#(which are like the least subtle ways to kill someone)

[pomefioredove]

can I request house wardens + leech twins with a reader who doesn't eat enough bc Crowley doesn't give them enough for food, and they end up really ill and collapsing or something. I'm cravin some fluffy comfort rn, pls and thank you 🙏

I got you🫡🫡 as someone who's been through an eerily similar situation, I really liked this request

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ another crowley moment™️

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, floyd, jade, kalim, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, mentions of food and not eating

Riddle wouldn't even have to like you to rush to your side. but he does like you, which makes it all the worse

after checking your vitals, you're in the infirmary. he's got doctors for parents, after all, and he knows that malnutrition is bad

he should have seen the signs...

with exams coming, he's been so busy, and he assumed that you were just tired from studying

but he can feel guilty later. right now, he needs to focus on you getting well again, and not killing Crowley

(then, of course, he'll look for some legal statute or clause that he can threaten Crowley with so you're fed properly)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona noticed you'd been acting a little weird lately, but watching you collapse still puts him in shock

luckily, Ruggie and Jack are nearby to help you to the infirmary, so Leona can focus on hunting Crowley down like an animal

there are very few times where Leona is particularly grateful for his status, but this is one of them. just one word on how his family will be hearing about Crowley's neglect, and the old bastard is begging him for forgiveness

even after that, Leona still sends Ruggie with snacks and drinks to Ramshackle

and if you ever scare him like that again, you'll regret it (lovingly)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

the news of you collapsing during flight lessons reaches Octavinelle rather fast. no one is particularly surprised, since Floyd had mentioned how easily you'd been bruising lately just the night before, but everyone is certainly worried

Azul is the first at your side, asking you all sorts of questions, worried sick. Jade has to remind him to give you space to rest, since you look exhausted (had you always had those dark circles? how could Azul have not noticed?)

now, Azul and the tweels could easily find a way to pressure Crowley, but they know better than to trust him

from now on, you'll be eating in the Mostro Lounge, free of charge

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

perhaps Kalim was just oblivious, because he really didn't think anything was wrong until you were suddenly on the floor in front of him

sure, you'd been a little moody lately, but he figured it was just a thing you were going through. and besides, you know that you can talk to him about anything... right?

Jamil hurries to check your pulse, and shouts for him to get the school nurse- which is jarring, because Jamil never shouts

when you explain everything to Kalim later, he feels... terrible. he should've known- no, he should've asked

Kalim insists you stay at Scarabia while you're recovering, and makes sure you have the most enriching, delicious meals money can buy

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil knew it was bad, but not this bad. if he had known you were on the verge of collapsing, he would've taken a firmer approach to getting you to eat

you're going to worry him to death someday, you know that?

after he's done verbally eviscerating Crowley, he'll insist on joining you at every meal. he'll eat at Ramshackle, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, if that's what it takes

he's subtle about it, at least

if he notices that your plate feels empty, he'll just take some food from his and put it on yours. gracefully, elegantly, without a word

you'll come home one day to see your kitchen stocked with vitamins, supplements, and apples (courtesy of Epel)

<3 and a note that says he'll treat you to dinner whenever you want

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

never scare Idia like that ever again. he wasn't even with you when you collapsed, and he STILL nearly had a heart attack

listen, he knows he's not a great role model when it comes to nutritional eating, but you have got to tell him these things. he would've had Ortho go get takeout! or something!

typical Crowley behavior, SMH. what does he think you are? a rabbit? even the school horses get treated better...

no way that Idia is going to even bother with that old fart, anyway. you want something? he'll get it for you. you don't even have to ask, he'll just send food to your place (and have Ortho check your vitals more often but shhh)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

I would not want to be in the room when Malleus finds out about this

not even the building. you know what? I'd steer clear of the whole island, because it will not be pretty

when you collapse in front of him, it feels like he's dying, too. the panic sets in, and he sends Lilia to look after you, and Silver and Sebek to escort you to the infirmary, and then he casually threatens to smite Crowley. obviously

if the students and staff of NRC thought Malleus was scary just being Malleus, he's terrifying when he's mad

(rest assured that you will be getting ten times the amount of food from now on)

it's thunderstorms for days after, but he never leaves your side

[shdysders]

if only

pairing: tara carpenter & reader

summary: if only tara would’ve chosen you for you, and not for who you were like.

word count: 3.2k

You knew it was normal for people to turn to alcohol after experiencing trauma.

The way it numbed the pain, dulled the sharp edges of haunting memories—it was something you had seen before, something you understood. After everything Tara had been through, it was the least you expected.

The massacre in Woodsboro had left her with more than just physical scars.

The betrayal of someone she had once loved—Amber, who turned out to be Ghostface—was a wound that cut deeper than any knife.

It wasn't just the shock of Amber's true identity, but the fact that Tara was the one who had to pull the trigger, killing the person she thought she knew in order to save her sister.

The memories of that night were like a broken record, stuck on replay.

Every time Tara closed her eyes, she was back in that room, her hands shaking as she held the gun, her heart pounding in her ears.

She would hold you tighter during those moments, as if the strength of her embrace could keep the nightmares at bay.

The way she kissed you harder, more desperately, or questioned where you were every time you left the room—these were her ways of keeping you close, of making sure she wouldn't lose you too.

You had known Tara all her life.

Growing up together, you'd always been close, but after everything that happened in Woodsboro, something had shifted between you.

It started small—extra moments of closeness, lingering touches that lasted just a little too long, her leaning on you more than ever before.

The change was subtle at first, but undeniable. When she started seeking you out not just for comfort but for something deeper, you couldn't bring yourself to resist. The truth was, you had started to feel something more for Tara too.

But as the days went by, you couldn't ignore the creeping doubt. That maybe you were just another distraction for Tara, another way to keep the darkness at bay.

Yet, whenever that doubt arose, she would somehow sense it, her arms wrapping around you tighter, her voice low and reassuring, even without you needing to say a word. That unspoken understanding only seemed to confirm your thoughts.

After the move from Woodsboro to New York, you had hoped that a change of scenery might help her start to heal.

But you weren't sure if it had made a difference. If anything, the bustling city seemed to give her more ways to bury her grief.

Tara threw herself into the whirlwind of college life, attending every party she could find, which in New York meant there was always something going on.

Every weekend, without fail, she was out late, coming home blackout drunk more often than not.

You were the first to notice the change in her. The way her hands trembled slightly when she thought no one was looking, the dark circles under her eyes from sleepless nights, and the way she buried herself in the noise and chaos of those parties—anything to keep from facing what was inside.

She would beg you to come with her to these parties, holding your hand a little too tightly as if fearing you might slip away in the crowd.

On nights when you had to study or work at your extra job, she would assure you she was fine to go alone.

But that assurance never lasted, always ending with you getting a call in the early hours to come and get her, to carry her back home when she was too far gone to stand on her own.

And tonight was no different.

You had been studying late into the night, the quiet hum of the city outside your window doing little to keep you company as you poured over your textbooks. The words on the pages blurred together as exhaustion settled in, but your mind wouldn't let you rest.

The quiet of your apartment seemed more restless than usual, and no matter how many times you turned over, sleep eluded you. You were used to going to bed alone on nights like this, used to Tara being out and about, so it wasn't her absence that kept you awake. Still, something nagged at the edge of your consciousness, keeping you from drifting off.

Finally, just as you felt yourself slipping into sleep, your phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up the room. Groggily, you reached for it, squinting at the brightness.

It was Chad. Your heart sank a little as you answered, knowing that a call from him at this hour could only mean one thing. Yet you didnt hesitate before answering

"She's asking for you," Chad said quietly, his voice gentle but insistent. "She's... she's pretty far gone, and she won't leave until you come."

You rubbed a hand over your face, trying to shake off the fog of near-sleep. "Where are you?" you asked, already pulling on your clothes.

He gave you the address of some off-campus apartment, the kind of place that always seemed to be hosting a party. With a sigh, you grabbed your keys and headed out into the night.

The streets were empty as you drove, the glow of the city lights casting long shadows across the pavement.

You knew the route by heart now, having made similar drives more times than you wanted to count.

As you pulled up to the address Chad had given you, you spotted him standing by the curb, holding Tara up as she swayed on unsteady feet.

She was dressed as a pirate, her costume in disarray, her hat missing, and her eyeliner smudged. Her head lolled slightly as Chad helped her toward your car, her feet dragging along the pavement.

"Thanks for coming," Chad said quietly as he eased her down into the front seat. He lingered for a moment before adding, "I don't know how many she's had tonight."

You nodded, trying to muster a tired smile. "Thanks, Chad. I'll take it from here."

He gave you a sympathetic look before stepping back. "Be careful," he said, the concern clear in his voice.

Once Chad closed the door, you turned to Tara.

She was slumped against the seat, her eyes half-lidded as she stared out the window, lost in whatever haze the alcohol had put her in.

For a moment, you considered trying to talk to her, to get her to see reason, but you knew better. This wasn't the time for deep conversations, not when she was like this.

As you started the car and began driving, you couldn't help but break the silence. "Tara, you can't keep doing this. This needs to stop."

You didn't know how much longer you could stand by and watch her destroy herself.

She blinked slowly, turning to look at you with bleary eyes. For a moment, she just stared, as if trying to process what you had said. Then her expression hardened, her brows knitting together in a frown.

"I don't need you telling me what to do," she muttered, her voice slurring but laced with irritation.

"Amber wouldn't have."

This was always how it went—her getting pouty and defensive, like a child refusing to be told what to do. She always brought up Amber whenever she was drunk, throwing her name out like a shield, deflecting from the real issue at hand. It hurt to hear, but you were used to it by now.

You sighed, and after a moment, you answered softly, "I know."

When you finally pulled up in front of your apartment building, getting Tara inside proved to be a struggle.

She stumbled with every step, her legs barely supporting her weight, and you had to practically carry her up the stairs.

Every time she leaned too heavily on you, you feared you both might topple over, but you held on, determined to get her inside without waking anyone.

By the time you reached your door, you were exhausted.

Tara mumbled something incoherent as you fumbled with the keys, trying to keep her upright.

Once inside, you helped her move as quietly as possible to avoid waking Sam. The last thing you needed was her storming out and seeing Tara like this, not again.

With Tara still leaning heavily on you, you guided her to her bedroom, the familiar path feeling longer than usual.

She was stumbling more than walking, and every time she nearly slipped, you tightened your grip, your patience worn thin but still holding.

You finally managed to get her into her room, her weight heavy against your side as you guided her to the bed.

The moment her legs hit the edge, she let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "You know, sometimes I think I'm just with you because it's easy," she muttered, her words slurred but cutting through you like a knife.

You winced, though you tried to hide it, focusing on helping her sit down.

The bed creaked under her as she slumped forward, her hands gripping the edge as if the room were spinning around her.

Her eyes, glazed over with a mix of alcohol and exhaustion, seemed unfocused.

"Like... you're just there, and I needed someone. Anyone."

She let out another laugh, this one quieter, more resigned. You could see the way her shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her even as she kept talking.

Her words hurt, stabbing into you with a cruel edge, but you knew better than to take them at face value when she was like this. Still, it was hard not to feel the sting of her honesty—or what passed for honesty in her drunken state.

You stayed silent, biting your lip to keep from saying something you'd regret.

Instead, you knelt down in front of her, gently removing her shoes one by one, focusing on the small, mundane task to keep your hands from trembling.

You told yourself she didn't mean it, that she was just drunk and hurting, but the doubt was there, creeping in like a shadow.

Tara didn't stop, the alcohol loosening her tongue further. She swayed slightly, her eyes glassy but filled with something unreadable, something that made your heart twist in your chest.

"Maybe if... if things had been different, I wouldn't have picked you," she continued, her voice wavering.

Her words were slow, as though she were piercing them together as she went, each one a careful, painful blow. "It's not like you're the love of my life or anything. You were just... there."

Her gaze finally met yours, and for a moment, she seemed almost vulnerable, like she was teetering on the edge of something she couldn't pull back from.

You searched her face, looking for some sign that she didn't mean it, that this was just the alcohol talking, but all you found was the deep, gnawing ache of doubt.

Your throat felt tight as you fought back the urge to cry, the tears welling up despite your best efforts to push them down.

It was one thing to know she was drunk, that she was hurting and lashing out—but it was another to hear those words from someone you loved. To feel so disposable.

You took a shaky breath and forced yourself to focus on the moment, not the weight of her words. But the hurt lingered, a heavy presence in the room that you couldn't shake.

Still, you swallowed hard, keeping your voice steady. "Arms up. Let's get you changed."

She hesitated, her gaze lingering on you as if searching for a reaction. When she didn't get one, she huffed in frustration but lifted her arms anyway, letting you help her out of her costume and into more comfortable clothes.

You gently guided her arms into the sleeves of a soft, oversized shirt, the fabric brushing against her skin as you helped her pull it down.

Tara swayed slightly, her head lolling to one side, but you remained focused, carefully easing her out of her costume.

As you slipped her into a pair of comfy sweatpants, you noticed how she barely reacted, her eyes staring blankly at a spot on the floor.

