#THE DELUSION IS FUCKING STAGGERING

[forcebookish]

has anyone else noticed that almost all, if not all, my meta/"fighting" with other people is just me describing what happens in any given scene

i barely even embellish or speculate. i'll mention recurring themes every once in a while, but for the most part i'm just writing out a play-by-play summary of what the characters actually do, because some people cannot be trusted to use their eyes let alone their brains

[kombuuuu]

Can I request Miles 42 bullies you at school and is always bothering you but he gets mad and tries to fight someone else who is bullying you because he’s the only one who can be mean to you😩😩‼️

Deflecting.

Earth42!Miles x Fem!Reader

“I would get your hands off her if I were you, homeboy.”

This one is kiiiinda violent, not by Miles mostly be warned C:

PART TWO !!

such a cute wife (throw me on an island to live in my delusions)

You were quiet, silent most days. Not stepping out of the very thick circle you’d made for yourself consisting of just you.

And yet, still.

Still, the mere thought of keeping to yourself as a permanent transfer student would make even the most daft of people scoff.

You weren’t anything special, you were void of attention, and happy that way. Acted appropriately and left anger at the door. Had nothing and no one to complain to, so why make problems for yourself?

You’re entire life was just floating along your schooling and waiting patiently for the day you left. Even if you were the rare case of “Got transferred half way through the year because the school saw potential!” girl, you’d just wanted to be left to yourself.

But even the premise of that seemed almost impossible now.

Because ever since you were pushed by some rushing kid straight into Miles Morales, tripping him over with you. Him and his asshole friends had made it their life mission to bother you.

“The cute new girl?”

“Yeah, the one that—,” The first boy glanced at Miles. “,—tripped on.”

“Oooh, shit—, She’s fucked.” The other man whispered back, laughing under his breath. You could feel his taunting stare at the back of your head, and when you checked your peripherals, Miles was sending a sickening glare your way.

You sighed.

—

The ache in your head was probably the only thing keeping you awake.

The day dragging longer than usual had you right about ready to get home and knock yourself out within a minute of being in your bed. Your hand slowly dragged down your face, taking a deep breath and stuffing your jacket somewhere in your locker. The heat of the school mingling with the temperatures the Summer was providing and then adding on the rain from the prior day? You cursed Brooklyn and its humidity. Reaching to close your locker, you finally fit the jacket in the already cramped space. A little piece of the fabric poked out, and you pushed it in while simultaneously trying to keep everything else in too. Pulling a face before you finally managed to get it shut, and slip your finger out before it can get trapped. You turned the key into the dumb metal and scowled at it before pocketing the key and turning to leave.

Being so engrossed in your feud with the locker, you had failed to realise the very man who’d given you this headache, leering over your frame. Turning straight into his chest and reacting in a pained groan, gripping your forehead in displeasure and glaring up at whomever was standing so close to you.

Which happened to be Miles Morales. Staring down at you with cold, dulled eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” The simmering anger in your voice was made known, and also promptly ignored. He tilted his head down at you, braids shifting with the movement, his expression barely changing. If only he had a conscience. Then maybe you could read his expression, the emotions on his face —, but in this universe? The thought seemed laughable.

He stepped forward, sending you staggering closer against your locker.

“Back off—,” You’re voice shook a little as you swore. Dropping his eyelids into a glare, he spoke, “You keep talkin’ to me like that, and we gon’ have a problem.”

“You keep creeping up on me like a fuckin’—,”

“Like a what?” Miles’s bored, taunting voice grated against your eardrums.

You let out a shaky breath, chest heaving, and clenched your jaw. Shaking out the annoyance in your bones, you kept your calm.

“Don’t get shy on me now.”

A surge of anger rose through you, before you willed it away.

He was antagonising you.

You tried not to instigate him. If you didn’t encourage it, maybe he’d go away.

“Never mind. Whatever, Why—,”

“Miles, my man.” A different man clapped him on the shoulder, giving you the chance to step back and away from him. The other man was tall and lanky, spindly in the way where he looked out of place for a high school. His blue eyes caught sight of you, smirk contorting the bridge of his nose and baring his teeth. “Fuck you doin’ with this thing?”

“What d’you want.” Miles diverted attention from you quick, his companion not getting the hint.

“Fuck, nevermind man,” The man sent a sleezy smile at you, looking you up and down slowly, a short whistle under his breath.

“Shut the fuck up, James.”

You glared are the taller man, something like bile clawing at your throat. The way he was talking about you was sickening, nothing more than a bothersome rodent.

Miles glanced at you, raising a brow, he wanted to see how long it would take before you’d finally fight back. Through the months you’d been at this school, not once had you actually lost your nerve.

On worse days, like this one, you gave him attitude. Snapping at him the moment he showed up, knowing if you didn’t, he’d take the chance too first. He looked forward to those days, where you would engage him. It sent some sick thrill through him. Watching the way your eyes unfocused, urging yourself not to roll them. How your composure surely chipped but never cracked, fingernails digging prints of a fine line when dug into your palms.

He watched your breathing stutter and counted your breaths with you, he’d basically memorised the pattern.

10 beats in, hold for 8, and 12 beats out.

Though, this was only on a good (bad?) day. Other days you just stood and took it. Letting him say whatever he wanted to you, talk shit right to your face. Spread rumours without repercussions and mess with you just because he had the urge.

And just like always. Through the heat of Summer and the full ache in your head, you managed to do nothing.

Just stand and stare as James acted like you were less to a piece of meat.

Miles scowled, dropping his shoulder and causing the man to fall from leaning on him. “Omf— Hey! What the fuck, dude.”

“Let’s go.”

James scoffed, rolling his eyes but following behind nonetheless.

“Miles, what was that shit about?”

“None of your fucking business, homeboy.”

Their voices faded as they walked away, the white noise of chattering people swallowing the scraping of James’s voice.

You wondered what Miles had really wanted this time, as he hadn’t gotten the chance to say anything with James showing up. You hate to thank him, but god. You might’ve lost your mind.

—

Four months in and you were losing your mind. Miles hadn’t stopped, neither had his determination. He seemed so eager to piss you off and do nothing but stare coldly as you composed yourself every time.

Just as that thought brimmed in your head, something kicked out in front of you, sending you flat on your stomach. Hands pressed into the hardwood of the gym below. You groaned, knees being knocked straight to the ground, landing with your arms outstretched in front of you. At least it wasn’t your face.

A voice was heard behind you and you froze, unsure what to do at that moment.

“Get up, [Name].”

James.

“Yeah, I’m—“ You shuffled back onto your feet. Standing up cautiously and checking your uniform was in place.

“Shut the fuck up.” He interrupted you, and you turned around slowly to face him. “Ever since I made it clear how little you were fucking worth, that dipshit Miles has been a fuckin’ dog to me.” He spat at you, the anger rising in his voice, he gripped the polo shirt you wore, dragging your limp upper half closer to his.

You shivered at his breath on your face, wanting to gag.

“Sorry.”

“You’re a fucking freak—.” His group of even more childish people were standing behind him like some sort of team work movement.

“Please let go.”

“I’ll fucking gut you. I needed that motherfucker—,” “Woah.” “,—He’s lucky I don’t beat his ass for ditching me.” Seems like attachment issues. “And you too, cunt. I’ll end your fucking life.”

He pulled you ever closer, using his height to intimidate you, six foot four of an angry man standing over you, no thanks.

A whistle was heard from the main room of the Gym, prompting James to let go of you.

“You’re lucky you’re a looker, call it pretty privilege.”

“..”

“Next time I’ll fucking kill you.”

