#s: worthless war

[vacantgodling]

worthless war

You never learn his name.

Your thoughts have already devolved into the most basic of actions to sustain you along. Eat. Sleep. Forward. Retreat. Swing. Parry. Kill.

There is a reason generals do not wear helmets. Their matted, blood soaked hair used to be windswept and glorious. They bark orders and their pawns follow; the matted grass of stinking, rotting corpses, the board of a most convoluted game of chess. In the beginning, how foolish your company thought, should you make it behind enemy lines that you would become kings. It didn’t take long to realize it didn’t work that way. That eyes cast up to the heavens stayed that way, glassy and unseeing in their swift death.

Your eyes weren’t adept at seeing anymore. Your helmet made the world dark and despairing, a fitful mirror to the fruitlessness of this Worthless War. It was a war of pride, not a war of glory. By the time you entered the fray, any semblance of morality had long fled; back to the homeland where praises were sung of a warrior’s valor and the duty of the sword. There was no honor in this place.

Except.

You met him when a stab to the side, under the chink of your chain mail made you kneel. In the centre of the battlefield, you knelt there, statuesque and unseeing. Was it your time to die? Maybe. You were so tired. This war has taken everything from you. You could still see the face of your dear sweet Lucasta*, rosy faced and bright, cheerful and kind. You had not kissed for she was chaste, but you held her hands tender as a newborn babe and bid her farewell.

I will return a hero! You said—what a fool you had been! Young and suckling like a calf to a teat; you knew not what awaited you, young lamb to the slaughter. You knew not of how this war would betray you.

But you felt an arm raise you up.

No words were spoken, only the gleam of his sword in his hand in the sunlight. His helmet was impasse, but his arm that held you felt like warmth, felt like summer, felt like the joy of a child. You leant heavily into him, and he supported you, and took you far away from the battlefield.

It was the first thought you’d had since your mind fell away some time ago. Where are we going? You could ask. Are we advancing? Retreating? How else would you know your place in line? Are you God? If perhaps, you were religious. You weren’t. But maybe you were—if only for the way he sat you squarely down on a rock in some remote and desolate field in some forgotten daydream. Even if the war raged, the clashes of swords and armor not too far off on the horizon, it was a muted murmur this far away. The war but a distant night terror. Your body felt lighter than air, your head clear yet clouded, perhaps it was the dizziness from blood loss.

He didn’t speak, but his hands were verbose. He left your helmet fast to your skull, but pulled you out of your armor, piece by piece. What an intimate ritual—you oft used to think of undressing Lucasta when the two of you were finally wed should you make it back from this war. From her corset and over skirts, to her chemise, her stockings; to unearth what bounty lay beneath cotton coverings, just the same as he unlatched your breastplate. Cool hands spread across your collar and chest, then came to the side just underneath your arm where blood, thick and viscous, stuck like molasses to your skin.

Where he retrieved water when rations were low, you didn’t know. For so long you have just been some spectral floating thing; only manifesting as a sword for your general to wield. But now you felt horribly human; your mouth dry with thirst and caked with dirt and grime and the sins of taking life after life. Heaven knew no prayers would wash you clean, but he did. He washed your wound and dressed it as best he could. He ripped pieces and pieces of his own spare shirt and wrapped them round and round your body, pressing until the blood stopped. Until the blood rushed from your head south at the novelty of another’s touch, never mind the touch was a man. This was the touch of your savior; your holiness, your shining grace given from Lucasta’s Lord above.

“W…” You managed to croak, and he stopped his ministrations. If you had hydration enough for tears, perhaps you would’ve shed them. Don’t stop. You wanted to say. Those glorious touches that reminded you that you were alive and a soul and part of this world. “Why…” Your voice was no louder than a field mouse.

Behind his helmet, he didn’t say a thing. Not a grunt, not a hum, not a word. He only kept dressing your wound. Round and round he twirled those makeshift bandages, and you imagined Lucasta on your long awaited wedding day, twirling in your arms as the blushing bride she ought to be. But here, and bare, and carnal, you felt you ought to be the bride. Why shouldn’t you receive such tenderness of a strong hand to your lips or touch to your brow? Why shouldn’t you linger in this comforting daydream where you were just a man, and the knight dressing you was another, and in the hay of this little barn of innocence you sullied it with passions that Lucasta’s God would blush at?

You gripped his hands, hissing as he bade you stand. It was always easier to suit standing. When he returned the chinks of your breastplate and tightened it fast, it was every deceleration of love you could ever hear. It was a proposal, a wedding, devotion divine. You took his hand. He gave you your sword. He led you back to the battlefield. Your thoughts returned lifeless, but when he took his place next to you in formation, your mind bloomed with flowers; roses and daffodils and forget-me-nots; an endless springtime where he knew your scars and perhaps, you knew his.

And as all evils do, the Worthless War drew to a close.

There was no grand finale. No heroes of lore or legend were born out of this war. You stood at the foothills of your hometown, with nothing but a small ration, and a few bits of coins for the trouble of it all.

You returned to Lucasta. She knew the light in your eyes dimmed. She spoke to you of the wedding, of babies, of summertime—but your life was paused; ever stuck and transfixed at that moment he took you aside to patch your wound. Suspended in that one shred of humanity that you felt in that moment, and the lingering warmth that you felt after, for the days and weeks until the war came to an end. He never spoke, but he was always by your side, and you fastly to his.

Your head was bare, but your soul never took off its helmet. At night, you lay awake with Lucasta’s head pressed delicately to your chest, dreaming of the metallic hiss of his breath in and out as he undressed your soul.

some footnotes:

* = the name Lucasta i lifted from the 17th century poet Richard Lovelace as the meaning is “pure light”. in this piece Lucasta serves two roles: as the bride to be the protagonist has waiting back home, but also represents his innocence that the war has taken from him. how even though he’s returned home and has his former life waiting for him how he can never truly regain that innocence.

[novaursa]

The Flames We Share

- Summary: You tell your son the truth. He has more than the blood of dragons in his veins.

- Paring: Gwayne Hightower/targ!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is Rhaenyra's younger sister and was bonded with Silverwing. These events happen right after The Blood We Choose. If you want to read all parts before this one in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Word count: 5 198

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

The dungeons beneath Dragonstone were a cold, damp place, lit only by flickering torches that cast shadows that seemed to dance mockingly on the rough-hewn walls. The stench of rot and mildew clung to the air, seeping into the very stones of the fortress. Gwayne Hightower sat chained to the wall, bruised and dirty from his days of captivity, but his eyes were clear and resolute, fixed forward as he awaited what was surely his fate. His thoughts, however, were elsewhere—focused only on you, the woman he had risked everything for.

The sound of heavy boots echoed through the stone corridors, and he looked up as the iron door creaked open. Daemon Targaryen stepped inside, a predator’s smirk twisting his lips. He tossed a crumpled message onto the filthy floor in front of Gwayne’s feet. The black wax seal was unmistakable—bearing the sigil of House Hightower.

“Your father sends his regards,” Daemon drawled, a cruel edge in his voice. “He offers to trade his traitorous son for some stronghold I care little about. Imagine that—a worthless fortress in exchange for his even more worthless offspring.” Daemon’s eyes gleamed as he studied Gwayne’s reaction, searching for any sign of weakness.

But Gwayne’s expression remained stony. “You can say what you wish, Targaryen. My fate was sealed the moment I brought her to you.” His voice was hoarse but steady. “As long as Y/N is safe, I care not what becomes of me.”

Daemon’s lip curled in disdain. “Is that so?” He took a step closer, as if to loom over Gwayne. “Safe? You think she’s safe, having fallen from the sky, bleeding and broken? You think I would allow the woman who bore my son—my heir—to suffer any harm under my roof?” There was a dark gleam of possessiveness in Daemon’s eyes, as if the very notion of another man daring to care for you was an affront to his pride.

Gwayne’s gaze sharpened at that. “I want to see Vaeron,” he demanded suddenly. There was a tremor in his voice, a desperation that Daemon did not miss. “I want to speak with my son.”

Daemon’s anger flared at the insolence of the request. “Your son?” he hissed, voice low and dangerous. “That boy is a Targaryen—a dragon, not the product of some dishonorable tryst! Do you think I would allow him to be tainted by the shame of what you nearly brought upon my niece, siring a child on her without even the dignity of wedlock?”

Gwayne’s eyes darkened, yet there was a hint of mocking amusement in them as he stared up at the Rogue Prince. “And you believe yourself to be the righteous one? The man who slew his first wife in pursuit of power? Who consorts with whores while claiming the love of dragons? Tell me, Daemon, what makes you any different from me?”

Daemon’s smirk faltered, his face tightening with barely controlled rage. But Gwayne continued, his voice laced with bitterness. “She was denied to me—Y/N, I mean. If your brother had seen sense, had given her to me rather than feeding your ambitions, we could have avoided all this bloodshed. The boy would have been raised in Oldtown, under the guidance of both our Houses, and this war might never have happened.”

“Nothing could have prevented this war,” Daemon snarled, eyes flashing. “It was written in fire and blood long before you or I even took breath. But do not delude yourself into thinking you have anything resembling love, Hightower. What you claim as love is mere possession—an attempt to bind what you could never truly have.”

Gwayne’s jaw clenched at the words, but he did not respond. The two men stared at each other, the tension between them crackling like a drawn sword. Daemon took a breath, his composure returning as he straightened.

“I’ll have the boy brought to you,” Daemon said at last, his tone laced with scorn. “You may look upon him and see the life you were never destined to have. But do not forget—he is mine, and Y/N belongs to me now. She is a Targaryen, and you are nothing more than a failed traitor.”

With that, Daemon turned and strode toward the door. Before he left, he paused, throwing one last taunt over his shoulder. “Do not hope for mercy when your father trades you away like the pawn you are, Gwayne. Your life is worth little, even to those who should care most.”

The door slammed shut, leaving Gwayne alone in the darkness once more. But he did not feel defeated. Even with the chains biting into his wrists, he had no regrets for what he had done, for saving you and ensuring you were delivered safely to Dragonstone. In the end, it was not his fate that mattered—it was yours. Even in the heart of this cold, bitter place, the thought of you kept the warmth alive in his heart.

Because in the quiet shadows, despite all the titles and power Daemon clung to, Gwayne knew one truth that Daemon would never fully grasp—he loved you, wholly and without condition. And in his mind, that was a victory far greater than any throne or dragon could ever grant.

The soft crackle of the hearthfire filled the chamber, mingling with the scent of herbs and ointments from where Maesters had tended to your wounds. You sat by the window, Silverwing’s scales still etched into your memory, the pain a constant reminder of the battle you had narrowly survived. The healing was slow, but the bruises and cuts were nothing compared to the deeper ache in your chest. You weren’t sure what stung more—the death of your dragon or the desperate, foolish bravery of the man who had risked everything to save you.

A knock at the door broke your thoughts. “Come in,” you called, and the door creaked open to reveal Vaeron. The boy’s silver hair glinted in the evening light, and his blue eyes—so much like his father’s—fixed on you with concern.

“Mother,” he said quietly, stepping inside. “How are you feeling today?”

You smiled softly at him, though your heart ached as you looked upon him. “I am mending, sweetling. Stronger with each day.”

Vaeron nodded, yet his expression was troubled. He came closer, sitting on the edge of your bed, the worry in his eyes clear. “I heard… I heard Daemon talking about him,” he murmured. “The man in the dungeons—the one who saved you. Is it true he defied Ser Criston Cole and fled with you from Rook’s Rest? They say he’s a Hightower. An enemy.”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. The boy was no longer the child you had once cradled; he was growing, his curiosity sharp and his mind keen. He deserved the truth.

“Yes, it’s true,” you replied, voice gentle. “The man who saved me is Gwayne Hightower. He… he betrayed his own kin, risked his life, and rode through the chaos to bring me here, to safety.”

Vaeron’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But why would he do that? Daemon says he’s just trying to make amends for his family’s treachery. That he’s nothing more than a desperate fool.”

You shook your head slowly. “It’s more complicated than that, my dear. Gwayne… he did it out of love, out of loyalty to someone who meant the world to him once.” You hesitated, the words heavy on your tongue. The truth was a blade you’d kept sheathed for too long, and it was time to draw it, no matter how much it might wound.

Vaeron looked at you expectantly, sensing the weight of what you were about to say. You reached out, taking his hand in yours, needing the touch to anchor yourself.

“Vaeron… the man in the dungeons, Gwayne Hightower… he is your father.”

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Vaeron’s eyes widened, the shock raw and unfiltered in his young face. He pulled his hand away, as if trying to distance himself from the revelation. “What?” he breathed out, voice barely above a whisper. “My father? But… Daemon… I always thought…”

You nodded, pain lancing through your heart as you watched him grapple with the truth. “Daemon has raised you as his own, and in many ways, he is your father. But you have another father, by blood, and that is Gwayne Hightower. You were conceived out of a moment we both knew would never be more than a fleeting dream. He wanted to marry me, to build a life, but—”

Vaeron shook his head, backing away as he struggled to process it all. “No,” he muttered, as if denying the words could somehow make them untrue. “Daemon’s always told me I’m a Targaryen, that my blood is pure, that I am his son, a prince of the realm. How could—why didn’t you tell me? Why now, when he’s chained beneath us like some criminal?”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back. “I didn’t want you to bear the burden of that knowledge before you were ready. You were always meant to be strong, to carry the legacy of the dragons. But Gwayne… he isn’t just a Hightower, he’s the man who saved my life when no one else dared. Whatever his blood, he does care for you in his own way, even from afar now.”

Vaeron’s lips trembled as he stared at you, his confusion and hurt palpable. “I need… I need to think,” he stammered, turning abruptly and nearly stumbling over himself in his haste to leave the room.

“Vaeron, wait—” you called after him, but he was already gone, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound echoed in the emptiness of the chamber, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Your chest tightened with regret. You had known this moment would come eventually, but you had hoped it would be under different circumstances. There was so much more you wanted to tell him, so much more to explain. But for now, all you could do was hope that he would find a way to understand, to see beyond the conflict of bloodlines and names.

In that fleeting moment before he vanished, you had seen the storm raging behind his eyes—a storm you knew would not settle easily. And in that storm, you glimpsed the boy he had always been and the man he was becoming, torn between the truths that defined him.

But you could only wait, knowing that the choice between dragons and towers was his to make, even if it broke your heart in the process.

Vaeron’s footsteps echoed through the winding corridors of Dragonstone as he fought to steady his breath. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a heavy drum drowning out the world around him. The truth his mother had just revealed rang in his ears like a cruel jest—Gwayne Hightower is your father. The words were a blade lodged deep in his chest, twisting with every thought, every doubt that now swirled within him.

He turned a corner, the air cool against his flushed face, and found himself in the dimly lit dining hall. The large table at its center was set for the evening meal, though the room was mostly empty save for one figure seated at the end, absently twirling a goblet in his hand.

Jacaerys Velaryon looked up, catching sight of Vaeron. His dark curls fell loosely over his forehead, and his brown eyes narrowed in concern as he took in his cousin’s strained expression. “Vaeron?” he called out, his voice low but filled with the warmth of kinship. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s wrong?”

Vaeron stiffened, his gaze flickering away as he hesitated at the threshold of the hall. The weight of the revelation clung to him like a shroud, and for a moment, he wondered if it would be easier to bury it, to pretend that nothing had changed. But Jacaerys’ patient eyes, filled with genuine care, drew him in like a tether.

With a resigned sigh, Vaeron walked over and slumped into the chair opposite Jace, the firelight casting shadows on his troubled face. He didn’t speak for a moment, merely stared at the table as he tried to gather the words that had lodged like stones in his throat.

Jace leaned forward, the lines of worry deepening on his brow. “Vaeron, you’re scaring me. What’s happened?”

“I…” Vaeron’s voice cracked, and he swallowed hard before continuing, “I just learned something that changes everything.” He finally looked up, his eyes rimmed with uncertainty. “The man in the dungeons—the Hightower who brought Mother back from Rook’s Rest… He’s my father. My real father.”

Jacaerys’ eyes widened in shock, his goblet nearly slipping from his grasp. “What? But—Daemon’s always—”

“I know,” Vaeron cut in, voice strained. “I thought Daemon was my father, too. I grew up believing I was his son, a true Targaryen. But Mother told me just now that Gwayne Hightower is my sire. I’m… I’m a bastard.”

The word hung heavy in the air between them, laden with shame and confusion. Vaeron felt his chest tighten again, the sting of doubt gnawing at him. What did that make him now? Was he even truly a part of this family? A dragon in name only, born of a union that should never have been?

Jacaerys’ expression softened as he saw the pain in Vaeron’s eyes. He set down his goblet and leaned closer, trying to find the right words. “Listen to me, Vaeron,” he began, voice steady and laced with a touch of empathy. “We’ve both been raised with more lies and expectations than most people could handle. But if anyone understands how it feels to question who you are, it’s me.”

Vaeron blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Jacaerys gave a rueful smile, leaning back in his chair as he stared into the flames. “I’ve heard the whispers, the taunts—people saying I’m no true Targaryen because of my questionable blood. They mock the fact that I don’t have silver hair or violet eyes, that I look more like a commoner than a prince. And sometimes… sometimes, I wonder if they’re right.”

The honesty in Jace’s voice caught Vaeron off guard, pulling him out of his own turmoil. He had always admired Jacaerys—his confidence, his sense of duty. He had never imagined that his cousin carried doubts of his own.

“But you’re still recognized as one of us,” Vaeron murmured, brow furrowed. “You’re still heir to the Iron Throne, still a dragon. No one would ever dare deny that.”

