#don’t feel like char explanations this time it’s fine

[spiltsoup]

Another contribution to the Liuniverse

#lucy liu #alignment meme #alignment chart #darren aronofsky #why women kill #shazam fury of the gods #elementary cbs #watching the detectives #rise blood hunter #charlie’s angels #cashmere mafia #things i made #actorposting #don’t feel like char explanations this time it’s fine #oddly specific

[impawsiblecat]

100 Days of Deathduo

Day 12- ATLA Au!

Tw for minor character injury <3

    Icee does not do firebending. Oh they can, of course, they are a firebender no matter how weak their bending may be due to lack of practice and attention, but they don’t do it. Of course there is the whole safety thing, hiding as a refugee and all. But most of the reason is that they just enjoy messing with people. 

    Like right now. Ether mentions needing to go and find a firebending teacher, and Icee catches Clover’s quick glimpse at the statement. “Oh gee, yeah. It sure sucks that none of us know how to bend fire.” Icee says in response, as dryly as they can. “It would be so convenient if I was a firebender instead of a nonbender.” They continue, trying hard to hide their giggles. When they look at Clover, they can see her doing the same thing as she puts her hand over her mouth and coughs to hide her laughs.

    Ether doesn’t notice, of course. Icee wouldn’t let their secret get exposed that easily. Still, they gently nudge Clover with their elbow to get her to stop. It doesn’t work, and the exchange leaves both of them bursting into giggles to the confusion of everyone else. Icee gives no explanation when they do eventually calm down, and they just say. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

    If Icee were actually confident with her bending, perhaps she wouldn’t be keeping her secret with the rest of the people she is traveling with. Perhaps she would tell Ether, and offer to be his teacher, to help him learn and grow and master firebending. As it is, Icee cannot even create her own flames, just control already made fires and use her inner fire to regulate body temperature if she is feeling fancy. Neither of which, she suspects, would be extremely useful to Ether.

    Which is fine. It is no great loss to Icee either way, and they have kept it hidden this long that they could almost delude themself into actually believing they are a non bender. It’s just more convenient, keeping it hidden, preventing everyone from getting their hopes up. And Icee has lived with it this long.

    And yet, later that night, when everyone else has gone to sleep, Icee sneaks over to the dying embers of the campfire and finds herself slowly breathing into them, aligning the sparks that come out of the campfire with her own inner flame and coaxing them to grow, take shape and form once more. It feels unfamiliar, now, having gone so long without bending, but Icee still remembers to breathe in time with the fire and connect with it. Fire is life, and if she focuses, she can feel the fire in herself, the one that she has never managed to get out on its own.

    And that is alright. Icee does not need to. Instead, she reaches out to the fire, and nudges it into her own hand. It flickers hypnotically, warm in her hand for as long as she keeps control of it, not dangerous unless she allows it to be. She breathes in, and out, and reminds herself that fire is life, and breath, and every other statement from the one free trial  firebending class she took when she was eight.

    Fire is life, yes, they contemplate, watching the flickering flame continue. Fire has also taken life before, they remind themself, thinking of the war, of the fire nation sending untrained soldiers to the front lines, remembering cities they passed charred to the ground before they met Clover. It is destruction, and while Icee thinks of the horrors fire can cause, they don’t realize that the fire they are holding is steadily getting hotter until they extinguish it with a shake of their hand reflexively and hiss at the light burn it left behind.

    Their hand is a bit red and shiny, and Icee winces at the burn. It’s not that bad, but they berate themself for letting it happen. Firebending is power, discipline, and focus, and they had none of those three at the moment. That was the first rule of firebending. Oopsie daisy. 

    Icee contemplates just leaving it, but the rest of the group would probably be extremely suspicious if they saw the burn, and Clover would be worried when she found out Icee didn’t tell her. Especially because Clover is the one with the first aid kit. Which means that Icee is gonna have to go get her help right now. Which means waking her up. Icee hates waking people up, especially for things that aren’t a big deal, but they also know that they have to treat the wound unless they wish for infection, which means that they have to do it. Honestly, having to wake Clover up is a worse punishment for losing focus than the burn is.

    And so Icee, very begrudgingly, sneaks over to Clover’s tent. “Pssst. Clover. Are you awake?” They whisper, and to their surprise Clover immediately responds.

    “Icee? What are you doing here, up so late?” She says, opening her tent. She looks worried, and tired, and icee feels so bad.

    “I am so very sorry for waking you up Clover. I uh. May have accidentally burned myself. With fire.” Icee wrinkles their nose at the statement and holds out their hand, and Clover looks at the burn with confusion that slowly turns into realization.

    “Ah. I see. Let me get the burn cream and some bandages.” She says quietly, rummaging around in her tent before bringing out the team’s first aid supply. Icee doesn’t know if they are glad or disappointed that Clover didn’t question what they are doing. “Come on Icee, the fire will provide better light for me to see.”

    Icee dutifully follows along and sits next to Clover as she starts opening up the salve. “I’m surprised the fire has lasted this long.” She says, and Icee knows what she is doing. It’s an opening, a chance to talk about what happened if Icee wants. They know they could just make up some excuse about the wind and Clover would leave it alone. 

    “I uh. I did that.” Icee says. The salve is cool on the stinging burn, and they stare at it instead of at the fire. Clover doesn’t say anything in response, just continues to treat the wound and let Icee work through their thoughts at their own pace. “I thought that if I started practicing bending again, I could help Ether. At least a little.”

    “Hmm.” Clover responds. “You don’t have to teach Ether firebending if you don’t want to. You don’t have to be someone you don’t want to be, and no one expects you to.” She says, bandaging the wound. “We will all love you anyways.”

    Icee looks at her, then. “I know. Sometimes I wish that my firebending was a part of me though, instead of something I am ashamed or afraid of. And then other times I am so glad that I chose the path I did, even though it means stepping away from that. It lead me here, to where I am now.” They say.

    Clover wraps the bandages around Icee’s hand, sealing it from any infections. “The two can coexist, you know. You can learn to accept that part of yourself while still making your own path, with us if you want. And no matter what happens, you are still Icee. You are still you. Nothing can change that.” She smiles at Icee as she finishes tying up the bandages.

    Icee smiles back. “Alright Clover. Thank you. I’m sorry for waking you up for such a small thing.” 

    “You are never a small thing Icee. I’m glad I could help.” Clover says, and Icee is filled with the knowledge that they are cared for. 

    “Goodnight Clover.” They say instead, heading to their tent after waving to Clover. That night, Icee falls asleep while focusing on their inner fire, reminding themself that it is life. 

#deathduo #deathduo my beloved #rat server <3 #100 days of deathduo #atla au! #i love atla au so much #also hurt and comfort! my absolute beloved! #i do really like this scene! very chill. very nice. such deathduo

[versegm]

Three times Mash and Tonelico kissed each other's hand, and one time someone else kissed Mash's hand

1.

“Man, this one was tougher than I expected.”

Contrary to her words, Tonelico’s tone is rather lighthearted. She doesn’t look shaken in the slightest by the battle that just occurred. Her magical power is- something akin to the divine, at this point. Her spell tore the calamity apart with the might of a tiger.

Already, Totrot and Ector set off for damage control. They know the motion by now. Find the survivors. Heal the wounded. Ensure everyone is safe. And then leave as fast as one possibly can.

Tonelico doesn’t move, though. She’s leaning on her staff. “Mash? Were you hurt?”

She looks so casual. Her gentle smile hasn’t faltered on bit. Her demeanor is open, trusting.

Her fingers are charred black.

It’s a detail. Something inconsequential. Mash doubts anyone else has noticed it- she only has because Senpai’s hands carry a tremble from their constant nerve damages, so she’s come to pay attention to them. It’s a detail, surely something Tonelico has handled, but she does have to ask: “Does it hurt?”

At Tonelico’s confusion, Mash points at her hands.

“Ah.” She says, looking down. “A little, I suppose.”

Mash trusts Tonelico. She really does. But sometimes she reminds her of Senpai, and Senpai lies when it comes to pain.

She takes the fae’s hand. She feels Tonelico twitch, oh so slightly.

“They’ll go back to normal soon.” Says the fae, which Mash hears as this has happened before. “You don’t need to worry.”

Perhaps not, but she will anyways.

Softly, Mash brings Tonelico’s hand up, and presses her lips to the back of her fingers, the way the Doctor did to her when she was a child. Her skin is cold. When Mash lowers the fae’s hand, she moves her own to cover Tonelico’s fingers, trying to warm them up.

Tonelico is staring at her. “What are you doing?”

Ah. Right. It must have looked odd from the outside. “It’s a gesture of comfort. To keep the pain away.” Mash says, internally cringing at how childish her explanation sounds. “Someone… dear to me used to do that for me. I thought it could help.”

She hopes Tonelico does not ask her to elaborate. She still doesn’t know how to describe the Doctor to people who have not seen that selfless brilliance for themselves.

Thankfully, Tonelico doesn’t. She merely nods. “I see. Thank you, Mash.” And then the two of them have to get back to the others, and they have to run again, and the conversation is all but forgotten.

(Still, Tonelico did not pry her hand away from Mash’s.)

2.

Had she been human, the impact would have torn her arm clean off her body. As it stands, it merely sent Mash flying through the trees.

“Are you certain you aren’t hurt? No dislocated shoulder? No broken bones?”

“I’m fine. The shield is really sturdy.” Mash flexes each of her joints, checking for injuries. “I sprained by wrist a bit, but it should heal on its own.”

Tonelico immediately picks up Mash’s arm, examining it for herself. She pours some mana into the bruised skin, which alienates the already dull pain. Then, looking satisfied, she-

“Tonelico?”

She kisses the back of Mash’s hand.

“Did I do it wrong?” She inquires, raising her head.

“No, no! I just… didn’t expect you to do it.” She replies. It has been a very long time since anyone has done that to her. Senpai has other ways to comfort her, through handholding and hugs and headpats. The Doctor and Da Vinci being gone, she didn’t think she’d feel lips on her hands ever again. “I was surprised.”

Tonelico stares up at her. There’s something about her eyes. Sometimes, it feels like she’s looking straight into her soul. Mash can only hope that what she sees in here brings up warmth rather than pain. “Then I’ll keep doing it, if you don’t mind.”

“It’s fine. By all means.” Mash likes Tonelico. She likes Totrot, and Ector, and even that grumpy Wryneck. But… it’s not her home. She could use the comfort.

Tonelico smiles like she always does, squeezing her hand. “Good.”

3.

“So you couldn’t sleep either, huh?”

Tonelico plops herself down next to Mash. The night is cold. The fae presses her shoulder to Mash’s, surely seeking some warmth.

“I’m so nervous.” Mash admits. “We’ve worked so hard for Uther’s coronation. It’s surreal to think that it’s finally happening tomorrow.”

“Hah, same.” Tonelico nods understandingly. “We just have to get through this, and then it will all be fine.”

Mash does not reply.

She has heard the stories. She knows what will happen. She knows Uther’s fate, Tonelico’s fate. She knows. She knows. She hopes she’s wrong, but. She knows.

Instead, she wraps her hand around Tonelico’s, and brings it to her lips, as she has done a dozen times now. “Did you know that it’s customary for knights to kiss the back of their liege’s hands?” Or maybe only to kiss the back of ladies’ hands, Mash isn’t sure- she was never that close to the Round Table knights, and for so long talking to the one knight who sought her out was made impossible by Galahad’s hatred nested deep between her ribs.

“Oh, I didn’t know.” Tonelico replies, glancing at their joined hands. “Would you have been my knight, had I been a ruler?”

“… I think you would be miserable as a Queen.” Mash replies honestly. “It would be nice if we could keep traveling together, though. You, me. The rest of your team. All of Chaldea. And Senpai. You’d love Senpai. The two of you are very much alike.”

“It would be nice.” Tonelico nods. A sincere wish that can never come true.

Mash likes Tonelico. A lot. More than she can ever admit to herself. Tonelico gets Mash, gets the feeling of alienation that comes from being displaced in time. And Mash likes to think that she gets Tonelico too, if only a little, if only because she can see both Senpai and the Doctor inside of her. Tonelico stuck to her side despite her impossible story, and Mash did the same despite the hardships of this story whose conclusion she already knows.

Mash likes Tonelico. Really. Sometimes, she thinks Tonelico might even like her back.

She does not speak that feeling into existence. Neither does Tonelico.

They belong to different worlds. They belong to different times. The two of them, this wish they speak of- it can never be. So Mash holds her hand, under this starry sky, and she hopes it’s enough to convey to her that even if it was doomed, even if it didn’t change a thing- there was love here.

+1

“Good job, everyone!”

Senpai congratulates the team they exit the simulator. While they give each servant a complete review of their performance, Mash leans onto the Ortinax to catch her breath. This was a good session. This team composition is truly amazing-

“Are you injuried?”

Ah. Morgan.

 “I am fine, thank you.” Mash says, forcing out a smile. She knows, rationally, that Morgan is no longer Tonelico- that Morgan doesn’t even know who Mash is. It’s unfair of her to force her issues upon Morgan. But she can’t help it. Anytime she sees these eyes, these empty eyes that used to shine so bright- she finds her chest hurting.

“That is good.” Morgan replies. Her tone is flat and devoid of emotions. She extends a hand, and-

Morgan always looks so cold. So aloof. Mash startles at the warmth of her fingers around her wrist.

Morgan kisses the back of her hand.

Mash does not say anything. She does not do anything at all. She can’t even find it in herself to breathe.

Morgan blinks. The angle is a bit awkward. She’s so tall, compared to Mash. Slowly, she lowers Mash’s hand. “Apologies. I do not know what came over me.”

“I-” Mash’s heart is beating so fast she thinks it might breach out of her chest. Tonelico, Tonelico, Tonelico, my friend, my companion, my love, Tonelico, Tonelico, do you remember me? Does any part of you, heart or liver or brain or finger, does any part of you remember us at all? “Have to go right now immediately.”

Under the confused gaze of these too-familiar eyes, Mash flees.

#fate #my writing #lostbelt 6 spoilers #tonelico #mash kyrielight #I have to do everything myself in this fucking house

[snaillock]

noo, bc i fucking feel yall. bc a fic i read thr other day?!? "gn!reader" the next line is "reader could arguable be considered afab" and then out of no where the fic uses female anatomy terms??? the reader is not "arguably" afab. it is afab, and a warning tag like "afab!reader, but no pronouns used" would have been a better explanation for your fic.

i fucking DESPISE when people do that and refuse to put the actual gender of the reader in the actual post or the tags. its really not that hard. as someone who writes both female and male readers, i know how to tell my viewers which one they are so they csn steer clear of something they dont like. its just female readers r considered "the standard" or "the default" with both female and male characters. (finding fem char x male reader is the hardest thing on earth omg but anyways)

and untagged drabbles are the WORST at this. there's no gendered tag and no warning at the top of the post so i assume the reader is gender neutral only to ve bombarded with fem terms. even if a creator doesnt want to put the reader's gender in the fic warnings, but it in the tags. it really isnt that hardddd. all tumblr writers need to have a seminar about tagging fics correctly and stating what is actually in your fic. or we all need to learn a03 etiquette or smth. bc being a male reader sucks😭

(srry sbout this rant. i just needed to say it)

nsfw mentions for anyone else reading!

dude yesterday i saw a fic that was legit tagged “gn reader, reader is called mama.” like how is that a coherent statement. it’s almost comical to me. one of infinite examples of what it’s like to look for fics on tumblr. like im BEGGING and PLEADING to people to think about what the neutral part of gn means.

i hate also when writers do “gn!reader that could be seen as female” when 90% of the fic makes it so so obvious like shut up that’s totally fem reader.

when people use afab as some cool fancy ass synonym for woman also irks the shit out of me but that’s a whole other conversation.

i fucking wish putting “character x female reader” or whatever gender in the actual tags itself was a much more common practice so filtering would actually do something. unfortunately the only people who actually do it consistently are of course the ones who write male reader fics.

like people shouldn’t be allowed to leave their fics untagged if it isn’t 100% gender neutral. like give me some indication god please. it’s even worse when i’m going through the blue lock tag so most of it is just untagged fem smut drabbles so it’s like a double smack in the face for me. like give me a heads up at the very least.

honestly i should just start fining people whenever they screw up with their tags. like straight up start demanding money for emotional damage charges.

(speaking of fem char x male reader, once i transition into more multifandom, i’m for sure gonna start doing those as well. the lack of them just makes me so so sad)

also don’t worry about ranting bc im so glad i have yet another chance to complain about this for the second time today. being mad about this stuff is like the whole reason why i even made this blog

#★ snail.mail ★ #★ the sillies <3 #i’m debating whether i should add more tags so this discussion gets more reach #★-murr

[dollslayer]

Botanical Interest - In Bloom

Soft!Mob!Steve Rogers x florist!Reader

Summary: Steve comes home to you angry after a rough day at work. He made a promise to keep his work life separate but can he keep it?

W/C: 4,103

Warnings: Angst, mentions of past abuse, smut, swearing, alcohol consumption

A/N: Hi there! A part three for our soft mob Steve and his lovely florist. Thank you so much to everyone that has shown interest in my work so far, if you like it please reblog and comment!! You can also check out my other stuff if you haven't yet. Cheers!

Botanical Interest Masterlist I Main Masterlist

_____________

When Steve Rogers had asked you to be his girlfriend you knew there was a weight attached to it. A long talk over a stack of waffles and a couple of beers left Steve with a ‘yes’ and some ground rules.

After the incident in the alleyway you both agreed that he left his work at the door whenever you spent time together. Steve’s profession has made you uneasy since you met him and you two couldn’t avoid it forever.

A month later and you’ve managed to avoid conflict for the most part. Nothing as bold as that day in the alley, just small moments where he’d have to take a phone call, once when he had to cancel your plans for a ‘work incident’. But still he really was trying to keep his work and personal life separate and you appreciated it.

It had bothered you that he had to do those things but it’s not as though your work hadn’t impacted your time together either. Being a florist meant a lot of late nights when you worked events. Wedding season in full swing, every weekend was a busy one for you.

That’s why Monday’s have become almost sacred to you, your one day off a week. You and Steve always spent time together, sometimes you’d go out or stay home and just relax.

This Monday Steve had promised to come over and make you dinner. He’d only ever tried to cook for you once and it had ended with a lasagna burnt so badly you had to open every window in the apartment just to get the charred smell out. You couldn’t wait for him to redeem himself and take him to bed after you both came out of your food comas.

You were cleaning the kitchen when you heard your phone buzz. You had asked Steve if he wanted you to pick up any groceries since you had the day off. Expecting a list you were met with mild disappointment.

Running a little late, doll. 6:30 and not a minute later, I promise. Don’t worry about groceries. I'll get it all taken care of, just enjoy your day off.

You were kinda miffed but at least he gave you a heads up and he was going to get the groceries. You picked your sponge back up and scrubbed away at the counter.

________

Expecting to be let down, you were pleasantly surprised when 6:30 rolled around and your doorbell sounded. You buzzed him up and waited patiently for him at your door.

Steve appeared as he rounded the corner and he looked exhausted, irritated maybe. He carried a lot of tension in his shoulders and his suit jacket was long gone. His tie was undone and his sleeves were rolled up to where you could see well toned forearms. You bit your lip thinking of those arms holding you in place in bed.

Maybe we should just ditch the dinner and skip straight to dessert.

He approached you and you leaned up to give him a kiss.

“Hi, honey. How are you?” You greeted him as you shut the door behind you.

He set the groceries down onto the counter with some force and you winced. Okay so he did have a rough day. Do I ask him about it? I don’t wanna talk about his work but I don’t want him to feel like he can’t talk to me about his day.

He sighed and turned to face you, took his tie off completely and ran a hand through his hair.

