#idk why but no matter how much i fiddled with them i just couldn't get his colors to look the way i wanted

[darkpoisonouslove]

Hello, how are you doing? I was wondering how do you think Griffin would've reacted to Valtor being badly injured during the Coven days? And what about after she left? I think her feeling would somehow get in the way, he was the man she loved and she simply cannot be blind to his suffering.

Hi! I'm not doing as badly as I feel I am and simultaneously everything sucks so idk how to answer that question. I'm trying not to stress (I had an anxiety attack in the middle of the sidewalk the other day so that wasn't fun) and also completely failing to catch enough shuteye in order for my brain to be able to do something (and to prevent my eyes from dying). Everything is going slow, which is frustrating, but hey, at least it's going... I guess.

Anyway, I'm going to assume that you're the same person from that other ask I got a few days before this because the text is almost word for word. I suppose you can infer from the paragraph above why I didn't get to your questions earlier. I've answered the first half of this ask before here.

As for Griffin's feelings on Valtor getting injured after she's with the Company - it's complicated. If she's the one fighting him, I can kind of see her getting vindictive and wanting to hurt him because she knows that he wants to hurt her as well (not necessarily hurt her physically, but he definitely wants to punish her for betraying him). She kind of blames him for making her want to leave him so she has no problem fighting him tooth and nail even if it means both of them getting injured. But she also knows that no matter how much they hurt each other, she could not bring herself to kill him even if she had the means to do it.

Watching the other Company members fight him is... surreal as much as it is hard. She knows that they have to use every opening they have to hit him and hit him hard because he won't hesitate to do the same. She knows she has to let them do whatever it takes to stop him, because she cannot bring herself to be as decisive. She knows it might mean standing there and watching as they kill him and she's torn. On the one hand, she's aware they will have to kill him to stop him for good but on the other hand, she's relieved every time he proves that that is a practically impossible feat. To top it all off, she has to restrain herself from blasting the other Company members when they fight him. She was watching his back for a long time and the old instincts are still there making it so confusing sometimes, making her ask herself why she's fighting on the side of the Company. Of course, he doesn't help when he's making compelling points about why she shouldn't have left him (such as her having to play nice with politicians that hate her guts when she could have just intimidated them into defeat before while she was still with Valtor).

And then there's the matter of the Ancestral Witches, of course. While I don't believe Valtor would have told her what the deal with them is, Griffin is smart enough to have figured out that he would absolutely not play second fiddle if they didn't have some kind of serious hold on him that he couldn't overcome. Given everything else she knows about them (aka that they are willing to possess their own descendants even if that ends up killing the person once they leave the body), she's reasonably concerned about what will happen to Valtor if the Company starts gaining the upper hand and if they defeat him. She knows that killing him would be a more merciful fate than ending up imprisoning him together with the Ancestral Witches but he makes killing him too hard. In a way she knows that he's sealing his fate because he'll either win the war for the Ancestral Witches and probably be disposed of after he's served his purpose or he'll lose and end up tortured by them for all of eternity when he's making his imprisonment the more easily achievable option. To say that she's worried doesn't quite cover it.

Honestly, I love the idea that Griffin proposed the imprisonment in Omega just to keep Valtor away from the Ancestral Witches. She had to convince Marion and Oritel that trapping him alongside the three witches would increase the chances of them all breaking containment so it's worth it to go out of their way and search for the means to ensure he's kept separated from the Ancestral Witches. Can you imagine his reaction if he learns that she was the architect of his imprisonment in Omega? Would he believe her reasoning and would it matter at all even if he did? Fuck, I don't have time for another idea right now!

[t0shii]

% comforting them when they're upset

.! oikawa, tsukishima, matsukawa (sep) x gn!r

.! angst + fluff/ breakdowns, crying, etc. lightly proofread bc im lazy so sorry for any mistakes.

.! im so sorry if this is absolute word vomit or horse shit 😭 i tried my best though 😌 uhhh sorry for not posting yesterday i got my daith pierced and i was in a lot of pain after that so i didnt feel like writing anywho enjoy this 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 p.s. i was originally gonna write for mad dog but i was struggling so i went with mattsun instead sorry. also idk why matsuns ended up being so short i didnt do him justice i apologize 😩

oikawa

— always gets discouraged when his knee bothers him. today was one of those days. his coach had made him sit out of practice because he had been limping a bit. he came home distraught and you noticed right away.