You adjusted the waistband and made sure the pants were comfortable, avoiding any pinching or tightness.

With the costume set aside, you carefully adjusted her shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles and ensuring it fit comfortably.

You avoided meeting her gaze, you could feel her stare and how she was looking at you. Angry, like everything you did was wrong.

You helped her lay down on the bed. You adjusted the pillow behind her head and reached for the covers, but before you could pull it over her, Tara's voice broke the silence.

She looked up at you, her eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that spoke of frustration and raw emotion. There was a hardness in her gaze, as if she was challenging you with the truth she was about to reveal.

"You know I only chose you because you're like her, right?" she said, her voice laced with anger, as if saying Amber's name was an effort in itself.

You froze, your hand still hovering above the covers. Even though you already knew who she was talking about, you asked quietly, "Like who?"

Tara's eyes bore into yours, and she said sharply, "Amber."

The anger in her voice was palpable, but you could also sense regret hiding beneath her words, as if she knew how much she was about to hurt you but couldn't stop herself.

You took a deep breath, trying to mask the sting you felt in your chest. "How come?" you asked, keeping your voice as steady as you could, even though your heart was pounding.

Tara looked at you with a sharp gaze, almost inspecting your face for any hint of vulnerability.

When she didn't get the reaction she was searching for, it was as though something darkened behind her eyes, pushing her to keep going, to say worse things, as if she could force you to break.

She looked at you with unfocused eyes, her expression tight. "You look just like her when you smile," she slurred, her tone was sharper now, as if the words were meant to cut deep.

"The way your eyes crinkle up, it's like you're her twin or something."

She paused, a hint of bitterness in her tone. "And your laugh—God, it's just like hers. It gets under my skin.

As she spoke, her words seemed to drift into a bitter, almost mocking tone, as if the resemblance to Amber was a cruel joke to her. The laughter in her voice contrasted sharply with the hurt it left behind.

You stood there, feeling increasingly insecure about your smile, your laugh, and everything that had been said. The sting of her words left you questioning everything you thought you knew about how you presented yourself to her.

Her words felt like knives, each one slicing through you, but you remained still, biting back the pain. Inside, a storm of emotions raged—anger, sadness, disbelief—but you fought to keep them at bay, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.

"You're always trying to be so understanding, acting like you know exactly what I need. It's exhausting, really," Tara continued, her voice growing harsher, the alcohol pushing her to say things she might've kept hidden otherwise.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.

Memories flashed through your mind—times you had gone out of your way to do things for her, to make her feel better or to bring a smile to her face.

You had done so much because she asked or because you hoped it would mean something to her. But now, it felt as if everything you had done was just a game or a trivial pursuit in her eyes.

When she still didn't get the reaction she wanted, Tara's voice rose, almost desperate now. "You don't matter, you know? Not like she did."

That last statement shattered something inside you. You blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears from spilling over, but they came anyway, hot and unwelcome.

The room seemed to close in around you, her words echoing in your head.

You knew—deep down, you'd always known—that you couldn't compete with a ghost, with the memory of someone she loved so deeply.

Tara had brought Amber up countless times before, always with a mix of regret and longing that you had tried to ignore. Each mention of Amber, every story she told with a hint of nostalgia or pain, was a reminder that you were always secondary in her heart.

You remembered the times when, after a few too many drinks, Tara had let slip how Amber had been irreplaceable, how no one could ever fill that void.

You had brushed off those comments, hoping that with time, you could make her forget or at least help her heal.

But now, standing here, the truth was undeniable. You had tried so hard to be what she needed, but you could never be what she wanted most.

And yet, Tara wasn't done. Her voice grew louder, almost as if she wanted the whole world to hear her torment.

Her gaze was distant, and she started to laugh bitterly. "You have no idea how badly I want to break up with you," she slurred, her voice rising with a frustrated intensity.

Her voice grew louder, and you were starting to worry she would wake Sam up. "You look at me with all this love. And I can't handle it. It's like... I feel suffocated by how much you care, and it's not even real for me."

You swallowed hard, struggling to keep your voice steady as you tried to process the pain. "I'm sorry," you said, the words barely escaping your lips, as if saying them aloud would make the hurt even more real.

Tara's eyes were drooping now, her anger slowly dissolving into exhaustion. But before she could drift off, she mumbled, almost as if to herself, "Might as well tell you the truth... you'll probably stay anyway, right?"

Her tone was a mix of bitterness and resignation, as if she knew, deep down, that no matter how much she tried to push you away, you would still be there.

Her words stung more than anything she'd said before, and you felt your chest tighten.

You took a shaky breath, your own emotions raw, and wiped away the tears that had started to fall. Forcing a smile, even though it felt like a fragile mask, you gently pulled the covers up around her, smoothing them with careful, tender motions.

As you leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, you noticed her breathing was becoming more even, the last traces of consciousness slipping away. "Goodnight, Tara," you said quietly, your voice trembling as you tried to keep it as gentle as possible.

She murmured something incoherent, her words tired and slurry, before finally succumbing to sleep. You lingered for a moment, watching her with a heavy heart, wishing you could make her see how much you truly cared.

As you walked out of her room, the quiet of the apartment settling around you like a heavy weight, you paused at the door. The hurt from her words still fresh, you whispered to the empty space, the heavy words that she couldn't hear.

"I love you."

[acollectionofcuriousreblogs]

Random TMBS Facts You May Not Know Part 3

One of the canonical weapons of the Ten Men is poisonous chewing gum.

[aspiringwarriorlibrarian]

Taking advantage of the free Nimona video and....wow, the Director really believes her own bullshit here. Like it's not just a show for Ballister's sake (or at least, not completely), she genuinely believes that he's ultimately responsible for her actions by being common and disruptive and that he forced her to murder her queen to stop him from becoming a knight. "Today, everyone will see you for who you really are." "She thought someone like you could be a hero, and it cost her her life." She literally runs Gloreth's direct descendant through with a sword and then in the moment after he "dies", her reaction is "May Gloreth forgive you." Not me, never me, no matter how many people I have to kill. May Gloreth forgive you for existing in a way that inconvenienced me even slightly.

Like the religious aspect is not subtle, as far as the Director is concerned her every word and thought and action is the will of Gloreth herself and challenging her is a sacrilegious act. Ballister can change, Ambrosius and the knights can change, the whole kingdom can sit there watching Nimona break down and decide they were wrong about her and accept her, and the Director is still standing on the battlements demanding that they blow up the city because it's what she wants and the mere idea that she could ever be wrong is blasphemy.

Which is a genuinely good message for the film's younger audience as a whole. "Yes, people can change and become better. Yes, whole societies can change and become better. Yes, people deserve second chances. But there are some people who cannot and will not change, and you shouldn't lose sleep over your inability to convert them."

[moondirti]

anal on the beach w/ gaz. a spiritual continuation of that one cbf! dry humping blurb i wrote but can be read separately

kinda dubcon. anal (obviously). manipulation. semi-public sex (no one catches you). gn! reader

he texts you that he’s got an extra ticket to fiji. the message is brief, spontaneous like he tends to be. pack your bags. eta 1420. you planned on rotting home all weekend, already in your pyjamas and hair care, looking every bit a wreck as you feel. it isn’t exactly the opportune time for him to come by; though you know mentioning it won’t do anything to change the fact that he will.

frankly, the whole thing reeks of that kyle-specific class of manoeuvring you’ve come to know in recent. catching you off guard with something you can’t say no to, and using it to push you past what you’re comfortable with. you’re tempted to refuse. it’s too short a notice. pick someone else. but a week long beach trip sounds nice, actually. work has been killing you. your personal life’s a mess. every date you’ve managed to snag in the past month has ghosted you. and to top it all off, you miss your best friend – his odd quirks and all.

so your body’s way of protesting is to slip off the couch, refocusing on the effort it takes to haul your luggage out of storage rather than your several woes. by the time kyle comes by, you’re in a sweatsuit and sneakers, bag stuffed with all the swimsuits you’ve owned since high school; you doubt you’ll have time to wash one between swims.

and it’s nice. you sit next to one another on the plane, syncing your movies by counting down to three. yours is always a few seconds behind, but he waits for your reactions before delving into a spiel about how realistic it is to drive a knife into someone’s throat with just your teeth, à la dev patel. you listen, swinging off every word he says into your own conversations, and it goes that way until the old lady two rows back shushes you. you, specifically, seeing as kyle charmed her into deference when he helped her lift her bags in the overhead compartments. always so considerate.

still, you’re concerned about falling asleep next to him, lest you wake to find a hand kneading your inner thigh.

nothing weird happens, though. you touch down in fiji and check into a lagoon resort (we managed to find you that king room, mr. garrick – the receptionist adds with a smile, eclipsing the weary way you regard sharing one bed. but you’ve had your fair share of cramped family vacations, and are well-versed in the subtle art of pillow walls to keep his side and yours separate.) that first night, he gives you an hour to dress up for dinner reservations while he fetches snacks for the room. make it pretty, yeah? we’re meeting a few distant cousins f’mine. i told them we’re dating to keep the work questions off my back.

nothing weird happens. until—

you take a boat out to Fulaga after citing it as one of the least populous islands. with wisps of white sand, like baker’s flour beneath your feet, and limestone islets across electric blue waters, it’s hard to see why.

no matter to either of you. you lay your towel on flat patch of sand, smothering yourself in sunscreen to play a game of chicken and waves. a vain endeavour, of course. he’s always willing swim out further than you, diving under quivering waters to arch amongst sea turtles and ulavi.

eventually, you grow bored of watching him from the shore, ambling back to your set-up to make use of the oils you bought for an exorbitant price. they lacquer over your skin, the places you can reach, to reflect the light overhead. you recall a quote you read in uni as you slather – something about people broiling themselves as though they were nothing but cuts of meat – and falter for just a moment. it had seemed crude at the time, particularly in the context in which it read, but as you prep yourself for the sun, you can’t help but feel exposed. vulnerable. like predatory eyes are tuned in all around you, peeking from the foliage, the waves, and honed on your slippery flesh.

you tell yourself you’re being silly, and spread yourself back on your towel. the heat licks away at your worries, making good work of laving the salty stress off your neck. you measure time in how long it takes for the sand to flake off your feet, drying as the rest of you does.

when the soft stretch of your stomach starts to burn, you turn yourself over and bury your cheek into the fibres cradling you. sun-drunk, chafed, bruised a little from the choppy waters, you welcome sleep when it inches on your conscious.

“and what are you doing exactly?” kyle huffs, encroaching on your sanctuary. you can’t see him, though you can almost hear the water vaporising off his dark skin. sizzling. the heat sinks into your side once he flops down onto his own towel.

“sunbathing.” you mumble, reluctant to give more than a words response lest it shakes you out of languor.

“the water’s great. you’re missing out.”

“mm. later.”

“and what am i supposed to do?” he all but whines, tugging at the complicated strings that tie your bottoms up on your hips. it doesn’t feel as suggestive as it might be. all you can manage, in the wake of your scoured unease, is annoyance.

“read. dig. sleep.”

he doesn’t take to your advice, shuffling until his knee presses into your arm. “you missed a spot on your back.”

“get it, then.”

“where’s the lube?”

your head snaps up, eyes narrowed both to adjust to the brightness and in admonishment. “oil.”

“same difference.” his grin is wicked, white and impossible to upbraid. rolling your eyes, you settle back down, face turned the other way around to keep an eye on him.

“in my bag.”

he shuffles through your stuff until he comes up with the hot pink bottle, making no stop for confirmation before he squirts the contents over his hands. they feel every bit as big as they look when they press into your back, right below your nape. rough, barnacled with callouses, but softened a bit by the ointment so it doesn’t hurt when his thumbs run circles around your shoulder blades. you sound an appreciative moan.

“say, if you’re short on something to do, y’can always massage me.”

“yeah, yeah. doubt you’ll return the favour.”

“i would... later.”

he laughs. “whatever. isn’t what i want, anyway.”

“and what do you want?” you ask. not because you’re curious – but so long as entertaining him keeps his efforts on your sore muscles, you’ll keep at it.

“oh, y’know.” kyle hums. ambiguous. you don’t know, not really. not until one caress strays lower than it should, conforming to the rounded shape of your ass. your cheeks clench with the sudden touch. he takes it as confirmation that you must want the same thing, too. “these bottoms aren’t leaving much to the imagination, mate.”

“th-they’re old.”

“this pert thing is practically eating them. can’t see fabric anymore.” he squeezes the fat there, shaking it in a vice grip that doesn’t so much as allow you to sit up, to knock his assault off. “want me to look for it?”

“kyle–”

“kyle.” he mocks, snickering. your hesitation does nothing to dissuade him. instead, he rocks up to straddle your legs, hands moving away from your back to settle below the curve of your ass. you don’t know what’s hotter – the damp, sun-bleached sand cushioning you, or the way he spreads either cheek apart, groaning when your swim-suit slips to expose the tight rim under it. “fuck. you been hiding this from me?”

“i- i don’t… please don’t be w-weird about this.”

“dunno what you mean by that.” he says, then promptly proceeds to be weird about it as his knuckle grazes your hole. you’re stiff, printing an indelible mark on beach. “never had it touched before?”