“Don’t worry about it” he responded as he took a beer out of your fridge.

You were off-put by the abruptness of his answer. Maybe he was just short with you because he didn’t want to talk about work.

You stepped closer and tried to approach him again.

“I-“

“I said don’t worry about it.” Steve snapped, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and swiped the screen, visibly annoyed. “I gotta take this”. He slammed the door to your bathroom shut behind him and left you stunned in the middle of your kitchen.

What just happened? You had never seen him so upset aside from when you caught him mid-punch a month ago with Mr. Andersen.

Realistically you knew it wasn’t you he was mad at but you’d never done well with people when they were mad at you. You were engaged years ago to a man that was abusive towards you. Things had started off well like they always do but he became manipulative and he was quick to anger. You were constantly questioned and criticized. He kept you from seeing your friends, even some of your family. It took your friends coming through for you to get you out of the situation safely. Through lots of therapy and flinging yourself headfirst into your business you’ve come a long way but sometimes you had difficult moments.

It couldn’t be helped as your heart began to quicken and you felt heat come to your face from the embarrassment of being snapped at. Unsure what to do you poured yourself a glass of wine and sat down at your small dining table facing away from the bathroom.

You were trying to get yourself to not shut down in response to his change in mood but it was hard. He’s upset and clearly irritated with me already, he probably just wants to go home. Maybe you should just reschedule. Don’t cry, if you cry you’re gonna make it a whole Thing. Don’t cry. He’s not mad at you specifically and it’s not your fault.

In the torrent of your thoughts you didn’t hear the bathroom door open. Steve hadn’t spared you a glance or a word as he started unloading the groceries. Angrily placing a jar of pasta sauce onto your counter with a thud and muttering under his breath. You watched him timidly and took another sip of your wine.

He turned to you and took another swig of his beer.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that? What did I do?” He challenged.

Not wanting him to be upset with you, you devolved into old ways of over-explaining so you could justify your actions. Somewhere in the back of your mind, the rational part was telling you it’s not your fault he’s angry and you don’t owe an explanation but you were too far gone.

“I, I just, you didn’t do anything you just, um, you just looked upset. I don’t want to make it worse, I’m sorry. I was just looking at you, I didn’t mean to-”

You were cut off in the midst of your nervous rambling by the shrill ring of Steve’s phone. A frustrated growl escaped his mouth.

“I have to take this,” he muttered as he strode back to the bathroom. “I told you not to call me until you had it fixed” you heard him before the closing of the door muffled his anger.

He left you there to stew in your nervousness and self loathing. Five minutes had gone by and the rational part of your brain was slowly taking over. The rational part of your brain was angry. It’s okay for him to have a bad day and not want to talk about it but the way he’s spoken to you and responded to you isn’t warranted. You needed to confront him calmly and if he was still angry you needed to ask him to leave. You can talk to him another time but not while he’s angry. It won’t do anyone any good. Just like you’ve talked about in therapy.

You rehearsed the lines in your head and finished your glass. You heard the door open again and almost threw everything you had been going over in your head out the window. Just breathe. It’s fine, he calmed down so quickly after that time in the alley, he’ll understand.

_____

Steve was angry. With Clint for getting the dates of Pierce’s arrival wrong, with Sam for failing to get the recon they needed to get the drop on him. Even angrier with Bucky for taking all of this out on him when it wasn’t even his fault. But most of all he was angry with himself for letting his work get in the way of your time together. He promised you undivided attention and you deserved it.

He knew how important your day off was to you and after the day he’d been having he couldn’t wait to just come back to you. He just wanted to make some decent spaghetti and melt the worries of his day off with your embrace. He craved the physical comfort he got from you after a long day. The feeling of endlessly sinking into your arms while you held him in bed allowed him to be the vulnerable one for once. He never felt comfortable enough with any of the other women he’d dated to even entertain the idea of being the little spoon.

He always suspected that who he was at work was almost the only reason any of the other women had even gone out with him. Who he was at work was almost a front for the art-loving, touch-starved, hopeless-romantic that he was when he let himself relax. They’d all just wanted this big burly man who was always in charge, a walking wall of muscle and testosterone that they had seen and heard of him to be when he was on the job. But when he was on his own time he just wanted to feel comfort more than anything.

He just wanted to melt into you.

That’s why he was eager to get to you today but the constant calls were cutting him to his last nerve. Bucky was out with Natasha and her parents so he specifically asked not to be called. Being the boss, Bucky was not to be bothered. Being second in command, Steve was.

When he hung up with Clint he exited the bathroom and walked straight past you without a word, knowing you didn’t want to hear about work and talking about it would just make him angrier. He started unloading the grocery bag with maybe a bit more vigor than was necessary.

Remembering he had opened a beer that was probably warm by now he turned to you and grabbed it off the table you were sat at. At this moment he looked up and you had this look on your face he couldn’t quite place. He wanted to know what was up so he asked but you just ended up stammering out a response that didn’t make much sense.

He was trying to listen to you, he really was but he just couldn’t work around this building anger, couldn’t let it go. So of course his phone rings again. And of course he takes it. Excusing himself and locking the bathroom door behind him again he was already forming how to lay into his men on the other line without raising his voice and alarming you too much.

“I told you not to call me unless you had it fixed” he seethed into the receiver. Steve pounded his fist against the porcelain of your sink in aggravation. “I’m not fucking coming down there tonight. I shouldn’t have to be taking fucking phone calls to solve this kinda shit when I’m with my girl. Lose their tail, re-track them, and we’ll deal with the rest in the morning. Don’t call me again unless someone fucking gets shot”, Steve hung up abruptly and took a deep breath.

He wasn’t even sure what he was going to say to you so he just waited a minute to collect himself. He took another deep breath and readied himself to go back to you.

_________

You were sitting quietly at the table, silently digging your nails into your palm as you tensed your fist. Steve had exited the bathroom and taken a seat across from you. You decided to see if he’d speak first and waited.

A beat of silence and you sighed deeply, readying yourself to talk to him like you’d planned.

“Steve, I understand you’re having a bad day and it’s probably work related. That being said, just because you’re mad at someone else doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me” You blew out a shaky breath, wanting to finish before you lost your nerve and before he interjected. You didn’t dare make eye contact. Only stared at his hands on the table in front of you.

“If- if you’re mad don’t take it out on me, and if you feel like you can’t control that anger I don’t want you around me while you feel that way. If you want to talk through it or just work past it then I’m here. But if you’re going to snap at me again and just be mad then you need to leave. It’s not fair to me.”

I’m pretty sure Dr. Danforth would be fucking proud of me right now. Straight to the point but respectful, just like we talked about. And even if Steve’s mad, you’re in control. You’re doing great.

You braved a peek at his face at this point and he looked stunned himself. He’s probably never been spoken to like that in his life, being the second in command and all. You watched his brows bunch together in what you hoped was thought and not frustration for you and waited for him to speak.

________

Oh. Steve was a little struck by what you’d said. Have I been that bad? She’s shaking like a leaf, of course I must have been that bad. He’d had no idea that he even snapped at you, that’s how wrapped up in his own business and his head he was. He never meant to take it out on you, didn’t even realize he had. Sometimes it was like he was so deep into his work life he couldn’t take himself out of it. But he wanted to try, for you.

He remained silent while he pulled the chair across from you out and took a seat. He looked up to meet your gaze only to find you staring at your hands. You were digging your nails into your palms so he brought one large warm hand to cover yours and brought the other up to your face gently to get you to look at him. You flinched away from him and he felt another strike of surprise, but also maybe a hint of shame. Is she afraid of me? Normally Steve likes when people are afraid of him, makes his job easier, but he’d never want that from you.

“Sweetheart”, Steve’s voice was just above a whisper when you finally looked up at him.

“I’m… sorry, that’s really it I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I didn’t even realize I did.” He apologized.

____________

You could feel your tears subsiding and finally brought yourself to look at him. He looked just as exhausted before, just a little bit more sad. You imagined it was probably easy for him to get swept up in who he was at work so it must be hard to separate himself from it since it requires so much from him. You don’t want him to feel bad for being upset, you just want him to be more aware of himself and to not take things out on you.

“Steve, I know we said you wouldn’t talk about work when we’re together but I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me if you have a bad day. Maybe you can keep it vague but I don’t want you to feel like you can’t say anything or be yourself, unless of course you don’t want to, I don’t want to force you to talk about anything either. When you snapped at me I just sorta shut down” You explained.

Steve seemed to be processing your words and forming a response when he took your hand in his to stop your nails from ripping into your palms like they often do. He nodded and took a breath.

“You have no idea how much it means to hear that from you, thank you. Just for the record, I never feel like I can’t be myself with you, it’s opposite, really. When I’m with you I get to drop all that bullshit at the door. Girls in the past have just wanted me because I was scary but seeing the way you flinched just now, I don’t ever want you to feel scared of me.” Steve confessed.

Maybe it’s time to tell him about the engagement, let him know where you’re coming from. You blew out a shaky breath and looked away from him again.

“I, um, I’m not scared of you. Years ago I was engaged to a man and things were really bad, he was really bad. I’m not ready to talk about all of it but that’s why I shut down on you when you snapped. I’ve been through a lot of therapy and I’m still working on it, but I’m not afraid of you. Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, it’s… kind of a sore subject” you admitted.

Steve’s nostrils flared and his grip on your hand tightened a little but you could tell he was trying everything he could to school his features and reply to you.

“I… didn’t know that I’m sorry.” he said as he ran his thumb over your knuckles. “If you ever wanna talk about it more, I’m here. And if you don’t, I understand.”

You stood from your chair and came around behind him to throw your arms around his neck. You kissed his cheek and rested your head against his.

“Thank you for listening and apologizing. I forgive you. And if you wanna talk about your day then I’m here.” You assured him.

Steve turned his head to capture your lips in a soft kiss which you reciprocated. Steve stood to his full height without breaking the kiss and brought his hands up to frame your face. The warmth was comforting again to you. Your tongue slipped into his mouth and he elicited the softest of sighs before returning your passion.

He broke the kiss while his hands explored your curves. “I want to make it up to you, will you let me do that, sweetheart?” he asked.

You could only look up at him with eyes blown wide with lust and affection. You nodded and he kissed you swiftly before leading you to your bedroom. You were holding his hand when he let go and softly urged you backwards onto the bed. You obliged and soon he was on top of you laying feather-light kisses to the column of your neck.

Your hands mussed his hair and smoothed out the tension in his shoulders as you held onto him. He kissed his way lower and lifted up the hem of our shirt and kissed his way back up to your breasts. You sat up slightly and took off your top and unhooked your bra, letting it fall before throwing it to the side. Steve took turns taking your nipples between his teeth and teasing them, licking and kissing them. He knew it always made you squirm and would build the anticipation before you could even touch him.

“Steve, please.” You whined.

Wordlessly he kissed and bit his way lower and undid your shorts. You arched your back to help him remove them along with your panties. Steve wasted no time and administered the smallest of licks to your clit. You gasped slightly at the feeling when you felt two fingers prodding your entrance before going in. Your body was getting accustomed to the initial wave of pleasure brought on by Steve’s movement and slowly you ground your hips against his hand and cried out softly.

Normally Steve would never let that fly, he was always so controlling and dominant in bed but tonight was different. Tonight was soft and he was making it up to you, showing his love in a physical way. So he let you push him deeper and raise your hips just so to reach the perfect angle. You felt yourself tighten around him and this is the point he usually slows down just to drag things out but your loud cries only fueled him as he doubled his efforts. With a final cry you came around his fingers, white heat blinding your vision momentarily.

You caught your breath and looked down at Steve. His beard was absolutely drenched and he sucked his fingers clean. You could almost cum again just from the sight of it. He wiped his mouth on a tissue before returning to you to give you a kiss. You tasted yourself on him but you didn’t care, you just wanted his mouth on yours. You felt his erection pressing against your thighs and it had you squirming all over again. You reached to undo his belt when he stopped you.

“This night is supposed to be about you, doll. I’ll be fine” He protested.

You shook your head at him. “I want you, all of you. Please, Steve”, you begged.

He nodded and undid his belt. You helped undress and when he was finally naked you felt the rush of heat to your core all over again, an itch you couldn’t scratch. You laid back further on the bed and soon he was above you, face inches from yours and one arm at the side of your head.

His cock nudged against your core and entered slowly to stretch you out. You moaned deeply and when he was all the way in he kissed you passionately and began moving. It didn’t take much for him to pick up the pace as he started to fuck you. He swore under his breath at the feeling of you.

“You’re so, so, good sweetheart. So fuckin’ good.” He praised.

His words made you keen as you let the feeling of him making love to you take you over completely. His lips grazed yours in between grunts and he moved one hand to your clit while the other cradled the back of your head. You held onto his shoulders tightly and sobbed out pleas for him to keep going. His thrusts picked up speed and so did his hand. You were so close to the edge and you could feel he was too.

“I love you” he panted out before his hips lunged forward into you one last time before he came inside of you.

The shock of his confession and his work on your clit triggered your second orgasm. It was powerful and had you clawing his back and gasping in pleasure. He’d never said that before. Did he mean it? You looked to him for the answer but his lips caught yours as he gave a few last lazy thrusts. He finally collapsed to your side and was heaving to catch his breath.

You both laid there basking in the afterglow of the makeup sex for a few minutes. You turned on your side to look at him. He was so perfect like this, so at ease.

“Did you.. Mean it? What you said?” You questioned nervously. You really wanted him to mean it.

He turned slowly to look at you and he was blushing. “Yeah, I did. I know it’s kind of soon and you don’t have to say it back, but I couldn’t help it. I love you” he confided.

“I love you too, I’m not just saying it cause I feel like I have to, I love you Steve Rogers. All of you.” you assured him.

The softest of kisses was laid on your lips. This moment with him was perfect.

“I can’t believe you love me. I’m so sorry about earlier. I feel so comforted when I’m with you, the last thing I want is to lose you. I promise I will do everything I can to never be like your ex. Ever. If I’m being a dick I want you to tell me,” He apologized again.

You were about to respond when his stomach let out the loudest groan. You both laughed as you sat up.

“I did promise you dinner. Unburned this time!” Steve pledged as he helped you gather up your clothes.

“That’s a promise I’m going to hold you to, Rogers.”

#steve rogers x reader #mob!steve rogers #mafia!steve rogers #Mob!Au #mafia!au #soft!Mob!Steve Rogers #marvel au #marvel fic #marvel x reader #botanical interest

[90stvshowgoth]

— BREAKING & ENTERING

—ch.1 —ch.2

summary: dabi is on the run from the cops when you just happened to leave your window open.

tags: drunk sex, creampie, overstimulation, dubcon but not really,

wc: 6729

a/n: this is my first dabi fanfic so i’m worried i might’ve made him a bit too ooc but tbh i don’t care. soft dabi is what i want and soft dabi is what i will get. huge thanks by the way to @a-monsters-love who beta read this story and made it a lot less sucky!

my requests are open by the way!

What woke you wasn’t the explosions or the screams, but the sirens. The mechanical moans echoed through the streets of Musutafu, and that sound pulled you up out of bed, looking out your window in a bleary state of half-asleep fear.

‘What was going on?’ Goosebumps ran up your arms as you peered out your alleyway view window, overlooking the fire escape to the siren that had recently been installed in your neighborhood a few months back. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes as you tried to recall when the Pro Hero Association had brought it, and that same chill sank to your bones as you remembered just what they were for.

A villain had attacked the prefecture. A dangerous one.

You tried to calm your breathing, slowly walking backwards from the window to think rationally about the situation.

‘There’s no reason for somebody to attack a random apartment building, they’re off fighting heroes,’ The reasonable side of your brain said.

Despite that the siren was still wailing across town and it began to set you on edge. You certainly weren’t falling back asleep any time soon. If you couldn’t go back to bed you thought you’d might as well make some tea to calm your frigid nerves. You smiled when you saw your well-loved cardigan hanging next to the door and hugged it close, otherwise wearing nothing but your bra and leggings.

When you stepped into the main room you breathed in the warm scent of the candle that you’d accidentally left burning. Cursing yourself for your lack of fire safety, you shrugged and used the wick to light your path to the counter. After filling up the kettle under the sink you left it under the lit stove to boil, taking a moment to admire how the burner’s low flames were almost purely blue.

From here you could see the small television beside the couch and with a press of a button it came to life before you. The harsh glare made your eyes wince before they adjusted to the unfriendly light.

You were drawn to the red index near the corner that blinked the words ‘breaking news.’ This made your sleep-addled brain finally connect the dots between the sirens and the reporter. The screen cut to a newsman outside of what used to be a ten-story building when all that remained was a smoking husk. Hesitantly, you increased the volume to hear what happened.

“—before fleeing the scene. We have reports that say the hero fighting him was put into critical condition following the attack, and is currently being taken to the hospital. A video was taken by a nearby woman who sent it to the authorities. We believe this clip to be of the suspects,” the journalist paused, and a low-quality film began to play. Whoever was recording had badly shaking hands so It was difficult to make out. Your eyes widened at the sight of the building you walked by every day for work, the Shishido hero agency, razed by a torrent of blue wildfire.

Escaping from the crumbling building were four or so figures, too far away to see with any accuracy, but each had an unmistakeable silhouette. The League of Villains.

They were something of a modern socratic dialogue. Whenever someone brought up their name or the hero killer Stain’s it was always just to be a contrarian towards whoever was on the opposing side. Fanatical opinions would spark heated arguments online but you tried to keep your thoughts to yourself.

Although, if you’d have to pick a side, you would choose the League’s. After Stain’s video had spread through Japan you dug deeper into the shady histories of some of the Commission’s most well-respected heroes. Whatever standard you held those pros to crumbled into dust under miles of ‘collateral damage,’ and omitted crimes that were swept under the rug by police. So when the faces of the league went up on the screen you couldn’t help but smile at their victory.

The whistle of the kettle pulled you from the television. You rushed to take it off the stove before it could get any louder, and routinely began to fix the tea just the way you like it. You hummed, smiling as the first sip of the warm brew spread down your body, fending off the cold.

You threw the remote onto the couch that sat across from the small kitchen. Moving back to your bedroom and getting cozy with the tea, you reveled in the way that the mug loosened the frozen joints of your fingers. But before you could relax and block out the sirens with some music, you noticed another chill rush through the small room. Groaning over-dramatically, you set the tea down to retrieve another blanket from your pile; but your eyes widened when you tracked down the source of the cold.

Your window was open.

That caught you off guard. You were absolutely sure you closed it before bed knowing how low the temperatures would drop, though with growing panic you noticed how you specifically don’t remember locking it. There’s only two ways it could’ve been open now. Either you simply misremembered earlier that night and forgot to close it...

Or someone else broke in.

The tea’s warmth was long forgotten as you reached shaking hands to close the window. But before you could slide the panel shut a calloused hand clawed itself around your mouth so you couldn’t scream.

Fear gripped your lungs as you struggled to breathe, thrashing desperately against the second arm your assailant had snaked over your waist to keep you still. Your leg banged painfully on the side of the windowsill as you struggled but it didn’t deter you from opening your mouth wide enough to bite down on the attacker’s hand.

“Fuck!” He cursed when your teeth drew blood around his thumb and practically threw you to the ground. As you were about to use your newfound freedom to scream for help, the man lunged towards you with one outstretched hand.

His flesh was suddenly engulfed in a hissing blue fire and you winced at the wave of heat that flared so close to your face. From here you could easily make out the assailant’s features from the illuminating glow of his flames.

He had deep scars circled under his eyes using what looked like piercings to hold the tattered skin together. His lips quirked after realizing he’d caught you for good, making his charred skin pull against the metal in his cheekbones. Panic hadn’t altered your memory, you knew exactly who was standing over you. Dabi of the League of Villains.