"what's the matter toru?" you asked opening your arms for a hug, which he accepted, wrapping his arms around your middle quite tightly. "my knee is bothering me again 'n coach made me sit out. it's just not fair." he mumbled into your shoulder. you could feel his tears soak through your shirt. you nodded and responded, "baby, he just doesn't want you to hurt yourself. i know it's not fair but-", "but i wanna play volleyball, i wanna get better and practice." he said, aggravated that you weren't exactly on his side, still he held you tighter.

"toru, baby, look at me." he does as told, and you bring your hands up to wipe his tear stained cheeks,"toru, you can't strain your knee anymore than you already do, you know this. i know you only want to play volleyball, baby i know, but you have to be patient." he nods in agreement and you do the same, then guiding his head back to your shoulder, "i know it's frustrating toru, but you can't force it, y'know? he wouldn't make you sit out if it wasn't for your best interest. you know that, deep down."

the two of you had been cuddling on the couch, his back against your chest when you heard him sniffling again, "toru, what's wrong?" you ask softly, sitting up slightly. "i'm so useless, my own knee can't even work right. the team deserves someone better and so d-do you" he hiccuped, hiding is face in his hands. you felt guilty for not comforting him more earlier. "toru, that's not true at all." you stated, forcing his hands into yours, "take it back right now." he looked at you confused. "toru oikawa i said take it back right this instant." you said a little sterner than before.

"no." he managed to get out through sobs, and you knew the stern method wasn't going to work this time around. "toru, please. you're not useless at all, not to anyone, not to the team, and especially not to me. you're the best teammate, friend and boyfriend anyone could ever ask for and your knee just needs a break sometimes, you just need a break sometimes and thats okay. needing a break doesn't make you useless or weak, toru." you say softly, guiding him to a sitting position, hugging him closely and tracing small, comforting shapes on his back.

"you're so so strong toru, and you're an amazing person, an amazing boyfriend, you're such an amazing volleyball player and i'm so proud of how far you've come since highschool." you say, kissing the crown of his head. "you mean it?" he asks leaning back to look at you, "i always do, toru. i love you more than anything, and i'm so so fucking proud of you, but you have to know, it's okay to need a break sometimes and it doesn't change who you are as a person and it definitely doesn't make you weak or useless. he nods in response, burrying his head into the crook of your neck. you both stay like that, you whispering words of affirmations, him listening fondly until he feels better a little while later.

tsukishima

— he usually didn't let the stress of professional volleyball get to him like this, but he couldn't help it he would be lying if he said he wasn't overwhelmed, from interviews, to extra practice to prepare for the overseas games he had coming up, he was exhausted, to add onto it all he had been neglecting you and he felt horrible for it.

you knew practice was going to be running late since your boyfriend had told you in advance, so you weren't initially worried as to why kei had been coming home late at night. this night in particular was the fourth night in a row kei been home late and you starting to grow concerned. you hadn't seen him hardly at all that week, which was unusual because he always made time for you no matter what. worried, you decided to stay awake and wait for him to get home.

when the time finally comes, your heart dropped at his appearance, he looked absolutely horrible, as if he hadn't slept right in weeks. "why are you up?" he mumbled, taking his shoes off rather sloppily, uncharacteristic of him. you made your way closer to yoir exhausted boyfriend, "kei, i'm worried about you. i know you don't like me meddling with your career, and please don't misunderstand my concern for that. i'm just worried you aren't getting enough rest and i've barely seen you at all this week." you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

you knew something was wrong when you saw the tear swell in his eyes, but he just stood there awkwardly, you walked closer toward him, "kei, what's wrong?" you ask, extending your arms toward him, which he basically fell into, he started sobbing immediately, shocking you initially. "i'm s-sorry for neglecting you this week, i didn't mean to i-i just-", "kei, i'm not worried about that, i'm worried that you aren't taking care of yourself properly." you mumble, patting his back comfortingly. to which he shakes his head no."work has been too much recently, i can't sleep and i barely have time to even think. its just practice, interviews, practice, interviews i-i can't handle it all anymore, y/n." he sobbed into your shoulder, you were speechless at his vulnerability.

