#And sympathy for the devil has a lot to do with how I like to characterise papa <3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

acewritesfics · 5 months

Text

Hopelessly In Love | Tommy Shelby

⚠️ THIS IS A REPOST FROM MY MAIN BLOG @/DLMLUFICS. UNFORTUNATELY, I HAVE TO DO IT THIS WAY. MORE INFO IN MY PINNED POST.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: No

Fic Type: Imagine

Warnings: Sarcasm, teasing, two idiots in love.

Word Count: 1,821

TOMMY SHELBY MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

“I need you," Y/N hears from behind her and turns around to see her best friend standing there, looking exasperated.

“Good afternoon, Y/N. I sincerely hope your day is going well,” she begins sarcastically as she finishes hanging her mother's latest shipment of dresses on the racks.

Y/N works in her mother's boutique. A boutique in Small Heath sounded ridiculous considering the surroundings but her mother had opened the store, claiming that women needed a nice place to shop among the smoke and grime. “Well Thomas, it’s going so well that I’m sure nothing will bother me for the rest of the day, even when my best friend storms in like some neanderthal claiming he needs me like it’s a matter of life or death.”

Tommy stood there, his hands in his pocket, looking at her unimpressed, his brows creased into a frown. A smug smirk stretches across her face.

“What can I do you for, Tommy?” She asks, moving back behind the counter.

“I need you to go to the races with me,” he tells her removing his hands from his pockets and stepping closer to the counter.

“What? Has Hell frozen over or is it finally the day women have stopped throwing themselves at Thomas Shelby’s feet?” She teases her childhood friend. “Oh, Tommy, it must be hard,” she says pouting, giving her him a look of false sympathy.

“Shut it, you,” he glares at her, elbows resting on the counter as he leans forward. “I’m being serious.”

“Why do you want to take me to the races?” She questions him. They hadn’t been to the races together since before the war. It was sort of their tradition, one that was so easily forgotten when the war was over, and Tommy had thrown himself into making a better name for the Shelby’s. Instead of making the name better, he also made it fearful. “Why don’t you take that pretty barmaid you seem so smitten with. Or Lizzy, who’s more than eager to have a proper date with you.”

“Why should I take them when I can take you, eh?” he asks, watching her as she busies herself with the clutter on the counter. She looks unsure but Tommy can tell that she’s thinking hard about it. “What are you afraid of?”

“That you’ll forget all about the barmaid and fall hopelessly in love with me again,” she quips with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just like when we were kids. You could never resist my charm and we don't want to break the barmaid's poor treacherous heart.”

Y/N couldn't deny that she did like Grace, the barmaid Harry had hired, at first. She seemed lovely and got along quite well with her until she realized Grace was asking her a lot of questions about Tommy. At first, she thought the blonde woman fancied her best friend and she wasn't sure how she felt about it. Grace wasn't the first woman to end up with a crush on the blue-eyed devil. Tommy wasn't hard to fall in love with. But when she started asking her about the Shelby family business and the Peaky Blinders, she became suspicious that Grace's interest in Tommy wasn't as genuine as she made it out to be. And then there was the time she caught Grace eavesdropping and snooping around. She began to put two and two together.

An Irish inspector and a pretty Irish woman, step foot in Small Heath at the same time. The barmaid, who's never actually worked in a pub before now, conveniently gets herself a job at the Garrison, the pub the Shelby Brothers frequent often and just so happens to set her eyes on the leader of the Peaky Blinders.

She'd tried to talk to Tommy about it, but the stubborn man wouldn't hear any of it so she went to Polly who had also done the math. For a man who claimed to be smart, he became the stupidest idiot she's ever met when it comes to a pretty face.

“I knew that love tea would have consequences,” he smiles thinking of the times they sat with his mother while she did what she called magic. He purposefully ignores her comment about Grace. He didn't want to talk or think about her right now. His sole focus is on convincing Y/N to go to the races with him, like old times and how he'd promised her all those years ago. “Maybe it’s why I never stopped being hopelessly in love with you.”

"Don't tell Grace that," she says looking back at him before moving on to inspect the next dress, a pretty deep forest green with black beading and a black lace hem.

"Fuck Grace," he scoffs, rolling his eyes. "This is about us."

"There is no us, Tommy," she sighs and moves on to the red dress that's not as pretty as the green.

"Just come to the races with me," he begins. "I haven't taken you in a while. Let me take you again."

"Do I have a choice?"

He shakes his head, "No."

She looks at him, her brows creased into a frown showing her frustration.

"Wear the green one," he adds, dropping £7 onto the counter.

"It's only worth £5," she informs him, knowing there is no point in arguing with him. Once Tommy was set on something, there was no stopping him.

"Buy something to go with it," he suggests. "Maybe some new shoes," he adds as he takes the dress off the mannequin and hands it to her, placing a soft kiss on her cheek before he starts making his way out of the store. "I'll pick you up at 8:30 tomorrow morning."

"I despise you, Thomas Shelby," she calls after him.

"And I love you, Y/N L/N" he says when he reaches the door and turns to look at her once more. "Hopelessly love you."

Her smile goes from ear to ear this time as she watches him leave, with a slight shake of her head. She turns to go back to the counter to wrap the dress up and startles when she sees her mother standing there, a knowing smirk on her lips.

"It's about time that boy made his move," her mother says, taking the dress from her and folds it neatly on the paper they use to wrap the clothing in. "Better late than never, I guess."

"It's not like that, Mum," she says picking up the £7 Tommy left and placing it inside the till.

"Of course, it is," her mum argues, walking towards where the shoes are and picks out a pair of black t-strap heels, to match the beading on the dress and brings them over to the counter. "Thomas Shelby has been in love with you since you were both five years old and you've been in love with him for just as long," she adds placing the shoebox on the counter next to the dress. "Don't waste any more time, Darling."

"I do love him," she admits. "Some days I wonder why."

"And you'll have plenty more of those days," her mum chuckles. "Now get out of here and go rest up for tomorrow."

"I love you, mum," she says hugging the woman who gave her life.

"I love you too, sweetheart."

"I must admit, I did miss this," Y/N says, sitting across the table from Tommy as they sat in the VIP area of the racecourse, in the forest green with black beading dress he paid for and heels her mother picked out.

After a successful day at the races, they made their way up to the VIP lounge where they got a drink, a meal and did some dancing. Tommy was unable to keep his eyes off her from the moment he saw her standing on the curb waiting for him to pick her up. It made driving a little difficult since he tried his hardest to concentrate on the road and not the beautiful woman sitting next him. And then when they got to the races, he glared down, silently threatening the men who dared to let their eyes linger on her.

"Do you remember the first time we snuck in here?" he asks her, a soft smile on his lips. Leaning back, he watches her as she thinks back to it.

They were 16 at the time and she had come along with him, his brothers and his father. He'd been to the races plenty of times before, but she'd never been until that day. They both got dressed in their finest clothes back then, which were nowhere near the standard of clothing they were in today. Tommy had tried to talk his way into the VIP section, using that silver tongue of his that he had been born with. Unfortunately, it didn't work, and they had found a space in the back that they could use to sneak into the elegant area reserved for the wealthy.

They'd spent 10 minutes in the area before they were escorted out and off the grounds of the racecourse and were made to wait there until his dad returned from being inside. That night Tommy had made her a promise.

"I promise that one day, I will buy you the prettiest dress and we'll go back there, and they'll let us in. When they do, we'll spend the night dancing and when I take you home afterwards, I'll kiss you goodnight."

She feels her heart skip a beat as she remembers word for word what he had promised her. As she got older, she had always played it off as a silly childish promise that held no real meaning.

Tommy stood up from his chair and moved round the table, standing beside her as he held his hand out towards her. "Let's go home, Love."

Y/N takes his hand and stands up, grabbing her clutch off the table and lets him lead her back to his vehicle.

Once they arrive at the passenger's side, Tommy decides he can't wait until he drops her off home. Stopping her from getting into the car, he pulls her close, a hand on her waist and the other caresses her cheek.

"Tommy," her voice comes out as a whisper as her heart jumps into her throat at the little space left between them.

"I can't wait," he breathes, his voice soft as he plants his lips to hers in a soft and sweet kiss. Both their eyes flutter closed as a rush of warmth envelopes them as they pull each other as close as they can, deepening the kiss.

Tommy is the one to end it when they start to become breathless. "I am hopelessly in love with you."

"I know," she says, unable to hide her grin as she kisses him again. "I am hopelessly in love with you too, Thomas Shelby."

TAGGED: @chapter-in-my-old-diary - @hanawrites404 - @goblinjnr - @halsteadbrasil - @rainydayteacups - @alexxavicry

To join my tag list, fill out this form: TAG LIST SIGN-UP

#acewritesfics repost #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagine

444 notes · View notes

tremendum · 10 months

Text

Mr. Miller's Show

[not my gif] pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (afab, some use of she/her, use of the words girl/woman) rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.) word count: 7.3k (back to regularly scheduled programming) requested: yes thank you all for all the patience srsly <3 summary: “'like how sweet you've been t'me, sugar," he mutters gently, head tilting, "why y'gonna go and fuck all that up now?'" warnings: gendered words (girl, woman, etc) allusions to PTSD, porn with feelings, guys theyre like getting healthier, SMUT (PiV unprotected), oral (M receiving), deepthroating, rough sex, face-fucking, shower smut, counter smut, reader is a tease, masturbation (f), marijuana use as always lol, brief voyeurism, canon-typical violence, age gap (undefined but mentioned), ass play (spitting, fingering, only a bit sorryyyy), mirror sex again bc im a whore, reader has hair long enough to grab, hair pulling, lots of choking, spit kink, light slapping (f receiving, consensual), dirty talk, praise kink but also degradation, use of words like slut, brat tamer!joel, overstimulation, MEAN!JOEL YALL, but he has feelings so he’s also kinda soft!dom in this again, once again sooo unedited that it hurts. notes: finally finally after over a month im back!! hope you enjoy this chapter, ive been having rough writers block with this story so any suggestions and requests are very welcomed!!! thanks for all the love and as always, comments & reblogs w tags are motivation and help out so much!!! love u all <3 also for the taglist, it's too big now and i may consider stopping my taglist, just letting everyone know!!! ill lyk if i do ofc but im reblogging with the list this time.

[this is part six of the Mr Miller series. read previous part sympathy for the devil. main masterlist here. ]

★

"you're wearing earrings."

Joel's voice cuts through the serene chill in the air, shocking you enough to have your head turning away from where you stare ahead - you crane your neck too much, but you can just see the dusted gray and dark of his curls behind you as your brows raise.

it takes you a second to understand the sentence he's just uttered to you out of nowhere- but you blink to life, clearing your throat as the dead trees pass you by.

"oh. yeah, it's... they're new. didn't really wear stuff like that until..." you shrug, trailing off as you stare forward yet again. your heart thumps as his chest rumbles against your back - jesus, he's so close to you. it's been weeks since he's been this close, even if this is just work.

your body wants what it wants, you suppose.

your lips purse, lost in the press of his thick body behind you.

"-till?"

your lip twitches in a smile for a split moment; he's waiting for you to finish your sentence. as if he cares.

Joel...

he's been so normal recently. or as normal as you could ever imagine Joel Miller to be; full sentence-conversations full of questions, full sentences, and even an occasional joke or dry line littered in with his glares and eye-rolls. he's even taught you and ellie to woodwork, nodded in hello when you picked up Ellie on your way into town - hell, he'd actually gotten a drink with you after patrol a few days ago and held eye contact for a whole thirty minutes.

a fucking miracle.

and even, on rare occasions, you are rewarded with that mind-splitting, earth-shattering smile - a very rare but rewarding sight. the kind that shocks a room, silences you and Ellie both, lights the sun and makes the birds sing. makes your stomach flutter.

so perhaps things have changed.

it makes you almost laugh to yourself, recalling that day so many moons ago when you had walked into the Bison and first stared into those stony eyes; how big his calloused hands were, the way his lip lifted in distaste at your crass words.

the sway of the horse makes your hips move gently; your ass is starting to feel sore at the constant motion and as you rock forward with the decline of the hill, you feel Joel's body slide slightly as though he tries against everything to press fully against you. even though you wish he would.

heat paints your face as you feel his breath on your neck, waiting patiently for you to finish your sentence.

your sharp breath exhales as you realize you've hesitated at his questioning, a bit too long - you smile sheepishly, shrugging. "-sorry, didn't..." you clear your throat, "couldn't remember the last time I wore earrings. not that it matters, but I just..." you thumb the makeshift earring back, grinning to the mane of the horse as he trudges you and Joel both along.

"-it feels nice. makes me feel like myself." you finish, shrugging awkwardly.

for all of the steps Joel has taken in the last few weeks to change, there are some things you still have a hard time with.

talking about yourselves and opening up is a very large, unmovable hurdle that you and him are still clearly trying to pull yourselves over. it's quiet for a second as your words seep into the dead surroundings, less than an hour from town.

"look nice." he grunts quietly, his arms pressing slightly from where he straddles the saddle behind your frame.

your eyes widen at the seemingly random compliment, face flooding with flattery and embarrassment. your grin betrays you, but you don't dare stutter out a broken thank you for fear that you will sound like a croaking frog; instead, you purse your lips over the giddy grin that spreads over your cheeks and hope that as he stares at the profile of your face, he can see the flattery written across your features.

"Ellie has a matching pair." you say instead, sparing a quick glance back at Joel. his brows raise, jaw ticking as he takes in the information - your voices both echo at the same time as you speak over each other suddenly:

"she doesn't have her ears pierced." "in case she ever gets them pierced."

you let out a short huff of laughter, nodding sheepishly at having accidentally interrupted each other; Joel shakes his head with a ghost of a smile.