Before either of you could make another move someone banged on the front door. You turned to look towards the sound but the heat close to your reddening throat kept you from doing anything stupid.

“Ma’am this is the police, open the door.” You and Dabi stared at each other from the implications and you could already see a plan forming behind his eyes.

He leaned far too close, keeping his lit hand still hovering over your neck as he whispered his words into your ear, “Listen to me nice and close, doll,” you couldn’t bring yourself to breathe underneath the searing tension. “You’re gonna answer that door. You’re gonna smile and say that nobody’s home. And if you give away fuckin’ anything,” Dabi’s flames somehow stoked themselves, the heat so intense that your teardrops evaporated before they could leave your eyes, “I’ll set your hair on fire first. So you can feel your brain cooking.” He spoke with a dripping malice that made your blood run cold despite the flames creeping up his arm. You nodded, too terrified to form words as he pushed forward; telling you to get up.

The brief walk from your bedroom to the front door had never felt so long. Your legs felt like the static emanating from the television, all shaky and unstable. Once your hands curled around the handle you decided not to spare a glance back.

‘What do I do?’ You didn’t want to die, at least not by immolation of all things, so you’d have to play along. You cupped your feverish face in your hands and took an unsteady breath. ‘As long as I can fool these cops, I’ll be fine. I can do this,’ At least, you hoped.

Opening the door caused the hallway’s lights to flood through your darkened doorway. Once your eyes flinched with discomfort you saw the unmistakeable uniforms of two police officers, both middle-aged and looking much more disinterested than you would’ve thought.

“Is there a problem?” You could lie smoothly enough but your voice was still feeble from Dabi’s strain on your neck.

The one who had called out earlier answered your question, “A member of the League of Villains was seen climbing in through a window to this apartment building, but the witness didn’t remember exactly which floor or room. Is anyone else with you?”

You feigned confusion, going so far with the act as to tilt your head slightly to the side. “No, I’m sure I’m alone, sir.”

At that moment a painfully loud squeak echoed from your bedroom and your eyes widened at the audible gap in your story. There was a loose floorboard right beside your bookshelf that creaked under even the slightest weight. You’ve learned to avoid it over time but Dabi had no idea.

That bored expression on the cop’s face shifted and you scrambled to come up with a explanation. “I thought you said you lived alone?”

An idea popped straight from your brain to your mouth, “My cat! His name is—“ you thought of the old, lovable house-cat your family had kept while growing up, “Byron. He like to get into my plants.”

“...Alright then, Ma’am, just keep yourself safe.” It seemed to just barely convince them.

You almost couldn’t fight back the elation as you waved off the oblivious pair, heeding their words by locking the door behind them in a rush. Pressing your back against the wood, you tried to settle the adrenaline pounding through your chest. Unfortunately as soon as you started to calm down, Dabi strode from the bedroom with a curious look in his eyes.

“Not bad, lady. Didn’t think you’d give it your all like that,” he must’ve kicked himself for making that noise and thought you would’ve used it as a way to give him up, “especially for a villain like me.”

The tension in the air had noticeably lessened, and you started to think you had a good shot at surviving the night. “I mean, I didn’t want them to find you either.”

Dabi paced around the living room, turning on one of your floor lights in his path towards the couch, “And why’s that?” He asked, flopping unceremoniously onto the secondhand loveseat.

Sure, you were still half pissed at the guy for breaking into your apartment and threatening to kill you, but it was clear that everything he did wasn’t personal. He just needed to escape from the police, but since they were gone what would happen now?

“Because...” you wanted to find the right words to convince him, “because I hate heroes too.”

Under the dim glow of the lamp you caught a glimpse of a half-handsome smile from that answer. Now that there was none of the malice from before you could appreciate just what he looked like under the warm lighting. Especially his eyes, which turned out to be a truly stunning shade of blue.

He kicked his feet onto your coffee table and patted the seat next to him. You’d have to deal with whatever dirt or soot he’d tracked inside tomorrow morning, but for now you found yourself accepting his invitation.

“Lucky me, huh?” Dabi asked rhetorically, and you found yourself almost smiling back at him. The couch was still cold underneath you but you painfully realized that Dabi was emanating heat like a goddamn generator.

‘It must’ve been from his quirk.’ you thought bitterly, shivering despite yourself.

Dabi drew a pack of Newports from his coat pocket and slid a cigarette out with his teeth. Instead of using a lighter a thin blue flame ignited on his index finger. He held it to the tip and drew in a deep lungful of smoke.

“So, what’s your deal, anyways? You got a thing for villains or something?” He wondered out-loud, teasing another blush onto your face as you shook your head.

“No, I just— I mean not like that,” From the look on his grafted face you could tell he wasn’t convinced. “The Hero Commission is corrupt, I agree with the league on that at least. Stain’s video kinda affected me, you know?”

Another small grin graced his lips and a small part of you decided that you wanted to see that expression more often, “What’s your name, doll?”

The question put you at ease; When he repeated it back, rolling the syllables over his tongue, you couldn’t wait to hear him say it again. Wordlessly, he extended his hand towards you, offering the lit cigarette between his fingers. When you took it all you could focus on was how warm his hands felt against yours for those brief seconds.

Wisps of smoke danced in the air as you inhaled, coughing a bit after the dry tang started to sting the back of your mouth. He smirked at your reaction before taking the cheap cigar from your fingertips.

Dabi saw the remote you left laying on the couch and mindlessly turned on the TV across from you. The news station was once again playing, this time an interview with one of the heroes who fought at the scene. This hero in particular was an older man with a receding hairline and an honestly ridiculous outfit that looked somewhere between a scuba diver and a 70s golden-age comic book character.

Beside you, Dabi groaned at the sight of him, “This fuckin’ guy...”

“Were you the one that fought him?” He nodded without breaking his attention from the screen.

“His quirk was such a pain to deal with. He controlled all the oxygen in the room— made it hard to set his ass on fire.”

There were a surprising lack of injuries on Dabi as far as you could see, aside from a few scrapes alongside the bruised scars that crawled below his loose shirt. You couldn’t help but wonder how far down they went, but quickly turned your attention back to the screen to ignore those ideas. The hero he fought looked far worse for wear, skin marred with fresh burns that singed holes into the costume; His legs shaking similarly to how yours were just fifteen minutes ago. Dabi seemed to have that effect on people.

Before you could ask him how he’d won his fight he was off the couch and walking towards the kitchen. He casually searched through your apartment with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

You sighed, a bit annoyed at how he helped himself to your fridge, “Dabi, if you’d tell me what you’re looking for I could show you.”

“Nah, already found what I wanted.” He dug open one of the drawers and smirked as he pulled a chill bottle of wine from the fridge.

Dabi tracked down two nearby glasses and a corkscrew before returning to your side and started to twist the metal tip into the pliant seal. It pulled loose with a soft pop and he filled each of your cups with the cherry wine you had been saving for a special occasion.

As you raised the rim to your lips and breathed in the fermented smell you paused. Were you really about to drink wine with a villain? A wanted criminal who broke into your apartment? His hand had been around your throat as he whispered about how he would burn you alive less than half an hour ago. There had to be something wrong with you to even consider it. Beside you he nearly emptied half the glass in his first sip before going back to enjoying his cigarette and you found your resolve crumbling at his lazy half-smile. Making possibly one of the dumbest mistakes of your life, you followed his lead and took a long swig from the bittersweet drink, intent on letting the alcohol relax your nerves.

The effects were slow to come, it was only wine after all, but as the night carried on and the two of you kept drinking you started to notice the effects taking hold. At the very least, conversation between you flowed easily, trading questions about each other that never grew too inquisitive. He didn’t try to pry too deeply, he didn’t even ask for your last name, and you were sure to never bring up his scars. You talked for what must’ve been hours, and as the bottle emptied, the space between the two of you grew smaller.

Dabi could handle his alcohol, but you couldn’t, clearly. To be fair, he was tipsy, but the way you unashamedly leaned your head on his shoulder when you grew tired was anything but sober.

“So, doll, got a boyfriend or something?” He asked, testing the waters. You leaned up and sighed at the question.

“No, nothin’ like that... I haven’t had the time.” You tipped your glass back but the wine never reached your lips. You groaned at the sight of the empty cup and leaned up to grab the bottle from the table. Unfortunately, Dabi’s hand held onto yours before you could reach the vice; You felt him pull you back towards the couch by your wrist until you lost your balance, falling back against his shoulder. If he minded he didn’t show it as his arm rested around your hip.

“I think you’ve had enough for tonight,” The condescending tone in his voice was annoying but it wasn’t enough to make you move from his comfortable grasp.

You scoffed, messing with your hair to avoid looking at his face, “God, who are you, my dad?”

A shit-eating grin stretched across his face, “Oh, so you’re into that Daddy shit, huh?”

The comment took you so off-guard that you broke into a fit of giggles that did nothing to temper the blush returning to your face. Dabi loved how much of an effect he had on you; the simplest words turning you into a flustered mess.

“Nah, not my thing-“ ‘Unless you’re into it,’ You barely kept yourself from saying that second part out loud. From this angle Dabi had the perfect view of your tits pressing against his chest and he stared shamelessly. You barely noticed, too focused on how warm he was while holding you close to his side. It almost looked like something a boyfriend would do, but you knew better.

It was a strange feeling, to be so under Dabi’s influence. Every lingering touch, every heated stare... It was driving you crazy. And he knew it. He was toying with you and you couldn’t believe how much you loved it.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a chill running down your spine, only realizing that you were so caught up in your time spent with Dabi that you forgot to close the very window he had snuck through. As the night carried on it somehow got colder and you cursed the thin cardigan you found yourself wearing that did nothing to shield away the biting air.

“You cold, doll?” Dabi was surprisingly perceptive, noticing the trail of goosebumps that ran down your arms. Although, perhaps it was the sensation of his hand trailing over your skin that caused it rather than the wind.

Nodding hesitantly, he wasted no time in wrapping his hands around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. You couldn’t have held back the relieved sigh that left your lips if you tried. Because when Dabi wrapped his arms around your back, pulling you to his chest, it felt like heaven to your frigid bones.

As you curled into the embrace he couldn’t ignore how you felt on top of him. The pressure of your ass sitting on his dick drove him crazy, and it took damn near everything in him to not push you down face first and take you then and there.

“Dabi, you feel amazing,” His eyes widened, your slurred words almost making him lightheaded, “so warm...” You trailed your hands up and threaded them through his coarse dark hair. The faintest of groans left his lips as you got comfortable and accidentally dragged yourself down the front of his jeans.

All at once he took hold of the skin of your thighs, stopping you from moving and damn near shaking with effort to keep still. “Doll... cause’ you’re drunk, I’ll ask you this one time—“

“—Please, Dabi,” You didn’t budge under his bruising grasp or struggle like before, instead holding eye-contact, resolve heavy in your voice, “I want this- want you so bad,” It was enough for him, and he didn’t hold back.

He was ravenous when he finally pressed his lips to yours, leaving you tongue-tied and moaning into his mouth. The alcohol only added fuel to your desire, easing the tension on your clit by grinding against him. He broke the kiss in a choked gasp, his hands cupping you around your ass and fondling you through the thin material. When he stood up from the couch gravity somehow felt heavier, but it must’ve been from the wine. His hands still held you by your thighs and while he backed the both of you towards the bedroom his lips never left yours, even when he went to rip your cardigan off your shoulders, leaving it behind along with his coat, you in only your bra and leggings.

The loud bang from Dabi kicking the door open startling a squeak out of you and he chuckled into the kiss, running a stapled hand through your bedhead and pulling hard enough to make you keen into his touch. Rather unceremoniously he threw you onto the bed, briefly disorientating before you could make out Dabi’s alluring figure ridding himself of his clothes. Once he pulled over his shirt you saw his maimed chest covered in taught muscles and scars. As he broke your gaze to turn his attention to his jeans, fumbling with the cheap zipper, you couldn’t help from crawling towards him slowly on your knees before whispering, “No—“ He looked up from his trance, wondering if you’d changed your mind before you quickly perished the thought by pulling him towards you by the loops on his jeans. He raised an eyebrow at your show but didn’t make a move to interrupt the adorable way you took care of him.

So you began, looking into his eyes as you kissed down his deformed chest. It seemed a miracle he was even standing before you, with haphazard staples barely holding him together. You couldn’t resist giving the seams of his wounds special attention, pressing light kisses to the metal as you made your way down.

You unhooked his jeans easily, eagerly reaching to feel him through his boxers. His nails dug into your scalp when you finally eased his shorts off, breaking your eyes away to look between his legs and—

You couldn’t’ve stopped the needy moan from your lips if you tried, too attracted and nervous about the shiny bridges of metal through his dick. “Fuck, Dabi...” he had the most cat-that-ate-the-canary grin on his face as he watched you salivate over him.

“What’s wrong, baby? Never had a guy with piercings before?” You didn’t even hear him, instead responding with a dazed shake of your head; far too tipsy on the sight of him towering over you, reddened head leaking against his stomach.

He pretended to come to a decision, “Guess I’ll have to take my time with you before fucking that cute pussy,” his words sent heat straight to your core, slick pooling in your ruined panties, “but then why am I the only one naked? You’re gonna make me embarrassed you know.” The amused look on his face put you at ease and you laughed a bit at the idea.

“You? You’re the most shameless person I’ve ever met.” The smile he brought out was enough to ease the nerves that came with being so vulnerable to a man like Dabi.

The foe-offended look on his face wasn’t any less ironic, “You wound me, doll,” when his attention fell back to your clothes he didn’t hesitate to snake his hand below your arched back and unclasp your bra. Before you could think of covering yourself he’d already raised your arms up and thrown the lace material into some corner of your room.

He was on you in an instant, biting and sucking on the plush skin of your tits with abandon, enjoying every small tremor it brought from your shaking lips. To him your body was a blank canvas just begging for him to bruise, and he would take his sweet time carving teeth marks into your chest.

But while he had his fun you had yours, running your hand along his collarbones and carefully worrying the stapled hem of skin. You weren’t sure how the stitches would hold up otherwise. But before you could worry about it too much you felt him pull away, a deep hickey left in his wake.

“You don’t have to be gentle with them,” he looked up at you with an unexpected sincerity.

With that there was nothing to hold you back from dragging your nails down his chest, the villain groaning as you felt his solid stomach beneath you. From a distance he looked like a patched rag-doll that was barely holding itself together but up close the wiry muscles that clung to his calloused body couldn’t be ignored. Dabi practically hissed when he felt your soft fingers wrap around his cock, only spurring you on further. The piercings weren’t as rigid as they appeared but they were scalding to the touch.

His breathing stuttered around you as you picked up your pace, the heat of his breath pulsing on your cheek as you took in every sinful expression on his face. He cried out, squeezing his eyes shut at the pleasure. You stared unabashedly, taking note of how peaceful he looked above you. Like for the first time that night his body wasn’t wrought with chronic pain.

When you pulled your hand away his eyes shot open. “I didn’t tell you to fuckin’ stop.” He sounded pissed but before you could lose confidence you shifted your weight to the side, locking your arms together behind his to roll him over, leaving you on top.

“I wanna make you feel good, Dabi,” Thankfully he seemed to be curious as to what you had planned, letting you stay on top for now. You crawled down his body until you reached his painful hard-on. Wrapping your hand back around him you gave him the most doe eyed gaze you could manage before taking him into your mouth.

“God, that’s fuckin’ good,” He cradled your head and set his own pace, not too rough but far from gentle as you fought the urge to cough. The metal of his piercings were hot against your tongue, the heat unlike any other experience you’ve had before. Wrapping your tongue around him you intentionally hummed, the keening moan it brought from him more than worth the burn. Tears crowded near your eyelashes as he chased his own pleasure, breaking his gaze to crane his head back in ecstasy. His neck bobbed with the effort and the sight made you almost proud.

It was over far too soon and once he pulled away you almost missed the weight of him in your mouth. “I’m gonna fucking ruin you, hear me?” His words made you all too aware of how badly you needed him, but he continued to run his mouth as he pushed you up the sheets and took his place back on top of you, “Gonna fill you so good, babydoll,” He caged you beneath him and you whined at the feeling of his slick cock heavy against your thighs.

His hand cupped your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Tell me, which do you want?” His blue eyes looked black in the feint light, staring at you with such an amused intensity that you didn’t even register what he said.

“What?”

Dabi tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before leaning closer and whispering, “My mouth? Or my fingers?”

You normally wouldn’t have been able to look him in the eye after he said that but liquid courage still ran through your veins and you leaned forward until you could nestle into the crook of his neck.

“Your fingers, Dabi,” You groaned as you felt his grip around your jawline move until his left hand curled around your neck and his right tore off your leggings before slipping below the waistband of your underwear. As soon as he touched you his eyes widened, a feral glint in his eyes.

“Fuck— Doll, you’re so fucking wet,” He squeezed your neck experimentally and the rush of endorphins sent to your head felt divine. It wasn’t to be outdone when you felt him circle your clit with his thumb, rushing into such a fast pace from the get-go. The onslaught of pleasure made a scratchy cry slip from under the grip of his hand. Wrapping your hands around his shoulders, you were almost thankful for the immovable grip around your neck. It served almost like an anchor to ground you underneath him.

He pulled a startled squeak from your throat when his two fingers pushed their way inside. It barely hurt, but the maddening feeling of his long fingers curling and stretching your walls was one you wouldn’t forget. Dabi shushed your eager cries with an endless stream of filth whispered into your ear, “Can’t wait to fuck my cum into you, dollface. You want that? You gonna be my good fucking slut?” He was downright mean as he took his time stringing you like a bow. “You wanna feel me drip out of you like a street whore?”

“Yes, Dabi, I’ll be good, I promise just please—” You were too far gone at that point, grabbing fist fulls of dark hair to yank him to your mouth, the kiss muffling his groan from you pulling on your hair. His index finger curled so slightly into you, the pace on your clit turning soft once he added his third finger. The sound he brought out of you was somewhere between a dying choke and euphoric moan, each sensation coaxing you into his touch. Feeling him move so easily within you was almost enough to bring you over, your whimpers increasing against his lips, only for all of it to be taken away.

Dabi left you grasping around nothing when he took his hands away, no doubt enjoying the desperate way you tried to rock yourself back onto him. Only when you did, you were met with something far bigger than his fingers.

“Come on...” When he called you by your name it brought you back to earth for a minute, “I want you to beg for me,” looking to see his heavy length pressed against you as he rubbed the glistening tip onto your clit. “You’re gonna beg for a villain to fuck you,” The promise of pleasure was so enticing that it was worth lying to the cops, worth risking your safety, and enough to toss your pride out the open window.

Grabbing him by his hair, you forced him to look at you. “Dabi, please, I need you... Need you in me ‘til you cum,” desperation and lust coated every sinful word you said, but Dabi wasn’t satisfied. “I wanna be good for you, Dabi, want you to fuck me, fill me up, ple-“ your words were cut off by the intense stretch of your walls trying to take him in. You’d never screamed someone’s name so loudly before in your life.

“Oh, fuck-! Shit... your pussy’s so fuckin’ tight,” As each inch sunk deeper you couldn’t speak or even breathe.

He wasn’t wasting any time, mercifully toying with your clit as he filled you. The air felt thin in your bedroom, like you were hundreds of feet from the ground, drawing short, shallow gasps beneath him.

“Da-bi!” His hips ground slowly against yours and you were suddenly thankful for his prepping, unable to come to grips with just how full you felt.

An overwhelmed laugh fell from his burnt lips as he slowly pulled himself from your dripping sex, “What’sa matter, babe? Can’t take it?”

The pout on your face only made him grin, the childish indignity adorable to him. But his teasing was starting to push you to your limits. He might’ve been a powerful villain and you a civilian, but it didn’t mean he had to treat you like glass. Hooking your legs around his waist you forced him forward. Dabi’s eyes shot open and both of you choked at the sharp friction. Any trace of playfulness died then and there, his knuckles turning white from the grip on your hips.

