#girls are so powerful.... much to think about

[httpshujii]

❝ WANTED FOR A FATAL ATTRACTION . . . ❞

CHAPTER Ⅰ :- ATTENTION

C.W. f!reader is an attention seeking thief, mentions of killing & execution, implications of s*x (not detailed/sugar coated), reader labelled as freak. Please let me know if I missed anything!

TAGS :- @lu-naes @coconut36 @briarbabyxo @number1morihater @kaiser1ns (comment or dm if you'd like to be tagged!)

You don't know what you did to get such a large bounty on your head. You never killed, never found pleasure in the thought of it. Sure, you stole from the richest and you didn't bother hiding your acts.

It's amusing, how your delicate fingers can just snatch all sorts of things out of pockets. You'd find it humorous when they did catch you, when you made sure they knew that you stole something valuable.

The way their faces would contort into shock and morph into pure anger. It's an interesting reaction, you don't know why it satisfies you so much to be seen as a criminal, a known thief.

Is it the thrill it brings when doing something so fragile? Is it to prove something? You questioned your motives on more than one occasion. But it all goes down to one reason.

Boothill. An infamous outlaw, mostly works for brokers. You could never be like him, of course, you don't know how to handle arms nor do you know how he manages to eliminate people like some useless digits in an equation. But to be known by as many people as him is a need. A great wish that only the brightest star can grant, and that star sure does love to stay hidden.

You just want to be known. To be seen and to have your face stamped on the alley walls of Penacony, the word 'wanted' stated right above your head in heavy red ink. It's an indescribable urge.

You blame the lack of attention you got in your younger years. No matter how many times it's repeated, people are greedy and love to talk about themselves. You're no different. If anything, you're worse. This idea of belonging to yourself and loving yourself so much to the point where you want everyone to know every small thing about you, is a major derivative to becoming popular. Whether in a good or bad way.

You realized this power at a young age. Getting accused of cheating when you really didn't, but instead of having your belly bubble with rage at such an accusation, you felt seen. For the first time. Kids are straightforward, if you look, talk, or act weirdly, they'll label you as a "freak."

You didn't have friends, nor did you want any. Their a hindrance, nothing but pawns in a game you didn't know you were playing. You don't know why you used to think that, maybe it was cause you felt invisible. You didn't like it, but it was peaceful.

You remember smiling when the girl who accused you hissed you name towards the teacher, and then you grinned when all eyes turned to you. With that reaction, people agreed on your crime, and into punishment you went.

Cleaning the classroom for a week and retaking a harder version of the test. You took your time, enjoyed cleaning, enjoyed thinking. After all, you had no parents to go home to, no friend to visit. You lived relying on your pickpocketing skills. Stealing a sandwich from a distracted merchant, hiding an apple in your bag when looking through a store. Water bottles, sweets, juice, gum, anything you can get your sinister hands on.

You had the right to survive, just like everyone else. Even if your way bended the laws, you still had the right. At least that's what you told yourself.

As you grew up, you got smarter, more daring. Unclasping pearl necklaces from necks of rich women while complimenting them, flirting with drunk merchants that are too drunk to realize you snatch a few wads of credit, too naïve to notice, too blind by honeyed words to care.

You'd steal like it's a nine to five. You wake up every morning in your hidden shack that was an abandoned garage, brush your teeth, ruffle your hair, apply what little perfume you have left from the perfume store that you stole from a few years ago. Cool, peachy, and flowery. The scent would turn heads, only to be met with a sinister grin and a wallet out of their pockets and in your very trusty hands.

You'd buy yourself a meal, keep it packed till you get back to your humble abode.

"I'm home…"

You have no one to go back to. But these words always feel brand new when they roll out of your throat, saddened, somber. You know you'll never come home to see anyone, you'd probably be dead or on the run by the time. Every day, every night, it's the same routine.

You grew to like it, enjoy the loop of similar activities. Up until now.

As if a shock, he came in and rearranged the pattern. Forced himself into your idea of a perfect lifestyle. You're not mad, there's a reason you have his wanted poster plastered right next to your mattress on the wall of your home. You're excited to this sudden change. Giggling, you shove the drunkard you were trying to bribe away, causing him to stumble and knock himself out on the hard floor of the saloon.

You know he's here for you, it's clear with that killer smile on his lips. His hands hanging loosely on his gun holster, you pull your bottom lip into the light grip of your teeth, your smile so wide your lip slips from the caress of your wet tongue against the slightly chapped surface.

There he stands, in all his glory. The one and only Boothill. Mechanical body glinting under the yellow bulbs, complex machinery whispering a repetitive whir of pumps pumping and gears turning. Teeth akin to a shark's pointy and pearly. Pupils that rotate, gun's targets eyeing you up and down.

Under his calculated gaze, you feel seen, heard, and understood all within the span of a few seconds. Everyone around you seems non existent, they cower in the dark corners of the saloon as the predator approaches you in clicking heels on a wooden floor.

He thinks you look like a little girl. With your legs kicking the air softly, your hands resting beneath your thighs as you gaze up at him with nothing but wonder and curiosity. He doesn't know if he likes it, he's used to siren lulls of scandalous dances, spending a few hours to relish in the plush of steamy nights with what people would call models, but to him, nothing but discarded digits of pleasure. He doesn't even know why he participates in such acts. He's not a human anymore, can't feel a warm body against his, it itches him. Not being able to touch and feel and caress. It makes him go crazy, often shooting bullets at aging walls when he thinks about it too much.

He likes you. How different you are to him, how new you are to him. He feels like it's okay to slow down just this once. He takes a seat next to you. Resting his elbow on the wooden bar, his fist cushioning his cheek as his eyes stay locked on you. You imitate him. Staring at him just as intently. With just as much wonder.

"Can I buy you a drink, sugar?"

MASTERLIST ⋮ CHAPTER Ⅱ . . .

#ᯓ ⁍ˎˊ˗˗˗˗˗ 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 #❝ WANTED FOR A FATAL ATTRACTION . . . ❞ #✶≼[HONKAI: STAR RAIL] #ஜ˳༄꠶ BOOTHILL #ఌ︎. [BOOTHILL] #boothill #boothill hsr #hsr boothill #honkai star rail #honkai boothill #honkai star rail boothill #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #hsr x female reader #honkai x reader #honkai x you #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x female reader #boothill x reader #boothill x you #boothill x y/n #boothill x female reader #boothill fluff #boothill angst #boothill fanfic

[sudzymactavish]

I don't know if you dislike people ranting to you, so delete if it annoys you. But why are so many straight women writing the most messed up type of fanfics you've ever seen and thinking it's okay😭. Like there's so many women on here who always write x reader fanfics as with female reader described like 90 pounds, 4 feet tall and extremely weak and easily manipulated, who's partnered with a huge muscular male character who is 3x her size. Reader is always extremely small and weak and innocent minded and almost childlike in the way that she's written. And the writers describe the male character as having "one hand big enough to wrap around your whole waist" and stuff like that and then make the male character that throws reader around and beats her and sexually abuses her and stuff like that. It's so gross.

And then there will be like 900 likes on the post and all these straight women saying how much they loved it and it was so sexy when the reader got abused and assaulted and asking the author to make more. Like wtf!! I must have blocked over 200 blogs by now that are all just like this. There's so many women writing incest and pedo stuff too. Yesterday I saw a Leon Kennedy x daughter reader nsfw and I was just thinking how gross it is and how just looking at this stuff kinda ruins my childhood characters because I loved those games and now they're making my favorites do the most messed up shit. I'm not saying that male readers don't do it, but like 95% of the time it's women that are ones glorifying r-pe and abuse like it's something sexy, when it's not. Just nasty. And stop writing y/n to be coded like a child and stop making her a small helpless baby that gets treated violently by the character and letting people read it like it's something sexy. It's not sexy to be r-ped. Just stop. Please.

THIS IS SO REAL.

Everytime I see a feminine reader getting 🍇ed it makes me sick. And the reading being like a skeleton? Ew...

So let's write something about fem!reader being BIGGER than the men. 141 + a few other charaters.

John Price

That man would be begging for you. Pet names like "queen" and "ma'am" are heard around the base and at home referring you you. He's in love with you, as you almost swallow him in each hug and cuddle. He loves it.

John "Soap" Mactavish

Even if you are bigger than him, he still protects you. A glare and an occasional cuss-out in Scottish to anybody who thinks they can steal his bonnie. And if someone dares to make fun of your size...? They'll have a scar to remember.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

He would make sure you're comfortable. Being a big woman could cause maybe your feet to hurt, or pain in your neck from trying to not bump your head on the ceilings. He'd always have some chocolate and a movie set up, just for the two of you.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

I don't think he'd really mind size. He loves when you pick him up though, even if he can't admit it. The way your hands wrap around him as he's embraced in your figure... oh yea, he's in love with his big girl.

Graves

Oh he'd be a menace. He'd say weird stuff like "she's a tree and I wanna climb her." But once he actually started getting feelings for you, all the weird comments stopped. Opening doors for you, doing paper work for you was suddenly happening all the time.

Makarov

He'll admit, he was a bit threatened. He expected his new secretary (after he killed the other one) to be, well, small. So he could keep his power. He wanted to return you, or maybe just kill you, but when he actually met you? You were in charge after that.

König

He'd be surprised at first. Someone who's finally bigger than him would probably have him shocked. When he got used to you, he totally fell in love. Head over heels. He'd take you out to dinner, buy you jewelry. You loved his presents, but in his eyes you were his precious diamond.

Shoutout to all the big girls, WE LOVE YOU ‼️‼️❤️❤️

Also anon, would you like an emoji?

#cod modern warfare #cod #john mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #tf 141 #sudzysasks #makarov x reader #cod makarov #call of duty makarov #vladimir makarov #graves x y/n #graves x you #graves x reader #phillip graves #konig call of duty #konig mw2 #konig cod #konig x reader #female reader #plus size reader #tall reader #sudzyswritings

[azrielbrainrot]

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 7

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: Azriel would give anything to hold you one more time.

Warnings: Violence, Death (well not really)

Word Count: 4600

Notes: This is the moment of truth, our girl finally gets some answers. Hope you enjoy!

Part 6

It hasn't even been a full day since you killed Norris in that dark cell, but you've never felt better. The moment his heart stopped beating, you started breathing easier. It felt like the weight of the world fell off your shoulders, and knowing you will never have to kill or hurt someone at his orders brought you an amount of relief you never thought you would be able to feel. The days of stretching yourself thin to do his and the guild's bidding at the cost of your conscience were finally gone, you truly couldn't believe it.

You weren't so naive to think the guild would allow you to walk away so easily after not only deserting and sharing classified information about the organization, but also killing one of their best members. They would surely send out assassins to find and kill you, to silence you lest you tell the courts of Prythian too much about them - this is precisely how the guild has managed to survive in the shadows for so long after all, by disposing of any possible threat to the organization. But, with the backing of the Night Court and Azriel's endless support, you didn't feel so threatened, especially after witnessing their power and resilience while helping you with this whole situation. Rhysand has also already gotten more than enough information from Norris' mind to give you enough of an edge. Most of all, you weren't alone for the first time in your life.

The only thing that was still missing were your memories, the main part of the plan and the exact reason you were currently sitting in this foreign room while the High Lord prepared himself to enter your mind and destroy the spell keeping them locked out of your reach. You've been told this was the room you and Azriel had shared in the townhouse before you passed. An interesting choice made by the High Lady for such a somber spell to occur in, though you understand the sentiment behind her decision. With some luck, this place could act as a jumpstart to the process if needed. It would also be good for you in case regaining your memories somehow erases the recent ones.

If it were up to you, this would have happened right after Norris was killed, it could have been in that same damp and bloody cell for all you cared, but Azriel and the others insisted on waiting, letting you and Rhysand rest your bodies and minds before attempting such a delicate procedure.

Azriel also had to go and find the witch's tool Norris used, although that had taken him less than an hour since Rhysand had stolen that information directly from Norris' mind, and he had been back before you even had the chance to finish bathing. Apparently your theory that the tool had to be close to him was correct, and so your handler had hidden it not far from where your meeting had occurred. After he died, the glamour placed on it fell apart, and Azriel's shadows easily found it in the exact place Rhysand had told him it would be in.

The tool was nothing more than a simple amulet. It was easy to overlook the small ruby hanging from a delicate golden chain if it weren't for the strange, dark aura that clung to it, even Azriel's shadows seemed to recoil from it. It was hard to believe such a small object could cause so much destruction and hurt so many people.

Using the tool shouldn't prove to be too complicated for Rhysand either since he has seen Norris' memories of using it - you asked him to share these with you, but he refused, not wanting you to see that cruel male ruin your life and the state your body was in when Norris found you lying in a pool of your own blood in the forest, somehow still alive despite the wound and how long it had been, you decided to wait for your memories to come back before asking him again, the old you had to know how to convince him better - and, after dismissing the wards around your memories with its help, the rest should fall under standard daemati capabilities, which he already excelled at. Even keeping the amulet inactive and safe would be easy enough. Amren seemed to already have made preparations to keep it safe in the court, and a wicked glint in her eyes at the prospect of having such a tool in their arsenal - you really were glad they were on your side now.

