#cruel intentions snippet

[butmakeitgayblog]

may i— [starts vibrating in a very calm and collected way] may i ask how that spanking in cruel intentions go?

'Green?'

You stare at the message with a cheshire grin that you haven't been able to wipe off since 37th and Park.

The ride home left you just a little bit giddy because, good fucking god, you love this woman. Even more so when she's trying to play rough because she's kind of terrible at being demanding. With you, anyway. Even when she's out for blood she always lets you keep one hand securely on the reins, and something about that knowledge, that power she gives you, feels so fucking hot.

And truth be told you'd kinda known you were in trouble since the moment you'd woken up.

If you're being entirely honest with yourself, there were signs since this morning when she'd kissed you goodbye. Just sweet enough to completely and utterly fuck your makeup.

If you're being even more honest with yourself, which you personally loath to be, the idea that she was pissed off at you for your loss of control the night before enough to seek vengeance kind of got you off...

But yeah, the signs had been there. Her curt dismal of your offer to fuck her before work as she'd rolled out of bed to shower alone. The one word answers when you'd asked what she wanted to do for dinner. The resounding silence when you'd asked her how her meetings were going, and the follow up inquiring if she needed anything. She hadn't answered a single one. But she'd made sure you'd seen that she'd read them, and that sick little piece of you had hoped it'd all meant something.

Which is exactly why you practically squeak in delight as you type out your answer.

'Emerald'

'Chartreuse.'

'Hunter, Absinthe, Viridian, my love. And all the shades that make up your gorgeous, breathtaking eyes'

You practically cackle at the middle finger emoji she immediately sends back.

And send a quick pic of your tits cupped in a new bit of lace as a meager peace offering.

Her reply takes several moments, and you're about to ask if she'd started the fun without you, when the three dots mercifully pop up again.

'Keep that on.'

'Everything else can go.'

You've almost tossed your phone aside when her final text comes through.

'And, Darling? I suggest you don't test me on this one.'

Fuck, you really do love her.

It feels like an eternity before you hear the distinct click of her heels on the heated hardwood floor of your apartment. It's enough to kick your heartrate up a few million notches as you scoot down further into the mountain of pillows on your bed. You drape an arm above the fan of your hair and the other low on your belly, legs crossed oh-so-demurely at the ankles because you're a classy goddamn lady after all.

The double doors to your bedroom pop open with her usual grandiose flair and her face is all shades of a hot bitch on a mission.

She stops short at the sight of you. Eyes tracing the stretched out length of you. Mapping the landscape from your tits still cupped in your pretty new bra, to the starkly naked expanse of you the rest of the way down.

The way her gaze darkens makes your thighs squeeze together in an attempt to quell the sudden ache.

"Well. Don't you look comfy."

"Hey, baby." You twirl a lock of blonde hair innocently between your fingers and wriggle your toes against the sheets because you're just so happy to see her. "Have a nice day at work?"

Her eyes snap back up to your face.

You love it when she actively has to remind herself that she's supposed to be mad at you.

She doesn't answer, and that's okay. You weren't expecting one to begin with. Instead she walks over to the edge of the bed and waits, looming over you like a statue. And of course you play your part of the dutiful, doting wife. Slinking up onto your knees, fingers trailing along the lapels of her suit jacket until you have enough leverage to slip it free. You mindlessly toss it in a heap on the floor without ever breaking her gaze, smoothing your hands over her chest, up her neck, gathering her hair to lay over one shoulder.

"These look amazing on you," you whisper with a light snap of one of her suspenders, biting your lip around the pleased little smile that you really can't seem to help. "You know what they do to me."

That infuriating flick of her brow owns your ass by this point in your marriage. And what's worse, the little shit absolutely knows it.

She holds your eyes and thumbs off the suspenders one at a time to hang loose at her hips, deftly undoing the buttons of her shirt to pull the material free, and all you can do is watch. You quite literally have to swallow with the way your mouth sudden fills with saliva at the sight of her standing there like that. All wild curls and perfect little tits wrapped in black scraps of lace. Face far too hard, too commanding, too lethal (in your not at all humble opinion) for a woman with such pouty, fuckable lips.

Your eyes drop to those fingers that start undoing the belted buckle to her suit pants. She unzips them, lets them fall slack, only the generous curve of her hips and thighs managing to hold them up. And you can just make out... can just manage to see—

"Fuck, Lex." You lick your lips at the hint of perfectly manicured curls that peek out from beneath. "Seriously?"

Only your wife would dare to go pantieless in a three thousand dollar suit.

She hums and reaches out to card her fingers through your hair. "Unfortunately, someone made sure I was too sensitive to wear my usual set."

The accusing lilt of her words makes you smile.

Because... Guilty as charged.

You'd known as you'd sunk your teeth into the plumpness of her ass the night before that anything too tight against the skin would be out. You'd seen the suit she'd picked for the next day and lost her head with her despite it. Had let go and marked her up so pretty it'd been a wonder she could sit in her office chair at all. You sway a bit just remembering her moans. All her hisses and quiet yelps. The way she'd jumped at a few particularly punishing scrapes of your teeth before grinding her clit harder against the mattress. You'd left her ass so bruised and beautiful it truly was like an art piece.

It wasn't your fault she gets off on wearing skin-tight garters and lingerie under all of her fancy business suits.

Her hands slip down and cup the back of your neck as she steps in and roughly kisses the smirk off your face. All teeth and tongue and bites to your lips that taste just a but like a reprimand, but really they just leave you gasping in moans into her mouth. You hold her wrists as she kisses you like she's been thinking about it all, like she's pouring every bit of her anger and devotion into with filthly swipes of her tongue.

It's only when pulls back with a wet pop that you can manage to suck in a few desperate breathes.

"I love you." She whispers it against your lips so gently you feel it more than hear it. And you kind of adore that she can't help breaking character just to be soft for you.

You also know this is her way of giving you one final chance of backing out.

But after waiting for this for the better part of the afternoon? Seriously. Fuck that.

So you whisper your own words of devotion and flick your tongue at the little divot that splits her supple bottom lip, feeling the way her hands fist tighter in your hair in acceptance of your answer.

She kisses you again, something softer, entirely sweeter.

The way she leans up to peck your beauty mark before pulling away feels sinister.

And you know you're right when her hands start to drag you downward, guiding to lay on the bed, her touch firm and unyielding in how they tug at your scalp until you're scrambling to lay propped on your elbows. You're a half second away from asking what the hell it is that she's doing, when she removes one hand just to shove her pants down her legs a bit further.

Fuck.

You can smell her you're so close. Can scent the tangy richness of her arousal that clings to the swollen lips of her slit. It makes your head spin to know she's getting off on this as much as you are. You glance up to see her watching you. To see that severe line of her jaw hanging open as the fingers still threaded on your hair fist tighter.

You already knew what she going to do, but that certainly doesn't stop you from letting loose an obscene moan when guides your face right where she wants you. It's a bitch to hold eye contact in this position as she tilts her hips forward, watching you with eyes half-lidded with lust. You open for her obediently, letting her press her cunt to your lips. Lick forward and let her use you for her own selfish pleasure. Work to kiss and suck away the strings of wetness that coat the hood of her clit, as she gasps and rubs shamelessly against the lapping of your tongue.

The fingers in your hair clench with every roll of her hips as you lick into her and feel the way she drips down your chin. Her lips twitch with a smile as she watches you. Something predatory and dark as she fucks herself messily on your mouth. You do your best to match her rhythm, moving with every rock of her hips and feeling her clit pulse against the flick of your tongue. You let your moans rock through her and revel in the way her eyes flutter and roll, sucking harder as she pets your cheek with only her fingertips.

She lets her head tip back when you wrap your lips around her and suck. "That's my girl. Just like that."

You didn't think you were the one in this relationship with a praise kink, but after this... you kinda don't know...

Her breaths turn heavy and her stare is primal as she ruts and builds against your tongue. The thick swip of her eyeliner only adds to the feeling that you're being used by this woman gone feral. Because you love it when she just takes from you. Uses you however she wants.

When she reminds you exactly who owns you.

Because these are the glimpses of the Lexa that existed before you two were you two. The pieces of herself you'd spent years only getting to hear in obscene moans that bled through your bedroom walls. This is the Lexa that always fucked rough and left her conquests a needy, sweat soaked mess. This is the Lexa who takes what she wants, and doesn't give one single fuck, and you really don't get a chance to see this version of your wife nearly often enough.

And just when you feel her thighs start to quiver with how hard you're gonna make her come...

She yanks her hips away from your touch.

What... in the actual... fuck—

"Aw," she breathes in a valiant attempt at composure. The shake in her voice gives her away. "Did you honestly think it was going to be that easy?"

She leans down until she's eye-level with the world class scowl you're sending her way, and gives your hair gentle, reprimanding tug.

"After the shit you pulled last night? Making me come is the least of your worries."

She drops a peck your nose and releases you with a toothy twist of her grin, and she doesn't even spare you the courtesy of watching you petulantly swipe away the blot her chapstick. In fact, she doesn't pay any attention to you at all as she goes about giving herself a look in the mirror beside your table, only pausing long enough to run fingers through her hair in a half-hearted attempt to tame it.

It's a beautifully hopeless vain dream of hers that you hope she never, ever achieves. The wild mess of her hair is at least... one eighth? of the reason you love her.

You sigh and rest your chin in your palm.

Math never was your subject.

The click of her heels sound like gunshots as she wanders over to her side of the bed on trembling legs and casually pulls the third drawer open from the top. She ingores as you shift to follow her. Crawling on hands and knees like her lovesick puppy, and it doesn't escape your attention that her slick still sits heavy on your lips and chin.

You gladly breathe her scent in with every quickened breath.

You wait patiently and watch her rifle through the contents of her goodie drawer. Stopping to pick up that little riding crop that makes your heartbeat pick up, and roll it between those ungodly, beautiful fingers... only to gingerly set it aside with a dismissive hum.

The whine claws its way out of your throat before you can even realize you've fucked up.

Her head snaps to you at the sound, face hard and eyes wide. Blown pupils shining with a delicious threat of murder.

"Fucking excuse you?" she whispers, her voice the crack of a whip now.

It's all instinct that makes you make go soft. Supple. Submissive, in how you relax into the sheets and bare yourself to her completely. You stretch out flat on your belly and flick your hair back from your face, so innocent looking it has to be hilarious, and you almost purr at the way her eyes turn glassy as she looks at you.

Like you're once again her good girl. To have and to hold. Like you're her own little slice of everything sugar and spice, contained in one oh-so-pliant body.

"Nothing, baby." You wiggle your ass just for good measure. "Just ready for you to touch me."

And oh, losing that battle will most certainly be worth winning the war if her face is anything to go by. Because she melts soft around the edges. Lips curling into an angelic smile. Serene and eternally gentle, the sweet living picture of the kind of girl most would dream about taking home to their mother.

She breathes an exaggerated sigh of relief that would probably sound harmless to an amateur ear.

But you? You know your wife far better than that by now.

"That's exactly what I was hoping to hear."

She goes right back to her rummaging, shifting aside this and that, before letting out a triumph, "Ah, here we are," and producing a shiny new bottle of.... baby oil?

You really can't help the way you frown as she wiggles it in the air like it's some kind of special prize. When you'd spent the day picturing all of the potential twists in her plans for retribution, the one thing you certainly hadn't envisioned was...

Well.

That.

"You look disappointed. That hurts my feelings." She pops her bottom lip out in a frown despite looking entirely too pleased with herself for your comfort.

You're just about to reassure her with a lie that 'no! Of course you're not!', when she gracefully pushes down the pants that still cling to her thighs until they pool at her feet and allow her to step out.