You dropped from where you had been dragged onto your toes, stumbling a little as James’s group snickered when they walked past, bumping your shoulder and wolf whistling.

—

The lesson ended, and you rushed to get out of there. Making your way to the locker room, and being the first in there, also the first to leave. Changing from your sports uniform and rushing out of the Gym.

You kept looking over your shoulder, Knowing that James wasn’t lying. He probably would kill you, or, objectively worse.

You tripped over your feet before righting yourself again. People around sent curious looks to you which you ignored easily.

Getting to the front of the school, glass double doors shut with a “locked” sign on it, you continued to shoulder forward. Ignoring the shout of the office lady, you pushed against the metal bar and opened the door. You’d already known about the doors being unlocked constantly, having seen many times teachers trying to check no one was watching before slyly slipping out. So when the door opened for you with no trouble, you breathed out quick, and booked it.

You praised yourself for the amount of cardio you could do, the school was three stories for goodness sake, the amount of stairs you needed to climb was insane.

You slid to the side, dodging the occasional pedestrian and making it to the main gate, another shout was heard from the front of the school and you slipped out the gate just as it opened for another teacher, thanking them as you passed.

“Thank you!” You shouted as you ran.

“You’re welcome?— Oh..”

“Kid, Get back here!”

The office lady watched you hit the end of the street and turn, no longer in her sight. She threw her hands in the air and sighed.

“I’m going to get fired.”

“No, Marlene. I’ll cover you.”

“Thanks, John.”

“Why were they running, anyway?”

“Dunno, maybe AP exam.”

—

Miles watched as James was escorted back inside the building. His scowl etched onto his hideous face. Two of their shared buddies trailed behind him, rolling their eyes at the teachers questioning them.

One of the girls in his group was pressing against him, Miles getting more agitated by the minute. His disinterest in her only seemed to fuel her infatuation more, and it was getting annoying.

The guys at his table were all laughing at some—, probably sexist joke one of them made, the ladies giggling along with them, feeding their toxic lovers the attention they so desperately want. It’s not like Miles thought he was above these people. He just was. They were scum, but the only friends he could keep. Hurt people hurt people, and all that sappy shit. So when you hurt so much, only a small portion of people can stand you, and you them.

But when your name was mentioned, he perked up significantly — his ears fine tuning to the conversation. Completely forgetting about the raven-haired girl pressing against him, and focusing on the words spat by James and his two huevos.

“She’s hot though—,”

“Fuckin’ cares ‘f she is? Woulda beat her ass.”

“[Name]?”

“Yeah, [Name]. Miles got all fuckin’ sissy I thought she was hot, and now we don’t talk.”

“So?”

“So—!? Now I lost my chance with Imogen, she’s all fuckin’ over him cause I’m gone.”

Right, Imogen was her name.

“You want to beat her up over you losing a bitch? Just bag her instead?”

James rolled his eyes, debating it. Miles tensed, his relaxed posture straightened quickly, causing him to almost knock Imogen in the face. Too which she squealed at. An awful noise, really.

He quickly stood, chair falling behind him with a loud clang, and strode out of the hall, Glaring at James the entire time. His two friends laughed James’s sudden hesitance to respond, knowing how piss scared he was of Miles.

James stayed silent until the doors to the cafeteria closed, and the whispers started up. Then told his buddies off in a harsh tone.

No one had ever seen Miles do anything too bad. But with the amount of times he’s shown up to school with a busted nose and smug aura, you could tell—, whatever fight he’d had.

He’d won.

—

To say that Miles wanted to have the day away from school, probably wasn’t true. With the stuff he’d heard James and his dogs speil, he’d rather you not be alone.

He was—, worried.

But when his Uncle Aaron called him in for something urgent right at 4 AM, telling his Ma it was a work emergency, he couldn’t refuse his Uncle. He fit his mask onto him, faceplates slotting closed. Claws being turned and clicked into place, he flexed his hands, dragging the window of his room open in the early morning, and left with his Momma sound asleep.

—

The peace and quiet of the day had been rather disturbing. Not having Miles or any of his groupies bother you—. Was off, not unwelcome, but odd.

So when the bell rang for your fourth class, everyone heading from their lunch break back to their assigned classes, it was only by nature you’d be pulled into deserted corner of the school by some unknown figure. A hand placed over your mouth and the other gripping your wrist, pulling you back.

You struggled against the mystery person, a sickeningly familiar voice croaking in your ear.

“Be—,” You kicked your head back, knocking his jaw. “,—Fuckin’ bitch, be quiet.”

Your foot slipped under you, bringing him more leverage to haul you further from the light of the main hall.

You screamed through his hand, tears building behind your eyes when you heard a door unlock.

“Get in.”

“Fuckin—, Open it wider, dipshit.”

“Fuck off.”

James ripped his hand off your mouth before you could realise, pushing the middle of your back so you were forced into a dark, cold classroom.

You fell to your knees, a sense of déjà vu kicking in as you braced yourself with your hands.

Your chest heaved, James slamming the door shut.

“Keith, close those blinds.”

“Fuck are you gon’ do?”

“Beat the fuck outta her.”

—

Miles stuffed his claws somewhere in his locker, uncaring for secrecy. No one was there now, everyone having gone to class. He’d arrived fairly late, not an unusual occurrence considering his occupation, though. So the office ladies didn’t mind.

He slammed his locker shut, an image of you doing the same with a pout on your lips coming to mind. He had class with you now, sat right next to you, actually.

So he made his way towards the back block of the school, where you’d be.

—

A hit straight to your cheek sent you flying to the floor again, Mathew letting go of where he was holding you up.

“Dude your grip is shit.”

“Nod off.”

Keith muttered something about “Fucking brit..” from his seat on the prior teachers desk.

You groaned internally, eyes lolling to the closed curtains, the broken glass of the window letting in a sweet breeze. The only reprise from this entire ordeal was a broken window.

There’s some poetry in that, or something.

Blood dripped from your nose and lip. A cut on your cheek now present too. James, the creep, had rings on his thin fingers that, when used, hurt to no end.

You were picked back up by under your arms, closing your eyes in pain and hissing. You opened your eyes in time to see the small glint of metal in James’ pocket, and the wince on Keith’s face before another fist connected to your temple.

—

You weren’t there.

You had shown up to school, evident by your paper on the lecturers desk, but hadn’t shown up for the period.

And by the empty seats of James, Keith and Mathew. He could only guess what was happening right now.

Miles slammed the door to the class shut, ignoring the panicked yells of his teacher and started towards the darker parts of the school. Where no one used, a chemistry accident setting the safety board director deep in debt and a block of the school unusable.

He flung open his locker when close enough, snatching the prototype version of his claws from the locker. Small, sharp finger coverings that were something close to the claws he had for his Prowler suit. The knuckles were brassed and the wrist latch clasped easily to his skin. He slammed it shut again, not bothering with the lock, and honed in his hearing.

The walls were thin enough.

—

“Don’t you think this is a little too far?”

“Shut the fuck up, Keith.”

“Fuck you gonna do if she snitches—?”

He gripped James’s wrist, holding the knife away from both you and himself.

“—You gon’ ruin your life for this shit, man?”

“She’s been playing my fuckin’ nerves—, yeah.”

Keith gave him a bewildered look while Mathew stared on in disinterest, still holding you at a position you couldn’t right yourself.

The blood had stained your shirt now, bruising littering your face and body.

James had taken to ditching the knife.

“Fuckin—, Whatever man.”

It clattered to the ground with a large clang, the tiled floors of the science room made the echo ring in your head like the growing migraine.

“Drop ‘er.”

