#Beloved miserable asshole

[steampoweredwerehog]

Love me a villain that is tragic and sympathetic but is also shown to have 70% of their problems be their own damn fault.

[silenthillbunni]

📓🖊️🧸

[even-disco-baby]

Suggestion/request if you need any, maybe Kim and Jean talking after Kim joins Precinct 41?

PERCEPTION (Hearing) [Medium: Success] — Wait. You can hear voices just outside the window. Familiar voices. If you concentrate, you can just make out what they’re saying through the pitifully thin glass.

JEAN VICQUEMARE — “…smoke Drouins, too?”

KIM KITSURAGI — “I’m giving them a try.”

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Oh, *hell* yeah. You should go join them for a smoke.

SUGGESTION — Or… hang around by the window for a minute or two first.

YOU — What? Why?

SUGGESTION — Oh, come on, Harry. Aren’t you a *little* curious about what those two talk about when you’re not around?

INLAND EMPIRE — You don’t want to know. Don’t even think about it. Lock that thought away with her letter and anything else that might hurt you.

YOU — Isn’t it wrong to eavesdrop?

SUGGESTION — You’re not eavesdropping, you’re just getting a breath of fresh air by the window! It’s not *your* fault that your two closest friends also just so happened to be having a smoke right outside the same window. The precinct is public property, anyway. If this was a private conversation, wouldn’t they have it on *private* property?

ENCYCLOPEDIA — I think you’re confusing private ownership with privacy.

SUGGESTION — Oh, look, a new copotype. Grammar Cop.

They’re my friends, so I should respect their privacy. (Step away from the window)

They’re my friends, so they wouldn’t be talking about anything they wouldn’t talk to *me* about, right? (Eavesdrop)

INLAND EMPIRE — You’re too trusting. So are they, it seems. You’re going to be the death of each other, someday.

PERCEPTION (Hearing) [Easy: Success] — You casually lean against the wall beside the window, sipping water from the cooler and listening to the muffled voices outside.

KIM KITSURAGI — “…late nights?”

JEAN VICQUEMARE — “Everyone here works late. I’m sure you’ve noticed. But Jude and Trant have kids to look after…”

EMPATHY — He’s got nobody. That’s something you and he have always had in common.

JEAN VICQUEMARE — “This late, it’s usually just me and Harry.” He pauses, perhaps to take a drag from his cigarette. “…And you?” He asks more than says it.

KIM KITSURAGI — “And me.” His voice is flat and quiet.

EMPATHY — He’s got nobody, too.

JEAN VICQUEMARE — Another long pause. You can see Jean’s hand suddenly come into view through the glass.

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] — Don’t panic! He’s just flicking the ash from his cigarette. See, it’s fine. If you’d flinched, they might have seen you.

JEAN VICQUEMARE — “How’s the Drouin?”

KIM KITSURAGI — “Not bad. I might make the switch.”

JEAN VICQUEMARE — “Ha. I like them better than Astras, but most people disagree.”

KIM KITSURAGI — He gives a noncommittal sort of hum, nothing more.

JEAN VICQUEMARE — “Any reason for the switch?”

KIM KITSURAGI — “Just wanted to try something new,” he says lightly.

DRAMA — A lie if I ever heard one, sire.

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — Astras remind him of Martinaise. Of loneliness. Smokers on rooftops and balconies and in traffic jams. A corpse on the boardwalk. A corpse that could have been *you.*

-1 MORALE

INLAND EMPIRE — I told you not to listen.

SUGGESTION — No, no, surely if you listen long enough, you’ll hear something *good* about yourself.

Walk away.

Keep listening.

JEAN VICQUEMARE — “…Can I ask you an unprofessional question?”

KIM KITSURAGI — He hesitates, just briefly. “I suppose.”

JEAN VICQUEMARE — “Why the hell did you agree to transfer here? I mean, don’t get me wrong, we’re glad to have you.” A pause. “Well, more like we were totally fucked without you.” Another pause. “Okay, we’re still fucked, just less fucked. But you could have stayed at the harbor and *not* been fucked.”

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — If only there was as much fucking going on around here as he makes it sound.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Hm… I suppose I could have.” He pauses for a smoke. “But I think that the 41st will be… more important in the grand scheme of things than the G.R.I.H.”

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — “UN JOUR SERAI DE RETOUR PRÈS DE TOI.” Whatever is coming, he feels it’s going to come here first.

KIM KITSURAGI — “And like I said, I’ve been wanting to try something new.” You can almost hear the smile in those words.

DRAMA — But they are still not entirely truthful. Oh, he *does* long for something new. That part was the truth, sire. But he won’t find it here. Deep down, he knows it. And there you find the lie he tells himself over and over again, every day he reports for duty.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — “Nulla sarà cambiato della luce.” Nothing will be changed about the light. Nothing will ever be changed…

PERCEPTION (Hearing) — Silence falls, so lengthy that you almost think that they must have finished their cigarettes and started their way back. And then—

JEAN VICQUEMARE — “I thought maybe it had something to do with the shitkid.”

COMPOSURE — To call the following silence “loaded” would be a massive understatement.

YOU — Oh… I don’t know if I want to hear this…

INLAND EMPIRE — Leave now. Please, just leave.

SUGGESTION — Stay! They care about you, that’s what they’re going to say!

INLAND EMPIRE — That’s what makes it all so sad.

Spare yourself.

Stay.

KIM KITSURAGI — “…And if it did?” His voice is calm, like deep, still water.

JEAN VICQUEMARE — “Then I was going to warn you not to bet everything on a losing dog.” His voice is calm, too. That’s what hurts the most. “You haven’t known Harry long enough to see the pendulum swing the other way. And it *will* swing, Lieutenant. It’ll happen right when you start to think that maybe it won’t. And then things will get uglier than you ever thought possible.”

DRAMA — …He isn’t lying, sire. Nor is he trying to intimidate the lieutenant. He believes every word he’s saying.

YOU — Wait, so then… then it’s true? All the progress I’ve made… is it worthless?

INLAND EMPIRE — Nulla sará cambiato…

VOLITION — No. He’s waiting for the past to repeat itself. But it doesn’t have to, Harry. At least, not always in the same way. Don’t lose hope.

JEAN VICQUEMARE — “…I’m not trying to be cruel.” His voice suddenly softens. Saddens. “I just don’t want you to end up with regrets. There’s no fixing that guy, Kim. People have tried.”

EMPATHY — *He* has tried. And for his troubles, he’s had all sorts of cruelties hurled at him. Humiliation, abuse, betrayal. Broken promise after broken promise. He’s almost exhausted any hope he ever had.

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — Almost, but not quite. That’s what hurts him the most.

-1 MORALE

INLAND EMPIRE — You’ll die at this rate.

VOLITION — Why are you doing this to yourself? Their words are not ironclad truth. You don’t need their permission to live. And you *definitely* don’t need to hurt yourself like this.

SUGGESTION — It doesn’t matter. You don’t have a choice anymore. You *need* to hear this.

Stay.

KIM KITSURAGI — An uncomfortable shuffle of nylon can be heard, even through the window. “…I appreciate your concern,” he says stiffly. And that’s *all* he says.

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — He knows he doesn’t sound like he means it, but he does. And he also knows that Vicquemare will be embarrassed, maybe even hurt, by the curt response. But he can’t think of a single word to say.

EMPATHY — It’s hard for him to face people head on like this. It’s easier when he has something to hide behind. Like you and your antics.

PERCEPTION (Hearing) — A long sigh. You’re not sure whose it is.

JEAN VICQUEMARE — And then you see Jean’s hand toss his cigarette butt into the grass. “Well, who knows? Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you’re some kind of miracle worker. I mean, two of you apparently *attract* miracles. You know, with your pheromones.”

KIM KITSURAGI — “He wasn’t talking about *our*… khm. Actually, never mind. Let’s not start the cryptid thing again.”

JEAN VICQUEMARE — “Yeah, let’s not.” He sounds a little gruff as he says it.

EMPATHY — He is sad that no miracle ever happened for him, and angry that it came for someone else at all. But most of all, it hurts him that your miracle was someone else.

YOU — I’m sorry for forgetting…

EMPATHY — Forgetting what?

The things he did for me.

The things I did to him.

Why I am the way I am.

All of it.

EMPATHY — He can’t hear you, Harry.

VOLITION — There’s no point in being sorry for how everything played out. Your relationships with them, your sobriety, the case, the Insulindian miracle— all of it is as much a product of circumstance as anything else. A matter of who was in the right place at the right time. All you can do now is choose what to do with what came of it.

That is why they’ve run out of things to say now. They are sad and uncertain, but they have chosen to carry that. What do you choose?

To tell them I don’t need their fucking pity.

To be sorry all the same.

To distance them from me before the pendulum swings.

To make sure they never leave me alone to die.

I don’t know. I want to do what’s right, but I don’t know what that looks like.

VOLITION — None of us really do, Harry. Just do your best.

KIM KITSURAGI — “…I’m not trying to fix him.” His words come out clunky and awkward. Sudden, as if he said them against his better judgment.

JEAN VICQUEMARE — “Uh huh.” He sounds doubtful.

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant clears his throat. “That is to say… I believe he can get better. He *is* getting better. But I don’t think… Well, let’s call it a… a chronic problem.” He clears his throat again, clearly uncomfortable.

EMPATHY — It’s hard for him to say that he doesn’t think you’ll ever put it all behind you. It makes him feel callous.

KIM KITSURAGI — “But… I think that’s all right. We all have things we simply have to learn to live with. But we do live with them. And I think he’s getting better at living with… with everything,” he finishes, trying to put it as delicately as possible. “That is all I can ask of him.”

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — Maybe someday, he’ll tell you and Jean about all the things he has learned to live with, and the times when he very nearly didn’t. But not today.

JEAN VICQUEMARE — You hear the click of a lighter. Another cigarette. “…I see. Well, if he’s made any progress, he probably owes it to you.” He makes a valiant effort to conceal the bitterness in his voice.

KIM KITSURAGI — “No,” he says quietly, “I don’t think so. I think… Well, it doesn’t really matter what I think.”

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — A freshly cleaned room. A little girl come in from the cold. A handkerchief pressed into the hands of a working class woman. A wall with the words “I LOVE YOU CUNO” painted in giant red letters. Dancing ecstatically around a hole in the world. He remembers it all, but he is at a loss for the words to explain the true miracle of it all. He wishes that Jean could have seen it and understood.

YOU — So do I…

[ozzgin]

I can order a yandere cute (kawaii), who maybe because of his cute and innocent appearance managed to get close to his beloved, but maybe this boy is not only cute and has a very disturbing past...

When you described a cute yandere with a messed up past, all I could think of was Kanato from Diabolik Lovers. This one's less of an asshole though. Hopefully. I also wasn't sure what you had in mind for 'disturbing past', I may have gone overboard.

Cute!Twisted! Yandere x Reader

Children will say the strangest things. Such as the marriage promise you’ve received from the little boy you befriended a long time ago, when you were rather young yourself. Yet sometimes the words aren’t entirely devoid of meaning. He definitely hasn’t forgotten his intentions, and your current fiancé is a mere delay to his plans.

TW: mentions of abuse, obsessive behavior, violence, small age gap, death

He still remembers the day you met, so clearly and vividly. His most cherished memory. 

It was particularly cold despite the sun and his feet were hurting. He didn't have the time to put any shoes on, he ran out the moment he'd heard the sound of glass breaking. 

Mother was so scary when she'd get upset. The bulging eyes, the screaming mouth, the wild hair scattered over her face, darkening her features.

What if she were to follow him outside? No, she was never mean in front of others. Then again, the street was empty...He bit apart the skin on his fingers in panic. 

"Isn't it a bit late for pajamas?"

His eyes darted up and met hers. A girl somewhat taller and older, holding a basketball under her arm and staring intently, visibly confused. He was, after all, shivering outside by himself, barefoot and in sleeping garments in bright daylight. He blushed in embarrassment. 

"I snuck out for some fresh air."

"Rebellious already, huh?" She smirked and walked over, dropping herself on the sidewalk next to him. "I'm (Y/N). Do you live in the area? We could hang out when you feel like it. No need to sit by yourself."

She pointed to a house unexpectedly close. Has she always been nearby? Then again, he was never allowed outside. Besides the spontaneous escapades in order to avoid the burning rage, he didn't see other people much. It had always been him and Mother. 

For his own good, really. At least that's what Mother used to say. When she wasn't angry, she'd cry and hold him tight, telling him how much she pities him between hiccups and candid sobs. A vile creature like him would surely be mocked by the rest of the world. Not his fault, the poor little angel. Alas, his miserable fate still had a glimpse of hope, because Mother would never abandon him. He would always find acceptance from her all-forgiving heart.

And yet, there was always the seed of suspicion in the depths of his mind. Her sweet, soothing words felt like a hot slap over the blooming wounds already adorning his body, shaping a paradox.

Then he met you. You didn't seem to be disturbed by his presence. The following days, whenever he approached you, you'd welcome him with the same warm smile. Just like you promised. He couldn't find the ridicule he'd so often been warned about.

The puzzle pieces didn't fit together, and it became painfully obvious once Mother confronted him about his secret outings. Somehow her wrath had faded. Her shouts were mere waves echoing from somewhere distant, only grazing by his ears. She must've noticed his indifference, too, because she began rummaging her pockets for the basement key. Perhaps an old fashioned discipline would have helped him regain his voice. But the dark, cramped walls of the basement no longer frightened him. During his time spent outside, he had discovered a fact of stunning novelty:

He didn't have to listen to her. Staring into her ferocious, bottomless pits, he only found the reflection of (Y/N)'s face. Her peaceful, loving expression, devoid of pain, or fury, or punishment. 

His little hands reached for the box cutter.