“no. i’m not a freak.”

“ouch, darl.” but he’s already spurting a hefty amount of oil onto you, working it in with a thick thumb. effectively makes good on his stupid name for it; lubes you up, nice and slick, so the only pain that arises at his intrusion is the virgin stretch. “promise it feels good.”

and you hate to admit it, but it does. once you get over the foreign sensation of his finger pistoning where you’ve never been fucked before, it stirs a tumultuous heat in your belly. part of it, you think, isn’t so much the physical sensation as it is the taboo of it all. despite the beach being virtually empty, void of any life but hermit crabs and the two debauched humans at its centre, there’s a delicious thrill that curls with the risk of being caught. not only being conventionally raunchy, but having your ass gaped by your best friend. what a sight you must make, pinned to the ground, having your sense pared off you in slow, painstaking layers.

one finger becomes two, and two soon turns to three.

the sound is so lewd, borderline disgusting when set against the natural ambience. you squelch and suck around him, lube smacking between your nates. and you lament it in slow, drawn-out breaths. embarrassed, wailing, soughing with the briny wind. kyle’s determined to get you ready for something much bigger, it seems, because four digits cram into your hole and scissor apart.

“is that re- really necessary?” you pick your sand- dusted face off the towel to huff into the thick air.

you feel him jostle atop your legs. shrugging, likely, in that deferent way he does when he realises acquiescence will better serve his purpose.

“whatever you want, mate.” there’s the sound of wet fabric scratching against itself, his trunks shucked down to rest mid-thigh. “i was getting impatient, anyway.”

if the excitement in his tone isn’t enough of a forewarning, he soon makes you regret saying anything at all when he notches his cock against you. it’s fat even at the end, the head too hefty to fit between your spread cheeks. it slips as it searches for purchase, rubbing against the excess lube he pours for aid, before pushing in. not in one fell swoop, but with five short, strong thrusts to finally anchor into your asshole.

you squeal, grasping behind you, onto his wrists for stability. you feel capsized, heeled over, thrown off kilter. shells and sparkling horizons dot the backs of your eyelids, liquid pleasure coursing through your veins. nothing about it is romantic, momentous like firsts should be. rather, you liken it to soap scum. spume. salt crusted hair. natural conclusions to things you overlook.

“s’fuckin’ tight, soft. can’t breath when you squee-eeze me like th-that. loosen up… up, mate.”

“k-kyle. fuck. ah! i c-can’t, you’re so… yersobig.”

“tried, didn’t i? b’you wanted to complain. next time i’ll make you t-take it dry… teach you how to count your, your blessings.”

and that turn of phrase – next time – is what sticks as he thrusts into you. not the implication that it’ll be painful, or that he intends to punish you for whatever it is you did wrong – but that this isn’t the last incident of its kind.

you had excused his homecoming – that first time he rushed you with a hug and came in his pants – as incidental, weeks of pent up energy. you try to excuse this – this, taking your ass on a vacation he probably booked precisely for the two of you – even while it unfolds, searching for justification in the distance between here and home.

but you’re not stupid. what becomes increasingly clear, as kyle fixes your waist in place and cants your hips higher, balls slapping your greased thighs, tightening with his looming orgasm, is that this was never meant to be a one time thing.

(won’t be, if he has any say in it.)

you resolve to think about it later. later; the coil in your stomach ripping a blinding release.

[yandereunsolved]

Yandere self-aware Aegons—the pissing contest of the ages.

Yandere Book Aegon is doing everything he can to keep your attention on him. He changes phrases in the book and even manipulates the plot, so he is seen as more favorable. He destroyed Rhaenyra with ease and now sits on the throne with a goblet of her blood. You swear, that wasn't how it happened. You look at the wiki, and it confirms it. Did you just get some weird, unedited copy? Did someone make a fake and switch it out? It leaves you puzzled. 

Yandere Book Aegon puts random sex scenes within the pages just to see how you react. He doesn't understand that half of your reaction is just surprise and confusion.  Why is the whore in the pleasure house described just as you are? How did that get in there? Did he just moan your name!?

Yandere Book Aegon just has to entice you. It's like a never ending adventure. Every time you open it, something new is happening. It doesn't help that this fictional book character knows how to tease you. It's as if he has been watching you from afar. Impossible. Just your silly little imagination.

Yandere Show Aegon always turns on your television, so you watch him instead. He'll interject whenever you try to change the channel. If you do, he'll push himself into the next channel and try to 'blend in' to watch you.

Yandere Show Aegon who makes sure all of your content is curated around House of the Dragon. He can't have you losing your interest yet! He recommends fanfics, edits, and profile pictures of him and only him. He doesn't need you to get more attached to another character. You consume content of Aemond instead? No. Suddenly, Aemond's name is switched to Aegon in every fic you try to read.

Yandere Show Aegon who goes off-screen to plot and see if there is a way to come into your world. He needs to get there before Book Aegon!

Yandere Show Aegon who is madly jealous that he is only a product of an actor. You like the actor more than him! That isn't fair. He is better. He has a dragon! What does that guy have? 'Acting talent'? He won't be super talented if Aegon has anything to do with it. He is so conflicted because that dude is him; he plays him. Yet he is here with you right now. At least Tom is handsome, which makes him handsome. Could he escape and manipulate you into thinking he is Tom's secret twin brother?

Yandere Book Aegon who swears at the other Aegon when your attention shifts to your television mysteriously turning on.

Yandere Show Aegon who wants to kill the other Aegon when you take the book to a separate room with no electronics.

Both eventually give up on the subtle tactic and tell you who they are. Oh, you're afraid? No need. They'll either come into your world or drag you into theirs. They can always just—change the script.

[aphroditelovesu]

Yandere Monkey D. Luffy Headcanons (General)

''I can't be the King of Pirates without you by my side.'' — Monkey D. Luffy.

❝ 👒 — lady l: It's 4am and I decided to finish this because I was bored lol. Hope you like it! I'm sorry for any mistake and good reading! ❤️💛

❝tw: obsessive behavior, overprotection, mention of death and torture, unhealthy relationships.

❝👒pairing: yandere!monkey d. luffy x gender neutral!reader.

Monkey D. Luffy has a relaxed and even sloppy personality, in a way. He has a carefree air, who cares about few things in his life. He had a goal, a dream, in mind and he would do anything to achieve it. But that dream became irrelevant after he met you.

He insisted a lot on you joining his crew, literally chasing you, harassing you, until you agreed to become a pirate. Luffy jumped for joy when that happened, because it meant you responded to him, as your Captain.

Luffy doesn't like to give you orders and he will rarely do so, unless it is unavoidable, in which case he will try to be as subtle as possible, as if he wasn't ordering you to do something. He is the Straw Hat Captain, but he is not your captain, not in a personal way at least. Furthermore, he wants you to find One Piece together with him.

He is very optimistic and tends to be very kind, trying to see the good in people, but he is a hypocrite when it comes to you. Even if you were the cruelest person in the world, Luffy would defend you tooth and nail. He's not very fair when it comes to you and anything ''wrong'' you do will be ignored by him, maybe even applauded.

People tend to think he's dumb or at least stupid, but that's not true. He may not be good at things that require greater thinking, but Luffy is anything but stupid. He is quite intelligent in his own way and it shows in the way he acts towards you. His intelligence is characterized by his emotional ability, he is very good at reading you and knowing your needs.

Luffy values you more than the rest of his crew. He loves all his friends, but he loves you the most. He would never say it out loud, but he would sacrifice everyone, send them to their deaths, if you so wish. He wants to make you happy and if the death of those who are important to him is the path to that happiness, so be it.

He is not possessive or jealous because Luffy knows he is your favorite. He doesn't mind other people being around you, but he has his limit. If Luffy thinks, even a little, that he is being replaced in your life, he won't accept it. Not without a fight. He's no stranger to bloodshed or killing, so he'll have no problem doing so.

On the other hand, Luffy is extremely overprotective and clingy, to a frightening degree. He dragged you into this life, but he doesn't want you to be an active participant. The idea, the thought, of you getting hurt sends you into a frenzy of anger and worry. He will kill, cut and even torture the person who hurt you and will only be satisfied when he has finished with the person.

Luffy is quite controlling and curious, he wants to know everything about you and he will find out. He doesn't want any secrets to be kept from him and he may feel betrayed if you try to keep something from him. Did he not give you enough confidence? Don't you know he's the only one you can really trust? Luffy will have to do something about your inappropriate behavior.

He likes to spend as much time as he can by your side, take everything he can and stay close to you as much as possible. His favorite moments together are when you are eating or sitting on the bow of the Going Merry. Luffy is very greedy for food and for you, if there are two things he cares about most and values above all else, it's you and food, in that order.

It's not easy to irritate him, but he gets irritated very easily when you're involved. If someone says something bad about you, feel sorry for that person because they won't end well. Luffy would never go so far as to kill over an insult, but he will get upset and he can be a pain in the ass when he is upset about something.

Luffy often behaves like a child, he tends to go to extremes very easily. He goes from 80 to 180 very quickly, his infectious joy turns to fury very quickly when it comes to you. He loves to entertain you with his rubber body, letting you play or making funny faces. He loves to hear you laugh and will do anything to see you laugh.

He hates seeing you cry, hates seeing your beautiful face wet with tears, your lips pursed as you cry. If Hell exists, then for Luffy it's seeing you cry. He will become furious and demand to know the cause of your sadness and once he finds out, he will deal quickly, often bloodily. If it is one of the Mugiwara, however, he will just be more rigid and will not hurt them.

Luffy is selfless, he is willing to sacrifice himself for you, to save you. He is delusional to a fault, willing to kill anyone who crosses you, including his own friends. Whatever past hurt you may, if he has your approval, Luffy will get revenge for you. No one can hurt you, no one can make you cry. He may not be the most dangerous to you, but to others around him, Luffy will have no qualms.

[rizsu]

you're married to geto suguru, yet you plan to kill him. interesting, right? truth be told; you despise suguru. you loathe his touch, hate his voice, detest his entire person as a whole. you never loved him — it was simply just toleration.

suguru... he's a decent husband, at most. he gives you money — which is most important — he buys you gifts, he's home, at least. suguru gives you everything but himself. you cried for his touch, he never gave it. you begged for his presence, he said he had pressing business to attend to. he's the best but worst fucking husband ever.

it's not only his negligence, it's him slowly replacing you with someone else. slowly, but surely, you've noticed that another person has been consuming your presence, wringing you dry of the little authority you had within the geto residence. at first, it bothered you to the core. every time you spoke to suguru about these concerns, your voice echoed through the walls like a broken record. in one ear and out the other; heard but not listened.

your tears dropped, yet to him it did nothing but cause a wet mess. he'd always sigh, feeling guilty to leave you spiraling in your emotions. "don't cry, love," he'd say, whispering sweet nothings in your head. he'd bring you to his chest, completely swallowing you in his hold. his fingers would caress your body, reminding you that you're a geto, you're apart of him now. you're not alone. only the foolish marionette will melt in its master's dull words. once the marionette was you, twice is what it won't be.

the honeymoon phase wilted, what's left is nothing short of two adults tied together by a piece of paper. a liar is what you refuse to be. if anyone may ask, you will not lie. it's true, your heart feels heavy. you miss the suguru you met as naive teenagers, you miss the suguru who loved you from the moon and back. unfortunately, what comes must go. you've grown tired of being the sole one who reminds him about anniversaries and birthdays.

his effort to maintain the marriage no longer exists. his attraction to the mistress heightens every week. it hurts, yes, but you're numb to it. hell be damned you've become the forgotten wife but never will you ever be the wife who allows her cheating husband to be.

no, never. they won't get a laugh out of you — they won't get the last say. the blame glazes over both, yet it soaks suguru more. as a married man, he should've known better than to entertain a mere lady's lust to him. now comes his price to pay, and soon she will pay hers. a circus that walks together, dies together.

it's never easy planning a murder. you don't want to get caught — prison isn't somewhere you'd want to be. the easiest and most effiecent way to ensure suguru's death will be poisoning. not just any poisoning, however. a poison that kills naturally; something that'll make his death appear natural.

suguru's always been a healthy man, using an excuse such as "he fell ill," won't work. he doesn't have much enemies. his peers loved him. a death by food poisoning seems much more acceptable. food poisoning occurs in many ways: for example, if the food has been left out for too long, boom, food poisoning. it's not unusual for one to die by it, so the plan sets sail.

──

one: errands.

as usual, your role of playing the forgotten wife will remain the same. running your ‘errands’ will be as easy as flipping a page, suguru pays you no attention. today it'll be the same. the only obstacle would be to find the energy to arise off of the bed.

the subtle sunlight grants the room a warming aura, giving the perfect contrast together with the air conditioner. like always, suguru's gone. the only trace of him being here would be your memory of him sneaking in last night. at least he has enough manners to not wake you.

same old, same old. you'll only waste your energy worrying about him, let's just finish the morning routine.

