#and just such an internal conflict within her!

[motherofplatypus]

According to Selah Victor, the VA for Chloe, we'll be seeing our blonde queen in future season. And let me show you my reaction.

They just can't let their favorite punching bag go, can't they?

All disappointments and slandering aside, let's see how Chloe could potentially be an interesting character in S6, the role she could play to make the story more interesting.

Before that, get your expectation of a redemption arc out of your head. If the last 3 seasons haven't been clear enough, they have no intention of giving her redemption arc.

False Hero Chloe

This is the Best Possibility and best route they could do with her.

They could pull a Princess Morbucks from PPG and make her use technology to be a super. Since she went to NY with Audrey, a place where even your neighbor is a superhero with homemade gadget, she might be able to get herself some gears and become an antihero.

Yes, i know it may seems close to redemption arc which she'll never have, but it all comes down to her motive. She hates Ladybug, and the heroes of Paris as an extension. Since going full on villainy will get her in more trouble, why not make the other heroes look bad?

She can pull off a Syndrome and cause a problem herself and then fix it. Do a Queen Wasp 2.0 and kick it up a notch, she's already immoral in the writers' eyes.

And we know with absolute certainty that she'll be a victim to an akuma, even working together with Lila/Chrysalis. Under the assumption they won't pull another "Lila is a mastermind while Chloe is a dumb blonde who don't even know what generous even mean", they can make Chloe an equal threat but on different category. While Lila is full on terrorist, Chloe is a fake hero.

This route can play out even better if she also mention the worldwide catastrophe with Monarch and Alliance Ring and how Ladybug barely manage to save people, even mentioning that a civilian (Gabe) had to die to help her win.

And in the very, extremely off chance they decided to give Adrien a crumb of relevance, Chloe could call out both heroes about their failure. This leads to internal conflict within Chat Noir about his role on a different level, where he's usually feeling left out and sided, he's thinking if he's still a hero. He thinks if he had helped, Gabe wouldn't have died.

Man, I'd love to write a fic of this, but i already have wip going on and also busy raising awareness about genocides that's happening right now. If you want to write it, please do, i don't trust the writers to do it lol.

[arcanescionmoved]

WHAT   KIND   OF   HERB   ARE   YOU?

garlic.

── you   leave   an   impression   wherever   you   go.     your   heart   is   so   strong,   so   determined,   so   willing   to   go   after   whatever   hole   you   see   in   the   world,   whatever   wound   you   need   to   fix   next.    you're   there.    you're   justice,   hot   red   and   pure   gold,   fairness   incarnate,   a   paladin   in   shining   armor   come   to   protect   and   cleanse   and   heal   and   yet   sometimes   you   wonder   if   you're   the   most   corrupt,   dirty   being   in   the   world,   a   fraud,   a   monster   in   hero's   clothing.     the   world   is   so   intense   and   you   are   so   small,   so   fragile,   and   no   matter   how   hard   you   try   you're   never   good   enough.     you   want   to   be   good.    you   want   to   be   good   enough.    you   try   so   hard   and   yet   the   world   is   so   dark   and   angry   and   cruel.     perfection   is   always   just   out   of   reach   and   you   want   things   to   be   okay   so   bad   you   bleed   with   it.     you   just   want   things   to   be   right,   to   be   good,   to   be   fair,   but   you   don't   know   if   they   ever   can   be.     if   you   can   ever   be.

Tagged by: stolen Tagging: @misstantabismuses (Vi), @saviourofzaun, @independentzaun (Jinx), @hxundsprxdigy, @bioniczaunites (Ran), @legendscried (Jayce), @freedomsbounty (Vi), @austerulous, @astrxae, @misfits-of-zaun (Ekko), @goldenmedic, and everyone else.

[betawooper]

find it funny that i regularly ramble about the interesting intersecting ideas of gender, presentation, and sexuality at midnight before i go to sleep when im agender and aroace as hell but thats what hyperfixating on an au will do to ya

[arolesbianism]

Shakes the bars of my cage I need to draw soooo bad I need to draw I need to draw let me draw I have to draw I need to draw I must draw (<- has been too sick to be on electronics much and doesn't like doing traditional art)

[auramgold]

if your community couldn't handle a trans girl with a diaper kink without collapsing into pedophile witchunting

your community simply will not last. if your community cannot handle the clearest example of someone harming no one but herself without breaking down into rabid demands of exile, it cannot weather internal conflict that actually matters without going up in flames. not only is transmisogyny, you know, a literal death sentence to the trans women it brands sex criminals, it also just is a fundamental weakness of your community if a trans girl hurting no one can set it ablaze like i don't know how to tell you this but if you're that eager to collapse into moral purity testing for "enemies within" over a girl that just likes pissing herself and calling her girlfriend "big sis", that is a trivially easy weak point for a hostile attacker to shatter your space along. support the Weird trans women, even the ones you're not personally comfortable with. we're not coming to fuck your kids and dogs, i promise.

[hannieehaee]

OUTTA MY MIND (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: getting a brand new job as a senior idol's manager was scary enough on its own, but it became even worse when said idol was jeon jungkook, idol of all idols. what made it even worse? when jungkook began taking a special liking to you, damning any conflict of interest his crush on you may have had.

content: idol!au, staff!reader x idol!jungkook, jungkook is shameless about his crush on reader, but it's fine bc reader likes him back!!, reader acts hard to get bc her job is too important though boo, afab reader, banter, jk is a flirt, reader is a little bit shy, a lot of rlly wrong info about working in the industry, smut, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 924 (teaser); 7.7k (full fic)

release date: may 31st

or you can check it out on my ko-fi or patreon today by subscribing to either one!

a/n: ive had this in the drafts for a while but kept forgetting to finish it lol anyways i hope u guys enjoy it once it comes out<3 (also not 100% proofread oops..)

masterlist | kofi/patreon

support me through a one time tip<3

Whenever you'd tell someone you worked within the entertainment industry, – the music industry, to be precise – people always showed a little extra interest in your words, probably assuming you to be involved in the flashier aspects of it. The statement on it's own sounded exciting, enigmatic even. This would only then be followed by disappointed upon finding out your specific profession of choice, deeming it less exciting than most.

You were a manager. No, you were not an active member of the entertainment industry itself, but you were one of the many pillars necessary for the talent to create the entertainment people would always seek.

Being as young as you were, it had been hard to get to where you were so quickly. Networking had been your best friend all throughout your career, eventually landing you in your current role – one that would only open even more doors for you.

It had only been a week since you had received a call from your friend – an old friend from an internship who just so happened to be a former Hybe video producer – letting you know of a recent opening as one of the many managers at the company. Having been between gigs at the time, you jumped at the chance without a second thought. Hybe? The biggest entertainment company in Korea? You didn't need any details before agreeing.

It was a few days later in which you found out the details. The opportunity had been even more life-altering than you'd thought.

Originally, you had believed you'd end up becoming manager to one of the many brand new rookie groups in the growing company. With so many surging youth in the industry, it made sense to you that you'd be assigned such a role, not having had any prior experience within Hybe itself.

Except that wasn't the case. Having previously worked and interned at a few other South Korean entertainment companies through the years, it seemed like Hybe deemed you experienced enough to assign you the role of becoming a senior artist's manager.

Jeon Jungkook.

Senior artist had been an understatement. Those had been the words written in your contract, explaining your role in excruciating detail, yet failing to mention that your client would be Korea's most popular singer.

You couldn't lie, you were insanely intimidated by your new role. Despite being proudly skilled at your job, becoming the manager of an idol who had been in the game for longer than you'd even been out of college was a bit scary. Jungkook had gone from the absolute bottom to the top, he had most likely lived through it all by now – what kind of expertise could you offer someone who had already seen it all?

Being manager of an idol differed slightly from managing any other person. Idol companies usually handled the schedulings, bookings, and the legalities of their artists. As a manager, you somewhat took the role of a bodyguard. You were meant to show up everywhere Jungkook went and become his spokesperson – vying for him as if your life depended on it.

And now it was too late to back out – not that you actually wanted to. All paperwork had been signed, you had your own personal Hybe badge and all the benefits that came along with working at the company. Any feelings of intimidation or fear for the role would have to be put aside as you walked into the Hybe building to meet with your new client; the boy you'd have to stick by 24/7 from now on.

You weren't sure what you were expecting upon meeting him. It wasn't like there would be any special introduction, or even as if you were his sole manager; no, he actually had a few others who would occasionally aid him in the absence of his main manager, which was now you. Today was a workday for him, meaning that he likely already had a few people in supportive roles as he did whatever it was that Jeon Jungkook did while working.

Walking into the huge building, after getting lost a few times, you made your way to the seventh floor, which, as you'd been informed, had various rooms designated for photoshoots. That's where you'd find Jungkook for the first time, presumably having one of the many shoots scheduled for this week.

Having possession of his schedule made you realize how busy idol life was. Despite having no public schedules all this week, he had a packed itinerary, filled with either shoots or signings or producing sessions. You hadn't even met him yet, but you were already assured that he was overly hardworking – and you had maybe also stalked him online this past week.

It was very unlikely you'd even speak to him, seeing how busy he was. Your duty, after all, was just to be one of the many members of his team, taking care of any logistics as you went around with him, but not taking away from his time by socializing with him.

Upon entering the room, he was the first thing you noticed. Ignoring every other person working the room, your eyes focused specifically on him. It was hard not to, since he was quite literally standing under the spotlight, modeling for a camera. But it was more than that. He had an aura that filled up the room. Putting aside every stylist and photographer in the room, every staff member and intern, he was truly the epitome of main character.

Fuck. Was this going to cause trouble?

....

you can check it out today on my ko-fi or patreon by subscribing to either one!

[hotreadingwitch]

Bucky x Reader - Whiskey & Wine

Content Warnings/Kinks: OMEGAVERSE-ish, arranged marriage, praise kink, alpha kink, cum swallowing/play, choking, licking, hickeys, fingering, oral sex, penetrative vaginal sex (+ knotting), impregnation/breeding

Silent, stoic, cruel even, but undeniably 100% Alpha. Y/n had only heard reverent praise and scared whispers regarding the character of her soon-to-be husband James “Bucky” Barnes. She figured it was lower-level werewolves, ones with no real connection to him, that spoke of him this way. Maybe, though logic made her think otherwise, he was simply a kind man with a bad reputation. Surely not, but all she could do was hope…

~ 

The traditional march played as the wedding planner, a female werewolf of her future husband’s pack, ushered her down the aisle. Almost tripping on her heels, she tried her best to put one foot in front of the other. She passed her parents, the same ones who’d offered her up for the engagement in the first place, as well as members of both their packs sitting within the small church. Bucky’s back was broad, his stance dominant, powerful, and intimidating. Only when she was firmly planted next to him did he finally spare her a glance. 

