#like they were always supposed to end tragically

[blackpearlblast]

[ID: drawings of a golem animated by a palestinian flag painted on its forehead. it is seen: holding out its arms protectively in front of a crowd of children, the children also hold each other supportively; catching an air strike missile from the air and throwing it away or crushing it in its fist; turning its back so that a child can warm her hands by the earth oven built into its back, food in a pot is cooking on the fire and a boy holds a cup of steaming tea to his face and enjoys the aroma; clearing away rubble so a man can help up his wife who was buried underneath, she is clutching a baby to her chest; stooping down to look at a kitten a young boy is holding up to show it; and dissolving small flakes of clay from its finger into a glass of water, purifying it. end ID]

@fairuzfan asked people to create and share art for the strike. i wrote an artist statement and then set about trying to draw what i envisioned. artist statement below.

This golem is a protector that I wish I could gift to the children and adults in Gaza. The flag on its forehead is to show that love for the Palestinian people is an animating force for people fighting for a free Palestine all over the world, especially for those in Palestine who are trying to free themselves and their people. Love is the motivation for the call for a free Palestine, not hatred like people try to claim. It is very strong and fast and can catch air strikes out of midair and crush them to dust or throw them back in the direction they came from. It can lift all the rubble of a collapsed building very quickly so nobody can get trapped underneath. It has an earth oven in its back with an ever-burning flame that people can use to warm themselves and cook food and heat water to use to bathe themselves or make tea. Pieces of its clay can be crumbled up and mixed into water to make even the most brackish and unclean water pure and safe to drink.

The golem is always a bit of a tragic figure so I don't imagine it staying around forever once Palestine is free and it is no longer needed. I think it would use its great strength to help rebuild the destroyed houses, churches, schools, universities, hospitals, and mosques and then dive into the Jordan river and dissolve. It would clean the river of all pollution and make the water splash up over all the newly replanted fruit trees, causing them to grow big and strong. Its love for Palestine and its people can be tasted in the fruit they grow for generations.

I choose a specifically Jewish icon of protection because of how it feels to witness such horrors done in the supposed name of Judaism and the Jewish people. For many anti-zionist Jews, we feel like we are acting directly within the teachings of our stories and communities by opposing this genocide. It is difficult to understand how the very people and institutions who taught us these values now fight against them so fiercely. While obviously I would still oppose Israel were I not Jewish, the way I oppose Israel is directly informed by my Jewishness. I hope that someday, somehow, Judaism can bring as much joy and support to the Palestinian people as it has brought grief and destruction. That Jewish symbols used in the name of love and justice will bear more significance than the ones used in shows of hatred. Knowing the depth of the harm caused, I do not know if this is possible. But this artwork and everything I have dedicated myself to these past few months and continue to dedicate myself to in the future is born from this hope. I love you. Thank you for being on this planet with me. From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free! And it will be beautiful.

[sabertoothwalrus]

There’s something I love love loveeee about Laios and how badly he wants to be cool.

Let me preface with this: in general, I believe the harder you try to be cool, the less cool you actually are. The less you care what people think about you, if you’re “cringe” or “weird”, the more likely people will perceive you as confident and self-assured.

There are countless pieces of media where characters try to fit in with some group, change every part of themself to look/act like what they’re “supposed” to be, and end up miserable, often realizing the people they’re trying to impress aren’t worth the trouble.

I’ve experienced this in my own life too! Sometimes when I go out I wear a rainbow propeller cap! Cause I think it’s funny and silly and!! I ALWAYS get compliments!! I don’t wear it to be cool, I wear it because it makes me happy. And people overall have a positive reaction to it. it’s a huge contrast to when I was teenager and didn’t really put as much of myself into my appearance/wardrobe, and barely left any kind of impression on people.

So anyway, let’s get into it.

Laios… he’s been hurt so badly by people. He resented humanity for it. And yet, he still yearns for the approval of others. He wants FRIENDS!!!! and was angry and frustrated to learn his perception of his relationship with Shuro was so drastically different than Shuro’s!!!!

He KNEW that people were put-off by his love of monsters. Up until Falin got eaten, he deliberately suppressed how much he talked about it with others. He probably thought by not talking about monsters so much, it was working!! He was doing all the Right Things now! So Shuro confessing he always hated him was a huge blow.

But the reality is, he loves monsters. And most importantly, he loves cool monsters. He fantasizes about what would make the Ultimate Monster.

He feels very strongly about what he considers “cool” as well. He finds all aspects of monsters fascinating, but can still be HORRIBLY underwhelmed when they look too lame for his tastes.

He knows most people don’t feel the same way he does. He knows his “cool” is everyone else’s “weird”. It’s so tragically sweet how he latches onto Kabru the moment he shows interest in monsters, and takes every opportunity to infodump about them to him.

He wants people to find monsters as cool as he does!! But, he also wants people to think he’s as cool as he finds monsters.

Like!!! djkfghadkfjg IT DOESN'T EVEN BOTHER HIM WHEN PEOPLE HAVE A WRONG IMPRESSION OF HIM! He's FLATTERED by it. It's almost like, at this point, it doesn't matter to him if people don't like him. People can not like him and still think he's cool.

And my favorite thing is, it works. Laios IS cool as fuck. You KNOW he thought he looked so badass when he did this and he was RIGHT:

And yet, this is him trying very hard to look cool. But it's Laios's version of cool. It's almost contradictory, in that sense. Cause he knows people still don't get it. Like. He wants to be cool. He doesn't care about the "normal" ways to be cool. He thinks his cringe thing is cool. He does his cringe thing, that people very much do still think is cringe. So you would think that, since he wants people to think he's cool, he would not do the cringe thing. But he wore the pelt because he thought it was cool. And people clapped and cheered for him anyway.

is what he's doing really so different than this? ^

YAYYYYY WOOO GO LAIOS YOURE SO COOL!!!!!!!

[cosycafune]

SINFUL DEVOTION

0.9k words. you're a deity, something sylus can't have. yet, here the two of you are -- recklessly fucking each other. an impossible power dynamic crackles between you two, but the forbidden sexual deeds make sylus' devotion tragically sweeter. he's the closest he can ever be, but it's almost not enough. you're to be rightfully worshipped, not coddled. 1/??? masterlist.

acts: unprotected sex, mating press, breeding kink, degration, rough sex, praising, creampies, devotion, forbidden love, begging, worshipping, hickeys and more.

a/n: this is supposed to be short bc it's a prologue. I'm actually so obsessed with him, that it hurts.

A deity, the embodiment of the unfathomable, that’s what you are. However, that status is disregarded now – tainted by a devoted Sylus. The strings of fate, intimacy and your sinful hearts swell and suffocate you two. Even though you both carry the gift of destruction, pain, control and leadership, this moment opposed everything you both stood for.

Nonetheless, you and Sylus carry a sexual franticness, insatiable lust and an unestablished base for you both. Desperation, humiliation and longing clings to the two of you. This intimate moment, where you’re folded into a degrading mating press, begging Sylus to pound you harder, dissolved your unreachable status.

Men like Sylus were ones you avoided, but he had sweetened and buttered you enough for you to have him so deeply within your guts – filling you up with his fruitful seed. Over and over and over again, you allowed yourself to be subjected to Sylus’ sexual reign – crying out his name. Worship seeped from your lips consistently, fuelling Sylus’ high ego drastically. 

Even though you sang his name, sex-drunk, he always devoted himself to you – whenever you were both sexually sober.

Currently, your lewd cries are captured by his ears as he glances down at you – grinning mercilessly while he pounds into you. Sylus held no sexual mercy for you, pouring his feelings, his heart, his thoughts and his genuine nature into each thrust. Deep down, you knew this forbidden form of art was his way of self-expression – due to you attempting to resist him. Through your swollen cunt, your cries of pleasure, your troubled breaths and orgasms, you let Sylus almost express his thoughts.

“Sy’, more!” Weeping, painfully overstimulated, you beg for more – overwhelmed by his harshly snapping hips.

“Aren’t… you greedy?” Hazily questioning you, lust-coated, Sylus lazily grins at the power imbalance between you two – relishing your celestial features scrunching.

“P-Please…breed me,” Humiliating yourself, begging Sylus, you gift him desperate, teary eyes – your eyes rolling back at his thick cock kissing your cervix.

“I’ll..destroy myself…just for you, “ Sylus declares through a deep thrust, feeling you tighten around him – fuelling the forbidden fruits that adorn you both.

“Ngh! ‘Gonna cum! ‘Too much!” A trembling mess, you lewdly bellow – vigorously shaking as Sylus sets an inhumane pace. 

Content, he burrows his deepest within you – unwilling to free you from his intoxicating physique. A physique that swells your every thought with his gigantic dick, his crimson eyes, his ivory hair and the yearning that marks him. The end of your world is seconds from drawing near, but Sylus’ presence smearing you is all you could think about – choppily breathing.

“Handle…it!” Gruffing commanding you, moaning, Sylus batters you with his pace – satisfied at you attempting to push some of his ample cock out of you.

“Can’t…hold,” Mentally blanking, your body strangled with warmth, a moan tears out of your throat – leading to you intensely finishing.

Right now, the only thing that mattered to you was Sylus, his cock and the longevity of his pounding. 

“S-Same,” Pricelessly trying to hold out for you, Sylus lowly responds to you – slamming his cock so deeply within you. 

Mellowly, his large balls would pulverise your bubble butt – drawing more attention to your soppy cunt, your mewling and his whimpering and grunting. Yet, this notion encouraged Sylus more – throwing almost everything he had on the line for the addictive taste of you. Sure, the two of you are fucking in one of his bases – surrounded by many dangerous clients that want you. However, he can’t bring himself to care right now – cock-bounding you so deeply. 

Sylus divulged as if you were to crumble beneath him, leaving him with fleeting winds.

Yelping, you jolt at Sylus’ cock hardening into you. Sylus is an absolute mess, panting whilst his furrowed brows knit closer. Longing for more, he drives his cock impossibly in you – watching you mischievously. Not once did he break eye contact, continuing his mean mating press – enjoying the warmth of your fluttering cunt. An hour had skimmed by, but you both refused to care.

“D-Don’t…want to lose you,” Wavering, Sylus mutters – thrusting deeply before he finishes within you. 

Devoted to you, Sylus can't help but grow lonesome – noticing the pitiful truth that lingers: you’re mentally unable to be his. Even as he plugs you with his baby batter, you’re still something greater than he ever is – surpassing him indefinitely.

Someone who’s destined to reconstruct and rule the world. However, Sylus wanted to hold more than sinful devotion.

Love. He wanted you to admit your heart, but you hid behind your painful status.

Collapsing mentally against you, Sylus swiftly pulls out of you – smitten at the sight of your swollen cunt plump and spilling with his thick seed. Naturally, this was your most vulnerable state – but you allowed Sylus to admire it. After all, the two of you have only this moment to express yourselves – before the chaotic night comes to an end.

“Sylus, we…can’t be here for long?” Regally speaking, slightly exhausted, you feel Sylus crumble into your arms – longing to be held.

“‘Can’t we…stay like this a little longer?” Desperate to be held and cared for by you, Sylus slyly begs you – his whiny question swaying you.

“Just a bit, but the deal at the masquerade ball isn’t going to make itself,” You speak, running your fingers through Sylus’ ivory locks – wanting to coddle him all night.

Knowing this is forbidden, you conceal your care behind your exhaustion – desperate to confess to Sylus. However, you’re unable to confess your heart – aware it’ll lead to your status as a powerful deity being your demise.

“If you insist, sweetie,” Vulnerable, a sinner within your arms, Sylus snuggles into your breasts – airily speaking.

Sinful devotion, but at what cost?

__

do not copy, modify or claim any of my works as your own. all rights reserved; cosycafune. 2024. small banners credit: cafekitsune <3

[muntitled]

𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞 ♡

Summary: Taking care of your touch starved boyfriend proves to be more difficult than you initially thought...

Warnings: Established Relationship, Sickeningly sweet Fluff, Heated Making Out, Smut +18 (Minors DNI), Touch Starved!Wonbin, Groping, Dirty Talk, Choking, Daddy Kink, Slight!DDLG, Praise Kink, Fingering

Literally no one asked. But I just had to write something sweet and domestic

A melody that is equal parts romantic, equal parts horrifically tragic bleeds from the strings being coaxed by Wonbin's long fingers. You watch dreamily as he plays you a tune, while you both lay utterly defeated on the couch.

The Friday night lights scattered around the city, bleed in through the cracks in the curtain and your entire front is warmed by Wonbin's back. Your eyes had fluttered closed sometime in between his playing and so you would never know that his eyes were trained on you, as his head rested backwards and his fingers played away.

“Why are you always playing me some Orwellian shit?” You attempt to sound annoyed.

Your eyes are still closed but a light chuckle reaches your ears and you smile, satisfied. Wonbin peers down at his fingers, mindlessly dancing ober the cords as he says,“I think it was supposed to be romantic,” His voice is like gravel and thunder and your stomach warms inside you.

“Almost as romantic as two teenagers killing themselves for one another.” Your eyes flutter open as your fingers find their way at the tips of Wonbin's messy hair, “Would you die for me, Binnie?” his answer is grim in its intensity and instancy,

“Die? Probably not. But I would probably attempt to hurt someone very, very badly for you,” his gaze is still lowered to his strumming as he softly says, “not just physically, but there's plenty of other ways to hurt someone. I'd probably do that, instead of actually dying for you.”

You were forced to get accustomed to Wonbin's morbidity because it almost came as a by-product of his various other terrific attributes. He speaks with a near constant air of grimness that makes your irrational heart swell.

He continues his morose little tune until you cut him off quite abruptly, quite rudely when you say:

"When was the last time you did some hair care?"

That had probably been the very last question he expected to hear (and perhaps maybe even wanted to hear) so early into a rainy Friday evening. His limbs were laden with post-performance exhaustion and all he wished to do, was continue laying between your legs, his head cushioned by your breasts. He was in absolute bliss with your hand patting down his head nearly coaxing him into an early slumber.

It was the perfect way to end a stressful day, until you invariably decided to choose violence.

Wonbin cranes his head back slightly and he narrows his sleepy eyes as he groans out, "Is this your characteristically nice way of telling me my hair looks bad?"

You try to coax his head back down onto your chest, and he steadily complies as you try to pepper him with reassurances, "This is my characteristically nice way of telling you that you need some hair care."

And he concedes, almost immediately with a daft little shrug. He's not sure if it's the affect of the softness of your chest pillowing his cheek or the softness of your body underneath him but Wonbin chooses to see this as the universe gifting him with the possibility of being seated between your thighs while you weave your fingers through his hair to your heart's content.

The thought effects him in ways he did not anticipate and soon, he is turning his face into your chest and nuzzling into the cleavage. "When do we start?"

An obnoxious, borderline unladylike laugh pushes its way through youre throat as you try to shrug the boy off of your chest but to no avail. Wonbin's kisses along your cleavage are unrelenting and you release a breathless little chuckle. "I proposed that we do your hair-" You finally succeed in pushing his head back, "Not that you end up inside of me on the damn couch."

"Why can't you do my hair…” Wonbin turns to ease his fingers along the waistband of your sweats, “...After you let me inside.” He continues to splay wet, needy kisses along your chest.

While he distracts himself, you inconspicuously hook your fingers into the hair tie securing his raven hair back and you pull, letting his hair fall like a across his face while he continues to assault your skin with hickies. You're momentarily stunned by the sheer length of Wonbin's hair as he continues to lap hungrily at your skin, deciding to stretch his bravery and let his hand crawl up under your loose shirt.

"Your hair is so pretty, Binnie,"

"Your everything is so pretty, baby," He groans and you can tell from the low panting in his voice and the hand skimming the underside of your breasts that he is getting himself worked up.

While Wonbin shifts his weight on top of you so that he begins to straddle you, you're very alarmed but not surprised to find him already completely hard.

A very familiar, very distracting bulge pushing against your thigh brings you back to earth.

"I need to fuck you now," He affirms robotically with a curt nod of his head of hair spilling around his face.

"Down boy,” you shoot out a hand against his chest. Keeping him at arm's length. “We need to wash it now,"

"I need to fuck you now,"

"You're insatiable today,"

"You say this as if it's something new."

"Fair enough," you murmer, letting your head fall on the armrest as you watch your boyfriend seated above. His bushy eyebrows scrunch up until he's racking his fingers through his hair, attempting to detangle the web of raven locks and failing horribly.

"Hurry up, so I can tie this back up," he grumbles in apparent vexation. "I hate having it like this." You throw your head back as you wrestle to wriggle yourself up from underneath him but he stays put.

"Afterwards, you let me give you the most mind blowing orgasm you've ever had,"

"Afterwards," you grumbled back, using his distraction to knock his balance of kilter, "-you let me put some of my hair clips in."

He had been a grumbling, moody mess throughout the entire process. Washing his hair in the bathroom sink while Wonbin sat on a stool had been a nightmare filled with you having to swat away at Wonbin's hand whenever it got too bold and decided to attack you while you were hovering over him, letting the water wash the suds away. You were pleasantly surprised by just how much you were enjoying running your fingers through his scalp, stirring up the shampoo until it created a halo of bubbles on his head, all while you were humming steadily to his latest song.

"You're very pretty," Wonbin said suddenly as you proceeded to towel down his hair. Your heart squeezed with adoration inside its cage.

"You're very pretty, too."

Your reply released a whirlwind of butterflies scattering inside his stomach, threatening to climb out his oesophagus and spill out of his mouth. The exchange was perhaps so tender it almost felt unreal.

His eyes, as dark as they are, as endless as they are, bore into yours. You're still hovering above him, but the towel falls gently to the floor, and soon, you're being pulled into that spindly web that was the force of Wonbin's entire freaking aura and you're leaning in close.

“I have to finish up.” It comes out as a whisper.

You immediately know when your eyes flit down to his lips, thay you're already too far gone.

“Why are you leaning in then?” He whispers back with a lazy smirk spilling across his lips.

“Because you're making me,” whispering is all you're both able to do, in fear of shattering this incredibly charged energy between you.

“Am I?” He asks with a slight tilt of his head with his own eyes now staring up at your lips. He is feeling less apologetic for his unsavoury thoughts because Wonbin's has been forced to endure all of 5 minutes of you scrubbing at his hair, while your breast pushed right against his face.

Apologetic is the last thing he feels right now.

“You're a fucking tease,” he breathes out. And his large hand is slithering up the back of your neck until your lips are crashing onto his with a surprised yelp.

As your lips move in tandem with one another, Wonbin's hand never leaves your neck. Instead, he chooses to prolong the kiss by breaking away in short intervals. Never straying too far.

Wonbin's mouth is all encompassing. He slithers his tongue in almost conspiratorially and you gasp at the sudden yet swift intrusion. Both your tongues meet in a fiery, borderline barbaric kiss and you swear on everything you love that you could cum off of making out with him alone.

How utterly embarrassing that would be.

When the faintest moan slips out of your mouth Wonbin abandons all other inhibitions. He rises from the chair like lightning and you nearly roll backwards from the sheer size of him.

His heavy shoulders are bent down to keep your lips locked against his as he pushes you against the sink. With one more kiss, Wonbin spins you around until your front is facing the foggy mirror, and his front is pressed against your back.

He leans his head down, pressing his lips to your ear as he says, “Are you gonna let me in now?” His fingers slide against the waistband of your sweats and you immediately know what he means.

A wanton sound bleeds from your chest and you push your ass backwards, pressing it against the bulge in his sweats.

