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adventuringblind · 10 months

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Daddy Issues Part 2

Max Verstappen X Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Requested: No, but I'm in a writing mood, so I'm taking requests for Max and Charles. *Silently begs for people to not be shy*

Summary: Jos may have been dealt with for now, but parental issues for the two lovers are far from it.

Warnings: DADDY ISSUES... again, mentions of verbal, emotional, and physical abuse, not proofread (I don't even proofread my college papers), Jos is a warning himself

Notes: This part is written in the second person perspective because it's more geared toward the readers' struggles. Jos does make a reappearance. At this point, it's completely self-indlugent. I'm writing from similar experiences, so please be gracious.

Also, I posted things about a novel I'm currently working on. If you have a chance, please give it a look! You can find it on my masterlist.

Masterlist // Part one // Part three

You were naïve to think that your troubles would be over after the interaction with Jos.

The air around you and Max had become significantly lighter. Max even opened up about things to his friends and was able to smile more during races.

You loved watching him. The light in his eyes even when coming in second or third.

You thought maybe the two of you would be able to heal and move forward. Max had been thriving the last six months. Both physically and mentally because of the steps he'd been taking to get there.

However, you had a different story. While Max had been able to cut off contact with Jos, you had your dad to deal with still.

Thankfully, your dad was good at putting on his best performance around people. It was the reason very few people had the privilege of understanding your relationship with your family.

You'd wanted to cut him off originally, but you couldn't because you still felt the underlying need to please him. Your mom is in a similar situation, and your sibling(s) who still had yet to be able to make that choice.

You hadn't told Max yet. Things had gotten worse for you recently. You didn't want to ruin his current state of joy.

A people pleaser by heart.

So you hid that part away and put on your best face as you basked in Max's smiles. The warmth of them helping you mask yourself.

Until it started to fall apart.

The first encounter was once again with Jos. You found him in hospitality during a race. Immediately getting defensive and ready to call security.

That was until you noticed him having a conversation with your father. The two seeming to have a lively discussion.

Then they noticed you. Hand beckoning you to come closer.

Cautiously, you approached the table. Choosing not to take a seat and standing at the end instead.

"Good to see you again! I hope you haven't missed me too much since we last spoke." Jos' voice sounded like sandpaper in your ears. The bruise on your cheek had long since healed, but being near him brought back the stinging feeling of his hand.

"I hadn't realized you both were coming." Your voice came out shakily. Fingers crossed that they didn't catch on to your ever-growing anxiety.

"Jos managed to get passes and invited me to come along. Since you and Max are close he figured we should be too." Your father explained. "Though I'm shocked they didn't come from Max himself."

You tried hard not to grimace. The realization that you might have to explain why doing nothing to help your panic creeping in slowly.

"I bet if you were as successful as Max, you wouldn't need him to give us the passes." Your father laughs in your direction.

"What is it you do again?" Jos suddenly turning towards you. A hint of a smirk on his lips.

"I'm in psychology."

"No wonder you need Max's money."

"Bet she has Max hypnotized with her knowledge of the brain or something."

The two were cracking up now. Laughing at your expense.

Your dad calmed down a moment. Breathing deeply to get his breath back. His face became neutral again, noticing the obvious frown you now dawned. "It was a joke, Y/N. There's no need to get upset. Max isn't going to be able to handle you eventually if you don't get thicker skin.

You'd had enough. Not wanting to cry in front of everyone, you turn to head back to the garage. Maybe even to hide in Max's driver room for a moment.

Though you didn't get far before a hand caught your wrist. "Stop ignoring me. It's disrespectful, and I am still your father." You didn't turn around. Didn't want him to see you cry. "I have you a life that was better than mine. My father would have never even tried. Yet, you still don't listen to me. Get your act together soon, please."

To outsiders, he sounded sincere. You, on the other hand, knew exactly what he was doing.

Yanking your hand back, you continue walking without giving the two older men a second glance.

If you were home, you would lock yourself in your room til he threatened to take your door. Then, you would shower and hide in the bathroom. If that didn't work, you would try to look productive and cry silently so he couldn't be mad at you for doing such an action as letting the tears roll. He thinks it's over dramatic.

Somtimes he would take to slamming things around. Doors, chairs, his phone, things in his room, not at you but purposely loud.

It didn't matter how hard you worked, it would never be enough. This is how you and Max are able to understand each other. You knew exactly what the other needed because both of you have lived this.

As soon as the race was over, you went to celebrate Max and his victory. The moment was joyful for him. Making a mental note to tell him what happened earlier, you decided now definitely wasn't the time.

Neither was when you got back to your hotel room after celebrating. Or when you took a phone call from your dad with more lovely words that made you feel disgusting in your own skin. Or the plane ride back to Monaco. Or when you got home and immediately went to shower because your entire body felt like it was dirty from nothing but your dad and Jos harassing you.

You didn't tell your mom either, she had enough things to deal with. You didn't tell anyone for that matter.

Max had caught on when he noticed you weren't sleeping. When you weren't eating. When you started apologizing excessively. Habits he thought he broke when he was able to get you to move in with him through constant reassurance.

Now, you were moving backward while he was moving forward.

Then he put the pieces together. He only wished he saw it sooner. Could've stopped what happened before it was pulled like a ruug out from under him.

You had flown home to see your sibling(s) for a week. You missed them dearly and wanted to spend time with them while Max was away.

It had started smoothly, your dad being civil with you, a few sarcastic remarks thrown around here and there, but nothing too bad.

He was trying to convince you to come back home, where you belonged. You kept brushing him off, telling him you're happy where you are now.

It only got worse from there. Your father and Jos had gotten closer over time. He had coincidentally come knocking at the door while you were there. He said he was in the area and wanted to say hello.

Your sibling(s) had tried to get you out of the house, but you only said it would make things worse. It earned you some feelings of sadness, but they left you to converse regardless.

The four of you sat in the living room. Your mom and you mostly listen to the two men catching up.

Then your mom left to make dinner. You stood up with the intention of following before being stopped by the pair.

"Jos tells me Max has been ignoring him."

Your tempted to roll your eyes but refrain in case he's paying close attention.

"Yes, I was wondering if you could tell me the reason behind it. Have you been filling his head with lies about our exchange awhile back?" Jos' smirk makes you want to hit him. Again you refrain, knowing that he can and will hurt you if you're out of line.

"He saw why happened." You state. Making a move to hold your ground.

"He hears what you said as he came inside. He fell for the obvious manipulation. I can't believe you even blamed the bruise on me." He fakes a look of offense.

Your father shakes his head on disgust. Your body goes rigid. Voices begin sounding like they're underwater. You hang your head in defeat as they continue to accuse you of things you would never do.

"Stop it!" You snapped. Something in you breaking loose.

In seconds, a cup was shattered against the wall, and your face was burning with the sting of someone's palm.

You know you had to leave. The adrenaline from your flight response is kicking in.

So you ran, grabbing what you could and quickly exiting the house. Your mom is doing her best to keep her distance from your dad while he throws his temper tantrum and Jos convincing him that I am an entitled brat.

You definitely didn't have all your stuff, but it didn't matter. You called an Uber and found your way back to the airport. Finding and flight back to Monaco you could.

You received a few texts from your dad before blocking him and called the rest of your family to apologize for your behavior and say you'd wished you'd had more time.

Then you called Max. You hand messaged him back since mid-morning and he was starting to get concerned.

"Hello Lovely, is everything alright? I haven't heard much from you today?" His cheery voice made your smile just a little.

"Yes, but I'm coming home early. I'm on an early flight back home." Your voice is on the verge of breaking. You send a silent prayer that he doesn't catch one.

You hear his phone buzzing with notifications. "How were things at the factory?" You ask, making an attempt to change the subject.

"Is was alright, did some marketing and PR things today. Daniel says Hello." He chuckles. "My dad has been texting me though, which is odd."

You hear him sigh deeply. "Are you sure you're okay? Because he's trying to convince me of things I know aren't true."

"Your dad was there visiting mine coincidentally." The damage holding back your tears was coming loose. "I messed everything up again."

"Mijn liefje, you did nothing of the sort." His voice once again had that gentle tone. One that made you feel safe. "I'm not sure how fast I can he back in Monaco, but I'll meet you there as soon as I can."

By the time you had landed, it was early in the morning. You considered just waiting in the airport until it was brighter and then walking home since Max was still in Austria. So, the text that came from Lando that he was coming to get you was a bit of a shock.

You were relieved when he pulled in. Satey once again within your reach.

"Thanks for coming to get me."

"No worries, Max called and asked if I could. Said it was a bit on an emergency but didn't say what happened." He smiled at you, trying to get you to become less defensive.

You hadn't realized how tense you still were. Your body is still trying to shrink in on itself.

You attempted small talk until he pulled into up to the apartment. "Thanks again for the ride." Then you rushed inside as fast as possible.

The floor became your best friend. Everything after opening the door became blurry.

When you woke up later on the bathroom floor with Max's sweatshirt as your pillow, you had no idea how it happened.

Texts from Max and Lando lined your notification wall. Your body too heavy to move however, you resigned to back to the comfort of the floor and the comforting smell of Max.

The next time you woke up, you heard keys jingling in the door.

You curled into yourself. Hiding from the inevitably of confronting what happened only a day earlier.

"Love, are you here? I'm home!"

You wanted to crawl to him. Seek comfort in his arms. But your own mind was stopping you. Replaying everything that they said about you.

You heard him drop his bags and begin his search. Bedroom, kitchen, office, terrace, then finally bathroom. He knew he should have checked their first. The bathroom had always been your safe space. He often found you just sitting in the empty bathtub if life felt overwhelming.

He peeked around the corner, his face instantly softening at the sight of you.

Neither of you said anything as he crouched down next to you. Unsure the extent of what happened, he refrained from touching you.

"Can I hug you?" His voice almost a whisper. As if speaking any louder would shatter you like that glass your dad had thrown as you made your escape.

You slowly nod yes but make no effort to move. You end up not having to as Max pulls you into his arms. Your body draped over his lap.

You felt so small in this moment, with his hand caressing the back of your head.

The dam broke. A hard sob wracked your body. Wailing into Max's chest.

"You're safe now, I got you." He whispered. His hold unrelenting until the tears were able to slow.

"I'm so sorry." Your voice muffled from his chest. "You were so happy I didn't want to ruin it, so I didn't tell you."

"I'm happiest when I know you are also doing well. You can't ruin that for me. I love you too much to see you like this." He pulled your face back, his soft eyes meeting yours.

He was finally able to take in the bruise on your cheek. Once again, not able to stop the unrelenting force of your fathers misdemeanors against you both.

He was angry, you could tell. You saw the rage flash through his eyes.

Knowing that's not what you needed right now, though, he softened again. "Who did this to you love?"

You began rapidly shaking your head no. Not wanting to relive it and not wanting to make things more difficult for him. "I can't-" you started.

"It's my job to make sure you're safe because I love you. It's not going to be an inconvenience." He always knew what to say.

"Jos." Was all you could muster before you were crying into his shoulder again.

You told him everything. All the events in the past few months. Every awful word spoken towards you. How he understood you, you have no idea.

The two of you stayed like that until you fell asleep in Max's arms. Knowing you couldn't stay here forever, he brought you to the bed and tucked you in. His lips on your forehead the last sensation before you were completely lost to your subconscious.

MAX'S POV

Everything about the situation made him want to break down. He thought he would finally be able to move on. He did, kind of, but left you behind in the process.

He knew something was wrong but didn't want to force you to open up. You needed to process things longer and came to him when you were ready.

This situation affected you differently though. Your response to your father had always been inward. Taught from a young age just to take it and nit talk about it. Convinced that you shouldn't paint your home life as bad because you had a roof over your head and food on your table.

He understands, though his reactions are different. Often not understanding that something was wrong and just talking about it like it was normal.

Daniel was the first to question, and you were the first to get him like nobody else.

You broke eachothers bad habits you'd learned from years of toxicity. Started learning better communication. Working through things and understanding eachothers responses.

He could never thank you enough for your help with his dad. Standing up for him despite the physical altercation was brave. He knew it was hard for you but you loved him enough to do it anyways.

Now, it was his turn to help you through this. He didn't care how long it took.

The bruise on your cheek only sparked a fire in him. He was tired of the hurt your fathers were causing. He knew now that both of you deserved better.

So, he would help it get better.

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itsgameofthronesimagines · 1 year

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Strong Dragons (Part One)

(Gif not mine)

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Masterlist Here

Pairing: Daemon x Fem!Reader x Rhaenyra

Warnings: NSFW! 18+ only! Smut, mature themes and language, P in V, arranged marriages, unprotected rough/raw sex (wrap it before you tap it), virginity loss, incest, daemon growls (enough said), angst, mentions of period blood, infertility struggles, threesomes, etc. (I’m so sorry if I miss anything I’m just writing the warnings down as I remember them)

Word Count: 4,032

Summary: Lady Y/n is chosen by Princess Rhaenyra for some would say a dangerous, maybe even an impossible task... and it requires marrying her uncle.

Request by: @ivy-targaryen

Author’s Note: I just so happened to be writing a Daemon x Reader x Rhaenyra fic when this request came in so thank you so much for the added inspiration! For context, Fem!Reader will be a Strong for later obvious reasons, Rhaenyra is still married to Laenor, Daemon stays in King’s Landing and never marries Laena, so their daughters are never born (I’m sorry). This is a VERY long one (that is most definitely getting a second and third part cause this originally had over 10,000 words) so strap in and I hope you enjoy it!

(I do not consent my works to be reposted/copied)

"What troubles you?"

Lady Y/n, daughter of House Strong, looks up from her embroidery to locate the source of her brother's voice. Looking around the gardens, she found him walking towards her, stepping into the gazebo she had hidden in. She tilts his head up at him, "Do I look troubled?"

Ser Harwin Breakbones lets out a snort full of snark, "I hardly see a sour look like that on your face, sweet sister."

Upon mention, Y/n feels the furrow of her brow lighten, straightening her posture when she realized she had been slouching. Blinking rapidly to try and veil her brooding expression, she clears her throat and nods towards the nearest seat for her brother. When he takes up the invitation to join her, only then did she voice her worries, "... If you were given an impossible task, would you do it?"

Harwin's eyebrows furrow, an expression fairly similar to Y/n's. By all accounts, apart from their genders, they were twins, and Y/n is reminded of this as she watched her brother similarly shift in his seat before replying, "Awfully vague question. If you truly want advice from your brother, wouldn't you want to be a bit more specific?"

"If I wanted advice, I'd go to Larys," the quick remark forces out a snort from Harwin. Y/n faintly smiles before urging him on with a stiff nod, "Just answer the question."

Silence lingers as he ponders on said question. Harwin listens to the wind brushing through the vines that have climbed the pillars of the gazebo. He answers boldly, like the strong soldier he was, "Nothing is impossible. Not for me. Not for us. House Strong knows no task that is too impossible to accomplish."

Y/n looked back down at her embroidery to hide her disappointment. She was afraid he would say that, furiously pulling the needle and threading through the fabric. Despite hiding her emotions, Harwin took her silent response as a recoil, worrying him further as he leans closer to her, talking quietly in case the question was for a more personal matter, "Can I ask who gave you this burden?"

The needle paused in Y/n's hand, her eyes still examining her threaded pattern as she mumbled, "The princess."

Harwin's worry eases some, shoulders visibly relaxing under his armor. He smiles warmly with encouragement, "Princess Rhaenyra would not have asked... whatever-it-is from you if she did not believe you could do it. She's also smart. I don't believe anything's impossible for her either," when his sister remained unconvinced, Harwin reaches out to still her hand from stabbing her embroidery with the needle, "She is to be our queen someday, Y/n... Whatever she wants from you, as long as you are not to be harmed, I believe you should do it."

Y/n's shoulders rise and fall as she sighs through her nose, watching Harwin's hand before finally looking up at him, "She wants me to go with her if and when she leaves for Dragonstone."

Not a complete lie, but one nonetheless, and it only added to the weight already heavy on her burdened shoulders. Harwin's eyebrows furrow again, but more so in confusion, "And why is that such an impossible task?"

"... Convincing Father of it is one, and being unwed is another. I doubt Father would let me go if he intends on finding me a husband."

Ser Breakbones scoffs, "Father cannot deny the princess, Y/n. He'll have to agree if she asks you to go with her."

"But the King--"

"Princess Rhaenyra has the King wrapped around her finger. She will get her father to agree to this arrangement, and then our father will really have no choice."