Jace nodded, but his gaze remained distant. “True, but that doesn’t erase the whispers. Even with the dragon blood flowing through my veins, I’ve always felt like I had to prove I’m worthy of the name Targaryen. But you…” He looked back at Vaeron, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You look like a Targaryen. No one would ever question your blood—silver hair—you were born a dragon, even if your father wasn’t one.”

Vaeron’s breath hitched at the kindness in Jace’s words. But it didn’t soothe the ache gnawing at his heart. “Does it even matter, Jace? If I’m truly a bastard, what does any of this mean? My whole life, I’ve been told I’m meant for something great, but now… now I don’t even know who I really am.”

Jacaerys’ expression grew firm, his voice taking on a rare edge of command. “It means you choose who you are, Vaeron. Blood alone doesn’t decide it. You were raised in this family, loved by your mother and Daemon alike. That is what makes you one of us. Not some Hightower who’s rotting in a cell.”

Vaeron’s throat tightened at the thought of Gwayne, the man who had defied his own House, who had thrown everything away to save the woman he loved. Did that make him worthy of being called a father? Could that kind of loyalty outweigh his bloodline, or was it too little too late?

“I need time to think,” Vaeron murmured, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just… a lot.”

Jacaerys reached across the table, placing a reassuring hand on Vaeron’s shoulder. “You’ll figure it out, cousin. You’re not alone in this, alright? Whatever you decide, you’ll always have me and the rest of your family behind you.”

Vaeron nodded numbly, grateful for Jace’s support but still lost in the sea of confusion and emotions swirling within him. The questions gnawed at him relentlessly, leaving him torn between the man he had always believed himself to be and the truth that now threatened to shatter that identity.

The tension clung to the air in the dining hall like smoke, heavy and suffocating. Vaeron sat in silence after Jacaerys left, lost in the maze of his thoughts, unable to untangle the twisted knots of his emotions. His whole life had been built on one truth: that he was a Targaryen, son of Daemon, a prince destined for greatness. But now that truth had shattered, and he felt like a child cast adrift on a stormy sea, unsure of where to turn.

The sound of footsteps approached, measured and deliberate, and Vaeron looked up to see Daemon entering the hall. His expression was unreadable, though his sharp eyes missed nothing as they swept over Vaeron’s troubled face. For a moment, the prince said nothing, merely studying his son—his real son in all but blood—with a calculating gaze.

“You’re brooding,” Daemon finally said, his voice low and tinged with an edge of dry amusement. “A trait you didn’t inherit from your mother, I’d wager.”

Vaeron clenched his fists on the table, unable to meet Daemon’s eyes. “Everything I’ve ever known about myself is a lie,” he muttered, his voice thick with anger and confusion. “How am I supposed to believe anything now?”

Daemon’s gaze softened, but his voice remained firm. “You think this changes who you are?” he asked, stepping closer. “You think some whispered secret about your parentage wipes away the blood that runs through your veins? You are still a Targaryen, still my son in every way that matters.”

Vaeron’s eyes snapped up, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “But I’m not,” he insisted, his voice cracking. “I’m not truly your son, not by blood. I’m just… a bastard. A mistake.”

Daemon’s expression darkened, and he took a seat across from Vaeron, his presence commanding and unyielding. “Is that what you truly believe?” he asked, his tone both gentle and sharp. “That blood alone defines who you are? You were raised in the shadow of dragons, with the legacy of kings and conquerors shaping your every step. That is no lie. I’ve taught you, guided you, prepared you for the world because I chose you as my heir, not because of whose seed sired you.”

Vaeron looked away, struggling with the conflicting emotions swirling within him. “But… why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice a whisper now, tinged with the pain of betrayal. “All this time, you let me believe…”

Daemon sighed, his gaze growing distant as if recalling a memory long buried. “Because you needed to grow up without that burden,” he said quietly. “What good would it have done to burden you with a truth that might have only confused you, made you question everything? You were born a Targaryen in all the ways that matter. I’ve treated you as such, and so has your mother. That will never change, no matter who your true father is.”

Vaeron’s chest tightened at the mention of his mother, and he shook his head. “But now I know, and I can’t just pretend it doesn’t matter. That man in the dungeons… he’s the reason I exist, and yet he’s a stranger to me. How can I make sense of that?”

Daemon leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the wood. “Gwayne Hightower might be your blood father, but that doesn’t mean he has any claim over you,” he said with a hint of disdain in his voice. “He made a choice back at Rook’s Rest—one that I don’t entirely understand myself. He risked everything to bring your mother back here. Perhaps he thought it would redeem him somehow, or maybe he truly cared for her in his own way. Either way, he’s asked to speak with you.”

Vaeron stiffened at the words, his heart lurching in his chest. “He wants to see me?”

Daemon nodded slowly. “He does. He requested it, though he knows the choice is yours to make. I told him I’d send you, but the decision is yours. You can go to him, or you can ignore it and leave him to rot where he belongs.”

Vaeron’s mind reeled, torn between the curiosity gnawing at him and the fear of facing the man who had upended his world with his very existence. He shook his head, his voice trembling as he spoke. “I can’t. Not today. I don’t even know what I’d say to him… what I’d ask.”

Daemon studied him for a moment before nodding in understanding. “That’s your right. You don’t have to face him until you’re ready—if you ever are.” He reached out, placing a hand on Vaeron’s shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “But know this, boy: whoever sired you, you are still my son. You bear the Targaryen name because I have claimed you as my own, because you were raised with fire in your blood. No man, be he Hightower or otherwise, can take that from you.”

Vaeron looked up at him, searching Daemon’s face for some trace of deception, but all he saw was the fierce loyalty and pride that Daemon had always shown him. For all his faults and ruthlessness, Daemon had been the only father Vaeron had ever known. And in that moment, the boy clung to that truth like a lifeline.

“Thank you,” Vaeron murmured, his voice small but filled with genuine gratitude. “I just… need time. To sort through it all.”

Daemon’s lips curved into a rare, almost affectionate smile, one reserved for the few he held dear. “Take all the time you need,” he said quietly. “But remember, you are a Targaryen, and no truth will ever change that. Not in the eyes of those who matter.”

With that, Daemon rose from the table, giving Vaeron a final nod before turning to leave the hall. Vaeron watched him go, the conflicting emotions still swirling in his chest, but there was a newfound clarity in his heart. The path ahead was clouded, and the shadow of Gwayne Hightower’s existence hanged over him like a specter. But for now, he knew where he stood—with the family that had shaped him, that had loved him despite the secrets and lies.

But deep down, in the quiet recesses of his mind, he knew that one day he would have to face the man who had saved his mother and who claimed the title of his father. Just… not today. Today, he would hold on to the identity he’d always known and trust that, in time, he would find his way through the tangled web of blood and loyalty.

For now, he was still Vaeron Targaryen, son of Daemon—trueborn or not, dragon or not, he was still a part of the legacy that burned brightly in the heart of House Targaryen. And that was enough to anchor him, at least for tonight.

The corridors beneath Dragonstone were dark and damp, the oppressive chill seeping into Vaeron’s bones as he made his way toward the dungeons. It had been a week since his world had been upended, a week of wrestling with the truth of his parentage. He had tried to push it aside, to focus on the training sessions with his cousins, the books his mother insisted he study, the words of comfort from Daemon. But every night, when the candles burned low and the castle quieted, the thought gnawed at him: if he didn’t face the man in the dungeons, he would never truly understand where he came from—or who he was.

So here he was, descending deeper into the belly of the fortress, the iron doors looming ahead. A guard nodded and stepped aside, allowing him entry. The door creaked open, revealing the shadowed cell where Gwayne Hightower sat slumped against the cold stone wall, chains rattling faintly with his every breath.

Gwayne’s face was bruised and gaunt, the days of imprisonment leaving their mark on him. But his eyes, so strikingly similar to Vaeron’s own, flicked up the moment the boy entered. Surprise and something softer—something like hope—flashed in his gaze.

“Vaeron,” he murmured, as if testing the name on his lips. “You came.”

Vaeron stood just inside the threshold, tension thrumming through his body. He wasn’t sure what he had expected—anger, indifference, desperation? But all he felt was a tangled mix of emotions that refused to settle.

After a long silence, Vaeron finally took a few steps closer, his voice tentative as he asked, “How could I not? I had to face you… or I couldn’t live with myself.”

Gwayne’s expression softened, a flicker of pride and sorrow crossing his face. “You’re braver than most would be in your position,” he said quietly. He shifted slightly, wincing at the pull of his wounds and restraints. “How… how is your mother? Is she recovering?”

Vaeron’s heart tightened at the genuine concern in Gwayne’s voice. Despite everything, despite the shame and anger swirling within him, he could not deny the sincerity of the man’s question. “She’s getting better,” Vaeron replied, a hint of guardedness still in his tone. “But her injuries are still bad. The fall from Silverwing was…” His voice trailed off, unable to find the right words.

Gwayne nodded, his jaw clenched as if in shared pain. “She’s strong. She always has been. I knew if I could just get her here, she’d fight her way back.” His voice grew hoarse with emotion, and he averted his gaze for a moment before looking back at Vaeron. “Thank you for telling me.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint drip of water echoing through the dungeons. Vaeron swallowed the lump in his throat and finally spoke the question that had been burning in him since he decided to come here. “Daemon says you’re a traitor,” he said, his voice low but unwavering. “That you can’t be trusted, that you’ve betrayed your family and your House. But… you saved my mother. You risked your life, your honor, everything.”

Gwayne’s expression didn’t change, but something deep and resolute flickered in his eyes. “Daemon’s right—I am a traitor to my own kin, to my House. I turned my back on everything I was raised to uphold. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

The simple conviction in his words struck Vaeron like a blow. He could see the truth of it written in every line of Gwayne’s face, in the quiet determination that had driven him to this point. Vaeron wanted to challenge him, to demand answers, but instead, he found himself asking, “Why?”

Gwayne’s lips curled into a faint, sad smile. “Because she was worth it. Your mother was worth more than any loyalty to my House, more than any honor I might have clung to. You see, I loved her long before any of this war came to pass. I wanted to marry her, to build a life with her, but your uncle, King Viserys, had other plans. When she was given to Daemon, I knew my place would only ever be on the outside, looking in.” He paused, eyes darkening with the weight of old wounds. “But that didn’t change how I felt. When I saw her falling in battle, when I saw Silverwing plummet… I didn’t think about anything else. I just acted. I’d rather be a traitor and live knowing I saved her than be a loyal man and watch her die.”

Vaeron’s chest tightened, torn between resentment and reluctant understanding. “You say that like it was noble, like it justifies everything. But it’s still treason. You abandoned your family. You betrayed your own.”

Gwayne’s expression grew more serious, his voice a low rumble in the dim light. “Yes, and I will face the consequences of that. I know what I’ve done, and I’ve made my peace with it. But you must understand, Vaeron—whatever Daemon tells you, whatever anyone says—you are my son. I know I have no right to claim you, not after all these years, but it doesn’t change what you are to me.”

Vaeron felt the words hanging in the air like a challenge, daring him to acknowledge the bond that existed between them, even if he wished it didn’t. He looked down, his fists clenched at his sides. “I don’t know what I am,” he admitted, his voice strained. “I was raised to believe I’m a Targaryen, that I’m Daemon’s son. Now everything feels like a lie. How can I be both?”

Gwayne’s gaze softened, the hardness of his demeanor giving way to something almost tender. “You are both,” he said quietly. “You were raised as a Targaryen, with all the fire and pride that comes with it. That is a part of you. But you’re also my blood, whether you like it or not. And you get to decide what that means for you.”

Vaeron’s mind spun with conflicting emotions—anger, guilt, a flicker of something like pity. He wasn’t sure if he could ever see Gwayne as his father, not in the way Daemon had been. But he couldn’t deny that the man who sat before him had risked everything for his mother, for the chance to protect her even when all seemed lost. And for that alone, he couldn’t simply dismiss him.

After a long silence, Vaeron finally shook his head. “I can’t face you—not today. There’s too much I don’t understand, too much I still need to figure out.”

Gwayne nodded, accepting the decision without protest. “I won’t ask for more than you’re willing to give,” he said softly. “But know that I’m here, for as long as they allow me to draw breath. And whatever choice you make, whatever path you choose—I will always be proud of you.”

The words stung, leaving Vaeron with a raw ache in his chest. He wanted to respond, to say something more, but the weight of everything—his own confusion, the war, the fractured loyalties—was too much. He turned abruptly, leaving the cell without another word, his thoughts swirling in a tempest of conflicting emotions.

As he walked away, the echo of Gwayne’s voice lingered in his mind, a reminder that some truths, no matter how painful, couldn’t be ignored forever. But for now, he needed time to reconcile the man he had always believed himself to be with the truths he couldn’t yet fully accept.

And so, Vaeron returned to the world above, leaving the man who called himself his father to the shadows, knowing that one day—perhaps too soon—he would have to confront the reality of who he truly was.

[trashmouththeorist]

severus snape fic recs

my personal favs

Young Snape:

a life of smoke and silvered glass: Slight AU in which Severus apologizes, tries harder, and stays friends with Lily. Severus doesn't become a Death Eater because he believes in it, Jily get married. Sweet, slightly sad ending. (So cute).

Falling Apart: Time travel fic, no pairings, Severus goes back to when James levicorpused him. (I loved this, I loved how Mary was included and Avery had a redemption arc. Severus never calls Lily mudblood.)

in glory and in ruin: Mulciber/Snape but it's not a main part of it. Basically, a Triwizard Tournament in between the school houses, and Severus gets chosen even though he's only 16. The Marauders and Lily aren't really in it, focuses on Snape's Gang, Charity and Aurora. WIP, and I LOVE it!

The Gryffindor Sort: WIP. Long. In which Severus is a Gryffindor, Lupin is hiding something, Potter and Black are the worst, and there's a Wizarding War about to erupt.

Severus and the Marauders: Long. What if instead of being insulted and excluded from the group, Severus was embraced instead. After all, it was the actions of the group that shaped history from the sidelines. So what if they shaped history a little differently?

That Awful Snape Boy: It had all happened on Wednesday 3rd of September 1973; Minerva committed the date to memory. She would always be amazed that this discussion could happen in the first place. If the boy hadn’t been unconscious, would they even have learnt anything before it was too late?

The Unwanted Boy From Spinner's End: Severus Snape’s existence is a mistake. His mother hints at it often enough with her regretful, drawn-out sighs, while his father prefers to get the message across with a good strapping and a lecture on his worthlessness. Needless to say, the twelve-year-old is not particularly inclined to trust adults, no matter how concerned or caring they claim to be. His life changes abruptly, however, one late evening in September when an illicit brewing session results in a forced trip to the Hogwarts infirmary. Not only is the truth about Severus' home life discovered, but an investigation reveals that shortly prior to his mother’s unexpected death, a single piece of parchment was deposited into her Gringotts vault—a Last Will and Testament in which Eileen Snape née Prince grants guardianship of her son to none other than Albus Dumbledore himself.

To Recollect the Future: Hindsight is 20/20, but when Harry's last steps into the forest set him back further than he'd ever thought, he never realised how grateful he'd be to have Snape there to help too.

Severus' choice: How one choice changed history's course, or the life of Severus Snape from Hogwarts to adulthood if characters were less caricatural, and Voldemort and the Death Eaters were more than bogeymen. This is an AU, events before and after may differ from the books.

the lost generation: The Marauders era at Hogwarts, Voldemort's rise to power and the subsequent war, family loyalties and dishonour, and the struggles of friendship in a difficult time.

Snily:

Come Once Again and Love Me: My favourite Snily fic ever. Snape and Lily time travel back from their individual deaths to when they were still at Hogwarts. Realistic-Lily misses James and Harry and their falling in love is slow burn too. Made me want to cry. I almost liked James!

The Fields of Summer: Short and sad. His past was bleeding into the present, just as his future was bleeding out of the gaping wound in his neck. And since memories were useless to a dead man, Snape plucked them out of his mind and gave them to The Boy Who Lived. He didn’t realize that in so doing, he’d forget her.

seventeen moons: After the werewolf prank. Severus was bitten and Lily figures it out. I hated Sirius so much and he was barely in it but he wasn't villainised-it's just the consequences of his own actions.. Loved the Snily! Short.

Surprising Lessons: Tensions run high between the students of Hogwarts in the time when Severus Snape, Lily Evans, and the Marauders are teenagers. New spells are invented, insults are traded, new bonds form, and unexpected support blooms. Short and sweet.

Vox Severus: SO cute. When Severus Snape's voice changes in fourth year, everyone notices.

Ambiguous: Order member Lily did not have a baby. Death Eater Severus did not hear a prophecy. Consequently, the Dark Lord did not fall. ...but what happens when a long forgotten prophecy suddenly shakes, and flashes through the colours of the spectrum..?

Switching Wands: Severus and Lily acted as best friends should and talked about the Whomping Willow incident. Lily is less than impressed with Potter’s behaviour from that point onward.

Her Slytherin, His Gryffindor: Lily has had enough of James' bullying ways, so she decides to finally take advantage of her Prefect status. Or, in another universe, Lily helps Severus, and they become even closer.

Sweet Root: Lily decides to get Severus drunk one summer night. Angst thereby incurred happily resolves itself into, uh, happiness.

You Don't Bug Me: “Is there any reason you’re half naked in my room?”

Snape/Sirius:

Two Sides: A time travel fic where Severus and Sirius find themselves back on the evening before they graduated Hogwarts. With no idea how and why that happened, they set out to get back to their respective timelines. After all, Sirius has to save Harry at the Minstry of Magic, and Severus needs to tell Potter about the final Horcrux. Right? Too bad that they find themselves back on that evening over and over again. (Personal thoughts: I loved this one, very in character and I loved how they 'fixed' their regrets of the past).