"morning," out of habit, you greet the empty house. coming out of slumber to be greeted by an empty home used to do numbers to you. now, it doesn't. its merely a house cosplaying as a home.

the oh-so fluttering dreams of a married life with suguru have dusted away. if only you can go back in time and stop your lovesick self. whatever, no use dwelling on it now. there's a plan to layout.

a single toasted slice of bread, your bottle of water, a handbag, and the car keys are all you took out the door with you. the house keys are attached together with the car keys so it's not a worry. not like you'll be back before suguru anyway.

the drive feels silent. although the radio's on, it feels empty. maybe it's the effects of your clouded mind, or maybe it's you attempting to clear your mind. either way, it's nothing but trivial matters. at this very moment you most likely have to stitch up a lie believable enough to obtain the poison.

chilly, is what you think. you're at the destination; it's an apartment complex that was in the makings but was abandoned. it's dirty, puddles of water decorate the floor, and its filled with dealers and criminals alike. can't blame them, it's the perfect place for a hideout. coming here alone as a woman is something you'd never do... without a weapon that is. you don't own a gun, but you do own a pocket knife.

"psst," someone calls out. they must be calling another person. let's just continue walking.

"you, woman," they call again. surely it's not you. let's just speed up the pace.

"oi, rude bitch 'm talking to you," they specify and surely enough they aren't calling you a bitch, right?

"you're not talking to me with that attitude," you turn around, raising an eyebrow at the man — or lady, you don't know. their face is covered and their clothes are baggy.

the stranger walks you to, and you walk backwards. okay, it's kinda getting creepy.

"any — any reason why you're coming to me?" you questioned, trying to mask your obvious worries.

"aren't you the one who's here for the poison, missy?" they stop walking, reaching into their pockets before bringing a small, white tube in view.

oops, you're caught off guard. if this is who you agreed to meet with you only hope they don't run with the poison.

"oh — yes, that's me! how'd you know?"

"have my ways. ain't a dealer if i don't know my clients — even if they're a one timer," they speak, handing you the tube. "name's siren. just an alias, don't question it."

you carefully take the tube, in return you quickly place the envelope in their hand. ready to get out of there, you ramble out your words, "okay, thank you! the money is in there, bye! see you never!"

siren watches your frame scatter away from them, the sounds of your low heels clicking the floor making them chuckle. crazy woman, they think, returning their focus back on the money.

you're back in the car safe and sound. you know what, it's time to go back. you lock your doors, hide the tube in your handbag, and turn up the radio. now that the errand's over, you probably won't go outside for two days.

ah, home. nothing beats being home. except suguru's car is parked so that means he's here. the home is now back to the house. inhaling a deep breath, you mentally prepare yourself to have any interaction with him. you have your doubts but something inside you screams that he's going to talk.

"where have you been?"

well, that was quick. you only managed to take your heels off. talk about an impatient man.

"out for a breather, why?" you return the question, walking into the living room without glancing at him.

"all right," he says, not continuing the conversation.

ladies and gentlemen, never get married. suguru no longer cares to hold conversations. you can tell the ugliest lies to him and he wouldn't care. as long as you're back, it's okay. you're used to it, yet a silent voice in you wished that he would've asked more questions.

you continue on without glancing at him, making your way to the shared bedroom. it's a little after noon, you'll take this time to relax.

──

two: weird individual(s).

it's hot — you feel hot. a burning sensation engulfs your head. this wasn't supposed to happen. you were making dinner, casually sipping on your glass of wine as you go along. suguru, for some reason, finally showed himself for the day. without a word, he seated himself near the counter, pouring himself a glass of wine and keeping his eyes on you.

to say you're not uncomfortable would be a severe understatement. his eyes create holes in your back — it's annoying. say something if you want to, asshole, you complained in your mind but truly, you yourself weren't going to say anything.

and so, you carried on. dinner being cooked and suguru being weird. it got even more weird when he stood up. you're at the sink, cleaning as you go along. suguru's finished with his glass, so it's not out of the ordinary for him to stand behind you, trapping you with both arms as he washes his glass, right? yeah, it's pretty weird.

"uh, do you mind?" you softly spoke, which was also weird. why is everything just weird tonight?

suguru stays in that position, humming to a tune you're not familiar with.

"is it wrong to be near my wife?"

oh, now i'm his wife.

"not at all, suguru. it's just that i'm busy at the moment," you told half the truth. you are busy, but you don't want him near you.

"is that so?" he spoke, removing one hand only to place it on your hip. slowly, he begins to squeeze the flesh, lowering his head into the junction of your neck and shoulder. his voice, though muffled, can be heard with a low, seductive tone, "missed you all day, why not busy yourself with me?"

bullshit, but it's not bad. you can do with some physical destressing.

"not in the kitchen."

"sure."

and that's how you found yourself tangled on top of him on the sofa. sloppily making out with him, hands found freedom in his hair, and his hands found home on your hips. it's a hot mess, and you're kind of liking it. suguru may be a bitch, but he sure knows your body. it's been five years, after all.

"wait—" you broke the kiss, placing your hands on his chest. "let's st—stop," you spoke, stuttering as suguru leans his head to bite your neck.

"why?" he asks, curious at your sudden choice. you never stopped him before.

"i.. don't feel good, sorry suguru," you lied again. suguru isn't and is the problem. you'd love to go deeper with him but the realization that he's touched another woman like this disgusts you. it's no wonder you plan on killing him.

suguru doesn't speak. instead, he moves you off of him. "it's okay," he says, leaning in to give you a kiss on the cheek. it doesn't take long for him to leave you alone again. now you're feeling a pinch of guilt. i'm not wrong, right? he's the one who abandoned me.

you sigh, lifting yourself off the sofa. there's a dinner to indulge in and trust, you will enjoy it. you made it with your blood, sweat, tears, and some wine.

──

three: poison attempt day.

surprisingly, you felt energized today. as if someone charged six-hundred volts of energy to a dead battery. today's the day, hopefully. the man who cosplays himself as a husband is absent per usual. it's up to you to cook lunch.

you're already preparing; there's no time to waste. every minute needs your utmost attention — the kind of attention a predator gives its prey before hunting them. the one downside to this would be the poison's taste. it's not an overwhelming one, but it's there. anything with a strong scent comes with a strong taste, they say. you haven't put it to the test — no way, you're not suicidal — but the safer side's always better.

ginger, you think, ginger and onions overpower everything. bingo. a minute¹ change to the recipe's ingredients but it's nothing to fret over. trivial matters again. within an hour, lunch was finished with a cherry on top — except the cherry holds the uneven balance between suguru's life and death.

you removed your apron, flicked off the water from your hands after you washed it, and then threw yourself face-first onto the longer sofa. exhaustion massages your body, encouraging you to fall into its depths. its opponent, emotional drain, creeps up. your body's the platform, and they're the contestants. a battle of who will dominate you begins; a useless battle for the woman whose tears dried up long ago.

a heavy sigh escapes, i'm tired, you think. sliding your hands under your head, you use it to cushion the side of your face. it's quiet like always but you're left to your thoughts this time. it may just crown itself for being the first time you gave yourself leeway to part and understand your tangled emotions. it's like a ball of tangled wires: scattered yet neat. roads to untangle it are visible, yet its many wires frighten the person.

what you feel is nothing short of some doll who replaces her face to satisfy the owner. the marionette you once were and refuse to be again. she who shows you, you who show yourself, who is the real you? perhaps, it's all. everything is you, everything has become you. many versions of yourself dance around the stage, all moving towards to same goal: killing the one who drained them.

the clock ticks, each sounded second rips your skin apart. it's torturous, but soon it'll all be over. i think i need a nap, your last voice echoes away in your mind as you succumb to exhaustion. who knew planning a murder against your once beloved could've been this draining.

─

suguru lazily enters, slackening his tie. his eyes focus on the lunch decorating the dining table. soon, his eyes travel to your resting figure. after all, you're in his usual position. she's sleeping, he thinks of the obvious, deciding to keep a low profile as to not wake you.

however, being a man means that you're prone to making mistakes... especially loud ones. from the cup connecting with the floor to the fork clanging as it fell, it's been a rather loud attempt at serving himself some lunch.

he's sure that you're awake. well, not entirely awake, but conscious enough to hear everything around you. the blame is his to own, again.

"it's untouched..." suguru whispers, confused at the perfectly untouched food that lies before his eyes. maybe you got a change of eating routine.

lies, of course. you'd be nothing but a joker if you were to consume the same food you poisoned. suguru doesn't know this, however. he's picked his path and the path hides its true face; wicked and heartless, like a haunted house pretending to be a normal house to lure in its victims.

it's been a few minutes later and you're now fully awake. you haven't moved an inch to expose yourself — just mindlessly gazing into the void of your shared house. you're aware that he's home, aware that he's found himself lunch, and aware that the clock's ticking sound has gotten louder. almost as if it knows its counting down someone's death day.

"is he eating?" you whispered, peeking from the sofa's backrest. "oh, he is."

suguru's at the dining table, scrolling on his phone as he shoves a vegetable in his mouth. his actions fill you with guilt, excitement, and fear. for a reason only god knows, you don't want him eating anymore. may it be due to loving him half of your life, or may it be due to the guilt of killing someone who mattered to others. whatever, who cares. no one — no one will, you chant in your mind, attempting to convince yourself.

"wait, suguru—" you acted out of your own will, cutting your speech short when you regained yourself. what the fuck? you're leaning over the sofa's backrest, reaching an arm out to suguru. eyes wide open, you try to piece together a reasonable follow-up response.

"hm? something wrong?" suguru asks, mouth filled with food. he places his phone face down and tilts his head. he looks innocent, as if he's not a cheating, neglecting bastard of a husband. well, that's the way life goes. the evil masks themselves as the innocent, basking in those who are more innocent than themselves, slowly consuming their energy for their own. selfish, selfish people.

"ah," you begin, awkwardly lowering your hand. "is the food okay? i tried a new recipe."

i don't want to kill him.

"yeah, it's good," he responds, taking a sip of whatever he's drinking.

he's wronged me.

you walk towards the dining table, pulling out a chair to seat yourself in front of him. "i see... how was your morning?" you questioned, swallowing hard. your legs are shaking, you don't know why. your heart races, you can't answer why.

"boring, same old stuff. i met with my client though, she's fun to be around," suguru tells, poking the food with his fork to get a good bite.

i fucking hate him.

you don't speak after that. instead, you bite at the skin of your lower lip. your emotions try to join together, yet they won't. it's like a lava lamp, they'll never truly connect. every time you're away from suguru, your hatred tames. every time he's back, it heightens. it doesn't take much more than his voice to fuel your restless anger. you observe him, watching the way his throat bobs each swallow. something feels off.

the two of you continue in silence, simply observing each other. suguru takes it upon himself to do the dishes, you remain put in the chair. his phone remained with you, face down yet dings with notifications. you've always wondered what it's like to have him text you every day. once it was a memory of the teenage years... now it's a sour dream.

──

four: night, night.

it's the same night, you're in bed with suguru. both of you are under the same covers, yet you're both at the extreme ends of the bed. a large, empty space separates you two. neither are asleep nor do they wish to be awake. a heavy feeling rains over their shared room. the tension's strong enough to break the strongest thread.

suguru's the first to turn, rolling himself over to you. he extends an arm to secure over your waist; this brings you skin-to-skin with his torso and your back. his head lowers to yours, resting his chin on your head. you give no reaction except stiffing your body. what's he up to?

his extended arm caresses you lightly, mimicking patterns on your delicate skin. he takes a deep breath before exhaling.

"my love, i know you're planning to kill me," he softly speaks, waiting for you to respond.

your heart drops. what? he knows? it's probably a bluff. you opt for remaining the way you currently are. if you continue pretending, he'll most likely continue speaking the truth.

"i've been watching you. i don't blame you, dear. i've neglected you for quite some time. i've cheated on you with someone temporary. if i were you, i would've killed me sooner. however, i won't lie and say i'm not hurt. if my wife were to kill me, i'd prefer it to be in an easy, quick way. you've chosen your part and i can't change that, but promise me: on my deathbed, you'll be there. it's not a request to mock you, but a request of seeing you one last time," suguru empties himself out, pouring onto you a bucket of words that hold the truth. the ugly truth you've avoided.

literally fuck off. it means nothing now, you think, judging suguru's words.

"i've been horrible and nothing can change that. i will not beg for forgiveness, nor will i beg for your love. it's already been done. but please, my dear... let me say sorry," his voice quiets to the end and the caressing stops. his hand remains firm, waiting for you to come out of your fake shell. "i know you're not asleep. answer me, please."

caught red-handed.

"i don't care for your fucking apology. it's a bit too late," you spit your venom out, thanking the gods that your back is what's facing him. "matter of fact, i hope you die soon. do as you wish, though. your time is limited."

suguru doesn't answer yet. his arm around you tightens. his breathing's getting uneven — you can hear it. it's shaking, the same way your eyes are shaking to prevent any tears — or as you call it, the pity tears.

he takes in a deep breathe, verbally exhaling a shaky one in return, "then, i'll apologize. i'm sorry."

that's it, huh, you think, almost voicing out your thoughts.