The only standing problem and the reason the atmosphere in the room was so tense, was the lack of knowledge on the spell itself, and, more importantly, how dispelling it would affect you. The wards were placed in your mind a century ago, and had been active without pause for that long. Even Norris didn't seem to know the spell's full power or what ramifications could linger after it's gone from what Rhysand was able to learn in his mind. It's safe to assume that there's a big chance of your mind not being able to assimilate back, or even survive it.

You could almost feel Azriel's anxiety and fear as if they were your own, and, even if he would never ask that of you, you knew he didn't want you to go through with this. It was painfully obvious on his face - the spymaster was a lot easier to read then you would have guessed before meeting him. Azriel would rather have you like this than not at all, and you can't blame him for that as you don't know what it feels like to lose someone you love, let alone being on the verge of it happening for the second time, but that's precisely why you need to do this.

From what he has told you, you lived a full life before Norris had found you, and it doesn't feel right trying to fit back into place when you can't recall any of it, when you don't feel the same as you once did, when you don't know if you're still the same person. It would be impossible to even attempt to live a normal life with the constant reminder that a full century of your life, almost everything that you knew about yourself, had been a lie.

His hazel eyes meet yours as you shift on the mattress, impatiently waiting for Rhysand to finish his preparations. In truth, you don't think he has looked away from you for a second ever since you walked into this room, walked back into his life even.

You give him a small smile, hopefully quelling some of his nerves. He tries to return it, but you don't need your memories or the decades of knowing him to see right through it. It didn't reach his eyes, the concern so visible there it made a lump form in your throat, and his shadows were clinging to him almost desperately, trying to soothe their singer as best as they could, to no avail. You wished you knew how to comfort him, and how to let him comfort you properly in turn - yet another reason to go through with this.

“Are you ready?” Rhysand's voice makes you jump slightly and break eye contact with your husband, not even realizing you'd gotten lost in the warm hazel of his eyes once again.

“Yes,” you nod, straightening your back and placing your palms firmly on the mattress, risking one last look at Azriel before focusing on the High Lord.

“We can start then.”

You'd be lying if you said you weren't a bit nervous, scared even - your life was on the line after all, but this was your only chance of getting rid of that aching empty well inside of you, and if Azriel was convinced Rhysand was capable of doing so, then you believed him.

The High Lord was also worried though, if it wasn't obvious by the way his mate kept touching his arm and squeezing his hand, the lack of his usual obnoxious confidence would have given it away. If he failed he would not only lose his friend again, but also break his brother's heart beyond repair. You even think he'd end up blaming himself, though it didn't seem to fit in with the image you initially had of him. It's not an exaggeration to say your life is in his hands.

Feyre helps him wrap the amulet around his wrist as if it were a bracelet, squeezing his hand one more time before joining Azriel a few steps away, a conflicted look falling over her face as she watches her friend, not knowing how to comfort him. Even Amren, who stood by the door with crossed arms, looked concerned. If you weren't already more than curious enough to risk your life to regain your memories, the fact that such a creature would look worried about you would definitely make you want to remember everything just to find out exactly how that came to happen.

Rhysand walks to you then, stopping right in front of your legs dangling off the bed, close enough that your feet almost touch his shins, and lets out a soft but weary breath, looking into your eyes as if searching for any sign of doubt. When he seems to be content with what he finds in them, he reaches over and holds your head between his hands softly.

“It might help me keep grounded in your mind. Every little trick is worth a try,” he explains when he sees your confused expression, the smile he throws at you not quite reaching his purple eyes either, before closing his eyes, his magic coming to life around you.

In the next moment, you feel black talons scraping at your mental walls, prompting you to close your eyes as well and fight against every one of your instincts to allow the High Lord passage into your mind. You try to keep your thoughts as blank as possible so Rhysand can find what he's looking for more easily, like he said, every trick is worth a try.

You don't exactly know what you were expecting, but definitely not for it to happen so fast. Just as you felt a knock at what you now could distinguish as the wards keeping your memories from surfacing, they came tumbling down, an acute pain at the base of your skull making you fist the sheets under your hands, biting your lip to stop yourself from making any noise or moving too much. You didn't want to break Rhysand's concentration, or worry Azriel and the others more than necessary, you could handle it.

The pain goes as suddenly as it started, and you could feel Rhysand's presence everywhere as he searched through your mind. It was a foreign feeling, to know someone could read into your every thought. Even if he dove into a different corner of your mind, one you hadn’t agreed to, there was no way for you to stop him now, no way for you to stop him from seeing all the awful things you've done at the guild's orders, no way to stop him from showing them to Azriel if he so wished. In the midst of your spiraling thoughts, a soft caress reaches you through your mind, a reassurance - you almost forgot he could hear your fears as well.

A few moments later, you feel him come to a sudden stop, the lull barely giving you a chance to breathe before memories start rushing into your brain at an alarming speed, so much so that your head physically hurts, a lot worse than before. It's like you can feel the memories forming into your brain and pushing away the ones constructed by the spell. Some of them you were vaguely aware of as they seemed to haunt you when you slept, like dreams overwriting reality but, with every second that passes and every moment shown to you, you realize they had never been dreams to begin with.

Your mind struggles to hold onto everything, your past memories eating away at what you had believed was your life mere minutes ago. You faintly feel Rhysand's, now achingly familiar, presence leave your mind, his hands lingering a second longer, thumb caressing your cheek comfortingly before following, letting you have some privacy to assimilate the onslaught of information on your own, and then the world goes dark, senses completely overwhelmed, barely registering the feeling of your body falling back into the mattress and scarred hands holding onto you, as your mind struggles to catch up to everything.

Your feelings seem to reach you before the memories even have a chance to sink into your mind, or for you to go through them and remember everything properly. The strongest ones are easily your love for Azriel, flowing over you in suffocating waves, and the subsequent anger at yourself that follows, for abandoning him and then hurting him so much. It's like some little voice inside you that had been screaming at you, and trying to claw its way out from under your skin, trying to stop you from hurting him, was finally able to be heard.

As you rake through the memories, remembering all the happy moments you and Azriel have spent together, - every little date, every kiss, every morning night and morning spent together, - and even the saddest ones, - the fights spent yelling at each other in the rain and the make up sex right up against your front door - the guilt only gets heavier in your chest, tying itself around your heart and almost making you unable to breathe.

You stabbed your husband, the love of your life, the male you had vowed to protect and love to the end of your days. Even if you had been controlled by whatever dark magic was in your brain, you can still feel the weight of Truth Teller in your hand, could feel the faint resistance of his skin against the decisive force of your movement, could feel his blood on your hands, could feel so much blood on your hands. Gods, what have you become?

It almost feels like there's two people inside you for a few moments, trying to make sense of each other as the world collapses and re-forms itself around them. As one part of you lives through memories in the night court, the other balks at all you've done at the guild, mourns an innocence you will never be able to get back. You don't know where you begin and the assassin ends, where Azriel's wife even fits in the equation.

Trying to stay on track, and desperately hold onto something in the incessant waves of memories, real and fake, and the feelings attached to them, you try to calm yourself enough to try to remember what happened the night you died. You knew your throat had been cut with a faebane laced weapon, the scar would always be etched into your skin, but you never knew how it happened. For some reason, you never even thought of asking anyone in the guild about it, like you didn't consider it pertinent information - no doubt, a consequence of the spell Norris used on you. If you started asking questions you might have found out something you weren't supposed to.

That particular night is still somewhat hazy in your mind, likely a consequence of the trauma you experienced. There are broken memories of you talking about the mission with Azriel and the rest of the Inner Circle. You recall not feeling the least bit nervous about it as they were simple bandits that somehow had gotten lucky and managed to evade Azriel's shadows for a little while before getting caught. You remember getting a few leads on them, and splitting up to try and find something. The feeling of Azriel's lips on yours as he quickly kissed you goodbye before disappearing into his shadows is still vivid in your mind.

After that things start getting muddled. You found the bandits at some point, and, even if there were more of them than what you expected, they didn't seem particularly strong so you were holding up your own in the fight that broke out as soon as they saw you. The next thing you knew though, someone had struck you from behind, hitting the back of your head hard enough that it brought you to your knees, the same person grabbing your hair and slicing your throat the next moment, not giving you a chance to avoid it. There's a break in your memories then.

All you can remember at first is your body feeling heavy, not being able to get your limbs to obey your commands as you struggled to flip yourself over so you weren't laying face down on the mud, the cold rain falling on your skin uninterrupted. Trying to take a breath into your lungs only to find it almost impossible and extremely painful. You remember the coppery taste in your mouth distinctly, not being able to swallow or make any sound through your destroyed throat. The thought that the knife had to have been laced with something was swimming around your mind, a simple cut like that wouldn't have been hard for your fae healing to handle.

You were vaguely aware of the voices around you but couldn't make any sense of what they were saying, your heartbeat was too loud in your ears and panic was starting to set in. The only thing you were sure of at that moment was that you were going to die on that muddy floor at the hands of petty thieves, this possibility not allowing you to even try to make out what they were saying, not caring about them anymore.

Azriel always told you that you needed to work on your openings so things like this didn't happen, so you didn't get caught off guard. He was right, he usually was, not that you would have ever admitted it to his face. The thought of your husband brings tears to your unfocused eyes. You wished you could have had more time with him. He has brought you an amount of love and happiness you didn't even think possible, and all you'll give him in return is pain. You promised him you would stay by his side to the end of your days, assured him you would never leave him multiple times when his nightmares became too much to bear and old insecurities made themselves known.

You made one last prayer to the Mother. Begging for your life wasn't worth it anymore, but you still asked that Azriel could survive this, that he would forget about you and move on. You had always wanted to give him the best, had vowed to make him as happy as possible but were failing miserably like this. The news of your death would break him, you didn't even want to imagine how he would feel when he found out. Fuck, you hoped he wouldn't be the one to find your body at least.

What a cruel fate. Making him go through so much hardship and pain in his life and still take one of the few blessings he had found for himself. You've only been married for a little over a decade, such an insignificant amount of time compared to the years he had behind him, and hopefully still ahead of him. You'd never forgive the Mother for making him suffer so much.

As your thoughts quiet, you notice the lack of voices around you. Apparently the killers had just left you there, bleeding out on the cold ground, not even bothering to finish the job properly. They didn't have to, you didn't need to be a healer to know your injuries would kill you in not even another minute. Your senses were getting duller with every painful beat of your heart, you couldn't even hear the sounds of the birds coming from the forest behind you anymore, couldn't focus on your thoughts, could barely see the light of the moon and the stars shining in the dark sky. It feels fitting for you to die at night, it was as close to Azriel as you could get now, watching the same moon shining under him, the same one you had fallen in love under.

As you gaze upon the brilliant light of the moon, wishing you would have had the chance to say goodbye, a tightness settles in your chest, somehow making it pump faster, lessening the ache ever so slightly. The feeling is unlike any other, you mistakenly think it to be your body dying off before a breath is once again allowed into your lungs, easier than before. You blink a few times then, trying to search your surroundings for anyone with the limited control you had over your body, only to come up short. If anyone was healing you, there would be no reason for them to keep hiding. You've also had to be healed after an injury plenty of times, enough to know what it feels like and how effective it can be. This felt different somehow, and it didn't seem to be fully healing you as you could still feel your wound bleeding, your throat still as painful as it had been.

Azriel's familiar scent reaches you and mixes with your own. Your chest grows tight once more, body temperature somehow rising despite the cold rain and lack of blood, before an overwhelming feeling washes over you, traveling to every inch of your being as things suddenly click into place.

This was a mating bond.

Your sobs return at the realization, even more inconsolable than before, fingers digging into the bloody mud under you at the unfairness of it all. You could feel Azriel as if he was under your skin for a moment, smell him like he was standing over you, when in reality he was nowhere to be found, when you wouldn't be able to see him ever again.

Mating bonds are extremely rare and precious, most fae yearn for one chance of a love as powerful as a bond like this can bring. So why would the Mother waste it on you? Why not bind Azriel to someone who can stand by his side? Why not show it to you sooner, so you could have at least enjoyed it for a while? You've never heard of a bond forming as one person is about to die, when the other isn't even close - usually all it takes is a simple glance, the right exchange or words, rarely happening years after knowing someone.

What was the purpose of this? Why must life be so cruel? You almost want to hope it was a mistake, but the visceral reaction your body has at the thought, even in this state, doesn't allow you to. Azriel was yours, even if only for this laughable amount of time. You had a mate, one you would be able to tell your parents about when death came for you and took you to them.

Those were the thoughts swirling around your mind as you let out what would have been your last breath. Crying every tear left in your body, looking up at the moon and praying for the Mother to take the bond away, or not allow Azriel to feel it because, as much as it hurt you, you knew it would kill him to not only lose you but also lose a mate.

You had found it strange when Rhysand had told you Norris had found you alone in the forest, your body already cold, only a drop of blood still allowing you to cling onto life, but this explains it. The bond had somehow kept you alive long enough for Norris to find you, and take you to a healer at the guild like Rhysand saw. You had been long unconscious when he did, and so you didn't have any memory of any of it. You were also pretty sure the thieves might have been working for him, which explains how they had evaded Azriel's shadows for so long.