Wonbin's other hand finds the front of your throat as he cranes your neck backwards.

“You gonna be good for me, Princess?” He asks in a vaguely condescending manner as he juts his bottom lip out and gazes down at you, mirroring your pained, wanton expression.

“You finally ready to be a good little girl, huh?”

You couldn't stand his infuriating teasing any longer and so you make the daring decision to push your own hand into the front of your sweats- or perhaps you try to. Wonbin's hand locks around your wrist and squeezes until you're wincing in pain. His gaze is unfazed as he releases the grip on your wrist and pushes his own hand down your pants.

“You're so fucking stupid sometimes, Angel.” His words run like rain on the forest floor and your eyes flutter shut when his fingers push past your drenched underwear.

“You're fucking soaked, baby,” He croaks, keeping his nose nuzzled in your neck as he swipes his fingers along your folds. Wonbin soon loses himself the movements of his own fingers, until his bucking against your ass while muttering dirty nothings into your ear in a dizzying amalgamation.

“M-More, please-”

That immediately rouses him from his pleasure filled state. Wonbin blinks away the pleasure and straightens his slightly hunched frame.

“You want my cock inside you baby?” His eyes are trained on the side of your face while swiping his hands across the mirror so you could see the mess he's already made of you.

Your lips hang open and Wonbin's damp hair falls over his face as he towers over you.

“My good girl wants me inside of her so badly,” he whispers, almost robotically, as if he were chanting the words to himself as he pushes his hand in his sweats. As he begins to fist his aching cock Wonbin lazily brings his hooded eyes up to your reflection and you both watch each other through the mirror.

He looks so incredibly hungry and so you do nothing but comply as he places a hand on your lower back, forcing you over the sink.

“You're gonna be good for me?” He looks visibly pained when you nod slowly before allowing him to pull your sweats down enough to accommodate his cock at your centre.

“Tell me you'll be good,” his voice shook with the force of his own arousal and you could tell, from his voice alone, that he was already slipping into domspace.

“I'll be goo- fuck!” He's already easing to you with little to no preparation and from his shallow thrusts alone, you can tell how needy he is.

“Ah-fuck, you're so tight…”

Wonbin loses himself in the warmth of your cunt. He paws at your breasts, his fingers tweaking your nipples as he cock fucks you deeper and deeper. He breathes heavily as he pulls the hem of his shirt up, dead set on watching his cock disappear inside your wet folds.

And you watch in the mirror: his flat stomach glistening and moving in tandem with his needy thrusts while his hand swipes obliviously away at his bangs.

“F-Fuck you feel so good- You feel so fucking good, baby,”

You're clenching around him in the wake of his endless praise and your moans are amplified inside the bathroom.

“F-Fuck- Binnie-”

“Binnie?” He pants out with his fingers latching onto your hips, pulling you back to meet his furious thrusts, “Who the fuck's ‘Binnie’?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and your arms grow particularly weak when Wonbin hits that incredibly sensitive bundle of nerves inside you. You're so completely cock drunk but Wonbin holds your weakening frame up with his hand around your throat.

Wonbin's lips tickle your ear as he says, “You wanna call me Daddy, don't you?”

You're absolutely fargone, and you're muttering incoherently while he uses you. In a moment like this, you would say yes to damn near anything.

“It's too m-much, Daddy,”

He's shaking his head, big eyes boring into yours as he tuts in a faux baby voice, “It's just the right amount, baby,” His thrusts grow irregular as he gazes down at your fucked out expression, “Daddy's fucking you just right, isn't he Princess-”

“Daddy, I'm gonna-”

“It's okay, Baby,” His melodic voice succeeds in bringing you to the crevice of your orgasm and melt into him, “You're listening so well, aren't you?” His voice cracks as he spills his seed inside of you, “S-So fucking good.” Wonbin buries his face in the crook of your neck as he shoots his cum inside of you. The hand on your neck never eases away and you're still caught in throes of pleasure when he splayed multiple drunken kisses against the side of your head

“God you're such a good girl.” He whispers before splaying one final kiss to the back of your head.

You would always be terrified that one day, you would wake up and realise that this big hearted raven haired boy had been a fragment of your imagination.

Nothing but a dream.

A really, really good dream.

That thought, no matter how irrational, never left you without a wave of unease.

"Now I need to brush your hair,"

<3

© to @mphountitled on tumblr; do not repost

[jji-lee]

you stared at your kitchen counter, sheets covered with song lyrics scattered all around you. each one sweeter than the next. mark had labeled the songs, each one with a date and the song title written on the top of the page.

03.15 no names, just us

he talked about how you both met, on that stupid site. how he knew from the start that it felt just right. he didn't need to see your face, the words you spoke making him feel like he found his place.

03.16. my juliet

he said he'd never read the book, hadn't even taken a look. but that day he asked hyuck for a copy. he finished it only in a couple hours, laying on his bed, wondering what the hell he just read. he hoped that his love story wouldn't reach that tragic end.

03.22. just lips

you blushed as you read the next song, a very detailed description of your first kiss. he talked about his roaming hands, feeling your ass, soft and plump, described how it made something other than his heart jump. how by the end of the night he was dying to see you, but all that you left him with was his balls blue.

04.07. ms. librarian

this one was about when he finally found out it was you. how he tried to deny that his neighbor was the one, but fate brought him to you, not just anyone. so he'd have to find his way into your heart, even if it meant he'd have to keep a secret that could pull you two apart.

04.12 soft sweet scent

this song was supposed to be about the first time you two hung out. but mark started to ramble about how you smelt, how it made him wonder how you felt. the rest you'll keep to yourself, but it's about the thoughts he had when he locked himself in your bathroom, lets just say he had a lot in mind of what he'd want to do to you.

.

the rest of the songs went on about the dates you both had, about the guilt he felt for keeping the secret, the jealousy he felt when he saw you with his friends. there were 64 songs in total, some short some long, but each one filled with nothing but pure love. the 64th was the shortest, but just as special.

05.18 come over

i can't believe it took me so long to realize what was right next door. the perfect girl for me, the one that always leaves me wanting more. just with one kiss you had me hooked, even before i knew how you looked. so come to me baby, i'm right next door waiting, be mine please, don't just stand there debating.

right as you finished you heard a knock on your door, you didn't even think twice before opening it, lyric sheets still in your hands. mark stood there fist up in the air, shocked at the speed at which you opened the door. a blush crept onto his cheeks as he chuckled awkwardly,

"oh, um, hi, hi i know in the, uh, song i told you to come over, but you were taking kinda long, so i just wanted to see if um, you were okay."

you smiled up at him, blushing like a school girl, a light giggle escaping your lips,

"you do know you wrote 64 songs right? i'm an english major but i don't read that fast."

he scratched the back of his neck,

"oh yeah, right, sorry, i like, i don't know dude, i haven't slept in days."

you raised a brow at him,

"dude? is that how you refer to your girlfriend?"

"oh no i'm sorry i just- wait what? my girlfriend? you'll be my girlfriend, really?"

he leaned down to wrap his arms around you, pulling you into a hug, the paper in your hands crinkling as you squeezed him back,

"god, it's only been 2 days but i missed your smell, you just smell so-"

he inhaled deeply, as he leaned into your neck, placing light kisses there.

"mhmm, i know, i think i read about it in the 'soft sweet scent' song. something about wanting to know if i tasted just as swee-."

he moved his attention away from your neck, deciding to place a soft kiss on your lips instead,

"okayyy, that's enough. i will actually die if you read anything that i wrote out loud."

you giggled as the blush on his cheeks grew darker, clearly remembering the dirty words he spent all night writing. he cleared his throat, backing away from the hug,

"so, i kinda prepared something if you wanna go see, it's kinda corny but, i don't know, i don't know, i got it off pinterest."

you nodded quickly, excited to see what he planned, squeezing his hand tightly as he led you out of your apartment and into his.

.

as you walked into his apartment you felt your heart fluttered at the scene in front of you. the room was dark, only the light from the tv illuminating the room. his couch was adorned with soft blankets and pillows, snacks laid out on the coffee table.

"i know it's not much but, i got your favorite snacks, and- wait, look-"

he reached for a blanket on the couch, stretching it out in his arms, showing it to you, you laughed at the image on the blanket.

"wait- can you see? did i get it right? that's nanami right?"

"yes mark, you successfully bought a blanket with nanami's face on it."

he threw the blanket back on the couch, smiling proudly as he walked towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist. you brought your hands up to hold his face bringing him down for a quick kiss. he smiled wide as he pulled you towards the couch.

"guess what we're gonna watch. it starts with romeo and ends with-"

you stopped in your tracks,

"wait you don't expect me to sit on that couch right? the one you used to fuck all those girls on?"

he laughed nervously,

"uh, actually, how about you meet me in my room."

you gave him a thumbs up before making your way to his room, giggling as he gave your ass a light pat as you walked away.

"oh, and don't bring nanami! he touched the weird sex couch!"

mark let out a laugh as he watched you make a disgusted face at the piece of furniture. not like he was gonna bring him anyways, he was getting laid tonight, and he didn't need some old anime guy watching.

𖦹 .ᐣ.ᐟ₊ ⊹ cryptic crush — [39] certified throat goat

previous — masterlist — next

notes : heyoooo, this is like the second to last update for this series (idk what second to last means but theres one more chapter hehe) then i will make some extras so lmk if theres something specific you want to see!!!

taglist : @sunghoonsgfreal , @dalsosapple , @nanaxwi , @neverbeurs , @miichellehciim , @hizhu , @mystverse , @ppeachyttae , @jae-n0 , @onlyhyunjin , @alethea-moon , @onyourmark-99 , @sunnystarred , @p-d1ddy , @hisrkive , @flwrs4marklee , @haechskiss , @rutheaflowers , @busy-daydreaming02 , @byeonwooseokabs , @bunniin , @odxrilove , @injunnie-lemon , @sunflowerhae , @nosungluv , @222brainrot , @vklve , @aerivrs , @slayhaechan , @aek1ra , @honeynanamin , @roseangelxfuma , @starfilledgaze , @meowtella , @grassbutneo , @hyuck-me , @lovm4rk , @minkyuncutie , @babystrlla , @tynlvr , @jakesbubu , @yutasputa69 , @mrkleelvr , @spiderm444rk , @zzurao , @haechoshi , @brii-sunwoos-version , @nneteyamss , @morkiee

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

The Way I Loved You

Luke Castellan x demeter!Reader

Summary: "But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain / And it's 2 a.m. and I'm cursing your name / So in love that you act insane"

Warnings: angst, possessiveness, jealousy, toxic relationship, fluff ending

Wordcount: 3.3K

Masterlist

A/N A. Yes, it's another Taylor Swift songfic and B. Four fics in five days, I've been cooking

And you were wild and crazy / Just so frustrating, intoxicating, complicated

Ever since Y/N met Luke Castellan, he drove her insane. When they were kids, 13 and 14 respectively, they hated each other. She hated the way he came in and immediately started bossing the campers around. Despite being so young she was the counselor for the Demeter cabin. Her big sister—her only sibling at the time—had tragically died on her way to camp that summer. But instead of mourning the always kind and radiant daughter of Demeter, they mourned the daughter of Zeus no one had ever met. And seeing the way the new boy seemed to soak up the attention made her hate him.

By the time she was 15 they still hated each other but he was all she had. They had both been at camp so long, and lost so many of their siblings and friends, both could hardly remember life without the other. But they still argued like children. So whenever they had bickered so much that Chiron or Mr. D got tired of it, they’d send them to do a chore together. They spent long hours cleaning the showers, stables, infirmary, doing practically every undesirable chore together that they finally started to talk.

Luke got to know her and understand why she hated him. And she had learned about his life and gained sympathy for him.

Soon enough those talks became makeout sessions. They stopped talking but at least they couldn’t fight if their lips were occupied. It was like they were addicted to each other.

Eventually they slid into dating. When they weren’t talking it was great. But someone would inevitably say or do something that made the other mad.

~

“Why were you flirting with him?” Luke demanded, slamming the door of the Demeter cabin.

“What are you talking about? I was training him. You know? Doing my job!”

“It wasn’t just training and you know it.”

“Gods you’re so insecure and possessive.”

“You’re the one who begged me to commit to you. Of course I’m gonna worry about my fucking girlfriend.”

“I did not beg you.”

“Yes you did. You’re the insecure one. You just needed to put a label on it and screw everything up.”

~

“You were supposed to meet me by the lake an hour ago!” Y/N stormed into the room.

“Oh crap. I’m so sorry babe,” he apologized. Trying to kiss her and make it go away.

“You do this all the time. I’m never a priority to you!”

“You’re literally my girlfriend. I don’t know what else you want.”

“I’m only your girlfriend because you didn’t want me to date anyone else!”

~

“Why are you packing?” Luke asked.

“You know my cousin who goes to Syracuse? She invited me up for the weekend.”

“So what? You can go party with frat guys?”

“No, so I can party with girls,” she tried to lighten the mood.

But Luke wasn’t consoled.“I don’t want you going to some college and getting drunk.”

“Why?”

“Because so many things can happen. You could get drugged and taken advantage of. You could get attacked. What are you gonna do if a cyclops sniffs you out but you’re too drunk to realize?”

“You’re not actually worried about that you just don’t trust me.”

“Of course I trust you. It’s them I don’t trust.”

“It takes two to tango.”

“Again, you could get roofied.”

“Urgh Luke you’re not listening to me!”

~

They had plenty of arguments. So much so that the Hermes and Demeter campers had a silent agreement to go to each other’s cabins whenever their counselors started arguing.

But toxic relationships can’t go on forever.

It was Y/N’s birthday. She was turning 18. Collectively Camp Half-Blood made a big deal about birthdays considering that each one literally signified a triumph over death. But Luke couldn’t even be bothered to spend the day with her. When she woke up in his bed, he was already up and putting on his training gear. “‘Morning,” she greeted softly. She tried not to seem too excited about her birthday but all she wanted in that moment was for him to say “happy birthday.”

“Hey,” he smiled. “I'm gonna go train with some of the other campers. The new kids have been excited to watch me fight so…” he said smugly, already halfway out the door. “Just uh make the bed when you leave? Thanks.”

She was left disappointed. Like she always was except for when they were together but not talking.

But almost as soon as she stepped outside she was greeted with several wishes for a good birthday. She nearly cried when she got back to her cabin and found her bunk decorated, small gifts left on her bed from her friends and siblings.

By lunch practically the whole camp had wished her a happy birthday and she was feeling a bit better. She was reading a book she got as a gift, sitting alone at the Demeter table while she ate. Laughter invaded the dining pavilion and she watched as Luke entered along with the campers he had been training. He spotted her, coming over to her table but she didn’t even look up at him.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked. No response. “Why are you mad?” Still no response. After a few beats of silence he tried to change the subject. “So what are you reading?” She just held the book up so he could read the title. “Ah. Where’d you get that?”

By now the other campers had grabbed their food and were walking past the Demeter table. “Happy birthday, Y/N,” they each wished as they passed by. She smiled up at each of them as they passed. She only spared a glance at Luke to witness the expression on his face.

“Are-are you mad because you think I forgot your birthday? Of course I didn’t forget your birthday, babe. I’m just uh… saving my surprise for after dinner.”

“Sure,” was all she said, flipping the page.

“No, no,” Luke insisted, coming around to the other side of the table. He straddled the bench, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her close. As he did so he pressed a kiss against her cheek because she was still focused on her book. “You’re gonna love your gift. I swear.”

Luke spent the rest of the afternoon running around trying to put together a surprise. He got Mr. D to summon a small cake. Fortunately Mr. D was the one person in camp that didn’t know or care that it was Y/N’s birthday so he didn’t ask questions. As for the gift, Luke was lost. Anything in the camp store she’d immediately be able to tell wasn’t something he had thought about and anything he already owned she’d recognize as his.

So he went out to the meadow, picking flowers. She was the daughter of Demeter, of course she liked flowers.

So by the time dinner finished, Luke was pretty proud of what he had pieced together despite his limited resources. After everyone had left the dining pavilion, he brought Y/N to the docks where he proudly displayed his hard work. Except when he handed her the flowers, she looked disappointed. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “I know you forgot my birthday. That’s fine. Whatever,” she sniffed passive aggressively. “But you gave me probably the most cop out gift you could think of.”

“What do you mean? You love flowers.”

By now the tears were freely flowing from her eyes. “You know I hate cut flowers because they just die. You could have dug a few up, preserved their roots and repotted them.”

“Okay fine, I’ll plant them.”

But she shook her head. “No, it’s too late.”

“Then I’ll get new flowers.”

“No, not about flowers. It’s too late for us.”

His heart sunk. “What?”

“Luke, I think we should break up.”

“Over a damn gift? Y/N, I’m sorry. I know I dropped the ball but the wrong gift isn’t something you break up over.”

“It’s not about the gift!” she cried. “Luke, we don’t know each other. We’re strangers who are together because it’s convenient. The gift just proves you only know the basics. We’ve been together for two years. Known each other for five. You should know I don’t like cut flowers.”

“So we need to reconnect? We can work through this. Please Y/N, don’t do anything rash.”

She just shook her head again. “You’re not getting it. It’s not even just that we don’t know each other. We can’t talk for more than five minutes before fighting. We’re toxic, Luke.”

“But we’re…”

“Just because we’re all each other has doesn’t mean we’re good together.”

“Y/N, don’t do this. Please.” By now even Luke had a few tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Luke. But this is better for both of us.” With that, she walked away from him for the last time.

~~

He can't see the smile I'm faking / And my heart's not breaking / 'Cause I'm not feeling anything at all

Getting over Luke was the hardest thing she ever had to do. She spent several days crying to her younger sister, Katie. She tried to help her sister but the younger girl couldn’t relate, making Y/N just feel more alone. But then a new Athena camper joined and things got better.

Chiron had basically assigned Y/N to show Ben the ropes around camp. He felt bad for the poor girl. No one liked watching her or Luke sulk around camp.

“Ben, I’d like you to meet Y/N. She’s one of our most senior campers and counselor of the Demeter cabin.”

She smiled at the new boy. “Hi. Do you know what cabin you’ll be in yet?”

“Yeah, uh Athena. She claimed me when the satyrs found me,” he answered, already finding himself interested. Chiron tried to hide his smirk realizing the boy’s quickly growing feelings.

“Well you’re one of the lucky ones.”

“I’ve heard.”

“Y/N,” Chiron interrupted, “why don’t you show Ben around? Let him know how we do things around here.”

“Uh, sure. C’mon I’ll give you a tour.” As they went around camp, Ben asked her all sorts of things about herself. Favorite color, favorite flower, who her friends were, what they were like, what she liked to eat and more. All the things Luke should have known.

As they kept going through camp, Ben knew he was already falling for her. And not just because Chiron had talked her up so much as they had approached the daughter of Demeter. He thought she was pretty and smart. And she was so kind to him. Plus, everyone around camp seemed to love her.

Ben’s very apparent interest was much to the chagrin of Luke. He had spent the first couple days of his breakup pretending like everything was alright. An act that proved very unpopular with the rest of camp. But the lonely nights got to him and his siblings could hear quiet sobs and sniffles in the night. But almost as soon as he started showing remorse, this new guy showed up and all of a sudden there was a buzz around camp about the new guy who would replace him.

The excited gossip about his ex and the new boy had literally started from day one. He saw them going through the camp tour a few times that day. After all, Camp Half-Blood is big. And Luke just happens to have to go to the same areas his ex does at the same time. But every time he spotted them he couldn’t help but glare at the new Athena cabin member. Every time he sent her a smile or made her laugh, Luke curled his fist impossibly tighter. His fists became almost perpetually white as the blossoming romance grew over time.

