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waynes-multiverse · 16 days

Note

Can I put in the request for Ben to “support the fine arts?” 🤣

A/N: Hahaha you may! Hope you have fun with this! Based on this drabble and this little ask 😝

Pairing: Soldier Boy x F!Reader

Warnings: +18/NSFW, smut (oral m), degrading, dirty talk, weird jealousy on both side, SB being a manipulative asshole

Word Count: 2.5k

Main Masterlist || Dirty Drabbles Masterlist

He Comes In Colors

The chatter in the classroom quiets down as your teacher, Mrs. Fournier, enters. You and your friends finish your sentences in hush and take your seats in front of your respective easels, not wanting to upset the strict, older lady again.

But instead of her usual cantankerous and bitter features, she sports an unusually bright smile and pinkly flushed cheeks today, still giggling like a schoolgirl over a crush and looking in the direction of the hallway as she walks to her desk.

Bashfully, she clears her throat and fights to regain her composure. “Class, we have a change of plans. I know we were supposed to devote our attention to the intricacies of nature today, but an opportunity presented itself we simply cannot pass up on. We have a very special guest this beautiful afternoon, who so graciously volunteered to be our model for this class.”

Your chest tightens slightly at her words, encumbered with a dark forewarning that settles in your gut. And as you catch a flicker of an all too familiar sage green kimono by the door, the bad omen in your belly only grows.

He wouldn’t dare, you think. Would he?

But you don’t have to answer your own question. Deep down you already know.

Of course, he would.

“Ladies and gentlemen, meet our model for today – the one and only Soldier Boy,” Mrs. Fournier introduces, and you watch with parted lips as your stupid boyfriend strides into the classroom with an even stupider grin.

Mrs. Fournier claps with vivid adoration, expecting the class to follow her lead, but you can’t bring yourself to give him more than an annoyed slow clap. You shoot him a glare, and the smirk directed at you tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. He aims to get on your nerves. He wants you to be mad.

Now, you’re sure you’ve done something in the last couple of days to upset him, and this is his way to enact his revenge instead of talking to you like an emotionally intelligent human being. Because Ben’s a fucking petty child, and this is how he deals with his feelings.

Ben offers his most charming red-carpet smile. “Pleasure to be here and support the fine arts, Mrs.–”

“Fournier,” your teacher provides all too helpfully.

“Ah, like fornicate. I can remember that,” Ben quips with a flirtatious smirk, while you suppress the sudden urge to stab him with the sharp end of your paintbrush.

You half expect the French woman to be appalled by the dirty joke. But to your big surprise, your over-sixty teacher only giggles in response like a high school freshman when the quarterback winks at her in the hallway.

“It is such an honor to have you here in my classroom, Soldier Boy,” Mrs. Fournier raves with a blush haunting her cheeks. “You have been my favorite superhero ever since I was a little girl.”

“Oh, so only ten years, huh?” Ben flirts shamelessly, all the while sending you little glances that let you know that this is your punishment.

Do you have a clue yet what you did? Nope! And you suppose you will never find out. You just have to get through this.

“Well, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

Soldier Boy devilishly rubs his palms together as he struts into the middle of the room, and with one flawless swing, he drops the robe and stands before you (and your classmates) in all his god-given glory. And boy, did God give – not only with two hands but probably with six or seven.

Mrs. Fournier gasps unabashedly with a palm on her weak heart and goddamn drool in your mouth, causing your frown only to deepen.

“Marvelous! Simply marvelous,” she rhapsodizes and is close to fainting. Of course, your boyfriend enjoys all this attention greatly. “It’s like staring at the statue of David!”

“Oh, please…” you mutter with a miffed scoff and roll your eyes back, but that only earns you a scolding glare from your teacher. You know then that showing your displeasure with the situation will only secure you a failing grade.

Ben then props his foot up on a little stool right in front of you, his cock hanging heavy and long between his muscular bow legs. And no, it’s not inflated to its full size but still as impressive and formidable as a lion king during a safari.

His gaze only sweeps across you before it lingers on your friend Alexander. There’s a cocky and yet threatening glint in your boyfriend’s eyes as he assesses the male next to you.

“Remarkable, isn’t it?” Soldier Boy prompts daringly. Only your boyfriend could talk about his dick like that and not even feel an ounce of shame. “Don’t worry, squirt. I’m sure yours is just fine,” he adds, but you know he doesn’t mean it.

And then, suddenly, it dawns on you – why he has decided to infiltrate your art class.

Two nights ago, you went out with Alexander and a few other friends from class for drinks and didn’t invite Ben. Mostly because Ben is obnoxious when he meets new people and is a little too “old-school values” for your hipster friends. It would take ages alone to even explain all their different sexualities and pronouns to your last-century boyfriend. You just wanted one night for yourself, and you knew now that hurt his feelings.

You even felt a tiny bit bad and guilty but by far not enough to accept this current shit show he was delivering.

“Oh my, I don’t want to be too forward but may I–” Your teacher doesn’t finish her sentence, but her reaching hand is suggestion enough.

Soldier Boy chuckles amusedly. “Oh, you may,” he says but smirks at you as you gape at him in utter indignation. “What kind of hero would I be, if I said no? After all, this body belongs to every American citizen.”

And as Mrs. Fournier’s greedy palm stretches for your boyfriend’s perky buttcheek, something inside you snaps. You jump up from your seat, all wild and fuming, before you realize everyone is staring at you with wide eyes and confused brows. No one knows you’re dating him, so your upset seems completely unwarranted to everyone else in the room. Only Ben’s lips rise triumphantly.

“Be-… Soldier Boy,” you correct yourself and clear your throat, forcing a tight-lipped smile on your face. “A word, please?”

“Y/N, we’re in the middle of a class. Show our guest some respect,” your teacher demands chidingly.

But Ben soothes her anger with another charming smile. “Oh, absolutely no problem, beautiful,” he says and causes Mrs. Fournier to blush once more. “Y/N here is clearly an adoring fan, and I always have time for my fans.”

“Yes, I’m a huge fan. I’ve never met a real celebrity before. My grandma will be so thrilled when I tell her all about it,” you lie as dryly as possible. Honestly, you’re so pissed you can’t get yourself to act remotely convincing.

“We’ll be right back,” Ben excuses with a tight smile.

He quickly throws his robe back on and grabs your upper arm, ushering you outside. You want to stop in the hallway, but he drags you further and shoves you into a supply closet, closing the door a little too roughly.

“You know the rules: no fucking drama in public. It’s not good for my image,” he reminds you sternly, and you try not to scoff.

“How dare you say that after waltzing into my goddamn class? Ben, my education is serious. You don’t mess with that,” you point out angrily and fold your arms over your tits. “I don’t have time for your petty revenge.”

“Yeah, you never have fucking time,” he huffs scornfully.

“Is this because I didn’t invite you for drinks with my friends?” You cock an eyebrow, shooting him a knowing look.

“No, this is because you went out with that fucking empty nutsack in there,” he bites and points an angry finger at you. “And by the way, you’d be fucking lucky to show me off. I’m a fucking catch! Have you seen how those bitches fawned over me in there?”

“Who? Mrs. Fournier? That old hag hasn’t seen any action since the French Revolution. She’d fawn over a fucking trash bag,” you retort and watch Ben purse his lips dejectedly. You smirk a little at your win.

But you don’t want to antagonize him more. You can tell that you hurt his fragile ego with your rejection, and while he fucking annoys you and drives you incredibly mad sometimes, you’re still deeply in love with the idiot in front of you. He does have his sweet moments every once in a while. He comes in many colors, a whole palette of different shades.

“Look, uhm, I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. I didn’t mean to, okay? I don’t want you to be jealous. You have no reason to be, alright? I love you, asshole,” you tell him with a small smile.

“Fine, maybe I was a little jealous,” he admits after a beat. “But not of that scrawny twinkie in there.”

“Alright, maybe I was a little jealous, too,” you remark to make him feel better. “But not of that old French whore in there.” Ben snorts at that, chuckling. “So, do you forgive me and get the fuck outta my class now?”

Ben muses slyly and then grins. “I don’t think that apology was good enough.” Your brow draws into a deep frown at his words. Whatever has gotten into his mind now can’t be good. “They do say an apology is only worthy if it’s said on someone’s knees.”

You glare at him, your hands balling into furious fists by your side. “You gotta be kidding me…” you mutter and hiss through your teeth, “Ben, I’m not fucking blowing you in the supply closet of my school!”

Ben only shrugs carelessly. “Alright, guess I’ll have to ask Mrs. French Whore and see if she takes me up on my offer.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you grit.

“Oh, we both know I would, but I do prefer your beautiful and warm mouth, doll,” Ben smirks, letting each word roll off his tongue as his thumb pad reaches out and seductively traces your pink lips.

Instinctively, you suck his thumb into your mouth and massage it with your tongue, only widening his brash smile. As your eyes flicker down, you notice his rock-hard cock push through the fabric of the kimono and salute you. Your legs grow wobbly at the sight, your knees giving in with the urge to bend.

“Down,” he mouths, and you oblige without another protest, sinking to your knees in front of him.

You part your lips and stick your tongue out, ready to welcome his swollen tip. He fists his length and jerks his palm up and down a few times. He likes it to be as big as possible. He loves to see you struggle as you desperately try to fit all of him inside your tiny mouth.

His free hand lifts your chin, forces your eyes to find his as he guides his cock to your waiting mouth. He plops it on your tongue, heavy and thick, and lets it rest there for a second, gauging your reaction with a knowing smirk. You seal your lips around his weeping tip without question, your tongue swirling around it and dipping into the slit. You lick the salty precum with moans of pleasure, your hums sending vibrations up and down his length as your head begins to bob.

With each swallow you get closer to his pelvic bone, but Ben’s impatient and fists his hand into your hair. He roughly tugs and pulls you all the way down till your nose disappears in the little tuft of hair and tears stream down your cheeks as you cough for air.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby girl. Choke on my cock, you little slut,” he growls. His hips rock and find a rhythm as he thrusts inside you, hitting the back of your throat each time. “Fuck, that’ll teach you a lesson, won’t it? Who do you fucking belong to?”

He pulls you off his spit-drenched cock for the sole reason of replying. You look up at him as he expectantly meets your gaze with an arched eyebrow.

“You, daddy,” you reply on command.

He smirks in satisfaction and praises you, “There’s my good girl.” He tightens his grip on your hair and pushes back inside you. “Gonna send you back in with my cum all over you. Show those little pricks they can’t fucking touch what’s mine.”

As his hips gain speed, you hollow your cheeks and suck harder, feeling him swell on your tongue. Your jaw begins to ache, barely fitting his girth while his massive length drills relentlessly into your throat. Drool dribbles out from the sides of your mouth and mixes with your tears. Your mascara is nonexistent at this point and smeared all over your face.

And you know damn well, as soon as you walk back into class, everyone will know what you did.