The answers regarding your death, the ones you had been aching to learn, now paled in comparison to what you had just unknowingly stumbled upon. You had a mate. You almost couldn't believe it, but the bond made itself known now that it was free from the wards' confines, shining bright deep inside you, linking you to someone through a strong but neglected bridge, still holding on after a century, and you know just where that bridge leads, shadows lurking over the other side.

You come to slowly, your mind aware of your consciousness before your body can follow. It's like you've never been this deeply asleep, the feeling of deja vu hitting you immediately. Perhaps that's why it takes you longer to realize you weren't lying down on a bed, not directly at least. There was a body under you, holding you close to him, enough so that you could hear his heartbeat as your head rested on his chest. You know it's Azriel right away, his touch and scent so unmistakable to you now, you don't know how it had been possible to ever forget it.

And the bond. You can feel it now, can feel something connecting the two of you, etched so deep into your soul that it almost feels impossible that you've been blind to it for so many years. Maybe because you've left it abandoned all this time, but you can literally feel it purr in satisfaction now, making it hard to focus on anything else.

You don't know how long you had been out for, the sun had set in the sky and everyone seemed to have left you two alone, the faint, lingering smell of Rhys' expensive cologne mixed with one scent you've only discovered recently, the only thing left behind. Gods, you can't believe both Cassian and Rhys had mates too.

Azriel had moved to lean against the headboard, sitting you across his lap, holding you close to him and resting your head against his chest as he rubbed slow circles up and down your arm soothingly. You didn't have to see him to know he had called his shadows over the both of you, keeping you safe in his arms as he waited for you to wake up, just like he always did.

Taking a deep breath, you open your eyes, not being able to restrain yourself from looking at your mate for another second. He must have been distracted or falling asleep himself because he tenses softly when you stir and rise up from his chest, hand moving up to hold your cheek adoringly the moment your eyes meet his wide, hazel ones.

You can see the questions swirling in his gaze, can almost taste the anxiety, but relief conquers every other emotion. As much as he wanted to know you were back, he was glad you had at least survived. Keeping him in suspense would be cruel of you, especially after making him wait a hundred years, you don't think you could bear another second either.

“Hello, Az,” you whisper softly, emotion tightening your throat. He lets out a sigh of relief, one that came from the depths of his soul and brings tears to his eyes. He leans his forehead against yours, stealing your breath away as a tear rolls down your cheek unattended.

“Welcome back, my love.”

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel acotar #azriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #azriel angst

[love-toxin]

Cattle -> Harley Kunuk

plot: a world in which the realm of monsters & yanderes has merged--that's the au you find yourself in as a low-producing cow hybrid. you've never impressed any master as working cattle, always cast aside in favour of prettier, more talented cows. that might change once you get dropped off at the wrong farmer's ranch.

(cws: fem!cow hybrid!reader, chubby+naive reader, yandere themes, explicit smut, lactation, fondling, dry-humping, chest worship, dirty talk/soft degradation, clothed sex/cumming in pants, kinda monsterfucking, power dynamics, reader refers to him as 'Mr. Harley')

a/n: welcome to the long-awaited 'harley x cow hybrid reader' saga LOL

wc: 4.7k (art by milove @the-zipper !! <3)

If not for the grace of the gods, you'd surely be thrown into the ditch or to the wolves by now.

The transition between seedy motels has never been easy, sure, but you've reached new lows since your last rancher kicked you to the curb. Besides, nor has having to deal with the treatment from your superiors been easy when most of them see you as nothing but what your brand reads out.

Cattle.

If farm hybrids have anything, it isn't rights–at least not for undesirables like you. There's probably places out there like Runerhéa where you could live in peace, but this new world is even tougher than the last. When the realms merged as one, everyone on the lower side like you thought it would turn out to be a blessing. Maybe you'd finally get a break and wouldn't have to live like a piece of meat. But so far, it's only been a curse.

Ever since you were passed into the hands of these “livestock traders” your life has been absolute hell. Your last master had at least left you be most of the time, preferring to pay attention to his other, better-producing and prettier cattle rather than get on your case for this or that. These guys that have been toting you around since then have been complete nightmares to deal with–they're callous and cruel and they never let you rest properly, they keep you up all hours of the night with their hollering and drinking and gambling on those awful card games.

Yet, even when you were told that your time with them would be coming to an end, you weren't excited about it. Not one bit. How could you be, when you've been surrounded by horrible people saying such horrible things about your abilities? They've called you “moon-face” and mocked your pitiful history as working cattle, to the point that they've joked about re-branding you and making you a sex toy or something instead, because that's probably all you're good for. You can't even moo right, much less make any milk that doesn't taste sour or curdle within minutes. You're totally useless, and whoever your new owner is, he's quickly going to come to that realization too. Your handlers have been quick to remind you of that, just in case you happen to pick up some worth in yourself on the way there.

That's all you've thought for the past three days since you've been here, too scared to come out from the back of your stall for fear that the big, scary farmer with the loud voice is going to yell at you for not turning out to be what he hoped. You heard him arguing with the traders when you were delivered: ”What the hell is this?! I bought a cow, not some girl! Is this a joke? Did Elias put you up to this?” and since then you've cowered in the corner, refusing even to touch the water and food he brought and left at the door for fear he might just poison you to save the trouble of bringing you back. You've never been kept with real farm animals before, yet even now there's not much interaction you have with them. The big guy put you in a stall far away from his other animals, probably because he thinks you might infect them or something. It's always something with you.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. You've been hearing those noises from outside for the last two days, the sounds of wood scraping and hammering pervading your fuzzy ears and filling your mind with all manner of horrors that might await you. Is he building some kind of horrible torture machine? A rack? A device to forcibly milk you? Oh, that thought sends a chill down your spine. Or is he simply building your coffin? It could be any one of those possibilities or many, many more horrible ones, and it leaves you to tug your floppy ears down and try to block out the noise as you cry softly. I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die, even if I'm bad at being a cow. I just wanna live another day.

You pull the scratchy woolen blanket he left in here closer around your shoulders, hoping and praying with your head bowed that this won't be the end. With the clunk of the barn's door sliding open, with every step you hear thudding closer and closer towards your stall, you tremble harder and hurriedly wipe your tears dry while you pray to the Deity to shelter you from an early grave.

Kh-chunk. The clasp on your stall comes undone from the other side, and with bated breath, you watch as the door rolls open and lets in the streams of light you'd forgotten existed in this endless darkness.

“...Oh.” The farmer utters his surprise softly, his brow easing up as he looks you over. He's perched at the entrance to your stall still, not quite ready to cross the threshold yet. Maybe he's still trying to prepare himself as he sizes you up for the slaughterhouse. “You look…cold.”

You shake your head meekly and throw off the blanket. Straws of hay flutter about your knees as you do so, some of it already stuck in your hair and your meager clothes that don't cover enough for him not to blush and avert his gaze. “Uh…c'mon. We need to move you somewhere else.” He meekly produces a harness from his overalls, but it sits lightly in his hand like he's not really keen on using it. “It'll be safe. C'mon.”

If you weren't a lowly, domestic cow hybrid, one of the very lowest of the monster hybrid species, you'd be tempted to ask if he's always this awkward. He can't even look at you, he barely even breathes once you finally stand and skirt past him out of the stall. And he doesn't dare to touch you as he leads you out of the barn even though you're his property–it's like he doesn't even see you as cattle, but as…you don't even know what.

At the very least, despite the uncertainty around your new home, the first deep breath of fresh air as you step outside reminds you of the home you knew in childhood. Rolling grass in a sea of green, woods out across the field that are far from predators, safe fences and even a big, old farmhouse on the lawn that gives you a sense of homey nostalgia. As big and scary as he looks, maybe he's not so bad after all…maybe, as long as you do everything to appeal to him, he might treat you like nice cattle and not the nuisance you've long been defined as.

As you step out onto the grounds, the farmer introduces himself as Harley. He waits while you sniff around the fresh, clean air a bit before leading you around the side of the barn–that's where a small, shed-like attachment has been built on to the side of the structure, which opens into a surprisingly comfy and spacious area that he must have put together in a hurry. The floorboards have a nice rug over them and there's a soft, downy mattress in the corner on a little frame, and it's all built in and warm like it's an actual room. But when you turn to Harley with a quizzical look on your face and he tells you it's yours, you don't even know how to respond. So you just look at him blankly.

“It's…yours, y'know? It's, uh, like your…bedroom, I guess.” He looks around the space and rubs the back of his sweaty neck, seemingly sheepish about the simple construction even though you're standing there dumbfounded. “I didn't think you'd wanna live in the barn with the animals, but, uh, you wouldn't come in the house. So…yeah.” The silence between you is agony up until he just huffs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Listen, this isn't ideal for me. I don't deal well with people, and you're…sort of one, I guess. To be honest, I hate the idea of sharing my farm with some stranger.” He sighs and runs a hand through his dark hair, incidentally messing up his long ponytail that's just barely keeping all that thick hair tied up. With his hands set on his hips, he looks you dead in the eyes in a way that makes you cower at his sternness. “But you're here now, so whatever. Just behave yourself–and if some guy in a cowboy hat comes around, make yourself scarce. I don't want him messing with my-” He catches himself, but in your bovine wisdom you finish his sentence for him.

“Cattle?”

Harley swallows dryly and nods. “...Cattle. Yeah.” In any case despite the awkwardness and the tense air between you, he shows you how to work the little water pump he built the shed around so you can wash up and drink, your bed and blankets, and where to use the bathroom–which he insists you do inside the house, for no reason that he elaborates on other than the fact that you're able to, so you should. With that he leaves you be, letting you sit and ponder this newfound haven that he so casually dropped in your lap.

By the third day in your little mock cabin, six days since you've arrived here, you're pretty sure you've fallen in love with Mr. Harley. He won't tolerate you calling him ‘Master’ because it makes him all red in the face when you say it, so despite him insisting on no formalities at all you've settled on referring to him as ‘Mr.’ Harley.

It's been an easy process to say the least. Mr. Harley is gruff and speaks bluntly, but he never lays a hand on you and has never called you any mean names. He feeds you more often than he does his other animals, and despite getting annoyed and scolding you if you don't eat like you didn't the first three days, he's always gentle and doesn't yell or kick things over when he's mad. Plus, he treats his other farm animals real nice–you've heard him cooing and calling them by their names when he pets them, and most of them come running or perk their ears up when they hear his voice from far away. One of the chickens even tried to peck you when Mr. Harley was showing you around, and had his hand on your arm as he showed you how to feed them. They love him so much they even get jealous, and it's easy to see why. Mr. Harley is so caring and kind-hearted. He's got pretty brown eyes and such a low, deep voice, and big muscles, and soft hair, he's more handsome than any other master or trader you've come across in your whole life. It's no wonder you've fallen in love with Mr. Harley.

Where it's becoming an issue, however, is with your milk.

The first little while you were here, Mr. Harley didn't even make a mention about your production. There wasn't any bucket around for you to show him anyways, so you've been sitting around letting the milk build up and up and up until you're sore and swollen. The only reason you're sat in your shed with a bucket in your lap now is because Mr. Harley noticed your discomfort (because he's such a nice and caring farmer…) but, with you being too worried about your quality and Mr. Harley being too red-faced to stick around and watch, you're coming up on the end of the day without a drop to show for it. If you don't give him anything, he'll think you're a disobedient cow! But if you squeeze out your milk and it tastes sour, or makes him sick…oh, you couldn't bear to think of making Mr. Harley hate you with the taste of your milk. It's quite the dilemma that you have no easy way of getting out of, so you do what's likely the better option: you milk out just enough to make the swelling go down, but not so much that the taste will be too strong if it's bad.

But even with your clever thinking, your knees shake as you perch on your bed and listen to the big, thudding footsteps of Mr. Harley coming towards the shed. The moment the door slides open you spring into action, and pick up the bucket a quarter full of milk to hand to him, hoping beyond hope that he won't be upset over how little there is.

“..Huh.” After he jolts slightly at your sudden movement toward him, Harley glances down at the bucket and back up at you as he takes it gingerly, peering down at the milk as if it's some sort of magic that you've managed to fill it even as little as you did. He raises his hand and your instincts force you to flinch, your eyes squeezing shut as you anticipate a hit or something equally awful. But the moment passes because Mr. Harley pats your head instead, stroking your hair and your fuzzy ears gently before hiking up the bucket to grab and hold it by the handle. “Good girl.”

Good girl? Are those words for real? Was that…praise? And so easily given, at that?

You're practically on your knees by the time he steps out of the shed, they're so wobbly and weak, but before he can make it outside he halts and turns back to you. “So…” He lingers at the doorway, the bucket hanging from his closed fist. “...Where does your milk come from, exactly?”

Oh. That's…hard to explain. You had a sense that Mr. Harley already knew, but then again he owns farm animals, not hybrids. So you meekly point at your own chest in answer, and Harley's reaction takes you by complete surprise.