"It's you that has to go downstairs, Mother. You're a liar. I hate liars."

Was it the right choice? His small outburst had ultimately cost him your company. That evening he politely called emergency to let them know his Mother had gone mad. And so they dispatched a couple of officers to investigate the gruesome cadaver, sprawled along the stairs with too many gashes to count. They shyly investigated the basement, and a social worker carefully inspected the little boy's abundant markings. This couldn't have been a suicide, but the tearful, frightened eyes of the child kept them from pressing further. Whoever had stepped foot into their home that day most likely did him a favor. Nonetheless, he was now essentially orphaned, requiring an adult, and was swiftly shipped to the first available relative.

He didn't have the time to meet you one last time. A shameful departure given his final meeting: completely inebriated with ardent affection, he dared to present to you his innermost wish. One day he'd marry you, he was certain of it. You chuckled and extended your pinky finger reassuringly. A sealed deal. 

All he had was your name and your promise and God, how dearly he clung to them every night, every passing year. His true glimmer of hope.

You're scrolling through your emails, waiting for the bus to arrive, when a gentle tap on the shoulder startles you. Behind you is a young man, although the soft, feminine features give him more of an androgynous appearance.

"May I help you?"

"You're (Y/N), aren't you?" he bats his eyelashes expectantly. 

"I am, but how do you-" 

You gaze at the stranger intently. The big, innocent eyes, the childish demeanor, there's a certain familiarity to it. Who could it be? Suddenly you're overwhelmed by nostalgia. 

"It's you! How many years...? And you haven't changed one bit!" You laugh merrily at the sight of your shy, quiet friend, all grown up. 

"H-hey now, surely I look more mature this time." He tries to emulate a somber frown as a way to prove his adulthood. "Do you have time? I'd love to catch up."

He missed you so much. 

"Right now is a little difficult, but I'll tell you what. Why don't you come over to our place in the near future?"

Huh?

"This way I can introduce you to my fiancé!" You flash him your phone in order to exchange numbers, enthusiastic about the surprise reunion.

He vacantly stares at the lockscreen depicting an unknown man holding you close to him. When he searched for your name online, he didn't find anything regarding a relationship. He didn't expect this. He shouldn't have expected this. His fingers tighten around the small velvet box in his pocket. 

Did you forget your promise to him? Or was everything a lie? No, you wouldn't...you couldn't...He fucking hates liars. But you're not one of them, are you? You're not like Mother. No, no, no, no. Breathe. It's his fault. Of course, naturally. He vanished without a word and you must've thought he abandoned you. How careless of him. How terribly rude to blame you for his mistakes. It's okay, it's alright. He'll make it up to you. Sweet, darling (Y/N). 

"Are you okay?"

He looks up and notices your worried face. 

"Me? Yes, definitely. I was just a little surprised. Hehe. Who would've thought?" He grins and winks at you. "I have an even better idea! Why don't you two come to my apartment instead? I never got the chance to congratulate you for your engagement."

"Gosh, haha, don't worry about i-"

"Please. Pretty please?" He pouts dramatically, holding onto your coat, and you blush slightly at the adorable display. "It's my way of thanking you for the nice childhood memories."

"You really have your way to convince people, huh?" You ruffle his hair and he lowers his head, enjoying the touch. "I'll let my fiancé know."

"Such a cozy place you got yourself!" You beam at the lovely atmosphere of the room. Everything is bright and inviting. 

"Uh huh. The ladies must love you." Your fiancé follows up in agreement, snacking on the fancy appetizers. 

The young man places a tray on the table and hands you both a glass of sparkling wine. 

"Do you live alone? I refuse to believe you don't have a girlfriend." You joke and turn to your partner. "He was a real loner back then. Never saw him around other kids."

"Don't out me like that, (Y/N)!" He pinches your cheek humorously. "As a matter of fact, I do have a girlfriend."

Your fiancé raises his eyebrows, encouraging the boy to continue with details, while he gulps down the pleasantly aromatic drink. Must be expensive. 

"Then why didn't you bring her here? I want to meet her!" You whine. 

The man fiddles with his glass, observing the air bubbles that rush to the surface. 

"You already know her."

"Oh?"

Distracted by this knowledge, you stretch for your own glass and accidentally grab the one belonging to your fiancé. Before you can bring it to your lips, your head swings to the side and you can instantly feel your cheek throb, numb from the abrupt impact of someone's hand. 

"Don't fucking touch it!"

Your childhood friend is standing before you, equally shocked by his act. He stares at his reddening palm and his face twists in terror.

"I-I'm...Oh God...I'm so sorry, (Y/N). I just, I didn't know what else to do. You have to understand, please. I'd never-"

As you listen to his erratic apology, you hear the wheezing coughs of your fiancé. His breathing is irregular and he scratches his throat, unable to verbalize his struggle to you. A white foam begins to form in the corners of his mouth. You try to get up, but the man's fingers dig into your face, forcing you back on the chair. 

"Shhh shhh, it sounds uglier than it actually is. Trust me. Do you see now? I had to be a little rough, otherwise you would've gotten hurt. Hey! Look at me." He cups your cheeks with both of his hands, squatting in front of you. "Let him settle down. It won't be long."

Your vision becomes blurry.

"He needs an ambulance. Please. What did you do with the drinks?" You manage to blurt out.

"Won't make a difference."

He rests his gaze on your features for a few moments, admiring them dreamily. 

"It breaks my heart when you're sad like this. Didn't I say this is an engagement celebration?"

Without breaking eye contact, he pulls out his treasured box and opens it in your lap, revealing a ring.

"I know I disappeared without a word, but I truly had no choice. This is my way of begging for your forgiveness. Not a day went by without thinking of you, (Y/N). I, heh...I actually got this many years ago. Just carried it in my pocket in case I ever found you again." 

He giggles awkwardly, stroking your cheek protectively. 

"So don't cry. I've kept my promise after all, didn't I? Aren't you proud of me~?"

By the time his little speech ends, the room has filled with silence. Your fiancé is slouching on the chair, still and quiet. The young boy picks up your limp body, humming cheerfully. 

"You'll be the prettiest bride in the world.

Mine and mine only."

[overtake]

“a sexual awakening so intense it registered on the richter scale” is the single best and most accurate description I have ever heard.

pov: you're 16 years old and doing the final test for your super license ahead of joining f1 as the youngest ever driver. you expect the doubt and hate, and you know you can prove on track why you deserve to be there once you actually get in a car, but until then, you just have to be the subject of everyone's headlines and criticism for a factor you can't control.

then this guy comes along.

race winner who got himself to a top team and is beating his world champion teammate, a cool older handsome charismatic guy with a giant smile and big brown eyes, beloved and kind while still being fiercely talented, competitive, and hungry? the guy who you met in 2011 and who gave you the time of day before you were old enough to sniff at the f1 grid. he's not even going to be your actual teammate (yet), but he still takes the time to tell you he's looking forward to seeing you on the grid when so much of what you've heard is nonstop criticism.

he tells you good luck for your super license with a big grin meant just for you

and this is how it makes you feel.

this is live footage of daniel ricciardo becoming a permanent fixture in max's spank bank. it's one of those foundational crushes you have at a young age that sticks with you for life and unconsciously affects "your type" forever and never truly goes away.

also, i just think everyone should hear the way max very softly says "he's a really nice guy, yeah" with so much affection packed into every word.

how are you not to psychosexually imprint on him? one look at that video and max was ready to risk it all. he's been metaphorically tucking his hair, kicking his feet, and giggling since day one. he found a guy who he could race hard, who would challenge him on track, but who would still make the miserable pr days better for them, who was always laughing at max's jokes every time he did his little glance over to ensure it landed. max is so fiercely loyal to his people, and daniel has clearly earned that trust.

tldr: max verstappen is number one dirlie and if he were on f1blr, he would be writing long posts with onboards, data, and that ☝️🤓 attitude of his explaining in detail why everyone is wrong about daniel, and i hope it haunts all the max fans who get their rocks off to calling daniel a washed asshole loser that max's porn folder is daniel late braking compilations.

[nonpracticinghumanbeing]

Izzy IS about community. He’s ALWAYS BEEN about community in his own messed up way. The Canyon was right and the haters were wrong.

He wanted Blackbeard back because that was what kept the crew safe. He was terrible about it and hurt the man he obviously loves in the process, but it WAS for the greater good. It wasn’t a purely selfish act the antis love to frame it as. He wanted to feel safe again and he wanted the crew to be safe as well.

Hell, he was doing his best to help Edward through his post-breakup depression. He didn’t understand what was going on and was clearly distressed by it but he provided what Ed needed. He *knew* he lacked the emotional capacity to help his captain himself so he agreed to bring him Lucius. I really think he would have just gritted his teeth and suffered through it if Ed didn’t say the one thing that could collapse his whole world.

"Why do we even bother being pirates?" That was what freaked Izzy out so much that he pushed Edward to violence. Not because he selfishly wanted Ed to be close at all times but because Blackbeard the legend was the pillar of his community. That legend kept everyone safe and even if Izzy is a horrible asshole, he *does* care about his crew. He knows the world is a horrible hostile place and he focuses on risk mitigation, even if it means hurting the one person he really cares about.

He really tried to provide that to the crew when Edward and Stede took the Act of Grace. It was a terribly misguided attempt at keeping things under control and it was certainly influenced by his submissive tendencies which make him crave structure and feel safe within hierarchies. He *knows* he lacks Ed's charisma and ability to think outside the box and with such huge shoes to fill it's not really surprising he acted out in anger and in result failed miserably. But he was *NEVER* an asshole just for the sake of it.

Now he realizes those days are gone for good. He's already done everything he could to bring Ed back to his senses, including using *Stede fuckin' Bonnet’s* name. It didn’t work. The realization that his one true safeguard is really gone must be terrible, but it also pushes him to take action.

The moment he realizes the crew are in real danger, he takes things into his own hands. He not only goes against the hierarchy he believed to be sacred but also against the man he *LOVES*. He fucking shoots his beloved captain to save the crew. You don’t get much more *community* than that.

He is clearly struggling. He's just tried to fucking kill himself after being maimed AND told he was disposable by a man whom he's apparently served for dacades. He will have to reevaluate his whole life and he *knows* it. But he puts it all to the side and he does what needs to be done. He took all of Edward’s abuse without complaint it seems but the moment the crew are in real danger, he intervenes. You can’t tell me a community (*any* community) doesn’t need people like that.

It all feels very old-time queer to me. The willingness to make terrible sacrifices to protect one's space. The decision (conscious or not) to be effective rather than liked. The choice to stay alive despite terrible heartbreak and go on fighting.

He's absolutely NOT an irredimable villain. He’s an asshole who tries to keep his little world safe. He’s Larry Kramer getting kicked out of GMHC for being too confrontational and politically incorrect to be palatable to the general public.

[peachypinkygloss]

hiiii beloved ! already said that but im so so happy for you, you deserve it and so many more! let's go to 1 billion !!!!

stepbros!namjoon and jungkook, dumbfication, manipulation and dollification or bimbo reader idk totally up to u ! do and add what u want my love, i just know is going to be amazing 😌

and again, congrats peachy, love uuuu 🥳💜

- m🤍

sjjsjhgvufdh hi baby 🥺 thank you so much !! 😩 i love you a lot lot lot <3 your support means the world to me ): 🤍

remember

When alone in the house, your stepbrothers play with you.

pairing: stepbrother!namjoon x fem!reader x stepbrother!jungkook

genre: step siblings au, smut

warnings: joon and jk are meanies (like assholes of the year award im not kidding (why is this hot tho)), pseudo incest, kind of dub-con, free-use??, manipulation, degradation, dumbification, crybaby reader 🥲, fingering, cum eating, 1k words.

a.n.: filth is my second name btw AND as always don't read if you don't like!!

This is part of my 2k milestone celebration! Here is the post for the drabble game if you want to participate and send in a request of yours! 🤍

♡・2k celebration masterlist・♡

"What's the matter, mh?" Jungkook whispers in your ear, his fingers skillfully moving in your cotton panties, tracing your puffy clit. "Too stupid to form a simple sentence?" He mocks and you can't help the whine escaping your mouth right after.

Jungkook is being really unfair and mean, as usual. Nothing's new, except for the manly hand dancing in your underwear while your other stepbrother, Namjoon, is in the kitchen. It won't take long until he comes back into the living room.

It's exactly at that moment that you hear Namjoon's footsteps approaching, Jungkook's mouth beside your ear whispering to you again. "Remember, that's what you wanted," he smiles, knowing he has you wrapped around his finger.

He quickly grabs your chin and turns your head around in order to kiss your lips, exploring your mouth with his tongue. He backs away before Namjoon enters the room, keeping his hand at the right place where it belongs.

"What's wrong with y'all?"

You freeze when you hear your brother's deep voice, a scowl drawing on his face. His brows are frowned, looking disappointed, but he doesn't seem to want to stop Jungkook, not at all. You have the impression that he knew and didn't expect it to actually happen.

Jungkook's fingers penetrate you and you gasp loudly, tears forming in your eyes as you feel your pussy burn, fingers stretching you out really well.

You glance in Jungkook's direction, watery eyes asking for pity, begging for mercy. But that's what you wanted, wasn't it?

He doesn't have any pity for you, you realize, and so you turn your head back around, gaze shifting up to Namjoon's face. "I- I-" you begin, but miserably stop as Jungkook starts pumping in and out of your wet pussy. "I asked for it!" You finally squeak out, grasping on Jungkook's arm.

You open your legs wider despite you, your entire body on fire, Jungkook's fingers being too big for your own good. This one smirks at you, satisfied you listened to him and lied to Namjoon. Willingly or not, you did what he said because you're nothing more than his dumb little stepsister.