His gaze flicked up and down her face, as if he were tracking her or waiting for a particular shift in expression, one of fear perhaps, like he was used to seeing. She jutted her chin, packing away the stories of malice she’d heard about the man standing beside her at the alter, for sanity’s sake if not for her own self-preservation, because, though potentially cruel, he was possibly the most beautiful person she’d ever seen in her life. Her face must’ve flickered with the internal conflict warring within her because Bucky’s gaze sharpened, drinking her in like he’d sip whiskey over ice, slowly and with leisurely purpose. 

Then, just as he’d finished looking her up and down, clear hunger in his eyes, his nostrils flared and his eyes widened. She knew then, flush creeping up the back of her neck, that they’d noticed it at the exact same time…the scent, the intoxicating smell. To her, he oozed of leather, wood, salt, and fire, but also, somehow, of home. His scent was so strong it was almost like a siren’s call. What she smelled of to him she did not know though it seemed he was struggling similarly. Her lips parted as her cheeks heated, almost curious enough to ask, as if the eyes of both their packs weren’t watching curiously from the church pews mere feet away. 

“Ready, Alpha?” the officiant asked, clearing his throat. 

Bucky’s stare was icy, causing the other man to jump slightly. It was as if he didn’t wish for the moment to be interrupted. She tucked that information, as well as the overwhelming realization of what his scent meant, away to deal with after the ceremony. 

Y/n could barely focus on the words the officiant was saying. The religious component of weddings had never truly interested her. After a while, they were coming close to the end of their vows, 

“…through sickness and health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part? The officiant asked. 

“I do” Bucky responded, with so much certainty it startled Y/n. 

“And you, Y/n’ he prompted, “do you promise to take James through sickness and health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?”

The arrangement between them was to broker peace between two confrontational tribes, a marriage made for her on behalf of her parents and his mother. He was older than her by maybe 10 years or so, having just ascended, becoming the Alpha of his pack when his father died. She met his gaze, feeling suddenly, for the first time as if she had a choice. It was something in the open way he was looking at her that made her feel as if she could trust him, as if she didn’t need, let anyone want, to run anymore. 

“I do” 

Bucky’s shoulders sagged in relief and Y/n was so fixated on the movement that she almost didn’t hear the officiant say, “You may now kiss the bride…”

Y/n’s face heated as Bucky gazed at her with nothing but pure want. The hostility they’d both had prior to meeting each other simply melted away, as did the rows of werewolves viewing the moment between them. His hand gently gripped her face, tilting her face upward. Her eyes fluttered closed as he came closer until suddenly his warm lips brushed against hers. 

It was modest, controlled even, and over within seconds. In other words, Bucky’s kiss was nothing like what she’d expected. As she opened her eyes disappointment coursed through her until her eyes caught on his. That smirk, that slight narrowing of his dark gaze. He might not be giving it to her now but he sure as hell would be when a hundred pack members weren’t looking at them in their hotel room that night. 

The crowd cheered as they turned toward them. Bucky’s lips grazed her ears then and she could practically hear the smile in his tone when he said, “Later…” 

She blushed, taking his hand before making their way up the aisle, walking towards the big church doors and their future. 

~

Click. The door locked behind them. 

Bucky’s tall form moved towards her, easily overpowering her space with just a few steps. The hotel they’d been put up in for the night was massive, overlooking the city’s famous skyline, with a king-size bed in the centre of the space. His hand rested on her waist, his thumb caressing her skin. Even the heat from his hand through the fabric of her dress was enough to make Y/n's feelings from earlier all come to the surface. Y/n gazed up at him and judging by the way his tongue ran across his bottom lip, he could tell exactly what she was thinking about. 

“I don’t want to overstep Y/n…” Bucky started, his hand still grazing her waist. 

“I want you to” she interrupted, “Overstep, I mean…I want whatever you’ll give me tonight” 

He cleared his throat and for a second she thought she may have misread the situation, his lingering looks, his words…his scent. Insecurity made her cheeks heat. 

“But only if that’s what—“ 

“Shh,” his hands moved to her warm cheeks before his lips landed on hers, silencing her self-doubt in seconds. She’d normally balk at a guy telling her to shush and yet when Bucky did it her feminist cares went out the window. He kissed her fiercely then, humming onto her lips with pure satisfaction. His hands moved down to her ass as they stumbled backward towards the bed, pushing her down onto the silky sheets. He chuckled darkly as she bit at his bottom lip, dragging her sharp teeth across the delicate skin, “You’re gonna be trouble aren’t you?”

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be” she found herself whispering back, eyes still closed. 

“And if I just want you Y/n? 

That got her to look at him, to truly look, intently searching his gaze. 

“Then you’ll have me” Y/n finally kissed him again, groaning into his mouth as his hands travelled across her body, “Take me, Bucky please, I need you…” 

His hands moved down, checking her expression to make sure she was both turned on and willing, pushing her wedding gown up so that it sat around her waist. 

“Fuck” he swore at the sight of her. 

“Like what you see, husband?” She joked, playfully showing off her lacy, white panties to him.

But all she could do was gulp as his eyes darkened quicker than a rolling storm and he began to slowly roll up his shirt sleeves until they rested just below his elbows, giving her a front-row seat to his strong, veiny forearms. 

“This arrangement is not—” he started only to stop and collect himself, rubbing at his stubbly chin, “You may joke about it now Y/n but the next time the word ‘husband’ comes out of your mouth it’ll be because you can’t help but scream it” 

Before she could even respond, his hands were back on her, caressing the underside of her thighs, spreading her legs wide with gentle but firm pressure. She gasped as he slid her underwear to the side, hungrily taking in the sight of her slick pussy. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked for me baby…” he groaned as his fingers started to run up and down her slit, “…Ruining these pretty little panties”

She whined in response, his fingers felt so good her eyes fluttered shut, her brain zeroing in on the pleasure. 

“Is that okay?” 

“Yes,” she whimpered at the gentle contact, bucking her hips up to meet his touch. 

“Good” he declared, his confidence infectious, turning her on even more. 

“Yes,” her voice was breathier now, desire taking over her body and mind, the need to please him stronger than her will to live. 

Bucky’s finger traced up from her slit to her clit, the simple motion making her shiver and moan softly. He rubbed circles around and around it, languidly, as if he could tease her pussy all day. Her slick made his subtle movements smoother than silk. 

“Such a pretty pussy baby” he kissed at her inner thigh, his growl muffled as he sucked on her skin, “So fucking hot…and all fucking mine” 

Bucky touched her like she was a goddess, like he believed she deserved to come again and again, as long as it was for him and only him. And she could tell it turned him on to touch her. Not only did his pants look extra tight, but his gaze was dark, and his cheeks flushed beneath brown stubble. He groaned as she ground her hips up, feeling his fingers with more pressure, making her eyes flutter shut. 

“Look at me Y/n or I’ll stop touching you right now” 

When her eyes snapped open, Bucky’s gaze was piercing. 

He came up her body as slow as a predator, his tongue grazing her neck in a strong line, cool air tracing where he’d licked mere seconds later. She couldn’t help but shiver. The smooth lick turned to kisses, a smattering of gentleness that combatted his strong command over her pussy and made her melt into him, somehow even more than she already was. 

“…I need you to look at me while I fuck you with my fingers, okay baby? Can you do that for me?” He said as he slunk back down.

“Yes,” she gasped needfully, not taking her eyes off of him. 

“Yes, who?” 

“Yes Alpha” she whined, pulling his hand back to her. 

He slid two fingers into her wet hole, up to the knuckle, and she rocked her clit against his palm, chasing her high, taking everything he was giving to her and more without once breaking his gaze. His other hand mapped her thighs, tracing over her soft skin, almost obsessively. Her back arched at the feeling. 

“So wet, so fucking tight…” his lips pressed between her thighs, causing her to gasp.

She whimpered and whined with every flick of his tongue as he licked like her pussy was coated in the sweetest honey. 

“My needy baby…” He goaded her, making her groan, “Are you gonna cum all over this tongue?”

“Yes, fucking yes” she growled, gasping, “Don’t stop” 

His fingers pumped, curling inside her as they did, his tongue lapping at her clit, until she was on the edge. Her body felt suspended in the air as if she was about to free fall. Back arching, she came, bursting all over his expert tongue. Only after she’d shuddered her way through the feeling did Bucky stop, removing his soaked fingers and sucking up all her juices. 

“See that wasn’t so hard baby” he smirked. 

“Yeah?” She glared, “Why don’t we see how long you can last being teased like that?” 

Bucky’s eyes slowly lifted to hers, “You’re that desperate for my cock?” She aimed to gently slap his shoulder playfully but he caught her hand, grasping it tightly in his, “And here I thought you were a good girl Y/n…or maybe you just want to be fucked like you’re bad?” 

She couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her lips. Bucky grinned fully, canines on display, before throwing her further up the bed. 

“Hands and knees” he commanded, his voice thick with lust. 

The time for teasing was clearly over. Y/n flipped over, adjusting herself so that she was in the position he wanted. If her first mistake was being too playful, then her second was looking back over her shoulder just in time to see Bucky unzip his pants and pull out his giant cock. 

“It’s too big Bucky…” she whined at the sight, tightening instinctively.

“You can take it baby” he stroked her clit softly between kisses on the back of her neck, warming her up again, “I know you can”

His praise made her practically light up inside. If he said she could take then that meant surely she could. To show she wanted it, she arched her back, letting out a small “please” 

He spread her folds, opening her entrance to him before sliding in. She moaned at the feeling, not able to help the way her insides clenched immediately around him. Throwing her back, she was already beyond being far gone. Bucky’s hands swept across the swell of her ass, squeezing the flesh so hard she felt the action in her bones. He thrust slowly, teasing her, dipping his cock in and out of her until he was completely coated in her juices. 

“Fucking soaked for me” he growled as he continued, “You've been thinking about taking my cock all night baby?” 

“Yes” she whimpered and fuck, she really was a complete mess for him, putty in his veiny, sexy hands. 

Bucky’s thrusts continued, speeding up slightly until she couldn’t help but beg him to go faster. 

“Please…” Y/n whined, flustered by his teasing cock, “I need it…it—faster—fuck” 

His hands ran up the space between her breasts from behind before settling around her neck, pulling her up so that her back was flush with his hard chest. Her heartbeat thundered beneath his palm as he squeezed, the pressure gentle but firm.

“You need what, baby?” His voice was rough in her ear, the sound of his breath so erotic she almost came right then and there, “Use your words and tell me like a good girl” 

“I need you to fuck me faster—roughly, please” 

If her request felt stupid to express aloud, Y/n’s embarrassment was literally fucked out of her instantly with the power of Bucky’s next thrust. Her back arched, making his cock hit deeper and causing her to gasp. He slammed into her relentlessly and when she looked back he had that feral grin on his face again. It was like he needed it like this, hard and fast, too. 