“...You're shitting me.” He breathes out in what comes off as disgust, but is really shamefaced embarrassment as he tries to avert his eyes but can't tear his gaze off of your…well, udders. It was obvious that they were impressive, but he clearly wasn't expecting such a blunt and simple answer. Harley clears his throat and tries to get something out, but sooner than he's able to he gives up and just wishes you a good sleep as he shuts the sliding door behind him.

The rest of that night is full of whimpers and soft cries throughout the shed as you weep out all your worries. Mr. Harley doesn't like me anymore! He thinks I'm gross! You sniffle into your tear-drenched pillow as the thoughts grow so loud in your head that they overwhelm you. In time, you cry yourself so dry that you can't help but drift off, your sleep peppered with bad memories and anxious nightmares of what Mr. Harley might do with you tomorrow, now that he's seen how worthless and disgusting you really are.

Though by now you're used to the rooster's screeching to wake you up, your morning is riddled with half-awake mumbles and drool caking your pillow as you try to remember what you were doing. It's not until you rub your eyes and look around that you notice the light filling the shed, and realize with a cold twist in your belly that it's almost midday and well past the time you should've been up and about. The sounds of Mr. Harley's boots in the barn next door rattle you out of your covers and up to your feet, your knees knocking and hands shaking as you try to figure out what to do.

Mr. Harley always comes by your shed to check on you after he's done with the animals, and by the whinnying of the horses as he sprays the hose you can tell he's just about finished up with filling their water trough. And if that's what he's up to now, that means you're next–and gods know what he's gonna do now that he doesn't think you're cute anymore! You're not sure now if he would kill you, or chop you up to sell your bits in some underground meat market, but he might give you back to the traders! You can't let that happen, you can't!

Little do you know that while you've bustled around your shed in a panic trying to figure out what to do, Harley has been pacing anxiously outside the barn doors before finally slamming them shut and heading towards you. Each step rings out like thunder. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump-

The door to your shed slides open, eliciting a startled shriek from your lips as you drop the bucket. It clatters to the ground and rolls to a stop just by Mr. Harley's boot. The two of you lock eyes and he utters a string of words that totally throw you for a loop.

“You had trouble getting your milk out yesterday, so I'm gonna help you.”

The air that hangs between you is heavy once he says that, pierced only by the gentle clinking of the bucket's thin wire handle as he reaches down and plucks it up off the hay-scattered ground. Harley rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat, his steps taken slow and quietly as he slides the door shut behind him and approaches your skittish self.

“You want me to help you?” His voice remains stoic and strong, but when you nod so meekly that your ears twitch his face burns a bright red all the way down to his collar. He coughs into his hand and asks you to move into a comfortable position while he stands awkwardly and prepares himself for what's about to come. You can barely make eyes with him in the meanwhile, every bit of you is trembling as you sink down to your knees.

Mr. Harley sets the bucket down beneath you. The soft, almost imperceptible thunk rings in your ears like a dinner bell. A thought flashes over your head and you wonder if you should get on your hands and knees–but the shame of such a position quickly overcomes whatever else would compel you to do so, and you sit quietly and patiently with your ears flicking nervously in rhythm with your tail. He gets down on one knee and mutters something in your ear to soothe you, but you can barely hear anything over your own breathing as you try to will your heart into slowing down from its fervent pace. When he asks you to pull down your top, however, you certainly hear that command loud and clear.

The moment the fabric swishes down your chest in one clean motion, Harley has a look of utter redness and embarrassment all over his face. He's a bit more composed than yesterday, but he can barely tear his eyes away from them; your udders. They're so soft and weigh so heavy on your torso, it's a surprise you can even lift them up yourself. That's what he thinks, anyways–you can't even comprehend his awe when you're so self-conscious over your nipples pebbling in the drafty air. Your fingernails scrape against each other in a nervous tic while you wait. He has to get prepared, and he warms his hands by rubbing them together; the very action of which sends heat straight to your nethers and a twitch to your soft, fuzzy ears.

“M-My milk doesn't taste good…” You whimper to distracted ears, but still, Mr. Harley holds his hands back from reaching out and he meets your eyes in contemplation. Your worries explode out of you before you can halt yourself. “B-But I'll–I'll try really hard to make it sweet, Mr. Harley!”

To your shock, he just shakes his head. He scoffs, but then–then it's a chuckle. It's laughter, low and gravelly, but it's laughter all the same.

“You taste good.” Mr. Harley murmurs, and his eyes don't look at all daunted. He doesn't correct himself, either. He leans closer, reaches out, and then the callused pads of his hardworking fingers are brushing under the tender skin of your breasts.

The moment is…saccharine. It's divine. It's godlike! You can't see, can't hear, can barely breathe, and you've never felt more exuberance bubbling up in the back of your throat–you want to scream and cry and beg but the emotions jumble themselves all together and leave you stunned silent. You can hardly let out the gentlest exhale of disbelieving breath as Mr. Harley's hands fold over your chest, and you feel a warmth you thought was only reserved for cows of a much better pedigree than you. The man that's bigger and stronger and sweeter than you shuffles in closer, he wants his lips right against your skin; he wants to taste you and touch you while he gives you a squeeze, and when his tongue flicks out to dab the sweat off your neck you could just cry, it feels so exhilarating.

“M-Mr. Harley-” You gulp, your tone betraying your enjoyment in how it trembles with desperate need. Harley's hands start pressing and pulling on each teat, and in no time at all he's coaxing the milk from you as easily as he would his own dairy cows. No mess, no fuss, and no tears–not ones devoid of joy, anyways. You can't help your own instincts in this moment of pure, primal hybrid heat. “I-I love you, Mr. Harley.”

His head raises and tilts down to look at you. He doesn't even have to look to make sure he's getting it all in the bucket, he's so experienced. Something seems to brew behind those dark, cocoa-coloured eyes…and his words stir up the heat within you like a potent, bubbling love potion.

“I'm so fuckin’ glad they got you mixed up.”

With that admission of very Harley-like affection, he buries his tongue in your mouth and presses your lips firmly together in a wet, forceful kiss.

A kiss! From Mr. Harley! Your tail flicks to and fro with happiness while you're melting into it, into the softness and the strength of his tongue and the sticky wetness of your spit mixing with his. You've never been kissed like this, and when he pulls back you just have to lean in for more. He can barely stifle his lustful chuckles when you keep pecking his lips like a touch-starved harpy, hoping for more tongue and spit and warmth. He squeezes your left teat especially firm and a thick jet of milk spurts out, leaving you to hunch forward suddenly as a wet spot starts forming in the seat of your poor panties. Harley's slanted nose is the only thing keeping you up; he nuzzles it under your chin when your body threatens to pitch forward into the hard ground.

“So close.” He murmurs into your mouth as he seals his lips over yours again. His hair is mussed and he's blushing…a lot. “Almost there. Such a good product today. Nearly filled the whole pail. Good girl.” He whispers against your cheek as you try not to feel the delicate rumbles of his voice in your cunt. With a swish of movement, Mr. Harley maneuvers around your trembling body to slot himself up behind you, and lets his hands reach around you just so his thick, muscly biceps will keep you upright through to the end.

“M-Mr. Harley…I think I'm…I-I dunno, I feel-ah! Ah, weird. G-Good weird..” What feels like a brick presses up against your rear in that moment–you have a feeling you know exactly what it is.

“Yeah?” He scoffs with a thrilled smirk against your neck. “Dirty fuckin’ dairy cow. That's what you are, huh?”

“Y-Yes-!” You squeal, but whether that's an answer to his question or simply the reaction he's caused by bucking against you with a groan, it remains to be seen. Either way Mr. Harley is enjoying himself, and it floods your bovine head with vindicated glee that your master enjoys you. You're doing a good job. You're a good cow.

“Good fuckin’ cow,” Harley growls, completely lost in the softness between your thighs and the sweet warmth of your tits weighing heavy and milk-swollen in his hands. Your legs shake against his thick thighs as he pulls you back to practically sit on his lap, held up by the monster straining at his pants, begging to be let out. You've already left a soiled, sticky spot there through your clothes but Harley won't take any apologies–not right now, at least, when your milk is flowing at its peak and he's just about to lose his self-control completely…if he even had any left from the moment he held your soft, chubby body in his hands. A splash of milk jets from your swollen tits and splatters against the side of the pail rather than inside it, and with that you don't need to see Mr. Harley's face to know that he's reaching his end; in fact, he's already there.

A string of “fuck, fuck, fuck!”s erupts from his mouth that he buries in the juncture of your neck and your shoulder, his teeth not only grazing now but biting down hard into your sweat-soaked skin. The spot you'd left on his jeans is nothing compared to the damp mess he makes as his thighs shake beneath yours, his hips ruthless and powerful as he slams them up into you with the desire of chasing that invaluable heat between your legs. You've barely held back from spasming in pleasure this whole time, but once Mr. Harley has his needs sated is when you finally allow yourself to give in to yours. Groans, panting, and soft mooing resonate within the homey little room that you've incidentally turned into a den of pleasure. Mr. Harley finally slumps back with his arms tucked tightly around your middle, and a wobbly, satisfied smile makes its way across your face as you look down and see a pail full of warm, creamy-looking milk. A few spots and tiny puddles litter the hay-covered ground around it from where you spilled, and some still soaks Harley's massive hands, but you still managed to fill it–a whole bucket!

“I did…a good job, Mr. Harley?” You ask in such a sweet, timid voice that he can only manage a breathless scoff in response.

“You think you did a good job?” He asks, but not understanding his tone, you start to fuss and squirm in fear that you've disappointed him. It's only once he manages to wrangle you against his chest and pick you up off your feet with him that he manages to calm you down.

“Relax, little one. You did a good job.” Careful not to let you lose balance, he sets you down on your feet and holds you there, steadying you against his effortlessly strong body. The moment you look up at him with those sweet, wet cow eyes, he can't resist his affections and lovingly strokes your ears. “Very good. You're a good cow. Look at all the milk you made,” He reaches past you to pick up the pail and hold it out for you to see. The glistening milk swishes with the heft of the bucket, so he steps away and ensures he sets it aside amongst the empty ones to keep it from spilling over.

“So…c-can I stay, Mr. Harley?”

It seems your voice does more than earn you an answer from him–Harley whips around to look at you with a dumbfounded expression on his face, and his reaction is more than you ever could have thought you deserved.

“Stay? What d'ya mean, ‘stay’? You're part of the farm. You're my family now. You're not going anywhere.” He reaches out for you and in that moment it takes for him to get to you, the tears are already flowing and you're blubbering pathetically into his chest with gratitude, which he seems much less awkward in accepting now.

“Hey–quit sayin’ such stupid shit. Stay…are you crazy?” He murmurs into your hair, his arms so tight around you you're reminded of the soreness of your hollow chest as your tits press up against his firm body. What he whispers to you then, in the silence peppered only by your weepy cries of adoration and love for your ‘Mr. Harley’, is the one thing that will stay with you for a long, long time–perhaps for the rest of your life.

“Not just cattle anymore, little one. You're…mine.”

#harley kunuk #harley x reader #harley kunuk x reader #spicy writing #hybrid reader #yandere ocs #yanverse #fem reader #male yandere #ellie writes #4k

[barbthebuilder]

This is my parting message

I gave myself time to think and talked to some people about this and I have decided to say goodbye to y'all.

Time here has been great and I loved pretty much every second of it. However, I want to focus on my real life now. Tumblr became too big of a part of my life for my comfort. Basically, I think it will be better if I quit.

I don't regret this blog. It made me very comfortable in my identity, it educated me, it made me feel loved and brave and powerful.

But it's over.

I can't thank you enough for everything you have done for me. For every like, comment, reblog, ask, tag, message and boop.

So... this is it. This is the end. This has been such a wonderful journey :')

Special thanks to:

@our-genderfluid-experience - great place to tell your story

@genderfluid-culture-iss - Bro letting people just spill the most relatable shit ever. Loving it.

@our-queer-experience - so much good info! Educated me a lot.

@hefkerut - I just want you to know you're an incredible person and I will always remember you. Like, seriously girl. I had such a blast with ya. You also always reblog the best shit?? You rock.

@genderoftoday - always provided me with content to reblog. Also, funny.

@genderfluid-info-blog - actually, such a smart person. Gives great advice and provides us with so many microlables. Mad respect.

@mxl4vrie - THANK YOU FOR THE FANART I SOMETIMES LOOK AT IT AND SMILE :DDD

@rat0

@popcorn-plots

@aegosexual-moments - you made me realize I'm aegosexual! Thanks a lot!

@alwaysprey

@sundry-whovengerslocked

@fruityracoons - dude, you were such a great support. Thanks for always checking up on me.

@frogofalltime

@foxinasuit - you actually made me realize I want to quit lmao I'm not leaving your side tho hehehe >:)

@joker1315 - always a pleasant conversation with this one! I still remember how you helped me with all that technical stuff :)

@kodiescove - learned a lot from you

@korane06

@littlemisspipebomb

@zuuriell

@crowdsourcedgender - you are doing such a good job. Keep it up! Thank you for always being a great help.

@candy8448

@baking-potato-27

@bhawk-goose - ur so funny hehehe

@banethebloodgoat

@night-rhea

@treion-is-back - I still remember you. Good luck.