"I'm sorry, Joonie, I'm sorry," you sob out, apologizing because Jungkook has made you believe it was just all your fault. Sure, you're nowhere near against it, let's not lie, but you also feel like you're betraying Namjoon.

The last time you were alone in the house, Jungkook was locked up in his room playing on his Playstation and Namjoon was studying in his room, too.

You don't really remember how it happened, but it hadn't been long until you found yourself getting pounded into your mattress, crying fat tears under Namjoon.

You had almost lost any rational thoughts that day, only remembering his name that you were crying out each time his hand around your throat tightened or when his cock reached impossibly deep into you.

"No, you're not," Namjoon shakes his head, refusing your lame apology. He steps closer, placing himself just in front of you so you have to tilt your head up to look at him. "Do you know what you are, though?" He questions.

Your eyebrows knit together, confused. "No..." You mutter, shamelessly getting fucked by Jungkook's fingers. Your nails dig into his forearm and scratch his skin as you claw at it, leaving white trails and crescent forms behind.

Namjoon leans over and grabs your chin, his eyes boring into yours. "A stupid slut," he responds all too casually, his hot breath hitting your face.

Maybe he's right because the only thing you can answer is a moan as Jungkook finds your sensitive spot way too easily. Your mouth is agape and you whine in Namjoon's face. You should be embarrassed, but shame doesn't even make its way to your brain as you're too overwhelmed by the pleasure building up in your core.

"What did we do to deserve a brainless girl like you as our sister, huh?" Jungkook chuckles beside you while your gaze is still connected with Namjoon's, little pearls falling down on your burning cheeks.

"I'm sorry," you mumble, weak and defeated. Always sorry for something that isn't technically your fault. That hand didn't sneak in your panties by itself, someone's controlling it. And Namjoon didn't break into your room just like that, it was calculated.

In the end, it doesn't matter whose fault it is because you want it as much as they do.

"Stop fucking whining, you're annoying," Namjoon scolds and you close your mouth, really feeling ashamed now. "This is what you wanted, so fucking take it," he says with a firm voice, making your heart ache in your rib cage and your walls clench around Jungkook's long fingers.

Namjoon lets go of your face roughly and now Jungkook completely wrecks you, moving in and out of you and curling his fingers inside, his digits patting the spongy spot inside your pussy.

You move your legs apart until your feet dangle in the air, hands grasping on the cushions underneath, nails sinking into the material. You keep your mouth shut, but your whines are still heard as well as your sobs, hips bucking upward to meet your brother's hand.

"You're going to cum, aren't you, baby girl?" Jungkook wonders, but it's evident. Your thighs are shaking, your cunt can't stop clenching around him and your cries are amplifying. "God, you're sucking my fingers in like a slut."

Of course, it's after he says that that you feel your high approaching, knot in your stomach tightening. You can't keep your mouth closed anymore and moan out as your orgasm passes through you intensely.

You close your legs around his hand, now too sensitive to handle his fingers. You breathe heavily, looking at them with a blurry vision and damped cheeks from your tears.

Jungkook slowly retracts his hand away from your heat, licking his fingers clean from your cum. You have the feeling that this isn't finished, quite far from it, and you're soon proven right.

Namjoon pulls you up by your arm, only to shove you against the couch on your stomach after. "If you cry again, I won't have any other choice than to shut you up myself."

.

.

.

[teyamsatan]

𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕀𝕟 𝕄𝕖 | ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕀𝕍: 𝕀𝕥'𝕤 𝕀𝕟 𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕀𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕖 𝕀'𝕞 𝕄𝕒𝕕𝕖

Pairing: Neteyam x (f)Omaticaya!Reader

synopsis: Neteyam's actions leave you aching and shamed, and life is made difficult by your attempts to avoid him at all costs, until it dawns on you that, much like your entire relationship, nothing good ever happens without reciprocation.

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, aged-up! Neteyam/Reader, enemies-to-lovers, angst (mentions of violence, battle, blood, death), smut (oral - m receiving, orgasm denial), strong language, neteyam and reader being horrible to each other lol

wc: 6.4k words

a/n: we're in it now, besties. the plot thickens, much like reader/neteyam's steamy enmity and desire for each other. i hope you enjoy this chapter, and as always, thank you for asking to be tagged, commenting, sending me asks, it really keeps me going and i appreciate you so so much (thank you very much also to @cinetrix for her amazing Neteyam art and the prompt which inspired me so much and got me out of my writer's block ily bestie x)

na'vi compendium: yawne - beloved, Tsakarem - Tsa'hik in training, ketuwong - alien, txepvi  - spark, teylupil - teylu-face, kurkung - asshole, skxawng - idiot, eveng - child, tsìltsan rewon - good morning, Oel ngati kameie - I see you, sa'nok - mother, ite - daughter, srane - yes, kä - go, Olo'eykte - female Olo'eyktan, tam-tam - calm, mawey - calm, oare - moon

: ̗̀➛ previous chapter (x) : ̗̀➛ series masterlist (x) : ̗̀➛ series playlist (x)

I'm only whatever you make me And you make me more and more a villain every day But you don't know, you reap, you sow Whatever you give to me, from yourself, you take Well, if you're a hater, then hate the creator It's in your image I'm made

The absence of his fingers, of him, from you, as he abandoned you, with your thoughts and insecurities, left you in a state of deep shock and shame - so much so, it took a good hour to finally get the strength to move the few steps it took to get to your tent.

Your mind was spinning with more thoughts then it could process, and as you continued worrying about the consequences of your actions, about all the ways Neteyam would find new ways to torture you and make you miserable, as you reeled from the ache that settled deep in your core from the emptiness he left behind, as you tried to understand the convoluted ways his mind worked and the reason he would ever do something like this to begin with, you found consciousness slipping away from you and in no time, you were asleep, taunted by dreams that you couldn’t find in you to call nightmares anymore, dreams about him finishing the job. At least in these dreams, you were safe, and he was nice, and his touch healed instead of breaking you further and further each day. You realise now it’s not what happens in these dreams that makes you think of them as nightmares, it’s the reality juxtaposed against them that sours their taste on your mind. It’s funny how even the purest, happiest moments can turn to ashes in your mouth when the backdrop is haunting and inimical. 

It was evening when you woke, and the headache that accompanied your newfound conscious state was heightened by Lo’ak’s harsh voice, as he shook you back to a reality that still ached, that couldn’t have been better than the fantasies you just left behind. 

“Lo’ak, stop shaking her, just give her a second.”

“Look, we have no time for pleasantries. She’s going to thank me for this.” 

“Teylupil. Kurkung. Skxawng.” You curse in a hoarse, barely audible whisper, eliciting a laugh from Kiri and an exasperated groan from her little brother. 

“Is this how you talk to the man that’s going to save you from an evening of misery?” 

“What’re you talking about, you irksome little -“ 

“Just get up and I’ll tell you. What’re you doing asleep at this hour anyway?” 

“Kiri, remove your brother before I remove him, and take one or two fingers with me.” 

“Come on, Lo’ak, let’s make sure you’re still alive by Eclipse.” 

You rose from your mat with a small wince as your head throbbed in pain. 

“Are you alright?” Kiri’s hand was cold and soothing against your skin, and you placed your own hand on top of hers, grateful that she was here, if not for anything else, to dilute the intensity of Lo’ak’s personality while you were still recovering your strength. You couldn't look at your two favourite Sully siblings properly, not when the shame stung and dulled your senses, not when their eyes would remind you of his, and what you did.

“I’m fine, just… tired. I… broke up with O’i’en. Or actually, I guess he broke up with me.”

“Shit. Did he find out?” 

You considered how much you should tell your friends about what transpired, knowing they’d have questions, knowing the answers might lead to more questions, some of which you couldn’t possible begin to explain. 

“Yeah… Neteyam told him.”

“Fuck. I still don’t know what you possibly ever did to make Neteyam, who happens to be the most boring and calm person to walk this planet, so angry at you.”

You scoffed at Lo’ak’s statement, so obvious and speaking to a mystery that has plagued you for the last 7 years. 

“Yeah… I love living my life paying for an imaginary slight he feels the need to remind me of every day.” 

He thought about it for a second, his fingers stroking his chin in an obviously exaggerated contemplative manner. 

“How do you know it’s imaginary if you don’t know what it is?” 

The roll of your eye reminded you briefly of the headache that tried you, and how it was getting worse with each passing second you had to entertain this conversation. 

“Look, even if it’s not, don’t you think it’s a little extreme?”

With a raise of his shoulders, Lo’ak continued.

“I guess… but it’s not like you make it easier for yourself.”

You felt your anger picking up speed, making your pulse quicken and heat rise in your cheeks. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“I mean, you are just as bad to him. You’re both horrible to each other. Don’t get me wrong, it’s hilarious and we all get a kick out of it, but - OUCH, KIRI!” Lo’ak yelped in pain as soon as his sister’s elbow found its way in his ribs, and the theatrics continued as he collapsed on his side, until his head was on your lap. 

“You’re the worst.”

“I still maintain my view that you both just need to fuck. Maybe this mateship is going to be the solution to all your problems.” 

The flush of your cheeks brought about by anger only deepened at his words, that instilled memories that you still didn’t know whether you were trying to forget or imprint on your brain, memories that had no business flashing in front of your mind’s eye now, memories that might infer the beginning of the end of the world: Lo’ak finally being right about something. 

“Yeah, cause what successful lifelong commitment hasn’t started with two people who despise each other?” You didn’t want to harp on a subject that you’d do everything to never have to talk about again, so you quickly changed the subject. 

“Moving on. Why are you guys here?”

The two siblings exchanged awkward looks.

“Mum, dad and grandma were talking about you and Neteyam… about the ceremony and everything.” You could tell Kiri felt uncomfortable talking about the subject, and you were happy at least one of them was sensitive to the situation. “They want to sit you both down and pick a date. Grandma said something about the sooner the better. We thought you’d rather eat a Talioang tongue than do that, so we came to give you a heads up.”

Well, so much for changing the subject. You groaned, moving Lo’ak out of the way so you can raise your knees and place your head in between them, trying to make the world stop shaking and your heart stop trying to escape out of your chest. This can’t be happening. Not so soon.

“What did Neteyam say?” 

“Neteyam hasn’t returned home, which isn’t like him. Have you seen him at all today?” 

“No.” You lied. 

That was weird. Why would Neteyam not return home? It’s not like he had any reason to hide, unlike you. You’d think he’d be the first one back in the tent, waiting to see if you’d show up for dinner, with a smug smirk plastered on his face, so ready and willing to taunt you for your momentary lapse in judgement and for being able to rub in the fact he won one more battle in your never-ending war, that until now was even, but now, felt completely thrown off balance. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” The magic words, spoken to you almost like in a dream, pulling you out of your intense musings about the speaker’s older brother. 

“It’s almost eclipse. You’re gonna get in trouble.” 

Lo’ak snickered and rolled his eyes, almost upset that you would ever think that’s something he should care about.

“Come on. We can go to the labs, chill with the humans for a night.” 

“As tempting as that is, I don’t think aiding and abetting the Olo’eyktan’s kids to leave after curfew is going to improve my situation in any way. You should go back. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Lo’ak huffed and puffed, but did as he was told, not before he left you with one last nugget of information.

“By the way, Norm and Max intercepted some new intel about a mission the ketuwong are planning. It’s in two days. Dad wants us all in strategy meetings and training all day tomorrow. That includes you. As soon as eclipse is over.” 

“Roger that. Now go.” You kissed both of them on their foreheads, and watched as they left you with your thoughts. 

Questions and worries plagued your mind, all, like most times, revolving around the oldest Sully sibling. Ponderations of how or why, of when or what, all swirling, all fluttering away, none of them settling enough to be thought about in detail, all of them flailing about, knocking every other thought from your consciousness until you were a panted mess of breaths and ringing heartbeats. You couldn’t be here.

Curfew has always been more of a suggestion to you than an order, so with that mentality deeply embedded in you still, you picked up your knife and bow and made your way out, walking past the Sully tent and into the thick forest, to a place you haven’t been in since that night Mo’at announced your engagement. You tried to shake the unnerved feeling that still haunted you as you remembered what last transpired there.

As you trekked past foliage and snuck past apex predators that were out hunting for the night, you eventually reached the meadow you've always loved so much. You didn't have time to breathe out a sigh a relief as you noticed a navy blue form turned away from you, toned, muscular back full on display. You would always recognise this body and the man who inhabited it, now and forever, as long as you would live, but still, you almost couldn't believe what your eyes were clearly showing you.

Neteyam was deep in thought as his feet dangled in the lake in which you liked to bathe and relax normally, that used to be a sacred place for you, one more thing he ruined in the time you've known him. He didn't hear you, you realise suddenly, and you were glad. He was the last person you wanted to see and you didn't know what you were feeling in this moment as you watched him, so unlike the Neteyam you always got to experience, so far removed from the man that always had his guard on around you, that was smug and arrogant, and primed to hurt you with every possibility that presented itself to him. This felt more like the Neteyam you used to know and love, that everyone else still gets to know and love, that you hear so much about on a day to day basis - the peaceful Neteyam, the considerate and shy Neteyam, the golden son, the epitome of what made the Omaticaya special.

You stayed hidden in the shrubbery that concealed the meadow, just watching him, and as the time continued, you found yourself relaxing, your own thoughts percolating and settling one at a time, until you processed as many of them as you had the strength to. A few things became clear to you. The priority right now were the Sky People. You had to fight, and you had to do it well - too many people relied on you for you to give anything else than your 100%. Neteyam was a distraction you couldn't afford - not right now, and not until this was done. Avoiding him at all costs seemed like the smart thing to do. Revenge could wait... for a little while. You pushed the reminder of the ceremony discussion from your brain. You didn't have enough power to consider the implications of the talk the Sully patriarch and matriarchs wanted to have with you and Neteyam. It was too soon.