“Bucky…” she whimpered, the noise garbled in her throat. 

“Yeah, say my name baby, fucking scream it” he growled, his voice both intimidating and warm.

She clenched tighter around him, moaning at the intensity of the feelings her body was experiencing. He nudged her legs farther open with his knee in response, pushing deeper, eliciting another rumbling groan from her. 

“…Right there” she whispered breathily as his groans of pleasure tickled the shell of her ear, turning her on even more. 

He thrust and thrust and thrust, pushing so deep into her she thought he’d break her. But she didn’t break, in fact, she felt that with Bucky she probably never would. Moaning she bounced her hips back, driving into him, her pussy practically grabbing him and pulling him further inside. Her mind was turned on by Bucky sure, but her body, that was another thing altogether. She seemed to be having a reaction to him that even her mind couldn’t control. It was something deep within her that was attracted to Bucky, something both restless and needy and cellular. 

Logically, she knew he must be her mate. Logically, she knew that having a mate, having sex with a mate, was explosive. What she didn’t know was just how explosive it would truly be. 

“As soon as I smelled you, I knew you belonged to me” he groaned, his thrusts puncturing each sentiment, “Sweet wine, berries in the summertime…Perfect, you’re fucking perfect for me Y/n” 

“I feel—“ her breathing became more and more laboured with each thrust, “—the same way” 

His strong hand, gripped her face, tilting her lips backwards to meet his. Their kiss was passionate and full of all the things they both wanted to say. But they’d found each other, by a stroke of luck they had, and that was all that mattered. Words could wait. 

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna cum…” he groaned, his grip on her hips tightening even more, “You know what’s about to happen, baby?” 

“Yes,” she affirmed, telling him that she understood before whining, “Please..” 

Y/n could feel it swelling beneath her but it didn’t scare her, if anything it made her want his cum more. The need to have him filling her was so intense, her pussy clenched harshly around him. With any other man her tightening that much would surely push him out but not with Bucky, not with her mate. She could feel his knot, his wet lips on her neck, his hand reaching down to flick at her clit, each pleasure making her gasp. Bucky was everywhere but more importantly, he was everything. 

“Squeeze me, yes—fuck” he growled in her ear, “Taking me so good—taking all this cum for your Alpha” 

“Yes, yes, yes—shit” she chanted, her body blissed out as the waves of her orgasm began to wash over her, “Please don’t stop” 

“I won’t baby, never” 

It was Bucky’s lust, his confession, and his confidence in their future together that sent her fully over the edge. 

“Fuck” he breathed in a harsh breath as her pussy started to milk him. 

She breathed in deeply, holding it in her lungs as the pleasure washed over her, making her body twitch and her back arch. And Bucky held her through it all. His hands roved over her with reverence, taking in her perfect form as it writhed before him as if he was in awe of his skill and how he was able to make her feel that good. 

Only when she’d finally finished and he’d deflated, did he pull out of her. She knew then that, after this experience, they’d never part. They’d needed to fuck it out and now the rest of their lives would be better for it. His lips met hers before he began tracing her warm skin, planting kisses in the wake of his gentle fingers. 

“You know…” she started, blushing as she immediately caught his focus, “You told me what I smelled like to you but I didn’t tell you what you smell like to me” 

“And what do I smell like?” He smiled playfully, eyes still soft and hazy from his orgasm. 

“Home” 

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Eleven-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, Toxic Behaviour, Jealousy, Possessive Behaviours, Manipulation, Sexual Aggression, Angst, Emotional Manipulation, Slytherin!Boys, Weaponizing!EnzoBerkshire.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

Friday morning arrived, but you found yourself ensnared by an unwelcome visitor: illness. Your usual vibrant energy was replaced by a lethargic heaviness, your throat scratchy, and your head pounding with each heartbeat. Emily's concerned eyes followed your every move at the breakfast table, her worried whispers barely audible above the hum of the Great Hall.

Thursday had been a disaster. Despite the guild meeting's anticipation, you couldn't summon an ounce of excitement. The prospect of seeing Tom, once a source of thrill and exciting opportunities, now felt like a daunting challenge. As you walked past him, you avoided his gaze, keeping your eyes fixed on the floor and not daring to converse with him outside of a few small shared words during the meeting. Ignoring him was a desperate attempt to shield yourself from the whirlwind of conflicting emotions that threatened to consume you.

Every fiber of your being wanted to be excited, but the illness, accompanied by the haunting words from Mattheo, had drained you of joy and left only a hollow emptiness. The guild meeting, once a highlight of your week, felt like a distant obligation. Your world had shifted, leaving you adrift in a sea of uncertainty and discomfort, the very essence of your existence shaken by the turmoil within.

"Are you okay?" Emily's voice sliced through the quiet, laced with concern. "You look like you're about to faint."

"I'm just not feeling well," you replied, your voice barely audible above the buzz of the Great Hall.

The words that left your lips were somewhat true, but they were a mask over your real problems. A torrent of conflicting emotions churned within you, the chaos of Mattheo's unpredictable behavior warring with the complexities of your situation with Tom. Each thought pulled you in a different direction, leaving you in a state of internal turmoil that threatened to consume you whole. Despite your efforts to hide it, the storm inside your mind was evident in your eyes, a silent plea for understanding that you were desperate to keep hidden.

Emily's concerned expression softened into one of understanding, her eyes reflecting the depth of her friendship with you. She didn't press further, sensing the boundaries you had set. Instead, she offered you a gentle, reassuring smile.

"You've been working so hard," she said, softly. "You should cancel your tutoring tonight. You need a bloody night off--you're working yourself sick."

Internally, your turmoil grew. If only Emily knew the real reason behind your illness, the tangled web of secrets and emotions that threatened to suffocate you. The rule-breaking involvement with Mattheo weighed heavily on your conscience, a constant reminder of the dangerous path you were treading, one that was bound to explode at some point, one that was certain to bring your entire world crashing down with it when it did.

Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to confide in Emily, to burden her with the knowledge of your own reckless choices. The fear of judgment and the complexities of your feelings kept you silent, trapped in a cycle of self-imposed secrecy.

"I appreciate your concern, Emily," you replied, forcing a weak smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I honestly think I might just do that...I'm going to tell him now."

Emily's face fell, her eyes widening with a mix of worry and disbelief. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but the words died on her lips. Before she could voice her concerns or attempt to hold you back, you were already rising from your seat, your determination etched on your face like a battle flag. With every step toward the Slytherin table, your gaze bored into Mattheo's disheveled appearance like a laser, an unspoken challenge burning in your eyes.

Your feet carried you forward with purpose, each step echoing your heartbeat which relentlessly thundered in your ears, drowning out the ambient sounds of the bustling Great Hall. The world around you blurred, the faces of your fellow students becoming mere smudges of colour as you zeroed in on Mattheo. A surge of adrenaline coursed through your veins, urging you forward even as doubt gnawed at the edges of your mind.

As you drew closer, you realized the gravity of your decision, the precariousness of the situation you were about to confront, but in that moment, you knew you were already in too deep, you knew that there was no turning back.

"Riddle."

You uttered, your voice slicing through the air like a dagger. However, it was as if your words were swallowed by an invisible void; no one at the table even remotely acknowledging your presence.

"Riddle."

You repeated, your tone sharper this time. This caught Draco Malfoy's attention, his sharp, silver eyes locking onto yours with predatory amusement. His smirk, a cruel curve etched on his lips, seemed to mock your efforts. You shot him an eye roll, dismissing his silent taunts, but it only fueled his amusement, his head tilting slightly in enjoyment. Frustration simmered beneath your skin, a restless energy seeking an outlet. Exasperation surged through you, a tempest of emotions threatening to burst from within.

"Mattheo!"

You finally exclaimed, the name carrying the weight of your frustration and determination. The word hung in the air like a thunderclap, freezing everyone at the Slytherin table in their tracks. The effect was immediate and profound. It was as if you had tossed a live wire onto the table, sending shockwaves through the once-buzzing atmosphere.

A sudden, eerie silence descended upon the Slytherin table. The lively chatter ceased abruptly, and every single pair of eyes turned toward you with an intensity that bordered on disbelief. Berkshire, Zabini, Nott, Black, Malfoy, and Riddle, as well as a few unfamiliar faces, locked their gazes onto yours, each expression mirroring a different shade of astonishment--ranging in various raised eyebrows to widened, shocked eyes.

Before you had a chance to compose yourself, Berkshire, seated directly in front of you, sported a wide, contemptuous grin, his eyes gleaming with disdain.

"Well, well, look who's decided to grace us with her presence," Enzo sneered, his tone dripping with condescension. "Did you finally tire of your precious textbooks, sweetheart? Or are you just here to make a fool of yourself?"

Mattheo's eyes widened in mild astonishment, his usual mask of indifference momentarily slipping as he watched the scene unfold. His lips twitched, almost forming a smirk, but he remained silent, keenly observing the confrontation.

You straightened your back, your gaze unwavering as you met Enzo's sneer head-on. "I'm not here to entertain you, Enzo," you replied, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "But if you have nothing else to do besides insult people, maybe you should consider finding a hobby that doesn't involve being an insufferable prat."

The table fell into a stunned silence, the previous atmosphere of mockery dissipating like smoke in the wind. Enzo's sneer faltered, his expression contorting into a mixture of surprise and indignation.

Zabini raised an eyebrow in mild amusement. "Looks like this raven has some fuckin' claws...watch out boys..."

Nott stifled a laugh behind his hand, clearly entertained by the unexpected turn of events. Black shot you an approving nod, wordlessly acknowledging your verbal victory, and even Malfoy, though still aloof, seemed intrigued by your bold response.

Mattheo's eyes, however, bore into yours with an unreadable intensity, a hint of something flickering beneath the surface--mixture of surprise, pride, and a touch of something more complicated. Enzo's face flushed with anger, his eyes narrowing into slits as he prepared a retort. However, before he could unleash his reply, Mattheo's voice sliced through the tension like a dagger.

"What do you want, Raven?" His tone was calm, collected, almost entirely unfazed.

Inhaling deeply, you mustered your courage and looked directly into Mattheo's eyes. "I won't be able to make it for potions tonight," you stated firmly, your voice unwavering despite the charged atmosphere. "Feeling a bit under the weather."

Mattheo's lips curled into a subtle smirk, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Under the weather, huh?" he said, his tone laced with feigned concern. "Such a shame. I suppose I'll have to find another way to occupy my evening."

There was a playful challenge in his words, hinting at an unspoken understanding between the two of you. Around the table, the boys exchanged raised eyebrow glances, their expressions laced with sadistic curiosity. Their eyes flicked between you and Mattheo, absorbing the interaction with keen interest, as if trying to unravel the depth of the connection between the two of you. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension, each of them leaning in slightly, eager to catch any nuances in your conversation, their curiosity piqued by the intriguing dynamic at play.

