#subtle manipulation

[yanderejustforyou]

The Mark of a Stranger

Fandom:The Penguin (2024) Pairing: Sofia Falcone x Reader

You woke to a throbbing ache behind your eyes, a dull, persistent reminder of the previous night's festivities. The echo of laughter, the rhythmic pulse of bass, and the strobing kaleidoscope of club lights still swirled like phantom sensations in your head. It had been a typical Friday night - an escape orchestrated with familiar ease beside your friends. Good music, potent cocktails, and that ephemeral, dizzying freedom that always felt a little too short-lived. The city's energy had been a palpable force, a siren song pulling you deeper into its chaotic rhythm. You'd surrendered willingly, dissolving into the sea of bodies, the cacophony of sounds, and the intoxicating feeling of being momentarily untethered from reality.

But as you pushed yourself up from the tangled bedsheets, your fingertips grazed your neck, and a jolt of unease, cold and unfamiliar, shot through you. There was a strange sensation there, not quite pain, but a persistent, foreign pressure—an unfamiliar warmth that radiated from a specific point. It was subtle, at first, easily dismissed. But then your fingers explored, tracing the contours of your skin, and you realized: there was something there. Something raised, with a jagged, almost deliberate edge, chillingly unmistakable. A bite. The skin around it was angry red, inflamed and tender to the touch. The two puncture marks, small and sharp, seemed almost... intentional. Placed. Something cold and predatory, like the fangs of a wolf, had touched you.

Your breath hitched in your throat, the blood draining from your face as a whirlwind of panicked thoughts took hold. You were certain there was no bite from the previous night - no feral alley cat, no drunken stumble into a rosebush. You had left the club with your friends, the walk home a blur of shared jokes and tipsy laughter - none of them had noticed anything amiss. A quick memory check: no strange encounters, no unexpected contact. Nothing - but this. You stumbled to the bathroom, peering into the mirror, a growing sense of dread coiling in your stomach. The mark was small, concealed just beneath your hairline, at the nape of your neck. It looked… almost like a brand, a warning etched into your flesh. A possessive claim.

The mark itself was small, almost easily hidden under your hair, but it radiated a strange power, a claim, like something had carved itself beneath the skin, changing you in a way you couldn't understand. It felt alien, unnatural. You shook your head, trying to dispel the creeping unease, the primal fear blooming in your chest. You went through the motions of starting the day, a shower, coffee, but the normal routines felt… off. The air seemed to thicken around you, a suffocating blanket of awareness, and a prickling sensation of being watched from every corner. The usual city sounds, the distant rumble of trucks, the chatter of pedestrians, seemed to amplify, echoing much louder in your ears. The weight of the world felt heavier, pressing down on you from all sides, and the sense of being hunted grew with every passing moment. Every now and then, you’d catch a flicker in your peripheral vision – a shadow that darted too quickly, a figure obscured by the crowd, too illusive to pin down. Just a hint of darkness, a vague unease settling in with every glance.

The day passed in a state of anxious paralysis, a constant battle against the mounting feeling of wrongness. That night, after another restless day of unease, your phone buzzed. A message. Plain and to the point: “We need to talk.” The name at the top sent a jolt of cold dread through you: Sofia Falcone. Just the name alone felt like a weight on your chest. A wave of sickening unease washed over you, the dots of fear connecting. You tried to push back the feeling that this all must be a mistake, overthinking, a bad dream, but the fear, the bite, felt solid and real. You knew Sofia, or at least, you thought you did. She was an enigmatic woman, a captivating presence with long dark hair cascading down her shoulders, piercing grey eyes that always seemed to see through you, and an undeniably dangerous air that shimmered beneath the surface of her composed exterior. But this? This was something else, something you couldn't fathom, something terrifying in its unknown nature.

You tried to rationalize, to find a logical explanation, to convince yourself it was all a misunderstanding, but deep down you knew this feeling wasn't something that could be explained by rational thought. There was no escaping it, you were caught in this web. You had been marked, and the familiar world that surrounded you was about to shift into something completely alien.

When you arrived at her penthouse, the door opened before you even had the chance to knock, as if she had been expecting you. The cool, calculating gaze of Sofia Falcone met yours immediately, sending a shiver crawling up your spine. She was standing in the dimly lit entryway, the soft glow of candlelight casting long, unsettling shadows around her. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, lingered on your face, her expression unreadable.