Keith glanced down at you, then backed off. An odd look on his face while he kicked the knife away from James, unintentionally pushing it closer to you.

He walked back to his seat.

Mathew let go, watching as you dropped to the ground and started coughing.

Choking on your own blood before you spat it out.

“You know how long i’ve been wantin’ to fucking do this?”

He raised his leg, tilting your chin up with his boot, how demeaning.

He swung back and kicked your ribs, sending you into another coughing fit while you fought the urge to throw up, tears streaming the blood dripping down your chin.

“Your family ruined my fucking life.” Another kick to your stomach, you gagged.

“Taking my dad, then my fucking girl too?”

What is this guy on about.

“Your fucking daddy couldn’t just mind his own business. Had to get involved, then you.”

A harder kick to your stomach, you clenched your abs and covered your head.

A sudden shock ran over you, a familiarity that always sat with James clicking in your mind.

James Ohnn, son of Jonathon Ohnn, a man who had a hand in the collapse of a still-in-construction Kaleidoscope that was said to bring revolutionary science to the new world. It’s framing shattered while the workers on it all went with it.

His father was the lead scientist of that Kaleidoscope, and by turn in of your dad, was promptly arrested.

“I didn’t do shit—,”

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

He kicked your ribs again, and you swore you could feel them crack.

“I’ll kill you, you fucking ruined me.”

He swiped the knife again, Keith shouting something you couldn’t hear amongst the ringing in your ears.

You shut your eyes, crowding your head with your arms.

A slam broke through the muffles of your mind. Panicked voices and accusations being thrown around before a thick accent curled around your head.

Miles Morales.

“I’d get your hands off her if I were you, Homeboy.”

Miles approached slowly, checking your face while keeping his eyes on the three men.

“Fuck off, Miles.”

“No.” His head cocked to the side, eyes slanting while he assessed the situation.

“What, you gonna fight us?”

James’s voice was shaking. He’d never seen Miles looks o absolutely pissed before.

“Don’t think I can, asshole?”

“It’s three against one.”

“Realmente piensas—, sabes que, no importa.”

Miles lunged at him, Keith and Mathew shouting in tandem while you struggled to keep your eyes open. The pain working its way past your adrenaline and into your bones.

He grabbed James by the wrist, twisting it back and listening to the sickening crunch of his Lunate bone in curious satisfaction. James screamed, trying to tear his hand away from Miles. Even with his right hand pulling too, he wouldn’t budge. The metal clicked together every time James shifted, and Miles gave an extra squeeze before letting go. The force James was pulling sending him flying back, he stumbled and tripped over your feet, falling back and smashing his head on the tiles.

The other two boys scrambled for the door, running out the hallway and whining like dogs.

James groaned, rolling onto his stomach, Miles deadpanned down at him. You watched through blurry vision as Miles picked his up, sat him against the teachers desk, almost slumped against it. Grabbed his hair by his crown, slowly bringing his head forward, bending him at the waist. Before slamming his head back against the wood with a dull thud. He repeated this sick, prolonged process until James had fallen unconscious. Standing over him, then going to grab the knife laid a bit from you. You looked at him from your position, not unthankful, but still—, he was evidently a contributor.

“Don’t move.”

“Wha— Why? I have to get home.”

Miles scoffed, crouching down next to you, knife in hand. His limp wrists resting on his bent knees.

“You gonna’ go home with a cracked rib and busted face? Nah, Chiquita. Vente conmigo, yo te arreglo.”

He stuffed the pocket knife down the side of his Nikes and took off his claws, putting them in the pocket of his jacket.

He hooked his arm under your knees and upper back, cradling you bridal style before standing to his full height.

You panicked a little— “Wha—, No. Miles, put me down.”

“No.”

“Hh— Whatdyu’ mean ‘No’!?”

You hooked your hands over his shoulders and gripped him as he made his way through the back exit of the school.

“I said, I’m taking you home.”

—

You groaned in pain, shirt lifted to just under your bra line as Miles assessed the damage.

He had been joking when he said cracked rib, but there was an underlying sense of real possibility. According to him though, nothing had been enough to seriously injure you. Except the disgusting looking bruises littering yourself.

You tried to focus away from the pain. Or Miles in general, he was very distracting, the lingering attraction you had when you met thought to be squished, was bubbling up again.

He had an ice pack pressed to your skin, and if you were a tad less conscious, maybe you would’ve made a joke of how cold his hands already were. The sweltering heat doing nothing to soothe the bruising.

“Keep this here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Watch the attitude.”

You huffed a breath, laugh being painful.

“Yeah, whatever.”

You shifted yourself to alleviate some pain, and took his place holding the pack on your stomach.

He grabbed an anti-septic from the small kit he had for first aid. When he’d pulled it out earlier, you’d questioned it.

“You get injured women on your room often, Miles?”

“Nah, Just you. Usually they can take care of ‘emselves.”

You’d giggled at that, not entirely offended but more so amused he’d decided not to take offence at your jab.

His hands reaching for your face brought you back to the present. Flinching back in surprise, you watched him watch for a moment. “Chill, ma. Just gon’ put this on your cuts. Needa’ touch your face for that.”

You cringed, the twisting of your lip having you suck in a harsh breath. “Yeah—, yeah, okay. Thanks.”

“Mhmm.”

The callouses in his hands were made known the moment he touched you, spreading the cream along the cut on your brow, cheekbone and lip.

His hands were a nice contrast compared to the heat of your cheeks, and the gentleness at which he was using.

When Miles touched your face, leaning his body closer to yours, he wanted to savour the feeling. The softness of your flesh against his own, how he could trace the contour of your cheek without it being awkward. His thumb rubbed a small amount of cream onto your lip and he couldn’t look away. The sight of your blood stained skin under his blemished hands had him stuck in the moment. Unable to answer her last question.

“Miles?”

The way her lips formed around his name sent a burning heat throughout his body.

“Yeah—.”

“Is my lip okay? ‘M I gonna need stitches?”

You poured up at him and he shook his head. “No.”

“Mmh— Okay.”

You looked to the side, addressing his room and Miles watched the way your eyelashes brushed along your cheeks when you blinked.

“Okay, just this left. Gonna be a little cold.”

“Thank you.”

“No stress, Chiquita.”

He grabbed some petroleum jelly, spreading it along the cuts on your face and moisturising the wound.

He then placed adhesive bandages along the places necessary, and placed everything back into his first aid.

“Miles.”

“Yeah, Mami?”

You paused at the name, he’d been using those a lot lately.

“How’d you know to find me?”

He looked down, shuffling up next to you against the headboard. You gazed out the window, ignoring the tension that was eating at the both of you. He did too.

“Gut feeling.”

—

DAMN BABY THIS ONE GOT WILD

tags :3 @gemma42 , @denuparxoume

my gorgeous translator @kissmxcheek !!

[saintsenara]

do u think tom and snape have little working class things that they have in common that they lowkey enjoy finding commonality over while all the other death eaters are all ???