Other things, you were more confused about than ever. In the end, you left with more questions than you came with, leaving him to his own devices, knowing you'll soon regret not having gotten at least a couple hours sleep before the two days ahead, both difficult, both with enough power to take more from you than you were willing to ever lose.

Why is he here?

What is he thinking about?

Were you on his mind at all?

Did you even want to be?

Could you stand it if you weren't?

You made it back to the village right as Jake and Neytiri came out, a sleepy, uncooperative Lo'ak following close behind.

"Ma eveng, tsìltsan rewon. Oel ngati kameie."

"Oel ngati kameie, sa'nok."

Neytiri made her way to you with wide, gentle steps. She always reminded you of these humans you once saw in a video the scientists showed you when you were younger, called ballerinas. She had so much poise, so much gentle, quiet power, that you have tried to emulate your entire life. Despite it paining you to admit, Neytiri was more your mother, more a role model, than your own mother ever had been. When she reached you, her hands found your face, that she stroked gently, running her thumbs under your eyes.

"Please tell me you've slept, 'ite."

Your tail stilled midair as you were caught red-handed, and you knew you either had to lie, a concept only familiar to you after being around humans, and one that you have to admit you found useful in certain circumstances, or deal with a long lecture, that you were much too tired for.

"Srane, sa'nok."

She gave you a skeptical look, one that told you she didn't quite believe you, but knew better than to probe, at least not in front of the Olo'eyktan, who would give you the ass kicking of a lifetime if he knew you weren't going to give your 110% over the following days.

"Kä. Get your bow and quiver and meet us on the training grounds."

You did as you were told, changing quickly while you were at it, realising briefly you have been in the same garbs for a long time now, something your mum would have told you off about. She always looked her best, always beautiful and presentable, always the most sought-after woman in the village. She had no grand aspirations, not like you, or like your father, who wanted nothing more for you than to be a warrior and a fighter, to be the best of the best, the best of them all. If it was up to him, you would be Olo'eykte. You tried to make both of them proud in their own ways - your mother, by continuing her secret weaving technique and always wearing the special garbs that only your family knew how to make, and your father, by becoming the pride and prodigy of your clan, and sharing that title with only one other person, none other than the prince of the Omaticaya.

Your heart picked up pace as you reached the grounds and in front of his parents stood Neteyam, looking perfect as always, not a single stray hair on his head, his braids flowing softly in the wind and chiming when the beads adorning them knocked into each other. You've always loved Neteyam's hair. It was always perfectly braided, and so weirdly emotive and... alive, sometimes looking like it moved on its own accord, a little like the tail that you saw moving in a circle, a sign he was not happy - what else was new?

When Jake spotted you, he nodded in your direction, which made everyone's attention shift to you, including his, and when his eyes trailed over your body, widening minutely, mouth slightly agape, you felt your cheeks burn and ears twitch nervously. He gained composure as quickly as he lost it, the slightly taken aback expression far removed from the one now displayed on his face, that he reserved for you, that you hated with every fibre of your being. The moment of vulnerability you witnessed yesterday was long gone, replaced by his usual contempt he liked to emanate as soon as you entered his personal bubble. You wondered if he was gonna rub your nose in it, if he was going to declare it to the world, let his friends know that you were another name to add to the catalogue of women he's fucked, or if he wouldn't want anyone to know - his little secret, only for his twisted mind to keep and thrive on. Your own mind tortured you with scenarios, each one worse than the last, before Jake pulled you out of your nightmarish thoughts.

"Kid. Come on, now, you can't go all mellow on me today. Tomorrow's a big one, I need you here, I need you with me. Can I count on you?"

"Yes, sir."

By the end of the day, that now went well into the night, you were more tired than you could remember being in years, and between the strategising meetings, the weapon training, the military drill exercises, and the hand to hand combat that Jake insisted would, at some point in your life, become useful, your brain was fried and your body sore and covered in mud and twigs.

The dirt that covered every inch of you was the kind which would stick to your skin and your hair for days on end, without any sliver of hope that it could get removed. You knew your braids were ruined, and so were your garbs, that you worked so hard for, that were all you had left of your family and your ancestors. It was a good day, you tried to remind yourself. A successful day. That’s all that mattered -not your clothes, nor the man that you were trying to avoid like he was a plague, or his gaze, or the heat that emanated from his body, or the memory of his fingers or his torturous ministrations. 

“Good job today, both of you. Now go wash the muck off of you at the river and be back in 30 minutes so we can go over it and discuss what went right and what could have gone better. Dismissed.” 

“Um- can I go to the lake instead?” The thought of being alone with Neteyam made your skin crawl. Is that what that was? It had to be. Skin crawling… yes, not goosebumps and shivers down your spine. Skin crawling…

You cringed a little at Jake’s expression, and his raised eyebrow which most of the time, and especially now, indicated annoyance or grievance.

“The lake is far, plus you wouldn’t be able to make it back in 30 minutes, kid. And it’s still dark. Is there a reason the normal river is not to your taste anymore?” 

Your tail stopped in its tracks at his slight admonishment, ears pushed back so far, they were flat against your head. You hated disappointing Jake, almost as much as you hated Neteyam. 

“No, sir.” 

At the sight of you, Jake’s expression melted away and was replaced with a soft smile, one exclusively reserved for his kids. He approached you quietly and patted your head affectionately.

“That’s what I thought. Now come on, off you go, you little troublemaker.” 

It was a short trek to the river that most Na’vi used as a personal bathing station, that was now deserted for the night. The training lasted longer than expected, and you knew eclipse would be over in a short couple of hours. You felt Neteyam’s eyes boring into your back and you did everything in your power to forget that he was there, but alas, it was near impossible when his presence overwhelmed your every sense, when it took over any thought in your mind, when the embarrassment of your encounter still rings painfully in you, telling you to run, or hide, or get your petty little revenge so he stopped having the upper hand in this scenario. The latter option, much as it has for years now, seems like the most obvious, the most alluring one. 

The devious plan, that was just a slight variation of his own, as it usually was, was taking a more defined form in your mind with each passing second, especially after remembering the little human snap bracelets that were stronger than any Na'vi rope you owned, that were light and easy to carry, and that you conveniently happened to have in the little pouch that dangled from your waist. You just needed the perfect opportunity, and you believed in making your own luck.

Without looking behind you, you got into the river, purposefully bending until your hands reached your ankles, that you started rubbing and cleaning, taking your time as you moved slowly upwards, your ass fully on display for the male you knew would be watching, as he, too, was cleaning the day off him.

"Can you be any more obvious, yawne? You might as well have a 'fuck me' sign plastered all over you. Is that all it took, three fingers in that pretty cunt and you forgot you hate me?"

You ignored his words and continued cleaning yourself, until you were so squeaky clean, someone could eat off your body, which now, you felt like you craved more than food itself.

When you were done, you got out of the river, once more trying to be as sensual and inviting as you could, and you smirked as you heard him get out as well, his presence inundating your senses as he approached you, the way it always did.

"Are you finally going to apologise and behave? I knew you would event-"

You quickly turned and pushed him backwards, until he fell, a pained gasp escaping his lips as his back made contact with a tree. The snap of the cuffs was more satisfying than you would ever care to admit as they tightened around his hand, and almost as satisfying to you as his realisation of what you’ve done, of the fact that he was trapped, at your disposal, at your mercy. 

“Let me out.” The growl he let out was low and feral, unamused at best and frightening at worst. Lucky for you, you’ve never really been scared of Neteyam. The smirk that blossomed on your face deepened as you watched him, squirming and pulling at the cuffs with all his might, getting angrier with every second he couldn’t untie himself. His tail was moving furiously behind him, slapping his calf with erratic, uncoordinated movements. 

“You know, Neteyam... For far too long now, it felt like you had control over our dynamic. I hated it, every day, feeling weaker than you. When you came and grabbed me by the throat, it was the first time in my life I almost felt scared of you. When you came and told O’í'en about us, I felt almost like life was slipping away from my grasp and you were the quicksand through which it was falling. When you… when we-“ it took you a while to compose yourself and subside the purple stain of your cheeks as you remembered how he left you. “You made me feel things I have never felt before. And then you left. And I felt almost ashamed. I had just got out of a serious relationship, I broke someone’s heart, and all I could think of, was your fingers. I felt weak, and I hate feeling weak.”

You took advantage of the way he was entranced by your words, too focused on you for anything else, and took his other hand and tied it on an opposing branch.

“Fuck! Let me go!” His legs were thrashing in front of him as he struggled to undo the human contraption, but if there’s one thing you learned, is that humans knew how to imprison and hurt other beings the best, and for once, you didn’t mind taking a page from their books.

“Tsk tsk tsk… no, Neteyam, what do you say?” 

“Fucking let me go, you little -“

“Mmm…” you pretended to think about it for a while. “No… i don’t think that’s it. Y’want to try again?” 

He hissed at you, a hiss that sounded more like a roar than anything else, and heat ignited in your core at its sound, mighty and powerful, wild and untamed. Still, you kept your composure and the sweet smile that you knew would anger him further.

“No, that’s not either. You say ‘please’.” 

You knelt in between his thighs, thick and muscular, and put a hand on each one, steadying yourself as you found yourself on your knees, heart thundering in your chest at your plan, that, despite the adrenaline, seemed more and more deranged with every passing second. His breath stilled at your touch, as did his body, his legs now limp on either side of you. His expression shifted, from one of unadulterated anger to pure shock, and a flicker of muted awe, eyes wide and mouth agape, canines tucked away behind his beautiful lips, that he wet with a swipe of his tongue. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What do you think I’m doing, Ne-te-yam?” 

Your fingers dug in the meat of his lower limbs, thumb trailing over his inner thighs as you moved upwards, massaging him, stopping right before the part of him you itched to touch most, smiling to yourself as his breath laboured with every inch transversed. You wrapped your slender digits around his loincloth, making quick work of the knot that would have been safe from most other people, but not you - you and Neteyam learnt this knot together, back when you were still you and he was still him. Back when he loved you. No matter how much he wanted to forget you and what you meant to each other, he would never be able to, because you’ll always be there to use those memories - that he banished from the night of his mind - against him. 

“You see, Neteyam… I’m not the most creative person, unlike you.”

His cock sprung free and you swallowed a gasp along with the saliva that gathered instantly in your mouth. He was huge, and for the first time in your life, you found yourself thinking… pretty, too. There was something almost ethereal about him, deep contrasted stripes running alongside his length, the pattern of his luminous freckles so exciting, you wanted to run your fingers… or your tongue, over them, connecting them with your mind to uncover the pattern it would form, one you wouldn’t mind getting to know over and over again, until it was imprinted into you, into your skin, into your mouth.

You looked at him, back against the bark of a tree, just as yours had been before, his arousal, that he tried to hard to mask on his face, given away by the endless pits that were his pupils, which almost completely swallowed his beautiful golden-green irises. 

“Let. Me. Go. Or I swear to Eywa, I will make you pa-“ 

“Pay, yes, yes.. I’ve heard the speech before. And you know what? I know you’ll make me pay. You’re good at that. You like to think of these new ways to ruin my life, all inventive and new, all of them difficult to stomach and so, so pleasurable for you at the time, aren’t they? Yes… I’m not very creative, so keep in mind that anything I ever do, is your burden to carry… yawne. You made me, everything you hate about me, everything I hate about myself…”

You wrap your fingers around his cock, hard and throbbing under your touch, and watch as he throws his head back and lets out a small, intemperate groan.

“… I learnt from you.” 

Slowly, you start moving up and down along his shaft, taking your time, observing every twitch of the muscles of his face, all the ways he was trying to refrain himself from giving into the pleasure that was wearing his resolve down. His eyes were so tightly shut, you wondered if it hurt, and you hoped it did. You hoped it all hurt, just as it hurt you. You turn your attention back to his cock, that was throbbing in your hand, and noticed the glowy liquid now covering the slit of his pink-purplish mushroomy tip. 

“Am I making you feel good, yawne? I must be, since you’re dripping all over my fingers.” The sense of deja-vu couldn’t be lost on the male writhing beneath you, and you hoped every second of the incident was playing through his mind, like it has been in yours, ever since it happened. Not being able to contain yourself any longer, you sank down until your lips wrapped around him, the sweet taste of his precum staining your tongue as you swirled it around his tip, licking it clean. The moan that escaped him was music to your ears, erotic and sonorous and so unbridled, despite his best efforts, that it spurred you on, that it made you want to explore every inch of him until every striation of his cock was imprinted on your throat. 

And so you did. Your mouth stretched to accommodate for his length and girth, too big for even your best efforts, and your hand wrapped around his base to reach what your mouth couldn't. You gagged as his hips bucked upwards, driving his cock deeper down your throat, until the tip was tickling the back of it. You stopped yourself from thinking about your heart skipping alternate beats as soon as his tail wrapped tightly around your thigh, almost as if claiming you, bringing you closer to him, attaching himself to you, almost if his body was telling you a secret he tried his hardest to repress, one that he could never speak out loud.

You could tell he was itching to free his hand, to entangle his fingers in your hair and use you as his own personal toy. He was itching for the control he desperate craved when it came to you, that you denied him, that you now had over him, that made him weak and puny under your touch.

You hallowed your cheeks as you devoted everything you had to sucking him off, the saliva pooling down his shaft and balls facilitating the bob of your head, that got faster and deeper the longer you did it, the longer his moans, that could no longer be contained inside of him, filled your favourite meadow and your ears, nestling in your body and making their way to your core, that ached and throbbed, that begged you to ride his cock until you were both just a limp mess of limbs on the mossy ground. Your movements met his synchronously, working in perfect harmony, as his heels dug into the ground and he started wildly thrusting in your mouth, his self-control long gone, as the pleasure reached new zeniths and you knew he was close to orgasm.