As for Y/N, she was finally healing. Not happy, but healing and Ben was helping with that as time went on and they got closer. He was perfect. Sweet, smart, a gentleman. But he wasn’t Luke.

They spent many nights getting to know each other. He knew her birthday, all her favorites, and made an effort with all her friends. Hell he even made an effort with Luke—an effort the Hermes boy did not appreciate—because he knew Luke was still important to Y/N. When he asked her out he did so with a pot of her favorite flowers which he had Argus help him get.

He knocked on the door of the Demeter cabin which was opened by Katie. “Hey Katie,” Ben greeted Y/N’s favorite younger sister. “Is Y/N home?”

“Yeah, she is.” The young girl called for her and soon enough the object of Ben’s affection was at the door.

“Hey Ben. What’s up?” she asked.

“I just wanted to give you this,” he smiled, handing her the beautifully potted flower. “I know I’m no demigod child of the plant goddess but…”

“No it’s great,” she smiled at him. But her heart was sinking. It wasn’t because of the gift, the gift was perfect actually. But if Luke had been the one to give it to her, her heart would be soaring. “Thank you.”

“And I just wanted to ask you if you uh- wanted to have dinner with me tonight?” he nervously asked.

“Oh well I’d love to,” she smiled. “But uh we can’t table hop at dinner. It’s against the rules,” she laughed nervously, hoping that would be enough to dissuade him.

“That’s not a problem. I got permission from Chiron to let us have dinner together. We just have to be out of the dining pavilion before everyone else gets there at 7.”

Dread kept filling her. She was in too deep now. And he had asked Chiron, she couldn’t just shoot him down. “Well then I’ll see you at 6 then?”

The biggest smile broke over his face. “See you then.”

The entire time at dinner, Y/N wanted to cry. This is not what she wanted. Ben was not what she wanted. But she kept forcing a happy face, hoping that if she could convince Ben she liked him too, she could convince herself.

When he brought her out to the meadow and kissed her, she wanted to dig herself into the ground and die. It was a sweet kiss but it just felt wrong… like there was no chemistry or passion between them.

She was so frustrated with herself. As she looked into Ben’s eyes she wondered why she couldn’t just love him back. Here was this incredibly caring guy who was more than willing to give her everything she was asking for but she just didn’t feel anything.

~~

But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain

For Luke, seeing Y/N with Ben made a weird dread fill his chest. To him it wasn’t fair that she just got to move on when she was the one that broke up with him. She should be begging for him back right now. And he hated to admit it but he’d take her back in a heartbeat right now.

So when he found her crying on the beach late one night, he didn’t know what to think. But she was still all he had so he approached. “Hey,” he tried to catch her attention gently.

She looked up at him, quickly wiping the tears from her eyes. “Oh, hey Luke,” she tried to play off her tears. “What are you doing here?”

“Came here to think and then I saw you. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine.” She gave a strained smile that did nothing to hide the puffiness of her eyes or blotchy skin.

It pained Luke to see her like this. Even more so when he knew he was the cause of her tears at one point. “Are you sure?” he asked, sitting next to her but maintaining her space. “We can talk. I promise it’ll just be a friendly conversation.”

She let out the weakest laugh he had ever heard. “I’m fine. You wouldn’t wanna hear about it anyway,” she dismissed even though Luke was the only person she wanted to talk to. He was the only person who could maybe possibly understand. Her siblings were too young and the only other camper their age was Ben.

“Try me,” Luke challenged, scooting the slightest bit closer.

She looked at him for a while before reluctantly speaking. “It’s Ben. I just… he’s such a great guy. He’s nice, and sweet, and such a gentleman but he’s just not…”

“Just not what?” Luke asked a little eagerly. From a distance she had looked blissfully happy and everyone spoke about how well Ben treated her. But hearing that his ex-girlfriend had a problem with the guy she was dating? Luke was a little too eager to hear about that.

“He’s not you!” She finally admitted. She didn’t miss the way Luke seemed to brighten. “He does nice things for me and he’s so sweet and into me but I’m just feeling nothing at all. It’s like there’s no passion between us.”

“Well you were right. We were toxic but we also had a lot of passion,” Luke tried to lighten the mood. “Look, I don’t mean to sweep in on your most vulnerable moment but I’ve been thinking since the breakup and this is the first time you’ve even looked at me so. I know I treated you like shit and was so possessive. I’m ready to actually commit to you and be your boyfriend instead of just slipping into it because we were already making out when we were younger. I want to give you everything the old me couldn’t or wouldn’t because watching you slip through my fingers was the most painful thing I've ever done. Besides, with more effort I think we could make this work because you don’t fight like we did unless you’re in love. People who don’t love each other just let it fade. They don’t fight.”

She looked like she was in severe pain. “Gods, why couldn’t you have said this three months ago?” Her lips were immediately on his. Luke was a little taken aback but kissed her back, glad to have her in his arms once again.

A few moments later they were promising each other eternity with all the passion in the world. “Forever?” he asked through labored breaths, his fingers intertwined with her hair.

“Forever,” she agreed.

The next day Luke was waiting anxiously in the Hermes cabin. Y/N was ending things with Ben but he was still nervous. What if she decided she wanted to stick with the safer option? He didn’t think he’d be able to handle it if she went back to him after last night.

His thoughts were only quieted when the door opened and he found her standing there. He stood up anxiously but hesitated, still slightly wary that she’d tell him she changed her mind. But she walked towards him, immediately falling into his arms. “Forever?” he asked.

“Forever,” she agreed.

Relieved, Luke pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Forever,” he confirmed for himself.

Masterlist

[goodlucktai]

What if I said 10 & 20 as portal duo thanks so much

dialogue prompts

10. “I don’t care. I’m not leaving you.”

+ 20. “Get away! You’re hurting them!”

for my beloved meeks

x

They weren’t supposed to be here. It’s stupid, but it’s the first thing that springs to Mikey’s mind. 

Leo had only recently graduated with honors from those initial grueling physical therapy sessions that usually ended in tears (not always Leo’s) to daily exercises that got easier and easier until he was breezing through them the way he used to breeze through everything. 

If he went farther than two steps away from his arm crutches Donnie appeared out of thin air looking ready to breathe fire at him, and Raph was in the habit now of holding Leo out at arm’s length immediately after every hug in the manner of scruffing an unruly kitten to double-check he was wearing his leg brace and compression sleeve, and Mikey had learned the hard way what everyone meant when they said medics make the absolute worst patients. 

But for the most part Leo was doing really good! He was hitting all his marks and only driving everyone a tiny bit insane—well within the allotted Leo amount! 

So when he had smiled that crooked, conspiring smile at Mikey the minute the coast was clear and said, “There’s no better strengthening exercise then sneaking out with my favorite little brother for a past-due victory smoothie,” what was Mikey supposed to tell him? No??

It did occur to him, a tiny little guilty whisper. Leo was healing. He’d been so badly hurt. Even Splinter, who spoiled Leonardo rotten, hadn’t given into the slider’s constant pleas to rush the recovery process along. They were going by the book. Literally, since Donatello had stepped up as team medic in the interim. Don and Raph and April and even Casey were all very good at not bending an inch no matter how many tragic looks got sent their way. Mikey wasn’t very good at that at all. 

And anyway, joy had drowned out that whisper with a shout. He lit up with it, that newly-discovered supernova inside him curling up like a happy cat in a patch of sunshine. There’s a very big part of him that will always be what it’s always been, no matter how old he gets, or how powerful his mystic arts become—he’ll always be Michelangelo, and Michelangelo will follow Leonardo absolutely anywhere. 

So he said, “I’ll get my hoodie!” and darted out the door with zero ninja stealth, clipping his shoulder on the frame and almost crashing into the table in the hall. Leo laughed behind him, and the unrestrained sound made Mikey feel like he could float. Maybe he actually did for a second or two. 

He’ll never forget those horrible minutes after the portal closed, after Leo’s comms went dead, when he had wondered if he would ever hear his brother’s voice again. When he wondered what, exactly, his last words to Leo had been—they almost certainly weren’t I love you or please don’t leave so they didn’t count. 

To make up for it, he wanted to tell Leo everything every chance he got. He wanted to make him laugh all the time. He wanted to crowd into the little twin-size infirmary bed to watch movies or do art projects that got glitter everywhere. He wanted to sneak out for smoothies even though it would get them in big trouble, because that was literally why he helped save the world in the first place. 

And now he’s standing in a dim sidestreet, an orange streetlight buzzing dully above him, two smoothies melting in his hands. It’s their usual shortcut home, through a bunch of foreclosed apartment buildings and a dead end road. Leonardo is in front of him, shoulders stiff, ninpo humming weakly beneath his skin like a tired little beetle that shouldn’t be up from hibernation just yet. 

Across the road are half a dozen humans in what looks like riot gear labeled TCRI and a man in a black suit. The man somehow looks more dangerous than the people in police armor. 

“Leo,” Mikey says in a small voice. His brother doesn’t answer, but he does shift his weight to put Mikey more firmly behind him, which is answer enough. 

And Mikey thinks, We weren’t supposed to be here. No one knows where we are. 

The man in the suit starts talking into the bulky earpiece he’s wearing, but Mikey can’t make out what he’s saying over the buzzing of the streetlamp and the pounding of his own heart in his ears. All he hears is Leonardo murmur, “Mikey, go.”

“No,” Mikey’s mouth says automatically. It doesn’t even need any input from his brain to say it. Because no. 

“Mike,” Leo says, in his best leader voice. But his tone is urgent in a way that borders on being scared so closely it must mean he’s actually terrified, or he would never have let Mikey hear even a hint of it. “I’d go with you if I could. I’m sorry I can’t.” 

His hands tighten on his crutches. He can’t run. He’s still healing. He should be at home, doing his exercises with those little pink dumbbells in the warmth and safety of the lair, complaining the whole time in between tossing out ideas for dinner. 

Mikey should have said no to sneaking out the way Donnie and Raphie would have instantly said no. He should be better at taking care of Leo the way he needs to be taken care of, the way everyone else does so easily. 

The armored people start to shift to the side, moving around Mikey and Leo in a wide formation, hands on the guns holstered at their waists. Containing them. The man in the suit is still talking, face inscrutable behind the tinted glasses he’s wearing, but his face hasn’t twitched away from their direction even once. 

“Hey,” Leo says, bringing Mikey’s attention back. “Don’t look at them, look at me.”

He’s smiling over his shoulder like it’s any other back-alley brawl with the mutant of the week or a handful of those Foot soldiers who never know when to quit, and not a horrible high-stakes situation in which Mikey stands to lose one of the most important things in the entire world if he makes the wrong move. 

“Just get home and get the guys, okay? Then come right back for me. You can outrun these goons without breaking a sweat. You can do anything.”

Mikey drops the smoothies and the cold wet soaks through one of his sneakers instantly but he needs his hands free so he can clutch the back of Leo’s stupid hoodie. He needs to hold on tight and make sure whoever tries to take his brother away knows exactly what kind of knock-down drag-out fight they’re in for. 

“I don’t care,” Mikey says, too loud in the stillness. “I’m not leaving you.”

He wishes he were a snapper like Raphie. If he was big and strong and had a shell that was as good as bulletproof armor, he’d scoop Leonardo up and shield him from the guns and run them both away. 

If he was a genius like Donnie, he’d have one or a dozen gadgets on his person that would have saved them. 

But he’s just Mikey, who isn’t big and strong, who isn’t a genius, who isn’t one of the people Leonardo is willing to step down and be weak in front of and depend on. Just Mikey, who Leo saved all his best jokes for during painful rehab, like it mattered to him that Mikey didn’t see him struggle. Just Mikey, who Leo always lifts both arms for the second he sees him coming and squishes into the world’s best hug, even if he’s pissed off at everybody else. Just Mikey, who Leo wants to get better for, be the best for, be one of the constant things on this planet Mikey never needs to doubt, like gravity and sunrise and overpriced street food. 

Because there’s a very big part of him that will always be what it’s always been, no matter how mature he gets, or how accomplished a ninja master he becomes—he’ll always be Leonardo, and Leonardo would do anything to make sure Michelangelo keeps smiling. 

Leo is also very stupid, because he doesn’t seem to understand that Mikey will never smile again if his big brother goes away. 

When the TCRI agents explode forward at some signal Mikey missed, and grab the brothers and drag them apart, Leo stumbles and falls when his crutches are wrenched away. He’d probably be making a smart-ass comment if his jaw wasn’t clenched, the sudden fall probably radiating pain all the way up his spine, distress making his gold eyes burn neon yellow. 

Like a flip was switched, all the panic inside of Mikey evaporates into a red-tinged mist. 

The supernova inside him sleeps most of the time, because he’s not big enough to contain its multitudes yet, and it doesn’t want to cause pain. It only wants to shine light in dark places, it only wants to help. But it wakes up with a fury and fills every inch of him to the brim and the overflow spills right out of him, lifts him right off the ground, makes his voice a resounding thunderclap when he yells, “GET AWAY! You’re hurting him!” 

Staggering back and shouting in alarm, the agents begin firing, because humans in a panic are trigger-happy creatures, even well-trained ones like these guys must be. Every round fired disintegrates the second it meets the glow pouring out of Mikey, disappearing before it can do harm. 

“Holy shit,” Leo says, eyes wide. It’s the way Mikey imagines he probably looked at Leo, when everyone else feared Raphael was a lost cause but Leo put his hand on Mikey’s shoulder and told him, I’m not giving up on him. I’m not leaving him behind. A sailor lost in a storm and their first glimpse of the lighthouse in the dark, close enough to save them.

“Hold your fire!” the man in the black suit barks suddenly, his voice viciously angry. “I did not clear any of you to fire!” 

Mikey doesn’t care who the scary Men In Black guy is, or what reason he has for tracking Mikey and his brother down, or why he’s calling the dogs off now. He cares about helping Leo get back on his feet, scooping the crutches up off the ground and getting Leo’s arms in them, and staring right into Agent Sunglasses’s stupid face while the supernova burns and burns and burns inside him. 

Try it, he doesn’t say. Just try it. If the Krang couldn’t take my brother from me, what hope do you think you have?

He feels Leo’s arm slip around his, locking them together at the elbow. Leo’s ninpo, a soft breeze instead of the playful gale it’s supposed to be, weaves through Mikey’s own to lead it. 

‘Like this,’ the wind tells the sunburst, guiding it through the process it wants it to take the same way bigger hands used to guide a smaller Mikey through katas, readjusting his arms and poking him playfully on the beak when he scrunched it in frustration. The golden portal that opens beneath their feet costs him nothing, appearing as effortlessly as Leo’s spinning blue ones always do. 

The agent’s face goes slack with shock the second before the turtles disappear. 

They land on the sofa with enough force that it almost collapses, and Leo makes a pained noise, hands pressed to his plastron like he’s trying to contain a full-body ache with sheer willpower. Mikey scrambles off of him and falls off the sofa for his trouble. His clothes are prickly, like he’s covered in static electricity. A magazine left on the coffee table begins to move, pages flipping as if in a breeze. One of the beanbag chairs lifts up slightly, like gravity has gotten lighter in that specific spot. 

He feels too big for himself. There are multitudes inside him, a million different things that are all true at the same time. He’s still so angry, and he’s still so afraid, and he’s still just Mikey, who couldn’t be what Leo needed him to be until the last possible second. 

Just Mikey, who Leo saves his best smile for. Just Mikey, who Leo hugs like it’s the easiest thing in the world to bring another person that close and trust them right next to his heart. 

“You’re the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” Leo says, like it’s another truth Mikey can keep for as long as he wants. Forever, even.

There will be hell to pay when their brothers get home. There’s a brand-new danger their family needs to be made aware of. Leo tried to leave him behind again and it reopened a wound that was still raw and healing.

But for now that wild star in his heart doesn’t need to burn so bright. It can put all the furniture that began to float back down and go back to sleep. And Mikey can press his face into the cracked print of Leo’s favorite Chappell Roan hoodie and say, “Hope you enjoyed your last taste of freedom for the next hundred years.”

Leo laughs, but doesn’t let go of Mikey right away. He clings extra hard for an extra long minute.

He would have left, Mikey realizes, but he didn’t want to go. When he was alone on the Technodrome, staring down a monster and a portal and the truth of how to save everyone, he didn’t want to go. If there was any other choice, he would have taken it. He would have come home. 

Mikey isn’t Leo, who will do what he has to do no matter what it costs himself. Mikey isn't Raph or Donnie. Mikey is and always has been the spoiled baby of the family, who will do exactly what he wants to do and damn the consequences. He’ll tear a thousand holes open in the universe if that’s what it takes to keep his family together, and if the Hamato ancestors don’t like it then they can come and take their ninpo back. 

They can try, anyway. 

[sci-twi]

I think the most tragic part of Eurylochus’ part in Epic is that his one act of true selfishness (or two acts) are what condemns him not only in the eyes of Odysseus but also most of the audience. Warning: spoilers for all sagas of Epic: The Musical below the cut, up through Thunder Saga.

He’s introduced in the musical in Full Speed Ahead by mentioning wanting to find food to feed the rest of the men of the crew. In the same song, he grows defensive immediately after suspecting a lurking threat, suggesting that they take an offensive approach. He just wants to find what they can (to eat) on the island and keep going so they can all return to their families.

In Polyphemus, his only line in the entire song is him giving credit to Odysseus and Polites for finding the cave and takes note that there are enough sheep to feed everyone.

I have no doubt that he’s fighting along with everyone else in Survive.

But he shows his concern for the others in Remember Them. He is the one who snaps Odysseus out of the brief dissociation he experiences following the slaughter of a handful of his men. He also asks Odysseus what they should do with their “fallen friends.” Of course, we know that if people weren’t buried correctly, they were doomed to an eternity of unrest.

He’s worried about the souls of those men that they lost and is (most likely) not happy about having leave them behind and neglecting such an important ritual.

When Polyphemus awakens after being stabbed in the eye and it becomes apparent that there are more cyclopses in the cave, Eurylochus gets even more concerned and antsy, even pleading with Odysseus for them to just run before things get worse and they lose even more men.

In Storm, Eurylochus’ lines are all about expressing concern for their fleet (although a little pessimistic) and their well-being.

Luck Runs Out is personally one of my favorites and one of the most obvious signs that almost everything Eurylochus does is for the sake of their crew. The entire song is about him looking out for everyone else including Odysseus. “You could be caught off guard and lose your life. Or piss off this guard and infuse us with strife.”

It’s also important to note that the chorus has Eurylochus and the crew singing in unison. Eurylochus expresses his doubts but not because he wants power or to just get under Odysseus’ skin, but because he genuinely cares about everyone on board and just wants to make sure they’re making the right decisions.

And honestly, as a second-in-command, he should get some say or consultation and perhaps this song is him starting to realize that he is not being heard.

“I just don’t want to see another life end. You’re like the brother I could never do without.”

“And suddenly you doubt that I could figure this out?”

This right here is where it becomes apparent to me how dedicated Eurylochus is to Odysseus and the crew. And I can only imagine how he feels after pouring his heart out to only be met Odysseus’ indignant response. Eurylochus wasn’t trying to challenge Odysseus’ authority, but his response is defensive regardless.

Eurylochus switches from referring to him as brother back to referring to him as Captain, maybe sensing that sort of division, maybe sensing that he overstepped in some way. But still, he reiterates his concerns once more before Odysseus pulls him aside.