Her fingers snap and then she shoos you to move with nothing more than a lazy flick of wrist. It's almost embarrassing how quickly you roll out of her way as she climbs onto the bed. She looks so prim and proper with her legs tucked neatly beneath herself, as though readying herself for prayer, with her heeled feet just hanging off of the bed as she settles on bended knees.

"Oh that's cute," she laughs when you immediately try to straddle her lap, stopping you dead in your tracks with a palm against your chest. All traces of niceness fall away from her face as you pout and consider giving in to your inner brat. "What did I say about testing me?"

Her words fall like a slap. Flat and demanding. Because in the distracting onslaught of that face and that hair and, god, that fucking body mixed with the sweet tangy taste of her slick still fresh on your tongue, you had, indeed, forgot.

You'd forgotten this was her vengeance.

Both her reward and her reprisal.

You'd forgotten this was her goddamn payback for letting you having quite so much fun.

Fuck.

Better women than you probably wouldn't feel quite so turned on from watching her take a second to get everything ready. The way she fluffs a pillow and places it beside her as a 'thoughtful' place for you to rest your head, makes you hate how your wife can manage to turn beating your ass into such a production.

(That's a lie. You fucking love it.)

You take the hand she offers to keep you steady when she motions her hand across her lap as though to say, "Well, go on then." Send her one final pout when she chastely kisses you, and you have to bite your lip to quell the groan that aches in your throat as you drape yourself across her legs.

It feels like Christmas and your birthday all rolled into one.

"See. That wasn't so hard, darling," she coos, her hand rubbing soothing circles on your lower back. Her fingers slip over the swell of your ass and gently kneed the skin there. "I don't know why you have to make things so difficult."

You snort and shoot her a look over your shoulder. "Oh like you're one to fucking talk."

She clicks her tongue in disapproval. "Attitude. If you can't shut that pretty little mouth of yours, I'll have to fill it with something else."

The pulse of arousal that rocks through you is enough to have you clenching around nothing. You know she feels the shiver that zips down your spine and the way your thighs squeeze to relieve the ache.

Not that you'd ever admit to any of it.

"Is that a threat?"

"More like a promise."

"Now who's the savage?"

Her smile's razor sharp when she blows you a kiss. "We are what we are."

You mourn the loss of her fingers rubbing circles over the lower dip of your back, but all your arguments die on your lips at the click of the bottle being opened. She doesn't waste any time shoving your head back forward, not letting you watch - only feel - when she tips the cool liquid over your skin. You jump at the chill of it which makes her laugh because she's a bitch, but a merciful one at least, thankfully. Because the next second her hands are back on you, warming the oil up as she spreads it across your skin. Massaging it over your ass, over and between the tops of your thighs, curling her palms around your hips to cover every inch. Her nails scrape gently across your back and ribs, leaving warm patterns of red in their wake, looping infinities that you'll hopefully be admiring tomorrow.

Your muscles relax until you're liquid. Until you're so loose and hazy under her touch that you think this wouldn't be an entirely bad way to nap.

She leans over your shoulder. Face nothing but angelic softness that radiates an distinct eerie calm.

Her eyes flit back and forth between yours as she watches you laze on her borrowed pillow, aand the way she looks at you with so much unfiltered love makes your heart pound.

"Take a deep breathe for me, darling."

Oh.

You guess she's ready to start now.

Your do as you're told and let your eyes fall closed, taking in a slow, deep pull of her perfume. The blow of her hand against the slick of your ass cheek makes you jump, makes you yelp as you strain against the fingers that suddenly wrap tight around your throat.

You know she's watching you closely in the quiet that follows. Know she's gauging every twist and twitch of your face. The second smack smarts more than the first, which somehow surpises you, and it pulls a filthy moan from deep in your chest.

This isn't your first time letting her spank you as "punishment" and with the luck of the devil, it certainly won't be your last. But, fuck, the oil adds an extra sting to every blow of her hand that you hadn't expected; it has writhing in her grasp within seconds. She aims her hits all over your ass. Never lets you know where the next one will be as she hums her little sounds of approval.

Lifting up just enough to turn your head to look back, you nearly come at the sight of her watching you. Seeing how her eyes sparkle, hooded and dark as they rove the length of you, fluttering as she lands another slap that makes your ass ripple.

The fingers around your throat squeeze in perfectly timed intervals with every spank. Stealing your breathe away when you rock forward on the particularly ruthless slaps. It's more possessive than anything, not even coming close to actually keeping you from breathing, but fuck all does it still manage to make your head spin whenever you feel her grip tighten. She bites her lips to swallow her moans. Chokes them down so she can hear your sounds better as she spanks more searing heat all over your ass and trembling thighs.

Your chest grows tight each time she takes a break. Each time she slows down just to let the ache linger. Letting her palm and fingers trace the battered skin that feels deliciously on fire. You squirm at the tickle and the burn of her touch, fighting the urge to rut shamelessly against the thighs under your waist, but she pins your hips firmly in place with queitly commanded, "Behave."

There's just something about the way Lexa always takes her time with you. The way she knows exactly what to do to make you shudder and break. It's in how she massages the reddened cheeks of your ass one at a time, as though this is how she always intends to worship you.

Another spank is hard enough that you feel it thrum all the way to your clit. It feels so good it has you biting her pillow to stifle your yell, but that just earns you another one. She wants to hear your every moan. Every yelp. Every needy sob of ecstasy. And god help you. You're weak for her. You've never been good at denying her anything.

Your entire body shivers when her touch trails down the cleft of your ass and slips through the mess between your thighs. "You're so wet," she breathes in a light, throaty rush as her fingers slide along the length of your slit. "I think you might be enjoying this a little too much."

Her fingers bump the base of your clit and you nearly buck right out of her grip. "Oh fuck, yes, baby."

You can practically feel her smile at that. "Who knew my wife was such a little slut."

Hearing such filth from Lexa's lips will never fail to make you needy, you're sure of it, because there's just something so goddamn addicting about it coming from such a normally prim and proper mouth. She's eloquent in her everyday life, often stoic to a fault, but when she's fucking you like this you love that all bets are off.

It makes your eyes roll back in your head because fuck yes you are her desperate little slut, and you really, really need her to remind you of that sometimes.

She rips another moan from your chest when her fingers pull back and slap the length of your slit. "I can feel you getting even wetter," she laughs and roughly massages away the sting. "So fucking predictable."

You're sure your face burns as red as your ass at the way you rut your hips back into the touch. "Fuck off, Lexa."

All the little smartass does is laugh at you and spreads you open just to watch you drip.

Sweat pools at the base of your back when you rise onto your elbows, feeling the hand at your neck slip down to shove aside your bra and cup your breast. She pinches your nipples until they're hard enough to ache, stopping only long enough to lick the pads of her fingers before tugging them in alternating strokes while you whimper.

The hand between your legs never stops moving. Only teases you until you feel like you might pop. Coaxing out more dribbles of your slick and dragging it down to brush feather-light circles around the very tip of your clit.

You give yourself over to her entirely, give her exactly what she wants, letting your moans flow out of you in obscene trails and hisses. You know she loves it when you're loud, always says she could come just from listening to you getting fucked, and right now you'll do anything to convince her that you deserve to get off.

You jog your hips on her next sweep up and nearly cry out when she takes pity on you, feeling the tips of those gorgeous fingers stroke against the tight ring of your entrance with purpose, like she understand exactly what you need. You spread your legs further in supplication. Press your tits further into her hand. Wiggle your ass and send her a smile to let her know you're ready to take whatever she's got planned for you next.

What you don't expect to feel is another spank cracked right across the flat of your ass, the blinding spark of pain catching you by surpise before she sinks two fingers deep inside you without a single word of warning.

The shock of being so full sends you toppling face first into the pillow, heat zapping along the skin of your ass cheeks as she fucks you from behind. You fist the sheets and clench around her fingers, helplessly suckling her thrusts in deepest, and you give up any hope of every breathing normal again. You moan so fucking loud each time her fingers bottom out you're sure the damn doorman can hear it.

Her fingers scissor and twist just to make you feel the stretch. Each time you start to feel the embers of your climax ignite she changes the rhythm, alternating between slow, smooth strokes and fucking you so roughly your legs shake. The oil and slick dripping out around her fingers makes the most delicious sounds each time she thrusts.

And you love knowing just how much this is getting her off. Love hearing all her coos of "Good girl" and how you're taking your punishment so well. Love hearing the wet slaps of her palm against your clit and feeling the vibrations carry you higher.

Because her spanks lack the fire from before, more sound and squeezing than anything at this point, as she works to wring out just as much pleasure from you as she did pain. Her moans meld with yours each time she sinks back in and feels your walls grip at her fingers to keep her seated inside. Mercifully she seems to hear you. Seems to understand how desperately you need this game to be over. Seems to twitch with the exact same need to come as you do.

'Fuckin' bottom...'

The thought comes and goes when you feel her teeth sink into the swell of your ass, her fingers curling over and over against that sweet little spot inside of you. Her thumb rubbing slippery circles over your clit and she tugs your nipple just right.

She has you coming around her fingers in seconds.

The pulses of your climax slams through you in pleasured waves as she strokes your inner walls all the way through it. Even the tight clamp of your thighs around her wrist doesn't stop her, doesn't change the way she curls her fingers and presses tight against your clit. Your walls ripple around her strokes. Spilling enough to feel it drip down your thighs. You come hard enough for it to almost be painful, but in the most delicious of ways, and you kind of think you may have blacked out for a minute.

The next thing you know you're laid flat on the bed, or at least that's what you think. You're fairly sure the lump of her legs is no longer half-holding you up on all fours. But you can't really feel any piece of your own body, save for the burning across your ass and thighs.

So, who the hell knows.

You drift in the haze of post-orgasm bliss. Boneless. Careless. Just a puddle of come and white noise. It takes several minutes for you to come back to your senses. Or maybe it's a year.

Again. Who the hell knows.

All you do know is that the next thing you feel is the tickle of her fingernails gently scraping patterns across the length of your shoulders. It's a feat to pry one eye open - the one not buried in the downy fluff of her pillow - just to see a galaxy of green staring back.

The sight makes your lips tug up into a lazy smile. Because now she's just your Lexa again.

"You gonna survive?"

You grunt and manage to flop onto your side. "Jury's still out."

That you earns you a pride sweetened kiss.

She hears your hiss at the feel of the bedsheets rubbing against your ass like they're made of sandpaper, but it only makes the little shit smile wider. Your pout does the trick, and then she's scooting as close as she can get, pressing a kiss to your forehead to soothe you. This whole marriage thing really is too easy.

"You need anything?" she asks in the queit aftermath, arm drapped over your waist, fingers still looping neverending circuits along your spine.

You're not one who ever needs much aftercare, always feeling content in the safety of your wife's arms, so you shake your head against the pillow to let her know, "Maybe later. Right now I'm okay."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. I'm sure." You hum and nudge your leg between hers, because right now all you want is to feel closer. And when a thought suddenly occurs to you, you can't hell but chuckle and let your eyes blow wide. "You really went for it with the whole 'slut' thing this time."

Her teeth bite down on the plumpness of her bottom lip, and you don't think she could look any cuter than she does in this moment. She wiggles herself tighter against your chest. "I know."

"You're such a fiend."

"Aw, poor darling. Did it hurt your delicate feelings?"

"Yes," you say, and fail to hold back the ridiculous wattage of your smile. Because the truth is if you could rewind time and record it as your ringtone, you absolutely would. "Terribly. You should kiss it and make it all better."

She raises herself up to lean on an elbow and looks so lovingly down at. "Oh, Clarke... I'm not even close to finished with you yet."