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

obviously, given how snapemort-pilled i am, i think yes.

in my own writing, i always make this food. i write voldemort as someone who refuses to engage with his death eaters' hospitality - refusing to eat the fancy, three-course dinners their elves prepare for him, refusing to follow expected social convention at dinner parties, and so on - largely as a power-play [that is, as him signalling that he thinks they, as a social class, are his inferiors, even as they believe themselves to be superior to everyone they meet] but also because he would genuinely prefer to be curled up on his sofa with a packet of benson & hedges, tinned pilchards on toast, and a mug of builder's tea [five sugars].

i write snape in a similar way, as someone who - no matter how much he also envies and desires access to the sophisticated ease of pureblood wealth - feels this longing for inclusion constantly butting heads with the fact that he finds the posh insufferable. he doesn't want to spend his saturday nights supporting lucius' delusion that pheasant isn't like chewing on old cardboard! he wants to be eating an ominous pie from a chip shop and whinging about what cunts james and sirius are.

snape and voldemort definitely spent at least one evening together hiding in a corner during a party at malfoy manor, complaining about the canapés narcissa had ordered ["what's a gougère, my lord?" / "how the fuck should i know, severus?"] before dipping so that the dark lord could stagger into the nearest curry house, get a bhuna and a pint of lager, and then murder the proprietor.

[newtabfics]

Instincts: Diluc x Cicin Mage Fem!Reader ABO

Triggers for normal Omegaverse stuff, but also for Genshin-style fighting/violence and TECHNICALLY imprisonment. Also smut lol ENJOY IT

Word count is ~1800

He snarled as the woman easily shielded against his attack, dissolving Dawn easily.

Don’t break, he reminded himself as he called upon a searing onslaught, feeling the heat of his Vision against his thigh as he watched her stagger and dodge before summoning the power of her Delusion.

He heard her shout of pain as the electro power blew them apart, disarming them with an explosion.

She snarled as she shakily moved to get up when he finally smelled it.

Heat.

“An omega…Fatui…” He panted as he got up quickly. “Isn’t that danger–” A blade pressed against his throat as he slammed back against the tree.

He finally saw her. Her eyes glowed with electric power as she glared at him. Her hand was shaking as she panted, nose twitching before the glow finally faded.

Diluc caught her, damning his instincts when she realized she was seizing. He quickly moved her to lie down as he frowned, body tensing as the helpless omega convulsed on the ground. His chest tightened as he tried to think before carefully moving his wrist near her nose.

He was surprised when she began to calm as his scent reached her, gulping thickly. He needed to hide her away.

–

Sun peeked through the curtain. Y/N stirred slowly before snapping awake and looking around. Her heat was still there, and there was the scent of alpha in the area.

Her nose twitched as she quickly looked around, sneering when she saw the bars on the windows and the lack of a doorknob.

“Dammit,” She growled before moving to her feet. She was wearing new clothing entirely, making her balk before she saw her own clothing folded up on the table with a note.

Picking it up, she scoffed at the words. “Be back by noon. Don’t escape,” She grumbled. “Who in the name of Archons is D.R.?”

She sighed and eyed her clothing, nodding approvingly when she smelled the soaps that’d been used to clean it. She blinked as she lifted the sleeve.

Patched up.

The lock turned over as she glanced over, watching the same Vision wielder she’d seen the night before. “D.R.? I’m guessing, anyway.”

He nodded. “Glad to know you’re finally awake.” She frowned at that. “You’ve been out for three days.”

“What?” She asked, staring at him before quickly looking outside and sighing. “Shit. My heat?”

“Yes. Did it spring up on you suddenly?” He asked, keeping between her and the open door.

She studied him for a moment before asking, “Did yours?” He nodded. “Shit.”

“Agreed,” He sighed, pinching his nose. “If this is true…what do you intend?”

“To kill you,” She said simply, watching him. “Not now though. You did…protect and shelter me. What I mean is, after I leave, we’d be back to enemies. The Tsaritsa has no use for weak soldiers.”

He nodded, not entirely faulting her for the mentality. “And if I don’t want that?”

“Excuse you?” She snarled, glaring at him. “How dare you–” She had stepped forward before her body buckled under the wave of heat emitting from her.

Her knees slammed into the ground as hands steadying her shoulders. “Bastard,” She snarled. “You think…fuck…You’re just as vile as the thing you fight.”

“Pardon?”

“Just because I’m your mate, now I’m your pet, too?! What more will you take fr–” His hand firmly pressed over her mouth. The calmness in his movement made her stop and glare.

“Let me finish. Not as a prisoner but…partners. I keep you safe. You don’t have to give me any new information but…You’d have to tell me what your mission was in Mondstadt at least.”

She rolled her eyes and pushed his hand down. “So that makes it better?” He watched her calmly, studying her reaction. “What do you really get out of this?”

“Knowing that my weakness is somewhere safe and can’t be used against me,” He confessed. “Not to say I think you’re of any personal value to me as of now. It was pure luck. But even you can’t deny biology. No matter how hard you try.” He held up the box and she froze, feeling the power draining from her. “This is your Delusion. I’m going to hide it away. I want to destroy it at some point but not without your permission. That said though…you’re incredibly weak. I think it is the reason I’m not mounting you like a dog right now.”

“Crude,” She spat before glancing at the box and sighed. “You’re not wrong.”

“Which is why you’ll be staying in here until you’re no longer in heat.” He smirked as he adjusted to stand. “I will admit though, I’m surprised you’re even able to focus long enough to form a sentence.”

“Why? Cuz of my heat? Fucking sexist pig.”

“Because of the Delusion. You had an omega-drop. You almost went feral the moment you went into heat. Are you stupid or just desperate?” The venom in his question silenced her.

When she didn’t answer, he sighed and helped her to the bed. He informed her some a servant of his would be by to get her measurements so that new clothing could be provided for her. She bitterly thought of how kind the Alpha was.

Maybe it was just different in Mondstadt, but in Snezhnaya, weakness meant death or enslavement. Being an omega was worse. It’s why she swallowed down pill after pill, using Delusion after Delusion. Not caring what damage it did. As long as no one knew she was omega, she was safe.

Now, an alpha, some hotshot she didn’t even know, was trapping her to ride out her heat. It didn’t take a genius to realize his instincts as her mate overrode his instincts as an alpha.

“Maybe…”

Maybe she could use that against him? Maybe she could bat her omega eyes enough that she could–

“It’s best not to think on that.”

Y/N let out a squeal of shock as she launched herself to the otherside of the bed, putting an object between herself and the maid in front of her. She blinked up at her as she smiled cooly.

“Now then, Miss Mage. I need your measurements.”

“Why the hell do you need them?! Who are you?!” She snarled.

“Adelinde, Miss,” She answered gracefully before bowing. “I am under orders from my master to get your measurements.”

That was the name D.R. told her. She sighed and stood slowly, blinking as her nose caught the scent of something with meat. Her stomach rumbled loudly, making Adelinde smile.

The maid nodded at the table, brining Y/N’s attention to the steaming bowl of soup with bread and cut-up fruit on the platter beside it. “If you’d like to eat first, that’s fine. I can show you some catalogs of local fashion to give you an idea of what you’d like to wear.”

She glared at it, wondering if it’d been poisoned in some way, but her stomach was winning in the argument with her mind as she sat down and began to eat.

Radish. Mint. A little tomato? Chicken!

“What is this?” She asked with a moan.

“A staple of Mondstadt called Radish Veggie Soup. I added some cooked chicken myself after asking my master. He agreed it’d be good for your weakened body,” She said, smiling softly. “Eat slowly. Don’t upset your stomach.”

The days following were a blur as Y/N paced in the room she was locked in. It was mostly spent talking with Adelinde when she would come in to bring clothing or any food or drink. She even brought books when Y/N asked.

With that in mind, Adelinde set the book on the tray, handing them to Diluc. “Boar Princess?” He asked, glancing at the title as he shifted to make sure the drink wouldn’t spill onto it.

“She’s surprisingly a fan,” She chuckled. “I just gave her the second volume yesterday but I think she might’ve had the time to finish it.”

Diluc nodded, sighing as he walked to the room. He had kept away for as long as he did to let her heal…and yet it was agony.