"kei,-", "but i can't stop now because that'll make me a failure and i don't want to let you down and the team too, i just want to make everyone proud but i think i'm falling behind." he cried, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. "kei, you could never let me down. actually, i think i've been letting you down recently, i don't tell you this enough but, i'm so so proud of you kei, so proud you don't even understand, i'm sorry for not expressing that enough to you. i understand that you feel as if you're falling behind but overworking and stressing yourself out isn't going to help you improve, kei, and i know you also know that."

"you're working yourself sick, kei and i can't stand here and continue to let that happen so you're taking a day off whether you like it or not. tomorrow will be a me and you day, how does that sound? i'll call your coach in the morning." honestly, you wouldn't have let him say no anyways, and he knew that so he just nodded his head. "look at me kei, you have to tell me when you're feeling overwhelmed. it's not good to keep things in like this, it's just like you tell me." he nods his head, but avoids eye contact, "and i'm not disappointed or upset at you, you know. but i can't read your mind, so please just tell me when things start to feel like they're crashing down on you 'kay? i'll help you just like you help me." you smile, he looks at you and nods, hugs you closer and whispers an "i love you" into your ear, which you return.

matsuwaka

— you knew his work was stressful and emotionally and mentally exhausting, so there were always worries in the back of your mind that he would become too overwhelmed, well today your worries became reality.

"welcome home issei." you called from the kitchen as your boyfriend walked through the door, though he offered you no response, which made you frown. "issei?-" you gasped when you felt a pair of strong arms sneak their way around your waist, "jesus, issei, you scared me!" you giggle placing your hands atop of his own, but you realized he was not laughing with you. "issei, baby?" concern laced in your tone as you maneuvered your way around to face him, "what's wrong baby?" you ask, taking his face in your hands to wipe at escaping tears.

"work was rough today." was all he said as he melted at the feeling of your thumbs running back and forth on his cheeks. "oh issei, i'm sorry." you mumbled, kissing the tip of his nose lightly, "is there anything i can do to help?" he didn't know why but something inside of him snapped when you asked him that, and sobs escaped his lips, he could only hide his face in the space between your neck and shoulder because for some reason he felt... ashamed to be crying in front of you like this. "please just hold me." he cried, so you did just that, shushimg him when his sobs got violent, rubbing your hand up and down his back soothingly.

the both of you stood there for a good 15 minutes before you spoke up after he had calmed down a bit, "is there anything you need to get off your chest? you don't have to tell me now or even at all but i want you to know that whatever is bothering you, you can tell me, anything at all. i know your job is mentally exhausting and honestly i dont even know how you do it but i dont want you thinking you have to carry the burden of it alone, okay? i'm so proud of you, so so so proud of you issei, i just wanted you to know that."

you felt him nod in the crook of your neck, a soft, "thank you." sounding shortly after, "of course." you responded, kissing his shoulder a few time.he wasn't sure when he would feel completely ready to get things off his chest but he felt loved knowing that you would always be there to comfort him, and for that he was forever grateful.

[badgerclaw-of-shadowclan]

100 Warrior Cats Challenge #29: Lionheart (Feel free to use my designs. Credit is appreciated)

[burtlederp]

Writing Blurb 2

Heyyyy this is actual whump! Got an idea for a thing, decided to write it out and post it for all y'all to enjoy. It's not my best piece of writing, but it's better than nothing.

TW minor gore, violence, blood, knives... uh idk, if I missed something, someone tell me lol. Hope y'all enjoy!

Moe leaned against the wall, huddled in a corner, eyes squeezed shut. His brown, shaggy hair lay in clumps on his bloodied head, his hands bound behind his back, chest rising and falling with shuddered gasps. Broken ribs made every lung of air agony, while his head throbbed, his sore, raw wrists protesting being tied back any longer. But he ignored the pain, just trying to focus.

The demon, the spirit, the ghost, the monster that haunted his mind had been so much louder since the torture had started. It howled and screamed and bellowed constantly, slamming its claws against the mental cage he had put it in. It wanted out. But Moe didn't want to lose his body, not to it. 