@allknowingbirb

@i-am-an-arson-enthusiast

@spacewives-in-spacetime

@queen-mihai

@a-random-mooshroom - YOOOOO you were so fun to interact with!! All the best!!

@bibirb - thanks for supporting my Yellow Dog account and being one of the first followers!

@pronouncounter - count those pronouns

@pronoun-checks - keep it up!

@ghostsofchernobyl

@that-bisexual

@slender-genderfluid - okay, I have no relation to you but I think you're cool

@hijkay

@artistic-scribbles

@frogofalltime

@thegeniusidiotnstickmerchant3728 - you are so cool and so nerdy and SO WERID I am obssesed with you and I need to study you in the laboratory or put you in a maze with traps idk I will miss you sm

And many more! I'm sure I haven't tagged everyone and I'm sorry if I missed somebody :c I appreciate you regardless!!

Goodbye! May the gender euphoria be upon ya!

#genderfluid #blog info

[emberuby]

in your arms forever — preview: chapter one. | p.js

pairing: park jongseong x reader (feat. ex. almost fiancé! park sunghoon)

a/n: here is a sneak peak of the first scene of chapter one <3 i've been writing a lot for the past few days but it's a slow process so i wanted to post a preview. however, i finally have a date for the release: june 14th woohoo! there will be 3 chapters and an epilogue. i have the entire story mapped out so i'm very excited!! if any of you have questions feel free to ask. ^^

warnings: the full chapter is pretty intense but the preview doesn't have many warnings, just isolation, slightly toxic! jay (may or may not get more toxic 🥹) and mentions of infidelity.

series taglist: @nshmrarki, @strxwbloody, @anittamaxwynnn, @heeheeyeoiizz01

wc: 980

It had been a week since you began living in Jongseong’s manor, a beautiful cage where your every move was monitored. You had an hour to spare before he came home, an hour to savour your solitude before the pretense of ignoring and dismissing him continued. Despite his attempts to break your shell and get closer to you, you maintained a cold distance.

Eva and Celia, Jongseong’s two corgis, laid beside you on the floor of Jongseong’s study as you read the books he left to keep you occupied, as if you were some helpless child. Your phone had been confiscated, leaving you with only the option to contact him through his servants. Any outing required a chaperone from his guards, who conveniently never allowed visits to your father, sister, not to mention Sunghoon. Gods, you missed Sunghoon. Your body ached to be held by him again, and your mind grieved at the thought of never seeing him again.

Time had frozen since you entered Jongseong’s home. You had been mostly alone with your thoughts, except for the corgis’ whines when they were hungry. The servants and guards barely acknowledged you unless it was to tell you not to do something. You kept wondering what your father could have possibly done to piss off the Parks and now owe something to them. This marriage, you were certain, was not about the flimsy excuse your father had told you but rather the Parks’ insatiable hunger for power. A part of you was grateful that all they demanded was a marriage, given they could easily kill you and your family with a snap of their fingers. You shivered at the thought.

“How are my sweet girls doing?” you heard from the door, and you sat up, surprised that your fiancé was back so early. Jongseong smiled widely and walked up to Eva and Celia to pet them. He began scratching Celia’s chin, followed by asking, “Has Y/N been treating you well? I’m sure she has; I know how much you love her.” He turned around to face you and continued, “I’m honestly quite jealous of how much time you spend with them. I think they’re starting to like you more than me,” he laughed to himself.

Your face remained unmoving; you didn’t know what to say back. You tried to stand up by yourself, but Jongseong grabbed your hand and gently pulled you up instead. You hated how your body reacted every time he touched you. Your body was hot whenever he was near, and your skin felt like it was on fire wherever he laid his hand. You would have been lying if you said he wasn’t attractive. He had the alluring look of his mother, magnificently beautiful. It was hard not to stare and admire him when he wasn’t looking. Then you remembered just how wrong this all was. You had the love of your life, and you were betraying him every time you leaned too far into Jongseong.

“Cat got your tongue, my love?” Your thoughts were interrupted by him again. The more you got to know him, the less he intimidated you. Honestly, you thought he was quite pathetic, constantly at the beck and call of his mother, desperate for her approval. You weren’t sure if he did anything without his mother knowing about it. It made you feel a bit brave.

Brave enough to point your chin towards him and glare at him, “I want you to let me go see Sunghoon.” He stood there in silence for about a minute, with a completely unreadable expression. You thought he may have not heard you until his menacing laughter broke the stillness. The way he was folded over, you’d think you were a comedian.

He finally calmed down and said, “That’s hilarious, Y/N. I know you’re not stupid. Tell me why the fuck I should let you go see your boy toy?”

“He’s not a boy toy,” you continued testing your luck, “and why not? It’s not like we’re in a real relationship. I don’t owe you anything and you don’t owe me—” he cut you off.

“Don’t fucking think about it. Our marriage is public news as of now. Why do you think I’m so scared of letting you out? The paparazzi are on our ass and they can’t find out that this is arranged,” he furrowed his eyebrows and scoffed, “Can’t have the press thinking I’m getting cuckolded by my wife with some nobody, now can I? Wouldn’t be good for my reputation.”

You clenched your fists, anger boiling inside you. “But I know this isn’t about your reputation. I know you and your mother are using me as a pawn. You’re probably out whoring yourself around with any girl that gives you attention, but gods forbid I go to see my boyfriend!” You yelled that last part and immediately regretted it when Eva began whining.

The fire in Jongseong’s eyes extinguished. “You are scaring the girls, Y/N,” Jongseong sighed and stepped closer, held your waist, and pressed a kiss to your temple. His eyes softened slightly, but his presence was still intimidating. “Don’t think so low of me, honey. I admit I’m a romantic, but I would never be unfaithful. You’re mine now, and I’m yours.”

Him standing so close reminded you just how much he towered over you. Half of you wanted to hit him in the chest and run in the other direction, while the other wanted to lean into his touch and let him hold you closer.

“Remember, Y/N, you are my wife. That little boyfriend of yours is someone you need to forget. You can keep fighting it, but it doesn’t change the facts,” then he whispered, “you belong to me.” He could feel you tremble in his arms, so he reached out for your hand and squeezed it.

#jay enhypen #park jongseong #jay smut #jay x reader #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen fic #enhypen smut #enhypen angst #iyaf🕊

[tarotwithlove]

PICK A CARD ⭒ why did you meet this person? (any connection)

reminder that this is a general reading and messages found here may not apply to everyone. take what resonates, leave what doesn't, and don't force anything if it does not fit.

BOOK A READING WITH ME · LINKTREE · 18+ PATREON · SUGGEST A PAC TOPIC · TIPS ♡ tips, bookings, and feedback are highly appreciated!

GROUP ONE

cards · the devil, nine of cups (reversed), death, ten of swords, nine of swords, knight of cups (reversed), agate: courage, power, perseverance. 

channelled songs · loyalty by kendrick lamar. i'll have some in a bit by crywank. magic carpet ride by nct 127. low by sza. 

my dear group one ♡ the person you are asking about may be a friend. or, more likely, an ex-friend. this is someone who may have betrayed you -- for some, this person may have slept with, flirted with, or otherwise gone after a person you were romantically interested in. 

take it as it resonates, of course, but this was definitely some life-changing betrayal. a betrayal that shook you to the core and may have jaded you to friendships entirely. 

meeting this person may have served one singular purpose -- to reveal the truth to you. to reveal the truth about this third party or this opportunity, specifically to show you how flimsy this was.

because, dear, if this friend could come in and steal this away from you so easily then it was definitely flimsy. you met this person because, quite honestly, you were growing too comfortable in a life (or with a person) that was not meant for you.

and so this person was sent into your life to -- in their own warped way-- shake things up and realign you with your purpose. to realign you with the people, places, and things that are actually meant for you. and to, also, trigger you so that your unhealed and forgotten wounds are revealed to you. 

GROUP TWO

cards · four of cups, the lovers, five of pentacles, the fool (reversed), king of wands, moonstone: peace, travel, balance.

channelled songs · lost umbrella by inabakumori. a lot’s gonna change by weyes blood. sweet & easy by wonder girls.

my dear group two ♡ the person you are asking about may be a lover, or a potential lover with whom the connection did not progress. this person may have ghosted you or unceremoniously, and expectedly, ended things.

whatever the specifics of how things ended, it may have taken you completely by surprise because of how well things were going.

or, at least, how well you thought that things were going. and you may have thought that things were going really well. so when they ended things or you stopped hearing from them, you may have been completely blindsided.

you met this person to, in a way, remind you who you are. to remind you that you are a badass and a beauty. and to remind you what it feels like to love or really like someone again -- because, for many of you, it may have been some time since you last loved or *really* liked someone romantically.

thus, you met this person so that your heart would not grow cold and shrivel up simply from lack of use. while it may not feel like it, you have met this person -- more than anything else -- to remind you that you’ve still got it. and to remind yourself how much you have changed, grown, and matured -- because of how just a few years or months ago this experience would have completely broken you.

GROUP THREE

cards · the moon (reversed), king of wands, judgement (reversed), ace of wands (reversed), four of swords (reversed), lepidolite: rest, sleep, dreaming.

channelled songs · migrate by mariah carey. rhode island by the front bottoms. sugar and spice (i found me a girl) by luther vandross.

my dear group three ♡ the person you are asking about may be a stranger. someone you crossed paths with and can’t stop thinking about, with thoughts of this person constantly occupying your mind. so much so that it may upsetting to some of you, because you just want to forget and move on but you are unable to.

you may feel strongly connected to this person. and even though your paths crossed briefly, you may be wondering whether there is some strong soul or spiritual connection between you two. whether you are meant to be more to each other than just strangers.

and that is why you have met this person. because you are meant to be more to each other than just strangers.

in the past, you may have shied away from making the first move towards another person, but this person has come into your life to make you change that.

to make you step into your own, be more confident, and to take initiative so

that you may live a fulfilled life. a life without regrets.

in short, you have met this person so that you may push yourself out of your comfort zone.

#** #tarot #pac #pick a card #tarotblr #witchblr #tarotonline #tarotcommunity #witch of color #divination #channelled messages #channeled messages #spirituality #spiritualism

[fritterbat]

Y'all seemed to be enthusiastic about my Tav when I posted art of her smooching Gale so I thought I'd share my full character design for her too! (I changed her color scheme since that previous art anyway) Here's my problematic weirdo squid girl, illithid Tavs forever 🦑

She actually neither went through ceremorphosis nor romanced Gale in-game, those are both part of my post-game storyline haha... she missed her half-illithid powers so much that after tying up some loose ends back home in Menzoberranzan and being accepted to join the Society of Brilliance, she asked the Emperor to tadpole her again so she could become a mind flayer. Her current project is working with Omeluum to create a substitute food source for illithids so they don't have to consume brains.

few more pics of her and some further nattering under the cut ->

here's what she looks like without clothes (that sounds so spicy. it's a mind flayer it's got no visible bits) and what she looked like in-game! I always used the Bloody Plum dye for her clothing while I was playing, but somehow landed on dark teals instead for her future self

Vennet's my first Tav and I played the game mostly blind so I didn't know what her arc would be going in, but I've developed her a lot over time. I had originally meant to romance Astarion but she ended up being... not the right person for him, and I had to break off their relationship bc I couldn't imagine it being anything other than a toxic disaster LOL, but at that point I was too far in the game to start anything with anybody else and she'd already rejected Gale's love confession...!

so I just ended the game with No Bosom Companion 😔 but as I was later thinking about my future storyline for her and decided she becomes a mind flayer after all, I suddenly realized that she'd be perfect for Gale. So she falls in love with him post-game (and post-tentacles!) and they have got some Issues to work through but eventually it's cute :3 (I'm maybe trying to write a fanfic about their romance, watch this space 👀)

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 tav #illithid tav #drow tav #bg3 oc #honestly I've never had a proper OC that I put this much thought into before and I'm having a blast with it #like damn did u know you're allowed to just make up a guy and get obsessed with them?? yall heard about this??? lmao

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Strange Stones

Edward Lee: submitted for the approval of the midnight society, i call this the tale of the strange stones Mary SanGiovanni: me and ed wrote a cosmic horror SanGiovanni: it's about this professor who hates HP Lovecraft Lovecraft: SanGiovanni: like REALLY hates him Lovecraft:

Lee: ok bro so this professor is at this horror convention to talk about how much HP Lovecraft sucks Lovecraft: hey! Lee: oh it's not me bro, i think you're cool, it's this professor, he's the one saying it Lee: in the story, bro Lovecraft: Lovecraft: oh ok then

Lee: like, he's going on about how Lovecraft is a shitty writer who sucks Lovecraft: hey, come on! Lee: i'm not saying it, bro SanGiovanni: yeah howard don't commit the fundamental attribution error Lee: yeah bro i don't know what this but don't do it bro

SanGiovanni: so the professor is all "HP Lovecraft sucks ass, he can't write" Lee: oh and he's racist, bro, don't forget that SanGiovanni: oh that's right, AND he's racist SanGiovanni: thanks ed Lee: no prob bro

SanGiovanni: so Lovecraft was racist August Derleth: only as racist as the average man of his time!! SanGiovanni: and a shitty writer Derleth: only as shitty as the average writer of his time!! Lovecraft:

SanGiovanni: and the prof is all "we should stop talking about Lovecraft, who sucks, and start talking about better authors like Poe or Shelley" Lovecraft: come on!! Mary Shelley: haha i like this guy, he sounds like he's got the right idea Poe: yeah he's not entirely wrong

Lee: but check this bro Lee: this prof loves horror conventions cuz he's always getting laid Lee: these cons are just FULL of hotties looking to score Lee: you know how horror chicks are Lee: FREAK-EE SanGiovanni: and their tits--! Lee: oh man, bro, the tits are fuckin' bangin

Lee: bro so the girls at this convention have got some huge boobs SanGiovanni: some real serious honkers Lee: a real set of badonkers SanGiovanni: packin some dobonhonkeros. massive dohoonkabhankoloos Lee: big ol' tonhongerekoogers!