He stands suddenly, remembering that he had the City Watch to attend to and he had only meant to bid his sister a good day. Before he leaves, however, he smiles down and pats Y/n's shoulder, "It's an honor to have the heir to the throne request your service. Politically, the relationship between our houses would strengthen if you choose to accept the princess' proposal. Give it some thought, sister. I know in the end, whatever you choose, I'll believe it to be the right choice."

~~~~~~~~~

Her brother wasn't at all helpful in her struggles, but Y/n had appreciated his words, nevertheless. She knew she wouldn't get his full support if he had known the full truth, but he had answered as she knew he would with what she had given him. That night, as instructed, she slipped into the secret passageways of the Red Keep. Following the drawings that were quickly scrawled onto a piece of parchment, Y/n wandered cautiously down the tunnels, avoiding any source of light she caught sight of. Eventually, she makes it to a small stairwell and climbs up, finding the outline of a door on the top of the stairs. Ignoring the dust and cobwebs, Y/n places her hands on the door and gives it an experimental push. When it didn't budge, she pushed harder, quickly catching herself when the door gave in.

She nearly stumbled into the chambers revealed on the other side. Looking around, her eyes widen in amazement to find herself in Princess Rhaenyra's chambers, the very same Targaryen who was watching Y/n expectedly from her seat next to the hearth on the far side of the room. When Y/n's gaze caught hers, the Strong woman straightened her posture, quickly brushing the dust off her skirt and bowing respectively, parchment paper still clutched in hand.

Rhaenyra smiled, amusement shining in her eyes unless Y/n had mistaken it for the fireplace reflecting off her violet orbs. The princess rose from her chair and slowly crossed the room to the other woman, hands clasped in front of her, "Find your way here well enough?"

"Yes, Princess," Y/n curtly answered. She was nearly startled out of her manners, however, when a large hand reached around her and snatched the parchment from her hands. Dark hair falling over her shoulder as she spun her head, Y/n nearly lost her bravery when Daemon Targaryen stood beside her, seamlessly emerging from the shadows of the room. The prince barely acknowledged her presence, staring down at the small map he had drawn for Y/n as it crinkled in his hands.

Finally, he looked up once Rhaenyra had joined his side, the two Targaryens both staring at Y/n with their matching eyes, looming over her with a fierceness so similar to a dragon. Daemon allows a small smirk to grace his lips, "Incredible architecture, wouldn't you agree?"

Y/n quickly nodded when she guessed that he was referring to the secret tunnels, now slightly shaking, "Yes, my prince."

"Maegor the Cruel had the secret tunnels and passageways built throughout the Red Keep back when he was King. They say after construction was finished, he threw a grand feast for the hands and minds behind the building process," Daemon took the parchment and held it over a lit candlestick stationed on a pillar beside him, watching the remnants of his maps slowly disappear into flames before freeing his hand off it and fixing his gaze back on Y/n. The young woman tried her best not to cower in fear as he took one step closer to her again, "And after three days, he had them all killed so no one but him would know how to navigate the tunnels and trapdoors."

A hidden threat, veiled by his intention. Y/n forced her hands to stay still by folding them in front of her body, unable to meet the prince's eyes when he stepped far too close to her, close enough to feel his breath on her face as she whispered, "I will not breathe of word of this to anyone."

Daemon tilts his head, smirking as though he was playing with his food, "And what made you think I would suggest such a thing?"

"Daemon," both his and Y/n's eyes remember Rhaenyra and look to face her. The princess appeared patient, encouraging her uncle with a brief nod, "I trust her."

Once her uncle had stepped away and dutifully stood at her side, Rhaenyra turned back to Y/n, thinly smiling, "Have you made a decision?"

"I have, Princess..." Y/n nods again, trying to catch her breath after Daemon has stolen hers. She basked in her personal space, able to think straight without the two dragons lingering ever so close to her. Taking a deep breath and regaining her courage, Y/n lifts her chin and turns to Daemon, "I will marry you. I will wed you and bed you. I will give you the children you and Princess Rhaenyra so desire and pass them off as hers with Ser Laenor."

Rhaenyra's eyes were the only thing to give away her relief and veiled excitement. Daemon, however, remained impassive, unwilling to share whatever emotions he was feeling with the stranger in the room he did not yet trust. He keeps his gaze hard, staring deeply into Y/n's as if trying to fish out a lie, "You understand that while you will be the one to bear them, you will not be the one to raise them. When they are born, you promise to not hold motherhood over them and entrust this to the Princess Rhaenyra."

It was not a question or a request, more so a demand. Despite Daemon's bluntness, Y/n nods obediently, "If that is the princess' wish, yes."

Rhaenyra glides over to the woman, gingerly taking her hands in her own. Y/n couldn't find herself able to stare directly into the princess' gaze and so glanced down at their conjoined hands. Rhaenyra's skin was fair and much paler than hers in comparison. Y/n had a few small scars littered over her hands from various stories of her childhood, while Rhaenyra's was visibly flawless, apart from the feel of her palms. They were rough, as Y/n observed, most likely from the use of dragon-riding.

Y/n forces herself to look up, only to be rewarded with a grateful nod from Rhaenyra and a kind smile, "Thank you, my lady. You have no idea how much this means to me."

~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Daemon approached the King and asked for Lady Y/n's hand in marriage. Viserys was delighted that his brother had found a new wife so soon after Lady Royce's death and after the scandal with Rhaenyra and immediately confided in Lyonel Strong for his approval. His Hand, of course, agreed to this proposal between his daughter and Prince Daemon and so a ceremony was quickly planned to take place within a fortnight.

Preparations were made and everyone appeared to be excited about the event, bustling about and whispering with joy amongst themselves. Many of the ladies of the court giggled and gossiped with each other, fawning over Prince Daemon and commenting on how Lady Y/n was incredibly lucky.

If Harwin had a suspicion, he never showed it. Instead, he congratulated his sister on her proposal and promised to be her ally against her future husband should she ever need it. On the day the ceremony was set to take place, Y/n found herself surrounded by maids and other ladies of the court as they helped her prepare for her wedding. Just as they had fully dressed her in a white dress filled with embroidered dragons in red thread, the doors of Y/n's chambers opened to reveal the princess and Ser Harwin. The ladies and servants all bow and made a quick escape when Rhaenyra asked them to leave. Once they were alone, Rhaenyra nodded to Harwin and fondly watched as Ser Breakbones crossed the room to gather his sister up in a tight embrace.

"You look beautiful," he compliments, petting down her hair while looking her in the eyes, "The princess wishes to do your hair, but I will be just outside if you need anything."

Y/n nods and briefly smiles in answer. Before she could even say a word, Harwin had left the room and closed the doors behind him. Rhaenyra waits a moment before joining Y/n at her vanity mirror, instructing the bride-to-be to sit down while she took a brush to her dark hair. The two women were silent for the moment as Rhaenyra ran the brush through Y/n's hair, time and time again until it felt like silk running through her fingers. Then, the princess moved on to braiding certain locks and forming a halo on top of the bride's head, similar to something a Targaryen would wear.

"I understand what we are asking of you is a heavy burden," the princess spoke gently, "And I understand it will be difficult, but I want you to know that I owe you my life for this. You have my gratitude and I will never forget this. You're a true friend to the crown. Daemon may say whatever he likes, but as for me, I still want you to be a part of the children's lives. To them, you will be a distant cousin and an aunt, but to me, you will be every bit of a mother to them as I."

Y/n doesn't nod in an attempt not to ruin Rhaenyra's work on her hair. The curiosity got the best of her as she opened her mouth, "How will we hide any pregnancy? Will we have a maester we can trust?"

"We have a plan," Rhaenyra doesn't elaborate beyond that, "And we will act on it once we are sure you are with child."

"Will Ser Laenor be in the know of it?"

She nods, "He knows."

"And he approves?"

"He does," Rhaenyra finishes the braids, her hands finding rest on Y/n's shoulders. The two women stare into each other's reflection in the mirror, a small shadow taking over the princess' eyes as she spoke, "We did try, you know. Many times, in fact. But nothing came of it. When I turned to Daemon for help... still, nothing happened. As the future queen, it is vital that I have heirs of my own someday. If I am truly barren, well..." she squeezes Y/n's shoulders, "At least this way, the children will still have Targaryen blood running through their veins."

Y/n bites her lip, not voicing what she truly thought to the princess. Daemon never hid his disgust for his first wife, Rhea Royce. Everyone heard him spit terrible things about her, darkly stating his wife to be 'his bronze bitch' among other profanities. With one look at her own reflection, Y/n wanted to flinch away at her Strong features. It didn't take a fool to know that Prince Daemon had a taste for women with silver hair, but not just any woman. Some speculated that Daemon had only ever loved one woman, and could never have her. All the lords and ladies in court looked no further than Rhaenyra herself, knowing that she could ask Daemon to take over the world for her, and her uncle would do so without question. Y/n had once speculated these rumors, and now her arrangement with the uncle and niece only confirmed it.

Finally, Y/n turned away from the mirror to look up at the princess with as much honesty as she could muster, "I cannot guarantee the children will have silver hair."

Rhaenyra faintly smiles, her hand hovering over Y/n's hair as if wanting to run her fingers through it, but wisely decided against it, "We will cross that bridge when we come to it."

~~~~~~~~~

The wedding went by quickly, Y/n could scarcely remember it whenever she looked back. The ceremony played out like a rehearsal, vows full of monotone and kisses exchanged in practice. The celebration afterward was one so grand that Y/n had a moment to forget her sorrows. The feast was large and not only was wine being served but also ale and mead as well. Y/n had her father to thank for providing her favorite drink, her cups mostly filled with a honey mead sent from Dorne. She danced her troubles away with anyone and everyone, but not her new husband. Daemon barely paid a mind to her, instead seating himself beside the King as they joked and laughed as if they were boys again. Y/n wasn't too bothered by this as practically everyone danced with her. Her father and Harwin were the first to do so, her younger brother, Larys, was unable to take part in the dancing. Members of the King's small council danced with her, and their sons. The Sea Snake himself, Lord Vaemond, and Ser Laenor all danced with her. With knowing eyes, Laenor passed the bride off to his wife once a new song began, and Y/n was too stunned to remember her manners as Princess Rhaenyra took her hands and led her into a lovely, slow dance.

"I suppose this makes me your aunt now, Princess," Y/n finds herself speaking her mind more than usual, her mead finally dulling her restless mind.

Rhaenyra huffed out a laugh, linking her arm through Y/n's opposite as they spun around each other in a circle, "It does, my lady. Although from this moment forward, I would like to call you a friend as well."

"Whatever you wish for, Princess."

The bedding ceremony was not as enjoyable as the feast, but suppose that is why Y/n drank many cups of mead before that. She was horrified at the idea of everyone in court watching her, including her brothers and father, but was relieved to learn that Daemon had forbidden the court to watch. Y/n will later hear that Daemon himself spoke to the King about this, stating that he had every intention of consummating his marriage with his second bride, seeing as she was the one he chose, unlike Lady Royce, and that there was no need for his brother to watch and make sure. The lords still brought the bride to bed and the ladies brought the groom, but there was no undressing or an audience during the consummation.

Well, all but one audience.

Later, after the lords and ladies had gone, Rhaenyra slipped into Y/n's chambers, undetected by anyone outside. She sat near the bed, watching with interest as Daemon stripped himself and his new bride down to their night clothes. Her face red with embarrassment, Y/n doesn't comment and instead turns her head away to observe the far wall of her room, nearly jumping out of her skin when Daemon pulled her nightgown up, exposing her naked form to the cool air.

Y/n's eyes screw shut and her entire body stiffens when she felt the tip of Daemon's erection run over her folds, barely giving enough time to prep her before he completely sheaths himself inside of her. It's tight and it burns, causing Y/n to throw her hand over her mouth to stifle the cry of pain forced out of her. Daemon lets out a small growl and doesn't give her time to adjust, moving back out of her only to slide back in. His hips meet hers once she's able to take him fully without much resistance, and yet all Y/n can do was either shut her eyes or watch the wall, wanting to hide her body and shame into the very mattress Daemon began to fuck her into.

"Relax, Lady Y/n," Rhaenyra softly soothed the woman, her voice closer than what Y/n remembered. Turning her head, Y/n found her now sitting on the edge of the bed, hovering over the newlyweds' writhing forms. Rhaenyra's eyes appeared curious, intrigued by whatever she finds when Y/n's gaze meets her. The princess leans forward and finds Y/n's hand, sliding her own fingers in between Lady Strong's, "If you relax your body, it will hurt less."

Y/n tries to listen and obey, taking a few shaking breaths to calm herself, despite Daemon's hips snapping harshly into hers, forcing her breasts to bounce. The slight friction of Y/n's skewed nightgown brushing over her nipples sends a chill down her spine, and for a moment she forgets the pain, shivering as her hand tightly holds Rhaenyra's, briefly forgetting her embarrassment. Daemon grunts at the feel of her walls tightening around him, ever so slightly, slick sounds now filling the air instead of raw, dry claps. For the most part, he had been focused more on thrusting instead of acknowledging his wife, keeping his eyes lowered as he watches his cock disappear into her wet cunt with each snap of his hips. He refused to watch Y/n as he beds her, more focused on his goal than on pleasure.

However, after a long stretch of time, the prince found it harder and harder to peak, desperate for release as he starts thrusting harder and faster. Y/n bites the inside of her cheek so as not to scream, forcing her eyes closed again to stop the unshed tears from falling. Daemon's grunts were less pleasurable and were more out of frustration, still avoiding his wife's face and body out of a stubborn will.

Rhaenyra can see the exhaustion on her uncle's face and so she takes matters into her own hands. Still hanging onto Y/n, the princess uses her free hand to cup Daemon's face, forcing him to look up at her. Daemon's eyes meet hers and she could see the lust for her pooling in his hard gaze. She could see his desire but also his frustration. Rhaenyra leans in and kisses Daemon, moaning straight into his mouth.

He had spilled inside of Y/n soon after that, the Lady Strong relieved for it to finally be over.

~~~~~~~~~

However, she quickly realized that it would be far from over. She had promised to bring forth a child for Rhaenyra and Daemon Laenor, and until she did so, she would have to let Daemon back into her bed. It's not as though Rhaenyra wanted Laenor to share Y/n's bed, although Y/n was sure that she was far from Laenor's fancy anyway, but Daemon was now her lawful husband, and a child from him would be perfect for Rhaenyra. Besides, Y/n was positive that Rhaenyra would prefer to have a child from Daemon over her own husband.

For several nights after her wedding, Y/n would be accompanied by her husband and her newly appointed niece. And for several nights, after Daemon was finished, both he and Rhaenyra would leave her chambers, alone and sore in her bed. The nights weren't so bad after a fashion, and perhaps that was because Rhaenyra made it bearable for Y/n. Every morning after, Y/n was visited by the princess, and a tray of food and drink would come with her. Y/n was surprised but also inwardly delighted by Rhaenyra's kindness. Both of the women broke their fasts together so much that it became a tradition every single day. It even came to a point where even if Daemon didn't bed Y/n, Rhaenyra would still visit with her aunt the morning after.

A month had gone by and Rhaenyra sat in her normal seat at Y/n's table, sipping on her morning tea while staring out the balcony. The peaceful silence that usually followed this routine visit was oddly charged and heavy. The princess sensed this, glancing over to Y/n only to find the other woman staring down at her lap as if in shame.

"What is it?" She found herself asking, although her stomach turned with the suspicion that she already knew.

Y/n looked up, sighing in exhaustion, "My flower came this morning."

Disappointed, Rhaenyra only blinks, nodding while setting her cup down, "I can't say I'm surprised. It was foolish to get my hopes up that everything would happen right away."

Y/n nods as well, although the lines on her forehead didn't go away. Rhaenyra wanted to reach out with her thumb and soothe it over but had to pinch herself in order to refrain from doing so. She watched Y/n's face continue to fall into despair, the Strong woman gulping down the soreness in her throat when she felt her eyes begin to water, "Am I doing something wrong, Princess?"

The weakness in her voice nearly shattered Rhaenyra's heart, for once unable to reply with all the things she was supposed to say. Instead, a fire raged within her belly, and with it revealed the dragon within her. Y/n didn't notice, but Rhaenyra felt a cloud in her mind as she reached over to take Y/n's hand.

"No, it's not you, Lady Y/n. It's not you."

She had an idea of who was really to blame for her aunt's distress.

~~~~~~~~~

A/N: So, uh... I'm DEFINITELY making a Part 2, whether ya'll like it or not. Hope you enjoyed!

Go to the Masterlist to see what chapters are posted!

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hobiebrownismygod · 6 months

Text

How to write Pavitr Prabhakar - Personality Analysis

This took me a while to write, but here it is! I'll link it on the original post where the anon asked for it!

Just so you guys know, these are mainly headcanons, but I tried to research them as thoroughly as possible and I based them off my own experiences as an Indian and someone who's visited various parts of South India many times.