“Come in,” she said, her voice smooth and inviting, but laced with an edge of something predatory that sent an icy chill down your bones. “We need to have a conversation.” The words were polite, almost casual, but there was a definitive authority in their tone, an unspoken command that brooked no refusal.

As you stepped inside, your heart hammered against your ribs, each beat a frantic drum against the silence. You tried to ignore the subtle burning sensation at the back of your neck, the insistent throb that was a constant reminder of what had happened. The atmosphere inside the penthouse was thick, a heady mix of expensive perfume, polished leather, and a faint, lingering smell of something old, almost like cigar smoke, a ghost of a previous life and history clinging to the air.

Sofia closed the door behind you with a soft, deliberate click, each movement graceful and controlled, like a panther stalking its prey. You felt small and vulnerable, insignificant in her presence, like you were in the presence of something far older and more powerful than yourself, something that could devour you whole without a moment's hesitation.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry with fear. “What’s happening to me?” Your voice was barely a whisper, the fear bubbling uncontrollably to the surface.

Sofia tilted her head slightly, her eyes scrutinizing you. Her gaze flickered to the bite mark on your neck, a spark of something knowing, something almost triumphant, flashing behind her eyes. “You’ve noticed it, then,” she said, her voice dangerously calm, like the stillness before a storm. “Good. I was starting to wonder if you’d be too oblivious to understand what happened.” Her words were a subtle taunt, a challenge to the fear that was clearly visible in your eyes.

You took a step back, shaking your head, trying desperately to piece together the words, the situation, but it was all blurring together into an incomprehensible nightmare. "What do you mean? What is this bite? Why is it—why is it hurting?" You ran a hand across your neck, the tenderness of the skin a sharp reminder of the violation.

Sofia moved closer, each step slow and deliberate, narrowing the distance between you. Her presence was suffocating, like a thick fog that robbed you of air. Before you could protest, she was close enough to touch, her fingers brushing against the sensitive skin around the mark, her touch light, almost affectionate, but there was a chilling coldness in her eyes, the calm gaze of a hunter who has cornered its prey.

“I’ve marked you,” she said softly, her voice a hypnotic whisper, a silken thread that bound you to her word. “And it’s more than just a bite. It’s a symbol. You’re mine now.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, a wave of cold shock that paralyzed your body. You couldn't move, couldn't pull away from her gaze, the weight of her words sinking into your very core. The heat of the bite on your skin began to intensify, spreading across your neck and chest, filling you with a strange and unfamiliar warmth, but it wasn't the comforting warmth of a fire. It was a consuming heat, like you were being devoured from the inside out. Your heart pounded in your chest, hammering out a frantic rhythm against the silence.

“I’m… yours?” you managed, the words foreign and forced in your throat, tasting like ash. You couldn’t believe what she was saying, what was happening, yet the truth of it rang loud and undeniable.

She smiled, but it wasn't a kind smile. It was full of something dark, something predatory, a flicker of malice that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. A wolf showing its teeth before the kill.

“You’re more than you think. More than you were. You’ll understand in time,” she murmured, her hand lifting and stroking your cheek, her touch a strange mix of fondness and malice. “This bite isn’t just a mark. It’s a bond, a promise that we’re connected now.” Her voice was soothing, but the undertone was unsettling, like the murmur of a predator lulling its prey into a false sense of security.

“No one else can take you from me now,” she continued, her eyes locking onto yours with a possessive intensity. “No one. The bite means you belong to me—body, soul, and every last breath you take. You are mine.” Each word was a claim, a chain forged in the depths of darkness, binding you to her.

A shudder ran through your body at her chilling declaration, your heart racing in panicked flight, trying to escape the truth that she was weaving before you. You opened your mouth to protest, to deny, but no words came out, your voice caught in the web of her carefully wrought words. The heat, the overwhelming sensation of being bound to her, of being claimed, choked you. You had to close your eyes, unable to meet her gaze any longer, the horror of what she was saying washing over you like a tidal wave.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Sofia said softly, her fingers trailing down your cheek as if offering a twisted comfort, the light touch almost a brand. “But you’re mine now. And this… this is your new reality.”

The pressure at the back of your neck grew stronger, the bite throbbing, your body trembling with an agony that wasn’t physical, but emotional, as the weight of her control settled deep into your bones. You were hers now—marked and bound in ways you couldn't yet comprehend, a puppet dancing in her hands. 