"it means nothing to apologize for actions i could've prevented a long time ago. so, i'm sorry. sorry that i've wronged you to the point you plot my death," he finishes, not having any more to say.

you wriggle out of his grasp, turning to face him. it's dark yet you can see his sadness. isn't that just too bad? the bar of the love you still feel for suguru exists, yet its overpowered by the hatred you've accumulated for him. it stings that he's going like this, but you rather it be by your own arms instead of another's.

"i don't have anything to say," you quietly speak, looking at suguru in the eyes. "if it doesn't work, then i hope you recover in the worst way. if it works and you die, i'll kiss you a merciful death."

the conversation ends. what's left are two adults staring into each other's eyes. there's nothing but empty voids facing each other. voids they once filled, voids they once created. it's too late; too late for anything. suguru's a petty liar if he says he's not afraid. who isn't afraid of death? he doesn't want to die, but what's done cannot be undone. he cannot turn the clock anti-clockwise and fix his actions. you won't be switching lanes, and it's set what the outcome will be.

minute¹ — pronounced my·new·tuh. meaning: extremely small. two synonyms: tiny, little.

[mysaintkitten]

hii first of all i just wanna say your writing is amazing & you are so very talented 🤍!!!! every time i see you’ve posted something i can’t wait to read it :]

anyway!! i was hoping i could request a jonathan crane x reader fic in which he gets jealous and protective over his gf <3 reader is really pretty (like one of those pinterest or ig baddies) and not the type of girl people typically picture a doctor dating lmaoaoao but he gets jealous n stuff bc people hit on her 😭 ugh i’m rambling now but ty ily 🤍

thank you so so much !! you are so kind !! i appreciate it very very much !! ilyt !!

Claimed | Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

prompt: someone tries to flirt with you at an event, and jonathan doesn’t take it lightly (NSFW!! NO MINORS!!)

WARNINGS: brief awkward interactions with pushy men, mentions of spiked drinks/possible death, implications of murders/killing, unprotected sex (p in v), jonathan and reader are both possessive, breeding/pregnancy kink, squirting, creampie

word count: 4.3k *not proofread*

“sweetheart, we’ve gotta go soon!” jonathan calls out to you from the front room. he stands in front of a large full body mirror making some final adjustments before he leaves. he takes a deep breath and slides a small syringe into his pocket. hopefully he won’t have to use it, but tonight could be hectic.

there’s a large event in gotham tonight and jonathan wants to make sure he looks his absolute best before showing up. though, he doesn’t think he’ll have to worry so much. with you on his arm, he doubts anyone will be paying much attention to his looks.

jonathan wasn’t an ugly man by any means, but you’ve lost track of how many times people told you that you’re out of his league. you didn’t see it. he’s handsome, smart, and sweet. well, sweet towards you, at least. and that’s what mattered.

“i’m coming, just hold on!” you shout back from the bedroom as you slip on your heels. you quickly walk towards the vanity before flattening our your dress and shifting it around so it hugs your body just right. once you’re happy, you head out and meet jonathan in the front room. as soon as he sees you, his anxiety begins to fade and a proud grin appears on his lips.

“darling ..” he coos as he begins to take a few steps to meet you in the middle. he runs his hands along your arms and kisses you softly, making sure he doesn’t ruin your makeup in any way.

“do i look nice?” you ask, jonathan chuckles breathily. “you look stunning, my love. now come on, we’ve gotta go.”

you sigh as he lightly grabs your wrist and starts to lead you outside, “nothing wrong with being fashionably late, jon.”

the drive to the event is rather quiet, you stare out the window, jonathan stays fixated on the road with his hand on your thigh. after a few minutes pass and you begin to arrive closer to the event jonathan decides to give you a brief rundown of what to expect.

“all right, these people will be obnoxious. and pretentious. and dull. but all you have to do is smile and nod and look pretty, okay?” jonathan asks sweetly. he’s not exactly asking you, he’s telling you. but you don’t mind, this is his event after all, you’re really just there to be eye candy. a subtle little ‘fuck you’ to the people who doubted him and his abilities to find love. jonathan was perpetually single for years until he met you, and the people around him made it their mission to never allow him to forget it. but you flipped a switch within him. his soft, gentle side began to spill out more and more. although he still definitely kept his cold and calculated side, he just tried to keep it away from you as best he could.

jonathan pulls up to the gotham museum where the event is being held. there’s a handful of people outside, standing and talking, but the real business is going down inside. you start to feel a bit nervous, you knew this event was going to be big, but this was more than you had anticipated.

you glance over to jonathan and flash him a smile, hoping to convey authentic happiness, but when you see him frown slightly in response you realize you weren’t very convincing.

“it’ll be all right, darling. i promise. you can cling to my arm the entire night, no one will bother you.” he whispers, petting the side of your face gently, “they know what i’m capable of.”

the implication of violence gave you chills. it was hot knowing how evil and dangerous he could be, while on the flip side be so affectionate and loving. he’d get down on all fours for you, kiss the ground you walk on. he had never felt that way about anyone, not in the slightest. in fact, he held partial animosity towards most people. some stronger than others. after years of being picked on and ridiculed, it’s not surprising he felt this way.

you nod at his words and form a genuine smile, making jonathan smile in return.

“let’s head inside.” he hums.

you exit the car with jonathan and begin to approach the museum, already noticing people look your way and whisper amongst themselves. you wrap your arm around jonathan’s, holding him close as you enter the event.

as you’re inside for merely a few moments, taking in the scenery and people around you, you hear someone shout from afar.

“crane!”

you and jonathan’s heads shoot over to the direction of the shout, where you’re met with a man you’ve never seen before. you feel a bit worried, but then you look over at jonathan who’s smiling. you begin to relax, if he’s not worried, you’re not worried.

the man is finally face to face with jonathan, where he grins widely and sticks out his hand. jonathan laughs and shakes the man’s hand, “been a while, hasn’t it?”

jonathan notices your confusion and breaks the handshake to speak to you, “darling, this is a friend of mine from university, his name is dr. fiske.”

you’ve heard of dr. fiske before. jonathan said he was his only friend throughout university. it’s nice to finally put a face to a name. you smile shyly at him and stick your hand out to shake his hand, “pleasure to meet you.”

he shakes your hand and nods, “same to you, miss.”

“is this your girl, crane?” dr. fiske asks, a smirk forming on his face as he drops your hand.

jonathan nods while grinning proudly, “she’s all mine.”

“look at jonny go!” he exclaims happily, smacking jonathan’s arm playfully. jonathan laughs and shrugs, “i know, i know. i got very lucky.”

you can’t help but smile at his words, he always made sure you knew how much he appreciated you and how lucky he got with you. but to hear him tell it to others really solidified his love for you, you’d never been put on such a pedestal by a partner before.

“well, i won’t hold you guys up. it was nice to see you crane, and it was nice to meet you ma’am.” dr. fiske adds before leaving to head to another area of the event.

the night goes well. jonathan talks to people, and you do as he asked. smiled, nodded, looked pretty. and he was right, these people were like parasites. energy leeches. it was becoming more and more difficult to feign this contentment when your annoyance was beginning to boil inside of you. you can only hear so many rich pricks ramble about how great they are in one night.

luckily, the conversations begin to fizzle out.

“would you like to get a drink?” jonathan questions, already knowing what your response will be.

“yes, please.” you sigh with relief. it would be much easier to pretend to be interested if you were drunk, but having to do all this sober was really putting your acting skills to the test.

jonathan chuckles and leads you to the bar, “stay here for a moment, darling. i need to use the restroom. don’t move, i’ll be right back. order yourself whatever you’d like.”

he gives you a quick peck on the cheek before heading off to the bathroom. you really didn’t want to be alone surrounded by people you didn’t know. but you’re grown, and you remember what jonathan said. they know what i’m capable of.

“gin and tonic, please.” you order politely, the bartender mumbles and begins to make your drink.

as you stand there, clicking your nails against the counter while you wait, you’re disrupted by an unfamiliar voice.

“here all by yourself, hun?”

you quickly swing around with a confused expression on your face, and you’re met with an extremely tall stranger that reeks of alcohol. you have no idea who this man is, or why he’s decided to talk to you out of all people. of course this would happen the moment jonathan leaves your side.

“uh .. no, actually. i’m here with my boyfriend.” you respond flatly as you hear the sound of the bartender placing your drink down behind you, you thank them and grab your drink, bringing it up to your lips and taking a small sip.

“well .. he doesn’t seem to be around, love.” the man noticed while slurring, “doesn’t he know better than to leave a pretty thing like you unattended?”

“he’ll be back soon. and trust me, he will not be happy to see you talking to me.” you warn, feeling irritated at this man’s inability to take no for an answer.

he clicks his tongue and tilts his head, “aw. can’t even have a conversation with you? that’s too bad .. i’ll give him something to get angry over ..” he laughs as his hand begins to meet your hip, you push his chest back firmly, spilling a bit of your drink in the process.

“don’t touch me!” you snap, hoping to god that jonathan hurries up and saves you.

“sweetheart ..” the man chuckles lowly, putting his hands up defensively, “relax, now. what your little boyfriend can’t see won’t hurt him, right?” he whispers as he reaches to touch your hips again.

you go to push him again, “i said don’t touch me!”

in the midsts of your rage, your eyes meet with jonathan. he may be far away, but you can tell he’s fuming. he nudges people out of the way and quickly strides over to you, his expression becoming angrier by the moment. suddenly, he’s behind the man’s back with a drink in his hand. his gaze burning into the back of his head.

“is there a problem here?” jonathan growled, the man turns around and scoffs. jonathan’s visibly shorter than the man, but that doesn’t faze jonathan in the slightest. the man scoffs at him, “not at all, man. just chatting with this lovely lady.”

jonathan’s gaze switches to you, and you shake your head slightly, trying to convey to jonathan that you didn’t want to talk to this man at all. he knew what you were trying to say, and he knew this wasn’t your fault.

“interesting,” jonathan responds unamused, “well hopefully you’ve said all you needed to say. come on, darling. let’s go.”

he reaches his hand out for you and you quickly latch onto him, avoiding making eye contact with the unfamiliar man.

he laughs, “wait wait, this is your boyfriend? jesus.”

jonathan wanted to leave as soon as possible to avoid causing a scene, but these little digs were making it harder for him to think rationally.

“yup. she’s all mine.” jonathan sighs, “feel free to look. but you cannot touch.”

the man laughs, not realizing how scarily serious jonathan is being. the energy is making you extremely uncomfortable. he swallows and forces a smile, “here, man. no hard feelings.”

jonathan hands his drink over to the man, to which he accepts it and nods. “yeah man, no hard feelings.” he mumbles while taking a sip. you’re confused. jonathan has never behaved like this. normally, he’d resort to getting violent, yet he gave this man a drink like it was some sort of reward.

you clench harder on jonathan’s arm and the two of you turn to leave, you hear the man make one final comment from behind you;

“keep me in mind, sweetheart. i know you’ll be thinking about me.”

you shudder from discomfort, speeding up your pace as you head towards the door.

once in the car, you sit awkwardly in the passenger seat, unable to relax.

jonathan gets into the drivers seat and slams the door, “goddamn prick ..” he groans, aggressively putting on his seatbelt.

“baby, i’m sorry, he came up to me and he wouldn’t take no for an answer ..” your voice trails off as you can’t figure out what else to say

“no, no, darling, it’s not you ..” he assures, “it’s that stupid fucking bastard in there. who does he think he is? what makes him think he’s worthy of your attention?” though jonathan knows you wouldn’t betray him like that, he’s irritated at the man’s attempt.

you rub jonathan’s arm, “he’s arrogant. and he’s probably never been told no in his life .. he couldn’t win me over if he was the last man on earth.”

jonathan huffs and begins to drive off, you remember how jonathan gave him his drink.

“baby?” you whisper, interlocking your fingers with his,

“hm?” he responds, not taking his eyes off the road,

“why’d you give him your drink?”

he grins while remembering, “well, i couldn’t drink it anyway. i had to drive us home.”

that makes sense now that you think about it, maybe he was offered a drink and accepted it to be nice.

“and i slipped something into the drink.”

your expression drops, “what?”

jonathan just shrugs and continues to grin, “he needs to learn a lesson. i guess he just didn’t know what i’m capable of, but now he’ll know.”

what you didnt know at the time was as jonathan began to approach you, he slipped the syringe out of his pocket (which you didn’t even know about to begin with) and squirted the concoction into the drink hastily. your heart starts to race a bit, a mixture of fear and admiration. he really would do whatever to protect you. you don’t know how severely he’s hurt this man, whether the drink will simply knock him out or flat out kill him. you didn’t know, and that gave you a rush. he was already tipsy anyway, whatever happens to him won’t get pinned on jonathan.

“i’d do whatever for you, darling. anything.” he hums, clenching your hand harder, “i know, i know ..” you agree, “i’d do anything for you, too. i’m yours.”

he groans and loosened his grip on your hand, shifting your hand down lower between his legs, “all mine, pretty girl. all mine.”

you gasp softly as he guides your hand to his growing bulge, “you get so many men all worked up, baby .. yet i’m the one that gets to touch you, and hear all those pretty noises you make as you come undone.”

you run your hand along his clothed cock without his guidance and you feel yourself becoming aroused as your thighs tense together, the intensity of the situation was making your heart pound and your mind foggy.

before you know it, he’s pulled up outside of the house.