He kept your legs tight around him as he surged forward, your mouth caught open in a daze. You weren’t sure what his piercings would’ve felt like inside of you but god, was it good. The metal spokes impressed into your body with fervor, constantly dragging against your sensitive walls.

Tomorrow you might say that the wine was what drove you so crazy for him, but you knew you’d be lying to yourself. He was by far the most intoxicating libation you’d ever tried. The sound of skin against skin was almost deafening, only broken by the dulcet groans from the man above you and the siren that still echoed outside your widow like white noise. In the back of your mind you wondered if they were still searching for him.

Dabi leaned his head into the crook of your neck, revisiting the marks he’d already made. His teeth bit down your chest all the while abusing your aching clit. It was all too much. You couldn’t help clawing at his broad shoulders, leaving inflamed tracks in your wake. When your nails made contact with the scorched seam on his back Dabi moaned, the loud whine in his voice got you to realize something crucial. The motherfucker got off on pain.

His touch turned ravenous after that, pulling you tight against him until there wasn’t any space between your bodies. The rough texture of his skin-graphs and the blistering heat of their staples pushing against your breasts just made his brutal pace feel more intense.

Your voice was higher pitched than you’d ever thought you could manage, squeaking out small moans with every quick pulse of his hips. Your ankles were sore and locked together— he couldn’t have pulled out if he tried. The legs that were still wrapped around him twitched involuntarily as you felt the string inside your core about to snap.

“Fa.. fuck, Da—bi I’m—“ you stuttered against him, crying into his shoulder when you felt his pelvis grinding so perfectly onto your clit while he railed you, screaming his name one more time as he pulled you overboard, being sure to scratch at his back as you thrashed futilely against him.

All at once his teeth were buried into your throat, digging in so hard that you mistook his spit for blood; his bite only sharpening the orgasm that sent waves of heat coursing through you. Against your dented skin he groaned and cursed, his voice coarse but dripping with pleasure as he cursed expletives onto your shining skin. The wetness of your climax dripped down your legs, making him somehow push faster against you, but despite the blinding orgasm he’d thrown you into he couldn’t stop until he’d finished and the overstimulation burned white hot through your entire body. Just as the drive of his cock bordered on painful, Dabi shoved you down onto him, stilling above you and choking on a groan.

Twitching inside your cashmere walls you felt the warm rush of his cum paint your insides as his hips jerked into yours. His heart beat wildly against his chest— you could feel it over yours, his eyes still glazed with pleasure. Dabi was sure to pull out slowly, through the dim glow of your room he could see his cum seep out of your glistening pussy, and he couldn’t help but push his fingers inside you one last time. He might’ve liked pain, but he was an asshole who enjoyed the uncomfortable keen it brought from your trembling lips.

Thin moonlight shone through your window, illuminating the maze of blemishes that razed against his alabaster skin. It might’ve been because of the bleary tears that still half-clung to your eyelashes, but above you, with a winded smile on his torn-up face, he looked half a corpse and half a god.

“Still with me, baby?” He noticed your staring, teasing you by waving his hand in front of your face.

You felt almost high, all drowsy symptoms included, only responding to his question with a feint grin. The wine and the rough sex both made you exhausted in more ways than one, but before you could complain Dabi had shifted his weight off the bed.

“Nooo...” Admittedly you felt a little childish but you couldn’t help but pout as he grabbed his briefs and went to leave your bedroom.

Through the open doorway he’d said, “Just getting a towel, stay put.”

His absence gave you a second to think, staring up at the ceiling with a thousand opposing thoughts bidding for your attention. You just slept with a villain— a murderer. You might side with what he stands for but Dabi was still dangerous. He could’ve killed you tonight, after all. And yet, the only thing you could wonder was what was taking him so long.

Soon he returned wearing his boxers, carrying a heavy towel that he ran under the sink with warm water and took to cleaning the dribbling mess between your thighs. You cooed at his touch, the afterglow of your orgasm cleaned away until Dabi read the alarm clock on your bedside table. 4am.

“You know I can’t stay, right?” He asked bluntly, and you nodded, trying not to let the disappointment show too badly on your face.

“Villain stuff, huh?” You shrugged, curling up into your pillow. Dabi had to continue hunting down the rest of his shed clothes while he mumbled some kind of agreement.

He flashed you a grin while he zipped up his tattered jeans, “Doesn’t mean I won’t break in some other time, doll.” Relief spread through your fingertips once he said that, the weight disappearing from your shoulders.

Your content smile followed him as he threw that thick coat around his shoulders, walking up to your bedside and leaning low. You grinned, leaning forward and trying to catch him for one more kiss, only to be interrupted by the sound of something below you.

Looking down, you saw Dabi slapping a handful of crumpled bills on your end-table, that smug grin from earlier evident on his face. Without bidding you some kind of goodbye kiss he made his way to the open window, sparing you a glance before saying, “Buy some plan B, alright?”

You hadn’t even thought of it, grinning and waving him off as he swung himself onto the fire escape. The sounds of metal clanging against his boots faded away into the distant echoes of the city, and you brought your hand to your throat. Softly you traced the deep blemish his teeth had left behind, your smile turning giddy as you thought about his promise of another visit, but unfortunately the wine was still simmering through you and without Dabi to keep you awake your eyelids started to feel heavy.

Under your plush covers, you continued to cup your hand over the mark he left as you faded off into sleep, the siren that still echoed through the streets acting almost like a lullaby.

#dabi x reader #dabi x reader smut #smut #my hero academia #mha #dabi #touya todoroki #ao3 repost #touya x reader #mha headcanons #lov x reader

[collecting-stories]

2am - Daryl Dixon

Request: Hi! I was wondering if you could write something similar for Daryl as your one shot "small talk" maybe set in another night of that time where they were on watch, the reader telling daryl about something (some random fact about anything she learned before, i was thinking about sleeping cycles but it's totally fine if you use any other idea) until they finish their shift and go to sleep (1/2)

(2/2) if it helps you can use one or some of your prompt lists: “I saved a piece for you.”“It’s 2am, I think that’s enough of that.”“Tell me again.” “You’re so cute when you’re tired.”“Your hair is so soft.”

A/N: I hope this was what you had in mind? Really just some drabble/fluff.

The Walking Dead Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

The screen door creaked shut as you slipped out onto the porch of the house that you were squatting in. The group looked a little different these days but everything else felt the same. That lingering sensation, that loss was just around the corner. Waiting to catch up if you let yourself be too happy too often. It shouldn’t have even been a possibility, the uncertainty of the future looming just ahead, but as you stepped outside you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face.  

“Want some company?” You called, keeping your voice low. The woods around you were virtually silent but you were cautious anyway, just in case an unexpected walker was lurking behind the trees.  

“Ya should be sleeping,” Daryl replied, turning his head just enough to look over his shoulder. “We can’t keep lingering here and I ain’t listening to ya bitch about walking through the woods cause yer tired.”  

“I do not bitch.” You sat down beside him on the steps of the porch, pulling a saran-wrapped piece of cornbread out of your cardigan pocket for him, “you should be showering me with compliments Daryl, I saved a piece for you.”  

He looked at the piece of cornbread for a moment, as if he was confused about where it had come from, as if he hadn’t been sitting in the kitchen with you while you made dinner from scraps that had been gathered and hunted. After a beat, he took the cornbread from you, unwrapping the corner so he could take a bite and wiping crumbs away when they clung to his chin afterward.  

You took a seat, turning in close so that you could watch him and looking more like a couple enjoying the night air than two people on watch for walkers. “I used to get cornbread from Whole Foods all the time; it was addictive. This is the first time I’ve made it myself...”

“Ain’t hard ta make.”  

“Have you made cornbread before?” You asked, pulling a second piece out and unwrapping it.  

“Ya sound surprised.”  

“You aren’t exactly Gordon Ramsey, I mean...the most I’ve seen you cook is meat and that’s usually just to char it over an open fire. No offense.” You tried to imagine another world, one where Daryl could cook more than a rotating animal carcass over a fire pit, but it wasn’t easy. He had never struck you as the “baking in the kitchen” type though you were sure he scrounged up his own food the same way back then as he did now.  

“Dunno who that is but cornbread’s pretty basic.” He shrugged, attempting to play off the admittance that he had cooked before as nothing special. He certainly wasn’t going to go around announcing the skill to everyone there.  

“I can’t believe you can cook.” You still sounded in awe of the idea, “will you cook me something sometime?”

“Not a lot ta cook around here.” He replied, “this ain’t bad.”  

You glanced at the cornbread in his hand, a beaming smile crossing your face at the simple compliment. Pulling any conversation out of Daryl was tricky but a compliment felt next level, especially these days. He’d felt more reserved than before, maybe not around everyone else but around you.  

“Why thank you, what a compliment.” You teased. “So, will you cook me something?”

“Cooked ya squirrel that time at Hershel’s,” he mentioned, scanning the perimeter.  

“Again, roasting a squirrel over an open flame isn’t exactly cooking Daryl. I mean like with spices and shit,” you replied. “Like a proper meal.”

“Might be a can a dog food left over, could pour some dill in it for ya.” He scoffed when you smacked his arm, “go nice with the cornbread.”  

“If I didn’t love you so much, I’d hate you,” You muttered, scooting closer to him.  

Daryl turned his head just enough to look at you, a scrutinizing expression as if he had never heard the words before. In the early hours of the morning, when he was just starting to wake up or right before a run that threatened to be the last time the two of you saw each other you might say it, just above a whisper, but never so casually, never while you were out on watch, talking about cornbread.  

“Tell me again,” he asked, voice quiet in the dark. He looked away quickly, biting at the tip of his thumb out of nervousness.  

You smiled, hand slipping around his arm as you leaned in close to him, “I love you.” You said, brushing some strands of hair behind his ear so you could kiss his cheek. “Your hair is so soft.”  

“A’ight, I think ya need sleep, yer losing yer mind.” He replied.  

“I’m not,” you insisted, “just making a point. Besides, I came out here to finish up watch with you, I’m not gonna bail.”

“I can finish watch, ain’t nothing going on.”  

“Yeah, but when I wake up again in the morning there will be something going on and,” you shrugged, silently conveying that once things got going in the morning there wouldn’t be a quiet moment for the two of you for hours. There were things to do, responsibilities of being part of a group out in the open but you couldn’t help feeling a little selfish. Longing for the days in the prison when you could sneak off to a quiet corner for a few minutes with him.  

He nodded his head but didn’t say anything. Daryl was never very forthcoming with how he was feeling and you hadn’t expected any sort of explanation in return.  

“I read this article once about this woman who slept in cycles instead of sleeping straight through the night.” You mentioned, laying back on the porch and looking up at the sky. There were more stars than you had been used to years ago but you weren’t sure if it was the dwindling population or just the fact that you were in the country. You hated thinking of the former, it felt a little too much like eugenics. There was still a lot out there, more ground that you hadn’t covered, new woods that you hadn’t surveyed, and keeping watch just felt like something that was supposed to happen. “I don’t remember it totally but I think she did like 4 hours of sleep and then 8 hours awake. Wouldn’t that be nice...four hours of undisturbed sleep.”  

“Ya slept through last night.” Daryl replied, “think ya got plenty a shut eye.”

You turned your head to the side, looking over at him. “How would you know? You were on watch for most of the night.”  

“Don’t like being locked in with everyone else.”  

“Should I be offended by that?” You asked, “or am I the exception?”

“It’s 2am at least, ya oughta sleep. Certainly had enough a this nonsense.” He replied, though when he looked down at you there was a hint a grin on his face. Too dark for you to actually see him but it was there.  

You sat up again, moving into your previous position so that you could lean against him, enjoying some physical contact before anyone was awake to see it. “I’ll go in soon,” you promised, knowing that he was right, you were feeling tired, “just wanna spend some more time with you.”

-

taglist: @gigilame @sabertooth-potato @enrapturedbythemoon @thanossexual @yespleasejayhalstead @cbarter @onemorebeautifulnightmare @mainokutan @solllaris @twdeadfanfic @legit-emily 

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon au #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fic #the walking dead imagine #twd imagine #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #twd fic #collecting stories imagine

[midgardianweasley]

Teach me

Teach me. 

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: After multiple failures at making breakfast, Natasha decides to teach her girlfriend one of the basics.

Word Count: 1.3k

Have a 3am fic that’s not been proofread at all<3

Message/ask if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 

beep! beep! beep! 

The fire alarm sounded. Again. 

This was the third morning in a row that the irritating high pitched alarm went off, alerting everyone in the compound, and most likely the next town over, that yet again, you were cooking breakfast.

Well, ‘cooking’ was a generous term. It was probably more accurate to say that you were simply attempting to heat food without burning down the entire building where it stands. That said, you quickly grabbed the metal lid abandoned on the side of the counter and threw it onto the pan, containing the flames that were rapidly getting out of hand. 

You were only trying to cook some bacon. 

“Y/L/NNNN!” You cringed at the all too familiar voice of a certain Stark making his way down the hall. 

“I swear to God if you’ve broken my toaster again!” He appeared in the doorway within seconds, still in his pyjamas and his hair tousled. He raised his eyebrows, pointing at the pan you were so innocently standing in front of, expecting an explanation for why he was being woken up yet again by your antics. 

“Your toaster is perfectly fine!” 

“Well then what have you broken?” 

“I haven’t broken anything! It was just a little fire.” 

His eyes visibly widened, if his face moved an inch, they would’ve popped out. “A fire?!” 

“Well, yeah, but look! it’s fine! I covered it!” 

More footsteps jogged up behind a stressed Tony, revealing themselves to be Steve and Natasha, your girlfriend, who knew fine well the reason behind yet another heated discussion. Literally.

“What’s going on?” The supersoldier kitted out in his gym gear asked, completely unknowing of the scene unfolding in front of him.

“What happened, Cap, is that someone is disturbing my beauty sleep.” He glared at you, only partly serious.

“Now c’mon Tony, we all know you’re a beautiful man.” the redhead piped up, giving him a famous Romanoff smirk while giving you a subtle side-eyed wink. 

Tony rolled his eyes, looking between you, the pan, Steve and Natasha, and back to you again. You tried to give him the most guilt-free smile you could muster, eyes pleading for him to not throw you into next week.

Your prayers must’ve been answered, a defeated sigh left his lips, turning towards the door to walk out. “Natasha.” 

“Yes?” 

“Please help your girlfriend and make sure she doesn’t blow herself up.” 

She looked amused, clearly using every ounce of her strength to not laugh at the situation at hand as a grown man slumped away back down the hall like an exhausted toddler. 

Steve placed a steady hand on Nats shoulder. “I’m going to try and get some more training in before my run with Sam, you got this?” 

“I’m sure I can handle this” she turned to see you looking at all the different buttons and dials on the oven, turning and pressing them with a furrowed brow. “I hope.” 

Steve chuckled lightly before returning to his gym session, leaving the pair of you alone in the now slightly clouded kitchen. 

Natasha walked towards you, you were still completely oblivious to her as you were messing with the oven. You jumped a little as her hands fell to your waist, surprised at the sudden yet firm grip on your body. 

Resting her head in the crook of your neck and tugging your body back into hers, moulding perfectly together, she placed small, delicate kisses to your sensitive skin, causing you to quietly giggle at her actions. 

“Hi baby” She whispered in between her pecks, a sly smile plastered on her face. 

“Hi ‘Tasha” 

“Would you care to explain why my darling girl is setting fire to-“ she moved to pull the lid off of the pan, only being met with some form of charred..something. “Uhm, help me out, what is this?” 

“It was bacon” You mumbled, embarrassed a little at your failed attempt at breakfast.

Trying to hide her laughter, her head fell back into your neck. She thought she was being clever, but you could feel her body vibrating with suppressed snorts and chuckles, the reaction being contagious as you started to laugh too, your head falling to the side to rest on hers. 

After calming down a little, she tapped your waist and pulled back, a frown appearing on your face instantly from the lack of body heat from your girlfriend. Turning to face her, you were ready to protest about how you wanted more hugs, but instead a green fabric was shoved into your hands. 

“That’s an apron, darling.” 

“I know! but why are you handing me it?” She tied the knot behind her back with ease, hands landing straight on her hips afterwards.

“because the day has finally come.”

“Oh no.” 

“Yep. We’re making eggs, i’m teaching you. Apron up.” 

_____________________

It had 30 minutes, and you were still attempting to get one omelette served onto the very empty plate beside you. Timing it was one thing, but flipping it was another. To be completely honest, you were surprised you even managed to get to this stage considering the amount of eggs you had to crack to have enough to form an omelette. Or something resembling one. 

“Right, just a few more seconds and then we’re going to flip this, okay?” 

“Can’t you do it? I’m hopeless.” You huffed, getting frustrated with the repetitiveness of cracking eggs, whisking them, frying them, flipping them and you’d say serving them, but you had no experience of that yet. 

“You’re not hopeless, Y/N. You’ve got this, It’s just a flick of the wrist, not a twist of the arm, like this” Natasha stood behind you once more, her fingertips tracing your bare arms lightly before stilling over yours, her back pressed against you and her arms pressed tightly on either side of you. 

“I feel like you’re teaching me golf.” 

“I mean, yeah, same teaching technique, but don’t swing the spatula.” She gave you a knowing look, warning you to not get any eggs stuck on the ceiling, leaving there no chance in hell to get it back down. 

She guided you to move the utensil under the half cooked omelette, shuffling it slightly so there was no part of it stuck to the pan. 

“You ready?” 

“Nope.”

“Great” 

And with one movement, she lifted both of your hands, and nudged them to turn over, ultimately flipping the egg so that you could see how instead of it being black and crumbly, it was a nice toasted brown with some patches of yellow still. 

“See? you did it! Not a burnt egg in sight!” She threw her hands up in celebration, the gesture would’ve made you feel silly if you weren’t focusing on her upturned lips and the pride sparkling in her eyes. 

“Well, the night is still young.” 

“it’s morning my love” 

“..You know what I meant.” You slapped her arm teasingly, both of you unable to keep the smiles off of your faces. Within a minute, Natasha had pulled your face to hers, lips dancing against yours in a loving kiss that eventually turned into a makeout when she slipped her tongue past your lips and tangling with yours. 

Neither of you had any idea how long you both stood there for, completely entranced by one another, lost in your own little world. Fortunately, you had a lovely indication of how long you’d been kissing for. 

beep! beep! beep! 

“Y/L/N! ROMANOFF!” 

You both hung your heads, foreheads not breaking apart as you did so, bracing yourselves for the famous Tony Stark lecture storming your way.

“You’re taking the fall for this one, Romanoff.” 

“If I go down, you’re coming with me.” 

“Yeah, right”

She wasn’t lying. 

taglist: @natashas-favourite-knives @wandaromanova @eilarch @natashaswifey @lostandsearching @pottahishotasf @d14n4ol​ @xxromanoffxx​ @007giu​ 

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha romanova #natasha romanova x reader #natasha romanova x fem!reader #natasha romanova fanfiction #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanova x y/n #natasha romanoff angst #marvel #mcu #marvel fanfiction #black widow x reader #black widow #black widow x fem!reader #mcu oneshots #black widow fanfiction

[imkylotrash]

Glitter In The Air

Pairing: Sky x reader

Request: The reader is the girl Stella blinded and no one believes her that it was Stella not even Sky in the beginning. But in the end they end up back together. Anonymous 

A/N If you want to know where I took inspiration from, it’s Glitter in the Air by Pink 💛

Tagging: @grey-girl @bitchwhytho​ @music-of-melody​ @intoanothermind​ @artsyle​ @baueoud​ @glowingatdawn​ 

As you enter the dining hall, you feel everyone stare at you. You don’t need to be able to see to know you’re the centre of attention. You can still see shadows so your vision hasn’t been completely lost but Stella ruined your eyes forever that day. You’d never be able to see your mom’s face again or look at the boy you loved. You inch forward getting some food before sitting down. It’s only the second day since you got back, but everyone has treated you like a complete freak for those 48 hours. No one believed Stella had done this to you, not even Sky. 