When Odysseus tells him that he needs to always be devout and comply with whatever he says and tells him to do or else they’ll all die, Eurylochus ultimately agrees. The beginning of that reluctance shows.

He doesn’t really have many noticeable lines in Keep Your Friends Close, but I do want to give you some food for thought that my partner and I @cat-gwyn-gunn discussed. Do you think that Eurylochus would have opened the bag of winds if Odysseus entrusted him with it to guard and made it absolutely clear what is inside and what will happen if he does?

How would you feel if you were your captain’s supposed second-in-command who had led the fight with you and stood by your side for 12 years suddenly came back from a god with a mysterious bag and guards it while staying awake for 9 entire days? Does that not show a severe lack of trust in your crew and would that not make you suspicious? Do you think maybe Eurylochus was sort of egged on by the crew who also thought it was treasure to check?

It’s hard to really put yourself into their shoes because we know how things end and we know that the storm is actually trapped in the bag, but they don’t.

Then, Poseidon comes in Ruthlessness. And Eurylochus sees all those men die. They went from 600 men to just 43 men. While of course he feels guilty for his decision to open the bag, he’s also hearing confirmation that Odysseus is the reason that Poseidon is after them. He probably remembers begging his Captain to just run and escape, and instead Odysseus proceeds to dox himself and all of that leads to that moment.

But still… that guilt does do something. Because after opening the wind bag, we don’t really hear any sort of defiance from Eurylochus for a long time.

In Puppeteer, we get an even further look at this growing divide between the two brothers (in-law). Eurylochus wants so desperately to let Odysseus know what he did, his tone is remorseful, he’s practically pleading for Odysseus to acknowledge him and reassure him. He is incredibly shaken after what happened with Poseidon.

Only for Odysseus to completely wave him off and send him on a mission. Perhaps it’s because Odysseus needs some time to process what happened and strategize or maybe he thinks Eurylochus is going to talk about it and he’s not ready to hear any of it. Or maybe even he’s jumping to being defensive, thinking Eurylochus is defying him again.

Eurylochus, who promised Odysseus that he’d be devout and compliant, and whose one failure to do so attributed to the loss of hundreds of their men, agrees to do what Odysseus says with little fight. However, his fears and concerns are left unaddressed and unacknowledged and he has not received any sort of reassurance.

While he is recounting his (and the crew’s) encounter with Circe, it shows that he is cautious in his decision to not join their men inside with her. Which pays off, since he gets to run back and let Odysseus know what happened.

When Odysseus says that he has to save them and Eurylochus says that they don’t, it almost sounds dismissive, like those men deserved what happened and they’re no longer their problem. This is a cold take and there’s no defending his callousness with leaving the men behind- I won’t defend it.

However, I will point out that with the next line he points out that they’ve already lost so much and gained almost nothing and once more he suggests that they run if only to preserve what little crew they have left. And again shows concern for Odysseus (or at the very least concern for him as their Captain who can get them home) saying that he doesn’t need to play Circe’s game and asking him if he will leave if she proves too hard to kill.

Notice that he says Odysseus doesn’t have to play her game instead of outright telling him not to. He’s trying so hard to be compliant because he just saw what happens when he isn’t.

He might also be wanting to avoid being responsible for even more bloodshed and loss even if slightly.

Eurylochus doesn’t really have any more parts to play during the rest of the Circe saga and throughout the entirety of the Underworld saga. He’s essentially not only just doing what Odysseus tells him to do but he’s also holding onto all this awful guilt and shame for what he did. 

Underworld is almost entirely Odysseus’ point-of-view. We really just see into his world for this saga. He tells his men that no matter what they find, keep going, yet he falls victim to the voices he hears and the guilt that arises and eventually peaks. We have no idea really what anyone else is thinking. For all we know, Eurylochus is drowning in his own visions. He has all this time to think and reflect.

In Monster, Odysseus comes to the conclusion that he will become the monster, he will do whatever it takes to get home to Penelope and Telemachus. I don’t think it’s a stretch to believe that Eurylochus also comes to the conclusion that he will do whatever it takes to make sure that the crew is taken care of and preserved. This is the beginning of when that line that truly divides them starts to be drawn. 

Different Beast is when it starts to become clearer to the crew and Eurylochus that a change has occurred. They start the song by singing along with Odysseus, using “we” and “us”. Odysseus is driving them all to be monsters. His actions are being reflected on the crew as a whole as their Captain.

Odysseus tells the siren that his actions almost cost his life, no longer reflecting on the crew’s toll as a whole, and that he must see his wife. This is when the crew starts to sing that “he” is the monster. And they end by calling his name- confirming that they are now aware that the monster is Odysseus. Really the only times someone’s name is called is when they’re an opponent like Polyphemus or Poseidon. So foreshadowing!

Scylla is where things take a turn for the worse- it’s where that line is nearly fully drawn between Odysseus and Eurylochus. But it doesn’t start off that way. Scylla begins to sing that “deep down you hide a reason for shame.” Immediately after, Eurylochus admits to being the one to open the wind bag and he apologizes profusely and pleads to be forgiven. 

Odysseus doesn’t respond but Scylla does in a way. She continues to goad Odysseus into believing that his actions are merited. It’s what he must do to survive to see his wife and son again. He has always known this deep down- he said it in Just A Man - deep down he would trade the world to see his son and wife.

The next time Odysseus speaks, he tells Eurylochus to light up six torches. Now, I imagine that this is a moment of great relief for Eurylochus. Even after the awful betrayal, Odysseus still trusts him. Going back briefly to Circe when she says “maybe showing one act of kindness leads to kinder souls down the road” maybe this (Odysseus showing trust in Eurylochus) was the act of kindness and Eurylochus picks men he trusts and likes to hold the torches as a way to pass on that kindness. 

Then, all hell breaks loose. 

He watches as all of these men are snatched up one by one by Scylla’s six heads. He comes to the realization that Odysseus knew that was going to happen, that he made him actively participate in the murder of six of their men. That he didn’t communicate anything about what he was about to put his crew through. 

Eurylochus knows what he must do. 

In Mutiny, He goes right out and demands Odysseus to tell him that he didn’t not know that would happen which is a far cry from “please don’t tell me you’re about to do what I think you’ll do.” It’s a direct challenge. He spits out the word “Captain” almost mockingly. He continues to prod at Odysseus, telling him to use his wits (when in Luck Runs Out, he said that people die on it). He brings up that every other time they faced someone Odysseus came up with a plan to save his men, but this one time he runs (when before it was Eurylochus who urged him to run with both Circe and Polyphemus). 

He has pretty much lost trust in Odysseus, but still is trying to give him the opportunity to say something, to explain. However, when Odysseus says he can’t Eurylochus says he’s forced his hand. He doesn’t really want to fight Odysseus, let alone kill him. 

Once again, Eurylochus is the voice of the crew. They know now that Odysseus is willing to do absolutely anything to see Penelope again. They attack him. They voice their doubts in him and echo the sentiment that Eurylochus does which is that Odysseus must be stopped. 

When he awakens, and they’re on the island, Eurylochus is the first man he sees and Eurylochus no longer sounds angry. He uses “we” and “us” telling Odysseus that hunger is so heavy in the crew. Voicing their concerns again. Looking out for them again. 

He holds no malice for Odysseus. He’s resigned; he has lost complete hope in returning home. All he wants is to share one last meal with his brother and friend and the crew. 

He switches to just using “I” stating that he is suffering, he is hungry, he is tired. This is one of the first times (if not the first) where he lets it known what his own desires and complaints are. Every other time it’s been on behalf of the crew. He’s being selfish. He knows this, but he’s so overwhelmed and hopeless that he’s willing to make this impulsive decision. 

Odysseus continues to respond to Eurylochus’ pain with only thoughts of himself. He says that he needs to get home, he pleads with just him. But then the crew comes in and echoes Eurylochus’ sentiments. Odysseus addresses the crew this time, switching to “we” can get home. He knows that he’s fighting a losing battle, that the crew is essentially listening to Eurylochus now, that they don’t trust him. 

And with Eurylochus’ action he declares that he’s just a man. He’s selfish. He’s hungry. He’s tired. He’s suffering. He makes mistakes. He can’t always just push through. He’s flawed.

And when Eurylochus hears the panic in Odysseus’ voice (which panic is not something he has shown before: he’s dissociated/been in shock, been angry, and desolate but never panicked) he realizes what he’s done. He immediately reverts back to seeking Odysseus’ guidance as his Captain. He calls for him by his title.

He’s relinquishing control, but it’s too late at this point.

Thunder Bringer closes out their portrayals of betrayal and brother's final stand arc with Zeus rubbing it in Odysseus’ face that his crew’s hunger is his responsibility. That as their King and Captain, he failed them so badly that they resorted to damning themselves to alleviate that hunger. He’s the one who drove them to mutiny. 

Zeus tells him to choose and the crew already knows what he’s going to pick. They realize now that the monster was with them all along, that Odysseus has come full circle to being the true monster. After they sing their piece and Zeus fills Odysseus’ ears with Penelope’s song, there’s a deafening silence as the decision is being made. 

Eurylochus breaks that silence, calling out one more time. He calls for his Captain but in his voice he’s calling out to his friend. He’s scared. He knows they’re going to die. It’s almost like they’re children. He’s making that final reach for reassurance that he already knows he won’t receive. There is nothing but resignation in his voice. 

When Odysseus confirms his choice, saying that he has to see his wife again, all Eurylochus has to say is “but we’ll die.” Again, he’s scared. He was willing to die over the cow, but that was an impulsive decision. It is very different when imminent death is staring you right in the face and especially when it’s at the hand of someone who you thought you knew and cared for. 

I imagine that as the rest of the crew rushes forward to strike Odysseus down, Eurylochus stays behind and just looks him straight in the eye. He knew all along who Odysseus would choose and he has accepted it. 

It comes full circle. Eurylochus came in as the voice of the crew and he died as the voice of the crew.

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

A Song of Ice & Shadow

Part 1

A/N: Hello everyone! I’m planning to write an Azriel x Archeron!half-sister reader series, possibly featuring a slow-burn romance and angst. I don’t know how many parts it’s going to have. It begins in ACOMAF chapter 24.

Summary: The eldest Archeron half-sister Y/n hates Fae kind, due to tragic past events. When she unexpectedly visits her sisters, she is met with the very race she hates.

Word count: 2.11K

Being the eldest sibling is not always easy. Y/n knew this firsthand, shouldering the weight of responsibility for her younger sisters from a young age. After their mother’s death, she made the difficult decision to leave her sisters behind and stay with her supposed biological father. It wasn’t because she didn’t share the same father as her sisters; in fact, he loved her like she was his own and never discriminated between them. For the first two years after their mothers death, she stayed with her family, but when her “father” lost his fortune, she knew leaving was the only option. It wasn’t just about lightening their burden by having one less mouth to feed; she also hoped by seeking out her biological father, she could find work and send money back to her family.

Surprisingly, her father welcomed her with open arms, a kindness that caught her off guard considering he had shown little interest in her when she was younger. Despite her initial skepticism, she didn’t question his motives, fearing he might kick her out. With cleverness and father’s help, she managed to pursue higher education, while working to make ends meet. Though her earnings were modest, she’d send whatever she could spare to her family, ensuring they had enough to survive. With Feyre’s help, there was always food on the table.

Y/n’s life was devoid of fun. Between studying, working, sleeping and occasional visits to her family, she had little time for socializing and friends. This isolation was entirely her choice; she distanced herself from others, earning a reputation as being cold, heartless, selfish, and arrogant to those who didn’t know her well. Yet, beneath this exterior, she harbored a deep love for her sisters and would sacrifice anything for their well-being, despite no longer showing them affection after their mother’s death. They understood her silent expressions of care, recognizing that actions spoke louder than words.

One thing everyone knew for certain is that y/n was stubborn. She held fast to her beliefs and opinions, regardless of external influences. Among her sisters, Netsa was the most like her and the one who admired her the most. The two shared the closest bond before she left, but make no mistake, if anyone Nesta feared and obeyed, it was Y/n, knowing she was not one to be crossed.

After Feyre left the mortal realm, her family’s fortune turned, and she finished her education. Consequently, her visits became less frequent, as she immersed herself into her work.

A smile appeared on y/n’s face at the thought of her sisters’ reactions to seeing her after a long time. She decided to surprise them with a spontaneous visit. Unbeknownst to her, another surprise awaited her inside the place she called home.

“Nesta, Elain, I’m home!” y/n announced as she opened the front door of their home.

“Are we expecting someone else?” Rhys whispered to Feyre.

“Nesta, why didn’t you tell me y/n was coming?” Feyre questioned, panic all over her face.

“I didn’t know. She usually sends word before she comes” Nesta claimed.

The conversation between the two sisters earned them a curious, yet worried look from the three males. Nesta stood from chair, hurrying to the door, but she was too late, y/n was now standing in the dining room, the smile dropping from her face and replaced by a shocked expression at the sight before her.

“What is going on?” y/n asked carefully and slowly.

“These are Feyre’s friends. We were not expecting you today” Elain replied.

“Y/n, it’s been a while. I’m so happy to see you” Feyre stood from her seat and hugged her sister, who was reluctant at first but returned the hug.

“You brought Fae-kind into our home?” it was more of a rhetorical question, but Feyre answered anyway.

“Y/n, this is Cassian” she inclined her head to the male with long hair “Azriel” she pointed to the male who y/n could’ve sworn was the most handsome man she’s even laid eyes on “and Rhysand, high lord of the Night Court” Feyre finished introducing.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you” Rhys said with a warm smile.

“I’m sure” y/n sneered, returning her gaze on her sisters “you still haven’t told me what’s going on and why the very same race we despise are now in our living room, dining with us” y/n tried making sense of the situation.

Feyre explained the situation, why they were here, what they needed from the sisters and the threat posed by Hybern.

“So the moment you became fae, you chose to forsake us?” this was all y/n could utter.

“I’d never do that. Me being fae doesn’t change that. It never will. You’ll always be my sister” Feyre assured her.

“If you did, you wouldn’t have brought THEM here. Hatred aside, do you have any idea of the danger you just put Nesta and Elain in?” Y/n turned her hand into a fist, her knuckles as white as they could be, trying to keep her temper in check.

“There was nowhere else to go” Feyre claimed.

“And you were alright with this?” Y/n turned to face her other sisters.

“I wasn’t, but Elain agreed” Nesta informed her.

“Feyre’s right, there-“ Cassian spoke.

“Who are you again?” Y/n glared at him “I’m too tired to deal with this now” she rubbed her temples and said to no one in specific “call me when they’re gone”.

“Uhm, they’re-“ before Nesta could finish the sentence, y/n was already gone “-going to stay for a while” she sighed.

“I take it, this is your eldest sister” Rhys asked.

“I told you she could be intense” Feyre replied.

“That’s one word for it” Cassian expressed and was met with a glare from Nesta.

—-

Thinking they had left, y/n descended the stairs, dressed in her nightgown and robe, seeking out a comforting cup of tea in the quiet atmosphere of midnight. Opening the backdoor leading to their garden, she leaned against the door frame, admiring the stars as she sipped her tea. She took a deep breath appreciating the tranquility and solitude the night provided. She could’ve sworn the shadows moved, but she dismissed it believing it was hallucinations caused by exhaustion from a long trip. Noticing a bright star in the sky, she lifted her cup up and uttered “cheers” a sad smile appearing on her face…

As she was locking the door, she glimpsed a figure in the shadows. This time, unable to dismiss what she saw, she called out “who’s there?”.

At first there was no response but she called out again “I know there’s someone here, so I suggest you come out” she demanded.

Azriel hesitated but complied “I apologize, I did not mean to disturb you”.

“What are you still doing here?” She covered herself with the robe, the gesture did not go unnoticed by Azriel.

“Your gracious sisters allowed us to stay here for a while” he informed her.

“Have they now?” she nodded, clearly displeased by the information she just received “how long are you planning on staying here?”.

“Not long. As soon as the letter is delivered, we’ll be out of your way, I give you my word” he politely said.

“Your word means nothing to me. And if you’re staying at someone’s house, do not sneak up on them” her words as cold as ice.

“I wasn-“ before Azriel could explain, she had left, making his jaw clench in frustration.

The following day, she went downstairs earlier to get some breakfast, but what was early for her, was late for others. Upon entering the kitchen, she found Rhys and Feyre engaged in a conversation with Elain, while Nesta and Cassian bickered over their tea. Azriel was standing in the corner and when he saw her enter, his whole body tensed, and Cassian and Nesta went still

“Good morning” Rhys greeted and was met with silence.

Y/n prepared her breakfast when Feyre approached her “how did you sleep?” Y/n just stared at her sister without saying a word. Once she was done preparing her food, she took it and left without acknowledging anyone’s existence. As Cassian and Nesta resumed their bickering, Azriel finally relaxed, prompting Rhys to speak again “not a good morning, I guess?” He joked.

“Oh believe me, this is a good morning. If you think this was something, then you really don’t want to see her angry” Feyre remarked.

“Is she always like this?” Cassian asked.

“Give her time. She doesn’t like strangers and she most definitely hates Fae-kind” Feyre reminded.

“Yeah, that was clear” Cassian said.

“You’re talking about her like she’s a bad person” Nesta defended.

“Nesta, you know that’s not what I meant” Feyre tried to explain.

“All I’ve seen you do since you got here is criticizing y/n. She’s done nothing wrong” Nesta reminded.

“I’m sorry, but you know how y/n can be”.

“How? All she did was ignore you all, instead of engaging in a pitty argument that would hit your weak spots, and last I’ve known, she does not owe any of you anything. If you’re going to stay in this house, then better respect their owners” Nesta expressed.

“Nesta!” Elain said, clearly displeased with her sister’s tone.

—-

“Can I come in?” Nesta asked permission to enter y/n’s room.

“What is it now?” Y/n opened the door.

“I wanted to spend some time with you”

“Don’t you have guests to entertain?” Y/n crossed her arms.

“Elain and Feyre can deal with them. I’d rather stay here with you”.

“Fiine” y/n rolled her eyes but allowed her sister into her room.

“They already have a bad impression of you” Nesta told her.

“When did I ever care about what people thought of me? Let alone, what male Fae thought of me” y/n chuckled “it bothered you, didn’t it?”.

“Of course it did. I wouldn’t allow anyone to speak badly of you”.

“They’re just words spoken by irrelevant people. When you acknowledge their words, you make them relevant. Remember Nesta, you decide who you give power over you”.

The next day, Feyre, Rhys and Azriel were absent from the kitchen when y/n arrived “oh, for fuck’s sake, how do you two find the energy to fight this early in the morning?” Y/n asked, clearly awoken by the sound of Cassian and Nesta arguing.

“It’s noon” Cassian corrected.

“Whatever. If you’re gonna argue, do it outside. Hearing your voice gives me headaches” y/n uttered.

“And here I thought my voice was soothing” he sarcastically said.

“Don’t. Just don’t!” Cassian’s attempt at humor was met with y/n’s annoyance.

“Rough night?” he asked.

“More like a rough couple of days. Some people clearly don’t know how to be good guests” Y/n started making herself a cup of coffee.

“Well, maybe that’s because some people don’t know how to be polite hosts” he snickered.

“You know what? You’re not worth my time, if you want to argue, you have Nesta. She apparently has the patience for it”.

“Y/n” Nesta called.

“What? You do love arguing” y/n reminded.

“Wow, the two of you in the same house as poor Elain and Feyre, how did they survive?”.