“Such a good little whore for me,” Ben groans and pistons deeper once more, squeezing his eyes shut. You know it’s his telltale sign that he's close. “You’re such a fucking mess. Shit, gonna blow…”

He grunts as his hips stutter and his cock throbs in your mouth. He shoots hot ropes of cum down your throat, pulling out in the midst to paint your face with the rest. God knows he would never miss an opportunity to mark you. And when he’s done with his piece of sublime artwork, he smirks down at you, all self-satisfied and proud.

But then a bit of sweetness returns as he holds out his hands and helps you back on your feet. He gently tucks and brushes your hair back into place before snatching a roll of paper towels from the rack of art supplies behind you. He thoroughly cleans your face, removing any evidence of his deed, and kisses your hairline like you’re his most prized possession when he’s finished.

“There, all done, doll.” Ben’s smile makes you blush as he cups your cheeks. “No one will be the fucking wiser.”

As the two of you saunter back inside, no one seems to suspect anything. You get back to your original seat, while Ben invents some silly excuse to get out of his naked commitment.

But then Alexander tilts his head at you with a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes, his finger pointing at his own cheek. “Y/N, uhm, I think you have something there. Oh, uhm, is that…”

He doesn’t finish as your eyes widen and your cheeks redden in embarrassment. Your shocked gaze darts to your boyfriend as he lingers by the door. With one last cunning smirk, he winks at you and heads out.

Yes, your boyfriend surely comes in many colors – and most of them are dark.

And yes, you bet your ass Ben was crushing hard on Mrs. Fournier 😂 Hope you enjoyed this!

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ellivenollivander · 10 months

Text

Valentine's Day

@halfwisteria suggested a Pre-Valentines Day scenario for Amit, a few weeks ago and I finally got inspired to write something for it! Rating: 18+ for insinuations Summary: MC loathes Valentine's Day because she's lonely and desperately in love with her best friend. For two Ravenclaws they sure are dumb. Pairing: Amit Thakkar x F!MC Word Count: 4,329 (LOL) A/N: Aged up characters (seventh year at Hogwarts), broody MC, Sebastian Sallow cameo!

MC had half a mind to simply lock herself in her dorm room, bed curtains tightly closed for all hours of the day until the fifteenth of February.

Perhaps she could convince her professors she had come down with a terrible case of spattergroit and simply did not wish to be seen by anyone. It seemed like a reasonable enough excuse, though the more she thought about it on her walk to History Of Magic, she realized they would probably have her whisked away to the hospital wing where Madam Blainey would see by her clear complexion and ability to speak that she definitively did not have spattergroit.

She grunted against the door of the classroom, rolling her eyes at Adelaide and Evangeline who were giggling around a bit of parchment when she entered, scowling at the little hearts they were taking turns drawing along the edges.

It wasn’t that she hated romance or love in general, but the sudden public displays of it this time of year were starting to grate on her already frayed nerves under the stress of her NEWTS. It had absolutely nothing to do with the longing she held for her best friend, who was sitting in his usual spot in the classroom. His schoolbag tucked into the chair at his side, for her, his body curled over a book laid on the table.

MC gave Amit a halfhearted grunt as a greeting as she slumped into her chair, resting her head on the table. Half hoping that if she licked the dirty surface beneath her face she really could contract spattergroit. Surely it would be better than having to suffer hormonal teenagers groping one another in the corridors of a school.

Amit’s laugh as he shoved her shoulder with his own had her turning her head to look up at him. Her heart performing an involuntary somersault at the amusement in his kind eyes.

He pressed a finger against her forehead, pushing her gently, eyebrow quirked.

“You alright, MC? You seem… upset. Not that it’s a bad thing or that I’m upset by you being upset. It’s okay to be upset. But you can talk to me if you are.”

MC laughed softly, with her cheek still resting on the table, letting Amit run out of breath.

“I just hate Valentine’s Day. Makes me want to toss myself off the Astronomy tower. I swear if I see one more pink heart or one more couple practically fornicating in the corridors I’m going to do so.”

Amit stifled a laugh of his own, rolling his eyes at his best friend's favorite threat against her own life at every minor inconvenience that befalls her.

“Well then, you might want to keep your head down because Andrew Larson and Lenora Everleigh are…” His face fills with a blush and contorts into something crossed between curiosity and disgust, his gaze somewhere behind her head. “… probably better off skipping class altogether and finding a broom cupboard.”

MC whips her head around, curiosity getting the better of her. She indeed witnesses Andrew pressing Lenora against the wall of the classroom, shoving his tongue down her throat.

She turns back to Amit, her eyes rolling so far into her skull she thinks she may sprain something.

Amit just laughs at her, his face now back to normal with his eyes back on his desk.

“I told you not to look, to be fair.”

“But you knew I would!”

“Astronomy towers that way.” His finger pointing absentmindedly in a random direction, a smile still tugging at the corners of his lips. When she made a move to stand, he pulled her back down by the sleeve of her robe.

“Stop that, it’s not that bad, really. They’re just in…love.” His eyes were soft, almost pleading when he met her gaze. “You should let them enjoy it.”

“They’re not in love, Amit. They’re hormonal and I’m not stopping them from their attempts to contract every venereal disease possible, I’m simply stopping myself from having to witness it.” She knew she sounded bitter, lonely even. Though she couldn’t help it much, and she was saved from Amit’s further lecture by Professor Binns’ own.

Despite every other student getting to catch up on their sleep during this particular class, She was forced to stay awake alongside Amit. If she dared even blink for too long, he would pinch her beneath the table. He couldn’t force her to pay attention to the droning of their paranormal professor, however, so she entertained herself with thoughts of how best to avoid actually existing in the school for at least the next several days.

She was working her way through a delicious scenario involving being dragged to the bottom of the Black Lake by a pack of vicious grindylows when a piece of parchment smacked her square in the forehead. She scowled at Amit, assuming it was his feeble attempt to pull her back to the dissolution of the wizards council, but he was staring straight ahead, taking his usual notes.

She frowned and picked up the parchment, but before she could unfold it, her attention was drawn to the table ahead of her, where she was being psst at.

Adelaide Oakes was staring at her with a wide eyed look and a red face as she frantically pointed at Amit, while Evangeline giggled beside her. MC bristled, mind going back to the parchment the two Hufflepuffs had been fawning over when she had entered the classroom.

She contemplated walking up and shoving it down her peppy little throat. Instead, she slid it over to Amit and tapped his arm to point it out. Feeling a bit satisfied when he glowered at it before shoving it into the pocket of his robes. Losing a bit of that satisfaction when he hissed at her for writing him notes during class, when she should be paying attention.

MC had to take a deep breath to avoid setting fire to the classroom.

“It wasn’t me, Amit. I-” She was about to tell him that if she had a mind to declare her love for him she’d do it in person, not in a damned note like a lovesick third year. Then she realized she did love him and had no mind to do any such thing. The fear of losing his friendship, greater than the desires of her heart. “Well, aren’t you going to read it? Then you’ll know it wasn’t me.”

Amit waved her off, and she let him. If only because she recognized the growing look of irritation on his face at missing the lecture. MC really did try not to take pleasure in the way Adelaide’s face fell when she watched the receiver of her wretched little note shove it into his pocket with a scowl, but she was only human and she bit back her smile as she returned to daydreams of a different kind. Ones much less morbid, and a bit more on theme for the tone of the castle these days.

When class was dismissed, Amit had to rouse her from her fantasies with a pinch to her arm and a chastising look. She followed him out the doors with a grumble, nearly having forgotten the note until Amit pulled her into a corner, his hand fishing into his robe pocket and pelting her with questions.

MC stomach twisted with anxious nausea as he retrieved the parchment, after she explained what she had seen, his hands shaking and face flushed.

She recoiled when he thrust it at her.

“What?! No! It’s for you!”

“I can’t do it, MC. Please.”

She softened, just for him and the desperation in his eyes, and took the note between her thumb and forefinger. He pulled it back before she could take it from his hand.

“No! You're right, I should read it. I should do it, she wrote it to me.” His shaking hands held the parchment, while his thumbs ran anxious circles over it. “Who wrote it? Adelaide or Evangeline?”

“Do you have a preference?” MC’s tone was laced with more venom than she had intended, and she winced at herself. The fall from the Astronomy Tower was sounding more and more ideal, as she watched the man she loved look so giddy at the prospect of two girls suddenly showing interest in him. As if the girl standing in front of him hadn’t been devoted to him since their very first astronomy class, back in fifth year.

She took a deep breath, attempting to fight back the angry green monster rearing its ugly head. She could reconcile her annoyance with either Adelaide or Evangeline, but the guilt of snapping at her favorite person in the world had her taking another deep, steadying breath.

“I just mean, I wasn’t aware you were interested in either of them. You’ve never… told me.” It felt like it was taking everything inside of her to act natural, to not betray the lump in her throat or the queasiness of her stomach.

“Adelaide’s nice! She’s really nice, did you know her Uncle works with goblins? He’s a metal trader! Oh and Evangeline loves history, she and I bump into each other a lot in the library. We share book recommendations with each other. Do you… do you know anything else about her? I know she helped you restore the bells for the school.”

MC had to bite back her retort of how Evangeline did not help with anything. How she had sent her up with nothing but the knowledge that bells had to be restored. It had taken her 45 minutes to get the bells to do what she wanted, in the furnace that was the music room.

Instead, she took another deep breath.

“Why don’t you just read the note, Amit. Then you can decide who your future wife is.”

This time, she managed to keep the bile down where it belonged, and her voice teasing in lieu of malicious.

“It’s just a note, MC it could be… it could just be her asking for my help with Astronomy or… or maybe she wants to borrow my notes…” He has finally begun to unfold the note, and MC let’s herself believe Amit’s innocent attempts to guard himself against the hope of someone crushing on him. MC knows better, she saw the blushing girls’ faces and heard their giggles. But the flicker of hope was enough to keep her from lighting the parchment aflame with her gaze alone.

The thirty seconds it takes Amit to open the note, and read its contents feels like hours. His face blushes a deep red, and he’s got a smile on his lips that MC has only seen in rare circumstances of extreme happiness. She wants to use her own skull as a battering ram against the stone wall.

“Well?” Her patience was running thin, and her skin was prickling with anxiety and pathetic pining.

“Adelaide! It … it was Adelaide! She… she wants to know if I’ll be her Valentine. I.. I think that would be nice.. having somewhere to go with someone … she’s nice and.. and she’s cute don’t you think? MC?” Amit was staring at her, expecting input from his best friend, who at the moment was currently fighting tears or vomit, she was still trying to decide when he said her name again.

She shook herself out, taking yet another deep shaky breath.

“If that’s what you want, Amit.”

She meets his gaze, and he seems to falter. His mouth opening and closing in silence before he drops her gaze, looking back at the note still laying in his hand.

“Yeah… I think it is. I think it will be nice. And fun! It’s just one day right? It doesn’t hurt to explore it! I’m going… I’m going to go find her and .. and set something up.”

He slides the note into his pocket, and walks away, feet moving quickly to try and catch up to the two girls who had left the hall arm in arm. Leaving MC standing alone, still feeling a bit sick.

She nurses her broken heart alongside Sebastian, who had taken minimal convincing to skip Potions class to sling curses in the Undercroft.