Your hips cant at the silent promise for more punishment despite feeling so thoroughly spent. It thrills you every bit as much as it fills you with dread because you know she'll make good on it. The bruises that already litter your backside prove it. Your ass is on fire and your bones feel like they're made of gelatinous goo, and you know that look on her face means you're not going to be sitting right anytime soon.

She kisses your cheek, your chin, licks her way up your jaw, niddles filthy little promises to the lobe of your ear. Her hand nudges for you to roll onto your belly because she doesn't seem to understand that you're nothing but a puddle of come, oil, and goo. "Lexa."

"I think it's only fair, love," she hums, already painting strips of arousal along the curve of your hip. "What with all you put me through today, darling, you can't say I don't owe you. Unless... Unless you're saying you're tapping out? Because I could always just go and take care of myself—"

You laugh comes out more as a snort as you stop her from rolling away, just like she knew that you'd do. A sigh is all you have to brace yourself for the pain that you know is sure to follow, and hope she's still worked up enough to come with only a few punishing ruts.

Her smile can only be described as wolfish and predatory as you gasp out a breath when she pats your backside approvingly. The sting makes you bow into the bed and shoot her look of death.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a sadistic bitch?"

She shrugs and leans in to kiss the scowl from your lips, and straddles your ass because, after all, she owns you. "Once or twice. But you love me anyway."

God help you. You do.

#sassymajesty #cruel intentions au #idek #happy sinday #hope it's ok I've lost all ability to judge this thing 🥴 #cruel intentions snippet

[scrollypoly]

Alex Kister has made a response to the document made by Ven

The link to the document. PLEASE READ THIS DOCUMENT BEFORE SPREADING FALSE CLAIMS

Alright this is a much more concise and well written document than Ven's was, so ill be brief. Im also gonna strike out my neutrality for this, because after reading Ven's document and seeing the behavior of the accusers on tumblr, I have lost what little belief in this document that i had and belief it was made in poor faith to slander and condemn Alex on false claims.

First, the important claims. Alex did not groom anyone. In fact, Alex says that Ven and DB are older than Alex, and Ven's statements of them being in their 29s corroborates this, as Alex is only 20 years old. Stop spreading misinfo that Alex is a pedophile or a groomer

Alex hits every point that Ven makes in their document and talks through them all. He talks only briefly for how Ven went through their prior relationship, just enough to acknowledge that it wasn't a healthy relationship and that Ven also had some responsibility in how the relationship went down, especially around the miscommunication between the two of them. These miscommunications would later come up in DB's relationship with Alex as well. It is not Alex's responsibility to see through others when they communicate that things are fine when they are not. It is up to the other party to properly communicate their feelings and any problems they may be having in the relationship. Even in the screenshots from Ven's document, we see clearly that when Ven or DB express any discomfort about something, Alex apologizes and backpedals. This is good and normal behavior.

Alex also discusses Ven's intentions with this document

Literally all of this could have been solved privately and been so much better for everyone. I acknowledge and respect that Ven and DB were hurt by their relationships with Alex, but a relationship is a private matter, and problems in that relationship should be respectfully handled between those in the relationship. This document was cruel, exposing Alex's sexual discussions to the public, outting his identity as a transgender person, and slandering him with little regard for the truth or hearing his side of the interactions. This matter should have been handled privately.

One of the things i acknowledged Alex being in the wrong for in my post on Ven's document was suicide baiting. I'll let this snippet in his document speak for itself. I am undecided on how i feel about the interaction, but this gives very important insight to it.

Alex also speaks and gives more context and information about his relationship with DB. As stated earlier, DB was also older than Alex. Alex did not groom DB. The same problems with miscommunication Alex had with Ven can also be discussed here. DB was in a consenting relationship with Alex and as Alex shows, responded in kind to Alex's advances and even advanced the relationship further on my own. From Alex's perspective in this document, it looks like he and DB had a comfortable consenting relationship that was suddenly retracted by DB. If DB was uncomfortable with anything in this relationship, they should have spoken up and discussed it with Alex.

All in all, Ven's document already had a lot of flaws, and Alex's response points out many more flaws that I didn't initially see as well. Please note this response is only to Ven's document, and does not acknowledge the other allegations made by donut, mitcha, or any of the others. I assume Alex will also talk about those, I will wait and see before discussing those allegations further.

#alex kister #alex kister callout #the mandela catalogue

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Could we maybe get like snippets or blurb about Hector having a wife w/ him when he goes to join dracula’s generals? And maybe she’s really kind to dracula and then it turns out she’s pregnant and reminds him of his late wife? Does it change his plans or maybe he decides to protect her/hector more so than the other humans?

TW: Some Domestic Violence, Mentions of Pregnancy, Talks of Abortion 

It was a stormy, rainy night when a set of voices roused the young woman from her reading. For too long, she had a habit of getting lost in a text, be it fiction or fact, and losing herself to the words on the page, paying no mind to the reality around her. 

It had become an even more frequent habit now that she was banished from her previous life, her artisan skills not being needed as frequently in her new home as she would have liked. Then again, it was not the worst of fates. Had she stayed in her family home, her life would have most certainly been cut short. Here, she was safe. Here, she was… well… almost loved.

The man of the house, the one who agreed to let her stay, was a peculiar one. He appeared rather simple unless you spoke to him on certain subjects: necromancy and animals, his two favorites. 

His work was deviant. The young woman would go as far as to say it indubitably delved into the supernatural. Contrarily, it was his very association with the supernatural that drew her to him in the beginning. 

Hearing what sounded like an unfamiliar voice, the young woman closed the book she was reading and placed it on the small wooden table in front of her. Looking down fondly, she gave the sleeping reanimated cat in her lap a few gentle pets before scooping them up and moving them onto the bed. 

Yes, reinstilling the life of a dear feline friend may not seem worth a lifetime of isolation to some, but those simply did not understand the grand nature of the bond between cat and owner. The strange man of the house had brought her dear pet back to her, and despite what her fellow townspeople and own family thought, to her it was worth the duration of servitude she would no doubt be forced to continue in the man’s presence. 

Said man was not overly cruel, although he did have a fair temper. His understanding of certain situations was rather naive, yet wholesome all the same. 

As the two young people spent time near one another, the strange man and the young woman’s relationship grew. It blossomed from acquaintances to friends, and eventually to lovers, and understandably so. Their position to one another, in agreement with the man’s proximity to such strange magic, made it so they only had each other to rely on for interaction, for company, for… intimacy. 

Of course, their first few instances of sex left much to be desired, if the older village women’s stories were anything to go on, but it mattered not to her. The strange man was gentle. He never once made a move to force himself upon her. And despite the woman’s own lack of experience, he always assured her, he was quite pleased about her efforts to please him. As far as they were concerned, they were officially a marital couple. Although they did not share rings or papers officiating their status as such, their entwined futures were enough to reassure the other of their intentions. 

It certainly wasn’t the life the young woman had planned for herself as a little girl, but it was a life, therefore, it was good enough. 

Hector, as peculiar as he was, was good enough for her. 

And on the subject of Hector…

The young woman walked down the short corridor from their quaint shared bedroom to the main room of the house which Hector used for his rituals. It was very delicate magic, he once explained, so it could not be tampered with. The young woman didn’t mind. She came from a family of four, who all shared a single bed and a single rented room within a dwelling. Therefore, sharing a private bedroom within a private house with only one other person was very much a luxury, as far as she was concerned. 

“Hector? Is that you?” Her soft voice asked, clearly curious. “I thought I heard voices.” 

Appearing around the curve the young woman made her presence known, clothed in a simple muted dress, and old-yellowed apron. Her eyes were bright and clear, a direct contrast to the dark and dingy walls surrounding her person. Everything about her seemed too bright, too kind, too merciful to be inside the same home as a devil forgemaster, but there she was, clear as day. 

In front of her, Hector shifted, clearly apologetic about his new wife’s timing. Not more than two long strides from him stood Lord Dracula, the king of vampires, and Hector’s respected friend. Mere seconds before her arrival, Dracula had informed Hector about the death of his own, very human wife. 

Shuffling over to the young woman, Hector stood between the two strangers: his much older friend, and his new one, hoping to break some of the ambiguous unease between the two. 

“Master Dracula,” Hector addressed the towering vampire in the room, “This is (Y/N). She’s my-” 

“Friend” 

“Wife.” 

The young woman huffed, a slight blush rising to your cheeks. “Yes, ‘wife’, is what I meant to say. I’m, uh, still getting used to that,” she admitted bashfully.  

After looking into the unfriendly gaze of Hector’s guest, the woman lowered her head, trying desperately to shrink herself under the vampire’s irate aura. 

“I’m so sorry,” Hector repeated. “That you’ve lost your wife at a time when I’ve found mine.” 

The woman’s bright, curious eyes turned back up. “Lost?” 

“They killed her.” A deep, grave voice came from the behemoth of a man. “The stupid humans.” 

The woman’s face contorted as a wave of sorrow rushed over her. “I… I am so sorry. That’s awful.” 

Her condolences seemed to hang in the air, suffocating her more than the previous silence or Dracula’s gaze did. Taking the hint, the woman excused herself, retracing her steps back to the bedroom. 

“I apologize for the intrusion. I’ll leave the two of you alone.” 

━━◈◈◈━━

“I cannot believe you’re even considering this.” Already in their shared bed, the young woman lay there under the covers, her arms crossed defiantly. 

“I don’t see why you’re so upset.” Across the small room, Hector worked to scrub off the blood and muck from his arms with a rag and a bucket of salted water. “He says it’s going to be a cull, a reduction in numbers, that’s all.” Grabbing a second towel, he dabbed his arms dry before moving to join his wife in bed. 

“It’s genocide, Hector,” his wife spoke, her voice more urgent this time. “He is asking you to help commit genocide against your own people!” 

Hector scoffed, his brows furrowed. “My own people cast me out, treated me like filth, and now, you ask me to have mercy for them?” There was a venomous edge to his voice his wife had never heard before. 

Trying to rectify the conversation, the young woman swallowed harshly before continuing: “I know they were awful to you. I know they hurt you, and I know you didn’t deserve any of it.” 

Hector sighed as he lay down beside his wife. Soothingly, (Y/N) began massaging soft circles into his scalp, waiting for the man to fall deeper into relaxation. 

“I know you’re a good man Hector, and I am forever grateful for all that you’ve done for me. But this, this plan, it cannot end well. Not for you, not for me, not for anyone.” 

With a jolt, one of Hector’s hands shot out, latching onto his wife’s hand, abruptly stopping her massage efforts. “I don’t want to have this conversation again,” he sneered. “I am going to help Dracula with his plan, and you’ll have no choice but to come with me. I am your husband and you are my wife. That is all there’s to be said on the subject.” 

Just as suddenly as he grabbed her hand, Hector released it and turned over, facing away from his wife, before blowing out the last candle on their bedside table so the two of them could sleep. 

Frozen in shock, and unable to move, (Y/N) lay there on her back, afraid to even breathe heavily, lest Hector turn back over and speak such harsh words to her again. Her wrist stung where he squeezed it, and the position it landed in was anything but comfortable, but she dared not shift it. Laying there, concentrating on both the ache in her wrist and her breathing, the young woman stared up at the pitch-black ceiling over their shared home before the exhaustion was too much to bear, and sleep overcame her. 

━━◈◈◈━━

The move to the castle was silent. The young woman dared not speak lest she voice a contradictory opinion. Hector stayed silent as he simply had nothing else to say. 

Dracula’s castle was beyond daunting. The structure appeared as if it were plucked directly out of hell: dark, and foreboding, with jagged architecture that seemed to change within a blink of an eye. The entire building housed an almost unbearable energy- one of decimation and total grief. It did not feel like the birthplace of some grand war plan, it felt more like society’s tomb. 