"F-fuck! Fuck, oh, please!"

Hearing him beg brought you to the brink of your own release, and with a couple more strokes, you released him from your mouth with a pop, sucking on his tip just a little extra, as if he was your own personal lollipop, just like the ones Norm introduced you to as a child. This one was so much better, though.

His eyes opened wildly as the lack of stimulation registered in his mind, chest heaving and mouth open, tail untangling from your body and thrashing violently, as the high came crashing down abruptly, just like yours had. You smiled, flicking your index finger over your lips and chin, gathering the remnants of his arousal before you closed your lips over it, sucking on it enthusiastically, eyes locked onto his own, dark and feral, and for the first time in a really long while, completely lost in you.

“You taste fucking amazing, tsxepvi. Maybe next time, if you apologise and behave, you’ll actually get to cum.” 

You got up from your spot on the ground, removing your knife from its sheath and bringing it to one of the cuffs that looked like it had marked his wrist, and with a careful swipe, you freed him. Without sparing him a second look, you turned around and walked away, speaking as you left him, still shackled by one hand, naked and vulnerable, happy with yourself, unwilling to consider yet again the consequences of your actions and how the fear of retaliation, that you knew would be painful and ghastly, would hit you with enough intensity to cower you, just as soon as the adrenaline wore off.

"I trust you can get yourself untied... yawne. See you on the battlefield."

A few hours later, you could barely think straight, by the time you were preparing your beautiful ikran for battle, as she was dutifully waiting on you to finish, trilling softly whenever you pet her in between chores. 

“Tam, tam, Oare.” 

You felt guilty at the way you’ve handled the past few days, as images of O’i’en swirled in your tired, progressively drowsier mind, at how it took you no time to do… everything you did with a man you hated, a man that more and more it seemed your ex was somewhat right about, despite how much you wanted to banish the thought into the pits of Hell, where it belonged. You started to regret the fact you have not taken the opportunity to sleep when the opportunity presented itself to you, and now you were about to go into one of the most dangerous missions of your life, one that may even infer the future of your clan, worn-out and distracted, body trembling under the weight of your mistakes. 

You spotted the man that affected you in ways no one else seemed capable to, face and body painted in war patterns, just like yours was, and winced a little when you realised he was already watching you, deep hatred imbued in his features - you knew there and then you were in for a world of pain, if you ever survived this mission to begin with. It actually hurt, thinking of all the ways he could still make your life a living nightmare, his ingenuity knowing little bounds and never diminishing throughout the years. 

“You ready, kid? I need my little star in tip-top shape today. We’re all counting on you, you know?” 

Jake’s voice, usually soothing and calming, was grating to your ears, although you had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t the voice itself as much as what the voice uttered, words that you didn’t want to hear at all, words that pushed you near the brink of collapse, whose weight you always almost buckled under, but now, with everything else going on, brought you to your knees. Still, you nodded, the desire to please and make him proud of you outweighing anything else you wanted to say, like asking for permission to sit this one out, like how, right now, you felt more like a liability than an asset. You had to do this, and you would, because they needed you, because they relied on you. 

“That’s what I like to hear.” He tapped the little choker that was tied around your neck. “Make sure this is on, alright?” 

“Yes, sir.”

The war cries echoed through the Hallelujah mountain as the full might of the Omaticaya clan erupted through the floating rocks, bearing down on the helicopters and ships that were looking and scanning for signs of life, that were ready and armed to kill and torture, to destroy and burn life to the ground. On top of your ikran, bow tight in your hand, you normally felt unstoppable. You were unstoppable. Before you even had time to register it, 3 helicopters fell at Neytiri, Jake and Neteyam's hands, crashing into the mountains before exploding into nothingness, never to be seen again.

In the midst of all the chaos, you tried not to think about how hard it was to control Oare, how your own frenzied, disruptive consciousness was affecting her ability to fly and focus, how that in turn was making you miss shots you would have never missed otherwise, how that was further weakening your state, the whole endeavour a vicious cycle you saw no escape from.

"Mawey... mawey." you couldn't tell if you were talking to your ikran or to yourself, as you pet her gently, trying to return you both to a state in which you could be present and useful, the way you were expected to be.

The sudden pain that rushed over you was excruciating, worse than anything you’ve ever felt, worse than all your previous injuries put together, and with a trumping heart and fear poisoning your blood, that felt like it was spilling out of your body more with each passing second, you looked down at yourself, trying to assess the situation. There was nothing. The pain deepened as soon as realisation hit that the fatal wound and the ache that followed wasn’t yours, although it might as well have been. 

“No…” your beautiful ikran, that has been with you every day of your life since you were 12, that not only witnessed, but facilitated every one of your victories, that was integral part of your life and happiness, that made you feel seen and understood, let out a screech so loud and filled with anguish, one that would haunt you for the rest of your life, that settled in your bone marrow and will forever have a home there, until your last day on this planet.

As she drew her last breath, you felt every ounce of happiness dissipate from your being, along with any sense of self, any sense of purpose. You had no time to dwell on your immense loss, not as your queues broke apart with her departure from this plane, leaving you in a free fall that would make sure that while you lost your sister, you would be following her close behind. The last thing you saw before you felt darkness enveloping you was Neteyam, and your last thought was how you must have imagined his panicked look and the tortured howl that left his body, as his hand reached out for you, his own ikran diving towards your falling form at full speed. 

I sleep with one eye open and one eye closed 'Cause I'll hang myself if you give me rope I lost all my faith and lost all hope That everything means anything at all

taglist: @fanboyluvr @theycallmesia @afro-hispwriter @soleilmoon @crazy4books1 @bakugouswaif@randxmthxughts @xreadersstuff @sirezaya @kimberlyshailany-blog @gyuventure @jujudsmyst @kikookii @nxptury @nonniesworld @koing-slvt @bakugouswaif @isnt-itstrange @tpwkforevermore @alahamums @tallulah477 @gknj9495@aquamarine001 @itssomeonereading @yumimak@sweetbread-m@eqgroil @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @juneonhoth @yagirlheree @jackiehollanderr @legendarynoodlebowl @iameatingmyhair @justasimps-blog @hannabanana-09 @xylianasblog @misscaller06 @yeosxxx @myh3artttt @teyamsbitch

[cheolhub]

(NOT) ATTRACTED TO YOU — XU MINGHAO ࿐

summary. you two hate each other… at least that’s what your friends think!

wc. 1.2k

warnings. arguing (it’s fake), slight exhibitionism, unprotected sex, creampie (nothing new w me), reader and hao are lowkey in love<3, kinda short and choppy — MINORS DNI 18+

note. MY FIRST SVT FIC starring my beloved bias wrecker 🫶🏽 i rlly like this enemies to fake-enemies/lovers concept and wanted to make it longer, but my brain stopped working sorry lol

the logistics of your situationship were a blur. you have no idea how one minute you were hating xu minghao and the next you were riding his dick with hearts in your eyes and drool slipping from your mouth like you loved everything about him. he was arrogant and annoying and so frustratingly attractive. you hated him, yes, at one point that was true, but the more time you spend impaled on his cock, the more you find yourself hopelessly attracted to him.

you do know one thing– no one can know. no one can know about you and minghao besides you and minghao. no one can know about how after you bicker and fight in front of your friend group, you end up with his mouth wrapped around your clit. no one can know about how you two sneak off in the middle of movie nights when everyone is asleep to fuck in seungcheol’s bathroom. no one can know that you two are practically dating and just pretending to hate each other's guts.

it’s always a variation of the same argument, too, and you both know it drives all of your friends crazy.

“i don’t understand why you have to be such a douchebag?” you grit when minghao accidentally knocks your ice cold drink into your lap when grabbing a menu from the bar.

chan mutters under his breath, “here we go,” and seungkwan stifles a giggle.

“what? a douchebag?” he smirks at your lack of comeback and your breath nearly hitches because look at him. “it was just an accident, not my fault your reflexes are so slow.”

“you’re such an asshole!”

“and you’re a bit–”

he’s cut off by seungkwan’s voice, “woah, woah, woah, let’s all be nice here!” he says so awkwardly. he knows since none of his older friends are here, he has to be the leader of your mini group today. “why can’t you guys just get alonggg, we’re all friends!” he whines– so much for being a leader.

“we’ll get along when hell freezes over.” you mutter, thighs rubbing as minghao smiles smugly at you. you excuse yourself to clean up in the bathroom, sending him a glare. not far from the table, you hear his faint excuse of needing to make an important phone call outside and your stomach swirls in anticipation.

when you find yourself in the single bathroom bent over the sink while minghao fucks you open, you wish you could say you were surprised.

“when hell freezes over, huh? is that why you’re crying for me right now?” he teases, his tip hitting your sweet spot over and over again. “tell me something, sweetheart– do you like calling me names? like making everyone think you hate me even though you take my cock every night?”

you moan out incoherent words and minghao chuckles breathly. his grip on your waist tightens and smiles at your reflection in the mirror.

“yeah, i didn’t think so either,” he slams into you harder. you should be ashamed of the lewd sounds that are bouncing off the walls in the shitty bar restroom, but you can’t find it in you to care. not when you can almost feel his cock in your throat.

he loves it. loves how wet you get from him. he could live in your pussy and be the happiest man on earth, despite the mean words he spews at you.

“you look so cute when you’re stupid for my cock, baby,” he coos, hands moving to squeeze the flesh of your ass. he spreads you open to see the way your greedy cunt swallows him whole. “so fucking cute taking me like this and acting like you hate me,” he mumbles this time, feeling himself twitch at the sight in front of him.

“hao!” you cry, trying to be as quiet as possible, yet failing miserably.

“but you don’t hate me, do you, doll face?” he asks and although there’s a mocking tone, you know the question is genuine and you shake your head no incessantly.

you couldn’t hate minghao. you partially believe it’s because you’re shackled by lust and that it’s his cock that’s making you feel this way, but there’s another part, deep in your bones, that believes you may actually like him. the post sex giggles, the teasing texts, the pretend fighting to hide the fact– you’ve grown comfortable being with him. countless nights on the phone where you vent about a girl friend or your boss and he comforts you. days where he’ll secretly come over and fuck you dumb then proceed to shower you with domestic gestures. you know you like him– or something like that?

“d-don’t hate you! i-i can’t!” you slur, whimpering as he relentlessly pounds into you.

minghao groans at your response, fucking you harder much like he’s trying to tell you something.

you gasp, body starting to shake at his rapid thrusts, “h-hao! hao, ‘m gonna…!” you whine, trying to get a grip on the sink for some stability.

“i know, baby, i know,” he nods gingerly. “cum on my cock, show me how much you love it.” he whispers, his own abdomen tightening as he nears his release.

you can’t hold back, sobbing out a string of his name and varied curses. the tight knot in your stomach unravels as you envelop his cock in a tight hug. you cum with his name on the tip of your tongue.

he’s not far behind with the way you’re milking him for what he’s worth. his thrusts grow inconsistent as his speed falters. finally, he moans softly, panting out a cute, ‘cumming,’ before his hips stutter, eventually stilling inside of you. his cum paints your walls, filling you up till you begin to leak, mixed fluids hitting the cold floor.

you’re both gasping and panting for air for a few minutes as you come back to earth until you grow quiet. hao pulls out wordlessly and grabs toilet paper to clean you up. he’s not saying anything and it’s driving you crazy. usually he teases you or tells you how much he liked it– he’s never been this quiet.

you decide, for your state of mind, to awkwardly break the silence. “so you think i’m a bitch, huh?” you laugh stiffly.

you turn around, flattening your still-drenched skirt and look at him to find him avoiding eye contact. you frown, mumbling his name, “hao?”

his eyes flicker to yours and he softens. he moves in closer and your breath nearly stops. you’re sure you do stop breathing when he presses his lips to yours. not in the hungry way, but in the delicate way. it’s so gentle you have to ask yourself if it’s actually happening.

“i’m not good with words…” he mumbles against your lips. he speaks in between kisses, “but i really fucking like you.”

you giggle wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in even closer to whisper against his puffy pink lips. “i really fucking like you, too,”

you’re just about to kiss him again before you hear loud banging on the door causing you to jump. when you stalk over to the door and open it to find seungkwan with the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen, you know you’ve been caught.

he yells, “i fucking knew it!” as he pushes the door open to see minghao standing still in shock. “chan! vernon! you both owe me money!” he laughs, running away like a child.

you turn to minghao with an amused face, “it was long overdue, but cat’s finally out of the bag, i guess.”

“good,” he mumbles, reaching for you and pulling you into him. “now they’ll know you’re finally mine.”

© cheolhub — all rights reserved, please refrain from copying, reposting, modifying or translating my work on any platform.

[ceilingfan5]

thankpologies

(another @taznovembercelebration delight, for sick)

“I can do it,” Kravitz murmbles hoarsely from under about fifteen blankets. He stares blankly up at the dark ceiling. Taako wants to put him in his pocket and he isn’t even wearing pants yet. 

“Yeah?” Taako shuts off their fourth alarm. And the fifth one, you know, preemptively. “You sure there, bud?”

“I can do it,” he insists, like he’s trying to convince himself, too. “I’m……………………….good.”

“You’re good?” Taako’s trying not to laugh, he promises. Kravitz looks miserable. He looks like a wet sack of marbles left behind in a dead mall. What were those marbles for? Why are they wet? Is someone going to miss the marbles? Who can say. But they’re going in Taako’s pocket. 

“Sooooo good.” Kravitz tries to sit up, fails, and squinches his eyes shut, groaning. “I’m, good. I’m good. I’m good I’m good I’m good. I can do it.” 

“What if,” Taako says, “Hear me out.” 

