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honestsycrets · 10 months

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enfócate | tutor!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ pairing | tutor!miguel x student!reader, fake boyfriend!peter x reader

❛ type | explicit

❛ summary | jess is clear: miguel o'hara is a terrible boyfriend. he'll inevitably hurt you-- but peter has other ideas. or, you blow miguel in a library.

❛ tags | spanish tutor!miguel, bratty reader, a kiss with Peter, Miguel's jealousy, bjs, fake boyfriend!peter, slight obsessive qualities, fuck buddies, undefined relationships, fuck boy Miguel.

❛ reqs fulfilled | see here.

❛ sy's notes | the pov on this piece bothers me, it jumps between reader and Miguel. however, i did write two separate pieces for this request (a combined 25 pages vs my usual 11/12). so, i decided to meld them together to create this piece. anywho, if it bothers you, i understand! ❤️ I yoinked a lot of the Spanish from my Spanish learners textbook, hopefully, it's acceptable.

He knew he wanted you from the first day he saw you in the tea cafe.

Jess and he rarely visited the tea shop. It was settled on the edge of campus. Close to the social sciences and arts, but far from the work he did in the Genetics department. As a Ph.D. student, however, not all the work was done in the lab. Jess liked to see the different types of people that came to this tea cafe, where the chair cushions were fluffy emerald pillows and plants hovered overhead.

“Miguel? What's---”

You stood apart from the other students with their sloppy, half-cropped, or frumpy appearances, there was a particular care you took to dressing. It was the embroidered bow in your hair that drew his attention. When you left to fetch a refill of chai, he noticed the soft, frilled socks in tiny ankle boots. He just knew you would taste sweet, leering as he watched you at the drink bar. Jess glanced in your direction, the way you adorably bowed your head after the tea artist gave you your drink, and just knew. Jess looked over her shoulder.

“Not her.”

Jess’s voice was a drawn-out sigh of your name, punctuated by her fist beating the table. Miguel perked at the mention of your name. Oh, so she knew you. She was probably sick of his shit. Good, he was also sick of being used as a vibe check for the lesbians she wanted to pick up.

“Don’t you have enough side pieces?”

Miguel didn’t respond.

“She probably has a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Look who she's with.”

That finally got a response.

“You don’t know that,” he kept his eyes straight ahead. You caught him staring, wiggling your little fingers in a hello as you sat at a table. "I want her."

You sat with an incredibly frumpy, annoying photography student who once took his picture for the lab website. Could he be… his attention wavered when you pulled out a book: Español para el siglo. His lips quivered into a wildly sardonic grin. Oh no, no no. It was too easy.

“You’ll ruin her. She’s too innocent.”

He leaned in.

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“Buenas tardes,”

Two chairs and a thin desk. The small study room was more of a glorified broom closet for its students. You were lucky that there was a large window that looked out over the student union, flowers blooming up its brick siding. Bits of lush dark green ivy poked into the window’s view from the library’s tall wall. As the sun set on campus, rich orange and pink settled over the sunset on that warm Friday afternoon. At least the sight was pretty for how overwhelmingly small the space was.

It wasn’t the space that bothered you. It was your tutor.

He was big-- big big. Not just a little big, but really big. The kind of big that was on bodybuilding competitions. It made his long, blue-grey muscle shirt and grey sweats look tiny, sucked to his well-pumped muscle. The room felt a lot smaller as you looked at him, his long brown hair whipped back over his neck. His eyebrows raised on his dark forehead, arms turning one over another, a bundle of muscle.

“Ah... you're him? The man from the tea shop.”

He pulled free his sunglasses and set them down. His warm chocolate eyes glanced from the edge of your now too-short skirt to the glint of a dagger necklace that beat between your breasts. He’s staring. Why is he staring-- you finger the dagger between your thumb and index fingers, soothing yourself with the manipulation.

“Miguel.” He warmed, pulling the seat out beside him. His voice was buttery and smooth, almost like rich caramel. The lilt in his voice lightened, inviting you to take a seat by him. You should. You thought. Sit down. “Siéntate."

You stared.

"I said sit down.”

That was a bad idea. You paused, slipping the bag down from under your shoulder and onto the beige tile by the door. Miguel watched every slight movement. That’s fine. It’s natural to do that. You tugged the bottom of your skirt and took a seat beside him. Miguel pushed the chair back in, pushing your chest to the edge of the desk space. Oh-- oh boy, he was strong. Of course, he was, he was built like a--

“Bueno. Now you're settled. How can I help you?”

Do that again.

“Me? Oh! I... Jess said you could help me need to pass a test,” you murmured. The four semesters of Spanish seemed relatively easy compared to being stuffed next to this Adonis in this tiny study room. Your legs settled over your skirt, hands working over one another to will down the pulse of your wily excitement. What was wrong with you? “To pass my language requirement.”

You should have been able to do that alone but-- let’s say you weren’t the most applied to the language in your childhood. A tutor was a great alternative to embarrassment and thousands of dollars in classes. If only he didn’t look like… this. His large hand left the pasty back of your chair.

“Hm,” he paused. “¿Puedes hablar español?”

“Sí,” you murmured. “My mami was-- well, I should have listened to her.”

Hm.

You want to know what Hm means. Your leg tremored on its own accord. He swept a leather bag by his side up and pulled out a thick folder, running across several tabs. Lab notes, diet plans, pruebas.

“It happens,” he notes, sliding a page free. “Let’s see how much you know, princesa.”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to know more, to hear the hum of Spanish bouncing off his lips. It was a world apart from your mother’s shrill screams on Saturday mornings to clean an already clean house. It held its own beauty and mystery when he spoke it. You took the page from him, setting it down on the bland tablespace by your phone, lighting up with a notification.

Jess When you meet Miguel, don’t do it.

"¿Princesa?" you asked.

"You dress like one. Don’t worry if you fail,” you plucked out a pink mechanical pencil, complete with little animated characters tightened around the wrapping. You perked at his words, choking a small smile. “I expect you to.”

Why was he like this? You took another unfortunate look at him, his large forearm plastered over the desk, making the book he had to look like peanuts in comparison. God, he was hot-- you felt comparatively hideous, drooling over a man that was out of your league. Maybe he could be your piece of eye candy this year. Your phone buzzed along the table again. Miguel’s eyes shot to it, a frown pulling at his lips.

Jess Don’t fuck him. He can’t keep his dick to himself.

He reaches over, flipping your phone down with an overworked smile sundering his expression. It’s almost fake.

“Are you…” you turned your eyes to the questions on the page. “A student?”

“Grad student,” Miguel answered. So, older than you then. “I graduated with a BA in Spanish and a BS in Genetics.”

“Oh! A dual degree?” The man couldn’t be normal. He had to do both. “Did it… take a while?”

“No, it was accelerated.”

He was unreal. There was no way this man was ordinary. It was physically impossible for the man to be that hot and successful. You scribbled across the page, nipping the back of your pencil at particularly hard questions.

“So you just do this for… a living?” you asked him.

“I teach and train clients, yes.”

“Train?”

“Gym,” Miguel set his cheek on his fist.

“I do cardio with Jess. No strength training for me.” Jess-- who suggested Miguel to you. You had some shit to bitch at her about the next time you saw her. Namely, why she didn’t warn you about Miguel. He was a boon for chaos in your life.

“I’d waste your time. I’m all marshmallow,” you pat your soft belly. “All pan dulce and burros.”

He chuckled.

“You have a beautiful body.”

And that was that. You set the pencil down on a page half full of answers, glancing toward his full lips. They were quirked into an arrogant smirk. He knew the effect he had on women. He glanced to the page, then to you, his lips growing into a smile laden with arrogance.

“Your hips--” he glanced down, “My girls couldn’t pay to get them.”

He noticed. You supposed that the miniskirt wasn’t the best choice for meeting a new man.

“Do you talk to everyone like this?”

“No. Only the ones that look at me like you did."

Oh.

If it were a game of whom ate whom up first, you had to be honest-- it may have been you. You couldn’t shoot anything back at that, angling your head down at the page guiltily. A sigh fell from his chest. His large hand came to the back of your head, cupping the thick bow on the back of your head. His fingers ran across the silk, teasing it between his fingers.

“Calm down, you’re not the first one to do it. You won't be the last,” he turned your head to look at him, large fingers combing through the strands of your hair. He chased the panic in your wide eyes, doe eyes blown wide. Your heartbeat soared into your chest, choking you there, looking for an outlet from your shame.

“Breathe for me,” he leaned in, his warm breath tingling your ear. His cologne was clean, like the lapse of the waves on the shore back home where the tropical heat was a second skin. You listened, taking a weary, deep breath in, then out again. Again.

“Go on.” His knuckles rapped on the sheet. Miguel’s hand fell away. You found yourself longing for it again.

“He’s gorgeous.”

“I told you not to fuck him," your superior, Jess said, her feet bouncing off the stairstepper effortlessly.

“I didn't-- I just, he called me beautiful.”

“He would call anyone beautiful if it meant fucking them. Don’t fall for it.”

You knew Jess wouldn’t say it unless she were serious. She always knew what you needed help with, where to locate a good solution, and had the right words to calm you down.

“How?” you said, louder than you intended. You were suddenly thankful for the pounding music that beat down on your ears in your school’s gym and the rush of people that came and went. “Jess, you’re a lesbian. You don’t understand-- he’s thick. Like, he’s luchador status big. Big, big.”

“I’ve dated some thick women.”