It doesn’t take him long to pick up on her agitation, when he has to repair the dummy they nicked off of Lucan, after she had casted a particularly powerful bombarda.

When the dummy is as good as new, he turns to meet her unapologetic gaze.

“Alright, what’s got you so pissed off?” He stands between her and the dummy, arms crossed in front of his chest. She’s equally irritated and grateful for how well he knows her.

MC feels herself deflate, feeling safe enough to be vulnerable with the man she sees as a brother, here in their little sanctuary.

“Can’t I just be pissed off for no good reason?” His amused smirk at her response eases her nerves even further. That, coupled with the exhaustion from their spell practice has her dragging her feet to a crate and slumping on to it. “… I just hate Valentine’s Day. I hate seeing all of these vile couples and their disgusting love and their awful public displays of affection. It’s as if someone has gassed the castle with amortentia.”

Sebastian joins her, his knee knocking against hers playfully as he sits beside her.

“Are you jaded, MC? You’re sounding quite jaded.”

When she shoots him a glare, he doesn’t miss a beat. “Lonely, then?”

When she visibly tenses, he lets out a small laugh, his face still kind and concerned despite the humor he finds in seeing his friend in such a state. MC considers switching targets for her spell practice.

“MC, I could point my finger at any man in this castle and they’d fall head over heels at the chance to take you out.”

She scrunches her nose at the notion, rolling her eyes as she stares at the stone floor of the Undercroft.

“Well, I don’t want just any man. I’m not just going to throw myself at anything with a pulse.” She meets his gaze, and continues on. “I may have my eye on a specific man…” She trails off, balking slightly in the face of her confession. When Sebastian’s eyes widen, and he runs his hand over the back of his neck, uncomfortably she stares at him in confusion.

“MC… I’m flattered, really. But… I see you as more of a sister… and I’m with Poppy.”

MC sputters, fighting back the urge to vomit on the floor at the thought.

“Gods, no, not you!” She throws in a gag and a look of disgust for good measure, clearly his ego could use the blow. “You're like a brother to me.”

The awkward tension immediately dissolves with their shared laughter and MC feels herself feeling lighter, braver.

“It’s…Merlin, I’ve never admitted it out loud before.” She takes another deep breath, and stares at the floor. Her head filling with her dark haired Ravenclaw, his kind eyes. His passion for knowledge. His ability to love unconditionally anyone or anything he deems worthy.

“ItsAmit.” She admits it quickly, like pulling a sliver. Her eyes unwavering in their gaze on the floor. She can feel her cheeks heat in a blush, she doesn’t have to look in a mirror to know that her face is crimson red.

“Oh. That makes sense… So tell him, ask him out for Valentine's Day.” Sebastian’s knee knocking against hers was meant to be comforting, yet she still wrinkled her nose at the suggestion.

“First of all, ew. Second of all, I can’t… he’s going out with Adelaide Oakes.” MC cannot hold back the venom in her tone at the name of the girl she’s seething with jealousy towards.

When Sebastian is silent, she glares at him. He looks deep in thought, staring at the floor. She punches his shoulder, perhaps a bit harder than necessary to draw his attention back to her and her self pity.

His face immediately splits into a cheeky grin, mischief flashing in his eyes as he turns back towards her.

“Sorry, was just thinking about them as a couple. It’s cute. They have my blessing.”

MC punches him again, this time definitely harder than necessary. He clutches the injured spot on his arm with a loud laugh.

“Right. Sorry. I’m meant to be comforting aren’t I?”

When MC continues staring at him in disbelief he laughs again, punching her shoulder back. As gently as he can.

“I think you should tell him. What, Are you scared?”

They both know that he’s teasing her, but when she grimaces at the question, he lets out a soft oh. Then collects himself, rubbing her shoulder in an awkward attempt at comforting her. He’s grateful when she shrugs him off. They’re close, like family, but physical affection between the two friends was rare at best.

“Not scared of telling him, not really anyway… but scared of losing what we have. He’s my best friend, Sebastian. I don’t know if I could live with myself if we lost that. Our connection, our comfort with one another.” She sounds exasperated, like she’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. She ignores Sebastian feigning hurt at the enunciation she had made at the words best friends, his hand held over his heart. “I just feel as though it’s not worth the risk. I’ll just have to find a way to live with feeling this way about him.”

Sebastian heaves a sigh, his hands running through his hair, evidence of his concentration.

“You’re sure it’s not just a fleeting feeling? The season clouding your judgement?” His hands waving softly in the air. “Hormones?”

MC heaves a sigh of her own, and when she meets Sebastian’s gaze once again, her eyes are wet with tears of longing.

“No, Sebastian. I wish it was fleeting. I feel like I’m walking around with my heart in a vice. I love him. I’m in love with him, and I think I have been since I met him.” She hates the way she sounds, desperately pining after her best friend. The regret of not acting on her love for him months ago, making her chest constrict, bringing bile into her throat. She wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her uniform, tears now falling freely at sitting in her regret, her desire.

Gratitude finding its way into the compounding emotions she was being overtaken by, when Sebastian turns away. Pretending to be interested in the tower of discarded furniture in the corner. She’s thankful for his small act of mercy.

“Do you want advice? Or do you just want to wallow?” His voice is soft, through the chastising tone. They both know this isn’t her, always having been the girl to face every challenge, every obstacle, with her head held high.

She manages a small laugh, wiping away the last of her traitorous tears.

“We both know you’re going to say what you want to say anyway.”

He makes a sound of agreement, deep in his throat before he turns to her. His hands rolling his wand between them.

“I know you, and I know Amit, thanks to you. I think you should tell him. Even if” He holds his hand in her face when she opens her mouth to object. “Even if the feelings aren’t reciprocated. The two of you would get through it. Don’t think either one of you would much like to be without the other, in any capacity.”

~*~

Back up in the Ravenclaw common room, Sebastian’s words are still ringing in her head as MC stares at the ceiling from the couch she had claimed for the past few hours. Quite literally lying in wait for Amit to come back from the library.

Every sound near the door had her ears perked up, eyes moving towards it like a dog waiting for the return of its owner. She felt downright silly, but her mind could be occupied by nothing else but the proclamation of love she was about to bestow on her best friend.

Sebastian had promised her a raid of the kitchens for cauldron cakes and ice cream if it went downhill. She was clinging to that promise like an anchor in the sea of anxiety she now found herself in.

Just as she was about to round on some poor second year to beg him to double check that Amit wasn’t actually in his dorm. He walked through the door, arms laden with books and a look of contentment on his face.

She lurched from the couch immediately, putting herself between him and the dormitory stairs.

“Can we talk?”

~*~

Minutes later they stood in the cold night, wrapped in a warming charm above the Ravenclaw Common Room.

MC was pacing, her eyes on the toes of her boots, while Amit's eyes followed her, anxiety written into his features at the behavior of his best friend.

Her stomach was tied up in knots, and she had to continually take deep steadying breaths to stop from hurling herself over the railing and falling to her demise.

Sebastian’s words are still ringing in her head.

The two of you will get through it.

Neither one of you would much like to be without the other.

They spurred her on. She turned on her heel one last time, before facing Amit.

He stood up straight under her gaze.

“MC wha-”

She cut him off with a shake of her head and another deep breath.

“No, I’m sorry. I just need to get this out before I lose my courage. Please.” She wondered for a moment which she’d prefer. Facing Ranrok beneath the castle again, or facing a potential rejection from her best friend when she confesses her love for him, above it.

Amit nodded slowly, his voice caught in his throat, unsure of how to comfort the girl in front of him when he wasn’t being allowed to speak. He opted for a comforting hand on her shoulder, to which filled her face with a blush and she resisted the urge to lean into it.

She held her hands up in front of her body, nearly touching Amit’s chest.

“Okay. I’m not really one for dramatic speeches or reciting love poems or even drawing pathetic little hearts on bits of parchment and tossing them onto your coursework. But I need to get it off of my chest, and I know this is the worst possible fucking time, and could potentially ruin our entire friendship and sully every memory we’ve ever made together…” She takes another deep breath, her eyes shut tight to avoid watching Amit’s reaction to her rambling confession. “... What I'm trying to say, in a very long winded way is that… I’m in love with you. Have been in love with you, and I’m sorry.”

When it feels like far too many minutes have passed and Amit still hasn’t said a word, she risks opening her eyes. Finding him staring into hers, eyes wet with tears and face bathed in the soft light of the moon.

“Do…Do you mean it?” His voice is soft, she wouldn’t have heard him if it wasn’t for the silent night around them.

She’s taken aback by the question and she takes yet another risk, taking his hands in hers.

“Of course I mean it, I wouldn’t lie or joke about something like this, Amit.”

He sniffs, pulling his hands back to wipe his eyes before running them down his face. His voice jumbled when he speaks from behind them.

“I love you too.”

She’s sure she’s hallucinating, grabbing his hands again to make him look at her.

“Say… Say it again.”

He gives her another soft smile, scoffing just a bit before he squeezes the hands that are still entwined with hers.

“I love you too.”

Despite the euphoria slowly growing inside of her, she can’t help her mischievous smirk. Slowly starting to feel like herself again, feeling comfortable and safe with him again.

“Do you mean it?”

He laughs softly, rolling his eyes.

Then he kisses her.

His hands drop hers, and he cups her face, cold fingers sliding themselves into her hair as he presses his lips against hers. She makes a soft sound of surprise, before she melts into it. Her own hands clutching his robes as he leans into her, making her dizzy.

When they pull apart, they’re both a bit dazed, smiles on both their faces, excitement buzzing between them.

MC breaks the comfortable silence first, fingers still curled into the fabric of his robes as she stares into his eyes.

“So what now?”

~*~

Amit had tracked down Adelaide first thing the next morning, full of apologies and explanations. I’m in love with someone else. She had taken it gracefully, making MC feel nauseatingly guilty at the animosity she had held for the girl only days before, and it hadn’t taken long for her and the rest of the castle to pick up on the differences in the way the two Ravenclaws now carried themselves through the halls. Fingers laced together, blushing faces and disappearances into the restricted section when they were meant to be studying in the library.

February 14th finally arrives.

It’s just after midnight when MC manages to catch a glimpse of the clock on Amit’s end table, through the crack in the bed curtains that were pulled tightly shut.

She’s curled against Amit's body, in his bed, in his dorm. Her clothes lost somewhere in the blankets, having been long forgotten when her boyfriend had slid them from her body in the heat of the night, and the soft sounds of Amit’s heartbeat where she lay against his chest, were like a lullaby pulling her with him to sleep.

It was in this moment that MC decides she really doesn’t mind Valentine’s Day.