Of course, (Y/N) could not say as much to her spouse, now that he was fully invested in aiding Dracula’s army. His forge was already set up within the castle, a molten hearth at the ready to create any instrument Hector would require in his efforts. 

A little week into their stay, Hector emerged victorious from his forge, claiming he had made a perfectly balanced hammer, a tool that would enable him to forge night creatures at an unprecedented rate. He boasted to a very proud, but equally concerned (Y/N), how so few devil forgemasters ever made it to this phase of power. 

Of course, his private proclamations made it all the more humorous when Isaac, another specially chosen devil forgemaster of Dracula showed up at the castle. Isaac, a much more stoic and disciplined man than Hector, used a blade, a red glowing dagger of sorts to create his night creatures. With a slice of the knife, Isaac could accomplish what it took Hector several hammer strikes to do. 

The young woman held her tongue but secretly relished the indignity Hector must have initially felt upon meeting his colleague. Then again, whatever victory she felt was short-lived, as she too got the impression that Isaac cared as equally little for her as he did Hector. 

Isaac became the least of her worries, however, when Dracula’s other generals and his vampire generals arrived one by one at his castle. 

Each time Dracula introduced Isaac and Hector as his devil forgemasters, and her as Hector’s wife, she felt their red eyes sizing the young woman up like a piece of meat. Thankfully, Dracula made it clear that his three human guests were not to be harmed, and his dominion over the vampire generals was enough to keep them away from her. 

Well, most of them anyway. Godbrand, a Viking vampire, was a different story entirely. 

“I still don’t get what you see in the guy,” Godbrand questioned as he followed her down one of the castle’s many corridors. “I mean, sure, he can make night creatures, but he’s not a fighter. Hell, he’s barely a man! With his heart bleeding for all those little mistreated pets of his.” 

She walked faster, doing her best not to spill the contents of the tray she was carrying. “Be that as it may,” she kept her voice curt, “Hector is my husband, and I am his wife. I made a promise.” 

“Promises can be broken. I mean, it’s,” Godbrand emphasized his ‘s’es in between his slurred-sounding words. “Ss’not like you’re really married. Hector brought back your dead cat, as this deformed creature. That’s not exactly a wedding ceremony.” 

The young woman rolled her eyes. “And what constitutes a marriage ritual where you’re from? A fight to the death?” 

Godbrand chuckled. “You know, you may be the first human I don’t find fucking boring.” 

The young woman grimaced, as she backed into a doorway, pushing open a heavy study door with her body. “Oh Godbrand,” she turned to enter the room, “If only I could say the same for you.” 

Letting the door shut softly behind her, she ignored Godbrand’s continued grumblings. She had much more important matters to tend to. 

Taking the two bowls of seeds off her tray, she placed them in new shallow dishes on her testing table. She then picked up the lidded cup, placing its cap to the side. She poured out a small amount of yellow liquid onto one of the bowls that contained new seeds as well as onto the bowl containing seeds from days before. 

Placing the now empty cup back down on the tray, the young woman sighed. The older seeds were indeed beginning to sprout from their dishes, and to make matters worse, her monthly cycle was late. On all fronts, the message was clear: she was with child. 

“Shit.” 

━━◈◈◈━━

The young woman took a deep breath before knocking gently on Dracula’s door. She knew it was foolish for her to approach the man herself, but she found she could not face Hector, not after she discovered the truth of her condition. If she were to even look Hector in the eyes at the present moment, she feared all her composure would shatter, leaving her a sorry, sobbing mess in his arms. 

Oh, his arms! How she longed to be in his arms once more. How she wished for a nighttime of conversation that used to follow their moments of shared pleasure. Now it was brief, still existent but wholly impersonal. The act was there, and all the motions were followed, but thanks to her line of continued questioning about Dracula and his intended efforts, Hector was often in no mood to sleep in the same bed as her, much less hold a conversation with her following a round of passion. 

It just had all unraveled so fast. 

It was on the anniversary of Dracula’s poor wife’s death when the first group of night creatures and vampire soldiers were released upon Targovieste. They spread out like a plague in the night, their howls hinting at what was only the beginning of all the unthinkable horrors they would unleash. 

Before she knew it, the words were coming out of her mouth faster than her mind could think them, her new hormones no doubt adding fuel to the fire. “Traitor!” She had called him. “A child believing himself to be God, punishing the sins of man!” 

In her fury, she could not control the veracity with which she spoke. The only thing that stopped her from berating Hector further was the sharp sting of an open palm slapped against her cheek. Stunned into silence and knocked to the ground, the young woman looked up at an equally shocked Hector through teary, blurred vision. 

“I…” Hector started, almost at as much of a loss for words as she was. “I am so sorry, I…” he trailed off. He couldn’t finish his apology. How could he? When he was uncertain as to whether he even meant it. 

Thankfully, Hector had the sense to leave his wife alone to wallow, and wail without his scrutiny, at the very least, allowing her the dignity to mourn the death of whatever they once shared, alone. 

The test she had run confirmed her worst fears shortly after that. There was no mistaking it. The man who had forsaken his own species, the man who she once loved, the man who struck her down, was going to be the father of her child. That was unless she decided to do something else about it. 

She knew Dracula himself possessed great knowledge. She also knew his late wife was a healer. No, even better, a doctor. Surely, she would have some collection of remedies and treatments on the subject. If she had heard correctly, Lisa Tepes was also a mother herself. 

Recalling that fact, she shuddered. The thought of housing a human baby made her insides crawl, she didn’t even wish to begin to imagine what carrying a half-vampire child to term must be like. Perhaps, she mused, Dracula would be willing to speak on the subject, barring that he didn't strike her down for her insolence first. 

“Master Dracula?” She asked as she pushed open the door to his study a sliver. “Permission to enter?” 

With a loud sigh, the older vampire relented. “Granted.” 

As the young woman entered, she was shocked to find such a large empty room. In the middle, sat Dracula in a large chair, and before him was a fireplace. Off to the side, there was a desk, with a portrait of the vampire lord’s late gorgeous wife above it. But aside from that, the room was sparsely decorated. It certainly did not feel like the study of a vampire lord. And in the middle of it all, sat a large, very disinterested, and downcast Master Dracula. 

“What is it now? Have you come to make your case on behalf of the rest of humanity? Beg me to spare their souls?” His words were serious but his tone was largely indifferent. 

“I see Hector’s spoken to you,” the young woman fiddled her fingers, shamefully. “ I must admit, my position has not changed. Nor has Hector’s. But no,” she settled for clasping her hands together, “That is not what I wish to speak to you about. 

Dracula raised a brow, telling her to carry on in her explanation. 

“I was wondering if you knew how I might go about procuring these items,” fishing out a parchment from her apron pocket, the young woman shakily extended her hand out to him. 

Taking the paper much gentler than she expected, the vampire lord began to read the written list himself, his expression remaining unreadable. “Birthwort, yarrow, barberry, honey, and yue?”

“Yes,” the young woman confirmed. “I wasn’t certain if you had any here. I understand your late wife was a physician and that she learned much of what she knew from you. I thought perhaps some of these herbs would already be gathered and dried in storage within the castle.” 

“Does Hector know?” Dracula finally turned his attention to the young woman as he asked. 

Caught red-handed, the young woman looked down to the floor as she shook her head, hot embarrassed tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “No,” she finally admitted. “I cannot bring myself to tell him.” 

“You intend to keep this from him?” 

“Why?” The young woman spoke up, louder than before. “Do you think I am denying him his right to inheritance? That I am betraying my wifely duties if I do not consult him first?” 

“The decision concerns him as well.” 

“The hell it does!” The rage that had been brewing in her stomach all this time once again found its way to her throat. “It’s my body that will be forced to endure the changes. It’s my body that will risk its life in childbirth. It’s my heart…” She clutched her chest as she spoke, her angry tears now falling freely.  “...That will break when the child I have worked so hard to carry into this world is slaughtered right in front of me by a night creature of his own father’s making.” 

Breaking into silent sobs, the woman shook her head, condemning her outburst of emotion. 

From his chair Dracula said nothing. His irritation at her intrusion slowly faded away as he watched the formerly spirited young woman break down into tears. 

Dracula turned his gaze away, looking over to the portrait of his wife as he recalled how conflicted he felt upon learning Lisa was pregnant. Despite his wife’s optimism and joy, he could not help but feel afraid for what lay ahead. Dhampir pregnancies were uncommon, and highly dangerous, especially in cases where the mother was human. He would have been more than ready to aid Lisa in terminating the pregnancy had she asked, only she hadn’t. Just short of eight months later, Adrian was born. It might very well have been both the most terrifying and the most joyous day of Vlad’s immortal life. 

If Lisa was ever scared, she did not show it. Perhaps she knew she could not be scared, as Vlad would be fearful enough for the both of them. It was an entirely different situation than the one present before him now. Lisa and he were very much in love, and they had years of practice communicating with one another. Hector and his wife’s marriage was fresh. And in many ways, Hector was still a child, naive to the real world around him. 

Not to mention, Hector’s wife did have a point. Dracula intended to end the human race, as well as the vampire race. No humanoids would be left on the planet once he was done with it. That included Hector and her, as well as any future children they might manage to have. It was only a matter of time. Hector did not know that, but she did. Which is precisely why she came to him. 

How terrifying, he mused, it must have been to knock on his door and beg for an abortifacient, knowing full well he intended to kill all those like you sooner than later. How terrifying it must be to live in a castle surrounded by vampires, the undead, always hungry parasites, and have no choice but to hide behind an immature man who could not yet see the forest for the trees? 

Perhaps the great lord Dracula did feel a semblance of pity for the young woman, if only for a moment. 

On the far side of the study, the young woman managed to compose herself for the most part. She rubbed her eyes free of any tears and wiped her nose of any snot, only sniffling on occasion. “I apologize,” she began. “For my interruption and my… outburst.” 

Dracula said nothing as he slowly stood to his impressive full height, nearly reaching the ceiling of the room they were in. 

Suddenly struck by how close she was to such a powerful creature, the woman pushed herself against the farthest wall, trying to increase the space between her and the vampire lord. 

“Do you wish to have this child?” He asked her. 

“Only if I know they are never to suffer.” 

Dracula gave a dry chuckle at her response. 

Huffing, the woman smiled bashfully. “Yes, I suppose it sounds rather silly when said out loud. But it is the truth.” 

“Suffering,” Dracula began, “Is not unique to the human condition.” 

“Nor the vampire one I suppose.” 

Dracula’s eyes softened upon hearing her words. “No,” he finally agreed. “No, it is not.” 

The two of them stood suspended within the silence that followed for a great deal of time. Or rather, perhaps it merely felt like a great deal of time because it was one of the few sentences uttered out of pure unadulterated truth between them. Either way, neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. They simply stood in each other’s company, occasionally making eye contact. 

Although she found she quite enjoyed the comfortable silence as opposed to the oppressive kind that seemed to consume her in her previous conversations with Dracula, the young woman still found she had a pressing question on her mind. As such, she was the one to eventually break the silence. 

 “Do you think Hector would make a good father?” The young woman enquired, feeling much more impervious in her position to ask questions. 

Dracula stayed silent. 

She nodded solemnly. “That’s what I thought.” Her move to leave was interrupted by the sound of a chair scraping against the wooden floor behind her. 

“Dracula, sir?” She asked through sniffles. 

“Come,” he said, leading her out of her office. “There is something I wish to show you.” 

━━◈◈◈━━

The castle was beyond enormous, there was no way around that. If one did not have a map of the grounds, or a guide to show them the way, it was amazingly simple to become lost in its maze of hallways and ever-changing corridors that seemed to spawn out of nowhere and vanish just as quickly as they came. It did not seem possible for a building to change and shift on its own, but, then again, it did not seem possible for a building to move from city to city in its entirety within the blink of an eye. 