“I’m not staying h— ome.” Kravitz swallows, once, twice, a third time, none of them looking less unpleasant. “Home,” he corrects. “No way. Got. Too much work to day. Do.”

“Hear me out though,” Taako says. “Perhaps, correct me if I’m wrong, the county coroner should maybe not look like a zombie.”

“I d- doh- hhh. Zombie.” Kravitz tries to sit up properly, and it makes Taako wince just to watch him. He unwraps another single cracker from the Freshstack ™ they were working through at two in the morning, and hands it to him. Kravitz nibbles on it like the world’s most pathetic mouse. Like if a mouse was divorced, and crying a little, and wet, like a sack of marbles. He gets about a third of the way through this monumental obstacle and then lets his hand flop down, and Taako is very normal and makes no crumb comments, because his boy is ailin’. 

Ooooh, is he ailin’. So ailin’ he’s from another planet. 

“Let’s write your boss an email, and then tuck you back in, buster.”

“Noooooo,” Kravitz whines. 

“My guy, my handsome criminal empire cohost, you get that you are making Taako be the voice of reason, yeah?”

Kravitz considers this. 

“Haven’t barfed yet,” he says, petulantly. 

“Sit up and put on your tie,” Taako challenges. 

There’s a long beat. 

“No?”

“That’s what I thought, asshole.” Taako reaches over and squeezes Kravitz’s hand with affection. He hands him his phone. “Let’s just, be brief. Dear boss, can’t come in today, so sorry. Love you, bye.” 

Kravitz drops his phone on his face. 

“Fuck,” he says, delayed. Taako covers a snort. Poor beast. He takes the phone and can’t cover a second one. “Oh, buddy.”

“Yeah?” Kravitz blinks, and rubs his general face zone. 

“Your beautiful schnozz hit send on this masterpiece?” Taako shows him, but not until after taking a screenshot and sending it to himself, for posterity and also social media crimes. 

To: queenra@nwcountyfr.fakegov

Subject: ow

DEAR HELLO Cannot’nt come to death today, I am maybe am not well enough to help bodies thankpologies K

–sent from my iPhone

“What’s wrong with it?” Kravitz says, grimacing. 

“Yeah, you’re not goin’ fuckin’ anywhere, beloved,” Taako decides. He hands him his damaged little sadboy cracker and kisses his forehead and tucks him in, and starts doing the Get Ready Shimmy. “I’ll be checking in on you on my lunch hour, unless you think I need to call in too, and take your sorrowful mouse ass to the hopsicle.” 

“Probaly not,” Kravitz cannot manage a whole lot of conviction. He nibbles the cracker. Wetly. “I’ll…watch the price is right?”

“You’ll sleep.”

“I’ll sleep,” Kravitz confirms, snuggling down, forgetting about the last third of the cracker right then and there. Given permission to burrow back into his pathetical little mousehole, his whole body relaxes, and somehow he manages to look even greyer. “I’ll sleep so many.” 

“So many.” Taako pats something in the vicinity of his shoulder. “Poor bastard. If you get me sick, I am going to kill you.”

“No promises,” Kravitz sighs, almost immediately dozing right back off. 

Shame Taako loves him so much. 

[id: a space themed game board with 15 spaces and a cat, fish, and "good worker" sticker on 1, 2, and 3 respectively]

[live-laugh-neteyam]

can you do a hurt/comfort w/ Neteyam, Ao'nung, or Lo'ak where they're in a arranged marriage and the reader thinks that they don't love her the way she loves them.

kind of based off of that one scene from the Corpse Bride?

"I love you, Victor. But you're not mine,"

that's if you're taking requests. if not, I love your works and thanks for reading this! ❤️

You’re Not Mine ||| lo’ak x omatikaya!reader

hi lovie! thanks for the request 💞 ok so I've never seen the corpse bride so hopefully I didn't butcher this 🙈

masterlist

pairings: lo’ak x omatikaya!fem!reader

summary: alexa, play yours by conan gray

words: 1k

warnings/notes: angst (because that’s all I know how to do apparently) arranged marriage, one sided love, use of y/n, lo’ak is emotionally constipated, sweet ending tho

It was never difficult to love him. Falling for him was the easiest thing you had ever done. Like a moth to a flame you were drawn to him from the start. All he had to do was want you back.

But he never did.

Always feeling like the outcast of the clan, Lo'ak kept his heart guarded. More often than not he'd get hurt and he couldn't stand another heartbreak.

So Lo'ak swore off love. Never giving anyone a chance he declined every potential mate that came his way. He'd rather stay alone than risk the familiar ache in his chest.

Lo'ak's stubbornness as usual was testing his father's patience. Being well into adulthood, Jake was ready to see his youngest son settle down. It seemed the only way for that to happen was for Jake to take matters into his own hands.

The Olo'eyktan noticed the way your eyes always seemed to land on Lo'ak no matter what you were doing. You had grown into a fine hunter, beloved by the clan. You would be a great match for his son.

Jake sat you down along with your parents to ask your approval. He wouldn't force you into something you didn’t want, but he felt an arranged marriage would be best for his son.

The idea of finally being with the man you've been in love with for years lit your heart ablaze. But then the cruel reality of it came crashing down.

It was an arrangement. Not love.

With teary eyes you accepted Jake's proposal. You'd rather have Lo'ak to some extent than lose him completely.

Lo'ak was outraged with his father for not only allowing this, but causing it. He became shut off even more than he already was. Lo'ak hardly even looked at you anymore. It broke your heart.

A part of Lo'ak felt bad for resenting you. Deep down he knew you didn't deserve to be treated like this, stuck in this arrangement just like him. But his twisted mind told him that you were only here because you pitied him.

You tried desperately to get Lo’ak to see your love for him. But it was no use, you couldn’t make him see what he refused to.

Preparing dinner for yourself you weren’t expecting Lo’ak to be home anytime soon. Usually he stayed out until eclipse. You assumed that he couldn’t stand to be around you anymore than he had to.

You heard someone enter the tent. Looking up you were met with the last person you expected. Eyes widening you couldn’t help the look of shock on your face.

Lo’ak took in your wide eyes. You quickly went back to what you were doing. He sighed. After a few weeks of sulking he decided to actually give this a shot. If you had to be together it shouldn’t have to be miserable.

Besides, Lo’ak would be lying if he said he didn’t like you. Growing up he always admired your kindness. You never treated anyone differently, including himself.

“You’re back early.” You whispered as he sat across from you.

“I thought we could eat together.” He said nervously.

“Why?” It slipped out before you could stop it. You internally cringed at your bluntness.

“I understand if you don’t want to. I just thought-“ he sighed trailing off.

“I’d love to, Lo’ak.” You smiled at him.

“But why?” He stared at you stunned. “I’ve been nothing but an asshole to you when you did nothing to deserve it.”

“I want to make this work.”

“You don’t have to pretend Y/N. You can leave at any time and I won’t say a thing. I won’t fuck up your life anymore than I already have.”

“Lo’ak.” You sighed. “Please don’t say such things.”

“Please don’t.” He sighed looking up at you with watery eyes.

“Don’t what?” Your heart pinching at the sight of him.

“Don’t act like you want me. I wouldn’t be able to take the rejection. Not from you.” A tear slid down his cheek.

“Oh Lo’ak,” you sighed reaching your hand out to cup his cheek.

“No one wants me. Not even myself.” He whispered just loud enough for you to hear.

His words broke your heart in two. If only he knew how truly loved he was. Lo’ak caused himself the headache he was trying to avoid by building his walls too high.

"I want you!” You exclaimed. All of the pent up emotion you’ve been holding for weeks exploding out of you. “I would rip my heart out and lay it at your feet if that's what you asked of me."

“Y/N, what are you saying?” He breathed.

"I see you, Lo'ak." You confessed, hugging yourself tight as tears stung your eyes. "But you're not mine."

Lo’ak stared at you stunned. He couldn’t believe that you, the kindness and purest person he knew saw something worthwhile in him.

“I’m so stupid.” He muttered rubbing his palms over his face. “I’m so sorry Y/N.”

You took his hands in yours slowly bringing them up to your lips. Not breaking eye contact with him you gently kissed his knuckles.

“I. See. You.” You mumbled, lips still pressed against his knuckles.

Lo’ak stared in awe at you. His heartbeat quickened as a strange swirling feeling took over his stomach. Looking down he noticed the way you gently cradled his hands, as if you were holding precious stones.

His breath caught in his throat. He cursed himself for being so hard hearted. How did he go so long without seeing you?

Moving his hands to cup your face he slowly leaned in. Your eyes fluttered closed in anticipation for what was to come, praying that this wasn’t a dream.

His lips hesitantly met yours. You felt like your body was lit on fire. Pulling him closer you passionately kissed him back. As your lips moved in sync the sound of walls crumbling filled your ears.

Taglist:

 @ilovejakesullysdick @fanboyluvr @athenalikethegoddess @loverofallthingsfandom @forasgaard @plzfeedmebread @instabull @avatarappreciationblog @romimiux @ferrtan @tammitammytime @eternallyvenus @dreamyescapesfromreality @dvxsja @jakesullyfatjuicypeen @mightyneteyam @doggyteam2028

[alliumnoblade]

ok but rick prime was conceptually a genious move by the writers, i think. i know jack shit abouy writing but hear me out

our s6 C-137 rick is not the same as season 1 or s2 rick, he has matured, regressed, getting softer, angrier, older. it has been a commom complain by the dudebros that rick is not that badass emotionless characters that he was before, because in the latest seasons the writers are trying to explore how miserable and lonely the smartest man in the universe really is. he's not a god anymore, hes a pretty fucking sad dude that tries desperately to stay in control, and that has been getting on some fans nerves, apparently

some people really miss nihilistic asshole rick. but instead of regressing his character, they decided to create prime rick.

prime rick is everything C-137 tried to be. he's funny, unhinged, heartless, brutal, and the list goes on and on. he's what we thought season 1 rick was. and i think thats genious because now not only we can explore this new contrast between two ricks, but also is a huge opportunity for more badass cool fights

at the same time that we can keep developing c-137 rick as a character, we can also have a heartless, god-like amazing (prime) rick that was what we had in season 1 and 2. it's a nice throwback, especially because so far this season seems so much similar to the first seasons, except now our perception of the smith family has changed drastically. and now that we got this far, we can finally see them by old lights

it both pleases the character bunnies such as me but also brings in renewed philosophical tropes to the nihilistic tone enjoyers that also made a huge part of the fanbase. the dudebros can have their rick back

in season 4 and 5 the writers seemed confused with what they wanted to do with our beloved rick and morty - are they regressing or evolving? are they serialized? are they episodic? - and while i think s5 suffered more with pacing issues due to this indecision, i think they finally got the tone right. this season is so promising!! we only have 2 episodes so far (another one tonight) but i already have the urge to re-watch them, such a thing i didn't have every since season 3

not to mention an "evil rick" being our next villain right after "evil morty" is so damn cool, especially because prime rick is evil because he doesn't gives a damn, while evil morty is evil because he grew up in a system that does not give a damn. evil morty wasn’t the real evil, he was a product of it. and now we are facing the true evil himself, and i cant wait!!

so, overall. good play on the contrast, rick and morty writers, yall rock.

(also, at the same time they obligy our rick to confront his worst, "regressed" version, we also have our morty confronting his regressing version too, hence the second episode A Mort Well Lived. something tells me they are going to really deep dive into their development this season)

((they really seems to be making this parallels to season 1 and 2, ANOTHER EXAMPLE BEING THE WHOLE FAMILY BURING THEIR BODIES IN THE BACKYARD LIKE THAT SCENE WAS SO COOL I LOVE THEIR FOUND FAMILY SO MUCH WHAT IS THIS))

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

Old and Little Dragons Aemond x daemon

One shot about Daemon and Aemond getting into a argument after the dinner.

Content warning; fucking sucking and blow jobs malexmale and Aemond has been aged up to 21 years old here.

Aemond is still dark and a prick and does not understand a lot of shit. He is also sexist and a asshole. Hope this helps.

Thank you all for reading my fucked up stories enjoy this one.

Aemonds lovely innocent pov:

Those little bastards will die before even bedding their first wives, mark my words, or may the gods strike me dead now.

They made a fool of me tonight. First, that uncount pig dared to lay a hand on my beloved sister. She danced because she was raised properly but I was boiling the entire time he danced with her. Helaena looked utterly miserable, yet beautiful as always.

That disgusting pig named Jacerys likely felt entitled to her since he was going to be king one day. So that means that my married sweet sister was forced to dance with that clumsy pig. He stepped on her toes, and often, I noticed her smiling to hide her pain.

He is a bastard.

He is more than that.

He is an insult to our name.

To our house.

To our ancestors.

To our valyrian blood.

And yet that fool, that unspeakable dumb old demented excuse of a man that once had the seed to sire me, he believes Jace to be a true worthy heir. "Well done, my boy." He said.

There are days I cried myself to sleep, wanting to hear those words. I would have killed for those words. And surely gladly and certainly would have killed Jace before had there been a sword in my hand.

Until I lost half my vision.

It was so funny.

As if the gods spoke to me themselves. I see half now.

But I have never seen more before.

I saw the truth. I saw a fragile old man smelling of piss that listened to the barks of his daughter, a man that would burn our house down to the ground. A man unworthy to live. A man unworthy to rule.

She told me I should be "sharply questioned." Well, I say she should be muzzled. I have had enough of her moans and complains and her bastards. Daemon and Viserys should handle her accordingly. She is their wife and their daughter. She should be taught obedience and proper manners befitting a woman.

Footsteps follow me into my room and I take my dagger out eager to slash whoever even dares to follow me open as a juicy big apple.