#amit thakkar #amit thakkar x mc #amit thakker fic #sweet angel baby boy and broody mc was v fun to write #seb fans dont say i never do anything for you

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phantomphangphucker · 1 year

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Phic Phight - Rebound From A Breaking Point

For: @library-of-cronos

Even on the run he’s still got someone(s) to protect

Life on the streets was hard for anyone, most of all children though. However, on this street it was better to be a kid/teen. The kids all knew that, and so did the adults. Why? Because of the pale kid with fluffy black hair and eyes like blue ice, the kid would could be behind you at a moments notice without ever making a sound, the kid that would eye a gun like it was a pathetic toy, the kid who could walk into a room full of mobsters and be the only one left standing and looking like he’d merely gone for a light jog. To adults of the seedier sort his presence was an ominous warning that somehow someway they fucked up. While to the kids he was like some sort of guardian angel. If someone sold you bad drugs? You go to D. If someone was stalking you or threatening you or hurt you? You go to D. If some kid was missing? You go to D. If you needed food or water or medical help or shelter? You go to D. Whatever it was a kid might be having issues with, they could always go to D. Though trying to get the ‘how’ of how he helped, out of him was a pointless endeavour, since the answer was always either ‘I have my ways’ or ‘I’m just a good fighter’. Most of the adults thought he was a child mercenary or at least trained by one, because of how he could fight in so many styles and so skilled, because of how weapons and violence didn’t bother him even slightly, because of how he wouldn't react to getting injured even severely, because of a lot of things.

It was to the point where adults would go silent or nod respectfully if they saw him, and kids would run up to play or idly chat. It didn’t matter that he was cold as ice, it didn’t matter that his stare could make you feel like Death had come, it didn’t matter that many could swear he didn’t breath enough, it didn’t matter that he’d do things that seemed like they should be impossible. Adults respected or feared or hated him. Kids respected, looked up to, and loved him. Many of the kids could even say they were all great friends, even if D was closed off and secretive. No one knew his real name, no one knew where he’d come from, no one knew why he was here. There was, however, one big clue: the Rule. The Rule was simply that if men in white suits ever came, to stay away from them and that he- that D didn’t exist. That Rule only made more of them sure he was a child mercenary on the run from his former employers or a lab rat on the run from the government or the child of some big crime lord trying to establish himself without his family's connections. Honestly? If the boy wanted to outright take over the city’s seedy underground, he could with the snap of a finger; instead he just seemed to want to protect and nothing more… some called him Batman jokingly over that, the fact that he often hung out on rooftops and ‘patrolled’ in the dark of night, only encouraged everyone.

Even if an adult managed to sorta consider D a friend they had to watch it, if D perceived something they did/were doing as a threat to the kids, D would flip on them like a dime. But if an adult deemed friendly by D was in trouble, he’d help them. Rival gang looking to beat you into the ground and torture your girlfriend? D would hogtie them with their own belt and break all their toes with a witty quip. Honestly, his fatalistic and dark humour was both hilarious and very unnerving. It was also very good at pissing off people that didn’t know better, him insinuating that some abusive asshat fornicated with his own gun resulted in an entire building getting burned down and a few people thinking the ‘d’ meant demon over him walking through flames like it meant nothing.

All in all, he was good (and terrifying) to have around; at least… until men in white suits did actually show up. Pressed, clearly dry cleaned, white suits. Uniformed hair cuts. Dark sunglasses. Smelling of bleach and limes. Anyone with half a mind could tell they meant trouble. They asked around with pictures of D, anyone who even slightly seemed to know anything would disappear for a while. Whether that someone was a vendor, a shop owner, a street kid, a drug dealer, a random apartment tenant, a CEO’s assistant; it didn’t matter. All the shop owners and vendors in the seedier parts of town already knew better than to give these men anything, and the others soon learned better. Those that disappeared would come back with stories of torture, electrocution, water boarding, being beaten with guns, chained up and left to hang by their wrists, injected with drugs; anything and everything seemed to be alright and doable by these people. They were dangerous. Whether they were government, secret militia, a powerful crime ring. It was collectively decided that whatever D did to these people they were all better off not knowing, and that he would be gone if they ever found him.

Even the people who didn’t like D or were solidly terrified of him went about to let him be taken or assaulted by these psychotic whackos, especially when all the kid could be accused of was being too protective and secretive for his own good. Even after the men left, D was MIA for a month, wherever he found to hide it out was clearly a very good one. And when he came back he clearly expected to be treated different and was very interested in anything anyone had to say about the strange men. Everyone did learn a little more about whatever D had left behind though, a bombing was involved, experimentation on child corpses, somethings even hinted at a civil war or something similar. The only explanation he gave to anyone, which everyone who heard it assumed they only got out of him because they basically all protected him right back, was, “‘cause somethings are simply meant to be contained, and one of them is me”. Oddly that didn’t actually answer what kind of group was after him, it did make it clear that he was just as dangerous as he seemed if not more so.

In the end it just made D’s reputation even more intimidating. But everyone with sense, especially the kids, knew that it would be very bad if the men in white ever returned here.

End.

Prompt: Danny, on the run from the GIW and powerless, finds his second home with abandoned children living on the same streets he is. And superpowered or not, he's going to protect them.

#Danny Phantom #phandom #phic phight #phic phight 2023 #danny #giw #on the run #implied/referenced character death #POV outsider #fan fic #phan phic #have a fic suck my dick #my writing #phantomphangphucker #gothmoth

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skylerscull1 · 1 year

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Gotham - Jerome Valeska Character Analysis / Ramble

Jerome was told that his legacy was death and madness, he was told that "You will be a curse upon Gotham. Children will wake from sleeps screaming at the thought of you. Your legacy will be death and madness." Paul Cicero, his father, had watched Jerome being treated harshly time and time again throughout Jerome's childhood, and had never lifted a hand to help him. Jerome, even before his brother Jeremiah left him, had been dealt the wrong hand in life, one bad day after another until one day he couldn't take it anymore.

In season 3, episode 3 of Gotham, Jerome confronts his father about the wrong-doings that were done to him during childhood. Jerome says to him, "You remember Kansas City, Dad? The circus went through town every spring right around my birthday? There was this guy. Him and my mom used to drink and fornicate and beat the crap out of me. They'd make a whole night out of it. And I remember one time... it was my ninth birthday... him and my mom had just finished round one of boozing, boning, beating up Jerome, and were deciding to take a little break. I was outside the trailer, and you were there. And you said: "Why are you crying, Jerome?" "It's my birthday. And my mom and the snake guy are beating me." And then you said: "This world doesn't care about you or anyone else, Jerome. Better to realize that now." And that was it."

A nine year old child was told that no one cared about him, he cried out for help, and no one - not even his own father, who he didn't know was his father at the time - bothered to listen to his cries for help. This was a child who was disillusioned about the world at a young age, forced to grow up early. The one kindness his mother ever gave him was lying to him about who his father was, deciding to let him believe that his father was a great sailor when in fact his father was just another one of his abusers.

At nine years old, Jerome was beaten down by his own mother and when he told Mr. Cicero, he was shut down. Nothing was done to help him, no one had come to his rescue. No one bothered to help. Being told that no one cares about you at such a young age can be damaging to a person.

Now imagine that the one person meant to be closest to you, the only person you have left, leaves too.

At ten years old, Jeremiah was the only thing Jerome had left, and he had left Jerome just like that. In the show, when we first see Jeremiah, he explains to Jim and Harvey why he left, "They hid me away to protect me from him. See, we were always different, Jerome and I. From our early age, I showed a proficiency for maths and design and Jerome mainly the mutilation of allycats. On my tenth birthday he held a cake knife to my throat. A few weeks later he lit my bed on fire. It was like living in a nightmare. My mother knew eventually one day he would succeed. So one day my uncle came to my room while Jerome slept and told me that he was taking me away, I had no idea where. But I kissed my mother goodbye, told her I loved her, and I never saw her again." Only none of that was true. We know that because not long after that revelation, Jeremiah and Jerome have an argument about it, and Jeremiah admits it was a lie.

"You're insane.” Jeremiah says, “And I tried telling mom but she didn't want to listen to me. You blame me for everything that's gone wrong in your life, but the truth is... Jerome, you were born bad." Jerome responds with, "Born bad huh? So that's why you made her think I tried to kill ya, right? What was it again? What was it?! I put a blade to your throat? No, no, no, no - I tried to light you on fire?!" "We both know you wanted to!" says Jeremiah "Yeah, that was a... funny story. Wasn't it?" "Okay... maybe it didn't happen exactly like that. But I didn't have a choice, and I was right. You killed our mother." Jeremiah justify’s his actions to his brother and Jerome ends the conversation with the following rebuttal: "She did deserve it though. After that whore hid you away, she gave up on me. Poisoned by your stories. You turned everyone I ever loved against me! MY OWN FLESH AND BLOOD! Hah, I guess it's just like they say... we can all go insane with just one. bad. day." -Jerome

Already we know that Jerome was accused of something he never did. Jeremiah had turned everyone against him, everyone he ever loved or cared about. Lila, their mother, didn’t want to believe Jeremiah at first, at one point she still loved and had hope for Jerome. It was Jeremiah that made her give up on him. Clearly, it’s obvious that before Miah left, Lila was still harsh with Jerome. Jeremiah admits that he tried telling mom that Jerome was insane before and she never lived, Jeremiah had been telling stories and poisoning everyone against Jerome for a long time, it wasn’t just those three lies, this was a childhood of blame being put against a boy who was proven time and time again that no one cared about him.

When Jerome was little, his uncle, Zachary Trumble, put his hand into a pot of boiling chicken stock because he tried to steal a snickerdoodle. “You remember that time you caught me trying to snag a snickerdoodle? Oh, that soup you made that day. Mmm, mamma mia! What was the special ingredient again? Ah, right. It was my hand. The one you dipped in a boiling pot of chicken stock! That smell, it was mouthwatering!" Jerome and Jeremiah’s relationship hadn’t always been negative, they used to dare each other to sneak into the chuck wagon to steal one of Zachary’s cookies. At one point, the two twins did get along, and according to Jeremiah, “It’s always the ones you’re closest to that you have to keep an eye on.” He knows that personally, because he and Jerome used to be close.

No one had ever helped Jerome, he admits so himself when he talks with his uncle in Season 4 Episode 16, "It's been great catching up, Uncle Zach. You really brought back the utter helplessness of childhood." "Uh, you know, with Uncle Zach, the beatings just never stopped. They went on and on. And nobody ever helped me. Ever." Jerome spent his whole childhood feeling helpless, beating after beating with no one there to help him.

Abuse can leave a life-long effect on a person. Even in adult-hood, Jerome is bitter about what he went through during childhood, he’s stuck in the past. He spent 15 years waiting to find his brother, 15 years obsessing over a grudge, left wondering what he must’ve done wrong to deserve what he went through.

There’s many environmental explanations for behavior. Why do people do the things they do? How do our minds work? How does our childhood affect us? Those are questions that psychologists and other behavioral scientists ask everyday. Some people argue that the influence of nurture is stronger than nature. Common influences on a persons behavior includes parenting style. Depending on the parenting style used, it can affect children and their development in different ways and it can have a significant impact on how a child's personality and behaviors develop.

- The Authoritarian Parenting Style is frigid, filled with rules, and demands obedience. The children have very little, if any, say in what takes place. This form of parenting can lead a child to be moody and lack self-esteem. - Authoritative parenting style has rule setting that is flexible, it encourages children to make decisions and learn from them, children raised in this type of environment tend to be self-reliant, friendly, and self-confident. - Permissive parenting style allows children to do as they wish with few rules set to follow but it might result in a child who has trouble making decisions or being held accountable for their actions.