For the most part, the castle had settled once Dracula’s vampire generals and their troops arrived. It would have been too complicated to educate them all on the shifting nature of the castle, so Dracula demanded it cease. Even with the castle’s internal architecture remaining consistent, navigating the halls remained challenging. Especially for the lesser intelligent vampire spawn and the easily overwhelmed human partner of a devil forgemaster. 

Dracula watched from the corridor as the young woman flitted about the apothecary room, taking breaks in between her searching various cabinets to look down at notes that no doubt once belonged to his wife. Lisa was always interested in aiding the other women of Wallachia, and she had a fondness for the maternal edge of medicine. Briefly, Dracula recalled the first time he had shown Lisa this room. Admittedly, Lisa’s reaction was quite similar to the one Hector’s wife was having now: full of not just awe, but determination as well. As it had mostly been frequented by his late wife during her time within the castle, it had been left alone to gather dust and cobwebs for the past several years or so. Still, if there was any lab or apothecary within Dracula’s home that had the processed herbs she was looking for, it was this particular room. 

He led Hector’s wife there after their previous encounter, granting her his permission to take anything she found that she’d need. It was uncharacteristically generous of him to offer, but it did not make the young woman as pleased as she thought she’d be. This was what she wanted, right? To be rid of this child? Or was it possible she wished for something else? 

Bitterly, Dracula knew it was not the child, but the circumstances, the young woman was considering aborting. She could not promise them a future, much less any degree of safety, so she was ending things before the pain became too great to do so. It was odd. The argument could be made that she was acting out of self-preservation, then again, it sounded as if the young woman knew her death was already imminent. To end this child’s life before it began was not an act of selfishness on her part, but an act of mercy. Despite the grief Dracula could see it caused her, this young woman was determined to prevent her child from seeing the horrors the world, his world, was capable of producing. It was selfless. It… It did not make sense. 

Humans were selfish creatures, greedy, and cruel for sport. They thought only of themselves and anyone who dared show kindness or intelligence was cast out or killed. They did not deserve the teachings of his wife, who worked so hard to provide for their ill. They did not deserve Wallachia, nor did they deserve any part of the world. Their species was a plague, a never-ending mistake. They would not learn even if he gave them centuries more. They had to go and yet… 

Before the last sunset, Dracula would not have cared how the humans suffered and died. Nor did he care about the vampires, who would inevitably turn on each other, once they were finally faced with starvation. All that mattered was their death- all of their deaths. 

Then why was it that Lord Vlad Dracula Tepes could not think of anything but birth? 

He had shown Hector’s wife what she asked for, he had given her the materials needed to prevent such a birth. Granted, it was what she had asked for. One favor for a selfless thing. 

Perhaps… a long-since silent voice of reason in the back of Dracula’s mind spoke up… Perhaps there is hope for humanity yet? Maybe the good few, the intelligent, the brave, and the honorable could be… salvaged from this genocide? Perhaps what was needed was a true cull after all? 

Seated once again in his study, Dracula gazed into the flames of the fireplace. He would need to make plans to speak with all his Generals tomorrow. 

The war, as they knew it, was about to change. 

A/N: Ahhhh! Why is it so longgggg? Forgive me for getting carried away. But to answer your question, I do think there’s a sliver of hope Dracula would be swayed not to stop or anything, but maybe to shift his plans to allow a select, approved few humans to survive. No idea how’d that’d be implemented or how the Generals would respond (prob not well lol.) But that’s sort of my line of thinking. I also believe he’d be even more encouraging for Hector and Isacc to become friends. For Sources, check out these super cool links: Medieval ‘Pregnancy Tests’: (x) And this really cool on medieval abortion/menstruation remedies: (x) And As always, if you liked it, please REBLOG! 

And please consider donating to my Kofi!

#castlevania imagines #castlevania imagine #hector castlevania #hector x reader #dracula castlevania #castlevania x reader

[invalidstories]

Helooo!

I read your snippet of the Villain’s Lair” and I really loved it!

I was wondering if you could please continue that! It’s really interesting and I’d love to read that again!

Thank you!

Have a great day! Don’t forget to keep yourself hydrated!🤍👍

Villain's Lair (Part 2)

Thank you for reminding me to pay attention to my neglected water bottle. 🥰 I'm really glad you like the snippet, here is part 2 of it. I don't know if this is exactly what you looking for but I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, disownment, mentions of being neglected, past trauma, violence, restraints

Part 1

In the dimly lit alley behind the rundown building, Villain gently lowered the henchman's child to the ground, their small frame trembling with fear. The child's tear-streaked face tugged at Villain's heartstrings, reminding them of their lost innocence.

"Everything is alright, little one," Villain murmured softly, crouching down to meet the child's gaze. "You're safe now. We'll stay here until your father comes for you."

The child nodded, clutching onto Villain's hand with trembling fingers. The moment didn't last long as Villain spotted the other villain hurtling towards them, with a dangerous smile playing at their lips. With a reassuring squeeze of the child's hand, they straightened up, their mind already racing ahead to the next task at hand.

Villain prepared to confront their enemy, they braced themselves, ready to fight the other villain in a desperate bid to protect the child and their secrets.

But before Villain could move, a figure darted forward with speed, intercepting the threat with a swift, well-placed blow to the head. The other villain crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

"Villain?" the voice spoke, surprise evident in their voice.

Startled, Villain squinted to see Hero standing at the entrance, their expression a mix of surprise and suspicion. The villain's muscles tensed, ready to defend themselves against the hero's attack.

But to their surprise, Hero made no move to attack. Instead, they approached cautiously. "What are you doing here?" Hero demanded.

Villain hesitated, weighing their options. Should they reveal their true intentions to Hero, or stick to their carefully constructed facade? They decided to be honest, as Hero already knew about the child.

"I was just dropping off henchman's child," Villain replied, their tone guarded. "Making sure they're safe."

Hero turned to face Villain, their gaze piercing. "Enough games, Villain," they said with a firm voice. "You just pulled up a new version of yourself from the past few days and decided that it is perfectly normal. People don't change overnight."

Villain sighed, "You're acting like we're best friends now, and you've known me for so long that you know what I'm like. Why does it concern you, you should probably be concerned about how regularly you wash your dirty suit."

"Number one, I wash my very clean suit every day," Hero scofted. "I just want to know what's really going on, and what's driving you to do all of this?" They asked.

Villain hesitated, caught off guard by the concern in Hero's voice. For a moment they considered brushing off the inquiry with a dismissive remark, but something in Hero's gaze gave them pause.

With a heavy sigh, Villain relented, their shoulders slumping in resignation. "It's... kind of complicated, and you probably won't believe me," they began, their voice tinged with regret. "You see, this started before I became the villain."

As Villain recounted their past to Hero, the weight of their childhood burdens seemed to grow heavier with each word. "I was forced into this life," they confessed, their voice wavering. "My parents were cruel and abusive, pushing me into a world of crime even though I didn't want to. You'd find it funny that I wanted to become a doctor."

Hero's heart ached at the sympathy, trying to understand the depth of pain and suffering that Villain had endured. They listened carefully as Villain described the beatings and the threats that were a part of the harsh environment of their upbringing.

"My parents disowned me when I was still a teenager," Villain continued, their voice laced with bitterness. "They saw me as nothing more than a tool to be used and discarded, and I was cast out into the streets with nothing to my name."

Villain told them how they found solace in the only world they knew, the world of crime and villainy. It was a familiar territory to them, and all they have ever known.

"But as I continued, I realized that I didn't want to continue the cycle of violence and abuse that had defined my life," Villain confessed, "I wanted to make a difference, and ensure that others didn't suffer the same fate."

Driven by a newfound purpose, Villain took it upon themselves to protect those who were vulnerable and powerless, such as children of their henchmen. They couldn't change the past, but they could shape the future, ensuring that no child would be forced into a life of crime and despair as they had been.

"And so, I did what I can to help them. I may still be known as a villain, that's probably all I'll ever be, but at least these kids will have a choice," Villain explained, their voice tinged with sadness as they glanced at the child.

As Villain finished their story, Hero felt embarrassed, "I... I always thought you were just a ruthless murderer," Hero admitted, "And so cold, always so... unfeeling."

"It's reasonable," they replied, their voice measured. "That's the image I've been trying to create over the years – it's how I protect myself from being betrayed or attacked."

Hero nodded. "I'm sorry," they murmured, "I should have realized that."

The criminal didn't reply, or meet their gaze. Villain's expression was neutral again, transforming them into their former self except for the hand holding the child's.

The silence was interrupted by a soft groan from the shadows. Turning, they saw the other villain they had subdued moments ago beginning to stir.

"We should tie them up before they wake," Hero suggested.

Villain nodded in agreement, their cold demeanor returning as they approached the unconscious villain. They bound the villain's hands and feet, ensuring they posed no immediate threat.

As looked at the villain tying knots, Hero couldn't help but think back to the conversation they had with Villain. "This one," Hero began cautiously, "they mentioned something about knowing that you were trying to keep the children of your henchmen out of your activities. And that's why they were after the child."

Villain paused. "I suspected as much," they replied, their voice quiet.

Hero's mind raced with possibilities. "We need to find out who else knows about this," they said, gesturing at the unconscious villain, "And I'll bring him back to the headquarters."

Villain nodded in agreement, their expression changing into something unreadable.

As they separated in different ways, they learned that despite their differences, they were united in their desire to protect the innocent and ensure a better future for those who hadn't been so lucky.

"The past cannot be changed. The future is yet in your power."

Masterlist

#thank you for the ask! #ask #ask answered #invalidstories #writers on tumblr #reading #hero x villain #short story #villain x hero #hero #villainsxheroes #villain #hero and villain #hero villain #villain x henchman #villain x child #angst with a happy ending #light angst #writing snippet #writer #writeblr #writers #writing #writerscommunity #explodes #dies #i love random tags #hehehe #what else do i tag #heroes and villains

[historiaxvanserra]

A small snippet of something I've been working on! (yes it is dual POV but you'll see why in good time, babes) it's a whole ass novel that's why! a preemptive acotar 6 re-write, if you will!

I'm just testing the waters to see if anyone is remotely interested and because I'm really excited about this one! I think maybe, at least until my teacher training year is over this is going to be my main (only) writing focus other than original work. Like I said its a BIG undertaking but I'm really hyped for it.

AZRIEL'S POV

She had first come back to him on a night like this. In flashes of violet and onyx; painted in the seraphic light of a bleeding star. Haunting and prophetic.

It’s his first Starfall in Illyria in half a lifetime and he’s alone; far from anywhere that feels like home. That’s when he feels it. A cataclysmic vein of power that reverberates through the Illyrian wilderness. So profound that he swears the mountain trembles in the wake of it. Some dark star streaks across the sky; bleeding silver and cerulean into the velvet abyss that saturates the mountains in Ramiel’s long shadows, and for the first time in a long time Azriel finds himself uttering her name like an oath. 

There in the heavens, and saturated in the darkness at the edge of the world, he finds her again. Azriel reaches out a scarred hand and tracks the star as it arches across the cosmos in veins of violet and cerulean, his fingers ghost a smattering of silver stars that form a constellation in the shape of her. She calls to him. In a language so old, and lost to time, that only the earth itself might infer some meaning from the whispers of power on the westward wind. 

A secret contained between him and the sky.

 The Solar of Rhysand’s mother’s cabin is reminiscent of the Temple of The Mother in Velaris; sacred and saturated in the technicolor light of the stained glass crescent moons that curve across its high-domed ceiling. A myriad of indigo and amethyst; incandescent with flecks of gold and jade as the crystals inlaid into their center catch in the light of a thousand silver stars. This room is a testament to the craftsmanship of the Illyrian people and on nights like tonight that domed ceiling is the lens through which he sees the world.