"got it." he nods, "s'real nice of you." he nods, "making a pair for her, too."

his chest is right on you - broad, warm through all the layers, and smelling of pine, whiskey, sage. amber. it's intoxicating as his drawl rumbles in the back of your ear - you silently thank Tommy or whoever the hell it was who ordered half the horses to rest after a bout of sickness spread through the stable; sharing a horse has never once before today seemed like a good idea.

but the good idea sours quickly when you kick speed slightly, the horse leaping over a small creek as your hips shift back into Joel's and your ass presses into him.

your mouth dries as you shakily exhale; he's so close to you - smells so good. your hands grip the reigns tighter and you nearly jump when a large, calloused hand falls onto your hips to steady you after the change in pace.

your mind travels back to that morning after you'd stayed with Joel in his own bed - how gentle his hands had been as he'd guided you towards your own house under the early morning sunrise; your eyes bleary with sleep but his smile still cracking bashfully when you'd kissed his cheek, muttering about how maybe Ellie'd missed your boots by the front door when she'd come home.

she and Joel certainly haven't said anything you if she did notice, anyways.

you clear your throat, ignoring the searing desire that spirals from where his hand touches your clothed hip; you shrug, "she said she liked mine, so I figured we could match."

he hums lowly at your word, his nose brushing slightly over the crown of your head. shivers roll over your shoulders as you swallow, retreating into the silence that you've lived in for the last few weeks since the two of you were put back on patrol.

but you stiffen when a hand runs down your side, over the jagged stitching of your jacket, and you suck in a sharp inhale. his other hand slides forward, hooking gently around your hip, fingers splaying over the very top of your thigh and your throat dries up; a faint desire awakened and soon screaming at you. you squirm under his touch.

Joel's hips adjust behind you gently in the next second, your eyes fluttering shut as you imagine him pulling you into him, his hard cock sliding between the round globes of your ass and through your dripping folds, his hands greedy and hungry; his words sharp, teasing. his touch, sweet. intoxicating-

your eyes open again and your heart skips a beat, his knees hitting the outside of your thighs.

christ. your whole body tingles as you shift slightly, rotating your hips as the buck of the horse's cant tilts you further away from the heat of his broad chest. no, you can't stand his teasing - intentional or not, Joel is making you nearly melt in desire.

jesus.

you're barely pulling the horse to the side of the path when, with barely a crane of his neck, Joel mutters, "the hell are y'doin?"

you suddenly pull the reins and mutter woah, slipping yourself off of the horse and onto the hard ground with a burning face, your lungs screaming for air as Joel protests.

"what-" he grunts as he pulls himself down from the stirrups, face etched with irritation and concern at your sudden evacuation, "is there an issue?"

you can hear the irritation in his voice and you sigh, shaking your head - your heart's thundering, face hot and surely laced with poorly-hid embarrassment. god, what the fuck is wrong with you? there's barely forty minutes back to Jackson, why couldn't you just suck it up for a few more torturous minutes until you could return home to your trusty drawer and hot shower?

"no." you snap, "no problem, Joel." your heart is thundering with surprise at his concern, eyes glaring daggers at him before shooting down towards the heat that nearly blisters on your forearm; his hand, warm and gentle, asking silently if you're okay. your eyes soften before you can school your expression - he reads you, as always, like his favorite novel.

his hand falls away gently, grazing your finger tips like the gentlest breeze on your face and it still surprises you.

"alright," he says softly, eyes searching your flustered appearance. "can we get back on the horse, then?" he asks - his voice is surprisingly patient, though his eyes are wary. irritated, but concerned.

you clear your throat, unable to contain yourself much longer. "we could- take a break."

his brows raise, tilting his head, "a break? we're nearly back. s'almost nightfall."

you shift your weight, avoiding the way his corded arms cross over each other, his frame towering over yours as you dully throb in arousal.

"you're-" you squeak, shaking your head, "you're fucking crowding me, and I need- fuck-" you groan, "just- just fuck off for a second, Joel." you snap, bursting in frustration, unsure how to just admit you are being driven fucking crazy with lust by his presence.

his head tilts, "fuck off?" his eyes are darker every second you stand, facing each other- "the hell's gotten into you?" he sounds offended, and your heart flips as you feel bad - you're trying, you're trying so hard to be normal around him, as he is with you - so one touch, one innocent adjustment of his hips and now you're freaking out on him again?

you need to get a grip, or at least be honest.

your face burns as his stern gaze rolls over each curve of your body; "Joel, you're driving me fucking crazy." you snap, glaring at him.

he looks shocked, hands flying out, "I barely said anythin' this whole goddamn day, how the hell am I still fucking this up?" he snaps back, irritated - his eyes incredulous as he stares down at you.

flames lick up your sides as you grind your teeth - his hair looks much more wavy with his curls today, and the green of his jacket it making the golden on his skin nearly glow; you nearly growl as you jump towards him. he's too much. too fucking much.

your hands lock on his shoulders, tugging yourself up towards his face as your lips fall against his.

the kiss is a shock to you both.

you're not sure what really compelled you to do it - the stubble over his sharp jaw, his hair, the way his thighs pressed against the outsides of yours just minutes ago, the way he pressed on about the earrings - whatever, it doesn't matter, because he's kissing you back and you're melting like butter over a campfire.

his lips press hard back against yours through his shocked inhale, surging against you in a dizzying haze of Joel.

but the kiss is seared away from your lips when Joel suddenly shoots his thick hand out, rising to grip hard at your throat, shoving you backwards.

it's more shocking than the sudden kiss - the speed in which he pulls back and pushes you hard backwards by his warm grip, causing flutters of arousal to course through your stomach.

you stumble in shock but he keeps his hold on you, passionate as he movers the two of you back. you're torn away from his warmth as he presses you with one hand on the small of your back and the other on the beating pulse of your throat - right against a tree, nudging you as he tilts his head down to your height once more.

he's back on you in no less than a split second; his heat swirling around the cold air, teeth nipping at your lip when you take a moment longer than he'd like to open your lips to his tongue. he groans against you, a warm and deep thing that you feel in your own chest as your hand slides up to his hair, tugging at the base of his neck.

the fingers around your throat flex and tighten in reaction to your own grip and the moan that rips from your throat sends his hips in a slow thrust against yours.

you've been desperate for his touch for fucking days - he's been walking on eggshells even after you'd spent the night with him a few weeks ago. he'd barely touched you, taking his time trying to make up for all the lost time you'd spent trying to rip each other's heads off instead of your clothes.

and sure, you don't know who you are with him still - nothing defined, and a lot of things still unspoken - but for the first time since this whole mess started, that doesn't bother you. there's not much anger, nor jealousy - just... Joel. and you.

it's not bad.

his lips leave yours as he breathes against your lips, "like how sweet you've been t'me, sugar," he mutters gently, head tilting, "why y'gonna go and fuck all that up now?"

his hand slips from your back lower, tugging you against his semi-hard cock as his fingers squeeze your ass. his hand lies just below your jugular, thumb soothing over your cold skin as his dark eyes glint with desire. you feel a rush of arousal pool between your legs as you raise your brows.

"-you need to stop fucking touching me like that when we're riding, Miller." you growl against his lips, staring back at him. you lean slightly to catch his lips with yours once again but he pulls back with a strong hand against your neck to stop you - teasing.

he tuts, "you need to learn how to use your words, sweetheart." he growls against you, teeth catching on your bottom lip.

you whimper at the sharp sting, chasing him as if you could steal a kiss. he tilts his head just out of reach, his hand pressing against you until your breath comes out slightly ragged; your pussy flutters as he squeezes, knee sliding against your clothed core.

"if you want it, ask for it, baby." he all but demands, hands rough against you, "can't just throw a fit every time you're aching for my cock, or else you'll be whinin' all goddamn day. how am I supposed to know-"

but there's a snap of a twig somewhere behind you and you both spring apart, straight as boards, hackles raised.

it's almost like deja-vu as you're both thrown from your stupor - ripping away, your voices cease as your hand flies to your hunting knife - in your peripheral, you see that Joel's slung around his rifle so quick you're almost impressed as you both stare to your left.

christ - just the fucking horse, tied to the tree. stepped on a twig.

you let out a shaky breath, hand falling onto Joel's chest as you almost wheeze out a relieved laugh. but your hand feels it, suddenly - you notice how stiff Joel is, even after you've both realized there's no threats.

his heart, thundering in his chest wildly. like a caged animal surrounded by a pack of wild, ravenous wolves; Joel's heart tries to scramble right out of his chest and onto the dead ground.

that feeling - the one that creeps around at night when you wake up with memories of that cabin, of those raiders - of your past, visions of Joel, surrounded by red. that feeling that creeps up, squeezing at your throat and banging on your chest.

he's feeling it, too.

it's not from arousal, though you can see enough of that in his eyes, in the way his lips part and ragged breaths puff into the air - no, not arousal.

fear.

your heart hammers similarly, you suddenly notice. your hand shakes as it hovers near your knife; his hands grip the rifle so tight the blood may burst forth from the roughened skin any second.

"hey," you whisper, suddenly worried to speak above any quiet noise. his eyes are sharp and his jaw clenched as he looks back at you, wild and alarmed.

as if he were ready to fight for his life and yours.

"let's go home," you whisper, thumb running over the shoulder of his jacket, muscles strained and still below the layers.

he snaps out of it, eyes falling to rake over you as if assuring that you're still in front of him in one piece. his hand finds yours on his chest, sliding it off - not unkindly; his hand squeezes yours before boosting you up onto the double saddle silently.

Joel insists on walking you back to your house; he's brooding, as normal, as you both trudge back from turning in your patrol log and tracking the mud from the stable through the quiet streets.

you don't speak about what happened in the woods - the kiss, nor the twig snapping, but you ache and as you walk, every brush of the backs of your hands send shooting sparks up your arm.

"damn it," he grunts under his breath as you lead him up your driveway. you lift a brow at him, silent prompt to explain his expletive.

he shakes his head, "s'nothin'. forgot Ellie said the water heater ain't workin', said she was stayin' with her friend Dina till I fix it. cold shower for me tonight."

you grimace; the air nips at your cheeks, you can't imagine a cold shower in this weather. you shrug, "use mine." you suggest, tilting your head. "no point in turning into an icicle, Miller, you're cold enough as is." you tease, sending him a small wink.

something in you wonders if the shower really is broken, or if he just can't bring himself to ask; not that you can blame him. you can't bring yourself to ask, either.

your heart flutters when Joel rolls his eyes but still trudges after you, through the entrance of your home. his eyes look just as tired as you feel but there's a spark to them, one that coaxes more warmth between your thighs.

you see his eyes catch on the partially-smoked joint put out on the ashtray on your kitchen table as you slide past it; you have a mind to grab it before you make your way up the stairs, pretending not to feel too hot when you feel Joel's eyes graze over the sway of your hips.

he showers first, you insist.

while he does so, you strip out of your clothes and into a more comfortable sleeping shirt and shorts. you sit, smoking lazily on the joint, savoring the sharp herbal taste as it flows into your blood and trying to ignore the throbbing desire when the sound of the shower shuts off.

Joel's respectful when he leaves your bathroom, pants on and shirt tugged over his chest, speckled with dots of moisture. his hair is much darker and more curled just after a shower; you're transfixed as you stand in front of him, joint smoldering between your lips, an exhale of smoke swirling lazily from your nostrils.

"may I?" he asks suddenly, causing you to nod, pulling the joint out from your lips and noting how his own dark eyes follow it like a horse to a carrot; you smirk, tutting. "and to think, all this time you've been judging me for it?" you shake your head. "shame on you."

his jaw ticks and you just smirk, shaking your head as you hold the joint up to his lips boldly. "you're a bad influence on me, aren't you, Mr. Miller?" you ask, voice sultry as you peer up at him through your lashes. his eyes flick to yours as he inhales, your fingers ghosting over his plush lips. the ones you kissed not an hour earlier.

the air is thick in your room, steam from the hot water creeping through as Joel inhales the weed, ember lighting up your eyes in his. you leave the joint between his parted lips, opting to strip down as you walk towards the shower, hoping Joel had the mind to watch as you go.

your heart thuds in arousal and excitement when you hear his sharp exhale, still refusing to turn around as you leave the door slightly open once again. you and your innocent habit of leaving the bathroom door open when you shower.

you're relieved there's some fog over the glass door of the shower, but you take your time cleansing your hair, running soap over your face and then slowly, slowly lathering up your skin.

you can feel him watch the entire time.

his eyes are like a hawk's; you can see his shadow through the light of the bathroom, the ember of your joint glowing occasionally as your hands run over the wet planes of your skin.

your shaky fingers cascade down, over the skin of your stomach, lower until they just barely graze where you ache. it's like he's been waiting for you to finally start to touch yourself; just as your fingers find your slit, the amber of the joint is tamped, ashed on the windowsill.

you hum lowly as your fingers swirl through your velvet folds, so wet you're dripping onto your upper thighs as your head thumps against the wall.

"Joel," you let yourself whimper, eyes fluttering shut before opening again languidly.

Joel's footsteps are gentle as he slowly strides up to you; he lasted, admittedly, longer than you through this torturous game. through the glass, you see his tall frame and your legs quiver with desire - your aching cunt throbs as you move your hand over yourself, rinsing off the rest of the suds from your clean body as your fingers tease your bundle of nerves. your hips jolt; a choked moan from you as you slide the glass open slightly, cocking your head - "it's a shame you already showered," you mutter, fingers not ceasing as Joel's eyes rake over your naked for ravenously.

he leans on the doorframe to the bathroom, eyes stern as he takes in your silhouette through the fogged glass, slowly rolling over the curves of your body to meet your eyes with flames alit in his own.

"-it'd be nice to have some help." you shrug, gesturing to the bar of soap in your spare hand, eyes swimming with desire as your other hand continues the slow, torturous movements on your aching clit.

your eyes catch on his crotch; through the jeans, his cock is hard and straining already as if being stirred by just the sight of you, naked and whimpering for him in your shower.

"I know you've always liked a show, though, haven't you?" you tease, lifting a brow as you recall the night Joel'd first seen you shower.

his jaw ticks at your words but it's like something in his snaps; he wastes little time ripping his shirt off, his patience clearly gone as you bite your lip, stepping back for him as his jeans finally slide off.

his glowing, naked form crowds into your own as he slides into the shower with you. his eyes are sharp as his hand takes the soap from you; yet instead of running it over your skin like you'd hoped he would, he's tossing it to the side until it hits the wall of the shower and splinters into two.

you gasp slightly as his hand grips your neck, tugging you close. his cock is hard, tip glistening with beads of precum already as he presses to your lower stomach, his body glued to yours; his nose slides along the plane of your collarbone gently, the shower water pelting rolling off your meshed bodies like some sort of sick baptism.

"you smell clean, darlin'," he mutters against your kin, one hand sliding up to your scalp, threading through your hair. his tongue peeks out to lick a stripe up your throat. "taste clean, too-"

his hand tightens suddenly, tugging your hair until your head snaps up to him - his eyes are dark, face full of desire. "so why're you pretending you need my help?"

the condescension in his voice is intoxicating - your legs weaken, hands sliding up onto his hot skin under the water that cascades over him.

your throat dries as you swallow, eyes wide as a rush of arousal threatens to drip down onto your bare thighs.

his head tilts, "s'because you want to put on a show, 's that it?" he asks, voice condescendingly sweet as he once again tightens his grip. you whimper at the sweet feeling, nodding slightly.

he smiles against your neck before pulling away, "fine. you can give me a show. get on your knees." he hums, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. your head feels dizzy at the words he says and the sweetness of his kiss; the most delicious juxtaposition.