Mate…MATE.

Omega in danger.

Hold Omega. Protect Omega.

Claim Omega.

He silently cursed his instincts wanting only to take a hold of the woman but damn it all if he didn’t think about once or twice or five times.

It’s why he froze when he picked up her scent. She was nearing the end of her heat but her scent was strong and felt only stronger as he approached. He came in and saw something only from his fantasies.

The woman was splayed out and naked on the bed with her fingers pumping into her sopping hole as she whined and pinched her own nipple for pleasure. She didn’t even stop when he closed the door and set the tray on the table.

Only when it clattered against the wood did her eyes snap to him. “Fuck,” She whimpered, looking to him pleadingly.

It was perfect. Perfect timing. She only needed to take control of the man.

“Alpha.”

If only she knew how strong his resolve was as he approached. He smirked down at her. He could see it in her face that yes she was like this but she was using it to her advantage.

“Omega,” He offered, watching her as he stopped beside the bed. He could feel his cock throbbing under his pants even as he said that, and yet, he couldn’t give in yet.

Y/N gasped when he moved too quickly and dove his face between her legs. “Wai–Ah!” She moaned as he began to lick and suck eagerly.

Moaning. He was moaning as he ate her out, she realized! And fuck everything he was good at it!

“Fuck, Alpha!” She moaned, gripping his long hair.

Her hips bucked and twitched, making him snarl before he pinned her legs back.

Flexible. His Alpha was practically singing when she easily accepted the way her knees were pushed against her chest, pushing her breasts together. Perfect mate. Claim. CLAIM.

He moaned as he sucked on her clit, watching her reactions as she threw her head back, losing herself in the pleasure.

“Alpha, fucking, alpha, please!” She begged, unable to take much more.

“Say my name. Say it.”

“I-I–” She stammered before biting her lip. She didn’t know his name.

His mouth left her, leaving her whining before she moaned as two fingers plunged into her easily before lips found her ear. “Diluc Ragnvindr,” He snarled.

She moaned out his name as he curled his fingers, her juices squirting out with reckless abandon before a white-hot pain from her neck melted into pleasure.

He was claiming her while fingering her through her climax and she couldn’t care what the consequences were now. She only wanted his knot now.

Tsaritsa be damned if she didn’t get his knot.

[chowowed]

I know I Saw The TV Glow is about the horror of being transgender and realizing how scary transition can be. I didn't know that going in and arguably I would've had a much different experience had I known that prior. Instead I watched it and through the whole movie just. could only see Owen as experiencing psychosis in the same way I have. Time moves too fast. It's been two years, eight years, ten years, twenty years. Having a family with no name. Saying you love them more than anything but they don't have a face. Dread, dread, dread, everything dampened all the fucking time like living underwater. The uncertainty of your own reality. How much of it do you really trust. The indulgence in the unreality, the sureness in your bones that its real but is it. How can it be. Hallucinations. Delusions. The writing in the chalk. On the walls of the high school. Owen's father pulling him out of the television set. The ending with Owen screaming and begging and saying I'm Dying. Help Me. Begging for his mom. Cutting a piece of him open. Then staggering off and apologizing. He's on a new medication. Nobody fucking looking again him regardless. He doesn't really exist to them. I've now been crying for almost an hour thinking about how painfully and ungodly fucking real it felt. I could never explain what living felt like, what the constant drowning feeling of existence feels like. And this movie perfectly captures it. Without that even being the intended purpose.

[thecousinsdangereux]

Thank you for posting the answer to the ask about the Nuns Can Fuck soulmate AU. I really loved the world you set up in that story and I too was wondering how it would end. I totally get not wanting to finish since the show got cancelled — bummer :/ but yeah I really liked it and it’s nice to know they get their happy ending!

The cancellation was awful, but honestly, it was the fallout of the fan campaign that so soured me. Like good god can't we have one thing that doesn't get taken advantage of for selfish gain?????? I don't know all the current details, but @simplykorra was telling me that one of the guys involved in the supposed Warrior Nun movies came to one of the FAN CONS????? Like... the delusions of grandeur are staggering. Anyways, glad you liked the overview of the rest of the fic! <3

[rinhaler]

hello friend i do not know you but as a fellow writer who has had their work stolen i am very sorry for what you're going through!! confronted the thief and was immediately blocked lmao.

the way they're trying to make anyone believe they coincidentally wrote the EXACT SAME THING is so disgustingly pathetic to me but either way i hope they take it down and own up because this is just wrong :( hope you're doing okay

OH MY GOD IS SHE SERIOUS LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOOOO THE LEVEL OF DELUSION IS ABSOLUTELY STAGGERING?? She didn't think of SHIT she didn't write SHIT she didn't gift SHIT she stole stole holy fuck I'm FLABBERGASTED

[capoteera]

Sad times. capT says she won't support Chris anymore (except for when she writes her fanfic, of course). She's done. He can beg and plead but there's no going back now. He fucked up any chance of winning her back. He made his bed and now he has to lie in it. He will reap what he sows. Etc etc.

The self-importance that goes along with these people's delusions is staggering.

(Also she had the nerve to state "Steve is mine"--they need to nail her for trademark/copyright infringement!)

I’m sure he’s real broken up about it 🤣🤣🤣

[the-elevator-twins]

>[13... 13... it has to mean something! Your mind grasps at straws, at anything, even meaningless objects to you are seeming to help you uncover the secrets of this book.]

>[All while your mind begins to slowly rot. The memories of your brother breaking in to steal the book are gone, the suicide note, everything from this past week, month. Your mind fills with delusion, madness. All for the book.]

>[But... finally, finally! Everything's making sense! You feel it, your unfamiliar hands trembling as finally your life fills with purpose!]

>[All these words, they're finally sensible... it tells the story of a lonely man. A purposeless life, shadowed by doubts and trauma. Telling you the tale as he gets trapped in a mysterious elevator, with a... rather annoying other man. An endless cycle as he does tasks, finds puzzles, all in attempt to free himself from the death-cycle. Your hands are leaking ink into the pages as you read, making the words clearer and clearer...]

>[He gets stuck, with some sort of doppelganger! And then the two are deposited in a strange, unfamiliar void, what a plot twist! He's said to get a brotherly bond with the other man. The only company is one another and the monsters posing as that annoying man. And they are experimented on by a mysterious entity, for all eternity. No ending... no escape... huh. What an ending.]

>[Despite yourself, you restart, reading from the beginning, as more ink pulls from you, turning you dead and colorless, from lack of blood. Not that you care.]

>[Not even the pounding on your door can tear you away from such a good book.]

TW: Implied death

(i) > You get it now. After all the risks you've taken, all the necessary information given to you, it's here, in visible ink. Red ink. Such beautiful red ink. . . Whoever wrote this master piece deserved an award of some kind. Such a telling tale. . .

(i) > Your door keeps pounding with raised voices, yet you can't be bothered. Why waste your time when you can fantasize your life over and over in your head. Actually, what can you remember. . ? Who even are you? You didn't have time to question it, having someone barge into your room.

> "Oh God no, Nigel! What the fuck happened to you!?"

(i) > You only broke eye contact to stare at this stranger in front of you, and for the very first time, you've awaken a new emotion. Fear.

> "S-Stay. . . Stay back. . ! D-Don't come near me. . .!! Get out of my h-house. . !"

> "N-Nigel, it's me—Neil!—You have to-"

> "GET OUT!! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!! STAY AWAY FROM ME!!"

(i) > Tears stream down your pale cheeks as you shuffle yourself into the corner of your bed. Someone identical to you. . . He wants to hurt you! A fake? A doppelganger. . ? Just like in the story. His expression darkens before storming over and yanking your hair.