The stars continue their ascent across the heavens into the small hours of the morning and Azriel watches every last one, hoping to catch one more fleeting glimpse of her as she crosses over the constellations stitched into the very tapestry of the sky over Illyria. At some point as the brightest stars burn blue against the black Azriel finds himself reclining into the makeshift bed in the Solar of the cabin as his body, weary and worn, begins to flirt with sleep. 

That night when he dreams, he dreams of her. 

Azriel waits beneath some ill-fated sky as the scene unfurls from the dark corners of his memory. Like a hand reaching through the veil of the dark-- and he reaches back.

The sky is a thunderstorm, heat swelling beneath the skin's surface as the clouds begin to gather in hordes and Ramiel’s dark shadows veil the world as he knows it in a shroud of black. The seraphic blue light of the three pointed star cuts through the blanket of the dark, offering Azriel a reprieve from the suffocating blue-darkness that swallows everything in its wake. Drawing peace from the shadows. 

In his dreams, the storm-streaked clouds loom ominous on the darkening horizon as midnight encroaches on the Illyrian wilderness and Azriel finds himself wading into the stretches of the wild, emerald forest. A voice, disembodied and cruel, calls out to him from the emerald wilderness. It’s laden with malice and dark intent as it whispers to him on the westward wind.

The road ahead of him is muddy and foxgloved and there's this ache. It’s a dull kind of agony that cuts through his chest and makes a home in the spaces between his ribs. And there is a girl. She’s screaming into the vacuous twilight beyond and the stars seem to flicker in and out of existence each time the howling wind catches in her throat. Uncertain feet carry him over the threshold of the encampment and every now and again his feet feel a tremor in the muddy earth-- a recollection of all that he had lost.

The atmosphere is oppressive and the acrid smell of smoke and rain linger there, clinging to the half-eroded stone and decaying wood. This cabin, once warm and breathing itself to life with the symphonies of her gentle laughter and Azriel’s mournful song. But this place had been abandoned long ago. Now, it lies desecrated, amongst the climbing ivy and dying jasmine. The cabin breathes an unsteady breath each time the wind catches in the hearth; it’s aching and heaving like every breath might be its last.

Azriel’s shadows convulse and contrort violently. Like ghosts in his periphery. The world goes dark for a moment and the war drums echo in the night air. Something ancient and long dead calls his name. 

Azriel. 

Through the blanket of the dark all that he can see are her eyes, glinting and violet in the unforgiving light. It’s then in the light of the waning moon that his eyes map the constellations of scars that adorn her body. All silver and incandescent as though she is wreathed in starlight. She comes to him like night; veiled in shadow and shook up with the sound of the storm. She looks half-divine and Azriel thinks that she must be both, ghost and Goddess. Lithe and brutal. The apparition of some ancient deity. There is something wild and sacred in her eyes. Some strange melancholic beauty that almost brings him to his knees. 

She had been lovely in life, Azriel thinks. But now. Now she is fucking annihilating. 

The storm on the horizon shakes the earth and the world is afire with forked lightning as it illuminates the velvet night. She waits beneath the same storm-streaked cloud and a ripple of devastating power shakes the earth beneath her feet. The world falls silent as she falls to her knees at the foot of the hearth and Azriel swears he can hear her praying. The prayers that fall from her lips are in some ancient tongue; the words are unknown but the sentiment is clear. 

She’s searching for salvation on unholy ground, like a shadow unearthed from its grave. Lightning cracks and the cabin heaves its dying breath and Azriel holds out a scarred hand to her. 

She reaches back. 

Azriel wakes with the first light, the mournful song of his shadows severing his tenuous connection to the Otherworld. It’s an old melody; sung softly to babes while still in their swaddling. Its words are uttered in the Old language and much of its meaning has been lost to time but Azriel still recognises the tragedy embedded into its verse. His own mother had often hummed the words of that ancient melody in those hours when he and her were reunited in the darkness of his fathers house. 

The shadows sing of The Fates; the severing of sacred threads and a blue star that reigns over the valley that heralds the coming of the Old Gods. It is a song that maps the history of his people, brutal as it might be. The shadows tell the tale of Enilaus' defense of Ramiel and a temple beneath the great mountain. Azriel clings to each word, searching for some semblance of meaning in the shadows' cryptic verse.

With each passing hour Azriel finds that his return to Illyria brings with it a strange sense of remembrance; of things passed, of things long forgotten.

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x you #WIP

[stormsthatrage]

Short snippet from the Prisoner AU (where the Winter War goes worse, Ichigo time-travels back, Ichigo immediately finds and kills Aizen, and then the Gotei 13 takes this Vice-Captain-killing Ryoka into custody):

Kisuke’s sandals clack on the hard stone — a loud, repetitive, intentional sound — as he approaches from behind.

He circles around the chair Ichigo is chained to, and crouches in front of him.

He smiles.

It is a smile that Ichigo recognizes. But he has never, not once, been on this side of it before.

(Ichigo has seen Kisuke smile this smile at Aizen. At the Gotei 13 lord who petitioned to have the Visored executed. At Ichigo’s father, once, when Ichigo came to the Shoten with a bruise that wasn’t from sparring.)

It’s a cold smile. Cruel, sharp. Void of empathy, in the eyes. A glimpse of leashed madness, made manifest in an expression.

Ichigo’s eyes drift away from it, go to the windowless stone walls. He can’t look at it. Not when seeing it had always made Ichigo feel safe, before. Made him feel protected. Not when all it does is make him feel terribly, terribly numb, now.

... There’s something almost funny, in how they both lose with that smile on the chessboard.

Because Ichigo knows he’s supposed to be scared, seeing it. But all it does is remind him that there is nothing left to fear. The two worst things Kisuke could possibly do to Ichigo, he has already done.

(His lifeblood, pumping out beneath Ichigo’s fingers, despite how hard he presses. A whispered apology, fingers coated hot-and-sticky-crimson brushing against Ichigo’s cheek. His skin growing cold. Benihime, beautiful red light fading.)

(His face, so young and free of scars, free of recognition. Benihime, drawn and humming with bloodlust, turned towards Ichigo. His eyes, staring at Ichigo without any warmth, as Ichigo sits next to Aizen’s cooling corpse.)

“Hello,” Kisuke says, voice crooning. A cat, playing with a mouse.

Too much time with Yoruichi, Ichigo thinks, and then lets himself drift.

_______

Reminder that in this AU Ichigo is under Kaien and the Shiba's protection. There is no actual torture that happens, it's just intense verbal interrogation. And then Aizen's illusions start to unravel, people realize Ichigo saved them, and the comfort part of the angst and hurt/comfort kicks in.

#prisoner au #bleach #bleach au #time travel bleach style #time travel #kurosaki ichigo #kisuke urahara #angst with future comfort #angst #urahara kisuke

[sleeping-sirens]

moonflower ☽︎ choi beomgyu

pairing : beomgyu x fem reader.

genre : college!au, strangers-to-friends-to-lovers!au, sunshine (beomgyu) x grumpy (reader)!au, romance, fluff.

summary : sleep is your enemy, but only at night. when the light of day starts beaming, it only means it’s time for you to befriend sleep for the time being. not only is your sleeping schedule very messed up, but you’re also behind on so many lectures. it’s a mess but in the midst of it all, a light shines unexpectedly in your life. and you welcome it with open arms.

warnings : a lot of fluff, maybe?? reader is very grumpy at first but becomes soft later, lots of flufff idkkk i’m still in the process of writing it :(

a/n : i’ve been having this idea since i started biasing beomgyu. and because i struggle with insomnia ever since i could remember. so i decided to start my own comfort beomgyu one-shot that i wanted to share on here, maybe it could bring someone comfort as well.

i’ll insert a snippet of it and if it gets attention and people like it, i’ll make sure to work hard on it.

[…

the guy senses your torment and your loud silence rings like a deafening siren in his ears. his chest suddenly feels on fire and he blames himself for maybe, just maybe crossing his limits with you.

maybe he shouldn’t have woken you up. he shouldn’t have bothered you. and he drowns in guilt. “i’m sorry.” he articulates, shying away behind his long fringe.

“how about you write on my notebook?” you blurt out. you couldn’t see him like that. you can’t be so cruel on him. he only had good intentions. it’s clear, in his doe eyes, in his soft voice.

“i-really?” he turns to you. and the sun shines on his face. he looks very angelic. your heart drops and bounces back to its place.

“yes. you seem interested in this class and i just want to sleep. you don’t have your notebook but i have mine. 1 plus 1, equals?”

“two,” he smiles. his smile shines so bright, the sun would be jealous.

…]

a/n : let’s see how that goes 🥹 if you like it and want to be added to the tag list for this fic, lemme know 🫶🏼💘

#nimi writes🌱 #beomgyu oneshot #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu #choi beomgyu #txt oneshots #txt fluff #beomgyu fanfic #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu fic #txt fic #txt fanfic #txt scenarios #txt one shot #txt imagines #choi beomgyu fanfic #beomgyu x you #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x female reader #txt x you #txt x reader #txt x y/n #beomgyu x y/n #txt soft thoughts #beomgyu soft hours #tomorrow by together

[k-s-morgan]

hii, there’s something that’s been on my mind since the last chapter. When Tom slapped Harry, there was an immediate tension imbued into the scene. Was this intentional? I saw some other comments expressing kinda the same thought, like waiting for the other shoe to drop, yet it was hardly touched upon. As Harry says a slap is not much compared to cursing him, so I figured this anticlimax was just a case of readers applying real-world lenses to fiction. though after the latest snippet I’m unsure

Hi! Oh, rest assured that this abusive element of their relationship is carefully planned and it will have its repercussions and resolution.

Tom is a person who uses a variety of tactics. He's extremely smart and perceptive, so he looks for a unique approach to everyone. Slowly, gradually, he lures his victims into a web of abuse that they are unable to leave willingly. Look at his followers: they adore him and cling to him even though he humiliates them, dehumanizes them, treats them like servants, and is often cruel or downright violent. These followers are all powerful and more or less educated individuals who would have never thought they'd agree to be treated like this - but the shift in their relationship with Tom happened so gradually that they turned into lapdogs without realizing it. They are ready to fight to death for his attention.

Harry is different, and Tom knows it. He understands that the approach he uses on his followers would not work in this situation: Harry is not interested in the same things, he rebels against authority, and if pushed, he's going to push back.

So Tom chose another way. He's testing the boundaries, observing how far he can bend Harry, what he can do to him until it becomes too much. He decided to mix his abuse with his actually-genuine feeling of care - and it worked.

Harry is vulnerable to people who care about him. If Tom tortured him, duelled him, he would have responded. But these little violent acts just leave him in stupor because it's something new, and worse, it happens at the background of affection.

When Tom slapped Harry, it was because he was jealous of the attention Harry could potentially give to someone else; he also used Harry's anger to help him understand his magic better. When he broke his finger, it was because he was angry at Harry's refusal to stand up for himself. Tom is specifically allowing himself to get violent in the moments where he shows care to Harry, and this confuses Harry and makes his responses apathetic. He truly doesn't know what to do with it - he understands it's wrong, but it doesn't seem like that big of a deal after everything he lived through; it doesn't feel like something relevant when he knows what Tom is actually capable of, and a part of him is even flattered because it's proof that he's affecting Tom and that he means something to him. Harry doesn't know what an appropriate reaction should be here, and he doesn't want to blow things out of proportion when they are making progress.

This is how abusive relationships are often born. Little by little, one act of violence or restriction after another. Harry is going to get entangled in Tom's seductive web of abuse just like his followers, but unlike them, sooner or later, he'll snap out of it, and he'll fight back. And sooner or later, Tom will understand that he can't have the relationship he wants with Harry if he keeps resorting to his old tricks.