He's a genius

Pavitr Prabhakar is canonically a genius in robotics

Be builds drones and communication devices in the comics

Because Mumbattan is very futuristic, this would also apply to the movies

BECAUSE he's a genius, he would be more EMOTIONALLY SENSITIVE

People with high-IQs tend to be more sensitive

because they process data more quickly, they can also "sense" more overall

We see him being very excited and happy in the movie - he's very optimistic

However, we can assume that he can also snap

And when he does snap, instead of being emotional, he would be completely silent

which is very uncanny for him, so people can always tell when somethings wrong

he'll get stuck in the confinement of his mind and won't know how to get out

this also happens when he gets stressed

He's cocky

The guy loves himself

He likes the way he looks and he likes his hair

He's probably annoying with how cocky he can be

He's very confident in himself and his abilities

But this DOES NOT mean that he would put others down

He loves everyone

So even if he sounds a little condescending, he's saying it lovingly

don't write him like the perfect little guy - he's not.

he's confident, he's not a timid little baby

he definitely speaks up for himself and others

He's friendly

This one's more obvious

He's definitely very talkative and outgoing - an extrovert

STOP WRITING HIM AS TIMID AND QUIET

He's 100% THE OPPOSITE

He's probably popular

so in the comics he's not popular at all - he gets bullied for his accent and his clothes

however - I don't think this is true for movie Pavitr

first of all - he has a girlfriend so I doubt he gets genuinely bullied

second of all - he doesn't seem shy about raising his hand and being loud in that scene we saw of him in his classroom

third of all - all the Peter parkers got bullied for being nerds

but in India, being smart and a "nerd" is treasured

he wouldn't get bullied over it - he would probably be revered by his classmates

being a class topper is good 👍

He's effortless

Pavitr is effortlessly attractive, effortlessly funny, effortlessly strong, hes effortless!!

he's definitely one of those "cool people" who's just awesome without even trying

he's not shy and he isn't going to be the kind of person who's constantly shaking in their boots

he's courageous, optimistic and EFFORTLESS

the guy does not have to TRY AT ALL

he's perfect without even trying

thats his whole thing

thats going to be his arc as spiderman - realizing he can't be perfect

Have a Pavitr to go

Sources under the cut! <3:

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a-fools-circus · 6 months

Text

Salacious Want

Papa II/f!Reader

Desc: after confessing to Secondo how you've spent your time alone, he makes sure you know that the only person allowed to touch you is him Word Count: 6.3k Tags/Warnings: bondage, bdsm, impact play, degredation, edging/orgasm delay/denial, rough sex, vaginal fingering, p in v sex, choking, dom/sub, ownership, creampie, aftercare, bc aftercare is important and i want to showcase that i think Secondo fits the duality of being both a rough dom and a tender loving dom, please note that there is one moment when the reader claims to be overwhelmed, but every moment of sex beforehand and afterwards is consensual with both participants willing

this was originally intended to be a fic for Kinktober. obviously that didn't end up working out, BUT i still wanted to write this bc i liked the idea, and i've yet to give Secondo some love so here it is ! this ended up being very fun to write and way longer than intended so i think it's a win. Secondo stans i'm starting to understand you. enjoy babes <3

also available to read on ao3 here

Minors DNI/NSFW below the cut

It was only a few hours ago when you were sat in the shadowed corner of the confession booth. The only thing separating your figure from Secondo’s was the wooden lattice in the center.

Secondo had been preoccupied with his responsibilities all day. It wasn’t his fault—the workload came with his status as Papa. You didn’t blame him for it, and he was adamant to remind you that he would rather spend his time with you. But you were left on your own. You had to sate your desires—by yourself—in private whenever you had the time. It was boring after the second or third time. Your own touch wasn’t nearly the same as his.

You knew the risks that came with teasing him (most of which would come from him), but the opportunity presented itself perfectly when you realized that he would be hosting confession. You couldn’t help yourself. You had to do something to coerce him, to convince him to focus on you instead. Taunting him with the knowledge that he missed out on your pleasure seemed like the perfect way to rile him up.

Armed with your knowledge, you taunted him from your shadowed corner of the booth, detailing every aspect of your indulgence. Every sound you made, every fantasy that crossed your mind, every part of yourself that you touched—it all came forward in your own kind of confession.

Secondo was good at appearing disinterested. Annoyingly good. You could get on your knees and beg for an hour straight, and he wouldn’t bat an eye. He knew he could make you do whatever he wanted when you were desperate to be touched, and he used it to his advantage often.

But his silence from the other side of the confessional was more than feigned disinterest. You could practically feel the disapproval radiating through the lattice, somehow knowing he was staring with that stern gaze he only gave you. He was most intimidating when he was silent, but it was even more nerve-wracking not to be able to see his reaction.

You made it worse by reminding him of his responsibilities; he had to continue carrying out the rest of confession for the following Siblings. You made your way out, leaving him to stew in his frustration as he was forced to ignore the aching arousal between his legs. That was the nail in the coffin.

Once time granted him respite from his duties, he wasted no time finding you.

Now you were sat on your knees on his bed, bent over with your face in his silken sheets. You were completely bare except for the collar around your neck and the restraints that bound your arms behind your back. You were placed near the edge of the bed, instructed to “keep your ass in the air and stay still.”

You couldn’t see Secondo, but you could sense his steely gaze scanning every inch of your body as he stood behind you. There was no doubt he could see how wet you were; after what felt like hours of sitting here bound, you were getting desperate.

The click of his shoes on the hardwood floor is the only sound in the room. Every echo of the sound makes you throb, your holes clenching around nothing. You’re sure that sight is obvious to him, too. But he says nothing as he looks over your restrained body. The anticipation in the air is thick, heavy on your mind as you wait for him to do or say something—anything.

After what felt like an hour of staring, he finally reached a hand out to brush over your thigh. The cool texture of his leather glove surprises you. Secondo’s touch is featherlight, barely grazing your body as it slowly trails inward. His pace is maddening, and you know he’s doing it on purpose.

The trail of his hand stops when his fingers hover daringly close to the spot he knows you need him most. The space beside you on the mattress sinks as his knee comes to rest there. Secondo leans over you, still barely touching your skin.

“Who does this pussy belong to?” Your senses heighten as the sound of his voice finally caresses your eardrums. You tilt your head just enough to catch a glimpse of him.

He’d discarded his regalia at this point, now wearing only the black turtleneck and dress pants he sported underneath. Just the sight of him made you want to pounce on him and make up for lost time. But you contained your impulses, humoring his demands as the threat of his dominance made you ache.

You swallow hard. The face paint he hadn’t bothered to clean off only made him look more intimidating. “You,” you whisper back to him. “You, Papa.”

“Mm. Bene…” His husky-toned affirmation almost makes you whine. “Then why did you touch it without permission?”

Secondo’s words catch you off guard at first. You start to speak, a tiny squeak leaving your mouth, but the words fail to form. You look away in embarrassment. Your eyes catch on the obvious bulge that strains against the front of his pants.

Suddenly, he grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging firmly until your shoulders rise off of the mattress. Secondo leans in further, his breath warm against your ear. The scent of patchouli and tobacco floods your nostrils. “You will answer when I ask you a question, yes?” He growls, the sound of his voice rumbling in your ears.

You swallow hard, eyes fluttering shut at the pain on your scalp. “Yes, Papa—”

“Look at me.” You do exactly as he says, your body thrumming with desire as your eyes flicker up to meet his. “Why did you touch yourself without Papa’s permission?”

“Because, I…I was desperate, Papa.” Your heart pounds in your chest at your confession. Judging by the way he scoffs, you assume your response isn’t satisfactory.

“Desperate?” Secondo echoes. You nod in agreement. “What, desperate to make yourself cum just so you can tell me what a disobedient, needy whore you are?” The leather of his gloves squeaks as Secondo tightens his grip.

The degrading term sends a surge of arousal through you. The sensation is only heightened by his grip on your hair. “No, no, Papa…I…I just wanted to be touched. I really, really needed it.”

“Oh, is that it, piccolina? You just needed to be touched?” You nod fervently, humming a small “mm-hmm” in reply despite the blatant mockery in his tone. “Perhaps I should remind you how you taunted me, then. The way you told me how hot and wet you were when you fucked yourself? How you came so quickly by your own hand?”

Secondo punctuates his annoyance with another firm tug on your hair. You whine, hissing slightly at the soreness in your neck. “I…I didn’t mean it, Papa,” you manage to choke out. “I just…wanted you to know how much I missed you…How much I need you.”

“It sounds to me that the only thing you ‘need’ is a lesson in restraint, sì?”

A whine rumbles in your throat at his suggestion. You want to fight back, to argue and prove your point, but that would only garner more punishment. You nod in response before realizing your muteness is unsatisfactory. “Yes, Papa.”

Secondo releases your hair and you fall forward, your face planting into the sheets. He rises off of the bed to return to his place behind you. His hands run teasingly over your body with gentle brushes that give you goosebumps. A shiver runs down your spine as his hands move further down.

You barely feel two of his fingers glide through your slit, your wet arousal gathering on his digits. You don’t know when he removed his glove, but you relish in the warmth of his bare hand instead of the cool leather. Your hips roll towards his touch in an attempt to gain any of the friction he seems to deny you. Your wrists twist in their restraints. His fingers spread you open to reveal your entrance.

“Look how wet you are,” he taunts. The leash attached to your collar rustles before being pulled taut. Your head jerks back, your shoulders lifting off of the bed as your back arches. You can feel Secondo’s cock—hard and straining against his pants—as he presses against you. “Open.” You hear him growl.

The demand sends a wave of heat through you. You comply, but you’re barely able to part your lips before his hand moves away from your cunt and his fingers force their way down your throat. You fight off the urge to choke in order to remain obediently willing.

“You wished to show me how much you needed me, sì?” You nod, humming around his fingers. “Show me, then. Take my hand like you would take my cock.”

You eagerly heed Secondo’s words. Your mouth sucks and licks his fingers with enthusiasm, savoring the taste of your own arousal as it coats your tongue. You ignore the way your body aches from the awkward position he’s contorted you in. Saliva seeps from your lips and dribbles down your chin, escaping you as you swirl your tongue around his digits the same way you do with his cock.

“Greedy little mouth…” Secondo growls as he watches you intently. His hand stays firmly enveloped in your mouth as he presses his body against yours. You groan around his fingers when you feel his cock press against your ass. “Look at you, drooling all over yourself, pretending my cock is down your throat. You look so desperate.”

You shift on the bed, trying to clench your legs together in a desperate attempt for friction at the sound of his degrading tone. Secondo notices immediately. His hand slides out of your mouth, not caring that strands of saliva spill from your wet lips, and delivers a harsh smack to the swell of your ass. The sound echoes in the room. The sudden sting makes you cry out, your eyes widening in surprise.

A firm tug on the leash makes you choke momentarily. “Keep your legs spread,” Secondo growls, his hand reaching down to tug at your thigh and force your legs apart while the other pulls the leash taut. “If you can’t be good, you aren’t getting touched.”

Your hands tug at their restraints, fists clenching with frustration. “I’m…I’m sorry, Papa. I’ll be good, I promise. Please touch me, please.” Your words come out in a flurry, rushed and desperate, as you pant for breath.

Secondo’s hand releases the leash, allowing you to fall forward again. His hand immediately snakes around your waist to land on the space between your thighs. Saliva-wettened fingers land on your clit and swirl in agonizingly slow circles. Your breath catches in your throat, a shaky gasp leaving your lips. Your hips jerk into his hand as a silent encouragement.

Another sudden spank takes your breath away. His hand stops its movements and you whine. “Stay still. You’ll only take what I give you, sì?”

You nod, sighing dejectedly. “Yes, Papa.”

It takes all of your strength to keep your hips in place and resist the urge to grind into his hand when he continues to swirl his fingers. Your thighs tense and your mouth falls open with whimpers and moans.

Secondo barely increases his pace at the sound of your pleasure. Your hands ball into fists in their restraints, a low groan ripping from your throat. You curse, desperately using every ounce of control to keep your hips still.

“Mia piccola puttana…she can be good when she wants to be, hmm?” He tilts his head, watching your pleasure-contorted features. His hand speeds up slightly and you gasp.

“Yes…Papa…Fuck…”

“She likes it, doesn’t she?”

“Yes…Yes, Papa, I like it…” Warmth pools in your abdomen, winding tighter with each swirl of his fingers. Your thighs begin to shake as you lose the battle of staying still. Your hips thrust desperately forward, eager to hit the orgasm that lingers so close to fruition. “Please, Papa. It feels so good…fuck..!”

Secondo pulls his hand away mere seconds before the warmth spills over. You cry out, a high-pitched whine ripping from your throat as your orgasm slowly dissipates. Your hips buck forward as if trying to chase his touch.

“Why did you—?”

“You don’t deserve to cum yet.” His voice is stern, leaving no room for argument no matter how badly you want to. “Poverina…you did not think I would give you what you want that easily, did you?” Your lips part to respond, but the words get caught in your throat. “Such a greedy whore…you made yourself cum and you think you deserve it by my hand?”

“I’m…I’m sorry, Papa. I won’t do it again, I promise.” You whine, grinding your ass against him in a silent plea. The roll of your hips is slow as you feel the outline of his rigid length through his pants.

Another harsh slap comes down on the swell of your ass. You gasp, the sting coursing through you and halting your movements. “Now you think you deserve my cock?” Secondo’s grip digs into the skin of your hips as he accuses you, his grasp so tight you can almost feel the bruises begin to form.

“No, no, Papa. I don’t.”

“No, you don’t.” He taunts. His hand massages the red handprint blooming on your ass, soothing the lingering sting. “Are you going to start being good for Papa?”

“Yes! Yes, I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be good.”

“Bene…” He gropes your ass, the tight grip making the welts forming on your skin sting. “Now be a good girl and ask for it. Nicely.”

“Please, Papa…I want you to touch me. Please touch me.”

Secondo scoffs at your plea. “Now I know you can beg better than that.”

A whine builds in your throat, but you swallow hard to contain it. “Please, please, please, Papa. Please touch me. I need it so fucking bad.” You pant. “I need you. I need your touch. Please.”

Without warning, two fingers push past your entrance and stretch you open. You gasp at the sensation, cursing as Secondo pumps his fingers at an unrelenting pace that gives you no time to adjust or savor the feeling. Your nails dig into your palms as you whine at each thrust of his hand.

“Fuck! Yes, yes…” You cry out, your cunt throbbing around his fingers. “Thank you, Papa. Fuck me…”

Secondo’s other hand holds you in place, gripping your hip so tight you think it’ll leave bruises. His fingers curl, searching for that sweet spot that’ll leave you crying out. As soon as he hits it, you curse in a loud gasp, your back arching to push your hips into his touch. He massages the spot with each pump of his hand, sending waves of pleasure through you that make your toes curl.

“Fuck, Papa! Yes, yes, yes. Right there. Right there.” Your moans fill the room, your cries reverberating off the ornate walls. Each plea is louder than the last. Your arms tug at their restraints, your hands flexing, desperate to hold on to something, anything.

Secondo groans, his voice husky. “Desperate whore, all worked up by my hand. You love it, don’t you?” You nod and mutter a small “mm-hmm”, too overwhelmed with his pace to form a proper response. “Fottuta troia,” he growls, taking a fistful of your hair and tugging until your shoulders lift off the bed. He leans over you, his fingers still pumping with their unwaveringly strong pace. “You answer your Papa, sì?”

You wince, whining at the mixture of pain and pleasure that courses through you. “Yes, Papa. I…fuck—I’m sorry, Papa,” you manage to squeak out between moans.

“Tell me how much you like it. Tell me how good my hand feels.”

“It feels…so fucking good, Papa,” you whine. Your words aren’t enough, evident by the way he tugs on your hair again for encouragement. His lack of response has you on edge. “You fuck me so good. I-I love the way your hand feels in my pussy.”

The tight grip on your hair is unrelenting. The awkward position you’re held in makes your back sore, but the pleasure granted to you overrides any discomfort. Warmth builds in your abdomen yet again, swirling and coiling with the need for release. Your thighs tense, your walls tightening around his fingers as your pants grow quick and loud.

“Oh, fuck…I’m…P-please…” Your voice quivers as you beg. “Please, Papa, can I cum this time?”

Secondo nuzzles against your neck, his breath warm against your ear as he speaks. “Oh, dolcezza,” his words seem sweet, but you recognize the mocking in his tone. “Asking like that, you almost have me convinced.” His fingers pull out of you, a wet, squelching noise accompanying their retreat. “Almost.”

The whine that escapes you is even louder, even more desperate than before. “No, Papa…why did you…” You stammer and whine, unable to form a complete sentence. You almost feel like you could cry as the coil of warmth slowly dissipates. He releases your hair, a grunt escaping you as you fall forward onto the mattress and he moves away. “Please touch me again, I can’t…I need to cum.” Your hips roll in the air, desperate for some form of contact.

“You need it?” You hear him echo, almost as if he’s mocking your plea.

You nod your head and hum a small “mm-hmm” with a whine. “Yes, Papa, I need it. I need to cum so fucking bad.” You shiver when you feel his fingertips reconnect with your heat for just a moment, barely grazing over your folds. “Please, just keep fucking me. I was so close, I—”

Secondo cuts you off with a harsh spank, the sound echoing in the room. His hands hold tightly onto your hips, dragging you backward until your ass is flush against his body. And his achingly hard cock that strains behind his pants.

“Greedy whore thinks she deserves to cum already…” He mutters as his hands trace the swell of your ass.