“By knowing when to speak and when to shut up” y/n glared at him, taking her coffee and leaving and he said something.

—-

“What now?” Y/n asked as Feyre called for her sisters “We can leave soon to mail our letter” informing them.

“And this concerns me how?” Y/n asked.

“I-I thought you’d like to go with us”.

“Why would I do that? No, thank you”… “wasn’t there one more of you?” Y/n asked, pretending to just have realized Azriel wasn’t present.

“He had to return early. We had an altercation this morning” Feyre explained.

“Altercation?” Y/n narrowed her eyes,

“It’s nothing”.

“If you’re trying to hide it, then it is something”.

“She was attacked” Rhys claimed.

“What? By whom? And you call THIS nothing?” Y/n started checking her sister for injuries and both males’ eyes widened in surprise.

“I’m fine. I’m not hurt”.

“Who attacked you?”.

“It’s rather a what. She was attacked by a creature called the Attor who was sent by the king of Hybern” Rhys informed her “don’t worry, Az is taking care of it”.

To his surprise, she only nodded.

“I changed my mind. I’m coming with you” y/n announced.

“Don’t tell me it’s because I was attacked” Feyre smirked.

“Oh, shut up!” Y/n nudged her with her shoulder.

[the-bed-gremlins-reading-list]

My Marriage to the Cursed Royal

Demo: Twine on Itch.io Last Update: 9/6/2024

Rating: 18+

Synopsis

When you meet with an unfortunate accident in the real world you find yourself cast into the role of the younger Medulloi sibling. Your elder brother is the Duke of Ausones, a small and recent addition to the Nasennii Empire.

For three hundred years the Imperial war machine has fueled the Nasennii expansionism across the continent of Fantasia. A war machine that has been unable to advance across the northern expanses that make up Ithel.

Imperial superstition maintains that it is unlucky for a commander to remain unwed - so when the Royal Bastard, the Emperor's cursed child, makes little headway in the campaign a marriage in absentia is arranged.

A marriage to you.

It's a new world with a spouse you have never met.

Oh, except one itty-bitty thing - Fantasia Crown Wars is one of the most popular media franchises to exist. (Oh, and a savvy fan knows that Auberon Medulloi's younger sibling died.)

Characters

Auberon Medulloi - The Duke of Blood

Your new half-brother. He's famous among fans for his brutality as a military commander and the cold calculus with which he approaches his alliances when he's introduced during the third book of the main series. You know him as your warm, slightly fussy elder half-brother who frets himself silly over taking care of your family's lands and makes you sweets when you feel sad. He's joined you in the Imperial Capital to insure that you're safe and have all the support you could possibly stand. In the books he becomes the most feared leader of a rebellion against the Nassenian throne. One that was destroyed by your spouse and leads to Auberon's eventual execution.

Lucius/Lucia Nasennia(us) - Your Spouse, the Cursed Royal (RO)

They are the emperor's eldest child, the illegitimate one whom misfortune follows like an old friend. They were born in the dead of a moonless night and gifted with the ice magic of Ithel through their mother's veins. The priesthood has sworn should they ever take the throne it will be the end of the Nasennian Empire. And yet they are among the most gifted commanders of the age, it is on them victory against Ithel and peace among the conquered lands depend. The books described them as cold and calculating. The blockbuster movie saw them behead their younger brother after arranging the death of their father. They were also supposed to be unwed.

Marcus Nasennius - The Golden Prince (RO)

The third child of the emperor and the heir to the throne after the death of their sister. Marcus has always been the charmer of the royal family, the one for whom life was easy and joyful. He's said to have been blessed by the Empire's gods - born on a bright summer day in the heat of noon, and gifted with command of light magic he has always been placed in competition with his elder brother by the court, but they were friends once. Marcus was one of the main characters of the books - and the classic prince charming had always quite popular. So popular, in fact, that after his tragic demise in the movie he was brought back to life in the television show.

Rossella Catilia - The Red Mage (RO)

The Catilia family has stood behind and beside the throne of Nasennia since the War of Sparks founded the nascent Empire. They are wealthy and powerful and Rossella is the same age as Prince Marcus. She was brought to court at a young age and raised with the expectation that she would be among those considered as his match. A marriage she's openly appalled by due to her close friendship - and lack of romantic feelings for both the royal brothers. Still she's publicly considered the picture of what an Imperial Lady should strive for. Like many Imperial nobles she has some talent as a mage with a reputation as a skilled healer. In the books Rossella played the part of peacemaker between the brothers until her sudden foreign marriage removed her from the picture during TFCW's brief period as a graphic novel. (A move her fans hated almost as much as the scarlet color her hair was colored with on those pages.)

Caerwyn - The Assassin from Ithel (RO)

Bright, obnoxious, oh, and a vampire. This Ithellen assassin was meant to be your death. You're still not sure what changed his mind, nor why he's decided to serve you as your personal "spy-slash-assassin-slash-bodyguard-slash-gossip-gatherer". Caerwyn's appeared in the plot far earlier than he should have based on the books, where he only emerges out from the shadows after Ithel's defeat. Following the demise of his homeland he had come to serve your brother, Auberon. Caerwyn is among those that is supposed to be killed by your spouse, having dramatically sacrificed himself to ensure the escape of the rebel army and leading to that arc lasting much longer than anyone expected it would.

Rune Leleux - The Knight? (RO)

Like the assassin Caerwyn, Rune Leleux has shown up in the story far earlier than they should have. In fact you have a strong suspicion that the next book that was suppose to release in a month will reveal that the person introduced as a wandering bounty hunter and oath-breaking knight stole the real Leleux's identity. The Rune Leleux you know serves as your brother's faithful knight and right hand. They've been your friend since you were children. You can't see how the soft-spoken, if sometimes sarcastic, warrior who helps you live in Fantasia could possibly be the brutal and heavily scarred murderer draped in wolf skin that the Bastard Royal hires to help assassinate the emperor and sabotage the capital's defenses.

Robin Watcher - The Bard (RO)

This sweet natured bard is a minor character in the canon - like your new identity is. Or at least, she must be, because you definitely can't remember her from anywhere. (Maybe she was one of those unnamed extra in that one made-for-tv movie that everyone prefers to forget exists?) Whoever this bard is she always seems to know quite a bit about whoever happens to be around - and, well, she's rather curious about you. (In more ways than one.) Also, no one seems to know who she is or where she came from, just that she's great with instruments and has a very pretty voice.

WIP Warning: Any information contained in this post is subject to change as the project develops. The same goes for information posts on this blog.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I Never Missed You 2/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.3 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. Smutty smut ahead in this chapter. Brace yourselves for impact.

Part 1

You have to admit that you look dashing tonight. 

And not because you want to turn people's heads at the party… But because you want him to look at you like you're the most forbidden snack he will never have.

It's selfish and petty, and you're just seeking attention. But at least you have the balls to admit it: you want Simon Riley to drool after you. You want this man on his knees. And nothing else has worked except that bra.

So you turn to the world's oldest weapon. A woman's weapon. Seduction.

"I'd suggest you keep a low profile until we're done."

He looks at you through the mirror while you finish your hair. Uses the word we instead of I. It makes your heart ache… And you take even that lecturing comment as a compliment. So he does think you look nice, or at least nice enough to stand out. You read into every look, every little tone of voice he gives you.

"I thought we were supposed to lure him in," you say while you neaten your necklace. Of course you look nice. You have done everything you can to look ravishing tonight: a deep-cut, thigh-revealing dress, cat eye makeup, red lipstick...

"Yeah but not like this."

"I'm not locking myself inside the house because of this," you announce pointedly. "I'm not afraid to live my life." 

You turn and look him up and down, give him a little tilt of the head. "Don't you have anything else to wear?"

He doesn't shrink, doesn't bat an eyelash. Just looks down on you from that ivory tower of masculine prowess and makes you feel like a fool for being so dolled up.

"There's a difference between courage and foolhardiness," he states, not falling for your attempts to make him feel small in your world. You suspect there is so much more to this man, but you don't care to know about the circumstances he grew up in, the situations that gave him that broken nose and lip. You don't want to know about his broken soul.

Or perhaps you do...

"I suppose you know everything about that," you say while looking straight at the uneven scar on his jugular.

"I do."

"Tragic past?"

"You could say that."

You feel even more silly, standing before him in all your glory, pearls in your ears and silver around your neck. You pay this man for his services; he's supposed to protect you. But something in his eyes told you from the start that there lies an abyss inside this man. And you didn't pay for that: a peek inside his heart. But a door is open a creak now, and what's inside is pure darkness.

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sorry you had to deal with that."

Your cultured attempt to dance around his chasm makes those brown pools melt. Finally, he melts. But not to compassion, or mercy, or anything that would make you believe that you two understand each other. 

He looks at you like you're a stranger from another planet. He's intrigued but doesn't quite understand how a creature like yourself has come to be. You're not only a child in his eyes but a coward as well for not daring to open that door to hell.

"What do you think," you hurry to change the subject. "Will I do tonight?"

He’s always so hyper-vigilant, his stare fixed on everything else but you. It feels childish, to be jealous of his attention when all he’s trying to do is protect you. 

But now… Now that alert darkness bores straight into you.

"You look good in everything, ma'am."

A breeze of arctic wind goes through your scalp, and a fainting warmth settles in your belly.

You tiptoed your way to the fridge yesterday morning, before official breakfast, in your knickers and an old band merch from your youth - the one you still slept in sometimes because it was far more comfier than your silk pajamas. He walked in fully dressed and mighty while you were sneaking back upstairs with a glass of apple juice. The humiliation was overwhelming, especially when he dared to look you up and down in your state of underdress.

"Goodness… Sorry."

It should’ve been he who was supposed to say those words. But you felt like an intruder in your own house. It was a dangerous slip: to look so homely, with no brush stroke gone through your hair, with no toner on your skin. With no makeup and standing there before him in all your…you.

"No harm done."

He had never looked at you like that, and you swore right then and there that you would only descend those stairs with your full battledress from now on.

"Even in an old t-shirt…?" You ask with a tight voice. Desperate. Longing…

"Especially then."

Simon Riley strips you from your weapons and charades in a second. Your tight, seductive smile slowly falls off your face, and from behind it, a fragile, naked hope arises to gape at him. He clears his throat as if he just offered you an entire bowl full of ice cream when he was supposed to give you only a little scoop.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," he says, calm and adamant, like a statue you would go to see at a gallery.

"I'm afraid we should be going already."

"Takes 5 minutes."

You purse your lips, and he's on his way to the bathroom before you can even give him your nod. The guy is used to military showers, then, and perhaps it's for the better that he puts on at least some effort.

When he comes out, you're sitting in the hallway, and he's only wearing a towel. It's the one you gave him when he arrived, the softest you could find from your closets. You remember how the first odd thought you had upon seeing this man is that he probably isn't used to softness.

And now you see why.

You can see the prominent veins and the sketchy forearm ink, his muscles are magnificent to the point of unholy, he has a delicious, thin layer of fat on top of his belly, and the eyelashes aren't the only breath of hair that's pale on this man… But he looks like he has gone through an inferno.

His back is full of scars, and half of his shoulder looks like it has been dipped into a deep fryer. You catch a hollow dent between his ribs, and there's more, but he walks to his room before you see the rest of it.

The taxi drive to the party is filled with silence as you try to digest what you just saw. You want to call your lawyer and demand him to tell you where the hell did he find this man and who Simon Riley truly is. Who exactly does he work for when he's not taking bodyguard jobs? 

But the first thing you do when you arrive at the large party held in a small palace is to go to the punch bowl and down a glassful in one go.

He's on your heels the whole night, eyes everyone with a hawk stare, and does his job perfectly. He grabs your arm occasionally and whispers in your ear if someone seems suspicious. After one and a half hours, he comes to you and practically demands that you two leave. Normally, you would start an argument, but not tonight.

You kind of want to go back home, too. The people at the party seem tedious, and his scars have reminded you that even if you live in a world where violence is not the norm, it doesn't mean that other worlds don't exist. Otherworlds - where people get shot, stabbed, and blown apart. Whipped and cut and deep-fried. You're in danger, and it took his suffering to see that.

You have been so stupid that you just about wish someone would slap you.

Simon has been so patient with you that you nearly apologize on the ride back home. You want to beg his forgiveness and confess you have been a spoiled little idiot.

But again, that's not an easy thing to do. You turn to look at your forbearing bodyguard, ever silent in the taxi, and turn your voice to silk.

"You really should smile more," you suggest. He doesn't answer, just looks out your window as if there were perils there too. You suddenly realize anyone could shoot through the glass or the door at any given time. With a proper caliber, a bullet could pierce that window and coat his black shirt with the insides of your skull.

No. No. I'm not ducking my head.

There's no one there.

"Have you ever tried?"

You turn to humor and flirt to drive those intrusive thoughts from your head. He doesn't yet know that you're afraid, that you have been afraid this whole time. You should have bought that armored car.

"Am I your most annoying client ever…?" There's a smile on your lips, a little pardon for being so infuriating. His eyes drop there, then lift back up to your eyes with surprising seriousness.

"You're my first client ever."

Well… This was news.

"Oh. Why did you accept this job?"

His stare sails away from you and back to the London night. You stifle the urge to grab his hand, a fistful of his shirt, to draw his attention back to you. Every time he's around, you feel safe; every time he looks at you, everything else ceases to exist. 

You want him so badly you could cry.

"They don't teach you manners at the SAS…?"

"No. They teach us how to kill."

You scoff and turn to look through the window, too. 

"Brute."

"You're entitled to your opinion, ma'am."

When you reach your house, he uses that term again. You're 110 % sure he's only trying to annoy you. 

"Good night, ma'am."

"Stop it," you nearly slam your purse on the table in the hallway.

"What?"

"The ma'am thing…!"

You sound like a wife who's looking for an argument after putting on a charade all evening. When the door to your home closes, volcanoes erupt, and bombs drop, your husband-like bodyguard gets the blunt of your fear and frustration.

But how do you argue with someone who never argues back? He's calm like the Pacific during a stormless season, always, always gets calmer when you're going berserk. He walks to the armchair in your living room like he owns the whole goddamn place and sits down with a sigh. 

And there is a smile playing on his lips.

"What should I call you then?"

You look at him, dumbstruck, on that chair, spreading his legs like there's no tomorrow, arms comfortably on the armrests, and mouth drawn into a genuine, peaceful, thoroughly naughty smile.

"Oh, now you're smiling," you huff. The unbelievable audacity of this man… "Some ideas on what to call me popped into your head?"

"Verily."

"Go on then."

"Nah. You should go to sleep."

"I'm not going until you tell me."

You cross your arms over your chest to underline that ruling. His smile only widens. He looks wickedly delicious in that seat with his legs spread, and the chair doesn't swallow him like it swallows you. Actually, his shoulders are wider than the back panel of this enormous chair.

"Well," he begins, "’princess' came up first."

You try to catch what he just said through the stupor of wanting to climb on that wide lap.

"Truly? How original."

"Or spoiled brat."

You stop breathing for a second, then reel straight toward a spiral of–

"How dare you?"

You notice his eyes dropping to your heaving breasts again. This man is so different from a dinner-offering, cunning man in a suit. He has no pretenses whatsoever. He looks at you with that little smile, eyes burning, legs drifting apart even more, probably his cock stirring from how you are trying to chastise him. If you had pearls around your neck, you would clutch them. Or throw them at him.

"You son of a–"

"Pretty."

His next choice renders you speechless; it cuts through your insult before it even flees your mouth. You gape at him, jaw open, breathing and cheeks burning, pussy throbbing - soaked so thoroughly now that you feel a tiny droplet cascade down your thigh.

"Yeah. That's better," the man says as if he's also blessed with a Superman stare, knowing you're seconds away from drenched. "Better than brat or princess, anyway."

The darkness conceals most of him as he settles inside that massive chair he dwarfs. You are falling, or at least that's what it feels like. A tumble, a slip inside his Styx. But there's no bottom, and the water is warm ink, despite the fact that he's so blanched.

"Pretty…?" You whisper into that water, breathe onto the surface of his depths. The darkness answers immediately.

"Very."

Your swallow is a wet, nervous roll inside your throat when you sink into that river of lust and smoke. 

You take your jewels off first, because you know he doesn't care for them. Money's not his chief interest, even if he's being paid. And fat, at that. But he's not here for riches, he’s not here for the jewels – or that's what you desperately wish.

The necklace and pearls are gone soon, tucked away on the table with your trembling digits, and he's sitting there like a statue.

You have no trouble with this dress: the zipper seems to cascade down on its own as you reach behind your back. He's motionless as you slip out of the straps that keep the dark velvet up. You feel like you're the Styx: but the darkness of the river pools at your feet as you let go of the gown, let go of everything and continue your freefall.

He doesn't move, doesn't give evidence that he's even breathing; he just sits there like a long-forgotten king.

The panic snares you with a drool-wet throat: you salivate not because of him but because of your nerves. 

Are you… harassing him?

Does he want this…?

At least he thinks you're pretty – and you could laugh out loud; your thoughts are vain and petty, even when you're baring yourself before him in more ways than just one. Your breaths are audible distress inside that darkness, and he's still: everything's still.

But he moves when you reach for your bra.

It's just a hand that soars through the darkness, an involuntary reach for support and gathering of composure as his fingers find his jaw. They swipe across imagined stubble before he leans his head on that hand, just an ounce's worth of weight placed on his thumb and pointer as if he's simply in his thoughts. But the hawk stare is fixed on the lace covering your breasts as it falls on the floor too.

You hear his breaths now. Quicker on the inhale, heavy on the exhale. Your thumbs slide under the hem of the last piece of your veil, something you got from the store when you were feeling down. Now the underwear makes you feel better than ever - who would’ve guessed it's the moment you slither it off? Slowly, too: you’re being a tease, hip bones giving a two-second dance for him as he continues to watch you strip before him like the queen of the night.

You breathe in sync now, and your nipples perk up – he hasn't even touched you yet and you're more aroused than ever with a man.

Not a word spoken, and you fear you’re being delusional – if you've just imagined the heat between you two, but then those legs flare a hair's breadth more. His voice is the softest whip as it crackles through the void.

"Yeah... You're pretty. Now what?"

You breathe in gusts now. It's exhilaration, damnation.

"Jesus Christ, Simon."

The chair gives a creak as he rises, like an ancient shadow. Intimidating – intense, always, always, and you've been trying to coat him with soft towels and feed him toast. You wonder if he prefers black tea simply because it tastes more bitter than coffee rounded with milk.

Does he want this? Silly softness and toast and–

You get all your answers as he bends just enough to match your height, just enough to sweep you off your feet. Your hands go around his neck on instinct as he lifts you up from your rich, opulent Styx and into his sea.

You're quiet all the way upstairs – he can't fuck you downstairs, then, has to intrude on your luxury and privacy. You don't mind, especially when the steps give a desperate wail under your combined weight. He lets it sing its music to the night: your ruining already makes so much noise.

He reaches for his gun right after he’s placed you on the mattress. The sound of it is heavy when he sets it on the nightstand that has only seen glasses of water and apple juice and perhaps a few books. 

He undresses with soldierly sharpness, no seduction there. But he doesn't have to seduce you: his stare and heavy-cold demeanor have already done that.

He's so, so different from the others… Looks at you on the bed like you're both a piece of tender sirloin and something akin to garbage. That's an accurate depiction of a princess, perhaps. You know wasps gather around both honey and bloodied meat. 