“And he likes me,” you said pointedly, rushing to the topmost step, remembering his words. The way he calmed you down from your embarrassment, seeming without concern for his own body. It was… sweet. “Men usually don’t like me, Jess. I’m too… soft.”

“Okay, girl, whatever,” you were pretty sure she rolled her eyes. “Unless you’re going to be another one of his fuck toys, just ignore him.”

“How?”

Her stare trained on the floors lapsed. Thirty and she was still going. “If you don’t want him, just fire him. What’s going to do? Come find you?”

You stopped for the entirety of five… or ten seconds. Enough to consider her words. Enough to quite literally get plop off the stair stepper and onto the cold floor. Jess exhaled a stale breath, reaching over to jam the STOP button on your machine. Ow.

“Good job.”

Miguel likes to tutor you. Not because you’re good at Spanish, no, for a girl that grew up with a Spanish mother, your skills are quite poor. But he likes the opportunity to have you in a room all by yourself, late at night. Wednesdays are great days for that.

Your soft buttercup yellow dress is short today, exposing your thick thighs that take up so much of the chair. He pretends that he’s listening as you go over a list of irregular verbs, your lip pouting in response to the irregular verbs. Some were simple in their familiarity like poder with endings such as pudiste; but the plurals and other irregular verbs, you pouted at. It was cute.

“Miggy, it’s not funny, ” Oh, nicknames now. Miguel throws a glance at your glossy lips, undoubtedly sticky but oh so soft looking.

“I never said it was.”

“You’re smirking.”

“Then don’t whine,” he said. “It’s cute.”

“Oh--” As to be expected, you shifted your hands between your legs, drawing your skirt in between your legs. He faltered and took a glance, coasting his eye over its edges and memorizing the way it fell over your skin. You’ll ruin her, he remembers Jess saying. She wasn’t wrong, he sensed the bit of it now, how close you sat--

“Take a break, princesa. Vocabulary-- ascendencia.”

Rather than take a break, you turned and caught the corner of his lips in what was a terrible, cherry-red kiss that would stain his skin. But the connection of your lips, puckered in a pouting kiss on his skin, caught him off guard.

“Descent,” you took his red pen out of his loose grip, scribbling descent by the word. Fuck. Miguel took a sip of now cold coffee. A smile kept pulling at his cheeks, looking out of the window and catching the slight reflection of your lipstick smeared across his lip and cheek, he bobs his head into a nod.

“Correcto.”

You’re with Peter the first time you see Miguel with another woman.

It’s at lunch. Tuesdays and Thursdays are regularly spent running to the College of Arts, waiting for Peter to get out, and a picnic. Today, you forgot to bring lunch, running off to the union hand wrapped around his elbow as he talked to you about a bright new camera lens filter.

“These new pictures are going to come out perfect! Thanks for lending me the money,” he beamed. You loved the way he talked about his art-- stopping to show you his newest pictures of the camera that hung around his neck. Peter was always good with a camera, catching you in all the prettiest angles in your trade of photos for… sponsoring a lens or whatever. Or, at least, bringing down the cost. “Look at this one. Look how pretty you look in that dress, kinda like a pin-up! We should do some’a those next.”

Feet thumping over the pavement, you failed to sense Miguel's presence until you smelled his peppery cologne carried on the air. There, on a bench, he sat next to a girl. She was pretty, with long dark hair and soft skin. Her hand was on his thigh and his arm around her shoulder, eating the last bit of a flaky empanada-- your eyes burned, the closeness of her head on his shoulder, clearly done and finished, waiting for whatever next plan he had. You don’t want to know what that could be.

“Huh? Oh. hi Miguel!” Peter waved to your dismay. You held onto him a little tighter, wringing circles around his sleeve. Miguel spares you two a glance, his eyebrows pushing together. But he waves, lazy and short. You stifle the hot prick of tears at the corner of your eyes and yank Peter away. “Wha-- I’m coming, I’m coming!"

Days later, Peter has a plan.

“I’ve got it-- the solution to your tea guy problem! You should have told me sooner that it was Miguel.”

Peter was very excited. Why, you weren’t sure. He liked to feel helpful. That’s why he was a photographer. Photography lets others feel beautiful and seen. He picked at your lunch, his head flopped on your thigh as he worked through his camera.

“I’ll be your boyfriend!”

“You want to be my boyfriend?” you offered him a grape. He opened his mouth with an adorable ‘ah’ of his his lips. You slipped the grape between his lips. He chewed appreciatively. “I don’t know, Peter. Isn’t it lying?”

“C’mon, I know Miguel. He’s macho. The kind of guy you have to make jealous. And I can do it! I’m boyfriend material. Aren’t I?”

“Sí. But I don’t think I can make him jealous.”

It was a sunshiney day, sprawled out at lunch on a cool picnic blanket, tracing the clouds when you heard his voice. Soft, smooth, inviting. Your head spun around, this time with a lean blonde-haired girl-- her legs were long, tummy nice and flat, blue eyes shining like little sapphires set in her pale face. She swooned on his arm. The perfect sorority princess. What if he called her princesa, too?

“--close lab with me--”

“I can do it myself.”

Miguel’s eyes caught yours, raising his hand lazily to greet you as he walked down the sidewalk, undoubtedly back to his genetics lab on the other side of campus. Over where brilliant boys and girls and theys were, rushing through accelerated scientific programs while you figured out how to fix broken artifacts. He lived in another impossible world. A realm far away from Peter and you: photography and the maintenance of culture and art.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Peter's eyes were glossy with concern. “It’s okay. We don’t have to-- did I say something wrong?”

You shook your head. Peter sat up, his eyes bounced up-- from Miguel over his shoulder to your sudden sad eyes. Peter set his hand on your cheek, the fibers of his soft pink cardigan tickling your jaw. Your eyes tore from Miguel, whose pace became sluggish as if steps along took immense effort. Peter’s nose bumped against yours, clumsy and oh so Peterish-- his hand on the middle of your back, his warm but cracked lips swallowing the gasp that tumbled from your lips. He tasted of sweet fruit, the sloppy lunch you shared, and a silly comfort.

He watching? Peter murmured against your lips.

You nearly forgot to return the kiss, captured in the way Miguel stared-- something in his warm brown eyes was almost wounded. Peter shoved you onto the picnic blanket, a soft sorry murmured under his breath as his thin frame fell between your legs. Miguel stomped away, his bumbling blonde rushing to keep up.

“Oh yeah,” Peter rolled over onto his back, crossing his legs one over another. You watched Miguel stomp past the tall hedges, out of your line of sight. “He’s gonna be mad at you.”

“Peter!”

Miguel was still in a bad mood hours later.

“¡Qué surpresa!” he murmured, offering you your paper blotted with red circles. “You did remarkably shit on this test. Do you focus on anything? Or just Peter?”

“Perdona me.” Your focus was shot with his consistent presence in your life. Not that he could appreciate that.

“How long are you going to keep wasting my time?”

“Are you talking about the Spanish or--”

Miguel set the red pen down, a sharp slam snapping the pen under his force. The fragile plastic snapped into shards of plastic. He flicked it away, paper and pen both, his large hand flexing in and out of a closed fist. You traced the tracks of his veins along his forearm.

“Are you mad that I kissed you?”

“Stop.”

“Or are you angry that Peter did?”

“Don’t touch me.”

Though he said that, you didn’t listen. You slid out of the chair and in between his spread legs, your hands trailing his handsome jawline. He jerked back when your lips caught his, the legs of his chair hitting the wall. Though he said no, his mouth opened to your kiss, and his palms flushed against your soft cheeks. You pinned him between your body and the wall-- and though you were sure he’d quickly whirl you off if he really wanted to, he didn’t. His tongue pushed into your mouth, owning yours. His hands skimmed your back, trailing lower and lower down your deep red dress until he connected with your ass.

“You need to stop.” Miguel broke from his kiss. Though he said that, he brought you onto his lap. You felt little in his large arms, his hands guiding your hips over his crotch. “Before I do something you’ll regret.”

You listened to the sounds of the library’s floor. The scrunch of take out into the trash, the sing of a door opening and closing. It was dinner time. Most everyone had gone to get their snacks— and here you were, looking down at Miguel with rapt eyes.

“Peter is just a friend.”

“A friend who happens to jam his tongue down your throat,” he turned the word over on his tongue and found offense in it. “Now why do I doubt that?”

“He only wanted to help.”

“By kissing you?”

Your fingers trailed his jaw, dipping back down for another kiss if only to say you could. That Miguel couldn’t tell you what to do. A sound of frustration ripped up his throat. You felt him, his dick twitching to life behind those sweatpants. He felt big. You bit your lower lip— a movement that didn’t escape his attentive eyes.

“By making you as jealous,” You slid off his lap and onto the dirty floor. But as you lifted a hand, cupping his dick through the heavy fabric, he couldn’t bear to stop you.

His lips pulled in a wicked grin, your soft palm stroking along his length. He hooked his thumbs into his sweats, yanking them down over his knees and onto the floor. His cock kissed his belly, straining with droplets of moisture at the tip. Miguel set his hand on your shoulder and forced you to heel on the floor. His temperament evened out. “You were jealous.”

“Yes--” you murmured. “Are.. those girls, are they special?”

“Special? No, none of them are.”

“I want to be.”

“That so?” Your soft hands trailed along the dark hair on his calves, up his thighs, settling your nose where his muscular hand tightened around the root. He wrenched his swarthy hand along his length, drawing along his veiny cock shamelessly. "Let's see how much you do, princesa."

“Please.”