“No…no, Papa, I didn’t mean that…” You pant, your breath heavy. “I just…fuck, I want it so bad. Please…”

He goes silent as his hands continue to trace gently over your skin. The silence heightens both your nerves and your desperation. Finally, his gruff voice breaks the silence. “Tell me again, cara: who does this pussy belong to?”

“You, Papa.”

“Bene.” He presses his body more firmly against you. A quiet whimper escapes your lips at the feeling of his cock so close yet trapped beneath layers. “This pussy is mine. Mine to use and fuck whenever I feel like it.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Say it.”

“My…my pussy is yours, Papa. Yours to use, yours to fuck.” You swear you feel his cock throb behind his pants.

His torso presses against your restrained wrists as Secondo leans over you. If you weren’t so afraid of being punished and denied any longer, you’d grab ahold of his shirt and tug him closer. His hands move to your hips, where his nails dig into your skin. “You cum when I tell you to. When I decide you deserve it.” His voice is a sultry whisper, like a smooth velvet that wraps around your senses. It makes you want to forget about your own desires.

You nod, sighing at his words. “Yes, Papa.”

“If you pull another stunt like that—taunting me with your impatience—I’ll tie you up and make sure you don’t cum for hours. Do you understand?”

The thought makes you shiver in a mixture of arousal and fear. You swallow hard, nodding your head again. “Y-yes Papa…”

“Are you going to be good for Papa?” His hips roll against you, and while the friction isn’t stimulating for you, it makes you gasp nonetheless.

“Yes,” you choke out. “Yes, Papa. I’ll be good. I promise.”

“No more touching yourself without Papa’s permission, sì?”

“Yes, Papa.”

His hands squeeze your hips, but the gesture is more playful than painful. “Molto bene.”

Secondo ruts against you, dragging the bulge in his pants along the curve of your ass. He groans before moving to grind against your slick heat. The wetness of your arousal seeps through and stains the fabric of his pants. He couldn’t care less.

One of his hands slides up the arch of your back, avoiding your restrained wrists and caressing your spine. “You want Papa’s cock, sì?”

“Yes. Yes…please, Papa,” you whine breathlessly.

His other hand trails down your hip and over the swell of your ass before groping you firmly. His grasp is rough, making the welts that have formed from his spanks sting. “Beg for it, puttana.”

You sigh in frustration at his words. “Please, Papa. Please put your cock in me.” You fight with every ounce of restraint to keep your hips still. You want nothing more than to rub and bounce your ass against him, to hear him groan and curse at the friction. But you know doing so would earn you another punishment. “I want it—I need it—so fucking bad. Please, please.”

Secondo leans away from your body. The loss of his touch leaves you feeling exposed and vulnerable, yearning harder for him. “She needs it, she says…” You hear him mock you as the faint sound of a zipper catches your attention.

You groan at the familiar feeling of his cock as the rigid and warm flesh lands on your ass. Secondo wraps one hand around the base, his other hand gripping your hip as he guides his cock to the space between your legs. He barely brushes against you, only allowing enough contact to cover himself in your slick arousal. The light friction makes you whine.

It’s not until you feel the head of his cock rub against your swollen, neglected clit that you stop whining and start panting. It’s even harder to stay still, especially when his pace is so languidly slow.

Your toes curl with strain. “Papa, please…I can’t…I can’t wait anymore…”

Another harsh spank comes down on your ass, making you hiss. “You can, and you will.” He growls. “Be good.” He continues the light and gentle grinding, his hands moving to rest on your ass and spread you open for his viewing pleasure. “Sathanas,” he curses, the sound making you throb and clench around nothing, which he certainly notices. “Così bagnato per me...you are a desperate little whore, aren’t you?”

“Yes, fuck yes, Papa.” Your nails dig into your palms as your body tenses in anticipation. “Please give it to me.”

He slides his cock along your folds, moving back and forth in long, sensual strokes. He pulls back to guide the head of his cock to sit at your entrance and grazes it teasingly, never pushing forward with enough force to enter you. You know he’s savoring the way you whimper and squirm. You groan, the sound turning into a whine.

“Please, Papa…” Your voice is breathless at this point, so desperate you could cry. “Please, please, I can’t wait anym—Ah!”

You’re cut off by his sudden, forceful thrust forward as he buries himself inside you with one movement. The stretch of your walls stings, making you hiss and curse. Your wrists tug at their restraints and your thighs go tense as he immediately starts a rough and unrelenting pace, giving you no time to acclimate to his intrusion.

Each thrust is met with one of your loud and desperate moans. Secondo runs his hands over the curve of your hips, his thumbs rubbing gently over your skin in a manner that completely opposes his rough movements. He groans, the sound sending heat to your core, and you feel him lean over your body.

The leash suddenly goes taut. Your head is lifted off of the mattress, strangling your moans as they leave your mouth. “This is what you wanted, sì?” He growls into your ear, punctuating his question with a set of firm thrusts. “To be fucked hard and rough like the whore you are?”

“Yes! Fuck…fuck, yes…” You cry out, voice strained against the collar around your throat. “Thank you, Papa, thank you…Lucifer below, it feels…so good…”

He leans back and pulls the leash with him. His free hand holds your hip tight, his grip strong enough to make you ache. He groans, cursing something in Italian under his breath, before spanking you again. Your walls flutter around him at the pain. “Dillo di nuovo. Tell Papa how good his cock feels.” His voice is low and rough, practically a growl, as he pounds into you.

“Your cock feels so fucking good, Papa…” Your eyes flutter shut as your head becomes light. Your moans and whines are guttural, choked out by your collar. “I love it…I love the way you fuck me…Don’t stop, Papa.”

“Oh, I don’t plan on it, puttana.” Secondo punctuates the word with a particularly rough thrust, making you cry out with a strangled moan. “You’re going to cum for me—when I tell you to.”

The room fills with sounds of your pleasure; moans and cries leaving your lips and the repeated, quick slapping of skin against skin. His own groans hit your ears and excite you further. He pounds into you with a relentless rhythm, quick and hard thrusts that make your body tremble under him.

“Papa…I’m gonna—fuck…” You feel your thighs shake, unsteady as the warmth in your abdomen tightens.

“Not yet.” He snaps back. He tugs on the leash again, making your head lighter as air escapes your lungs. “Solo un’altro po…”

It’s almost impossible to hold on any longer. The heat that swirls in your abdomen coils tighter and tighter with each thrust, the impending release crescendoing with no sign of stopping. All you can choke out is a quiet, strained “please” in between his powerful thrusts.

Secondo groans at your tight and wet heat, the sound turning into a slight chuckle that reverberates in your ear as he leans in. “Poverina…you need it, don’t you?” His voice is light and sweet despite the mockery in his tone. You nod before muttering a small “yes, Papa” in return. “Cum for me, tesoro. Cum on Papa’s cock.” He growls in your ear, his pace never wavering.

It takes only a few more of his rough thrusts to send you over the edge. The sound that leaves you is one you didn’t know you could make: a loud and guttural moan built up from constant denial that spills involuntarily from your lips. Your entire body tenses and trembles underneath him as waves of pleasure make you throb and clench around him. His pace never changes, working you through the high until your muscles go lax.

His thrusts slow down until they become slow rolls of his hips against your weak body. He releases the leash, letting your head fall against the mattress with a soft thud. His hands trail over your breasts as he leans to place a small, gentle kiss on your back between your shoulder blades.

“I’ve never heard you make those pretty sounds before.” He mutters against your skin. His hands knead your chest as he continues to roll his hips against you languidly.

A weak smile forms on your face. “I…I told you I was desperate,” you pant between heavy breaths. You groan with each of his thrusts, the leisurely pace doing nothing to soothe the overstimulation. “Thank you, Papa. Thank you for—ah—letting me cum…”

His hands trail down your body, his touch tracing your curves before returning to your hips as he leans back. “Oh, I’m not done with you yet, dolcezza.”

You barely process his words before he pounds into you again. He wastes no time finding another intense and rough rhythm. Your body tenses as the overstimulation makes you whine, your hands balling into fists as they tug at their restraints. You cry out, your body shaking under the power of his thrusts.

“Fuck, Papa! Shit, shit, shit…”

Secondo’s deep groans fill the air, complimented by the wet sounds of sex. “Merda. I didn’t think you could get any tighter.” One of his hands lands on the small of your back, purposefully avoiding your bound wrists.

Every thrust sends a shock wave of pleasure through you, surges of overstimulating ecstasy that course through every inch of your body. It’s an overwhelming sensation, making every muscle tense and every moan and whimper more desperate than the last. Your noises only spur him on, each pathetic sound met with a powerful thrust that makes you whine louder.

“Papa…fuck, I can’t…it’s too much…” Your knuckles turn white as you ball your hands into fists. The overstimulation hurts, but the pain only adds to the pleasure he gives you. You trust him enough to know he’d drop everything if you were genuinely hurt. But right now, he knew you had no interest in stopping.

The leash suddenly goes taut, your head lifting off of the mattress again at his sudden tug. He spanks you again, your cry strangled by his sharp tug on the leash. “Fucking take it,” you hear him growl. Another spank makes you whine. “You’ll take my cock until I’m done with you, puttana.”

You groan at his words, your back arching into his thrusts. “Y-yes, P-Papa…”

His thrusts turn sharp and quick as he ruts against you. It’s primal and needy—almost animalistic—the way he moves. Each slap of his hips against your ass makes you hiss, the welts left from his hand stinging at every movement. Your body remains tense, every drag of his cock along your walls causing you to clench around him.

“Così fottutamente buono...questa figa è perfetta, tesoro…” You can barely hear his low, husky voice over the sound of skin meeting skin. Secondo tugs again on the leash, making you groan as your head jerks back. He leans down until his breath hits your ear. “You’re going to cum again for me, dolcezza.” His tone is clear—his words are a command, not a suggestion. “I want to feel this pussy milk my cock.”

The vulgarity in his words makes you whine. “Yeah…yes, Papa—fuck, I wanna milk your cock dry.”

“Sì, that’s what you want, giusto? You want Papa to cum in you and fill you up?” He growls in your ear, his words sending a shiver down your spine.

“Fuck, yes. Yes, Papa, I want your cum…Please, pump me full.” You strain to speak against the tight collar, but your plea is loud and desperate.

You can hear his breathing growing heavier. You can tell he’s getting close. He shoves his cock as deep as he can as his thrusts turn into forceful rolls of his hips as he grinds against you. The friction makes the marks on your ass sting.

Secondo’s free hand snakes around the curve of your hips, wasting no time finding your swollen and aching clit. His fingers swirl in time with each movement of his hips. The rhythmic pace between his deep penetration and the delicious friction of his hand makes you writhe under him.

You curse, your hips jerking wildly into his hand and against his hips, too overstimulated to find a rhythm. “Papa…Papa..!” You cry out and whine as your eyes screw shut.

He knows exactly how to make you tremble, all of the movements that send you closer to the edge and make you melt under his touch. The repeated clenching of your cunt makes him groan and curse.

“Fuck, Papa! I’m gonna…Sathanas, I’m gonna cum again, shit…” You feel your thighs shake and tremble, every muscle in your body tensed as the heat in your abdomen returns, mounting to a high.

Secondo pants, tugging on the leash again. “Dai, dai…cum for me, cum for Papa.”

The dual pleasure leaves you unable to resist, the sensations overwhelming your body. Your second orgasm is even more intense than the last. Your body shakes and your moans turn into whines as the pleasure leaves you overwhelmed. You don’t even notice the few tears that escape as you writhe and tremble. He works you through the high, his hand swirling perfectly against your sensitive core to prolong your pleasure for as long as possible. He only removes his hand once your whines turn to hisses.

The continuous, rough movements enacted on your overwhelmed body borders on pain. But you know he’s close, evident by his heavy breathing and groans as he pounds into you with the last of his strength. His grip is tight on your hip as the other hand holds your leash taut to keep your body in place.

With one final powerful thrust, Secondo stills as he spills himself into you. You feel every kick and pulse of his cock as he fills you. He groans, growling something in Italian, but you’re too far gone to comprehend it. He releases his grip on the leash, allowing your head to fall to the mattress.

Your body goes lax as he pulls out of you. Both of you grunt at the sensation. A wet squelch fills the air as you whine at the emptiness, too accustomed to his presence despite how overwhelming it feels. Your hips fall flat on the bed as you pant for breath and groan at the soreness in your back.

A wave of relief courses through you as your wrists are released from their restraints. The ache in your shoulders is painfully evident now that you can move freely. You roll onto your side, blinking heavily as you look up to see Secondo’s face.

His paint is smeared in various places, streaked by beads of sweat. His chest heaves with his own heavy breaths. You get the urge to scold him for exerting himself at his age.

He leans over you, reaching down to unfasten the collar around your neck. You instinctively tilt your head to make the process easier. You sigh when the garment is removed, allowing your skin to breathe and give your neck a break. Your eyes are heavy as you watch him place the collar and restraints on the nightstand with care.

Secondo leans down again, running a hand through your hair. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Un momento, bella,” he mutters against your skin before leaning away.

You watch as he walks in the direction of the adjoining bathroom before he disappears past the doorway. A small smile graces your face. It was easy to get intimidated by him, by his steely gaze and guarded demeanor, but he showed you a tenderness that no one else could match.

It was never as evident as it is in these moments. When he walks back into the room with a damp washcloth in his hand, your heart swells. He always takes the time to treat you so gently after sex, especially when it’s rough.

He cleans you carefully, running the washcloth over your flushed skin. He moves you with a sense of care and worship, like you’ll shatter beneath his touch if he isn’t careful. The warmth of the wet fabric is soothing, making you sigh with each stroke. He occasionally leans down to place kisses along your skin.

Once you’re clean, he lays the cloth on the nightstand. You know he’ll retrieve it later, probably after you’ve drifted off to sleep. He guides you to lay against the pillows, helping you move in your sore state. You groan at the aching pain in your body—the sting of your ass, the soreness in your shoulders, the aching of your back. He runs a hand over your thigh, fingers barely grazing your skin as his touch trails over the swell of your ass.

“You’re still red,” Secondo remarks. You feel the slight tingle of discomfort, your skin warm from the welts that have formed. “You must still be sore.”

You can hear the concern in voice, almost as if he regrets what he did. “It’s alright. It doesn’t hurt that bad. I’ll be okay.”

“You’re sure?”

You smile at him, at his worry. “Yes, I’m sure.” You extend an arm towards him, beckoning him closer with your hand. “Now come here. I want you to lay with me.”

“Oh, is that right?” He teases. Despite his sarcastic tone, he’s already kicking off his shoes. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes. It is. You need your rest too, old man.”

You hear him scoff before he climbs onto the bed and situates himself beside you. “‘Old man’, huh?” He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close until your back is flush against his chest. He’s careful to keep distance between your hips so as not to irritate your welted skin. “Stai attento, mia cara. You wouldn’t want another punishment so soon, would you,”

You giggle at his words, laying your hand atop his arm and pulling him closer. You groan as you settle against the bed, attempting to allow your aching body to relax. You feel his arm move away from your waist. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, his thumb massaging firm circles into your sore muscles. The gesture makes you smile, your head turning back to look at him.

“You don’t have to do that, Papa.”

“Oh, of course I do,” he responds, his hand working towards your shoulder blades. His lips brush over your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “Mia piccola bellezza was so good for her Papa. She deserves to be taken care of.” His lips land on your neck, trailing kisses down to your shoulder. “You’re always so good for Papa,” he mutters between kisses.

He leans in to kiss you, and you turn to meet his movement. The gesture sends sparks through you. You smile against his lips, pressing into his kiss and relishing in the warmth that blooms in your chest.

You don’t know when you fell asleep after that. You laid there, allowing him to tend and care for you however he felt necessary. Not every touch was meant to massage or tend to your sore muscles, but you didn’t care. Just having his hands on your body was enough.

This was how he showed his love to you, and you found nothing but comfort and security in his arms.

#surprise ! i posted #crazy i know #clown's stuff #papa emeritus ii #papa ii #papa emeritus ii x reader #secondo x reader #papa emeritus x reader #papa x reader #the band ghost smut #the band ghost #ghost bc

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yesihaveaobsession · 30 days

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Moonlit Tea

Alastor x female hybrid reader

Summary: You are a hybrid of a vampire and a werewolf, Alastor the observant one of the hazbin group has noticed your quick speed (vamp speed) and over a cup of tea he wants to get to know you. Know you for your soul?

A/N- I saw somewhere where I think Alastor doesn't like tea but for the sake of the story y'all better let it slide. Also yes, the hybrid idea is from "The Originals" so..Anyways! Hope y'all enjoy. <3

You have been staying at the hotel for some time now. You weren't just a normal resident— in fact, you weren't really ordinary at all. You were a hybrid, part werewolf and part vampire. You hadn't told anyone about it, not even Charlie, because, well, it's just hard for you to come to terms with being one of the last few remaining in your pack.

Due to your vampire qualities, you had super speed. Although you didn't try to use it often because that would reveal your true nature, occasionally you did so when you thought nobody was around or looking. Unfortunately, Alastor, the ever so observant member of the group, noticed. This intrigued him, leading him to invite you for tea.