[potsmokingweirdo]

Living in a northern state I’ve realized I can trick people into being nice by using a Canadian accent

[aroaceleovaldez]

the dynamic of demigods thinking which other demigod is the most powerful is always amusing to me because. like, we know the big 3 kids are all the most powerful. That's just a fact of their universe. And then we know nearly every character views Percy as the strongest demigod, and most people are very rightfully intimidated by him.

and you look at the powers of the Big 3 kids and there's Percy, but then you realize Nico is just kind of objectively more powerful than him but simply chooses to hang out in Percy's shadow like he's Percy's scary dog privileges. Like, the two of them are pretty equally capable of causing multiple different apocalypses. Nico just also has like four different instakill powers and it's not like he doesn't use them. He very much uses them! Not infrequently, even! And they don't seem to take a significant amount of energy from him! And other demigods are pretty intimidated by both of them! But Nico makes a conscious point to keep his cards close to his chest and not let on exactly how dangerous and scary he can be if he wants to. People are already scared enough of him without knowing anything about him and he doesn't like that. Percy doesn't think about that nearly as much, and so usually just goes in guns blazing and that's part of why he's considered a wildcard. And then Nico himself puts Percy on a pedestal, so those who do know more about Nico's abilities then presume Nico knows something they don't about Percy that implies Percy is even stronger than him.

And even on a meta level Nico's narrative role requires him to be functionally more powerful than Percy, because he very often serves the purpose of getting Percy out of situations he can't handle on his own. That's just part of his function as a character! But also narratively he can't overshadow Percy so he just takes a backseat of his own accord and that's very amusing to me.

[inheroes--wetrust]

louis was really going to expose vampires to the whole world just so he can call his ex-husband a talentless ugly bitch in front of as many people as possible, all in the hopes that lestat would be so angry with him that he'll finally come find him and louis would be able to see him again

and all he had to do!!!!! was just say he wanted lestat back! actually scratch that he just had to say fucking hello and lestat would be there in a heartbeat, saying he loves him, begging for louis to come back to him

[retrowitchinghour]

And that one moment when she hated that he tested her DNA without permission. And he apologized. I’m not the only one that thought that it sounded insincere, right?

Another subtle manipulation by the Doctor toward Belinda (and us) -- immediately calling her Bel. A nickname meant to make him feel closer to her than he actually is. Meant to make them feel connected. And I fell for it at first! I got distracted by the fact that it is an undeniably cute nickname! But in an episode where this woman's full name is used so prominently in a way she doesn't want, and she clarifies several times how she wants to be called - drop the Miss, it's not Linda it's Belinda, etc. - wow. He really is part of the problem. I dont even know how consciously he's doing it. But girl don't let him off the hook for a second you are Belinda!!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Let the revenge games begin.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[coldflash-corner]

Speaking of Barry being able to read Leonard Snart scarily well, imagine that Barry notices how Snart reacts to people Barry knows, and files that away in his opinions of that person

Barry is in the cortex with someone he finds kind of annoying but harmless, Snart walks in for Definitely-Not-Flirting-While-Doing-Business Reasons, and starts lowkey acting like this guy is an Immediate Threat that he's trying to act cool around to not set him off. And Barry immediately knocks like 5 points off of the "how much do i trust this guy" ranking. Subtly starts telling him less things, looks into what he's doing on the downlow, treats him as potentially suspicious And turns out... The guy does have bad intentions

Leonard comes in and meets some of Barry's new friends/coworkers, and clearly seems to mark one of them as more trustworthy/less of a threat than everyone else. And when Barry needs help or someone to confide in, he goes to that person over everyone else

Barry comes in to Saints and Sinners and sees a regular he's run into before, but hasn't seen interact with Snart. He thought the guy might be pretty cool. But today he walks into them talking, and Immediately sees that Snart is closed off, jumpy, does NOT like that guy in his space. And Barry immediately takes cues off of that, turns the guy down when he later asks to have drinks together next time Barry drops by Saints

If Snart seems unnerved by someone Barry knows, Barry trusts his instincts. Even if Leonard never says anything to Barry out loud, he still takes note of that. If Snart likes someone, or just thinks they're reliable, Barry will trust that instinct.