“Aquí se habla español.” Miguel teased. Your fingers dipped down, small tickles of your fingertips as his heavy balls. He watched you massage them with half-lidded eyes, his lips pursing in a pleased hum.

“Por favor.”

“Abre,” you did, sliding your soft mouth open, a well of saliva on your tongue. Miguel slid himself into your warm mouth, a ruptured groan fizzing in his chest. You didn’t want to be too loud— someone might look into the small window on the door, and see you on your knees between Miguel’s thick legs, sucking his cock down when you should be going over that test you just failed.

You caught the salty beads at Miguel’s top on your tongue, sliding sloppily around his thick head, and lapping at his slit for more. Your soft hands stroked along his length, clumsy and shy. He hummed in approval, a sound you were more than thankful to elicit. Miguel took a fist full of your hair and drove himself into your mouth, your tongue stroking the underside of his length.

“Pero mira esto,” Miguel wrenched his head in your hair, grabbing handfuls of it in his palm. “You can focus on something. Sucking my dick.”

Even if you wanted to look up, Miguel drove your head down onto his dick, the dark, trimmed tuft of his pubic hair tickling your nose. He drew his hips back. You nearly pulled off him, if not for his hand assuring that you wouldn’t move off of it. Drool coursed down from your lips, soaking your chin and neck, connecting to his cock as if it were a spiderweb. Your cheeks flushed with blood— you must have looked a mess.

“Coño," Miguel tutted with his tongue, grasping his phone. Your lips pursed around his tip, eyes flickering up to catch the lens of his phone camera on your ruined face. A picture or a video, you weren’t entirely sure. Only that it sent thumps of pleasure down your core to know he wanted to record it, keep it close. You suckled along his sensitive head, working his moans free. He set his phone aside.

Miguel stood and dragged your head along with him to pin you between the ledge of the desk space and his wonderful hips. His hands slipped behind your head, keeping you still and steady, driving himself deep into your mouth. Past your tongue, down your throat, it felt like he hit parts of you that you could only dream of. You struggled with his size, choking the urge to swallow him when he forced you to hold him there. As if your throat was just a hole for his pleasure. Your sad attempt to suckle him down was tempered by the rocking of his hips, his needy face fucking. Your eyes screwed shut, bits of color dancing behind your eyes, the easiest way to deal with this was to focus— on the way he tasted, the scent of his fresh body wash, the light judder of his hips as he came close.

"Hah-- ay, qué rico," his nails scraped the back of your neck, sloppy and undefined thrusts filling your throat. He spurts thick ropes of his cum down your throat and mouth, withdrawing to jerk the last bursts of his cum over your lips. Miguel’s breath fell from his lips in heavy gulps, meeting yours down on your aching knees. Strings of coughed-up cum connected your sodden lips to his cock, globs of his seed slipping between your breasts. You ached.

“Tate quieta.”

You don’t know where you’d go, your palms catching yourself on the floor. He snapped another photo, humming appreciatively. Miguel reached into his gym bag, pulling a sweaty shirt free. Your fingers dipped into his warm cum that spattered across your warm chest, drawing it to your lips. He tasted salty, tangy, and just right.

"You look so-- so beautiful, princesa, just perfect," Miguel bent down, wiping the rest of his mess from your chest and face, gently stroking away all evidence of your face fucking before cleaning his cock and tucking himself away into his sweatpants. He chucked the t-shirt back into his bag, glazing his eyes over your hazy, exhausted eyes. He crouched down.

“Rule one, I never share my women,” he settled his knuckle under your chin, urging you to look him in the eyes. Something told him you wouldn't be as easy as the others, but for some reason, he shrugged the thought aside. “As long as I'm fucking you, you date no one but me. If I find out you are, we're done. Am I clear?”

He was a walking red flag. But for once, in your good girl life, you wanted that. You wanted to fuck in the library-- against the genetics building late at night-- to kiss him during a sunny picnic. More than you wanted a lot of things. His eyes went soft with your answer.

“Claro que sí, Miggy.”

He loves it when he gets what he wants.

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2K notes · View notes

komorim · 1 year

Note

itoshi sae that takes pictures of his meals routinely after you expressed your worry of him not eating enough. his manager is beyond relieved after he sees that the footballer is now gaining some weight.

itoshi sae who doesn’t mind being affectionate with you in public- who cares if there is a teenage boy gawking at you two while taking a picture for his twitter account that would surely be on headlines tomorrow? not sae.

itoshi sae that gets a bit cranky when you don’t reply to his messages within an hour. itoshi sae that even more cranky when you call off your nightly calls one day (it ended up with all of his teammates getting insults left and right for every minuscule mistake- his manager calls you that afternoon and begs you to not do that again).

itoshi sae who takes screenshots of your messages and saves the pictures you send him. his favourites are the ones during calls: where it is perfectly candid and his screenshots notifies you.

“what? it’s not like you’re naked or taking a shit.”

itoshi sae who proudly flaunts his relationship with you while wearing your matching couple necklace during matches. he kisses it to dedicate a score to you, and his teammates can’t help but wonder who you are (and what you have done to itoshi sae).

itoshi sae who isn’t embarrassed of his obvious softness towards you. in fact, he once almost completely murdered the opponent’s goalkeeper for throwing the ball straight at his chest, breaking the necklace.

“you glorified octopus, can’t aim for your life of you huh? even a country bumpkin has the common sense to avoid an opponent’s midfielder you-“

you were informed of the commotion by his manager the day after that (he keeps in contact with you very often, knowing that you do a better job keeping sae in check than him).

you tell sae to just not wear the necklace during matches. to which sae quips back, clearly offended:

“are you on his side? he broke our necklace?? you know, like an idiot???”

itoshi sae who still frowns at the little rust at the end of the necklace, where his manager got a professional to fix for him- vowing to score a goal at the goalkeeper’s face next time. (he now brings up the university’s goalkeeping ability every moment he gets during interviews).

-🐨 (im back againnnn ^^)

i most definitely did not expect more from you, but i can’t exactly say i’m complaining (i love you for this). i hope this means you saw my post and hopefully you also liked my hcs! now…undramatic drumroll…some more from me as well!

‣ itoshi sae hcs ⋮ part one !!

cw // none this time as well

itoshi sae who, because he doesn’t care about the media, ends up in a lot of trouble with his manager regarding how he acts. his manager has a headache he whenever he thinks about how to clean up sae’s messes, and he no doubt is somewhat too intimidated by the football player to confront him about it. so instead, resorts to seeking you out for help.

when you talk to sae about the matter, he isn’t exactly happy about it as he genuinely doesn’t see why people should care about his character when they’re supposed to be focusing on his playing abilities. however, he begrudgingly promises you to act better in public the next time. only because it was you that asked (he can’t find it in himself to say no to you, albeit he regrets agreeing to some dumb shit you ask of him sometimes).

itoshi sae who never gives his interviewers an easy time, almost always failing to cooperate with the questions asked. however, when one host on a talk show asks about you, a small smile tugs on his lips instinctually and he can’t help the shine in his eyes as he talks about you, the love of his life.

itoshi sae who puts you as his top priority, being able to drop almost everything in order to come to your aid. sae is the type to always support you no matter what. the exact definition of “even if the whole world turns against you, i’ll always be by your side.”

itoshi sae who is definitely an actions over words kind of boyfriend who’ll never really give you sweet nothings. he’s probably the type to call you a dumbass for not wearing more on a cold day as he drapes his jacket over your shoulders with a concerned expression (tsundere but doesn’t know it).

itoshi sae whose facial expression is always the same, barely ever changing. however, he doesn’t know it, but the tips of his ears always turn a bit pink and gives him and his feelings away whenever you compliment him. he loves how you’re always so proud of him, especially as your opinion is one that’s greatly important to him.

itoshi sae who saves all the paparazzi photos of the two of you together. even if they get annoying sometimes, following him everywhere, he has to admit that they take really high quality photos of you both.

itoshi sae is the probably type to either pick you up and spin you around or hug you tightly by the waist as he gives you a kiss after a big game. he’s not always this fond of being affectionate in public, but after a tense game, he’s a bit high off the adrenaline and acts before thinking. not that he cares if others see how much he loves you though.

itoshi sae isn’t the type to really get butterflies near you or when the both of you are together. though he does feel warm and loved with you. the emptiness in him that leaving home at a young age caused was filled by you. the lonely feeling that was gained after he and rin broke up was replaced by happiness that was gained from being with you. you gave him a sense of belonging that he hadn’t felt in a while.

itoshi sae is the type to have a slow burn kind of love life. he is the type to develop feelings for you over time. when he finally couldn’t help but admit that he has fallen for you, he determines that you’re the one (but before that he was most likely in denial for the longest time; like come on, just admit that you’re in love, it won’t kill you). he wasn’t going to love another; you already took up so much of his heart that he couldn’t love anyone else even if he tried. not in this life, not in the next, and not in forever.

do not copy or repost my works. likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated.

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dxxdhood · 4 months

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the manor

pairing: 1920s!dick grayson x fem!bartender!reader

summary: while working at a hidden bar during the prohibition, you meet a handsome stranger who invites you to a party. little did you know, you just enchanted dick grayson, one of richest men in gotham.

tags: 1920s au, smut (18+), oral (f receiving), alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, teasing, p in v, angst, fluff

wc: 4.1k

It's so cramped, trying to fit in dozens of chairs in the glorified excuse for a room, but you love the place. Laughing heard in every direction, the strong smell of your drinks, and the fumbled clinking of glasses by every patron– the speakeasy has it all. Sure, the constant threat of having the wrong person walk in and decide to report the place still manages to make you twitch on occasion, but for the most part, you don’t let it throw you off your game. Instead, you let yourself take in the fading lamps all around you, dimly lighting up the faces of regulars or reflecting into the glossy wood paneling.