As you walked towards him on the hotel balcony, he greeted you with his usual smile. "You wanted to talk to me?"

"Yes," he said, gesturing to the empty chair. "Please, sit down."

You took a seat across from him and observed as he poured the tea. He looked up at you, studying your eyes flickering with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Meeting his gaze, you asked, "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"I just wanted to get to know you better," Alastor said, taking a sip of his tea. His gaze wandered over your features before returning to your face. Sensing that there was more to come, you waited for him to continue.

"I couldn't help but notice your remarkable speed, a trait quite befitting of a vampire, wouldn't you say?" You couldn't help but shift in your chair, realizing where this conversation was heading. He noticed your discomfort, but you replied, "I don't really like to talk about it." Alastor simply nodded in acknowledgment.

"Understandable," he said before taking another sip of his tea. "Now, if you don't mind, I would like to ask you a personal question." Though you were hesitant, you took a sip of your own tea, signaling your readiness.

"I guess," you replied. Alastor leaned forward, his smile remaining as he locked eyes with you. "What else are you?" he inquired.

"I'm sorry?" you said, feigning ignorance, hoping he'd take a hint. However, he persisted.

"Let me rephrase my question," he said, causing your heart to pound in your chest. "Are you a full vampire or a hybrid?" You remained silent, prompting Alastor to lean back in his chair. "You're a hybrid, aren't you, dear?" he stated more than asked.

You nodded, seeing a look in Alastor's eyes that implied consequences if you didn't comply. "Interesting," he remarked. "I take it the other creature is a werewolf?" You looked away, unable to meet his gaze. He also noted your nervous shifting, finding it rather endearing.

"It's difficult for me to talk about," you whispered. Alastor paused, sipping his tea again while observing your reactions.

"Then I won't ask any more questions on the matter," he declared. "Unless, of course, you don't mind me asking a few more." Pouring more tea into both cups, you deliberated for a moment.

"You get three more questions, then I'm cutting you off," you stated firmly. Alastor chuckled, a sound akin to radio static. "Fine, fine," he acquiesced, clearing his throat.

"Now, my second question is..." He leaned forward again, his eyes fixed on yours. "Do you have a soul?" Once more, you shifted uncomfortably, his persistence beginning to unnerve you. Alastor, however, found your nervousness oddly charming, his grin widening as he awaited your response.

As the tension between you grew, he posed his third question, his voice lowering. "Are you afraid of me?" With your body practically trembling, you realized that his three questions had been used up, but due to your proximity, you couldn't simply walk away.

"I'm not afraid," you retorted, meeting his gaze despite your unease. Alastor raised an eyebrow, stepping closer to you with a slight tilt of his head. "Oh, really?" he countered, his voice low and calm as he leaned in, almost unnervingly close. "Are you sure about that, dear?"

Your heart racing, you summoned your courage. The sudden silence between you two was nothing short of deafening. He enjoyed watching you squirm under his gaze as he smiled, leaning in closer until your bodies were almost touching, and he whispered, "Yes or no?"

"You killed my pack," you replied. He tilted his head slightly, as if confused, but then he remembered. "I did," he admitted. Pulling himself a little further back, he folded his hands behind his back, maintaining his composure. "Still, I would like an answer to my question, dear," he stated, his voice low and his eyes narrowing.

"You... you did it on purpose," you accused once you realized the truth. Alastor chuckled a little bit. "Is that so?" he responded. He didn't deny your accusations, nor did he try to make an excuse. "Yes, I did... but that was in the past," he explained, his grin growing wider. There was something about the fear that you displayed that was simply fascinating to him as well.

"I am not afraid of you." You declared once again and his smile only got wider. "You're quite confident in yourself," he observed, his voice barely above a whisper. "And that, is what I like." As he noted the change in your eyes, a predatory gleam entered his own. "Interesting." Your eyes turned into you werewolf ones, before you could react, he snapped his fingers, and suddenly, you were somewhere else, bound by grim chains. Alastor materialized in front of you, blocking any chance of escape. "Let me go," you demanded, fear and frustration coursing through you.

"Oh, I think I will... once I ask my final question," he replied, his index finger trailing along your jawline. Your growl only amused him further, his amusement evident in his chuckle.

"Such an adorable creature you are," he remarked, leaning closer until your breaths mingled. "What the hell do you want from me?" you gritted out, struggling against the chains to no avail. Alastor chuckled at your defiance, his smirk growing more pronounced.

"Such foul language," he teased, his breath brushing against your skin. "Oh no, dear, I'm afraid you're not going anywhere," he added as you attempted to break free. He relished watching you squirm, his fingers tracing the contours of your face.

"I'll do anything... Just let me go and don't hurt me," you pleaded, desperation evident in your voice. Alastor's grin widened, his interest piqued by your offer.

"I'm not intending to hurt you," he reassured, his gaze never leaving yours. As he leaned in closer, his mere presence overwhelming, he whispered, "You can either comply and hand it over, or refuse and I'll have to take it by force."

"I should've never trusted you," you lamented, realizing the gravity of your mistake. Alastor tilted his head mockingly, his grin bordering on predatory.

"Trust was never an option, darling, not with me at least," he countered. Drawing even closer, he savored your scent, relishing the power he held over you.

In the midst of your struggle, you realized his true intentions. "You do want my soul," you whispered, resigned to your fate. His grin widened as you finally grasped the situation.

"Yes, yes I do," he admitted, his admission sending a chill down your spine. "But you said—" you began, only to be silenced by his finger against your lips.

"Shh," he hushed, removing his finger. "I did lie to you earlier," he confessed, his touch sending shivers down your spine. As his hand trailed along your collarbone, he maintained eye contact, his smile never faltering.

"You can either do as you're told and hand it over or refuse and I'll have to take it by force," he reiterated, his tone laced with both menace and desire.

"I should've never trusted you," the Radio Demon remarked, tilting his head to the side with a mocking smile. "Trust... was never an option, darling, not with me at least."

As he leaned in even closer, mere centimeters away, he breathed in gently, slowly enjoying your scent.

#alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x you #the radio demon #alastor imagine #hazbin alastor #i have an obsession #alastor x reader

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yanderecrazysie · 3 months

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Vision of Love (Yandere Chihiro)

You really like Junko’s sister Reader XD Also, I think you meant to be anonymous, so I made it anonymous

Title: Vision of Love

Pairings: Chihiro Fujisaki x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, reader thinks Chihiro is a girl, AU

Summary: Chihiro is the only person you can rely on.

“The love that came to be

Feel so alive

I'm so thankful that I've received

The answer that Heaven has sent down to me”

-From “Vision of Love” by Mariah Carey

Chihiro was fine with playing pretend as long as you were involved.

He doubted you would be as clingy with him if you knew the truth about his gender. He originally had hid his true identity to avoid being bullied, but it had come in handy when you came to him searching for comfort.

Your sisters had been in the class above you until they were revealed to be Ultimate Despairs. When the next year rolled around and word spread that another Enoshima was entering the school, everyone was on edge. Would there be a third Ultimate Despair?

But then, you appeared.

Your head was bowed most of the time and you avoided eye contact. You fiddled with your fingers and spoke in such a small voice anytime someone addressed you. The school slowly relaxed. Surely, if you were another Ultimate Despair, you’d have more confidence like Junko or toughness like Mukuro.

Chihiro began to notice little things about you. Things that made him realize that maybe you had suffered just as much as the school had at the hands of the Ultimate Despairs.

For one, you were touch-starved. All Chihiro had to do was play up his role a little and you were putty in his hands. He was just a touchy friend and you? You ate it up. You melted into every hug, you gladly held his hand, and you cuddled up to him without a second thought.

He wanted to tell you that he was really a boy. He wanted you to see him not as a female friend, but as a potential partner.

But how to bring it up? Wouldn’t you feel betrayed?

It didn’t help that all the other girls in your class and several in his own year were growing closer to you. So close that he found his position as “best friend” threatened on more than one occasion. He was starting to panic.

To take the edge off, he found himself turning to less savory means to feel closer to you. He had finished Alter Ego and, when you had trusted him with your purse while you used the bathroom, he had taken your phone and installed a version of Alter Ego in it.

Every text you sent, every call you made… Chihiro knew it all.

He jolted out of his reverie when you wrapped your arms around his own. It was perfect the way you clung to him like you needed him, all because he was kind to you. But there was the problem of how to get rid of the other girls.

He wasn’t going to do anything too extreme, but there had to be a way. His eyes flickered to where Sayaka and Hina leaned against the wall, giggling.

“They’re talking about you, you know,” the words slipped out of Chihiro’s mouth before he even realized he’d thought them.

“What?” Your eyes widened as you followed his gaze, “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s because you’re the Ultimate Despairs’ sister,” Chihiro had never thought he was good at lying, but it was as though it came as second nature when he spoke to you, “The conversation came up again recently and pretty much everyone is talking about you behind your back. I’ve told them to knock it off, but no one listens to someone like me.” He gave his best pitiful expression, looking up at you as though he truly were helpless.

You looked distraught, tears filling your eyes as you choked out, “I thought everyone had moved past that…”

Chihiro’s heart clenched at the sight of your distress, but he pressed onwards, “I’m so sorry, (Y/n),” he pulled you into a hug, “I didn’t want to upset you, but you should know the truth. Not everyone cares for you as much as I do.”

He felt you go boneless in the hug and he tightened his grip, “It’ll be okay, I’m here for you.”

He reluctantly let you go and watched as you wiped tears off on your sleeve. Even when crying, you were beautiful.

“I’m going to the bathroom to wash up,” you whispered. Chihiro waved as you scurried away.

He watched you disappear before pulling out his phone.

“Alter Ego?” He whispered. The animated version of himself popped up on the screen. Chihiro smiled at it.

“I need you to fake some texts from Sayaka and Hina,” Chihiro said with a smile, “When this is over, all (Y/n) will have is me.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere one shot #one shot #yandere chihiro #chihiro fujisaki #yandere danganronpa 1 #danganronpa 1

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tomorrowsdrama · 6 months

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What I find fascinating about the Story of Kunning Palace is that the large events and relationships from life 1 generally remain the same in life 2 (e.g. Ning’er runs into the princess and gains her affections, Yan Lin’s home gets raided on his coming of age ceremony, Yan Lin and his dad getting exiled, etc.), but the outcomes and feelings towards Ning’er are different due to her changed motivations/actions.

The most significant differences in this life are her relationship with Yan Lin and Yan Lin in general. Yes, I’d argue even more significant than the changes with Xie Wei. To me, aside from making sure she stays alive in this life, Ning’er’s greatest motivation is to save Yan Lin’s life and his soul/goodness. As we can see in life 2, Yan Lin is a puppy! Literal sunshine! And he treats Ning’er well above everything else.

I feel like it’s this desire for repentance and to preserve Yan Lin’s goodness that drives the bulk of her changes. Yeah she’s also trying to live up to her promise to Zhang Zhe to be a good person in life 1, but I wonder if that would have just remained surface level (like when she tried to convince herself that she can learn to love antique jade restoration in an effort to get closer to Zhang Zhe 😂) without also her desire to save Yan Lin.

Like @dangermousie discussed at length already, Yan Lin represents everything good in Ning’er. Just as his soul got corrupted in life 1, so did Ning’er’s. In life 2, because Ning’er did not betray him, his goodness and love for Ning’er remains intact and in the process. Ning’er also regains some of the goodness and warmth that she originally had when she first arrived at the capital. I mean, imagine how much more sinister Yan Lin’s “if you don’t get married by the time I return, I’ll snatch you back myself” would sound coming from life 1 Yan Lin? Shudder. Whereas it would sound like a threat from life 1 Yan Lin, it is a sweet joke from life 2 Yan Lin meant to alleviate any guilt Ning’er might feel from not reciprocating his romantic feelings.

Speaking of that, I am so, so happy to see a second male lead (or is it third?) that respects the FL’s feelings and is not annoyingly clingy. Yan Lin never changed how he felt or treated Ning’er even after learning that she did not love him romantically. He also never got jealous even after realizing she liked Zhang Zhe, nor did he try to guilt her into loving him. It’s just so refreshing and makes me love him even more.

Another interesting shift in relationship dynamics is the one between Ning’er and the guard. Again, it’s similar but different from life 1. In life 1 he was her muscle and did all her dirty work. In life 2, he his again her muscle and arguably is still doing her dirty work. However, in life 2, her purpose is different. Whereas in life 1 she used him to become empress and gain/retain power, in life 2 she uses him to try to save Yan Lin and his family. I’m not saying that the guard is a good person in life 2. I trust the man as far as I can throw him. But maybe he is a bit less evil? Or at the very least, because he’s using his violence for a less evil purpose, his corruption/descent into evil is cut off early and he doesn’t become an irredeemable character.

Last but not least, our emo professor shape qin otaku, Xie Wei. It would require me to write another short novel to go over how his character has changed in life 2 due to Ning'er and I feel like so many others have already discussed it better than I could. But I do want to discuss the potential collateral changes in Xie Wei. For example, Yan Lin. Because Yan Lin did not become hardened and “evil” in life 2, perhaps Xie Wei won’t end up becoming the bloodthirsty ruthless Xie Wei we saw in life 1. I imagine it might be a bit difficult to go on a murderous bloodbath when your cousin is a lovable ball of sunshine who just wants to protect the world (I mean, how precious 🥹. He’s like those young boys you see in anime who say they want to be a hero when they grow up). Also, in this life, his beloved uncle is still alive, so he and Yan Lin are not as desperate/left with nothing to lose in the world as they were in life 2. So maybe there is a chance that the bad ending of life 1 can be avoided for Xie Wei too. He was without a doubt the victor in life 1, but at a very high personal cost.

And that’s kind of the amazing thing about this drama. It’s not just a redemption story for Jiang Xuening. It’s also a redemption story for all these other characters with her change acting as the catalyst. Just as her actions sent them down their respective paths in life 1, her actions in life 2 are also slowly but surely changing their fates in life 2. If it wasn’t clear that she was the main character of this drama already, it sure is now!

#story of kunning palace #cdrama

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tarithenurse · 10 months

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Best friends - 2

Fandom: Haikyuu Pairing/starring: Kuroo Tetsuro x fem!reader Word count: 1569 Content: Smut, fluff, explicit content, safety too, but mostly smut which equals loss of virginity. A/N: So...I kinda left off with Best Friends thinking it was gonna be a one-shot but it’s lived rent free in my head since then so here’s the second part. This time there’s no use of a CAH for inspiration but you get all the smut that was implied at the end of the previous chapter. Unbetaed.

Best friends – 2

Your eyes a tightly shut, your breath reduced to laboured gasps. How did you get here?

Blame a silly card game, you mind screams from far away on the other side of a foggy expanse. But how can you blame anything that makes you feel so fucking good? Yeah, sure, the black card had wrested secrets from you that you had expected to bring with you to the grave but now here you are: half undressed and fingers digging into the mattress beneath you.

Tetsuro’s strong hands are pulling at your thighs, pressing them outwards so he can have perfect access to your cunt. He’s humming to himself as though he likes the taste of you, pulling out your essence to devour with each lick and suckle that has your limbs shaking.

There’s just one problem.

“Tets...I’m...I’m s-so...” If he can make out your words it’d be a miracle as you stutter and slur.

For a moment he pauses to look up at you with a wide grin. “Want me to stop, baby-girl?”

“No!” You hadn’t meant to shout it and you cover your cheeks in embarrassment.

Kuroo just laughs. “Good.”

Kissing your inner thigh on the way, he delves back down, latching on to your clit with renewed vigour which causes you to moan shamelessly.

It’s not like sexual pleasure is completely unknown to you: you’ve got your toys and your fingers have made you familiar with certain preferences. But to be at the mercy of someone else, to be touched by another person and have them read your body’s needs so well. You never imagined just how intoxicating that would feel.

Heat bubbles in your core. Lazy waves that flood through your body to your mind and threaten to become too much even though something’s still missing.

Tetsuro shifts his hold, sitting with his legs holding yours in place. Sadly, he can’t keep eating you out and you whine at the loss of contact but that’s only until you realize that his hands are free to play. A thumb circles and nudges your clit while he slips a single finger from the other hand into your heat.

This is what I need! You’re far from full but already it feels better and your cunt clamps onto him, almost trying to pull him in despite the slow pumping and wriggling of the digit.

Then another finger and it feels even better. A groan slips from your lips, originating somewhere from deep within the chest. And you’re closer than you thought it would ever be possible without cumming.

Tossing your head back, breasts pushed upwards, you fight to breathe.

“Fuck, you look so good,” Tetsuro coos.

Searching for him, you have to blink before he gets into focus. Hair impossibly more tussled than normal, lips and chin glistening with your juices. The gold of his eyes is almost completely gone, swallowed by the lust that also shows itself as a daunting bulge in his boxers – at some point (you’re not sure when) he must have stripped his jeans and t-shirt off because he’s sitting bare-chested, making you hungry for more than he’s giving you.

Except...