Even if Snart doesn't say his feelings out loud, Barry trusts him so innately that he will listen to Snart's instincts when it's clear he's feeling a type of way

[aventurineswife]

platonic aventurine meeting teen/younger reader whos also an avgin who somehow survived

The Last of Us

Summary: Aventurine, the last surviving member of the Avgins, encounters you, a person with strikingly familiar eyes, in a crowded city. The encounter stirs up memories of his past, leading him to wonder how someone else from his people could be alive. Despite his carefully controlled demeanor, he is intrigued by your survival and offers a gift as a gesture of connection. The encounter leaves both of you contemplating the nature of your shared history and future.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Avgin!Teen!Reader, Slow burn, Survival, Intrigue, Psychological tension.

Warnings: Potential for darker themes (survival, manipulation, past trauma), Subtle emotional manipulation, Complex relationship dynamics(?).

Aventurine leaned against the cool marble of the courtyard, the noise of the city behind him almost lost to his thoughts. His fingers, ringed with gold, drummed lightly on the surface of his watch, and his eyes scanned the crowd with practiced ease.

It wasn't supposed to happen.

He had survived it all—betrayal, the fall of his people, and the cruel hand of fate. He was the last of the Avgins, a survivor by sheer luck, and yet, there you were.

A teenager, no older than sixteen, with the same striking eyes that haunted his past. A gaze that mirrored his own.

Aventurine's heart, normally calm in the face of danger, stuttered for a moment. His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing you from across the street. You didn't notice him yet, and he made no move to call attention to himself. No, he needed to understand.

Why do you have those eyes?

His lips parted in a thoughtful smile, though it never reached his eyes. How could this be? He, who had thought himself the sole survivor of the Avgins, had now stumbled upon another. But if you were alive… how?

He pushed himself away from the marble wall and moved a few steps forward. His presence was commanding, yet deliberate. The closer he drew, the faster his pulse ran; a feeling of anticipation ran through his veins. He didn't know whether he was more intrigued or unsettled, but he had to know. Had to hear the story that could change everything for him.

"Hello, my friend," he said smoothly, his voice a mix of warmth and curiosity as he stepped into your line of sight. "It seems fate has brought us together."

You looked up, surprised at first, but something in his eyes made you pause. There was no fear behind that gaze; there was only calculation, the kind of look that belonged to someone who had seen the world's cruelty and yet still found a way to push it into being manipulated to their advantage.

His gaze softened slightly as he took another step closer, hands casually slipping into his pockets, but his eyes—those unnervingly captivating eyes—never left you.

“I must admit,” he continued, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of something deeper, “I didn’t expect to see another Avgin. Not after all these years.”

His words hung in the air, an invitation to speak, or remain silent.

You paused, and it was clear that a thousand thoughts had rushed through your mind. You shifted uncomfortably, but there was something about his presence, something almost magnetic, that kept you rooted in place.

"Aventurine," he added, as if that would somehow make you at ease. "You can call me that. It's not often that someone else comes along with a similar history."

There was no urgency in his tone, no need to pry. It was simply curiosity. But underneath that, there was something else—something you couldn’t quite place.

“I... I don’t know what to say.” You looked away for a moment, your fingers curling around the hem of your sleeve, nervously avoiding his gaze.

"Nothing," he said promptly, his mouth twisting upwards at the corners. "You don't have to say anything, not yet. I'm simply intrigued by your survival. You remind me of someone."

He softened his eyes with the barest trace of nostalgia, before he covered it with a practiced smile. "I won't lie—I'm fascinated. But it's not just about the past. It's about what happens next."

He caught your eyes for a short period; between you, there was some weird sense of understanding, that somehow, he was speaking to himself and not to you. The same loneliness that had driven you both to survive. No pity, though—but in a way, unspoken: You won't be lonely again.

And maybe that was the most shocking of all. A connection, however brief, formed out of sheer chance. And in that moment, the world seemed a little smaller, a little less cold.

Aventurine stepped back, raising his hand in a dramatic, almost theatrical gesture, before pulling out a small, velvet pouch from his coat. He held it out to you, his smile never wavering, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something more serious.

"Take it," he said, his voice laced with sincerity. "Something small to remind you that you're not alone in this. Not anymore."

You stared at the pouch, weighing his gesture, before you took it, reluctantly. He beamed with pleasure at your hesitation—he knew you would.