Broken Me Found Broken You: It’s determined that Severus Snape and Sirius Black are immune to punishment after years of near-fatal pranks, bullying, and homemade curses. The only person who thinks them capable of ending the feud and finishing their education is Professor McGonagall. For the summer of ‘77, she gives them a pair of charmed hand mirrors and an ultimatum: communicate. That’s it, a mere ten minutes every Saturday. Back at Hogwarts, when their animosity proves insurmountable, Sirius and Severus are relegated to a small, Eighth Year dormitory. The tight quarters—wandless—are intended to force them to make a peaceful reconciliation, but peace is impossible with a bloody war ramping up inside and outside the castle.

Sorry: Sirius Black decides to make amends for the horrid way he treated Snape when they were teenages. Snape is less than amenable to the idea. (Written around the time of book three/four). Basically, Sirius apologises a lot. And then some fucking.

The Sin in Your Grin (And the Shape of Your Mouth): The Order needed Sirius, but he doubted they'd mourn him very long when he finally disappeared. The first Wizarding war, Snape and Sirius are fucking. Sirius thinks Remus is the spy, Severus tells him otherwise. Canon-compliant: James and Lily die, Peter is the spy. The last line. Shaking.

Dead Reckoning: Severus Snape delivers a potion to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, holding a twenty-year-old grudge in his heart. He has yearned for revenge for so long—and he will have it. Along with something else he did not ask for.

Beyond The Veil: In one world, Sirius Black ignored Severus Snape's warning and went to the Department of Mysteries to save his godson's life. He died and went beyond the veil. In another world, Sirius Black stayed back. This made all the difference. An AU where Sirius Black survived and now knew Severus Snape's deepest secret.

Rings And Ringing Bells: A bastardisation of a traditional love story. Two men both broken by the world are at wit’s end trying not to kill each other. There’s Severus, a bitter insult who does not take fools lightly, and Sirius, a drunkard who has a habit of pressing his buttons. It involves a curse which forces them to get married, an immaculate conception, and the blurring of the line between hate and love. They fear that they have no control over their lives and are doomed to make the mistakes their parents had done before them. They’re not good for each other, but the fiasco that is their romance may be enough to teach them how to hate each other and themselves a little less.

Always (Come For Me): Snape might have been lying when he said Sirius Black wasn't punished for the prank he had pulled on him. It all started with Sirius having to live with the Snapes for the remainder of his summer...

An Interlude: Set during Order of the Phoenix. Snape comes across Black looking through some of his old school things. Memories are stirred up, grudges are held, old conflicts refuse to be resolved, and new ground might be (dis)covered. A series of conversations in the year before a death.

bite your tongue, go to the funeral: A funeral, a departure, a chance encounter, a war, a funeral (again), a snide remark, and a revival.

Two Boys Kissing: Sirius goes to a gay bar and meets the last person he expects. Under cloudy skies, two boys kiss and that one moment comes to define generations of want, need and hope.

An Occlument Heart: Snape knows that, usually, keeping a secret is the bravest thing you can do. But sometimes the bravest thing is to tell one. Complete. Canon (more or less) up to the start of Book 5, when this story begins.

Found in the Moments Between the Search: When Sirius returns from beyond the Veil with knowledge of Voldemort's Horcruxes, he takes on the task of finding and destroying them. Somewhere along the way he finds an unexpected ally and perhaps something more. (AU from the end of OotP, takes place during HBP period)

Walking the Monochrome: That’s what being a dog is like – it's like you’re walking the very edge of the world, where almost all colour has run out, and you know that should you miss a step, you’ll fall off that edge... Then again, you already know all about it. The edge and the falling.” AU of the first war.

Second Life: What happens when two men are given a second chance.

The Welcoming Feast: Severus opened his eyes and he was suddenly inside Grimmauld Place. His hand flew to his neck. He remembered Nagini biting him, Potter coming to him and then he closed his eyes, expecting death, but instead he was back here.

The Devil-and-All to Pay: Albus Dumbledore is mad. Severus is sure of it, when the old man sends him to persuade Sirius Black to come back to England and let the Order use his family home as headquarters. The problem, as always, is that Severus cannot say no.

Black Out: Snape and Black try something they have never done before. Talking.

eighty-twenty: In seventh year James left Severus for Lily. Best choice he could have ever made. It never would have worked out. Besides, he and Lily are married now, she's pregnant with his soon to be child and Severus...Severus is with Sirius.

First and Last and Always: Severus had his wand. He swallowed hard. His wand. Magic. His only defense, because Black outweighed him by at least three stone. But magic was more than enough. Severus had never needed physical prowess. His magical strength, and the keenness of his mind, gave him the advantage. Except when it didn’t.

Visions of Doom: Severus gets injured in the shrieking shack (his fifth year). While unconscious he witnesses some scenes from his future and realizes becoming a death eater wouldn’t bring him power and glory but pain and servitude. He spends the rest of his schooling trying to shape a different future for himself.

Anything by FabulaRasa on AO3.

Remus/Snape:

Fuel the Pyre of Your Enemies: A paired class assignment for Astronomy incites a mutually beneficial agreement between Remus Lupin and Severus Snape. An exploration of sexuality and friendships. (One of my favourite Snupin fics, really realistic. Also no evil!peter).

where the wolfsbane blooms: Remus and Severus friendship, and then more. 7000 words-short but sweet. Severus tries to cure the lycanthropy. James is constantly befuddled.

Have Your Cake and Eat It: Remus POV. Long. Incredible. Changed my world view. I cried with Remus at the end. Still kind of happy! Time travel fic. Remus lives. Realistic for the characters and especially for the seventies (although lowkey Remus is too woke for the nineties why does he know the word heteronormative). I loved Sirius in this one. Lying in hospital after the Battle of Hogwarts, Remus Lupin has a lovely lucid dream that he's gone back to his school days at Hogwarts. Only the day passes, then another, and another, and soon he must face the terrifying possibility that it isn't a dream — that he has irreparably altered the events of the past. Cunegonde is SO good!

DELOCAPONUM: 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟏. A new acquaintance to the territory of teaching, an old friend to grief and misfortune, and entirely off on the wrong foot, twenty-one-year-old Professor Severus Snape reverts to an old charm of his — a charm for things that are lost — in attempt to find the one book in which he wrote it. But when the spell starts working against him and mysterious things start happening to his own students, it seems he has no choice but to form an alliance with an old schoolyard enemy in order to find a culprit, a book, and his own identity. And one thing is for certain: the irritating charm of Remus Lupin is nearly impossible to refuse.

Creature Comforts: A classic! Remus and Severus are paired to work together in Care of Magical Creatures in 6th year. Neither one is too happy with the arrangement at first.

That Awful Boy: CLASSIC! Severitus. Petunia lets slip a twenty-year-old secret, and Harry is sent to Spinner's End to study Occlumency early. Severus Snape can see no way in which this could end in catastrophe.

Not Really Here: After the werewolf prank, Severus disappears. He’s still at Hogwarts—at least, he thinks he is—and he’s probably still alive, but no one can see or hear him. Except for Lupin. Remus, meanwhile, is avoiding the other Marauders—as well as everyone else—and Snape becomes the sole exception to his self-appointed isolation. As they work together to look for answers about Severus’ condition, the unlikely pair drift toward friendship. But building a relationship of any kind presents a challenge when neither of them is sure Severus exists at all. I've only read this once but I love it. No Marauders bashing, but no pretending they're saints either. And they have a pretty big part but obvs Snupin is at the forefront.

The Heir to the House of Prince: Harry is the main character and the main ship is Harry and Theo. While Snupin is secondary it's pretty central. Summer of 4th year and Harry's all alone, dealing with his grief and the sudden revelation that James Potter is not his father. Support comes in a strange form. The form of Theo Nott, son of a death Eater. A strange friend who says he'll help him find his true father, whoever this Lord Prince might be. Technically Snily ig? But not really.

Sight Unseen: After losing his sight during the Battle of Hogwarts, Remus struggles to adjust to his new circumstances; when depression threatens to overwhelm him, he receives unexpected assistance from an unknown source.

The Other Side of The Mirror: In sixth year, Remus Lupin nearly killed Severus Snape in wolf form. Miraculously, Severus escaped unharmed. But what if he hadn't?

The Meaning of Mistletoe: What was going on was that Severus Snape had no trouble tracking down one Petunia Evans, now Dursley, to a little town in Surrey where he saw how exactly she was treating her nephew. Which somehow led to last night and Severus knocking on Lupin’s door with a toddler half-asleep in his arms.

Spymaster: Former spymaster and one time headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Severus Snape left the house just once a week on a Tuesday. Wherein Snape wears tracksuit pants and smokes too many cigarettes and Lupin is into it.

Well They're No Friends Of Mine: Whenever his friends pull a prank on Snape, Remus always looks the other way. But what if there's another option?

The Other Side of the Mirror: I haven't read this, but it's a 'what if Remus bit Snape.' 60000 words.

Artemisa Absinthium: The Rat and the Snake: AU set during the First Wizarding War. Severus has defected from the Dark Lord, and become a double agent for Dumbledore. When he learns of an informant it sends the Order into disaray. Can he uncover the identity of the traitor before his own true loyalty is revealed? What price is he willing to pay for his redemption? And can a man like Severus Snape ever be worthy of love?

Capnolagnia: Three times Remus caught Severus Snape smoking.

About Wolves and Snakes: Unfinished. Remus Lupin woke up being fifteen years old again, having no idea how or why. Upon learning that he could not return, he decided that he would try to change the way things happened.

One Thousand Galleons: It's been six years since Remus Lupin, age 25, left England after the death of his father and the slow dissolving of his friendship with the Marauders. A letter from James finds him in Canada at an opportune time, asking him to come home to meet his soon-to-be-born son. Remus never expected that his time away would give him the perfect resume for teaching at Hogwarts, nor did he expect that his return would spark both conflict and resolution. If only he could get the Potion's Professor to understand how sorry he is for the way things turned out. ���What is the price for your forgiveness?” --- “One Thousand Galleons.”

Living Legend: Marauders-era fic, Snape decides he needs some "hands-on" experience and chooses Remus as his very special study partner. But there's more to these extracurricular activities than meets the eye.

Lily's Boy: With help from unexpected places, Harry starts on a journey to end the war, and reshape the wizarding world. With how much he looks like James Potter, people have forgotten one important thing about him - he is Lily Evans' son, and she was one hell of a witch. Side Snupin.

It's Not Over Til It's Done: Unfinished. Severus did not expect to survive the Second Wizarding War, but survive he did. Remus didn't either, yet due to unforeseen circumstances, Remus finds himself taking care of Severus in the wake of surviving Nagini's venom.

Ten Aprils: Severus must find a way for Harry to defeat Voldemort. Remus must find a way for Severus to free himself from the past. The Dark Lord is about to attack Hogwarts, and Harry needs to get over his rage, hate and despair in order to learn to summon the phoenix needed to defeat Voldemort. Snape must find the answers, then teach Harry how. In the next thirty minutes. Like it would ever happen.

A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love: A story in which Severus Snape is unable to sleep; a certain werewolf is impersonating Celestina Warbek and cauldrons are used as prevention, sort of.

the week that changed it all: It’s Christmas break in Remus’ 6th year of Hogwarts. Sadly, his parents aren’t home so he has to stay over at Lily’s house for the week. He makes a discovery he didn’t know was possible. The first one was that apparently, Severus lived not far away, the second one was that he started to like the boy.

A Prince By Early Frost: While preparing his chamber for the Philosopher’s Stone, Severus encounters the dark fae borne by a black glass mirror, buried deep beneath the castle. He is chosen, but unsure by what, until over a year later, when a figure from his dreams takes the Defense position, asking for a favor.

Chocolate Cake and Other Intimacies: Remus Lupin is spending his birthday alone in the hospital wing. Severus brings him his homework to cheer him up.

That Awful Snape Boy: It had all happened on Wednesday 3rd of September 1973; Minerva committed the date to memory. She would always be amazed that this discussion could happen in the first place. If the boy hadn’t been unconscious, would they even have learnt anything before it was too late? Guardian fic but Snape is the ward in this one. AU set in the Marauders Era. Rated T to be safe.

Basically anything by McKay on AO3.

Snape/James:

Knowledge of the Gods: Severus was either in a coma and dying, already dead and trapped in some purgatory, completely and utterly insane, or living in the body of his past self. And, perhaps most suspiciously, why did James Potter keep looking at him like that?!

A Touch, A Kiss, A Whisper of Love: After Severus Snape and James Potter find themselves stuck in an awkward detention together, an unlikely friendship forms. As their newfound friendship develops, James discovers something new about himself while Severus tries to fight his growing attraction to the Gryffindor boy.

Cake, Please!: Slight SA gives me the ick, but vaguely fun to read. A story of blackmail, the wonderful world of sexuality, and lots of cake.

Revenge is Sweet: A teenage Snape plots his revenge on James Potter for making his life hell, but little does he know that James has plans of his own that will send both their lives spiraling irrevocably out of control.

Ninety-Three: James promises Severus that if Severus has sex with him 93 times, he will break up with Lilly and advocate that she date Severus.

Absolution: What is it that draws James to Severus? A disease? A curse? A secret wish... a need? Try as he might to ignore the Slytherin, in the end, to Severus is where James always finds himself. **SLOW BUILD** Rated M for... certain kinds of scenes later on.

The Dreamer in the Well: James got the girl....finally. She even stopped being friends with Severus, whom he absolutely hated. But one day, his curiosity changes everything.

Love Is Strange: At the start of his sixth year, James Potter decides to finally stop ruining Severus' life. His friends agree to stop the bullying but what they do not know is the reason why James decided to put an end to it. They think he just matured or grew tired of it but the truth is a little more complicated than that.

A Fickle Thing: James Potter's marriage is failing- What a perfect time to disguise himself as a muggle, follow Severus Snape to what is either a makeshift dance club or a party for gay muggles, and then do a series of things he really should not do.

Rise: Severus Snape was tired of his fate, to be a lowly snake. Luckily, fate was kind to him this time and the arrival of a tournament had come. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing, a moment of weakness and strength that led Severus to put his name in the Goblet of Fire. But he was chosen now, and he had no choice but to play in the game, maybe he will live or die, but either way he wasn't going to become what everyone said he would be.

Apocrypha: Two can keep a secret, if one of the two is dead.

Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown): Long, loved it, well written. James Potter starts his seventh year with a secret. He has amazing friends, Sirius is always right by his side, Lily is finally starting to warm up to him. His life is an endless cycle of partying and drinking. So what if the Wizarding World is on the precipice of war? So what if Severus Snape has disappeared from Hogwarts? That's not James's problem. Life is beautiful, and even if it's all an illusion he wants to hold on to that dream for just a little bit longer.

Colours of Redemption: Severus Snape was meant to die. Instead he was placed into hell. Trapped in timeloops, Severus tries to make sense of the future knowledge he suddenly had. If he made one bad move, everything is reset for him to try again. Being placed into a new house and everyone being nice to him, Severus is doing his best but it is hard. Especially when James Potter is noticing him in a different way.

Goeey Melting Hearts: In their 5th year James, Sirius and Remus over hear a conversation that makes them reconsider their opinions of the ‘future Death Eaters’. The Marauders stop bullying, but guilt eats at James until he decides to apologize. That summer James tracks down Severus, but sees something that crushes him.

Regulus/Snape:

Burning Doves: The first Snape/Regulus I ever read. Regulus needs help with potions and Snape tutors him. Not much Marauders, they're just offscreen assholes. Narcissa and Severus friendship which I always enjoy. It's done, but I haven't finished it yet. Whoops.

Severus and Snape: Severus Snape finds Lily dead in Godric's Hollow, her son's screams echoing in his ears, and decides to end his life with hers. Fate has other ideas. Next thing he knows, he's facing an 11-year-old Lily Evans, on their way to their first year at Hogwarts.

Snape & or / Narcissa:

Seven Days: Severus knows a lot can happen in seven days. Slash.

Living A Lie:  All of her life, Narcissa Black has had to live as the perfect lady, and witch; to never reveal one's inner heart, nor ever go against the wishes of one's family. After being forced into an engagement she does not want during her sixth year at Hogwarts, Narcissa has kept the desires of her heart on ice; particularly, for a wizard her family would never in a million years have approved of: Severus Snape. Even after the birth of her son Draco, she has harbored these desires deep in her heart for the enigmatic Potions Master. But when she comes to Spinners End to ask Severus to watch over Draco at the start of the school term of 1997, she finds that she cannot keep her heart on ice for the wizard of her dreams any longer...

What Lies Beneath: "Please, Professor, I saw him-I saw Snape," Harry said, struggling to breathe, "he's hurt...we've got to find him-we've got to find him right now or he's going to die!" Severus Snape's redemption story told in the span of three books from multiple perspectives.

Snape/Others:

Redemption: Severus died that night at the hands of the Dark Lord, the man he "worked" for and was "loyal", at least that's what the Lord believed him to be, an impeccable servant.  Even so, he ended up dying for his master's snake.  He knew it would happen, he was sure his time was coming, just like the manipulative old goat's plan. However, what would he do when he found out that he wasn't the only one who had the memories of his past life?  How would his life turn out?  Better or worse?