From what information we were given, it’s highly likely that Lila’s parenting style would’ve been Authoritarian. Many children who lack self-esteem overcompensate in adulthood - which may lead to narcissism like behaviors or symptoms. According to mayoclinic.org, some causes for narcissism are related to the way the child was raised. Parent-child relationships with either too much adoration or too much criticism that don't match the child's actual experiences and achievements can lead to narcissism. Jeremiah was favored over Jerome, he was a child-genus who was spirited away to a boarding school and graduated early with achievements over his belt. Jerome talks about his brother in Season 4, Episode 18, about how: "No parent will admit it but everyone's got their favorites. Right brother? The one who cleans their room, does their homework, doesn't try to kill everybody. Lil mister perfect over here, he was that guy. He got adopted by rich folks. Went to the top schools, the top college. Meanwhile, I got dragged through the circus by my depressed alcoholic mother. Forced to clean up elephant dung everyday."

Jerome went through cruel and unusual punishments. Jeremiah meanwhile was the favorite, the “perfect” one, the one who got everything handed to him on a silver platter. Jerome confirms that even before his brother left, Jerome was being abused. Some causes of sibling estrangement and sibling abuse are actually due to issues in a parents parenting style, whether that be not displaying ANY discipline or being outright abusive towards their children - or even just displaying favoritism. Parents who abuse their children set a negative example, if the parents repeatedly scapegoat one child and blame them for everything that goes wrong, eventually the other child will also learn that they can conveniently avoid responsibilities when things go wrong. There's three types of sibling dynamics that are toxic and can lead to “going down the wrong path” so-to-speak. The one I’d like to look at here though is “The Golden Child and the Black Sheep”.

Jerome is the family scapegoat, he blames his brother for everything that has gone wrong in life yes, but he also constantly faced abuse by members of his family, brought down by the ones he was closest to and forced to face expectations that he was told he’d never meet - expectations he would never be able to meet. He was the scapegoat that Jeremiah used to get out of the circus, the scapegoat his mother used to vent her anger out on, the scapegoat his uncle Zach used to satisfy his cruelty. The adults around them taught Jerome that he needed to be stronger in order to survive in a world where it was kill or be killed, a world where the strong stood at the top and the vulnerable suffered for it - they taught Jeremiah that the abuse they put onto Jerome was acceptable. Jerome never had a chance from the very beginning. Because lets face it, his brother was the “perfect” one, the one he’d never be able to reach. Nothing he ever did was enough. He had lived a life of pain and suffering, one bad day after another.

Parents who are quick to anger, who act unreasonably and lash out regularly, teach their children that these are acceptable behaviors. Jerome was punished for reasons not even he likely understood, and watched as violence against him were practically encouraged. The weak were brought down by the strong, the vulnerable were beaten without consequence. He was taught again and again that being vulnerable did nothing but bring him pain. Jeremiah was the golden child, and Jerome suffered for it. As a kid, facing a reality like that can break you beyond repair.

Jerome was taught this:

- The world doesn’t care about him or anyone else.

- No one will help or save him.

- He’s on his own.

- Being vulnerable gets you hurt.

It’s not entirely Jeremiah’s fault what happened to Jerome, he too was a victim of their circumstances. They were both raised in a horrible abusive environment, they were both kids who wanted out and weren’t properly taught the difference between right or wrong. Neither of them had properly learned responsibility. Children lie, children get scared, and they do things that they can’t take back. They make mistakes, because they’re children who don’t know any better, children who don’t quite understand consequences or real-world cause and effect. When people are desperate or afraid, sometimes they’ll do anything to get an out. Children can also be cruel. Children learn from their environment, from the people who raised them, so it’s no wonder that Jeremiah did what he did, it’s not surprising for me to know that Jeremiah had lied about Jerome. By the time Jeremiah would’ve realized his mistake it would’ve been too late to take it back, sometimes it’s easier to keep a lie going even when you know it’s wrong then to admit that you lied in the first place. A lot of the time, people will stick to their lies for years after originally telling it because they’re in too deep to go back out, it’s difficult to admit that you lied about something, especially something that can cause such turmoil in a family. It’s difficult to turn back. And sometimes the guilt of a lie can stick with a person for the entirety of their lives.

To a child, being told that they’re on their own, that no one cares, being forced to face the reality that no one will help him, that can lead a person to snap later in life. As we grow older, that kind of stress can lead to depression, it can lead to us lashing out. It can lead a person to snap, just like how Jerome killed his mother. Too much pressure weighed down on him for so many years, and he snapped just like that. Jerome was a product of a lifetime of abuse, and instead of drowning under the pressure, he came out stronger for it, twisted and warped as a person, but he didn’t give up at life like most people might. Even in a world where life has no meaning to him, where he felt helpless, where he had no reason to keep going - he managed to hang on to life. Jerome refused to give up, he got back up again and again. He lived, even in the midst of madness, even when he knew no one would be coming to save him, he kept going, he got right back up whenever he was knocked down, no matter how many times they tried to break him, he got back up.

Even when dead, Jerome kept a smile on his face. He climbed his way to the top, he lived on even when he saw no value in his own life (he held a gun to his head with no fear, he let himself fall from a ledge with a smile and a laugh) but he did see value in the legacy he’d leave behind. Because Jerome isn’t the victim anymore, finally he made himself matter, he freed himself from what made him so miserable his entire life. And that freedom, the knowledge that his mother could never hurt him again, the thought of making something of himself, proving everyone wrong who ever made him feel helpless and useless, making the world care about him one way or another.... that freedom, free from the shackles of sanity that only ever brought him suffering, that freedom brought him happiness. For the first time in his life, he was the one on top, HE was the strong one. People loved him, people listened to him, all eyes were on him. Jerome would be remembered. It’s no wonder that he turned out the way he did, and he wasn’t half-wrong with his speech about sanity being a prison of the mind, about madness leading to freedom. Because he’s talking about his own experiences.

Snapping and going insane set him free, he stood up and refused to be beaten back down, he embraced the very thing people accused him of being all along: “Crazy”. He owned the word, and proved everyone right while also proving them wrong. What’s more mad than that?

Just like how the song “I Go Loony” from Batman; The Killing Joker says: "When the world is full of care And every headline screams despair When all is r---, starvation, war and life is vile Then there's a certain thing I do Which I shall pass along to you That's always guaranteed to make me smile Yes! I go looney - Mister, life is swell in a padded cell It'll chase those blues away"

Madness saved him, cruelty made him.

“All it takes is one bad day to drive the sanest man to lunacy.” It’s more like a symphony of bad days, but he wasn’t wrong. Jeremiah was his bad day.

#gotham #gotham jerome #jerome valeska #character headcanons #character headcanon #character analysis #psychology #gotham jeremiah #jeremiah valeska

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mvalentine · 1 year

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so im just sitting in jfk thinking thoughts and ignoring cam and catching up on our trr2 replay and my mind is wandering to the land of wasted potential… like an Olivia spin off backstory whatever because the TENSION in bk2 where she’s like ‘Hes marrying her and in love with you etc etc’ and she runs off hurts my heart 💔 if we got to choose how the story played out in a true choose ur own adventure doo you think liam/adam x Olivia could be a thing? Do you think they ever were???

And in that camping scene pls give me ur hc on Audrey x Drake bc my girl Anya still hasn’t kissed the bloke by then and is she horny on main 🥲😅

LMAOO as you should good to know you have your priorities in check <333 but nah fr dom i hope you’re feeling alot better now!!

also omg YES both me & audrey in the camp of feel bad for her because you can tell that liam is the only person she’s ever loved & omg she’s loved him for AGES crown or no crown it’s always been liam for her. & im actually in the camp of people who believe that yeah, olivia x the prince could be a real thing!! i really like their fire & ice dynamic, & i would totally live for an au where olivia moves on post engagement fail but was liam’s biggest support system post his heartbreak but then liam starts seeing her in a different light & starts get jealous and shit & then is like wait why am i jealous oh no….. oh wait…… it can’t be…… i want HER to be pined after i want the one who’s pined their whole life to be the one who’s pined for (a la loml pen <333) but yk at the end of the day im maddie & olivia ride or die. but tell me your thoughts!!!! i need to know 💗💗💗

also AHHHHH the camping scene another one of my fav scenes honestly the writers were truly feeding us drake romancers in book2 <333 but also BESTIE anya has more self restraint than me or audrey because goddamn. no but like the way he takes it so seriously & is giving out orders is so adorable to her like is this man fr. and that scene where she goes in the tent she’s kinda like wtf am i doing the prince im supposed to marry is literally right next to us have i lost my mind?!? & then he’s all like wtf are you doing here & this bitch is just like i need body heat <333 and he’s just like shit oh yeah true (like WHAT. i can’t tell if the choices drake knows that the mc is being fr or nah. kinda like the vibe of drake taking camping & the mc’s well-being so seriously that he’s just like yup! okay valid!) —- but anyways the scene where the mc is like you take it so seriously you were barking out orders & then drake is like wait did i ruin it :( with his sad face AHHHH i swear audrey wanted to kiss that adorable little pout from his face she’s like nah it was cute & he’s like cute? and she’s like yeah 🥰 & then he’s all like what else can i do to make your experience more memorable miss huntzberger like shut UP they’re such dorks!! but also i SWEAR mr. walker was down to fornicate (the true meaning of dtf btw!!) in those woods like if fuckin maxwell ugh i really dislike him more & more each play hadn’t interrupted i swear they would have fucked like this man was really like yeah next time we’re coming to the woods alone im gonna go down on you all night you can be as loud as you want baby. but yeah the whole time anya was just thinking of how much she wants this simple life with him how easy & right it feels how right he feels ugh she’s so in love it’s actually sickening to witness.

#WOW this answer got long shsjks im so sorry bestie #also have a safe flight!! oh & if any of this is incoherent there is still some alcohol in my system saur shjsksks #anyways love you sm <3333 I will join you on my trr2 journey asap gosh book2 is truly elite!!#drake x audrey #asks

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themuseandantarctica · 2 years

Text

* 𝒒𝒖𝒐𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒑𝒕. 16

change however necessary.

“There are more valid facts and details in works of art than there are in history books.”

“History is a construct consequent upon the questions asked by the historian.”

“I sometimes think of what future historians will say of us. A single sentence will suffice for modern man: he fornicated and read the papers.”

“The future is dark, the present burdensome. Only the past, dead and buried, bears contemplation.”

“History is a pack of lies about events that never happened told by people who weren’t there.”

“History is an endless repetition of the wrong way of living.”

“History is the sound of hobnailed boots ascending the staircase and of silk slippers coming down.”

“History is little more than the register of the crimes, follies and misfortunes of mankind.”

“History is but glorification of murderers and robbers.”

“Sin writes histories, goodness is silent.”

“History celebrates the battlefields whereon we meet our death, but scorns to speak of the plowed fields whereby we live. It knows the names of the kings’ bastards, but cannot tell us the origin of wheat.”

“History is the science of what never happens twice.”