"a show." he chuckles to himself, shaking his head darkly. "gonna make you a goddamn star."

christ. your cunt squeezes around nothing, aching for him as his hands slide down to your shoulders. you nearly moan as he smirks, water cascading down his broad chest as he pushes you down; you sink to your knees, your wide eyes on his own as you move until you're close to his aching cock.

he stands, towering above you as the shower head sprays directly onto his back; water runs off the broad expanse of his chest and you follow the droplets as they smooth over his stomach, down over the sprinkling of hair that trails to the base of his dick. you swallow, heart thundering impatiently as you sit on your haunches, waiting anxiously for him to tell you what to do.

his brows raise, though, flush high on his cheeks from heat - or arousal - as he hums, "well?"

you blink at him in surprise as he shakes his head down at you, his own hand falling to pump his long cock in languid strokes, the skin so close to you that you can almost feel the heat. if you were to lean out, just a bit, to taste-

"christ, darlin' do I gotta tell you how to do everything?" he grunts, other hand cupping the back of your head, carding through your wet strands of hair as he tuts, "you were practically beggin' f'me earlier, now you're suddenly shy?"

your face blooms in heat, "no, sir, I just-" at your words, his eyes fall back and a groan echoes through your bathroom, "-just suck my cock, darlin' c'mon."

his impatience, desperation sends shivers down your spine and your mouth opens eagerly, tongue flattening as he slaps your tongue gently once, twice-

you're always surprised by the size of Joel - each time, it catches you off guard; the head of his cock breaches your lips and his pre-cum smears over your tongue; the taste of him has you keening forward, eager to feel him in you, filling you up.

"there you go, 's much better." he grunts, muttering as one hand slides around to hold your jaw. your eyes flutter up through your lashes and the falling shower water to stare at him, how big he is towering above you. his cock pushes into your warm mouth and you try your best to breathe through your nose, tongue sliding up the vein which reaches up towards his tip. his groan spurs you on and you gently start to bob your head, spit gathering at the sides of your mouth slowly as your knees press against the wet porcelain.

"you feel better like this, baby?" he mutters, your stomach tingling at his words. you can't nod - can't even make a noise as his hips slowly buck into you; you gag slightly and moan around his cock as it pushes to the back of your throat.

"fuck-" he grunts, one hand leaning forward to place against the wet shower tiles; he's crowding you, now, pressing you into the back of the shower as his body takes the brunt of the water and takes and takes from you.

anything Joel wants, he can fucking have it.

"that's it, sweetheart-" he grunts, "fuckin'- take me."

his hands grip yours, pulling them onto his thighs, muttering gently that if it's too much, you can slap his thigh; you nod, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes as you keen towards him again, hungry to feel him in your throat again.

your nails dig crescents into the meat of his thighs as he pushes your head right against the wall, fucking into your throat as his head tilts back. "tha's- right, look at you." he grunts, his lips parted as groans fall from his lip. the steam rises like tendrils from hell as you take Joel's length in your mouth, barely able to breathe in the most delicious way as he uses you. your spit trails over your chin and onto your bare chest as you stare up at him. one hand soothes over your forehead, wiping wet strands of hair plastered to your forehead, "you're a fuckin' star, baby."

you heat at his words, stomach swirling as you shift uncomfortably, cunt puffy and aching for relief.

your fingers grip onto him as he takes you in the shower, fucking your throat until you're dripping and aching and a writhing mess, his moans echoing around the empty home.

"water's cold." he grunts, pulling his cock from your lips; you, weakly, chase the heat of him as he leaves your mouth, gasping for air and coughing slightly.

he shuts off the water, suddenly, and you swallow as he turns back to you, eyes significantly softer than they'd just been; "somethin' wrong?" he teases, a dark smirk on his face as his eyes flicker to where your thighs press together to soothe the ache.

you grit your teeth, shaking your head, "jus' want you to touch me, sir." you mutter, face burning at the way Joel never ceases to reduce you to a whimpering mess.

he smiles one of those brilliant, radiant smiles.

"that's all you had to say, darlin'." he shrugs, "told you, if you just learn to ask for it nicely, I'll give it to you."

you shiver as you nod, taking his hand as he pulls you up off your sore knees, wrapping a towel around your form gently. he's so- commanding, yet still somehow keeping his kindness that often hides deep beneath his layers.

you can't tear your eyes away, though - even as Joel starts to walk towards your open bedroom - your hand stops him on his naked shoulder. "will you please fuck me?" you ask, voice stronger than you'd expected it to be.

his eyes flicker with something as he tilts his head, "right here?" he lifts a brow as his hand snaked over your neck to pull you flush against him once again. "y'gonna beg me to fuck you against the sink because you're too desperate for my cock to walk to the bed?" he whispers it into the shell of your ear; a shiver as you whine, eyes blinking up at him, "been waiting all day, Joel, stop fucking teasing me."

you notice your mistake too late; his jaw tenses as he bites down at the junction of your neck - you let out a sharp, whining moan as his teeth mark a love bite bright and center on your skin. "fuck- fuck, s-sorry, sir." you groan, eyes clenching shut in pleasure as his hands push you into the counter.

"bet you're fuckin' sorry." he mutters lowly as he pulls away from you, flipping you quick to bend you over the vanity of the sink. you gasp as the cool wet porcelain hits your breasts, your nipples hard and sensitive as a sharp smack lands on your ass.

"christ," he groans as you bend over, puffy lips soaked and glistening for him, "look at this pretty pussy."

you move your hips slightly and his hands grip onto your waist - "quit that." he snaps, hands resuming their exploring. he grazes over the backs of your thighs, up the expanse of your spine.

over your ass, groping and slapping, relishing in your small moans and sharp gasps. "don't move." he orders.

you sigh, head falling onto the sink as you nearly whimper - you're aching, throbbing as Joel teases you - "Joel," you whimper quietly, voice whiny and small.

"what's wrong, y'tired of being teased?" he asks, voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. your cheeks are hot as you groan, "please, need to feel you inside of me-"

he hums, smacking the flesh of your ass, "'f I don't warm you up you'll be sore, baby-" he tuts, "y'know I gotta get you ready."

"I don't care, I can take it- I like it, just-" you stutter, face heated as you nearly scream in frustration, unable to voice how badly you just want him inside of you.

he likes that - a thumb sliding over your cunt to spread your lips, exposing your pussy and ass to him as he hums. "too fuckin' eager, have to have my cock right now, 's that right?" he shakes his head with a dark smirk, hand teasing over your swollen lips as he nods, "yeah, s'alright, I'll give it to you whenever you ask."

"thank you," you wheeze, letting out a shaky sigh when Joel leans down, spitting directly onto your asshole, thumb sliding over the tight ring as he hums, "so desperate for me, couldn't even wait 'till we get back to town, could you? had to try an' fuck me right there in the woods." he doesn't wait for you to respond as he spits down again, this time the slick spit sliding down onto your seeping cunt. his hand leaves, replacing with the thick, teasing head of his cock.

you gasp, rising on your toes as the blunt tip of his dick spreads your cunt, teasing your clit before notching at your entrance. "gonna fill up every hole tonight, baby, y'gonna let me?"

you let out a whine, "fuck, yes, please." you nod, cunt fluttering around the tip of his cock.

the stretch is painful; you expected it, craved it - you let out an animalistic moan when he slides in a few inches. "oh-" you whimper, legs tensing as Joel kneads the flesh of your ass, pressing his bare chest to your spine as he mouths along the base of your neck, "relax, baby, so fuckin' tight-" he groans as he slides in slowly, "let me in, sweetheart, c'mon-"

a rush of arousal and he's fully seated within you, the sting of his cock in you subsiding as a growing desire mounts until you can't take it. "move- m-move, now, please." you rush, hips pushing back against Joel's impatiently.

"shit," Joel hisses as he pulls out of you slightly - a long, thick drag against your velvety cunt and you groan at the sweet bliss of being filled up. you moan as he thrusts forward, tip hitting the perfect spot that already, as his pace builds, has a simmering coil deep within you.

"thought- thought about it all day," you admit, hands finding purchase on the counter as he starts to fuck into you, your tits sliding as they press against the sink. "on the horse, thought abo-" you moan sharply as his thumb grazes over your asshole, spreading the slick and his spit around the tight ring. "fuck, sir- that feels good." you moan. he groans in response and the words fly from your lips - "you drive me crazy, so big, t-touching me all the time. dream about you filling me up- s-stuffing me full, even out in the woods-"

your words are too much for Joel, apparently, because his hand slaps over your mouth and his voice whispers, "sh-shut the fuck up, darlin', y'needa be quiet or I'm gonna finish before this even starts." he grunts, hips snapping into yours as he picks up the pace.

you whimper at his words, arousal gushing from you and coating his cock in your slick; the wet slapping of your bodies echoing through the bathroom. "fuck-" he drags out the word, fingers sliding over your lips to prod at your mouth, "here- suck, darlin' - there you go, good girl, that's right."

your tongue slides over his fingers, eyes fluttering closed as you feel his thumb breach your tight hole; a sudden rush of pleasure runs through you as it hits you - Joel's everywhere. he's filling you completely - his thumb slowly fucks your tight ring of muscle as his cock spears your cunt; his fingers, pressing down on your tongue as you whimper and moan around him.

a groan leaves his full lips; "fuck- look at me." he grunts, hand sliding up your throat to pull your jaw towards your reflection. "look at me, baby-" his fingers slide back into your mouth as your eyes meet the fire in his through the mirror.

"always tell me when you feel like this, 'kay?" he asks, brows stern as he rams his hips into you; his thumb fills you and fucks into you at a slower speed than his cock, sending searing pleasure through your entire body.

your flesh moves at the impact of his hips and you cry out as his cock hits the delicious spot inside you that curls your toes. his thumb slips from your ass and you whimper dejectedly; the full feeling subsiding slightly as his hand grips your tits, pinching your nipple as he hums in your ear. "don't want my pretty little slut feeling so needy all the time, right?" he mutters, nosing at your hair as he fucks into you with no abandon. your fingers clench to the sides of the sink as you let out a strangled, "yes, sir-"

"so if you use your words, I'll give you anything you want." he groans, hand smacking your ass as the other squeezes your jaw. you nod, agreeing with his words though his cock has rendered you nearly speechless. he hums in approval before muttering, "now you're goign to play with your clit until you cum."

you let your eyes roll back at the commanding tone as your hand snakes down to rub tight, blisteringly pleasurable circles over your bundle of nerves.

but it's immediately too much so soon; you're already so close to your orgasm that a jagged gasp falls from your lips, jumping at the feeling.

"no, 's too much," you moan, head falling back as your finger teases your clit, flames of pleasure licking up isnide you.

but Joel smirks, "why're you still doin' it, then?" he teases, cock hitting so deep and bruising that you think you may see stars.

you moan out, "w-wanna cum, wanna make you happy, Joel." you whimper, completely forgetting to call him sir; but you feel his brows furrow as a moan ripples from his lips - "y'makin' me real happy right now, darlin', look at you. fucked out on this old man's cock, doin' whatever I say, desperate and willing. you're perfect, aren't you?"

you shiver in pleasure at his praise, fingers shaking as you rub your clit, trying so hard not to ruin your orgasm by cumming too soon. his cock spears into you at a pace that will certainly bruise your hips; your breath is punched out of you, your gasps and moans painting the air.

"say it, baby." he orders, hand stroking your breast a staunch contradiction to his brutal pace. "tell me how perfect you are for me."

you wail, head falling back onto his broad, thick shoulder as he runs his mouth over your shoulder, nipping as he goes. you're out of breath - "p-perfect, I'm perfect for you Joel, fuck, don't stop. so good, so good-" you mumble, fucked out after only a few minutes.

he hums, nodding into you. "taught you well, didn't I? you're my perfect little star."

you nod, "yes, sir, thank you-" you squeal in pleasure as he strokes long and slow, pushing you nearly to the brink as your legs shake. you can't take it, though - your fingers stop their ministrations, shaking and burning as you pull away from your clit, so close from just his cock and-

a slap to your cheek as Joel's lips bite into your jaw, "put your fuckin' hand back right now. you don't stop 'till I tell you to."

you swallow shakily, shaking your head, "I can't- it's too much, I can't-"

"fine." he snaps, slapping your cheek again before one hand slips to grip hard at your shoulder, lifting one of your legs up onto the sink; his other hand snakes down to pinch your tortured clit and you scream as he grunts in your ear, "I'll do it myself."

he's unforgiving on your quivering cunt, barely able to stay upright as he pushes you down, your cheeks pressing to the cool counter as he pounds down into you, shooting you into a hurtling race towards your orgasm.

he brutally fucks into you in a blinding pace. you nearly scream as white-hot pleasure rips through you, your hands falling to the counter as he coaxes a mind-bending orgasm from you. you see white as you cum, pulsing and writhing over his cock as it spears into you, splitting you open.

"that's it, baby-" he lets out a loud moan, biting into your neck as he continues the brutal pace, "jesus- s'fucking tight, baby, can barely move-" his hands fall to your hips, using you as a fuck toy to finish himself off; you're still writhing with the ecstasy of the orgasm, relishing in the way his hands hold you.