"I suppose you will," you said, your voice laced with venom. "Enjoy your evening, Riddle."

Just as you attempted to leave, a cold, harsh grip closed around your wrist, making you gasp in surprise. Glancing down, you found Berkshire's twisted face leering up at you, a sadistic smirk playing on his lips.

"If you ever need help getting that stick out of your uptight ass, I'd consider lending a hand," his eyes glinted with malicious intent as he taunted, "of course, for the right price...I'm not as generous as Mattheo."

Your eyes narrowed, fury burning in your veins like wildfire. "Mattheo, generous?" you scoffed, disbelief lacing your words. "That's the last word I'd associate him with."

Berkshire's lips twisted into a cruel smile, his eyes glinting with sadistic satisfaction. "Oh, trust me, little bird," he sneered, leaning in closer, "generosity might not be his best feature--but sometimes, when you're dealing with snakes, it's better to know which one bites less."

His grip tightened briefly before he released you, leaving you seething with anger and frustration. Mattheo's jaw clenched visibly, his fingers curling into fists at Berkshire's audacious words. His eyes narrowed, a storm of anger brewing beneath the surface, but he maintained his composure.

"Watch your tongue, Berkshire." With a chilling calmness, he spoke, his voice laced with a warning tone. "And what did I tell you about fucking touching her?"

His words hung heavy in the air, a subtle threat underlying the calm facade. The atmosphere grew tenser, and even Berkshire seemed to falter slightly under the weight of Mattheo's gaze. The unspoken tension between the two boys crackled, leaving an electric charge in the room.

But then, Berkshire's lips curled into a sinister smile, as if he'd just come to some sudden realization, his eyes glinting with malicious amusement.

"My apologies, Riddle," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, glancing around at all of the other boys at the table. "I didn't realize she was off-limits...but, I have to say, it's quite intriguing, isn't it? The way you guard her so fiercely. Makes one wonder just how close you two really are."

Your irritation swelled, the annoyance becoming almost tangible. How had you thought Mattheo's snark was bad? This guy was in an entire fucking league of his own.

"What truly intrigues me is how someone as insufferable as you manages to function on a daily basis," you hissed, each word dripping with venom, spat out through gritted teeth. "I didn't think it was possible to be more arrogant than Mattheo, but I suppose congratulations are in order. At least you win at something, unlike Quiddit-"

Before you could finish your sentence, Berkshire erupted from his seat, his face contorted with rage, poised to confront you, stalling your lungs in your chest. The rest of the boys swiftly intervened, seizing him and forcefully yanking him back down into his seat, averting a potential escalation of yet another confrontation, each of them exchanging uneasy glances.

Mattheo's demeanor was a storm of barely restrained fury, his eyes dark and blazing with intensity. Despite his efforts to remain composed, the anger seeping from him was palpable, casting a shadow over the entire table.

You shot a scathing look at Berkshire, his gaze avoiding yours as he muttered bitter words under his breath, unwilling to engage in anymore direct confrontation.

Despite the tension, your voice dripped with disdain as you whispered, "bloody pathetic."

The words hung in the air, heavy with disgust, lingering like a ghostly mist--and before anyone had a chance to say anything else, you turned on your heel and left the hall. Each step echoed the frustration and anger that churned within you, the atmosphere thick with the lingering tension of the encounter. As you stormed down the corridor, your footsteps reverberating off the stone walls, you couldn't shake off the seething anger that clung to you like a second skin.

The distant echoes of the Great Hall's chaos faded into the background as you retreated into the quiet corridor, seeking solace from the storm you had unleashed. Just as you began to regain a semblance of composure, Mattheo's voice cut through the air like a sharp blade, his frustration palpable in the way he growled your name. You turned to face him, meeting his intense gaze, where anger and concern danced in his eyes like a tempest.

"The hell was that, Raven? What were you fucking thinking?" he demanded, his footsteps closing in with purposeful strides. His voice, though edged with annoyance, held an undercurrent of worry. "Starting a fight with Berkshire in the middle of the Great Hall? Are you trying to draw unnecessary attention to us?"

"You think I fucking started that?" Your eyes flashed with defiance, refusing to back down despite the intensity of Mattheo's gaze.

"I won't stand there and let him disrespect me, Mattheo," you retorted, your voice cutting through the silence with sharp precision. The weight of his annoyance only fueled your determination. "I'm already your doormat, I won't be his too."

There was a challenging edge to your words, a fire that refused to be extinguished, even in the face of Mattheo's frustration. It was a declaration of your unwillingness to be treated as less than you were worth, a resolve that echoed in the defiant set of your shoulders and the unwavering determination in your eyes. Mattheo's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing with a menacing intensity. He closed the distance between you in a few more swift strides, his presence overwhelming.

"You're not my doormat, Raven," he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "But if you keep pushing...if you keep running your mouth like that, you might just find out what it feels like to be truly under someone's heel...I can't keep defending you without drawing suspicion."

"Oh, look at you...big tough guy, huh?" Your defiance blazed in your eyes, undeterred by Mattheo's threats. You stepped forward, kinking your neck back to catch his eyes. "What are you going to do about it, hm? Get out the belt again? We both know I can handle more than that, Riddle..."

"You're playing with fire, princess..." Mattheo warned, his tone dripping with dark amusement as it dropped to a low whisper. "And we both know how that usually ends, don't we?"

His smirk, etched with wicked allure, deepened into a predatory grin. His eyes, like shards of obsidian, glittered with a potent mixture of dominance and danger. Leaning in, he invaded your personal space, his head tilting slightly as his gaze flickered to your lips, an unspoken challenge lingering in the air. Your pulse quickened, each beat echoing the intensity of the moment. Despite the adrenaline surging through your veins, you met his eyes with unwavering courage, a silent declaration that you would not be easily swayed by his aura of power and intrigue.

"Seems like that's all I do these days," you whispered back, allowing your defiance to blow away with the wind as you remembered why you even ventured to his table in the first place. "I can't do this anymore, Mattheo...I can't keep doing this...whatever the fuck this even is in the first place..."

Mattheo's eyes softened, his usual facade cracking for a moment as he reached out, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your jaw.

"Raven," he murmured, his voice filled with a complexity of emotions, "we're in too deep now...you and I both know there's no turning back..."

The dim light of the corridor cast deep shadows across Mattheo's features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face. His eyes, normally ablaze with confidence, were now clouded with uncertainty, a storm of conflicting emotions. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, adding to the enigmatic aura that surrounded him. As he leaned in, the scent of his cologne wrapped around you, intoxicating and alluring.

"No, Mattheo..." you breathed, turning your head to avoid his lips. "You said no strings but there seems to be a lot of fucking strings...it’s all too much…”

Your inner turmoil churned like a tempest within, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions tearing at the very core of your existence. There was an ache nestled deep in your chest, a painful acknowledgment that you were bound to Mattheo in ways that defied logic and reason. The desire for something genuine, something profound and real, clashed violently with the brutal truth that it could never be.

It was a cruel paradox: Mattheo's possessiveness, his insistence on claiming you, even in the shadowy realms of secrecy, left you feeling both wanted and yet painfully isolated. The longing for an authentic connection battled relentlessly with the reality that this clandestine affair could never transform into something meaningful. You found yourself ensnared in a complex web, a moth irresistibly drawn to a flame, unable to resist its allure despite the inevitable burn.

His games and possessive gestures were merely agonizing reminders of the insurmountable boundaries. Yet, the magnetic pull of his presence, the way he ignited a fire within you, kept you entangled in this perilous dance. Your feelings for him were perplexing, a tumultuous mix of intense desire and seething resentment. He made you experience emotions you had never felt before, confusing you with the sheer intensity of your reactions.

You hated him, despised the way he treated you, yet he had an inexplicable power over you, making you feel both alive and trapped simultaneously. The dichotomy between the pleasure he brought and the pain he inflicted left you utterly confounded, adrift in a sea of emotions, desperately searching for an anchor that seemed forever out of reach.

Mattheo's eyes softened even further as he blinked, catching the flicker of turmoil in your gaze. He stepped back, the intensity of the moment breaking as he ran a hand through his tousled hair, a gesture of frustration and resignation.

"You're just not feeling well..." he said, his voice void of emotion, as though your turmoil was inconsequential, as though your current health state somehow made any fucking difference. "Get some rest, Raven. See you Wednesday."

His words hung in the air like a bitter aftertaste, a reminder of the futility of your situation. With a final, detached glance, he turned away and spun down the dimly lit hall, his figure gradually fading into the shadows. The weight of his indifference settled on your shoulders, a heavy burden that mirrored the ache in your heart. As he disappeared from view, you stood there, alone in the corridor, feeling both abandoned and entangled, like a moth caught in a web of its own making.

—————-

Chapter twelve->

[herrscherofinsanity]

Claiming Hearts

Summary: 4 times Jimin gets jealous and 1 time she actually does something about it.

Fluff? I honestly don't know

Yu Jimin (Karina) x fem!reader

Word count: 1.9k

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Flowers

Jimin lingered by the school entrance, her gaze fixated on you, engaged in a conversation with a classmate. As the conversation progressed, a figure approached the girl Jimin had been staring at, flowers in hand, and a warm smile that ignited a pang of jealousy in Jimin's heart.

The vibrant petals seemed to dance in the air, capturing your attention as you graciously accepted the bouquet. Jimin's grip on her textbooks tightened, her knuckles turning white as she fought the internal battle of unspoken emotions.

"Flowers," Jimin thought, her mind echoing with unvoiced feelings. "Does she know how many times I've wanted to bring her flowers, to express what I feel?" The realization stung, a poignant reminder of the hesitations that had kept her from revealing her true emotions.

Amidst the sea of emotions, Jimin remained hidden, an observer to a scene that fueled the flames of longing within her. The laughter and camaraderie around her seemed to fade as she grappled with the ache of unspoken words.

Eventually, you bid farewell to your admirer, the flowers cradled delicately in your arms. Jimin, hidden in the shadows, watched as you disappeared around the corner. A sigh escaped her lips, a mixture of resignation and determination.

"I can't keep hiding," Jimin mused, resolving to confront the emotions that stirred within her. The path to expressing her feelings lay ahead, and with a determined stride, she ventured into the realm of vulnerability.

With the flowers as a poignant memory, Jimin set forth on a journey to unveil the truth hidden within her heart.

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2. Party People

The pulsating beat of music reverberated through the crowded room as Jimin navigated the sea of partygoers. Spotting you amidst the lively gathering, she couldn't help but marvel at how the ambient lights played on your features, casting a captivating glow.