“Hey, doll. You wouldn’t mind pouring me another old fashioned, would you?”

And just like that, you get taken out of it. You fix the man his drink unenthusiastically, and as he attempts to chat you up, you try your best to tune it out. Although it’s difficult to give enough of a response to placate him while also clearing hinting you’re uninterested, you make a valiant effort. He leaves with a grumble to join his friends at an overflowing table in the back.

You’re about to wipe down the counter again as an excuse to stay occupied when you spot him. A man, well put-together but not obnoxiously so. His hair is slightly long, falling effortlessly across his forehead and curving around his cheeks to frame his face. His suit is nice – nicer than most of what the regulars wear – but not overindulgently. It was more odd that he showed up in a suit at all, seeing as this bar was a more casual affair. And, though you didn’t want to acknowledge it, he was very handsome. Just the small amount of his face you’re able to see through the dim has you interested.

Luckily, he walks straight to you, sitting at a stool right in the middle of the counter. You attempt to give him a moment or so of silence, because he could definitely be meeting someone here tonight, but you can’t resist.

“Evening,” you say. “Haven’t seen you around here before, sir.”

“Just found out about this place. I can’t believe I didn’t know it was here this entire time,” he turns his gaze towards you. “It’s warm. Lively.”

His eyes are a gorgeous blue, but you try to avoid staring at him too intensely. “Well, the good people here know how to keep a secret when they need to.”

He chuckles, “I hear that. Any drinks I should try now that I’m here?”

And he’s magnetic, drawing groups from across the bar towards him, chatting him up so they can understand who the attractive stranger is. He’s so freely charismatic, engaging people he’s barely met in conversation– even involving you when you’re not too busy keeping all your orders straight. Unexpectedly, he’s confident without being arrogant, but also self-effacing without being self-deprecating. It’s an impressive balancing act, and he pulls it off without breaking a sweat.

You try not to get your hopes up past that first interaction, knowing that he’s far too invested in other people right now to pay any attention to the bartender of all people, but for some reason, he keeps peering back at you. Every laugh that rips through him and has him banging on the table, but at the end of his reaction, he looks back at you to see if you found the joke funny, too. It’s endearing, how he’s so attuned to everyone – even your – emotions, and you’d like to give more than short, snappy responses, but you’re swamped with drink requests as the night goes on. He ends up slipping away from you minute by minute even though he’s right in your line of sight.

Before you realize it, it's the early hours of the morning and almost everyone is shuffling out of the bar– if not because they finally have to, because they don’t want to worry their wives even more. The man, Dick, as you heard others calling out that evening, is still sitting at the counter in the very same spot. You try not to let your brain get ahead of itself, but still, him being out at this hour means he likely doesn’t have a wife to worry. You shake your head, chiding yourself for still being so taken with him. The night is over, he may leave and never come again.

He’s not speaking now, which is a shame because his voice is like velvet. He’s clearly had quite a few drinks tonight, so you place a glass of water in front of him as you begin wiping down tables to close the place.

His eyes widen as you leave him the water, and instead of drinking it or ignoring it, he keeps staring through the glass, foggy with condensation. He almost looks puzzled, but you can’t figure out why.

“Why did you give me this?” he chokes.

You immediately assume you’ve made a mistake, so you move quickly to cover yourself. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to. You just had a lot tonight, your head will be killing you in the morning.”

Dick is still silent. The entire room feels too large for the both of you and it’s making you antsy.

“You haven’t left yet, and it’s awfully late, so I’m not sure that anyone will be giving you a ride. If you’ll be walking home, it’d be good to get some water in you,” you continue. “So you won’t, ah, vomit before you manage to make it back to wherever you’re staying.”

You turn to face him from where you’re wiping down a chair and catch him staring. His gaze is intense, like he’s trying to read you and telegraph emotions all at once, and you’re not awake enough to compose a worthy response. He picks up the glass of water after a beat, seemingly content with whatever he found or didn’t find, and drinks it while looking at you through half-lidded eyes.

His brows are the same jet-black as his tousled hair, and having their full attention turned on you makes you unable to turn away. Your breath catches in your throat as you see a drop of water run from his lips, gently curving down his neck and soaking into his pristine shirt. You turn away, embarrassed to watch the muscles of his throat contract as he swallows, but you hear him speak clearly.

“This Sunday, after your shift, I’ll send for you,” he says. “I’m having a party at my place. Please, I want you there.”

You nod, probably mumbling an affirmative as well, too flustered to really comprehend what he just asked. Well, less asked– more demanded. You finish up cleaning the speakeasy in a daze, and find yourself counting down hours in the following days until Sunday night finally comes.

You swear Dick told you he would pick you up, but the motorist who claims he was sent by “Master Dick” is obviously not him. The older gentleman is very polite, still, and you’re hesitant to ask too many questions in fear of sounding rude. The car itself is a sleek black, with a paint job like new. That, coupled with the fact that Dick apparently has a butler is already causing you to put some of the pieces together, but even from as much as you’ve gathered, you couldn’t have imagined he was rich enough to own his own manor.

The amount of wealth hoarded in the place is apparent. From the moment you reach the grounds, you see vibrant, perfectly kept lawns transforming into a luscious garden. There are so many flowers that you can't pick out their colors individually, they all blur into one from your bumpy car ride. There are mountains on property surrounding the main house itself, and you can’t tell whether that waterfall you spotted was real or a trick of the waning moonlight.

The kind butler lets you in through the front entrance and you thank him. Gasping at the sight, your body nearly jolts backwards. The place is filled to the brim with people. Even when compared to your speakeasy, the entire foyer of the manor is proportionately more crowded. Everywhere you look, people obscure your view, all wearing dazzling outfits in pearly, silver, or dark colors. You have the self-awareness to feel underdressed, but you push past it as you attempt to wrangle your way through the crowd.

The music is loud, whatever brass instruments are playing must be rooms away, but you can still hear them clearly from your place in the arching, large first room. Everything is so invasive, you aren’t able to hear your own breathing, footsteps, heart rate, or thoughts. It’s starting to make you dizzy. You nearly bump into guests holding champagne flutes multiple times, and you shiver at the thought of having to pay for the cost of cleaning their luxury outfits, but you manage to get out of the room and into one of the hallways of the building.

You want to cry in relief, but even though the hallway is sparser than the foyer, there are still plenty of people around. There are women wrapped in furs and men wearing suit jackets crisp enough they look freshly made. They can clearly see you don’t have an outfit a fraction as impressive as they do. What happens when they find out you’re a poor, unassuming bartender?

Speedwalking through the hallway and ignoring the generations of family portraits lining the walls, you find yourself blasted in the face with nothing but noise. The aggressive sounds of people dancing along to the band, heels clacking on the ballroom floor shakes you to your core, and you truly believe you’re going to turn around and leave right then until you spot him. He’s on the dancefloor, switching partners just about every measure, his wavy hair drenched in sweat but he couldn’t care less. Dick continues dancing wholeheartedly, stomping along and swinging ladies in opera gloves around. You should leave.

But of course, at that exact moment, he catches your eyes staring at him from the doorway. He mouths a word, something resembling your name, but you run without looking back. These rich people stare at you like you’re a wild animal, but you can’t care. The buzzing air of the place is starting to rot you from the inside. You need out of this manor now.

“Wait, please!” you hear a familiar voice cry out, and a moment later, a hand is wrapped around your arm.

“Let me go!” you shout, attempting to rip yourself from Dick’s grasp. He’s even prettier up close, wearing a tailored suit that hugs his broad shoulders. His hair must have been gelled back at some point, but it’s since come undone, and it’s working for him. By god, it’s working for him.

“Listen to me, I’m sorry,” he shouts, and he says something else after that, but you can’t make it out over the music and talking.

“What?” is all you can manage to respond with.

He shakes his head before changing his grip from your arm to your hand. He begins leading you somewhere without telling you, trusting you to follow him despite not giving you any reason to. You’re tempted to leave, but his palm is so warm, you find yourself going along.

Walking through a couple of sparsely populated rooms and a flight of stairs, you arrive at a balcony. It’s beautiful, carved out of sleek, white stone with planters of flowers overflowing and growing down the sides of the railing. Speechless, you run your hand along the vines and allow Dick to talk.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I should’ve told you… I know I should have, I just…”

“Why did you bring me here?” you ask, flicking your head to glare at him. “You have so, so, so many people here tonight. You could’ve chosen any one of them to toy with.”

You shake your head as you pinch your brow, “You didn’t need me.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you look up. Surprisingly, he looks hurt even though he doesn’t have any reason to be, like he’s decided to take on the loneliness you’ve been feeling this entire night as his responsibility– which to be fair, it is. Reaching for your hand, he encloses it in both of his.

“Is that what you think? That you’re here so I can fuck around with you?” he whispers it, but you can still pick up on the anger beneath his words. Although, it doesn’t sound like it’s directed at you. “You’re so kind, so genuine. You didn’t know me – still don’t – and you still gave a shit about me. Like a real, honest amount of care, not the airs the rest of these suits put on to impress me and get on my dad’s good side.”