Breaking the Mould: Everyone knew Severus' future. Everyone knew he'd become a death eater, maybe get his mastery in potions and eventually die at his master's hand. But what if they didn't know Severus as well as they thought they did? Rather than conform to the role people expected him to play, Severus takes action. During 6th year he leaves Hogwarts, joining an apprenticeship overseas that guarantees not only a future but his own happiness. Meanwhile the Marauders (minus Peter) are left regretting what can never be. They each had a secret, something none of them were willing to admit. Only now it's too late. But what happens when Severus re-emerges during the war? Not a death eater, not a teacher even. But a strong, independent and most importantly a free man. How will the marauders react?

Dinner and a Show: James takes Lily out to dinner, an unhappy evening made more difficult by the arrival of Severus and Lucius Malfoy at a nearby table.

Snape & Others: 

O Mine Enemy: Severitus, long. When Harry finds an injured Snape on his doorstep and must hide him from the Dursleys, he has no idea that this very, very bad day will be the start of something good. Alternate 6th summer (and part of the school year): post-OotP; ignores HBP and DH. No slash, no romance. NOW COMPLETE!

I Know Not, and I Cannot Know; Yet I Live and I Love: Severus Snape has his emotions in check. He knows that he experiences anger and self-loathing and a bitter yearning, and that he rarely deviates from that spectrum… Until the first-year Luna Lovegood arrives to his class wearing a wreath of baby’s breath. Over the next six years, an odd friendship grows between the two, and Snape is not sure how he feels about any of it.

Second Life: What happens when two men are given a second chance. Snape & Sirius. 

Not Entirely Tedious: Young Professor Severus Snape shows up for a meeting, but the only other person there is the Deputy Headmistress. He wants to leave and return later, after the other participants will have arrived, but Professor McGonagall explains why that is impossible. Cross about having his plans for the day disrupted for a meeting that’s not taking place, Snape resents having to spend the afternoon with McGonagall. She doesn’t seem very pleased, either, but is content to relax and wait. Snape isn’t so patient, and soon manages to annoy his companion.

The Young Potions Professor: The staff avoided him like the plague, ignored him, or straight up left when he went into the staff room. And the worst thing was that they didn't even try to hide their collective disgust for him. If he got into the staff room in the morning and any of them were there, they would immediately get up and go sit on the furthest side of the room, as far from him as possible.

Slytherin Career Day: The student of Slytherin House were born with everything: wealth, prestige and pure wizarding blood. Now it's Severus Snape's job to help them find the one thing they don't have: careers.

In Another Lifetime: HP AU. In a world where Tom Riddle was slaughtered, the wizarding wars did not occur, and Albus Dumbledore promoted peace in Hogwarts, Lily Evans and Severus Snape did the impossible: they remained lifelong friends. Snape meets his potential, and has a shot at happiness along the way.

immortalists with points to prove: The Snape kid is hardly a hero. Then again, neither is Alastor.

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

House Husbands ft SatoSugu

househubby!Sato is overjoyed with his decision to shift his focus solely on taking care his overworked little wife. He feels worthless in his own line of work because regardless of his efforts, nothing ever changes. Being at your beck and call, making you happy.. It's all Satoru needs outta life and he's never felt more fulfilled.

househubby!Sugu is absolutely exhausted dealing with the internal war rampaging his thoughts, distorting his morality into a demon he can't recognize. But the unyielding love and support of his nonsorcerer wife is enough to suffocate his uncertainty. And Suguru's proud that with your help, he's able to shed all the toxic doubt and decides to dedicate his life to the woman that saved him.

househubbies!SatoSugu refuse to acknowledge the absolutely ridiculous qualms that they're putting their wants and needs on the back burner to take care of you. They constantly remind you that you're everything they'll ever desire in life; that they could only continue to witness curses bring the world to its knees long as they could always be there to keep you safe.

househubby!Sato is on pins and needles waiting for you to come home every single day. Bouncing on the tips of his toes like an anxious child, tense as fuck while pacing like a madman. "Relax, Toru. She gets in the same time every evening. Rilin yourself up for no reason." Suguru chuckles from the stove, finishing up dinner. "But she's been gone for hours and I miss heeer." Satoru whines like a brat, wholeheartedly feeling like his partners calm demeanor was nothing more than pure utter cap. "Quit actin like you don't want her home too. Listened to you fuckin your fist to that video of her in the bathroom earlier." Electric blue eyes narrowed, slender finger pointed accusingly in a sputtering Suguru's direction. "Will you just finish settin the damn table before y/n gets home!" He hisses back, shame licking warmth across his cheeks. "Fuckin creep Toru, I swear.."

househubby!Sugu consistently rescues you from a needy Satoru's overbearing 'welcome home' after each grueling work shift. Heroically puts himself in-between the world's strongest sorcerer and woman of their shared affections; effectively untangling you from the bone crushing embrace and ambush of kisses. "Seriously gonna smother her one of these days, idiot. Actin like she's gonna disappear or somethin." Suguru chastised, scooping you up in his own snug embrace and pecking your lips in adoration. Only a second in the kiss turns way too passionate for Satorus liking and he immediately despises the soft mouth moving slowly against your own, so damn sensually. "Lies! You just want y/n all to yourself." Satoru pouts listening to your tiny hums of pleasure as he stomps off to pour his tired little wife a glass of wine.

househubbies!SatoSugu make it a daily routine to lay you out after work and massage the accumulated tension outta every inch of your depleted frame while askin bout your day; coppin a feel as they simultaneously knead your stressed ridden muscles till you lay limp and aroused on the bed. "Fuuuck, y/nnn. Look so good spread out like this for us. Wanna continue to make our girl feel good.. Gonna let us play in that pussy for a lil bit?" Satoru speaks low at your ear, leaving sweet kisses down your neck and your shoulders when you nod. "Lemme and Sugu relax our perfect lil wife even more. Know you want this pipe, baby. Let us make you cum, deserve that and so much more. Can we, princess, hm? Work so goddamn hard every. fuckin. day." Print of his mouth leaving goosebumps over your sensitive skin while grippin on your love handles, lips trailing lower and lower as Suguru takes his place at your ear. "'S all up to you, babygirl. Tables set; blunts rolled.. Can go smoke and eat, maybe come lay back down after.. Rub ya pretty feet till you pass out inste-," "mmmfuuuck, Toru.. Oh! Yeees, right there.. Oh, oh- tongues so deep, Daddy." You interrupt, breathless moans loud and airy as Satoru spreads your doughy chocolate cheeks and digs inside you further. Pulling back to lap at your slick like a kitten does milk. Suguru chuckles when you shamelessly groan your pleasure all up in his face. "Play in that pussy it is then, babygirl."

househubby!Sato slipped into domestic bliss quite effortlessly. He's proud to admit his biggest worry these days is how mad Suguru gets when he forgets to separate the whites from the colors. "Dammit Gojo!" Satoru flinches from the spot between your legs, head snapping away from his video game to the rapid footsteps barging his direction from the bedroom. You continue to card your fingers through his soft hair, chuckling when a furious Suguru appears clad only inna pair of tight white briefs splotched with pink, holding a pair of your panties. "How many fuckin times have I told you not to mix colors with whites?! I gotta whole basket full of pink boxers cause you never pay attention to what the fuck your doin!" But Satoru only gives him the saddest puppy dog eyes he can muster while trying to ignore his Fallout character getting absolutely slaughtered by a Deathclaw. "I'm sorry! Just wanted to help with the chores. You know it wasn't on purpose, Big Daddy." His taunting and dramatic fluttering lashes have you both clutching your tummies in serious efforts to hold in your guts from the raucous laughter. But Suguru is less than impressed. He seethes in silence for a few moments before growling out through clenched teeth. "Both of you shut the fuck up.. Know what? Get over here and hurry up. Now.. On your fuckin knees." It was interesting start to your day off to say the least..

househubby!Sugu! likes to the play the role and has no problem keeping his brats in place. He's good at being the perfect Daddy with only one demand: utter compliance. And he doesn't tolerate disobedience. "I know that- ah ah ah. Slow, baby. Slow.. All the way down. Mmmmm.. Jus like that." Suguru tightens his grip on the soft locks, using them as leverage to control the pace of him dipping his cock in and out of his lovers throat. "I know it's confusing baby, sooo confusing to my girl hmm? He's your Daddy too. Aint that right? Oooh shit, suck it harder.. Mmm, ohhh yeaah- oh fuuuck!" Suguru huffs hoarsely, head fallin back in pleasure before he looks down and stares into your eyes heatedly, your gaze making his nut creep closer. "But I'm his Daddy, sweetheart. And it's time I- fuuuuck, 'm close! T-time to teach you both a lesson. Ready Toru?" Suguru slides a hand into your kinky y/h/c hair, yanking you closer to his hips and buss heavily into Satoru's waiting mouth. "Mmmmph!" Your poor husband struggles and chokes around the first gush, gagging harshly when Suguru slides his dick in deeper. "So bad at t-takin dick, Toru." He teases, wide tip knockin into glaring Satoru's abused throat; spurting twice more and flooding it with thick pearly cream. "Fuckin hell, Toruuuu! Oh God, Saaatoruuu!" Suguru moans filthily, snatching his cock and aiming at your pretty face. "Ah, ah- mmmnnh! Take it, take the rest of Daddy's nut, mama." Suguru's cum blankets your cheeks and lips in three milky streams. "G-good boy.. Ohhhh, my good giiirl, y/n." He praises when you and Satoru gently suck and lick at the oozing head of his throbbing cock, prolonging the intense pleasure.

househubbies!SatoSugu! try not to ravish you too often because of your hectic schedule but there's nothing to save you from their fiendish antics when you take your mini vacations. Time off with your husbands is nothing short of more work for you. At the very least, it's a very thorough and strenuous workout. They very consistently keep you stuffed: with happiness, love, and of course dick. "Toru- ah f-fuck.. Don't do this to me, Daddy pleeease!" You cry for your husband to give your puffy overused coochie reprieve but he's consistent with his denial. "Shhh, princess, shhhh. You're okay, you can take it. Gotta be quiet though. Me and Sugu both worked so damn hard to fuck this pretty chocolate lil pussy so good.. Don't wanna wake him up after all his hard work do you, baby?" He sucks and nibbles on your folds incessantly, grinning when the pressure of his thumb at your overstimulated clit makes you shriek and gasp for air. "Bullshit, Toru. Got her screamin her fuckin head off." Suguru exhales tiredly with closed eyes, scooping your trembling body closer into his side as you writhe from the intense sensation swirling between your legs; head thrashing from side to side on his broad chest. "Daddy, please! A-already came three t-times tonight. Ahhhnm, oh oh- needa a break, pleeease!" Your increasingly desperate cries raising in volume have Suguru's half hard dick filling full as he peeks down between your thick brown thighs, making direct eye contact with a sadistic Satoru. Who ofcourse gives a naughty wink, mouthing 'watch this' to an intrigued Suguru and latches on to your throbbing nub to nurse on you hungrily; pulling off repeatedly with acute bursts of suction that have you wordlessly keening as you squirt impressively allover Satoru's swollen pink lips inna messy glaze. You cum so fuckin hard, hands shooting to anchor themselves in Suguru's dark roots; plushy frame jerking erratically in attempt to twist away from the suffocating pleasure. "Fuuuck, Look at that.. Got her raining cum all over your pretty face, Toru. Gotta be the hardest our lil wife's eva came." Suguru admits, putting his ego aside. Too preoccupied with wetting up Satoru's face to notice how your husbands stare into each other's eyes, dicks pulsing and raging between their legs.

househubby!Sato despises Suguru's all work no play attitude. After an entire week of repetitive chores and errands in addition to no sex, Satoru's dying to get home so one of his spouses can drain his fat sack dry. "..need a warm tight hole to slide into. Been so fuckin pent up.. Babygirl is gone entirely way too much lately." He complains as Suguru drives them back to the house. "Well you know y/n's been workin hard as hell towards that big promotion, Toru. Left for work at like 5 this morning.. She'll probably need some rest and jus wanna cuddle after work." Suguru reminds him. Satoru manspreads with a huff, head slamming back into the headrest and groans in agreement. Well if not y/n then.. "What bout you? Been a minute since my handsome husband had a good nut. Don't you.. Need some relief?" Satoru asks, voice low and deep. Fingers slinking into his husbands hair scratching at his scalp lightly, his other hand caressing up and down his muscled thigh. Suguru gulps audibly, adam apple bobbing as he concentrates with all his might to keep his eyes on the road. "Uhhh.." Satoru's clear invitation instantly has him rock hard and remembering that last time he had the strongest man in the world on his back while you were at work. Filth spewing from his mouth that eventually went quiet and slack when Suguru held down his wrists and grinded in deep as fuck over and over. Damn, the slutty way Satoru kept rolling his narrow hips.. Effectively fuckin himself on Suguru's dick with the prettiest flush on his chest, strands of snowy locks plastered to his damp creased forehead, stiff untouched cock twitching and smearing precum between them. "Sugu? Still with me?" Satoru asks, cheeky smirk alluding to knowing exactly what's on his husbands mind. Suguru clears his throat and nods, mouth dry and parched; immediately in dire need of a drink of the tall glass of water sitting next to him. "Well? You gonna fuck me before y/n gets home or nah?" Another curt nod from Suguru has Satoru grinning like he just one the lottery, greedily groping his spouses bulge the rest of the ride home.

househubby!Sugu feels like he can only indulge his husbands despicable fantasies when all duties have either been prepped or taken care of. Therefore he feels absolutely guiltless when he's halfway to heaven and his cell rings, your parents number popping up on the screen. Satoru stares at Suguru in disbelief as he pulls away and gets outta bed. Mouth running a mile per minute to your dad while he hops around the room trying to get his leg into his pants. ".. Alright, bet.. Love you too pops.. Bye." He ends the call and turns to a disheveled frowning Satoru, reaching up to swoop his long hair up inna bun. "The fuck, Suguru-," Satoru starts but his protests are swiftly dismissed. "Don't start. They just need one small lil favor. Plus, Moms said she missed you cause you didn't come by with us last time y/n and I visited." Satoru sighs in acknowledgement and quickly chucks on his clothes, features softening considerably. "I do miss Mama y/l/n. Wanted to run a few things by her for y/n's birthday surprise anyway." He shrugs, slipping into his black nike slides. "Alright, sounds like a plan- oh! She said to tell you she's got your favorite mochi wai- Gojo, WHAT THE FUCK!" Suguru sentence abruptly cutting off, consumed in horror that Satoru just teleported them into your parents kitchen clad only in a pair of black jeans. "Christ almighty!" Your mom jumps at their sudden appearance and Suguru's exclamation, holding her pounding heart and sternly eyeing your husbands up and down. "Sup Mom, where is it?" Satoru gets straight to the point, kissing your mom's cheek and skipping off to the garage freezer when she points. "Hell is wrong with that boy?" Your mom asks the sanest of the two, already heading to grab Suguru a shirt and some socks. "So many things, Ma. How much time you got?"

househubbies!SatoSugu are both pleasantly surprised when you pull up to your parents spot after work and tell them there's something that's been on your mind for the past few weeks. "Spill the beans, princess. Can't believe you waited this long to tell us." Satoru gives his signature pout as he pulls you down to sit on the couch in-between them. "Yeah, sweetheart. You know we don't keep secrets. Tell us what's been on your mind." So you take a deep breath before you launch into your mini speech. "I love you both so much, never ever dreamed I'd be lucky enough to marry my soul mates. And I know we've talked about kids but my job has always made that impossible but today I got the promotion." Your husbands are ready to click their heels in excitement at your news but you hush sweet words with a finger to their lips. "But that's not all. I- uh. I make my own schedule now and haveso much more time on my hands that I think- um.." You stall a bit, nervous as fuck. "Y/n spit out already. Got us on the edges of our seat here." Satoru groans at your reluctance. "Honey, what's goin on?" Suguru questions with concern. "I stopped taking birth control so we can have a baby!" Your hands pop over your mouth at the outburst but your men already have that look in their eye and quickly close in on your tense frame. "That's all? So anxious just to tell us you wanna get bred tonight?" Satoru teases, gripping your hips and kissing your cheek. "That right, sweet wife?" Suguru sneers, loving how your breath speeds as they feel you up. "You want us both to put a baby in that needy lil pussy tonight?" You're only able to nod and moan as Satoru takes that moment to slip his tongue into your mouth and grope your tit roughly. Suguru watches with a sly smile as your other husbands assault evolves into finger fuckin you while inhaling your soft pretty cries. "Time to say bye bye, princess. Your Daddies need time alone with our perfect lil wife now." Suguru finally says after watching for a couple minutes, pulling you from a distraught Satoru and ushering you towards your parents. "And we're leaving your car. Tell em I'll pick it up tomorrow." Satoru demands as he sucks your slick from his fingers. You do as they say like always. And since you so sweetly asked for a baby, your generous husbands happily give you two tonight.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

28 / 1.7k / soap soulmate au, part 5

...

Soap stares at his name where it's inked across your skin. You should be his enemy. He's sitting across from you, your interrogator in this dimly lit weapons closet. You refuse to look at him. But his gaze bores into you anyway, intense on your eyes, your lips, the cuts and bruises on your face. He wants you. But he can only have you once you've given him the information Captain Price needs.

"Tell me where Alejandro is," he says. "That's all you need to do."

A muscle in your jaw twitches when he mentions Graves' name, but you bite your tongue. You won't let him shake your resolve like he did in Las Almas. You should've killed him on sight.

"What Graves is doing to Alejandro--you know it's wrong." Soap’s gaze is steady. You're so close. He wants you so badly it hurts. "He's not a good man.”

"You have no idea what kind of man he is," you say.

"I know exactly the kind of man he is," he growls. "I saw what he did to the people in Las Almas. He called them dirty cops and had them executed when they said they didn't know anything. Innocent people. In front of their families. Their children." Soap's hands curl into fists on the table between you. "He's not the kind of man who deserves your loyalty."