However, the enchanting moment was abruptly interrupted. Jimin's eyes narrowed as she noticed a line of eager dancers forming around you, each extending an invitation to share a dance. The realization hit her like a sudden gust of wind, unsettling and stirring the familiar sensation of jealousy within.

Jimin observed from a distance, her fingers subtly clenching and unclenching as she contemplated the scene. The rhythm of the music seemed to synchronize with the erratic beats of her heart. It wasn't just about dancing; it was the idea of someone else encroaching on the intimate space Jimin yearned to occupy.

"Does she enjoy their company more than mine?" Jimin questioned, jealousy whispering doubts that lingered beneath her calm exterior. She wrestled with the conflicting emotions, the desire to join the dance battling with the fear of facing a truth she might not be ready to confront.

As the party continued to pulse around you, Jimin found herself at a crossroads. Should she step into the dance, embracing the opportunity to be close to you, or should she retreat and grapple with the jealousy that threatened to consume her?

The music carried on, echoing the unspoken sentiments that lingered in the air.

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3. Seating Arrangement:

The lecture hall buzzed with the hum of conversations as students settled into their seats. Jimin, ever attentive to your presence, scanned the room. Today's lecture seemed to hold an unexpected twist as Yunjin, a fellow classmate, approached you, saving you a seat next to her.

Jimin's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of discomfort settling in. The proximity of another person occupying the space Jimin had come to consider her own ignited a spark of jealousy. The seat next to you had always been Jimin's unspoken refuge, a silent agreement that transcended the need for words.

"Does she not want to sit with me?" Jimin pondered, the green-eyed monster whispering doubts that clawed at the edges of her composure. The internal struggle intensified as she debated whether to approach and stake her claim or to maintain a facade of indifference.

The choice lingered in the air, a silent challenge to confront the feelings that danced beneath the surface. Jimin, caught between the desire for closeness and the fear of rejection, watched as you settled into the newly claimed seat, the distance between you magnified by the invisible barrier of unspoken emotions.

As the lecture began, the unoccupied seat next to Jimin echoed with the weight of unexpressed sentiments. The dynamics of your connection seemed to shift, leaving Jimin grappling with the unforeseen challenge of redefining the unspoken bonds that had once held you two close.

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4. Three’s a crowd:

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting warm hues across the campus grounds as you and Jimin prepared to embark on your usual journey home together. It was a ritual you both cherished, a moment of solace amid the bustling routine of academic life.

However, on this particular day, a sudden addition to your duo caught Jimin off guard. As you stepped out of the campus gates, you casually invited Yeji, another one of your friends, to join you on the walk home. The unexpected intrusion ignited a spark of jealousy within Jimin, a flicker of discomfort at the prospect of sharing a cherished routine.

"Why would she invite someone else?" Jimin questioned, the unspoken fear of being replaced gnawing at the edges of her thoughts. The dynamics of your friendship, built on the foundation of shared moments, seemed to shift beneath the weight of unforeseen circumstances.

Jimin navigated the sidewalks in silence, her gaze occasionally flickering towards you and your unexpected companion. The trio moved through the fading daylight, the echoes of shared laughter laced with the unspoken tension that lingered beneath the surface.

The once familiar path felt different, Yeji’s unwanted presence casting a subtle shadow over the routine Jimin had come to cherish. Jimin, caught between the warmth of shared memories and the chill of uncertainty, pondered the significance of this unexpected company on the journey home.

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5: Taking matters into my own hands

Jimin strode through the bustling hallway, her heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of her footsteps. The day had taken an unexpected turn as she witnessed Nayeon, a senior known for her charm and confidence, approach you with an invitation that hung in the air like an impending storm.

"This can't go on any longer," Jimin determined, her gaze narrowing as she reached the precipice of her own internal struggle.

Without hesitation, she closed the distance between you, a surge of determination guiding her actions. The sight of you engaged in conversation with Nayeon fueled Jimin's resolve. She couldn't stand by any longer, watching others vie for the affections of the one who held her heart.

"y/n," Jimin's voice cut through the ambient noise, drawing your attention. Startled, you turned towards Jimin, your eyes widening at the urgency in the other girl's expression.

"We need to talk. Now." Jimin declared, seizing your arm and guiding you away from the curious gazes that lingered.

Confusion etched across your face as Jimin led you to an empty classroom, the door closing behind both of you with a resounding click. The confined space amplified the tension, setting the stage for a confrontation neither of you had anticipated.

"Jimin, what's going on?" you questioned, concern furrowing your brow as you faced the visibly distressed taller girl.

Jimin, her emotions teetering on the edge of revelation, took a deep breath. The floodgates of unspoken truths were about to open, and she could no longer suppress the torrent of feelings that threatened to consume her.

"I can't do this anymore, y/n," Jimin admitted, her voice laced with a mixture of frustration and longing. "I can't stand by and watch other people try to win you over when all I want is to be the one who makes your heart race."

A pregnant pause hung in the air as you absorbed Jimin's words, the gravity of the revelation settling between you two. The silence that followed was shattered by the weight of unspoken emotions.

In a vulnerable confession, Jimin laid bare the feelings that had tormented her. "I'm in love with you, y/n. I can't keep pretending that it doesn't hurt to see others vying for your attention."

The revelation hung in the air, a precipice between friendship and something more profound. You felt your own emotions surfacing looking up at Jimin with a mixture of surprise and realization.

"I... I had no idea," you whispered, your own confession echoing in the hallowed silence. "Jimin, I'm in love with you too."

The moment of revelation hung in the air, a delicate dance of vulnerability and acknowledgment. As you confessed your reciprocated feelings, a radiant smile illuminated Jimin's face, eclipsing the shadows of uncertainty that had lingered for too long.

With unabashed joy, Jimin surged forward, enveloping you in an exuberant hug. The confines of the classroom echoed with laughter and the lightness of newfound understanding. Jimin couldn't contain the whirlwind of emotions that cascaded through her, and in a burst of unrestrained elation, she twirled you around, your laughter intertwining like a melody that resonated with the cadence of shared affection.

"I can't believe we both felt the same way," Jimin exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with unbridled happiness. "y/n, would you do me the honor of going on a date with me?"

You gave Jimin the brightest smile she had ever seen, caught in the whirlwind of emotion and the newfound revelation, your eyes reflecting the shared joy between you. "Of course, Jimin. I'd love to go on a date with you."

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Bonus: Mine

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the school courtyard as students meandered through the scattered clusters of conversation. You and Jimin, now blissfully entwined in the magic of newfound love, strolled hand in hand. Yet, amidst the tranquil atmosphere, a familiar figure approached from the periphery.

Jimin's eyes narrowed slightly as she noticed Nayeon making her way toward you, a seemingly innocent smile adorning her features. A pang of protective jealousy surged within Jimin, prompting her to take swift action.

With a determined stride, Jimin intercepted Nayeon just as she reached you. Ignoring the subtle surprise in Nayeon's gaze, Jimin wrapped her arm around your waist, pulling you close. In a bold declaration, Jimin pressed a gentle yet possessive kiss on your lips, the embodiment of claiming what was rightfully hers.

A chorus of whispers and gasps rippled through the onlookers, and Jimin, slightly flustered by her own audacity, glanced at you with a sheepish smile. "Just making sure everyone knows you're taken," Jimin teased, her eyes sparkling with a mix of playfulness and genuine affection.

Amused by Jimin's impromptu display, you chuckled softly. "Jealous much?"

Jimin blushed, feigning innocence. "Me? Jealous? Never," she replied, her voice layered with a hint of mock defensiveness.

The newfound couple, caught in the orbit of this unexpected spectacle, exchanged glances and knowing smiles. Jimin, triumphant in her quest to ward off potential suitors, and you, reveling in the endearing quirks of your girlfriend, continued your journey through the school courtyard, hand in hand, your love story etched in the tender moments that unfolded with each shared step.

And so, in the glow of the fading daylight, you and your girlfriend embarked on a journey filled with laughter, love, and the sweet anticipation of a future painted in the hues of your intertwined hearts.

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A/N: Hi, hello! The following 5 weeks might actually be the death of me, but oh well. I hope you enjoy this work, and also, thank you so much for reading!

[soapyghostie]

Hey! Absolutely random request, but imagine reader being a tired person that out of wounds and stress they just fall asleep when they're being carried, about to go on a hook. How would the dbd killers(any, really) react?

Like, imagine. Being carried, without anything under legs can already make someone sleepy if they don't have adrenaline pumped through their veins. Plus, i know that having wounds(aka blood loss) can make people very tired.

Since this request it a little vague, I decided to get a little creative with it and wrote some angst because I’m a sucker for angst with dad slashers (except Frank is your big brother in this request). 😭 Hope you enjoy!

The Ghost Face/Danny Johnson

Danny would be confused at first, bloodlust still kicking through his veins even after killing all our teammates as he carries you, his injured daughter, to the hook (Sorry (Y/N), he’s just doing his job. No hard feelings). He’ll pause for a moment, trying to process the fact that you feel asleep on his shoulder.

As he realizes that you fell asleep due to exhaustion and stress from your wounds, Danny’s demeanor would soften and his parental instincts within him kicks in. He’ll gently adjust you in his arms from being thrown over his shoulder to being carried bridal style, ensuring that you’re comfortable even as he still proceeds to hook you. 

Seeing you in such a vulnerable state would stir up a lot of internal conflict in Danny. He’s torn between his role as a merciless killer and his love for you as his daughter as he hesitates to sacrifice you to the Entity. Danny’s had a lot of bad performances in trials lately and he really needs the 4K. However, to get the 4K he needs to sacrifice you. Of course it has to be you: the Entity is so cruel. 

As to not get punished by the Entity, sadly, Danny will throw you onto the hook. Danny would feel a pang of remorse and sadness. He knows that he’s the cause of your pain and exhaustion, and seeing you in such a vulnerable state serves as a painful reminder of the life he’s subjected you to. He silently reflects on his actions and their consequences. He’ll gaze at your sleeping form dangling from the hook, grappling with the complexities of his emotions and the choices he made. 

Despite his conflicted emotions, Danny remains committed to his role in the Entity’s twisted game. However, Danny’s determination to protect you remains unwavering. He’ll play the Entity’s game and continue this dark path as a killer if it means to ensure your safety as he doesn’t want you to be harmed as a result of his shortcomings… 

The Legion/Frank Morrison

Frank would be initially shocked and panicked to see you, his younger sister, in such a vulnerable state. Despite his tough ‘bad boy’ exterior, he deeply cares about you and seeing you hurt triggers his protective instincts. 

The sight of you falling asleep from exhaustion and stress while carrying you to the hook fills Frank with anger and frustration. He’ll curse under his breath, feeling powerless to protect you and frustrated with the situation at hand. First off, your god damn heavy after going unconscious and, secondly, he has no choice but to hook you due to the amount of failed trials he’s had lately to try and please the Entity. 