"where're you gonna take me, baby?" he grunts, voice strained: he's so close.

you scramble, holding his hips as you nearly pass out - pleasure too much. "cum on my ass, please sir." you mutter, heat licking up your throat as the words come out.

he moans and pulls out of you suddenly, hand flying from your skin to his cock, a slick noise as he quickly tugs himself until hot spurts of his cum paint the skin of your ass. "pretty girl," he grunts to himself, "an' you're all mine."

you hum, moaning quietly as his thumb soothes over your skin, spreading his cum over your ass and pressing it slightly against your ass. your cunt flutters in arousal at the action and he hums, "y'like that, don't you, pretty girl?"

you nod as you let out a shaky sigh and he presses a kiss to your spine, "good." it's a whisper on your skin, a promise.

he's barely grabbed a towel to wipe his cum off your skin before you're turned around on jelly legs - his strong arms pull you in so fast you barely have a second to straighten out - he's nuzzling into your wet hair in a way that has your heart thumping and your throat dry.

his heart beats against your cheek, body warm, chest heaving along with yours.

heat, affection - they swirl in your chest as his bare body cradles yours. intimately.

your sweet skin is sticky with sweat when Joel comes to, out of the bliss of his and your orgasms.

he's just as sweaty as you, though the clean skin and foggy mirror have started to clear up. Joel nearly huffs a short laugh at the thought of taking yet another shower - christ knows the two of you are once again filthy - but he kind of likes it, in a way. a secret.

he brushes it off when he feels your fingers curl around his arm; he had barely noticed that he'd tugged you upright and right into his chest, holding you as tight as he could. for some reason, his mind reaches back to earlier in the evening, when he'd heard that branch - the fear, the panic that'd risen in him. he's not sure why, or at least, he won't think about it. you hadn't mentioned it, but he'd seen your hands shake and your eyes cloud with fear.

something for another time, because he has you warm and pliant and naked in his arms. he barely noticed how his lips press at your hairline; it's just... well, feels natural.

like you both need it.

"stay here, please." you ask meekly, quietly. the first words spoken in a minute; you're swallowing around the nerves and anxiety that crawl in your chest, he can tell. he feels them, too.

he's taken aback as he stares at you - you both have patrol again in the morning, is it not... aren't you going to get tired of him?

won't you find him annoying, or gross in the morning when he inevitably pulls you closer in his sleep, when the dreams are too real and he shoots up in bed?

the panic subsides as he stares into your warm eyes, hopeful, bashful. he smiles gently, biting through the smile in embarrassment at how willing he is to stay. he'd stay forever if you asked.

Joel nods through his surprise, though, his body and heart and head aching to lie with you once again, to feel the calmest sleep he's had in years.

"course, darlin', I'll..." he pulls you in closer, so he doesn't have to look at those damn eyes when he finally admits it -

"I'll stay as long as you want."

feedback welcome as always :') <3

#let's chat abt mr miller #joel tlou smut #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x you #joel miller the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel smut #joel x reader #joel tlou #the last of us x reader #the last of us (tv)#the last of us smut #pedro pascal smut

811 notes · View notes

libby-for-life · 3 months

Note

So, can you do a sick one-shot with Adam and Lucifer? Maybe Adam has a fever and Lucifer reluctantly takes care of him. But then he starts to hallucinate things. Stuff that makes Lucifer question things about what he believes.

Oh? A challenge, hu? Since you didn't specify if this was my version of Adamsapple, I'm just going to assume that this is more traditional Adamsapple and go from there.

Sinner!Adam under contract with Lucifer.

Lucifer stood before Charlie with a sigh, feeling irritated. "Are you telling me that there isn't anyone else who can take care of him? I don't have time to deal with a whiney brat who is probably faking all this just to get attention," he grumbled. The devil was not convinced that Adam was genuinely sick. He wouldn't put it past him to fake it to receive special treatment.

Charlie replied, "Normally, I would take care of it, but I have a lot of paperwork to deal with." She gestured towards her desk, which was piled high with papers, making Lucifer wince. "Vaggie is busy with Niffty, Angel Dust and Husk are working, and Alastor is not an... option."

Lucifer shivered at the thought of Alastor taking care of Adam. The devil was under contract to protect the idiot from harm, but it would end badly for Adam if Alastor was involved. "Alright, I'll do it," he said, resigned.

"Thank you, Dad!" Charlie beamed at him, making him feel a little better. Teleporting to Adam's room, Lucifer hoped to catch him in the act of faking it but found himself in a dark room with the curtains drawn. The only thing he could see was a lump on Adam's bed.

Frustrated, the devil snapped his fingers, and the lights turned on. Adam let out a whimper, making Lucifer roll his eyes. "Oh, stop it. Nobody is buying this pity act," he said sternly.

When he got no reply, he growled again, "The hard way it is then." He stomped over to the sinner's bed and ripped the blankets off him. "Get up now!" Lucifer was done playing games. If Adam was going to continue acting this way, he didn't mind using force to beat some sense into him.

However, to his surprise, Adam didn't yell, swear, or even glare at him. Instead, he let out another whimper. This time, Lucifer actually looked at Adam and saw just how different he looked. His gray skin had an ashy color, his breath was labored, and his shirt was missing, revealing how sweaty he was. It was clear that Adam was genuinely sick.

Lucifer felt slightly guilty for making Adam uncomfortable when it was clear he was miserable with a fever.

Placing a hand on the sinner's forehead, he hissed at the heat. "Oh, you are sick, aren't you?" He murmured. "Alright, let's sit you up."

Soon, Adam was propped up on pillows, wrapped up in comfortable blankets, and looking at Lucifer with dazed eyes. The devil knew that the demon wasn't truly seeing him due to his sickness.

Gently draping a cool cloth onto Adam's forehead, he noticed how the sinner's eyes followed his every move.

"You're so beautiful...." Adam slurred.

Lucifer froze and looked at him confused. "Hu?" He must've been really out of it if he was complimenting him.

"Beautiful...so beautiful. I can see why she left me...I didn't stand a chance."

Lucifer grimaced when he realized that Adam must've been talking about Eden. Whether it was Eve or Lilith he was referring to was still being questioned in Lucifer's mind.

"Let's not waste your energy." Lucifer finally said.

Adam whimpered again but he continued talking. "Lilith was beautiful too...but she didn't like me...why did she not like me?"

"Maybe because you were a narcissistic dick who wanted to control her?" Lucifer said with a glare. Any kind of sympathy he had for the sinner was gone. How could Adam even ask that?!

Adam shook his head, clearly too out of it to understand that the devil was insulting him. "That's not what she said..." He slurred out. A look of sadness came over Adam and, to Lucifer's growing discomfort, looked like he was going to cry.

"She told me I was disgusting...that she didn't want to stand next to someone so ugly." Lucifer was too stunned to speak. What?

"She didn't like me talking. I talk too much. She liked to gag me when she couldn't stand the noise. It hurt...." Adam was now crying, big tears rolling down his chubby cheeks.

"Why didn't you fight back?" Lucifer immediately asked. If he hated how Lilith treated him, especially if it hurt, then why didn't he make her stop? Adam certainly never backed down from a fight. In fact, he was usually starting them.

"I wanted her to like me..." Adam replied with a groan. His breathing seemed labored. "If I did what she wanted...then she'll like me....even if it hurt. Even if it made me cry." Adam furrowed his eyebrows, his hazy eyes looking into the distance. "No...she didn't like me crying. She said it was annoying and ugly so I don't do it anymore." It was ironic with the tears streaming down his face.

Adam turned his golden eyes to the devil who flinched at the devastating but resigned look on his face. "I guess I didn't do it good enough...she found someone better...someone smarter...."

A large hand cupped Lucifer's cheek. "Who can compete with angels?" And then he passed out. Lucifer didn't know that he was holding his breath until he started gasping. What the fuck?

#adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel #sickfic #oneshot #lilith

176 notes · View notes

sssilverstoned · 6 months

Text

sympathy for the devil ꩜ cl16

type: fluff? besties to lovers? let's say that. a friend is done dirty but is she really a friend? debatable. flashbacks, angst-ish (a guilty conscience is always a great outfit addition, no?)

word count: 4.6k

warnings: language, suggestive but no smut (finger sucking. i was in a mood,) charles is a reformed cheater, so let's say some moral ambiguity all around

lily said: hello hello! welcome to the inner workings of my hyper fixation on summer romances and a couple of bestieeeees who should just be a couple. now that this guy is out the way, i'd love to formally open requests! a drabble, fic, oneshot, hit my line ! we can get into the details of who i do and don't write for later <3

You are not a terrible person. You're not even a bad person, truly. It's something you repeat to yourself like a mantra as you look away from Charles's side profile across the long table.

He's looking like summertime, soft like an afternoon nap, but sharp like a stinging on your skin from too many 5 more minutes called from the patio. His neck is elongated slightly, trying to hear Joris's story over Mirabel's loud laughter. When he leans like that, you can see a peak of the remnants of the hickey you sucked into his pale skin the evening before. Your stomach hurts.

Charles's own nose is red, he's scrunching it on occasion like no one will notice his discomfort, and his necessity for aloe vera. You've packed it in your bag because you know he wouldn't have. He knows to ask you for it later.

You excuse yourself from the long table, your dinner in front of you looking great, but you were nowhere near hungry. When you push your chair back to stand, it makes a low noise against the floor of the garden, and his head whips to you immediately.

It was your friend group's traditional holiday you were gathered for, an annual week at Mirabel's family home right on the water. 4 girls and 5 boys, room assignments remaining relatively static throughout the years. There was that one year Clara and Sammy shared a room, but, as both of them would easily say, it wouldn't be happening again.

"Everything okay, y/n/n?" Peter asks from your diagonal, which makes more heads turn to your now standing figure. You let out an uncomfortable huff, disguised as a laugh. Charles can read you like his favorite book.

Your linen dress clings to your body, yet flows off you effortlessly. He remembers seeing it on a hook in your room, wondering how it would look on your figure when he pretended to not watch you change tops. Reality was always better than fantasy, this he knew for certain.

"I'm alright, just chilly. Want to grab my sweater."

"I'll go with you, want to charge my phone anyway," Emma smiles up at you from her seat, standing up as well.

Charles follows your figure with your eyes until you disappear into Mirabel's villa, then continues to pretend to be listening to whatever Peter has begun rambling about.

"Did you see the way he and Oliver left the pantry in disarray this morning?" Emma's practically hissing her disdain, her shorter legs pumping overtime to catch your gait. You were hoping she couldn't.

"Who? What are you talking about?"

"Charles," she gags. "Tried to cook breakfast, and of course it was shit. Can't believe you didn't know."

You did, you helped him clean it up.

"I feel like it's quite hard to burn oatmeal," you snort, scrubbing the pot.

"Too much sugar in the pot, I suppose. That's how you make yours, yes? With brown sugar?"

You look back at him from where he was leaning against the counter, watching you help him fix his mess. Oliver had cleaned up the spilled flour on the floor of the pantry, then ran out to get pastries from a bakery before the rest of the villa woke up and threatened his life.

"Surprised you remember how I like my breakfast," you say.

"Why?" he asks, cocking his head. "I know a lot about you."

You click your tongue, suddenly shy under his intentional gaze. Your focus is back on the pot, and a stubborn clump of congealed oats. Charles peers around the kitchen quickly, before coming up behind you, a large hand circling your waist.

"How did you sleep? I realize I didn't ever ask," He drops a kiss to the crown of your head when he finishes speaking, and your breath hitches. Not with love or affection, but with a strike of fear, almost. It was an open air kitchen, and while everyone seemed to be sleeping in, you never really could know who may be stirring about.

"Slept fine. Kept the windows open," you shared a room with Clara on these trips, you two were always the closest of the girls growing up and never minded sharing. She didn't say anything when you came in at 2 am with mussed hair and swollen lips, and you were grateful for it.

"You could have stayed, Joris didn't come in until late."

You finally bristle, dropping the pot onto the drying rack. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that."

You turn in his grasp, eyebrows frayed in the middle of your face. He hates when you look at him like this. "Y/n, we're not children anymore. We're two consenting adults."

"Emma will hate me."

"And is that worth your happiness? Whether or not your friend, who you aren't that close to, by the way, is mad at you?"

"You cheated on her, Charles."

You clear your throat as you blink away the memory. Emma scoffs again at the thought of Charles. "He even had the gall to come out on the patio at the same time as me this afternoon."

"Everyone was on the patio, Emma," you level, already getting irritated with her tone. She irritated you often, Charles wasn't necessarily wrong about your lack of proximity to her. She was always a bit bratty, but had too much history with the group to be left behind, no matter how much she seemed to irk everyone. "You can't expect him to walk on eggshells around you, he's still a part of the group."

Emma stops walking, but you keep pace. "Are you defending a cheater, y/n?" You're glad you didn't stop.

Your eye twitches, and you're glad that she can't see it. This conversation was draining you, yet it's barely started, and already, it's over. She did this nearly every time they were in the same vicinity, and it was getting old. Or maybe, it was the guilt that you were fucking her ex-boyfriend.

It was a mistake that they dated in the first place. He had just broken up with his long term girlfirend, someone you all never seemed to get along with, and Emma's eyes were always slightly googly for the boy. Her attention was more palpable, and better received, than the rest. So they began to fool around, began to hold hands a bit more at group dinners. You heard her say 'boyfriend' much more than he did, though.

The cheating was a bit egregious, even for Charles. For the sake of everyone's friendships, his romance with her was kept under wraps, the superiority of a professional PR team apparent over gossip columns and nosy fans. It was the nosy fans, unfortunately, that had found Charles in a club somewhere in Italy with his tongue down some model's throat.

She cried, shouted, did everything but rip her own hair out at the photos that surfaced. Perhaps it hurt her most that people were excited to see Charles with the woman, finally seen with someone that wasn't an engineer or Vasseur. They didn't know about her, and frankly, they never would. She was never terribly important to Charles, everyone knew that, and now she did too.

The group had moved on, sans Emma. No one really made fusses about it in the first place, their relationship running its course over only about 3 months. The boys saw it coming and, well, the girls had warned her. A rebound was always obvious to those watching.

The worst part, the part that made you feel so ill all the time, is Charles wanted to be yours, and you wanted to be anywhere but the villa.

You grab your sweater off of the chair at the vanity mirror in your room, bristling at the chill coming from the open window you had left during the night, and now day. You hear the laughter of your friends, of Peter shouting over Oliver, and Charles laughing from his belly. You hate that you can tell his laughter from the rest.

When you sit back down at the table, Clara waits for you to scoot your chair back in and place the napkin in your lap. "You lost her inside, eh?"

You crack a smile, Clara was your most blunt, and funniest, friend. "Had to, lest I hear about Charles's trespasses again."

Clara chuckles into her wine glass. "If only she knew."

In a lowered voice, you turn closer to her. "I think she may actually lose her mind if she found out, Clara."

She rolls her eyes. "Find out what? That you two are obsessed with each other, yet you won't take him seriously? That she was collateral? Shit happens."

"That's not what this is."

"Please. He'd marry you tomorrow if given the opportunity, y/n. Deep down, she knows that was never her anyway."

When you look back up at Charles, he's already looking at you, looking so endearing that you have to look back down at your chicken and roasted vegetables. You're still not hungry.

꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜

It happened quickly, but the buildup seemed to make it inevitable. You were always a friend of the leclercs, your mother's growing an affinity for each other when you were quite young. You grew up alongside the boys, Charles always having a soft spot for you in particular. Charles escorted you every time your father hosted a gala, and voluntarily was your designated driver on nights out. One in particular, 6 months ago, sealed fates.

"Charlie, just take one shot."

"If I take a shot, I won't be driving," he laughs at you, looking at you with little twinkles in his eyes. He and Emma had just finally broken up, the past 3 months couldn't be categorized as anything but odd. After they had notified the group, in their own respective ways, you had seemed to have gotten your fun loving, a tad awkward, but always down for what you were plotting, Charlie back. He had agreed in a heartbeat to meet you and Clara at the club. It makes you grin.

"That's fine, uber exists. Have fun for once, please?" You pout, tequila speaking for you. Everything was already a bit hazy, much funnier than normal, and less serious.

"Yeah, come on Chaaaarlie," Clara giggles knowingly. He'd do anything if you asked for it, this was a fact.

With a shake of his head and faked disdain, he downs the shot, hears your cheers, and suddenly, one shot is seven and you're both screaming the lyrics to an old Fergie song that blasts through the speakers.

Heels were a bad, but stunning, idea. You felt cute and confident, but by the time you had stopped dancing like a mad person to get a drink of water, the balls of your feet began to throb.

"Please don't take your shoes off in this place," Charles begs.

"Don't be my father," you frown. "My feet hurt."

"Your feelings will be what's hurting when someone steals these off the section couch," he points to your feet, and there was a touch of validity. They were Jimmy Choos, after all, and cost more than you could comprehend. Charles often went overboard on your birthday gifts.

"I'll take that risk."

"I'll hold them."

"You won't," you say with a laugh, used to his dramatics. But he shocks you, gingerly picking them off the couch and holding them on his index and middle finger.

"Charlie, put my shoes down."

"I will do no such thing."

Somehow, somewhere between promising Clara you'd text her when the uber dropped you and Charles off at his place, helping him get the key into the lock of his door, and sitting on his kitchen island, Charles finds himself in between your legs, staring into your eyes that had glitter and mascara surrounding them.

It wasn't normal of "best friends" to be around each other like this. He knew that. He hadn't wanted to be just your best friend in a while though, but having you in that capacity was better than nothing at all. Especially when he had seemingly bounced from one girlfriend to the other, and deep down, he knew it was because he was bored. They weren't you, no matter how much imitation was attempted. Perhaps the only person who was aloof to his truest desires, was you.

"You looked very pretty tonight, y/n/n."

"You looked dashing yourself," you wink, "the girls in there told you that though, no?"

He rolls his eyes. "That wasn't anything. Just fans, same shit as usual."

"You usually are being hit on by pretty girls, is what you're saying?" You continue to tease. Charles can't stand your smart mouth sometimes, especially how much he can't help but love it.

"To be fair, I don't really notice. I'm always looking at you, anyway."

You don't have a response for that. He's never said it outright, never crossing the line. But now he has, and there's no going back.

"Charles, you just broke up with Emma."

"I know,"

"You cheated on her."

"I know,"

"I'm your best friend."

His turn to grin. "I know."

In a fashion completely unlike you, throwing caution to the wind felt like the only option, pulling him in with your legs, locking around the back of his waist, lips pressed onto his, hair between your fingers. He tastes like tequila and mint gum, like the things you regret yet adore. He wonders if this means the same to you as it means to him.

When you wake up in his bed, makeup removed and your favorite shirt of his draped over your body, you inhale deeply when you feel the familiar soreness stretching through your lower half, and the weight of his arm roped around your body. Now that you've gotten your taste, you weren't giving it up.

"Did you pack the aloe vera?" You hear him from your doorway, blinking back from yet another memory.

"'S in the bathroom, look in the blue toiletry bag," you call, not looking away from where you were taking your hooped earrings out in the mirror. It was a domestic encounter in a way, like a scene taken out of context 20 years from now. Maybe one day, you'd be on holiday with a family of your own, enjoying silence once your kids were asleep after playing in the water all day. Maybe you'd be actually sharing a room, instead of whatever the fuck this was.

"You seemed off at dinner, everything okay?" Charles asks, rubbing the gel on his soon-to-be-peeling nose.

"Fine," you shrug, turning back to look at him, and not just his reflection. "Just wasn't so hungry. And cold, like I said."

He chuckles a little to himself. "I could tell," he nods with his head down to your chest. Your nipples had pearled, and supposedly, had been pearled, and were obvious through the thin fabric of your fitting dress.

"Jesus Charles," you berate, turning back to your mirror. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm a man," he corrects. "Who's seen what's under that dress and thinks it's a great sight. But I also like your mind and your personality and all that, of course." Idiot. He sits on your bed, making himself comfortable against the headboard as he watches you get ready for bed. Domesticity. "Will you be going back to Monaco after this?"

"No, visiting Clara's family in the states for a little."

He makes a discontent noise. "How long?"

"A week," you answer. "Miami."

"Fun, going to go out?"

"What is it to you?" You ask, half jokingly, half alerted by his series of questions.

He shrugs this time. "Care about you, want to know what your plans are. Is it a crime?"

"No, just makes me fear you're in love with me."

"I'm on my way to that, I tell you that all the time. And you make jokes because you know it's true."

You stand up from the vanity, looking at him with an expression that makes his heart hurt. It's that wounded puppy look, the way you used to look at Arthur when Charles would tell him to fuck off from trying to hang out with the two of you as teenagers.

"I don't really know what to say when you say those things." He stands up from your bed, meeting you where you stand in the middle of you and Clara's room. He still smells just like all your favorite aspects of summer, and that tired look in his eyes from a day of relaxation and release melts you. "I know I'm in my head."

"'S a good head to be in." He moves the strans of your hair that were falling over your forehead behind your ear, smoothing his fingers over your jawline until his fingers lift your chin. "That's better. Couldn't see your face."

"What is this, Charlie?" Your eyes search his, and he hates how scared you look. "Like, seriously. We, we fuck, we sleep in the same bed more than we don't."

"We always have done that, you've shared with Enzo and Arthur before too I'm sure."

"Don't be dense."

"I think that's just how I am, mon amour."

"Such a shithead," you mutter with a huff, annoyed with his smug expression. "I'm being serious. If sex is just what you want, or need, right now, I don't think I can do this anymore."

"It's much more than that to me, don't insult me," He no longer has a grin on his face, mouth turned much more stoic. "My actions precede me, yes," you withold commentary on that, "but I'd never do anything to hurt you, y/n/n. I care about you, think about you all the time, want you wherever I am, always."

A part of you thinks this is what you've always wanted to hear. A gorgeous, successful, personable man who you've grown to trust infallibly your whole life is 5 feet short of professing his love for you, and yet, you can't let yourself fully be happy. Because for the last 6 months, you've ducked and dodged your own friends, not wanting them to know about the two of you. He did cheat, for crying out loud. On someone you have baby photos with. No matter how annoying, or selfish, she comes off, Emma wasn't going anywhere in your life. And you'd be devastated if she did this to you, so he remained your dirty little secret.

"Am I interrupting?" Clara says teasingly from the doorway, a wine glass still in her hands. "Sorry, Mirabel wanted me to check on you."

You clear your throat and step away from Charles. "Not at all. Charlie's got a sun burn."

"Ah. You are pale," Clara notes. "Figures."

"Thanks, Clar."

"Still drinking?" You nod toward her glass. "Pour me one, will you?"

"Sure will." She turns, and you make to follow.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore, I think."

"Y/n,"

"Not right now," you say firmly, "please?"

And you've got that withered look, that look that screams exhaustion. Guilt's gonna kill him one day, he's sure.

"Fine."

And with that, you head out the door, leaving Charles in your room, regretting not telling you how he felt about you when his girlfriend told him to. Before Emma took that mantle instead, and before you started looking at him like it was hard to do so.

꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜

Sammy brings it up first, but the entirety of the day was the beginning of the end of secrecy.

The next day had been decided as a boat day, everyone prepared for another long day in the sun, this time on the open waves. The girls had all gone below deck, in search of champagne and a bottle opener, and Sammy and Charles were far enough from Oliver, Joris, and Peter for them to hear a conversation.

"I've got a question I think," Sammy asks. He makes an affirmative noise, head leaned back against the cushions of the lounger, sunglasses sliding down his still peeling nose. "Are you and y/n hooking up?"

Charles immeditely looks up at Sammy, mouth open in a scramble for the most believable way to say no. "No, ah, why would you say that?" oh dear.

"Mate," Sammy winces.

"Fuck me," Charles yanks the glasses off and wipes both hands over his face. He keeps them there when he asks, "how?"

"Leaving hickeys is one thing, her jewelry on your bedside table is another." The central heating unit for their floor was in Joris and Charles's room, Sammy did go to adjust it yesterday morning. Fuck. "Does Emma know?"

"No," Charles says quickly. "No. Y/n doesn't want anyone to."

Sammy quirks his mouth to the side. "Well, are you dating?"

"No,"

"Ah." Sammy looks out on the water, stewing over this confirmed theory of his. You all suddenly appear from inside, cheering with a bottle clutched in Emma's hand, you with the opener. When he looks back at Charles, he sees that even though all four of you stand there he's looking at you. This must be sympathy for the devil, Sammy thinks, because why else is he feeling bad for someone whose problem was multiple attractive women had feelings for him?

"Charlie, can you help?" you pout, unable to get the cork loose from the bottle. It was obvious you were tipsy, drunk even, you all had been drinking since the sun came up.

"Fucks sake y/n, use your arm!" Clara groans. Sammy looks back at Charles, willing him with his brain to not be at your beck and call for once.

"I've got it," Charles chuckles, like an idiot, if you ask Sammy. He pops it, a cheer coming from the group at the appearance of bubbles and spray. It gets all over his hands as he attempts to hold the bottle away from his body, and he shakes the excess off as the cheers continue. Oliver whisks the bottle away to be divied up between everyone's cups, and Charles goes inside to wash his hands off. You slink off behind him, unbeknownst to him, or the rest of your friends, except for Emma, whose interest is piqued by your sudden absences.

"Thanks for the help," your voice is sweet in the silence of the kitchenette.

His head whips to your figure, slightly startled by your presence. You're barefoot, a brown bikini only covering what's absolutely necessary to be covered. He can't tell if he loves it or he hates it. Your open button up shirt tossed on as a cover up intrigues him, because, is that his?

"Is that my shirt?" Charles repeats, out loud this time, eyes trained like heat seekers as you move close. His hands lay in the towel, champagne still dripping off his fingers. You've seemed to have distracted his process.

"No, but it seems like you would love it if it was."

He raises his shoulders. "You're welcome to them."

You hum, "good to know." You're looking at him like prey, it makes his throat dry and he's not sure what to say. You're always the bubbly one, the sunshine when he's being grumpy and difficult.

Charles lifts his hands from the towel that he still hasn't utilized yet, pushing his luck by placing a hand on your hip. He plays with the string on your right hip, fingers begging to untie the bow. "You only like talking to me when we're in kitchens, huh?"

He makes you laugh with that, or maybe it's the alchohol making you do it. "I always like talking to you. It's you that can't keep hands to yourself."

A hand slides up his chest, resting casually, yet his heart races faster. That familiar, warm feeling settles in his lower stomach, and he wills himself not to harden like a teenager. "We both have a problem with hands, I see."

You tilt your head in challenge. You pull his hand off of your hip and lift it, analyzing the digits still drenched in champagne. And to his utter surprise, you take his index finger into your mouth. The eye contact you hold as you do so has his mouth dropping open slightly in a daze, mind going to static as he feels the warmth and wetness, the pucker of your lips. You hum as you release his finger with a pop, licking your lips.

"Don't think I have a problem with your hands at all, Charles."

Charles, not Charlie. He's ruined.

How you saunter away after that leaves him gobsmacked, flustered, and most of all, hoping this boat would be docking soon.

꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜

"I have an offer for you," is how you start the conversation. You're all showered, evening attire thrown on and awaiting the metaphorical dinner bell. The two of you plus Peter were sat out on the patio, and were left alone when Peter ran in to the bathroom for a moment.

"When I come back home, we should go on date."

Charles thinks he mishears you. "What?"

"A date, Charlie. You know, when two people who share a romantic interest go out toge-"

"Enough, smartass," He stops your condescension. "You would go on one with me?"

You take a deep breath. "Yeah, I would. I like you, and all that."

"And all that," he repeats. "What every man wants to hear."

"Do you want to go on the date or not?"

"I do, I really do. Have wanted to for a while, you know."

You smile softly, resting your head on the lounger. "I know."

"Dinner's ready," Emma comes out to announce. When she sees it's only the two of you, her expression changes slightly, something only you'd notice after years of experiencing emotions from her. "Where's Peter?"

"Bathroom," you answer easily. Emma looks at the two of you intently, and Charles turns towards the water, not really interested in making conversation with the woman who's profusely stated her aversion to him.

"Hm. Well, come down soon."

When she closes the glass doors, Charles all but laughs out loud. "What a nightmare."

"Your ex," you rebut, "can't believe that to this day. If you didn't like her, why'd you do it?"

"Because I didn't think I could have you."

His veins fill with regret when he says it, he knows its not fair. But it's true, you know it as well. "Well, no more collateral damage, then." You stand up from the lounger, brushing down your dress. "Pick a good restaurant for the date."

Dinner begins well, Mirabel telling stories and Oliver denying them all. It's when the laughter dies down after Joris recounts their last trip to Nice that things begin to slant.

"Y/n/n," Emma calls from down the table. You turn to her, as everyone does.

"Yeah, Em?"

"I just have been dying to know," she starts, clasping her hands under her chin. "How long have you and Charles been fucking?"

Peter chokes on his wine. The table is utterly silent, and everyone's face carries the same shocked expression. And, wow, you've pictured this moment dozens of ways and hundreds of times, but honestly, this one was rare form. But after everything, especially today, caution was once again to the wind.

"About 6 months," you calmly answer, reaching for your glass. "Give or take."

"You bitch," she hisses. "Are you not even ashamed of yourself?"

"Are you not going to address Charles in the slightest, or is it just y/n's fault that they have sex?" Clara asks, and Mirabel and Oliver can't help the snicker in their chests. Sammy takes another piece of salmon from the middle platter.

"Yes, I could have said something," you mull.

Emma looks around, utter disbelief on her face as it seems everyone's refusing to intervene on this one. You can't blame them, and those who did know, well, their wine glasses are filled.

Emma gets up from the table with a curse of Charles's name and a disgusted look your way, and Clara clears her throat.