“Come on, babe,” he tempts you, tightening the circle on your clit as he slips in a third finger, causing the waves to crash over you with a sudden force.

“Fuck!”

It’s your own voice but you’re not aware of having actually said anything because all your world consists off is the pleasure coursing through you, making your muscles clench and burn deliciously as your vision swims. Vaguely aware of your hands clawing at the anything within reach, you know instinctively that getting off on your own will never be adequate compared to this. You’ve really fucked yourself over with this.

“That’s it,” Tetsuro praises you as he slowly helps you down from the newfound heights, “so beautifully when you cum.” His fingers slip from you, just a single hand resting on your stomach as you feel the mattress dip and move under him while he comes to lie next to you. “Was that okay?”

It takes a moment before you find his gaze, deigning him with a ‘DUH’-look. Then you notice his arm moving and trail it down to his hand. A hand that’s wrapped around a weeping cock and you know what you want.

“Please, can we...do you have...?” Why is it so hard to ask for a condom? The guy’s just gone down on you and now is when you get shy??

But he seems to understand because he disappears for a moment and when he returns it’s with a silvery wrapper between the fingers. While he’s been gone, you’ve gotten rid of the last bit of clothes and now he can look you over appreciatively before holding the little square up for you to see.

“You sure about this, honey?” he asks even though he’s already reclaimed the position between your legs.

You know he wants more than a nod. “Yes please. I want you, Tetsu.”

He looks like a man whose dream has just come true. Grinning with delight, he sheds the boxer shorts completely, causing his erection to slap unceremoniously against his abdomen, and then unwraps the rubber, deftly slipping it on his throbbing cock and for a moment the size is intimidating.

Kuroo Tetsuro deserved all the credit a man can get because he takes it slow. Gently, he slides his cock through your folds, slicking the thin silicone wrapper in your essences before even attempting to enter you. Once aligned, he pauses and waits for your breath to even out a bit.

Then he pushes in and it’s overwhelming and filling in a way that his fingers had not been able to prepare you for.

“Keep breathing, [Y/N],” he whispers, voice rather strained, “deep breaths. Come on.”

And you do as he says, inhaling sharply through your nose and even remembering to exhale again, shakily.

Centimetre by centimetre, Tetsuro fills you up, pausing several times on the way to pull back a bit or give you a chance to adjust. Never once does he take his eyes off of your face and you find your gaze locking with his when you’re not staring at how he disappears into you (or when you’re not rolling your eyes backwards from the sweet stretch).

“Taking me so well,” he gasps, finally bottoming out.

“So...big...” you moan.

“Too big?” there’s concern laced into the words.

Shaking your head, you manage to convince him it’s just right and you testingly roll your hips just to see how it feels. It makes Tetsuro suck in air sharply.

“Let me, babe,” he groans, “wanna make you feel good.”

“You already did.”

“Please...let me more?”

You know what he means and nod in agreement, stretching your neck to kiss him. Slow, tongues dancing and Tetsuro even nibbles slightly at your bottom lip before he moves on to your throat. Teeth graze your skin as he rolls his hips, dragging his cock along your sweet spot, and the dual sensation has your legs moving on their own accord to wrap around his waist, making you clamp on tighter to him with your cunt too. A string of curses and adorations tumble from his lips but he keeps the pace slow and steady.

Your hands are scrambling for purchase and thankfully it doesn’t last long before you find that one is at home clawing onto his shoulder blade while the other can dig into his hair – it makes his eyes screw together and new groans fill the room, especially when you tug gently at the black mess.

Steadily, the elastic inside your core tenses once more and you admit as much: “Feels so good...more please...”

“More? Alright, babe.”

And he increases the pace, repositioning to slip a hand between your bodies where it comes to rest on your mound, thumb gently stroking your still sensitive clit.

Tetsuro’s face is as study of emotions: lust, determination, bliss. “So close, baby-girl,” he grits out, “can you cum for me?”

It’s not really a question because what he’s doing feels heavenly and your body is already zeroing in on the impending release. Two thrusts later and your entire body spasms, locking your best friend in place as his hips stutters and your back arches. Both of you call out, none of you coherent enough to truly answer.

You see white, sounds a distant sensory input that you can deal with later once the concentrated ecstasy has subsided...but for now all you can do is cling onto the warm body above you.

It takes a moment before your limbs return to your command once more and you gently free Tetsuro from your grip.

“Sorry,” you mumble as you become aware of how your nails have dug into his back.

He just smiles dopey and kisses your hard re-won breath away.

Eventually, you part, leaving you empty as he pulls out and saunters off to the bathroom. Upon return, he’s brought a damp cloth for you and while you clean up a bit, he gets the covers under control for the two of you to cuddle up under.

It feels like home to snuggle close to him. And as his breath even out, reaching the depths of a man asleep, you lie awake and relish in the nearness, knowing that nothing will ever be the same...and that’s definitely for the better.

#kuroo tetsurou #Kuroo tetsuro #Kuroo x you #kuroo x reader #kuroo smut #haikyuu kuroo #Haikyuu fandom #haikyuu #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #smut #HQ #fluff

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nburkhardt · 1 year

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I’ve been sick the last few days, haven’t written anything out for any of my wips. It’s making me upset but I do have some things written out. Here’s what was originally supposed to be the start of my tattooed Steve fic. (There’s also parts that I clearly took and rearranged, like the lyrics tattoo isn’t the same)

It’s a broken crown that starts it.

Or more accurately, the idea of a fallen king. Of letting go of the idea of being higher than everyone else, letting go of popularity.

Once he’s all cleared from a doctor to drive again, he drives aimlessly away from Hawkins. Finds himself in Indianapolis with a nearly empty gas tank, he spots it when getting more gas and he doesn’t know what the pull toward it is but he follows it.

The people in the shop look at him with curiosity and he feels out of place. His polo shirt with light wash jeans makes him stand out. The one at the front desk looks ready to laugh, “I think you’re in the wrong place, buddy. The Gap is down the street”

“I, uh. Actually, wanted to get one. Something like that?” He points to a drawing of a crown that’s broken in half, “like right- uh right here?” Moving his hand to touch his chest. It seems like the best area for it, able to hide it pretty well.

The person just stares at him dumbfounded but nodded, yelling out for a Dave to come here.

The moment the needle meets his skin for the first time, seeing the black ink appear, it’s the beginning of something he didn’t realize he’d enjoy.

He keeps it a secret. Going out to the tattoo parlor on long weekends, Dave getting him to open up just a bit. He’s the only one to tattoo him, he’s one of his closest friends at this point. Everyone in the parlor knows him as well but Dave knows backstories on his tattoos now. Knows about being King Steve and how he got into high school bullshit, doesn’t know about the upside down stuff but knows Steve has trauma.

His second tattoo is a sunflower, it’s his favorite. It’s on his ribcage, with a few petals falling towards his hips. It’s splashed in yellows and greens, it’s the only tattoo with color. The color wasn’t supposed to happen but Dave thought it would suit him.

His third one ended up being lyrics, he heard Mad World by Tears for Fears and it wouldn’t leave his head for days. “i find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad, the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had.” Goes through his sunflower tattoo and ends just below his hip.

The four one wasn’t supposed to happen, but he accidentally mentioned the nail bat in front of the guys in the parlor, they all said it would be a sick tattoo. Now he has that on his back, on his shoulder blade.

He had planned another one, missed his friends at the parlor. But the torture from the Russians scared him, even with Dave being his friend, he freaked at the needles. He hated it, wanted to get that ice cream scooper for his new friendship with Robin. Not that he’d show her anytime soon, doesn’t how how to explain how he managed to get his tattoos and kept them hidden.

I was looking over the stuff I already had written out to get motivated again, that’s also why I’m posting this lol.

Tattooed Steve is one of my favorite things. Not even like Punk!Steve either, just Steve with tattoos lol.

#Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington fic #nburkhardt writes #this is technically a season 2 au when you reallllly think about it #the only difference is Steve has tattoos lmao everything else is pretty much the same #oh and well Steve’s friendship with the tattoo artist 🤣

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psychoblush · 26 days

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A quintessential early-career Robin that fits the tone of The Batman

This post was originally written for Reddit, where folks are much more opposed to having Dick be in The Batman universe than on Tumblr. But still, I thought I would share it here!

Bruce, in trying to be more publicly a part of Gotham’s community, is out in the world again and in one of his public outings, he comes across the orphaned 15 year old Dick Grayson. This could be Haley’s circus but it doesn’t have to be - but Dick’s acrobat and gymnastics past should be retained.

(Another way to modernize it is to have Dick be an Olympic gymnast prodigy - but it’s not the most relevant. Theoretically you could tie this into the Grayson murder plot, but you don’t have to. Anyway…)

Bruce, against Alfred’s advice, wants to foster Dick himself and let him live with them at Wayne Tower. Alfred thinks this is a crazy idea because of Bruce’s nighttime activities as The Batman and because he’s far too young and emotionally-detached to be a father-figure, but Bruce is insistent on it after recognizing the extent to which Dick’s pain mirrors his. Bruce has an opportunity here: to give Dick what he wish he had when he was young and orphaned. Alfred comes around once he sees this too, in a moment mirroring Alfred seeing the footage of the mayor’s son in the first movie. Bruce gets an opportunity to emotionally reach a younger version of himself, and Alfred gets a chance to be more of what he wish he could be, a warmer father figure to both Bruce and Dick. This is a story about second chances. It’s a second chance for Bruce, it’s a second chance for Alfred, and it’s most vitally a second chance for Dick.

Here’s where things get interesting: even though Bruce adopts Dick early-on in the film, for most of it, neither of them are operating as a duo. Bruce and Alfred are keeping The Batman identity away from Dick, *and Dick is secretly hunting down his parents’ killer as a street vigilante inspired by Batman* - using a rudimentary version of the Robin identity. This becomes a major subplot and eventually connects back to the central antagonism of the film - whoever they choose, the killing of the Graysons is banally tied to this similarly to how the killing of the Waynes is ambiguously tied to the Falcone story in the first movie. At the same time, the dual deception between Bruce and Dick on each of their respective nighttime activities is a core obstacle to their relationship deepening. They can’t truly reach each other because they don’t trust each other- and Dick is singlemindedly focused on vengeance. It also gives us a chance to show Dick as a smart kid; he’s able to successfully elude the suspicions of both Bruce and Alfred while living with them and living a double life.

At the end of the second act, Batman comes across this proto-Robin and sees through it, and realizes the extent to which Robin is the same as him. He’s also a young boy who can’t move past his pain and is lashing out at the world and trying to make sense of the horror of it. Bruce does what he’s never done before. He takes off the mask and he lets Dick see him for who he truly is. *This* is when the Dick-Bruce relationship really begins.

Have Dick play a supporting but pivotal role in the third act. He needs to sabotage, distract, inform, scout, something. Give him agency and let him navigate the world, in between his new relationship as Batman’s semi-partner and still grappling with what this means for him. And have it coalesce in a moment where he chooses to accept his pain in a healthier way, to follow Bruce’s example. And the film ends with Bruce choosing to train Dick, to better him as a person and to offer him what Bruce sorely needed when he was his age.

Okay, now that the thematic plotting is out of the way, let’s talk about vibes. Vibes are super important to this universe and a core reason why people seem to have hangups around including Robin in the Reevesverse.

Early vigilante proto-Robin should navigate this world of orphaned street-bound teenagers who are parts of gangs and criminal networks. It should feel kind of like Victorian London’s child street gangs, but it can also be reminiscent of modern organized crime recruiting children. This is the world Robin navigates to get what he wants in the story, and it’s a world that is unfamiliar to Batman until Robin officially becomes his partner. Then it becomes a resource he can use to keep tabs on different goings-on in the city and make Gotham safer. This also echoes how Batman treats children and sex workers in the comics. Because Batman treats the vulnerable and disenfranchised with respect and humanity, it makes him a stronger and more capable hero to protect the communities he operates in.

Proto-Robin operating separately from Bruce should have a similar ad-hoc DIY vibe to The Batman, just lower tech and more discreet. It’s important textually that Robin was also inspired by The Batman without knowing him or coming into contact with him. It parallels Riddler ironically, it shows that the tragedy of Edward’s descent into vengeance and rage has had an effect on Bruce and that’s why he fights so desperately to keep the same fate from happening to Dick. Dick is someone who has had everything taken away from him, he was a brilliant gymnast whose aspirations were dashed when he lost his parents. Bruce can’t let him descend further into that spiral.

Robin isn’t a fighting partner in this film. He’ll become that when he’s older, closer to 16-17 in Part Three, but right now he’s a rogue agent navigating this world on his own, and Bruce has him as a mix between an informant, a spy, and an intel source. We need to sidestep the child soldier allegations, and it also means that Robin can do things Bruce can’t. Robin isn’t famous, Robin isn’t a fully grown adult. He can navigate spaces and places and worlds Bruce can’t, and that makes both of them stronger heroes for it.

In this sense, this version of Dick Grayson is a loose amalgamation of the first three Robins. He has Jason’s rage, brashness, and involvement in the underworld; he has Tim’s shrewdness, detective skills, and sense of loyalty; and he has Dick Grayson’s backstory and sense of optimism. We’re not just watching this boy become Robin, we’re also watching him transform into the version of Dick we know so well - the same way we’re watching Bruce transform into Bruce in this story.

Why I think we fucking need Robin in The Batman Part Two? Because Part One is a film about Bruce realizing that he can’t be vengeance alone, that he must be hope as well. Part Two needs to be a film about Bruce coming to understand what vengeance has done to those who have seen his example, and Dick presents a tangible opportunity to actually instill a better example in someone who went through what he did. They would act as foils to one another, they would be permutations and mirrors of each other, and we would finally get a faithful, beautiful, and compelling version of the Batman-Robin dynamic on the live action big screen.

#the Batman #Robin #Nightwing #dick Grayson #teen titans #the Batman 2022 #batman and robin #batman #dc comics #the Batman part two #the Batman sequel #the Batman part II #the Batman part 2 #the Batman 2 #jason todd #Tim Drake

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c0zyrainfall · 6 months

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I was thinking about it, and I started wondering what exactly is so appealing about damianya.

Twiyor is equally well written, I think, but I actually prefer the former (though I love both!). That's just because of preference and my appreciation for enemies to lovers. HOWEVER I have decided to draft up an analysis pinpointing why damianya is so enticing, because I write my own original material, and I think you can gain a lot of valuable insight by reverse engineering good writing.

First of all: What is the definition of a good romantic relationship?

I will use the following guidelines:

1) Based off of genuine friendship

2) Both are willing to sacrifice for the other and

3) Both parties make the other a better person.

The first guideline I outlined is big here. Because they are kids, they obviously should not be in a full on romantic relationship now. As a matter of fact, they will probably be waiting AT LEAST eight years. At least.

This means they have eight years to develop a true and wholesome friendship. A friendship with no romantic ulterior motives. They just get to enjoy being kids and growing up with one another. Because of this, they will see each other's high AND low points, rather than viewing the other with rose tinted lenses. Yes, maybe one of them (cough Damian) gets butterflies and feels flustered every time they see the other. But for now, it is very innocent and immature, a childish crush. By framing the goal for this relationship as FRIENDSHIP rather than ROMANCE, the two are able to develop a deeper understanding and a more complete picture of each other before they take anything to the next level.

Does the second point even need to be addressed? Anya is willing to take a tonitrus bolt for him. She is willing to stand up for him (well, technically for the "mission" but we'll get to that later). Damian is willing to take a hit for her, whether it be a dodgeball or a literal bomb. He gives her his share of the macaron (which he believes could help him with his intelligence.) He spends time he could be using to study to locate the finest teacakes in the world so he can give them to her.

Now to the third point.

When we first meet Damian, we don't like him. He is a classist jerk. So karma hits him (literally) in the form of Cupid's arrow. By developing a crush on Anya, he is learning that he should not treat others differently because they have less money. He becomes a better person by learning that "commoners" are the same as all the rich students at Eden.

Side tangent: while I relate more to Damian academic wise, aka pushing myself probably too far to get good grades, I'm sure we can all personally relate to Anya. She tries a lot of things. She fails at almost all of them. Thus, by seeing someone who is academically accomplished and rich be infatuated with her just for being herself, we start to realize that those things don't matter as much as we sometimes feel. Therefore, we want Damian to like her, because it is sweet. It is sweet that someone who places value on things like high academics is able to see past that and appreciate someone else for different good qualities, rather than the ones society deems most important. ~

When Anya first meets Damian, we cannot fault her for disliking him. He is rude to her because she is in a lower social class than him. She is rude to him because he is mean to her. This is perfectly reasonable. In the beginning, it would not make her a better person to be friends with him; as a matter of fact, avoiding him would probably be the high road in this situation. If I were her, I would not have wanted to be friends with him at all.

Side tangent 2:

If you like damianya, you are probably fond of Anya. And of Damian. This is true for me. He's my favorite sxf character. The reason WHY we are fond of him is because we know his backstory. We know he is actually a sweet little guy who just wants to be loved. So we also want him to succeed in his friendship with Anya.