The door screeched open, causing Moe to flinch, pressing his cheek against the wall. "N-no…"

"Yep, I'm back," His captor said casually, shutting the door behind himself. "Did you miss me?" He asked sweetly, standing over Moe's weak and huddled form. His face soured when his captive didn't reply.

"Open your eyes and answer me," He growled, a hard slap connecting with Moe's exposed cheek. He gasped, not expecting it, and did as he was told, forcing himself to raise his head and look his captor in the eyes, lip quivering.

"P-please, no more…" He whispered, voice hoarse from screaming. He couldn't take it. Not anymore. He had had enough. One more waterboarding session, one more set of lashes or beatings, and he'd lose control. 

"Yeah, sorry. Not an option." The captor reached down and grabbed a handful of Moe's hair, yanking him to his feet. He whimpered, knees barely able to support himself, muscles weak. His captor smiled at him, turning his head slightly to see all of Moe's face.

"I like how you're looking, Momo." He nodded. "We're not quite there, but close," He suddenly yanked Moe's hair again, knocking Moe's skull against the concrete wall. He gave a choked gasp, sliding to the floor. 

"I just want to make sure, for this next video we send, you," The torturer punctuated his word with a kick to Moe's stomach, knocking the wind out of his chest. "Look," Another kick, right on top of the first. "Like," Yet another. "Hell." The captor hissed with glee, and his kick went higher, into Moe's upper chest. He coughed, gasping for air, curling into a ball, struggling to focus, but it was difficult when your brain wasn't receiving enough oxygen.

Breathe, Moe, Breathe… Don't… You can't let him win… He thought desperately, but the beast disagreed. 

Let me out, and I can save you from him, It tempted. Moe swallowed, peering weakly up at his captor, who was reaching for him.

"No…" He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut again as he was lifted by the shirt and dragged to the middle of the floor.

"Now let's see you, yes," He crouched, turning Moe's head side to side, rough fingers squeezing his bruised jaw. Moe clenched his teeth, trying to bite back tears. What was going to come next? How long would this last? Was anyone coming for him? 

"Oh, come now, you can cry," His captor's voice was full of false kindness, a hand gently brushing hair off of Moe's face. Moe looked up at him, heart pounding, trying to breathe without choking on blood. 

"Please… P-please… No more… I can't…" Moe begged, voice cracking. The captor pulled out a pocket knife, flipping out the blade, smiling as they leaned in close. 

"Y'know, you're rather handsome," He said, wiping blood off his captive's chin, who tried to pull away from his grasp in vain. "Too bad that won't be the case anymore. I want to know what you look like with a scar…" The knife's point pressed against the cheekbone, just below Moe's left eye. He whimpered, trying to jerk away.

"Ah-ah, don't move, or I might put out your eye," The captor warned, and Moe held still, eyes shut, tears beginning to well up, waiting, waiting, waiting for the knife to go in. 

Let me take the reins, A slimy voice said in the back of his mind.

"No…" Moe whispered, and the knife sunk into his flesh, causing Moe to let out a pained cry. 

I will protect you, The voice insisted. 

You won't, you won't, Moe tried to remind himself. "No, no, no…!" He wailed behind his teeth.

"Yes! Very yes," His captor grinned, dragging the knife down his face. Moe shrieked, trying to keep his jaw still. He felt hot, sticky blood, his own blood, flow down his face, pooling in his ear and crawling down to the back of his neck. He could feel his hands being crushed beneath him, bent and twisted in the wrong way, threatening to give at any second. His gasps only made everything worse, forcing broken ribs to expand with his chest, pulling the pieces further apart.

The captor twisted and yanked the knife out from Moe's jaw, prompting another gasp. Tears began to flow down his face. He couldn't help it. 

Let me out! The voice shouted. 

"No…" He moaned, and screamed as suddenly the knife was buried into his arm, and twisted. He arched his back, trying to pull away, but he couldn't, a hand painfully gripping his other arm to keep him in place. His captor was enjoying this, loving every second of Moe's pain. 

LET ME OUT!