You’d spent months in the hospital waiting for him to call you or even just text you but he hadn’t. Instead you’d waited by the phone feeling lonely and pathetic. Of course, he didn’t believe you. No one did. Except he was your boyfriend when it happened and you really thought he would care. He was the only one you counted on to have your back but for some reason he took Stella’s side. 

“Hey. Is anyone sitting here?” You look up before realising it doesn’t change much for you. It’s a habit that’s been hard to shake - the need to make eye contact, inspect the face in front of you. Having been robbed of the possibility, you found it mattered even more to you now than before. 

“No, it’s fine.” You don’t recognise her voice which means she must be a first year. The only year that wouldn’t know what had happened to you. Carefully, you remove the sunglasses you’ve been wearing waiting for the person to notice. You’ve been told that your eyes look charred as if your eyes had been on fire. Suppose with Stella’s powers they had. 

“What’s your name?” the stranger asks completely ignoring your eyes. It’s weird but nice. You like not having to explain it or be called a liar when people refuse to believe your story. 

“Y/N. You?” 

“Bloom. I just started and I didn’t see anyone I knew so I figured I could sit with you.” Of course, she thought so. It’s easy sitting down next to the outcast. Tomorrow, she’ll not want to sit with you when she realises what’s happened. 

“Please. Don’t slum down.” Now that voice you’d recognise anywhere. A chill spreads down your spine just by hearing her talk. You can’t believe you have to go to school with the perpetrator just because she’s the princess of Solaria and you’re the poor girl who no one believed. 

“Stella! This is Y/N. She’s really nice.” Bloom seems outraged over Stella’s comment but it’s far from the worst Stella has said to you. 

“It’s fine, Bloom. I’m done anyway,” you smile before carefully following the wall down the hall. It’s a good thing you have a mental map of Alfea so you actually know where you’re going. You’d needed to learn it for a prank where getting away quickly had been crucial. That was when the two boys, Sky and Riven, still talked to you. 

“1, 2, 3, 4...” You’re not prepared for someone turning the corner and walking right into you. If it hadn’t been for them catching you, you would’ve fallen ass down. 

“Thank!” you exclaim finding your place on the wall again. You could go years without touching him and still recognise him immediately. Electricity cackles between your skin and his. He’s holding you so gently, you feel like crying again but you’re not going to. He had every chance to believe you and stand up for you, but he didn’t. 

“No, I’m sorry. I should watch where I’m going.” His voice brings back memories you’ve been trying to avoid. Picnic on the field with you feeding him a strawberry and then absolutely cracking up because it turned out to be the most unsexy thing ever. Him asking you to close your eyes and trust him because he had something huge planned; a trip to Earth. That was the place he picked because he knew how much you loved small villages and the countryside in England was perfect for exploring and finding tiny villages that had stayed under the radar of tourism. 

“I guess we’re both sorry then.” You don’t know what else to say because what do you say to the boy who refused to believe you when you told him how you got hurt? You wanted him to apologise and say he believed you. Instead he walks past you mumbling something about being late for class. You don’t meet him again until the specialists’ party. You hear Riven use your story as a horror story meant to scare of Bloom but if you know Sky right, she’s not even his type. That’s what sets this whole thing in motion. You’re about to leave when he corners you. His breath smells like cheap beer and punch letting you know that he hasn’t been taking it easy tonight. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers leaning his forehead on your shoulder. You want to push him away and tell him to never talk to you again but god, you’ve missed him. 

“Sorry for what?” you ask standing completely still. It’s been months since anyone’s touched you. The doctors tried to but you hated being touched. Ever since Stella blinded you, you’d been struggling with being touched but Sky was the exception. 

“Riven told Bloom about you and I defended Stella. But when I confronted her, she admitted to it. She admitted to blinding you and I didn’t believe you all those months ago.” You feel something wet hit your shoulder and it takes a second for you to realise that he’s crying. It’s hot, fresh tears because he didn’t believe you. 

“Why didn’t you believe me when I told you?” This is not the right time. He’s drunk and emotional. Your therapist would most definitely scold you for this because all you’re doing is ask for trouble. 

“Because I’m an idiot. I have no real reason other than I got swept away with everyone else believing Stella over you. I should’ve questioned her explanation much sooner.” It’s everything you’ve dreamed of hearing but it clings hollow when you think about the fact that he’s drunk right now. He might think differently in the light of day. 

“You’re drunk. Come find me tomorrow if you still want to apologise then.” You gently take a step to the side breaking the contact between you and Sky. After that you go straight to bed anxious for the next day. Even if he shows up, it’ll still be a lot of work for you to be able to trust him again. He broke your heart siding with Stella and you’re not sure you could go through that again. 

He finds you the next night asking you to follow him. It takes your breath away seeing his shadow but knowing you’ll never again be able to enjoy his face. You can’t believe how much Stella took from you that day and all because she was jealous. 

“I still want to apologise,” he says once you’re finally outside. The moon is so huge and bright today that you can vaguely spot it. Something that doesn’t happen often anymore. The healers did an amazing job on your eyes even though they didn’t manage to fix them entirely. 

“I never should’ve believed Stella. And I can think of a million excuse but you deserve better than that. So, I’ll just say that I’m sorry and I take full responsibilities for what happened between the two of us. I should’ve believed you and stood by you.” It’s nice for someone to finally believe you but you’re hesitant taking him back. What about next time something happens? Will he not believe you then? 

“How can I trust that?” you ask. 

“By letting me show you. I know I don’t deserve a second chance but I promise you this time I’ll be different. If you ask me to, I’ll do anything for you. I’ll climb up and bring back a piece of the moon if that’s what you want me to do.” 

“What if I want the full moon?” 

“Then I’ll bring you the full moon. I just need you to know how deeply sorry I am for ever hurting you and abandoning you when you needed me the most.” You don’t want this night to end. You’ve waited so long to hear him say this and now he’s saying everything you hoped for. 

“I would need to take it slow. I want to trust you, but...” You wish he’d touch you so that you could him there. It’s not the same just hearing his voice. 

“I get it. I wouldn’t either if the roles were reversed. But I promise I’ll spend the rest of our lives making up for this.” He’s close enough for you to feel his breath hit your skin. He’s letting you decide if you want to close the gap and in turn agree to a second chance. 

“I can’t get hurt like that again,” you whisper fighting a losing battle against the tears forming in your eyes. 

“I know, sugar.” You close the gap unable to resist any longer. Hearing his old nickname for you is what tips the boat. Some might say you’re an idiot for believing him and forgiving him but the heart wants what the heart wants. You want to give him a second chance to prove that’s matured over the past months. 

“Thank you for giving me a second chance.” As you struggle a little to catch your breath, you can’t help but think that it’ll never be better than tonight. 

#sky x reader #sky blurb #sky imagine #sky gif #sky #winx sky #sky of eraklyon #fate the winx saga #fate winx club #fate the winx club #winx club #winx saga #fate winx #fate #fate netflix

[liighty]

Guzma babysitting Reader’s Niece

(A/N): BACK ON MY BULLSHIT AGAIN! BUT THIS TIME IT’S NOT ALL THAT SELF-INDULGENT AND MIGHT POSSIBLY BE TURNED INTO A SUPER FIC IF I FEEL LIKE IT

In all honesty i’ve thought about making another largeass super self-indulgent Guzma x Reader mega fic, but I’m not sure if I want to? I don’t know if anybody would read it, so that’s what this post is for!!! If you like this and want to see actual Guzma x Reader with plot and not just fluff drabbles lmk!! I have a bunch of asks to address so maybe i’ll get to that too soon

Anyways, back to the fic.

Mini Summary: (Y/N)’s niece needs to be babysat while (Y/N) is interviewed, so they turn to Guzma and crew to help out for a bit. Chaos ensues.

Rating/Triggers: UH drugs are mentioned but not really? THE KID DOES NOT DO DRUGS!!!! but yeah if that makes you uncomfy i’d be careful with it??\

Pairing: Guzma/Gender Neutral!Reader (I used the honorific ‘Titi’ which is gender neutral for ‘Tia’ or ‘Tio’ [extra thanks to Ocha_Bocha for helping me with that one <3] and tried to make it as gender neutral as possible. Originally this was written with a male reader, and then I went female, and ultimately attempted to eliminate gender completely. [Following the footsteps of Splatoon teehee])

Fic under cut!!!!!

"Are you sure this is a good idea, honey?" You clutch your niece's hand as you approach the large walls that separate Po Town from the rest of Ula'Ula Island. It's not that you don't trust the man who you're leaving her with- in fact, those two have been acquainted previously and seem to get along fairly well- It's his friends who you're concerned about.

"..." Her silence is expected, as the kid isn't all that talkative. Recognizing the young girl's silence, you frown. 

"You can stay in the office lounge if you really want to. I know you aren't the biggest fan of crowds, and um- Guz has some pretty loud friends-" Your explanation of what to be expected is quickly interrupted by a blue haired young man decked in black and white clothing. "Yo yo, what's with the kid?!" 

You arch a brow. You knew that Guzma worked with kids, but this guy couldn't be any older than 15! "I could say the same for you. I'm here to talk to Guzma-"

"Ya mean the boss? Why would some random chick want anything ta do with the leader of the Team Skull, huh?!"

A pink haired girl dressed in the same outfit walks up to the boy, crossing her arms. "Shut it, ya clod. Don't you remember the conversation we had with Boss yesterday?"

Hearing this, the blue haired boy's eyes light up in an epiphany. "Ohhhhh shit- Right-"

"Watch yer fuckin' language around the kiddo." She lightly smacks the back of Dansei's head. "She's in good hands, ma'am."

Another pink haired woman, this one being someone you finally recognize, walks in and smacks both of the delinquents in the head once more. "You say that after cussing, Reese?" 

Thank God. Plumeria. "Hey Plumes-" You smile weakly, waving politely with your free hand. Your niece does the same. Another young man, this one much shorter than the first and with green curly hair scrambles after Plumeria, jumping up and down to be seen. "Sorry about these numskulls. I'll lead y'all to the big boss man, yo. No worries at all, so you can chillax!"

I'm regretting this more and more by the second.

The crew starts whistling some hip hop tune as they make their way to the Shady House, the smaller boy beatboxing. You've taken this time to offer a piggyback ride to your niece, who's politely declined. Are all kids like this? Or is it just her?

Once they approach the boss, Guzma immediately jumps out of his chair, his signature shit-eating grin plastered on his face. "Eyyyyyy! (Y/N)!!! Kiddo!! What's up, homeslice?!" He hops down the stairs and crouches so he can get at eye-level with the young girl, offering his fist for a pound-it.

She bumps her fist against his, smiling just a bit. It's more of a reaction than you expected, at least. "S-sup, Uncle Guzma-" 

Looks like his slang is rubbing off on her. That's cute.

"Thanks for droppin' by, Doll. No need to worry about Little Miss Troublemaker over here, I got it all under control." He picks up your niece and walks over to you, pressing a looooooooongass smooch on your cheek. The other Team Skull members all make mini comments, like "Ewwww-", "Grosss-", and "Cooties-", causing Plumeria to once again smack their heads together. 

You roll your eyes, unable to stop the smirk on your face from growing any further. "Not in front of the kids, Guz." "Ah, right, right- My bad." His shades slide onto his face, hiding the bright red blush that had crept onto his cheeks. "Well, you should probably get goin', ey? The Aether Foundation's one lucky company to have you interviewin' for a position."

"Dork." You boop his nose, then your niece's. "Call me if you need me, okay honey? I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Okay, Titi (Y/N)-" You smile at the nickname while the others snicker. 'Titi' sounds an awful lot like 'Tittie', and considering three of the 7 people in the room are immature teenagers, there's definitely some laughing going on in the background. Plumeria looks very tired. How does she deal with these kids all the time?

"Alright, I'll be back. Don't light anything on fire, okay?" You yell as you walk off, feeling a slight hint of unease at the idea of leaving your young niece with so many delinquents, even if it's just for a few hours. It'll be fine, though. Guzma's there to keep them from doing anything stupid.

You laugh at the thought. Who am I kidding? He's probably gonna be the one who explodes something first.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The interview itself wasn't all that bad. You're fairly certain that you either aced it or put yourself up for consideration, which in itself helped your confidence just a bit. With the absence of Lusamine and the arrest of several of her chairmen, the foundation was very antsy and in need of someone who could handle the Pokemon Observation department. With your background in medicine and PR, you were rationally on the list of potential replacements, and despite your initial resistance, learning that the company would be run by somebody that WASN'T the manipulative little bitch Lusamine gave you enough comfort to accept the offer for the interview. Was it just an offer or an invitation? You weren't quite sure, but Wick was very insistent on you showing up.

Either way, you're pretty certain you got the job. Good on you. 

You can't help but wonder how your niece is doing, surrounded by so many troublemakers. As you make your way to the entrance of the Shady House, you can hear loud music, causing you to feel a small tint of anxiety. She'll be fine.

You walk up to the door and creak it open, the smell of burnt… whatever the fuck that is flooding your nostrils. Of course. They lit something on fire.

"Guz??" You call out to the empty room. "Plumes? Anybody home?" As expected, there's no response. You start to feel more and more anxious the more ground you start to cover. Where are they? Peeking your head around the corridor, your anxiety comes to its peak when-

"And that's why you should never do drugs, aight?"

H-Huh?

Your niece sits on Guzma's knee as he bounces it up and down, his signature shit-eating grin plastered on his face like usual. Awfully burnt cookies sit on the table, explaining the smell from earlier, and Plumeria seems to be asleep with the other team skull grunts. Are they… napping? Seems like it. 

She nods enthusiastically, taking a bite of a charred cookie and grimacing shortly after, causing the two to both laugh in unison.

"Doesn't matter if it's just for recreational purposes, you could still get hooked, and that's the last thing we want!" Grinning once again, Guzma pokes her forehead.

Hypocrite. You're reminded of the first time you two had kissed, which happened to be shortly after you both had blazed a couple of joints. It's enough to get you laughing, though.

"Huh?! What're you doing here so early? Don't tell me ya flunked THAT bad!" Guzma's eyes widen, a genuine look of bewilderment painted on his face.

"I did not flunk! I think I did great!" You huff, crossing your arms defiantly. "It's suuuuuuuper comforting that you thought I failed, Guz."

"Nononono I was joking!! Right, kiddo??" Your niece quickly nods. "See???? No harm, no foul!"

Arching a brow, you walk up to the two and pick up the young girl. "Mhmmm. Did you have fun, honey?"

She nods again, unable to contain the grin on her face. "Uncle Guzma told me about his Pokemon training! And I got to ride on Golisopod's back!" 

The large bug type pokemon bops up and down upon hearing its name, prompting a smirk from Guzma. "Yeah, I told ya I'd take care of her. She's welcome back anytime, okay?"

"Thanks, Guz." You peck his cheek, and your niece sticks her tongue out, closing her eyes. 

"Icky cooties!!" Where the hell did she hear that? The only people you can think of who'd say such a thing are in the other room snoozing, so- Yeah, actually, you know exactly who taught her that word.

"Well, I'm gonna getchu with my cooties! And my tickles!" You raise a hand menacingly, wiggling your fingers with one eye closed. She immediately curls up, not out of fear, but out of excitement. It's nice to see her so happy again.

After a very long tickle session, you quickly glance at the large grandfather clock, noting the short hand of the clock slowly approaching the number 8. Shit. "We gotta go, kiddo. Your dad isn't gonna be all that happy if we get home any later than 8:30. Besides, it's past your bedtime."

"I bet Uncle Guzma stays up past his bedtime-" She yawns. "Can we stay for a little longer?"

How can I say no to that face? You find yourself incredibly conflicted. Do you tell her you have to leave anyways? Or do you stay and risk getting in trouble by your brother-in-law?

"Eh, as much as I'd love to have you over for longer, kiddo- Look at your Titi (Y/N). They look exhausted."

You smile gratefully at the comment, glad that it doesn't have to be you to tell your niece to go home. "Yeah, I'm beat. We can hang out some other time, okay? I promise." You pat her head and get ready to leave.

"Aww… okay. Bye, Uncle Guzma!! Bye Golisopod!" She holds your hand, and the two of you eventually walk your way back to the car. As you drive away, one thing lingers in your head. You can't think of anything else, in all honesty.

Guzma's great with kids. I should've expected as much, but… I'm glad he gets along with my family.

Your stomach rumbles at the intersection. I'd kill for some malasadas right about now- 

Okay, maybe you CAN think of something else.

#Skull Boss Guzma #team skull guzma #guzma #guzma x reader #pokemon guzma #team skull #pokemon #pokemon x reader #My writing #i return #hyperfixation #simp hours

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Drawings on Ice (Part Two) | Charlie Gillespie

A/N: Part two to the Hockey Player! Charlie x Artist!Reader au! Hope you like it! :) You can read part one HERE

Pairing: Hockey Player!Charlie Gillespie x Artist!Reader

Warnings: a fight, mentions of blood, curse words

Words: 3,948

There hasn’t been a day you didn’t spend together. You go to every single one of his hockey practices and games, after which you head to the café for some coffee -- or in Charlie’s case, hot chocolate. He joins you and Andrea on your study dates, mostly to just annoy you by poking you with his pencil, begging you to go somewhere else. On nights where he doesn’t have practice and you’re not in the library to study, the two of you spend time in either one of your dorms to watch movies or tv-shows, cuddled up on the bed. 