Despite his anger, Frank, also like Danny, would feel a sense of inner conflict. On one hand, he wants to lash out at the Entity for throwing her into a trial with him, but on the other hand, he knows he has to get the 4K by hooking you so you end up safe and sound at the survivor camp instead of the agony the Entity threatened to put you through if he didn’t start stepping it up in trials. You’re the reason he has the strength to keep going in this awful, twisted game of cat and mouse. 

Frank would grapple with the feeling of guilt and responsibility for your condition. As your older brother, he feels entitled to preventing you from getting hurt in the first place and blames himself for everything that has happened to you. Despite his conflicting emotions, he would carefully and gently place you on the hook, making sure you're as comfortable as possible given the circumstances. As he watches you sleep on the hook, Frank would have a quiet moment of reflection. He reminisces about y’all’s childhood together and vows silently to himself to do whatever it takes to keep you safe. 

Seeing you vulnerable would only fuel Frank’s determination to perform better in trials. He would be even more relentless in his pursuit of survivors, driven by the desire to protect you from the Entity’s hungry claws. 

The Shape/Michael Myers

Michael would pause, a flicker of confusion crossing his expressionless face. The sight of you, his daughter, falling asleep despite the dire circumstances briefly disrupts his usual relentless pursuit to satisfy his murderous desires. 

Deep within his obscured psyche, a conflict brews. While Michael is driven by an insatiable urge to kill, his parental instincts stir, conflicting with his murderous impulses. This momentary hesitation leads to a brief internal struggle, the likes of which observers of Michael would never perceive. 

Despite the task at hand and the chaos of the trial, Michael momentarily freezes, holding your unconscious body with an eerie stillness. His iconic breathing momentarily ceases, as if he too, like Danny and Frank, were contemplating the peculiar situation. 

In a rare display of tenderness, Michael gingerly adjusts your position, ensuring that you're comfortable even as he prepares to hook you. His movements would be precise, almost caring, as if he’s trying to shield you from further harm, even in your unconscious state. As he gazes upon your sleeping form, fragments of memories flicker through Michael’s mind. Images of you as a child, innocent and untouched by the darkness that now envelopes you both, momentarily soften his gaze, perhaps even cause a subtle twitch at the corners of his mouth – a long-forgotten smile. You are his world. 

Ultimately, the weight of his desire to kill and the futility of his attempts to connect with you wash over Michael. With a heavy heart hidden beneath his iconic mask, he proceeds with the task at hand – sacrificing you to the Entity. With a solemn determination, Michael carries you to the hook, his obsession with killing eclipsing any semblance of any paternal sentiment.

[strrwbrrryjam]

either treat abigail, molly, mary, with respect or die looking down the barrel of my gun

i'm being one hundred percent serious when i say i'm tired of people disregarding and disrespecting them to uplift their queer ships. it's bad and it needs to stop.

like i just read a jovier post where they have john cheat on abigail?what the fuck man.

his love for her is unwavering and he is incredibly committed to abigail, he's so devoted to her, working so hard to create a life for the three of them. john is willing to lay down his life to protect his family, and he does so, rescuing them is his whole motive for seeking redemption in the first game. he would never disrespect abigail like that, he's learned and grown, he's no longer the shithead deadbeat dad when jack was young, he loves her.

arthur still so clearly loves mary, his love remaining steadfast and unwavering even years after their broken engagement, it's so obvious on his face when he looks at her. his heart still yearns for her that when she calls, he comes, even if he's a little miffed at the start, he still goes. honestly, i believe if arthur didn't have other commitments in the gang, he would have run away with her when she asked him.

and while molly and dutch's relationship is tumultuous and dutch absolutely does not deserve her, molly is so important to dutch's character and the story as a whole. molly's loyalty to dutch highlights dutch's charisma and the ways dutch inspires loyalty throughout the gang. her existence also depicts the internal conflicts dutch has and the moral uncertainty of dutch's actions. her presence within the gang and relationship with dutch represents the internal strife and conflicts within the gang, highlighting the human cost of their choices and the sacrifices that are made in pursuit of a false freedom in the old west.

and let's not even mention the treatment eliza, annabelle, bessie and even susan receive, which is hardly any mention at all.

eliza, annabelle and bessie each play small but significant parts to not just their respective partners, but to the story as a whole.

eliza shapes arthu’rs past and motivations. her tragic death, along with their son, isaac, has a large impact on arthur and his present relationships, such as abigail and jack. their memory serves as a driving force of arthurs path to redemption.

annabelles fate fuels dutch's vendetta against colm and the o'driscolls, and adds personal stakes to the gang as a reminder of the consequences of their life as an outlaw.

and bessie, oh bessie, not only does she add depth to hosea and represents hosea's wishes for a more peaceful life, but hosea loves her so much that when coming to terms with his inevitable death, whether by gunshot or sickness, the mere chance of reuniting with bessie brings him so much comfort, despite the fact that he fears that bessie lives above, while hosea will be traveling down below.

susan is a very controversial character due to her treatment of the women in the gang and her murdering molly, who did not betray the gang, both of which i do not condone, but it is impossible to deny her importance to the story. not only was, from what we know, dutch's first woman, coming before annabelle and molly, she also served an important role in the gang, acting as an authority figure, maintaining order and discipline within the gang where tensions often rise. she serves as an emotional anchor, which is incredibly important when death is constantly looming over you and adds so much depth and complexity to the story of rdr2.

when you ignore and disregard these characters you are undermining the depth and the richness of the story, each of these characters are important to the story. if you wish to truly appreciate the storytelling of rdr2, it is important to recognize and respect each of these characters.

[burr-ell]

Conflict, Communication, and Chemistry: A Laura and Marisha PC Appraisal

A couple of people have observed across all three main campaigns that Laura and Marisha consistently make characters that ultimately don't seem to fully understand each other for various reasons, and their characters' chemistry (or lack thereof) is an outgrowth of that. And until recently, I thought that was one of those things that I personally saw but not everyone else was obligated to view the same way—chemistry is often subjective, and it’s for that reason that I tend not to take seriously a lot of the common shipping-based arguments about chemistry.

But in the most recent 4-Sided Dive, Marisha, Laura, and Sam said this:

MARISHA: I have enjoyed…of course, like, delving into the relationship is always fun, but then relationship tension is also fun. LAURA: Yeah, I feel like you guys [points between Marisha and Sam] are really big on—you really like relationship conflict too. You guys talk about that a lot. SAM: Of course. Because I don’t have any in my real life. LAURA: I’m terrified of conflict. That translates to the game as well, I don’t like conflict. SAM: You don’t like conflict? Even in the game, in this dramatic storytelling game that we’ve made together? LAURA: No! I don’t like fighting! SAM: You just want everything to go fine? LAURA: Yes!

And I think that made things click into place for me. This is the reason why their characters have this through-line, because their approaches to conflict bleed through to their character choices. Laura's characters’ issues tend to be internal; they tend not to have prolonged fights with other characters, and their arcs are often person-vs-self stories about emotional walls and struggling with self-centeredness in some capacity. Marisha's characters, on the other hand, are upfront about their problems and are completely unafraid to go toe-to-toe with other party members, and their character development is often a product of a straightforward person-vs-person or person-vs-society story about overcoming their physical obstacles. And it’s part of why their current characters’ relationship has played out in a way that’s strange and off-kilter, because their interactions do not read to me like the players really understood this about each other before the public talk show discussion quoted above.

In Campaign 1, Vex and Keyleth’s relationship is conspicuous by its absence; even within their superficial commonalities, they are not particularly drawn to each other beyond circumstance. Vex is unquestionably the leader of Vox Machina insofar as they have one, and she does this by consistently finding a compromise—when the group is arguing about their best course of action in Whitestone or Westruun or Draconia or the Nine Hells, Vex is the one who mediates and strategizes their way out. She's very good at seeing all sides of an issue, threading the needle, and coming to a decision that keeps the group happy and together. The problem is that she tends to do this at the expense of her personal needs being met; she bottles up a lot of her emotions and issues and she struggles with letting people in, and has to work on not internalizing and holding grudges.

Keyleth, on the other hand, consistently takes stances and isn't afraid to be the moral compass of the party, like when she notices how dark everyone is becoming during the Briarwood arc and fights to correct it. She lets herself feel what she feels rather than pushing it away, which allows her to overcome the physical and mental challenges of her Aramente and affords her more emotional freedom and honesty. Sometimes, though, these traits work against her—she will argue a point and continue to belabor it until someone else steps in; she can be self-righteous due to her own naïveté; and her emotional openness can be poorly-timed and lead her into indecision and dithering. One of the few one-on-one conversations Keyleth and Vex have is after Vex dies and is brought back in the Sunken Tomb, and Vex is quickly exasperated at having to deal with Keyleth’s feelings when she’s the one who died and she’s just trying to piece together what happened.

Vex is often frustrated by Keyleth's hardline beliefs and feelings and has to compromise around them; Keyleth sees conflict in a much more literal way than the internalization and masking that Vex does, and as a result never really digs deeper into who Vex is as a person. By the end of the campaign, they call each other sisters, which I think is appropriate—they're two people who care about each other but have little in common, tied together by the single factor of Vax. Outside of that commonality, there's little reason for them to be especially close the way they are with other members of the party; if there was, they’d have been close at any point throughout the previous 114 episodes.

Beau and Jester form a stronger friendship in Campaign 2, but they seem to understand just enough about each other to get along well while not being able to truly see each other. Jester is cheerful and goofy by nature, but she also projects that particular image in order to make the people around her happy and keep them together. While she will speak her mind, she doesn’t tend to stand at one end or the other of the ideological and political spectrum of issues faced by the Nein and is simply happy to have an adventure and sow some chaos. Even when having difficulties with the Traveler, Jester is willing to work through it and find a solution that works for both of them in order to preserve the relationship.

Beau, meanwhile, approaches the world abrasively and aggressively and is a bit too prepared to burn bridges with people if she thinks they aren’t worth it. While she recognizes the nuances of the conflict between the Empire and the Dynasty, she’s ultimately loyal to the Cobalt Soul’s mission of using knowledge to fight corruption. She’s perfectly happy to butt heads with Caleb or Fjord or Molly if she thinks they’re in the wrong, and her cut-your-losses mentality puts her in conflict with how important the Traveler is to Jester.

This difference is thrown into especially sharp relief not only by how they deal with their respective fathers, but also the response they think the other should have. Jester wants to reconnect with the Gentleman and for him to repair his and Marion’s relationship, while Beau has fully written off Thoreau and has no interest in reconciling. Jester is upset at Beau’s suggestion that she just forget her dad and not put effort into someone who won’t do the same for her, while Beau is less than impressed with Jester’s suggestion that Thoreau really does care about her and it might be worth it to patch things up, and the upshot of it all is that the way everything plays out makes it clear that both of them have badly misread the other’s situation.