He looks at you like that because you know nothing. And he's not here to ruin you… he's here to insert himself inside you like you're a foe that needs to be infiltrated, plundered and burned until you understand. 

He's big. Daunting. A brute while you’re the princess, could be the sleeping beauty, the way you stay immobile and try to take in this man's sheer power. You saw him half naked already when he came from the shower, but it's nothing compared to seeing all that taut, scarred flesh up close, soon about to fall upon you like a broken mountain. 

And what's between his legs is wholly proportional to the rest of him. That thing is a menace, and it's not even fully erect - hanging thick between thick thighs, foreskin revealing a fat, sloping tip, and he's veined all over… 

Finally, your mouth goes dry.

His gaze sweeps your beauty, and that cock gives a throb – a good, hard pull that stretches out into the open air, and your eyes go wide. Then he prowls, like the king of the jungle, moving with a fluidity that must be scary to those who meet their end by this big brute’s violence.

You are able to take in air only when his hand falls next to your head. The other claims you by the middle as if to soothe you - but the truth is you're caged in like a tiny, quivering animal.

The hand is heavy as it slopes across your stomach and scales your mound. It doesn't cup or probe, only rests there over your most sacred place, like an enemy surrounding a city. Your thighs part slowly, hoping he would just sweep right in.

"This wasn't in the deal," he rasps as he looks down at you: heavy iron judging a diamond.

"Oh shut up," you breathe, thoroughly thrilled and shy. If you weren't lying down, his intensity would buckle your knees.

"Nor do I take orders from you, ma'am."

"I'm not- Don't call me a-"

His eyes spark as the hand dips down like a deep diver into the blue. You gasp a stunned whiff when he's met with a mortifying amount of slickness. Your arousal sings a pretty song as he draws a finger over your slit, the moist sounds followed by another stuttering sigh. 

"Look at you all wet," he remarks, and you grit your teeth.

“Shut…up…”

"You know why I accepted this job?"

He wrecks you with one thick finger, rough skin lathering you with your own juice like he's trying to make a point here. And he is making a point: it comes across perfectly. The princess is a filthy mess for brutes…

And of course he was given a file on you too. With more than just one photo.

"Yeah," he rasps when you only look back at him with your felled deer helplessness. You could swear that he just heard your thoughts. "I think you know."

"You're–ah– a brute," you whisper, eyes shining. Your thighs part even more, feel yourself leaking over his fingers that stroke you agonizingly slow. You swallow with hunger, the need pangs on your cheeks. Your whole body is throbbing for him.

“Sticks and stones, love.”

He's so infuriating that you could slap him. Claw him, rip him apart. But you nearly laugh instead… It's far better an option to let him claw and rip you apart. He's tearing you apart right now, with those eyes and his hand, exploring you like you're the first course and he's here for the whole dinner. How can he be so calm?

"Could you…" You start, then realize you've never begged for this man.

"Hm? Talk to me," he commands. "Whatever ya want."

You whimper – from bliss or relief, you can't tell. The frantic need to serve is fully fleshed out in his tone. It surprises you. You thought he was here for his own pleasure. 

You try to think through the bliss of his fingers. You've had all kinds of things... All you could ever want, most would say. But that's not entirely true. No man has ever promised to please you however you want.

"Could you go…"

"Go down on you?" He places a thumb, broad and hard, on your clit. Teases it with the slightest pressure and a circle.  "Lick your cunt?"

Fuck…

He has no trouble saying it as it is, and you nod, still helpless.

"Sure. 'N after that I'll fuck you nice and good."

He's never, ever sounded like that before. Dark, and rich, the baritone reaching a level that speaks of hunger – no, need.

A brute, a pussy-drunk brute, the blood in your veins sing as he goes down. Nothing can prepare you for the way with which he manhandles his way between your thighs like they're only a petty distraction in the way. They're forced wide apart with a tight grip that speaks of urgency, but he takes his time to admire the sight bared before him. He’s drinking you in like ambrosia, towering above you while you’re being held open for him to just observe you like you’re a center-spread girl in a filthy magazine. 

"You're fucking pretty down here, did ya know that?"

You don't even know what to say - his tone, his observation is base, and still, they're the most beautiful words anyone has ever said to you.

"No…?"

"Well now ya know."

He steals a final glance at you, and the fire in his eyes already makes your legs feel weak. He dives between your parted legs, right into your leaking, glistening folds, and you're suddenly glad that you've done all that yoga… Those shoulders are so broad they force your thighs even further apart as he makes himself home there between your legs. 

A hot mouth presses against you like this man has been starving, even if you've fed him the best delicacies for days. An even, fat stroke is the first thing you feel before your toes curl and your head falls back.

"Goodness, Simon..." You try to keep yourself from stuttering as his mouth opens you like a flower. You should be quiet, for once, and let him do the job. He seems like an expert, even and especially there between your legs. "Do you-ah, always shag your clients?" 

"Told you you're my first," he rasps a husky sigh on your folds. He could ruin you with that voice alone.... He gives you another sweep of his tongue, full and ample, and your fingers curl around the sheets, your hips buck; your ass drives up on instinct, trying to both escape his mouth and rub your pussy against those thin but eager lips. 

"Don't worry," he tells your pussy with a warm chuckle. "This is free of charge."

You sigh, the first laugh of many up into the air. You're supposed to get angry, but you can't. You can't. 

"Have… no words for you."

"Good. It's about time you stopped talking, love."

He grabs your hips to punctuate it that you should indeed shut up. Fingers sink into your flesh like you're a whole goddamn feast - no more fucking toast and teasing. His hands look so huge as they dig into your skin - so different from the hands of men who work in offices or wait for people to serve them. You upvoted those hands to be the best part of this man long ago.

And that bulk of muscle… Some of those men in suits might go to the gym, but they couldn't forge a body like his in a million years: that breathtaking mass built to work and endure harsh conditions. It's not a flex or a sculptured piece of art: it's simply survival - ancient and primal.

He's got darkness, and you got diamonds, but something tells you his depths are infinitely more valuable. You couldn't buy his intensity even if they sold it in the streets. The skull mask was self-made, everything in this man is self-made, and he's sampling what diamonds taste like, and you wonder… Does he think you're cheap, some fake piece of worthless junk? Does he laugh at how easy you are? That under your manners, you're only a spoiled brat and a promiscuous maneater…? Or that he couldn't care less, as long as he can push his cock inside you?

He gives you his best, that's for sure. A working man, with you as his assigned mission, and the feeling of being a spoiled little princess only increases. And how are you supposed to stay still if he's slow and attentive like that? You might be his first client, but you're not his first shag…

His lips seal tightly around your nub, suck it, lap it, sigh on it - he's already breathless from the need to make you moan and cum. A purpose-driven, ravenous man, and when he dips his tongue inside your cunt, your mind finally goes blessedly blank. Your legs shake and stretch, and you can’t prevent your hand from skimming down to grab his hair when he gives you deep, unhurried plunges with his tongue, huffing against you from the mad want to make you feel good. 

You would never have guessed that Simon Riley would get such pleasure from licking a woman.

One hand disappears from around your thigh, and you guess it's one of his fingers that arrives, wide and thick, to tease your entrance. You can feel the smile on your folds as he slips it in, making you nearly jolt on the sheets. Your fingers instantly curl to tug that pale hair, to grab hold of something, and it makes him rumble inside you. 

He doesn’t even wait for you to catch your breath as he adds another finger. Goes shallow at first, then pushes those fingers in to the knuckle. The feeling of being filled - and not being filled enough - is going to drive you crazy any second now.

"Simon…"  

"Yeah?"

“I want you to… want you to…" you hear yourself choking on your beg as he works those fingers in and out of you while his lips are tight around your clit. He knows exactly what you're trying to ask.

And suddenly, it's he who breaks… 

"Right. 'M gonna fuck you now, yeah?"

The spread is gone, and you're being moved - on your belly, and you briefly think whether it's because he can't bear to look into your eyes when he takes you. You don’t even have time to whimper from the loss of his fingers and mouth before heavy thighs force your legs aside. You’re being spread again, crudely, obscenely, like it’s just a procedure that has to be done. He’s both methodical and impatient, and you wonder - has he wanted to rail you like this ever since he saw you? Force you to lie down on your belly while he takes you from behind like a helpless damsel?

His hands come to your hips as if to make sure that you won’t run away from under him. As if you ever wanted to… 

Something far fatter forces its way between your folds and straight onto your opening. He glides over your folds a few times, spreads your wetness all over his tip. Methodical still, but it makes you moan and swallow.

"Jesus…"

The lathering stops, the jutting cock settles right where your depths lie, and he chuckles. "Not quite, love."

Fuck… 

Fuck this man's cheek and audacity. Fuck his size and pride, the way he knows what he's doing all the fucking time. 

“Desperate for it?” 

That stupidly fat cock just resides there, teasing your aching, leaking hole without going in. But it’s like he answers his own question because you feel the thick of him give a notch against your folds. So impatient. Thoroughly needy. It sends you further down the whirpool of desire, a searing white, fathomless deep..

“Yes..”

When he goes in with a leaden grunt, your muscles go into a spasm - he's too big, he hasn't prepared you right, and still, you force yourself to relax.

"Not what you expected?" 

"It's… too much," you admit. He stops, realizing that for once in his life, he might've been an impatient man. Then he crawls forward, and you feel like you're about to be buried under a boulder as his weight bears down on you. Hands sink into the mattress on both sides of you, forcing you further up against him - you're floating, almost, to where you belong.

"Yeah? C'mon… You can take it."

You shudder. It's not even fully in yet?

He speaks too softly for it to be a demand, even when he's hovering on the brink of wanting to simply ram himself into your cunt. It's an encouragement. He’s cheering you on, like a coach. Or a leader... It’s leadership. 

When you don't object, he starts to feed more of himself in. You try to remember how to breathe because you were wrong, you were so, so wrong - it was barely just the tip, and now you're stretched wide and tight. He's endless, and sinking in deeper, deeper….

And you want it so much - all of him- you want to grip him and never let go. One hand comes to sweep over your hip again, it caresses the swell of your ass, and you know he's looking down at how well you can take him after all.

"How are we doin'?"

Your lips are swollen, and your brows are creased tight. It's still not in…? 

You’re fucked. Literally. But you can take him... You must.

You whimper when he slows down almost to a halt.

"Love. Tell me to stop 'n I'll stop."

"Just–gently," you whisper, brittle and shivering from joy.

"Don't worry. I got you."

Slowly, he arrives to the end of him and you. Hips flesh against yours, he’s out of breath before he even starts the thrusts. His length caresses places unfathomable in this position, and his weight is crushing you, even when he's supporting himself. It only feels like the safest place to be. Trapped there between your safe, soft bed and his safe, hard body. 

The first thrust punches the air out of your lungs. It doesn’t hurt, and it’s not uncomfortable; it’s just too much to take. You’ve never been so filled. 

"Fuck…" He swears, somewhere between the third or fourth thrust. "You're…"

"Good…?" You offer him when he doesn't continue. You know he was possibly going to say tight or something crude like that and corrected himself before it spilled. He merely grunts as an answer - a barbarian through and through, you decree. And then the brute speaks…

"The best."

God. You feel like a diamond after all, but you've never been under so much pressure, fearing you might break.

"You-too…" It's a sad little mewl. You sound like a child trying to make friends. Latching a hook on him, no matter how tiny it is. One shake, one ripple from the behemoth, and it will fall loose.

"Don't go lying with that pretty little mouth," he warns.

"I'm not lying."

"Yeah…? Keep squeezing me like that and perhaps I'll believe you."

It's a strange feeling, to meet your mistrust and jealousy on him. He has no pretenses, but he has secrets, camouflage, and flash grenades that blind you from the truth. But even he can't hide it all when he's moving inside you, so close, so terribly close.

You melt into a pool of heat and want, trying to meet him midway by offering your cunt, arching your spine, driving yourself up to give him better access. What was possibly meant as a desperate fuck turns into a sweet, weightless rocking, a rhythm of him and you. The hands on your hip start to gain weight as he holds you still for him, at times even pulls you against his cock.

"C'mon… wanna hear you," he huffs, then slides one hand to your butt and gives it a fond squeeze when you won't instantly make noise. "You're always givin' me that cheek and now you're silent?"

It's a warm question, a thick baritone that settles into your stomach, then shoots downwards and makes you clench. 

"Wh-what do you want me to say?"

"Want you to sing."

Of course the man who never talks won't shut up in bed. But he's not bullying you into submission, nor is he being mean. If anything, he sounds like he's finally on his knees. 

And you don't want to be mean either. Not anymore. But you just can't help yourself from having a little fun now that he's finally desperate and inside you. 

"Make me," you whisper, delivering your cheek with a wicked little smile.

The response is immediate: he dares to land a flat palm on your ass. Like you're a broodmare, a sirloin steak for him to feast on. And it does the job: you almost shriek, or at least that's how it sounds like when a parched little whine pushes through your vocal chords with violence.

"That's better," he barks, pleased with his work.

"You're horrible," you gasp. You're glad he put you face down on a pillow: you can only hope he doesn't see how happy you are in the darkness of his night.

"Yeah? And you're sweet." 

It's said with gravel wrapped in silk. It hits you and ignites, starts a flame inside you without permission.

You want him in ways you shouldn't. You want… more breakfasts, him carrying you up the stairs, taking in the way you tip-toe around the house in an old t-shirt. You want to serve him back rubs and tea and see who he is when he's not being paid. You don't want a lap dog or a guard dog, you simply want... 

Simon.

"I'm– I'm sorry that I've been such a bitch," you whisper. He sinks back on top of you until his nose nuzzles the back of your ear. He leans on his elbows, trying not to break you into too many little pieces, but the feeling of being confined couldn't be more blissful.

"Cock's that good?" He drags the following thrust, sparking your nerves aflame as he hits your core. But it's not brutal; if it is, it's the sweetest wrecking you could ever have imagined. 

"Don't make me take my words back," your lips pull to a smile and a silent, inner laugh. 

"Wouldn't dream of it." 

He's smiling too. Inwardly, perhaps, but you can hear the mirth. His weight on top of you while you're lying under him on your belly, unable to move, unable to do anything other than take the full brunt of his cock as it spreads you open, is pure heaven.

"Want you to cum when I'm inside you," he rasps in your ear, lips brushing the underside of your jaw. "Think you can do that, princess?"

Being told to cum on command is a bit ridiculous, you think. But not when it comes from that Cockney mouth. Not when he asks so nicely. Your cunt pulls, claws at him. 

"... I'll show you princess," you sigh, but it's only a second away from laughter. His fingers dig into your skin, the flush flesh of your ass. It feels possessive… Fond.

"Yeah. Show me. C'mon."

The camouflage gets slightly torn off by a wind of a smile. You can hear it on his lips. Sex should be fun, one of your friends always says. You had never thought about it like that. Bed is not the place for laughter and humor, you had thought. But now you are both on the brink of bursting with it.

"You're a fucking pretty one…" He grunts: a breathless, silent joy. "Know you want this as much as I do. Ain't that right?"

"Yes." 

"That's what I thought. So cum for me. Wanna hear the sounds you make."

You dance on the precipice already, and his voice causes your hand to shoot out to his. You drag that heated palm across your hips and your ribs, curl it next to you as if you were drawing a blanket over youself. It's a lover's caress, and his fingers slip between yours as he wraps around you like the protector that he is. 

Your walls flutter, the thickness inside you makes you swell with every thrust. His hips are relentless as he buries himself into you with blunt force, his flesh clapping against yours and making your cunt clamp down on him. Sweet, sweet, sweet, your blood sings as your lids drift closed. The wave is coming, the final tsunami that will sweep you with it, and you will only succumb with joy.

"Don't-stop," you hear yourself beg through the heavy pants he's grunting on your neck.

"'M not gonna stop," he grunts into your ear, serious now.

"Fuh–Fuck me good and… hard," you're hiccuping through dry tears. It feels like there's a hammer and an anvil placed between your ribs. "I need you hard-"

"Shit…"

You barely grasp that he's about to lose his precious control before the midnight sea takes you under. The world fades into a tight know of blue and white and black, electric, ambient, something soft and hot at the same time. You're choking on your tears, moaning into the pillow like a poor, broken, tortured cat. 

"That's fucking pretty," he swears on your neck as you cum. All humor is gone now, but he's not mocking you. He's just… emotional. The bulk of him rides you through the wave, but the rhythm of his hips becomes erratic. 

"That's it, pretty… I'm gonna…Fuck," he huffs on your skin, a mist of want, and the cockhead rubs something profound inside you and makes you jolt in the middle of your molten euphoria. He grunts, swears, and does it again - bludgeons so deep it forces out a sob, just before he breaks too with a choked, wet swallow and a groan. A trembling colossus, you think, as he thickens and bursts inside you.

You're an aching mess when he comes, his thighs pressing over yours and forcing them far and wide as he buries himself into you to the hilt. He's a behemoth, spasming and crumbling right above you. The broad abs bunch against your back while his hips pin you down and spread you open. The cock pulses inside you, and you are barely able to think how it's a miracle that both his thick flesh and the pool of cum, all of it, just somehow fits there inside you…

A gentle brute until the end, he swallows again, thick and breathless, before giving a few tight rolls of his hips, emptying himself to the last drop. Slowly, you both still inside your bubble of warm, dark blue, something akin to a sea between a tropical storm and a calm sunrise, a drowsy reef shifting with the waves. 

He's broken into a light sweat from the toil when he finally untangles your fingers. Your hips are kept in place with one hand as he slowly pulls out. You feel like you're left emptier than before, even if you feel the cum welling up inside, about to spill over.

Your bodyguard - your late-night fuck - collapses beside you, then reaches to pull you close again. Still back against his chest, still unable to look into your eyes when you're both vulnerable. 

"I'm gonna get you a towel," his fingers tremble as he caresses your arm with the most delicate touch. 

"No–don't, don't go," you whisper, then grab his hand and bring it back over you. You almost squeeze yourself with it. "Please?"

The tension behind your back decreases as he slowly falls back into bed.

"Alright love. I'll stay right here."

It's so peculiar how he reminds you of large water masses. A night sea under a pale moonlight. Not a stormy, roiling one, just a vast depth in an ever-swelling motion.

"I want… I need you to keep me safe," you whisper inside that swelling sea. You never want to come to the surface. You want to learn to breathe underwater. The heavy arm is draped over you; it covers nearly half of your chest as he sighs.

"Then let me do that."

His plea is not humble - nothing in this man is. He's not on one knee, swearing his allegiance and vowing to always protect you. He's not your Lancelot.

But in a way, his plea comes far too close to a beg. You feel a sting near your heart. It's electric, pure pain - the sweet kind, though, as you realize he doesn't only want to do his job… He wants to protect you. He has already tried his best to protect you while you run around like nothing is wrong. 

"Simon… I'm sorry."

"I already forgave you," he hums on your skin, evidently glad that you two finally understand each other. It should send you laughing, the thought that you needed his scars and his…treatment to find common ground. And free of charge, no less.

"Do you still wish you were somewhere warmer…?"

He bows his head against the nape of your neck, and the gush of air from his nose is warm and jovial. "No."

It's hours till dawn, but you wish it would never come. The beauty of the night is only now unfolding before you. It feels far more safe than the violent dawn. You wonder how he would react if you moaned his name as you cum. If he would shudder. You wonder what the hell is wrong with you that you didn't already do it...

"Simon…?"

"Mm..?"

"What happens now?"

There's a pause, but he doesn't shift for more comfort. Still, the bullet vests and battle gears are back on; you just sense it.