Though a lot of people started thinking  you are a couple, you hadn’t talked about that with Charlie yet. Even after him telling you about that reputation of his, you still wanted to be cautious. Your heart has been broken many times, you didn’t think it could handle another. Especially with a guy like Charlie. “Hey, Gorgeous,” Charlie greets flirtily when you arrive at the ice rink to watch him practice. You’ve got your sketchpad clutched to  your chest, ready to work on some of the Hockey Team’s drawings. “Hi, Char,” you say back, unable to withhold a giggle at his pet name for you. He’s been calling  you Gorgeous since the day after you went to the coffee house for the first time after the game. “Don’t you have to go and listen to what your coach is saying?” you ask, noticing the other’s gathering to listen to the coach’s instruction. He glances back at the team, then turns back to you with that charming, flirty smile of his you’ve come to love. “Nah, I’d rather say hello to a beautiful girl than listen to the coach blab about strategies that don’t work.” You roll your eyes at his obvious flirty behavior. Lately, though, he’s only ever flirting with you. You haven’t seen him talk to many other girls except you and Andrea, and between the two of you, he only ever flirts with you. Mostly because Sam will kill him if he does flirt with Andrea. “Hey, will you stay until after practice? I wanna show you something!” Charlie is always excited about everything, but this time, it tops all the others. His eyes are sparkling with hope and excitement, the hazel color turning more gold than brown, and his mouth is curled up into the brightest, widest smile you’d ever seen. “Yeah, of course!” you reply, trying to match his excitement. “Gillespie, get your ass over here!” Coach yells at him, which Charlie rolls his eyes at, making you chuckle. His gloved hand takes yours, basically ripping it off your sketchpad, and kisses your knuckles before giving you a wink and then skating off to join the team. All the boys welcome him back with a teasing uproar of cheers and wolf whistles. You chuckle, rolling your eyes amusedly, and then make your way to the bleachers where you continue working on your drawings, glancing up every now and then to watch Charlie on the ice. There was something about the way he skated around. So elegant. So peaceful. Charlie really is in his element on the ice. It’s the most adorable and attractive version of Charlie you know of. It’s the side of him you love the most since it’s the side you draw him in the most. Practice is over sooner than you thought it would and it only takes Charlie about fifteen minutes to come out of the dressing rooms, showered and ready to go. “Are you ready?” he asks, taking your hand to help you up from your seat. “I have no clue where we’re going, but yeah?” you reply as he leads you out of the rink, still holding your hand while your other clutches your sketchpad. He takes you across campus, going way faster than your feet can take. Your giggles fleet through the night sky, making some heads turn of students on their way to a party or their dorms. He takes you into the astrology building, through hallways and corridors until you reach the auditorium. He lets go of your hand and pushes the heavy doors open. You’re amazed those doors aren’t locked, but you’ve learned to just roll with whatever Charlie’s doing. The sight you’re met with right now is a breathtaking one. Blankets and pillows on the floor, food spread all around it, a guitar on the side, fairy lights scattered all around to illuminate the dark room, and, most importantly, a breathtaking view on the night sky. You scuffle inside, giving your eyes the time and pleasure to take it all in as Charlie stands back, watching you with an endeared, tender smile on his face. Once you feel you’ve seen everything, you turn around to Charlie. “Wha--? Charlie?” He laughs at your surprised and confused face before walking up to you and taking your hand again, now leading you towards the pile of blankets and pillows. “I’m buddies with the astrology professor, he gave me the keys and Andrea and her friends helped me put all of this in here,” he explains as the two of you sit down. With your mouth a little ajar, you look up to the beautiful stars above you. Charlie’s hand comes into your peripheral as he’s pointing up to show you something. “That’s the Big Dipper up there, right above us,” he informs you. “And that one over there,” he moves his hand slightly, “is Sirius, it’s considered to be the most beautiful star, but I beg to differ.” You look at him, finding him already looking at you with that flirty smile on his face again. “Oh, shut up.” You slap him on the chest playfully, unable to hide your smile or the blush that’s creeping up on your cheeks. Charlie definitely notices, but doesn’t say anything. Just knowing he has that effect on you, is enough for him. “So,” he opens the basket and takes out a bottle of white wine. “Andi told me you liked white wine, so… I told her she could buy a bottle she thinks you’d like and I paid her.” You chuckle at his explanation and nod your head. “I do love a good white wine.” He pours some of the goddess liquid into two glasses, and hands one to you. “You really are a charmer, Gillespie,” you say as you clink your glasses together, looking in each other’s eyes. “Is it working yet?” he asks while you take a sip. You let out a small moan at how good this wine is before looking up at Charlie again, a little confused at what he’s hinting at. “Is what working?” He chuckles nervously, twirling his wine around and staring at the whirlpool it’s creating. “What?” you chuckle, trying to capture his eyes. He finally looks up at you, his eyes sparkling with joy and hope, his mouth curling up into the most tender smile you’d ever seen. “What, Charlie?” you try again, getting a little insecure. “I thought it’d be pretty obvious right now that I’m insanely in love with you?” he blurts out with a nervous quiver in his tone. You’re taken aback by this answer. You knew he kind of liked you and his flirty behavior has increased over the days, but you thought that was it. A crush and a bit of harmless flirting. Nothing quite as serious as being in love. “Oh…” you manage to bring out. “Charlie, I--” he shakes his head, shutting you up. “No, I get it, Y/N. It’s fine. You don’t want to date someone with a reputation like mine. I get it…” You exhale slowly and place your glass of wine on the floor before grabbing Charlie’s hands in yours. He looks up at this, unsure of what’s happening. “It’s not you, Charlie.... I don’t care about the reputation you have because I get to see who you really are… And I like you, but I’m trying to be cautious with who I’m dating. My heart’s been broken many times before, and before you say ‘I’m not going to break your heart’, I know. You’re probably not, but… I just…” You heave in a deep breath, trying to think of something. “Just give me some time, okay?” You place a hand on his cheek and rub your thumb against the soft skin as it wrinkles into that beautiful, charming smile again. “Yeah, okay,” he replies, placing his hand on yours on his cheek. “We still… We still get to hang out though, right?” he queries carefully. You chuckle at this, retreating your hand, and nodding. “Phew! And you’re still coming to the game tomorrow?” “Yeah, of course. Wouldn’t want to miss it,” you reply and grab a grape from the basket. “Good, because I’m going to need my lucky charm when we play against St. Mary’s.” You shoot him a questioning look, tilting your head slightly. “They’re our biggest rivals. They’ve won against every other university, including us last season. We really have to beat them tomorrow.” You nod your head understandingly. “I’ll wear my best cheerleading outfit,” you say jokingly. Though, judging from Charlie’s eyes nearly popping out of his eye sockets, you know he’s not opposed to that idea. “I don’t have a cheerleading outfit, Char,” you tell him, just to be sure. His face falters, clearly disappointed. “You’d look hot in that though,” he mutters under his breath, but you heard him, loud and clear. With an amused smile plastered on your face, you shake your head at him. Even after his confession from earlier, nothing has changed between the two of you.  And for now, that’s all you need. 

Dressed in black skinny jeans, Charlie’s Canada sweater he left in your dorm one night, and a beanie over your ears, you go to the ice rink. Andrea has already taken a seat in the bleachers, so you go up and join her. “How was your date last night?” she asks immediately without missing a beat. “It wasn’t a date. But it was really fun. Thank you, by the way. The wine was divine.” She chuckles and taps your thigh twice. “You’re most welcome,” she says. “Oh, look! Here come the boys!” she points to the ice where the team skates onto the field, ready to kick St. Mary’s ass. You lock eyes with Charlie as he gets into position. His lips turn up into a somewhat relieved smile, like he was scared she wouldn’t turn up after his confession last night. You offer him a wave and then a thumbs-up, shooting some encouragement his way. The first half goes really well. Charlie and Sam score most of the goals, but by half-time, they’re tied with St. Mary since their right and left wings are amazing players too. The coach calls the team to gather as you and Andrea make your way down to say hi afterwards. “St. Mary’s left wing has a weak knee,” you tell Charlie when he’s skated up to you, taking his helmet off and shaking his hair out. “Hello to you too,” he chuckles, placing one gloved hand over yours as they clutch the rink. “Sorry, hi! I saw their number 12 buckle a little when you accidentally hit his knee. I think you could use that to your advantage.” You’d never paid this much attention to a game, but knowing the team has to win against St. Mary, you figured you could use your observation skills to your advantage to find one for them. “Look who’s paying attention,” he smirks at you, which you amusedly roll your eyes at. “Thanks,” he adds when the ref blows his whistle to signal the start of the second half. “Good luck, Char,” you say and lean in to plant a kiss on his cheek. His eyes widen slightly at the sudden display of affection, unable to hide his cheeks reddening. You can’t help but smile as he skates off, ready for the second half. “You can’t tell me you’re not in love with him, Peaches,” Andrea says as she snakes an arm around your shoulders whilst you both walk back to your seats. “I am not in love with Charlie, Andi,” you reassure her, but you’re not even so sure anymore yourself. You’ve caught  yourself thinking about Charlie on more occasions than one, dreamt of kissing him, wished you could just spend more time with him. You knew you were slowly, but surely falling for him. Even after many attempts of occupying yourself with other thoughts. Nothing really seemed to work. But you were still going to deny it. To Charlie. To Andrea. But mostly, to yourself. You were so preoccupied by talking to Andrea, you didn’t even notice what was happening behind  you as you were getting back to your seat. “Yo, Gillespie,” St. Mary’s number 12 captures his attention, “Isn’t that new love of yours the weirdo artist kid that draws everyone they see like a stalker?.” Charlie’s jaw clenched as his hands balled up into fists. Sam intervenes before his buddy can take as much as a step forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not worth it, man. Let’s just finish this game, okay?” Sam suggests. Charlie nods his head, calming down slightly as he starts making his way to his spot on the ice, only for number 12 to add some fuel to the fire. “What’s wrong, Gillespie? You’re not even going to defend them?” Charlie halts, trying his hardest to refrain himself. “So, you agree with me that they’re a fucking creepy stalker?” Charlie’s hands are back into fists, gripping harshly onto his hockey stick. “I can’t wait until after the game, so I can--” before number 12 finishes his sentence, Charlie drops his helmet and harshly tugs his gloves off before hitting the guy in his knee with his stick, making him tumble over onto the ice. He sits down on top of him, lashing out at the boy underneath. The ref whistles again while Charlie’s teammates try to get him off number 12, to no avail. Number 12 then takes over and rolls the both of them over, Charlie underneath him now, and punches him in the face a few times. You watch the spectacle from half-way to your seat, staring at the boys on the ice in pure shock and horror. You’re frozen in place, unsure about what to do. Though Charlie looks extremely hot, yet it looks so horrible. Why is it when boys fight, does it look so horrible, yet, feel so right? Soon enough, the boys are pulled apart by their coaches. There are blood splatters everywhere. On the ice, on the boys’ clothes and faces. Even on some of their teammates. The two are taken off the ice, another one filling in for them. Upon seeing this, you run down to where Charlie and his coach are, worry filling up your entire body. “Charlie!” you yell, but he doesn’t even look up. Sam comes up to you and tells you they’re thinking about taking him to the hospital. “Fuck,” you mutter. “Thanks, Sam.” You rush over to the bench where a doctor is taking care of Charlie’s wounds. “Charlie,” you whisper when you reach him. Another one of his teammates makes room for you to sit, which you do with a thankful smile towards them. “Is he gonna be okay?” you ask the doctor. “We’re gonna take him to the hospital for some check-ups, mainly to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion. But other than that, he’s fine.” You exhale slowly, then turn to Charlie again, grabbing his cold, bloody hand. “Hey, what happened?” you ask softly. He relaxes again upon hearing your melodic voice filled to the brim with worry. “Char, talk to me…” He looks up at you now. His right eye is punched shut and turning blue, his lip cut open and blood running from his nose. “He was saying things about you, Y/N. I couldn’t not do anything. He just made me so fucking angry,” he growls, tearing his eyes away from you again. You place your other hand onto the one you’re holding, trying your hardest to warm it up a little and to comfort him. He was defending you from God-knows-what awful things that number 12 was saying about you. He defended you in your absence. And looked so hot while doing it. “Alright, let’s go, Gillespie,” the coach says and hands him his shoes. You let go of his hand, so he can exchange his skates for his shoes, and look up at the coach. “What hospital are you taking him to?” you ask him. “Horizon’s,” the older man replies, and then helps Charlie up his feet since his leg has been brutally attacked by the number 12 too. “Come on,” he mutters. You get up too, and watch as Charlie limps by his coach's side. You turn and rush to Andrea again, only then realizing there were tears running down your face. She wipes them away with her thumbs, and looks into your eyes intensely. “Go! You can take my car.” She hands you her keys, kisses you on the cheek, and lets you go. You run to Andrea’s car and drive a little past the speed limit to get to the hospital as fast as possible. You know what you’re doing isn’t very safe, but you need to get to Charlie. You need to see him and make sure he’s okay. “I’m looking for Charlie Gillespie, he’s been brought in a little while ago?” you breathlessly ask the woman behind the front desk. You’re still panting from running from the car to the building. Your heart is going ten miles an hour, but it’s been doing that since the moment the fight broke out. “He’s gonna be in room 403, they’re still doing some tests, but you can wait for him there. It’s up to the fourth floor, you can take the elevator down the hall, there.” You nod at the woman, offering her the most thankful smile you can muster before making your way to the fourth floor. Your feet are getting sore from all the running, but you try your hardest to ignore it. There’s no stopping now. You have to be at Charlie’s side. Room 403 is empty, except for a wardrobe, a nightstand and a single armchair. He’s not here yet. You take a seat on the armchair for a few seconds, but then get back up and start pacing the room. Your nerves don’t allow you to sit still. You comb your fingers through your hair, muttering curses to the hospital staff to hurry their stupid tests. Something must be wrong with Charlie. There’s no other reason why they’d take so long. Not that you have a lot of experiences with hospitals except for maybe seeing a relative die in one, but never ever something like this. “Hey, Y/N, right?” a voice makes you snap out of your train of thoughts. It’s Charlie’s coach, carrying some of Charlie’s clothes in his hands. “Uhm, yeah, hi.” He offers you a smile as he walks in and places the clothes on the armchair. “They’re finished with the tests, he’s gonna be here in a few,” he informs you. “I’m gonna get something from the cafeteria, do you want anything?” You jam your nervous hands into the pockets of your jeans. “Oh, no, thank you,” you say and shoot him a stiff smile. He nods curtly before moving out of the room and leaving you alone again. This time, though, it doesn’t last too long. Within a minute, two nurses wheel him into the room on a hospital bed. You quickly move out of the way. He looks so fragile and broken on that hospital bed with all his wounds and bruises, and his eyes drooping from tiredness. “There you go, mister Gillespie,” the young man says as he puts the brakes on the bed, to make sure he doesn’t roll away again. “Ring if you need anything.” The other turns to you and says, “All tests went well. He has a slight concussion and some broken ribs, but he’ll be fine. Just make sure not to talk too loudly because that’ll give him a headache.” “Okay, thanks,” you give the two nurses a smile and let them walk out before you move to Charlie’s bedside. He looks at you from underneath his lashes, noticing how nervous you are, and reaches for your hand. “Hey,” he croaks out. “How are you feeling?” you ask. Your voice croaky from the tears you’re holding in. “I’m okay,” he answers, “Please, tell me that asshole looks worse than me.” He chuckles, then whinces at the pain his laughter causes to his ribs. “I’ve got no clue. I didn’t really look at that dude, I was too worried about you.” He smiles at you tenderly and brings your hand to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. “Charlie, I--” you start, but cut yourself off, not knowing how to say what you want to say. “Hey, come here,” he scoots over clumsily, giving you some space on the bed. You debate the option, but after looking into his pleading eyes -- or pleading eye since one is pretty much just punched shut -- you get on the bed, one leg dangling off. “What was he saying about me that made you so mad?” you ask, not at all what you wanted to, but you’re going with it for now. “He called you a fucking creep and a stalker because he somehow found out you draw the people you see?” Your heart skips a beat. He defended you for the one thing you were bullied about in high school. “I just… I know how much you hated that when it happened to you in high school, and because, you know, I’m in love with you and I don’t ever want you to feel that way again…” You smile a little at his second reason whilst butterflies well up in your stomach. “Charlie…” you start, making him turn his head at you. “Remember when I asked you for some time?” He nods his head slowly and carefully. “That was yesterday, so yes, I remember. I only have a slight concussion, babe.” You grab his hand in yours, rubbing circles on the back of his hand as you bite your lip nervously. “I don’t think I need any more time…” you carefully look up at him to see his surprised, and hopeful reaction. His eyes are sparkling again. Much like the stars you were watching last night. “So, does that mean I can finally kiss you?” he tries. One corner of his mouth curls up, and when you nod, the other follows. “Fucking finally!” he exclaims before gingerly grabbing your face with the hand you’re  not holding and bringing you closer to him to press his lips to yours in a long-awaited, passionate kiss. One that ends too quickly with a hiss from him. “That hurts doesn’t it?” you ask worriedly. “Only the normal amount,” he shrugs and kisses you again before you can say anything else. “The normal amount is no pain, babe,” you mumble against his lips. Charlie doesn’t listen though, and instead, deepens the kiss even more. He’s been waiting for this to happen for weeks. Weeks of constant flirting and taking you on stargazing dates or coffee dates or pointing at you whenever he made a goal. Weeks of pining for the most beautiful artist he’s ever met in his life. And now, he’s finally kissing you. Finally. 

Taglist: @hannahhistorian92​ @marinettepotterandplagg​ @thequirkybookaholic​ @bookdealer5​ @tenaciousperfectionunknown​ @hemmingsness​ @iainttakingshitfromnobody​ @ifilwtmfc​ @angryknightstatesmantrash​ @kiss-themoongoodbye​ @rudysbay​ @parkeret​​ @lukeys-giggle​ @gingerxarmy​ @lovesanimals​ @lolychu​ @perfectlywrongformend3s​ @luckylouiebug​  @camiladelrio98​ @myfriendscallmebeans​

#julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #jatp #jatp fic #charlie gillespie #charlie gillespie au #charlie gillespie fic #charlie gillespie x reader #artist!reader #luke patterson #reggie jatp #jeremy shada #alex jatp #owen patrick joyner #owen joyner #julie molina #madison reyes #jatp fandom #fantoms

[instantvoid---microwaveable]

 If my future soulmate doesn’t hold me as loved-one + respected-mentor + admired-historical-figure + religious-leader + literal-jesus = they love me more then all of these combined then I will send them to war for a year or two and hope they turn into Wilfred Owen.

No but fr Wilfred Owen’s love letters are something everyone needs to learn about. Lemme give you some quick context.

Lived during WW1, English, Enlisted young, met Siegfried Sassoon in a War hospital

Became a famous war poet, hero-worshipped Sassoon, and started writing letters to him from the warfront, the ones that we will cover here

Died November 4th 1918, tragically, literal days before the end of the war

The passage I referenced in the beginning goes like this:

‘I held you as Keats + Christ + Elijah + my Colonel + my father-confessor + Amenophis IV in profile. What's that mathematically? In effect it is this: that I love you, dispassionately, so much, so very much, dear Fellow, that the blasting little smile you wear on reading this can't hurt me in the least. ‘

Yes I know. I’m going right in with a solid punch to the heart. I’ve never before or since seen a line such as this, for further explanation, one of the next lines of the letter:

If you consider what the above Names have severally done for me, you will know what you are doing. 

One of those being an ancient Egyptian Pharaoh and the rest being fairly self explanatory, should explain the hot mess in the beginning. If that doesn’t sell you on this post I don’t know what will, in any case continue at your heart’s peril. Now lets rewind, to an earlier letter- which is actually from Wilfred Owen to his cousin:

At last I have an event worth a letter. I have beknown myself to Siegfried Sassoon... The sun blazed into his room making his purple dressing suit of a brilliance – almost matching my sonnet! He is very tall and stately, with a fine firm chisl'd (how's that?) head, ordinary short brown hair. The general expression of his face is one of boredom.

Mostly reminds me of a schoolgirl with a crush in this paragraph, doesn’t make it any less tooth-achingly sweet though. Sassoon was highly respected by Owen even before they met, both poets and soldiers led to a lot of common ground. I’m going to choose not to comment on the beginning of this letter, and let it speak for itself:

My dear Sassoon, When I had opened your envelope in a quiet corner of the Club Staircase, I sat on the stairs and groaned a little, and then went up and loosed off a gourd,

Pretending weird 20th century euphemisms don’t exist, my personal favourite quote- is heart aching with gorgeous imagery, from this same letter:

And you have fixed my Life – however short. You did not light me: I was always a mad comet; but you have fixed me. I spun round you a satellite for a month, but I shall swing out soon, a dark star in the orbit where you will blaze. It is some consolation to know that Jupiter himself sometimes swims out of Ken!

My personal appreciation for astral imagery is evidenced by my last post- this quote is killing me, BUT CAN WE TALK ABOUT ‘however short’ BECAUSE THIS IS IN THE MIDDLE OF WORLD WAR 1, HE DIED AT 25 AND ONLY KNEW SASSOON FOR A YEAR. As beautiful as these letters are, they’re also unbearably tragic. Another from the same letter because this is a masterpiece:

Someday, I must tell how we sang, shouted, whistled and danced through the dark lanes through Colinton; and how we laughed till the meteors showered around us, and we felt calm under the winter stars. And some of us saw the pathway of the spirits for the first time. And seeing it so far above us, and feeling the good road so safe beneath us, we praised God with louder whistling; and knew we loved one another as no men love for long.