“And I’m not sure why I did it, inviting you here. I was so drunk at the time, and all I could think was that I wanted to see you again. You were right, by the way” he gives a hollow laugh. “The next morning, my head hurt like hell. I couldn’t remember if I actually invited you or if I imagined it. I’m sure whatever bumbling explanation I gave Alfred must have been painful to hear, but he still agreed to wait outside your work– I need to thank him again. Anyway, anyway, I really shouldn’t have done this. You probably feel so terrible, this must have been so awful to go through. God, you deserve so much better.”

He brings your hand up to his lips and he kisses your knuckles, eyes still facing the balcony floor. “I hurt you. I can’t convey how sorry I am.”

In the light of the moon, with only the muffled sound of jazz to fill your mind, you step closer to him. He’s quivering as he watches you, as if you stand any threat to him. You keep closing the distance between the two of you until there’s only a few centimeters left. You’re so close you can hear his shallow inhales and exhales.

“You can make it up to me,” you breathe, landing your lips on his, kissing him lightly. He doesn’t reciprocate at first, and though your eyes are closed, you assume he’s uncomfortable, so you start to pull away. After another moment, he leans into the kiss and wraps an arm around your waist, rubbing his thumb up and down your spine.

He sighs, bringing up a hand to cup your cheek. You curl your arms around his shoulders, hooking them around his neck for support. His tongue explores your mouth, and you gasp into him. But he only uses the opening to his advantage, placing his hand on the back of your head and pulling you into the kiss. You feel all the air sucked straight out of your lungs, but you keep yourself attached to him until you reluctantly pull away to breathe again.

Dick moves his head back, getting a better view of your face and your rising chest. “I have an idea,” he says with a crooked smile.

“Oh, yeah?” you lick your lips, not missing how he zeros in on your tongue.

“Follow me,” and without any further explanation, you see him jump the balcony’s railing.

“Dick!” you shout, running over to the side and trying to adjust your eyes to the dark.

He’s alright, waving at you from the ground next to the rose bushes. “Come on! The jump looks worse than it actually is.”

“Easy for you to say,” you scoff, taking in the wide expanse of land that Dick’s family owns as a part of the manor. “What, haven’t you been riding horses your whole life?”

“How’d you know,” he quips with a smirk. “I was always a greater fan of gymnastics, though.”

“Great, that leaves hope for me.”

He gives a small chuckle, “Come on! Just try the jump. I’ll catch you, I promise.”

Shaking your head, you place both hands on the cold railing and engage your arm muscles. With a deep breath, you push off and for a chilling second, you feel yourself travel through the air before your feet eventually hit the ground. Dick’s there, as promised, holding you at the small of your back and wrapping an arm around your front to prevent you from falling over.

His head is resting next to your shoulder, and you can hear the breathiness in his voice as he whispers in your ear, “See, wasn't so bad.”

You nod, trying to disguise the wave of desire that runs through you. He seems to have himself under control, dashingly grabbing your hand and racing across the garden path. You can barely make out the twists and turns he’s taking as he leads you from the sparse topiaries and seating areas into the thicket of bushes. The further you both run, the more you struggle to catch your breath, but you still manage to take in the gorgeous flowers around you highlighted in the moonlight.

“I’ve never been anywhere this beautiful,” you say.

You glance back at him and find he was watching you while you were enamored with the scenery. You attempt to turn your head to the side in self-consciousness, but he brings a hand up to gently tilt your head to face him. His blue eyes pierce you, and you know even if you wanted to, you wouldn’t be able to break away from his gaze.

He kisses you again, and it feels like he’s trying to swallow you completely. Gripping onto your hips, he attempts to loosen his hands after a second, but you cover his hands with your own and keep him holding on. The action has him moaning into the kiss, and he pulls away from your face ever so slightly, lips still parted, to work down your neck.

You can feel his sweet kisses turn to nips quickly, and you bring up a hand to try and stifle the noises you let out, but he removes it from your mouth. Instead, your hands interlock as he leaves a bruise on your neck. He licks at it dutifully, but he quickly moves lower, nipping at your collarbone and mouthing at as much of the smooth expanse of your chest as he can reach from your outfit.

He thumbs at a peaking nipple through your clothes, and you whimper, rooting a hand in his hair to keep yourself from falling over. Dick lets out a curse, and he moves to rid you of your top, hands resting on the closure before he asks, “Is this okay?”

You nod desperately, tugging at the back of his jacket to get him to hurry up, and he lets out a deep chuckle. He wastes no time leaving you just in your bra and bottoms, and he reaches a hand to cup a breast through the fabric. He exhales through his nose, groaning as he pushes the soft skin out from the cup and brings his head to your chest, licking at your newly freed nipple.

He continues to play with your chest, biting at it and teasing you until both of your buds are hardened, and it makes you struggle to keep your breathing even. You can feel heat coarse through your entire body despite the cool night air surrounding you on all sides, and you want – need – more.

“Dick,” you whisper, scratching at his back through his clothing. He peers up at you, meeting your gaze through his thick eyelashes and he seems to understand instantly. He peels off his jacket, leaving him only in his white button up, and he rolls up the sleeves to his elbows as he brings a hand down to cup your thigh.

“Oh my god, please!” you call out as his thumb rubs against the inside of your thighs. His tongue is still at work playing with your chest, but he brings his hand up to rub against your slit, the slick soaking your panties.

“Fuck, already?” he says, dropping to his knees in front of you. Your eyes go wide, and your body heats up like you’ve been struck with a fever. “I’ve barely even touched you.”

He peels your panties down, pooling them at your ankles, and grips your hips as he brings his face to your core. Slowly, he runs his nose against your opening, teasing you so close to where you need him. Your breath catches in your throat as he licks your folds, finally reaching inside your heat. Your toes curl, and you plant both of your hands in his hair as his tongue graces your clit, swirling lightly.

He works gracefully, quick to give you pleasure but never too much of it. Whenever your moans become too loud, he moves from stimulating your clit to dipping into opening, or occasionally licking at your thighs. The coil inside you keeps growing tighter, and you have no idea how you’ve managed to stay upright for this long. His tongue makes you feel like you’re floating, like you could stay here your entire life and be perfectly content. You find yourself scratching at his scalp, and you can hear the vibrations of his moan on your clit as he laps at you.

That slight stimulation is so near to what you need, “I’m close.”

He stops without warning and you want to curse him for leaving you. He stands up without wasting any time, and he unzips himself from his tailored pants. You watch in awe as he gives himself a few strokes before pulling you closer to him, getting your permission before sliding into your folds.

He picks you up with a start, gripping at your thighs and allowing your ankles to interlock at his back. Your gasps turn into a guttural groan, and he kisses you roughly to stop yourselves from being heard. He works himself deeper inside you, patiently allowing himself to bottom out as your walls urge him on. Once he’s finally sheathed, he gives a small thrust and it has you shivering, wanting so much more.

He gives into your demands, setting a quick pace while kissing you, swallowing up every sound you make and keeping them from himself. He’s steady with his thrusts, trying to pace himself and keep himself on hold for you, but you snake your hand to wrap at the base of his neck. Without a warning, you pull at the strands there and he grunts into your mouth. Biting at your lip, he tightens his grip on your hips as pumps inside you faster.

“Holy shit, you’re so tight,” he gasps. “So warm, I could – fuck – I could stay inside you and never leave.” You scratch at his neck, wanting more from him to finally quell the heat that keeps burning inside you.

“Dick, I need–” you start, but are unable to finish, so distracted in your daze of pleasure.

“Yeah, darling? Tell me what you need.”

You shake your head, too far gone by this point to articulate anything, but Dick seems to understand, anyway. He moves a hand down to your clit, and begins rubbing precise circles on it, finally meeting you where you need him most. You feel your walls clench around him, swallowing him further inside and hitting you where you’re most sensitive.

You open your mouth to warn him, but the words turn into a breathy moan as you cum around cock. Your climax rips through you, and every nerve lights on fire as you hear Dick briefly warn you before falling over the edge, too. Both of you lazily rut against each other, working through your joined orgasm together.

When the world finally comes back into view, you feel so ready to faint, but Dick holds your shoulders and allows you to rest on him as he lays on the grass. The chill of the night air is finally reaching past your skin, and he throws his suit jacket on top of you. Both of you stay outside in the garden, watching the moon and the stars shine on you as the night slips by.

