doesn’t even say it back, simply burying his face in your hair and saying, “I’m glad to hear it, my love.” He shocks you by saying it back a few months later, though you don’t say it back, instead pulling him in for a kiss. And it continues like that, only one of you ever saying it, the other responding with affection. 

Corazon: A victim of near insta-love, he knows better than to tell you how he’s feeling when he first meets you. He tells himself to wait a month, and then at the one month mark, it seems premature, so he pushes it to two. Then, he pushes it to three, and then to four, and then to five. He thinks he’s good at hiding it, and normally, he is good at hiding his emotions, but with you, it’s all out in the open. You catch on pretty quickly to how he feels, have even seen him start to form the words only for his face to fall and him to turn away. Eventually, one night, you ask him, “why haven’t you told me you love me yet?” He’s shocked to discover you know the truth, and when you laugh and tell him it was pretty obvious, he laughs, too, his heart soaring when you tell him you feel the same way. He’s overwhelmed by the feeling that he has a family, something he’s been desperately wanting since he was just a little kid. 

Marco: He says it first. He’s loved and lost so many people, formed the family he never had as a kid and lost so many members along the way. And he’s done a measure of living, enough to know that love should never be hidden. So when he realizes he’s in love with you, he swallows all of his fear like a seasoned professional and tells you exactly what’s on his mind the next time you two have a quiet moment alone. He’s soft and gentle in that moment, too, just as he is in all the moments you two share, just the two of you. He says it often, always either turning away or burying his face in your hair when you say it back, overwhelmed with giddiness he’s certain a man of his age and standing should not be feeling.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[containment-chamber-2]

I hate that she can go and I can't follow her. That I can only watch her isolate herself again and again. That I know what that's doing to her and there's nothing I can do to stop it. That I can't do more.

Maybe I just dont see it but the absolute hardest part of long distance isnt the yearing, its not having the option to be there. I cant just.. be there, waiting for them to open up, to be want to be held, to sit nearby for when they are done being closed off. I have to wait. Dreadful, long hours, checking my phone, waiting for the message that theyre back. I cant touch them, I cant dry their tears, I cant even bring them a glass of water. And it hurts. It hurts to be unable to help. It hurts so bad I could walk to them and the pain in my legs wouldnt compare.