SanGiovanni: so this goth witch gets mad at the professor for dissing Lovecraft and she sends him to another dimension where Lovecraft is real! Lee: and bro don't forget, the witch has enormous jugs SanGiovanni: oh yeah just some ridonculous knockers

SanGiovanni: now the professor is in a Lovecraft world and he's about to find out that being in a Lovecraft world isn't all its cracked up to be Lee: oh yeah bro and he's gotta collect the 5 power stones to advance to the next level bro SanGiovanni: you mean the chaos emeralds?

SanGiovanni: now he's traveling from Lovecraft story to Lovecraft story, striving to put right what once went wrong and hoping each time that the next leap will be the leap home Lee: you know that thing about hotties trawling for dick at horror cons? thats totally true bro

Lee: yeah bro you know what i'm saying Lee: we're gonna get you laid, bro! Lovecraft: at a convention? Lee: that's what they're for bro! ask sonia! she invented the whole idea, bro! Sonia Greene: he's right

#midnight pals #the midnight society #midnight society #edgar allan poe #mary shelley #edward lee #mary sangiovanni #sonia greene #august derleth #hp lovecraft

[forever-girly]

Your Girl Friend’s Sister Hates You…

Your girlfriend's Sister doesn't like you too much since she Hangs out with you a lot more now has Her Boyfriend. They used to be soo close and did a lot together. She was sad that she was losing time with Her Sister to a Boy.

She was thinking to Herself, Fine, you want to hangout with my Sister soo much, then You should be a Girl too!

She already found the Pink Powder that she Bought from a Witch downtown. She was going to prank Her sister by causing a temporary change in her and change her mind, all Temporally. She needed to have you ingest it so you could start to be transformed into a Younger Girl.

She waited For you and Her Sister to come back from a date and she made some Juice for you and Her. Hers was much less powder since all she had to do was convince Her Sister to help Her turn you into a Girl. she Drank Hers First in the Kitchen while she was going to bring out yours. Her Sisters mind was ready to receive a powerful suggestion to have Her Forget to want to be Your Girlfriend and put the idea that she would rather you be Her Best Friend.

Thoughts of you being Her BFF was soo overwhelming and she was fully on board. She completely forgot about being your Girl Friend.

She and Her Sister came into the Living Room with your Glass, you where Thirsty so you drank most of it right away. The Girls Smiled and Giggled to each other. It would take the rest of the day to notice changes. So the Sisters made another batch of Juice and brought some to his Parents down the street. They lied and told your Parents that you liked the Juice soo much that you wanted them to try it. They both drank it too and she implanted the idea that they have always had a Daughter.

Your Mother then asks, Where is Emily anyways?. She’s at my house. Ok well tell Her that dinner will be ready soon. We will, they both giggled. They ran back to their house and noticed some changes already.

Your Hair had already gained 2 inches and become a light soft brown and that your Skin was already getting softer and more feminine.

You felt a strange sensation spreading throughout your body, and looked down to see your hands shrinking and your clothes growing baggy.

Your mind felt foggy as memories of your childhood surface. "What did you--" you begin to ask Emily, but your voice sounds high-pitched and childish. You're shocked to realize that you no longer sound like yourself. You get shorter and more girly! They take you by the hand and bring you to Your Former Girl Friends sisters Room. There they brush your Hair and put makeup on your pretty face. They start calling you Emily has they giggle. Some of the pink powder was mixed into the makeup so it could absorb more into your skin and help you forget you where ever a guy to become soo pretty and Feminine.

You obediently let them call you Emily, giggling along with them even though you know that's not your name. The powder seems to be having a profound effect on you, as your muscles weaken and your inhibitions dissipate. You find yourself accepting everything they say and do without question or hesitation, grateful for their attention.

As you're led back to your house, you feel a strange sense of anticipation and excitement building inside of you. You're not sure what's happening or why, but you can't help but feel like everything is going to be just fine. When you enter your newly remodelled room, you're struck by the overwhelming pinkness of it all. Your walls are covered in posters of boy bands and cute animals, and your trophies and awards have been replaced with cheer leading ones. You marvel at how pretty everything is, and feel a sense of pride at the thought of being a popular teenage girl.

You're not sure how you got here, but you know you're happy and comfortable. Your Closet was filled with Girls clothes and a cute Purse with your new ID was hanging on your Vanity table Chair. You became 14 and a very pretty teenage girl and You and the sisters spent a lot of time together. You where completely Female in mind and body and you loved everything about being a Girl, The chick flicks, Make up, the clothes… all of it!

You didn’t even mind your first bra or your Menstrual cycle at all!

You where Pure Girl and will never be able to return!!!

[cruyuu]

hii! that mini-rant of yours abt sukuita was beautiful. i'm just curious about ur thoughts regarding them and what made you like them so much?? (and it's good that you moved off twitter, it's a nasty place)

Hello anon!

I'll start by agreeing with you– that app really is annoying. I was thinking of moving off it because some ppl's interpretations of characters in jjk just started pissing me off but when I got those same ppl screaming in my qrts over and over how I can like this insane, disgusting ship (while they enjoyed twisted shit as well and get a clap on the back for it, I get judged for it like come on) I knew it was time.

As for what made me like them so much– even if they are problematic and kinda ???– well, strap in.

(I'm kinda angry there aren't more analyses of them but... oh well. Only #real fans of jjk know that Sukuna secretly is a fan of Yuuji and that he doesn't want to kill him because he loves really cares about his progress as a sorcerer apparently???)

Anyways, more under the cut.

First off, if someone told me I'll lowkey be obsessed with them, I wouldn't believe them. Honestly, I thought their situation was worrying, kinda weird yet hilarious right up until the Shibuya Incident arc where I saw the true extent of Sukuna's power and thought that hey, Yuuji kept ignoring this monster, this absolute disaster of a man and he was fine? He suffered absolutely no mental or physical repercussions before that? What? This apocalypse that's deep inside him nearly fucking giggled "Don't look up at me like that brat :3" when Yuuji died and went to his domain yet he nearly decapitated Jugo and the two teens merely because they held their heads a bit high.

Hell, Yuuji also threatens him yet he– tongue-in-cheek– brushes that off with "You look like you want to kill me". The anime really points out the weird amusement because you can hear him speak and Sukuna not only sounds amused, a bit done but he also sounds like he's teasing him (and is reveling in it)

He bargains with Yuuji calmly, offers him a vow to resurrect him only if he accepts to let him take control for a minute. You would think he'd ask for more, be greedy, be like "fuck this" and torture Yuuji until he accepts but instead he indulges him.

Yet...

Yuuji clearly got the special treatment. Sukuna could've easily showed off his power, tortured him, made him intently aware that he's not supposed to fuck around... yet it was "I fixed ur arm, where my hug at". Maybe I was overthinking it back then, when I first picked up jjk, but this struck such a deep cord within me that I couldn't function properly for days because I kept thinking of Sukuna– the epitome of evil– giggling like a school girl, allowing Yuuji to be "menacing" and disrespectful, and just dismiss all of that while if it was anyone else in Yuuji's shoes, they'd be mangled, ripped apart, tortured until death and laughed over (on repeat).

I love the 'two souls stuck in one body' idea. Like Yuuji has the epitome of the word evil inside of him while he's literally a sunshine. I could totally see Sukuna trying to break Yuuji from the inside out– torture him, threaten him, kill him over and over again, all just to pass the time, test out how it feels to be alive again– and I was kinda surprised canon never went with that option. Instead Yuuji just ignored him while Sukuna did... well... quite little. I still find it hilarious how it's canon that Sukuna yaps while Yuuji just ignores him. Yuuji's got guts, really.

Now this would be just that. They have an interesting dynamic, problematic as fuck but so very interesting and fascinating to explore both in the fluffy or the grim way but considering where we are currently– It isn't just that. It got both worse and better (regarding both my decent into madness– this ship– and them in canon).

I'll separate what more I want to talk about into sections because it's easier that way.

The Beginning & The End

The story quite literally opens with them. Yuuji being kicked into an unknown world (aka the inciting incident) is the result of him finding Sukuna's finger before Megumi can even find it. If Yuuji never stumbled upon that finger, the fight with the curse at that school wouldn't happen. He'd never get to meet Megumi, nor have to swallow Sukuna's finger. So without them, jjk wouldn't exist.

Chapter 1 is titled "Ryoumen Sukuna" and Yuuji and his Occult Club speculate that a lingering spirit is haunting the premises of the school. Their theory is swiftly debunked (Ticks lol), but they didn't know that their theory proved to be kinda correct.

And yes, the explanation being ticks is awfully fitting. Ticks are parasites– they latch on and slowly bury themselves inside of a human (or animal) and if you spot them too late, you aren't able to take them out and need to visit a hospital because these little annoyances are quite deadly. Sukuna's finger was around that school for an unknown time, since Yuuji found him, attracting curses which preyed on people without anyone even noticing. Plus parasites often need a host to survive– Yuuji being his vessel and having to swallow fingers to completely resurrect him.

What follows right after that is a bit meta and again, foreshadowing the future events:

1. Yuuji and his Occult Club being dismissed for spreading rumors — Yuuji couldn't see curses before he saw death for the first time.

2. Yuuji being a part of Track-And-Field team and not the Occult club — How Yuuji wasn't born as a sorcerer. He's just your average high schooler– someone quite boring.

3. The club president of the Track-And-Field interrupts them to say he rewrote it because he wants to make use of Yuuji's extraordinary abilities for the track team. Yuuji refuses, so the coach challenges him to a game that Yuuji wins with ease. – He's being warned off traveling that road that main characters go through, telling Yuuji to stick to a normal life. He's no sorcerer, after all. But here's the thing— Yuuji, despite not being born a sorcerer, is still special. He has incredible strength and lightning speed so even if he's not as cool as sorcerers, not someone special, he still kind of is. After all, Yuuji will go on to survive hosting The King of Curses, successfully prevent him from taking control and proceed to keep him on a leash.

And also:

He's not afraid as normal people in his shoes would be. Hell, he literally made the fabled King of Curses look like a joke. Do I need to remind you that Megumi couldn't do that despite being a sorcerer? Despite not being a sorcerer, despite not being cut out for this, he still likes it and wants to be a part of it.

Also, regarding it's growing on me– did you know that ticks' body grows as they feed on blood, but they only burrow their heads into the host and grow on them by laying eggs within?

He survived hosting Sukuna, promptly told him to fuck off from his body and got enlisted into Jujutsu High despite not being a sorcerer. Plus he got a gift– being able to use cursed energy due to Sukuna. Again, he is specialz. (And yes! Specialz by King Gnu is literally a sukuita anthem! The song is a twisted version of a ballad– a love letter from a beast that enjoys seeing the agony on his lovers' face rather than a smile. Who enjoys making him lose his mind and nudges him to accept the catastrophe. To embrace the ugly and lose the good. Like: You are my special; we are special; get lost in me; i love you baby?? It literally played over Yuuji's mental breakdown– and Sukuna told him to admire the mess he made– like what more proof do you need??!?!)

If Yuuji never swallowed Sukuna's finger, he never would've had cursed energy. He never would've became a jujutsu sorcerer. He never would've unleashed hell upon earth, watched his friends die and that promise he made to his grandfather would be left for helping regular people out in any way and not exterminating curses. He would've been way happier and way less traumatized but then this story wouldn't exist. 😔

But, I digress.

Yuuji's our main character and Sukuna's the final boss of the story. Despite the narrative promptly ignoring and continuously ridiculing Yuuji, stating he's nothing (a cog in the machine), it's all just so he would prove himself. Fight his way up. Embrace change. All writers know it. And besides, even if he's powerless and weak, well that matters little— considering Sukuna would go on to kill the strongest jujutsu sorcerer yet somehow still not deal with a weakling like him. The same weakling who keeps growing and maturing, being molded and shaped and therefore rightfully needs to be put down before he becomes a threat. I mean Uraume did comment to Sukuna in 257 that Yuuji is like an empty husk actively retaining some elements of him, a fact which should make killing him be Sukuna's top priority because it implies Yuuji— even if weak— could grow to become Sukuna's equal and therefore could kill him.