#my fics #tomarry #tom riddle #harry potter #atlwetd

[enviedear]

yeah so anakin fic tonight. think childhood friends turned young adults with sexual tension. oh and reader is a princess ofc when am i not a slut for anakin x princess!reader?

snippet under the cut 🩰🤍🎀

"who said i ever thought about kissing you back in the first place." your voice is barely a mutter, despite the teasing intention.

anakin gives you a smug look, head tipping to the left, "you've grown to be quite the liar, princess."

your words go pointed, "you've grown overconfident."

in truth, he hadn't. his assumptions were correct, but how could you give in to him so easily? anakin is almost entirely overpowering, but you can see the soft pink tint on his cheeks. and you know you have an equal, if not greater, effect on him.

his metal arm is stern against you, and you feel his grasp growing stronger, almost evidence of your words.

lips upturned, he speaks, "overconfidence isn't what this is, i only wish to be useful, princess. how cruel it is to have my dedication be met with apprehension."

#just an fyi #and then i’m going to enter my kylo era #but don’t worry i have like eight anakin drafts i could never leave my baby high and dry #anakin skywalker x reader

[charmsandtealeaves]

Evans Guide To Quidditch (and seducing James Potter)

Read it on AO3 | 8K One-Shot

Summary: It had all started out innocently enough, a small wager between housemates on the outcome of the Arrows Vs Catapults game over the weekend. Lily hadn't intended to let slip she knew more about quidditch than she was letting on. Or to set up a fantasy quidditch league with James, but well... what's the harm?

Tags: jily, hogwarts, 7th year , clueless idiots, mutual pining

Excerpt:

It was almost cruel taking money from Black at this point. Yet there was something about watching his mouth pop open in incredulous surprise every time that just tickled her. At this rate she’d be able to buy herself an entire term's worth of potions ingredients out of him. Now there was an idea! She’d had her eye on a new cauldron upgrade now that they were doing N.E.W.T level potions. She had every intention of offering Sirius odds on the upcoming Cannons match, especially when she overheard him grumbling at breakfast on Monday morning at the other end of the Gryffindor dining table.  “I reckon she’s got someone feeding her information from somewhere. There’s no fucking way Lily Evans knows that much about quidditch. Three galleons. Three fucking galleons she’s won off me.” Sirius complained, stabbing angrily at his eggs, and then pointing his fork at James. “Ah yes because there’s no way her quidditch knowledge could be superior to your own aye Padfoot?” Potter chuckled. He didn’t seem the least bit miffed and she’d managed to lure him out of the similar amount of money.  “Not three fucking galleons worth superior. Once it’s a fluke, twice I’ll consider, three times she’s cheating!” Sirius grumbled indignantly. “Or she’s just that good Pads.” Potter shrugged.

Tagging as they asked to be tagged when I posted ageeeeeeees ago when I was sharing concept/snippets: @theresthesnitch, @petalstofish-deactivated2023062 @uncertainwallflower

#charms library #fic: evans guide to quidditch (and seducing james potter) #evans guide to quidditch #jily #jple #jily fic #james potter #lily evans #mutual pining

[butmakeitgayblog]

my kingdom for the proposal scene (and after) of CI Clexa 🥹

Lexa = 😈

//////////

She's been acting weird for weeks.

A couple of months, truly.

If you're being totally honest with yourself that is.

But the part of you that knows you can be a paranoid little twat screams at you to calm the fuck down and stick to the more forgiving measurement unit of weeks.

You watch her fork shuffle her roasted duck breast glazed in birch syrup and soy sauce from one side of her plate to the next. When she'd ordered it, you'd made an obnoxious show of declaring how you'd prefer your own dinner sans any tree splooge.

It was the fact that she'd actually given you a huffed laugh rather than sniffing about you being an unrefined culinary neophyte that concerned you.

Honestly, you're starting to get a bit pissy about it.

She'd insisted on you both going out to eat in the first place. Had practically thrown her version of a fit when you'd tried to muscle her into going someplace you hadn't been before. But between her annoyed eye rolls and the too-hard clink of her lipstick tube when she'd set it down at your fourth suggestion, you'd given in and gone where she wanted to go.

And now she's just sitting there.

Not even eating.

Merely watching the tines of her fork rake patterns through the stupidly pretentious sauce and it's enough to have the hair on your neck stand on end.

"What's the matter?" you finally break on the fourth smoothing over of a crudely drawn infinity sign.

Her eyes dart to you and widen for barely a tenth of a split second.

"Nothing's the matter."

You finish chewing and set your fork and knife in the way that lets your waiter know you're finished.

"Is it work?"

"Work's great," she frowns and mindlessly passes her own plate over at the same time yours is collected. Your eyes follow the untouched food as it's whisked away. "Indra's been vetting a new group of interns actually. I'm thinking of having her pass off one in particular to me. I think he shows potential and a great instinct, and it'd be nice to have something new to focus on."

You hum and nod when she trails off. "That's great."

"I think so. It'd be nice to know I have someone who thinks like me should I ever... want to take time away."

"That does sound good. So what is wrong then?" you push back again because of course she wouldn't just make this simple for you.

Her lips drop open as though to lilt another excuse, but something about the hard edge of your stare must make her think twice about it. Because now she's leaning back in her seat, mouth ticking into that infuriating smile just so, and she seems to breathe a little easier than she had been before.

She's quiet so long you almost want to yell just to cut the tension. Want to snap your fingers in her face just to get her to goddamn blink.

You fucking hate when she does this.

Her silence has always been dangerous, and with the way she's been acting recently...

"Where do you see this going?"

Your face scrunches at the sudden question.

"What?"

She lifts her previously untouched glass of wine and sips. "I asked, where do you see this going?"

"I don't-- You didn't even answer me."

"I'm getting there. Just answer my question."

"Answer mine first."

"Don't be petulant, darling," she says dryly. "It's terribly unattractive."

You grit your jaw at her coolness despite just confirming that there is indeed something wrong.

But you sigh and resign yourself to whatever the hell it is she is planning, still taking the time to sit back and cross your arms.

Simply because you know she hates it.

"Well, Lexa. I suppose that depends on what you're referring to," you say with a snap to each word. "Do you mean this evening? This week? This--"

"This relationship," she specifies entirely too calmly.

You swallow and lift your chin, feeling your blood run cold as it undoubtedly drains from your face.

"... What do you mean?"

The flare of pride at how steady your voice is does little to counter act the sudden evening chill.

"Exactly what I said, Clarke," she says and gestures between you both. "I'm curious as to where you see this going. How you see this all playing out."

A coughed laugh jumps out of you before you can stop it. "How am I supposed to know? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I figured as much," she sighs and sets her wine aside. Moves the little floral arrangement she'd spent the entirety of dinner staring at so the table is bare between you. "So. I've been thinking."

You watch her hands smooth out to the edges over the linen of the table before folding together in front of her.

"I think this arrangement has run its course. Don't you?"

The words drop like a dead weight into the pit of your stomach.

You're not sure where the ringing in your ears is coming from but you really wish whoever was doing it would shut the fuck up. It's distracting you from how your heart is pounding so hard you can actually feel it's beat in your throat.

"... What?"

"This isn't working for me anymore, darling."

"Lexa—"

She sighs with an easy shake of her head. "This whole... playing house together. All the whispers and gossip about 'stepsisters dating'. It's tiring, isn't it? Wouldn't you like to close the chapter on that?"

You can feel yourself shaking as your nails dig into the bare skin of your arms. It feels like you've been slapped in the face despite her not having moved a muscle. She just stares at you. Her beautiful green eyes that you've fallen in love look so relieved and at peace in that moment, while the entire fucking planet under you dissolves.

"Are you serious right now?" you seethe in a whisper through the clench of your teeth because as pathetic as it is, you're a praying for a punchline.

"You'll know when I'm joking, darling, because when I joke, people actually laugh."

She moves to reach out for you with a quiet, "I just feel—", but you think if she does you might actually hit her and an assault charge is the last thing you need right now. The scrape of chair legs is muffled on the carpet of the restaurant as you slide back and launch yourself up and out from your seat.

"Do not touch me," you growl as you collect your clutch and phone and she really has the audacity to click her tongue at it.

A million words race through your head as you slam your chair back into place and she just sits there so calmly it makes it all the more infuriating. Devastating. Like she knew you'd react like this. Like its just so typically you of you to go and ruin her very practical method of smashing your heart to pieces.

So you lean over the table and right into her face and strangle out the only coherent thought you can process.

"Go fuck yourself, Lexa."

She only flits that goddamn eyebrow that you hate when you pull back and wheel around to make your grand exit.

The clatter of silverware and nerve-grating sound of muffled laughter feel like it's closing in on you as you near the front entrance. You have so many insults and cutting things you wished you said and, ya know what? Fuck this. Fuck her.

She brought you here to keep you quiet. To keep you civil while she breaks your heart, because if there's one thing Lexa hates, it's to make a scene. This bitch brought you to the restaurant where she took you on your first date just to humiliate you while keeping you obedient.

The thought stops you dead in your tracks because, oh no. No. You are not about to let this shit play out like this.

You whirl around and stomp back with every acidic thing you can think of bubbling on your tongue—

And stop short at the sight of the table you'd just abandoned.

Specifically at the extremely ornate wooden box sat in the middle of it.

She looks entirely too pleased with herself as you dumbly glance between the grin on her face and the detailed carvings on the box.

Your chair slides back out with a push of her stilettoed foot and she gives a silent motion for you to retake your seat. You're blinking so fast the room feels like a strobe light but that's fitting for how much the room is spinning. She snorts under her breath when you quite literally collapse into her chair.

"Now that that's out of your system," she hums and smooths her hands over the linen table again. "As I was saying..."

She reaches out and takes the box and slips it closer to herself.

"I think this arrangement has run its course," she starts again and you can't help the way your heart jumps. Because she sounds entirely different than before.

Softer. Adoring. Like the women she is when you wake up together in bed.

"It's just not working for me anymore, darling."

She pops the latch on the box and smiles down at its contents, before spinning it around for you to see.

"I think wives would be more exciting."

You watch her pluck the ring from its nest of crushed velvet and your chest stutters at the site of it hend between her fingers.

You give a shakey hand over when she reaches for you this time and in the span of the last five minutes you'd forgotten how warm she is.

"I don't want to play house with you, because I want to make a home with you," she says only loud enough for you to hear as the rest of the room's noise fades away. "And I figure if they're going to gossip about us degenerate stepsisters fucking, might as well really make it worth their while."

Her smile is wicked when you let out a watery laugh and when in the sapphic fuck did you start crying?

But her thumb sweeps over your knuckles and her face turns soft again as green eyes take on a little sheen of their own.

"I love you, Clarke. And I'm not going to stop loving you, that's why I'd really like to start a new chapter with you... Because I've hated you. And then I tolerated you. Then I wanted you so fucking badly I made a fool out of myself."

You smile along with her as she rolls her eyes.

"I know how you feel about marriage," she continues with a nervous swallow. "But I think we've more than proven to each other that we're— We're not them. We're us. And I... I really, really want to marry you, Clarke."

She suddenly looks so vulnerable. More vulnerable than you've seen her in ages as she holds your hand in hers and the ring in the other. She doesn't move to slip it on your finger, just waits patiently for you to process the whiplash of whatever the fuck it is that's just happened.

You'd... thought she was breaking up with you.

And now she's asking to marry you.

And of course she'd pick the absolute most mindfuck of a way possible.

Such a little... shit.

"Ya know, I hate you."

"I hate you too."

"... And I love you."

"I love you too," she breathes back so fast it makes your spin.

A laugh rises in your throat as you shake your head at this fucking woman.