This is giving me coming-of-age movie and summer vibes so much, its so lighthearted and happy, and honestly the vibes of this speak for itself. Yet, Owen returned to the warfront, despite Sassoon reportedly threatening to ‘stab him in the leg if he tried to return to the Front’ and a tragedy this story always was, here is the last one I found:

It is a strange truth: that your [book of poems] Counter-Attack frightened me much more than the real one: though the boy by my side, shot through the head, lay on top of me, soaking my shoulder, for half an hour. Catalogue? Photograph? Can you photograph the crimson-hot iron as it cools from the smelting? That is what Jones's blood looked like, and felt like. My senses are charred. I shall feel again as soon as I dare, but now I must not. I don't take the cigarette out of my mouth when I write Deceased over their letters. But one day I will write Deceased over many books. . . .                    Ever your W. E. O.

All information, excerpts and quotes are copyrighted by Rictor Norton, the website with further details is here: http://rictornorton.co.uk/owen.htm

Disclaimer: I cannot personally attest to the validity of these letters or extracts, all the information I have is from the site- so don’t come at me!

#poets #poetry #wilfred owen #siegfried sassoon #love letters #antique #ancient love poetry #war romance #wartime love #romance #quotes #cute #i am screaming #this is too cute #tragic romance

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

Yeah, so I read your HP headcanons/analysis and I found it really well put. I was wondering about your thoughts on Dumbledore and who he really was as a person. (It’s okay if you don’t really want to reply :> )

We’re just getting all up into The Carnivorous Muffin headcanon land, aren’t we?

Well, this one’s probably obvious to anyone who reads my work.

I fall on the manipulative Dumbledore side of things and then some. Dumbledore is not only a bastard man but is a raging misogynist and extremely classist (which is funny because I don’t see too many people calling him out for those last two when to me canon all but shouts it at you). 

Basically, what it comes down to, is even taken in very good faith I simply cannot read Dumbledore’s actions as benign in pretty much every single goddamn decision he makes ever.

God, where do I even start here? I guess we can go chronologically.

Well, there was Dumbledore’s Wizard Nazi youth with an oddly Dorian Gray flare to it with Gellert. I think it’s fairly obvious why Dumbledore’s not exactly... good there so I’m going to skip past it. Suffice to say, it took his sister’s death (and maybe murdering his own invalid sister) for Dumbledore to stop planning world domination. Even then it wasn’t so much that world domination was wrong, but because his sister died and he was an asshole.

I’m going to go ahead and include CoG and Fantastic Beasts because I can (CoG, while a terrible movie, actually does entertain me in many ways). Anyways, before the films came out I always considered the younger Dumbledore far more stoic and brooding. He doesn’t get his eccentric persona until after the defeat of Grindelwald and was before then angsty mcangsts and an academic at heart. 

Well, per CoG, apparently he was a budding spy master long before defeating Gellert/Voldemort popped up. We see him manipulating Newt, sending him to Paris as his own agent, WHEN NEWT DOESN’T WANT TO GO AND HAS ACKNOWLEDGED THAT DUMBLEDORE USED HIM INTHE LAST FILM. Dumbledore writes off having used Newt for his own agenda with a charming smile but none the less it paints a pretty grim picture that Albus has always been... Albus. There has always been a greater good out there somewhere and the man is always using someone as a pawn.

Cut to canon and his treatment of Tom Riddle. Frankly, Dumbledore’s treatment of the young Tom Riddle, and even Tom Riddle just before he came Voldemort, is insane. The thought experiment I like to run is “replace Tom in those scenes with Harry Potter”.

Harry was a poor orphan, whose guardians would more than match what Mrs. Cole said about Tom Riddle, who had spurts of accidental magic now and then and enjoyed when his bully cousin was discomfitted. Now, imagine Dumbledore giving Harry his letter, and then pretending to light all of Harry’s possessions on fire to “teach him a lesson”. What the fuck?

Now, am I saying Tom Riddle wasn’t creepy here and that killing a rabbit was terrible. No. But I am saying Dumbledore had a horrible reaction to it and is proud of it years later. (Also, the fact that he uses this memory to convince Harry of how evil Tom is, is hilarious to me. Dumbledore, you were the shit that lit people’s wardrobes on fire. If I was Tom, I’d be upset too). 

Dumbledore is always like this with Tom Riddle. He thinks the worst of Tom even in points where Tom hasn’t done anything. I’m not talking about later when, yes, Tom did live up to Dumbledore’s fears but when Dumbledore treats him like garbage and actively sabotaged Tom’s career.

Anyways, cut to later when the Marauders are in school. One of the big things is that Dumbledore puts up a guerilla resistance gang OF SCHOOL CHILDREN. While most members are older, James, Lily, Sirius, Remus, and Peter are all only just out of Hogwarts. “Well,” you say, “It’s their choice and they did graduate. Surely Dumbledore wasn’t actually recruiting school children.” I point you towards canon, where Dumbledore convinces three actual school children that the fate of the nation rests on their shoulders and to go fight the good fight. So yes, Dumbledore canonically uses child soldiers and has no regret for doing so.

The other is letting James and Sirius off the hook for the Lupin incident. While Dumbledore talks the talk this showed that he was not willing to walk the walk. True, while getting them into major trouble would have involved outing Lupin (who was innocent in all of this) at the same time they were nearly responsible for the murder of another student. It’s very convenient that Dumbledore lets off the rich son of a lord, two individuals who later end up in the resistance movement (Potter likely funding part of it), and tells the impoverished half blood to sit down and shut up.

And in canon, yes, I believe that Dumbledore absolutely knew what Harry’s home condition was like. While the blood wards are an excuse they aren’t a particularly good one as for most of Harry’s childhood the Death Eaters were all accounted for. Harry was in no extreme danger from them. To not have had an inkling of Harry’s home life (when Harry even hints at it when wanting to stay over the summer, Harry runs away from home in third year, Fred and George see the bars on the window, and he even visits Harry’s home in sixth year) would be such laughable incompetence and stupidity it’s right out.

With that, I absolutely do believe what Snape showed us in the memory, the Dumbledore behind the scenes as it were. That Dumbledore knew fairly early that Harry Potter was a horcrux and began grooming Harry for suicide. Specifically, that’s what sixth year really is. All those memories of Tom Riddle, the pretext to get some memory from Slughorn, it’s an excuse for a smear campaign designed to convince Harry that Tom Riddle is inherently evil and must die at all costs, even Harry’s own life. 

Dumbledore didn’t need that Slughorn memory. Sure, it was useful to know Tom intended to make seven but think about it. How did Dumbledore know there’d be anything remotely useful in there? He doesn’t know that Tom actually drops a number on Slughorn. Even then, he doesn’t know whether Tom actually goes and does it. All of it felt like, “Harry, I have a super secret important mission that only YOU can do. Can you handle it, Harry? Because without this the country is surely doomed” And in that I mean it was an effort to win back Harry’s favor after the previous year meltdown, keep him busy, and start in on the excuse to show Harry some pretty damn innocuous memories of Tom Riddle and go, “See, HE IS EVIL!”

Due to this, I frankly think that the train scene was a hallucination on Harry’s part. Wishful thinking for some gentle explanation of how Dumbledore had not cruelly used him for years and intended his death. 

Well, that and it never made much sense that Dumbledore could predict Harry’s a) becoming the master of death b) miraculous second resurrection.

In the first case, Harry becomes master of death because of wand lore bullshit and happenstance where Harry happens to save Draco’s life. Dumbledore had no idea such a thing would happen. Dumbledore’s plan was for there to be no master of death, as the wand would default to having no owner when Snape defeated Dumbledore on Dumbledore’s orders. That Draco got the wand is a sort of Deus ex Machina. Sorry guys, Dumbledore intended Harry to die.

More, even then, while Dumbledore was very into the occult of these things we leave canon without any idea if these things are even responsible for his resurrection. They’re just relatively nifty objects with a legend behind them. There was nothing concrete to suggest that, should Harry happen to get all of them, he would be able to rise from the dead.

Otherwise onto the misogyny and classism parts.

In terms of misogyny this is from every time Dumbledore talks about Lily Evans or Merope Gaunt. In the case of Lily, she’s this weird Madonna figure whose love for Harry was so powerful it saved his life. That she also happened to make these blood wards Dumbledore cannot reproduce and extended her protection to Harry wherever he went is irrelevant. It’s her love that counts. That feminine, maternal, love purer than all others.

Basically, Dumbledore seems to be of the belief that women are flowers. The best of women are these demure, selfless, brave women who sacrifice themselves for their children. Yikes, Dumbledore.

Merope’s the really bad one though. Merope’s tale is how she drugged and raped a defenseless muggle for months and then he escaped. Dumbledore spins it into this Victorian tale of woe where Tom Riddle Sr. THE KIDNAPPED RAPE VICTIM is the asshole here who abandoned Merope to the merciless cold world. How dare he. 

It’s very clear that Dumbledore doesn’t see Merope, or women in general, as people. Instead these weird Victorian ideals who can be tragic victims of circumstance.

As for the classism.

While Dumbledore’s very against the pureblood culture we see in the Malfoys a lot of his treatment of Tom Riddle feels very... classist. The big one, which is a little tangential but I say it counts, is Dumbledore’s theory that children of rape are incapable of love. Granted, he’s saying this while convincing Harry to kill himself for the good of the cause and there is a real world parallel in that alcohol/drugs while pregnant is a very bad idea that can lead to extreme mental and physical health disorders. That said, we’re talking love potions at conception, and it always read more as “rape babies” vs. specific drugs. And that is... just yikes on so many levels.

Now, do I agree with manipulative Dumbledore we see in many fics? No, because Dumbledore’s not that stupid.

He doesn’t need to borrow money from Harry’s vault, he doesn’t need to pay off Hermione and Ron to be Harry’s friends, he doesn’t need to choose Harry’s friends for him, he doesn’t need to manipulate Harry’s memories directly. He doesn’t need to do any of this because he got what he wanted just fine in canon.

Dumbledore is one of the smartest characters in canon, far smarter than Harry, and he doesn’t have to stoop to such outrageous schemes to get what he wants. Poorly concealed smear campaigns convincing Harry to commit suicide are more than enough.

#ask #anon #headcanons #albus dumbledore #manipulative dumbledore #dumbledore is pretty damn evil guys #as in there is pretty much not a single action you can point to where i'll say it was reasonable and not in some way underhanded #except maybe his choice in wardrobe #the man has some elton john style

[goldenlaquer]

Hey, can I ask for some headcanons, please? For Gin, Toshi, Sougo and Kamui. About how they were in a fight, separated from their so and something happened like an exposion or whatever, anyway the main point is that they thought that their so have died but later they see her alive and relatively unharmed. So the headcanons of them when they thought they lost their so and when they see that she is ok. Sorry, this is so specific and long, I'm just a slut for some angst and I love your writings

Thank you for the support and sorry for the wait! I don’t know if I’m that much good at conveying angst but let’s bring on the feels! 

Gintama Headcanons: 

Hijikata Toushirou: 

Hijikata stands on top of a pile of rubble, and surveys the destruction around him. 

His hands don’t shake. His feet are firm against the ground. His shoulders are straight and rigid against the fleeting wind. Smoke escapes him in steady stream, and when he inhales in, the dust and fire of the air sticks to the walls of his lungs like sludge. 

To the men who stop to look at their vice-commander with their ugly concerns plastered on their ugly mugs: He’s fine. 

To the Gorilla who can’t stop asking him the question every ten minutes and that, he really should take a break or else at this rate, he’ll collapse: He’s fine. 

To the brat who stubbornly stays by his side like spit-up gum on the sole of his shoe: He’s fine, damn it, so go do your job and leave him alone. 

For once, Sougo doesn’t have anything clever to quip back at him. He doesn’t need to-- the silence between them speaks better than words. And Hijikata hates what it says, so he turns back to the grey landscape, eyes darting and sifting through the mangled and charred parts to see something, anything that is you. 

Nothing. 

He reaches for a cigarette, pulls it out of his pocket like second nature. The lighter is the trickier to work. The blasted thing refuses to flicker on. Oh, the cigarette falls down. Hijikata bends to pick it up. He tries again. The cigarette falls down. He stares at it. His shoe crushes it. He’s stomping down hard. Sougo is still silent, watching. Hijikata doesn’t care. 

The facade of normalcy is gone. Here he is: Taking his frustrations out on a sad little cig, like it’s the cause of all his fucking problems, like it’s going to bring you back. Harsh pants come out of his mouth, and in another series, they’d sound like something akin to sobs, but his face is dry.

“Hijikata.” He ignores Sougo. The cigarette is reduced to paper and dry leaves scuffed against concrete. “Hijikata.” He doesn’t answer.

Okita, with an eye-roll, kicks Hijikata square in the back and knocks him off the pile. 

Sougo, what the fuck? He. Is. Mourning. Hijikata has always known Sougo to be insensitive, but this is blatantly crossing several lines and he clearly doesn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with. 

But if it’s a fight that bastard wants, Hijikata will give it to him. He leaps up from the ground, ready to hand Sougo an express ticket to hell, misty eyes narrowing in anger as he looks up

and the breath is knocked out of him in a way that years of chain-smoking had miraculously failed to do 

Standing before him, white particles clinging to your clothes, hair, and eyebrows, is the damn most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. The feet move faster than he can process, and by the time his arms are around you and he’s breathing in the scent he thought he’d lost forever

“Fuck.” Because that’s the only appropriate response he can say without his voice cracking. “Don’t do that again.”

Kamui:

Loss is not a new thing. It was in the labored rise and fall of his mother’s chest, the pallidness of her white skin. The feel of his sister’s small hands, fisting in his clothes and pleadingly tugging back, her blue eyes wide and wet. It was in the looming shape of his father’s retreating back.

But there were other, worthier things to focus on. The pain in his knuckles slamming against bone and muscle. The taut stretch of his lips as he licks his wounds, tasting metal and victory. The title of ‘Universe’s Strongest’ nearly within his grasp. He didn’t have time for the weak. Didn’t have time to be weak.

Loss is not new, and yet there is something about this loss. Now, Loss is a sentient being, latching to his throat and squeezing as he grapples through the mud.

Abuto’s face is too blank and too careful. His voice is low and calm and reasoning, and he is saying things, but Kamui doesn’t listen. The words ‘she’ and ‘gone’ don’t mix, they don’t make any sense, so why should he listen? He digs and digs and digs, not hearing, he can’t, his ears and eyes are filled with the same muddy brown that must also be filling yours. Kamui works even faster, his nails splintering against the rocks embedded in the wet ground.

Hair released from its braid, trussed and caked in dirt. Pupils dilated, black swallowing blue. His face abnormally slack as he claws in frenzy, in desperation at the ground like a wild animal.

There are few things in this world Kamui can’t fight. No matter his strength, one cannot simply beat Mother Nature into submission. But there is no excuse. If he cannot save one woman from something as stupid as dirt, then what is the point? What use is his strength? He didn’t leave that tiny, rainy planet, ignoring all the things left behind with it, to become this weakling who couldn’t even manage to keep you by his side like he promised.

He’s a young brat again, helplessness coloring every pore. A damsel in distress. Someone who can’t save, but needs saving. He is no different than the baldy. Unable to keep promises. Unable to protect. Unable to do anything. Was he always this fragile? Pathetic.

Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. The word is a punishing mantra in his mind.

Something crashes into him. It’s not near enough to make him pause in his digging, but the something is tugging on his clothes. Incoherent, muffled shouting in his ears. He doesn’t pay it any mind because mud keeps slipping back in place despite all his useless strength and you’re still trapped, waiting for him--

“KAMUI!”

He blinks in surprise, snapping from the heavy cloud covering his mind. He’s flat on the ground, staring up at you. How he got there, he doesn’t know, but you are here in front of him, covered head-to-toe in mud and crying.

He is silent, watching as you blubber concerns and curses. A curious hand reaches out to your face in wonder, carefully tracing the path that a salty tear had made down your cheek. The familiarity of your soft skin warms his numb body and a small smile emerges from his lips.

As you sit on top of him, crying not because you are scared but because he’s such a stupid idiot, he realizes that that he isn’t all alone just yet, that there’s one thing that refuses to leave him. 

Okita Sougo: 

It’s happening again. And it honestly makes him want to laugh. 

He doesn’t believe in it, karma, but when you think that you’ve gotten used to the pain of losing someone you love, his rotten, black heart has to go and get ripped out for the second time as if he forgot, as if he needed reminding that there’s no way someone like him deserves something as good as happiness. There’s no other explanation to this shit luck other than that, for the accumulation of every filthy deed he’s done with his filthy hands and every fucking sin he has committed once and twice and will most definitely commit thrice, someone has to pay for it. 

And because Karma is two bitches and a half, that someone wasn’t him. 

There it is. The laughter finally comes out as he looks at the torn fabric in his clenched fist. It comes out harsh and hollow and, if you listened hard enough, choked, but who’s checking? Not him. Not Mitsuba. And certainly not you. 

He reported it to the vice-commander himself, voice robotic, telling how he was walking front of you when it happened, how the enemy somehow managed to predict your movements and ambushed the both of you on a bridge, how he had been unable to react in time to stop the silver flash of a knife and how the world tilted, too fast and too slow, and that there was a piece of hanging rope that he managed to snag on to with one hand and when he blindly flashed out the other to grasp at you, reaching through free air and snatching at cloth, it ripped from his fingers, and you fell to the chasm below.  Deep enough, Okita said as he looked straight into Hijikata’s eyes, that death would be quick and painless.

If nothing else could go right for him, then at least for this, he hoped, even fucking prayed, that it was painless.

Hijikata doesn’t react to the report with anything unnecessary, just a stiff upper lip and an “okay” before he walks off to stand somewhere far enough, yet close enough. For all their differences, Hijikata knows. He understands losing youthful love, and that the pity that comes with it is nothing more than steaming trash. In this way and other ways that he’d sooner eat shit than to admit aloud, Okita is grateful for him.  

He stops mid mirthless chuckle to shove the hand holding what’s left of  you up to his eyes, slanting his head downwards so his bangs cover what he doesn’t want the world to know what he’s somehow still capable of. Hijikata is tactfully looking away. Over the distance, Kondo is bellowing orders to his men who keep a wide berth from the spot where their 1st Division Captain stands. This is the only opportunity he can afford to be an eighteen year old again. Sougo swallows thickly, feeling the roughness of fabric dampen against his eyelids. 

Acutely, he hears the sound of footsteps. It is slow and steady and he thinks that they belong Kondo at first but the weight of them is too light for a gorilla. Before he can process this information further, the steps halt for several long seconds before starting again, this time faster and more urgent, lurching in his direction. Hijikata mutters an astounded “shit” but  for whatever reason doesn’t move to intercept. Okita really isn’t in the mood to deal with dumbasses but the sword by his side is already unsheathed and he’s aiming his red eyes to glare at whoever the fuck--

Arms wrap around his waist. A face burrows into his chest. His knees almost give out, but his name is Okita Sougo and he has already maxed out his whiny bitch points for the next decade. Instead, he drops his sword to cup the back of your very-much-alive head, caressing the wet silk of it before threading his trembling fingers through the strands to

sharply tug you from his chest and grasp your cheeks with one hand, squeezing your expression to that of a startled fish. 

“Now,” Okita murmers, the smirk on his lips at odds with how fucking great it feels to see you again. “What should I do with you?”

Sakata Gintoki:

Before they say anything, he knows. 

He has seen that type of expression too many times to ever forget the set jaw, the horrible attempt at stilling a trembling bottom lip, the unshed tears of eyes that can’t seem to stop roving, unable to face the recipient of bad news for more than half a second, and the pallidness of knuckles straining against skin, holding onto their clothes like a lifeline. 