Your cuffs clink as your arms flex against the chair. "You wouldn't understand."

"You're right. I wouldn't." Soap's knuckles pop, his voice low and dark. All his life he's waited for you. Now Graves--fucking Graves, who betrayed Soap and his team and tried to murder them all--is somehow the one keeping you from him. "I don't understand what you see in that bastard."

You say nothing, eyes trained on the far wall.

Soap's shoulders tighten. "You're just a tool to him."

"I’m a soldier. I choose to follow orders. So do you.”

"You're following his orders. You think that makes you a soldier, being a weapon? No. Makes you a damn dog."

You say nothing.

Soap grips the table until it creaks. "You think he cares about you.”

"It doesn't matter if he does or not."

"It does so bloody matter. You’re no’ some pawn he can just throw away." God damn you. He wants to grab you with both hands and shake you. To hell with this interrogation--he's got half a mind to lock you down somewhere padded until you get it through your skull that you're not worthless. He scowls at you. "You're better than this. You have to be."

Cold irritation seeps through your mask. "Am I?" Soulmate or not, he doesn’t know you.

At the look on your face, Soap's scowl deepens. He's going to kill that bastard, and he's going to do it slowly. "What about Graves is more important to you than the innocent lives he took? Does that mean nothing to you?”

"Orders are orders."

Soap's voice drops to a dangerous pitch. "Look me in the eye and say that.”

You don’t. You tell yourself it’s because he has no power over you. He can’t tell you what to do.

Soap crosses his arms. "'S what I thought. You're bluffing."

"I'm not."

"Bullshit. Graves is nothing but Shepherd's lapdog. Gettin’ paid to commit goddamn war crimes.”

"Shut your mouth," you snap. "You have no idea what happened--"

You stumble on the next syllable and go silent, realizing suddenly that you're looking him in the eye.

Johnny's a man of impulse, and it takes all the self-control he has to keep himself in place the moment you lock eyes. The pull he feels to you right now is overwhelming. You're in reach. He leans forward. Those brilliant blue eyes of his see all the way down into your soul. They’re just the same as you remember--eerily vivid, pupils blown, with his jaw set hard.

"What happened to what, darlin'?"

You shift, skin prickling. You want to cross your arms over yourself and clap your hand over the soulmark on your neck. "You don't know what happened in Al Mazrah."

"You were ambushed."

You nod, remembering that night of the mission. You've seen your squadmates die before. It's a hazard of the job, part of being a mercenary. But that night--seeing so many Shadows gunned down before they could so much as draw their weapons--it still haunts you.

"Shepard didn't know. It wasn't like we-- it was supposed to be a simple transport mission."

"It was a black bag op."

"That's what Shadows do. We take missions people don't like. Someone has to step in where you military dogs won't."

"Where was Shepherd when it went tits up, hm?" Soap's lip curls. "No air support on an illegal op. He left you to be killed. And now he needs someone to blame. It's not gonna be him taking that bullet. It's gonna be you."

"Captain Graves can handle it."

Soap lets out a rough sigh. Your insistence on Graves is rubbing him raw. You could have died on that op two months ago. And then what? He'd have never met you, only found your name later in stone on some memorial somewhere. The thought makes his chest go cold and his blood run hot. It could still happen. If he can't tear you away from this bloody mercenary work, you'll never be his. Christ. He can't let that happen. He won't. You're not going back to the Shadow Company. He'll tear Graves into pieces before he lets that happen.

He fixates on your soulmark again. Why can't he focus on getting the information Price needs? All he can think about right now is the scab on your lip, the way your pupils dilate when you look at him. Your body wants his even as you're spitting venom. The fire in you matches his own, and he wants more.

"Graves isn't here," Soap tells you. "And I'm not takin’ chances. You’re not going back to Shepherd, and you’re sure as hell not going back to Graves. You're mine."

You pull on your cuffs, hating the way the possessive note in his voice makes your stomach flip. "You don't get to decide that."

"Neither do you.”

"Isn't a matter of choice. It's a matter of what you’re gonnae do about it."

You swallow and watch his gaze track down your throat. He's close. When did he lean in? Why aren't you pulling back?

No, you tell yourself, you’re not scared. You’re in control. You lean a millimeter closer. "You can't keep me here."

His eyes brighten, gaze so intense it warms your skin. "Careful, darlin'. You don't want to throw down that gauntlet."

"And you expect me to tell you whatever you want to know? Fuck my career, fuck my squadmates?"

"If you weren't so damn dense, I'd--" He mutters another string of curses in that thick Scottish accent, standing from his chair and pacing the tight room. "You don't understand what I'm offerin’. You don't need them. You have me an' mine."

He circles around to your side of the interrogation table and kneels next to you, his expression an open plea for you to listen. You stare down at him with your heart suddenly in your throat. You can't backpedal. You can't look away.

He searches your face. Even roughed up, even pissing him off, you're beautiful. Damn it, he's going to do something stupid if he doesn't control himself.

He keeps his voice low and even. "You were expendable to them. You're expendable to Graves. You're no' expendable to me." He reaches up to you, and you go still. His hand is hot on your skin. His grip is surely strong enough to break bone. But only his thumb drags along your lip. His eyes follow the motion. "Your loyalty should be for people who care about you. I'm on your side, ya wee shite. Just tell me how to get to Alejandro and I'll get you out of here. I'll make sure you're safe. That's all I need to know."

You stare down at him. Your heart beats in your ears, and his pulse hammers with yours. You can feel it through his thumb against the sensitive skin on your lower lip.

Johnny wants you so badly you almost give in. He thinks he's telling the truth--that he'll protect you. But he doesn't know any better. You're not who he wants you to be. You're not soft. You're not good. Why does he act like he can see something redeemable in you?

Being his soulmate doesn't guarantee you a goddamn thing. Promises don't afford you any more protection than you've already given yourself. You know that very well. People aren't reliable. Soulmarks don’t fix everything. They’re just ink.

Whatever he sees when he looks up at you makes something cold and sharp settle in his chest. His throat constricts. He's pushing, he knows he is, and it's the wrong move with you. He's never been this desperate for anyone.

"Darlin'. Don't do that. Don't shut me out." His voice wavers just like his resolve. He'd protect you to his last. You refuse to see that, and he can't make you.

You look away, pulling away from his hand. "I don't trust you."

Johnny's stomach drops, and he digs his fingers into the metal chair to stop himself from digging them into you.

You want him. He can see it in the set of your shoulders, how tight you hold yourself when he's close to you. You want him despite yourself, and you still refuse. It doesn't matter how rational a decision it should be to accept his help. There's something else happening in your head that's keeping your walls up, and he's starting to realize it's not just Graves. It can't be.

He watches you for a long moment. He doesn't want you to hurt, but he's not stupid enough to believe you'll soften up and come around with time. You're a soldier.

Finally, Soap stands. If you don’t tell him what he needs to know, you’ll remain a hostage, and won’t be able to have you. He won’t accept that.

"Fine," he says, pushing his way out the door. "We’ll do this the hard way."

...

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / [part 5] / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12

more Soap / masterlist tag

[bones4thecats]

Hello! May I request headcanons for a fem!Giyuu reader and yandere!Poseidon from Record of Ragnarok? Thank you so much!

Poseidon Fighting Giyuu Tomioka! 'S/O'

Type of Writing: Request Name: Poseidon Fighting Giyuu Tomioka! 'S/O' Characters: Poseidon Requester: @a-bookworms-teashop

A/N: As I don't write yandere-stuff, I made Poseidon more canonical, since he seems like the kind of guy who has a yandere-vibe. And I know you Record of Ragnarok fans know what I mean

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄���⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🔱 Poseidon just wanted to go back to his castle under the sea and finish his duty, not participate in this useless trial of Gods vs Humans, it was obvious who was going to come out on top

🔱 As he sat among his fellow deities, he ignored the words of his youngest brother, not caring what human was up next in Ragnarok

🔱 But, once his brother brought up the fact that Brunhilde had added in another human, one to replace one that had gotten into an 'incident' and how they were specialized to fight Poseidon and Poseidon alone, he began to listen more

" Older brother, are you alright with fighting this human? " " I don't particularly care, they'll end up turning into complete dust in the end anyways. " " Alright then it's settled, Poseidon will be fighting against that wannabe human! "

🔱 Gripping his trident with more force, Poseidon stood and began to walk out the door, as the meeting had ended

🔱 But, he couldn't help but let his mind wander during his walk outside of the arena and into a more secluded area surrounded by water, his nature element

🔱 What kind of human could be 'specialized' to fight him and him alone? What kind of trick was that Valkyrie playing?

~

🔱 Once he heard the announcement of Round 2's ending; Zeus winning against Adam, Poseidon had to admit, he was getting quite energized as the thoughts of that human began to occur once more

🔱 How strong were they? What were they if they could challenge a God, nonetheless the Greek God of the Seas? And, most of all, just who was this human?

🔱 As the voice of Heimdall entered his ears, Poseidon began his entrance, allowing water to spill out and eventually separate for him to walk through

🔱 Poseidon stood and glanced around at the lowlife beings around him, these puny Deities and Humans were far from perfection, so how dare they go against him and try calling his name laced in their worthless filth?

" And the human going up against this graceful yet destructive God is one that has had stories told about them for many years! A human who has been hailed as a heroine to the many who served with them during Japan's Taishō Period in the war against man-made demons! The Water Pillar of the Demon Slayer Corps! And the human who was a key-instrument in saving millions of lives from the grasp of the former Demon King, Muzan Kibutsuji. It is my honor to yell the name of the one, the only, Y/N L/N! "

🔱 As the water began to expand and rush away from the entrance of the human side, Poseidon cocked an eyebrow lightly, nobody noticing, except for his eldest brother watching from his residence in Helheim

🔱 Where in Valhalla was this human?

🔱 All of a sudden, the sound of a sword being sheathed entered the many people in the arena's ears, alerting them. The only ones not being surprised being the human allies of Kojiro Sasaki, Soji Okita, and the eldest Valkyrie sister, Brunhilde

🔱 The water that Poseidon had summoned began to rush with the God's irritation, why was this human not showing their-selves? How pathetic were they?!

🔱 Then, without the will of the God of the Seas, the water calmed down with the tap of a blade's tip, which caused the God to turn around only to see a human standing at the foot of the arena with their blade out and touching the water's top layer with such delicacy of a butterfly's wings

🔱 Before he knew it, Heimdall had cleared his throat and croaked out a reply to this event

🔱 As the Nordic God spoke into his horn, you blinked at the God with nearly matching empty eyes, and he noticed how you held yourself, stiff yet loose, you must have fought many demons to get to the level of being a human worthy of fighting a God, huh?

🔱 Poseidon looked at you and twirled his trident before gripping it tightly, he was not about to lose to a human of all beings. But, he'd have to admit, having your cold eyes look into his was quite attractive

🔱 Maybe, since he'll win no matter what, he'll spare your life at a cost; that you become his and his alone. You were said to be specialized to fight him and him alone after all, what would make this any different?

Ready?

🔱 He was going to win this no matter the cost...

Set...

🔱 But he will give you a chance of life vs death, be his or die... and if you say no? Well... you won't be able to say no now will you?

GO!

Let the love-lit bloodshed begin...

[vampykween]

Crazy idea for toxic husband simon? Lets send them to couples counselling >:]

hehe i love this idea! sorry this took so long i pondered over how to write it, but i like how it turned out! these two deserve a brief reprieve from all the angst so enjoy this little glimmer of hope <3

“i still don’t think we need to do this, love” 

“so, you’ve said. can you please just go get the kids ready to leave, im not finished getting ready.” you mentally count down from ten while leaning over the bathroom sink attempting to finish up your makeup. you know by the time you hit ten, simon will have volleyed back some comment you’re in no mood to hear. 

“’s therapy, not a fashion show. dont even get why you’re getting dolled up anyway.” he’s unbelievably predictable. 

you roll your eyes and stare pointedly in his direction. “you know if you’re trying to convince me you still love me, you should try just saying ‘wow babe you look beautiful, of course i’ll get the kids ready’.” simon squints his eyes at you as if he’s actually considering what you’re saying, huffs, and stalks off in the direction of your daughters’ room. 

~ 

maybe your husband(?) was right, this does feel stupid. you two are sitting in a far too stuffy room with plain decorations, on a too-plush couch that makes you sink further with every movement. you don't even realize the therapist is asking you something until simon places a hand on your bouncing knee, stilling it to catch your attention. your heart shouldn’t stutter at the small display of affection, but simon hadn’t touched you in so long the touch melted the icy feelings you had towards him.

the session goes far better than you had expected. you didn’t think simon would open up much, but he was a lot more willing to admit his faults than you figured he’d be. you couldn’t help but stare at him incredulously, where was this man when you two were at home? when you were begging and pleading for help with literally any and everything? a part of you starts to feel bad when simon’s revealing his feelings of depression and worthlessness, not that you’re giving him a pass for the years of transgression, but once upon a time he was your soulmate and your heartbreaks knowing he was in so much pain.

maybe you didn’t see it because you were blinded by rage, or because you were so exhausted day in and day out, you didn’t have time to think of anything other than being a mom. you both come to the realization, with the therapist’s help of course, that you were both so eager to rush into life that you never stopped to consider what that would actually look like. you wanted a baby so badly that even when things started to snowball into madness you two convinced yourselves that this was just the way it was and that it had to be worth it somehow.

as you’re both walking back to the car, you leave feeling a whole lot lighter than when you went in. sure no major hurdles were cleared. you weren’t sure when you’d be able to kiss and love on your husband again without being confronted with everything he wasn’t doing, but you two are going to take it slow and learn to listen to each other. give and take. push and pull. as you slide into the passenger seat, simon tugs gently at one of your hands and interlocks his fingers with yours.

“i know i can’t take back the past, but i’m serious about changing. i want to be better for you, for us, and for our girls.”

you’re not sure what you had expected him to say, but his words have your breath caught in your throat. you distinctly remember a time when he promised he would be good to you, and he failed. you wanted to badly to believe him now, hearing the sincerity in his voice. warring between what the angry part of you wants to say and what the hopeful part of you wants to say, you land on a simple response of “okay”

“okay?”

“yes, okay. i’m not ready to forgive you yet and i don’t know when i ever will be. but i am saying that i will try.” his eyes lock with yours and you can see the emotion brewing in them, he doesn’t offer any words back. he simply squeezes your hand three times in quick succession. i love you. maybe just maybe things will work out this time.

[midnight-bay-if]

How do the ros react to hearing someone brag about having sex with the mc and how they were in bed? Crushing and relationship 🫣

S (crushing stage): Their lip would curl into disgust before they smoothed out their features, preparing to look every bit the demure, unbothered person they pretend to be. "Well, it's certainly become obvious why you are NO longer sleeping with MC. Such a shame."

S (dating stage): They smile, confident in knowing that they are the one to share MC's bed now. Yet, they can't stop themselves from getting in a quick potshot. "Well, I'm grateful that MC's tastes have matured since you."

Rain (crushing stage): Rain would desperately try to ignore the individual. They're not going to listen to someone speak so crassly about someone they care about. It isn't worth getting angry about. They're not listening. They're NOT. NOT LISTENING. LALALALA.

Eventually, they would snap. "Hey! You shouldn't talk about someone like that when they aren't around to defend themselves!"

Rain (dating stage): At this stage, Rain isn't going to wait around to knock that kind of behaviour on the head. "Hey, dumbass!" Everyone turns in shock, including Taj and S. "All you're achieving here is everyone knowing that you didn't do enough to satisfy MC. Be quiet"

Taj (crushing stage): Seething in their chair, tapping their foot on the spot as they glare across the room at the individual. They don't even really understand why they're so mad. So what if MC had a past lover? Everyone has a past? Why should that bother them? ...It's probably because the person is a complete trash pile of a human. Most are. They just wish they would shut up.

Taj (dating stage): Expect World War 3. As soon as their mouth opens and MC's name slips from their tongue, Taj is plotting. S can see on their face Taj is about to do something drastic.

"Don't, Taj..."

Too late. Taj approaches the individual with their hood pulled tightly over their hood, looking every bit the thug they will pretend to be. Then, when they get close, they snake their hand against the back of their neck threateningly. "I suggest you stop talking. In fact, it's in your best interest to never mention MC's name again."

N (crushing stage): N clicks their tongue, watching the idiot go on and on about MC, and they find the display distasteful. How pathetic. They can only imagine what MC ever saw in this person. That's assuming the cretin is even telling the truth. Not that it's any of their business. MC can do whomever they please.

They will need to shut this human up, however. They are much too loud. "As riveting as this tall tale is, feel free to keep it in your fantasies. I have a headache."

N (dating stage): N will just listen, their smile slowly growing and growing as they tap their fingers against the surface they are leaning on. The more graphic the conversation gets, the wider N's smile gets. As soon as some of the details begin to line up with their own experience with MC, N's mind is made up. The human will be lucky to ever talk again.

Umbra (crushing stage): Umbra watches the individual like a quiet shadow, their face neutral, but to anyone who knows them, that's when they are at their most dangerous. Unless you were watching them carefully, you wouldn't have seen them leave. They lie in wait. As soon as the disgusting individual is alone, Umbra has them isolated and pressed against the wall, a knife to their throat. "Mention MC again, and it will be the last thing you do. I don't do second chances."

Umbra (dating stage): They're in agony. They're trying to do better for MC; be better for them. They've been meditating more, exploring breathing exercises... They can't let worthless lumps of meat like that human bring out that side of them anymore. The anger is there, though. It's bubbling with every word they speak.