"Consider it a gift," he continued, his voice softening. "And maybe... consider it the beginning of a partnership. You see, I believe we could help each other. The world is full of chaos, but perhaps there's a way to navigate it. Together."

He turned his back to you, his form looming against the backdrop of the city, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had already planned your next move.

“I’ll be around,” he called over his shoulder, that knowing smile still evident in his voice. “I’ll be waiting, my friend.”

But perhaps, just this once, you would gamble with him.

As you watched him walk away, a strange sense of camaraderie lingered in the air. You didn’t know what to make of him yet, but one thing was certain—Aventurine was right. Fate had brought you together, and now it seemed it would keep you entwined in his complex game, whether you liked it or not.

[whatevertheywant]

I am so tired of the lack of emotional intelligence in the Discourse. People really thinking Galinda assuring Elphie that it was the milk flowers' fault instead of outright saying it was govenor douchdickmcgoo's fault was her being spineless/being afraid to outright call him out bc he's an authority figure...like???? How is THAT the conclusion y'all came to???? This is why we need to value english lit and humanities courses more istfg...

They were alone and there was literally no one around for her to virtue signal bc she knows by now elphie sees right through her when she does that. Elphaba's secret was something she had internalized her whole life and had never told anyone. Mind you,elphie explicitly tells her FREXPAR FORCED HIS WIFE TO CHEW THE DAMN FLOWERS and said flowers being consumed led to nessa being premature and disabled and their mother dying. This conversation is the first empathetic moment we see that is truly selfless and not an attempt to be universally liked. She also displays remarkable emotional intelligence here. Saying it was the milk flowers' fault IS saying it was frexpar's fault,just in a tactful way. She knows this is a vulnerable moment for someone whose hackles are raised 24/7 out of self preservation. It's a lot to unpack for elphie in one night. It's also obvious that elphie does want her father's love and approval and does love him in spite of pretending it doesn't bother her. You gotta ease into unpacking that kind of shit,especially when this secret is something that has literally altered her brain chemistry and sense of self since she was a SMALL CHILD.

[yanderejustforyou]

Never Enough

Fandom: The Penguin (2024) Pairing: Sofia Falcone x Reader

The rain fell in relentless sheets, each drop a fat, cold hammer against the slick pavement. Gotham's neon signs, fractured and distorted through the downpour, painted the city in lurid, bleeding colors. It was a city perpetually shrouded in gloom, a place where the shadows felt heavier, the air thicker with unspoken betrayals. This city, with its labyrinthine alleys and towering skyscrapers, had a way of consuming people, stripping them bare and leaving only husks. It was the same city that had whispered promises of greatness, of purpose, a different life. But tonight, standing in the heart of its underbelly, you felt a chilling doubt. Had that promise been a cruel joke all along? Was this cold, unforgiving landscape all it had ever offered?

You stood now, the rain plastering your clothes to your skin, before her—Sofia Falcone. The very name sent a shiver tracing down your spine. She was the daughter of Carmine "The Roman" Falcone, the kingpin whose name echoed through the city's underbelly. More significantly, she was the woman who had woven herself into the very fabric of your being. It wasn't merely physical attraction, the magnetic pull of her dark, striking beauty. Nor was it just the intoxicating allure of power that clung to her like a second skin. It was something far deeper, a mirror reflecting the fractures in your own soul. You saw the same raw, aching vulnerability that hid beneath her carefully constructed mask. It was the broken pieces of her that called to the broken pieces of yourself, a silent, desperate plea echoing across the chasm between you.

"You shouldn’t be here," Sofia's voice cut through the storm's roar, each word sharp and cold as a shard of ice. It was a voice that could command armies and shatter hearts with equal ease. The cadence suggested a weary resignation, as if she'd spoken these words a thousand times before. "You know what this means, don’t you?" The question hung in the air, thick with unspoken threats and a bone-deep understanding of what was at stake.

Your breath hitched in your throat, the cold rain suddenly feeling like a physical weight. Her words pressed against your chest, each syllable a vise tightening around your heart. But the danger lurking in her tone, the palpable tension that crackled between you, wasn't the only thing that resonated. It was the rawness, the flicker of vulnerability that shone, however briefly, behind her calculated façade. It was that vulnerability that had always drawn you in, an irresistible siren’s song.