“It would be a good thing if man concerned himself more with the history of his nature than with the history of his deeds.”

“What then is, generally speaking, the truth of history? A fable agreed upon.”

“What experience and history teach is this—that people and governments have never learned anything from the study of history, or acted on principles deduced from it.”

“Happy the people whose annals are boring to read.”

“Honesty may be the best policy, but it’s important to remember that apparently, by elimination, dishonesty is the second-best policy.”

“A truth that’s told with bad intent beats all the lies you can invent.”

“There’s one way to find out if a man is honest—ask him. If he says, ‘Yes,’ you know he is a crook.”

“A man that should call everything by its right name would hardly pass the streets without being knocked down as a common enemy.”

“People who are brutally honest get more satisfaction out of the brutality than out of the honesty.”

“Speak the truth, but leave immediately afterward.”

“It is always the best policy to tell the truth, unless, of course, you are an exceptionally good liar.”

“Hope is the gay skylarking pajamas we wear over yesterday’s bruises.”

“The human body experiences a powerful gravitation pull in the direction of hope.”

“I steer my bark with hope in the head, leaving fear astern. My hopes indeed sometimes fail, but not oftener than the forebodings of the gloomy.”

“Hope is patience with the lamp lit.”

“He that lives upon hope will die fasting.”

“Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense regardless of how it turns out.”

“Everything one records contains a grain of hope, no matter how deeply it may come from despair.”

“Hope for the best but prepare for the worst.”

“Hope is the feeling we have that the feeling we have is not permanent.”

“Things which you do not hope happen more frequently than things which you do hope.”

“Hope is like a road in the country; there was never a road, but when many people walk on it, the road comes into existence.”

“The road that is built in hope is more pleasant to the traveler than the road built in despair, even though they both lead to the same destination.”

“Hope, in reality, is the worst of all evils, because it prolongs the torments of man.”

“If one truly has lost hope, one would not be on hand to say so.”

“In your hopelessness is the only hope, and in your desirelessness is your only fulfillment, and in your tremendous helplessness suddenly the whole existence starts helping you.”

“Housework can kill you, if you do it right.”

“The phrase ‘working mother’ is redundant.”

“One of the advantages of being disorderly is that one is constantly making exciting discoveries.”

“Never sweep. After four years the dirt gets no worse.”

“I’m not going to vacuum till Sears makes ones you can ride on.”

“What is man? The slave of death, a passing wayfarer. How is a man placed? Like a lantern in the wind.”

“Why the toil, yearning, honesty, aesthetics, exaltation, love, hate, deceit, brilliance, hubris, humility, shame, and stupidity that collectively define our species?”

“What a strange machine man is! You fill him with bread, wine, fish, and radishes, and out comes sighs, laughter, and dreams.”

“We are all of us sentenced to solitary confinement inside our own skins, for life.”

“We are not human beings on a spiritual journey. We are spiritual beings on a human journey.”

“All human beings should try to learn before they die what they are running from, and to, and why.”

“There may be said to be two classes of people in the world: those who constantly divide the people of the world into two classes, and those who do not.”

“A human being is not a human being while his tendencies include self-indulgence, covetousness, temper, and attacking other people.”

“Man is the only creature that consumes without producing. He does not give milk, he does not lay eggs, he is too weak to pull the plow, he cannot run fast enough to catch rabbits. Yet he is lord of all the animals.”

“The body is a self-building machine, a self-stoking, self-regulating, self-repairing machine—the most marvelous and unique automatic mechanism in the universe.”

“Every man is as Nature made him, and sometimes a great deal worse.”

“When we speak of Nature it is wrong to forget that we are ourselves a part of Nature. We ought to view ourselves with the same curiosity and openness with which we study a tree, the sky, or a thought, because we too are linked to the entire universe.”

“The universe seems bankrupt as soon as we begin to discuss the characters of individuals.”

“Strong people have strong weaknesses.”

“What a chimera then is man! What a novelty! What a monster, what a chaos, what a subject of contradiction, what a prodigy! Judge of all things, feeble earthworm, depository of truth, a sink of uncertainty and error, the glory and the shame of the universe.”

“Always remember that you are absolutely unique. Just like everyone else.”

“You don’t really understand human nature unless you know why a child on a merry-go-round will wave at his parents every time around—and why the parents will always wave back.”

“The real problem is in the hearts and minds of men. It is not a problem of physics but of ethics. It is easier to denature plutonium than to denature the evil from the spirit of man.”

“Out of the crooked timber of humanity, no straight thing was ever made.”

“It is the greatest mistake to think that man is always one and the same. A man is never the same for long. He is continually changing. He seldom remains the same even for half an hour.”

“We cannot heal the wounds we do not feel.”

“I have striven not to laugh at human actions, not to weep at them, nor to hate them, but to understand them.”

“For the first time I examined myself with a seriously practical purpose. And there I found what appalled me; a zoo of lusts, a bedlam of ambitions, a nursery of fears, a harem of fondled hatreds. My name was Legion.”

“The only thing you will ever be able to say in the so-called ‘social’ sciences is ‘some do, some don’t.’”

“I believe that the first test of a truly great man is his humility. I don’t mean by humility, doubt of his power. But really great men have a curious feeling that the greatness is not of them, but through them. And they see something divine in every other man and are endlessly, foolishly, incredibly merciful.”

“Humility is the mother of giants. One sees great things from the valley; only small things from the peak.”

“Stay humble. Always answer the phone, no matter who else is in the car.”

“Almost any difficulty will move in the face of honesty. When I am honest I never feel stupid. And when I am honest I am automatically humble.”

“Humility is attentive patience.”

“At home I am a nice guy—but I don’t want the world to know. Humble people, I’ve found, don’t get very far.”

“Early in life I had to choose between honest arrogance and hypocritical humility. I chose honest arrogance and never found an occasion to change.”

“Humility is the most difficult of all virtues to achieve, nothing dies harder than the desire to think well of oneself.”

“For the most part, I do the thing which my own nature prompts me to do. It is embarrassing to earn so much respect and love for it.”

“If I only had a little humility, I would be perfect.”

“The secret source of humor itself is not joy, but sorrow. There is no humor in heaven.”

“A passionate man is seldom witty.”

“If you want to make people weep, you must weep yourself. If you want to make people laugh, your face must remain serious.”

“In the whole of the New Testament there is not one joke. That fact alone would invalidate any book.”

“Jokes are better than war. Even the most aggressive jokes are better than the least aggressive wars. Even the longest jokes are better than the shortest wars.”

“Serious things cannot be understood without laughable things, nor opposites at all without opposites.”

#rp meme #rp starters #sentence meme #sentence starters #prompts #rp prompts #writing prompts

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im-miss-sugar-pink · 3 months

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Hello,

Hope I'm not bothering you!

Tbh the dude you are talking about doesn't sound good, even if he may be attractive. And fornication isn't worth it one way or another. It will just break your heart.

On a different note: I saw you are going through a hard time, I'm praying for you. Hope you have someone to reach out and confide in who can help irl like friends, or therapist or a priest (or all of them :D). Remember, that you are loved no matter what. <3

thank you

in my heart i know you're completely right and i should 100% listen to you

but my head wants to destroy my body, and the wants of my body want to destroy my spirit and so far recently my head and desires are winning

as a long, rambling response:

i know that this guy is not going to be good for me and i know the last guy i was in a situationship with was bad for me and i know i should just stop doing this to myself. and i constantly think of this book i had as a kid called "the princess and the kiss" where basically her "kiss" was a magic glowing light and she saved it and saved it until a poor farmer boy came and told her he had one too that he had saved for her and then thats who she chose over her fancy suitors and they exchanged kisses and got married. i think about that a lot. but im no princess and i gave away what i have years ago. what am i now lol (i started crying just now remembering how much i wanted to be like the princess in this old kids' book and failed)

i just got out of the mental hospital for the THIRD time. third time. in two and a half years. im so tired. it's so much easier to let myself suffer than to actually do anything about it. getting better is difficult and sometimes i dont know if i want to. like. i have to. i have to because if He didn't want me to get better then God would have let me die by now and He would not have put such good people in my life, good people who make sure i end up in the hospital rather than a casket. but it's so hard. it's overwhelmingly difficult to believe that all the positive things i reblog apply to me as well as to everyone else. like oh yeah. im not the exception to the idea that everyone deserves love and mercy and grace. but it's so difficult to actually believe that.

ive been to Mass twice in the past two or three months. only twice. that's probably part of why i feel like shit but i feel so terrible that i feel undeserving of even entering a church? it sucks. then im like. yah i should go to confession. ok good in theory. but ive got this thought stuck in my head like i Know im going to end up partaking in these shitty habitual sins again and again so like why should i say to God that im going to do my best to avoid these sins when i know i wont end up doing that no matter how much i mean it. also it's difficult to get to confession? like im usually busy during or forget about the scheduled times for them and then asking for a priest to hear my confession before Mass is always anxiety-inducing and difficult to do when you don't feel like you can even enter a church.

almost nothing im doing is good for me. and idk how much i care. jk i do care but i dont want to care. i was talking to someone about how i cry all the time because i have so many feelings and everything matters too much, and they were all like well i shut down all my feelings when it gets too hard. that must be nice at times. i feel everything so deeply and can't cut that part of me off and it's overwhelming.

please keep praying for me I don't know how much longer i can do this

#im destroying myself mentally emotionally physically spiritually #if it's able to be crushed im crushing it #it hurts #it hurts so much #but it's easier to let it hurt than to try to heal #i speak

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snapheart1536 · 1 year

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Bad Arguments

Elizabeth I

Girls Could Marry At Twelve

Freaks portray this wickedness as an oh-so noble concern for historical truth.

And YOU wouldn't object to Duh Twoof, would you now?

Oh! Ah! Well! It may seem like abuse to us But We Must Remember that Girls Could Marry At Twelve...

I love being implored to Remember the lies they've not told me yet.

Notice how it always begins with a feigned nod of empathy:

Hah! Yes! Of course. I hate it too. I really disapprove of This Sort Of Thing. Honest!

Before introducing the actual message:

But if you were A Reel Intelleckchul, like me, you would Understand that It Was Like That Then, and Perfectly Normal.

Besides the unsaid conclusion:

That means I'm right to blame Elizabeth.

The endless counter arguments to this have all been said before, and are near-enough a waste of words, for this isn't silly, muddle-headed ignorance but open malice, and agendas don't care about facts.

Because really, how would the customs governing matrimony apply to this situation?

Where does marriage figure in a middle-age man breaking into his stepdaughter's room to molest her?

Well here's the distraction technique:

Soon as we get to incestuous pædophilia, start wittering about wedlock and how it's ackshully alright to touch kids...in the time period, of course.

WHAT?!

If I believe Tudor society took a lax view of preying upon children, then by this very argument, that attitude could ONLY ever exist with regards to marriage.

They want me to accept Seymour Did Nothing Wrong, because his era allowed him to marry a girl of twelve.

This implies consummation followed immediately, although they never say as much, precisely as it is too big of a lie, hinting at it instead to let your subconscious join the dots.