“get inside, go into the bedroom. i expect to see you ready by the time i get there.” he purrs, you hum while taking your hand off of his bulge, quickly heading inside and shutting the door behind you before kicking off your shoes. before you’re even near the bedroom you begin to unzip your dress, giggling quietly as you hear jonathan enter through the front door, locking it behind him while sliding off his shoes.

as you stand in the bedroom, you fully slide the dress off, tossing it on top of the hamper before quickly unclasping your bra and sliding off your panties. you scramble, slightly breathlessly, onto the bed, and lay back as you wait patiently for him.

a few moments later, jonathan enters, sighing at what he sees.

“oh, my girl ..” he purrs, walking over to the bed before crawling onto it, planting kisses on your ankles as he works his way up your legs, “so well behaved .. all for me ..” he praises as his kisses make their way to your thighs, where you slowly spread your legs apart for him. he groans at your pussy, continuing his desperate kisses along your inner thigh.

“look at that pussy ..” he hums lowly while using his index and middle finger to spread your lips apart, “god. i’ve killed men over this cunt, you know that, darling?”

you whimper at his tone as you shake your head, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth while staring down at him.

“well ..” he coos while sliding a finger inside of you, “i have. i’ve kept track of the men that have harassed you, hurt you, annoyed you, hell, even the men that looked at you the wrong way. notice how you’ve never seen them again?”

the more you think about it, the more you realize you never had to deal with these men more than once. the incident would occur, you’d tell jonathan, and he’d take care of it. it’s sickeningly attractive to know how far jonathan will go for you, knowing how absolutely pussy whipped you’ve made him.

you gasp as he slowly fucks you with his middle finger, your mind finding it hard to focus on one specific thing.

“for .. for me?” you whimper, feeling yourself becoming slicker

“all for you, my love.” he sighed against your thigh as he continues to place small kisses along your inner thighs, his lips inching closer to your swollen clit, “all for you.” he whispers one last time before suckling gently on your clit while continuing to finger you, sneaking a second finger in while you writhe beneath him.

“o-oh ..” you moan, “jonathan, please ..”

your pussy clenches around his fingers and he hums against your clit, slipping a third finger in as you whimper loudly,

“j-jonathan, please!” you mewl, snaking your fingers down into jonathan’s head and tightly locking your fingers into his hair, he briefly pulls off and continues to finger you while groaning “let me taste your pretty pussy for a bit longer, darling ..”

your cheeks burn at his praise, your thighs beginning to twitch around his head as you become wetter, the sounds of his slick tongue and drenched fingers become even louder. lewd squelches and soft whimpers are all that can be heard, along with jonathan’s occasional hums against your clit.

he can feel you become close, he’s able to recognize your involuntary jolts and twitches all too well. he pulls his fingers out and takes his lips off you, huffing quietly as he brings his slick fingers up to his mouth and sucking the arousal off.

the dirty act makes your chest flutter, he’s so desperate to taste each and every drop of you, trying his absolute hardest to make sure none of it goes to waste. once his fingers are cleaned, he brings his hands down to his zipper and button, where he urgently unbuttons and unzips his pants.

“who do you belong to, baby?”

“‘m yours, jon ..” you moan, batting your lashes at him. he groans as his jaw hangs slightly slack while he tugs his pants down, his cock nearly bursting out of his boxers. he palms himself while staring down at you, “‘n who do i belong to?” he smirks,

it rarely crossed your mind that the possessiveness went both ways, you were normally so enamoured by jonathan and his admiration for you that you rarely considered anyone else as a threat. but occasionally, jonathan would get hit on in front of you, and it would make you immensely angry and insecure. he’d barely even look in the same direction as other women, yet they’d still somehow think that was a sign to approach him. he’d shoot them down harshly. even the women that you felt could easily take your place, jonathan’s loyalty towards you never faltered. he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t have to go to the same limits that he would to keep outsiders eyes off of you.

you shake those thoughts aside to respond to him while biting your lip, “you’re mine ..”

he hums in approval while sliding down his boxers, both the boxers and his pants now sitting at his mid thigh, “that’s right, darling.”

he inches his hips forward and runs his cock head along your folds, spreading the slick around before teasing your clit with his tip. pressing against the bud and gently moving his cock side to side, watching as you wriggled at the teasing.

he chuckles and dips his cock back to your opening, slowly sliding just his tip in before pulling it back out, fucking you agonizingly slow with the head.

“d’you know how many men are gonna be jerking off to the thought of you? ‘n how many of them wish they could just get a glimpse of your pussy .. let alone sit here and tease it ..” he breathed, beginning to slowly side more of his cock inside you. your breath hitches at the developing fullness, “more .. please ..”

“aw, poor baby,” he coos almost condescendingly, “you want me to fuck you properly?”

you nod mindlessly and huff, purposefully clenching around him in hopes of getting him to put his full length inside. it partially works, you think, as he groans and slides more inside, still not bottoming out yet.

“use your words, darling.” jonathan commands, halting his movements again and leaving just his tip inside once more.

“please, jonathan .. please fuck me properly ..” you whimper embarrassingly, as those words leave your mouth he laughs breathily before sliding his full length in, nearly knocking the wind out of you as he thrusts back out and pounds into you again. he forms a quick, rough pace that makes you nearly cry with pleasure.

“o-oh, mmh, fuck!” you whine loudly, your back arching as jonathan’s cock forcefully hits your most sensitive areas.

“this cunts all mine, you hear me?” he groans while gripping your thigh with one hand and grabbing your face with the other, “if i wanna fuck it, slap it, breed it, abuse it, whatever i want. it’s mine. right, baby?”

you nod quickly with furrowed brows, pathetic little mewls falling from your lips as you stare at him through your lashes. you loved this duality about jonathan. sometimes you’d purposefully rile him up just to get him to fuck you angrily and almost animalistic. sometimes, he’ll make love to you and praise you the entire time like you’re a goddess that’s a blessing on this earth, other times he’d fuck you like you’re a filthy whore that’s sole purpose is to be stuffed full of cock. you needed both in moderation. right now, you were long overdue for one of his dirty rough fucks, so it’s kind of nice the way things panned out tonight.

“wanna breed this pussy so goddamn bad .. you like how that sounds, sweetheart? you want me to fuck a baby into you?” he purrs, his grip on your face and hip still tight, you nod and moan loudly, “y-yes, jonathan!”

he chuckles before quickly switching to a low groan as he feels you become slicker around him, “god .. you’re gonna look so fucking good all nice ‘n full .. i’ll make you my wife .. you want that, hm?”

“yes, yes!” you ramble as your mind goes blank, it feels nearly primal. like deep down, you’re just two ravenous, hungry creatures who need each others bodies and want to reproduce. that’s all humans are really meant to do, isn’t it?

“good girl .. such a good girl .. i’ll take such good care of you and our baby, darling ..” he hums, “open your mouth for me ..”

you lazily open your mouth and stick out your tongue, small whimpers being punched out of you as you do so. after grinning at how malleable you are in his hands, he spits in your mouth. he doesn’t even need to tell you to swallow, you do it anyway.

“that’s it, god you’re fucking perfect ..” he praised, it made you feel so dirty, your mind running on overdrive at the intense amounts of pleasure. you hadn’t even realized how close you were until you felt yourself beginning to slowly tip over the edge. this didn’t feel like your normal orgasms though, you felt something different within you.

suddenly, through jonathan’s harsh thrusts, your orgasm spills out of you while you whimper loudly. the clear liquid poured out of you and dampened the blanket beneath you along with jonathan’s pants. you twitch at the after shocks of your orgasm and jonathan’s pace never slows, “look at that .. drenched my fuckin’ pants baby ..”

“i’m sorry, ‘m sorry i couldn’t control it ..” you apologize as your cheeks flush from the embarrassment, you had never squirted before, and now you feel partially guilty for ruining his pants. not too guilty, though, because your other senses are still being dulled by the feeling of his cock pounding into you.

“no, don’t apologize, sweet girl .. ‘s cute .. made you feel so good, you made such a mess ..” he soothes, loosening his grip on you face and sliding his hand down to grip the other side of your hip with his now free hand.

his thrusts begin to get shaky and his breaths get heavier, “gonna come- fuck, baby, ‘m gonna come ..” he huffs through gritted teeth, his eyes shutting tightly as his grips get harsher. after a few more pumps, he’s coming inside you. groaning lowly as he holds your hips tightly against his, making sure he shoots his load as deeply inside of you as he can.

he thrusts a few more times to really get his come in there before slowly pulling out his softening cock. he leans back on his knees, you scan him up and down from between your legs. his cheeks are pink, his hair is messy, his forehead is sweaty, his glasses have slid down the middle of his nose bridge, his chest rises and falls laboredly, and his almost fully soft cock sits between his legs, his pants still around his thighs with a large visible damp mark from when you had orgasmed.

once he’s caught his breath, jonathan speaks;

“maybe other men should flirt with you more often.” he chuckles.

—

i have to be honest, i don’t think this is good at all, but i hope you guys at least like it! i’m sorry it’s taken me a while! i’ll be back on track soon! :)

[yanderes-galore]

HAHA! YOU BETTER PREPARE!! First

Could I request A Yandere Yuji concept?

Itadori is no doubt one of my favorite characters so I'm going to enjoy this!

Yandere! Yuji Itadori Concept

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Delusional behavior, Overprotective behavior, Jealousy, Manipulation/Intimidation, Sukuna enables him, Kidnapping, Clingy behavior, Possessive behavior, Brief blood mention, Dubious/Forced companionship/relationship.

Despite being a vessel for Sukuna, Yuji's base yandere type is somewhat tame.

He's friendly and extremely outgoing.

He learns quickly and while he's quickly angered, he sees life as precious.

Which means by normal means... Yuji is not a yandere to kill.

However... I do think Yuji is influenced by Sukuna.

Yuji normally wouldn't have obsessive tendencies.

Well... not intense ones, anyways.

The most base Yuji may get is delusional and obsessive, following you around like a clingy puppy.

Without Sukuna's influence, Yuji is a submissive and clingy yandere.

He doesn't mean much harm and just wants to make you happy.

It's when Sukuna comes in that he gets intense.

Sukuna would sense Yuji's care towards you and play around with it.

He'd taunt him about it... but since Yuji is Sukuna's vessel... helping him get what he wants might be something Sukuna considers.

For example, Yuji sees you getting close with someone else and gets upset.

Which leads to Sukuna offering to give Yuji the confidence he needs to take what he wants.

He should threaten that other person... make sure they never come and speak with you again.

Yuji is against Sukuna messing with the bond you have together.

Although while he fights with him... the idea is tempting.

Any possessive or violent behavior Yuji expresses in his obsession is due to Sukuna's influence.

Yuji was completely fine with following you around, protecting you, and watching you from a distance.

It's Sukuna who keeps suggesting violence, murder, and kidnapping.

Sukuna corrupts Yuji to do such devious things.

Yuji starts his obsession being clingy, stealing a few small items from you, and overall keeping his obsession subtle.

But as time goes on... and Sukuna whispers more and more... he moves on to threats/intimidation, beating others up, and soon even kidnapping.

"You're too much of a nice guy, brat..." Sukuna whispers, a grin on his face. "You'll feel so much better if you just follow my lead."

By the peak of his obsession, Yuji has blood on his hands and you tied up in a dark room.

He's remorseful... he didn't want things to go this way...

But he can't help but smile when you look at him after you wake up.

He would definitely be a yandere who apologizes profusely for kidnapping you, blaming Sukuna all while he holds you close.

Yeah, you'll hate him... he knows it...

Yet he'll try his best to make things right.

Yuji wants to make you happy...

But now that he has you he doesn't think he should have to let you go.

You plead with him but Yuji shakes his head.

"Hey, hey... it'll all be okay! I can take care of you... protect you, feed you, love you... you'll see!"

You can't trust him anymore... not after this betrayal.

Due to learning fast, Yuji will learn your escape attempts quickly.

He'll predict your attempts and do his best to counter them.

You'll have to start getting creative to leave... or play along with him enough to get him to let you go.

You can try your best to reason with him, to plead and beg for him to release you.

Yet Yuji's too deep in denial to care about the consequences... and Sukuna is cackling in the back of his head.

Perhaps Sukuna was right...

To get what you want...

Maybe you do have to be the bad guy... as much as it hurts you both... at least he has you now.

"Don't leave me... I can take care of us! Just let me hold you...."

[dysfunctional-doodle]

Raph finds Mikey annoying but if you hurt Mikey he will kill ya lol

Exactly. Mikey is annoying but he couldn’t live without him.

Something I really like about 2003 was the subtle hints throughout the show illustrating how much Mikey means to Raph. It is never said out loud, but watching the series again made me see details that I had missed, some more obvious than others.

First off, that moment in attack of the mousers where Raph, cornered by mousers, is oddly sincere when Mikey makes a joke to try and ease the tension of them potentially getting killed:

“This is it, it’s been fun guys!”