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x fem!reader #dick grayson smut #smut #nightwing #nightwing smut #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x you #nightwing x fem!reader #dc smut #dc comics #dc universe #angst #fluff

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hanakihan · 4 months

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speaking of isekai

PLA honestly handled it better than 90% of isekai media in situation with Ingo

Like yea game downplays it in a way but it’s obvious he’s struggling

We clearly see him being an outcast here, he doesn’t spend time in settlements, he isn’t friends with that many people and mostly keeps it ‘professional’, his closest friends are his Pokémon

And entire amnesia situation makes it even sadder, man got yeeted here and now honestly doesn’t even know if he belongs here or anywhere at all

And now think about him having no memories and prior knowledge aside from reflexes, he has no language knowledge, no culture knowledge, he doesn’t even know what place and time it is, he ends up in a rather cruel wild place and just think about him, an amnesiac with clear need in medical attention straight up making himself learn how this world works

Ingo is honestly one of the best examples of undercover horror elements in isekai

Ingo’s situation isn’t romanticized or glorified or made fun of in canon by itself and it makes us feel sorry for him, it makes us sad, because even on basic level we understand how fucked up his situation is

Just think a minute about how Ingo’s situation is a literal isekai stripped of tropes and let depressing realization bitch slap you out of fantasy and memes

#Pokémon #PLA #pokémon legends arceus #ingo #honestly the moment you stop meme and think about his situation it’s straight up depressing #the fact man ain’t having a fun isekai adventure speaks by itself #isekai genre never addresses how people back at OG home deal with disappearance #I’m so happy submas community treats both sides equally and we get to see depressing state on emmet’s side too

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starwikia · 2 months

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suicide cw

look i have been in this area before mentally. it sucks and i wouldn’t wish this on anyone. but, and this is going to sound callous, but i don’t feel any sympathy for james somerton. even if i hope he’s like. not dead. But thats all the amount of goodwill im willing to give him. The more i think about this really, the more angry i am.

ngl this entire situation is another example of how white people weaponize their mental illness to avoid consequences. Im seeing it in real time.

this man has a continuous habit of using self-harm as a get-out-of-jail-for-free card. in both of his apologies, he has worded his supposed attempts in ways that were clearly meant to guilt people who displayed his plagiarism and overall horrendous history of racism and misogyny. i say supposed because, while i’m not saying those are lies and this would he such a fucked up thing to lie about that i don’t want to think he has, unfortunately, it’s been proven again and again that his word can’t be trusted, as he’s known to lie to try get out of consequences. Hes a proven liar. him lying about this is actually the best case scenario, because no one should go through this entire situation, wouldnt wish this on anyone, but you can only do this so often before people stop sympathizing with you. is this callous? Yeah, but like. I’m actually fucking angry he cant straight up take no as an answer. that this is how he reacts realizing he cant be one of the Cool Kidz™️ on youtube anymore. he acts like he DESERVES a career, like its not a privilege hes lost due to his own actions.

He lied about apologizing and forgiving people, he lied about giving the money to hbomberguy to give to ppl he ripped off (yknow, instead of doing it himself), he lied about the jessie gender situation and rewrote the narrative to make it so he isnt the bad guy, and hes the victim all along actually!

you can’t tell me that supposed last message of his isn’t meant to be a 13 reasons why esq attempt to deflect the blame “look i’m going to kill myself and it’s all YOUR PEOPLES FAULT for not letting me achieve my DREAM of being filmmaker IN PEACE!!! I just wanted Nick’s (the guy who I have thrown under the bus again and again) portfolio up!! Im just being a good friend dont you all FEEL BAD” he refuses to take ANY ACCOUNTABILITY of any of his actions and he IS STILL trying to shove the blame over to other people again.

it’s also pretty ironic people are like “uhhh well hbomber’s fans harassed him!!!” like hbomber outright told people NOT to HARASS JAMES!!! ALSO acting as if james doesn’t have a very real documented history of STRAIGHT UP sending his fans to harass and threaten smaller creators, more notably women, trans, and bipoc creators. especially after he’s stolen typically very personal anecdotes so he could profit from them. so why can he do it but the second people are like “hey this guys an actual piece of shit.” and he can’t handle it suddenly people are trying to white knight his shit? like no he doesn’t get that. he doesn’t get that at all just because he couldn’t handle the consequences of his actions.

what? were supposed to stay quiet about a man profiting off of other minorities because he wanted to be the spokesman for all gay people? people tried to solve this on a smaller, more private scales for YEARS and he kept doing it. it was clear that the giant public video was the ONLY way to get people to notice. HE WOULDVE GOTTEN AWAY WITH STEALING 87 FUCKING THOUSANDS WORTH OF DOLLARS. HE CANT HANDLE THE FACT HE CANT GET AWAY WITH IT.

am i supposed to feel bad for the guy who basically threatened a trans woman with the police? i don’t care what anyone says, it’s so fucking obvious that he threatened jessie by implying he was getting the police involved in their conflict. what am i supposed to act like that didn’t happen? are we supposed to pretend like he didn’t glorify nazi’s and outright said that gay people made up a good chunk of the nazis? That he didnt say america joined ww2 bc they were jealous of the NAZIS. WHAT WOULD POSSESS YOU TO FUCKING SAY THAT. but then? He gives women (not even women most of the time, he misgenders nonbinary ppl constantly) shit for writing mlm. are we supposed to act like he doesn’t straight-up sees himself superior and better than people of color and steals their works to put himself on a pedestal? Are we supposed to act like he didnt spit on our elders by saying “only the boring gays survived aids” like man! Fuck you! He BLANTANTLY MAKES UP HISTORY TO PUT HIMSELF ON A PEDESTAL!! HE ACTIVELY TRIED TO REWRITE LGBT HISTORY TO SUIT HIS FUCKED UP NARRATIVES!

yes this sucks ! no one deserves this but no one should be making him a martyr. Thats what he fucking WANTS! He wants to be immortalized as a victim!! (again, supposedly, it was reported hes alive but its not confirmed).

The shit he got isnt near the amount of fucking callous behavior hes done again and again. Again, to drill this point, EVEN IF HE DIDNT CALL THE POLICE HE THREATENED A TRANS WOMAN INTO THINKING HE DID!!! The fact he tried to use a head injury to justify years of the outright ghoulish shit fucking astounds me. Why the fuck did anyone in his life thought it was a good idea to let him TRY to come back. in the end, he had options. he didn’t need to try to make a comeback. HE DIDNT NEED TO FUCKING LIE OR IGNORE THE SHIT HE WAS CALLED OUT ON the reality is, he wanted to come back thinking he could shove it under the rug, was told that no dude, you’re not allowed to be a youtuber anymore. you’re done. you need to move on and went full nuclear. it’s not on anyone’s hands but his own. HES BEEN DOING THIS TO HIMSELF!! But nah man we cant call his shit out bc hell may or may not kill himself. Fuck the other minorities who have the same issues but worse and sometimes BECAUSE of him. This is going to SUCKKKK so bad when other ppl, specifically white gays, are going to weaponize this shit to get away with their stuff.

#warning: do not read this post if you want me to be nice to james somerton. i am extremely mean in this post.#before anyone accuses me of shit i legit never contacted him myself or anyone involved. i am someone who witnessed this behavior repeatedly #again. i hope hes alive and well. the fact is him lying about this WOULD BE THE IDEAL SITUATION. BC NO ONE SHOULD GO THROUGH THAT. but.#he HAS to forever be the victim in his eyes. attempting doesnt automatically mean youre free of sin.#its just terrible to see that regardless whether or not he did do it #its very clear his attempts to run away from his consequences are working on some people #we need to acknowledge that if your shitty ex friend can weaponize a threat to kill themselves #so can this internet person after being called out for horrendous shit #like what was the alterative? what were people supposed to fucking do? be nice about it?#yeah as if poc and trans women arent historically given shit for being 'too mean' about wanting justice.#this isnt just the plagiarism this is the fact a white dude has been parading himself as THE speaker for the gays(tm) but has been using hi #gayness to shield himself from his misogyny racism transphobia and antisemitism #its very clear regardless this means that ppl r going to side with him and then give him benefit of doubt #if you cant handle the heat stay out of the fucking kitchen dude. this is the consequences of your fucking actions.#hes a disgusting person who cant handle being told no so hes going to drag everyone down with him #like. idk this entire situation is frustrating to me.#its also frustrating ppl trying to be moral abt it like 'see! i knew this was bad all along!' no you didnt. shut it.#for the record im like mainly talking abt twit watching those spineless uwu cutesy ppl basically saying hes done noting wrong #oh and also alt righters who are clearly weaponinizing this where u know they wouldnt give a shit if a right ytber did this.#james somerton #idk might delete this later its just. ugh...

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quirklessidiot · 6 months

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title: hell's favorite secretary [sneak peak] pairing : Devil!Ryomen Sukuna x F!Lost soul!reader [based on the webtoon 'the devil is a handsome man', DC Comics "Lucifer", and the book and video game 'Dante's inferno'] Genre: Alternate Universe-Hell, angst, mystery/thriller, mild horror, romance, slow burn, hell au, dark comedy, lost soul x devil au

Summary: The faceless man shrouded in mystery tends to be a subject of rumors and false pretenses, but you'd think otherwise when you accidentally caught sight of those grueling red eyes.

General warning for the story: graphic depictions of heavy gore (manslaughter, mayhem, and torture), and explicit sexual scenes, more will be added per chapter. this will be exclusively released in ao3 in december <3 Notes: after reading a couple of pages of dante's inferno, reading lucifer (the comic book), and the devil is a handsome man, it sort of struck my interest to write this story! this is a pretty long series and im actually so excitied to write this lol.

if you're a person heavily practicing the catholic faith, i won't recommend reading this series as this talks and leans on the devil (i'm not a satanist pls), he's not glorified here in anyways but I do recall people who lean heavily on the faith are not fond of reading any media depictions of the devil.

i hope you enjoy! rb's are always appreciated.

There are possibly hundreds of artworks about the devil.

The most famous one is that snake hanging off the forbidden tree or, better yet, a half-animal and half-human. Others would be an ugly babe falling down from the heavens. The most popular modern one would be the one in red with horns on his head, yet your boss did not resemble any of those impressions. Instead, he wore a three-piece suit and had a hole right in the middle of his face.

Yes, you heard that right.

A hole.

All you could see was an empty void of black nothingness. Nobara had said that Sukuna – yes, the devil went by that name — would never show his face to lost souls like you because, as an angel before, seeing him in his proper form would result in instantaneous combustion.

Despite that good reason, talking to him was still disconcerting. The whole situation remained to be anomalous.

The ringing thoughts about your previous conversation with your workmate replay in your head like a broken record, your eyes trickling on the piles of paperwork across the window that revealed your boss leaning against the table with his usual outfit and pink tufts of hair neatly styled away.