BUT, if his entire defence is nothing better than blabbering about how he can sleep with a twelve‐year-old bride if he wants to, then he needed to marry Elizabeth beforehand for this to be alright.

But not only had Seymour not married her, he already had a wife, so his behaviour alone is a simply lovely mix of fornication, adultery AND incest.

And last time I looked, the Tudors came down hard on all three.

Oh yeah. They killed Anne and George for less. But ten years later? Totally normal!

I hate this Bad Argument with such deep, boiling fury I'm about to rip it apart, so no one ever can ever sew its tattered chunks together again.

It is absurd to the point of evil, as just think about what they are saying.

Seymour forces his way into Elizabeth's room to grope and spank her.

Me: That's abuse, that!

Them: Oh you thick, detestable pleb. Girls Could Marry At Twelve, doncha know.

As when Seymour molested Elizabeth, he wasn't really molesting her, because she was old enough to marry him.

And you can't sexually assault adults.

...

Once a gal can get married, it's every fella's sworn duty to come at her, for she wants 'em.

She wants 'em all.

She does, man! She's just being difficult!

You know how it goes:

6th September 1545: Little girl.

7th September 1545: WAHMAN!!!

Soon at that clock struck midnight, a switch flicked in Elizabeth's brain, and ever after she had a hunger...for MAN.

And Seymour just couldn't bear to see her hankering and not go providing like a true hero.

It would've been cruel NOT to do it.

Of age? Well say no more.

Come one, come all. Open for business.

And if she complains, well that's just playing hard to get, innit?

No escape now, love.

Legally capable of marriage? Well you want it whatever you say.

Stop struggling.

Same with Elizabeth. I mean, come on, Girls Could Marry At Twelve.

So obviously, if she hadn't really wanted it, she would've stayed eleven forever.

Is that so much to ask?

But oh no, she just so happened to have thirteen birthdays beforehand like a slut.

Ah-hah! Gotcha now! That little innocent routine don't fool me!

Then she has the nerve to play the victim as if it isn't all her fault for growing.

And then idiots blame Seymour for taking his rights when she made herself fully available by not dying in childhood, the selfish bitch.

Look at her, not being dead! Tempting him!

This Bad Argument is ONLY ever used by women to defend men attacking other women and girls, so please remember it's composed of three lies:

1. Seymour Did Nothing Wrong, because she was over twelve.

2. Elizabeth clearly loved every minute, because she was over twelve.

3. Sleeping with children was Perfectly Fine for most of human history and it's our prissy, overreacting modern hysteria about it that's the The Real Problem.

Why? Because if they can push you to accept it was normal then, it's the first step towards pushing you to accept it's normal now.

#Elizabeth I #Dirty Bastard Seymour #Thomas Seymour #Bad Arguments

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the-firebird69 · 1 year

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It's a horrible night lost most of my troops not people hate me for it but he knows that they planned it these Max and Tommy f and mac daddy and the plan frame isn't that great either so we let him down and he says it. But he did say that any army that would stood it and stand up to them at first would most likely be wiped out he doesn't have any ruling for 15,000 years and they know a thing or two. And we found out about China and they don't want to talk about it but we probably will to our own detriment again. There's something tells me that we're going to go on and it's movies and AI and other things and people want us to pursue those because the AI is deadly and they don't want to go near it just like we went near the clones to get our own stuff today first and yeah we are planted around the AI so it's going to be a good time and we see how other people feel about it even Tommy F and Mac it is power and it can't do things if you isolate it properly and don't teach it something stupid you might be able to engineer things based on I'm current technology and inventions already and enhance things too and it is promising and sometimes that big army was such a burden they demand to be fed every day and it was horrifically noisy and Tommy Allen's was worse and Jason was intolerable they had to go and they're sick of it now is it disgusting show I'm renting a naked and died in her screwing dead people and all sorts of gross things I've never seen people act that way it's disgusting I don't want to repeat it people don't want to hear it but you have to see the tape they're doing really really gross things fornicating on cadavers and fresh ones and ways to do not want to know about and eating things in the gore was really really over the top and not only that but there were avalanches of bodies and streams of blood rivers of blood and they become a mash in some cases it's not right what happened there and Tommy Allen you are negligent in every dude you had and you should never have been the CIA director and we should never have stepped out of line and yeah we open the door for foreigners but really we were encouraged to in order to fight the clones in order for Mac to have stuff and he did achieve a certain level of success but his competitors have it he says he planned on it so we'll see how it goes but what a disappointment today was and yeah I probably seen the song about it

Donald trump Sarah what a gross day and it's me Sarah I mean gross this is a terrible situation and started getting much worse and he comes in and he tries to brighten a day and someone brings up some dumb subject so no one can have any fun or life at all I got to tell you you didn't do a great job Trump but there are some people stink a lot worse than you like these clones and he explained it sigmatic planted to be a threat and they suck so bad that nobody can get through the damn day including Mac and the demons are much worse and I ran into him because they think that I'm one of them and it's a horrible experience and sale so it's a stuff he says they probably thought I was a goblin because I'm kind of skinny and orca chunky and vampires and muscular Valentine that's what they think I am I kind of wimpy I get pushed around and I talked to Dee and she said that's what it is and it's horrible and he knows that too it's weird it says from the movie and they say tonight that was a disgusting battle and Brian you don't teach your people anything just don't bother having kids so it was so wrong I can't believe how horrific that was it's a blight on everyone so I'll stop talking

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viviennelamb · 4 months

Text

Play Your Role to Perfection!

In every piece of media I've seen, watched and heard, the Virgin is the one who is protected. I haven't seen an exception to this unless it was for shock value. Those who are pure are often the ones scaring the soiled protagonists which is why female children are often depicted as villains in horror movies.

Virgins are spiritually protected. The delusional Christian's favorite verse is "put on the whole Armor of God" (Ephesians 6:10-18) but never specify what that means. The only armor one can have in the spiritual war is purity (and it's best to layer that protection with a spiritual bodyguard).

Most people have thousands of penis-sized holes in their armor while foolishly believing they are God’s favorites because they have a beast system souvenir. While those who are actually favored by God are gifted limitless peace and don't have mediocre problems.

Religious people will tell you to not watch media and not use technology, but I think you should tune in and pay attention because the roles of this Drama are outlined in full on television and social media. I agree that you shouldn't watch anything for entertainment, though.

When you watch media, pay attention what happens to the perverts. Sex is shown within the first 10 minutes and the individuals who have sex are going to get fucked hard and bleed out for the entire show. The theme of the dark age is constant conflict because it is a reflection of what goes on in the individual's inner world.

The most common trope is characters having horrible luck or killed shortly after expressing lust in thought, word or deed. Thing is, the audience enjoys when these individuals get killed even though that is who they are - the short lived character who only cares about their genitals. The audience even finds it entertaining when they think they're more important than they actually are and see fornicators as a liability who drags the show down.

Plenty of modern horror or psychological media's opening scene is a couple having sex and getting killed during or right after the act. Which is the "death" of the soul through the growth of egotism. When God decides to reset that soul, that person is crushed and nobody feels bad for them because it's what they deserve. Pain is purification after all...

This is the "cleansing of evil" most people are waiting for, but then they get upset when their fellow fornicators get screwed claiming that they didn't deserve it... how would you know that?!

We're at the point where people can't wait to share their miseries, overjoyed in their egotism because they're "relatable," when unfortunate events are a chance for them to turn to God. If they're blind to Divinity because they haven't suffered enough, they will be beaten to a pulp again and again until they get the hint.

Most people are living in a Bird Box dimension. Those who have fearlessly taken off their blindfolds see those blind to the soul as paranoid, conspiratorial, schizophrenics who shoot at the air causing the mayhem they say they want to be freed from. To the impure, God is the monster they desperately don't want to see which is why they dedicate their lives to destroying innocence. As long as you keep those blindfolds on, you will never see what True Beauty looks like.

Open your eyes and see, bitches. There is no separation between the "real world" and the screen, it's karmic reality. You chose the role you want to play, so play it to its fullest and fear-based non-action comes with karmic pain as well which is why most people are fixated on what others are doing... that's because you're still egotistical. If you hold back or half-ass it you're failing.

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spicysoftsweet · 3 years

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the devil is a fornicator, incubus!sukuna x reader

summary: sukuna, a well-known incubus is quite fond of you.

warnings: home invasion, noncon, double penetration, size kink ig, degradation, monster form! sukuna

a/n: there is no plot here just porn lmao. enjoy.

It’s the dead of night and the incubus has returned, you realize once you’ve awoken in a shock of blinding pain, only to gaze directly into the demon’s endless eyes hovering over you, illuminated dimly by the pale moonlight that streams through your thin curtains.

He grins, revealing rows of gleaming sharp teeth.

“Did you miss me?”

His voice is a snarl that drips heavily in sarcasm, seemingly echoing in the silence of the room.

Tonight, much like every other night, you’re not sure how you ended up caged in two sets of arms stronger than wrought iron, your mind steeped in a deep, impenetrable fog and your body languid and stretched to the limit as you’re all but impaled over a monstrously sized pair of cocks. But it’s a matter of course - the demon Sukuna has picked you and continues to choose you again and again.

There’s more than one reason he’s called the King of Curses.

Aside from the fact that he has claimed you only because you are eternally damned, expletives fall out of his mouth as naturally as rain drops from the sky; harsh, caustic is the feel of his rough hands on your skin, if you can really call them something as human as hands.

“You’re pathetic, really, sniveling all because of a little pain?”

Even though his voice is light and jeering, you’re not meant to answer and you don’t dare to. All you can do is whimper, and your soft, miserable sobs delight him.

“You should be thankful I’ve become somewhat partial to a weak, worthless little thing like you.”

The palm that presses down on your neck, making it hard for you to draw air into your lungs, is so heavy - heavier than the weight of his body that carelessly crushes your fragile one.

Even if he is holding most of his weight, you are still so tiny, so small in comparison to his huge figure. He’s massive, truly, but you’re not exactly sure how large he is... he visits you under the cover of dark, and you swear the size of his shadow varies each time.

But the configuration of his form is always the same, and he makes good use of his supernatural anatomy - a hand presses on your neck, another grasps relentlessly at your hair and tugs mercilessly, and two more are placed oppressively on your hips, gripping tightly enough to leave blotchy discoloration on your skin. A tongue that protrudes from somewhere within the dense muscles of his abdomen laps furiously at your bare skin, now covered in a thin layer of sweat from the heat he generates. The rough, wet strokes only worsen your sensitivity but you barely shudder because he holds you so still that you have no agency to move.

But where could you go?

You want to explode.

“It hurts, doesn’t it? Being splayed out like this?” His head lowers so that he can whisper directly into your ear, as he continues to pet your scalp. His fingers curl around your neck, and you gasp involuntarily; you can practically feel the way his lips curl into a smile, his cheek is so close to yours.

Of course it hurts. It hurts so bad, it hurts so good, your heart hurts, your pussy aches.

“I’m too big, aren’t I? You can’t take me in that tight little cunt of yours, can you?”