Still, Sukuna doesn't care lol. He doesn't consider him a threat, calls him boring, yet has a nearly two-page inner monologue just because he learned a fucking reversed curse technique. Lol

It goes like:

you're boring. you're literally insignificant that even killing you is a waste of time.

wait he learned reversed cursed technique within a month?

guess it's time to have some fun with him and then kill him

what the fuck is this irritating feeling

Sukuna pouts. He pouts and spaces out while wondering about connections and what people are to him. Like... ok? That's kinda ga Even Yuuji is stunned why he didn't continue fighting him but instead just started making faces like he's sad. Also, worthy of note is that he had the perfect opportunity to slam his fist through him because he was distracted. Sukuna's usually highly aware of his surroundings, very much in the moment when fighting an opponent, yet Yuuji does a new thing and now Sukuna is stopping the fight to contemplate about unnecessary things instead of you know, being normal and continuing the fight? It's so funny to me. (Also the way he's awfully handsty didn't escape my notice.)

Anyways, to go back and bring your attention to what I stated at the beginning: Everything started with them. Rightfully so, everything will end with them. There's something so beautiful about Yuuji being incomparable to Sukuna in terms of power, being mocked and ridiculed by the story, not special at all and not improving much even if he is improving. It would make his final battle with Sukuna so satisfying that I cannot really put it into words and I will be there no matter what!

Can you imagine that? The poetry of it all– the King of Curses defeated by a nobody. It's brilliant, really. Part of their charm, part of what makes them addicting.

Perfect Opposites

Another thing that makes sukuita delicious is the rather blatant contrast between them. They're total opposites in every sense of the word. The story continiously highlights it.

The story tries to belittle Yuuji, make him as insignificant to the overall plot as it can, make us– the audience– convinced and fearful that Yuuji will not bring about any change. It convinced most of the audience to root for characters equipped with the qualities an mc should have (like Gojo, like Yuta, Megumi, name it), to look away from the pawn that is Yuuji.

Most people, after all, don't like weak, not cool characters. Usually, what shonen does is that it will continually boost the MC's power until the protagonist could practically wipe the floor with the antagonist. As is the case in jjk, most ppl expected that Gojo vs Sukuna would leave Sukuna weakened, on the verge of dying, yet that wasn't the case. Instead Gojo got cut in half which had driven the entire fandom to start hating Gege as an author. To start crying about Sukuna being OP, that the story's gone to shit, all because the side character they rooted for didn't end the main antagonist of the series. How come someone as strong as Gojo dies yet someone who's weak– like Yuuji– lives?

You see, I love when shonen inverts tropes. I love that Gege hyped Gojo up, gave him a perfect backstory which already highlights and forshadows why he would lose, why he's not the strongest, etc. I also love the fact that Yuta went on and, instead of facing Sukuna by himself, chose to wear Gojo like a coat. I love how the MC is just standing on the sidelines instead of actively dealing with the threat.

That same MC who wishes to save his friend, who fights for others, who's as selfless as ever. Who's not a strong sorcerer but a strong person. Who keeps on witnessing how the strong ones are plucked like flies and possibly is wondering how the hell anyone's– let alone him– is going to defeat the threat in front of him.

The entire jujutsu society didn't sit down and speculate about Sukuna's weaknesses and strengths. Didn't even sit down to formulate a plan, to fight together, because it's all about proving your worth as the strongest, right? It's all about cool techniques, showing off, etc.

Most people saw it like this– well if Sukuna is strong then just have strong characters fight him. There you go. You have the strongest jujutsu sorcerer against the strongest used-to-be jujutsu sorcerer. If there's anyone on the same level as Sukuna, it has to be someone exactly like him. A monster. A mirror.

Most people don't see the point of Yuuji being the executioner because the narrative convinced them throwing a puny Yuuji against someone like Sukuna will realistically get him killed. For someone who should be dead by all accounts, Yuuji keeps persisting and keeps pissing Sukuna off– the same man who still doesn't kill him because of well... reasons. He's too insignifact to even crush, by Sukuna's standards. Yet he takes pride in torturing him– killing off and taking away people that Yuuji loves– has inner monologues about him, thinks back on him too much for no reason while fighting different people, almost as if he's fascinated, as if he cares, as if he never met someone like him.

If you'd ask the majority of the fandom who'd get to kill Sukuna: Gojo seemed like a plausable option, at first. Yuta too. Hell, Megumi even. After all, they're continiously put in focus, placed as special and branded as 'has potential'. Then Gojo dies, Megumi's taken over and Yuta is possibly on his way to death (Note: jjk is an ongoing story so... yeah. This is written before Chapter 262 for anyone who's reading this in the future.)

These people tend to forget one simple thing– that opposites attract. That you don't fight fire with fire, but with water. You don't come at the King of Curses with techniques using cursed energy– instead you come at him with raw strength alone. You don't battle to prove your place as a sorcerer– you battle to save a friend, to save people from a massacre.

If you battle to prove your ideal– then you best come at your opponent with something they don't know about. They know about being strong. They know about being a monster. They know about everything selfish because they embody it. Show them a different view.

Be selfless.

There's no one more tailored for the role than Itadori Yuuji. No one special. Weak. Insignificant. A total opposite to Sukuna. It is to be expected by most people that if he faces Sukuna in a battle, that he'd be killed off in an instant yet he survived a couple of battles with him nonetheless. He's broken down, haunted by all the people that died in front of him, but is still suicidal enough to face Sukuna all because he wants to save Megumi. He does it out of care. Out of love. He'd willingly trade his life for anyone.

Love isn't a curse. It is, in fact, the opposite. Love (unconditional one) is the most powerful weapon against curses.

And that is Yuuji's biggest strength. That is the key. He's there to prove that isolation makes you weak, that it is the bonds you share with others that make you strong, make you push on, make you live. Not your capabilities as a jujutsu sorcerer, but you as a person. Jjk does a great job at portraying that who you are matters more than what rank you are on those power-scaling polls.

This is why I adore them so much. I admittedly did go off a bit (literally crafted a theory) but it was all to prove a point why I love them. What makes Yuuji so perfect as Sukuna's doom— a perfect opposite— is the fact that he's a living, breathing epitome of something Sukuna never knew about. Friendship. Love. Care. Lowkey it does sound cheesy but it works. It really works too well lol

Yuuji will end Sukuna with the power of love.

Also: Funnily enough, both Sukuna and Yuuji do look extremely alike. Sukuna's OG form is literally Yuuji grown up. You could say, in a way, that Sukuna is just Yuuji who chose the dark path lmfao

They're not beating the twins allegations but neither are they beating the 'each other's half' because their contrasting way of living, of looking at the world, just places them as perfect enemies, perfect soulmates, two sides of the same coin, etc.

They're enemies and I've always been weak for enemies to lovers to I'd still kill you.

Family Matters

I ranted a bit about this here. Although yes, this adds even more shit onto the plate and literally slaps an incest tag onto them, it still gives further depth to their relationship.

Like I said in my rant– Yuuji is an offspring of Sukuna's twin brother who he devoured. From the story perspective, that puts Yuuji on a big pedestal. He could be the perfect revenge for his father who got eaten before he could even live. Let's not forget that Yuuji got sentenced to death by the story when he swallowed Sukuna's finger and survived, which kinda mirrors that (He's just fifteen yet the threat of death was looming over his head daily).

But despite the odds, he still lived– just like Sukuna's twin brother had managed to get reincarnated (to experience life)– even if that brought on a massacre and led to the mess we are in now.

So, Yuuji ending him is the perfect revenge. Pure poetry. Thank you for coming to my ted talk!

Now, I know most people get the ick about this ship now. After all, it is ugly if you view their relationship through a romantic light. It's horrible, but at the end of the day, it is fictional. They're two lines on paper, not something that exists. No, that doesn't brand anyone liking them a literal real life incest enjoyer or dangerous individual nor is there any deeply rooted psychological problem with the people liking them. And I know— So why do you like this? Because I am an adult and can seperate what isn't real and what is. If you can't, then stay away from fiction because applying morals to something that doesn't exist is worrying.

Also in fiction, there are no rules because putting rules in fiction is destroying what makes fiction good in the first place! Hope this helps.

Sukuna and Yuuji being uncle and nephew makes for some good memes, some problematic– familial or romantic– fics and still works for the narrative. I'm not complaining and I genuienly can't hate them. It can't make me unship them. Their dynamic is too interesting for me, I'm afraid. I love them, whether in a romantic, purely familial, platonic, enemies, whatever way.

So yeah, anon. There you go.

Sukuita is very interesting for writers who want to push boundaries when it comes to writing dark, disturbing stuff but it is also a playground for those who want to nick them out of canon and have fun with them. I am one of those people because I really do find both of them interesting– in canon or an au, related or not, similar or opposites, whatever.

Have a great day/night!

#melanswers #sukuita #this got long lmao sorry I love to rant

[good-to-drive]

Re: your post about that tweet saying the Beatles were around the first time women were allowed to be horny,

I feel like arguing they were sex-symbols only tells half the story. Other artists like Elvis were marketed on their sexuality, but they were also seen as dangerous by the older generations, which the Beatles weren’t. Largely by Brian’s design, the Beatles were made to be almost entirely non-threatening (not entirely, because he also made the choice of them getting the mop top hair cut and the Spanish heeled boots to show they had a mischievous/slightly dangerous side).

My step-dad grew up in the Beatles generation and has said multiple times he thinks the Beatles had a larger political impact than, say, Bob Dylan, largely because their non-threatening aspect allowed for girls to explore their sexuality in a way they hadn’t really before, completely changing the way the music industry works. Elvis was censored for swinging his hips on live air, but in the early years the Beatles most explicit lyrics were about holding your hand. Obviously some songs like “Please Please Me” had implications of something more, and we know girls were horny for the Beatles but it wasn’t in the overt way others before them were. Even the medias portrayal of the smart/cute/quiet/friendly or funny one allowed girls to explore what qualities they liked or at least thought the would like in a boyfriend. The Beatles really did create youth culture! The 60s are basically the first time in the more modern day girls were given social power, because it was their attention and money radios were suddenly catering to.

However, I also don’t think saying the 60e were the first time women were allowed to be horny - although I do think it’s important to keep in mind there was a sort of movement at the time of the 60s being the time of the “modern woman.” Frank Sinatra was causing excitement in the 40s much in the same way the Beatles were. There are tons of shows of his that had to be cancelled halfway through or were shut down because of rioting by the youth who was attracted to him. Even before that, when cigarette companies were trying to cater to women there was a bunch of pseudo-science pushed regarding female sexuality and how cigarettes were vaguely phallic.

All that to say, no the Beatles weren’t the first thing to ever cater to women’s sexuality, but they were very unique particularly in how they were marketed.

This is SO interesting, thank you so much!! (For those who are curious, this is the tweet in question.) I think some comments were also getting at this idea that while it wasn't entirely new for women's sexual appetites to drive consumption it was new/unique to market to female sexuality in the exact way that the beatles did. It feels like their sex appeal was part of the product but it was packaged in a way that was safe and nonthreatening, which by extension makes the force driving that consumption feel safe. So interesting to think about that in regards to political impact and how establishing the insane marketing force that is appealing to young women relates back to social power and having a voice. Establishing young women as an extremely lucrative demographic and how this may shape what's seen as viable or desirable for a mainstream media product, which by extension may shape culture....

Thank you for the info, this is great!!

#ask #anon #hplovewrath

[strawberry-daiquiris]

💙 drunken kiss / tipsy -- i know you said you'd never write it ... but lestappen in your girl!lando verse

oh anon, honestly... you don't know the power you've wielded here because i truly did believe i'd not write it, but when i saw this prompt and i had a nice short way of doing it... i had to!!! please enjoy, i will always be nervous about my max and charles voices lmao.

_____________________

“Charlie! Charlie! We’re leaving.”

Charles barely hears George over the music, dancing with her eyes closed, packed in by hundreds of other beautiful people in short dresses and open shirts. She can still feel the tears drying on her cheeks, the snot in her nostrils from crying about him. 

“Are you coming with us, or not?”

She opens her eyes, blinking the flashing colours out of the way before she focuses on George. Her hair is in loose waves around her neck, sticking to her skin from the sweat. Alex is right behind her, a possessive hand on George’s waist, fingers curled into the silk of her dress. It’s daring, almost, for them, and Charles doesn’t want to be involved with whatever game they’re playing. 

“It’s fine, you go, you go.” Charles cranes her neck, searching for someone she knows, enough of a connection to the dark room that George will abandon the pretence that she wants Charles to come with them, and not to ditch her so she can go and do whatever it is that lesbians do. Charlie thinks there’s nipple sucking involved, and maybe dildos. The closest she’s ever got to it was kissing Lando in a game of truth and dare, but she thinks they’re not supposed to talk about that anymore. “Pierre is here, and Max. I will be fine.”

Carlos is still here too, somewhere, but she doesn’t mention that, or George will never leave. Charles turns her head to the sky, swaying to the music, ignoring both the creeping fear she doesn’t look sexy, and George’s worried glances as Alex steers her towards the door.

An hour could’ve passed, or two minutes, when she feels a tap on her shoulder. 

“For you,” Max’s smile is wide, reaching both corners of his face, like he’s so happy his jaw is unhinging. He didn’t even win the Championship today, nothing squared off except Checo’s P2. Charles wishes… but then, it hasn’t been the year for dreaming, for her. “Champagne. Christian, of course, bought the bottle.”