"We're gonna get some sleep."

"No, I meant… What does this mean for us?"

"What do you think it means?"

Now he shifts, but only to draw you closer. You feel like jello as he pulls your scent deep into his lungs, then exhales the grace on your skin like you're the only tobacco he needs after a good round of sex.

"Don't worry about it, princess," he murmurs on your skin. So delicately that you could claim this man has never even seen the army, never barked and shouted and smoked his throat dry. "We'll talk in the morning."

You settle into his sea, an embrace full of gentle, heavy safety. It's the sweetest oblivion to slip in as you begin a dreamless sleep, soft and snug. But it's not merciful enough to make you forget that you two… 

You never even kissed.

............................................

Taglist: @lialacleaf @cumikering @val-srz @glitterypirateduck @clear-your-mind-and-dream @milfs4lifee @regatoni1 @glossygreene @raf4el4 @xxmattyboixx @frozenballsack69 @gabygykss @chxrryp0p @sinnisterr @clairdelunelove @megumilover69 @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @ayavaiia @thedevillovesflowers @tiny-kasper

[cultpastorkevin]

Cult Tips for AFTG writers

notes from the resident ex-cult pastor

If you’re in the cult, there is nothing bizarre abt what’s happening and in fact the normal stuff that happens outside of it is what’s bizarre to you. Target? Weird. McDonald’s? Even weirder. I can like guarantee Jean and Kevin never had McDonald’s until they left the Nest.

When you leave, you’re gonna be paranoid as fuck. All the time. Ngl at least for weeks but sometimes for years. Nightmares and insomnia 24/7. Hallucinations too lmao Riko is in every corner of empty rooms and you can hear his voice echo in the confines of the lockers.

I see a lot of Jean wanting to go back to the Nest, but not a lot of Kevin wanting to go back. He definitely struggled, 100%. In fact when he was in the pits of agony from his broken hand, was when he probably wanted to go back the most. Cult is home, cult is safe. Four walls you’ve always known and while it’s a cage at least it’s dependable. They hurt you but by god it always works out and the reward of pushing through this tragic incident is greater than the terror it caused in the first place. It’s a gift, actually. A gift from Riko. He saved Kevin. Cults save you. Cults make you wanna return to them like damn homing pigeons bruh. Give me more shattered hand Kevin screaming at Wymack to let him go back home and having a breakdown when he’s denied fics thanks

Piggybacking off the last one: cults are saviors; you’re nothing without them and they make sure you truly believe that; that everything that is done to you is for you and you’re blessed for it to be happening. You’re lucky even, to be allowed in it. Everything is as it’s supposed to be and order must never be challenged, because it works, and you’re the Edgar Allan Ravens, and this is the most honorable place you could be. All the pain you go through is you earning the right to be saved and to prove your worth every day on court. Only the worthy are honored.

You justify everything that happened and you will start fights and get angry with people who try to correct you and tell you it was wrong what went on.

On the other hand, you blame yourself for everything ever that happened there whether you were at fault or not. Hurting others, hurting yourself, gaslighting the fuck out of yourself over things maybe you could’ve prevented and over things you never could’ve stopped. The guilt is crippling and it eats you alive and haunts you.

There’s a lot of shame too. I see more guilt written than shame but shame is a huge portion of emotions that cult survivors have. Shits embarassing dude like “god how did I end up thinking this wack ass shit was normal” 😐 Shame comes later in the healing process usually, it’s after you have come to terms with shit that’s happened and you understand it. Looking back, you go “Jesus fucking Christ that was a red flag what the hell. Should’ve left then, or then, or then, or then” and then you’re just plain fuckin embarrassed.

Please look up how hive minds and brainwashing are created and work; also Stockholm Syndrome; understanding these would be incredibly helpful tbfh.

Diets are big; everyone eats the same thing; food is used as a reward and a punishment.

Hype hype hype. They whip up a frenzy of one singular emotion and use that to push you into a blind hysteria because you’re more suspectible to their influence when you’re out of your mind.

Drugs. Depends on the cult. But yeah these little bitches can be a huge factor for shit and can help with the brainwashing and hysteria and stockholm. Sometimes you don’t even know you’re being drugged or poisoned until you leave.

OH I ALMOST FORGOT. Dehumanization and then being treated like a person again can be traumatic as fuck yall!! Holy shit! Sometimes it feels worse than being dehumanized!

EDIT AGAIN: you don’t know what mental illness is !! Cults don’t fucking tell you these things lmao. if you show symptoms it’s your fault. Kevin being depressed his mom died was gonna get blamed on him and he was never going to be told grief is normal and it’s okay to be insanely sad. Jean also never got told his anger was correct or his trauma responses to being raped were realistic! They just got blamed for any reactions ever that weren’t neurotypical !! that is all; do with that what you will.

Idk if I think of anything else I’ll write another one but that’s all for now; I haven’t slept much lmao 🫡

[the20thangel]

The Caged Queen

Summary: The war has ended. Rhaenyra is dead, and Aegon is left burnt. You from House Celtigar have married the King and ruled at his place because of his injuries. To try to bring stability to the realm, you invite the lords of the realm to pledge their loyalty to the crown. Forcing you to reunite with a lord from your past, tensions run, and feelings come back. (I have not proofread, so I apologize for any errors)

Benjicot X reader

Tags: NSFW, MDNI, 18+

Word count: 3.5 K

Masterlist

Sitting in the council room, listening to the state of the realm, seeing how you can bring it into peace after the dreadful war. You sighed, listening to the lords discussing the possibility of marrying Prince Aegon, Rhaenyra’s son and your husband’s child, with his first wife, Heleana, Princess Jaehaera. The war ended, but the tensions were still high around the realm. With the current council holding surviving lords from both black and green sides, meetings usually ended with arguments rather than solutions. Since you had yet to provide a male heir to the king, you understood it was only plausible for the two to marry, but you did not want that for your stepdaughter. For you know, the sweet princess would never survive the hardships of court, just like her mother. You also could not help but think that Prince Aegon would be okay with marrying the daughter of the man who killed his mother. 

You were only a stand-in for your husband, who was too weak and almost always in pain to get out of his bed. Growing tired of the arguments, you cleared your throat. 

“My lords, I understand that the realm needs stability, but I don’t feel like marrying the young royals will achieve this. They have not healed from the horrors of the war. I will not force them into a marriage that could end in resentment. What would we do once they, in their anger, kill each other? Hmm? The realm will be left with no heirs left.”

You explained, twirling a ring on your right index finger; it was pretty garnet. Lord Corlys gave you a pointed look, stopping you from your nervous tick. Lord Peake condescendingly looked at you with pity.

“My Queen, no insult to you or the king, but since you have yet to become with child, King Aegon’s reign is frail; we need to make sure that the realm has heirs to prevent a war from brewing again.”  snidely explained Lord Peake, giving you a crooked grin, as eyes roamed down your body. 

Disgusted, you sneered at the lord, “Surely, you understand, my lord, that my husband is always in a great deal of pain, so tell me, my lord, how am I supposed to become with the child if laying with my husband will cause him immense pain? You want to ensure an heir for him; you should find a way for me to do my duty. I am responsible for Prince Aegon the Younger and Princess Jaehaera's well-being. My stepdaughter is still a child; I will not force her into an early marriage. So let us conclude this meeting by brainstorming a more realistic way to ensure lasting peace for the realm; surely our families and people deserve that much?” 

You stood up, prompting all the other lords to stand and bow their heads, letting you be the first to walk out of the council room. Walking to the king's rooms, you saw your husband peacefully sleeping on his bed. Turning to the maester, you asked about Aegon’s status. 

“The King is in great pain, but he seems to relax once given some sweet wine and poppy milk. Hopefully, letting him have adequate rest will bring back his strength.” 

 Thanking the maester, you turned to look at Aegon. You suppose you got lucky; you were his second wife after the tragic death of Heleana. Lord Larys, before Queen Rhaenyra executed him, convinced Aegon that he needed another Valyrian bride, and besides the Velayrons, House Celtigar was the only other house with Valyrian genes. So your father betrayed Rhaenyra, and you were soon married to Aegon. Although you pleaded for the Queen to help you escape from your fate, she was already ridden by grief and sent you away, claiming that you betrayed her like your father. Then Princess Baela attacked Aegon a week before your marriage, injuring him more than he was before.  So, although the seven witnessed the marriage, it remained unconsummated.  

Of course, the only people who knew that it was unconsummated were your ladies and Alicent Hightower, who would only glare at you should you be in the same vicinity as her. It did not help that you started prohibiting her from reaching your stepdaughter, but the poor girl confessed her grandmother frightened her. Sighing, you placed a kiss on his forehead before turning to leave the room. Walking to the children’s chambers, Aegon the Younger and Jaehaera played quietly. Smiling, you greeted them, allowing both children to embrace you. They were innocent in the war and lost people they cared about, and you needed to protect them from lords who wanted to place burden after burden on them. You spent the rest of the day with the children, trying to ignore the nagging feeling from that morning's meeting. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, another council meeting was called. As you sat at the head of the table, you noticed that only a few lords seemed happy, and Lord Peake was not one of them. Turning to Lord Corlys, he cleared his throat. 

“My queen, after you left, I decided to follow through on your command and brainstormed a plan to bring stability to the realm, and I decided the course of action was to call all lords from the realm to come to Kingslanding and pledge their loyalty to the crown, ending the occasion with a ball. Therefore, the lords see how much we appreciate their oaths.” 

As you thought in the plan, you brought up the concern that the smallfolk would see this as a slap in their faces if the highborn indulges while they are struggling. Another lord countered by saying they would provide opportunities for the smallfolk to work for the lords coming to Red Keep to earn coins and hold minor feasts outside the walls. Nodding, you decided to allow the plan to run its course, taking the rest of the time to prepare preparations for the many houses and where they would stay in the castle. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two moons passed, and finally, the lords were here to swear their oaths to the crown. Aegon was improving but still had too much pain to leave his room entirely. As you stood with Prince Aegon and Princess Jaehaera, each lord came up, bowing and swearing his loyalty to the crown and House Targaryen. The last house from the Riverlands came up to the royals, House Blackwood. Lord Benjicot came forth, staring at the Prince for a while before bowing. Your heart started beating fast, seeing the Raventree Hall lord for the first time since your marriage. Seeing him so close, your chest tightened, but propriety was a border between you both. Benjicot raised himself, allowing both your eyes to meet, gray on lilac. You closed your eyes, nodding to him. 

Benjicot stared at you. You were so close, but he knew better than to reach out for you. Seeing your face away from him greatly upset him; frowning, he bowed again before walking away, his fists curling. 

Soon, the festivities began, with lords and ladies dancing and laughing, enjoying themselves. You tiredly smiled, happy that the court seemed to enjoy themselves, but it took a toll on you. Hoping to use the children as an excuse to leave early when the herald's voice came out. 

“Presenting His Royal Majesty, King Aegon, Second of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.” 

Everyone gasped as the Kingsguard practically carried Aegon to you, and everyone paled, including you, at seeing your husband. Seeing him wheeze in pain caused you to quickly go to his side, helping him stand beside you as the court became silent.  You scanned the room, seeing many of the court becoming uncomfortable at seeing your husband’s state, and you were saddened to see Prince Aegon shake in fear, walking farther away from you. Before walking to the young boy, you felt a coarse hand grasp yours. Turning, you saw Aegon pull at your hand. Walking towards him, he reached up to you, barely kissing the corner of your mouth. You froze, stiffening at his actions and feeling dread when you made eye contact with Benjicot, whose face darkened with anger, and walked out of the room. Your eyes followed the lord as Aegon addressed the crowd.

“I thank all of you here for coming to swear loyalty to me and my queen. Even though I have not made many appearances in court, I know I have left my rule in the best hands possible. My lovely wife has done an excellent job in ruling in my name, and I wish to come out today so that we may take the time to honor her.” He gasped again in pain as he pushed for you to stand closer to the crowd. 

The lords and ladies smiled, clapping for their queen; what Aegon was the truth, you had ensured that the realm slowly returned to the peaceful times of King Viserys. Shyly, you smiled at the crowd before turning back to your husband, urging him to return to his chambers, seeing him in pain. You may not fully love your husband, but you were not cruel to enjoy him in pain. He nodded and kissed your hand again before leaving with his guards. Sighing, you clapped your hands, asking for the bards to play joyful songs for dances. 

Turning to the prince and princess, you saw how pale they were from Aegon’s appearance; you comforted them and let one of your councilmen know that you were also retiring with the children, not noticing how a certain councilman, followed you out and then changed course towards the king’s chambers. You spent an hour with each child, reading them sweet Valryian tales until they relaxed enough to sleep. Smiling, you kissed each child goodnight before walking out and making your way to the Queen’s Chambers. As you were a few steps from your chamber, you felt an arm grab yours. You spun to punch your attacker, but your hand was quickly caught as you heard a slight chuckle. You relaxed, seeing that it was Benjicot. You nodded as you addressed him. 

“My lord, pardon my attack, but I would have thought you knew better than to sneak up on your queen?” you questioned, noticing your hand still in his, but you made no move to remove it. 

“Forgive me, my queen, but I couldn’t help but notice you walking alone. Should you not have guards or ladies with you, or does your king not care what happens to his wife?” Benjicot criticized. 

You lightly scoffed, “Usually, no one outside the royal family would be this far into Meagor’s holdfast.” 

Benjicot flushed; he was caught. Still, he shook his head, backing away slightly from you. 

“I apologize; I got lost while walking around the grounds. I was trying to find my way back to the ballroom when I heard footsteps,” he confessed, his eyes softening as he fully took your appearance. 

Nodding, you point him to the correct path, wishing him goodnight as you turn away. Pausing when he called your name. 

“Lord Blackwood, I am the Queen; you do not have permission to use my name freely,” you quietly hissed at him. Feeling your chest tighten again when you heard his husky voice speak your name. 

Benjicot smiled, walking towards you, his body nearing and pressing to yours. You both stared at each other, him taking a strand of your hair. 

“Does he treat you well?” he questioned, staring into your eyes. 

Your eyes softened, nodding, “Yes, as best as he can. I hardly see him, but he is kind whenever we see each other.” 

Ben nodded; feeling reckless, he reached to caress your cheek, but you moved your face away from his touch. 

“Don’t,” you stated, your eyes hardening at him. 

Ben frowned, “I’ve missed you…” 

You cruelly laughed at his words, smirking tauntly as his frown deepened. 

“You missed me? You left Ben… You don’t get to miss me when you abandoned me when I needed you the most… You lost the right to miss me.” you angrily stated, tears slowly falling down your cheeks. 

Ben shook his head, wiping tears away from your face. You sob out as you allow yourself to lean to his touch; no matter how much you can deny it, you miss him as well. 

“I did not mean to…I had to follow my duty, to fight for our queen-” 

You shushed him. Looking around, you brought him inside your chambers. 

“Do not speak about Queen Rhaneyra freely; you could be charged with treason,” you warned him. 

“I will never deny Queen Rhaenyra’s claim, you know this, at least you did before you married her murder and become a queen-” Ben didn’t finish his sentence as you slapped him. 

“Do you think I wanted this? I never wished to be queen. I never wanted to marry him. But what other choice did I have, Ben? I was alone; the queen pushed me away because of my father’s actions. You left me, YOU LEFT. Allowing my father to force me into a marriage I did not want. What was I supposed to do? Kill myself or try to survive and marry a man who was broken. Prince Aegon would have been killed with the queen if not for me. I fought for Prince Aegon while you all were fighting silly battles. I …” you sobbed, falling to the ground in heartbreak, finally allowing your walls to break down since you walked up the blasted steps of the Sept.  

Ben swallowed bitterly; he hated seeing you cry; kneeling, he gathered you to his arms as you continued to cry in grief. Hushing you, he kissed your crown, trying to comfort you. 

After a moment, you leaned back, your face close to his. 

Ben smiled sweetly, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you…. When I heard you married him, I became resentful and filled with rage. The battlefield allowed me to release my anger.” 

You shook your head. Sadly, smiling as you felt a kiss on your cheek, “I don’t love him… I hoped you would have come to take me and the prince away from this golden cage. I cried at my wedding, trying to imagine that it was you who I was marrying infront of the weirwood tree, not him…but you never came. You left me, Ben.”

Ben closed his eyes in pain; he regretted not coming to take you away. 

“If I could go back, I would… I love you…I will never stop loving you,” he confessed, leaning in but stopping away from your lips. He would not dishonor you. 

You softened at him. He was still your sweet Ben. You were still his lady. As you expressed your thoughts, Benjicot grinned. Unable to stop himself, he finally kissed you. Allowing yourself to fall into his kiss, you placed your arms around his neck, leaning more into the kiss. You will stop denying yourself to him. You wanted him. 

As the kiss deepened, Benjicot dragged your body closer to him, causing you to grind his lap and groan at the sensation. Feeling like he was dishonoring you, he was about to stop when you grinded yourself harder to him, taking a loud groan from his lips to yours. Ben growled, knowing he should stop. You were married and the queen, but your sweet body cast a spell on him, with each movement of your hips, called out to his groin as it stiffened with each grind. Ben pressed your hips down harder to cause the fraction to strengthen; you grabbed his other hand and placed it upon your breast, moaning as he fonded your breast. 

Separating his lips from yours, he leaned to your ears, groaning your name from your movements, “We need to stop, my queen; if you don’t… I don’t think I will stop myself…I don..dishonor…fuck.” 

He could not finish his thoughts, leaning his head back from feeling your hips circling on his lap. Forgetting his argument, he kissed your neck, sucking and biting. You gasped in delight. 

“Your queens need you, my lord, I command you to love me…I command you to take me…take me, Ben.” you pleaded, grinning as he growled and picked you up, throwing you on your bed. 

Feeling giddy, you began to undress yourself as you saw him stalking you, undressing himself along the way. Calming on the bed, he pulled your body to him. Both groaned as he rubbed his stiff cock on your wet cunt. 

“So wet for me, I bet he could never get you this wet… you're wet for me and only me, my sweet girl,” he whispered to your ear, grinning as you moaned at his teasing. 

Kissing him, you wrapped your legs around him, sighing in delight as he rubbed himself on you. “I will never know; we never consummated the marriage..” you confessed. 

You needed him to know you were still a maiden. That you never entirely gave yourself to the king, that Ben would be the only one. Benjicot froze upon hearing the news; technically, your marriage was not valid… technically you were still his as he was still yours. Grinning wildly, he kissed you more fiercely, causing you to gasp and allowing him to sneak his tongue into your mouth. As you grabbed his shoulder, you felt the slight pain of him entering you. He fully sheathed himself inside of you, pausing to let you get used to his size and girth. 

Although it was slightly painful, you were happy; no other man would be inside you, for your body and soul were committed to Benjicot Blackwood. Nodding for him to move, Ben started slowly and deeply, causing you to moan, leaning your head back on your pillows, enjoying his sweet movements and kisses on your neck. As much you loved him being sweet, you needed more; you waited too long enough to have him. 

Pleaded for him to go faster, Ben grinned, switching his position to allow him to lift his hips faster as he began to pound into you, groaning as your walls began to clench around him. He felt at home; he belongs between your legs. Moaning, you began to drag your nails down his back, locking your legs around him. 

Sounds of skin slapping became louder with the grunts, groans, and moans coming from the queen and her lord. You whispered his name like a prayer, meeting his hips with each thrust, clenching hard as he pounded into you. You needed him; you will never tire of him. Soon, both movements began to grow sloppy, feeling your release coming fast. As Ben started to exit, you quickly grabbed his upper body with your arms as your legs tightened around his hips. 