I lower my dagger once I see its Daemon. I am surprised to see him here. "What do you want?" I demand right away my voice cold.

Daemon chuckles before barging into my room without any ceremony or decorum, dragging his muddy boots over the stone tiles. He takes in my room and smirks mockingly. "I suppose us spares always get the smaller rooms."

He tries to find common ground with me and insult me still. "If you hate your rooms so much; you should take it up with your brother." I say, bored as anger rises inside of me.

Daemon smirks annoyingly familair to how I smirk as well.

"Rhaenyra prefers me close to her." He speaks, smirking as he leans closer to me.

I minic his stance when making my voice a rough whisper. "Aren't you a good loyal dog, letting yourself get fucked by your mistress?" I know it's a mistake. His love for Rhaenyra is pure. And yet I can't help but taunt and mock it. Because perhaps I don't believe in love. Perhaps I haven't seen their love.

With one movement, Daemon has me slammed against the walls of my bedroom, his hot breath on my lips. I panic a little bit and feel myself harden when he glares at me with a smirk still on his lips.

I never had such strong reactions before and certainly not by being shoved and dragged and all that weak womanly behaviour. I am the one dragging and shoving. I don't enjoy being shoved. I don't enjoy being...

Submissive.

Daemon grins at my silence pleased. "You would know how a dog would fuck. I hear you take girls as they are slaves. Fucking them on their knees, no worries if they have pleasure." I scoff.

As if he is the most considerate man alive in Westeros. He does has a whore friend. So I guess I know who told him how I've been keeping busy. "I am their prince. My pleasure is above their own. I am a dragon. I take as I want and what I want." I tell him and there's a warning burning in my eyes when I stare at his lips.

He leans in closer before his tongue goes over his underlip

"On that much, we agree."

Daemon's mouth crashes on my own when he pushes me against the wall, tugging at my coat. I am caught off guard but my lips find his very fast as I take back control by pushing him on my bed.

The rogue prince smirks as he lands. "Do you want th-" my question is interrupted when Daemon roughly rips my coat open and my shirt after it. He brings his mouth to my throat and starts sucking. He forces me under him and undoes my pants for me and throws my boots on the ground.

Our lips find each other again as I aggressively bite on his lips, tugging his hair harshly trying to gain back control. Daemon bites my lips until there is blood in both of our mouths that gets mixed easily with saliva and soon I imagine another body juice.

Finally my cock is freed. Daemon admires it for a brief moment before bringing his lips to my head. I groan in anticipation when he teases me with soft little licks. "Do your whores do this with you? Do they make you as hard as I do? And your whores..do you take men or women?" He barks at me.

I groan hissing.

So far Daemon seems to be keen on controlling me and deciding what we do. "Only girls." I tell him honestly.

Daemon chuckles. "And you call yourself a dragon?" I blush unintended.

He leans in closer and grins. "Don't worry. You'll like this." He promises me. "Just be good for your uncle, little dragon." He chuckles. And he starts to suck. The moment his mouth wraps around my shaft I let out a groan and I know I have lost.

Daemon is skilled with his mouth. I almost understand why my sister wants him near her so badly. I become aggressive and fuck his mouth in return, using my hands around his throat to choke him. Daemon gulps. I grin at him in victory. "Don't worry, you'll like this." I promise him with a wicked grin. "Just be good for your nephew, old dragon."

Daemon's tongue plays a wicked game when slowly licking and rolling around my cock when I am mere powerless. He is the one doing the sucking yet I am the one who is powerless.

And the worst thing yet...

It's good.

Better than everything a whore had given me.

I ease in deeper taking his mouth deeper and rougher. Fuck. My self control is gone. My breath quickens and I can tell by my thrusts at Daemon's mouth I can lose it any moment now.

The old dragon smirks from where he still laying and licks my tip teasingly until he tastes my precum. I lose my patience. Something inside of me snaps.

And I grab Daemon by his throat before kissing him without giving a damn anymore. I don't care he's my uncle and my enemy. I don't care he is Jace's stepfather and married to my sister. He will suffer. As will I.

Daemon sucks me off and I finish with him around my cock. I pant heavily as I come my orgams rocking my body as I come full of spite and hatred inside of his mouth. It would not be Daemon of he didn't gave a damn and instead patted my ass cheeks before showing me his red swollen cock as well.

Daemon looks around the room. "These used to be my old rooms." He tells me. I shrug. He opens a hidden door and steps inside. Before returning with a pair of chains.

I feel my brows raise.

Daemon smirks. "On the bed, princeling. And hands against the board."

I obey with a scoff before taunting him. "O, the dog has become the master. Does your mistress tie you up before fucking you? I bet she does." I grin when he slaps me in the face and across my ass.

Daemon sighs before spreading me wide for him. And he starts to torture my cock and balls once again. Except this time I can't do anything but accept and submit.

And the worst part...

I love it.

And it kills me.

Control is something I need to have.

Every moment of every day.

And he takes that away from me.

He makes certainty uncertain.

He rubs my cock lovingly before stepping back to admire my precum. And he dresses.

I growl. "Daemon, the fucking chains-" I warn him panicking slowly but surely.

Daemon smirks before leaving me in a worse state than when he entered. "It seems I've given you a lot to think about. I'm going back to my mistress." I will murder that man.

I become angry and kick with my free feet. "I swear to the gods if you don't return this instant."

Daemon obeys, walking back to me. He leans on the bed and slowly wets his fingers before bringing them to my face. He cleans the cum of my face. His cum. Daemon smirks. "Goodday, little dragon."

"I will kill you, you old fuck." I warn him. Daemon shrugs.

"Then I'll kill you first."

He leaves me but not before kissing me again on my head.

[alexandrarosa]

First love

First of all I don’t remember the last time I’ve loved something this much. I think it wouldn’t be an exaggeration if I said it was the best thing I’ve ever watched.

I absolutely loved the characters and their development. I loved how the plot was shown in nonlinear time – thanks to which we could really see the whole story from different perspectives.

I loved the ending and even though it was such a happy one, it kind of wrecked me. And I absolutely have to post my whole analysis of the show because ‘First Love’ is the only thing I’ve been able to think about for the past three days.

(spoiler alert!)

Yae Noguchi

The first character we meet seems like the nicest person in the world. Of course we don’t know her tragic backstory then but we can feel there is some mysterious lingering in her preception of the world around her. She’s a single mother, she works hard day and night. We slowly get to know everything about her life and honestly it’s all so sad. I mean her relationship with Harumichi is lovely. I adore how she sees him as the wild one compared to her. She has her dreams and she’s so invested in all the things she does. She’s courageous – she’s the one who confesses her feelings first (and my beloved dumbass Harumichi doesn’t even get it). She is ready to work hard to get what she wants. She got into university and I think she was really happy there. Of course then the worst happens. And I feel like that accident was the beginning of the most miserable period of her life. She’s always been ambitious, she had plans. And all of the sudden she’s reduced to being a stay-at-home mother and a housewife. Her husband, who seemed like a good guy, turns to be, well, an asshole. His mother treats her horribly. They have no respect for her. She’s kind of treated like housekeeper more than a part of the family. So she struggles, but becames herself again – and takes the control back. Yes, it’s hard. Yes, she has to work night and day. But she’s ready to do it. And she loves her son unconditionally, she’s ready to give him everything he needs. And when he needs to have better care – she’s ready to give him up even though it kills her. She gets back on her feet, she moves away from her mother.

I absolutely love Yae. I love how determined she is, I adore that she really tries, even though she has no hope for herself. And I love that she’s ready to do everything she feels she should.

Yae’s dreams

Something that makes me really sad is that she has to wait for so long to actually make her dreams come true. She has always known what she wanted to do in life, but couldn’t accomplish it for twenty years. She feels like a person with no past cannot have a future. And that’s how she sees herself –she lost so many precious things – not only love and memories, but also (or maybe mainly) the abilities to do what she wants. She didn’t graduate. She was a housewife so she had no experience in any kind of work. Yae from before the accident had the whole world standing open before herself. Yae after the accident has limited choices and no hope for a change.

But it’s so sad that she’s losing it all and her mother does nothing. She’s grieving after a perfect daughter she’s lost like she’s the actual victim. Yae’s mother let her own grief and pain hurt her daughter. She was blaming Harumichi for the accident, because he wasn’t able to protect her. And because of that she punished them both. She made Harumichi believe for so many years that he’s the responsible one. She forced him to dissapear from Yae’s life, she would let her know about him. She preferred the surgeon guy because he had more money. She’s hoping she made the right choice - but honestly she didn’t. She shouldn’t have been making the choices at all. They were not hers to made.

What makes me so angry is that Yae never got back to the university. I wonder why her mother never encouraged her. I’m angry that she had to through all that pain just because her mother decided what’s best for her.

But nothing makes me happier than those small parallels. Teenage Yae greeting imaginary passengers on their flight to Reykiavik and adult Yae being a flight attendant in Iceland. Teenage Harumichi saying that he’s going to be a pilot with a beautiful flight attendant as a wife and they ending up flying together at the end. Their dreams really did come true at the end.

Harumichi Namiki

The literal love of my life. I mean this is the guy who becomes your fictional crush and makes every guy in reality look sad. He’s the epiphany of taking control ovet your own life. And an exellent example of ‘you can’t change him but he will change for you if he cares’ and honestly, damn. Their origin story, their meet cute, whatever you want to call it – my dude was swept off his feet. He saw a girl reading a book and he decided to change his entire life for her. It was, as he stated, laughably easy. He went from a textbook badboy to learning nonstop for several weeks because of the chance he saw on the horizon. He would do absolutely everything for her. He became a pilot for her. His whole life was dedicated to her. She was the energy that fueled his life.

And then she got ripped away from his life completly abruptly. And then at the slightest chance of finding her again – he regained all hope.

I love how he always states that he believes in fate but at the same time he knows that he can’t just sit and wait for the good fings to happen. He uses any chance life throws at him. And everything he could control – he did.

Harumichi’s character development

What’s interesting about Harumichi is a long way he came during his life. From a badboy to a wild student to the military cadet and pilot to the security guard. I love how visible it is that his main reason of being is protecting others. From protecting his sister to protecting Yae and his country. But what’s also worth mentioning is his belief in love – or actually – the way he loves. We see him as a teenager, eager to give love, full of energy. Then, as an adult, we see him with Tsunemi – he’s more conscious, more careful. Less involved. I thought it’s just something that comes with age. But then he finds Yae again and all his energy and involvement come back. I feel like for those twenty years he was passive about his life and work and love. I’m sure he cared for Tsunemi but she couldn’t wake that flame inside of him. And then he became active again because he regained the hope for reuniting with Yae again. And I’m not even sure if it had a romantic purpose at the beginning. I don’t think he wanted to break up with Tsunemi just because he saw Yae. But then it turned out that he didn’t have a choice – Tsunemi wasn’t the one. Maybe in a world without Yae she would do, but not in this reality. That’s why I don’t think that Harumichi broke up with her to be with Yae. I think he thought he had to because he couldn’t love her as he should have.

Their love

I love how Yae’s and Harumichi’s relationship is actually so calm and peaceful. They don’t argue. They don’t have that will-they-won’t-they dynamic. They just love each other and it’s completly pure. I also love the scene after the end credits when they are shown together while walking. Notice how Harumichi constantly grabs her hand, touches her, kisses her. Like he’s afraid that if he doesn’t hold her she’ll disappear. And she’s so happy that he’s back in her life. That there is somebody that really actually loves her. Geeez, I’m so happy that they found each other.

The role of fate and the role of timing

Fate is a tricky thing – some people sit and wait for the good things to happen. But it seems like the characters from the ‘First Love’ know it doesn’t work that way. Yes, you can call it fate that Harumichi saw Yae on the train and then again in the exam room. But everything he did later came from him. He took care of everything that was in his control. And when there was nothing more to do, he had to let fate work again – and it did. They went to the same high school. Fate worked again twenty years later sending them both to Sapporo and making them, in a way, cross their paths. And yet again Harumichi didn’t wait for fate to reunite them. He was listening to the taxi announcements for hours for god’s sake! Life (or fate – whatever you want to call it) gave him the chance to rescue her this time and he did, hurting himself in the process.

The fate did it again with Uta finding Harumichi in Iceland, but Yae actively chose to find him. She made her own choice not waiting for a coincidence.

What’s also worth mentioning is that Harumichi actively played the role of ‘fate’ for Tsuzuru and Uta – he made it possible for them to meet.

The worst part of all that is timing. And we know that timing is a bitch.

So many important things happend in the wrong moment. Harumichi coming to Yae only to find out that she’s pregnant. Yae falling in love with him again when he was engaged. Her confessing her feelings after he decided to take a break and go away. Yae regaining her memories only after Harumichi left. Her deciding to take back control of her life and dreams and pandemic streaking.

But at the same time so many good things happened because of the bad timing – for example Harumichi’s leaving let Tsuzuru find the CD player that gave Yae her memories back. If he had never decided to leave she might have not get them back.

For such a long time I was trying to understand why he didn’t want to be with her when she confessed her feelings. But I think I get it now. He would have to live knowing she doesn’t remember a big part of their shared history. And I think it could be heart shattering. He had to actively choose to leave her again despite their shared love for each other because it would be more painful for him to be with her even though it’s the thing he wanted his whole adult life.

And then she regains her memories. And she comes after him. And my little heart is so happy and sad at the same time when I think of all the things they had to live through to find each other again. But at the same time all that happend – good or bad – made it possible.

The normal life shown in the series

I think it’s something worth mentioning. Every person in the show has their own normal life. And I think it’s so important that the role of the characters isn’t reduced to the love story only. We see them working, eating, partying, cooking, studying, even commuting to work. It seems so natural but at the same time I feel like the western fil/show makers sometimes forget that the normal life is also worth exploring and showing. Characters crying and then going to work in the morning like nothing happened. Cooking for loved ones. Sitting with a giant plushie (another reason for my love for that dude). The mention of living in the pandemic! Seeing it from perspective actually made me cry because I got reminded of that period that I actually struggled with. And so did Yae. It’s so precious to me to see characters being normal people.