> "Ow. . !! L-Let ho of me!! SOMEONE!! A-ANYONE!! HELP!! HELP ME!! PLEA--"

*SLASH*

(î) > You're fighting back tears, pulling away from your deranged brother as he struggles for breath. He gurgle on what little blood he has left before slumping back, and the light fades from his eyes. Finally, that shell of a person is gone. You opt for the 2nd task at hand.

(î) > Striking the book multiple times, it screeches before finally erupting into black smoke. Blood soaks both the blades of your weaponry and your fist. You reckon you won't get that book again. Hopefully.

> "Time to reset it again, right. . ?"

(î) > You hardly hesitate pointing the blade to yourself this time. With one cut across your neck, your own blood spills. You stagger to keep standing, but only fall against the door before lowering your head. A sinister chuckle raises from your lips before you murmur under your dying breath.

> ". . . We'll escape. . ."

(☠️) > ENDING 16: AUTOBIOGRAPHY

[devils-pirate-crew]

Another explosion. Another. The smell of burning salt in the air, of sickly pungent sulfur clinging to his tongue. The water lapping at his ankles, stinging where it comes into contact with his open cuts.

He needs to get out of here. The Voices scream, get out, get out, get out. He can't do anything, he can't do anything but listen. He checks out mentally, listening, only listening to the chorus in his head, the delusions with their pretty white wings.

Dawson's palm is sticky. He staggers to the door, ignoring how everything burns, how everyone yells, and shoves it open. Another cannonball slams into the ship where he'd been standing not a minute before, leaving legs and arms and guts and so much red in its wake. He squeezes his eyes shut. He can't look back.

He climbs up to the deck, blinking furiously to try to get the smoke out of his eyes. He gasps for air, shakily, rubbing at his face, the splinters of wood that stud his left side catching on his fingernails and staining his fingertips with blood. He curls his toes, trying to ignore how his bare feet stick to the deck as he moves forward towards the bow of the ship, almost crawling up the steps of the forecastle. Always forward. Always forward. Don't look back, they scream.

In front of him, his captain, in his stained navy blue jacket, shouting with rage. His words are garbled and lost, but he points at Dawson with his sword, menacing. The ship rocks with another round of cannonfire. No surrender. They'd all be going down into this watery grave together.

He - he looks back, at the trail of footprints lined in crimson - at the fire burning on the sides of the ship, plunging down into the water - at the very revelry of death itself. Dawson's knees give out; he collapses to the deck. Not three seconds later, grapeshot whizzes where he'd been standing, chopping at the sails of the foremast, the shredded cloth falling to cover him like a blanket.

If this is his casket, he'll accept it. If this is his funeral, he'll accept it. If this is how he dies, he'll accept it. He's wasted so much of his energy to drag himself up here. He can't do anything else. He closes his eyes, prepares to stop breathing, prepares to let go. The Voices scream, wait, wait, wait, you're alive, you're alive. You're alive and that counts for something.

He listens. He waits. He doesn't know how long he waits, only that he waits until there's no more screaming, no more groaning, no more banging, no more crackling, nothing except the rhythmic beating of the waves and the reflection of the captain's headless body in his sword that had caught on the railings, glinting into Dawson's eyes, etching it into his memory.

The ship sighs. There are boots on the deck, pounding. Someone is here. Someone is here to save him. And in his ears, the clearness of their speech uncanny: You can trust them. Please let them help you.

"Nate?" he mumbles, almost inaudibly, before slipping out of consciousness, passing out on Juraj's shoulder.

Arber's grip is white on Juraj's arm; he stutters out a breath as everything dissolves, the Voices reduced to soft, distant humming on the outskirts of his consciousness, his own spirits similarly exhausted. One blink. Two.

"Holy fucking shit," the gunner tips back, raising a hand to his pounding forehead. "Oh my God."

"Are we - " Juraj begins, before Arber jumps in.

"We're good, I think. For now at least." He lets go of his crewmate, heaving a sigh. Arber pulls himself up and crosses over to Dawson, adjusting the pilot's mate until his limp body lies fully on the bench, allowing Juraj to stand.

"Are you okay?" the cook asks, pulling Arber to lean on his side.

"I'm not the one you should be asking that," he replies, casting a glance downward at the unconscious pirate. "I'll be fine."

[supportingfire]

"fucking shit."

there's a thud somewhere in the darkness, followed by the sound of something clattering to the ground; moments later, diluc staggers into view, clutching a blood-soaked handkerchief to his nose. he's already been a piss-poor host, having to dip out of dinner early to ... attend to some things ... but the guilt from that pales in comparison to how gutted he looks at having now woken his dear friend to boot. diluc stares down at the ground, wishing he could turn into sand and slip into the cracks between the floorboards.

"fuck, thoma, i'm so sorry. don't worry about it, i ... it ... this happens not infrequently. allergy-related, i think." he tries very, very hard to make the way he leans against the doorframe for support look casual. it probably doesn't work.

( no --- it definitely doesn't work, because diluc can feel the edges of his vision turning to static. he tries to fight it for as long as he can. )

"o-or it's ... it's probably just ... on account of ... the w-weather ..."

[ that's what u get for using a delusion, diluc >B( ]

thankfully for diluc, thoma's intuition had him staying up much later than he normally would have, after the man suddenly parted ways from their dinner that evening. it had been so abrupt, after one of his maids said something in his ear. diluc wasn't as smooth as he thought he'd been, thoma hadn't bought whatever excuse he left with...of course, thoma had let him go without question however, but he found himself staying up late that evening in his room so graciously provided to him by the winery staff (less mora than staying at an inn, diluc had almost insisted.) he hears the clatter before diluc comes in to view.

it's not the first time he's tended to a rich man of influence stumbling home late with mysterious injuries about him, and quite honestly he's certain it probably won't be the last time. but it's the first time he's seen diluc in such a condition. still, he wastes no time in confusion, they could get to explanations after the man is stable and thoma has been able to give him a once over.

"don't insult me," he murmurs, quick at diluc's side. he bends down, shoving himself in the space between the door frame diluc leans against, and the man's own body, only to stand himself up straight just as he grabs for diluc's wrist, effectively pulling the arm around his shoulders. he props most of diluc's weight against himself, and begins moving them further into the room, "you suffered from allergies most of our childhood, and it never made you look half-dead."

once close enough, he eases diluc to sit down on the bed, immediately dropping to his knees in front of him. thoma takes diluc's wrist against, pressing two fingers to the pulse-point: his heartbeat is erratic. he's flushed. but the only blood he can see is coming from diluc's nose...

"you stay right there, i'm getting a first-aid kit. and then you can lie to me some more about your allergies."

[frumfrumfroo]

The Marvelification has begun

Pour one out for meaningful storytelling. Smothered in its sleep by corporate hegemony.

[blughxreader]

I wanna write an academic paper on the Yandere x reader /dead dove community so bad… it’s just so brilliant.

The content is so multileveled. On the surface, it’s shocking and confrontational. The romanticization of kidnapping, power, rape, delusion—I’ve never seen anything like it. Unlike mainstream dark romance, we don’t sweep these crimes under the rug. It’s not something that’s forgiven—the crimes are the whole point.

When you go deeper, though, it’s literally culture in the making.

Even if we never publish our works, our impact will ripple throughout media in the next 5-20 years.

All these talented writers will go on to become authors, editors, producers, comic store managers, artists who mingle in local writers groups—everything.