It's just words. They mean nothing. MC can handle things like this. They said they could. Still... what remains in their imaginations can't hurt anybody.

[jewishcissiekj]

Since Asajj Ventress appeared in recent media and is set to appear in future shows and Star Wars content, I've seen a lot of people starting to read Dark Disciple. but besides that book, there are so many stories featuring Asajj over her 22 years of existence. So if you are looking for some recommendations and entry points to Asajj outside of the TV shows, here are some recommendations to get to know her a bit better, in both the Canon and Legends timelines:

(for anyone looking for a definitive list of everything she's ever been in, I also have that)

for anyone looking for just the list of recommendations without all my babbling, scroll down to the bottom, it'll be there.

Canon

Dooku: Jedi Lost Audiodrama - Script by Cavan Scott, preformed by full cast (also available in Script format) Starting off, this masterpiece. Telling the dual story of Asajj and Dooku, Jedi Lost is genuinely some of the best Star Wars content out there, in my opinion. Taking place early in The Clone Wars, it tells Asajj's journey battling her ghosts and uncovering her Master's history. It requires only the context of the prequels and The Clone Wars, and I wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone who likes the Prequels, Dooku, or Asajj.

Brotherhood - by Mike Chen Continuing with the book that serves as an introduction to Asajj in canon (chronologically), Brotherhood presents an interesting take on her first meetings with Anakin and Obi-Wan. She's far from the main character here, only supporting the book's plot as the villain and the initiator behind some of the troubles Obi-Wan faces on Cato Neimodia. This Asajj is more calculated, working behind the scenes while still facing off face to face against Obi-Wan and Anakin, and it uniquely handles her character. The book is a Clone Wars adventure taking place before and it requires only the movies' and TCW's context, once again. *While technically taking place after Hyperspace Stories #5, it contradicts that issue's events and makes more sense if it takes place before, so I listed it first (for more info on the contradictions you can go here)*

Star Wars: Hyperspace Stories #5 - Written by Amanda Deibert, with art by Riccardo Faccini (Variant cover by Cary Nord) Taking place shortly after Anakin's knighting, before The Clone Wars show, this is a short and interesting comic story for Asajj. While tying into an over-arching plot of the series, this issue stands alone well. Simply put, Asajj is sent to retrieve a mysterious item by Count Dooku and encounters Anakin and Obi-Wan in the process. It has fun art, fun dynamics, and it's really good.

Worthless - a short story from Stories of Jedi and Sith - written by Delilah S. Dawson with an illustration by Jake Bartok This one is not as set on the timeline, but we do know it takes place while Asajj is still working for Dooku. In short, without too many spoilers, Asajj falls into a pit and has to trust on a Clone Trooper's help to get out. The story is a part of an anthology, but it completely stand-alone on its own. If you can read it on its own, I recommend it, but the rest of the book is also very much worth it if you want to buy it for the story. Dawson captures a version of Asajj that rarely gets attention, before the Nightsisters, and manages to show her identity and tell a wonderful story without that tool that's often overly used (in my opinion).

Star Wars Adventures: Return to Vader's Castle #3 - Written by Cavan Scott with art by Francesco Francavilla & Nick Brokenshire Jumping forward in the Timeline, we have another Asajj story by Cavan Scott! It has Bounty Hunting, A baby Sarlacc, pretty art, fun coloring, and Asajj. So what's not to love? Like Hyperspace Stories, Return to Vader's Castle also has an over-arching plot, but that's 4 framing pages of Vaneé being a bitch and has no effect on the rest of it. Solid stuff. (it is also the source of the first picture in this post)

Sisters - a short comic story from the Age of Republic Special - written by Jody Houser with art by Carlos Gómez Next, we have a wonderful short story taking place just before The Clone Wars episode "To Catch a Jedi". In just a few pages, Jody Houser brings conflict and personality to Asajj's time on Coruscant. And there's gorgeous art.

Legends

While Legends, and especially the comics, have some of my favorite stories with Asajj, it's hard to recommend individual issues. They can be stand-alone but still connected and ingrained in the ongoing story of the comics. But I tried to hand-pick the best for introduction and knowledge of who Asajj is a character there. So I won't recommend the 12 issues she's in, I set myself the limit of sticking with the same number of recommendations I had for canon.

Star Wars: Republic: The New Face of War - 2-issue Comic arc - written by W. Haden Blackman with art by Tomás Giorello Although I'm assuming you all have at least a passing familiarity with Asajj's character, introductions are still important. And, yes, Asajj first appeared in a different comic and after a month or so in Clone Wars (2003), but chronologically, in-universe, this is her first appearance. The Face of War is comprised of issues #51 and #52 of the Star Wars: Republic comic series, and although Asajj is only in the last page of #51, it's necessary context. This one isn't a must for me, but it sets the ground for her. And it's good. Giorello's art brings a unique perspective to Asajj's character, and by that I mean it may not be to some people's taste. So take your pick with this one.

Star Wars: Republic #53 - written by W. Haden Blackman, with art by Brian Ching If the last one isn't a must, this one is. It is a stand-alone adventure, almost feeling like a (better) TCW episode. Obi-Wan is off to infiltrate a Techno Union base with a team of all-star legendary Jedi that are introduced, and everything goes wrong when they run into the Confederacy's best, Durge and Asajj Ventress. I say it's a must because it establishes the nature of the rivalry between Obi-Wan and Asajj, and gives us such a sense of who those people are. It also lays the foundations to my next comic recommendation.

Dark Heart - short story by August and Cynthia Hahn This one, a 1784-word story, originally published on Wizards.com as a part of The Living Force roleplaying campaign, is definitely not a must, but it's barely 2k words, just read it. In all seriousness though, it captures Asajj's essence and I just. love it. You can read it right now, that's the link in the name, it's up online for free legally. While it is a part of the RPG campaign, I read it individually and had no trouble at all.

The Cestus Deception - by Steven Barnes (The Japanese cover is prettier and has Asajj, ok?) Obi-Wan Kenobi and Kit Fisto head to the planet Ord Cestus to try and convince Ord Cestus's government to ally with The Republic. But under the surface, a mysterious scheme had developed and it gets messy. Never ask me to write a publisher's summary. Asajj is the villain of this one, and I don't have much to say about it, but it is good. Fair warning: it hasn't aged the best in my opinion, and not even in a politically correct sense, some of the descriptions and relationships were questionable at best. If you like Kit Fisto and political adventuring and Clone Wars fights and a mascarade ball, if I remember correctly, this one's for you. It's not much of a story for Asajj but it is a fun read.

Star Wars: Republic #60 - written by W. Haden Blackman with art by Tomás Giorello I have never ever not once said it but this right here is my favorite Asajj story of all time ever. It does require context, though, so here's it: after the battle of Jabiim, Alpha-17 (Legends Arc Trooper, you may have heard of him) and Obi-Wan (a staple in Asajj's stories, he needs to gtfo women's business) are blown up and declared dead. Turns out Asajj Ventress has been holding them in her castle on the planet Rattatak and this is the daring story of their escape. In this issue, Asajj's origin story is revealed, before the Nightsisters had anything to do with her. More than any other Legends issue, it differentiates greatly from anything you know about Asajj in TCW/Canon. She's a warlord, with armies at her beck and call, a military commander, And it's fun. Her origin story is told in this issue, and it's such a great story that shifted my understanding of her a lot. The art, once again, is by Giorello, keep it in mind.

Yoda: Dark Rendezvous - by Sean Stewart (Japanese cover, once again) Last but certainly not least, the Legends Clone Wars book I've heard the most positive reviews of, and was not disappointed in the slightest. It is as good as they say. The story doesn't focus on Asajj, and she isn't even the main antagonist, but she gets a meaningful role in it and has her place and her arc in the story. It's also my favorite approach to how Asajj would act when she has to deal with children. Worth the hype and an excellent book to read unrelated to Asajj.

Alright, that's all! I hope you check out at least one of these, they're all great. As said before, I also have a complete list of everything Asajj in chronological order. Feel free to ask me anything about the list and the things in it. I can also give a complete comic reading list for her, since it's a bit more than just the issues she appeared in. For anyone struggling with the accessibility of these recommendations, I have a hopefully comprehensive guide in the complete appearances post. And now just this list because I promised that:

Canon 1) Dooku: Jedi Lost Audiodrama - Script by Cavan Scott, preformed by full cast (also available in Script format) 2) Brotherhood - by Mike Chen 3) Star Wars: Hyperspace Stories #5 - Written by Amanda Deibert, with art by Riccardo Faccini (Variant cover by Cary Nord) 4) Worthless - a short story from Stories of Jedi and Sith - written by Delilah S. Dawson with an illustration by Jake Bartok 5) Star Wars Adventures: Return to Vader's Castle #3 - Written by Cavan Scott with art by Francesco Francavilla & Nick Brokenshire 6) Sisters - a short comic story from the Age of Republic Special - written by Jody Houser with art by Carlos Gómez

Legends 1) Star Wars: Republic: The New Face of War - 2-issue Comic arc (Star Wars: Republic #51-52) - written by W. Haden Blackman with art by Tomás Giorello 2) Star Wars: Republic #53 - written by W. Haden Blackman, with art by Brian Ching 3) Dark Heart - short story by August and Cynthia Hahn 4) The Cestus Deception - by Steven Barnes 5) Star Wars: Republic #60 - written by W. Haden Blackman with art by Tomás Giorello 6) Yoda: Dark Rendezvous - by Sean Stewart

tag list: @thechaoticfanartist @charmwasjess @metalatl @redsandspirit @slutshartsstuff @housepartyfortwo @karma-malfoy @thelivingforce

[fiapartridge]

different | kent johnson

"maybe this time it'll be different..."

kent johnson x hughes!sister

summary: when kent arrives to the lake house two years after breaking up with y/n hughes, he has so much more planned than wakeboarding with the boys-- he's going to get her back.

warning(s): cursing

a/n: i remembered someone requesting a kj fic so here we are!! it's my first one! so! try not to hate it too much! LOL

Kent hadn’t anticipated coming to the lake house like this: sopping wet from the rain that only seemed to pour when Kent arrived since all the days leading up to this were sunny skies with a chance of nothing– absolutely zero rain, except for the day he showed up. Great.

And to make matters even worse, he hadn’t even been invited to the lake house, turning up unannounced. Luke and the rest of the Hughes’ cut contact with Kent after his and Y/N’s breakup. I mean, he didn’t expect them to take his side or feel some sort of sympathy for him, but he also didn’t know he was gonna lose everyone because of it. 

Luke Hughes had invited Kent to the lake house every summer since meeting him, claiming him as the “cool older brother he never had.” (Jack and Quinn had of course taken offense from that, but he was right. Kent was cool.) But when Kent broke up with Y/N after the 2021 draft, making up the excuse of not wanting to “drag her along” while he was busy in the NHL, Luke couldn’t help but be there for his sister. At first, he hadn’t taken sides. Luke wasn’t a part of the relationship, so obviously their friendship would be fine— but once he heard how hurt and worthless she felt, he couldn’t be friends with him. He would never be friends with a person that could make his sister feel that bad about herself. 

For months, she wondered what she could’ve possibly done to make him walk out like that, especially on a day that was supposed to be so special. Maybe… maybe she was just a thing to pass the time with until his life really began. She wasn’t meant to be in his life, not the life he planned at least, she was just something that happened— and apparently he wasn’t one for spontaneity.

Until now. As he stands at the door of the Hughes family’s summer home, the memories of spending warm July nights huddled around the small table that sat on the front porch, littered with beer bottles and red solo cups, flooding back to him. Y/N sitting comfortably on his lap, her brothers making gagging noises every time they kissed, his UMich teammates picking her up and running through the house to the backyard, throwing Y/N into the pool and pushing Kent in with her. 

They don’t even text him anymore. And he thought that losing them would’ve been the worst part, but they weren’t the people that he told everything to; what he was feeling; how anxious he felt about the future; how excited he was after scoring his first goal at Yost. his frustration over his terrible gameplay the month before the draft, fearing that none of the teams would draft him if they saw how he was playing then. That was all Y/N— and he blew it.

He wasn’t even thinking, he didn’t know what to say, his actions spoke before him as he knocked on the door, hearing the loud chatter on the other side come to a halt. And before he knew it, he was face-to-face with his old teammate, Luke.

Stepping onto the porch and closing the door behind him, Luke’s face couldn’t be mistaken for anything but anger. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Luke spat.

Kent wasn’t expecting a warm welcome, but he also wasn’t expecting a full on war the minute he knocked on the door. He really should’ve thought out his words on the way here.

“I know that everyone in that house hates me,” Luke scoffed, muttering something under his breath as Kent cautiously continued. “But I need to talk to Y/N. I fucked up, I know, and it’s too late, but please. I just need to see her.”

“Even if I told her you were here, I don’t think she’d even want to talk to you.”

Ouch.

“I know you’ll never forgive me for what I did to your sister, and I have no excuse for that, but just— give me one last chance with her. I just want to talk.”

Luke stood there, processing it all. He hated Kent for what he had done. None of the other boys were there to hold Y/N when she would fall asleep with tears in her eyes, they weren’t there when she would stumble into his bed late at night because she didn’t trust herself to be alone in her room, they weren’t there to hear her beat up herself for what had happened, thinking that this whole thing was her fault, that she could’ve prevented this from happening if she was just… better.

But he also remembered how happy Kent made her feel when they were together. 

So he gave him a chance. One singular chance.

“Y/N,” Kent froze upon seeing her. She looked so different, yet so the same. She wore her hair down now instead of in messy buns or high ponies, she was taller, and her baby face was gone, her cheeks growing a bit slimmer. She still had that rosy pink complexion that she always carried around with her and she still wore the silver charm bracelet she had when they were together. She was still so beautiful, if not more than when he last saw her.

Her arms were crossed over her chest, closing herself off to him. She looked hesitant, apprehensive. She had spent the first year after their breakup hoping that he would come back and tell her that it was all a big mistake, that he didn’t mean to break up with her, that he was just overwhelmed, that he wanted her back. The second year, she accepted it; that he wasn’t coming back. So why was she feeling like nothing had changed, that all her progress meant nothing, that she would crumble and go back to the way it was that first year, hoping he’d make his way back to her, in her arms, on her lips, in her heart.

For him, she was a mess. That she never grew out of— as much as she wished she would.

“Why are you here, Kent?”

Hearing his full name come out of her mouth was like a dagger to his chest. But he did that. He ruined everything. Did he really have the right to feel bad for himself?

He licked his lips, trying to find his words. Any words, really. “I still care about you, Y/N/N. I never stopped.”

“So why did you throw it all away?” she asked, poking her finger at his chest. “And don’t give me the bullshit excuse of ‘dragging me along’ because you were three fucking hours away! That wouldn’t have changed anything!”

“I was stupid, okay!” he shouted back, his voice cracking. “I was overwhelmed, and I was lost, and I knew I wouldn’t be enough for you, that I couldn’t be there, and be the person that you deserved.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. This is not how she thought seeing him again would go. “Did you think you couldn’t have told me? That I wouldn’t understand? We could’ve worked through it! We could’ve been together through it all! We could’ve seen if it really was gonna work or not! But you didn’t even want to give us a chance.”

Backing away, her hand fell from his chest, slipping to the door knob behind her. It’s like he was losing her all over again. He couldn’t let that happen, not again.

Holding onto her wrist, he felt her stop in her tracks. Maybe she was just waiting for the right words, and while he didn’t know what the right words were, he decided to jump off the deep end nonetheless. 

“My biggest regret was walking away from you, Y/N. And I know this means nothing, that I put you through so much that you didn’t deserve, and you can hate me all you want, tell me to leave and I’ll go, but please— please just hear me out.”

Her forehead rested against the door. “Five minutes,” she mumbled before spinning around. “You have five minutes to talk.”

Kent didn’t waste a single second. “I’m still in love with you. I’ve been trying to convince myself that I’m not, but you mean the world to me, Y/N, and I shouldn’t have let that go, let us go, let you go. And if you give me another chance,” she pulled her wrist away from him, his chest speeding up. Please don’t go. “I won’t make the same mistake again. And I know that you’re scared, that we might end up doing this whole shit storm all over again, and I can’t promise that we won’t, but if you just give me a chance, just one chance, maybe this time it’ll be different.”

Kent’s words hung in the air as Y/N stood there, listening to his earnest plea. The rush of memories and emotions hit her like a tidal wave. The wounds of their breakup were still there, scars etched into her skin, a reminder of him every time she went to Yost and he wasn’t there, or when she would stalk his Instagram, swearing to her friends that she would block him this time, yet she always failed. 

She had spent so much time convincing herself that she was better off without him, that she could thrive on her own, but as he stood there, telling her the one thing she wished she heard from him years ago, that he still loved her, she wasn’t so sure anymore.

Her brows narrowed, her bottom lip stuck between her teeth. “Why should I believe you?”

“You can’t. But, Y/N, I have spent the past two years regretting everything, and wishing you were beside me. After my first game, I looked into the stands and when you weren’t there, I… I knew I fucked up, that you were the best thing that’s ever happened to me, that I’ve never been as happy as I was with you. And you can choose to not believe me when I say that I won’t walk out on us again, but please just think about it. Please.”

Y/N’s head was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She was torn between the fear of getting hurt again and the desire to give him another chance. Kent’s sincerity was real and honest, but could she really trust him not to run away when things got tough?

“No more running away. No more not talking about things. If we want this to work, I need to trust you again.”

“I’m not leaving. It’s you, you’re all I need,” he said, laying his forehead against hers. “I’ll do my best to show you I’ve changed, just make me yours again.”