"So, anyone have any recommendations for clubs in Miami?"

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fluff

282 notes · View notes

brokendoor16 · 3 months

Text

Okay. So I'm aware that we LOVE love of my life for S3 post-angel depression Crowley, but hear me out. What I actually NEED in S3 is a (ridiculously, impossibly, drunk-to-the-extent-that-would-kill-a-mere-mortal) post-angel depression Crowley doing karaoke to Bohemian Rhapsody. JUST IMAGINE THE FUCKING MOOD SWINGS IN THAT SONG-

As a brief demonstration, I will now pick a lyric from each verse (I'm so sorry guys, this is what happens when I don't sleep so now it's all of your problems):

I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy- delivered in the MOST fucking overdramatic way possible, probably throwing his arms around a looking up (to curse Heaven- AKA try and figure out if Aziraphale's about to watch him embarrass himself again)

Mama, just killed a man- standing up from his chair (this scene is taking place at the closed coffee shop, I've just decided this), with an IMPECCABLE Freddie Mercury impression and kinda staring into Nina's soul (she's both amused and terrified)

I don't wanna die // I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all- slurring his words, slumping back into a chair, sounding utterly depressed and also done with life. Maggie is deeply concerned and trying to count up how much wine he's drank.

Scaramouche, scaramouche, will you do the fandango?- completely manic. At the peak of drunkeness. At some point he has got up on the table and is now pointing at Nina like he's expecting her to actually DO the fucking Fandango (tbh he probably is)

BONUS LINE FROM THE SAME VERSE: Thunderbolts and lightening, very very frightening me- again, peak drunkeness. Slurring his words so hard you can barely tell what he's saying. Stumbling off of the table but still stupidly manic.

Easy come, easy go, will you let me go?- looking up (let's be honest he's probably fallen over and is hauling himself off of the floor) at Maggie and Nina, hammered out of his mind but oddly endearing (according to Maggie, at least. Nina has plenty of words about the whole display and 'endearing' is most DEFINITELY not one of them)

Beezlebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for me- practically fucking SCREAMING, barely able to stand up but somehow with an inhuman amount of energy and finding himself the funniest being to ever grace the earth because BEEZLEBUB

So you think you can love me and leave me to die?- suddenly recovering a whole lot of strength. And anger. Standing up, potentially smoking, staring directly upwards and SCREAMING (he's not doing well guys)

Nothing really matters // nothing really matters to me- there's no more energy. He's on the floor and too drunk to get back up. Probably just slumps over clutching a wine bottle (did I mention he's been using it as a mic?) and goes to sleep. Maggie, Nina, and Aziraphale (IF he's watching) and deeply concerned. He wakes up with a banging headache and an intense feeling of embarrassment.

So yes. That was my TED talk on why Crowley should get drunk and sing Bohemian Rhapsody in S3. Thank you for making it to the end of this train wreck, and I sincerely apologise. I'm very sleep deprived.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #ineffable idiots #crowley #Queen #Just Crowley being himself tbh #good omens s3 #i am unhinged about this show #Can you tell?#anthony janthony crowley #Idk what this is #Enjoy?

127 notes · View notes

changeling-fae · 8 months

Text

You know, thinking about how Raphael and the Emperor fill similar roles but with different methods and how Raphael’s “better the devil you know” takes on a double (triple?) meaning. Raphael straight up tells you what he is and uses that as leverage against the Emperor who deceives you pretty much the whole time.

And for a lot of people it works, people in general prefer honesty up front and while Raphael is absolutely a shady devil, most people would respect his candor over being lied to from the start. Not everyone of course, the Emperor’s tactics still seems to work on a lot of players, given how many never learn he was manipulating them from start to finish.

But I really do like the scene of Raphael laying out all his cards and giving you an opportunity to compare them against the Emperor.

The Emperor could argue he lied about who he was because no one would trust an illithid (which is likely true) but he now has the disadvantage of another shady being persuading his target because said shady being was up front with who he was.

I do vibe way more with Raphael (obviously lol), and I recognize a lot of it is, yeah he was upfront about who he is and his motives. And while arguably headcanon territory, it’s still pretty clear that Raphael has some “affection” (in his own way) for us versus the Emperor who the moment you break through his facade, clearly cannot feel affection.

When he tries to seduce your character and if you turn him down, the narrator actually makes a pretty clear note of planting suspicion about how fast and suspiciously quick the Emperor changed tactics and words despite 5 sec prior talking like he cares about us.

Actually I wouldn’t say it’s that headcanony that Raphael has an attachment to us, all the jokes aside about him having a crush, we get the evidence that he has an attachment from other places aside from Raphael’s mouth.

The diaries and plaque (if you sign the contract) proves it in the sense that in game, Raphael never expected us to see his writings or his vault. And the archivist in the vault says something along the lines about how special we are to Raphael and how Raphael has a “softer spot” for mortals than most, and the archivist says all this to us thinking we’re just some random devil in disguise. Information that wasn’t meant for our ears technically.

Meanwhile you got the Emperor over here who is very good at faking affection and sympathy until you start to examine him more. Then he drops it like a rock, it’s almost scary how quick he can.

Raphael is oddly relatable because he is kinda pathetic in his own way. You can see where and how he got to being who he is. The Emperor is, well, alien. He’s definitely very good at utilizing his old memories of when he was mortal to his advantage, but that mortal is dead and he’s basically just another illithid, just one who happens to be more independent than most.

And while this is all speculation on my part, it’s clear that Raphael both hates but is attached to mortals, likely because of his own existence. He’s half mortal but lives and is bound by the rules of hell like a devil. I think he envies some of the freedom to choose that mortals have, and that’s why he’s so insistent that mortals don’t have choice. He wants that freedom to choose but can’t because of his nature (“hell, hell, hell has its laws”) and he’s trying to convince either himself and/or mortals that they don’t have a choice either, to cover up that envy he feels.

Imagine being the child of one of the big bad archdevils who rules over a layer of hell. There probably is a level or feeling of helplessness that he never had a choice but to be what he is.

And you can contrast that with the Emperor who is no longer mortal and while definitely fighting for his own independence and freedom, is quite content to be what he is.

Considering the whole game has strong themes about choice, fate, and freedom, it’s just fun how even the antagonists shares those struggles same as our characters and the companions.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael meta #bg3 spoilers #I have too many thoughts about this terrible (affectionate) devil man #1am thoughts

192 notes · View notes

livelaughlovesubs · 4 months

Note

Ok ok. So I don’t usually like angst but what about WHB mc finally breaking after Sitri time after time has only considered and called them Solomon. Maybe it hurts more because mc has fallen for him so him still not viewing mc as their own person hurts even more? Anyways yeah :) I’m still very annoyed that Sitri consideres the mc as Solomon in WHB :):):)

OH ALSO, it would be kinda cool if Sitri could like hear how mcs heart beat changes and stuff when he calls them Solomon or something around this lines, I was thinking about this all last night.

Ok, hi Nini 💗 how was your dayyyy?? 💗💗

-🐼

Heyyy, my day was pretty good, I like this idea so~ it will probably be short though. (I’m writing so much sfw stuff these days)

Annnd, idk how to write heartbeat, looked it up, and it said ‘lub’ and ‘dub’ soooo

~…..lub…..dub…..lub…..~

A steady heartbeat, rhythmic, like music to his ears. Sitri listened closely to your heart, he can read your mood like that. You were feeling bored, the beat was rather slow. He walked over to you, showcasing a gentle smile, “would you like some tea?” “Ah, sitri..! Yes, tea would be nice, thanks.”

~…dub…..lub..dub…..lub~

The pace got chaotic, but calmed down eventually, seems like you were deep in thought. “I’ll prepare it.” You watched his back while he heated the water, those baby blue locks looked so pretty in your eyes. He was a devil, yes, but even so he is definitely one of the most charming ones. You also liked how attentive he was, he always knew instantly how you felt.

~…lub….dub….lub….~

Your heartbeat got a little faster, were you impatient? He hurried up with the preparation, pouring the water over the leaves, then putting everything on a plate. Careful, diligent steps, not a single drop got wasted, how elegant. Sitri put the plate down on the table in front of you, he was still wearing a small smile. “Thank you, sitri!” You took a sip, and returned the smile to him. “My pleasure, Solomon.”

Ah… right. This time even you could feel your heartbeat drop. You’ve been tolerating him enough, everything with no fail, he always called you by that name. It was as if a needle pierced your heart, as if it got cut down and thrown out. He was attentive, but he was delusional, and that hurt. It hurts a lot.

~…lub-dub….lub….dub..lub…~

The rhythm got hieratic, sitri’s eyes widened a little, was it the effects of the tea? “Solomon-” “stop, sitri, don’t utter that name.” “What do you mean, Solomon?” “Stop it, don’t call me by that name.” “Humans are so strange, why don’t you want me to call you by your name?” “Because it’s not mine!” Maybe it was because of your already shitty mood, but you snapped. “What..Solomon-” “stop! stop..stop, just, stop it…”

~dub-lub..dub…lub..dub-lub~

Ah, what a… raging heart, fast, uneven. It sounded painful, why? This always happened whenever he calls your name, so he thought it was ‘normal’. But this time, you didn’t have an ounce of sympathy, there was only disappointment. “Sitri, think about it, do I look like Solomon to you?”

~lub..dub..lub-dub…lub~

It got louder, it sounded expectant, you told him to think? Right, your appearance wasn’t the same, but the soul, the heart beat, it was the same. You are Solomon, maybe only a reincarnation, but you were him. “I don’t understand, you are Solomon, there is nothing to change about it.”

~lub-dub…lub-dub..lub~

Now it sounded like.. you lost hope? At what, what do you want from him? He didn’t understand humans- no, he didn’t understand you. “Sitri, I need time for myself. Leave.” “But-” “no, sitri, you don’t understand, I just want you to…” he looked at you expectantly, you could see that his eyes were filled with confusion. “To leave me alone for now, please.” Why couldn’t he understand, is he actively refusing to understand? You don’t want to hurt him, and you know he doesn’t want to hurt you neither, though this just won’t work. The devil listened to your heartbeat a last time, you were wavering between two sides, he definitely did something wrong, but what, what should he do, should he just leave? Maybe that’s for the best. So he did, letting out a deep sigh, face twisting into a sad one, and closing the door behind him.

#🐼 anon #whb #what in hell is bad #whb sitri #whb angst #what in hell is bad sitri #sitri #sitri x reader #sitri whb

95 notes · View notes

oops-all-concrete · 5 months

Text

This was requested by @wine-effectao3 !!

BG3 characters react to the other companions story events/conflicts! These lovelies watch each other go through so much and I have so many HC's about how they feel/interact. There isn't a HC for every character combination, but I did as many as I have rn- I'm open to a part 2 👀

Spoilers for BG3! Enjoy the fluff ^^

(I don't have another image rn, so enjoy my necromancer durge; Ezerah)

Lae'zel -

Lae'zel tends to keep to her own affairs, so stays distant, but watching the Blade of Frontiers gain horns from the source of his commitment and power over what was essentially a mislead, a lie?? The thought of Vlaakith doing the same to her, makes her sick. But inspired her all the same, seeing him take it in stride. She always spoke highly of him as a warrior. Shadowheart gained Lae'zels sympathies as well after the fall of Ketheric. Both Wyll and Shadowheart never have to worry about their weapons being maintained and sharpened. Lae'zel gladly allows them both as much time to relax as she can.

Shadowheart -

Knowing she and Astarion have such similar stories makes the vampire seem a lot more...human, for lack of a better term. She understands that all his avoidance and irritation with immediate kindness isn't out of just being mean- he doesn't want to come off as vulnerable or easy to take advantage of ever again. She goes out of her way to make comments so people know the kindness is begrudging or hesitant, so people don't get that idea. He doesn't know she does that. She won't tell him either. And as much as they butt heads, Lae'zel would have a cleric at her side at a moments notice if she asked.

Wyll -

Watching a man like Gale (someone Wyll looked up to given his mastery of magic without need for a devil's pact) be told by his goddess his old lover- turn so cold as to ask for his death? Nothing makes him more hopeless. Wyll tried to take his mind off it by asking Gale about his home, asking him about plans, making sure he has them. Because Wyll won't let him sacrifice himself. On top of that, he feels awful for Karlach. She inspires him so much knowing what she went through in Avernus and survived, still giggling and dancing. As a lover of dance, he teaches her ballroom and formal dance, in turn, she teaches him house and breakdancing.

Karlach -

There is nobody she feels for in the camp quite like Astarion. She cannot stand the utter hopelessness, anger and betrayal in his eyes and voice whenever he speaks of Cazador, and how willing he is for help from a devil of all people. She knows that desperation. It hurts to see. She sh!t talks Gortash and Zariel with him, so he has an excuse to talk about wiping the floor with Cazador. She also likes watching Gale get excited whenever she asks him a question about- anything really. She hates when his big brown eyes get all sad, so she'll keep him occupied talking about weave and potioncraft and old scripture.

Gale -

While it doesn't bother Wyll so much, Gale is a mommas boy, and can't imagine not having her. He makes plans for his mother to meet Wyll. She makes amazing brownies, and every person should be able to enjoy a mothers baking. (Wyll loves Morena and visits her often after act 3. She loves him for keeping her son safe.) Other than this, watching Lae'zel and Shadowheart lose the admiration of their Gods hurts him personally. He knows that fall. Goes out of his way to make sure they don't lose hope. "Who's to say you can't still have a dragon? There's plenty around. Bigger. Scarier. Probably also hates mind-flayers. Perfect for a woman of your demeanour." He assures her. / "If its any consolation, I like the new hair, Shadowheart. Between you and me, you look much better with white hair than he does" He jokes.

Astarion -

As a man used to fixing his things (since they're all he's got) he goes out of his way to make sure Karlachs things are all in good shape. Clive gets torn at some point or other, and he's pulling out his fabrics and sewing set and wordlessly returns him to Karlachs tent, much to her relief. Neither of them have a lot- so of course he's going to maintain what she has. She deserves it. Also, Shadowheart telling her story hits home for Astarion a lot. Being vulnerable, scared and otherwise an easy target- and having your whole life turned upside down because someone took advantage of it? He becomes a lot more talkative with her. Even if it's just over wine and complaining. Oh, and of course nothing makes him happier than watching Lae'zel turn her back on Vlaakith. Go her.