"Was it necessary to give me a goddamn heart attack before asking?"

Her lips tip into a relieved grin as she shrugs. "Have to get my kicks somewhere, darling. Besides, all calculated risks."

"Oh is that right?"

"The only thing you can't resist more than me is making things as dramatic as possible," she explains bit still takes a moment to drop a kiss to your wrist. "I knew you'd come back. Because that's what we do. We come back to each other."

You sigh because she's right but she doesn't need to be so smug about it. Because you both get under each other's skin and drive each other up the wall.

But you always come back.

Both of you do, no matter what the other has done.

You're both generally crazy but more importantly, you're crazy about each other, and that's how you know for certain she really did do all this just for kicks.

Fucking bitch.

You adore every inch of her devious mind.

You make a show of weighing your options, tipping your head from side to side while she sags in annoyance and rolls her eyes.

"Well," you finally breath after long moment of consideration. "... I suppose stepsister wives would make the gossip more interesting."

The smile that splits her face is glowingly brilliant by her standards, but to the rest of the world you know it'd be considered tempered. You wiggle your fingers in her grip and earn glare when she has to struggle to slip the ring on your finger.

Your whole body feels on fire when it finally slips into place.

She looks so proud of herself as she seals it in place with a press of her lips before leaning across the table to pull you into a kiss. It's dirtier than you're used to her kissing you in public but with the dry sweetness of wine that clings to her tongue, neither of you can even begin to care.

"Thank you," she murmurs with a brush of her nose against yours. "Thank you."

She wisely kisses you before you can say anything smart.

Her arms feel good wrapped around your waist when you nod at the maître d' and make your way to the coat check, even more so in the brisk evening air. It's like she can't stop touching you, the way she she's hanging all over you, and it's only when the driver opens the door that she stiffens.

"You're not actually going to make me go fuck myself, right?"

You burst out laughing at her narrow-eyed accusation, because it's a fair question given the evening's shenanigans and your flair for revenge. So you pop a kiss to her lips and her usher her into the darkened privacy of the spacious backseat, and eagerly crawl in after.

The door closes with a nod when you direct him to take the long way home.

/////////////

"Well... not on the drive, at least."

#anon #cruel intentions au #cruel intentions snippet

[teejaystumbles]

oh I MUST beg a Good Intentions snippet!

of course! I hope you saw the earlier one I posted? here As much as I have planned this thing out I am stunned how little I have written so far. It's bits and pieces that I need to stitch together. Here's another dramatic one I rather like :3 It happens sometime after the original drabble I wrote.

Hob dreams of the arena. He dreams of looking up towards Dream who is standing there gazing out over the pit with a bored look on his face.  Hob knows he was free, that he escaped this place, and yet, here he is, captured again. He calls Dream’s name but the wizard does not hear him. When Hob calls out again he is pulled roughly by the chain around his throat, cutting off his voice. Dream turns his head and looks down at him. His eyes blaze with blue fire and his mouth is turned downwards in a cruel slant. Hob feels a searing pain on the back of his left shoulder, where Dream’s sigil is. He cries out in pain and stumbles forward, pulled by the chain. Dream’s gaze is cold and merciless, he looks away again and Hob gasps as the pain stops. No, he thinks, I want you to look at me! See me! But it will hurt, Dream’s deep voice echoes in his head. Then hurt me. But don’t leave me here, Hob pleads, don’t leave me here! He wakes with a startled gasp, half shouting Dream’s name before he realises he’s awake. “Hob?” the wizard’s voice comes in surprise from across from him. Hob stares wide-eyed at the man, sitting cross-legged only a metre away from him at the fire. In this moment Hob resents Dream. He hates himself for having made the wizard give him his sigil, and that Dream agreed. It was the only logical solution at the time but now Hob feels keenly how he has put himself into Dream’s hands.

Oooh wait I think I drew something for this as well! Might as well share it too!!

#dreamling #fic: good intentions #the sandman fanart #the sandman fanfiction #orc Hob #teejay writes #teejaystumbles

[neon-candies]

The steady thump of the music's beats reverberated throughout the club. Its hypnotic pulsing was only drowned out by the steady calls from the club's numerous patrons. Yet even the cacophony of sound was not a hindrance for the club's ruthless owner and the business deal he was currently entangled in. He barked a short laugh, his smirk wide and cruel. "Ya really got some balls to try givin' me orders on my turf. Tell ya what. Since ya caught me in such a good mood I'll give ya a deal. If you can beat my lil pet then I'll listen ta any demand ya got. Sound fair?"

Angel tilted his head to the side, four eyes blinking slowly. He chuckled, the pink smoke of his cigarette billowing around him in a cloud of sweet fog. With the languid ease of someone oozing confidence, Angel raised his hand and clenched it into a fist. He gave the order, "Crush em, Bambi". And like that his pet's "leash" had been loosened.

This is the start of the Spider Lily Au I made. I'll just post snippets of writing with the drawings. No intention to make a full story lmao. I got too much on my plate already.

#Spider Lily AU #Radiodust #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel au #overlord angel dust

[peachsayshi]

oh no, with your request ask about playboy!getou, about someone trying to disturb their relationship, I’m really nervous for it, since I don’t want their relationship going back a few steps aaahhh

you know what, how about I share a little snippet of what's to come. the only thing I will promise you guys is that my playboy geto piece is fluffy. this part will have some mild angst but I think you might like how it'll turn out xo tw: drug mention

“Suguru didn’t tell you that?” Mei coos as she proceeds to take a sip of her milkshake. “That’s his special nickname for Yuki. The two of them used to spend their summers together getting high and fucking. She was his first, you know…”

Your cheeks were stinging with embarrassment as you glanced over to both Shoko and Utahime, praying that one of them would denounce Mei’s confession. Instead, Shoko shook her head with disapproval and simply added: “we all know that it wasn’t serious…”

“Wasn’t that serious?” Mei interjected, her cruel eyes fixated on you. “We all know that Suguru was in love with her…”

“He wasn’t in love with her,” Shoko answered with a stern, protective reply. “They were friends…”

Mei swirled her straw around her vanilla milkshake. “We are his friends too but that didn’t stop him from sleeping with us either. The only difference is that Yuki is the one who broke his heart afterwards.”

“How about you don’t stir up problems for no reason, Mei.” Utahime bit back, and Mei responded by rolling her eyes with mild disinterest.

“I’m not saying anything that isn’t true. Everyone at this table, except Shoko, was tangled up with Suguru at one point,” she let out a pretty laugh, one laced with wicked intent. “Maybe this is something we can all bond over at the beach house. Compare notes and what not…”

⥽ ask 💌

#> secret mail 💌 #fic: playboy geto x inexperienced reader #snippets

[epiclamer]

Hey just wondering if you could do something where Villian (or Hero) is flirting with Hero (or Villian) until they are extremely flustered to the point they can't comprehend anything :) All good if you can't👍 Thankyou:)

I WANTED TO WRITE A TRAPS SNIPPET SOOOOO-

(No reposts but reblogs appreciated <3)

Trapped

Hero didn’t like the odds of the situation they were currently trapped in. Literally. Here they were, hanging in the air, tangled in a net, in the middle of Villains base.

Resources? None. Help? None. Backup? None. Hope? None. Pure, raw fear? Lots.

Villain was well-known and feared by the city itself. They didn’t waste time in getting the information they wanted or needed and held a reputation as a cruel torturer; nobody that went in, came out. Villain was a cold-hearted murderer, with no respect or mind for others as they went about their crimes and shenanigans. The last thing any hero wanted was to be assigned a post with Villain, it was practically suicide.

However, Hero was tired of living in fear, they were tired of cowering and hiding from their assigned nemesis. They had been trailing Villain for the past month and everything had been going just fine until three minutes ago when Hero had practically dug themselves a grave.

They had gotten too cocky and now they were going to pay for it.

“Well, well, well… If it isn’t my favourite nemesis yet.” The voice sent cold chills running down Hero’s spine, making them freeze from their wriggling escape and still out of pure terror. “You know, I was waiting for you to get caught. You’re the only one to have made it this far and the bravest to ever even consider setting foot in my territory. I’m impressed.”

Villain stood just a few feet away from the dangling hero, watching them intently with clever eyes and a knowing smirk, almost as if they could hear Hero’s heart beating out of their chest and the sweat collecting along their spine. Hero didn’t dare move a muscle, afraid it would get them killed, but Villain seemed almost lax at the sight of the intruder in their home base.

“Darling, if we’re going to have a conversation you need to talk, hm? Or have you lost your words along with your head?” The casualness with how the Villain flirted was so incredibly charming, Hero could hear their heart skip a beat as blush rose to their cheeks.

“I-I uhm… H-how did you know I would be here?” Hero wasn’t fooling anyone with their shaking voice and sweaty palms, but Villain seemed to find their fear adorning as they smiled.

“I’ve been watching you for the past month, lovely. You’re quite the talented little hero, it’s too bad that a trap as simple as this one would be your fate, hm?” Making the hero squirm and turn a ghostly white seemed to only amuse the villain. “Maybe if you have something more… interesting to offer I could let you off the hook just this once…”

Hero’s face went from a sickly pale green to a tomato red unusually fast and Villain couldn’t help but chuckle at the display. They stepped forward towards the net, Hero’s face just a few inches above Villains as they stepped close enough to feel the others hot breath fanning against their ear.

“Oh Hero, you and I both know that ever since you’ve been assigned as my new nemesis, you’ve been enjoying the position a little too much, hm?” Villain raised one hand and Hero flinched back, trying to create as much room between the two of them as possible.

“W-wait- please-” But before Hero could get another word out Villain had grabbed hold of the netting and yanked it down so the two were face to face. Locking eyes with their nemesis as they leaned forward until the net was the only thing keeping the pair apart.

Villains smell was intoxicating and their close proximity drove Hero wild, they just wanted to press their bodies together and forget about everything else. No more task force, no more heroism or paperwork. Just the villain and just the hero, together.

It was true that Hero had been studying a little bit too intently on the villain and their suit, but they couldn’t help themselves. Villain was ravishing and all of Hero’s senses were zeroed in on their primal instincts of need. They needed the villain and they needed them now. That’s what had pushed them to try and pull off such a risky task in the first place, driven by greed and lust to try and even just get another taste of what Villain had to offer.

“I know what you want little hero, but I promise you won’t be able to do so much as think tomorrow besides dwell on how good my touch felt against your skin.”

#SLAY #VIOLET #BEAUREGARD #hero x villain #villain #villain x hero #hero #drabbles #fantasy #imagines #oneshots #scenarios #hero and villain #villain and hero #smutty #suggestive #kinda smutty #heroes and villains #villains and heroes

[ilikebooksmoviesseriesandanime]

I would like to share a thought about the fact that Henry has been searching for one that would rather see right through the image of him as a prince, and Alex has been trying to do his best to have at least one person to listen to him unconditionally, honestly, and with no cruel intentions behind. We get to watch these two find the one they've been looking for—boy meets boy, boy hates boy but then boy starts to like boy, then boy kisses boy until it is more than just kisses, boy falls in love with boy, and boy become the one the other boy has been searching for (All reference to Taylor on the recent snippet of an interview). Red, White, & Royal Blue is not just a romcom, enemies to lovers trope, it is a story that tells us that there is truly a person that will waltz into our life and everything will just fall into place like the hugeass wedding cake, and we will finally feel seen without any mask on and be heard without the need to filter the words to satisfy the crowd

#red white and royal blue #rwrb movie #rwrb spoilers #alex claremont diaz #prince henry fox mountchristen windsor #firstprince #taylor zakhar perez #nicholas galitzine #im so proud for the success of the movie #very thankful for everyone that made this adaptation possible #now I'll go back watching for the fifth time