“No, I will have it no other way but inside me; finish inside me; your queen commands it, Ben,” you commanded, moaning as he slammed hard twice before feeling his hot, creamy release inside of you. Coating your walls as your release milked him of every drop he gave. 

As you finally came down from your high, you breathed heavily; he was still inside of you. You ran your fingers through his hair, making him look up to you. Smiling, you brought his face to yours, kissing him sweetly. Benjicot grinned, moving up to caress your face when you both heard a commotion outside. Freezing, you both quickly jumped from the bed. You change into your shift fast before turning to help him redress. Hearing the Kingsguard yell, you promptly pushed him to hide as you turned scared, the guards flying into the room. 

“My Queen!” stated a guard as you reached for a cloak. 

“Commander, what is it?” your heart beat so fast. Did they hear you and Ben? 

The commander scanned, looking for danger; when he saw nothing, he turned to you. 

“My queen, I regret that the King has been poisoned. We are looking for the culprit.” 

You gasped; Aegon was dead. Quickly, you commanded the court to enter the throne room, asking the rest of the guards to bring the children to you. As they left, you breathed. He was gone; you would no longer be queen. Turning to Ben, he left his spot, taking your face into his hands. 

“You need to go to Ben before they find you and try to blame you…I’ll see you in the throne room. I will fight for Rhaenyra’s son to be king and bring my queen’s wishes to life.”  you asked of him. 

Nodding, he kissed you once more before he began to leave. Pausing, he turned to you with a slight grin.

“After this mess, will you marry me, my queen?” he asked, causing you to blush. 

You smiled as you breathed your answer, “I will gladly be your lady. After we crown our king, I will marry you infront of the Weirwood tree at Raventree Hall. Now go quickly.” 

Benjicot dazzled you with a broad smile, turning; he quickly left you, eagerly awaiting for the future.

[theashesofthefirststar]

Edwin-centric fic idea for those of us who like to see our favorite gay ghost boy suffer

Edwin gets caught up with Destiny The Endless, who attempts to torment him with visions of what his life could have been like if he lived. He explains that one's future is never set in stone, but some outcomes are more likely than others, and for Edwin, all of his most likely paths were nearly as tragic as the one that ended in his death.

In one path he’s conscripted into the military at 18 and dies a month before the war ends in November of 1918. In a similar path he develops a relationship with a fellow platoon member only to be found out and court marshaled for “gross indecency”. He spends 10 years in prison.

There’s even a path where a teacher finds him the night of what was supposed to be his sacrifice and puts a stop to everything before the demon shows up. Later, a tense confrontation with Simion leads to a stolen kiss, which leads to a secret, years long affair that only ends when Edwin is invited to Simion's wedding.

None of this has much of an effect on Edwin. He always knew there was no happy endings for people like him when he was alive. It's why he's never yearned for his life or grieved his death in the way Charles does.

So Destiny changes tactics and fills Edwins's mind with versions of the life Charles could have had if he hadn't died. Unlike Edwin's, these paths are all happy and full. Charles getting away from his father. Charles going off to college. Charles making new, better friends. Charles taking up guitar. Charles kissing pretty girls. Charles getting a good job and moving his mother somewhere safe. Charles falling in love and getting married and having kids and making them spaghetti and singing them songs and doing all the things he's been yearning for since his death, but that Edwin can never give him.

And Destiny taunts Edwin. "How does it feel," he asks, "Knowing that any life would have been better for Charles than the one he shares with you?"

[lale-txt]

❉ confessing to you w/ Geto, Toji & Shiu

➸ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏: Gojo, Nanami & Higuruma

a/n: reader is gn! obviously i lied when i said that i won't write a part 2 for this, but here we are. the scenarios plagued my mind and i had to get them out. both Toji's and Geto's part turned out a little sad and angsty, but that's what you get with those tragic chars, i guess.

❦ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

Toji doesn’t confess. Deep, deep down he fears that he might put a curse on you if he speaks what weighs on his heart. 

You gotta forgive him, he’s a burned child. 

He’s afraid that you’re gonna vanish once he says these words out loud; without a trace, making him wonder if you were merely a fever dream. But you’re here, next to him in the dark, the heat of your body seeping into his when you roll over in your sleep and cling to him. He has to keep you safe, it’s what his life revolves around.

Toji’s hands are surprisingly gentle when he brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You wouldn’t think that the same hands were covered in blood only a few hours ago. Some days he wouldn’t stop scrubbing them until you wrapped yours around his, giving him that look that makes his heart flinch. There’s no fear in your eyes, only compassion and a calm adoration, enough to make the lump of unsaid words in his throat swell. Sometimes he wonders if he’s gonna suffocate on those one day; if you’ll be able to forgive him for loving you, for touching you with those bloodstained hands, for engraving himself into your being.

He hopes you know. You do, don’t you? You wouldn’t curl up besides him otherwise, tangled in sheets he’ll never stay too long because he fears his world will melt down to just the two of you. So he keeps his gun on the nightstand and one foot out of the door, but his eyes will always dart back to your sleeping figure. You mumble out his name in your sleep and Toji responds by pulling you closer to him, only for a moment, holding his breath when you stir awake for a heartbeat. 

Maybe he can love you in between.

In those split seconds when you’re not asleep but not awake either; neither dreaming nor conscious. Not in this life, not in the next one. But in another life, when the stars have aligned and lead you back into his arms. Maybe he can hold you without worrying about staining your soul, your heart; maybe then he can kiss you with the absence of fear. Until then he’ll bite his tongue till he draws blood, choking on the words he chose not to say.

You will forgive him, won’t you? 

❦ 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

In the dark and hazy mind of Geto, you’re the golden light that always guides him back to life. Even though fears he’ll dim you once he encases you, he can’t stay away from you for too long, your warmth way too addicting to him. You never push him away, instead you open your arms to embrace him. It’s as if you’re blinded by your own light, choosing not to see the sins he had committed because it would mean you’d have to stop loving him, and that would mean your whole world would simply fall apart; it’d mean Geto would fall apart.

Geto never asks for much. He did once and maybe that’s the heaviest burden he has to carry; that night when he showed up at your doorstep, asking you to leave everything behind and come with him. It was selfish, he knows that much. But how could you have denied him anything, when both his voice and heart were close to breaking, when he mumbled your name like an apology, his hands trembling till the moment you wrapped yours around them?

It’s too late now, and saying those words out loud now would feel like a binding vow, destroying you in the end. He can’t do that to you. Not to the person who saw the core of his soul and still chose to stay by his side, over all these years. Not budging, not complaining.

An unconditional love with eyes closed. A black hole where his heart is supposed to be, from dusk but never to dawn; while you’re burning brighter than a thousand suns. Maybe he has always been in your orbit, inevitably drawn to you.

When Geto trails kisses from your fingertips to your wrists, he can’t help but wonder when the day will come when he’ll slip through these fingers and plunge into darkness. He imagines your desperate cries and the scratch marks on his skin when you attempt to pull him back, back to the light, back to you. One day, it will be too late, he’s sure of that. His end won’t be a kind one. 

All he can hope for is your forgiveness when he places his bleeding heart in your open palms, and that you’ll swallow him whole like he did with the burden of never being able to openly telling you how deeply, madly he loved you.

❦ 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐔

Whenever he pulls up in the driveway, Shiu can’t help but wonder if you’re gonna be there, waiting for him at his doorstep with that mischievous grin of yours. You’re just a neighbor who he occasionally shares a cigarette with, he keeps telling himself, knowing it’s a full blown lie at this point. 

You’re tugging at his heart strings, night for night. Sometimes the thought of you just lying a few meters away from him, on the other side of a wall, drives him insane. You should be here, in his bed, in his arms. His sheets should smell like you in the morning, not like this creeping loneliness. Yet he never invites you inside and you never dare him to, like a stray cat tiptoeing at the edge of an open door, hoping for sweet treats and head scratches. It’s a game you’re both playing.

“My sweet,” he mumbles in that raspy voice you’ve learned to love so much when he spots you sitting at your familiar spot. Without hesitation he takes off his suit jacket and puts it around your shoulders. He never asks how long you’ve been sitting and waiting there for him, but he can easily tell from your cold fingertips when you hand him the lighter. Just a neighbor.

Inviting you in would mean something more than just opening the door. Within his profession, you don’t do love. There’s simply no room for it. Affection is exchanged through bundled yen notes and comes with fake laughter and lots of regret and headache in the morning. It’s just how things go. It’s the life Shiu chose for himself.

So why did his heart yearn so much for you? He should break this up before it even gets started. But he cannot, not when you inch closer while you talk, until your knees and your shoulders are touching, and the smoke from your shared cigarette is blown from lips to lips, as if you’re both testing just how close you can get before the resilience crumbles.

Maybe a kiss won’t hurt. Shiu knows that the lies he tells himself are piling up at this point. Of course it will hurt. A simple kiss won’t satisfy him, he’ll always find himself craving for more of you. A kiss first, then waking up by your side while you’re wearing his shirt that hugs your figure so nicely and next thing he’ll catch himself staring at the displays of the jewelry store, thinking which ring he should get you.

No, he can’t do that. He shouldn’t. And yet still, he cups your face so gently, lifting your chin up and catching your gaze. So let it hurt, he thinks to himself, before leaning in to kiss you, softly and deeply.

[nobodyfamousposts]

Do you think people cling on too much to Adrien's high road advice as a reason to salt on him?

Yes, especially when there are plenty of other reasons to salt him that have previously been ignored. But to that end, it DOES serve as the final straw for people after a SERIES of problems that had previously gone unaddressed.

Much like many aspects of the show, Adrien has displayed problematic behaviors that have been overlooked and waved off in the earlier seasons. This is likely or especially due to the way how in each and every incident, Adrien was narratively shown to be correct. In his stance. In his choices. In his behaviors. He was always right. It doesn't matter if he shouldn't be, because he is.

Now unless you're a hater or anti or salter or whatever negative name people tend to get for not liking a story as it's presented, readers and watchers tend to follow along with the narrative as it presents things and how it presents things. It's a common setup in any story. Protagonist Centered Morality, I feel framed best by Susan in the Discord series:

Susan: ...and then Jack chopped down the beanstalk, adding murder and ecological vandalism to the theft, enticement and trespass charges already mentioned, but he got away with it and lived happily ever after without so much as a guilty twinge about what he had done. Which proves that you can be excused anything if you're a hero, because no one asks inconvenient questions.

Pretty much this. Most people will follow what the narrative says because it's the narrative. If the narrative wants you to focus on Marinette being embarrassed, you're going to focus on how much she's cringe. And if the narrative wants you to view Adrien as a perfect sunshine boy who never does anything wrong, anything he does is going to be framed through that lens and it's difficult to break from that view and call out the times when he is wrong. Not unless he does something particularly severe.

It should be noted that outside of Chameleon, Adrien had, among other things: lied to his partner, caused someone to get akumatized and had his partner take the blame, was messing around during life-threatening and city-threatening situations, did nothing as Chloe tormented people right in front of him, DEFENDED Chloe after she tormented people right in front of him, bailed on an event with friends to set up a date with someone who said she had other plans and then got mad at HER for it, tried to flirt or confess in the middle of an active crisis which took necessary attention away from said crisis, caused himself AND his partner to get hit by akuma powers and needlessly be taken out of commission.

And yet people could mostly overlook these instances. They weren't his fault. Chloe is his friend. Marinette is worse. He's just a kid. He has a tragic backstory. So on and so forth. Easy to overlook. Easy to ignore in favor of the Sunshine Boy setup people were given and want to believe in.

But there were three major instances that really grabbed people's attention and stayed:

His attitude in Frozer. It probably wouldn't have been so bad except this rejection already happened in Glaciator, where he was supposed to have learned a lesson and accepted just being Ladybug's friend and now apparently didn't, despite it happening earlier that very season. Then in response, he decides to date Kagami as a rebound, drags Marinette with him on his date (without realizing how he's asking his friend to be a third wheel on a DATE) and focuses on her when he's supposed to be with Kagami, throws another tantrum in the middle of an akuma fight and refuses to work with his partner when the city is literally frozen, and requires Ladybug to apologize to him for hurting his feelings before he finally working with her. Again. But okay, he's a teenage boy in love. Not used to rejection and got his feelings hurt. Lovesquare is endgame so of course it'll work out anyway, so it's not like this bump in the road is really going to matter long term so we shouldn't hold it against him. Fine. Dumb, but fine. We've forgiven it in other shows and other poorly done teen romances, we can forgive it here.

His behavior in Syren in which he demanded to know secrets from people when the secrets were not theirs to tell him, and went so far as to attempt to blackmail his kwami (which was funny) and threaten to quit and abandon the Ring that the big bad is after while the city is flooded and people were trying to not drown (which was decidedly less humorous). But it was played for wholesome when Plagg reassured him and he got what he wanted by Fu revealed himself even if Adrien did nothing to actually show he earned it, so all's well that ends well, I guess? And people could justify it because "they're partners" and "part of a team" and "she should trust him" and "it's not fair he's the only one left out of the loop" and "he has a right to know" and just general "Fu is an idiot" (which is admittedly hard to argue). So people were disgruntled, but most were willing to overlook it.

His holier than thou lecture to Marinette in Maledictator over everyone being happy Chloe was leaving. When all Marinette was doing at the time was watching everyone else have fun. When Adrien specifically guilted Marinette and not any of the other actual partiers involved who were literally throwing a party over his friend leaving and probably should have warranted a lecture more than the girl just standing there. When the girl in question was also Chloe's main target and out of everyone had valid reasons to be happy that her bully won't be around to bully her anymore. When Adrien himself has historically been present to witness Marinette being targeted including twice he witnessed Chloe attempt to steal from Marinette, once he witnessed her try to blackmail Marinette, and numerous other times when she actively caused harm to Marinette and others. When Adrien then proceeded to sit in a corner and pout rather than do anything else or just leave if the party really bothered him. When Adrien, if he really cared so damn much, could have gone after Chloe himself! Or y'know...have stood up for Chloe earlier when she got upset in the first place. But fine, okay, Chloe is his childhood friend. So maybe he's just being biased and oblivious to the fact that his "friend" is a horrible person. But people can excuse and justify it in that they are friends and friends support each other, and the longer someone is friends with someone else, the harder it is to break from them. And that Marinette was probably just the target of his lecture because she was the one there in the moment (and the only one who would listen without arguing). And her calling Chloe useless was "mean" despite it being quite frankly the least of what she could have said about her in the moment (coughcough theft cough blackmail cough punished the entire school cough TRIED TO CRASH A TRAIN AND NEARLY KILLED HER AND HER PARENTS COUGH-FREAKINGCOUGH). Fine. Childhood friend means Adrien supports her in all her horrible and even deadly actions. Frustrating, but again, able to be explained and you can see where he's coming from.

These are all things that definitely got Adrien some side eye at best and some detractors at worst.

BUT if you really think about it, all of these examples are objectively worse than his lecture to Marinette in Chameleon. Not accepting being told "no" and continuing to chase a girl who isn't that in to him (while leading on another). Putting lives at risk over personal wants that could quite honestly wait until AFTER the crisis is over. Defending someone who is harmful and guilt tripping the victims. Compared to those, telling someone to leave a liar to their lying seems relatively minor.

So why this? Why here? Why is it Chameleon that has people saying enough is enough? Why is it this episode that is causing the sunshine boy to be so tarnished and the subject of salt in fan fiction?

Because this is the time when it couldn't be rationalized. There wasn't even a valid sensible canon-based reason for his stance. The arguments that Adrien "knew confronting her wouldn't work" or that he "handled her like paparazzi" or that he "knew Marinette previously failed when she tried" (even though he wasn't there and didn't know) or that he "didn't think anyone would believe him" don't come from canon. Those were fan arguments made after the fact to justify him after the base was broken and the outcry became too much to ignore.

This case didn't have any of the ties or rationales of the previous incidents. Adrien wasn't defending himself or his place in a partnership. He wasn't fighting for his love or his dream or an outcome he wanted and that we all knew was coming—if anything, he was fighting against her. He wasn't defending a friend like he did with Chloe—I mean, it's pretty evident he doesn't even really know or like Lila at this point, and for all intents and purposes, this is apparently only the second day he actually had any interaction with her. There was no notable reason Adrien really had for why he essentially chose to protect Lila over literally anyone else as she wasn't a friend and it wasn't in his interests to protect her from a consequence that wouldn't hurt her short term as much as it would likely harm everyone else long term.

And yet, he still defended her and her freedom to lie. Over Marinette. Over Ladybug. Over his friends. Over any sense of right and wrong he seems to have no problem throwing around when it comes to Marinette/Ladybug. Which seems like he targets her 9 times out of 10 compared to pretty much anyone else by this point. So it's little wonder then that people who didn't already hate the lovesquare because of the cringe factor from Marinette started to hate it for being incredibly unhealthy given that their relatively limited interactions tend to involve him lecturing her for failing to live up to his double standards that only seem to apply to her in any given situation.

This incident by itself doesn't seem like much, but when looked at as part of the series as a whole, it's when people couldn't keep overlooking this trend. Where he seems to admonish the wrong person. Where he acts like a mouthpiece rather than a person. Talks like he’s wise in a situation he seems to have a childish and one-sided view of. Acts like a brat but is treated as though he has no accountability in the situation he causes. Where he is wrong but no one and certainly not the narrative acknowledges it (not until season five and two seasons too late when it doesn't matter and he's still not the one facing consequences for it).

And it's not like he actually follows the stances he himself promotes. In Chameleon, canon presents him with this idealistic stance that Lila could change if given a chance, except he doesn't give her a chance. He doesn't push her to be a better person. He doesn't support or in any way help her to be the better person he insisted to Marinette she could be. He also doesn't do anything or warn anyone when she keeps lying and actively harms the people he says he cares about. He doesn't do anything one way or the other other than some lackluster encouragement to stop lying and a warning that goes nowhere. It just further gives credit to the argument that Adrien either simply doesn't care about other people, or that he doesn't care for Marinette specifically. Neither is conducive to the lovesquare or the increasingly tarnished view of the "sunshine boy".

And it could have worked. Canonically and intrinsically to his character. His idealism and trust in the wrong person comes back to bite him. He learns and grows from it. Except that, much like with nearly everything he does in canon, Chameleon set it up that Adrien was the writers' mouthpiece and thus was not "wrong". I'll grant that they did have him admit it and apologize to Marinette for it two seasons later, but it is pretty evident that during Chameleon, they intended his lecture to be right, with no foreshadowing and no implication otherwise. And I'm fairly certain they only backtracked and had him do that much because of the amount of fan outrage over the episode.

So yes, I think his lecture in Chameleon was really a final straw since unlike Chloe, Adrien has NO relationship with Lila to justify his defense of her. Especially when the argument is in favor of letting her lie to the people he's supposed to care about. That combined with how jarring it was how most of the class just sided with Lila over the seat issue in the first place, and I think people were less inclined to just ignore the problems in the episode specifically and with the series as a whole as they were compared to the first and second seasons. Not just with Adrien, as we see that Alya also started getting more callout and salt since then as well as more retrospective scrutiny over her behavior in earlier seasons.

But yeah...Chameleon was where things seemed to take a 180, so it's bound to be the deciding episode and deciding incident that sticks out in people's minds with these characters. That's probably why it ends up the go-to for salt and complaints on the characters involved instead of any of the other incidents that would arguably warrant it more.