"I don’t care what it means," you said, the words trembling slightly, despite your desperate attempts at control. You had rehearsed this scenario countless times, imagined the words you would speak to her. Yet, faced with her icy gaze, your carefully planned bravado evaporated, revealing the stark truth beneath. "I can’t walk away from you, Sofia. I never could." The confession was raw, stripped bare of pretense - a testament to the deep hold she had on you.

She looked at you, her eyes the color of storm clouds, and you saw a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling beneath the surface. Confusion, pain, the deep, ingrained fear of allowing anyone to truly see her. You saw the wall she’d so diligently built, the carefully constructed barrier designed to keep everyone, especially you, at arm’s length. "You don’t understand," she said, her voice softer now, more fragile than you’d ever heard it. It was a whisper that bordered on a plea, a desperate attempt to convince herself as much as you. "You think you can fix me? You think you can save me from this life? It’s too late for me." Her tone carried a heavy weight of self-condemnation, a resigned acceptance of her own fate.

Instinctively, you reached out, your fingers brushing against the curve of her cheek. The contact sent a jolt through your system, an electric current that felt like both a lifeline and a death sentence. It was a burn so hot, so raw, that you had to pull back your hand, as if the intense heat would consume you entirely if you lingered. The physical sensation mirrored the burning conflict within both of you.

She looked at you, her gaze unflinching, as if she had anticipated the pain, the way your touch had managed to wound you both with its simple intimacy. It was a shared hurt, a silent testament to the impossibility of your connection.

“I never wanted this for you,” she whispered, the carefully constructed walls she had erected between you finally crumbling. The confession was a crack in her armor, revealing the woman beneath the hardened exterior. "I never wanted you to be a part of my world, because this world will ruin you." Her voice was laced with a raw vulnerability that tore at the very core of your being. It was an admission that brought with it a terrifying truth – her love for you was a burden, a curse she wished to spare you.

But you were already ruined, in ways you couldn't quite articulate. It had happened the moment you met her, the moment her darkness had entwined itself with your own. And even now, standing before the woman you loved, knowing that your very presence could be your mutual undoing, you were still unable to walk away. You were caught in her web, hopelessly, irrevocably.

“I’m already in your world, Sofia,” you said, your voice low and unwavering, your eyes locked on hers. It was a declaration, a promise you made not to her, but to yourself. “And no matter what happens, I’m not leaving.” The conviction in your voice was absolute, a defiant stand against a force that threatened to crush you both.

She closed her eyes, as if the sheer weight of your words were too much to bear. She was trying to shut you out, attempting to escape the undeniable pull of a love she knew was her own undoing. But even with her eyes tightly closed, a single tear escaped, tracing a glistening path down her cheek. It was that single tear that spoke volumes, a testament to the depth of the emotion buried beneath the surface, the feelings she had tried so desperately to suppress.

"You have no idea what you’re saying," she whispered, her voice a raw mixture of anguish and self-loathing. The pain in her voice was palpable, a confirmation of the darkness that plagued her. "I’ll destroy you, and I’ll destroy myself. It’s only a matter of time." Her words were a chilling prophecy, a stark warning of the future that awaited both of you. She had accepted her fate, resigned to a life where love was only a prelude to destruction.

And that was the truth, wasn’t it? You both knew it, deep within your bones. Your love was a doomed romance, a moth drawn to a flame, destined to be burned. No matter how much you tried to cling to it, no matter how bravely you fought for it, there would never be a happy ending for you. Your love story was a tragedy pre-written, a symphony of heartbreak playing out beneath the unforgiving gaze of Gotham’s neon lights.

The days that followed were nothing more than a blur of pain. Each moment spent with Sofia was like walking through fire. She kept her distance, kept her walls up, but the cracks were there—small, barely noticeable—but they were enough. Enough for you to see how deeply she was hurting. How much she was trying to push you away, yet how much she needed you.

But you couldn’t leave. You couldn’t.

Even when her father’s enemies circled closer. Even when the danger threatened to pull you both under.

One night, you found yourself in the back office of one of her father’s businesses. The air was thick with smoke, the tension palpable. Sofia stood at the desk, her fingers drumming nervously against the wood.

"You should leave," she said, without looking at you. Her voice was quiet, but the edge was unmistakable. "It’s not safe here."

“I’m not going anywhere, Sofia,” you said, your voice firm, but there was a tremor beneath it, betraying your own fear. "You can’t push me away."

Her eyes flicked to yours, dark and unreadable. "You don’t understand," she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "You never will. You’re not a part of this life. You don’t belong here."