The music

I feel like the song ‘First Love’ will always make me cry from now on. It always played in such moments in the show that it now gives me the lingering feeling of sadness and happiness at the same time anytime I hear it. And for that I am eternally grateful.

All in all, loved the show. It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen. If it was a book I would literally sleep with it underneath my pillow (like Alexander the Great with his copy of Illiad). I can’t believe I accidentally discovered such a treasure. If you didn’t watch it yet I cannot recomment it enough. If you did – you know what I mean.

[theladyofbloodshed]

Let Nesta or Azriel call out Cassian for laughing at Nesta when she hurt herself while going down the stairs. What a giant f*cker he is.

Just a little re-write of one of the scenes at the House of Wind taking some of the original text. In the original, Cassian storms away. I've changed this to Nesta leaving and eavesdropping on Azriel calling out Cassian.

Silence fell again. Azriel nodded at her.

‘What happened to you?’

She knew what he meant: the black eye that was finally fading. Her hands and chin had healed, along with the bruising on her body, but the black eye had turned greenish. By tomorrow morning, it’d be gone entirely.

‘Nothing,’ she said without looking at Cassian.

‘She fell down the stairs,’ Cassian said, not looking at her, either.

Azriel’s silence was pointed before he asked, ‘Did someone … push you?’

‘Asshole,’ Cassian growled.

Nesta jabbed her fork into her fillet of beef. ‘No. Cassian watched but didn’t think to help.’

‘It wasn’t far. One flight.’

‘And if it had been further?' Nesta probed. 'Would you have intervened at all?’

The taut mood simmered like a pot ready to spill over. The quiet shadow singer regarded both of them warily.

‘Maybe, one day, Nes, you’ll learn that staggering down the steps in search of alcohol in the middle of the night isn’t a good idea.’

Asshole. She’d needed it. The voices in her head had grown too loud, consuming all of her thoughts. She’d only wanted to stop them for a while, dimmed them enough to cope again.

Cassian went on, ‘I told her earlier today: if she’d bother to train, she’d at least have bragging rights for the bruises.’

Azriel took a calm sip of his water. ‘Why aren’t you training, Nesta?’

‘I don’t want to.’

There was nothing enticing in it for her. The desire to be a warrior did not exist in her. Spending time with Cassian in this way brought her no joy. The very thought of laying herself bare as a novice in front of swathes of sneering Illyrian males who already found her presence to be unsettling filled Nesta with dread.

‘Why not?’

Cassian muttered, ‘Don’t waste your breath, Az.’

She glared at him. ‘I’m not training in that miserable village.’

Cassian glared right back. ‘You’ve been given an order. You know the consequences. If you don’t get off that fucking rock by the end of this week, what happens next is out of my hands.’

Her next retort gathered on her tongue. A lashing against his beloved high lord’s character. Nesta wanted to rage at him. Drop her in the damn mortal lands for all she cared, at least she’d be rid of them all.

‘Go and tattle to your precious high lord about wicked Nesta not training.’

‘Don’t you fucking talk about Rhys in that tone,’ Cassian snarled.

‘I hate him,’ she seethed.

‘Good. He hates you, too,’ Cassian shot back. ‘Everyone fucking hates you. Is that what you want? Because congratulations, it’s happened.’

Azriel let out a long, long breath.

Cassian’s words pelted her, one after another. Hit her somewhere low and soft, and hit hard. Nesta scrambled to build her walls up, to muster a defence. Anything. Her face crumpled. Her food was abandoned as she scurried from the room, unwanted tears spilling down her face.

Nesta hated to cry. Hated anybody ever seeing it. Least of all these two preening Illyrians.

Her path diverted course. If they searched for her, they’d aim first for her room then the library then the stairs. She veered towards the small living room that she was never fond of being in. The door was ajar but no sounds seeped from the dining room. Good. At least they weren’t laughing that they’d succeeded in making her cry.

The shadow singer’s voice breached the heavy silence. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

‘I didn’t mean to say it.’

‘But you did, Cass. You did fucking say it. There’s a reason she’s not training, more than obstinance. Stop seeing everything she says as a battle.’

Nesta heard Cassian’s shuddering breath. ‘But she acts like it is a battle.’

‘Because she’s hurting.’ A long pause followed Azriel’s words. ‘You didn’t even help her when she fell down the stairs? Seriously?’

‘I wanted her to learn a lesson.’

There was no shame or regret in his voice. Nesta bit down on her knuckle so that the pain would give her another outlet to focus on than the burning feel of tears.

‘And what lesson was that? That you won’t be there for her when she needs someone? That you’d rather she suffered? Fucking hell, Cass, what are you doing? Why are you punishing her more?’ Cassian’s attempts at speaking were quelled by Azriel’s swift words. ‘You will regret this.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Nesta fell down the stairs and you laughed. You could have helped her. You could have checked on her injuries. You’ve just made her cry. I shouldn’t have to tell you that the female you believe to be your mate deserves basic decency, not further punishing.’  

[pregstiel]

do a directors cut for the jack fic you wrote. the miserable one

gaze into the distant sky my beloved >:3. more general stuff out of the way first -- it was originally part of a completely different series! The Route of Flowers was conceived entirely separately as just a deconstruction of the beekeeper cas thing. when i first thought of gitds (way before i wrote it), it was supposed to be part of a 4 part exploration on how tfw 2.0 feels about the bunker (sam feels like he's been buried alive, cas is a visitor who is literally being slightly repelled by the warding, dean is having a great time). the jack fic had the strongest central imagery in comparison to the other ones, which was why it was the last man standing. then when i wrote The Route of Flowers after, i had gitds On The Brain, which is why they ended up being linked.

also for this fic i did so much research on ground nesting birds in minnesota. for no reason. whether or not this bird species is realistic has no relevance to anything in here.

on to more detailed stuff. i got the title from an anne brontë poem that i actually hadn't read before researching for this fic. i just couldn't think of a title so i googled poems with captive bird imagery until i found one that worked for it 😭. innovation.

"Dean doesn’t go on “pointless milk runs” with Cas, and Jack won’t either then."

i <3 when conspiring with the father won't save the daughter from her mother's fate. dean dismissing cas in front of jack and jack internalizing it because he wants dean's approval is SO important to me.

"Sam had already narrowed down where the vampire’s base could be to a small area, and he’s back in the motel room, listening in on the park rangers’ radio"

the product of me needing sam to Not Be There because this is between dean and jack. just throw in any explanation and call it a day

"It’s easy, Jack knows, the easiest hunt in the world, but he still can’t think about it without his breath speeding up and his heart pounding."

an important thing for me in this fic (which is also in the opening but that quote was too long), was that jack's ability to deal with the cognitive dissonance of monster hunting has been severely impacted by him losing his grace and now having to deal with the instinctive reactions of his body. when he was powered up he still felt these emotions, but he didn't have to deal as much with the visceral feeling of his heart spasming.

"He does it the way Cas told him: count to four on the inhale, hold it for seven, exhale for eight."

cas is the kind of father who will teach you a breathing exercise for your anxiety but won't stop you from going on a solo hike in the woods with your abusive stepdad <3. keep addressing the symptoms and not the cause, surely that will work out eventually!

"He had thought that at the very least, he wouldn’t have had to worry about that anymore, now that he was human."

this as a jack emotion for the central imagery of this (birds in a trap) wasn't something i thought of when i first thought of this fic, it only came in after i watched a ton of jack episodes.

" '– I mean, even with the boots, that’s going to go clean through' "

when their priorities are so different. when jack is focused on his guilt over almost crushing the chicks and all dean cares about is the hunt.

" 'Listen Jack, this head in the clouds shit is fine when you and Cas are doing… whatever you guys do together' "

again, dean being casually dismissive of cas to jack. really undermine his authority as a parent to his child.

"Jack doesn’t get the joke."

he's just like cas

" 'They don’t make miniature bears. Similar concept though – it’s a leg-hold trap, some asshole was probably trying to catch a fox or some shit.' "

the trap as a central metaphor for this fic was pretty important. sadly i conceived of it prior to really thinking of the logistics of it, and then drove myself crazy trying to make this more realistic. did you know they don't really make leg-hold traps with huge spikes anymore? sad but true. in general they don't really work like i needed them to in my fic, so i just said fuck it and gave up.

" 'Is it safe then? For the birds.' Jack rushes out, half-worried Dean will make fun of him for it, but Dean instead pauses for a moment, a thoughtful look crossing his face as he crouches down to examine the trap. The screaming of the fledglings increases in pitch as Dean comes closer."

jack does care about the birds as their own entities. but also relates to them and can't look directly at it. also when the birds don't like dean approaching. funny that

" 'you are not sticking your fingers in there. We’re not ambushing a vamp if your hand looks like it went ten rounds with a blender, and Cas’ll be pissed if any grievous bodily harm happens on my watch.' "

i wanted to at least try and thread the needle with this fic and not make dean a cartoon villain. we're in jack's pov and he's stressed the whole time, but dean is genuinely trying to be helpful here. dean can be nice to jack! he can be fun to be around! the issue is all the times he isn't.

"He balls his hands into fists, lets his nails bite into his skin – it’s not helping, and Jack wishes he could just shake his arms out, but Dean told him that was weird to do in public and he doesn’t know if the forest counts as public"

jack casual self-harm with the nails. like it could be innocuous for another person, but in the context of the show and jack's propensity for it i wrote it as self-harm; get all the emotions out through physical pain. also, the second part this was my attempt to gesture at jack stimming. this isn't the fic, but i again think that's something he would pick up once he lost his grace and had less of a shield in his body.

" 'Why would – why would their mother do that? Why would she build a nest somewhere so dangerous?' "

jack voice: i cannot get angry at cas. let me process by projecting on this bird instead.

"There’s a smile on Dean’s face, Jack knows. He doesn’t look away from the path in front of him to see it, even as he makes the corners of his mouth lift, answering Dean in turn."

again, i didn't want this fic to have cartoon villain dean. dean snaps, and then he tries to apologize and paper over it. the issue is that a.) jack is already constantly walking on eggshells and trying to keep dean calm due to The Incidents, so any display of anger is upsetting and awful and b.) dean doesn't care enough here to actually understand why jack's upset or comfort him. he just tries to make a joke and move on.

"Dean always ends up being right, in the end"

lines inspired by me being mad that the writers bend the world of supernatural to dean's whims.

"like that time when Dean told Cas that there was no way Led Zeppelin would let Beyoncé sample them"

in retrospect, i don't know if this part flows as much? i don't know. it feels a little jokey in comparison to the rest of the fic, but it does serve the important purpose of giving jack an inconsequential "dean being wrong" incident to cling to so it has to stay as a bridge. also again, dean dismissing cas. this whole thing is definitely vaguely inspired by the life skills cas discovering lady gaga section, but in reverse.

"He’s liked them ever since Cas started taking him on walks before Dean and Sam wake up so they can watch the falcons and sparrows swooping while the sky is orange and pink."

cas and jack bonding while the winchesters sleep is so important to me.

"Jack knows a lot about birds, and he knows that those birds knew, about the trap. How could they not? How could they live every day between steel jaws and not know that one day – maybe not now, but soon, that those jaws were going to snap shut, and devour them?"

i love jack projection so much. i love when he can't look at his situation directly and has to displace it, because if he thinks about the fact that one day, any day, he will be killed for being a "monster" his life will be untenable.

"Jack doesn’t know how their mother could do that to them. He knows what Dean said, and he doesn’t think it’s true, but he can’t think of another reason either. She has to love her babies. But if she loves them, why would she let them hatch somewhere dangerous, let them grow up afraid all the time? Jack can’t understand it."

again. jack voice: I CAN'T GET MAD AT CAS. he knows cas has to love him, but if he does why did this happen? why is jack here? also another jack moment here is taking responsibility from dean? if that makes sense? like of course dean will one day kill him. the sky is blue. dean can't change. what could change are the circumstances cas and jack live in, and their physical proximity to dean. but not dean himself. the idea never occurs to jack

"clearly does leave, since Jack didn’t see her. But that’s – that’s selfish of her."

the thing about them not wanting to pay misha collins. is that the situation is so horrible for jack. what if cloth mother kept leaving on week long trips and you were trapped in the dark all alone and scared until she came back

"Jack tries not to dwell on it, when he’s around. He tries to stop thinking about the nest altogether."

jack in this fic tries so hard to prioritize everyone else's feelings -- dean more out of trying to placate him, cas because he loves him and doesn't want to hurt him by being upset. but as a consequence jack has no real space to process or fight back or even say what's bothering him.

"It’s not Jack that scares them. They know he’s going to help."

contrast between how the birds react to dean vs jack. also jack voice. yeah these birds definitely exist in a space of constant terror and panic

"If he’s lucky, he’ll even see the mother return, watch her fuss over her babies as she feeds them insects she’s found. Jack can’t tell if she even notices the difference."

i keep saying this. but god jack can't get mad at cas. he also can't really see the ways cas is trapped too. cas is an adult, jack thinks he could do something if he wanted to, that it has to be thoughtlessness or ignorance that has resulted in this situation, instead of the reality where cas can't extricate himself either. and to be clear, it's not jack's fault that he can't realize this, but it is another tragedy.

"Steel snaps. The peeping stops."

i really struggled with how to end this fic. i knew i wanted to end it on sublimated suicidal jack, and for discomfort to linger, but i had trouble writing it. if i remember correctly i had other versions with more description, but i think cutting it down definitely helped.