Halsin -

Halsin has nothing but praise for Wyll. His endless kindness, his patience with the teifling children, his level-headedness in crisis- he is the leader Halsin wishes he was. Halsin also sees Astarions hunger for power. Halsin might not speak of it often, but he's had at least 3 years of what Astarion's suffered for 200, and he knows how much powerlessness feels like vulnerability. He let's the vampire know he's got a bear at his back, even if its met with an eye roll.

68 notes · View notes

loving-family-poll · 6 months

Text

Ultimate Incest Tournament - Round 1

Norma and Norman Bates sculpture by artist "Rainman," titled Murderer

Propaganda under the cut:

Dante/Vergil:

The entire game is about how the power of twincest and a little gratuitous dadson/unclenephew can overcome the cycle of generational trauma

They are half-human half-demon twins who got split up when they were 8. Dante is the more normal one although he is mega depressed and doesn't like being around full human people. Vergil is kind of the evil twin although he is not that evil

They meet again when they are 19 and fight a few times and generally seem like they don't like each other (at one point Dante says "how about a kiss from your little brother" before pulling out a gun) but later on they team up and act like the brothers they once were

Vergil jumps into the demon world (and it's implied that it's a kind of suicide attempt, I think) and stops Dante from reaching for him. Dante is very emo about this and basically considers Vergil dead. He then names his devil hunting business Devil May Cry after how he cried because of Vergil

10 years later Dante comes across a brainwashed Vergil and kills him, not recognizing that it was Vergil until he is dead and gone. Dante is very emo about this

Like 10 years after this Dante comes across Vergil's accidental kid and acts like a distant enigmatic uncle toward him. Like 5 years after that, Vergil is back and splits himself in half, and when one half tells Dante that the evil demon they need to stop is Vergil's other half, Dante gets super pissed at him because he thinks he's lying and doesn't like people using Vergil's name in vain, I guess.

Eventually, both halves of Vergil recombine and he and Dante fight again but Vergil's son tells them to stop doing that and they're just like "okay".

Then a portal is opening to the demon world so someone has to go there and stop it but they'll be trapped there. Both Vergil and Dante go. Vergil tells Dante he doesn't need his help and that he can leave but Dante is like "no 🥰". We see them fighting in hell (in a friendly way) and fighting other demons together, just generally having a good time. Currently, they are still trapped there.

TLDR: Dante is very depressed when it comes to Vergil because he's lost him like 3 times and just wants Vergil to be alive and with him. At the end of the last game, Dante is super genuinely happy with Vergil in the demon world. We see less of Vergil's side of things, but he loves and hates Dante because he feels inferior to him (for mommy issue reasons). Vergil only smiles around Dante and honestly likes fighting him for fun. There's a lot more I could say but this is already so long so... They are complicated but they love each other <3

Norma/Norman:

The weirdest, most charming mother/son duo ever. Bates Motel took an interesting story and turned it into something greater, exploring Norma and Norman's relationship with sincere sympathy. Their love for each other is beautiful, but destructive; their intimacy was born out of necessity and shared pain; the world won't leave them alone. It's awful to witness. It's beautiful and heartbreaking.

i mean COME ON. Norma is constantly upset that Norman expresses interest in other women. She hid her husband from Norman because she knew Norman would throw a hissy fit over them being together (which he did)

He tried to commit murder-suicide so they could die together and when he survived he taxidermied her corpse so they could be together forever

Norman “It’s like there’s a cord between us” x Norma “Honey that’s - that’s from Jane Eyre” are everything to me. I’m barely scratching the surface in doing justice to their insanity. They mean everything to each other and I love their fucked-up codependency so dearly.

After he killed her he couldn't live without her so literally absorbed her personality and started wearing her clothes and speaking for her and carrying her corpse around and when a woman he was attracted to showed up at the hotel he killed her as his mother bc of his mother's jealousy??

#tumblr polls #tournament polls #incest poll #dante/vergil #devil may cry #norma/norman bates #psycho #bates motel #tw incest #round 1

53 notes · View notes

nicosraf · 29 days

Note

Hi Rafa!

Back again in your inbox and I have what’s probably a silly question but I am nothing but silly and goofy so I’ll ask anyway

I was thinking about yk the verious depictions of lucifer (as every sane and normal person does) and it got me wondering onwhat made you decide to characterise Lucifer the way you did, mainly because usually in modern media he’s very much seen as a anti-hero and mostly he’s seen as a good (-ish) guy that didn’t do too much wrong, the rebellion is usually very much written off as something akin to teenage rebellion and God is just seen as a disappointed parent that had no other choice but teach a lesson to his kids (and well that is of course because gods forbid someone sees God as anything less than the perfect father but I digress), for example the Lucifer series does this and in part too hazbin hotel.

And idk it was refreshing to see your read of Lucifer, he starts good and very much kidlike and then his wonder and love become corrupt I’d say, I struggle to call him evil because well for one I have what could be considered too much sympathy for him and I understand him, he was set up to fail in a lot of ways. So I guess I just wonder what made you say “no I’m going to keep the “bad” and “evil” that is in him”

(I am aware that the answer is probably just well he’s like that in most classical depictions but idk I want to hear you ramble about Luci and his development because that’s always interesting and I love it ajdhsh)

Sorry for the confused ramble anyway lots of love from Italy <3

-J :)

Hello! This is a dangerous question!! I have many many essays I'd love to write about the depiction of Lucifer in media and about what eventually led me to making Lucifer like that. It's also fresh in my mind right now because I saw that Lucifer Hazbin Hotel episode recently. (I actually don't have a ton of thoughts on Hazbin Lucifer. He is very cute, but Hazbin isn't trying to be theological I think; it's just having fun with the mythology.)

I would say that societal depictions of Lucifer always mirror a lot of the way that society has come to understand not the devil, but God, parent-child relationships, authority, tradition, and so on. Some people think Paradise Lost was the first to make Lucifer a hero, but it's actually very clear that Milton wanted his flaws to outweigh the good things, to make Satan ultimately a bad person, and to justify God's actions to us.

Like 200 years later, William Blake started saying that Paradise Lost was pro-Lucifer, though by accident: "Milton was of the Devil's party without knowing it." But Blake lives in a very different time, during the French and American revolutions and the industrial revolution. Old traditions and empire are getting shaken up, the story of Lucifer looks a lot more heroic.

I won't get too much into how Satanic panic affected things (or even the rise of anti-theist communist regimes!), though I think the Satanic panic of the 90s really exacerbated Lucifer's connection to teenage rebellion. (Also, I'm focusing on the US because of how much their media is exported and influences other countries).

But so then we got the modern Lucifer I used to see quite a bit — suave, night club owning, slutty, probably referenced bisexual, manipulator of women. I always thought this development was kind of strange. It's almost like what Blake did to Milton's Lucifer; we didn't change how the people before us thought of him, we just decided that the Lucifer we're supposed to hate is actually super cool.

But I was not super compelled by this Lucifer. And I reference these lines a lot, but the idea of Satan in Western Christianity came from several passages from the Bible, one of which is Ezekiel 28, and I was really struck with line 14: “You were blameless in your ways from the day you were created till wickedness was found in you," as well as the multiple times the chapter stresses that the cherub of Eden fell because of his corrupting beauty above all.

I realized I never really saw "blameless" Lucifer, innocent Lucifer. In a lot of interpretations, he's just sort of born wrong or always a little Evil. But the lines say that he was innocent once, and I got really caught up in that. I thought of God watching Lucifer be beautiful and innocent in all that time (like a voyeur).

It felt like the next step in Lucifer's development to take the child-parent relationship between him and God and make it ugly. (Though sticking with the dichotomy of good vs evil didn't really work for me. Lucifer isn't good but he's not evil either, and the weird love and hate mixture is what brings him closer to how God is, too (to me)).

We live in a day and age where all authority is being critiqued, where we don't laugh at teenage rebellion as much. I mean, if you watch any recent Disney movie, you'll see parents learning from their children to stop the cycle of generational abuse. And, of course, with Lucifer becoming so associated with queerness (Lil Nas' MONTERO for example), the framing that he's just a metaphor for a teen rebel who will one day realize his dad was right... falls apart. Lots of teens kicked out of their house for being gay are grown up now and making shows/movies/etc.,. And I think it's always better not to shy away from trauma victims being imperfect and, occasionally, cruel.

So. yeah! I've always been surprised that Lucifer as an imperfect victim of parental abuse, running away, taking some of his sibling with him, isn't more common in general.

#i may not be making sense rn #mine #ask

38 notes · View notes

camlannpod · 4 months

Text

Character Playlist: Peredur Green

Happy off-week! We'll all pretend this one was on time. If you're new, hi! Since Camlann releases every two weeks, on the off weeks I'm posting these breakdowns of the character playlists. You can find Morgan's here and Dai's here.

This week it's time for our favourite knight, Peredur!

Brother by The Brilliance

When I look into the face Of my enemy I see my brother I see my brother

Perry's big problem is that they're a knight. And they love the other knights. They feel a siblinghood with them which is incredibly hard for them to ignore. The knights are their family, their home, their story - the place they're meant to be. But it's a family that won't accept them as they are. Perry so badly wants the knights to change their mind.

2. Battle Cry by The Family Crest

Oh, my love, my heart don't cry We were born to die But for this moment, for all time Oh, I will fight for you I will die for you

Perry's a knight! They very much see it as their duty to fight and die to protect the people they love. Right now, that especially means Morgan and Dai, who they've been travelling with since their escape from the Knights. Perry will risk life and limb to keep them safe. (This song is also about Dai. A lot of these songs are about how Perry feels about Dai)

3. Cypress Queen by The Last Bison

On and over the northwest river We go trusting in the Cypress Queen She'll keep us afloat We retreat into our fortress gold To a sanctuary in the trees That i call home

I'm 90% sure this song is about a boat? But I took it literally - this is Perry's feelings about Guinevere, or Shújūn - a woman who they certainly do not trust for us, but to whom they are drawn by their story and with whom they, deep down, have a lot of sympathy. Perry knows exactly what it's like to have a major role in someone else's narrative.

4. See You Through My Eyes by The Head and The Heart

Until you learn to love yourself The door is locked to someone else I'm just as damaged as you are

Perry is just as traumatised by the apocalypse as everyone else, they're just better at hiding it. In general their approach toward their emotions is to pack them up tightly in a box and pretend they're not happening, which is obviously wildly unhealthy. Perry spends so much of their time inspired by and loving their friends, especially Morgan and Dai, but they never open up when they need to and trust them with the more 'difficult' parts of themself.

5. Carry by Branches

I'm feeling like Moses and my arms are getting heavy Brother, would you come and lift them up for me?

Perry has been single handedly carrying Morgan and Dai through the apocalypse. They would never admit it, but this is exhausting, and they desperately need a break. Unfortunately for them, they live in a riddle-twisted landscape full of magic and monsters, so they can never truly relax. They need to stop and they can't, and sometimes they think hey, if they lost the next battle at least they wouldn't have to get up and fight another one.

6. House a Habit by We Are The Guests

Let's make this house a habit Let's make the sun shine

Partly because Perry is Permanently Exhausted, they very badly want to turn the cottage into a real, meaningful home base that feels safe. Perry has always been the kind of person to put down roots, and the last six months of trekking back and forth across Britain has really worn them down. They desperately want this place to be a real home.

7. Selkie-Boy by Spell Songs, Julie Fowlis

Go now, Selkie-Boy, swim from the shore Rinse your ears clean of human chatter And empty your bones of heather and moor And your mind of human matter

Honestly, Dai fascinates Perry. He is completely unlike them in almost every way and they find that beautiful and addictive. They've always felt that there was something ethereal about him and his ability to find hope and love in even the darkest places. Perry would follow Dai anywhere.

8. Church Key by Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Have you gone farther looking in the dark For a fire that can keep you warm Wander off the trail, lose track of all the details Till we make it to our door, where we can sleep

Oh Perry wants answers. The Cataclysm is an apocalypse of contradictions and mysteries and Perry so very badly wants to untangle the cat's cradle of stories in which they are caught. They are also exactly the kind of obsessive academic who will wear themself thin looking for the information they seek. Eventually, they just need to rest.

9. We Will All Be Changed by Seryn

We can write with ink and pen But we will sew with seeds instead Starting with words we've said And we will all be changed

The song on every main character playlist! For Perry, the apocalypse is a lesson in moving from theory to applied learning - from writing about flowers to planting seeds in the soil. It's fieldwork! In more ways than one, and in more ways than one, it's good for them, despite everything.

#peredur green #camlann #camlann podcast #peredur #Spotify

25 notes · View notes

eashgirl · 1 month

Note

What are some things you hate about fandoms? Just wondering

There is quite a lot of things actually, I know some may disagree with me on these, which is perfectly fine to each their own.

1- I don't like how when some of the widely accepted fanon headcanons are treated as truth by everyone even though there is no basis for it in canon, I'm totally one for headcanons, I love seeing ideas,and creating them myself but I don't like how when one headcanon is so beloved by everyone that it's treated as canon and anybody else who has different opinions are shut down for not accepting that. Again I'm not objected to people having their own interpretations, but sometimes it really does get to a point when I try to point out it's not canon several people would attempt to correct me and say it was.

2- this part mainly concerns shipping, another thing I don't like about certain fandoms is they can't seem to accept that people will like different things as them, just because a certain ship is canon will not automatically make people like that ship more or stop them from shipping those said charecters with another person. Canon is canon I understand that, it's important to respect the creator's work and what has been established but at the same time the amount of times I've seen people deliberately writing hate comments under a post of a ship they don't like, and even create anti- blogs for the ship is insane.

Is it that hard to respect someone's opinion? Even I have certain ships I don't like and am even grossed out by(we are not talking about child/adult ships those are a whole another thing entirely),but the amount of dedication haters have to constantly put down others just to feel superior everytime I see something like that all I think about is how immature that is.

One time when I was thirteen I legit had one of my followers stalk me on instagram and screenshot a photo of a ship account I follow, that person hates that particular ship yet constantly checks accounts posting that particular ship just to write hate comments,they were blabbing about "ship loyalty and all that" I remember feeling so aggravated when they told me that, I instantly blocked them. It's that sort of childishness I'm talking about.

I'm open to discussing about opinions as long as it's a civil conversation, sometimes people just like different things, is it too much to expect some decency and respect?

3- Another thing that annoys me from time to time is the villainization of a particular charecter, evidence from the media does show that, that person has their flaws, major flaws and people act like that person is a devil's incarnate and anyone who has the audacity to feel a shred of sympathy for them is automatically labelled a horrible person.