You recalled meeting him for the first time and wondering why he seemed somewhat familiar. You had overtly eyed him up and down. Despite the hole in his face, he had caught on quickly and asked what exactly you were doing. Until now, you couldn’t understand the physics behind how he could even see you and talk.

You purse your lips in deep thought as lines form in the middle of your head. You don’t even feel your boss walking up to you on your desk, “Seems like someone’s head is up in the clouds this morning.” he points out.

You immediately sat up straight, your shoulders squared, “Sukuna, Sir…” you jumped, eyeing him somewhat warily.

Despite how he made you feel, the devil was not exactly a strict boss.

He’s rather lax and did not mind procrastination and passing your work at the last minute as long as you did it well. He works on proper hours, gives vacation and leaves, and an appropriate timetable for lunch breaks.

He’s hard to hate for a being who's been blamed for man’s misfortune since time immemorial.

“Was the long weekend still not enough?”

“I’m not exactly a sloth, Sir,” you mumble to yourself, but he catches onto your words and remains unphased. It's uncharacteristic for you to say anything more to him, but you needed a good starter for this conversation to get on, “...Although, I-uh…I do have a question…You remembered our contract, sir?”

One thing that humans were able to grasp correctly about hell and its king is the contract signing and how the devil gives out favors in exchange for something you truly hold dear. For you, since you’re a lost soul, in exchange for changing your status, you’d give proper work hours and help him capture at least eight hundred itinerants.

You’re running on two hundred and fifty so far.

“Oh?” he leans in closer, “That’s not something we talk about every day.” his body language remains fluid and guileless as if he wanted you to speak your mind more, and it only made your palms sweaty despite the coldness of the room, “Would you like to change some conditions? I am, after all, a fair man.” His voice is crisp and light, a charm that made up for his empty face.

“I- well, I’m going to be frank with you, Sir…” you blink, “I- um,” you start to stammer, and it only makes your stomach do different kinds of flips as your mind conjures up different types of worst-case scenarios. It’s not like you couldn’t become a soul after this, right? You’d only have to wait for a century and try to retain your sanity along with it.

He cocks his head to the side, and if you could paint a face on that void of nothingness, you’d wish it would be kind eyes looking down on you, but this was the devil, the man who was struck down from the heavens for being too ‘arrogant and malicious’. You need to be careful with your words, “I…I need information…” you swallowed, your words tumbling out clumsily.

“Information?” your boss remained relaxed, and you knew it was rather diabolic to even pray for God when you were literally in hell, but you had little to no way of reading him. There’s another round of stifling silence; you only want to melt into a puddle of goo this time.

#jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jjk sukuna #📝📝.hell's favorite secretary series

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sagesskies · 3 months

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just played Binary Star Hero, loved it, amazing, chefs kiss, Hals can take my heart and soul. Love them sooo much.

And an idea just struck me: Awkward Yandere Hero who is also your ex, meanwhile you're the guy who manages his tech.

The guys running the agency wanted him to be presented as the perfect, ideal man, and in this heteronormative world, the ideal man was straight, so they had him start dating another superhero. You got that, you could handle that, but what pissed you off was that he couldn't at least fight for your relationship when the higher-ups wanted him breaking up with you.

so you take the initiative, and don't let him keep beating around the bush, and break things off first. Good riddance honestly, what need do you have of a man who wasn't even willing to fight for you?

You keep working for the same agency, managing their tech, fixing it up after any errors, making sure everything runs in tip, top shape. But you refuse to do anything for him, no. They can get somebody else to do that.

everytime you two speak, it's always tense. him, the 'strong' 'virile' and 'masculine' hero practically cowering before you, the glorified tech support.

"Uh, h-hey [Name]!"

"... Helios."

"How... how are you?"

"I'm fine. What do you want?"

"Uh. To talk?"

"... Leave."

"I just want to chat-"

"Now."

"Okay. Goodbye. Take care. Love you- I mean, uhhhh, t-take care- Wait shit I already said that- Uh. Uh. Bye!"

Your colleagues tell you to pity him more, he had no choice you know? The agency paid his bills, they gave him a job, they were the reason why he wasn't taken to the government testing labs and made a labrat like all the other non-hero superpowered humans. So he was in no position to say no to their demands.

So were you supposed to pity him? To constantly let him do whatever he wanted? Let him miss all the dates, the dinners, to focus more on work than your relationship? Were you supposed to pity him when he didn't bother to explain himself when pictures were released of him going into a hotel room with some model? To let it slide without a single explanation?

You have too much respect for yourself.

When you try to hit the dating scene again, to be able to fully solidify that you are truly moving on from your ex... but for some reason, said ex always ruins everything?!

every single place you take your dates, it's suddenly infested with your ex's fanclub as hundreds of people all clamor around, disrupting others as they all try to at least look at the famed hero Helios who was reported to have been sighted, just your luck, in your general area!

and not to mention, what happens when he decides to approach you in public, while your on a date, and the other guy just so happens to be a big fan of his and all of a sudden you're just tossed aside as your date gets his fucking forehead signed by your ex.

and still, still, he has the audacity to try to strike up a conversation with you.

"Hey, [Name]!" Helios- No, Hollis, greets you cheerfully.

You don't bother to respond, focusing on fixing the dents in Liquid Steel's metal suit. Slamming the hammer down on the outward dents, grunting when you accidentally move the dent inward and use the dolly to fix it.

Hollis, hesitantly, comes closer to you. Despite the fact that you were holding a hammer, he wasn't afraid. You know that he's sturdy and durable, more than other supers, but he is still flesh and bone. If you caught him off guard...

"So, uh, since the other mechanics are a bit busy... I was wondering, could you-"

"I won't, Helios," You glare at him, "Just wait for one of them to come back or something."

Hollis chuckles awkwardly, "Ah, well, I'll actually be needing it fixed soon," His eyes wander around your workspace, before going back to focus on you, eyes a brilliant gold, "I'm... gonna be sent on a mission."

You recall when he'd miss your anniversary dinner, and told you he had to be called out for an emergency extraction. He was fidgeting the entire time, hand rubbing at his neck where you saw lipstick stains that he was doing a shit job at hiding.

Looking at him now, you can tell he's lying the same way he was back then. But for different reasons now.

"No." You say with finality.

"But-"

You drop your hammer, and grab him by the collar of his shirt. Pulling him closer till your foreheads were pressed against each other. His eyes widen, and he gulps.

"I said no," You snarled, spit flying against his face, "Why can't you fucking get that into your thick skull, hm?"

Your hands grasp tighter onto the fabric of his shirt, nearly tearing it off, "You've been a right fucking creep, yknow?" You give him a cruel, crooked grin, "I know what you're doing- You've been fucking stalking me, haven't you?"

"[Name], I-"

Maybe it's the stress from work, the breakup, the failed dates, Hollis himself, his mere presence being enough to tip you over the edge. Whatever it is, you snap.

"Shut up!" You scream at Hollis, "I hate you- I hate you so, so, so much!"

More than you hated Hollis, you hated the situation. It's more than just sabotaging your love life, and always bothering you with his awkward small talk, you wished he started trying before you ended it. You wished it didn't take you leaving for him to beg for you to come back.

You feel like the gear that you're in charge of fixing. Some heroes take care of theirs like it's their baby, always careful, but never getting enough work done because of it. Some are able to tolerate it getting damaged, and do their duty. But some? Some are willing to let it suffer intense damage, nearly become irreparable, all for the sake of their job.

Hollis is like that, you think. He let your relationship decay, rot, and fester, till it became nothing more than a shell of what it used to be. But you were too tired to fix it. Why bother anyway? You were old news, software that needed to be updated. So like any person with common sense, Hollis got an update.

Your face grows warm, you think it is from the shame for your outburst, before you realize it is also wet, and that you are actually crying. You don't want to, but you slump against his chest, and bury your face into the warmth of his shirt.

You beat weakly at his chests, "I hate you... I hate you Hollis." You sob.

Hollis shifts, you think he's about to pry you off, but then you sense a familiar presence over your back, and then a hesitant, but comforting hand is rubbing soothing circles into your back.

"It's... It's okay [Name]," His voice is shaky, and you think he's crying too, "No matter how much you hate me, I'll always love you."

#yandere male #x reader #yandere oc #yandere male x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #male reader #yandere #yandere imagines #this is nothing like what Binary Star Hero is actually like #i just got this idea while playing the game :)#Hollis 'Helios' Giles

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aezuria · 1 month

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*ੈ✎ always an angel, never a god.