However, though she may have picked up bits and pieces through her mind reading, Anya does not know this. And even if she did, she likely wouldn't understand the levity of it. She's only 4 or 5. ~

Damian and Anya have developed since they first met. They ARE friends (or close to it, anyways). So while at first it wouldn't have made Anya a better person to genuinely care about Damian, now it would.

Because we know Damian and care about him, we also want Anya to care about him. We want her to understand why he acts the way he does. We want her to understand that he actually cares about her.

While Damian is terrible at proving he cares through his words, he is really good at SHOWING her. If she understands he has a different method for showing care, Anya grows. She is able to develop a greater understanding of other people, rather than shaping the world through her own perspective. Framing Damian as the mission makes a lot of sense. She wants her parents to stay together and not get rid of her, and she wants world peace. Of course Anya is not bad for wanting these things. But she will be BETTER when she learns to see things from Damian's pov. She will see the world is not all black and white. She will see that he is not just a mission, and that he is actually as important to her as Yor is to Twilight.

So, conclusively, those are some reasons Damianya is a well written and popular ship. I could also go into detail about how it subverts expectations, likely has future plot relevance (in relation to the story as a whole rather than just a side plot), and is a generally unique and well executed idea. However, for now, I'll leave it at this. I tried to nail down the psychology of what makes it appealing to us, but if anyone has further insights, please feel free to let me know :) Hope you all have a great day

#if you read this whole thing you are a champion #me writing a whole on essay about this #instead of doing hw oops #guess I'll go do that now...#anyways this is my coping mechanism since #we probably have to wait another month or two for the next damianya chapter #spy x family #spy family #spy x family anya #anya forger #damianya #spy x family spoilers #spy x family manga #damian desmond

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scwheeler · 2 years

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🏹 ˖ ࣪⊹ — past tense

pairing: mike wheeler x fem!reader

summary: you’ve had a crush on mike wheeler since birth, however he’s never been too fond of you. but high schools coming up and after a few events, you finally get over mike but how the tables turn…

warnings: asshole mike 🖕🖕🖕

age of pairing: 15-16

a/n: this was originally the flipped fic i made first but i changed it up a little and was just bored ALSO IT BARELY MAKES SENSE LOL

june 24th, 1981

you had just finished your third lap around the neighborhood on your bike. it was summer yet the heat was bearable, at least to be outside before two p.m. or else you had to smother yourself with sunscreen to prevent getting burned. you thought it was a good idea to head home now as you biked around the corner to see your familiar washed down yellow house.

what was unfamiliar was the three white moving trucks pulling up the house next to yours. it was a large white house that had been empty for some time now. you expected some elderly couple or family of like eight kids to move in. but as you parked your bike on the driveway of your house, you walked towards one of the trucks that had people in it.

there was a little boy with dark hair and a navy jacket on. it was summer and he was wearing a jacket? who was this kid? he had his back turned to you, making you more curious. you started to jog to him and a man who was giving him brown cardboard boxes bigger than his torso. it was probably his dad. he had thick glasses and a come over like most guys you saw at the grocery market and shopping mall.

they were in the moving truck and moving around boxes so you jumped in, “hi! you need some help?” you reached for one of the boxes that had a red label ‘FRAGILE’ which you disregarded. “whoa there, that’s some heavy stuff, why don’t you head on home little girl,” he shooed you away and put a foot on the box you were reaching for, preventing you from carrying it.

you didn’t take it personally, lots of people probably don’t want a strange girl taking their belongings. “hey dad—” the boy peered into the moving truck where you and his dad stood. he stopped himself once his eyes laid on you. he seemed scared more than friendly.

he had a band-aid on his chin and freckles on his cheeks. he wore a stripped collar shirt under his jacket and plain khaki pants, reaching all the way to his black sneakers. wow was he dressed for winter! you were paying too much attention to what he was wearing you didn’t even realize he was speaking.

you only looked at his face. once your eyes met his, you knew this boy was going to be yours. no matter what.

august 16th, 1981

“—and when we got there it was the beach, like everywhere!” your classmate carly kept talking about her trip to california as the rest of the girls listened in awe. living in hawkins had its perks sometimes but not having a beach was not one of them. however you didn’t really care about what she did or what she was saying.

it was the first day of fifth grade and the only thing you were excited for was the teacher to bring in the new student. your next door neighbor, mike wheeler. throughout the hot summer days, he was the only thing that made those days hotter. you felt your cheeks warm up whenever he would reluctantly knock on your door to drop off a pie or any treat his mom was baking that week.

those days were the days you waited all week for. every friday evening you would look your best, wearing your hair in the cutest ways and putting on the clean clothes fresh out of the laundry so you could smell the sweet flower scent. you would also prevent anymore else from approaching the door.

you stood next to the door, in front of the mirror adjusting your hair while waiting for him to arrive at about seven to knock on the front door. you would wait exactly six seconds so he wouldn’t realize that you were literally waiting on hand and foot for him.

what you didn’t know was he basically saw you through the small side window, standing there counting in your head until finally deciding to get the door. he thought it was weird. he thought you were weird. when his mom would nag him weekly to take a new baked treat over to your house, he thought he was getting punished.

he would have to go all the way down the stairs and get the plate or tin and walk over to your house next door. he complained that the walk felt like a whole marathon when in reality it was only about twenty steps maximum. then he would knock on the door not even bothering to press the doorbell because you had probably had touched it.

he would watch you wait like ten seconds until finally answering the door with a bright smile and thank him a million times. he would keep a straight face and just nod, not one word coming out of his mouth during the last six weeks he’s been doing this.

you would always take any chance to play with him. if he was outside about to get on his bike, you would rush outside without a care in the world if you stumbled down the stairs or hit your knee on a stair. but the instant you would get on your bike, you saw him peddling away like he was trying to get away from zombies. you thought he was going to go meet someone or had something to do, like being the newspaper boy? so you didn’t mind it.

sometimes when you felt like it (basically always) you would get on your bike and chase him, following where he was going. he was just going in laps like you did which meant technically he couldn’t say this following because you were just a fellow neighborhood kid riding their bike around.

you tried your hardest to catch up to him, so you could chat with him or even go somewhere with him but you didn’t know if it was if he had iron lungs and mechanical legs or because he always had a head start, his back would always be turned.

beginning school was the next dreaded thing mike was worried for. not because it’s a new school and he didn’t know anyone. he did know someone, you. mainly that was why he dreaded it. he would have to pass the halls and avoid you to the fullest. what if he ended up with the same teacher as you? then he knew he’d be screwed.

“everyone, this is michael wheeler. i’d like you guys to be nice and respectful to him, please sit down beside y/n. y/n raise your hand,” the teacher spoke carefully and guided him towards you who had a hand up as if there was a star to be reached. ‘how could the universe love you so much!’ you thought.

how could the universe hate him so much, mike thought.

he walked towards his seat that was sat to the right of you. you watched as he slowly sat down and pulled out a blue notebook, the same as yours. yours had a few peeled off sticker residue and markings from previous pens and pencils but it was the same alright.

mike didn’t spare you or your desk a glance to notice so you thought it’d be best to let him know. while the teachers back was turned and faced the blackboard to write down the agenda, you leaned to your right side. “mike—mike, look we’re matching!” he looked at you holding up your notebook like the nobel piece prize and groaned.

not the reaction you expected but it was mike wheeler after all. he would always find a way to avoid you but you were already there. he was hiding and you were next to him. almost attached! for the rest of the day, he looked away from you, facing his right side instead of his left where you sat.

he was talking to lucas and will, two boys who sat near him as well. you’ve never talked to them before even though you spent the last four years of school with them. they seemed weird, not like geeky weird, but like they couldn’t hold a conversation with you. maybe it was early puberty?

either way, you sat in silence. looking at the board but stealing a few glances to peek at mike from the corner of your eye. he was passing notes and laughing with the others boys. looks like he already got himself some new friends. friends that didn’t include you.

june 7th, 1984

tying your white shoelaces to your red sneakers, you entered the classroom for the last day of school. your hair was tied back into a ponytail and moved from side to side as you approached the library. you wanted to return all the books from this school year before you forgot and then finally get to enjoy the start of summer.

as you put it back onto the shelves, you overheard a familiar voice. mike. instead of walking away to spend your summer day, you leaned towards the bookshelf and waited for the boys to speak again. “people will think you’re doing charity mike!” one of the boys said. “yeah i’m not one to be mean but she’s so gross like she’s been obsessed with you forever and did you see her stupid yard?” “that piece of shit!” “shut up it’s a library shhhh,” one of them said. “mike come one be honest.”

you gripped onto the books in your arms and waited for mikes response. “yeah i would kill myself if i was seen with her,” he laughed. you immediately ran out, getting out of the school and getting on your bike. without another thought you rushed inside your house and to your room.

january 3rd, 1985

mike had made it clear he didn’t reciprocate your feelings and even though it was hard, you swallowed your emotions and decided to give up. other than the conversations you had practically forced him into, he never made the effort to talk to you. basically avoiding you for the last four years. so the last day of ninth grade you expected it to the same. and it was.

until you got home. you stood in disbelief in the middle of your kitchen as your mom spoke to you. the words “dinner at the wheelers,” sounded incorrect like you had a hearing problem. but when she repeated it, you realized it was true. “but they’ve never invited us over in like the four years they’ve lived here?” you asked and sat on at the table.

“what matters y/n, at least they’re noticing now,” your mom responded and before you could mutter ‘that’s ridiculous’ you walked out and into your room. sitting on at the desk, you stared down at your textbooks, “mike wheeler…what could he want now?” you’d eventually gotten over him, as you do with most crushes so you didn’t mind going over for dinner.

you weren’t going to be a stuttering, blushing mess and you would be polite and kind. especially to his parents and not mind him any extra attention. but why now? why after these three long years would be invite your family over?

the afternoon came sooner than you thought and you found yourself in a clean formal outfit with a homemade key-lime pie in your hand, waiting in front the mike wheeler’s door. it would be a lie if said you hadn’t been facing this door a million times. you used to come and knock on his door almost every weekend and everyday in summer, asking him to play or come over but his response was a quick decline.

at first he was nice about it, saying he had to help his mom or making up another lame excuse but than he stopped trying to even be somewhat kind about declining your offer. you could see him through the living room window, reading a book and gritting his teeth while you pressed his doorbell time after time. he would ignore you or make one of his other family members get the door, so he could avoid you at all costs.

it was disappointing to say the least but you still saw him at school. you waved to him every chance you got but after experiencing his unresponsiveness for about the seventieth time, you quit. he probably never even noticed your existence at this point!

but mike knew. he always knew, and he was different than you thought. once you stopped caring about him and knocking on his door or taking any chance to make him look at you, he realized something. he missed it, he missed you. it was now him searching for you in the class and him who stared out his bedroom window to see if you would walk over and ring the doorbell.

he didn’t like you. even if only as a friend, he would never admit it. but seeing you view him unlike before changed his mind. he liked your bright personality and your eagerness to try anything. sometimes he would sit in his room, staring at his math homework but thinking about you. how on the bus, you walked right passed him and sat next to timothee brown! crazy! everyone knew timothee was weird and no one ever would sit next to him. to seem unnoticeable, whenever someone boarded the bus, he would look at you who was looking at timothee. chatting, talking, laughing!

he would think to himself, “what was she laughing about? how could she sit there and laugh and look so beautiful!” however he could only turn around and stare out the window while his friend dustin continued to talk about dnd. why was this happening to him! he hated you. he hated you. always had and always will, so why was he dreaming about you every night and imagining what you were doing during class, outside of school, while with his friends, at dinner, during homework, and even when he was watching tv!

you were like a song he couldn’t get out of his head.

a bad song.

there was a knock at his front door and as much as he wanted it to be you, his face showed different emotions. you stood with a pie in your hand and in front of his door once again. wasn’t this want he wanted? but it wasn’t. you looked forced, annoyed. how he looked whenever you would come up to talk to him.

it wasn’t like before, no immediate hugs or jumps to conversations. you walked straight to the kitchen and helped mikes mom set the table. he only watched you walk right past him and ignore him. ignore him! he finally was going to speak to you and now his time was up? it was like a video game and he had used all this lives.

you tried to kept your composure, but to be honest when he opened the door with his shaggy dark brown hair, almost a shade of black and burgundy covering down to his eyebrow and straight freshly-ironed gray collared sweater, your heart slipped almost a beat. scratch that. make that three beats.

before he could look up, you turned your attention to nancy in the background who smiled and waved to you. quickly to divert his attention, you ran inside without a hello and entered the kitchen to help with dinner. brushing past mikes shoulder, deep inside you wished you paused and said hi whcih could possibly have sparked a conversation but he never did in the past three years so why would he start now!

sitting at a wooden dinner table could never have been more awkward. your parents and his had small conversations but mostly about work and school, meaning you and mike were out of the question. luckily you turned your head to nancy and instantly started to ask her stuff about high school. she gladly responded to your questions. she was so sweet, you kept your eyes away from in front of you and to the side where she was sitting. mike who was facing you was waiting for you to be done but you had no intention of stopping.

when nancy and you finished your conversation, you went up to use the restroom twice, forgot to turn off your record player in your room, and finally dinner ended. all of these were excuses to avoid talking to mike and he clearly noticed. at the end of dinner and everyone was settled in the living room, you excused yourself to your room so you could finish your homework.

surprisingly this was true, mr. dons just handed out an essay assignment due this week and you forgot to do it. you sat on your desk, opening your cabinets to get your notebooks and grabbing a few pencils. once you wrote the first word “the,” there was a knock at your door.

“come in!” you said and assumed it was your mom bringing you a snack or to tell you the wheeler’s were finally leaving. but it wasn’t. “sorry to disturb you,” he apologized softly and approached you. you sighed, “what do you want?” he was nervous, looking around your room. he saw a small red notebook on top of your dresser, he looked back to you with your eyes glued to your papers. he carefully reached for it, “don’t touch that.” you turned around and stared at him, “seriously mike what are you doing here?”

“i just wanted to talk to you,” mike said and sat on your bed. you turned back to your homework, “well i don’t want to talk to you.” “why?” he asked, further agitating you. “because—i just don’t,” you groaned and tried focusing on the words in textbooks but you couldn’t with the presence of mike wheeler.

“i thought you liked me,” mike mumbled which finally grasped your attention. “liked.” you replied, making mike finally leave your room.

#*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧scwheeler #mike wheeler x you #mike wheeler x y/n #mike wheeler x reader #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st 4 vol 2 #mike x reader #mike stranger things #mike wheeler #finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard x y/n #finn wolfhard x you

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heliphantie · 9 months

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It's not symmetrical or perfect But it's beautiful, and it's mine

Some long ramblings about Isabela under 'read more':

I originally didn’t use to be interested in Isabela, brushing her aside as yet another emancipated princess character, but with time, I figured she’s more dimensional and distinctive character of her kind, and possibly, most multifaceted one next to Bruno. More than that, the two, as opposite they look on the surface, have enough things in common for him to have more rapport with her than with Mirabel, as movie seems to suggest.

First of all, magnitude of their powers. All of original triplets have got gifts that surpass any others in the family, outright divine in nature – abilities of healing, conduct the weather and foreseeing future. While out of third generation, Isabela has got an ultimate divine power – of bringing life out of thin air, and in accordance with her emotional state no less. Thus, her powers also require thorough control, which may be another hidden reason for her always needing to keep herself straight. And it’s apparent too, bearers of greatest gifts are also under hardest pressure, with Bruno and Isabela even visually (in the sequence of “Dos Oruguitas”) indicated to be most subjected to.

Second thing is, external and internal presentation. Out of all characters, the two have the most conflict between public perception and genuine expression, and an array of different facades in case of both – from impassive and contemptuous to caring and heartful. We don’t get to see any objective view of Bruno’s behavior in the past, but from how he’s perceived in retrospect, it appears he used to give off impression of distant and uncaring to people around him, which could’ve been simply an effect of his professional duty, including acting impartial to the events he gets to witness as local oracle and avoiding personal interference with anybody’s fate (just my conclusion, anyway). Which is rather similar to Isabela’s acting around people – pleasant, but not extremely intimate, more like performer than participant, and impression of egoistic, haughty person she leaves on Mirabel. (Did encounter with and insight of real Bruno give no clue about what her sister’s situation would be? It’s not a Mirabel-bashing article, but she’s one dense protag, I must say…) In that, they’re two people in family who appear to bottle their feelings and maintain the constructed façade the most of all (“So much hides behind my smile…”). In addition, as parallel to Isabela’s built image of conventional feminine “perfection”, Bruno has his own invented persona of Hernando, which seemingly serves as “perfect”, and more stereotypically masculine version of himself. (Their natural selves are, of course, still properly feminine/masculine, just of more subtle and nuanced variety.)