Now I'm not suggesting at any means that trauma justifies your actions, no one has the right to harm anyone under that excuse,you can acknowledge the fact they are a horrible person and still feel bad for them because they are caught in a never ending cycle of abuse and are unable to escape it, this leads to them committing even worse actions.

Something else that ties into this is liking villains in general, it's important to understand that liking a certain charecter does not mean justifying their wrongdoings, you can like a charecter but still agree that yes this is a horrible person. This might seem like common sense but I have seen people trying to outright justify murder, SA, terrorism just because they happen to like that charecter. On the other hand there are certain villains who are objectively just as bad and are baby-fied because they happen to be more likable, when that person is just as bad.

Of course some topics may just feel too personal for people who have experienced it first hand I can understand that really I do, someone who went through a toxic relationship would probably not enjoy a relationship dynamic between two charecters that can be considered to very unhealthy for eachother. And some people may not prefer an otherwise sweet relationship if it's not enjoyable, we use media for entertainment and as humans we all have different preferences so it's important to understand and respect that

At the end of the day I'm not trying to villify anyone, I'm really not

Thanks for the ask anon! Hopefully this doesn't lead to me getting attacked again 😅

15 notes · View notes

mrfippstuff · 4 months

Text

The most recent chapter of Chainsaw Man gave me a lot of thoughts about Fumiko and Nayuta, I've brought them up before but I feel like this chapter gave me something to work with beyond just speculation.

Fumiko has been in an odd sort of place in the narrative, she had a strong start but then she just sort of hung around, not doing anything in particular to really drive the story forward, but in this chapter she does something that I think really informs about her character. Back when she gave her backstory to Denji, I've seen people say that she was lying to garner sympathies from him, but I ran with the assumption that she was telling the truth, that her parents were killed by Gun Fiend Aki, she saw him cry and came to form an empathy for him and had wanted to protect and keep him safe, but I think she was downplaying how she resented Chainsaw Man not being able to save her parents. For Fumiko, I think her grief has manifested into her having conflicting views of Denji, ones that she cannot compartmentalize, she can be a Denji fan, but at the same time resent Chainsaw Man, with the two viewpoints bleeding into one another.

I am under the impression that those guys who beat on Denji with bats at the karoke bar were plants to try and prove to Denji that he needed a bodyguard, and that Fumiko was supposed to get him there to prove herself. There were a number of ways she could have done this, just showing an interest in him and saying that she wants to go singing would have likely been enough to get him going, but instead she groped him without his consent, told him to suck a tentacle dick for her own amusement, and then let him take the beating because she wanted to keep singing. This was the first hint to me that despite being assigned to protect him, she clearly saw no problem with him being humiliated and hurt, that as long as "he was good in the end", then she could tell herself that everything was good and that she was able to keep him safe.

And then we get this chapter. I've seen people call Fumiko useless and a big coward, but I don't think that's it. Her decision to leave Nayuta behind wasn't some panic-induced fight or flight, but a deliberate choice she made, one she thought about. She wants to protect Denji, but that's not Denji, that Chainsaw Man, and it's not her job to protect him if he gets in over his head, is she supposed to fight the humans she's meant to protect? That's the sort of thing she can tell herself to justify her actions to herself and why she flees, leaving Nayuta in a situation she has little hope of succeeding. Chainsaw Man didn't save her family, so why should she save his?

Then there's Nayuta, and the most fascinating thing is that she can control only so many people at once.

We saw what Makima was capable of, how at the end of Part 1 she had dozens of PS hunters under her control, so many people and devils to do her bidding and who thanked her for it, it's so far beyond what Nayuta can do. The Control Devil's powers work on her perception, how she can control those who she views as her lessers, and Makima held an important position in the government, she had a contract that made her invincible, so many people like Aki, Angel, Violence and the Hybrids showed her love for no other reason than she demanded it, and everything in Part 1 was her just gathering more power and influence so she could get more power and influence. It's system that feeds into itself. Nayuta on the other hand doesn't have that, she has no thralls, no power or influence. The self-perception aspect of this ability needs to have backing to work, it can't just be delusion.

Nayuta is different from Makima because what they want out of life is different, Makima was a conqueror with an army who wanted to change the world in the way she saw fit, Nayuta on the other hand wants to go to the park with her brother. What they want affected who they became, and I've said it before but a happier Control Devil, one who knows love and can love in return, would be weaker for it. Nayuta begged Fumiko for help, Makima never would have done that. Makima killed people without a second though if she felt it could work for her, but Nayuta takes no pleasure in that kind of violence, it's not fun like Denji made it out to be, and she only resorted to killing when Denji was out of there because he told her not to do that.

This was a very strong chapter for these two, it fed into theories I had about them and I am eager to see what happens with them next and where their character can go from here.

#chainsaw man #nayuta #fumiko mifune

37 notes · View notes

thelunarfairy · 8 months

Note

Hey hey hey! I'm not sure if no one has mentioned this, but I haven't personally seen this kind of thing, so here you go just my random ideas regarding the twins.

What drives me so crazy is the fact that in chapter 81, Tsukasa says after Yashiro returns, " Nene-chan and I are the same! ". I know that Tsukasa probably said that because Nene said he liked Amane, but for some reason I want to believe that there's more to that phrase than just sympathy for Amane. For example: In chapter 15, after Tsukasa's first appearance, Hanako emotionally pins Nane to the floor, but after a couple of seconds, he gets scared and recoils, apologizing. And for some reason, it seemed to me that by pinning Nene to the floor, Hanako felt that he was in the same position that he was in when he killed Tsukasa, which is why he was so scared and depressed.

Those are two little moments that I noticed, and in fact, after that I started to think that maybe the incident and the reason for killing Tsukasa would be revealed directly through Hanako and Nene's interactions, and Idk why, but it just inspired me.

Also, before I get it out of my head. When Amane gets sick, Tsukasa turns to the monster under their house, sacrificing the beasts to get what he wants. The monster or demon, whatever, acts just like Hanako-san, and I'd venture to guess that it was the very first form of Hanako-san even before the ghosts became more human (in terms of something along the lines of the devils that were in the village in the no.6 mystery arc), but my main association was that Tsukasa also begins to adopt the trappings of the no.7 mystery. He also offers to grant Amane his wishes, just as the creature under his house offered to grant Tsukasa's wishes, and it seems to me that if Amane wasn't meant to become the no.7 mystery, then Tsukasa was originally destined to become the no.7 mystery, while Amane committing suicide inadvertently ascribed such a fate to himself? Also, Tsukasa disappeared for an indefinite period of time on Amane's birthday, so I think the fact that he's been living and raised in a circle of baddies for a while could also explain his behavior now.

That's all I wanted to say for sure now. If it was inappropriate, just ignore it, pls.

This phrase from Tsukasa is a mystery to many people. I've seen some people saying that Tsukasa compared himself to Nene because he also loved him "romantically" - when they talked a lot about the theory of the abuse that Hanako suffered from his brother. (one of the old hypotheses)

Hanako is a very emotional boy, despite not saying how he feels he shows it a lot (even against his will) and that's exactly what happened. Hanako killed Tsukasa in that position (apparently) so when Tsukasa reappeared for the first time on the roof, Amane reacted desperately, he was sweating cold, his eyes were petrified, he swallowed hard and started crying. This boy was panicking, I wanted to hear his thoughts at that moment.

He remained motionless and didn't react when Tsukasa appeared, Yashiro threw herself forward to defend Hanako, when Tsukasa left Hanako finally reacted. He didn't see Yashiro there, he saw Tsukasa. Then he pulled her hard and threw her against the ground thinking it was Tsukasa. When Yashiro talks to him, Hanako realizes that she wasn't his younger brother, so he apologizes and leaves.

Apparently, Hanako hadn't seen Tsukasa in a long time, so when he reappeared he simply panicked. He didn't expect and didn't want to meet Tsukasa again, he killed his younger brother, and what does he do when he meets him again? Attacks in the same way as the first time. The problem is that he was so shocked that he didn't react immediately, he reacted later. If he had had an instant reaction, he would have thrown Tsukasa against the ground and they probably would have spoken, although Hanako made this sudden movement, he didn't attack using the knife, he kept looking at Yashiro (imagining it to be Tsukasa) while crying.

So you're right, Hanako reacted that way thinking it was Tsukasa (this just shows us how traumatized he is, because every time he meets Tsukasa he's still in shock, even if it's not the same as the first time he finds him again) Even Kou noticed this.

So let's compare.

Interesting, isn't it? Another interesting thing about this position is that Hanako uses it frequently with Yashiro, did you notice?

If you pay attention to this scene in chapter 39, you will notice that he did the same thing

So we return to Tsukasa's phrase "we are equal" this phrase was not thrown around for nothing. I've seen some people saying that Nene would have the same ending as Tsukasa because they two are really similar. Tsukasa and Yashiro have a very similar behavior pattern in some ways, so this sentence scares me a little. What if Hanako who loved his little brother so much and killed him, did the same for the girl he loves so much? The big question is, why?

So you suspecting that interactions between Yashiro and Hanako might reveal why he killed his younger brother makes sense. The problem is that if you really follow this path, it means that Yashiro will have the same ending as Tsukasa (maybe?)

WOOOOOOOOW I LIKE THIS HYPOTHESIS SO HARD XD

What if Tsukasa was the one who was supposed to become Hanako-san? This is perfect. We don't know what the creature looks like, even if it doesn't have a human appearance, generally it should have a shape, but it seems it doesn't. That's because she was inside Tsukasa, and apparently she also lives inside Amane.

There is a bond between the three, we know that the twins were ordinary humans, and the creature beneath the house (and the abyss) is seen as a God, as it grants wishes. But let's talk about Hanako-san from the legends.

The legend of Hanako-san has several stories about how she died and how she appears when summoned. I did a little research on this, although this legend is very similar to the legend that exists here in my country (almost identical) I noticed that some things could match your theory.

Let's skip the details that you already know about Hanako-san, so they say she could have died from taking her own life, from murder, a bomb, or from being sexually abused before she died.

Taking your own life fits with Hanako-kun's story, ok, let's continue, of all the ways it can be invoked, there is one that matches your hypothesis.

"Hanako-san, after being summoned, can respond with a hoarse voice, as if she were possessed by a demon, because in fact it is not a girl, but a supernatural person who tries to deceive you with the voice of a child, and she says "I'm here" and when you open the door you are faced with a monstrous creature"

If we combine these two parts of the legend "he took his own life" and "whoever opens the door is a demon" this theory makes sense. Hanako-san is a legend that changes over the years, so I can't know for sure if this is the most popular version (because I found many, many)

And the wishes, Hanako-san doesn't grant wishes in any version. The authors are intelligent, and they wouldn't use the legend for nothing to make it easier to predict hahaha

But don't worry, JSHK is like that, you fit a piece here and realize that it doesn't fit right with other pieces of the story. Remember that we are dealing with temporal paradox so this is common.

The twins' connection with Hanako-san is mysterious. It's true that it's possible that other supernaturals could take the 7 Mysteries' place by defeating them, but no one talks about the original Hanako-san. Kou already knew that it wasn't a girl and he also doesn't say if there was another one before Amane. He is from a family of exorcists, even if he wasn't born at the time, family members would mention it, right?

So we have Hanako-san and the God under the house. Are they the same creature? It's a possibility. But if Amane took Tsukasa's place, why does the legend of Hanako-san as a girl still exist? Amane has lived with this creature since he was 4 years old, if he had become Hanako-san from the legends, it wouldn't be Hanako-san, it would be Hanako-kun. Yashiro is surprised to discover that Hanako-san is a boy, which means that the information does not match.

But calm down, don't rule out the hypothesis yet, what if God used someone else? A girl, Hanako-san, and then for some reason Amane took her place?

This is very interesting.

We don't know if Tsukasa would be Hanako-san, the only thing we know is that he was going to stay in the red house and he only came back when he found out about his tragic future, so why would he become Hanako-san? He did not intend to return.

So even if Amane stayed alive and became an adult, Tsukasa wouldn't come back. He said that, he said he knew how to go back but he didn't want to. He only came back because Kou and Nene said that Amane was going to kill him in the future.

Tsukasa was in the red house with the creature and other supernaturals for 6 months, then he returned home. (These 6 months were outside the house, we don't know how time moves inside the red house)

So Tsukasa was missing for six months after his and Amane's anniversary before deciding to return.

Hanako-san probably has a more direct connection with Amane than with Tsukasa. We don't know the relationship Amane has with the creature, your hypothesis remains valid because of this point.

What if the God is Hanako-san and Amane joined him and became Hanako-kun for some specific purpose (because he grants wishes like the creature, I mean, almost) We don't really know how Amane grants wishes, he and Tsukasa don't seem to use the same method as God. The creature magically does what you want instantly and charges a life for it.

Not the twins, they do it on their own, and there is not always the possibility of them being able to do it (even using supernatural abilities). What they ask for in return is random, meaning they don't ask for anyone's life.

You remembered Aoi, didn't you? Yashiro's wished to extend her life, that power is not in Amane's hands, but who can accomplish this? God, of course, which is why Aoi is used as a sacrifice.

It's no wonder that number 6 was doing the same ritual that he did in the village that sacrificed young girls, they sacrificed directly to God. Amane accompanied Aoi on the train, he wanted to take her to the other side since number 6 couldn't.

So Amane asked God to fulfill Yashiro's wish (it's a hypothesis)

It's very interesting to think about the possibility of the God being Hanako-san, but we still need more information to be able to better fit this theory. We know that mysteries change with rumors, so this could have happened to Hanako-san too, but don't you find it curious that the rumor about Hanako is that he is a girl and even though he has this rumor he is still a boy?

Because you know, when a rumor changes, the supernatural is forced to change, whether it's their personality or appearance. Why was it different with Hanako? Why didn't he become a girl?

It's an interesting question.

So, I think your theory is very good! I really liked it and I will remember it! For now it's difficult to fit her into the story now, but we don't know in the future! Never discard a hypothesis until it is proven to be invalid. Let's wait for more information to arrive before we can draw more conclusions.

I'm still going to evaluate your theory further, so I may develop it better in the future and talk about it again. If you find more evidence in the future, you can share it with me if you want :3

I hope you liked it, thanks for the aks!

#jibaku shounen hanako kun #hanako kun #hanakokun #jshk #toilet bound hanako kun #amane yugi #jshk spoilers #tbhk #yugi twins #aidairo #hanako anime #tbhk hanako #jshk hanako #nene yashiro #yashiro nene #tsukasa yugi #yugi amane #hanako san

48 notes · View notes