"I don’t belong anywhere without you," you said, your heart pounding as you took a step forward. "I’m not leaving you. I will never leave you."

Sofia’s breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought she might let her guard down. She might actually let you in. But then she did what she always did. She recoiled, pushing you away before you could get too close.

"You think this is love?" she asked bitterly, her words laced with scorn. "You think this is love when all I do is hurt everyone I touch? When all I do is destroy? How long do you think it’ll take before I destroy you too?"

You reached for her, but she flinched back, her face contorting with a mix of pain and rage. "You’re the one who’ll end up destroyed," she spat, her voice shaking with the weight of what she knew was coming. "This—this can’t end any other way."

You gritted your teeth, your chest tight with emotion. "I don’t care. I would rather be destroyed by you than live without you."

The silence between you two was suffocating, both of you caught in the tangled mess of love and hatred, of the past and the future that would never come. She was right—you were both doomed. But that didn’t change the fact that you would fight for her until there was nothing left.

The final time you saw Sofia, it was on a rain-soaked night much like the first. The world outside felt like it was crashing down around you, but even so, you walked toward her with that same defiance in your heart. You had never given up on her, even when you knew, deep down, that it was a lost cause.

She was standing by the window, staring out at the city. The same city that had both broken and shaped her into the woman she was. The same city that would swallow her whole, just like it would swallow you if you allowed it.

"Sofia," you whispered, your voice barely audible in the dim light. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I love you. I will always love you."

She didn’t turn around, but her body trembled. "Don’t," she said softly, her voice breaking. "Don’t say that. Don’t make this harder than it already is."

Your heart ached as you walked closer to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I can’t walk away from you, Sofia. I’ve tried. But I can’t. I won’t."

She turned around then, her eyes filled with unshed tears, her face a mask of regret. "You don’t understand," she repeated, the desperation clear in her voice. "I will ruin you. I’ll drag you down into this hell I’ve made for myself. You’ll never be the same after this."

"I don’t care," you said, your voice hoarse with emotion. "I don’t care if it destroys me. I just want you to know that I will always be here. No matter what."

Sofia’s lip quivered as she took a step back. "I can’t love you like this," she said, her voice shaking. "I can’t drag you through this darkness with me."

"You’re not dragging me," you whispered, your hand reaching for hers. "I’m walking into it with you. Because I choose you."

For a moment, you thought she might actually break. That maybe, just maybe, she would give in. That the years of isolation, the years of suffering she had endured, would finally break, and she would let you love her.

But then the walls slammed down, harder than ever before.

She pulled her hand away, stepping back. "You don’t get it," Sofia whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of a thousand unsaid things. "I will destroy everything we have. I will destroy you."

And that was it. The moment when you knew that no matter how hard you fought, no matter how deeply you loved her, it was never going to be enough.

Her love—if it could even be called that—was as broken as she was. It was too late to fix either of you.

And you realized, with a shattering certainty, that you were both always doomed. Doomed to never be enough for each other. Doomed to suffer.

And so, as she walked away from you, you felt it.

The end.

The final loss.

And all you could do was stand there, shattered, broken, waiting for the emptiness to consume you whole.

Because in the end, even your love wasn’t enough to save either of you.

[noirve]

god, armand as a character is giving me serious brainrot. he's such a control freak because he desperately needs to derive meaning from something—anything. whether it's god, rituals, or coven life, he needs to give a purpose to his existence. this is why he upholds these stringent laws and regulations in both of his covens, which are ultimately destroyed by someone he loves who stands outside it all. and he kind of just allows that destruction, despite all of his power, because he is also... bored? it's like he's on autopilot, going through life in this meticulously constructed routine until he meets lestat and later louis, who both refuse to adhere to his carefully crafted structures and disrupt the status quo. this is attractive to armand because deep down, underneath his all masked emotions, he is very lonely and desperate for connection! which is just awfully human for such an ancient powerful being

imagine being this old and alone, how do you endure? armand tries to find value in these rigid structures because otherwise, his life feels empty. "he needs rules to give him purpose" but in the end, this doesn't fulfill him completely because, despite his feigned confidence and stoicism, he is insecure, needy, and traumatized. this is why he seeks out chaos despite having spent all this time trying to control everything and everyone around him. he lets it happen—for love, but also, i think, because unconsciously he desires that total loss of control, which allows him to actually feel something real. every few decades, he almost intentionally lets his entire world, the world he worked so hard to manipulate into his will, be ruined. yet, when he tells daniel he "let it happen," he is lying, too (at least about lestat) because he presents himself as more passive, composed, and reasonable than he really was when his way of life was threatened. he just tells himself that he wanted it that way all along so he remains the one in control. i need to see him crack

[dammit-tazmuir]

I have been working on this for nearly a month but FINALLY finished my first TLT fanart. I have a lot of feelings about these three.