Beau, like Keyleth before her, doesn’t seem to understand that Jester is masking a lot of insecurities and wants someone to see her for who she is and not an idealized version of her; Jester actually stops confiding in Beau after Beau tells her she doesn’t need Artagan and that she’s the actual god. Jester, meanwhile, is unwilling to set aside her dreams and fantasies and is at her happiest when she can roam and adventure freely, something for which Beau would not set aside her responsibilities and beliefs in the mission of the Cobalt Soul. They’re still good friends, but going their separate ways is a benefit to both of them.

And now we have Imogen and Laudna, whose relationship felt lacking well before it became romantic. A lot of time and energy has been spent by multiple people trying to articulate exactly why that is, and there are many reasons—Laudna’s concept seems better-suited to a short form narrative and it took about 60 episodes for her character to stop feeling entirely superfluous; the relationship lacks any substantive conflict or disagreement and the supportiveness feels more like a mutual security blanket; they seem to have little in the way of an actual dynamic outside of melodramatic plot moments. But the relevant issue here is that Laudna is, for all intents and purposes, a yes-woman who supports whatever Imogen wants to do simply because Imogen wants it (a trait that notably does not carry over to anyone else in the party—she is completely unafraid to delve into negative emotions and traits with Ashton and Orym, both of whom are played by people Marisha has historically worked with to produce some of the best relationship dynamics on the show). If Imogen wants to run off and live in a cottage or join the Vanguard or commune with Predathos or not commune with Predathos, Laudna will uncritically encourage her no matter what, because per Marisha’s words on the Laudna playlist, “Laudna will protect and attack anyone who tries to fuck with her girl”. Part of Laudna’s core concept, baked in from the beginning, is the belief that Imogen “deserves the world”. Between these two players, the one who enjoys conflict is playing a character who will do everything in her power to shield and soothe the character being played by the one who hates conflict. The result feels less like a healthy supportive relationship and more like a recipe for enablement.

When episode 77 came out, I commented that for the first time I actually started to feel something—anything at all—about Imogen and Laudna, and it’s because I started to get a sense that there might be some real potential for tension and tragedy. And now—between Laudna imploring Imogen to move on from her if she dies, Marisha seeming to suggest at one point that Laudna may not have a future at all, Imogen admitting that she’s outright disgusted by Delilah, the disconnect between the players’ approaches to conflict, Imogen (and Laura, out of character) being shocked and horrified by Laudna absorbing the soul of the Willmaster, and Laudna now intentionally working with Delilah in order to protect Imogen—I’m starting to wonder if their relationship may indeed be on a collision course.

Now this could end in multiple interesting ways: Imogen could be driven away from Laudna, who is slowly consumed by Delilah; Laudna could choose to sacrifice herself to end Delilah for good and Imogen is forced to move on; Imogen and Laudna could Thelma and Louise their way off a cliff; or maybe someone just points out how unhealthy this all is and they start to be more honest and less codependent and their relationship improves after a lot of hard work. But something has to happen. 

Laura and Marisha have, multiple times now, been asked questions about Imogen and Laudna’s relationship that they have answered with varying degrees of “we never really talked about it”, sometimes referring to in-game conversations and sometimes not, and that is both unsurprising and a bad sign of things to come. I don’t know exactly how much out-of-game conversation happened between previous canon relationships that Laura and Marisha have played, but this one desperately needs it—because for three straight campaigns, all we’ve seen is every indication that these are two players who are uniquely ill-suited to play a romance the way either of them would want to.

[baldchristianborle]

Defending Aziraphale cause I KNOW y’all are gonna come for him:

1. a lot of people say that him deciding to go back to heaven is a character regression and doesn’t make sense- but it does! aziraphale has 6000+ years of repressed trauma from doing what heaven tells him! and even if he does seem to be taking steps forward (shades of gray), he never fully takes that big leap away from heaven (very LIGHT shades of gray). you can’t just recover from it!

2. also, we never actually see him get over the demons bad angels good thing. crowley is the only exception to this rule, in his eyes. he still views the Fall as a bad thing, which is why he wants them to be angels together!

3. people are also saying that it’s crazy ineffable bureaucracy got together so fast without too much internal conflict, unlike the (now divorced) husbands. but it makes sense because GABRIEL AND BEELZEBUB RAN THE SYSTEM. AND CROWLEY WAS CLEARLY A HIGH RANKING ANGEL WHO FELL VERY EARLY ON, MAKING HIM VERY DISILLUSIONED WITH THE SYSTEM. aziraphale mever got that chance- he was a lower ranking angel that was beaten down by this system, and as such doesn’t see that it’s the system that’s corrupt, not just the angels within. he still believes that heaven is a GOOD place filled with BAD angels, because he has literally never had the chance to learn otherwise.

and this is why it narratively makes perfect sense for him to become the supreme archangel- he’ll finally be able to see that the idea of heaven is corrupt because he’ll be in charge of it!

4. aziracrow have also been shown to be a direct parallel to nina and maggie. in the last episode, nina says that they’re not ready for a relationship because she just left her incredibly toxic and abusive partner. aziraphale and nina are in very similar situations! he literally just left heaven, which was incredibly toxic and abusive, and might not be ready for a relationship with crowley yet! however, unlike nina, he doesn’t fully believe that his previous situation was toxic, so he goes back- because he hasn’t seen enough to understand!

5. he clearly wants to FIX the system, not just be a part of it, because he is intrinsically such a selfless being. he still hasn’t learned to put what he actually wants before what he thinks everybody needs yet, because, again, he doesn’t understand how heaven works!

in conclusion i love aziraphale and i haven’t slept because i’ve been thinking about the finale so lmk if this doesn’t make sense but i will not be changing my thoughts about aziraphale

ALSO KEEP REWATCHING GOOD OMENS WE NEED SEASON 3

[russanogreenstripe]

So many good moments in Ep 5 of Burrow's End, but this is the one that sets my mind buzzing the most. The idea that community predates identity. We know mama, dada, and baba before we know not only their names, but our own names. And in the season all about family, community, in-group versus outgroup? This feels like such an important idea, and it was came up likely on the spot. It's fascinating to think about, and touches on such big themes about Burrow's End in general.

My mind keeps trying to read "name" as "self," and come up with something like "we have to know others before we know who we are," but I think there's a fundamental error in that idea. Neurologically, we just start off with just "Me" - one of our basic senses is what is "Me" and what is "Not Me." That's fundamental to further categorization, and faults in that sense is where things like depersonalization / derealization come from. Names are just labels, and they're not even the first labels we have for them.

This ties into another point that a lot of people had when watching the trailer at the end of Ep. 4 and during the live reaction of Ep. 5 - the idea that because Sybil was so reluctant to say her brother's name after he died, that it was the result of some top-down oppression within Last Bast and further proof that it's not as idyllic as it seems. Now, Last Bast almost certainly isn't a utopia, and I'm sure we're going to learn more about that in the next episode. And it's possible that it is a top-down enforcement that Sybil, having been raised in Last Bast, has internalized. However, there's a chance this isn't the case.

Less than 30 seconds on Google turns up several cultures that have taboos around speaking the names of the dead - Aboriginal mortuary rituals, the Apache of the Southwest US, the Tolowa tribe of California, the Yanomami on the border of Brazil and Venezuela, certain Romani/Irish Traveller groups, and almost certainly more. While it initially seems unfathomable to Western cultural mores around remembering and memorializing the dead, it's just as possible possible that instead of a method of social control, it's simply a cultural taboo.

https://scholarblogs.emory.edu/gravematters/2017/04/18/aboriginal-mortuary-rituals/

And as Aabria has commented both during the live discussion and general discord channels,

Aabria's a smart cookie, and I trust that she's done plenty of worldbuilding and put tons of thought into how Last Bast's society works. We've seen she's great at her cultural analysis while in the DM's chair in both Misfits & Magic and in A Court of Fey and Flowers. Culture and society are interwoven in all of her games, and where does all that start? With family.

[loaksky]

— 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦

the lowdown — the one where you’re breaking and neteyam picks up the pieces. 

the who — neteyam x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count — 2.1k

the tags & warnings — like two curse words, another really self-indulgent one because i miss neteyam sm heh, established relationship, neteyam is sweet as always and reader has a lot of thoughts / doubts. 

the notes — based off of this request! here is my word vomit because i have no self control lmaooo.

masterlist

No one in particular could tell, but the pressure was crushing you. 

It had started off small, the most minuscule of tickles behind your navel, a tiny niggling in your brain, the softest tension in your shoulders. 

Your parents were notable figures within the Omatikaya, had spent countless years toiling over action plans, working closely with Jake to ensure the safety of the people. 

And as you grew into yourself, into the role that was carved out and waiting for you, you’d begun to realize that there was a lot more riding on your budding relationship with the olo’eyktan’s son. 

You and Neteyam had grown up as friends, had trained diligently together against the landscape of years and years of conflict beginning to come to a head. And when the time had come for you two to begin focusing in more distinct areas of study, the widening berth couldn’t stop the feelings that were kindling. 

“Your heart is soft for Sully’s son.” Your father had made the observation out of the blue in your fourteenth year. 

You hadn’t denied it, couldn’t when his gaze was knowing and your mother couldn’t contain the smile that was creeping onto her lips. And you wouldn’t, of course you wouldn’t, not when the mere mention of Neteyam made your stomach swirl with butterflies and your cheeks insatiably warm. 

“Good,” your mother hummed. “This is good news.”

The fusion of questioning and embarrassment on your face made your father continue. 

“We think that after your coming of age, a union between you and Neteyam will be ideal for the future of the clan,” he said. 

You didn’t miss the insinuation. For the future of the clan, regardless of if your heart was soft for him or not. 

You had just swallowed around nothing and nodded, found that there was no use in arguing. Not when your parents seemed so pleased and you and Neteyam had a good thing. 

It was the first crack in your facade, when your father had left you and your mother in the tent and she repositioned to sit across from you. 

“Do you know what this means Maite?” she asked you carefully, thumb smoothing over your cheek. 

Your hesitation made her smile at you again. 

“You are excelling in your studies,” she’d said. 

The tension in your shoulders had softened the slightest when you saw the streak of pride, of warmth, in her eyes. You never wanted her to look at you any differently. 

“You have the power to be a very successful tsahik, Maite,” she said decisively. “Every day you make me proud. One day you will make the people proud.” 

You thought that you’d be able to grow into it, that the fears that were beginning to slowly culminate as each orbit arrived and went would be so insignificant. 

In turn, it grows with you, large enough to wrangle, but too large to squash. You don’t let it debilitate you, don’t want the people who are starting to pay closer attention to you, but more specifically Neteyam, to see that there’s an internal struggle. 