He knows this expression so well he can gaze down at Shinpachi and Kagura with well-placed apathy, perfectly appearing as if his lungs aren’t threatening to collapse on itself when he notices who is not there with them, and tell them in his same old way to stop sucking on their teeth and finish what they can’t seem to get out because he has an appointment at the pachinko parlor at four and if they don’t finish up this job by three-thirty he is going to dock their nonexistent pay by 80%. It hides the rising nausea and stone weight of the stomach well. 

This time, however, his casual rudeness doesn’t make them react the way he wants them to, it only makes them fold into themselves even further. 

The thing is, no matter how many times you see it and know better than to entertain it, there’s always this one glimmer of hope, so ridiculously strong that you’d gladly pray to anyone and everyone, even if you don’t really believe, because if anything is possible then it better be possible that this isn’t bad news, or that even if it is bad news then the worst of the pinched expression is just a by-product of eating food gone bad or the pain of an ingrown toenail, that it isn’t about someone dying or dead. 

But life rarely goes like that, and Gintoki lives in an extra-shittier life compared to most people. 

When you stumble across them, hair singed and smelling of gunpowder and smoke, there is something so thick and so wrong with the air, something that makes you stop from crying out in elation at seeing the people you love most. Shinpachi is fastidiously rubbing his eyes and Kagura has her face buried against Sadaharu’s fur and Gintoki

Gintoki looks alone. And you don’t think you have ever seen him look like that, so withdrawn into himself that even if he is surrounded by people, there’s nothing that can come close to him, nothing that can ease the dull bleakness of his eyes and the defeated hunch of his shoulders. He looks like a single thread worn too thin, on the verge of snapping. He looks like nothing matters anymore. Nothing. 

You dislike it. You hate it. You hate it so much, to see this man turn into something so unfamiliar and terrifying and gut out. You don’t know this Gintoki. You want the other one back, the one who wouldn’t hesitate to smear dog shit and boogers on the back of your jacket and the one who doesn’t really mind it when you take a sip of his spoiled strawberry milk. 

So when you shout out loudly, so loud that vibrates the space, that you’re here and alive and that you didn’t, couldn’t die because how could such a measly explosion off you when there were idiots waiting back home for you, to see Kagura and Shinpachi fly to you, screaming and whooping as they open their arms wide for your hug, snot running down their noses, and Gintoki snap his head up, disbelieving at first, yet searching your form with a speck of hope that brings life back to his dead eyes, and when he finds whatever he was searching for, he goes to you on steady feet, folding his arms around the group, gaze still drinking your form up as he leans across Shinpachi’s and Kagura’s heads to bump his forehead against yours, his breath sighing out something like relief-- it almost makes you cry, or maybe it does because you can feel something wet trailing down your face.

Gintoki is silent for the most part, because Kagura and Shinpachi are doing most of the talking for him, but when he does speak, it is to say: 

“Damn, there goes the life insurance money.” 

#gintama #gintama headcanons #gintama x reader #gintama imagine #sakata gintoki #kamui yato #hijikata toushirou #okita sougo #answered ask #asks closed

[mittensmorgul]

Hi, I have a question, and I hope it would be interesting for you too... Could we talk about angel's wings and feathers?..

I always thought that angel's wings were a part of their true form, a kind of energy which we can only see as a shadows or electric sparks or ash or something like this.

And I didn't think that it could be a real wings with feathers as bird's. Until, while rewatch, I've noticed that angel's feather were mentioned in SPN at least twice (maybe you've noticed more?):

1) In 8.12 when Henry Winchester time travels he uses an angel feather in spell. And then Dean tells that Henry stole an angel feather from the trunk of the Impala. So feathers are reall??? Why did the Winchestets keep the feather in the trunk of the Impala and where they get it? (ok, maybe they found it in the bunker)

2) In 12.13 Sam uses a white feather in spell returning Gavin back in time (we know this spell needs an angel feather)

So now we can see how the real angel feather looks like???

Does that mean that the angel's wings can be presented in physical world like a real wings with feathers and this is not fanfiction? I like this idea so much.

I think that the creators of the show didn't let us to see it, as many other great things, that is sad...

I would really like to know your thoughts about this.

(Sorry for my bad english, it is not my native language...)

Hi there! First off, your English is fine! (lol it’s my native language, and I just typed it “Inglish” by accident, so you’re already doing better than I am :’D)

ETA: DON’T REBLOGGY THIS YET. I forgotted something that @thayerkerbasy just reminded me of, and I’m editing this post... brb... okay NOW YOU CAN REBLOGGY!)

As far as I know, those are the only times in canon we ever see or hear mention of an angel feather, and both times it’s for the same exact spell. They reference that it’s Henry’s spell when they use it again in 12.13, but make no mention in dialogue of it being an angel feather. Yet Sam had a whole jar of fluffy little pin feathers, so the assumption is that they’d been collecting them for a while (unless those were either found in the Men of Letters’ spell ingredient stockpile when they moved into the bunker, or otherwise given to them by Cas at some point).

It’s weird, because they seem like a very limited commodity, especially after the angels fell and their wings all burned up. Even after Cas got his original grace back, his wings never seemingly recovered. When we did finally see his wing prints in 12.23, they were still... not healthy... So my thinking is that any spell that would require them will become impossible to cast when their current supply runs out. All the other angels-- at the end of the series-- were either dead or locked in Heaven with their broken wings. We never learned any of their fates. Maybe they were all rendered obsolete under the Heaven Remodel?

A little behind the scenes from the early days of SPN as a bonus, since it’s tangentially relevant:

When they were filming the very early episodes of SPN, they had a lot of choices to make about what to show us based on what their budget would allow them to portray. Think of an episode like Wendigo, 1.02. One thing I see people say often was that it was a shame we didn’t see more of the monster, but only saw like... bushes shaking, or a vague form moving through the underbrush, or a blur. They made a stylistic choice right there to keep it within budget.

The options they faced were showing us a “dude in a rubber mask” type monster and showing it more, versus one really terrifying shot of a Proper Monster™ dying in spectacular fashion. Rather than go full-on cheesemonster, they chose to leave most of it up to our imaginations, giving us glimpses or hints of the monster.

They went back and forth on this a bit over the years, attempting to show us more on occasion, but most of those times the audience reaction has been varying degrees of wtf... Think about some of the scenes where they attempted to give us more than a glimpse at the supernatural, or a blood splatter, or whatever. It didn’t always work well. Think: the wire fight from 13.23...

I mean, it took us until 11.14 to ever see an angel “flap away,” when we saw Casifer zap Dean off the exploding submarine.

For the most part, I appreciate the fact that they understood the limitations of their own budget and didn’t give angels cheap little wings just to be able to show them on camera. Over time, only being able to see them as shadows, or as char after the angel died, became part of the lore of the show.

I blame Adam Glass for writing that spell, because he probably thought it sounded cool or whatever, that it was effectively a throwaway line because no other spell they’ve ever used has required an angel feather as an ingredient, and in story it was only linked into this larger Men of Letters Legacy plot that in retrospect feels like Chuck tying up loose ends and putting previously “deactivated” plotlines back into play.

I do find it kind of interesting that both iterations of this spell (the second resurrected by Bucklemming) were both tied to Abaddon. Henry’s spell in 8.12 brought her into the story from the past, she eventually travelled to the much further distant past to bring Gavin into the present (presumably with her own power alone, no angel feather required), and then after she was killed, they used the spell to return Gavin to his own time. So in a a way, the spell was part of a closed narrative loop, never to be referred to again.

Kinda wild that we’d never heard of angel feathers being a thing for spells until we learn that Dean apparently had some just stashed in the trunk, though... :’D

As for how corporeal angel feathers are/were, they exist in the earthly plane enough to leave char marks when they burn, when an angel is killed, so they must always have had the potential to manifest physically. I can’t imagine they ever would’ve had a budget to show us anything more than what we usually saw, though. It did give them a LOT of flexibility over how exactly they presented them to us when they DID show us. And I can’t even imagine the suffering Misha would’ve endured as an actor spending all those years wearing some weird wing harness rig. It would’ve been... impractical. And the CGI the show could’ve afforded-- especially in earlier days-- would’ve been... bad...

But what they were able to show us? Was often awesome. Remember when Raphael showed off his wings in 5.03? LIGHTNING!

And when we finally did see actual corporeal-appearing wings in 8.23... it was Dramatique™

And for More CGI Is Sometimes A Bad Thing Science, please have the attempt at Michael’s “true form” from 14.01:

It’s kinda a super-letdown after AU!Michael’s previous shadow wing displays from 13.01, but more specifically from 13.22:

those... were... badass... 

Even the pre-wire-fight wing shadows on Dean were badass:

But if they’d tried to show us more of them, to make them move through action scenes for example, it would’ve been... bad...

So what we’re left with is the knowledge that there is some sort of corporeal element to wings that we simply can’t see most of the time, but clearly angels have the ability to show or hide them at will, even from other angels. Could it be an act of will on the part of the angel that manifests a bit of their grace in the form of a physical feather? Honestly, that’s the theory I’ve personally adopted toward canon. In fanfic, I’ve read tons of various headcanons about what angel wings are and how they function-- everything from “a manifestation of their true form” to “angels share a lot of traits with birds” to “an extension of their grace,” and everything in between.

I personally, in canon, like to think of it as akin to how they’ve used angel grace for other spells. I mean, when we recall that angels haven’t been on Earth much for the last few thousand years (aside from at least a couple of known incidents where angels interfered with humanity, like Ishim and Company in 12.10, for example, and the presumptive extension that the Men of Letters knew of the existence of angels and likely summoned one up a time or two the same way Lily Sunder had, giving one explanation for how Henry Winchester knew of this spell and had an angel feather to use for it, but also recontextualized when Lily Sunder taught us that humans can use their own souls to power spells in the same way angels used their grace... which sort of makes the notion of needing an angel feather AND his own soul to charge that particular spell in 8.12 a bit redundant unless Lily’s knowledge of angelic magic was more advanced than Henry’s... hrmpf.... so much tangent... back to the point)...

We did eventually learn of other spells that required an angel’s actual grace, not concentrated in the form of a feather. The Angel Fall Spell in 8.23 being the prime example. Metatron took ALL of Cas’s grace for that one, even if he didn’t use all of it for the spell and left a “fragment” (Metatron described it as “not a lot, but enough.”). 

ETA: HECK. I have 9.03 on the tv right now and it’s distractedly made me disgusted enough to have forgotten something that Thayer just reminded me of: Lucifer’s “fossilized feather” in 12.07. It held enough grace to restore and heal him after Rowena’s spell in 12.03 had degraded him. Which really only adds to the theory that “feathers” are simply bits of grace that have been rendered solid somehow, but that can be transformed back into grace as needed.

And then there was the Rift Spell for travelling to alternate universes that required archangel grace, as well as the time travel/ward breaking spell that Sam found in 11.14 that ALSO required archangel grace specifically. Would these spells have worked with an archangel “feather?” Possibly, if material feathers are somehow just crystalized bits of grace, but since we never got a full explanation in canon, and never even really saw corporeal feathery wings that dropped feathers or could be plucked, and never even had mention of corporeal feathers outside of their use in this single spell, it’s really up to our own interpretation. And I kind of like it that way, because that way we get to have fun little discussions like this one. :D

I know this isn’t a definitive answer, but it’s how it all makes sense to me, in the hand-wavey sort of way that all of canon works. :’D

#spn 8.12 #spn 12.13 #spn 8.23 #on the nature of angel grace #angels and souls #sigils and symbols #heck i know i used to have a spells tag... #spn 11.14 #spn 5.03 #spn 12.10 #spn 13.23 #spn 13.22 #spn 13.01 #spn 14.01 #Anonymous #spn 12.07

[justalittletomato]

What would Mual do if he thought the reader was dead but they were alive? Savage finds the reader alive and doesn't tell him, dragging Mual to the reader. Only to find out she faked her darth bc a bounty was put on the reader?

I have somewhat tweaked your suggestion and this is the result. As always the angst train is here. Have fun.😎 the sun glasses hide my tears.

GONE (maul x reader)

Your fingers intertwine with his absentmindedly. Something to ground his thoughts to rather than tempted into yelling at everyone to finally make a choice after 3 endless hours. Not one plan could be agreed upon and now another meeting would have to take place after. You can feel him tense and glance to see his jaw set and eyes narrowing. Carefully you lean over to kiss his cheek and whisper, “ It’s fine, at least we’re together right now.”

You are right,  prior to this, you both had gone on a series of separate missions, only having a handful of hours together. The endless meeting is a gift. Today he has you here.

“Given the circumstances, we are suggesting that the next meeting be broken into two groups, a solution to this issue may arise faster if we do this. “ the two of you glance at another at the announcement.

You raise a brow, “Well if it helps at least”

“ It better,” At least he gets to stay with you.

“Honored Y/N can you please join us?”

Maul’s tension returns with force.  He grips tightly to your hand he baring his teeth at the syndicate member who dared request your presence “ They will be staying here with me.”  

You know there’s no reasoning with him, but you know also know better than you refuse orders. “ I’ll go if you allow Savage to accompany me.”

The yellow Zabrak at your side sits up straighter and looks around the table, waiting for someone to disagree, anyone would do.

No one dares.

You somehow get him to let go of your hand,“ I’ll be back soon, please don’t kill anyone while I’m gone” you whisper, “or maim or frighten them out of the room,” You kiss his cheek,

“ Hurry back. “ he requests “ Also I can make no promises.”

You roll your eyes, “ Try.” You give him one last kiss on his lips before leaving.

Savage more or so pushes you forward as you kept looking back. He can still hear the two of you laughing from down the hall.

It’s another hour or so and still, nothing has been decided…Maul stared at one member who kept bringing up the same route over and over. He merely stares a bit longer, his eyes may be a bit brighter and there’s a strange look that overcomes the speaker's face. They freeze, thier flesh pales and they more or collapse in their seat. Maul sits back satisfied with the end of that.

A rumbling begins and the room shakes, everyone shouts as a loud explosion pierces their ears. Screaming begins.

Smoke leaks into the room as a blurry of people rush in panic, their clothes are ashy and some are trying to ease thier burns.

Neither of you come in.

GET OUT OF MY WAY!!!. He shouts as he jostles the crowd.

You had to be here, you said you were coming back.

He searches for his brother, he has no doubts Savage has you.

Safe and unharmed. You must be. Both of you must be.

The room is damaged and charred part of it blasted away leaving the ground broken and caved in, a blazing fire in its depths.

He sees the familiar armor in the corner his brother's horns and body in a defensive huddle against the wall, nothing more than ash around him. Maul lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “ BROTHER!”

Of course he would have protected you from the blast!

You were probably shaken but unscathed in his brother's arms. Savage always made sure to watch over you.

His brother is alive…Maul waits as he stirs and waits for you to also peek out. His brother mutters something in a pained breath. Maul leans in.

“Gone...they’re gone” his brother whispers.

Maul watches as Savage turns.

There’s nothing in his arms. Where?!

“They’re gone...”His brother whispers again.

He has nobody to mourn. Instead, he takes solace in your shared room and takes no visitors. Anyone who enters is tossed out, followed by a stream of screams.

 No one could enter here, this was your tomb, he might as well bury himself here with you.  

Every little piece and trinket hold its memories of you, he takes refuge in the bed you two had shared. Not that sleep comes easily without you at his side. A sense of panic fills him as he realizes your scent is slowly fading from the pillows and blankets. He resists and now sleeps on the cold floor, he would not disturb the remnants of you.

His brother is the only one allowed in, he watches in concern as Maul traces your old books and makes sure everything is kept as it was. However, Maul prys into the wardrobe and finds the white gown you had stashed away pushing Maul away so he wouldn’t see it.

“Not yet!” you had laughed.  

Savage watches as Maul brushes his fingers on the silk. “ It was supposed to be in the next cycle.” Maul mutters the mirror on the wardrobe begins to crack, “ THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO BE HERE!!!”  the sound of his anguish causes the crack to splinter, the mirror shatters as do the windows you once gazed through. 

Savage keeps a close eye desperate to keep Maul in some state of reality. He somehow managed to hide the dress only for Maul to scream at him and shatter windows in anger, it now sits on the bed never to be worn or touched again.

A suggestion  Savage gives brings Maul to return, “ Find who took them away from us.”

Maul leaves that very day leaving Savage in charge and locking the room until his return.  

Who dared to take you from his life. His saber slices through another, “ WHO ORDERED YOU?” Their comrades watch in horror as this horned man cuts them down,  It’s all that’s keeping him going. He will seek out your murderers, he will make sure you are avenged. He has no plans after that.

His brother's rampage continues focused solely on destroying those who took you out of their lives.

“ you have an urgent message. It’s encrypted.” It’s Rook, she’s solemn as she hands over the datapad,” We suspect it’s a ransom for information about...” she doesn’t not say your name. “ Thank you Kast.” Savage watches as she rejoins the rest of the deathwatch their armor now inscribed with a symbol of mourning for your loss.

The datapad asks for a password, odd it couldn’t be so simple, but there’s only so many passwords with few words.

The message opens and the holo image opens, “Brother?” Starlit eyes look hopeful.

It’s you, Maker it's you!

The message is dated only a few days prior…Maker ….. somewhere out in the galaxy you were alive!

“ Forgive me please forgive me. There appeared to be a bounty on me. Luckily a few of my associates found a way to help me, but they never told me how they would do so. “ you pause,” it should be safe now...I can come home.” you are crying now, “I can finally go home!”

Maul is off-world when Savage interrupts an interrogation it was another false lead. He screams in frustration, every lead has lead to nothing. Your killers were still breathing, still out there while you. You were...

Savage waits “ Brother.”

“ Unless you have more information I don’t want to hear it.” He needs to find the next target. Someone had to be responsible.

Savage can tell his brother won’t listen, reasoning is beyond him, it’s painfully reminiscent of their first meeting, he mutters to himself or maybe to you. If he dared to mention the truth his brother would not believe him.  

“I do” he lies “but it not here. It’s off-planet.”

“Then what are we waiting for?  The faster we approach the closer I can ensure my starlight is at rest...”

He never says peace…it does not exist.

You wait on the plains of this isolated planet, a rural place away from prying eyes. Surrounded by fields of golden wheat and fertile dirt. It's lovely you suppose, you think of the days you have spent here and realized you had long missed the day you would have finally worn that dress.

You can’t help but cry, you had promised to come back, you had promised...

Memories of events tend to linger, both on objects and on people. Maul sees red when he senses the figure in the plains. Why do you have signs of thier signature?!

A lone figure curled up into themselves, likely guilt for taking you out of his world. 

Oh, the figure would pay with their life.

 Savage grips his arm knowing his brother’s intent, too consumed that he could not realize you were right before them,  “I lied. that is not a lead.”

 Maul struggles in his grip, “Let go! That killer has remnants of my Starlight!”  

The figure looks up to the sound of the name they had not heard in some time, thier hood falls and those starlit eyes widen.

 Maul stills.

 But you..you don't hesitate and run to them.  The impact of your embrace might bruise you later, but you don't care, you haven't felt this alive in some time. It was like seeing the sun after so long..my darling dawn..you whisper against his hearts.  “Starlight...” he croaks wrapping his arms around you. Bright and warm, and very much alive. 

“I’m sorry”. You whisper, “I’m so sorry.” You are again curled up, this time in Maul’s arms. You’re half-blind with your tears as he holds you as close as he can against his hearts. His hands are your hair, and lips trying to kiss you all over your face, each one salty but one he believed he would never have again. He doesn’t want an explanation now, he has you.

He had tried to destroy you…he holds on tighter and soon the two of you are just whispering apologies to the other. 

Savage won't move either of you but nor will he resist the two of reaching out to embrace him as well, all three of you are together again.

#anon asks #darth maul x reader #maul x reader #maul #darth maul #star wars x you #star wars self insert #savage opress #i feel maul is more in character in this