I also needed to draw the rainbow-black of John's eyes okay.

[drdemonprince]

it strikes me that Anthy Himemiya is another character in the "debilitatingly passive master manipulator" mold like Armand. there are relatively few characters i can think of that fulfill this trope, i think bc creators mistakenly think they won't be interesting on screen. it takes a certain amount of deft and theyre not showy but they can be so incredible. any other examples people can think of?

[midnightfries]

Youre telling me Dream got that Apple White treatment where they did nothing wrong (in apple's case, actively went through really good character development) and are still seen as inherently wrongful, blaming a six year old and a teenager for all the bad events in their stories

Both of them were ACTIVELY manipulated and sheltered by adults in their lives and try their absolute best to help people out of pure selflessness.

Dream doesn't need to apologize, he did absolutely nothing wrong, he was naive and trusted his brother to tell the truth about his injuries and was busy all day helping people- such evil incarnate. Headcannoning differently or having an AU that differs is fully fine to me, it's just people who actively believe that Dream had any fault in the canon events that piss me off to no end

Would you look at that! This isn't to say Passive was at fault either, literally every action can be justified by 'he was six'- they weren't the most emotionally mature, because they were six. They weren't the most perceptive of each other's pain- because they were six. They wouldn't have been able to do anything about it if they knew, because theyre were six.

Apple ALREADY apologized- I'm sorry you think Dragons Games took that away but it absolutely didn't, she was being blackmailed and manipulated during her vulnerable moments by the literal most evil person imaginable, literally shut up sorry you cant forgive a teenager for making bad decisions when having her worldview shattered, i am not going to bother looking for screenshots of this because it would be every second of every movie and Apple centric episode go rewatch those if you'd like proof, maybe watch it with your eyes open this time around

[Insert obligatory apple tree and apple white link joke here]

[beautysnake]

Hello Beauts! I have question about your recent comic! How did the Lamb get in that situation??? I know it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things but I am interested in the ✨️Lore✨️ of it all, I'd like to know more about who your Lamb is basically 😄

Well its sort of an au of an au, so it doesn't really fit with any of my other comics

But I like to think Narinder was aware of the lamb's feelings from the beginning, being a god and such. Here he just takes advantage of that knowledge and plays into it a bit more.

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

Look I am all for trauma-fueled deeply unhealthy relationships between male leads but I feel compelled to say (with absolutely no malice) that that is not what is happening in Squid Game. In-ho is being deliberately manipulative in every instance in which he interacts with Gi-hun. He doesn't refrain from killing him at the end because he can't bring himself to shoot him, but because the whole point of playing in the games is centered around breaking Gi-hun down mentally. And while In-ho is certainly deeply invested in doing this to Gi-hun, his framing at the end of Episode 7 is intended to serve as a wake-up call: for as nice and understanding as this guy has made himself seem, almost everything we see from him is a lie. He was never going to have a change of heart. To fail to recognize that is to make the same mistake Gi-hun did, but even more willfully since we actually know In-ho is the Frontman. And that's exactly what the show wants us to do!

From the beginning, Gi-hun has served as the audience stand-in. We empathize with him, we root for him, we share his beliefs in the possibility of change. But we are given information he doesn't have; we know that In-ho is the Frontman. And even though we know this, we know this guy is able to shoot his own brother, we want to like him! We want to believe in him, to think that maybe something about Gi-hun or the reality of the games can change his mind! And the show weaponizes this intentionally. Through his character, the show does to us what In-ho himself does to Gi-hun: punishes us for our optimism. It wants us to feel silly for ever believing that In-ho would change, just as In-ho's point is that Gi-hun should have known the games would end the same.

So for as much as I usually love reading doomed yearning into character dynamics, I don't think it works here. In-ho doesn't have any particular love for Gi-hun--the show just wants you to believe he might.