Charles snorts, taking a delicate sip, trying to avoid the bubbles from sparkling in her nose. 

“Mate, I should not be drinking this. Fred would be so…”

Fred wouldn’t care, Charles remembers. He’d probably take the bottle for himself, sit in a corner and laugh at his good luck. She keeps forgetting, since Mattia left, that she doesn’t need to be fearful of getting too close to the drivers from the other teams. Doesn’t need to hang her existence off Carlos and Maranello and being the sweet, innocent Madonna they imagine on her knees.

“You gave a good fight, today,” Max yells, and Charles can feel his spit on her cheek, letting her mouth drop open so it falls on her tongue. Sometimes, she wants Max more than she knows what to do with, and she’s heard things. That Kelly and him are sleeping in separate bedrooms, that she’s not in Vegas because they’re waiting until the end of the season to call it off. “When you went into the chicane? Ha, I was thinking maybe the deg would…”

Max makes a sweeping gesture with his arm, one of the classics. Charlie knows exactly what he’s getting at, the exact millimetres needed to take one of the corners and not lose pace. The guy he nearly hits in the face? Not so much. She reaches a hand out, stops him from taking out half the drinks on the dance floor. 

“Can we go somewhere?” Charles shouts, and suddenly she can’t think of anything she wants to do less than dance, in a tight dress, surrounded by guys who think she’s only a 7 because she’s got natural breasts and doesn’t really know how you contour your face. “I don’t care where.”

Max takes a full bottle from the table on their way to the door, and Charlie keeps her head down when they pass a group of Ferrari mechanics by the bar. Pierre spots them, narrowing his eyes, and Charles flips him off, then nods. She knows what she’s doing. 

“You cannot just get married here, of course,” Max tells her as they walk down past one of the chapels, way off the strip by now, swigging from the bottle of champagne. It’s cold, too cold for her dress, and Max’s AlphaTauri jacket is big on her shoulders, smells like him and his cologne. “You have to apply for the licence, yes? And they won’t let you do it when you’ve had drinks…”

He holds up the bottle, sloshing some onto his shirt. Max’s hair is a mess, and Charles leans a hand out to flatten it, automatically. She can’t remember the last time they were somewhere together, drunk. Monaco, maybe. New Year’s. Kelly had been there, and Charles’ boyfriend at the time. She can remember watching them kiss at midnight, soft and sincere, whilst Laurent pawed at her arse and ground his crotch against hers.

She broke up with him the next week. 

It had just run its course. 

“So we cannot tonight then?” Charlie purrs, and she knows it’s a bit unfair, but she’s wanted someone to flirt with all night, ever since Carlos told her he was bringing her, some model, his new girlfriend. “That is a shame, Max.”

“Ah, the press would love it.”

“Mmm,” Charles takes the bottle from him, and threads her other hand with his, swinging it between them and making him twirl her under the neon flashing lights of the chapel. “Mrs Charlie Verstappen.”

Max frowns, dragging her to a halt, and they’re very close. Above them, Cupid swings with a creak.

“You would keep your own name,” Max says seriously, and when he swallows around the lump in his throat, Charles can see it. And she knows then, that he’s thought about it, about destiny and soul mates and all the foolish things she starts to believe when she looks at their birth charts and the twin signs in their lives. La predestinata. “Of course.”

“Of course.” Charles nods, exaggerated and slow, and when she stops, she leaves her face tilted skywards. If he doesn’t take the hint now, Charles thinks, then he never will.

Max takes the bottle from her hands before he does anything, placing it carefully at their feet, and when he wraps his arms around her to a chorus of honks from a passing limo, Charles knows.

This time, it’s going to be different. 

#oh the parallels!!!! #honking cars dubious fidelity getting too close in clubs #no wonder everyone was gossiping in abu dhabi!!!! #precious charlie and the weight of ferrari oof #girl!charles #lestappen #girls just wanna f1 #my fic #fic ask meme

[dark-konohagakure2]

hii, can i request noncon madara capturing tobiramas virgin daughter during a battle and then using her as his personal slave? sorry if this isnt a request you're comfy writing !

tw: noncon, age difference, size difference, kidnapping, enslavement, abuse, breeding, rough sex, degradation, sadism

All characters depicted are 18+

There are very few people that Madara can claim to loathe with his entire being, but if he had to pick one person, it would be Tobirama Senju. Not only had the man constantly discriminate against his clan, but he was also responsible for Izuna's death. Now Madara wants vengeance, and he already has the perfect plan to make Tobirama feel the same pain as him.

During the Uchiha's next battle against the Senju, his main target is not Tobirama, but his daughter, and capturing such a weak girl is almost laughably easy. Madara thinks it's only fair, Tobirama stole someone he loved, and now Madara will steal somebody he loves.

Despite his stoney face, internally Madara feels as giddy as a child on Christmas morning, he now has his hands on not only Tobirama's daughter but Hashirama's niece as well, and he has complete and total power over her, and he plans on using that to his full advantage.

Once he has her in his grasp, Madara will do everything in his power to strip her of all her human dignity, stripping her of her clothes, slapping her around, and treating her like less than dirt, tearing her apart with his harsh words and razor sharp tongue as he makes use of her.

"Shut your mouth you Senju whore. This is what you deserve for having such tainted blood running through your veins, so be quite before I rip your tongue out."

Madara is very rough with his newly acquired slave, holding her down roughly with his bigger body, using his full weight to force her thighs against her chest as he ruthlessly claims her virginity, almost animalistic with the intensity he employs as he breeds her.

He is a much bigger and stronger man than most, so Madara can easily hold her down or lift her up as he takes advantage of her. He'll twist and bend her body in uncomfortable positions to increase her pain and his own pleasure. Madara doesn't care about her comfort, he believes that she deserves every bit of suffering she gets for daring to be a Senju.

Madara doesn't just use her for sex, but for labor as well, making her do demeaning tasks such as cleaning the blood off his weapons and armor whenever he returns from another one of his "dances", he'll even gloat to her during this, telling her with relish about how the very blood she's cleaning off of him is the blood of her fellow clansmen.

Whenever Madara is done with her, he leaves her broken and bruised everytime, his seed leaking out of her holes and her body trembling in equal parts fear and pain. Madara enjoys her pain, knowing that he's not only hurting the girl herself, but her father as well by proxy.

"Does it hurt? Good. That's just a fraction of the suffering your damned father caused me when he killed my brother. Get used to it, bitch. This is your life now..."

Madara sees this as a twisted form of justice in a way. Tobirama took a family member from him, so Madara will simply make himself a new one, and he'll use that Senju bastard's own flesh and blood to do so, the thought of having a half Senju child both disgusting and exciting Madara.

#naruto #naruto shippuden #boruto #naruto smut #x reader #headcanon #naruto headcanons #reader insert #madara #madara x reader #madara smut #naruto x reader #uchiha #uchiha x reader #uchiha smut #konoha founders #tobirama

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

OC Interaction tag!

Look! It's my favourite tag game again!! Thanks @autism-purgatory for the tag hehe

Their OC: Cole from Viscered

Cole Hill (he took his wife’s last name), or EXP-25, is an escaped government bio weapon. He escaped when he was 18, and has been trying to have a normal life ever since. After wandering in fuck-nowhere Texas for a year, he eventually set up camp near a university in Houston, where he met Julia. By the time of the story in 2018, Cole is 35. He lived a fairly happy life with Julia, where their friendship turned into a full on relationship after she graduated. They eventually got married and the rest is history. Cole can often be distrustful and even hostile to people if they seem suspicious enough, but is a pretty chill guy if he doesn’t think they’re a threat. He’s a lot more observant than talkative.

My OC: Katherine from A Perfectly Normal Schoolgirl

Katherine looks like a fifteen year old girl, acts like a cryptid and is probably closer to the latter than the former. She's quiet, secretive, and rather creepy, at least to the casual observer. To someone who knows her (that is, her best friend/apprentice Dane and her elder brother L), she is a pathological snarker, has the worst authority issues known to any immortal entity, and likes chocolate gelato more than life. She'd gleefully pick a fight with anything from vampire teachers to the goddess of dreams for no bigger reason than because she could. That said, she does have a good heart.

How they'd interact:

I'm pretty sure Cole would clock her for being extremely off, and Katherine would definitely return the favour. If Cole's a cautious one, that probably would end in her harassing him incessantly in the name of seeing if she could get him to reveal his powers. She'd probably be more curious about his past than actively hostile, so they might get along fine. That said, their conversations would mostly consist of silence, since Kat has little to say to anyone she isn't trying to piss off or educate, and Cole's the observant type.

Tagging: @oliolioxenfreewrites, @themboty, @orions-quill, @honeybewrites, @phoenixradiant

@kaylinalexanderbooks, @the-ellia-west, @illarian-rambling, @urnumber1star, @just-emis-blog

@vinniehorrible, @xenascribbles, @somethingclevermahogony, @halfbit, @evilgabe29

@drchenquill, @frostedlemonwriter, @glitched-dawn, @paeliae-occasionally, @fortunatetragedy and open tag! (Seriously please please please do this I love this tag game so much I wanna see everything y'all do)

#writing #Tag games

[browneyedartist01]

My thoughts during the final hour of acomaf:

(Bare in mind that I notched up the speed to 1.5 then 1.75, and these thoughts are not in order)

-"You don't need proof that it works, I'm proof that it works-"

Weren't you made by high lords?

-"I will destroy your court."

And I will hate you. More so than I already do

-"He held out his hand like I was some pet."

"Come home."

My thoughts:

"Come home with me."

"Who are you?"

"The man whose gonna marry you, I'm Orpheus."

"Who am I?"

"Eurydice, *laughs* the girl who makes me wanna sing, the women I'm marrying."

-Why dose the evil man sounds like a radio announcer?

-Lucian really setting the bar higher already in how to care for your mate, as expected. (Go little Rock star)

-He broke through the bounds that a high lord couldn't break through just to go to her?!?!

-And he gave her his coat to cover her??

-"There were different kinds of torture I realized, there was ones I went through, what Rhys went through and then this."

Yeah, now you know how Tamlin felt utm.

- Did Nesta just give the evil king the middle finger? Ew, sarah cringe stop it.

-Cassian just keep dying sweetie, don't touch Nesta.

-Nesta be nice to your future brother in law.

- Freye unlocked a new power, somehow.

-Cheesy, this is all so cheesy.

- "his green eyes met mine, the sorrow and tenderness in them was the most hideous thing I've ever seen."

Wow, ok...

-Tamlin acting like Ryhsand though with Tamlin it's justified/understandable

- *me counting down the final 22 minutes while freye is dying*

-"I nerely gagged on his scent."

Freye darling, I get your upset about his deal with evil king. But he literally tried to save your sisters, stop being so dramatic.

- "my family."

It's been 3 months girly.

- "Tamlin ignored Lucian, so I did too."

Sums up Freye and Lucain's friendship

-Of course all the queens' want is eternal youth,

- Lucian naturally being the smartest one in the room.

-Noooo, not Ryhsand pov. 😭 this better not be the last 17 minutes.

-Holy crap, I just realized how similar this ending is to season 2 of lore olympus ending.

-Don't worry, the bat boys plot armor is thick. Sarah loves you monsters too much.

-Mor don't rip out the arrow it will only make it worse.

-Ryhsand please think, do you really think Tamlin would actually partner with evil king? He didn't even trust evil fae women when she first appeared, what makes you think he would actually help him beyond getting freye back?

-"she is my mate, my wife, the high lady of the night court."

BANG, CRASH A LIGHTING BLAST! (no joke there was thunder after he said this in the dramatized version)

I have 2 thoughts on this one:

1. There was a fan theory during the court trial in lore olympus (persephone was on trail for mass murder, long story) where hades and persephone got married before the trail started because at one point he called her his wife. This wasn't the case because she was 20 and he was in his 2000 (aka 40's) Idk if Rachel was a fan of acotar and wanted to steal from it (since acomaf was released in 2016 and the trial was released in 2020) but because people guessed it she dropped it. Idk that's just a my own theory.

2. How can she be the high lady when the mother is the one to give out titles? Do you realize what you just start Ryhsand? This could lead to more war against the more religious courts, this could lead to the end of the night court if the mother finds out... oh wait, this is acotar. Not real high fantasy, there's no real religious world building.

-"I've forgotten how quiet it was here, how small, how empty"

You do this every time freye, anytime your some where "better" you always just stick your noise up at your old home.

-Freye acting high and mighty towards Tamlin as if she wouldn't had praised Ryhsand for doing the same thing.

- Lucian, you are truly the best character.

-"My sister mate, the mother did indeed seem to have a sense of humor."

What do you mean? He would be a great mate. But then again you're suffering because of it...which makes it so much better.

- "as if he could do that to anyone."

But- but he did freye. And tbh I think he would have done worse to you if he deemed it necessary.

-Freye is really giving evil queen vibes. I wish I could enjoy it, but I know sarah is going to make her the "hero"

And that's it, Thank Saints.

#acomaf #it's done #sjm critical #acotar #acotar critical #anti feysand #freye #feysand critical #pro tamlin #pro elucien #tamlin #pro lucien vanserra