The new style of writing—as seen with Heartstopper, Captive Prince, Red White and Royal Blue—it’s so simple yet in your face. It’s literally never been done before. This sub-culture is layers deeper than any of those, yet its slowly trickling up to main media through Yandere authors moving on.

The feminism in this subculture is staggering too. From Mary-Sue of the 90s Star Trek fandom, to the Snapewives of the 00s, to Twilight and Fifty Shades—it’s women carving a place for themselves. Its shameless self-indulgence. It’s demanding content we want.

It’s fucking awesome.

[getouswh0re]

Howdy!! Could I request Yandere Gojo and Geto from jjk, with a special-grade sorcerer reader? Ty in advance, I really like your writing!✨

an; thank you for the love ˊᗜˋ💕 here are some drabbles for them separately, hope you liked it :3

warnings; yandere, gore, blood, unhealthy relationships, obsessive behaviour. do not condone such actions in real life, and please kindly read at your own discretion.

THE night was quiet, almost serene, totally at odds with the glowering menace in Geto’s eyes. Gone was the subtle gentleness in those inky slits you had grown to adore; in its place, inscrutable darkness bore holes into the back of your skull as you shuddered beneath the curse user’s glare.

It was still Geto in the flesh: the same face, unique hairstyle and robes he’d wear just like any other day. Yet it was no longer the special-grade sorcerer whom you once knew and loved. You never knew what caused such a drastic change in him; all you wished for, was for the old Geto to return, hoping that all of this was none other than another nightmare.

“Suguru? W-What are you doing at my door? It’s already late, you should be taking some rest ...” A hint of dismay — maybe sadness, ghosted his expression when the raven picked up the quivers in your tone. Nonetheless, a gentle smile adorns his face, emerging from the shadows to reveal himself as the raven explained himself.

“Why? Can’t I come and visit you?” He cocked his head, a playful smirk evident. Geto never ceased to make your heart flutter; perhaps it was his flirtatious nature and mellow personality that drew you towards him, but even after being one of his closest friends for a long time, at times you felt like you couldn’t understand him at all, with this being one of the occurrences.

You chortled, about to invite the raven into your apartment when warning bells started to ring incessantly in your head, warning you that there was something awry about him once you caught a glimpse at his clothes imbrued with crimson splatters.

“Sugu ... what is that on your clothes?”

“Oh this? Satoru splashed me with red paint, it’s not much of a big deal.” You knew he was lying, instantly picking up the revolting metallic stench from the stains. Dread filled your mind while you staggered back, keeping a distance from the male who gave you a perplexed look in return.

“You and I know a smell like this isn’t red paint ...” Trying to be as calm as you could, you retracted a step backwards with every stride Geto took. “Be honest with me. What on earth have you done?”

“Sharp as ever, y/n.” A condescending look took over as Geto finally revealed his true colours. “The world needs to change. All these monkeys are the reasons why curses exist. They can’t even control their cursed energy properly, and we sorcerers have to battle with death every time a curse poses as a threat to them. Their ignorance is revolting in its core, and I believe to make the world a better place, it would be better off to remove all of them out of sight. Don’t you agree —“

“What the fuck are you thinking?” Unable to withhold your seething rage, you snapped at the curse user. “This isn’t what sorcerers should do! What you are doing is of no difference from a brutal murderer Geto! I can’t fucking believe you!”

“How can you think of me like they y/n? That hurts my heart you know.”

Before you could even scream, he was already inches away, blood-stained hands caressing your cheeks tenderly as if you were made of fragile glass. “I just want to make life easier, there’s no need for us to put our lives at stake every time we exorcise curses. Right? We could be enjoying peaceful days together, free from the dangers of this world ...”

“Stop! Your delusions are sick, this isn’t you at all Geto! I don’t know what is wrong with your brain, but it’s never too late to turn back —“

Suddenly, your vision darkened — your consciousness sinking into a bottomless void as the raven carried you in a bridal style, the two of you vanishing into the tenebrosity of the night.

“And I thought you were the only one who’d understand me ... love.” He shook his head in disapproval, but the disappointment in his eyes were eventually replaced with glee as Geto stared at your limp figurine in his arms.

“But don’t worry, what needs to be done will be done. For our sake, for our future together.”

EVERYTHING would always be uglier up close.

At first glance, one might find Gojo Satoru a perfect man: with talent, looks and wealth all in one package. Men envy the greatest sorcerer of all time, and women grovel at his feet, desperate for a sprinkle of the man’s attention. Despite living the life everyone dreams to be in, the heir of the Gojo clan couldn’t care less about how the world spins around his axis. For the sorcerer has his eyes set on something much more worthy of his time and effort. 

He is a man of determination, willing to achieve his goals with whatever means possible — even resorting to dirtying his own hands. It is such an irony that underneath the charming façade, such a disgusting soul exists.

“For the last time Satoru, I am not interested in dating anybody.” Heaving an exasperated sigh, you politely shoved the lavish presents piling up at your front door back into the man’s arms. 

“I feel really flattered that you have feelings for me, I truly do. But I’m sure you know as sorcerers, we fight with death every day. If there is any regret that I’d dread to have ... it would be to leave everything I love behind. And I would rather die alone than leave my partner suffering on their own.” 

“That’s what I love about you y/n.” 

A loving sigh slipping from his tongue, Gojo took a step forward, cupping your face with utter delicacy. Yet you felt more than revolted by his sudden intimacy, struggling to writhe away from his tightening grip.

“You are always so kind, so considerate ... something I cannot find in anyone else other than you. But think about it sweetheart! You and I are both special-grade sorcerers, but I can protect you from the curses — at the same time giving you the moon and stars. We could move in together, you wouldn’t even need to work anymore. Why make your life harder when I could simply provide for you? Seriously —” 

“S-Satoru, I hate to tell you this but you’re pushing the boundaries right now.” Trying to reason with the sorcerer, you spoke with a harsher tone, praying that Gojo would get the hint and respect your choices. “You’re out of your mind! And why would you force 

Nonetheless, your words fell on deaf ears. 

“Now this is not how you should react when someone offers you their heart and soul.” The light in his cerulean eyes darkened, cyan hues glimmering beneath the penumbra of nightfall. “And I know you are a smart young woman, so you’d come to realise what is in your best interest. I really don’t want to do this to you y/n; but if you are trying to push me away from your life again, I would have to keep you to my side — the hard way.” 

With that, he pulled down his blindfold.

You were aware of how dangerous Infinite Void was; still, experiencing it first-hand was one hell of a terrifying experience. Fleeting images flashed across your vision as if all of this was in fastforward motion, depicting your fate in the past along with future. As certain blurred vestiges showed up, your heart sank in indescribable despair; moments of you and none other than Gojo were portrayed — blood splattered across the labyrinth of streets in Tokyo, your trembling hands intertwined with his, platinum bands wrapped around both of your ring fingers, adorable kids that were exact replicas of both of you. At this point, you could feel the will to fight back dwindling to fickle embers. 

No matter what you did, Gojo would always find his way back to you.

Even if he had to tear the world apart with his hands. 

[balladofthewhitehorse]

By The Lamplight

The night-air was sharp as the two men stumbled out of the pub, heralded by a concert of angry shouts. ‘’Fucking…eugh, what’s the word?’’ The tubbier of the two mumbled, glancing at his taller counterpart. Alcohol rendered his name elusive and for a moment, England’s cheeks flushed red, shame trickling in from instincts seared into his soul. Vulnerable, like the belly of a beast exposed, England bowed his head low and let Germany lead him by the hand. ‘’Go on, tell me one of your words.’’ He sighed, as they rambled down the crooked streets of London. Buildings loomed overhead, dark and ugly. Nothing like the clean, white marble of the streets on the other side of the Thames, a silvery snail’s trail in the moonlight, he recalled, wrinkling his nose as he stepped in something that squelched underfoot. ‘’For an…an asshole.’’ England exhaled, cheek swollen like an apple. 