In that moment, with their hearts racing and their emotions raw, Y/N’s gaze locked onto Kent’s nervous eyes. There was a certain vulnerability in his expression that echoed her own, and her mind battled between caution and the undeniable pull she still felt towards him. She’d felt that pull the second she saw him on the porch. It wasn’t something that could just go away, and in that moment, she was grateful for that.

As Kent’s fingers gently brushed against her cheek, Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine. His touch was gentle, hesitant, as if he feared shattering the fragile bridge they were building between them.

Y/N’s breath caught as Kent’s lips descended upon hers, a soft press that held a world of unspoken promises. It was a tentative kiss, a meeting of lips that carried the weight of the aching past, the hope that they could fix what was broken, and the need for his lips since the moment they broke up.

The kiss deepened, a slow progression that was both hesitant and passionate. Kent’s arms encircled Y/N, pulling her closer as her fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, her heart racing as she surrendered to the kiss, allowing herself to be enveloped by the flood of emotions that came with it.

Their lips moved against each other with a tender intensity, as if they were trying to convey all the unspoken words and emotions that had accumulated during their time apart. In that moment, the world around them seemed to fade, the rain stopped, the muffled voices on the other side of the door were gone— it was just them. 

  When they finally pulled away, their breaths were mingled, their foreheads resting against each other. Y/N’s eyes met Kent’s once again, and she could see the genuine regret and love he still had for her. She knew he hadn’t seen anyone for the past two years, Blanks liked to remind her of that everytime he tried to get them back together.

“I’m not leaving,” Kent whispered, his voice laced with sincerity. “I meant what I said, Y/N. You’re all I need, and I’m here to prove it. This time, it’ll be different.”

[ltash]

SIMON RILEY "VENOM"

Warning: 18+, mentions of murder, blood, death, s*x.

War didn’t break him; it reforged him into something darker.

It was a cold night in Manchester. The full moon shone brightly in the sky above, casting an eerie glow over the quiet streets. The night was still, except for the occasional sounds of nocturnal creatures hidden in the shadows.

He walked alone, the heavy stomping of his combat boots echoing against the asphalt, a forewarning of his presence. Each step was taken with a sense of ownership.

He walked as if the ground itself belonged to him.

He walked like the days he marched alongside his comrades, the tarmac beneath them, donning his royal blue uniform with the Union Jack he proudly wore on his chest.

He was once a soldier with honor; now he's a killer driven by a void nothing can fill.

He walked with the same confidence he had when he first encountered Johnny—Sergeant Mctavish, who was all smiles and unaffected by the imposing figure of a lieutenant with a dark past.

He walked as he remembered the camaraderie, the shared missions, and the uncertainty that loomed over each deployment. Each step towards the waiting helicopter carried the weight of the unknown, the unspoken fear of whether they would return to walk the earth again.

But now, there were no comrades by his side. No mission to undertake. No Johnny with his infectious, carefree spirit. No briefings, no Task Force, no Call of Duty.

Only a mercenary remained, a ghost of the man he once was.

The soldier in him died on the battlefield; what returned was a monster with no allegiance.

Simon died the day Johnny escaped the confines of this world.

His death wreaked havoc within him, a void nothing can fill.

The rot within him began to consume his flesh and bones, gnawing at his very shadow. He grew darker, his soul blacker than the jacket he wears or the camouflage cream around his eyes he smears.

He became a reaper, a bringer of death, relishing in the act of ripping souls from their bodies as they begged for mercy. The last look in their eyes, the death rattle as they choked on their own blood—it thrilled him.

He transformed into a sadistic pervert, finding pleasure in dead flowers, in the act of bringing death before life could fully bloom. Twisting and turning their bodies to his liking, sinking his teeth into their flesh, drawing blood.

He found ecstasy not in love, but in the twisted agony of his victims. Behind his cold eyes lurked a monster that reveled in the suffering of others.

He plucked their petals one by one, reveling in their yelps and writhing beneath him as they plead succumbing to him, surrendering to him as they were destroyed by him when he injected his venom into them.

His desires grew twisted, and the thought alone made his cock twitch with anticipation.

He found ecstasy in plucking the feathers of wandering birdies, invading their sanctuaries, and satiating the lust that coursed through his veins.

Each night, he slept peacefully, knowing he had nothing left to lose except his own worthless life. He was a ruthless killer, a mercenary driven not just by money but by the primal hunger that resided within him.

He fought for freedom once; now he kills to silence the nightmares.

The contact of his knife with soft throats and pulsing jugulars brought him intense pleasure. The sight of death became his release, his climax.

A puzzle wrapped in a shroud of enigma. A man transformed by the darkness that consumed him, living a life of relentless violence and unfulfilled desires.

Every scar tells a story, and his are etched with the blood of those who crossed his path.

He is called,

Ghost!

••••••••••••••

[vacantgodling]

knights on a dangerous quest

worthless war pt ii. please give the first a read here!

but oh to be knights on a dangerous quest to become more intimate with your body from the silken splendor of bandaged wounds than your wife back home will ever be

to bear witness to and to take an effort to dry the tears you shed when no one else sees when their very expression is more painful than dying

to hold you close to my chest when darkness falls and listen to the elixir of your breathing; savoring it the reality that we will go home alone is inevitable be it by human design, or by death’s cold hand

i return home and yet my mind lingers how i dream to find that even perhaps that even if your heart beats with your wife and family

some naked part of it will always belong to me

notes:

this poem is from the perspective of the black knight aka the one who bandaged atreyus (or 'your') wounds in worthless war.

[multifandomwhore-003]

Coward

Pairing: Robby Keene x female! adopted! Moskowitz! reader

Summary: Honestly, just the most angsty shit I've written in a while.

Genre(s): angst,angst, and more angst.

Warning(s): I'm only following the show's timeline from season 1 to the first half of season 4. They're Taylor Swift/Billie Eilish/other depressing artists coded, more specifically "No time to die", "My tears ricochet", "I love you", "The Archer", "Afterglow", "Line without a hook", "All too well" "That way", "You broke me first", "The Great war", and the list goes on and on so just pick your poison.

Taglist: @rafecameronswhore @barbiekatz @l-o-v-r-s @kaitieskidmore1 @rosepetalsparks join taglist here

A/N: QUICK DISCLAIMERS, I made the reader adopted bc clearly Eli's/Hawk's family is white so this way the reader can be a poc if that's the case, I started this back when S4 came out and just finished it... what does that say about me? Idk. ALSO, Robby's S4 era will always be superior, Robby from S4 you will always be famous, he was unhinged, hot, a menace, and iconic, in this essay I will-

Gif credits to whom they belong

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚗

REQUESTS CLOSED

THIS IS NOT FREE USE, YOU CAN NOT USE MY WORK

Reblog if you like

The All Valley's karate rivalry was as old as time, as strong as god's will, and in your opinion, as stupid as it sounds; not to everyone though, especially your brother, the great and mighty Hawk who loved to parade around the city with his new look that carried every piece of confidence he had, unfortunately, now that it was taken away from him, he felt worthless.

You never had a thing against any of the participating parties in this ridiculous dispute, you didn't mess with them, and they didn't mess with you, but you had a limit whenever they attacked your brother, a tiny fine line that went from 'superficial wounds' to 'profound damage' and they crossed it. More like, Robby 'cute face' Keene, crossed it. Even though there was a 98% chance that your brother had brought this on himself, he was still your brother and you'd do anything for your family.

You pushed the glass doors storming into the empty section of the building and hearing them slightly vibrate behind you, "Keene," your voice was stern, no response, "Keene!" 

"Back here!" He yelled from the back room.

The stride of your heels resounded in every corner of the concrete, a strong, dominant, and potent tone that could easily make anyone even slightly fearful. And Robby Keene wasn't the exception, no matter how many times Sensei Reese and Sensei Silver prepared him to be a champion, no matter how many hours he had proven to be Cobra Kai's worthiest inheritor, no matter how much muscle mass he gained by the minute, no matter how many days he spent in prison, no matter how many people he'd fought, no matter how many kids in the valley were scared of him, everyone has a weakness, and you were one of his.

There wasn't something in this world he could hate more than that because it didn't make sense, it didn't make any fucking sense for you of all people to hold so much power over him after everything that happened, there was an evident reason behind esteeming the adults around him, some of the other students even, but you? What else were you if not a lovely face? The most beautiful thing he's ever seen in his life, he knew the answer, a little too well for his liking, and as much as he hated it, the fact that you were so out of reach made him want you more.

But he pretended, okay? Oh, he loved, adored even, to act all tough and cocky around you as if you couldn't break his entire facade into little pieces if you so much as softened your features for him, a minimal act he thought he'd never see again, and still, he'd imagined it, he'd daydream about it almost every time you were near him, which with the new tournament coming up, seeing you became more and more recurrent, and so, it didn't get easier to hate you, in fact, the more he saw you, the harder it got.

If and only if you were held at gunpoint, you'd admit that the boy was attractive, pretty even, mostly because you would be sentenced to death by your family or hanged for treason by your brother's friends, but also because confessing to like him meant confessing you liked the guy who for better or for worse, ended up in juvie, and it was something that you didn't wanna be linked with.

You didn't have to say it to know that after all, you were still genuinely captivated by his physique and attitude, the way he carried himself everywhere he went, his ability to make himself seen without saying a word, how he wasn't easy to overlook; maybe it was just you who noticed his presence so intensely, perhaps you convinced yourself the rest of the world did as well just so you wouldn't feel so pathetic by the fact that you couldn't ignore him. And in the attempt to make your life easier and 'problem-free' by neglecting your feelings, it backfired by raising the complicity lever of your desires.

"What can I do for you, Princess?" he didn’t bother to turn around perhaps you’d go quickly so he didn’t have to train his self-control, not again.

If you were in a different mood, you would've rolled your eyes at the little nickname you despised so much, he gave it to you not only to point out that your economical status was clearly higher than his, but also to remind the 10-month-old age gap between you and your brother, a small amount of time that doomed your life to always be put under him, to your family, he was going to grow to be a King, the one who was gonna inherit every important part of their heritage, and you were stuck to be only that, a Princess.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't put your ass back in jail?" You fumed, irritation blurring out your judgment.

"Because legally, I did nothing wrong, and even if I did, you have no proof of it," he grinned.

"Then explain to me what the hell is wrong with you?!” you spun him by his shoulder,  “You really thought you could just casually shame my brother by cutting his hair and I wouldn't come here to defend him?!"

"You mean the same hair that made him think he could be a bully?" he remained calm.

"You know damn well I never agreed with that," you spat, "Do I need to remind you he was suspended for a week because I went to the principal? And regardless of that, you wanna complain about him making others feel less with violence while you do the same?" you scoffed,  "Wow," you stated with sarcasm.

"It's hair, it'll grow back,"

"You humiliated him! You made him nothing! Not to mention you used a barber's blade, idiot, did you think about how fucking dangerous that was? You could've seriously injured him if he made the wrong move!"

"I warned him, good thing he knows how to listen, he’s not as stupid as he looks," he taunted you more.

You shook your head, "You're gonna listen to me Keene, and you're gonna listen to me very carefully," you got close to him, "If you even so much as breathe in his direction before the tournament, I will end you,"

He chuckled, "Is that supposed to be a threat?"

"No, only cowards like you and your minions make threats, mine is a promise,"

"I'm not a coward," he clenched his jaw holding back the increasing anger.

You laughed, and somehow said more than words could.

"Says the one who came here when it was all alone knowing that if it wasn't, you would've gotten your ass beaten,"

"By who? Your little friend who's on probation?” you tilted your head with an arrogant smirk, “No, you see, I came here at this time because I'm smart, I mean let's be honest, you've never done anything to hurt me and you never will, because… well," you raised your shoulders feeding the fire in his eyes.

"So what? Do you want me to hurt you to prove that I'm not?" he towered over you.

You nodded, "Yes," you took another step towards him, "But then again, you don't want me to win, do you? Because if you hurt me, then that means you care about what I think,”  your voice got slower, “and what would that say about you? True winners don't have to prove anything to anyone but themselves, that's the difference between all of you and me," you separated from him slightly, "But go ahead, make my day and land the first punch,"

He froze in his place processing your words and just barely he noticed he missed your closeness, he couldn't bring himself to do so, pushing down the consuming rage that, later on, would show up stronger when Silver and Kreese find out about this encounter.

"That's what I thought," you scrunched your nose,  "You karate nerds are so stupid, who needs to get physical when you have words?" you told more to yourself, and right when you were about to make, what you considered, a triumphal exit, your arm got yanked, your chest hit him, and your faces were less than an inch away, "What are you doing?" you whispered.

The vulnerability of your words and the fragility of your look melted him, for a split second he lost track of his purpose, but it wasn't until he remembered your words that he snapped out of the trance, "Hurting you," he whispered back before placing your lips on his.

It didn't take long for his action to hitch your respiration, stun your nerves, fill your veins with adrenaline, whisk your logic, and for you to correspond. It was embarrassingly quick if to be completely honest, but it didn't matter, frankly, you were so unashamed of it that your hands slipped behind his neck pushing the two of you impossibly closer. It was hungry, desperate, and frantic; you finally understood Adam and Eve no matter how much you hated religion, finally comprehended the temptation of the forbidden fruit, sweet, delicious, and addictive.

Instinctively, he gently pushed you against the nearest wall and you felt his fingers getting lost in your hair, "I don't need to use a lot of strength to hurt you," he pulled you away trying to recover his breath, "I'm gonna hurt your pride by making you moan my name,"

"Easy there, snake boy," you managed to gasp out as you trailed your fingertips fastidiously along his jawline whilst slightly lifting his chin, "What makes you think you won't moan mine," you weren't ready to let your guard down, not yet, you then switched positions holding his shoulders against the cement. In an act of pure selfishness, you softly cupped his face somewhat catching him off guard, his nose brushed yours as your top lip created contact that was so minimal it could almost be imperceptible, "Nice try,  Keene, but unfortunately for you, I don't fuck losers," you mumbled, although you could've said it in a more impactful tone, you knew, you knew that the intimacy of it all would make your words burn into the very depths of his soul.

You walked out of the Dojo quite easily with him as perplexed as a Marmol statue, the catch was having to drive around the city to cool off your system and release the tension of it all. However, it didn't work, not even a little bit, not even at all, your mind played every different scenario of the continuation of your reckless actions, it was your fault, and you had to accept it, you went to face him knowing damn well how you felt for him, you went knowing damn well he wouldn't just back down easily, knowing he would've put up a fight one way or another, you knew deep inside you, you knew this could happen, you wanted it to happen. 

It was inevitable, your brother was just the perfect excuse and you used it, you took advantage of it, you abused it even, he begged you not to do anything and you didn't care enough to listen, you just had to see him, you had to confront him after almost a year of holding back. 

You met him while he was still working for the LaRussos, Daniel and your mom had known each other since college, so whenever they began a conversation, no one could stop them or be part of it; on that occasion, you two were invited for dinner, you brother naturally skipped it, but you were forced to go. You couldn't really complain, Sam was nice company at times, and you would mostly gossip about school or complain about teachers, nothing too deep; however, it even amazed you how rapidly you connected with Robby. Was your entire conversation from that night centered on making fun of the adults? Yeah, but you couldn't stop cackling the entire time. After that, whenever you saw each other you two resumed that same chemistry, constantly coming up with inside jokes or witty comments regarding your family, friends, possible love interests, etc. It then patiently evolved into a solid friendship by revealing heavy details of both of your lives; other types of sentiments involved or not, there was a time when all you had was each other. 

But the school fight changed everything, Hawk had a personal vendetta against the person who put one of his best friends in a coma, and you... you were scared, not furious, not bitter, just terrified. Of him, your brother and his friends, Sam, everyone that had to go through the aftermath of it all; you burned all of those bridges, gasoline and everything, changed schools in a different part of town, shut down that part of your life. You couldn't afford to give your family another reason to put you under. 

"Y/N,  could you stop procrastinating and do something productive?” your mother interrupted your thinkings, “I gotta take this call, take care of them for a minute," she pointed at the waiters.

"Oh, yeah, sure, I- I'll watch them," you answered.

She stepped away.

You huffed scanning the restaurant your family proudly called theirs, it was a second home, warm, comfy, filled with known people, and although you couldn’t make sense of it, you’d always perceived the hazy calmness through the chaos. 

There was something hardly recognizable besides the door, at first glance your eyes overlooked it, but as you double-checked your body tensed and your eyes widened so much you were sure they were gonna pop out, he was here.

The last time he showed up at the business was the night before the incident, your parents had conveniently gone to a business dinner and your brother had no intentions on getting out of the house with his hangover, and like every other time he'd been there, you two would steal food from the kitchen, go up to the rooftop and talk about nothing and everything.

Flashback

"And now Mr. LaRusso doesn't wanna have anything to do with me," his voice weakened.

"Oh my god, Robby," you wasted no time in hugging him tightly, "I'm sorry," 

He nuzzled in the crook of your neck sparking something in your gut, you never failed to react to the crumbs of intimacy you always had. His eyes began to water, tears falling into your shirt.

"It's okay, it's okay," you comforted him, both of your torsos gently swinging.

"It hurts so much," he sniffled, "Why does it hurt so much?" it might've sounded a little too melodramatic, perhaps absurd, but he wasn't afraid to be like that, vulnerable, not with you, you never gave him a reason to be.

You pursed your lips, your throat was dry, you were speechless although you'd never been the quiet type, and all you could do was hold him even tighter, a subtle yet relevant symbolism that reminded you that was the closest you could get.

"Why does everyone always leave?" he let the question settle into the breeze although it felt more personal.