“Even me, Raph?”

“Even you Mikey - especially you.”

Mikey’s tone is light, half joking but Raph responds in complete sincerity (at least that’s how I interpreted it lol). The show had already begun showing that Raph has a fondness for Mikey different from his other brothers. I was pondering as to why, and I think I have a reason.

Mikey, I think, is his best friend (at least before Casey). At the very least, he’s someone that he can always goof around with, always willing to do whatever reckless shit he’s doing. Mikey is annoying, but Raph teases him for it, which I turn releases any pent up stress he has. Mikey is just as reckless and rough as he is, and Raph knows this. He knows how much Mikey means to him, even if Mikey doesn’t.

Another major example I can think of is in Back to the Sewers, when all the brothers get mind controlled by a virus and believe they are a part of The Foot Clan. To break the control, a strong memory of emotion/love (it wasn’t too clear, just a fond/treasured memory for them) needed to be remembered. Whilst the other brothers remembered their childhood with Splinter as the final memory, Raph was much harder to fix.

When he did remember, however, it wasn’t a memory of Solinyer that broke the control - it was a memory of Mikey. It seems really small. Just a memory of Raph dunking Mikey’s head into his cake on his birthday, but this kinda solidifies the theory for me.

Raph loves Mikey because of that annoying, playful streak he has in him that fits his own personality so well. His best memory seemed insignificant, but I think it’s actually the opposite. Him being able to be much more irresponsible and youthful only happens with Mikey around because Mikey brings that out of him. Honestly, with what Mikey said about their roles in the family in season 4, it wouldn’t surprise me if Mikey was fully aware of this fact and is why he doesn’t mind being teased by him.

TLDR: Mikey is annoying but in the best way for Raph. You mess with Mikey, you deal with Raph

[desos-records]

the moments in the Lockwood and Co show that really break my heart are the ones where Lockwood’s armor cracks. god bless the actor, his expressions are so subtle but convey so much.

you see it a little when he’s asking Lucy if she’ll take the job (if she’ll stay), then a little with Kipps (telling Lucy not to stay), a bit when his charming words, a weapon as real as his rapier, fail completely on Barnes

but the first real break happens when Lucy’s possessed because he’s completely unprepared for this and it has nothing to do with the ghost and everything to do with how she’s touching his face and how she’s looking at him (like she loves him, like she means it when she says that). and worse, how she’s asking him not to hurt her (he’s afraid he will one day)

then again when Barnes tells Lockwood to fire Lucy (that he won’t be able to let her stay), probably because there’s no one to see his face. his mask shoots right back up as soon as he turns around. 

and again when Lucy threatens to quit

“we need you [I need you].” 

“why?” 

“because [it’s too soon to tell you this] because you’re [someone I already can’t stand the thought of losing] you’re Lucy Carlyle [and you make everything better]”

you see it a little after they blow up the well, but it looks more like a strange sort of relief than a break (Lucy and George are safe) and all he needs is a little grounding (holding Lucy’s hand). the real one happens when Fairfax calls his bluff and points a gun at him, not because of the gun, not really, but because his words can’t protect him (but Lucy can)

when he apologizes to Lucy for yelling at her (hiding how rattled he was by George’s comment about his feelings for her), his armor doesn’t break so much as he sets it down on purpose this time. he can’t stand the thought of hurting her and if he has to come out from behind his mask to make amends (if that’s what it takes for her to stay), he will

there are cracks all over his armor when Winkman threatens him (because his words mean nothing here), but it shatters when he threatens Lucy. he’s begging this man to kill him for the chance that Lucy lives. and oh, when Winkman says he’ll kill Lockwood first so he won’t have to watch her die (his words don’t just fail to protect him, they fail to protect her)

and you can see that part of him wants to set it down when Lucy asks him why he was so so quick to die for her, but he just managed to pull it back together and the wound is too raw. he understands that she’s angry with him (and he cannot stand that), but I’m not sure he understands why. because it doesn’t occur to him that she cares about him too (that she cannot stand the thought of losing him). all he can process right then is that Lucy’s alive and she’s angry with him, but at least she’s safe now

from the beginning he’s constantly trying to make sure she’s safe, but he’s more and more obvious about it. it isn’t George saying Lockwood’s in charge, not her, that gets him moving (he could barely sit still as it is), it’s the reminder that she’s in danger and he’s not there to make sure she’s safe. he was fully prepared to break down that basement door if it meant rescuing her. he grounds her the best way he knows how (the way his hand runs down her forearm before he holds her hand) and tells her

“we’ve got you now [I’m here].”

“you’re safe now, okay? you’re with us. [I’ll make sure you’re safe].”

there’s still more hairline fractures when he sees Lucy with Kipps, when he sees her with Fittes. which is why he gives her the necklace. the thought of her maybe choosing someone else sends him running to tell her how important she is to him (as clumsy as it is) and ask her to stay. it’s not as outright as before because it’s not just them, it’s everything he’s threatened by

“I can’t compete with this [with someone else for your favor]”

the worst of it, of course, is around the auction. before it starts, the DEPRAC agent sees right through him, giving Lockwood a painful reminder of his age (which he tries to act above) with one hand

and when he and Lucy are fighting, he pushes her away, would’ve charged in there alone, but she stays (it’s much too real now). she calls him out and his armor fails him, but he still can’t seem to process her point. he thinks just being around him (much less getting close to him) will hurt her. failing to understand that losing him would hurt her (and it is far too late to turn back)

and then after, when the DEPRAC agent dies and Lockwood is so quick to blame himself, it isn’t just a break. he loses all of it. his center is on full display, his fear and his bleeding heart. he can barely stand.

he still reaches out to Lucy to ground himself (because when he can’t protect himself, she does) and she’s so forceful with her feelings for him. she’s not gently touching his face, but holding his head and jarring him back to present (which is the real way Lucy loves). he can’t hold onto her properly or even look at her, but she’s the one who gives him back his armor. she presses their foreheads together and he takes a breath and he starts to build it back up

it’s ramshackle and unsteady, but it’s back by the time they step out of the car. it’s still nothing against Lucy. and he realizes here, as she’s walking away from him, what she’s been trying to tell him

so by the time he quietly steals into the kitchen, he’s left it behind again, because he’s learning that he doesn’t need it with Lucy (it’s hardly protection if it’s hurting her). this is his center too, the part full of love, and it’s no mistake that it happens in the kitchen, the center of their house. and he’s more honest than he’s ever been

“don’t give up on me.”

“the bottom of the thames used to be a far more appealing place to be.”

“and really no one would have cared.”

“but now... [now there’s you and you care and I won’t hurt something you care about].”

and of course it does come back during the final fight (it is a survival instinct after all) and when he’s collapsing, in pain, afraid (old habits don’t go away overnight). but Lucy and George push back before he goes too far

“this isn’t how you die.”

“how do you know?”

“we won’t let you.”

“never.”

he’s in a place where he can start healing (now that the wound’s been cleaned out), which is why he opens the door. because, yes, his armor is useful, but he doesn’t need it with George and Lucy

[throneofsapphics]

ruhn helping you paint your nails drabble

warnings: anxiety, panic, a hint of suggestiveness

word count: 655

a/n: sorry about the very creative title, but this is the result of a poll I did a little bit ago!

You suppose you are the one who wanted a new hobby, and therefore only have yourself to blame for your frustration. 

Still, it. Is. Annoying. 

Smudges, weird patterns, red all on your skin but not quite seeming to get on your nail. Your hands look like a toddlers who stole their mothers nail polish and tries to paint for the first time, not a fully grown and supposedly fully capable fae female.  

Not sure what else to do, you start scratching away at the sides of your nails, determined to clean them up somehow. The result is a bigger mess, and the beginnings of tears in your eyes. 

It’s a little thing, logically you know that, but right now, after the day you had you just need one thing to go right. Really, you should email the writer of that article you read the other week, one claiming painting nails was relaxing, and call ask her exactly when the relaxation is supposed to set in, and which fucking part of this bullshit is relaxing, because right this second it’s none of it. 

You feel the subtle displacement of air. 

A door opening. 

He’s home. 

After a brief second of lighting up with a smile, it disappears and the beginnings of panic set in. He’s going to see you, think you’re a fucking mess, leave you, then you’ll be alone and nobody -

Footsteps through the doorway, you tried to focus on your breathing, focus on pushing your anxiety aside and focus on the realistic things. 

‘What’s going on?’ Ruhn’s voice surprised you, flooding through your mind and filled with unmistakable worry, like he’d tried speaking to you aloud and it wasn’t working. 

You blink up at him, words not exactly coming how they’re supposed to. Gods can you do anything right. 

Warm hands grip and envelope both of yours. 

His mouth is moving, your mind isn’t registering words or sound. 

‘Squeeze left for yes, right for no,’ his voice is inside of your mind again, steady and soothing. 

You nod. He gives an encouraging smile. You can do this. 

‘Are you injured?’ 

Squeeze right.

‘Do I need to kill someone?’

Squeeze right. A small smile. 

‘Are you frustrated?’

Squeeze left. He knows you, perhaps in a way nobody else does, and at times it annoys you but right now it certainly comes in handy. 

‘Trying to paint your nails?’ 

Squeeze left. There is no mocking in his tone, no lilt or cadence to make you think he’s going to make fun of you. 

“Let me do it for you, love,” he spoke aloud this time, and you were unsurprised you heard him. Prolonged exposure to his presence always has a calming effect on you. 

Carefully, he dips a cotton ball into a pot of remover, and starts wiping away the evidence of your attempts. A shadow makes its way to the remote, and turns on your favorite show. It is sweet, really, but you are lost watching him right now, and his cocky ass probably knew it. At least it was a rerun. 

His fingers make gentle but firm movements, and Cthona competency can seriously be a turn on. You did not think watching your boyfriend paint your nails would do it but - 

“Later, love,” his voice is full of sensual promise, and you grin, teeth digging into your bottom lip. 

Before long, he makes it to the color. “You know I used to practice this, for hours, just to piss off my dad. I’m not saying you need to practice for hours,” he grinned up at you, pausing. “Actually, I’d rather you let me do it for you.” Your lips pursed, about to protest before he kept speaking, “because I enjoy doing this for you,” he pressed a kiss to your knuckles, “quality time, and all that shit.” 

“Quality time, and all that shit,” you echoed. 

He chuckled, “it’s good to hear your voice, love.” 

[keilanana]

𝑻𝒐 𝑫𝒆𝒇𝒚 𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒆

ɪɪɪ. sɪʙʟɪɴɢ ᴀᴄǫᴜɪʀᴇᴅ

You get a new addition to your family, and all is right with the world.

(Hopefully nothing from the next chapter ruins this for you haha.)

Watching Mum trip over herself to follow Mother around and tend to her every, little need was pretty funny at first.

But now you (unfortunately) have no right to laugh anymore, because as it turns out, learning that you're going to be an older sibling in just a few months really puts certain things into perspective, and now you're basically doing the same thing (although you at least had the dignity to be a lot more subtle about it, Mum.)

You don't know why, as you can't recall ever acting like this when your siblings from your first life came along, but everything just suddenly seems like a threat. For every sharp corner Mother passes by, you're quick to reach your hand over to cover it in case she gets close enough for contact. When you catch her going up or down the stairs, you're already rushing to her side to offer out a hand in support.

Yes, Mother of course laughs at all of this, and makes sure to tease you for doing the very things you laughed at your Mum for, but you can tell from the fondness in her smile and the bright twinkle in her eyes that she genuinely does appreciate all of the effort you and Mum were putting in to ensure her and the baby's comfort and safety—even if the measures Mum took could be pretty ... excessive.

("I can understand sanding down the corners of our dining table, but there is absolutely no way I'm letting you put carpets over the walls. I think Mother would actually kill me if I let you."

"You weren't there when it happened, [Y/n]! What if the next time she bumps into a wall, she pushes her baby bump back in?!"

"Mum of mine, I do not believe that is physically possible."

"HOW WOULD YOU KNOW?!"

"MAYBE BECAUSE ONE OF US WAS LUCKY ENOUGH TO INHERIT THE INTELLIGENCE I CLEARLY DIDN'T GET FROM YOU!")

Yeah, just thinking of all the times you've had to be the voice of reason between you and your Mum despite being the actual child between the two of you was enough to give you a headache. And the more Mother's stomach grows, the worse it gets.

At this point, I'm starting to believe that someone's gonna have to hold Mum's hand when the baby comes.

The thought makes you pause, ponder for a bit, and then cringe.

Poor nurse.

Other than Mum's (and admittedly, yours) overprotective tendencies, though, you're happy to report that Mother's pregnancy is going fairly well. From the visits your little family makes to the hospital every now and then, your younger sibling seems to be developing fine, and has been repeatedly reported as quite healthy, to your family's relief, pride, and joy.

What gets you all feeling really joyful, however, is the doctor revealing that the baby's gender can finally be determined.

"Wait!" Mother stops him before he can say anything else. "Don't tell us just yet! I want it to be a surprise!" she insists.