What would they think of you? Of your family? Of Neteyam’s and his? Honor was a dicey thing, something that could be disturbed at the drop of a hat. 

So you force a brave face among a worsening war, waging  nearer and nearer. The victories are small, losses smaller, and for a short while, you think that things could be alright. 

Especially when moments, few and far in between go undisturbed by the outside world. When you and Neteyam are given the freedom to bask in the tail end of your adolescence and start together in your young adulthood. 

He’s your calm in the unrelenting storm, your foundation when you feel like toppling over. 

So when the looming war arrives at your front step, and you feel like the fragile world you’ve built for yourself is on the brink of shambles, Neteyam is there. 

“We have to leave.” 

Your family sits inside of Mo’at’s tent with the Sully’s as Jake breaks the news that it’s ride or die. The future that you’d spent your entire life training for no longer lingers near, but has been blown so far out of reach, you begin to feel like it’s been all for nothing. 

“We move right after eclipse,” he announces. “Only important things, we have to travel light.” 

You’re stunned, frozen in your spot as the words sink their claws into you. 

He notices, Neteyam does, that the news seems to crack your facade even more. He can see it on your face. 

He calls your name softly, situating himself so that he sits in front of you. When you look up, he sees the tears pooling in your eyes and his body immediately softens. 

“Don’t cry,” he whispers, stroking your cheek gently. “It will be alright. We’ll be alright.” 

You wanted to believe him, you really did, and for a while, there was a sliver of hope, but life in Awa’atlu is different, an endless array of glittering blue waters and colorful reefs. Absolutely nothing like the forest that you grew up in. 

It doesn’t help that the villagers are all wary, watching you all like a hawk in every endeavor. You wish you could be more like Neteyam, like Tuk, who embrace their new life in stride, but Awa’atlu isn’t home. 

Home is oceans away and you feel disoriented, unable to wall yourself off with your duties whenever things get overwhelming because the dynamics here are different, too. Your future is treading a thin line and all you can do is try to assimilate as best you can. 

But you don’t know the way of water, can’t seem to grasp it no matter how hard anyone tries to teach you. And it makes the pressure infinitely worse, the tension nearly cracking your bones with how heavy it weighs on your shoulders. 

Tsireya’s lessons in breathwork never seem to stick as you frequently fall behind in your daily swims, messages lost in translation because the sign language is too vast for you to remember. Doesn’t help that your crafting using the reefs’ materials are subpar if Ronal’s narrowed scrutiny and Tsireya’s giggling is anything to go by. 

You’re so used to excelling, to being extraordinary despite the stress, but here, you feel like nothing under the crushing pressure. Feel it exceptionally so when you notice your mother’s concerned gaze and the eclipsing disappointment in your father’s. 

And you think that no one notices, not when Lo’ak is out causing trouble, Kiri is embracing the ocean, and Tuk is growing into the waters. You think you’re suffering in silence, but as always, Neteyam sees you. He always does. 

It’s on a particularly rough morning that you completely crack. 

It’s the smallest of offenses, something that you usually laugh off for the sake of peace, but Ao’nung is good at pushing your buttons and you’re missing the forest a little more than usual. 

“Damn, forest girl, it’s been months,” he teases, snatching the pouch you were in the middle of weaving to turn it over in his webbed fingers. “Still working on this old thing?” 

You swallow, unable to meet his gaze, not wanting to admit that the seaweeds they use to fashion things are too slippery, the salt stinging your fingers so much that they blister every session you sit down with your project. 

You want to tell him that if you were in the forest, you could weave five, ten of them before eclipse, but you’re on his turf and the forest is but a distant memory now. 

“Ao’nung,” his friend’s voice is warning. 

“What?” he guffaws. “Look at it! Babies weave better than this.” 

Your throat is locking up, eyes burning equal parts because the wind is blowing sand in your face and because you just want to go home.

“Ao’nung.” 

He gaze flits back to yours, teasing smile vanishing when he sees your clenched fists and the tears welling in your eyes. 

“Woah, woah,” he laughs uncomfortably. “I was just—“ 

You’re on your feet and scrambling away before the waterworks start, but you know that he’s seen them if the way he calls your name in defeat is any indication. 

You’d always been afraid of failure, but here it’s all you seem to know. 

You brush the tears away in hot pursuit of somewhere else, anywhere else but here in the moment. And you’re so engrossed in making sure you’re not tripping over the sprawling roots of the mangroves that you don’t even notice that Neteyam’s caught sight of you from across the way and abandons his task with Jake to follow after you. 

He doesn’t notice you’re upset until he realizes how tense your gait is and hears the hiccuping breaths that spill from your lips. 

“________?” he calls carefully, a few meters behind you as you climb and weave through the pathways.

You stop, frozen in place at the mere mention of your name, the soft timbre like honey. 

Embarrassment floods your system as you knuckle your eyes and try to compose yourself in the short strides it takes for Neteyam to invade your space. 

“Syulang?” He calls you by that stupid pet name you’d told him you hated and it makes you crumple. 

He’s coming around to face you, eyes wide when he sees how distraught you look, cheeks flushed and streaked with tears. 

“Hey, hey,” he calls softly, arms coming around you to pull you into his broad chest. “What happened?” 

You feel stupid, letting a dumb comment like Ao’nung’s be your final trigger, but you can’t help it. Not when you’ve been trying like hell to make it work, when you can’t seem to catch on like everyone else. 

Neteyam feels you shake your head and he sighs, pulling away from you gently to smear away your tears, forefinger and thumb grasp your chin to tilt your head to make sure that not a hair’s out of place. 

“You’re not hurt, are you?” he asks seriously. 

You shake your head again and he seems to unwind a fraction. 

“You wanna talk about it?” he prods. 

“No,” you whisper. 

He kisses your forehead, arms wrapping around you when he feels your breath hitch and your shoulders shake all over again. 

“Wanna lay down?” he offers. 

You nod. 

The marui is empty nearly the entire day, Neteyam settled in the hammock first and your back nestled against his front as he shifts to allow the netting to swing. 

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, other arm caged across your front to hold the opposite. 

“I miss it,” you whisper hoarsely, after an indiscernible lapse of time. 

“Home?” Neteyam deduces. 

You nod. 

“Me too,” he admits. “All the time.” 

Another pregnant pause before he speaks again. 

“You know I’m proud of you, right?” he says, squeezing you tight. 

“I don’t know what for,” you murmur, hand covering his. “I haven’t done anything to be proud of.” 

“I’d argue otherwise,” he says quietly, voice a hairsbreadth from your twitching ear. “I know you’re struggling, ________.”

You take a shaky breath. 

“But you’re trying,” he continues. “No matter how difficult the situation, how hard it may be for you to adapt, you’re always trying.” 

You eye the threadwork of the marui’s hide, afraid that if you turn to face Neteyam you’ll break all over again. 

“Sometimes that is more noble than succeeding.” 

“Easy for you to say,” you argue quietly. “Everything was effortless for you. You just dove right in and took the reins.” 

You feel Neteyam press his cheek to the top of your head, shifting so that he can fully engulf you in his hold. 

“Nothing is easy when you see the person you love fight battles they don’t need to endure alone,” he says simply. “You’re a strong girl, ________. But it’s okay to ask for help. If no one else will be there, let it be me.” 

You want to protest, but Neteyam’s speaking again. 

“Regardless of if we return to the forest or not, it will always be me and you,” he says. “I’ll never leave you hanging.” 

And you know he won’t, know that while you and Neteyam breathe the same air, he will always be there to fill the fissures in your facade. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, feeling weak and hopelessly vulnerable in front of someone who’s only ever seen you on the brink. 

“You don’t need to apologize for feeling,” he tells you, pressing a hand over your heart. “Because this right here is the mightiest thing about you.” 

neng © 2023

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[crooked-wasteland]

How do you feel about Charlie as a character?

When someone brings up Charlie to me, three scenes immediately come to mind:

Charlie whining that being direct and using her status and responsibility to influence change is "mean".

When she's frantically panicking over how the hotel is not "working", but instead of actually specifying the events in the series that brought the cast together, she only mentions the things she herself suggested, despite her own ideas having been useless at best and actively detrimental to the people in her care at worst.

When she vents to Alastor about Vaggie not telling Charlie about being an angel, she doesn't once look at the situation from Vaggie's perspective of being no different than any other sinner, she demands to know what about her is untrustworthy. Entirely self absorbed.

Medrano has stated that she sees both Vaggie and Charlie as self-insert characters. Putting aside the Freudian self-cest implications, I feel that Medrano's self righteousness and superficial idea of kindness are on full display in Charlie's character. As a person, Charlie is insufferable. She inserts herself in ways people ask her not to, she has a surface level form of empathy, and she exists in a world where her intention supercedes the consequences of her actions. She is nothing but kind and understanding to everyone around her, a perpetual victim of people snubbing her, but she perseveres nonetheless.

Charlie's line in particular about Vaggie encouraging her to take control of a situation being "mean" is clearly how Medrano hand waves her own responsibility to the overall culture of her fandom. To try and regulate anything would be her being "mean", when in reality it is a way of not taking responsibility for the consequences of her own behavior and encouraging the hostility within the fandom.

Furthermore, the fact that both Charlie and Vaggie are two qualities of a single person explains why neither of them have any nuance. It's why Charlie wants to "help" the Sinners in Hell despite them generally accepting and being content with their lives, revelling in their "sins". It's why Charlie's skit for Angel and Pentious has dogmatic language about the "right" way to live one's life. And it's why Vaggie is never explored as being an exterminator who once was so successful as an executioner that she was considered the best of the best, and yet when faced with a black and white ethical concept of killing a child, she immediately has a change of heart.

There is no internal conflict or nuance for either of these characters because, ultimately, both are self righteous caricatures of the director who is broadcasting how much of a "good" person she thinks she is. That she knows what is best for everyone because she just wants to help, regardless of anyone else's desires or situations.

Small edit to point out this is a theme in her works. It directly parallels Blitz in Truth Seekers telling Moxxie that he is "hard" on him because he knows that Moxxie can be "better". And instead of just talking to Moxxie or encouraging him to keep growing, he instead uses manipulation and abuse to "persuade" Moxxie to change. Just like how Charlie imposes her own desires on others and then just keeps "suggesting" that they change. Because, really, Charlie and Blitz know what's the best for everyone around them.

It's why I am vehemently opposed to the idea that anything about Hazbin Hotel is a criticism of Christianity. Because in the end, Charlie is an evangelist spreading her teachings and Good Word to the sinners to save their souls, whether they like it or not.

It's not hard to see how Medrano sees herself in these qualities, and the passive aggressive self righteousness is thinly veiled under a smile and "good intentions".