It broke you to see him like this, no pain you've ever felt was comparable to seeing he whom you love miserable, there was nothing else you could do but be there, though you didn't think it was nearly as enough as what he needed, "I- I don't know," you couldn't tell if you were lucky to have never experienced such experience, or misfortunate to not have said wisdom to heal him. You cautiously cupped his face, as if one of your movements could hurt him more, he was like stained glass, complicated, fractured, fragile, and yet, his cracks and colors made him the most beautiful soul you’ve ever met "I won't leave you," you ran your thumbs through his cheeks, drying the small showings of his pain.

"You promise?"

"I promise,"

End of flashback

You tried not to draw too much attention to yourself while jogging towards the entrance, "What the hell are you doing here?" you blurted out.

"I wanna talk to you," he seemed happy, probably because of how fearful you, on the other hand, were.

"You- you can't be here right now, I'm not messin' around," you shook your head, you had to react as discreetly as possible.

"Why? Your brother isn't here,"

"It's not just my brother, okay? My family will kill you on sight, please, listen to me," you grabbed his shoulders, "We can't talk, not here,"

"Where then?"

"I-" you looked around making sure your mom was still in her office, "Do we really have to do this right now?" you insisted.

"Yes," he stated firmly.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, "Okay, come on," you pulled his hand with a strength that wasn't necessary.

You entered the tiny meetings room on the other side of the establishment, because of your dad's usual tantrums, it didn't have a camera and it was sound-proofed; you made sure to lock the door and turn off the light so it wouldn't be visible from the bottom of the wood.

"Okay, make it quick, I need to get back to my mom," your words were rushed and stumbling with each other.

"You truly are terrified of your parents aren't you?" he crossed his arms.

"I don't have time for this Robby-"

"Thought I was 'Keene',"

You only began to call him that after in consequence of the Karate outrage, his first name felt too personal, too close.

You shut your eyes in frustration, "Can you stop being an ass for a second and get to the point of whatever it is that you wanna talk about?"

"Why are you so nervous about me being here?" he continued to tease, truth is, he wasn't sure what he was doing there in the first place, all he knew was that here he was, with you.

"It doesn't matter, just- start talking," you pressured.

"Why are you so nervous about me being here?" he repeated.

Your fingers twitched, a manner you developed out of stress, "Because if they see me with you, I'll never hear the end of it, okay?" you fidgeted then with your jewelry.

"If you never wanna be caught in a lie I suggest you stop doing the ring thing," he pointed out, "It makes it easy to tell,"

You halted the action and then shrugged.

"Why are you so nervous about me being here?"

"Because they already filed a restraining order against you, I guess you didn't get it because you're here, but if they call the cops you'll probably end up in juvie and I don't want- If you ever wanna go back to school or get a job is gonna be incredibly difficult,"

He assumed at first you didn't wanna be seen with him because of how much you cared about the reputation of your new life, a valid perspective given how much you made an effort to conceal it all, but hearing you enlightened him, sore him "Don't look at me like that," a small part of his grudge came out.

"Like what?"

"Like you still care about me,"

A choked laugh resounded from your part, "First of all, I'm not apologizing for that, and second-"

"You should," his demeanor abruptly became more defensive.

You tilted your head, "Why?" your energy matched his.

"Because you don't care about me, and acting like you do is very hypocritical of you,"

"When have I ever told you that I don't care about you?" you frowned.

"You don't have to say it, you already proved it,"

"How so?"

"Don't play the innocent part now," he was close to losing his cool,  "You try so hard to hide everything that happened but at even the slightest inconvenience, you go right back where you started, tell me, do your mommy and daddy know you went to see me two days ago? Huh? Or let me guess, you were too scared to tell them?" 

"Oh, fuck off Keene, is that all you got? Is that the only thing that you think will affect me? My parents? My reputation?"

"Yes! Because that's the only thing you care about! You're nothing but a self-centered spoiled brat that doesn't know any better than to run away from her problems! You wanna know who the real coward is here? You are! Some of us don't have the privilege of a new start! Keep pretending all you want, but don't forget, I was your friend and you turned your back on me, I wasted my one phone call on you because you were the only person I had, and you hung up on me like I was nothing! Tell me, how am I supposed to be the coward if I'm the one who got hurt because of your selfishness?! You don't care about anyone but yourself!" as much as he attempted to divert the subject of the conversation, his eyes sabotaged him, quickly covering his face in a salty heartbreaking liquid. "You... you weren't there-" 

You were both stunned by his reaction, you'd think that with everything he's been put through, he wouldn’t snap so easily, so passionately, so emotionally, but no, all of this was a new part of himself that only you made him feel, he’d only allowed you to do so.

"I needed you! I needed you! And you weren't there! And- and then the first time you say anything to me after I got out-" 

If there's something he had while being in juvie was time, precious time he'd spent weaving, machinating; about you, about his dad, about the LaRusso's, about Miguel, about him. Strategizing his next encounter with the world was arduous, but the action of going through with it was the true challenge, and he realized how useless all that time truly was when he heard your voice the first time, suddenly all of it was gone, the effort, the time, the sleepless nights, the daydreaming noons, all of it, turned into nothing, you turned them into nothing. 

"I was happy," he exhaled like freeing himself of chains and shackles, "I was so happy, and I enjoyed seeing you mad so fucking much, seeing you in general," he laughed, "I tried to-" he choked on his words, "I tried to hate you so much because you bailed on me but I can't," every inch him began to feel... lighter, "I can't hate you," he sighed, "I- I just can’t,”

Your body didn’t allow you to move, roughly grounding you, vines of regret holding you hostage against soothing him, stopping him, following him outside, responding coherently to your family’s screams, to forget.  You’d lost count of how many days you’d feel as you were still glued to the wooden floor, completely stuck, dried-out blossoms of hope from your heart, rageful deep thorns clinging to your debilitated frame, daunting poison sinking your head.

—How many times?—

How many times would you have to come up with every pretentious and overly-thought narrative to justify everything? You’ve been silenced by your reluctance, aghast by your idealization, confined by your denial, triggered by tension, frozen by your guilt, and finally steered by resentment. 

You stared at the faint reflection from the glass, you wanted to immortalize the picture, hair slightly out of place, tugged at clothes, blood burst out of the skin, purple underneath the large organ, nostrils flowing with the lack of air, mouth agape. 

—Why?—

  You prepared yourself for the question before anyone else asked it. 

—Why was protecting Robby’s honor against someone as irrelevant as Natalie Dalmasos worth it?—

 You noticed your knuckles finally matching your brother’s.

—He’s never even met her—

Your stomach sunk as if releasing all the ire and digesting it as dread.

—Was it worth it?—

Hammering head.

—Did she deserve it?—

Striking heart.

—You screwed up everything you built—

Trembling legs.

—What did you do?—

Numbed face.

—Why destroy it?—

Streaking neck.

—Why him?—

Overwhelmed.

Then reality came back.

—Shit—

You reached for your phone, quickly texting your mother the first perfectly constructed lie you could think of, you had to disappear at least for tonight, eventually relieved by her believing your sleepover story, you started the car.

—Where else would you go?—

You blankly saw the infamous logo, the white clearness hiding the inside, you took a shaky breath and struggled to get yourself inside the walls, you didn’t have to make yourself known by words, the heavy door did all the work filling it with creaks against the floor for it being poorly moved. 

You saw him cautiously walk out of the dark.

“Robby,” you let out a soft smile.

He frowned as you gradually got nearer.

“I- I um-” you gulped, “I just got into a fight, the party- I-,” there was now a lightbulb over your head.

He rushed, “Y/N, holy shit,” 

“I- I’m fine, I swear,” you chuckled.

“Fine?! You look like shit!” 

“You should see the other guy,” you joked

He shrugged, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that, I’m just-,”

“Shocked?” you interrupted him, “Surprised? Amazed? Astonished? Stunned? fucking… every other synonym there is?”

He nodded still scanning your body, “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he placed one of your arms on his shoulder to then swiftly carry you bridal style to his mattress. You tilted your head observing the side of his jaw.

“I never noticed you had a scar there,” you whispered.

“One of many of my mom’s bad boyfriends,”

“I’m sorry,” you delicately traced it.

He smiled, “It’s okay,” 

You were laid down rather dramatically, or so you thought by the way he treated you like you were made out of paper, you just rolled your eyes and sat up while he went to get the first aid kit. 

“This is gonna hurt,” he wet the cotton.

You scoffed, “Relax Robby, I’m a big girl, this isn’t my first drill,” 

“Right,” he nodded.

You lowly hissed when the chemical made contact.

“Thought this wasn’t your first drill,” he teased.

“Okay, just because I’ve been hurt before doesn’t mean it’s not painful,” you both laughed, “I can still handle it,”

The rest of the cleaning went somewhat silent, just a few mumbled sorries were thrown around, but by the time he had pulled out the bandages, you grew impatient.

“You’re not gonna ask?” you broke the ice.

“Not really,” he admitted. 

“Why?”

“Because,” he raised his shoulders, “It’s too late to go and make ‘em pay for it,”

“Oh god, please don’t, I already did that,”

“What do you mean?” he began to wrap your hand.

“I’m the one who started the fight because they were talking shit,”

“What kind of shit?”

“All kinds, throwing rumors and just- bullshit,”

“About who?”

You licked your lips.

—Really? Now you go silent? You’re already here, fuck it—

“About you,”

“What?” he tightened the cloth too much.

“Ow,”

“Sorry, sorry,” he let go.

“Yeah,” you confessed, “They were talking shit about you and I shut them up,”

“Who?” he was still confused.

“Some girl from my school who thinks she’s fucking… Regina George or somethin’, she’s just a bitch,” you shook your head.

“Why?”

—Why?—

You grabbed his face, and gave him the most mellow and honeyed eyes you’ve ever had, “You haven’t figured that one out yet, have you?” you joined your foreheads as you closed your eyes, “You’re not the smart one out of us anyway,” you heard him giggle.

He brushed his nose with yours, shyly getting closer.

—Are you sure?—

—Yeah—

—Fuck it—

You kissed him for the first time, but held on to it like it was the last, how was it that you could say everything with just that? The most disarming and humble expression there is; the touch of two epidermises, and the completion of dual fantasies. You almost blubber in it, oh sacchariferous little poison of yours, worth every penny, every dime, every tear, every scream, and every dream. 

He paused, taking a deep breath, yet never breaking contact.

You sobbed, “I love you,” you dried his cheeks.

“I love you too,” he whimpered.

[no-psi-nan]

"Kuniharu is a kind and funny dad, you're misconstruing canon if you call him abusive!!"

Literal intro chapter, the very first serialized chapter & first episode of the whole series:

- Kuniharu lies to his son in an attempt to guilt-trip him

- Kuniharu thinks about, then suggests to his son that he start stealing money

- Kusuo himself introduces his dad as a shameless and pitiable sleazeball.

- Kuniharu dehumanizes his son by calling him "Kusuemon", a reference to Doraemon, a robot cat that serves a human.

- It's revealed that Kuniharu "carelessly flew into a rage and smashed all the window panes in the house" because his "beloved" wife ate one (1) dessert out of the fridge, and he thinks that's a just and proportionate response and that "[they're] both to blame".

For reference, their house looks like this:

That's a lot of windows!

And even in the case of it being a gag manga, smashing all the windows in his own house over a minor offense by his wife is a completely insane level of retaliation. It doesn't matter that his son can instantly repair the house, the fact of the matter is that he had a long and extended violent outburst against his wife IN HIS INTRO EPISODE!!!!!!!

Kuniharu was NEVER meant to be seen as a good person because he's not. He's (at BEST) a constant source of annoyance for his son and a crappy husband who can't even do his job right, licking shoes to compensate for his ongoing problems at work:

It's fine to enjoy him as a character, he IS really funny in his insanity, but to say that people are making stuff up about him being abusive is a ridiculous statement.

The concept of "child abuse" includes psychological and emotional mistreatment or neglect by a parent, it's not just about physical assault. One definition of psychological child abuse is:

"A repeated pattern of caregiver behavior or extreme incident(s) that convey to children that they are worthless, flawed, unloved, unwanted, endangered, or only of value in meeting another's needs."

Kuniharu hardly interacts with his son except to seek favors or to try to assert dominance/superiority. He constantly refers to Kusuo as a monster/robot/nonhuman (dehumanization, another form of abuse).

During the favorability/love meter chapter, both Kuniharu and Kusuo were certain that the love score would be very low due how little Kuniharu cares for his son. The fact that the score doesn't go down doesn't actually mean much if his literal mind-reading son could not tell that he was loved.

In fact, just as Kusuo's kindness can be explained by Kurumi's influence, Kusuo's tendency to self-blame, his trouble forming bonds with others, and his extreme conflict-avoidance can be seen as classic results of childhood emotional/psychological abuse.

And sure, Kusuke (who's introduced wayyyyyyyy later) might be the source of some of this trauma, but literally who raised him lol?

Anyways. You're ignoring canon if you think Kuniharu is a good dad or person, which is fine! Just recognize that.

"It's a gag manga, it's not that serious" <- Even in a gag manga world, Kusuo himself says that his dad is kind of garbage and that his mother is the only reason he hasn't exploded the planet. And the whole premise of the series is that he's fucking miserable.

The fact that bad things are presented in a funny way doesn't make them less bad, especially not from an in-canon perspective. A war in a gag manga is not really that funny to the characters themselves.

And exploring different aspects of a work is literally one of the main activities to do in fandom. If you only want to see exactly what's in the show exactly as it's presented in the show, then go rewatch it! Maybe you'll catch a few more details this time too.

[eretzyisrael]

Forensics experts have determined that Hamas executed six Israeli hostages late last week.

These six - Hersh Goldberg-Polin, Eden Yerushalmi, Ori Danino, Alex Lobanov, Carmel Gat, and Almog Sarusi - were alive a few days ago. Hamas murdered them. 

All of them were shot multiple times from close range. 

They weren't killed in battle. They weren't killed from airstrikes. They were deliberately executed by Hamas.

Their kidnappings were a war crime. Their being taken hostage with the intent to trade them for murderers was a war crime. Their ten months of imprisonment were a crime against humanity. Their executions were a heinous crime against humanity.

And as of this writing, not a word of condemnation has been tweeted by Amnesty or Human Rights Watch or Oxfam or the UN Human Rights Council. 

These are groups who are keen to condemn Jews marching with flags in Jerusalem, or Jews praying in their holiest spot, or Jews renting out houses as Airbnbs on the "wrong" side of an arbitrary line.  Yet when Jews are summarily executed by Palestinians, they are suddenly struck mute.

So you know how they claim to care about international law? How they say they care about morality? How they pretend to care about human rights?

They don't give s damn about any of them. They only condemn things that align with their politics, and Palestinians murdering Jews is not something they consider abhorrent or immoral. They sort of admire them.

Sometimes, in order to appear even handed, they will write a report about undeniable and egregious violations of international law by Palestinian terror groups.  One in perhaps 30 reports will mention rocket attacks by Hamas or rapes of Israelis. But those are the exceptions that prove the rule: they support Palestinian "resistance" in all its forms, but are forced to sometimes pretend to be consistent and issue half hearted condemnations while invariably at the same time also condemning Israel.

But there is no immediate, reflexive horror at Hamas being proven to do the most heinous war crimes that exist. They remain silent in the fact of human rights and international law violations, when  Israeli Jews are the victims.

They are the worst hypocrites on Earth. Their silence proves that their incessant condemnations of Israel are merely political and worthless. Because if they cannot immediately condemn Hamas executions of Jewish hostages, they are against human rights for people they also hate.

And those people are proud nationalistic Jews. 

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

How would tfp cons react seeing their human s/o getting caught by an autobot and is squirming in their hand during a fight?

-Rage. Pure and unadulterated rage. Megatron snarls like an animal, denta bared in a ferocious snarl. But while he's outwardly feral, inside there's a calculated mind. He's thinking of the safest way to get you back, knowing that while the autobot would not hurt you on purpose, if he were to attack without thinking then you would get caught in the brawl. No, he needs to think before he acts.

-There's two things Starscream is feeling right now; rage and fear. Rage because how dare that worthless piece of scrap touch what belongs to him and fear because he doesn't want to hurt you. Ultimately, fear wins over rage and Starscream ties to convince the autobot to let you go. He pleads, playing into their sympathetic sparks, urging them to remember that you have to part in this war and that you pose no threat to them.

-Soundwave immediately stops whatever it his he's doing, freezing in place. He analyzes the situation, his mind comes up with a hundred different ways to resolve the situation yet he can't do anything. He sees his partner in the hands of his enemy and he's terrified. Will only be broken out of this trance when the autobot starts to talk. Then a cold, visceral rage fills his entire body. The autbots won't take someone else from him, he won't let them.

-Knockout immediately drops his weapons and raises his servos in a placating manner, trying to appear as unthreatening as he can. Now now, there's no need to be hasty. Surely we can come to an agreement? How about, you let the human go and Knockout leaves peacefully with them? How about that? The alternative is that he shows you exactly how much harm a buzzsaw can make to the cybertronian frame. It's your choice.

-While Breakdown doesn't transform away his weapons, he does lower them and he takes a step back so that the autobot won't feel threatened and do anything stupid. With his optics laser focused on you, he tells the autobot to let you go. This has nothing to do with you. He's not pleading as much as demanding this, feeling like he needs to show confidence to convince the bot holding you hostage.

-For the first time in millennia, Shockwave hesitates. It confuses him because the life of one organic should not matter to him. Yet... When he sees you struggling in the autobot's servo, his fuel lines go cold, his processor stalls. So he prepares himself to fight, even if the battle does not necessarily look like it's going to be in his favor. Illogical or not, he's going to save you.