It’s true - you shouldn’t be able to take him. In fact, you’re amazed that he manages to fit despite everything, however painfully so, and if your head were a bit clearer, you’d wonder if it’s a bit of magic that keeps you from splitting in half so that he can have his fun night after night. It does help that you’re dripping wet, seeping around him enough that you can feel the unmistakable moist sensation between your legs that is your arousal, more slippery than perspiration.

“What would you do if I got bigger inside you? Will I tear you apart, little one?”

Please have mercy.

Tears are streaming down your cheeks and your body is quivering, and if it weren’t for the fact that he has you pinned down, unable to move an inch, your whole body would be convulsing. You are too full, too tender, too stimulated and he’s barely even moving yet, aside from the occasional tortuous twitch of one of the penises inside you. It’s torture, the way your body clenches desperately around him, pleading for some friction. The rise and fall of your chest as you pant in a strained, almost wheezing cacophony - you don’t dare whine, you’ll take whatever he offers you - seems to delight him, and his hand releases around your neck. He thumbs instead at your quivering lower lip, his own lips pressing onto your neck.

It’s almost a mockery of tenderness, the pecks he gives the curve of your jaw as he jams two fingers now down your throat making you gag.

He loves to hear you choke, and he sinks his hands into the futon so that he can grasp handfuls of your ass and lift up.

Once he adjusts himself so that he is kneeling onto the bed and your hips are hoisted off the ground, he pushes deeper inside you and you cry out around his fingers in your mouth.

But once he starts moving, you are too stimulated to cry.

Sukuna fucks you loudly, lewdly, animalistic groans and foul language filling the air as he thrusts in and out of you like you’re nothing but a mere cocksleeve, ignoring whatever screams and moans come out of your mouth. You move so quickly, slammed almost perpendicularly against his pelvis, hard, that your thoughts go from fogged up to scrambled until you’re dizzy and wordless, sniveling, forgetting how to form the words to beg him to stop.

Do you want him to stop? Being fucked dumb maybe the only good part of this curse after all.

He plays with your pert nipples as he slams you down onto his cocks; he shifts you upright briefly, sitting with his legs crossed to minimize his own effort as he pistons you up and down forcefully onto his lap.

Too many eyes focus in on the grotesque, fucked-out expression you make, your tongue lolling out helplessly and your breasts bouncing recklessly as he moves you.

“You almost look half-decent like this...” he teases, a pleased smirk gracing his hideous smirk. Again, he has to steady you, bringing your arms behind you and holding you taut so that you don’t collapse onto him, you are nothing but a brainless toy, after all. By this point of the night, he can’t expect you to keep your posture. He’s not that cruel.

“You’re no different than a little lamb. Innocent, cute, powerless. I could swallow you whole.”

You let out a drawn out moan from an orgasm that springs forth from so deep inside you that it reverberates throughout your whole body and he laughs. In fact, he cackles wildly as you jerk violently forward, your shoulders almost risking dislocation as you move due to the fact that your wrists are still firmly in his grasp.

“Aren’t you going to beg me to stop? Or are you just going to keep cumming like the dirty little cursed slut you are?”

You know he won’t stop. Not for hours. Not until he eventually releases hot, sticky, endless ropes of cum inside you until you pass out, until the next morning where you wake up in a cold sweat after repetitive nightmares of giving birth to hellspawn.

His two upper hands cup your face that is exhausted, weary, miserable, and dazed from fucking that will go on endlessly and for as long as he feels like it. Sucking away all your vital energy. Ruining your soul. Wrecking your body.

His fingers caress your skin, even if he’s still pounding relentlessly into you and you’re only a few more strokes away from another gut-wrenching climax.

Sukuna kisses you passionately and you don’t think, because if there is anything you know for a fact, it’s that the devil is a liar and tonight’s lie is that you’re anything more than a hapless human he likes to fuck.

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk #not sfw #tw noncon

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perlukafarinn · 3 years

Text

this is a season 9 au i guess. don’t ask for more specifics, i just wanted to write dean and cas getting drunk and making out “for practice”

Thank fucking God, Dad can’t see me now.

The thought flutters through Dean’s mind, a tiny, bitter thing there one moment and gone the next. He’s too comfortable right now to dwell on such negativity, laying on the couch, warm and loose-limbed.

They’ve been drinking - him and Cas, that is. Sam is nowhere near the bunker right now and honestly, thank God for that too, because all they’ve had tonight is pitcher after pitcher of margaritas.

Not Dean’s idea, for the record. Neither is the music currently playing on the radio, some upbeat bubblegum pop that he usually wouldn’t be caught dead listening to but can right now admit, at least to himself, that he kind of digs.

Cas picked the music, and the margaritas, because it turns out he doesn’t really like beer or hard liquor but he wanted to try getting drunk anyway. Dean’s the sucker who went out and bought all that margarita mix, because he’s finding it more and more difficult to tell Cas no these days.

Which might be why he’s currently letting Cas paint his toenails, with some polish Charlie left behind after her last visit.

It’s bright blue and Dean is pretty sure Cas is getting it all over his feet but he can’t be bothered to care. It feels kind of nice, Cas’ hands brushing against his skin as he carefully applies the polish. Like being taken care of.

“Fuck me,” Dean mutters and he’s sure Cas hasn’t heard him over the music but then his hand stills.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just-” Dean laughs, rubbing his hand over his eyes. “Are we having a slumber party right now?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Cas resumes his work. He’s sitting on the floor next to the couch, which can’t be comfortable, but he’s probably too drunk to care right now. Just like Dean. “I’ve never been to one before.”

Dean hums, staring up at the ceiling.

“What does one do at a slumber party?”

“I don’t know,” Dean says. “This kinda crap, I guess. Paint each other’s nails, listen to music, get drunk on girly drinks. Talk about boys.” He snorts. “Or sex, if you’re not a preteen girl.”

“I’d rather not.”

Dean winces, thinking of Cas’ one sexual experience so far. Yeah, he wouldn’t be eager to talk about that either.

Still, “You’ve at least rounded first with some chicks worth talking about.” Dean wracks his brain - Meg is the first to come to mind, but he knows better than to bring her up, even drunk off his ass. “Daphne, right? She was hot.”

“I suppose,” Cas says.

“Why didn’t you ever hook up with her?” The question tastes bitter on Dean’s tongue and he’s not sure why. “Can’t tell me it’d be a sin, it’s not fornication if you’re married.”

Cas pauses his movements. Dean thinks he might have offended him so he raises his head, craning his neck to get a proper look at his face, but Cas doesn’t looks pissed, just deep in thought.

“We did round some bases,” he says, the words sounding stiff and alien coming from him. “But we rarely did more than kiss. Once tongues are involved the whole process becomes...” he makes a face, “unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant?” Dean repeats. He gets up on his elbows, sparing a glance at his toes - a whole mess of blue, Picasso would be so proud - before looking back at Cas. “Dude. You sure you weren’t just bad at it?”

Cas turns away, blushing. “Possibly. It’s not as if I’ve had much practice.”

“You learned some stuff from the pizza man,” Dean points out.

Cas huffs. The back of his ears have turned red, too. It’s kind of cute.

“If you want, you can practice on me.”

The words tumble out faster than Dean can stop them. His mouth goes dry when Cas turns to look at him, eyes wide with shock, but there’s a reckless pounding in his heart that makes him push past the doubt.

“Do you want to?” he asks Cas.

Cas glances down - at Dean’s lips and Dean licks them instinctively, heart racing faster. He’s not sure what he’s doing but his head is buzzing, a combination of alcohol and excitement, and he decides he doesn’t want to think too hard about it. Second thoughts can wait until tomorrow, when he’s sober.

“It would... just be for practice?” Cas asks.

Dean grins, easy. “Call it part of the slumber party experience.”

He tries to sit up further and Cas takes the hint to help him but between the efforts of two drunk, uncoordinated people, Dean somehow finds himself slipping off the couch, landing halfway on top of Cas and halfway on the floor.

“You’re heavy,” Cas complains.

“Fuck off,” Dean says but he’s laughing, giddy and for no real reason. He’s drunk and there’s some girl on the radio singing about being in love and Cas is right here, human but alive, smiling at the sound of Dean’s laughter and leaning in and, oh -

Right. They’re doing this.

Dean is still kind of on top of Cas so he has to grab Cas’ shoulder to keep his balance, which has the added benefit of bringing him even closer. Cas is a little sloppy right at the beginning, teeth bumping against Dean’s lower lip as they kiss.

Dean laughs, a little breathless already, mutters, “Careful,” against Cas’ parted lips.

Unpleasant is definitely not the word Dean would use to describe this. Cas’ lips are warm and he’s a bit clumsy, a little too eager, but then he sucks on Dean’s lower lip and bites down, gently, and Dean thinks he might have a knack for this, after all.

Dean’s the one to deepen the kiss, licking the seams of Cas’ lips until they part on a sigh. He tastes sweet and sour like those stupid margaritas, and Dean thinks he might be intoxicating like them too, because he’s sure as hell feeling more buzzed by the second.

Cas shifts underneath him, bringing one hand up to cup the back of Dean’s head, fingers digging into his scalp and Dean just about melts, humming nonsensical encouragements against Cas’ lips.

Dean feels like he’s in free fall, head swimming at the hot twist of Cas’ tongue, stomach swooping when Cas pulls away to take a shuddering breath and then trails his lips down Dean’s neck, licking, biting.

Dean should discourage him - like this whole thing isn’t middle school enough, now Cas is gonna give him a goddamn hickey - but he just tilts his head back, gives Cas more room to work. Cas presses a kiss against his Adam’s apple and then licks the dip of his clavicle, slow and hot like he’s savoring the taste of Dean’s skin.

At some point, Cas’ other hand landed on Dean’s waist and it’s maybe the only thing keeping him upright. Dean is on fire, he’s melting, he’s dizzy with desire, almost nauseous, and all they’ve done is make out for a couple of minutes.

“Dean,” Cas says, whispers into his skin, and fuck, he sounds wrecked. “Dean.”

He’s hard. Dean can feel it, poking him in the thigh, but somehow that doesn’t scare him half as much as his own answering hardness, quickly growing uncomfortable in his jeans.

“We should-” Dean pulls away, puts his hand on Cas’ chest to keep him from chasing, “-we should stop. That’s enough practice.”

Cas stares up at him, challenging. “Is it?”

Dean doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a stare down, clambering off his lap and out of his embrace. “Yep.”

He sits down on the floor next to Cas. He hears Cas huff and feels a little guilty, winding the poor guy up like that and then stopping as soon as things were getting good.

But they were just practicing, Dean reminds himself. If they’d gone any further, it wouldn’t have been practice anymore. At least not anything Cas could put to practical use the next time he hooks up with a chick.

Dean swallows past the sudden bitter taste in his mouth. He looks over at Cas, who’s staring at the ceiling.

“Want me to paint your toenails?” Dean offers.

Cas sighs. “...Yes.”

#deancas #destiel #perlukafarinn writes #spn fanfic #first kiss #canon divergent #human cas #it's 3:30 am and i'm not sure half this fic makes sense but here you go #i just wanted dean and cas to get drunk and make out for practice i didn't mean to make it so long

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