—not strong enough, boygenius

note: hey guys i think you were a lil TOO happy after that last jason post 😇😇😇

content: jason grace x reader; oneshot, 1.2k

warnings: ANGST, violence, character-centered???, allusions to suicide, probably inaccurate death cause i spoiled myself by reading it but i was too sad to check again

jason was tired. so tired. he felt like he was sinking into quicksand as he walked, back aching as if he was atlas, holding up the sky. his fingers twitched, residual sparks of lightning flickering up his arms. they stung. they had never stung before.

he marched straight to his lonely cabin, not stopping at leo's bunker, or aprhodite's cabin—not even yours. he was never too tired to say hi to his friends before. he was never too tired to say to you before. what was wrong with him?

the door shut behind jason, providing him an escape from the ever-busy camp. it gave him relief to slump to the floor, his legs giving out on him as if they were just holding out until he was alone, where prying eyes couldn't reach.

he simply sat there, hugging his knees to his chest like he did whenever he wanted to hide from the loud orders he was given as a child, or so he remembered.

his perfect mask was breaking, his perfect attitude slipping. his nails dug into his arms, the bite of pain clearing his foggy mind. he wouldn't allow himself any time to wallow in his feelings. jason forced himself up and headed into the bathroom.

he wanted nothing more than to take a warm bath, to soak for a while and rest his aching muscles. maybe slide a little too far down so his head dipped below the water, and stay there until it did its work.

but he couldn't, and he wouldn't. he got into the shower, the water ice against his skin. his body screamed in protest, lungs tightening as he took a deep breath at the sudden drop in temperature. that was sure to keep him out of his own head.

and yet, like everything he felt he did recently, he failed. jason couldn't sleep, his mind racing with feelings he tried so hard to shove down. emotions impeded with his ability to work, and if he couldn't work properly, then he was useless. his brain didn't seem to care; it laughed in his face as it threw thought after thought at him. because maybe, in the back of his head, he did feel useless.

it was always percy this, percy that. percy got to be praetor while jason got whispers of "you could never be him." was there something about him that was so forgettable people couldn't wait to replace him? was that why his memories were gone? because nothing about them was so important for even him to hold? was that why, even though little by little they returned, he still had blank spaces in the days he used to recall? maybe if he worked a little harder, he'd be as good as him.

and it was quite unfair of him to feel this way, he believed. after all, percy was a good guy. it's not like they were on bad terms— they could even be called acquaintances, friends if you were looking on the bright side.

thinking of friends brought him to you, the only one he had memories of from the start. you were his best friend, his one and only. you stuck with him, explaining who he was and where he came from as best you could. he remembered how you had painted him like an angel, but he looked at the gaps of your brushstrokes and saw that he was hardened like a double-edged sword. he remembered how you glorified the structure of the romans for his sake, but he read between your praise and found a yearning to be free.

and that's why when you slipped from his waiting heart, he let you go. he did not wish to anchor you when you were meant to be among the clouds, soaring like a bird (yet, why was it that he found you with the son of the sea instead of him?)

"i'm going on another quest." jason smiled weakly, doing his best to put up a brave face. but gods, was it hard. he wanted nothing more than to feel your warmth in his arms; maybe it would soothe the way his heart clenched every time he was reminded of the way he'll never be yours.

"another?" you frowned. he hated the way his eyes were drawn to your lips like lightning to metal. "didn't you just get back from one?"

he shrugged, trying to laugh it off. "yeah, well, someone's gotta do the work around here. i'm the best man for the job." he sounded like he was trying to convince himself. once jason realized your expression wouldn't change, his shoulders sagged. he looked more like a kid than ever, bearing the weight of the world only the gods could lift. "look, i'll get back soon, okay?"

"swear it?" you held out your pinky, your eyes never leaving his face. you offered him a grin, trying to lighten the mood. "if you don't, i might have to get you back for that."

jason chuckled, linking his pinky with yours. "i swear." but it wasn't enough, he needed to hold you. just one more time. he wrapped you in his arms, an aching feeling in his chest that wouldn't go away. his heart twisted even more once he felt you hug him in return, your hands stroking his back like you always did when he was anxious.

he felt you mumble a "be safe" into his shoulder, and he willed himself not to cry in front of you. he gave you a firm nod and pulled away, taking one last second to admire you before he had to leave.

"see you soon, jason." you offered him one last smile.

"goodbye, y/n." why were the words so final on his tongue?

it was because he knew, from his sun-streaked hair to his sore heels, that he would never return. he had the foreboding feeling that something terrible was going to happen, and he'd rather have it happen to him than anyone else.

it was for the best, he thought. he'd die knowing he saved his friends than give up. isn't that what his whole life was for?

jason felt the arrow pierce his heart, three more succeeding it. it was strange. though he bled and bled until he laid in a bed of blood, it felt like a cruel but relieving escape from his emotions. it eased his limbs like a drug, made him feel high on the tang of silver in his mouth. but his heart still fought to beat, to live, to remember. memories of leo and piper, percy and annabeth, frank and hazel. reyna and camp jupiter, chiron and camp half-blood. jason remembered you. how your smile was the light of his life, how it was the last time he'd ever see it again. but he'd die happy, the image of your face branded into his eyes as they shut. when the spear pierced his chest one last time, he felt the weight of his mind disappear back into the sky from which he came from.

(but his mind was light from the holes in his story that he could never truly fill.)

#jason grace #jason grace x reader #hoo #hoo x reader #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus x reader #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #*ੈ✎ stories

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silverskye13 · 29 days

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I am turning EB around in my head like a microwave and I have a couple questions:

What is EB and EX's relationship like? I know they view each other as family and EX gets EB's booth, but will we see how they interact more?

Did anyone wind up telling EB that hels!zedaph is dead? If not, does he have suspicions that he is?

and a more general Hels question (that is totally not related no siree) - what is the upkeep for the remembrance walls like?

EB and EX are on friendly terms! They previously saw each other,,, not as rivals in the traditional sense. They didn't openly attack or oppose each other. But EB viewed EX as a challenge: How do I stay distinct from my brother's shadow? Anyone looking for it would find it obvious. EB got Bigger and Louder whenever EX was around, and he used to be much bigger and much louder than he currently is. It's less that he was mean, and more that he was prideful. Becoming friends with Helsknight changed him for the better in that regard. Since he's mellowed out, he and his brother have become closer. They enjoy visiting with each other during Colosseum matches [EB will often stand with EX in the box and talk both before the events, and during intermission] and EX invites EB to a lot of parties, where they shit talk the guests together. We'll see them together once during RnS, but EB is a secondary character, and outside of the one appearance, I don't intend to have EX very involved in the story. He's kind of the unspoken god of the world: he gets a lot of mentions because he's very important to hels, but he's not very important to the plot lol.

Someone did wind up telling EB about hels!zedaph, though yes, he did suspect before he was told. EB hadn't gone looking for HZ for a reason. He didn't want to be the one to find out he was gone. If I can't see it, maybe its not really there.

And the Remembrance Wall Ramble got long so its under the cut!

[Hello future me cutting in here because I just realized you were probably talking about what individuals like EB would do to upkeep a name of a loved one. Mostly it involves regular visits. Keeping the stone clean, replacing it if it gets cracked, making sure it doesn't wear down. Nether bricks to me are a bit brittle, and the ones on the bottoms of the walls will crumble and break down over time. Most of the time, the Order of Remembrance is pretty good at getting them replaced, though they encourage individuals to do it themselves, to decorate the stones, paint or carve them, and overall keep the care personal. People will also sometimes leave gifts of food, flowers, and favored items at walls where loved ones names are kept. Walls are very colorful spots in hels, full of a lot of care.]

The Remembrance walls are, basically, graveyards. Alongside friends and family, who will make sure loved ones names are put down and remembered, the Order of Remembrance manages all Remembrance Walls in the city. We'll get into it a little in the upcoming chapters, but the Order of Remembrance church, and its knights, have a very active presence in hels. They are the cloaks seen most often roaming the streets, in twos and threes. They have regular routes they walk, with walls they are assigned to tend. They make sure the stones are stacked straight and don't fall, replace broken ones, and help people carve names. Many knights have prayer chants where they intentionally try to memorize every name on the wall. Their focus is on the idea that no helsmet is truly gone as long as some memory remains of them. They welcome helsmets approaching them with fond memories of loved ones, and will take testimony from people who know their time is coming. Their church is a glorified library and house of memorization. Part of their worship in remembrance of people is also in the remembrance of history, and they have at least one copy of every book, memoir, and journal in hels they can get their hands on. They have one private collection in the church, and one public library in hels, which they regularly update with copies of originals from the church library.

The only place outside the Order of Remembrance's domain is the shady side of town where Cleo's gangs keep the peace. For control reasons, Cleo doesn't like any opposing force on her claimed land, which includes Order of Remembrance knights. She does still have Remembrance Walls on her side of town, but they are up-kept by the people that live there as a community project. People get together once every few weeks, make food, talk about those that are gone, and make sure none of the stones are broken or stolen.

Erasing memory is a big taboo in hels, understandably. The universe is already cruel enough in taking people, and people, once taken, are woefully easy to forget [they were never meant to exist in the first place, after all]. On the sides of town where the Order of Remembrance upkeeps the walls, anyone caught stealing or destroying stones is tracked down by their paladins, and subjected to community service under close supervision. They're often roughed up in the process, but the paladins won't kill you for breaking a stone. Depending on whose stone you break, and how angry hels is that day, the same can't be said for anyone else who catches you. Repeat offenders, or people who destroy many stones at once with the express intent of erasing memory, are branded by the Order with a mark somewhere visible, normally on the hands. Anyone with that unlucky brand will see increased hostility from their peers, ostricization, lost of livelihood and home -- it's a great way to make everyone in hels hate you. Anyone on Cleo's side of town caught destroying a stone is hunted actively in the streets, and leaving her side of town will not save them. She offers high bounties for that kind of thing.

#rns asks #evil xisuma #evil beezuma #remembrance walls #hels #hels worldbuilding #aloe-vera-ghost #sorry you activated my trap card #i have a lot of thoughts on the Order of Remembrance #They're very very good guys #They're some of the few people in hels everyone likes #There is also an unspoken rule you don't mess with [attack or rob] Remembrance knights #because if you do that gives them a reason to forget you #and to make sure the world forgets you #to anyones knowledge they've never done that before #but then again -- if they did how would you know?

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