"No!" Moe sobbed, and howled as the blade was removed, then was pierced through his ear. He couldn't do this. Moe just couldn't. 

LET ME OUT!!!

"No! No, I can't, please…" His breathing hitched with every sob, every breath a gasp for air. 

"We're almost done," His captor said softly, and began to drag the knife across Moe's forehead. 

LET ME OUT!!

Moe just cried, unable to fight anymore. He drew into himself, eyes stinging as blood flowed into them. 

"There," The captor leaned back, closing the knife. "You look half-dead. Perfect." He got to his feet. "I'll be back in a minute with the camera, you baby. Don't move an inch!" He laughed, exiting the room.

Moe lay on the floor, feeling his grip on the chains of the beast loosening. He couldn't do this. He couldn't. It was too much.

"I yield," He cried to the empty room. "I yield."

Steven hummed to himself, fiddling with the camera as he walked down the hallway. He had washed his hands, he had his cool mask, the tripod was tucked under his arm. He wouldn't film too much, he didn't really feel like editing today, all that was needed was an update, anyway. Keep the buyers aware that every second they weren't here, every moment they spent unable to find him, their friend was closer to death. 

He opened the door to the cell, cheerily calling to his captive. "Moooe, I'm ba--" He stopped. Moe wasn't here. There was blood on the floor, still fresh, where he had just been, but he himself was not in the room. Steven turned, looking down the hallway, feeling anger bubble in his stomach. How?! He thought, about to step back out, when a drop of warm liquid plopped onto his head. He stopped, reaching up to his face to gather the wet on his fingers. Pulling away, he found blood there. 

Steven looked up, and didn't have enough time to scream before a dark body slammed down on him, smashing him into the concrete floor. Teeth sunk into his shoulder, clawed fingers digging into his throat, but he wasn't able to cry out, all the air knocked from his lungs. The attacker yanked back, taking a chunk of Steven's flesh with them in their teeth. Feeling the grip of it loosen slightly, Steven scrambled free, cutting his hands on the sharp pieces of the broken camera as he crawled to the opposite wall, pressing himself against it as he tried to breathe. Finally able to see his attacker, he involuntarily shrieked in fear. 

There was his captive, but it wasn't. Moe sat, or rather crouched, but his eyes were black, glowing yellow rings set on their prey. His back had warped, a couple vertebrae too many now, his limbs seeming longer than before. His fingernails had disappeared, instead his fingers now giant, sharp claws. The bloodied, mutated form of Moe grinned at him with razor-sharp, needle-like teeth, holding his flesh in its mouth.

It suddenly stood--yes, it was definitely taller now, its feet had grown longer and were clawed too--staring down at Steven. The light behind its head, he could only see the yellow circles of its pupils, the rest of its face in shadow. He heard it swallow.

"It's been a looong time since I was in control," Moe's voice came from it as it stretched, but it was drier, raspier, more sinister. "Feels nice, I'll admit. I see why you were enjoying it." Blood dribbled down its face and its neck, from new cuts and from its lips.

Steven stared up at the monster in fear, wishing he could sink into the floor. He hadn't prepared for this. He had no plan. But he wasn't going to die without a fight. He swiped his leg under those of the monster, knocking it off balance. It stumbled to the side as Steven pushed himself off the wall, staggering out of the cell as fast as he could, breathing hard, holding his shoulder with one hand. Blood was already spilled down his front, but he ignored the pain of it. He had to run, he had to get away.

He heard the sound of clawed feet scraping against the ground, heard snarls of something inhuman behind him. He tried to run faster, but it felt like a bad dream, the sounds getting closer no matter how fast he ran. He screamed, panic rising up into his throat. He was silenced abruptly as he was tackled, those awful, wicked clawed hands wrapping around his throat, tight enough to cut off air. He struggled, flailing in the beast's grip, but it was so much stronger now. It turned him over, staring down at him with those terrible eyes, that horrifying grin. It moved its hands, one slipping quickly up to his forehead, and the other pressing down so hard on his chest he could almost feel his ribs snap, leaving his throat exposed. Steven's eyes widened. 

"N-no, no, please, no, NO--!!" The dying wailings were cut short as those sharp teeth ended him. There was no voice now, just the sound of a monster, feasting.