And what is fundamental trait shared between two: the extreme selflessness and devotion, and sense of responsibility, being prone to self-sacrifice with long-lasting consequences and openly declaring their willingness to give it all for the family. Which also slips into coming to well-intended, but misguided, and even hurtful in perspective, decisions: no, making yourself a traitor in the eyes of your relatives, never getting rewarded for your good will, while for noble reasons, is not going to bring family together, and neither does confining yourself to lifetime of fake love relationship (and hell knows how suppressed discontent seeping through would manifest itself in the end of things… Mariano dodged a bullet, also not deserving such misery). Anyhow, willfully getting your freedom cut short for the rest of your life for the sake of wellbeing and benefit of your loved ones is tremendous sacrifice (and yet again, it’s such a short sight on Mirabel’s part to take confession of that sacrifice lightly, beside of not realizing she is a case of Isa’s predicament, what with approving a proposal behind her sister’s back). And that’s where Isa is deconstructing Disney rebellious princess archetype even before her breaking out: unlike Jasmine or Merida, she actually holds her family in priority over whatever carefree life she could lead, and makes mature move, total opposite of pampered princess Mira thinks she is. It should be said, marriage is not something exactly forced upon Isa, but rather silently accepted on the assumption she does return affection of would-be fiancé. While Isabela seemingly doesn’t have the same luxury as Jasmine to reject suitors left and right (it doesn’t seem there’s a lot of options…), nor fiancé in question is as obnoxious as any of Jasmine’s, or, say, Gaston, she definitely has enough authority around the town to deem any suitor unworthy of herself or make her own choice, so she’s not that submissive in that situation as it may look. (And nothing indicates any of older Madrigals were forced into arranged marriage, which makes me think that is not entirely in Alma’s hands to decide on whom or if her children going to marry.) It appears, based on observation of similarities between Alma and Isa being possible reason for her singling the granddaughter out as her favorite, Alma might just have been projecting her own perfect romance on the young couple, being convinced they’re destined for each other just as she and Pedro were, and have to make up for her own abruptly cut matrimonial bliss, not taking in account Isa doesn’t have to be her carbon copy. Note that, entering marriage, Isa is not simply getting what she (presumably) wants, she puts herself in a role of next (after Julieta, most likely) matriarch, a head of family, a ruler of town, accepting huge responsibility, quite an opposite of effort-free fairytale life.

Which brings me to connection between characters affirmed in the movie itself: what was exact output of Bruno’s words – either prophetic or not – for Isabela? She is the only one, whose prophecy wasn’t appearing to fulfill itself, and she doesn’t comment on it even in the moment of honesty. We never get closure on that issue, let alone any conversation between two (because poor Bruno was denied of opportunity explaining himself properly by his kind relatives…). One answer that seems to be likely correct in context of Bruno’s reputation: because his vision always undoubtedly becomes reality, promise of the dreams coming true was taken for granted, and Isa considered that, as long as she goes with the flow and doesn’t take the initiative in deciding for herself, she obtains happiness by default. So, she’s basically another princess in waiting for the miracle (hm…) until she gets to break free on her own, which is consistent with modern trend of Disney subverting and defeating their own fairytale standard.

But other possible interpretation is: what if that promise, while leading to wrongful and harmful conviction, was giving her strength to follow her path and assigned duty, vested with faith she, by doing right thing, eventually will become a master of her life and achieve fulfillment. (And probably, it makes sense for her to think Mirabel, revealed being linked with imminent destruction of miracle, somehow also leads to her miraculous destiny being dissolved with no hope left.)

Worth noting, it brings up a parallel with classic story about destiny – and also another one of Disney fairytale standard – tale of Sleeping Beauty, blessed with magical gifts and cursed with ominous future, outcome of which tale being basically the same as Encanto movie: fighting future is dangerous, some losses are inevitable, but what’s matter is what we learn and take from it to improve even more distant future. Also, there’s even visual parallel – Aurora’s two-colored in funky manner dress as result of fairy godmothers fighting over its color, and Isabela’s multicolored holi’d dress, I wonder how intentional it was.

And one another minor and not instantly obvious connection, not clearly visible in the movie: both Isa and Bruno may be “brains” of the family! Some concept arts depict Isa being something of a bookworm, and while you have to be really observant (or peek at production art), there’s hints in Bruno’s environment he’s one himself – in addition to some books in his hideout, there’s drawings on the walls showing doodles of rats in casting of stage plays of Shakespeare’s tragedies and “Don Quixote” (both are not exactly light literature).

And while Isabela being an intellectual isn’t something directly stated in the movie, it’s still part of her development and isn’t contradicted by anything on screen. Though she probably may give preference to non-fiction on the topic of biology. Speaking of nerdy inclinations…

One last (rather tangential) thing worth of discussion: abandoned Bubo storyline and its connection to ultimate version of story. For the aspects that justify it being scraped for good: first, as I stated above, her being actually loyal to family, instead of trying to elope, makes for all more powerful presentation of her character. Second, is unfortunate implication of her being driven to person simply because he understands her (which is valid on its own) rather than because she likes him for his own qualities and personality. But it may be just lack of context for single scene, otherwise dynamic of two people with connection to nature and such contrasting behavior and appear is pretty endearing. (Official source states the storyline is written off so Isa in the end does not “defined by a man”, but then, Mirabel is treated like hero and she’s “defined” by two men, given she’s in need the word of Bruno on what action to take, and if we take literally statement that she was “send by Pedro” to save the family…) So while I appreciate her ending as more independent and decisive person, I still like how concept of that relationship speaks of her personality, and it did find its way in final version, even if in funny way, by replacing man with cactus:) Even as brief moment leading to big reformative number, having her admiring the “imperfect”, peculiar creature gives evidence of her carrying deep fondness for unconventional forms of beauty, fascination for irregular, whimsical (as opposed to what she’s assigned for - Mariano, while having his own depths and not entirely flawless as well, kind of dorky in his own way, is simply that – conventional and too ordinary for Isa to spark interest). And considering that trait of her was maintained through the variations of story, it seems more than plausible she may develop profound fondness and connection with her eccentric (and definitely “fish out of water”, as Bubo is described) uncle, which makes it a loss that the story didn’t even tipped toe into interaction between the characters. (And it’s hard to overlook, Bubo’s personal and even physical traits also seem to transfer into final version of Bruno, so the character’s concept wasn’t entirely lost either.)

On the final note, bunch of random musings about the character of Isa, that neither here nor there:

Speaking of unpredictable nature of gift and popular parallel between Isabela and Elsa: may it be that Isabela had to teach herself to regulate her power for pretty much the same reason, given connection between emotions and outcome, and inability for child to properly control it? Even in suppressed state, Isa’s powers have dangerous side to them: we see her being able to use vines to restrain people, making flowers grow from every surface, and later she creates carnivorous plants and just unleashes botanical chaos all around the town, not to mention that her negative emotions resurface itself as plants that unsafe for handling. Between Alma’s worried notion that Isabela got “out of control” and Bruno’s reluctance to face her (which he only partially admits to be for the fear to meet Alma), there could be something that young (and simply not being in existence yet) Mirabel might not knowing about full effect of Isa’s power when unbound and under emotional affect.

And one aspect that felt conflicting to me for some time: as for type of person with “green thumb” she’s supposed to embody (and more prominent “child of nature” image with which her character was conceived at first), Isabela acts rather violently, shown destroying her creations, plucking roses out of her flower bed, ruining topiary and such. But considering she’s not simply nature lover and expert (who she seems to genuinely be), but embodiment of nature itself, like Pepa is an embodiment of atmospheric forces, it’s organic for her to having embraced its destructive side as well, as part of death and resurrection circle. /So she’s a bit of like Stitch, with equally creative and destructive inclinations at one because of immense abilities she’s packed with:)/

I definitely have a little more to say, and contemplate, about the character… but some of it going too far into speculative and fanfic-y territory, so it’s a topic for another time. And sorry for all incidental Mirabel kicking:) – I have things to say about her too, but in its own turn.

#encanto #encanto fanart #disney fanart #isabela madrigal #bruno madrigal #ramblings #lot to say about isa #phantieart #phantie ramblings

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duskspring · 7 months

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What Once Was - Sodo/Dewdrop Angst Fic

Summary: Sodo/Dewdrop mourns the things and people that were, Mountain comforts him.

Content: Angst, grief, guilt, hurt/comfort, description of death and murder. (And if I forgot anything, please do let me know!)

Word count: ~1.8k words

Disclaimer: I personally try to steer clear of calling him Sodo, but there's a reason why I did it for this fic. Also, this is not compliant with my usual personal headcanon but I did it for the angst!

[Read it on AO3]

Rumors always go around faster than the truth. At least, that's what Sodo tries telling himself.

It can’t be true. It can’t be true.

It’s the dead of night. The ministry has significantly cooled down since the afternoon and it’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Ghouls have little need for sleep, however, so most of them are hanging out together, watching a movie.

All except Sodo.

He watches his ceiling like it’s a movie, his mind filling in the blanks. He continuously moves his fingers as if he’s playing a guitar, needing to fidget in some kind of way. How could he face his bandmates in his current state?

It can’t be true. It can’t be true.

There were talks, speculations, people looking to shock others…

What if Papa III could come back?

Sodo loves the idea of reuniting with the one who summoned him for all but a second before realizing what must come of the current Papa in that case.

Sweet, dear Copia. Someone he has been working for way longer than he ever knew the third papa. And yet, the bond of a summoning is something unbreakable.

But will Terzo come back and cause something to befall Copia or will Terzo only return if something happens to Copia?

Maybe all it took was one little accident-

Sodo shoots up from his bed.

No. No!

Memories he so desperately wishes he could bury rush back to the surface of his mind:

He’s done it before.

It’s a secret he fully intends to take back into the pit with him. But someone had to take care of the first three Papa’s. It’s not like he had chosen to do it. He had gotten clear orders. He hadn't wanted to. He'd had no choice.

And now his head plays it all back again for him like it has so often before. A movie made in his mind to do nothing but torment him: stabbing the syringe into his summoner's neck, remembering the man falling head first onto the table and later dragging him away. He had looked down at Terzo’s lifeless body as he carried it. He’d been so fixated on the lack of his facial movements, how he was so uncharacteristically quiet for once. It hardly felt like Papa anymore. Now he was just a body. A has been.

Sodo doubts he would ever be forgiven, even if Papa were to come back. Though there is a chance of Terzo not having realized it was him who killed him, he would never be able to act like all was well knowing he would force the man to stand next to his own killer.

There is simply no going back. Even if it is possible, it’s not something Sodo should actually want.

But…

This isn’t just about Papa. The fire ghoul never really admits it to anyone, but there are times he misses his original bandmates.

Against his better judgment, he reaches under his bed. With shaky hands he retrieves the framed picture that he hides there.

It shows him at the first ritual he ever played at, him and all the others lined up to take a bow.

He sees Terzo, Mountain and himself, but more importantly his focus lands on Ifrit, Zephyr and Aether.

He now only has Mountain left. But Mountain doesn’t feel the same. He seems to have moved on immediately, getting close to especially Rain and the ghoulettes, but really everyone.

And it isn’t like Sodo doesn’t care about his new band. They are family, he loves them. But Mountain appears to not even spare a single thought to those who came before.

In the past Sodo would’ve shared these feelings with Aether. They often reminisced together, but the quintessence ghoul always managed to spin it in a positive light. Something about processing grief in a healthy way.

Aether.

That very second, a teardrop lands right over Aether’s face on the frame. It’s the first time Sodo becomes aware that he’s started crying.

He tosses the frame to the ground, where it miraculously doesn’t shatter, and changes the way he sits to furiously punch into his pillow, attempting to get his rage out without being too loud.

Internally he damns Phantom to the deepest reaches of the pit. A replacement, that’s all he is. A poor copy.

He doesn’t even dislike his new bandmate. In fact, the two have hit it off quite nicely. None of that matters at this moment, though. Sodo would give him up in a heartbeat to have Aether back. He would sacrifice each and every last person and ghoul in the whole wide ministry.

His tears flow even more freely now, his chest spasming with his uneven gasps for air. He attempts to keep it down, especially with the footsteps that are now slowly approaching his door.

Then a knock, “Dewdrop?” His ears perk up at the name. A water ghoul name. It’s enough to freeze him up, end the sobbing and catch the breath in his throat.

After a second or two he comes back to his senses, “Fuck off, Mountain.” His voice cracks at his attempt to yell back to the one person left who has known him as his previous element.

Nonetheless, the door opens against his wishes. Sodo refuses to turn around, not wanting for his bandmate to see his twisted, devastated face.

“We finished the movie, but we’re starting another soon. It’s your turn to pick.” Mountain briefs.

The fire ghoul doesn’t respond, hoping his silence will make his friend leave. Of course, it doesn’t work like that. Especially when his shoulders are still jerking with silenced sobs.

The door softly clicks shut, “What’s going through your head?” The mattress dips beneath the drummer’s weight.

The question is only met with more silence. It hangs in the air like a thick wall between the two. Alas, Mountain seems determined to burn said wall to the ground, getting a good guess in once he sees the discarded picture on the middle of the floor.

“Is it Aether?” The question comes out oh so carefully. He is a sensitive topic for all that have known him but especially Sodo, everyone knows that.

He tries everything to suppress his reaction. He unsuccessfully attempts to think of something else, he clenches his jaw and fails to take steady breaths.

But soon his facade breaks. And so does he.

Wordless cries stutter from his chest, still turned away from Mountain as if that would conceal his reaction. He falls forward on his bed, pouring his agony into the pillow which he clutches between his fingers, clinging on for dear life.

The drummer wants to help, but has also miserably failed in the past.

He puts a careful hand on Sodo’s shoulder, “Dew-“

“Don’t call me that!” The fire ghoul lashes out, finally turning around. The look in his eyes would scare any human away in an instant but Mountain sees right through it. He sees so much pain, “I’m not a water ghoul anymore! I don’t work for the third anymore! And I certainly don’t work with those ghouls anymore…” His words trail off into more sobs as he goes on. The gig is up. He’s given himself away and at this point he is too far gone to care.

“You miss them.” It isn’t a question.

“Don’t you?!” Sodo feels more and more like he is losing his mind, “Did they mean nothing to you?! Zephyr, Ifrit, Aether-“

“They were my everything.” Mountain’s voice is stern but not unkind or scolding.

Sodo doesn’t say anything, only crying further and letting out the occasional hiccup. He looks expectantly up at the other.

The earth ghoul inhales shakily, trying not to cry himself, “I don’t care if you believe me, but they were the first family I had ever known. When I lost that I didn’t think I’d ever come back from it,” He laughs humorlessly, “And in a way, I didn’t! That… grief never left and I highly doubt it ever will. But instead of waiting for the grief to shrink, I simply grew bigger around it. And I was only able to do so because of our new family. Even if it’s not the same, that doesn’t make it bad.” Tears start escaping his eyes as well, despite his efforts. Anyone can tell in a second that he is being sincere.

Sodo wants so desperately to take in all the words and never worry about any of this again. However, there’s one thing still hanging heavily over him like a storm cloud;

“Something’s gonna happen.” He states, his eyes focused on nothing in particular, blurrily staring off past Mountain and into nothing, “We all know it. Some kind of change is coming and I don’t… I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it. What if we lose more ghouls? What if we lose Papa? What if I disappear this time?” These are fears he hadn’t even expressed to Aether before, let alone anyone else.

Mountain finally makes another move to come closer. His long arms envelope his bandmate in one of the tightest hugs the two had ever shared. Sodo allows himself to return it, desperately clinging to any sense of the here and now.

“It’s like Papa said,” Mountain says without letting go, “‘Nothing ever lasts forever’. All the more reason to enjoy what we have, while we have it, right?”

Sodo doesn’t verbally respond, only buries his face into the other ghoul’s neck.

“How about that movie?” The drummer whispers after a silent minute, thinking perhaps the distraction would help, “It’s not good to let your mind spiral on your own. Let yourself feel the emotions, yes, but not like this. Not on your own.”

Satan, he sounds so much like Aether when he says that.

After a few semi-even breaths, the fire ghoul makes a sound of affirmation.

He gets carried to the common room, still cradled so closely to Mountain’s chest like he weighs nothing.

“Took you long enou…gh.“ Swiss' words die out at the sight of his friend in such a seemingly vulnerable position, Sodo usually being way more stoic.

The other ghouls all scatter away to the sides of their fully cushioned conversation pit. Mountain sits down in the middle of it, the fire ghoul now more on his lap.

Then the others all come back, wordlessly coordinating into position; Rain curls into Mountain’s, and by extension Sodo’s, left side. Swiss comes down on the right. Cirrus moves her tail around Sodo’s left leg and snuggles into it, with Cumulus holding onto her. And Aurora holds the right, Phantom behind her.

All at once, the fire ghoul is overwhelmed by the scents and purring of his bandmates. His family.

Maybe it won’t last forever. Maybe it will all end in the blink of an eye. But for now he gets to be there, surrounded by those he cares about most. There is only them, not another worry in mind.

[My masterlist]

#Getting back into sharing my writing is TERRIFYING #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #headcanon #nameless ghouls #sodo ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #mountain ghoul #the band ghost angst #ghost fanfiction #ghost bc #the band ghost fic

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