"Wha—a surprise?" Mum repeats, clearly confused. "You didn't want it to be a surprise last time!" she complains.

Penelope rolls her eyes at the childish tone in her wife's voice and takes her hand. "I know, which is why I want it to be a surprise this time," she explains. "Besides, you wouldn't want to turn down a cake, would you?"

When Mum only answers with silence, it's pretty easy for you and the doctor to guess who won.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Three weeks of anticipation later, the gender reveal cake is delivered on your doorstep in a white box by a teenage girl with short, curly brown locks.

"Hope you folks like it," she says with a wink once the package is placed into your arms. "It took a whole lotta effort keeping it in tact, driving it all the way out here."

Her words cause a semi-guilty smile to grace your features. "Right. Sorry about that," you say, and you really do mean it; you couldn't imagine having to deliver a cake somewhere so far out in the country, especially with only a rusty old vespa as your noble steed.

The girl only laughs good-naturedly and ruffles your hair. "No need to apologize, kiddo. Hope ya'll enjoy the cake!" she says.

With that, she turns around to leave, but not before throwing back a quick, "Congratulations!" over her shoulder in reference of who exactly the cake was made for.

Thus, with the cake now in your possession, you bring it into the dining room, where Mother and Mum are already waiting in their designated seats at the table.

"She seemed nice," Mother comments, obviously referring to the delivery girl you'd just spoken to.

You hum, telling her, "She was," before setting the box down and opening it.

The cake is, as the delivery girl said, indeed in tact, and covered in frosting and all sorts of fruits to keep whatever flavor the cake itself was hidden.

"Oh, this is so exciting!" Mother says, clapping her hands with a giddy smile on her face. "Anyone already have any guesses?" she asks, looking over to her wife.

Mum hums and holds her chin in thought for a moment before eventually settling on: "Strawberry."

Nodding, Mother then turns to you and lifts her brows expectantly.

With an amused huff, you sit down in your own chair just as Mum rises out of her own to grab three plates and a knife. "You know what? I'm thinking strawberry, too," you decide.

Tilting her head curiously, Mother leans back in her seat and begins to caress her stomach. "May I ask why?" she inquires.

You shrug. "Just a feeling, I guess," you answer.

The conversation ends after that, as Mum is finally prepared to cut the cake.

"Alrighty, then," she begins once yours and Mother's attention is fully on her. "Here we go."

Setting the knife down for only a moment, Mum pulls the box's walls all the way down—not just to make cutting the cake easier, but to also give you and Mother a clear view of it from your positions, as well.

With that said and done, Mum picks the knife back up and inhales deeply, obviously hyping herself up for what's about to come. It feels a little silly, getting this anxious over a cake, but there's still this sort of tightness in your chest that makes it only a little hard to breathe. Is it anticipation? Dread of the inevitable? A mix of both?

In the end, it doesn't matter, because then a knife is slicing right through frosting and—

"Strawberry," Mum breathes, a triumphant grin slowly beginning to overtake her face. "Looks like we're gonna be welcoming a little girl into our family next."

You and Mother throw your hands into the air and cheer.

(Later that night, the bakery your cake had come from gets a call from you to let your delivery girl know that you folks did, indeed, enjoy the cake.)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It is midnight when Mother's water breaks and Mum practically throws you into the car to drive you all off to the hospital.

It is about three in the morning when you get to leave the waiting room at last and see the labor (pun intended) of your Mother's work.

The baby is small—probably the smallest person you've ever seen—and, unlike you, takes a lot after Mum with her dark skin and soft tufts of platinum blonde hair.

"Oh," you say out loud without meaning to, eyes wide as you take in the infant held in Mother's arms. I'm an older sibling.

You knew you would be one for a while now, of course, and actually were one in your previous life, too. But ... there was just something about this moment: about seeing the little person that's been growing in Mother's stomach finally out and about in the real world, her eyes closed and her face all scrunched up, that had your chest exploding with an overwhelming warmth and your eyes threatening to flood with tears that you were desperately trying to keep in.

(Spoiler alert: you fail. Badly.)

"Hello, little love," Mother says, sounding so exhausted but still so happy at the same time. "Would you like to hold your baby sister?" she asks.

Still in shock at the sight of her, you can only manage a nod and then stare dumbly as the baby's handed over to rest in your arms.

"Um." You blink, mouth slightly agape. "Oh, wow."

(Across from you, Willow snorts.)

You watch, absolutely captivated, as the infant's chest rises and falls with each breath she takes. But then her face twitches, and your eyes automatically lift to watch as it scrunches up. It awes you, almost, the way she seems to struggle simply opening her eyes, but then her stare meets yours and it's like a puzzle clicks into place.

"Hey there, little sister," you greet, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so happy to meet you."

Your sister babbles, unable to properly respond, obviously, and reaches up. Almost instinctually, you lift her higher, allowing her to reach your face and pat her small palms wherever she can, still babbling like you can understand every noise and gurgle.

You laugh and nod along anyway and pretend not to notice the tears you'd failed to hide.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You're gonna rule the world someday."

Your newly acquired sister, Odette (named after one of Mother's favorite stories, Swan Lake) looks up at the sound of your voice and tilts her head. It's been two months since her birth, and in those short months, you've learned that although Ody (the nickname you proudly bestowed her with the moment you thought of it) takes a lot after Mum, she is most definitely every bit of Penelope's daughter just as you are without a doubt Willow's child.

While you had inherited most of Mum's, er ... impulsiveness, Odette had the good fortune of inheriting Mother's patented Stare of Judgement™, which you had the honor of seeing it in action yourself ... because Odette had focused it on you and Mum when you both attempted to do something stupid that was very safe, creative, and fun.

(That's what you tried telling Mother, at least.

She didn't fall for it for even a second and the two of you got sent to timeout in the living room again.)

Odette babbles, snapping you out of your train of thought, and you smile down at her as you start running your hand through the platinum cloud that's been growing atop her head.

"Man, look at all this," you say, curling a strand of Odette's already curly hair around your finger. "At this point, your hair's gonna end up bigger than your head," you joke.

Odette babbles again in response and takes your free hand in between her smaller ones to play with your fingers, making your smile grow into a grin.

"Oh yeah; definitely queen of the world material." You nod. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to be there with you every step of the way. Who else's hands are you supposed to play with?" you ask.

"Ababa?" Odette blinks up at you.

You nod once again. "Exactly!"

She stares at you for a moment, as if processing your words, and then looks away to return her full attention to your hand. You chuckle, amused by just how much personality Odette could convey despite not knowing how to properly speak yet.

"Man ..." Turning your head to gaze out the window, you smile as you watch the trees dance to the wind outside. "I didn't think it'd be possible, Ody, but I ... think I'm more than a little used to this life now, y'know?"

The infant blows a raspberry.

You laugh. "A wise queen, too!"

(Outside, the wind howls, and as it does, a single orange leaf falls to the forest floor.

So it appears, the seasons have finally begun to change.)

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[rose-of-red-lake]

Unreliable Narrator in the Sith Show

I have seen a few arguments that the Acolyte is a case of total unreliable narration, that it's a new Star Wars era of storytelling, a "sophisticated" show from the "Sith's POV," which is why the Stranger/Qimir seems so calm, balanced, and sure of himself. But don't worry - according to these opinions, the modern audience will be able to see through his lies, being astute enough to know that he's evil, without having to tell us directly. Because telling us directly is too much of a mustache-twirling villain trope, or something.

So is everyone on the same page? Did we all get this?

Naur, I don think so... because I have also seen a lot of odd defenses of the character, that he's not really as bad as the Jedi make him out to be, that he's not a Sith, and that he wants to be left alone as a rogue, without any allegiances, just doing whatever he wants, whenever he wants. I have seen people agree with his perspective, that the Jedi are the oppressors because they won't let him live how he wants. Someone even compared him to Mando with Osha as his Grogu. Man just wants a family without the government telling him how to live his lyfe. 😥

So if audiences are indeed smart enough to see through the unreliable narrator, why are they agreeing with him? Why are people sucked into his own perspective, which is Ayn Rand on steroids to my mind. Running through the galaxy, doing whatever you want? Okay, but look where that led. Once he wanted an acolyte to go out into the world and assassinate some Jedi, he isn't like Brendock or Dathomir witches anymore. That should have been a line, drawn, clear to the audience. But then the narrative goes back to extreme moral relativism. "Well, maybe the Jedi shouldn't have interfered..." or, "Maybe they were right to." So we have morally grey situations with a baddie POV mixed in, in a television show where we can't get inside people's heads? Okaaaay...Leysle with a Y. Good luck with that.

If this is all just unreliable narration, why is Sol so unsympathetic, unwilling to ask for forgiveness, even right up to the end? This just makes Osha look justified for killing him. The Dark Side doesn't even need to be "seductive" if Sol's actions were so bad. And I'm taking his actions that way because of what the showrunner said about him: Sol has a darkness in him that he can't control. And what was the content of this darkness, you might wonder? Well, he was being more like a "father" than a "Jedi" again according to Headland. Alright, why are those two roles mutually exclusive, at all? Doesn't her own mentor Feloni criticize Obi-Wan for not being enough of a father to Anakin?

But maybe the unreliable narration could come through with how the Order is portrayed in their scenes without Qimir. But nope, they're like the freaking police department in the Wire: cold, calculating, trying to cover things up. If it was an unreliable narrator, wouldn't we have a break in all of the bleakness that shows us, hey "Qimir is kinda wrong here." I don't think we do.

Beyond any of this, I don't trust this writer to write something as complex as a "Sith POV," or use unreliable narration effectively. I don't think she's experienced enough.

Not to mention, I don't think the showrunner gets the emotional turmoil of what its like to be a Dark Side user. They should be lost in their emotions, letting their emotions rule them, subject to constant turmoil, constant fear of losing what they have, and wanting more and more because of their greed. The unreliable narration should break at some point to show that, and it shouldn't be so subtle that it goes over people's heads. Moreover, a Jedi like Sol should be more sympathetic because they are at least struggling to suppress their inner Dark Side. Sol did nothing like what Anakin did. If he is truly acting like a overly-compassionate father, then he shouldn't refuse to ask for her forgiveness either. He shouldn't be dead in the mud, choked by his own daughter.

Goddamn this show is fucking bleak.

[idontknowwhatimdoinglol]

Can you write yandere poly volturi kings and soulmate reader ? Please

ofc anon <3

I'm getting a slight feeling my volturi works are popular lol. Since these all tie in together I'm just gonna do them in one longer post <3

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Aro Volturi

aro is an obsessive yandere. he isn't the worst of the kings to get but isn't the best either.

he will keep you at his side at all times, in bed or in the throne room with you beside his throne, he wont ever let you have a moment without him.

he wont give you the choice of mortal or immortal he will turn you upon meeting. after all you'll be his forever so names and dates can happen later.

he wont allow anyone besides those he trusts near you, and anyone else who dares try to speak to you will die.

you'll never escape him, he practically has the entire volturi guarding you so theres no chance of ever leaving him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Caius Volturi

of the three kings, Caius is the worst to get, both as a soulmate and yandere.

Don't get me wrong he will still love you and give you subtle affection but nowhere near as much as the other two.

he would keep you close, practically locked away in a room for his eyes only in fear of you running away or someone stealing you.

like aro, if he ever saw anyone who he did not approve of you talking to then he will not hesitate to tear them apart, even if you're standing there.

if you ever by miracle managed to escape from him expect that you will lose any bit of freedom when he catches you. because he will lock you away.

you will not be given a choice to turn or not. he will turn you and you will accept it or he will lock you away until you do.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Marcus volturi

he would be the best of the kings to have as your soulmate and yandere.

he would never lay a finger on you to hurt you, the worst punishment he will ever give you is forced affection.

he will turn you, but he would be gentle about it, apologizing the entire time and talking of how he had to turn you so that he wouldn't lose you.

he will spoil you, giving you presents like jewelry and books. he would give you the world if you asked for it, he just wants to see his mate happy.

it would break him if you ever escaped, he would be so hurt that after all he did you left him.

of course he wouldn't let you leave for long, he would send Felix or Demetri to return you. and once back he wont punish you, he'll just claim that he hasnt been giving you enough love and that hes not angry for you leaving. after of course chaining your leg to the bed so you cant do it again.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Poly volturi

if you had all three of the kings as yandere's and soulmates then you are never seeing the light of day or anything out of the castle again.

they are obsessive and impossible to escape on their own but together you'll never be without at least one of them.

aro and Caius will ensure that no one besides them talks to you, while marcus try's to convince them not to kill anyone who does.

you will be turned by them, no matter what you will. just hope that its marcus or aro who does it because caius will be quite rough while doing it.

they will of course become jealous of each other, marcus is the nicest so the other two will be jealous of how you lean to him more. aro keeps you by his side most of the time and the others get jealous over him spending the most time with you. caius is the type to lock you in his room and keep you to himself for however long he pleases which causes anger more then jealousy in the others.

youre not escaping, there is no way that you can manage to escape them unless you have some insane gift that can fight off the entire volturi.

you're theirs for all eternity it doesn't matter if theyre together or separate you will not escape them.

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