‘’Arschloch.’’ Came the response, Germany’s teeth flashing in the dim lamplight as he grinned from ear to ear. ‘’It’s arschloch…we were just having fun, weren’t we?’’ Shed of duty, of responsibility - the most real part of him staggered into England’s arms and into a small, meaningless alley that wound itself in crazy zig-zags through the damp streets of the city. A puddle glittered in the moonlight as they trampled down the alley, hand in hand as they jostled and swayed into one another. Puddles rippled in the moonlight, as haphazard footsteps sent them bumping against one another, each touch more electric than the next. ‘’Forgetting your German?’’ It was hard not to laugh, hard not to smile until his cheeks ached and his lips cracked, a bead of blood forming on his bottom lip. 

It was even harder to let go of his hand, fit so perfectly into his. Lock and key. 

‘’Mhmmm…yep. All of it.’’ 

England’s voice stirred away the embers of romance, though they coiled somewhere deep inside Germany. As he looked at England, framed by shadow and flickering light, he knew that England loved him too. And yet, it was bundled away, tucked by his heart, inside his ribcage. They would not share it yet, not now - not under the smog strangled skies of London just yet. The two simply crashed into one another’s arms, clinging close to the bulwark that was the feeling of another pressed close to flesh, shivering through thin shirts in a rain-frosted night. Whiskey-sparked kisses pressed close to one another, hands gently tracing a doughy belly as Germany leaned into England and England leaned into Germany, too weary, too intoxicated (By alcohol? Love? A desperate need? Neither were sure what drove them like moths to a flame, but by God, they drove forward all the same). What amount of stars passed overhead, neither could say as they mouthed softly at one another, secrets pressed close to cool skin, buried there forever. ‘’England…’’ Germany purred out, eyes fluttering shut as he felt teeth against his pulse (tension throbbed in his heart, crying out at the reminder of the shuck’s jaws ghosting against his heart and then squeezing tight). ‘’Mmm?’’ England looked up, pressing a kiss against his sharp jawline as he pulled Germany closer, dragging him down - back slick against the rough of the alley wall as the moon drifted through the sky and disappeared gradually behind the rooftops. Cool frost touched down on what was made bare, the only warmth the reverent palms. “Don’t talk.” He rasped as he pressed a kiss to his collarbone, a raised scar (the ghost of a bullet sunken deep, like a secret) roughing against his pale lips. “Don’t…”

Nothing more was said, but the air had changed. Something warm (Blood? Alcohol? Delusion? Affection? It was up for debate and there was plenty of both between the two of them) hung above them and they sunk deep into that welcome hearth. With a grunt, Germany pushed England against the wall and England rutted against him, a growl welling deep in his throat. “Verrdamnt.” A hiss. A curse. Fingers fumbling and a belt buckle. The moment taking a frightful jerk as the blur of headlights reeled past, like God passing over blood-framed doors. 

Touches. A secret. A gasp as hands curled into thick curls and tugged, teeth gritting and adam’s apple bobbing. England groaned, grimacing as he stared down at Germany, at the man kneeling in a puddle of god knows what, mouth hung open. “Need a hand?” England mumbled sheepishly, sniffing noisily as he looked up and down the street. 

“Nobody saw?” “Pft. Fuck if I know.”

Duty took precedence gradually, as dawn overtook night - the steady plod of a lamplighter’s shoes as they gently turned each lamp off. Without another word, England jerked up his trousers and Germany walked off, pausing to glance at England over his shoulder, quietly (sadly?) watching him disappear into the London fog.

[lindzem]

DELUSION BY DAYLIGHT

(Dead by Daylight inspired Blackice AU. Pitch starring as similar a killer to the Trapper!)

A flash of white seared through the boy's vision as he felt the wooden baseball bat connect with his side. Tears began pooling in his eyes, which made it even harder to escape the trio of juniors assaulting him. All he did was stop them from force feeding a terrified freshman a disgusting mix of cafeteria mashed potatoes, soda, and fish sticks by grabbing the tray and slamming it into the oldest junior's chest. A teacher may have saved Jack's hide in school, but after school was the risk.

Boy1: Thought you could embarrass us, Frost?!

Boy2: We're gonna show you who runs this place!

Coughing and cringing, Jack staggered back up to his feet just fast enough to dodge another swing. He panicked and ran off into the woods, knowing they were hounding close after. He had to try to lose them.

Boy3: You cant hide, kid!

Jack stumbled through the bushes and trees, hoping he could lose them. His ribs ached more and more as he ran. The sun was starting to set.

Jack hid behind a tree and tried to control his breathing. He heard them close, yelling and taunting. He tried to sneak away, but suddenly the harsh snap of metal rang out. A deep sharp pain pierced the skin of his right ankle and he screamed. Falling on the ground, it was only then he saw the cause: a large metal bear trap on the ground he'd stepped in.

He cried out in anguish, trying futilely to pry it open. That's when the trio of juniors found him again. At first two of them seem wary of the situation, but the leader junior just smirks and raises his bat.

Boy3: Oh fuck, is that a bear trap?...

Boy2: Do...we even have any bears around here?

Boy1: That just makes your beating all the easier, Jack.

With another harsh swing Jack screamed out in agony as he felt the bat connect with his trapped leg. The leader swung again amd hit Jack's hip as the boy tried to curl up with no other options. The two other juniors seemed to hesitate before the leader yelled at them.

Boy1: The hell are you waiting for? Hit him!

Soon enough the joined in kicking and beating Jack on the ground mercilessly and laughing. Jack tried to cover his head and neck as he screamed for help.

Boy1: No one's out here, dumbass!

Jack: S-Stop-! Please--it hurts!

Boy2: That's the goddamn point!

Boy3: You'll never mess with us again, got it?!

Jack sobbed, trying to endure the torment. Though mere minutes later the glimmer of steel reflected the fading sunlight. The sound of flesh being stabbed was louder than you'd expect. Now it was the attackers turb to scream as they witnessed their comapnion rammed through the chest with a large jagged blade.

A tall thin man in black overalls and an eerie white mask was behind them. The mask had a sadistic looking smile with jagged yellowed sharp animal teeth. The students had no time to react before the man yanked his blade out of that one boy and stabbed the second through the stomach before kicking him off the blade to the plunge it down through his throat. The leader screamed and tried to run, but he fell into a bear trap himself mere feet away. Jack could only watch in sheer terror as the junior begged for his life.

The man, a cold blooded killer, showed no mercy as he repeatedly slashed and stabbed at the boy, blood splurting out in every direction before he dealt a final stab through the chest.

He said not a word as he yanked out his blade again from the limp body and turned to look over at Jack. Jack sobbed and begged for his own life as he kept trying to oull off the bear trap with all his might.

J: P-Please-! No, please--oh god, p-please dont-!?

The man stopped infront of Jack to look down upon him, gripping his blade tighter as fresh crimson blood dripped off it. Jack began hyperventilating hard with pure fear, coughing and gripping his side which probably was a broken rib or two.

Still not speaking at all, the man only grunted as he reached down and grabbed Jack around his waist. Hoisting him up over onto his shoulder in one strong motion, which was rather surprising given how skinny the man seemed. Jack cried out again in both shock and pain, trying to struggle as best he could.

J: No! Let me go-! Put me down--please!

The man ignored the boy's pleading and walked off deeper into the woods.